I hadn't expected this year's reading list to be overwhelmingly spectacular. In my defense, this is usually a sound bet, as none of my yearly tallies speak to a dedicated devotion to reading timei. With much of the year revolving around our impending, and then all-consuming, bundle of joyii I had not expected to get a lot of reading done.
Put down the book, Dad, or I'm totally going to punch you. In the heartstrings.
As it turned out, spending long hours
comforting a newborn actually was a boon to reading time. While a
large portion of the reading revolved around Lydia's first booksiii,
I managed to sneak in a couple of my own. All that sequestered time
with baby on lap and book in hand added up, apparently, and some of
the weightier worksiv
were actually toward the end of the year.
Good, bad, and forgettable, this was my
year in 22 books, in roughly the order of their reading.
BPRD, Volumes 1-14 (Mike
Mignola, et al.) - As loathe as I am to count graphic novels as
“books” per se, I think the full story arc sweep of this weighty
collection makes the cut. In opposition to the super-hero world of
barely adequate spandex, Mignola has crafted a world steeped in
mythos, with an underlying mix of ascetic aesthetic and dystopian
gloom. His heroes are deeply flawed and fragile, without succumbing
to the faux-noir grit of a Wolverine, etc. Coming from the greater
Hellboy universe (not the bastardized movie version, but the
anti-hero-as-solitary-wanderer graphic novels), there is a deeper
philosophy to the stories, much like the superb Sandman stories by
Neil Gaiman.
Peter and Max (Bill
Willingham) – In the same vein as BPRD, Bill Willingham has crafted
a fantastic adult take on the storytale characters in Fables. What
Frank Miller and Alan Moore did for Batman, Willingham does for the
titular fable/fairy tale//nursery rhyme characters like Snow White.
This novel is a spinoff taking place in the same universe, but lacks
the grit and wit of the original. Willingham just isn't a good enough
author to carry it off without the beautiful whimsical-meets-noir art
of the graphic novels.
Catching Fire (Suzanne
Collins) - While I
had my issuesv
with the Hunger Games, it was still a fun read, and much better than
the surge of paranormal teen trash that seems to be flooding the
market since those Books About Glittery Vampires and Bare-chested
Werewolvesvi
That Will Not Be Named came out. However, this sequel is a step
backwards. The repetition of the crises of the first book, without
much broader depth, made this a shallow read. You could simply have
had one page that said “Hunger Games: ditto”.
Mockingjay
(Suzanne Collins) – Like Catching Fire, the end to the series was
fairly yawn-worthy. It was nice that it didn't have yet a third
hunger games, but it just didn't strike the same sense of urgency as
the first novel. As trilogies go, this was more Matrix than Star
Wars.
The Twelve (Justin
Cronin) – I had really liked the page-turning pace of The Passage.
Unfortunately, the follow up really just fell apart. Characters
wandered without much purpose, the story moved in uneven fits and
starts, and by the end of the book, it really hadn't advanced the
original compelling story much. This is another series where I think
I would have been happy to leave things as they were at the end of
the first book.
Oh Boy, You're
Having a Girl (Brian Klems)– Impending dadhood spurred a dip
into some baby lit. More comedy than baby guidebookvii,
this was a quick, enjoyable read. I dread the onslaught of pink to
come.
New Dad's
Survival Guide (Scott Mactavish) – As witty as “Oh Boy”
was, this was equally dull. Written, poorly, for an archaic
stereotype of a clueless dad that could only exist in a 90's sitcom.
It's like someone took a baby manual from 1980's Soviet Russia, with
all the charm that implies, and then blended it with a Mountain Dew
Commercial in a halfhearted attempt to make banal baby guide fodder
EXTREME!. There is actually a camo edition.
The Spirit
Level (Seamus Heaney) – When Heaney passed away this year, a
great literary voice was silenced. I had a few of his more recent
volumes of poetry I'd been meaning to get around to, so I thought it
fitting to do so this year. This first go was a pretty dense read,
and probably got less time and effort than it deserves. As much as I
can appreciate the depth of brilliance represented here, I found it
less enjoyable than some of his earlier, more accessible works. This
likely says much more about me than the collection. In general, a
much more self-reflective work than others previous; no directly
powerful poems like “Limbo” or “Easter, 1916”, just much more
subtle touches.
The Electric
Light (Seamus Heaney) – As above, another dense work, but more
enjoyable. I still think his early stuff was the bestviii,
but it may be in no small part due to the less-jaded perspective I
read “Selected Poems” in back in 1997. I think, in completely
unfair fashion, I mentally try to juxtapose Yeats with Heaney such
that I'm always a bit surprised at Heaney's depth, and a little
disappointed in his relative dryness compared to Yeats poetic
wildness.
Guns, Germs and Steel (Jared
Diamond) – I'd avoided this piece of pop-history, but in a reading
lull decided to finally give it a shot. In general I think he did a
fairly decent job of summarizing a fairly vast sweep of human history
in one book, even if it mean dramatically oversimplifying a great
deal. The book is remarkably less about its titular trio than it is
about the advent and progression of agriculture, which was a welcome
surprise. However, Diamond steered far too often out onto very
specific limbs or spent disproportionate amounts of time talking
about his beloved New Guinea, such that there seemed to be a good
deal of hammering of square pegs into round holes. Unfortunately,
this is par for the course, in my opinion, for any book that tries to
make specific, sweeping, simplistic statements about the progress of
human history. Engaging, but academically questionable.
