Brain on Fire

Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness by Susannah Cahalan

What a frightening tale. Brain on Fire is more than a memoir of Susanna Cahalan’s self-described “month of madness.” This book is, at various times, a straightforward autobiography, a research paper, a sociological study, and a treatise on the state of quality medical care. And it all meshes well.

Susannah Cahalan was twenty-four years old and a reporter at The New York Post when she began suffering from an illness that presented itself with symptoms similar to schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and other well-known, but misunderstood, mental illnesses. It’s no spoiler to say that Ms. Cahalan recovered from the illness—she did write the book—but Brain on Fire is more about the how than it is the what.

The most impressive thing is how the author was able to treat her own case like a reporter. She researched the subject matter; watched hospital tapes of her own episodes and treatments; interviewed her doctors, friends, family, and coworkers; and put it all together in a way that make me laugh, cry, and want to read more about it all. It would be very easy for a work like this to swing to one extreme—either too much or too little—of the emotion scale. Instead, it was balanced and nuanced.

The second-most impressive thing was Ms. Cahalan’s sentence structure. I found myself rereading sentences and marveling at her use of words and punctuation. She varied the structure at different parts of the book. Sick Susannah, “crazy” Susannah, recovering Susannah, and reflective Susannah were all presented differently. They existed in the same body, but they are not the same person, and the author, whether intentionally or not, managed to voice them differently. Very effective.

This was just about as perfect a book as it could be to have been written by the subject at such a short period of time after the occurrence of the tale. There was a point about two-thirds through it where I thought the recovery period would be dragged out and morph into a sappy “everybody was so great and I have the greatest family ever and I could have never made it without them” love-fest. It didn’t. Instead, the author addressed her recovery in a satisfactory manner (she still has to live with these people and deal with them every day) and then went in a direction I did not expect. The end of the book was a selfless and self-aware piece on the state of mental illness, where we stand in terms of research & knowledge, and a very real and relatable reflection on the whys. I loved it. Chapter 47 through 49, in particular, represent some of the best writing I’ve read in 2012. Great book. I highly recommend it.



A+

The Silver Linings Playbook

The Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick

I was very disappointed by this book. Midway through it, I thought it was going to end up as the best work of fiction I’d read in the past few years. By the end…nope. There was so much potential, so much depth, so much good. Then it all just fizzles away.

The Silver Linings Playbook is the story of Pat Peoples, a man in his early thirties who is being discharged from a neural health facility after an indeterminate—to him, at least—length of time. Pat’s mother picks him up from the facility in Baltimore and returns him to the home in South Jersey in which he grew up. At home, Pat dedicates himself to restoring his mind and body so that he can reunite with Nikki, his wife, and end what he calls “apart time.”

Pat’s impaired brain sees life as a movie. As he believes that all good movies have happy endings, he believes that “apart time” is just the struggle through which he must fight in order to achieve his movie’s happy ending. Negativity in his life is something he views as a screenwriter tricking the audience into thinking the movie will have a bad ending. The novel follows this type of storytelling—Pat’s narration is like that of a movie, complete with a Rocky-style training montage.

As a first-person narrative told in the present tense, the book gives us Pat’s thoughts and feelings as he thinks and feels them. He is endearing, but witnessing his thought process is heartbreaking. At the same time, being in the family home with Pat’s mother and father lets us know exactly why the man is the way that he is. That Peoples household was a toxic environment, one that gives the reader a sense that Pat, as the elder of the two Peoples children, didn’t have much of a chance to grow up healthy and stable. He grew up fighting an uphill battle that he lost.

He doesn’t realize this, of course, but it is evident to the reader, who feels compelled to want to root for him. Even when he displays racist and sexist tendencies, one can relate it all back to family structure in which he was raised. The Silver Linings Playbook shines in this area. The realism of environment and emotion in the Peoples’ South Jersey die-hard Eagles fan home is very real. I know these people.

The moments shared between Pat and his mother run readers through a gamut of emotions. They were beautifully written and, again, feel very real. They are, in my opinion, the very best parts of the book, which is a bad thing. The plot of this novel is such that Pat’s friendship with Tiffany is the most important relationship of the book. Unfortunately, the most intimate moments of the book are those moments he shares with his mother. Pat’s intimate moments with Tiffany, the moments that build their relationship and actually contribute to his development as a person, all take place during his “montage”. I found that to be a bad choice for storytelling. The “montage” threw off the pace of the story. Instead of seeing and thinking and feeling everything day-by-day with Pat, we jump forward a month or so with tiny glimpses of plot. The Silver Linings Playbook is not a plot-driven tale, yet the author chose to let plot drive the portion of the novel in which the protagonist’s character goes through its most critical developmental period. I don’t understand that choice.

Due to that “montage”, readers miss the bonds formed by Pat and Tiffany, and the end result is that we aren’t given a reason to buy into their relationship. I didn’t care about it. Tiffany was supposed to be a special character (the text tells us so), a real best friend, but she was written as just another person.

The first-person narrative hurts here as well. Pat and Tiffany are both screwed up (their words), and they want to help each other. That makes the story of Pat’s development as much Tiffany’s story as it is his. They must grow and develop together, yet we don’t see any of Tiffany’s growth. She’s just there. She is a plot device, not a character. The failure to flesh Tiffany out was this novel’s greatest downfall (fortunately, this error was fixed for the movie).

Later on, there are several rather long chapters that are just letters. The letters throw off the novel’s pace too. They also, as letters are, told in past tense and make up much of the last fifth of the novel. Again, we have critical details that are given to the reader in an expository manner. Very disappointing.

On another level, I was disappointed by the character of Danny, whom Pat often describes as his “black friend”. It doesn’t bother me so much that Danny’s role throughout the first two-thirds of the novel was to teach Pat things like “mad cheddar” and “drop knowledge” and “Bros B4 Hos”. What bothered me was that the plot demanded Danny be Black so that Pat could have an incident in North Philly. Had I been reading a hard copy, I would have thrown the book against the wall at that point. It was a cheap and insulting plot device.

Overall, The Silver Linings Playbook was a good novel that could have (should have?) been great. I am disappointed, but glad that I read it.

C+

Death and the Lit Chick

Death and the Lit Chick by G.M. Malliet

I didn’t have high expectations going into this book. I’d read the first St. Just mystery and it was OK, so I gave this one a try. Better story. Better characterizations. All around, more fun. And I was very wrong about who the killer was. Not a great book, but very enjoyable.

The only negative is the author’s apparent obesophobia.

B

The Best of Rivals

Best of Rivals: Joe Montana, Steve Young, and the Inside Story behind the NFL’s Greatest Quarterback Controversy by Adam Lazarus

I had two major issues with this book. First, the title was misleading. It is a pretty straightforward title, one that leads a reader to believe he/she knows exactly what is in store. Unfortunately, that was not the case. A better description—and title—would be a chronological examination of the San Francisco 49ers’ quarterbacking legacy. This book was not what it was marketed to be. In this regard, the book wasn’t bad; it just wasn’t what I thought I was buying. I feel misled. Had it been titled accurately, I would not have purchased it.

The other, more serious, issue is that things presented in the book as facts were incorrect. I don’t think examples are necessary here, but there were many blatant errors that disrupted my reading experience. When I read a work of nonfiction and know that some things are wrong, I begin to doubt the truthfulness of the presented items I did not already know. Some of the things are minor, yes, but the shadow of doubt they cast is large. This is the primary reason for the low rating I gave the book. Still, it is a nostalgic read for anyone who fondly remembers the DeBartolo-era 49ers.

C-

The Twelve

The Twelve by Justin Cronin

When I first sat down to write this review, I didn’t quite know how to begin. Then I realized I was wrong; I know what to say because the author didn’t. It starts at the very beginning, where the prologue was written in the style of Genesis, as if it is the Word of God. It was just…poor. Bad idea; bad execution.

That is the overall theme as I read The Twelve. This book seems like the result of one or more of the following: an author who didn’t quite know what he wanted to do, an author who didn’t have a plan of how to get it done, and/or an author who didn’t have enough time to do exactly what he wanted. Yes, The Twelve reads like a novel done on deadline. The result is an unsatisfying story and bad writing (excruciating miraculousness?). The Twelve is a story of contrived coincidences, not-so-mysterious mysteries, and too many cases of knowing Person A will turn out to be Person B’s relative.

I didn’t think The Passage was a good book, but I did find it interesting. The premise and the overall plot were fine; it was in the details, the little things, that the book failed for me. The Twelve, on the other hand, was bad and boring. Going in, I was interested to learn what would happen. By the time I read 15% into the novel, I didn’t care anymore. That interest never came back. This is a novel about human resistance in a post-vampire apocalypse North America, yet there was very little tension. There was never a sense of real danger.

Wait, I take that back. There were a couple of times when you may have thought Amy might be in some serious danger until you realize that the opening sentence of The Passage is, “Before she became the Girl from Nowhere—the One Who Walked In, the First and Last and Only, who lived a thousand years—she was just a little girl in Iowa, named Amy.” At the time of The Twelve, Amy is barely a hundred, so there’s no suspense when it comes to whether or not she lives or dies. Yet, the author chose to treat the concept of Amy surviving as a major question.

This epitomizes another issue of The Twelve. It was written as if the expected readers either did not read or do not remember The Passage. There are quite a few characters, such as Lila and Vorhees, and Cruk, whose lives and backgrounds are explored in The Twelve whom I remember from The Passage. Their presence in the first novel eliminates some of the tension that would have otherwise been present while reading the backstories. By deduction, one must conclude that the backstories’ purpose is to provide insight into the overall storyline. I could get with that, however…

The backstories have three other major problems. First, they all deal with characters and/or plot points that are truthfully inconsequential. They aren’t treated that way in the novel, but they really are inconsequential. They seem larger in importance because of the disjointed and scrambled manner in which the novel is constructed. Characters like Lila and Grey and Guilder are unimportant. They play major roles in the plot, but the overall plot of this novel is dumb. It adds nothing to the individual story. It adds nothing to the trilogy as a whole. When considered in conjunction with the overall plot, these backstories make absolutely no sense.

