works of wanderlust

Tag: book reviews

When I read books I try to write a little positive review about them here.

  • book reviews: on down the river

    September may be the end of summer reads, but no doubt that I am still trudging through a reading list longer than I care to admit. My lack of completed tomes this last few weeks has less to do with the quantity of reading I am going and more to do with my ability to focus on just one book.  It would seem that my digital distractibility in this department is no less a problem than the analog version.

    That said, I have been reading. And reading. And reading some more. 

    And lately I’ve read…

    James by Percival Everett

    James is a horror story. Flipping the perspective on a book I literally just read, it instead retells the events of the famous Mark Twain novel Huckleberry Finn from the view of the runaway slave Jim.  But where Twain’s original text is merely a weighty adventure romp with a moral imperative baked into its layers, all of it nudging and imploring readers to examine their notions of the racial divide in the Americas of that time, James wraps Jim in a kind of fictionally-driven agency to offer a story that is both compelling in its context and chilling in its implications. It is made no better, of course, that the all-too-real monster chasing James as a runaway slave through the pre-civil war south is the great grand-pappy ancestor of the same monster now creeping out of the shadows and into seats of vengeful political power in the US in 2025. Being a white, middle-aged Canadian man leaves me in no good position to offer any opinion on what this book does right or what it is supposed to mean or how it should be read. All I know is that it shook me, shook me to the point that like a horror story I often had to put it down for days at a time to process the descriptions of inhuman cruelty written inside. It is a fictionalized account, of course, and rightly so told as it is as a counterpoint to a “great American novel.” My reread of Huckleberry Finn recently was still quite fresh in my head, of course, and having just revisited the raft ride down the Mississippi I was all too aware of the weight of that story in the modern context of American neo-racism and an orange menace normalizing two hundred year old ideas that should have long been sent to their grave. But naivety of reality is the greatest ally of the dark impulses of humanity and one’s greatest weapon is education of the horrors as painted in even just a fictional tale, and empathy for the fact that while James is fictional his is a story built upon more truth than many of us can stomach.

    Shit, Actually by Lindy West

    There are days when I fashion myself a humorist of a sort, attempting to write clever reflections of life, the universe and everything—but mostly books and video games if I’m being honest. But that said, even if I can’t always measure up in my own witty writing, I do have a vibe and am drawn to reading the kind of observational kinds of reviews that I wish I could churn out with my little keyboard here at a Starbucks. This book of clever film reviews of a bunch of movies, all of which I have almost certainly seen every last one (except Twilight, I’ve never seen that one!) multiple times, showed up as a recommendation in my audiobook feed—and there I was looking for a low risk, light-hearted listen with a credit burning a hole in my digital pocket. I am also, notably, a fan of the oft-chided podcast rewatch genre, which has led me into similar additional reading expeditions. In other words, this wee book checked a lot of boxes for me. I consumed the whole damn thing inside of two days, all seven hours of short essays read by the author, providing clever, witty and jabbing summaries spectacularly mediocre movies while sticking her finger into the gaping plot holes of the same. And what else is there to say. I was funny, sometimes laugh out loud funny, which startled me almost as much as it did the other people in the room where I was listening with headphones.

    The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

    The day I finished re-reading this classic all tangled up in the history of American racism and slavery as it definitively is, the government of my (Canadian) province released a book ban list to the public, which given the company it would have been among—classics of political reaction like 1984, cautionary tales of amoral governments tangled up in religion like The Handmaid’s Tale—it was almost surprising that there was no Twain on the list. We live in dark times here in the mid-20s and while I’m not exactly sure the motivation for Twain to have written a book and a character like Huckleberry Finn, and can’t help but believe it was, too, a reaction to dark times. The book, obviously, is an indictment of American slavery told from the perspective of young adventurous Huck Finn whose adventures in a previous novel landed him a rich kid with an abusive, alcoholic father (all too normalized by the society in which Finn lives.). He escapes by faking his own murder and lands up in a classic travelling-the-river tale in the company of Jim, a slave who has also escaped. The duo’s adventures are a fictionalized glimpse at middle America of an era, one assumes, peppered with the moral maturing of Huck as he faces down the complex questions of right and wrong in a society that taught him that certain people are property and that what he is doing is abetting a crime the likes of which he figures will condemn him to hell, all the while we as the reader look at it from the modern perspective of Finn’s innate judgement being the right one. And still it is a hard book to read, not because of anything particularly narratively confusing, but if only because does at time feel as though the demon Twain was shining sunlight upon has risen up once again, never truly departed from this world.  It wouldn’t surprise me to see this wind up on the banned list of any American politician who had both read and understood its story.