The Hangman's Daughter
( Oliver Potsch) – This odd little book got read mostly because 1)
I thought it was something else, 2) it was free on Kindle, and 3) I
hate putting down a book once I start it. Odd medieval murder
mystery, somewhat cartoonish and two-dimensional. Really just sort of
forgettable.
The Alchemist (Paulo
Coehlo) – This is one of those books people kept being astonished I
hadn't read, so I read it. It was satisfyingly well written, although
it seemed to be intimating with no degree of subtlety toward a larger
philosophyix.
I was perfectly happy to read a well written adventure story and
leave it at that.
No Country for Old Men (Cormac
McCarthy) – This
was one of the few McCarthy works I hadn't read, since I had
mistakenly seen the movie first. It was great relative to most other
fiction of the past couple decades, but not one of McCarthy's best.
It read more like a particularly gritty Steinbeck novel than
something like the apocalyptic prophecy of Blood Meridian. Still, for
all the books that have been ruined by seeing the movie first, I
can't imagine better casting than Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, and
Josh Brolin for the characters here and the book translated fairly
well to a movie, lacking McCarty's usual depth of language.
The Things They Carried (Tim
O'Brien) – this book got read almost primarily because it was
within reach on the shelf with a baby in my lap. I knew vaguely of
it, and expected the usual sort of collection of war memoirs.
However, I was pleasantly surprised at O'Brien's almost surrealistic
blending of truth and story, and his focus on how story and narrative
affect our perceptions on an individual and historical level. It's
like Kazuo Ishiguro and Steven Ambrose had a literary baby.
The Book of Dragons (Edith
Nesbitt) – This was another surprise find in the free section of
Kindle Books. This collection of short stories is dryly witty in
classic English style, with just a touch of Monty Python-esque
absurdity. Ostensibly a childrens' book of dragon stories, it's
really more of a
dragons-as-understated-but-not-remotely-serious-metaphor. It reminded
me a good deal of Graham Greene.
The Roundhouse (Louise
Erdrich) – Hands down the best I read this year. I routinely like
to think of enjoying a book as being dependent on either exceptional
writing, or exceptional story, or a fairly good mix of each. It's
nice to find those books that meet all the criteria without
descending into pretentiousness. The Roundhouse's story full of the
rhythm and crises of modern reservation life is earnest, compelling,
and tragic, and deeply satisfying. The characters and dialogue are
well fleshed out without being overwritten. All in all there is a
subtle touch to the balance of story and back story, and I couldn't
find much of anything to dislike about the book. Always great to find
a new-to-me author with other works to explore.
A Song of Fire and Ice, Books 1-4
(George RR Martin) – Dear Mr.
Martin; We, the reading audience, publishing establishment, and
critics everywhere have done you a great disservice. Someone,
somewhere along the way should have clued you in that it is not only
possible, but sometimes quite PREFERRABLE, to write books that weigh
in at less than a small child, and are less numerous in page count
than the equivalent year span of the Roman Empire. I mean seriously,
even Tolstoy would complain about how many unnecessary characters you
have. Even Herman Woulk would say “Dude, that book is a little
long”. And seriously, the closer the end of the fourth book I got,
the more alarmingly rape-y they gotx.
Martin does some cool world-building in terms of depth, but it really
feels incredibly derivative of Tolkien, Arthurian legend,
Dragonlance, etc. The one thing that kept me hooked in the first
couple books was the pacing and political machinations. However, that
really starts to fall apart in book 3, and book 4 is just a mess.
Honestly, I was not at all sad about the Red Wedding. I had sort of
hoped it would have a greater death toll if for nothing else than to
get rid of even more of the two-dimensional hacky characters. Of
course, I read all four and will rear the fifth, so that says
something about either the books or me. But man...4000 pages. Damn.
- A Game of Thrones – The level of writing is certainly not literature grade, and at points is barely above dungeons and dragons fan fic, but the pacing and scope of the story is ambitious. Of all the novels, this one really stands out as a well-crafted work. You can feel Martin's enthusiasm for this new world he's created, but he is patient as he gradually lays it out in expanding circles. It's greatly derivative, but enjoyable. While some of the characters are really novel, a great number are just set dressing. Writing bad; story rambunctiously good.
- A Clash of Kings – Not as singularly compelling as the first, but the pace keeps up, and the characters get a little fleshing. The cataclysmic ending is satisfyingly epic.
- A Storm or Swords – And so begins the endless wandering. This for me is where the series has some bright spots, but also starts to unravel. Martin has so many characters, even 1000 page tomes can't flesh them out. Some of the discussion of banner men and minor houses start to read like the Bible passages of who begat who begat who. And it's getting rape-ier. Still, a good following could tie up a lot of these loose ends....