Second, they often contradict what we read in The Passage in such a way that I need resolution. Otherwise, I’m left to believe the author was forgetful, careless, or clueless. For instance: I know that First Colony was populated with children who were transported by train from Philadelphia because the author wrote it in the first novel. This time, however, I read that a First Colony resident’s ancestor bypassed Philadelphia. If this is true, how did this resident’s ancestors end up in First Colony. There was no need for this contradiction, but it’s there and, therefore, should be explained. It is not. Like I wrote earlier, there seemed to be no plan. I’m not certain the author fully thought through his novel. Also, “all eyes” was a saying in First Colony. The first time it is uttered in this novel, it is spoken by a member of the Expeditionary who was never in First Colony. That’s sloppy writing.

Third, later text within the novel rendered them all unnecessary. The entire first 40% of the novel is told to us later on in several sentences. A writer should include one or the other; we shouldn’t have to read all the details early and then a synopsis later. We don’t need to read Book III, “The Field” because we learn everything we need to know about Dee Vorhees and her two daughters in conversation later. We don’t need to read all about Lila Kyle’s eccentricities—we learn all about them later. It’s too much, and it takes readers out of the novel (although, to be fair, I was never quite in The Twelve).

The Twelve did make me laugh, though. Unfortunately, I was laughing at the author instead of with him. These were due to instances where he addressed issues that I and others had with The Passage. One example is when he brought up the question of why death row inmates were chosen as the guinea pigs for something that would make them long-living super humans. In this, as in all the other cases, he neither answered nor resolved the issues.

Why was this novel called The Twelve? This book was about the Twelve as much as the Rocky movies were about Paulie. They are, like many things the author treated as important, largely inconsequential to the story. They should have been, but they were not. With the exception of two, Martinez and Carter, they were treated like a black box, a specter. They had no presence. They had no voice. And throughout the novel, the Twelve only did two things. The first was a smart decision by the author; the second was probably the dumbest thing about book.

SPOILER ALERT













First, the Twelve made a seemingly collective decision to shed some of their Many. Too many vampires would leave too few humans from when they could feed. Killing off some of the Many would allow the food supply to replenish. That was a very smart inclusion by the author.

The final act of the Twelve led to the novel’s climax. For some unexplained reason, they left their home regions to come live together in the structure Guilder built to house them. In The Passage we were told the Twelve went to their respective homes because they were comfortable there. In The Twelve, they all decide to move to Iowa because? If they were comfortable together, they would have already been together. They certainly wouldn’t need protection, especially not as provided by a relatively powerless individual like Guilder. And…and…and…they know what happened to Babcock. Why would create a situation in which they were all together in one place? Why would they all come together in a place that housed approximately 70,000 humans? It just makes them easier to kill. And since the plot was driving to their destruction, it was an easy way for the author to accomplish the feat. It was a cheap copout and more evidence that there was no plan. And when the Twelve did die, they did so without name and without specificity.















END SPOILER

In my review of The Passage I wrote the following:

Of everything that frustrated me in this novel, the structure is the most bothersome. The author chose to write this book in a manner such that the reader always knows the outcome prior to reading about the actual events. This is not to condemn the use of flashbacks; that’s not what happened here. No, a large number of the scenes within The Passage begin with an assessment of the characters’ situations (who’s alive, who’s dead, etc.) and then follows with how it all came to be. Scene by scene by scene of this. It’s a bit like watching Memento except with forward progression. Even the introductory sentences about the two major characters, Amy Bellafonte and Peter Jaxon, tell the reader that both will survive. The end result is the undermining of most of the tension that should exist in the story.

It still applies. The Twelve exhibits a strong lack of preparation and setup. How else to describe a book that features a key scene in which an individual known to have been exposed to the vampire virus is housed in a governmental facility from which he is able to escape by simply walking out of the door?

I’m not sure there were any true character arcs. There was no maturing and very little progressing, and most of that took place off the page. Much of the characterization felt incomplete. Text describing Kittridge’s experiences, for instance, in war reminded me of The Becoming and The Remaining. That’s not a good thing. Yes, Amy had a quasi-arc. But so much of it takes place, again, off the page. Plus, the Amy of The Twelve is a vastly different Amy than the one from The Passage. This Amy is a little too ridiculous to take seriously. And the furthering of this pseudo-love triangle between her, Alicia, and Peter is comically bad.

In that aforementioned review, I also wrote, “The world-building was very good. The structure of First Colony, the politics, science, gender roles, and geography of the place were all well-thought out and very well conveyed.” That is not the case in this novel. The Twelve is a sociological nightmare. The author strikes me as one of those people who thinks he’s a champion in the fight against racism and sexism while being an actual racist and sexist. Racism exhibit A is Jamal, who is a stereotypical loud Black man who causes trouble and doesn’t get along with anybody. Racism exhibit B is Juan Sweeting, aka Ceps, whose “manners aren’t the best and his lips move when he reads, but he pretty much behaves himself as long s you don’t forget to feed him.”

He goes out of his way to identify individuals, usually woman, before describing them in such a way as to degrade them by feeding into disparaging stereotypes. Here are two examples:

The nurse, a young Hispanic woman, was penciling in a crossword puzzle.

“My father needs his diaper changed.”

She didn’t look up. “They all need their diaper changed.” When Guilder didn’t move, her eyes darted upward from the page. They were very dark, and heavily lined. “I’ll tell someone.”

“Please do.”

At the door he stopped. The nurse had already resumed working on her puzzle.





She was dark-skinned and slim, with subtly Asiatic eyes, and young enough to be his daughter, though this was not the attraction—if anything, he would have preferred that she were older. He had originally found her through a service, but after a probationary period he had been permitted to call her directly. The first time, he had been as nervous as a college boy. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman, and he’d found himself worrying that he wouldn’t measure up—in hindsight, a preposterous concern. But the girl had quicly put him at ease, taking command of the occasion.

Far worse was the author’s description of Lore, who is to be assumed Latina because of her use of Spanish phrasing. “Her body was lean an dstrong, her hair, bleached by the sun, cut short. Attractive but in an unconventional, slightly masculine way, radiating a frank, even carnivorous sensuality.” Carnivorous sensuality? Yeah, he hit the stereotype jackpot in this book.

This novel calls to mind a guy who never had success with girls when he was younger and now harbors a deep-rooted hatred of women. The one bit of subtlety in The Twelve is the way the author excuses deviant abusive behavior by men (emphasis mine): “He’d been arrested twice, the first time for exposure, which he’d pled down to a misdemeanor, the second for aggravated sexual assault. Basically, he’d touched the kid—not exactly a hanging offense, but nothing nice, either.”

There are a high number of inappropriate relationships. The book is littered with men like “Last Stand in Denver” who are, at best, creepy. There’s one scene in which a teenage girls speaking to a grown man says, “Did I mention I was a virgin?” and ends with, “It was not a request that could be refused; nor did he want to.” Give me a break. These men are portrayed as heroic figures, yet many of them prey on girls. These are bad men. I’d hurt them before I let them get involved with my daughter or sister. Every interaction between Peter and Amy is inappropriate. Kittridge and April are disgusting. And you can see them all coming because the foreshadowing in this novel lacks subtlety and mystery.

From The Passage, we know that Anthony Carter is mentally disabled. We know he can barely read. And we know he was put on death row for trying to save a White woman who was trying, successfully, to commit suicide. In The Twelve, we discover that his Many are called “dopeys” because they are mentally disabled vampires. Seriously. We also discover that Carter has essentially devoted his undead life to making her realize how much he loves her. He also utters “Yes’m.”

Lila Kyle is a collection of just about every common stereotype about women. She’s pregnant and goes crazy, yet she can control men. Her maternal instinct rages out of control. She has no grasp on reality. She is, in the plot of this story, a bad guy. From my perspective, however, there is no practical difference between Lila in The Twelve and Brad Wolgast in The Passage. Wolgast is a hero, though. Right.

The author even found time to weigh in on the state of collegiate athletics. “One of those kinds of schools, Guilder thought—a sports franchise masquerading as a college where criminals drifted through phony courses and filled the coffers of the alumni fund by pounding their opposite numbers to pieces on autumn afternoons.” Yes, I know this is a character’s thoughts. Again, this has nothing to do with the plot or, because the audience for this book is not expected to coincide with those who care about college sports issues, establishing the character’s personality and mindset. It is stereotype-filled social commentary by the author.

Yet, it is clear that the author is no dummy. In describing the Homeland, he provides great commentary on slave societies and how they become self-perpetuating. He even included a traces of a house slave vs. field slave differential. Still, he messes it up with details. He planted seeds for a great storyline for Alicia and the torture she faces. Instead of exploring it, he shies away from it. It’s so frustrating.

The Twelve is a frustrating mess. It’s boring. It’s really, really bad. It is so bad that, at this point, I believe I will be skipping the final book of this trilogy.

D-

No Man's Land

Batman: No Man's Land by Greg Rucka

No Man’s Land is the first novelization I’ve ever read of a comic or film. I didn’t expect something good. In that regard, I was very pleased by the book. I think this would be a great read for anyone who is a fan of Batman. There was a lot to like.