  • book reviews: no rules

    Barely twenty four hours after I finished reading Dust (which I reviewed in a post now barely a day old) I finished yet another thick tome of a novel which I had been reading concurrently: the second book of the Hyperion Cantos.

    I don’t know exactly how thick. Digital books be bits.

    There are no rules about all this reading books and writing reviews, are there? If there are, I’m willfully ignoring them, going to read and post whatever I want. I mean, hell, I’m usually reading five or six books at any given time, random opportunity, and always depending on my mood. Sometimes I’m vibing for some soft nature comedy while other days I’m grooving on a juicy apocalyptic allegory.

    Similarly, there’s no rules that can’t say since I’m now apparently starting with a relatively clean slate with whatever novel I pick up later today, I can’t also clean off the ole review slate to go along with it. Thus, to round out the usual trio of reviews, I dug out a bonus pair of books that I had polished off and reviewed earlier in the year, pre this-blog-revival to add to the my list.

    The Taking by Dean Koontz

    If I asked an AI to write a paranormal thriller wrapped around a religious allegory and puffed up with so much flowery language that a poet would hold their hands up for a reprieve, there is a good chance the AI would spit out something very close to this book. I was feeling like I should do a survey. I have been writing a lot of paranormal science fiction lately, and like anyone who dabbles in anything it only makes sense to dip one’s toe into the pool of publicly available material that already exists in a category.  In researching the category of paranormal science fiction, I came up with Dean Koontz, so went to the used bookstore to hunt down a book or two. The story was something of a chaotic fever dream. The short chapters jumped from idea to idea, barely lingering on anything long enough to track the impact. Chekhov left a dozen guns at the scene and nary a one was fired. And the self-importance of humanity in the vastness of the universe that came gurgling out of these pages could only have been written by someone who was—wait for it—writing a science fiction take on the biblical flood. Zoinks! I should have seen that coming. Gah! I’m sure some people like this schlock but it wasn’t my jam.

    1Q84 by Haruki Murakami

    It had been a long time since I read 1Q84. And strictly speaking, I listened to it as a very excellent audiobook shortly after it came out fifteen years ago. I was a different person then, half my adulthood ago. I didn’t remember it. I mean, I thought I did. I thought I had an impression of the story, but I had convoluted bits of it in my mind and confused it with other things I must have read since or before or whenever. Murakami drops hints to his methodology in the story, and the surreality of the plot seems to sweep by and if you aren’t paying attention maybe you miss these things. I wrote a one pointthat this book seems like a descriptive stew pot with morsels of plot mixed in. It is, after all, as much a sensory experience reading this tome of an 1155 page novel as anything else. The author has one of his characters spend months reading slowly through Proust and reflecting on that experience, and I think that this book might be a kind of modern, surrealist response to Proust in some ways. (In fact, I reserved a copy of Proust from the library to poke my nose into that to see if I get the same vibe from weird translated French literature as I do from weird translated Japanese literature.) I don’t want to spoil the book by degorging the plot here though. It is a meditative slog through a closely parallel world from which the protagonists are seeking parallel escapes, each other, and understanding. And in all that, all those 1155 pages almost nothing happens and yet it is filled with life and action and heavy beats of human footsteps through time and reality. It’s worth your time to read this.

    Fall of Hyperion by Dan Simmons

    The sequel-slash-second book of the Hyperion Cantos takes off mere minutes after the first book ends, but is marked by a stylistic shift that would almost make them feel like completely different series if not for the rich characters we have been following. Where the opening novel is a book of “tales” and backstory as the key players make their way like set pieces to the larger game, this one is a more traditionally linear story jumping from and around the various perspectives of the original characters and a small cast of others as a complex galactic-scale mystery unfolds. Hyperion is a kind of cautionary tale about the yoke of technology around the neck of humanity, and the slow realization that the conveniences and advancements that have been offered by technological tools can often be mistaken for progress. Simmons, as much as he is an author of hard technological science fiction, might just have been waving a warning flag to a society on the cusp of an information age that was just arriving as these books were published. The highly advanced data networks and frightening artificial intelligences that are key players in the story have very clear and obvious analogs to our modern age, and in the context of a world shifting and changing under the influence of unrestrained social media and the exponential growth of systems that increasingly do our thinking and creative work for us is a message that Simmons was probably decades ahead of his time in offering.  I assume countless other science fiction authors have trod a similar path to shout an identical message into the void, and sadly it seems as though very few of us are listening.

