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jonscott9's reviews
196 reviews
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
3.0
For the longest time, I staved off a reading of the Harry Potter books because it felt that poring over his life and spells would be akin to cheating on Narnia. My Narnia, the one fashioned in my mind when young, those chronicles that had me then and still have me today.
But with the advent of the denouement in Harry's tales, Book 7, I caved. The anticipation's building for the last chapter of L'Affair de Potter, and curiously, so is a very real tension. These books get darker as they go, I'm told. (Call me eager.) And I will not have any book or book series ruined for me before I get to it. Hence, I'm looking to slam these reads leading up to the finish.
Okay, on to HP and his Sorcerer's Stone now: A fitting opener to a sprawling series, I suppose, inviting while not engrossing. Felt teased a lot of times. Also felt it a chore sometimes to keep so many characters straight in my head.
The titular subject (that Stone) doesn't even come up until at least two-thirds of the way through the book, but once it does, Rowling really steps on the pedal. Those last 100 pages are a blitzread. I found myself caring about the fates of Harry, Hermione, and Ron Weasley.
Looking forward to how Rowling's writing grows over the course of these books. It only can, and if the mass fuss about the stories is to be believed. This book was good, or good enough, but not great.
Round 2: The Chamber of Secrets. Go!
But with the advent of the denouement in Harry's tales, Book 7, I caved. The anticipation's building for the last chapter of L'Affair de Potter, and curiously, so is a very real tension. These books get darker as they go, I'm told. (Call me eager.) And I will not have any book or book series ruined for me before I get to it. Hence, I'm looking to slam these reads leading up to the finish.
Okay, on to HP and his Sorcerer's Stone now: A fitting opener to a sprawling series, I suppose, inviting while not engrossing. Felt teased a lot of times. Also felt it a chore sometimes to keep so many characters straight in my head.
The titular subject (that Stone) doesn't even come up until at least two-thirds of the way through the book, but once it does, Rowling really steps on the pedal. Those last 100 pages are a blitzread. I found myself caring about the fates of Harry, Hermione, and Ron Weasley.
Looking forward to how Rowling's writing grows over the course of these books. It only can, and if the mass fuss about the stories is to be believed. This book was good, or good enough, but not great.
Round 2: The Chamber of Secrets. Go!
The History of Love by Nicole Krauss
4.0
This book contains a book within it, and that is called The History of Love. Morsels "excerpted" from that book left me wishing it was a fleshed-out read itself.
The book is unconventional, its formatting fresh in the last 20 pages. (You'd have to read it.) The story transcends eras and ages, much like love itself. This is just a kaleidoscope of words.
It's a gorgeous book, its language alternately lilting and spare. Leo Gursky and Alma Singer are fully realized characters, ones who I wish were real so that I could know them.
(Sidenote: Much has been made of Krauss's marriage to Jonathan Safran Foer, the twentysomething wunderkind behind Everything Is Illuminated and Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close. The literati speculate that he had a hand in this book, and while I find that more believable than the idea that Capote had a hand in Harper Lee's Mockingbird, this is certainly Nicole Krauss's story.)
The book is unconventional, its formatting fresh in the last 20 pages. (You'd have to read it.) The story transcends eras and ages, much like love itself. This is just a kaleidoscope of words.
It's a gorgeous book, its language alternately lilting and spare. Leo Gursky and Alma Singer are fully realized characters, ones who I wish were real so that I could know them.
(Sidenote: Much has been made of Krauss's marriage to Jonathan Safran Foer, the twentysomething wunderkind behind Everything Is Illuminated and Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close. The literati speculate that he had a hand in this book, and while I find that more believable than the idea that Capote had a hand in Harper Lee's Mockingbird, this is certainly Nicole Krauss's story.)
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
4.0
This is Santiago's story. He's an aged Cuban fisherman who once paired with a helpful boy in his skiff but has gone fishless for 80-odd days straight. He goes way out on the waters early one morning and subsequently finds himself in the fight of his life to bring in a wondrous marlin.
This is a compact, crafty read for anyone who can't break away from all the mysteries of the sea. Hemingway knows better than most how to inject meaning into the seemingly quaint parts of life, or rather reveal the meaning embedded in our quaint days. He provides more insights in 120 pages than a whole lot of authors do in 400 or more.
