Tag Archives: book

The Paris Review: Summer 2011

I’m not one of those people who pretends to read more than I actually I do. So I’m going to admit that I skipped most of the content in the most recent issue of The Paris Review. Is this because I am a lazy reader or is that the content just wasn’t particularly engaging?

I’m going to go with The Paris Review’s summer issue isn’t what it should be. It featured two long interviews with writers I don’t care about (William Gibson and Samuel R. Delany) and the second section of the Roberto Bolano’s serialized novel, “The Third Reich”. Once I have the entire novel I may read it, but too much time passes between issues for me to read each section separately.

One of the items I did enjoy was the poem “Churches” by Kevin Prufer. I’m a self-proclaimed poetry moron, but every now and again I read one that I like. It was a poem that read almost like a very short story about two kids standing in a gift shop in Arizona and the demise of his father.

Another poem, “Arabia,” by Frederick Seidel was more what I’m used to: annoying and contrived. I hate it when poets rhyme unless it’s for children’s books. The last line of the poem is “It looks like spring out there on Broadway meant/Barack Obama to be president.” Really? This is what The Paris Review is publishing these days? Ugh.

There were a couple unremarkable short stories about a drug-induced telephone romance and one about a bitter, divorced man whose daughter hates him. One story I enjoyed was Jonathan Lethem’s “The Empty Room,” a slightly creepy story about growing up in a house where one room is designated as forever empty. The narrator’s father insists it remain empty, but that anyone can use it for whatever they want. In the end, the father’s sanity has dwindled away and the room is used for stranger and stranger purposes.

The art in this issue was from two female artists, Laurel Nakadate and Mika Rottenberg. Rottenberg’s photos and film stills are at least interesting with vivid colors and unattractive people doing normal and sometimes strange things (like smelling flowers, or holding cloth up with toes). Nakadate’s work, however, struck me as being a huge waste of space. She did a series of photos called “365 Days: A Catalogue of Tears” which consists of photos of herself crying. Sometimes she’s naked, sometimes she’s just standing there in a t-shirt, but in all of them she looks like she needs a good slap. The photos are of poor quality and look like a teenager took them with her cellphone for her MySpace page. I’m not a professional art critic by any means, but I just don’t get it.

Needless to say my affection for The Paris Review has been waning lately, and when it’s time to re-subscribe I may decide to pass.

You Remind Me of Me by Dan Chaon

Dan Chaon won me over with his collection of short fiction, Among the Missing, so I decided to see if he was as good at novels as he was short stories. My journey into his book You Remind Me of Me was rather disappointing. It held the same realistic elements he had in his short stories, but in bulk reads as dragging and overdone. I often found myself wishing the book would just end already.

You Remind Me of Me is told through multiple characters’ perspectives. Jonah, a socially awkward young man looking for a brother his mother gave up for adoption before he was born, Troy, the brother who has lost his son due to a drug arrest, Nora, the mother of both, and Judy Keene, the grandmother of Troy’s son who seeks to keep the child away from Troy’s bad influence and redeem herself as a mother figure after her daughter’s decline into drug addiction.

It’s pretty heavy stuff.

Mostly, this is a story about four people who feel they have made too many mistakes in their lives, they all fantasize about what their lives might have been like had they made different choices, been born to different families, had better luck.

The concepts, the search for identity and the constant introspection of his characters is very beautiful and intriguing at first, but grows tedious and dull about halfway through. A lot of it ended up reading like filler, and I longed for some action between the long passages of inner thoughts.

It’s a deeply sad story, with little to no happy moments. By the end a lot of questions have yet to be answered and only Troy seems to have redeemed himself.

I also found it difficult to feel any empathy towards the characters. Troy was a deplorable drug dealer, Jonah was on the overly self-pitying psychotic side, Nora was legitimately insane and grotesquely self-centered, and Judy was harsh and kept Troy’s son from him.

It was amazing, however, the distinct differences between Troy and Jonah’s muddled and self-pitying voices  and Nora’s clear, albeit crazy, voice. I often found myself wanting more chapters from Nora’s point of view, as her insights and feelings rang more interesting to me than Troy and Jonah’s.

