The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick DeWitt was an odd little book (as well as seeming an odd nominee for the Mann Booker prize). A western with touches of magic realism (and maybe science fiction), the novel also has a stylized narrative style that would stand out in any book, let alone an amalgamation like this one.
The title already tells us that we're in for something a bit different -- the oxymoronic mixing of Sisters Brothers promises strange alchemies in the course of the novel. And so we have the brothers themselves, one pretty clearly a psychopath, the other gentler (but when it comes right down to it, is he any better? He certainly aids and abets his crazier brother). We have the genius scientist who finds a better way to find gold, but poisons the landscape and himself in the process (I think the beavers that are destroyed as the result of his process help humanize a metaphor that's otherwise too stark). We have the weird witch who lays a curse on the brothers.
DeWitt has a flair for set pieces. Some are funny (the bit where Eli tries to order vegetables in a restaurant was hilarious), some are frightening (the witch), some are sad (the beavers). Eli's narrative style, deadpan and serious, makes the funny moments funnier. At the same time, the funny episodes and the more serious ones get the same narrative style, and so DeWitt can switch back & forth rapidly, which is great -- you never quite know how any of the events will play out. Events which start out ludicrously can turn out to be quite moving.
My one issue with the novel is that it feels a bit schematic in the long ending section. The two brothers ascend to the top of the world, so to speak, and then tumble down through each location they visited earlier in the novel in reverse order. I know that there's a venerable tradition for this sort of journey in literature (the obvious one that comes to mind is A Clockwork Orange), but I don't think there's a way for it to avoid feeling mechanical, and that's a pity for a novel that had mostly felt very fresh until that point.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The Mill on the Floss
I just finished George Elliots The Mill on the Floss, which I liked, but not as much as Middlemarch, which I really loved. Like MiddleMarch, Mill on the Floss doesn't really have a unified plot. But in Middlemarch, the major plot arcs happen simultaneously, one to each of the three families, in Mill, the arcs are successive, and they feel badly tacked together.
In a sense, Mill could be looked at as three books -- "The childhood of Tom & Maggie Tulliver", "Tom pays off the family debts," and "Maggie Tulliver's disgrace." Taken together, these stories provide an engrossing portrait of the rural English life of Elliot's childhood, but they're also somewhat static in themselves, particularly the first of them. But even the story of Tom's coming of age is rather static, though it shouldn't be. But Elliot elides the period of time from when he first starts making money till the point when he has enough to pay the family debts. So instead, we see Tom only in his before and after states. Finally, Maggie's story at the end is sort of a portrait of what it's like to be in such disgrace -- at the point when she gets ready to move on, the flood comes and conveniently wipes everything out.
Of course, all this carping does not mean I didn't enjoy the book. I enjoyed it, but reading it so soon after Middlemarch, which I thought was superlative, it's hard to avoid the comparison.
In a sense, Mill could be looked at as three books -- "The childhood of Tom & Maggie Tulliver", "Tom pays off the family debts," and "Maggie Tulliver's disgrace." Taken together, these stories provide an engrossing portrait of the rural English life of Elliot's childhood, but they're also somewhat static in themselves, particularly the first of them. But even the story of Tom's coming of age is rather static, though it shouldn't be. But Elliot elides the period of time from when he first starts making money till the point when he has enough to pay the family debts. So instead, we see Tom only in his before and after states. Finally, Maggie's story at the end is sort of a portrait of what it's like to be in such disgrace -- at the point when she gets ready to move on, the flood comes and conveniently wipes everything out.
Of course, all this carping does not mean I didn't enjoy the book. I enjoyed it, but reading it so soon after Middlemarch, which I thought was superlative, it's hard to avoid the comparison.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
212
212 was pretty average. Not bad, really, and I ended up skimming the last half instead of giving up outright, but nothing about it stood out for me either. One thing I didn't like was the role of coincidence -- it's a common-place in police procedurals for two unrelated crimes to end up related (although I sometimes find those contrived as well), but in this case, we have 3 cases that are related, and our protagonist ends up on each one completely by accident (rather than, say, talking to someone working on one of them, which bothers me less).
The Killer Inside Me
Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside Me is one of the classic noir books. It gives us a picture of psychopath from the inside; as the novel starts, he's managed to restrain himself for 15-20 years (at a guess), but he's about to start killing.