The only negative for me was the use of Oracle’s journal entries. All the entries were addressed to Commissioner Gordon; they were written as if Oracle was conversing with him. It made for awkward reading. The “you did this, and then you did that…” style of writing doesn’t work for me. Had they actually been standard journal entries written to no one in particular, I would have rated the book significantly higher.

C

My Soul to Keep

My Soul to Keep by Tananarive Due

My Soul to Keep is quite possibly the most horrifying story I’ve ever read. I could not live Jessica Jacobs-Wolde’s life. Imagine someone being so obsessed with being around you that he/she cannot allow you a moment of solitude. Imagine knowing that person is immortal, and has committed him/herself to making you immortal too, so that he/she can have you forever. But that’s just the primary plot. This book is so much more.

Much of the plot is driven by a strong emotion. Many people call that emotion love, but it isn’t really love. No, it is a cross between obsession, selfishness, fear, and hubris. That’s not love, but we don’t seem to have another word that accurately expresses this emotion. Dawit’s life is consumed by this emotion. He is immortal, and instead of living, as the other immortals do, among his own kind, Dawit desires to spend long stretches of time with the mortals. I can think of no way to describe his personality other than serial monogamist. Scratch that—an obsessive serial monogamist. He joins the mortals, falls in love, watches those he loves grow old and die. In this novel, he decides that he’s going to pass on his immortality on to Jessica and their daughter, Kira. It doesn’t matter what Jessica wants. He can’t be without his wife and daughter, so he’s going to do what he’s going to do.

This introduces another of My Soul to Keep’s themes. Jessica and Dawit are habitually guilty of not thinking through their ideas to their logical conclusions. Dawit is consumed with sharing his immortality with his wife and daughter. At no point does he consider the consequences. The other immortals would be after Jessica and Kira; they’d face eternal torture and/or imprisonment. Secondly, immortality among those who reproduce is impractical. Without death, there is no room for new life. For her part, Jessica, a journalist, is poor at the art of discretion in her personal life. She knows her life is in danger, but she can’t keep every secret. Her loose lips put people in danger, yet she can’t seem to stop herself. And most damning, she can’t seem to follow the evidence placed before her. speaking of that…

At some level, My Soul to Keep is about the misguided way some religious people think about religion, God, and the ways in which God guides lives. Often—always, when it comes to Jessica—people ignore the signs right in front of their faces and, instead, choose to fault God for the situations in which they find themselves. Every sign, every feeling, every intuition Jessica had told her to run. She didn’t run. Then, when everything went horribly wrong for her, she blamed God. “All the world was a lie. Even God, apparently. Her so-called God had abandoned her. She felt tricked. After David’s recovery at the cabin, she’d believed he was touched by holiness, and nothing could be further from the truth. So much for faith. Why had God led her to David at all in the beginning, and now led him back to her?”

Many, many people behave this way in real life. It’s frustrating, and it’s dangerous. Yet, people live this way. In this manner, My Soul to Keep felt very real—for a given value of “real” in a world with immortal humans. It depicts a horrifying life, and it does it very, very well. This was a great book with terrific world building, realistic characters, and truly frightening moments. I loved it.

A-

Death of a Cozy Writer

Death of a Cozy Writer by G.M. Malliet

This mystery was good. Not great, but good, and very entertaining. I enjoyed St. Just as both detective and character. He was smart, but not unrealistically so. And the author did a good job of keeping him out of the way. The suspects, the Beauclerk-Fisk family, were fascinating on their own. I’ll definitely read the next in the series.

B-

Wild Seed

Wild Seed by Octavia Butler

For the most part, I loved Wild Seed. The concept, itself, was interesting, but it would be a gross understatement to apply that adjective to the lead characters. Anyanwu and Doro, in combination, are two of the most unique individuals I’ve ever read. Yes, they are both immortal, but they are both very human in their immortality. They have very mortal thoughts, and these are what drive the plot of the novel.

The horror of this tale is evident from the first few pages. Doro, I think, is the single most fundamentally evil character I’ve come across. Wild Seed is frightening. And the tension is palpable throughout.

The ending, however, is, in my opinion, a copout. I could see it coming, and it ruined most of my good feeling about the book. It would have been an A+ book otherwise.

C+

The Dream Team

The Dream Team by Jack McCallum

I was highly disappointed in this book. Instead of being about the Dream Team, it was more about Jack McCallum’s experience covering the Dream Team. It was not about the players, the team, and what they meant to the Olympics so much as it was about the author’s feelings about them. The end product was not very enjoyable. It was, in fact, highly disappointing.

The biggest takeaway for me was that McCallum’s just not good at writing long, book-length pieces. From chapter to chapter, the narrative was disjointed. It did not feel like one cohesive work, but rather a series of independent essays that, fairly often, contradicted each other. One of the major contradictions involve Isiah Thomas’ exclusion from the team. In Chapter 5, McCallum wrote that he believes the major strike against Thomas was his agreement with Dennis Rodman that Larry Bird would have been just another player had he been Black. Later, he stated that Isiah was never really under consideration because Michael Jordan’s initial reaction to being approached about playing was to tell Rod Thorn that he wouldn’t be on the team if Isiah was. Still, in another chapter, McCallum wrote that Isiah used an intermediary to lobby Magic Johnson for support and that Magic never spoke up because Isiah had questioned his sexuality after the HIV diagnosis. The initial announcement was made on September 21, 1991; Magic’s announcement wasn’t until November 7 of that year. Isiah was left off the initial roster long before Magic’s HIV was known.

Other takeaways are that McCallum doesn’t have a lot of respect for Charles Barkley and that he really doesn’t like Magic Johnson. Throughout the book, he went out of his way to disparage both players. But, oh, how he loves Larry Bird.

The subject of Christian Laettner versus Shaquille O’Neal was a rather large omission from the text. That subject cannot be ignored. It should have been explored.

The author tried to be clever with his phrases, but it rarely worked for me. Far too often for my liking, the book was littered with condescending statements. Here’s one: “When talking about Bird, one must be careful not to carry those Midwestern attributes too far because you run the risk of making him sound dumb…” Another: “My late father-in-law was a straight-shooting kind of guy—he kept the trains running on schedule at a plant that manufactured condensers and pumps, good old-fashioned American stuff like that—so he understandably had trouble getting his mind around the Dream Team’s decision to hold pre-Olympic training in Monte Carlo.”

And, man, can this man watch a newish movie? Every movie reference is so dated you would think the book was written before the Dream Team had even been assembled. Of the dozen or so films referenced, I think Basic Instinct is the most recent. I think it’s a sign that this book wasn’t written for me or my generation. It’s an old man’s book. Given the subject matter, that is probably its biggest failing.

D+

San Diego 2014

San Diego 2014: The Last Stand of the California Browncoats by Mira Grant

This novella is probably not the best thing Mira Grant has written—Feed was just that good—but it is my favorite of her works. Unlike the Newsflesh trilogy, in which the characters had lived nearly their entire lives in a world with zombies, and Countdown, which chronicled the origin of the Kellis-Amberlee zombie virus, San Diego 2014 puts the reader in the middle of a zombie outbreak among people who were unprepared. In this manner, San Diego 2014 is like the typical zombie story. The similarities end there.

For the first time in the Newsflesh series—and something that’s fairly new to me as a reader—we get ample opportunity to study zombie behavior. In the small, closed environment, where no one knew how to deal with them, the zombies went, for the most part, unchallenged. Their undisturbed behavior was fascinating. It wasn’t what I expected, but it makes a lot of sense. It was very well thought out by the author. More importantly, it was conveyed very well.

The story takes place inside a San Diego convention center during Preview Night of Comic-Con; thus, the characters are people who are familiar with the concept and mythology of zombies. They don’t all run and panic. Instead, many take up arms and fight. How these people fight is what makes the story so great. The heroism of some of the characters, especially those who make conscious efforts to not put others at risk, is written in a very real manner. None of the plot comes across as unrealistic (relatively speaking…it is a zombie story, after all) or pasted on. The bonds formed and chance meetings come about organically.

In the beginning, the style of the story put me off a bit. The further I read, the more I changed my opinion. The back and forth nature of the telling (bouncing between Mahir interviewing a survivor and an actual omniscient third-person narrative) works. It helps the pacing of the story while also building the tension and emotion.

There is no suspense here; we know from the very beginning how things turn out. That knowing makes all the action, all the heroic decisions, even more tragic. Wonderful, wonderful piece.

A

Perfection Unleashed

Perfection Unleashed by Jade Kerrion

This book really wasn’t for me—I’m not a huge fan of stories about telepathic powers. That’s a me thing; it has nothing to do with the story or the writing, so I cannot fault the writer for it. I felt a need to state that as a disclaimer before telling you why I disliked the book.

I did not particularly like the plot. The conflicts between the different types of people could have been interesting. Instead, I felt the story was hurt by the characters, who all seemed to be stereotypes and caricatures. Granted, I only completed half of the novel, so it’s possible I checked out too early; however, I did not read much depth in any of the characters.

For a story involving the idea of genetic perfection, there was, in my opinion, a lack of solid description. For instance, we know Galahad is genetically perfect—whatever that means—but we don’t get a full picture of his appearance. Innuendo and facial reactions seem to be the primary mode of description, and that felt inadequate for the story being told.

And the writing…it didn’t work for me. Too many clichés, too many adverbs, too many contradictory passages, and too many half-expressed thoughts made the book hard to read. Here is an example: “he had never been able to keep his eyes from betraying him, but nothing crept past his iron control.” Another: “If she had taken a step back, she would have seen his staggering beauty, so flawlessly perfect as to be intimidating, but standing so close to him that she could feel his breath against her skin, she could see only the strength in his dark eyes and the gentleness in his smile.” And then romance was pasted on.