I am not entirely turned off to Chaon’s novels and will probably try out his newer novel, Await Your Reply at some point in the future, but I would not recommend this book as your first taste of Chaon’s work.

Here is an interview with Chaon about his collections Fitting Ends and Among the Missing and his novel You Remind Me of Me.

I notice whole passages of “You Remind Me of Me” that were strongly affected by some of the stuff I was listening to as I wrote, bands like Sparklehorse, Red House Painters, The Innocence Mission, Julie Doiron, Yo La Tengo, Idaho, The Eels. My kids call it “suicide music,” but I find it very inspiring.

                                      -Dan Chaon from interview in The Believer

Review: Push (Precious) by Sapphire

This book was originally published under the title “Push”, but has been re-released under the title “Precious” so as not to be confused. 

Grade: B-

I am constantly surprised by how many depressing, horrifying, stories are advertised as “uplifting” and “a human triumph”. This particular one was announced as “hope-filled” and “redemptive”, although it does throw in “horrific” and “brutal” which describes the story in a more honest way. 

If I were to write a few word blurb for the cover of this book I think it would look something like this:

“A truly horrifying tale…of a girl who is fucked over by life.”

“Tragic…heartbreaking…proof that life sucks.”

Something along those lines.

“Push” is the novel that the film “Precious” is based upon. I have not seen the film, nor would I have chosen to read this book if it hadn’t been pushed into my hands by my step-mother. 

For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, this is a story of a young black teenager living in Harlem. She has been repeatedly raped by her father since she can remember (there is a particularly graphic portion where her mother jokes about Precious’s father taking her Pampers off in order to rape the small child). She is made pregnant twice by her father, both times she keeps the babies.

Because of her parent’s abuse and neglect, Precious can’t read or write and must go to a special school. The novel follows her advancement through the school and how she fights back against her abusive parents. 

The book is written in vernacular which takes some getting use to but not much. It’s an extremely tragic story of how Precious’ life is so irreparably damaged by her parents. Other girls’ stories are told as well, most just as horrifying. 

This story is not based on any “real” people, although it could be argued that the incest, abuse,  and poverty can be seen all across America. 

However. I find this book to be filled with all the best examples of shock value. INCEST! RAPE! AIDS! GAY BASHING! Yup. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what attracted Hollywood to this novel. 

It was a quick read, one that is difficult to put down due to the above reasons. It’s impossible to look away from a car crash this horrific. This book would be nothing without the horror- and it’s difficult for me to respect it for that reason. 

Some good parts- it’s nice to read a book from the point of view of a new type of narrator. It’s not often you hear the story of an overweight, decidedly unattractive (she speaks heavily on this issue throughout the book) woman who has gone through so much trauma and speaks of it so honestly. She is crass and blunt, and it is refreshing. 

Again, don’t read this book if you’re looking for warm fuzzy feelings and happy endings- you will be very disappointed.

Review: Little Bee by Chris Cleave

About the author: Chris Cleave is the author of three novels, Little Bee, The Other Hand, and Incendiary. He also wrote a column for The Guardian for two years. His website includes comments from the author himself, information on his novels, and a place for readers’ comments. 

Grade: B-

This novel, formerly published under the title The Other Hand, is a perfect example of false advertising. On the cover the New York Times Book Review clearly announces it as a “affecting story of human triumph” while the back cover tells little of what the actual story is about, and instead attempts to hook potential readers with vague promises of magical storytelling:

“Once you have read it, you’ll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don’t tell them what happens. The magic is in how the story unfolds.”

Luckily you have me to tell you what this novel is really about.

This novel is told in a split narrative between a bored English woman and a refugee from Africa. Little Bee, a 16 year old refugee, escapes from Africa on a boat from men who murdered her sister and destroyed her entire village for the sake of oil. Once in England, she is kept in a detention center for two years where she learns English.

The woman, Sarah, is dealing with the suicide of a husband she ceased to love years ago while ruminating on her career, young son, and lover.