For a book written in 1952, The Killer Inside Me feels very modern. There's a bit of psycho-analysis to explain why Lou went off the rails, and at first I felt like "oh, no, he's taking it out on the women because they remind him of an experience when he was 14," but then Lou asks himself the question "why all the men?" and realizes that, in the end, he can only guess but his own thought processes are not really open to himself.
One other thing I liked was that, although this is a violent book, the violence is clearly not intended to be titillating. Overall, Killer deserves its reputation as one of the great noir novels.
For a book written in 1952, The Killer Inside Me feels very modern. There's a bit of psycho-analysis to explain why Lou went off the rails, and at first I felt like "oh, no, he's taking it out on the women because they remind him of an experience when he was 14," but then Lou asks himself the question "why all the men?" and realizes that, in the end, he can only guess but his own thought processes are not really open to himself.
One other thing I liked was that, although this is a violent book, the violence is clearly not intended to be titillating. Overall, Killer deserves its reputation as one of the great noir novels.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Turncoat, Princeps' Fury
Two books by Jim Butcher, about whom I've written a lot over the years.
As always, his plot-lines are great; he writes a good climax. His writing has also steadily improved -- Turncoat never really made me cringe, and it had a couple of similes I quite liked. His dialog is solid enough, even if there's still too much reliance on stock phrases. (This tendency is worse in the Codex Alera series -- it's kind of ridiculous that, 10 years in, Kitai still calls Tavi "Aleran," or Max still calls him "Calderan." This would be like my calling my wife "Bostonian," or my colleagues at work "Russian" and "Indian.")
One nice thing in Princeps' Fury is that Tavi makes a huge mistake; it's nice to see that he's as fallible as the others characters for once. Although Issana and Bernard are still never wrong.
As always, his plot-lines are great; he writes a good climax. His writing has also steadily improved -- Turncoat never really made me cringe, and it had a couple of similes I quite liked. His dialog is solid enough, even if there's still too much reliance on stock phrases. (This tendency is worse in the Codex Alera series -- it's kind of ridiculous that, 10 years in, Kitai still calls Tavi "Aleran," or Max still calls him "Calderan." This would be like my calling my wife "Bostonian," or my colleagues at work "Russian" and "Indian.")
One nice thing in Princeps' Fury is that Tavi makes a huge mistake; it's nice to see that he's as fallible as the others characters for once. Although Issana and Bernard are still never wrong.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Night Watch, A Darkness on the Edge of Town
Two books about which I don't have much to say.
I used to be a big fan of Pratchett's Discworld novels, then lost interest. Now, 15 years later, I decided to give the series another go with Night Watch. I must admit, I really enjoyed it. Pratchett is a funny guy. My only qualms with the book are (a) there's an odd mix between the humor and a couple of the characters who are just casually brutal, and (b) I sometimes find the mix of humor and didacticism grating, even though I tend to agree with the POV presented. Oddly enough, the second of these is the reason I stopped reading in the first place. But maybe it's been long enough, because I'm ready to dive back into the series again -- but this time I'll take it slow...
J. Carson Black's On the Edge of Town introduces her detective Laura Cardinal. I found Cardinal appealing, but I didn't like the book very much. Yet another serial killer book, this one features two serial killers, maybe more. The serial killer sub-genre is a more than a little over-crowded now, and so it takes more than this novel has to offer to stand out. (John Connolly's Charlie Parker novels, for example, impressed me)
I used to be a big fan of Pratchett's Discworld novels, then lost interest. Now, 15 years later, I decided to give the series another go with Night Watch. I must admit, I really enjoyed it. Pratchett is a funny guy. My only qualms with the book are (a) there's an odd mix between the humor and a couple of the characters who are just casually brutal, and (b) I sometimes find the mix of humor and didacticism grating, even though I tend to agree with the POV presented. Oddly enough, the second of these is the reason I stopped reading in the first place. But maybe it's been long enough, because I'm ready to dive back into the series again -- but this time I'll take it slow...
J. Carson Black's On the Edge of Town introduces her detective Laura Cardinal. I found Cardinal appealing, but I didn't like the book very much. Yet another serial killer book, this one features two serial killers, maybe more. The serial killer sub-genre is a more than a little over-crowded now, and so it takes more than this novel has to offer to stand out. (John Connolly's Charlie Parker novels, for example, impressed me)
The Cold, Cold Ground
The Cold, Cold Ground is the nth book by Adrian Mckinty which I've ended up listening to in Gerard Doyle's narrative voice. At such point as I end up reading Fifty Grand, I'll have to make the agonizing choice of print vs audio, since Doyle didn't narrate that one, and the two seem inseparable to me.