Not my kind of book.

Even though I barely read half of the book, I can’t rate it too poorly. I’ve read many awful books in the past couple of years, and this was far better than them. It might be pleasurable for a hardcore science fiction fan.

D

The Kings of Cool

The Kings of Cool: A Prequel to Savages by Don Winslow

I liked Savages, but I loved The Kings of Cool. The prequel corrected the issues I had with the first book, which were that Ben and Chon and Ophelia were unlikeable and I couldn’t find a way to care about them. In The Kings of Cool, they are five years younger and, therefore, not yet fully formed into the people I didn’t like in Savages. Those five years made a huge difference.

The Kings of Cool is the trio’s true origin story. As is the case with most origin stories, the protagonists’ story isn’t the most interesting part. The previous generation, the people who make up The Association, a group referenced throughout Savages, was fascinating. Stan and Diane and Frederica and Kim and Doc and John. Great stuff. Again, Winslow’s book was smart and funny. And very insightful.

My only complaint is that this O was more like the Ophelia of the Savages film than the one from the first novel. The age difference between her and the boys has a higher impact at a younger age, so that explains some of her naivety. It doesn’t explain, however, the hero-worship of Chon. It wasn’t a big deal, but she was a noticeably different character.

Still, I loved this book.

B+

Savages

Savages by Don Winslow

Savages was fun and smart and funny and highly entertaining. Don Winslow’s unique writing style put me inside all the characters’ heads and also put me smack in the middle of Orange County, California. It’s an area I know reasonably well, and Winslow captured it perfectly. Savages was a really good story. It was, however, limited.

At its core, Savages is the tragic tale of Ben and Chon and Ophelia. As with any love story, its success ultimately depends on how much the reader cares about the lovers. I cannot fault the author, but I did not care enough about Ben and Chon and Ophelia to emotionally invest in them. They are the type of people I don’t particularly like. It would be difficult for any author to get me to care about their love. I tried, but I couldn’t do it.

Still, I enjoyed the book enough to purchase the prequel, Kings of Cool.

C+

The Remaining

The Remaining by D.J. Molles

Most of my thoughts about this book can be simplified into one word: NO. The plot wasn't good. The writing was worse. The characters were not endearing. The protagonist is dumb and impossible for me to root for.

I feel that the author didn't really think everything through. The United States Army built a fortified bunker for Captain Lee Harden, but built it such that the only entrance was from inside the basement of Harden's home. And this bunker did not include any surveillance, which left Harden virtually blind any time he wanted to leave.

Here's another example: Harden felt that satellite phones would be useless because "it was likely that the satellites they used would fall out of orbit without human intervention." At the same time, however, his GPS device was "his bread and butter, the life blood of his mission."

I can't see Harden as a hero. I can deal with his naivety and his true believerism, but I cannot deal with his never ending stupidity. Digging graves was careless enough, but attempting to hole up for a night with a group of survivors in a house whose patio door had been destroyed was too ridiculous to take seriously. But then it got worse because Harden then led the survivors to spend a night sleeping in the cab of a pickup truck with a guy who had been bitten! Of this arrangement, the author wrote, "Their dreams were dark and hazy and filled with fear and hope. They slept unaware that fate would not allow all of them to reach Timber Creek alive." Of course not…one of them was already known to be infected! Come on, man. This book was too much.

Also, the author could have used a better editor. I understand that not everyone can afford a top-notch editor, but any author can have at least one friend who knows how to construct a sentence so that it actually conveys the author's intended idea or can let the author know that he failed to actually introduce two of his characters.

The premise was good, but the execution left a lot to be desired. Just not good.

F

Kindred

Kindred by Octavia Butler

There are many wonderful things to think about Octavia Butler’s Kindred. There aren’t many negative ones. In fact, here is the only one I had: I didn’t find any intellectual progression in Rufus Weylin from the time he was a toddler until he was in his mid-twenties. He thought and spoke the same throughout the novel. That was fine when he was older, but read as out of place to me when he was a boy. Outside of that, Kindred was a well-thought out, thoroughly researched, and perfectly crafted novel.

This is the first Octavia Butler novel that I’ve read—I tried to read Parable of the Sower, but gave up after 3 or 4 chapters—but Kindred must be her masterpiece. She thought of everything (by everything, I mean she answered all of my “But what if?” and “But what about?” questions). As far as I’m concerned, this is the definitive modern day slave narrative.

Dana was the perfect protagonist for this type of story. She knows things, but isn’t an expert. She’s educated, but not extremely so. She has a sufficient quantity of self-esteem. She’s realistic in her expectations of herself. And, most importantly, she values herself. These qualities make the reader wonder why and how she could possible allow herself to fall into and remain in slavery. But this is where the book really shines. Slavery isn’t propagated by making people want to be slaves or lost desire for freedom. No, slavery thrives on making people sacrifice themselves for the “good” (continued existence and/or health) of those they love. The life of a slave is a life of selfless sacrifice, not for the sake of the master, but so as not to cost everyone else their lives. Dana could have easily ended the horror of slavery for herself, but the cost would have been the lives of Sarah and Carrie and Nigel and a number of the other slaves she grew to know and love.

In addition, Dana had the extra concern of making sure her ancestors lived long enough to produce the next generation. It makes for an interesting, yet never ending “I want to kill him, but I can’t because then I won’t be born” dynamic. Pretty tense stuff.

It is Dana’s husband, Kevin, though, who really makes the story what it is. His arc shows just how easy it is for someone at either end of the master-slave dynamic to fall into his/her role. In this way, Kindred is frightening in is realism and in the subtlety in which those roles manifest. A creature’s natural instinct is to preserve itself, and sometimes that means committing oneself to either end of abuse.

In the prologue, we learn that the ending of Kindred will not be pretty. It was, however, perfect. just like the rest of the novel.

A+

The Passage

The Passage by Justin Cronin

I did not really like The Passage, but it would be an outright lie to say I disliked it. That statement is not meant to say that I was ambivalent toward the novel. The exact opposite is true: it made me think and it made me emote. It had the potential to be one the best books I’ve ever read. Instead, it’s one of the most frustrating. I cannot fully address all of my frustrations without spoilers, so I will begin this review with the positives and save the spoilers for the end.

The world-building was very good. The structure of First Colony, the politics, science, gender roles, and geography of the place were all well-thought out and very well conveyed. The only thing really missing was the economics of the settlement. But that wasn’t a big deal. The structure of the colony was realistic—stupid, but realistic—and what took place between the reader’s introduction to First Colony and Amy’s arrival there were the strongest parts of the book.

As a stand-alone story, I enjoyed Parts I and II. It was fun and engrossing.

OK, that’s it for the good stuff.

One thing that's always bothered me is writers who write with the assumption that once a reader begins to read, he/she will finish the work. That's a bad assumption to make. I believe that a writer is continuously auditioning for the reader; that is, the writer should be trying to convince the reader that he/she wants to continue reading. The Passage did not make me want to finish. I only did because I had promised my wife that I would. This book lost my interest at least a half dozen times. I had lost interest in learning what happened. I had lost interest in seeing resolution (not that there was much resolution) to conflicts that had arisen.

I am not necessarily bothered by unresolved issues. Going in, I knew this was the opener of a trilogy; I assume everything gets resolved eventually. Some of those issues, though, make me wonder why they were included in this novel. Homer, Oklahoma, for example, was brought up so briefly that it doesn’t register as something I wonder about. It’s more of an annoyance.

Of everything that frustrated me in this novel, the structure is the most bothersome. The author chose to write this book in a manner such that the reader always knows the outcome prior to reading about the actual events. This is not to condemn the use of flashbacks; that’s not what happened here. No, a large number of the scenes within The Passage begin with an assessment of the characters’ situations (who’s alive, who’s dead, etc.) and then follows with how it all came to be. Scene by scene by scene of this. It’s a bit like watching Memento except with forward progression. Even the introductory sentences about the two major characters, Amy Bellafonte and Peter Jaxon, tell the reader that both will survive. The end result is the undermining of most of the tension that should exist in the story.

The one time the author should have used this technique but didn’t is inserting the beginning of the story at the beginning of the book. As is, the beginning, engrossing as it was, seems largely irrelevant when the reader reaches Part III. Getting a third of the way through a 700+ page novel only to discover that you are jumping nearly a century into the future angered me. I think Parts I and II, specifically, and the entire narrative as a whole, would have been much more effective had they been inserted after Amy’s first appearance in the future. Had Justin Cronin made that change, The Passage would have earned another full letter from me.

Some of the narrative choices were mindboggling. Who would test superpowers on death row inmates? Why give big speeches about loyalty and faith right before actions that contradict the words? These weren’t narrative necessities; no, they were narrative choices that make the characters—and the world in which they live—seem unreliable.

In a way, The Passage reminded me of Mockingjay, which is never a good thing. I feel that Cronin copped out during a lot of the action sequences. During many of the attacks, he chose to tell the story through the eyes of someone who wasn’t present. Instead of reading the battles, we read of someone coming across a dead body. This makes for a very disjointed read. I felt detached. I found myself not caring about the characters as much as I think the author wanted me to.

And, of course, we have the African nun whose voice, “was strange, like nothing Jeanette had ever heard, like there were notes of music caught and ringing inside the words.” And there was Anthony Carter, who “was allowed to read, but that wasn’t easy for him, it never had been, and he had long since stopped fussing with it.” This author hasn’t yet earned the benefit of the doubt from me, so I don’t yet give it to him.