  • book reviews: rainy spring

    Ugh. I didn’t read as much as I should have through the winter, and yet now, maybe only because I’m still riding the high of enjoying my new ebook reader, I have been power walking through a whole collection of books.

    That said, very little planning has gone into my May reads. I have very much been waltzing through the whims of whatever the universe throws at me, in the first case revisiting a book in print that I’d previously listened to, then stumbling into an unlikely girly memoire, and finally elevating a sequel I was pretty sure I was going to put off until autumn.

    But read what you want to read. Read what you feel like reading. Just read.

    And recently I read:

    Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

    This was a tough read, but for a strange reason: my first encounter with this book was when I listened to the audiobook version a couple years ago, and the narration and voice acting in that version is beyond top notch, bringing the whole story to life. Reading it as a novel this time through I could still hear the voices and cadedence of Porter’s acting chops. Beyond that, this is a delightfully nerdy romp through a first contact type story and a utopian perspective on why nerds should be in charge of everything. If you enjoyed The Martian, this is a completely different spin on the puzzling out life or death engineering problems in space by the same author, but with a pleasant stylistic overlap that bridges any of the plot differences. I have been making an effort these past couple weeks to avoid checking the star ratings on things (post upcoming in a couple more weeks) but I suspect that if you checked the reviews on this title you’d find no shortage of raves.

    Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

    Um, so yeah. What the heck am I doing reading a twenty year old quasi-spiritual memoire of a divorced woman traveling and meditating in the quest to clear her soul? I will admit, when The Algorithm recommended this to me, the low friction, low stakes, no cost value proposition of having the library on my ebook reader left me simply figuring that I would read the first chapter or two to quench my decades-long sidelong curiosity about this book which rode the bestseller list for like three years… and then move along. I read the whole damn thing. Maybe it’s a middle age quirk. Maybe I really have honed some previously emotional derelict part of my own soul these past couple years. Maybe there is a kinship between folks farted out the baskside of prim society and left to recreate themselves that bridges space, time, and gender. Who knows for sure. But putting aside my idle skepticism about the author’s spiritual awakenings and the manifesting of prayer and all that drivel, there was a relatable struggle to be found in these pages that has not uniquely been discussed in such books, but was certainly a perspective that I didn’t mind adding to my pondered-upon list.  

    Shift by Hugh Howey

    I lied in my last post. I surmised I might wait a month or six before jumping into the second instalment of Howey’s Silo trilogy. Instead, I had barely let the first volume cool off and I was onto the second. Sequels are always tough, I find. Part twos in a trilogy can be amazing tales of raised stakes (think Empire Strikes Back) or disappointing romps deeper into a story that can’t resolve until the final book. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I knew I wanted to dive deeper into the story. Instead what is here is a lot of backstory. Where in book one the mystery is the silo itself, what unravels in book two is a step back to nearly the present day (relatively speaking, at least) and we are introduced to the people and the politics that created the world in which book one exists, the histories of the world outside the silos themselves and the histories of the people who are stuck inside, too. I don’t just want to give a recap, however. Once again Howey is twisting dozens of very human stories together around this dystopic concept. Everyone is a complicated actor, both hero and villain, both struggling for their own survival and yet questioning their own mortality and morality. It is a romp through the psyche of post-apocalyptic humanity that is worth the trip.

  • book reviews: may the forth

    (…be with you!)

    It’s Star Wars day and I haven’t done much of anything intergalactic, but I have been doing a lot of reading lately.

    A lot of science fiction, too. So. Almost?

    Worse than my neglect of Star Wars, I checked out a bunch of library books and in such a flurry that a couple have expired before I even got part way through them. I could be here writing a bunch of different reviews if it were not for my distracted self bopping and hopping between titles, I guess.

    That said, the last couple weeks I’ve read:

    Axiom’s End by Lindsay Ellis

    I don’t know if you’d call Ms Ellis a film maker, reviewer, or an influencer, but it turns out that she’s a helluva author. I’ll be honest, I put this book on my list way back when the algorithm was dropping her video essays into my feed with more frequency and yet my lazy, distractible reading brain took over four years to clamber this clever first-encounter-kinda story to the top of my book stack. But the story sucked me in from the start when I finally started reading it, twisting through the tale of a young woman who finds herself at the centre of an alien government entanglement. It evoked emotions. And it left me adding the sequel to my reading list (though if I’m continuing the trend of being completely honest, it may take me another couple years to finally get around to that one.)

