Atrocities Archived:

Big news in the GT world this week - I have confirmed visually and verbally that Kate (aka, my esteemed opponent) is still alive and reading; I was beginning to wonder.  She did make some vague threats about her page count, but I couldn't hear her all that well because she was running out the door carrying something that looked suspiciously like a paddle and using words like "Gnarly Hole", "Class 4", and "Kayak".  I really have no idea what she's doing, but apparently there are rivers involved. 

I also cleared the 10,000 page mark.  No autographs, please, but I am available for speaking engagements.

Current emotional state vector: Collapsed, but moving slowly toward Nova.

The Books:

The Reader, Bernard Schlink, 218p.  Literally less than a dollar at McKay's, took about an hour to finish.  One of those few novels that can be terse and terrific; can't wait to cook a fierce dinner and watch the movie with a friend. 

World's Fair, E.L.Doctorow, 288p.  So I think I'm reaching my limit with 'coming of age' stories - I've read too many phenomenal ones and too many craptastic ones to expect anything new (Read Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys now, as if your life depends on it!), so I had to treat Doctorow's take as a series of vignettes in order to enjoy the book... but it was as great as the blurbs claim.  My biggest complaint is that I'm sick of the obligatory New York Novel: other cities do exist, and New York isn't all that interesting as a literary device.  Emperor's Children did it well, most others don't pull it off.

The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand, 704p.  Disclaimer: I probably should write about how I really despised every person I met who touted Rand as this philosophical/political genius, how Objectivism makes me want to head-butt kittens, how her nonfiction writing is both arrogant and immature... but it's simpler to say that Roark appeals to how I've always ached for a singular point of focus despite his total lack of compassion (which, sadly, is something that's a teeny bit important to me) and I really enjoyed the plot.  I will say that the rape scene is unconscionable, period.  I'd like to have seen sexual assault victims get free neck-punches on Ms. Rand, for life.

Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins, 400p.  Holy crap, fantastic. 

The Jennifer Morgue, 397p.  Witty little break from the last two weeks' more serious novels.  Lots of fun and I ought to have read the prequel first.  I'm impressed with Mr. Stross' ability to genre-jump like a methed-up kangaroo, and I'm really looking forward to plunging back into the sequel to Singularity Sky, Iron Sunrise.  Another random find from McKay's in Chattanooga, my home away from home.

WEEK 12 TOTAL: 10,165 PAGES

 

Memories Worse Than Bullets:

Due to Unexpected Major Life Events, you'll notice three differences in this week's entry:

1.  Last week's entry is mysteriously absent and will remain so.  Much like my long-term relationship.

2.  The book reviews are going to be abrupt and lacking detail.  Much like the end of the aforementioned long-term relationship.

3.  You're going to get a peek into my personal life as I detail my near-frenzy level of activity over the past three weeks and justify my merely mortal page count.  I'd really hoped to break 10,000 pages by now, but shit happens.

So, in no particular order, a list of things that have taken priority over reading since February 16th: packing half my house into a storage unit and my Jeep, moved my entire life from Western North Carolina to Eastern Tennessee, bought a Kindle, run many miles, applied to strange and interesting jobs in exotic locales, re-certified my first responder qualifications, run many miles, listened to Adele, decided that was a bad idea, listened to Lana Del Rey which was a Good Idea, let my dog Harper sleep in the bed for once, driven All Over the Entire Southeast, drove to Charleston in particular, laughed until I hurt, got sick, got over it, lifted several heavy things in repetition, spent time with my family, gotten a migraine, signed up for a race, replaced my luggage, talked to long-lost friends, watched a shocking amount of Mad Men and Portlandia, listened to Wild Flag until I memorized the album, had an existential crisis in Athens, Georgia.  Oh, and tweeted some.

Since I'm working this whole 'post-breakup humor' thing to the bone, here are my favorite one-liners from the past three weeks:

1. "Clearly this means you should be a priest, since you don't want kids and you're crap at relationships."

2. "Does it count as vacation if I can't go home afterward?"

Ahem.  The books:

A Long Shadow, Charles Todd, 368p.  Consistent, interesting, excellent.  Strangely cathartic.
Good People, Marcus Sakey, 336p.  I don't understand 'crime' novels.  It's like a mystery except you already know what's gone down. 
The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins, 384p.  Holy crap, I'm hooked.  Got my Ender's Game fix all lined up, thank you.
Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins, 400p.  Is it too soon to get a movie ticket?  Also: unfair to cast Jennifer Lawrence in the lead - she is all kinds of appealing. 

WEEK TEN TOTAL: 8158 PAGES!

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

The Power of One (Dan Simmons novel!)

THIS WEEK I logged 960 pages by reading one novel, and even though I may finish another book this weekend, I'm calling it a day.  That book, that massive, shelf-busting behemoth of bookish beauty, was Dan Simmons' The Terror. 

It's my favorite of the year so far.  Also my favorite of Simmons'.  Possibly the quickest 960 pages I've ever read. 

It was pants-soiling good.  Not just in the terrifying way, either.  Slap your mother good.  Smash a guitar good.  Declare 2012 the Year of Captain Crozier and His Terrifying Arctic Monster good.  Quit your job and become an Inuit good. 

You think I'm overstating my case, but I'm not.  Behind the glowing blurbs, the enthusiastic reviews, and the clever premise lurked a novel that literally made me squeal (to mine and my co-worker's massive embarrassment). 

If I were Dan Simmons, I'd have sent the manuscript off to the publisher, made myself a stiff drink, and spent the rest of my career introducing myself as "Dan Simmons, author of The Terror.  It's that good."

The only downside about finally reading it is that I keep staring at the next contenders on my bookshelf and shaking my head in disappointment.  And they know it, too, all those books with their 'awards' and 'critical accolades' vying for attention.  Let's face it, Cutting For Stone and Let The Great World Spin, you're going to try too hard to make me feel something deep and emotional.  It won't work.  You're going to fail.  My heart is trapped at Terror Camp with Captain Crozier and Lady Silence, and I want the Bad Thing on the Ice to eat your gooey entrails. 

WEEK FOUR TOTAL: 3487!

READER'S NOTE: In order to make my (secret) goal of 40,000 pages by December 31st, I need to average 769.23 pages per week.  January has me riding at 871.75, over 100 pages per week above the goal.  That's right, I've got statistics on my side... Kate will crumble!

Rob.