SPOILERS BELOW









I have questions. The biggest question of all is the vials of Amy-derived virus. Amy’s destruction of them suggests the immorality of the science behind them. She did not, however, object to Peter’s use of it on Alicia. This selective application of morality undermines the theme behind the tale. Many of the other characters make morally questionable decisions that readers are supposed to view as good and/or heroic. We have a nun who shacks up with a man for decades and then commits suicide, yet we’re supposed to view her as a hero. Special Agent Wolgast married his doctor and then imprints his love for his dead daughter onto Amy. That’s creepy. And crazy. And, in my opinion, makes him a not good guy.

Theo doesn’t really have a character arc; he merely exists to allow the reader to feel Peter’s pain. The Colonel only exists so that Alicia can lead the team to the Army, who, thus far, only exists to take Alicia away from Peter. Without actual development, these characters come across to me as cheap plot devices. As a result, I found most of the pages about them annoying. I didn’t care about them. And then they all died in the end, so now I feel like reading about them was a huge waste of my time.

Peter is one of the main characters, but I find him neither likeable nor entertaining. Peter is in a love triangle because he can’t confess any feelings for Alicia or Sara. Instead, we witness random out-of-the-blue bickering between the two women. Yet, they resolve their issues off-screen. Why have the bickering in the first place? It just makes both women seem petty, but it was clear that the reader is not supposed to view either as such.

This book could have been epic, but it was just a big mess.

C-

The Story of a Photograph

The Story of a Photograph: Walker Evans, Ellie Mae Burroughs, and the Great Depression by Jerry L. Thompson

This was a bunch of crap. The title implies this would be the story behind the photograph. It isn’t. Not really. The Story of a Photograph is, at its core, an aristocratic justification of socially and financially manipulative art. And it is not at all well-written.

D

Blackout

Blackout by Mira Grant

When I read the first book of the Newsflesh Trilogy, Feed, I loved George. When I read Deadline, I loved Becks. If you read my review for Feed, you know how I feel about what happened to George. In a different way, I felt horrible about what happened to Becks in Deadline. I could see it coming, but it didn’t make it any better. I wanted her to have a better go of things in the finale. Deep down, though, I knew no one would have a better anything.

No one ever having a better anything is one of the things I love most about Mira Grant’s trilogy. The crew of After the End Times has no illusions about their futures. They know their lives are destined to end at the wrong end of some government conspiracy, yet they never let fear stop them.

If you’ve read the first two books of this series, then you know that cloned George returns. It was great to read Grant write in Georgia’s voice again. In both Deadline and Blackout, I felt it took her a few chapters to really get into the groove of Shaun’s voice. No problem with George. She was back—as a replica, true—and I loved her all over again.

The author’s biggest success in Blackout was the reintroduction of George to the group. There were so many ways for that to go, and 97% of them were awful. Grant did such a great job with it, though, that it felt like one of the most realistic scenes in a trilogy that I’ve repeatedly praised for its realism. The success of the entire novel—and the series as a whole—is largely dependent upon that reunion. It couldn’t have been written better.

SPOILER ALERT







I was a little disappointed, though. I never imagined this series would end in anything other than George, Shaun, and Becks going out in a blaze of glory. I never considered Mira Grant would end it any other way. The fact that she did just seems wrong to me.

B+

The Rook

The Rook by Daniel O'Malley

“Dear You,
The body you are wearing used to be mine.”

This novel is the story of a brand new Myfanwy Thomas. This new Myfanwy Thomas wakes up standing in a rainy park to find four dead bodies lying around her. Without any knowledge of who she is—or any memories whatsoever—she fumbled around in her coat pocket for some clue as to who she is. She finds a letter whose author identifies herself as the original Myfanwy Thomas.

As you can see, The Rook grabs you from the very beginning. The above quote is the book’s opening sentence. It is an ambitious beginning, for it promises an epic tale. It is a lot for any novel to live up to. For the most part, The Rook does.

I love this book. I mean, I really, really love it. The author does a wonderful job of telling Myfanwy’s tales (original and new). The reader is learning everything about this world at the same time the new Myfanwy does. Through dozens of letters left behind by the original, Myfanwy learns of the role she must fulfill if she is to survive her new life. She is, she learns, a Rook, a member of the Court of the Checquy, a secret British organization who deals almost entirely in the realm of the supernatural (more Mi-5 than Men in Black). She also learns that she has been betrayed by a fellow member of the Court.

The best thing about this novel is the way the author, Daniel O’Malley, feels Myfanwy’s way through her new life. She knows nothing of the people—or the horrors—that her predecessor dealt with on a daily basis. These people and these things must become familiar to her. She stumbles through them, but in an earnest and mostly realistic way. Character-wise, the new Myfanwy Thomas is the best a new Myfanwy Thomas could be.

Living a secret life is not easy. This is especially true when one is thrust into that life with no safety net and no time for learning the ropes. The way Myfanwy navigated the Checquy felt very realistic to me. Even though I don’t fully buy that Myfanwy’s secret could have been kept throughout the Court, I was willing to ride with it. The author made me want to believe. That is a very good thing.

I also love the way O’Malley wrote Myfanwy’s relationships with people. They were all very different, and it was interesting to read her personality as it came across via her interactions with different people. In this way, we were able to see the development and multifaceted pieces of her. The reader is witness to the makings of a person.

We get to see her make a friend, and feel all her nervousness and joy at finding a person with whom she feels a real connection. That part of the novel is one of the best.

At the same time, in a very different way, we learn the original Myfanwy Thomas. Unlike the new woman, the original is someone we neither see nor feel in this novel. Instead, we hear the opinions her colleagues in the Court had of her as spoken to the new Myfanwy. We also have the letters she left behind for her successor.

The letters. They were brilliant. They may annoy certain readers because they are, I admit, a bit of a copout, a form of information dumping. More than information, though, they tell you who the original Myfanwy Thomas was. They tell the reader why she was betrayed. They show us what was really important to her. A fair assessment of the woman is that she was not a particularly good person. She shied away from responsibility and seemed to lack drive. She was a disappointment. Yet, she did this one thing, this one honorable thing: she researched her butt off, wrote these letters, and prepared the new Myfanwy to survive and thrive. The time and care and diligence required to write those letters was heroic. It was, without hyperbole, one of the most selfless and loving things any human being could do for any other. So she couldn’t have been that terrible a person, right?

The Rook is Myfanwy’s story. Sure, there are battles and murders and treason and treachery, but this story is all about Myfanwy. There are times when the action dies down and the story seems to meander, but at its heart, The Rook is the tale of development of Myfanwy. That never meanders. It is full and rich and complete. For this reason, I hope there is no sequel. Myfanwy’s story is fine. I hope other novels about the Checquy revolve around the other characters, who were great. The other members of the Court, especially the Gestalts, were fascinating. The portrayal of the Eckhart family was very poignant. Shantay and Bronwyn and Alrich and Ingrid—especially Ingrid—were all great. I’d love to read more about each of them.

The Rook wasn’t perfect. There were some things that bothered me. Four stand out, and they are the reason I did not give The Rook an A+ rating. First is a moment when Myfanwy references Grease. I find it unlikely that the original Myfanwy would have ever seen it, but it was impossible for the new one to know anything about it.

Within the same scene, she thinks, “This is clearly a person experienced in the realms of supernatural warfare but who has had practically nothing to do with normal people. Especially girls.” Myfanwy, herself, knows nothing of normal people, even girls. It is why her finding a friend is impactful. This threw me out of the novel for a short while because it was very much out of place and out of character for a woman the author had previously crafted very carefully.

Third is a scene about a quarter of the way into the novel that really threw me out for a while. Throughout the entire novel, the only scene which is not Myfanwy-centric occurs in the aftermath of her calling for a meeting of the Court. We read each other member of the Court learning of the meeting. That was fine. It actually fits with the novel. However, after we go back to Myfanwy, O’Malley interjects a random sentence: “Alrich woke up.” Then it’s back to Myfanwy. Who is Alrich? Eventually we find out, but that was random and just doesn’t at all fit with the rest of the novel. From that moment, it was clear to me that the author loves the Alrich character. His introduction hurt the novel, though.

The final thing was a biggie for me, but it wasn’t enough to make me not love this book. In describing the Checquy’s ventures into America, O’Malley wrote of an operative who, “had noticed that the natives had a far higher incidence of powered births.” Really, man? And, of course, we have the Magical Negro: “Slaves were rigorously screened and purchased. Upon their integration into the Croatoan, they were granted their freedom. Some operatives spoke out indignantly at the prospect of freeing slaves and letting them operate as equals. These protests died down quickly when the general level of ability among the Africans outstripped that of most of the other operative.” I hate this stuff. This stuff makes my blood boil.

Still, The Rook is a fantastic novel. I love the new Myfanwy Thomas. And Chapter 36, one of the original Myfanwy’s letters, is one of the best chapters I have ever read. That chapter is…everything. It is the original Myfanwy’s unintentional treatise on life, death, family, loyalty, duty, responsibility, and, most importantly, her place in the world. No matter how many times I reread this book, I will probably read Chapter 36 a few hundred times throughout the rest of my life. It’s that good. And so is this novel.

A-

Last Chance Texaco

Last Chance Texaco by Brent Hartinger

Not much to say...it was OK.

C+

Ex-Patriots

Ex-Patriots by Peter Clines

Whenever you have an issue with a tiny aspect of something you read or watch, there is often comes a fear that the follow-up book/movie/whatever will spend more time on that aspect and, therefore, infuriate you. This was the case with my reading Ex-Patriots. In my review of the first book, Ex-Heroes, I noted that the racial dynamics of the characters was bothersome. There was so much time spent introducing readers to the heroes that this wasn’t a really big issue. This time around, however, I couldn’t ignore it.

