A Long Shadow:

I don't know if reading truly awful books makes me funnier, or it's all the caffeine and anger, but this week's round up promises some real chuckles.  Things are going steady with the page count - I knew that this month I'd not have nearly as much time to read, but I'm planning a major rally for March.  Plus, I got a Kindle.  I'm considering it a force multiplier.

Bossypants, Tina Fey, 277p. I don't generally read 'funny' books, since people trying to be funny on the page usually fail miserably.  I also don't generally read autobiographies, because I don't trust 'em.  However, Ms. Fey made me laugh out loud (LOL!) many times in the midst of Major Personal Drama, which is a pretty ringing endorsement of her wit.  The extra-large font, though, just makes everyone feel old. 

A Discovery of Witches, Deborah Harkness, 580p.  Aka, Harkness's Hot Mess.  So... once again I was suckered in by a couple of blurbs that made references to The Historian and Name of the Rose.  Do Not Believe Their Filthy Lies.  Basically, this giant pile of trash is everything from Harry Potter, Twilight, Jasper Fforde, The Da Vinci Code, Twilight, and Twilight, that you loathe and despise with all your being, in one book.  All of which, mind you, I was prepared to accept if there were a decent historical/textual mystery to wrap the cheese around, but the plot is something like this:
There's a book about alchemy.
Only one person can access it, and her parents died saving her as a child from this terrible fate!
She's a witch/hermaphrodite/historian/messiah/mitochondrial Lilith/Bella/WithUnlimitedPower!
She's in love with a vampire/scientist/Templar/domestic abuser.
Other vampires/witches/daemons want the book.
Time travel!
Wait... wasn't there some cool stuff about a book in the beginning?  Screw it, Vampire Fight!

WEEK EIGHT TOTAL: 6670 PAGES!

Short and Bitter:

This week I've only read one book, but I have some pretty reasonable excuses.  I am still posting, briefly, just to keep you faithful readers in the know.  I know that you wait in anticipation.

Singularity Sky, Charles Stross, 352p.  I started and abandoned this guy at least 5 times since I snagged it from some used bookstore, let it languish on the communal bookshelf at work, rescued it, left it in my bag, in my trunk, and finally committed.  I was reluctant because I'd read Stross's Accelerando and thought the ideas were good, but the characters were weak.  It's a problem.  This one, though, was great.  Good enough to make me pick up the sequel.  

WEEK SEVEN TOTAL: 5813 PAGES!

Big Numbers in a Vacuum:

I am beginning to worry that I have won by default in the early weeks of February.  I realize this is not the most competitive attitude, since Uncontested Victory a mere six weeks into 2012 would, inevitably, crown me King of All Book Geeks and free up lots of time for video games... but we are not amused.  I demand competition! (I have no idea where Kate is, but I suspect she is falsifying a retreat in order to ambush me with artillery fire in the form of The Twilight Saga.)

The Emperor's Children, Claire Messud, 496p.  Remember last week when I said I was afraid this book might be really pretentious, obnoxious, and not live up to the ridiculous amount of hype?  I am so happy to report that my worries were totally unfounded.  Messud's critical darling read like a gem, was as funny as Tom Wolfe, and never ventured into pure meanness, which can be pretty tricky in satire.  I can't recommend it enough; holy crap was it good.

Loose Girl: A Memoir of Promiscuity, Kerry Cohen, 240p.  Totally unexpected find at work - one of those 'therapeutic' books that the students are sometimes given to read.  Burned through in a couple of hours, Cohen's memoir left a strong impression on me mostly because I feel like I've known many girls like her, mostly in college, all in some sort of need, and all unreachable.  I especially liked that it conveys a sense of struggle and psychological truth without getting bogged down in external, clinical details.  Not a cheery read, for the record. 

I really, really want a Kindle.  I think the new ultralight version is the way to go, and would also solve my ongoing problem of living in a town that lacks those places that sell you books from shelves neatly ordered into subjects.  You know, book stores.  I remember them, from the 90s, when God still loved America.  At this point, if Amazon will give me access to more than a few dusty P.D.James castoffs and Belva Plain paperbacks, I'll give them my firstborn.  Sign me up, Kindle-borg! 

WEEK SIX TOTAL: 5461 PAGES!

The pay's not great, but the work is hard:

It was the most of pages, it was the least of substance.  It was a week of triumph, it was a week of mind-numbing woe. 

If the beginning of January's reading escapades (like real adventures, except with more coffee and none of the pesky fun!) left me enthralled with reading and proud of our noble endeavor, February...  February... felt like the deformed calendar bastard it is. 

This week I read 4 books so I'll keep the reviews short and sweet.  Or short and bitter (like espresso / like me!), because not much could save these books from massive mediocrity.

Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann, 375p.  I SAT UP UNTIL 3AM FINISHING IT BASED SOLELY ON THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS... which, turns out, was a Bad Choice.  I'll give you the low-down.  National Book Award Winner Does Magnolia In NYC 1974 But It's Really About 9/11.  I like the first two chapters, even with the Massively Unnecessary Stylistic Whizz-Bangs, but you should probably just go watch Magnolia. 

Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse, 152p.  Nobel-prize winner's most famous novel?  Welcome to the generic new age message machine!  Let's talk about Buddhism without talking about Buddhism!  Go sit by a river and become enlightened!  Let's read allegorical dialogue!  I'm sure it was neat in 1939, but in 2012 it holds the same watered-down message of all its' Alchemist & Millman cousins.  Be present, do your own thing, and buck the system.  If you've listened to a punk rock record, you know the score already.

Oxygen, Carol Cassella, 320p.  Library recommendation.  Grey's Anatomy in book form.  Actually pretty good entertainment - the author writes some pretty great dialogue when the characters aren't advancing the plot and some pretty fantastic bits about two middle-aged adults who are, but aren't, in a relationship. 

The First World War: A Complete History, Martin Gilbert, 391p.  Finishing this book after I got out of work this week was my saving grace.  Perfect, flawless history.  The best recommendation I can make is if you like history, read the damn book.  If you don't like history, you're doing yourself a massive disservice.  I learned things about WW1 that I didn't know (big picture things, no small feat; well-researched details, of which there are legion) AND Gilbert kept me interested in the naval warfare, which usually bores me to tears.  I particularly liked his portrayal of the Balkan and Italian campaigns as well as his use of letters throughout. 

GRAND TOTAL: 4725 PAGES!

(Only 400 of which I am proud to claim this week.)

The Book Geek is strong.  I'm tackling Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children this weekend... wish me luck.  I've heard, alternatively, that it is Funny Like Wolfe or Hugely Pretentious Like Everyone In New York.  Flip a coin...

Rob