What do the two women have in common? Sarah saved Little Bee’s life once in Africa by cutting off her middle finger for some unnamed bad guys. Once Little Bee is mistakenly released from the detention center she finds her way to Sarah’s house (by using her husband’s driver’s license he left on the beach that fateful day).

The novel is a collection of memories and thoughts from both women with very little timely action. Little Bee reconnects with Sarah, and they spend a few nice days together before Little Bee is deported back to Africa.

This story does not have a happy ending, and I would argue is far from a “story of human triumph”.

The writing is decent, though the chapters in which Sarah takes the narrative sound trite and false, when it seems that we are suppose to care about Sarah and probably even respect her. Her character, except for the finger incident, is weak and very naïve, which left me annoyed with her most of the time. Her dialogue also never sounds very natural.

Little Bee’s chapters are what carries the book, largely due to the horrific nature of her experiences and the constant question, will she make it?

The answer, (spoiler alert) is no.

What is so affecting about this story is that it is set in modern times and based in fact. No, there is no Little Bee, but there are many refugees, warfare, and prison-like detention centers all over the world. I suggest reading this book if you’ve already decided on suicide and need just a little push in that direction.

Oldies but Goodies Part 1: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers

About the Author: Dave Eggers is a writer, publisher, and editor. He is the co-founder of the literacy project 826 Valencia and Might Magazine, now defunct. His first book was A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for General Non-Fiction. He has also published multiple other books such as You Shall Know Our Velocity, The Wild Things, and a collection of short stories called How We Are Hungry. He was also a writer for Salon.com and is currently working as a screenwriter. He is also an editor and contributor to multiple other publications. He founded McSweeney’s, an independent publishing house which produces a quarterly journal among other things.

Grade:B

This semi-autobiography covers Eggers’s life, more or less, until his late twenties. He talks about his parents’ early deaths, becoming the guardian of his elementary aged brother, Toph, the dramatic tragedies of his friends, and the production of his magazine, Might Magazine.

This strange autobiography is written in a stream of consciousness-paranoid-rant style which is refreshing at first but becomes tiring frequently throughout the novel. It is interesting when he shows the reader exactly what he was thinking, nonsensical as it may be, and adds a realism to the novel that is seldom seen in other autobiographies. For instance, Eggers’ mind is constantly imagining terrible scenarios in which his younger brother, Toph, is being murdered, whenever he leaves the kid alone or with a babysitter. Its these kind of thoughts that everyone has in their day to days- paranoid concerns we know are ridiculous but can’t help but have anyway.

Unfortunately this type of writing gets old pretty quickly as the reader loses his/her patience and just wants the story to unfold. Eggers also digresses into anecdotes often, which only adds to this problem. He also repeats information and stories.

This novel would have gotten an A from me if it was maybe half its length. With the repetition cut out and the constant stream of consciousness reduced, I wouldn’t have been so frequently skimming past long passages about the hundredth way Eggers has imagined Toph being murdered by his babysitter or the lengthy descriptions of a game of Frisbee.

Eggers also plays with his characters- literally putting his words into their mouths. He writes a long dialogue between himself and Toph in which Toph psychoanalyzes Eggers in a way that is obviously above his age level. Eggers has his character Toph say what he himself is actually feeling about himself and his motives. This is often confusing but also intriguing, as I have never read anything like it before.

He also often breaks the fourth wall by having his characters get mad that their lives are being used for a book, another way in which Eggers portrays his guilt and self-deprecating tendencies.

Criticisms aside, Eggers certainly draws the reader into his erratic head with a very distinct, honest, and often self-deprecating voice. He admits, it seems, to everything. He admits he is excited about using his friend’s suicide attempts as literary fodder, and that he looks at his life as something that must be interesting enough to write about. This tactic makes him seem like the most honest narrator in the history of literature, but also completely full of crap. Which, of course, seems to be his intention. He is both completely egotistical and self-deprecating, an often funny combination.

The most interesting portions of his novel is when he paints his generation (being 20-something in the 90′s)and describes the process of producing Might Magazine.

My advice would be to read about half of this book, and then stop. It’ll have been plenty.