It started right off the bat. Four paragraphs into Chapter 2, we are introduced to a young Latina who is participating in a celebratory cutting of St. George’s hair. It turns out the girl is only an excuse to introduce us to Cesar, her uncle, who wants to disclose his own superpower to St. George. Cesar was previously a gang member. So we’re not into Book 2 of this series and we haven’t yet met a Latino—in Los Angeles, mind you—who isn’t associated with a gang. A little later, the heroes decide it’s finally time to be nominally inclusive. Of course, most of the team objects, but St. George insists. “I expect to see at least one person with a tattoo,” he says. When they finally choose a former gang member to go out with them, he voices his disdain for the team’s new armor: “Shit looks gay.” Come on, man.

The most hilarious racial moment occurred when Colonel Shelley, the man in charge at Yuma, asked one of the heroes how they were able get chickens in the Mount. Shelley was told, “There were a bunch of families from Mexico and South America who kept them in their back yards. Lots in Chinatown and Little Tokyo, too. Some of them found shelter with a group calling themselves the Seventeens.” That is practically an admission that the Mount had been free of Latinos before taking in survivors after the war with the Seventeens. It is confirmation that all the Latinos in this series are associated with the gang.

At least one of them is treated like a good guy at some point. I can’t say the same about Asian people. Throughout the first two books of the series, there have been three named Asian people. There are Sandra Oh, described as being “The bitchy Asian woman,” from Gray’s Anatomy, a Korean ex-hero who was Gorgon’s underaged girlfriend and went by the name Banzai, and Christian Nguyen, a citizen of the Mount who was very anti-hero.

I don’t mind her being anti-hero, but Christian Nguyen represents part of how the plot was not, in my opinion, very well thought out. The survivors of the Mount had been living there safely under the protection of the heroes for about two years when the Army showed up out of the blue one day. There is no way you can convince me that in a post-apocalyptic scenario, the most enthusiastic voice of the “Hey! We’re rescued because the Army is here!” is going to be a non-White person. Not in this America.

In Ex-Heroes, there weren’t really any named Black characters. That changes in Ex-Patriots. In this novel, the heroes of the Mount contend with a band of genetically enhanced super soldiers from a base in Yuma, Arizona. These soldiers, the Unbreakables, are led by a Black man named Captain John Carter Freedom. This guy is a piece of work. Captain Freedom is “Six-eight, maybe six-ten, easy, and built like a fucking linebacker.” What a patriot this guy is. “The Army was where I was supposed to be and I was going to serve until I died. I had a duty to serve my country. The United States had fought a war against itself, spilled its own blood, so my great-great grandfather could be free. So I could have this proud name.” Oh yeah, Freedom’s special gun is called Lady Liberty. Writing from the point of view of the oppressed requires skill and nuance not many people have. Ugh.

It wasn’t just race. This book is seriously flawed in dealing with gender as well. From Danielle, who is too frightened live when not in the Cerberus suit—she sleeps under her kitchen table for crying out loud—to Sergeant Kennedy, who is an eager-to-pleaser under the guise of being a strong soldier, this book is downright demeaning to women. “I’m not supposed to freak out,” Kennedy says. “Girls freak out.” The best part was this: “Mom says having three girls was murder on him. He loved us, don’t get me wrong. He was the greatest dad in the world and he spent every minute he could with us, but it was rough on him not to have a son to keep up the military tradition…I was the youngest. And the tomboy. As soon as I was old enough to understand Dad’s quiet disappointment, I knew what I was going to do with my life.” Right.

In Ex-Heroes, I thought that Stealth was the author’s sexual fantasy put on paper. This is another area in which Ex-Patriots is worse than the original. The text is fairly explicit in this regard. When Stealth asked St. George how he was able to resist someone’s powers of persuasion, he told her he thought of a loophole. “That soldier hit you with his rifle. The second he did that, I realized I didn’t want to beat the bad guy. I just wanted to save the girl.” Stealth says to him, “You have heroic fantasies where I am ‘the girl.’” And then Stealth, the stoic, aloof Vicki-Spock woman, says, “At the moment I find your heroic fantasies somewhat endearing.” What? Essentially, this entire series has been a nerdy hero too afraid to tell the object of his desire how he feels about her saves the damsel in distress tale.

And I haven’t even brought up the Obi-Wan Kenobi zombie. That was too much for me. Had I been reading a paperback, I would have thrown it against the wall. No, man. Just…no.

I thought the autobiographical chapters in Ex-Heroes helped moved the plot. I felt the opposite this time. They took me out of the rhythm of the story and, in some cases, gave away too much as to take some of the intrigue away.

For the most part, I did like the way Peter Clines wrote John Smith. He was actually a great character. From his first appearance, his dialogue and actions were perfect. Everything involving him was very well done…until the end. John Smith had been too smart throughout the entire novel to make the mistake of creating a situation in which he could not be heard.

This book was not for me. If the series continues, I doubt I’ll pick it back up. Interesting concept, but not my style.

D+

Ex-Heroes

Ex-Heroes by Peter Clines

Combining superheroes and zombies is an interesting concept that, at first, seems like it would be too much. For the most part, though, Ex-Heroes worked for me. You can tell the author really likes his characters and is highly invested in them. He did a good job of bringing everything together. In the end, I was left wishing there had been more.

There is so much background to this story that it takes a long time telling. I feel like the actual plot of Ex-Heroes doesn’t begin until almost two-thirds of the way through it. I liked reading some of the background, especially the heroes’ autobiographical chapters—that stuff was interesting, and helped shape my idea of who these heroes were as characters—but there was way too much of it. And most of it was fairly boring. It may have been better served in smaller doses. The actual story was really good, though, and it was short-changed by all the background. The heroes’ discovery of the zombie virus’ origin, for example, is a big deal issue that could have been given more attention. This novel could have used another 75-100 pages of the actual plot.

One of the things I liked most about Ex-Heroes is that the majority of people behaved like real people. I rarely found myself saying, “people don’t act like that.” Clines did a good job of expressing human nature throughout, and he did so without utilizing a lot of stereotypes and clichés.

I said “a lot”, not “none” because the bad guys were mostly nothing but stereotypes and clichés. All the people were something other than normal—bald, colored hair, tattoos, etc.—were with the bad guys. Even among the superheroes, all, except Zzzap, whose superhero form was something other than humanoid ended up with the bad guys. Very simplistic good vs. evil battle lines were drawn, and I didn’t like that too much. This story was capable of more than that.

Some of the characters, like St. George and Gorgon, were great. Others, not so much. Something bugged me about Danielle, but Stealth was, for me, the worst. In her autobiographical chapter, she came across as a Mary Sue supermodel doubling as, essentially, the smartest woman ever. Throughout the rest of the novel, she’s an odd combination of Dr. Spock from Star Trek and Vicki from Small Wonder. She is the one example of character who doesn’t feel real. Instead, Stealth comes across as the author’s lifelong sexual fantasy. She’s out of place in this story. But she’s the leader.

My biggest issue was that the author made me wonder about isms. I don't like it when authors write with expectation of receiving benefit of the doubt in regards to isms. The bad guys being a Latin gang wasn't suspicious by itself. But where were the Latinos on the good side? Asian women took a beating in the book. And then there's this question: what made the gang's sanctuary so bad? In the end, we learn about their involvement with zombies, but before that, there was no reason to view them as enemies except that they didn't follow the superheroes. The idea that people are bad just because they don't agree with you is a bad one. That rubbed me in a bad way.

Still, I mostly like Ex-Heroes. I wanted more out of it, but I’m not overly disappointed with what I got. I’ll definitely read the sequel.

C

True Grit

True Grit by Charles Portis

I’m happy that I saw the 2010 film before reading the novel. Without seeing Hailee Steinfeld’s portrayal, I’m not certain I would have been able to buy into Mattie’s narration. Imagining the young actress’ voice eased me into the narration.

True Grit is a fast read, but a slow story. It forces the reader to read at its pace. You cannot speed it up. Yes, the exposition is very heavy at times, but it works. Once you buy into Mattie, this story sucks you in and it’s really, really good.

I realize this novel isn’t for everyone. It will be too slow for some and too expository for others. I think you’ll either love it or hate it. I loved it.

B+

I'm Starved for You

I'm Starved for You by Margaret Atwood

This was really good. I seem to prefer Margaret Atwood in shorter doses. Her pacing, as always, was incredible in this novella. The story itself wasn’t anything special, but the world in which it’s set is. Atwood is a master world builder, blending the “that seems so horrifying” with the “it looks like we’re heading down that road.” The concept behind the Consilience world is fascinating. But frightening. As Atwood’s works always are.

B+

Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter

Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin


When people not of an oppressed group write of the oppressed (White people writing about Black people, straight people writing about gay people, men writing about women, etc.), a certain level of nuance and understanding is required. Too often, people write as if they are owed the benefit of the doubt. Sorry, stranger, but the benefit of the doubt must be earned, not assumed. In Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, Tom Franklin made that more difficult with these two sentences: “Larry had been chubby as a kid but now his face was lean, his brown hair short but choppy as he cut it himself, had been doing so even before his mother had gone into River Acres, a nursing home nowhere near a river and mostly bull of blacks, both the attendants and attended. He’d have preferred somewhere better, but it was all he could afford.” Maybe Franklin didn’t mean it like that, but he hadn’t earned the benefit of the doubt yet. That was in Chapter One. He never really helped himself from there.

Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter is the story of a Black boy and a White boy who grew up in southern Mississippi in the 1970s. The two had been friends once, but never as adults. The White boy, Larry Ott, had been accused of kidnapping a killing a girl in 1982. In the present day, he is now accused of doing the same to a college student. The Black boy, Silas Jones, is now the county constable. Through a series of not-so-surprising twists, we learn the truth of why Silas and Larry’s friendship died, what really happened in 1982, and how they led to the present day predicament.