    I Want To Go Home by Gordon Korman

    And speaking of algorithms, whatever secret formula was recommending me digital titles in the Libby app connected to my library account must have pegged me as a middle aged Canadian and realized that I, like a million other Canadian kids who grew up in the 80s, lived on a steady diet of Korman’s goofy stories. I have a whole writer-origin story that revolves around this guy that I’ll happily share in detail to anyone who asks, and so by the way that algorithm might have been onto something. Yeah, this is a kids book and yeah it was a still a little corny like it was when I read it forty years ago, but there is something about the over-the-top silliness of a kid trying to escape sleepaway camp that evoked not only memories of my own childhood reading this same book until the pages were falling out, but the aching familiarity of a youth spent in scouts and church camps I would have fled were I more resourceful. A quick read, but I won’t begrudge the algorithm for taunting me with my lost youth.

    Wool by Hugh Howey

    A different sort of algorithm sucked us into watching the Apple TV adaptation of this decade old collection of linked dystopian science fiction novellas, more plainly called Silo. I had read Wool, the first in the trilogy that is the basis for Silo, waaaaaay back when it first came out and have been telling people to read it ever since. It’s a fantastic story, particularly if you like dark science fiction driven by strongly developed and complex characters. I had told all sorts of people to read it, but sadly I had never read it since. Nor had I read any of the sequels. Having finally caught up with the show, then, I loaded it up and decided to work my way through all three books. I finished Wool this very evening and was reminded of just how much I like this story. I mean, I may let it breath before I jump into book two, but like months. Only months. Not ten years this time, I promise.

  • book reviews: april flowers

    I just posted about my newfound enjoyment of walking and reading and so I figured now may be as good as time as any to start doing some light logging of the books I’ve been reading while out and about.

    Is it any surprise that two of those books are literally books about walking?

    How… um… on point.

    A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

    I’ve never actually read a Bryson book. I think it must be the kind of thing that appeals to middle aged folks who find themselves compelled to read travel stories from their aging counterparts. Or maybe that’s just what I am now and I’m projecting. Whatever. I’ve seen his books all over and had this kind of edging towards curiosity about them, but—well—I had other stuff to read first, y’know. But then the digital library recommended this one and I bit. Bryson has a vibe, I’ll give him that. He’s a storyteller and can turn a months long hike through the wilderness into a compelling dramatic narrative of a frustrating bro relationship. I could feel the pain of the walk, but also the pain of tolerating someone who is glumming on your good time. I got it. I soaked it in. I read the thing in three days. I’m not ready to hike the trail, but I definitely felt like going for a long walk alone afterwards.

    The Witcher: Blood of Elves by Andrzei Sapkowski

    To be completely fair, I’ve been trying to read this book for at least two years. I bought the box set on a boxing day sale in like, I wanna say 2023–but I’m pretty sure it was 2022. I was into the game on my playstation for a while and the lore struck me as wild, so, ka-ching. It’s been sitting on my nightstand with a bookmark one chapter in for all that time, always somewhere about third or fourth in the stack. Always. But it was available to borrow immediately from the public library as an ebook the day I unwrapped the new Kobo from its box and so it was pretty much the first book I loaded onto the device. I mean, sure, paper copy… but I actually read the digital one. That said, it took me until about half way through to really get into it. There was so much damned lore and backstory that I was trying to piece it altogether in my head for a lot of the opening chapters. Somehow it’s written both simply while tying itself in knots. I liked it in the end, but that first bit was a slog to be honest.

    In Praise of Paths by Torbjorn Ekelund

    Ok, so as far as philosophical essays on the joy of travelling through space and time while on foot goes, this is the book they could sell at Ikea and it would fit right in on any of the Kallax or Lack shelves. Yeah. Right. I know. Norway is not Sweden, but the vibe from those Scandanavian countries is all mashed together in my head and sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong place. I like Ikea and I like this book and the ideas is spurred to life in my head. It made me yearn for that last bit of icy snow to melt from the paths around here so that I could get back out on the trails and go for a stupidly long walk. Long walks were on my bucket list for when I took my career break and sometimes while I’ve been out wandering I do feel like I’m wasting time when I should be sitting at a desk writing something or coding something, so getting a swift kick in the reminder that sometimes the walk is the whole point made this a worthwhile read.