- A Feast for Crows – is not the tying up that was needed. This book could have been completely omitted and the series would have suffered little loss of continuity. The writing is badly degraded, the characters wander seemingly aimlessly, and little of anything compelling happens. With the exception of one or two characters, most devolve into cardboard cutouts, and some major characters don't even make an appearance. This is just overall bad writing and worse editing. I'm hoping the next book is better.
Ed King (David
Guterson) – I hadn't even realized Guterson had another book out,
and hadn’t even finished his last, when I got this for Christmas.
With time to kill on the vacation and plane ride home, I blew through
this book at a fast clip. However, that's not an indication of it's
worth. This novel is nominally a modernized retelling of Oedipus Rex
(Ed King, get it?), but it doesn't even need to be. If anything,
Guterson almost makes the same mistake David Wroblewski made in “The
Story of Edgar Sawtelle” by trying to fit a wonderfully written
world to an existing storyline when it really wants to go somewhere
much better, In Sawtelle, it failed miserablyxi.
In Ed King, it works, mostly because the story Guterson writes around
that very basic substructure is so well-crafted. The characters and
dialogue are natural, and fully realized. There is a great mix of the
underlying absurdity of the mundane, universal humanity, and constant
press of destiny. It ends up working very well, but more so as a
frank look at the frailty and tackiness humanity is capable of, the mirroring of these flaws that saturated the 70's and 80's, and their conversion to the modern era.
_________________________________________________________________________________
NOTES
iEspecially
compared with the Good Folks Over At “A
Fiercer Delight and a Fiercer Discontent” and “Are
There Any More Cookies” whose yearly reading lists routinely
rival the enumerated Library of Congress' archives.
ii“Bundle
of Joy” does not adequately convey the full range of emotions that
fill the metaphorical conveyance that is our daughter. I might also
add: Package of Sleeplessness, Knapsack of Cute, Basket of
Screaming, Box of Famished, and Pallet of Parental Freak Out.
iiiSome
of which actually ended up being more intellectually compelling than
the some of the books on my adult reading list. Seriously, some of
her stuff was pretty insightful, like the book about the nation's
unwillingness to surrender a romantic image of agriculture in the
face of modern agribusiness (“Go Tractor, Go!”), and the one
about the inherent bias of conservation efforts toward more
aesthetic species (“Touch and Feel Cute Animals”), not to
mention a really spectacular look at the inherent inevitability of
change in the life and death cycle (“The Very Hungry
Caterpillar”). It's entirely possible that lack of sleep has made
me read more into these works than was intended. Still better than
4000 pages of faux chivalry. Looking at you here, Martin.
ivWeightier
either in terms of content, or in the case of Mr. Martin's ponderous
tomes, sheer page count and bulk.
vBesides
the fact that it is incredibly derivative of much better works like
The Lottery, Battle Royale, The White Mountains, etc., I didn't
think it was exceptionally well written, even for the intended
audience's level.
viIn
the race to the bottom of the barrel, I'm pretty sure there is now a
series simply called “The Glittery Vampires and Bare-chested
Werewolves Chronicles”.
viiI
tried not to read too many baby books. By all rights this list
should also contain sections of What to Expect When You're
Expecting, etc. I have enough trouble vacationing out of a
guidebook; I really don't want to parent too much out of one either.
viiiIs
this poetic hipsterism? “Oh I totally was into him before he was
the Poet Laureate....sell-out.”
ixHowever,
I read it in a vacuum, so I really am still not sure if this is part
of a broader worldview or just a well-done take on the role of
prophecy in traditional hero/quest stories. I tend to be more of a
“Moby Dick was just a big white whale” kind of guy than an
“Eskimo (highlighted)” sort, trying to read too much into things
xThis
was actually a bit disconcerting. I mean, the books were really,
really rape-fixated, especially toward the end. I don't mean to make
light of it, it's a serious topic, but in a book that's not really
making a lot of focused social commentary (despite the
extrapolations I'm sure exist on the internet), it's hard to buy
that the fixation on rape is really just an empowering statement
about the challenges strong women face. Hyperbole aside, I really
did have to consider whether I wanted to keep reading the series,
given how much physical domination, ownership and rape of women was
such a recurring and underlying theme. I hate to say it, but I've
really come away with the feeling that Martin has some issues to
work out regarding the ladies. I think, especially if I was a woman,
I'd be a bit discomfited with the treatment of rape in the book. I
mean, I don't expect him to be heavy handed about it, saying “and
she was raped, WHICH WAS VERY VERY BAD AND IS A SERIOUS ISSUE”,
but he often veers toward the other end of things. There were
instances where women were told they needed “a good raping”, and
where the mass rape of a woman (Lollys) was treated as an ongoing
joke. Even if you argue Martin is using rape as a black hat symbol
for the bad guys, it really keeps coming back to seeming like he's
fixated on it by its overwhelming prevalence. Even his strong female
characters keep getting dominated by, or rescued by, stronger men.
I'm sure a hundred and 5 women's studies students have already had a
field day with this. However, without even being on a standing where
I'm looking to be offended...this creeped me out a bit.
xiOphelia
is a literal dog! Sigh.