As I neared the end of the book, I thought about the absurdity of the plot. At its core, Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter is about Silas Jones’ attempts to redeem himself in the eyes of Larry Ott because he failed to stand up for Larry as a friend in high school even though their friendship died when Larry called Silas “nigger.” Yes, it is realistic, but that reality of part of the ugly side of America. Franklin wrote the novel in such a way that Larry is the hero; the reader is supposed to root for him. I cannot support that.

Yes, Silas is a contemptible character, but he is stereotypically so. As both a young man and an old one, his eyes are swayed by the White female temptress. He is so athletically gifted that he earned a Division I college baseball scholarship as a left-handed shortstop (but he doesn’t get drafted in the 1980s?). When he first met Larry, he gave the boy a “quick soul shake.” Then again, all of the Black people of Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter are stereotypes. For example, when Larry first went to seventh grade in a school that was mostly Black, he discovered, “Everything Larry couldn’t do—spike a volleyball, throw a football or catch one, field a grounder, fire a dodgeball—these black boys could. Did. They manipulated balls as if by magic, basketballs swishing impossibly, baseballs swiped out of the air, fierceeyed boys hurling and curving through their lives as smoothly as boomerangs. None read, though, or understood Larry’s love for books.” Really?

That’s what this book was to me. I don’t like that, and I didn’t like this book. It was written well, though.

D+

The Road Out of Hell

The Road Out of Hell by Anthony Flacco

This book was not at all what I expected. I thought it was going to be a researched examination of the Wineville murders. It was not. The title was misleading. The Road Out of Hell is the story of Sanford Clark’s mental state from the time he was taken away from his parents’ home by his abusive uncle until his death in 1991. This book reads like a psychology book written for pre-teens. It is the climactic scene of Good Will Hunting where Robin Williams tells Matt Damon, “It’s not your fault.” The book may be good for serving that purpose, but I was looking for more facts. This was just boring.

D+

The Becoming

The Becoming (Book 1) by Jessica Meigs

There is a really good story somewhere in The Becoming. The action scenes are full of intensity, and the zombies are unlike any I’ve ever read about. This book, this series, has potential. Unfortunately, I think the writing kept that potential from being reached.

I didn’t have too many issues with the book, but the ones I did have appeared so frequently they were overwhelming. They hijacked my reading experience. I think the author needed a better editor. Admittedly, I read The Becoming as the two separate novellas, The Becoming: Outbreak and The Becoming: Safe House, that were put together to make the novel. Perhaps the combined unit fixes some of the issues I found. I won’t know; reading the two novellas was frustrating enough that I don’t think I can attempt to read any form of this story again.

The biggest issue I had was the proliferate use of adverbs. It was difficult to find consecutive non-dialogue sentences that were free of adverbs ending in –ly. Such heavy use was unnecessary. Cade can look back at the vehicle; she doesn’t have to “finally” do it “reluctantly.” In many cases, the adverbs did not add much to the ideas or actions they modified. It was too much.

Facial and bodily expressions were another. I don’t know how many times jaw were clenched and knuckles went white, but it was a lot. The Becoming is full of action and motion. I didn’t see a need for so many grins, frowns, and raised eyebrows. Often, these expressions did not match the emotions described in the surrounding sentences. It was, in a way, reminiscent of a lot of 1980s Japanese cartoons, when characters gasped and sighed in exaggerated fashion.

The last issue I’ll list here is four-dimensional awareness, which manifests in two ways: physical positioning and time relation. I’m not sure the author performed any blocking while writing. Many of the physical actions seem implausible. For instance, I don’t think Cade would be able to throw a forceful punch while holding a rifle. How can Nikola see Ethan riding a motorcycle if she’s hiding in a basement? Why is a rifle Cade’s weapon of choice when surrounded by zombies? None of this makes sense to me.

Time relation was a serious problem. On one page we read that they’ve been hiding in a particular house for “about a month and a half now, unmolested for the most part…” but on the next we learn that it was “their third day at their third hide out, or safe house…” Another time, “They faced off for several more silent, tense minutes, but it didn’t take Ethan long to shift his eyes away from Cade’s.” Several minutes is a long time before shifting eyes. Things like this make me question the author’s intent.

I think a good editor could have helped the author fix a lot of these issues. As I mentioned earlier, there is a good story in there somewhere. This product, however, is not it. I may or may not read the The Becoming: Brothers in Arms novella (Book 1.5 of the series)—it is already on my Kindle—but the series will not continue past there for me.

F

Expiration Date

Expiration Date by Duane Swierczynski

I generally like Duane Swierczynski’s work. I haven’t given all of his books high ratings, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading each of the four I read before this one. But Expiration Date was not enjoyable at all. It was an urban version of Tree of Life, full of nostalgia for the days before white flight left the cities considerably darker than they’d previously been. That’s not my thing.

The story itself wasn’t too bad, but there were too many places where I shook my head and said, “This is just stupid.” The time-travelling mechanism didn’t do it for me. Really, who takes Tylenol that’s been expired for 27 years? Also, the protagonist was a reporter in the city where he grew up, the city where his father was killed in an incident for which no arrests were made, and yet he never dug into his father’s death? I don’t buy that. No. And Meghan the Mary Sue was way too much.

I didn’t enjoy this at all.

D+

Deadline

Deadline by Mira Grant

The penultimate book of any series, especially a trilogy, is often full of exposition and setup. Their primary focus tends to be just setting up the series finale. Deadline succeeds at doing this in an entertaining and gripping way. While not nearly as good as its predecessor—and really, nothing Mira Grant could have written as a sequel would have matched Feed—it was a very, very good book. I liked it a lot.

I didn’t love it, though. That’s due in large part to Grant’s use of Shaun as the narrator this time around. I don’t think she fully captured Shaun as a narrator. Some things—his knowledge of certain things like broomstick skirts (what are those?) being one—seem out of character for him; others, like his narration of a love scene, come across as way to female.

Another issue I had is that I felt this would have been better as two novels instead of one. There was a little too much going on, and that led to some very important moments getting obscured or overshadowed. In my opinion, Deadline’s big reveal happened too early in the book. By the end, it seems underplayed. But it’s a really big deal. Perhaps it is a matter of pacing, which seemed off. In the middle 20% of the novel, there were too many long passages of exposition in some spots and disjointed periods of action in others. The beginning and end were fantastic, though. Seems like the author took a little while to find her groove. That often happens when an author is trying to get too much to happen in one book.

Still, the story was great. Where Feed was ultimately about love and courage, Deadline is about heartbreak and introspection. The story begins nearly a year after the end of Feed, and are introduced to the characters while still reeling from the tragedy of that first novel. The biggest single thing in many of their lives is coping. As the plot progresses, we see them deal with other losses, from life to love to peace of mind. At its heart, Deadline is a story of living through loss. Obviously, it starts with Shaun, but it doesn’t end with him.

This represents Grant’s biggest victory in Deadline. Where many stories fail—this list includes The Hunger Games trilogy to just about every Denzel Washington movie made in the 2000s—is that the plots are written such that many of the characters exist for the sole purpose of assisting the protagonist in completing his/her path. The characters in Deadline have their own journeys, and those journeys are central to the plot. It is not all about Shaun, and Grant uses one of her characters, Alaric, to remind us (and Shaun) of that fact. Shaun’s progression is central to the story, but so are Rebecca’s and Madalene’s and Kelly’s and Mahir’s and Alaric’s. All of these people matter, all of their choices matter, not just to Shaun or to Shaun’s arc, but to the big picture. These characters, including Shaun, are links of the chain, pieces of the puzzle, and they all must work both separately and together. That is the brilliance of the world Mira Grant created in this Newsflesh series.

Not coincidentally, this also describes the virus that has caused all the trouble in this world. I’m not a virologist, but the thought behind the science and development of the Kellis-Amberlee virus continues to impress me. The more we readers learn about the virus, its behavior, and the defenses against it, the more engrossed I become in the story. The three major twists in Deadline (I’m angry with myself for not seeing the third one coming) are all related to the science of and around Kellis-Amberlee. While all fiction is manufactured, none of this feels pasted.

Also, I loved the use of George as character in this novel. I thought Grant handled her perfectly, and her interactions with Shaun felt natural and in line with what we read in Feed. It was not an easy thing to pull off, but Grant did. George’s presence added to the story and added to the depth of Shaun, Rebecca, and Mahir. It also, in a way, made Feed a little more profound for me, and I’d already rated it an A.

Deadline was a terrific read. I absolutely love this series.

B+

Feed

Feed by Mira Grant


This is the smartest zombie story I’ve ever read or watched. Outside of the zombies, this story was full of intelligent commentary on society, politics, and good old human nature. Feed is the tale of a crew of Bay Area-based bloggers who are tasked to follow Senator Peter Ryman of Wisconsin during his Presidential campaign during the 2040 Republican primaries. Mira Grant uses first-person narrative from Georgia Mason’s point of view. Not only is George a great narrator, she is also a great character. She is, frankly, everything I hoped Katniss Everdeen would be.

It’s not just about George, though. Grant’s world building was fantastic. The detail she put into various laws, societal norms, and technological advancement was superb. The origin story of the zombie virus was highly intelligent. One thing that sticks out to me as brilliant is the way George’s retinal disability was handled. It was a very subtle way of showing the everyday inconveniences America’s disabled have to face.

Overall, what this book was about is the realities of life. Just a great, great story. Very well put together. And oh, man, does this book make you emote. I highly recommend this.

My one nitpick is that the end went on a little too long, but that wasn’t bad enough to spoil the greatness that is Feed.




