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
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
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 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+
Monday, April 16, 2012
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+
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+
Saturday, April 14, 2012
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+
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+
Sunday, April 8, 2012
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+
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
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
Monday, April 2, 2012
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+
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+
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