Book # 789

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

 I am going to start with a straight-out confession; I found the writing of this book difficult which directly affected my enjoyment of it.  Now, I’m not going to claim I am hugely familiar with 19th century style of  writing, but I love me some Austen and have recently read and enjoyed some Wells and Wilde.  I had heard that Henry James could be a bit more taxing and so I thought I would start with this, one of his shorter novels and one that appealed to the sinister, horror-fan that I am.

The book opens on a Christmas Eve night.  A group of friends are sitting around when one says that he has a manuscript of a now deceased former governess.  And so, from the perspective of our un-named governess, our story begins when she comes to care for two young orphans.  Hired by a remote Uncle whose main stipulation is that he wants no contact whatsoever in regards to the children’s care, our young storyteller meets the younger of the two first.  She is immediately caught up in the child’s beauty and is quick to grow genuine care and affection for young Flora.  Flora’s older brother Miles is away at school, but the first note of not all being right is struck when a letter arrives advising that Miles has been expelled from school.  Distraught at such news, when Miles does arrive home the governess is also charmed by his beauty, enough so to put the letter aside and dismiss it as an error or failing on the part of the school.  All seems to be going along perfectly when our storyteller begins to see a man and a woman in and around the house, both of whom are strangers to her.  She soon learns that she is seeing the ghostly appearances of her predecessor, Miss Jessel and her lover Peter Quint, ghostly because the are both now dead.  From here the situation only worsens for her as she begins to suspect that the children are aware of these visitor and are actively interacting with them.  It seems that the close relationship that Jessel and Quint had with Flora and Miles in life has continued after their death.

This story is genuinely creepy.  The children are unnerving with their angelic appearances being at odds with the knowledge and co-operation with our spectral duo.  And it is their barefaced lies in the face of interrogation, their sweet voices and their sly smiles that really ups the ominous tone.  The appearances of our not-so-dearly departed two also startle but all of this is undone by the very wordy and long-winded contemplation of our narrator.  This introspection and its intensity are there to make the reader begin to doubt that everything is right with our governess and her version of events, but it is just so wordy and long-winded (repetition and italics.)  I am a reader in this day and age and not that of when the book was written, so I can’t comment on the appropriateness of this.  All I can comment on is that it made a short novel seem really long and a chore to finish.

That being said, there were many passages that were beautiful in their description and effective in the imagery they evoked.  It is clear to see why James is heralded as a master.   The following is when the governess lets go of the reserve that is holding her back from directly addressing the matter with the children

“Where is Miles?”

There was something in the small valour of it that quite finished me.  These three words from her were in a flash like the glitter of a drawn blade, the jostle of the cup that my hand for weeks and weeks had held high and full to the brim.  And that now, even before speaking, I felt overflow in a deluge.

Just when my mind would start to wander, a phrase or paragraph like the above would pull me back in and make me appreciate why this book is on the list and just what it was contributing to my ongoing reading education.

At the end of the day, to admire the technical proficiency is good, but I want to enjoy what I read and to learn and grow from it but not feel like it is an assignment to endure.  It is a horror story and it achieved what a horror story should; it was creepy and eerie and frightening as well.  But I am pretty sure that boredom is not on the list of what a great book is supposed to do and yet boredom is the overriding memory I take away from it.  I give it a 2/5 rating.

Book #240

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

American Psycho has become arguably the book that Brett Easton Ellis is most known for; it became famous for being controversial in its graphically violent portrayal of serial killer Patrick Batemen and its comment on the materialistic excess 1980s America.  This theme of excess, corruption and an almost savage detachment of emotion in coping with the depravity that is an inevitable product, is central to Less Than Zero his first book, written when he was only 21 years old.

Clay has come to LA, on Christmas break from college.  In a wide circle of friends, he is one of a small number that has gone away for college, a decision that is more revealing than what a first glance would indicate.  For Clay and his friends are a generation of privileged children, with access to money, sex and drugs and no restrictions or boundaries. It is through Clay that we experience this lifestyle; he is part of this, this is where he grew up, these are his friends and he is used to the endless rounds of parties, drugs, sex.  But just because he is used to it , it doesn’t mean that he is comfortable with it.  The reader is fed these scenarios through a filter of a kind of forced emotional numbness that becomes harder to maintain the more time he spends back in LA.  The depravity becomes increased as his friends and acquaintances push to experience things that will dent their apathy.  More drugs, a snuff film, an under-age sex slave, the fascination with a dead body in an alley where the first instinct is to tell your friends so they can come and stare rather than call the police.

This novel is insidious by nature.  The minimalist, indifferent tone lulled me into reading in an disassociated manner.  There were no out loud gasps or truly horrified moments for me; it wasn’t until a few moments after reading a certain passage that I had to pull myself up and realise that yes, that was a snuff film that they were playing at a party and yes, it seemed to be being enjoyed by most there.  Clay’s voice and by extension Ellis’ writing conveys exactly what is intended, and it is horrible and magnificent all at the same time.  Clay reads as one note; detached.  But as you read on you realise there is more to our young narrator.  He cannot tell his younger sisters apart yet there is a twinge of something when at 13 and 15 they speak of sexual ideas and experiences.  At a family vacation with his grandparents, he appears to be the only one concerned about his grandmothers illness.  His unease at not being able to locate his best friend and when he does, a not-so-obvious sadness at what has become of him.  He is part of the story, but he also represents the audience for this story too.  It is a note of morality, albeit very small, in a place where the moral compass has well and truly been broken.