In this novel, McKinty puts Doyle to the test, setting the novel near Belfast during the Troubles, with different accents coming thick & fast. I, of course, can't tell one Irish accent from another (although the Rhodesian one was quite good, I thought), but the sounds give one an idea of the ... I'm not sure what to call it ... ethnic mix isn't right, neither is tribal identities, but Belfast at the time was very divided, the accents are a sort of metonymy for the conflict. (On a side note, I thought the Doctor's accent came & went a bit, but that's a minor point).
That aside... how was the actual book? I quite liked it, although I've got to admit that a priori it wouldn't normally be the sort of book I'd tend to read. The Troubles aren't really a period that grabs me particularly (although I also liked Eoin McNamee's Resurrection Man). But McKinty's been a writer I enjoy reading since Dead I Well May Be, so I decided to give this one a shot. After a lyrical beginning, Cold, Cold Ground is stylistically fairly restrained, which lets you focus on the very colorful events going on around Sean Duffy, the protagonist. A Catholic cop living in a Protestant neighborhood, Duffy is not exactly marked out for a quiet life. Here, he ends up involved in two murder investigations, one official and one on his own time (more or less).
One thing I liked about Cold, Cold Ground is that the story is very tied to its time and place, but at the same time don't feel didactic. The Troubles form a necessary backdrop, but somehow it doesn't feel like McKinty wants to lecture me about them. I guess I'm mostly thinking of Stuart Neville's Ghosts of Belfast, which felt pretty uninteresting to me, because it did feel very moralistic. Not that McKinty's world lacks a moral center; Sean Duffy is a man with a clear moral compass, even as it leaves him in the occasional quandary.
Two last points. The amazon review mentions a serial killer. At this point in my life, I'm heartily sick of serial killer novels, but this one is sufficiently different to be interesting . Even in the early stages, where it seems more standard, there's enough other stuff going on to keep the story vibrant. Second, Duffy goes through a bit of a sexual awakening that felt kind of tacked-on (sorry if you're reading this, Adrian). I assume it'll play out in the later novels of the trilogy, but it just felt kind of extraneous here.
In this novel, McKinty puts Doyle to the test, setting the novel near Belfast during the Troubles, with different accents coming thick & fast. I, of course, can't tell one Irish accent from another (although the Rhodesian one was quite good, I thought), but the sounds give one an idea of the ... I'm not sure what to call it ... ethnic mix isn't right, neither is tribal identities, but Belfast at the time was very divided, the accents are a sort of metonymy for the conflict. (On a side note, I thought the Doctor's accent came & went a bit, but that's a minor point).
That aside... how was the actual book? I quite liked it, although I've got to admit that a priori it wouldn't normally be the sort of book I'd tend to read. The Troubles aren't really a period that grabs me particularly (although I also liked Eoin McNamee's Resurrection Man). But McKinty's been a writer I enjoy reading since Dead I Well May Be, so I decided to give this one a shot. After a lyrical beginning, Cold, Cold Ground is stylistically fairly restrained, which lets you focus on the very colorful events going on around Sean Duffy, the protagonist. A Catholic cop living in a Protestant neighborhood, Duffy is not exactly marked out for a quiet life. Here, he ends up involved in two murder investigations, one official and one on his own time (more or less).
One thing I liked about Cold, Cold Ground is that the story is very tied to its time and place, but at the same time don't feel didactic. The Troubles form a necessary backdrop, but somehow it doesn't feel like McKinty wants to lecture me about them. I guess I'm mostly thinking of Stuart Neville's Ghosts of Belfast, which felt pretty uninteresting to me, because it did feel very moralistic. Not that McKinty's world lacks a moral center; Sean Duffy is a man with a clear moral compass, even as it leaves him in the occasional quandary.
Two last points. The amazon review mentions a serial killer. At this point in my life, I'm heartily sick of serial killer novels, but this one is sufficiently different to be interesting . Even in the early stages, where it seems more standard, there's enough other stuff going on to keep the story vibrant. Second, Duffy goes through a bit of a sexual awakening that felt kind of tacked-on (sorry if you're reading this, Adrian). I assume it'll play out in the later novels of the trilogy, but it just felt kind of extraneous here.
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