SPOILER BELOW:
Georgia’s is the most difficult character death I’ve ever dealt with. That was the absolute worst. Worse than Wallace and Bodie of The Wire, worse than Cochise from Cooley High, worse than Thomas J. from My Girl, worse than any character death I can think of from any book I’ve read or any TV show or movie I’ve ever watched. That hurt, man. I still can’t believe that George died. Oh, man.

A

Mockingjay

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

Two names repeatedly rang through my head as I read Mockingjay: Michele Bachmann and Sarah Palin. Throughout this novel, Katniss Everdeen, who had previously been a woman of goals, aspirations, and independence, became a woman who personified the ideals professed by the two politicians. It was ridiculous. It was boring. It was very, very bad.

How bad was Mockingjay? Bad enough that from the moment I finished reading it on May 2, 2011, I did not pick up another book until September 24. Bad enough to earn a place on my personal Mt. Rushmore of bad books. What an awful book, and what an awful way to end the trilogy.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think The Hunger Games and Catching Fire were great books (I gave Catching Fire 2 stars out of 5). But there was enough in those two novels to see Katniss’ potential. I really, really liked her. In Mockingjay, the protagonist is not true to character. What we learned throughout The Hunger Games and Catching Fire is that Katniss is not a fearless warrior, but she does not allow her fear to stop her. She is a good heroine. One of the things that sticks out to me from The Hunger Games and Catching Fire is that Katniss does what she wants to do in both a small picture and big picture sense. Throughout the series, her goal is to protect her mother and sister; during the first novel, she takes on Peeta’s cause as well. During the second book, she decides that she’s not going to let the Capitol win. Even though she’s neither the smartest nor strongest, Katniss is focused on her goals and does whatever it takes to achieve them.

In Mockingjay, Katniss became someone who doesn’t follow through on anything. She does not fulfill a single purpose she had declared for herself. She does not follow through on a single thing she planned to do. Instead, she spends much of the novel in various drug-induced stupors and hiding out in medical wards or closets. As a result, the narrative structure of the novel falls apart. Katniss is not present for the vast majority of the action and important events; therefore, we readers receive a great deal of necessary information via long expositions that begin with phrases such as “This is what happened:” It makes Mockingjay a very disjointed, unentertaining read.

Two things that don’t may any sense whatsoever are the roles played by Cinna and Gale. Cinna, apparently, had the greatest sense of anticipation of any human who ever lived. The bulletproof Mockingjay costume was too much for me. Gale, although still pretty much a kid, is given high status in the revolutionary army. Somehow, the inner circle became Hunger Games winners and Gale. Suzanne Collins gave us no reason for this. It’s too ridiculous to happen without explanation.

Still, the biggest problem is Katniss. In Mockingjay, she has no autonomy. Nothing she says, nothing she wants, matters. No thought that generates in Katniss’ mind is valued. One of the dominating themes of both Catching Fire and Mockingjay is Katniss’ declaration that she will kill President Snow. She goes to great lengths to make sure she is in a position to end the man’s life. When presented with the opportunity, however, she purposely kills someone else instead. This type of thing is constant throughout the book. She does not do a single thing that she has consciously decided that she wants to do. That is not Katniss, and it is very disappointing. So many of Katniss’ choices are made for her, and she just goes along with them. Sometimes she offers nominal protest, but she allows people (mostly men) to make these choices for her. The Katniss of the first two novels would never allow that. That Katniss decided everything for herself. That Katniss is gone. This new one just does whatever the menfolk tell her to do.

She used to be proactive. She did what needed to be done. She’d been an outlaw her entire adolescence. Fear did not stop her. Hesitation and uncertainty were never problems for her. Yet, hesitation and uncertainty are all we see out of her in Mockingjay. The most drastic example is when Gale is captured by Peacekeepers and she violates their prearranged agreement to shoot each other if ever in danger of being taken captive.

It all feeds into the three most senseless things that occur in the book. The first is the resolution of the pseudo-love triangle that persists throughout the series. Will Katniss end up with Peeta or Gale? Which one will she choose? Well, in the end, Katniss does not choose. This is yet another choice that is made for her. There’s a scene about 85% into Mockingjay when Katniss is hiding with a few of the others. When the others think she is sleeping, she here’s a conversation between her two would-be suitors. Here is Katniss’ narration:

It’s so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they’re not. Never have been. Although they’re not exactly enemies.

“She loves you, you know,” says Peeta. “She as good as told me after they whipped you.”

“Don’t believe it,” Gale answers. “The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell…well, she never kissed me like that.”

“It was just part of the show,” Peeta tells him, although there’s an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that’s the only way to convince her you love her.” There’s a long pause. “I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then.”

“You couldn’t,” says Peeta. “She’d never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life.”

“Well, it won’t be an issue much longer. I think it’s unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it’s Katniss’s problem. Who to choose.” Gale yawns. “We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah.” I hear Peeta’s handcuffs slide down the support as he settles in. “I wonder how she’ll make up her mind.”

“Oh, that I do know.” I can just catch Gale’s last words through the layer of fur. “Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without.”

That was a perfect setup for an epic resolution. Instead, as I said earlier, Katniss didn’t make that choice either. How anticlimactic can you get?

Next, was a mini-conference during which the revolutionaries were trying to decide if there should be one more occurrence of the Hunger Games, this time featuring the children of the Capitol. Katniss’ vote was to do it, “For Prim.” What? We’d read over two and a half books about how evil the Games are, and now she wants to set them up again? Then she changed her mind a few paragraphs later, again without explanation. Senseless and unnecessary.

The epilogue took it to a new place of nonsense. Katniss spent three novels declaring that she will never have children. She does not want them. Never has. But in the end, she has them anyway. Yet another instance of Katniss openly declaring something only to have some man convince her otherwise. “It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree,” she says. How very Tea Party of her.

F

Destiny of the Republic

Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President by Candice Millard

What a great book. Candice Millard told the tale of James Garfield’s assassination in such an engrossing and fast-paced manner that I often had to remind myself this was a work of nonfiction. She did not make up quotes; she did not fill space with conjecture. Every word of quoted text was from a written record. And when she did not have facts, she used the words of the people who were there. Millard’s attention to detail is evident throughout the book. She is not a lazy researcher.

I read one review of Destiny of the Republic that compares it favorably to Devil in the White City. It might actually be better than Erik Larson’s masterpiece. This was just…superb.

Examinations of major events tend to fall into one of two categories: trying to cover everything or focusing on just one or two aspects. The attempts to cover everything usually fail. Destiny of the Republic was so impressive to me because Millard covered so many aspects of the event and did so very successfully. She was able to place Garfield, his assassin, and those who played supporting roles into time and place. She showed us how they all fit. From the very beginning, where she place Joseph Lister and Alexander Graham Bell just a few hundred feet from Garfield at the 1876 Centennial Exhibition in Chicago, she gave us the medical, technological, political, historical, and religious background we needed to know how all the players in this story converged at a critical place in world history.

I could write 5,000 words about this book, but they would do it no justice. Just go read it. If you enjoy history, politics, technology, madmen, or just a good old-fashioned murder story, I’m fairly certain you will love Destiny of the Republic.

A+

2.1 Seconds

The Last Great Game: Duke vs. Kentucky and the 2.1 Seconds That Changed Basketball by Gene Wojciechowski


This was not a good book. First of all, it wasn’t really a book. It was more like a collection of essays about the Duke and Kentucky basketball programs. It was cohesive in that everything led toward the classic 1992 East Regional Final played between the two teams, but The Last Great Game was a very disjointed read.

Let me talk about that title, The Last Great Game: Duke vs. Kentucky and the 2.1 Seconds that Changed Basketball, for a bit:

• The Last Great Game: The primary title suggests that the book would be about the game, which is generally considered the greatest college basketball game of all time. The game is, I believe, worthy of a book telling its tale. This was not it. The game does not begin until the 67% point. The final 9% is comprised of the acknowledgements, references, and index; the actual text does begin at the 1% mark. This means that nearly three-quarters of the book is gone before the game for which it is titled actually begins. Once it does begin, only a tenth of the book actually discusses the first 44 minutes and 57.9 seconds of the game. Wojciechowski tells the game first from the Kentucky point of view, and then from Duke’s. This approach causes one to read about the entirety of the game two times. Both, however, are rushed. No, this book is not about the game. The game is just a backdrop.
  
• Duke vs. Kentucky: As I said earlier, this book is about the programs and how great Rick Pitino and Mike Krzyzewski are. It is also a series of puff pieces about how great a guy and very misunderstood Christian Laettner is and how wonderful Kentucky’s Unforgettables are. This is a Duke book and a Kentucky book all wrapped into one package. Duke’s games against Indiana, UNLV, and Michigan seem to be given more weight and importance in this book than did the one versus Kentucky.
  
• 2.1 Seconds that Changed Basketball: Wojciechowski did spend an entire chapter on the Grant Hill to Christian Laettner play, but there was no discussion of the play’s impact on basketball. Sure, it changed who won that year’s national championship, but doesn’t every NCAA tournament game-winner? There was no real meaning derived. It was just: this is what happened, it was great, and there were no losers on that day.

There were also plenty of bothersome clichés about the subjects’ character: “Krzyzewski was not a hippie and definitely wasn’t counterculture. He might have thought LSD was a standardized admissions test…Duty. Honor. Country. Those were their core beliefs, not the drugs, sex, and rebellion that belonged to the flower children.” And: “Because it was a convenient angle (and because it was partly true), the championship game was framed as Nice Guy Preppies (Duke) vs. Tire Iron-Wielding Hells Angels from Altamont (UNLV).”

This was a mess. This book does that game no justice.

C-