At the time of its release, this novel shocked and disturbed.  It is no less disturbing now, but the shock value has been watered down a little in a society that has access to anything and everything at their fingertips. What is interesting is that it still feels relevant over 30 years later, where a reality star can be made out of somebody who has nothing else to offer other than a glimpse into their glamorous and excessive lifestyles.

I always feel a bit funny saying that I enjoyed something that is obviously quite (for want of a better word) icky in nature.  But the skill in the setting of tone and the subtle ways in which Clay is both participant and observer is to be admired.  This is a strong warning to those who do not like their fiction to be served with a side of debauchery and graphic displays of such – avoid at all costs.  My above examples are there as warnings as well.  While not as descriptive as American Psycho, it is still disturbing in nature and content.

There is a follow up novel set 25 years after the events in the book called Imperial Bedrooms of which I am yet to read but am looking forward to.  As for Less Than Zero, a strong 3.5/5 rating.

Book #196

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

I feel I must give some kind of disclaimer before I plow into this review; I absolutely adored this book.  I find myself a little in love with Owen Meany and he has shot straight up into one of my favourite characters of all time.  Not quite surpassing Miss Eliza Bennett but definitely on an equal footing with her. But even beyond my Owen infatuation, the story itself has stayed with me and I keep thinking about it, thinking about Owen and thinking about Irving himself.  So, dear readers, prepare yourself for much gushing, lots of praise and an emotional, totally biased review.

I’m going to just gank the synopsis straight from Goodreads, as there is a lot going on here and I don’t think I could give a summary as succinct or spoiler-free:

John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany is the inspiring modern classic that introduced two of the author’s most unforgettable characters, boys bonded forever in childhood: the stunted Owen Meany, whose life is touched by God, and the orphaned Johnny Wheelwright, whose life is touched by Owen. From the accident that links them to the mystery that follows them–and the martyrdom that parts them–the events of their lives form a tapestry of fate and faith in a novel that is Irving at his irresistible best.

This is story of a friendship between Johnny Wheelwright and Owen Meany.  Our narrator is Johnny; his present time is the late 1980s living in Canada after seemingly turning his back on his native USA.  He flicks back and forth between his present and through his childhood to early adulthood where he is an observer and commentator to what is truly the story of Owen Meany.  Stunted in stature but enormous in character, Owen is Johnny’s childhood friend who becomes more than this title usually means; he is his best friend, his constant companion, co-conspirator, brother.

Predominantly, the question being raised in A Prayer for Owen Meany is one of faith.  Not only spiritual faith, but a faith in yourself, faith in what you know to be true that keeps you strong even in the face of disbelief and the overwhelming indicators to the contrary.  Early on we learn that Owen believes himself to be an instrument of God and that he knows when and how he is going to die.  And this is the blueprint for the rest of his life.  But how can this be?  Certainly those around him that know him best, Johnny and his stepfather Dan refuse to believe it.  But the disbelieving child-Johnny becomes the faithful, God-fearing adult-John and it is this set path between the two as laid out by Owen that is an amazing journey of faith by Owen and discovery and growth by John. With this confidence in knowing what fate has in store for him, Owen also has confidence in himself.  He is intelligent, he is charismatic, with people gravitating towards him.  In Owen, Irving has created a character whose personality outshines whatever shortcomings he has physically, including his “wrecked voice”.

There are thoughts here too on war and American politics.  If I had one complaint, its that this felt like Irving’s grandstand.  There are very personal opinions here that are attributed to the adult John but felt like our authors.  And they are quite specific to the time and climate of USA – in the 1960s it is their involvement in the Vietnamese war and in the 1980s it is their dubious political system.

Beyond the excellent character development and fully developed themes, the story itself is full, complex and entertaining.  There is a degree of suspended disbelief that the reader needs to take on, so be aware if this is something you might not be able to do.

I’ve recently learned of the term book hangover and the ending of this book affected me like no other this year.  True, this is not my first 5 star of the year, but it does make me want to go back and downgrade the others.  As I stated in my opening, I love this book.  I want to recommend it, but only if you are going to love it too.  Not merely like it and definitely not hate it.  I have become quite irrational about it.  It goes without saying, but 5/5 rating from me.

Book #173

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

Twin sisters Dora and Nora Chance have lived an exciting life. The illegitimate and unwanted daughters of famous thespian Melchior Hazard, they followed in their performing father’s footsteps and became celebrated “song and dance” girls in their own right.  As their father’s 100th birthday approaches, along with their own 75th birthday, Dora narrates the story of their life.  This includes the story of their father and his twin brother, their various offspring and the madcap lifestyle that comes with living in infamy,with talent and little to reign in the compulsiveness and dysfunction that comes with both.

Angela Carter has long been on my radar for the fantastical elements her stories seem to contain.  She appears to fearlessly tackle darker story lines and/or thread them with an ominously fanciful tone.  And like her contemporaries Joyce Carol Oates and Margaret Atwood, she has written a lot.  I stand in awe of these ladies as they appear to eat, breathe and sleep writing (Carter sadly passed away in 1992, this being her last novel).  All to my benefit thankfully.  As for Carter, this is my first and while not disappointed it was not quite what I expected either.

This is a flashy, interesting read.  The characters are larger than life as are a lot of the situations that arise. There is an enormous cast of characters, all related in some way or another to the Hazard family, be it through birth or marriage. Perhaps in keeping with our 75 year old narrator, the story seems to dither a bit, jumping here and there and there is a ludicrous feel; I kept thinking that some of the situations seemed so absurd that the old dear was maybe hamming it up.  This is in part to the almost conversational tone of the book, as if Dora is sitting there chatting away with a cuppa in one hand and a biscuit in the other.  In hindsight, it is more in keeping with a theatrical performance, the novel as a whole being some kind of homage to theatre in particular pantomime.

I was not quite savy enough to pick up on the Shakespearian nods either, never having studied the Bard in any great capacity.  There are five acts and direct references to his plays (of which I was oblivious).  Learning of this layer added some depth to a novel that comes off as a bit frothy, particularly as the end comes together to create a neat tie off to a bit of a jumbled mess of the middle.  The big birthday celebration allows for some more grandiose developments such as people back from the dead, abandoned babies requiring carers and an icky geriatric chandelier-moving romp which would have been a tad sweet if there wasn’t a familial connection in there *blergh*.

Before tackling some more of Carter’s work, I am going to do more research into the author herself and what she hoped to bring to her writing as there seems to be a lot thematically that passed over my head.  Wise Children seems to touch on a number of things around family, particularly legitimacy a sense of belonging even if that comes not from a direct blood line.  In finding that this was written after Carter was diagnosed with what proved to be terminal cancer, there is also an emphasis on fun and happiness, a kind of legacy she wished to leave to her husband and son.  All of this I could see after reading it, but while in the middle of it, I couldn’t see past the frivolity and seedy silliness of this family.

So, an interesting introduction to a highly lauded writer.  I was left a little cold by the book itself, but after a bit of applied thought I realise it offered me more than just a few hours of easy reading entertainment.  A solid 3 out of 5 and an expectation of a more enjoyable Carter read in the future.

Book #37

Reviewer: Inspirationalreads

After his wife and two young sons die in a air plane crash, David Zimmer descends into a crippling grief.  Suicidal and using alcohol as a way to numb his pain, one night he catches a silent movie and it makes him laugh, something he thought he was incapable of doing.  With his interest piqued, Zimmer, who is also a teacher and a professor, researches the star of the film Hector Mann.  He discovers that in 1929, Mann disappeared and was never heard from again.   To add to the mystery, Mann only made less than a dozen movies, all of which also disappeared and then years later were slowly given one by one to various film institutes for posterity.  Zimmer then goes on to write a biography about the actor and his work.  Forward to 18 months after publication and Zimmer receives a letter advising him that Mann is still alive and wishes to meet him.

The mystery of Herman Mann is an interesting one and kept me wanting to read more to find out what happened to our silent film star.  And Auster did not fail to meet expectations, keeping the twists and turns unpredictable.  In Zimmer, he created a character who from the start elicits sympathy and as a result places the reader in a empathetic role which extends beyond the tragedy of his loss.  We continue on beyond his grief into firstly the intrigue of  the vanishing Mann and then the need to know what happened. There are a few moments where the need to suspend your disbelief is pushed to their limits.  These instances are where I felt you could see the strings so to speak, parts that didn’t feel like a natural occurrence but were there just to move the story along.

However, there is a question in here that is more than what happened to Mann.  The theme of the book is around art – Why do you create?  Who do you create for?  When we learn of what did eventuate with Mann, we are told that he is punishing himself, that he has to make movies but he stops his creations being viewed by anyone to prevent them becoming more real.  Can an idea become more tangible, take on meaning only through others experiencing it?  Is the appreciation of an audience the ultimate goal of any artist? It is an intriguing thought and one that Auster didn’t really approach in a subtle manner; the forced nature I wrote of above was really evident for me in the second half of the novel where this theme of art and its audience is raised.  I’m appreciative because I’m not fully up with the play thematically with a lot of the novels I read, especially ones from the 1001 list, but this one was clearly obvious.  I’m not saying heavy handed, but… well, yes I am actually.  Heavy handed.

I enjoyed the actual story in this book and in putting in more thought into it for this review, the theme was an interesting one to mull over .  I particularly relished the way Auster was able to render a movie from a moving picture into word form; he is obviously a fan of this art form and the technical aspects of it.  And yet for all this, if I didn’t have to write this review I probably wouldn’t remember what it was about a few months down the track.  This is probably more revealing of my ageing brain than anything else, but for want of a better clichè, I am going to have to damn it with faint praise.  It was ok but not great and certainly not memorable.  So a miserly 2.5 out of 5 from me.