It doesn't hurt either that this book came in the twilight of his writing career -- after Farewell To Arms and The Bell Tolls, after receiving the Nobel Prize in literature in 1954, after all the fanfare. This book is Hemingway's final act of greatness. It is fierce and tranquil, the story of a man who goes out every day to lose and find himself at sea.
At day's end, what does a man have to show for himself and his work? And near the end of his life? What is worth more, the fight or the trophy? These are just some of the questions seething below the surface in this short tome.
This is a compact, crafty read for anyone who can't break away from all the mysteries of the sea. Hemingway knows better than most how to inject meaning into the seemingly quaint parts of life, or rather reveal the meaning embedded in our quaint days. He provides more insights in 120 pages than a whole lot of authors do in 400 or more.
It doesn't hurt either that this book came in the twilight of his writing career -- after Farewell To Arms and The Bell Tolls, after receiving the Nobel Prize in literature in 1954, after all the fanfare. This book is Hemingway's final act of greatness. It is fierce and tranquil, the story of a man who goes out every day to lose and find himself at sea.
At day's end, what does a man have to show for himself and his work? And near the end of his life? What is worth more, the fight or the trophy? These are just some of the questions seething below the surface in this short tome.
Breaking Back: How I Lost Everything and Won Back My Life by James Blake
3.0
"I was never supposed to be a jock."
It's quite possibly that James Blake isn't even supposed to be walking still. But he is -- and he's writing -- and we're all the richer for it.
Now here is an unusual sports autobiography. Precious little attention is given to the sport on the court and in his head. Life and adversity take center stage instead.
And there's no shortage of those things herein: During his 2004 pro tennis season, Blake suffered a broken neck in a freak on-court accident, recovered from that and spent his father's final days with him before Thomas Blake Sr. succumbed to cancer, and then contracted the rare case of zoster (shingles) afflicting a twentysomething due to the stress.
This engaging account (with a co-scribe's help) is long on life and short on pretension. Superfans of the sport and player and non-fans of tennis and sweat altogether will learn from this book. Think Tuesdays With Morrie maybe for the sports set, only this one seems even more genuine.
Blake pulls no punches here. Literary references are peppered in and always make good sense. The man did go to Harvard for two years, and he grew up with "school parents" (as opposed to "sports parents") who gave him $25 for every 100 books he read as a child. This is certainly a story worth telling from a man who took two years at Harvard and learned much more from his father and his obstacles.
This book deserved to land right where it did, at the No. 22 spot on the NYTimes bestseller list.
It's quite possibly that James Blake isn't even supposed to be walking still. But he is -- and he's writing -- and we're all the richer for it.
Now here is an unusual sports autobiography. Precious little attention is given to the sport on the court and in his head. Life and adversity take center stage instead.
And there's no shortage of those things herein: During his 2004 pro tennis season, Blake suffered a broken neck in a freak on-court accident, recovered from that and spent his father's final days with him before Thomas Blake Sr. succumbed to cancer, and then contracted the rare case of zoster (shingles) afflicting a twentysomething due to the stress.
This engaging account (with a co-scribe's help) is long on life and short on pretension. Superfans of the sport and player and non-fans of tennis and sweat altogether will learn from this book. Think Tuesdays With Morrie maybe for the sports set, only this one seems even more genuine.
Blake pulls no punches here. Literary references are peppered in and always make good sense. The man did go to Harvard for two years, and he grew up with "school parents" (as opposed to "sports parents") who gave him $25 for every 100 books he read as a child. This is certainly a story worth telling from a man who took two years at Harvard and learned much more from his father and his obstacles.
This book deserved to land right where it did, at the No. 22 spot on the NYTimes bestseller list.
Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris
4.0
Not usually one for bandwagon books in the year they come out or get latched onto, but this was different. Think (as one only can) of the movie "Office Space" or "The Office" on NBC television, but with a heart and soul.
The sad, silly, sordid affairs at an unnamed fictional ad agency in Chicago will have you wondering who at your own office or in your own life is repped here by the well-drawn fleet of characters.
The action (and there IS some action) rarely leaves the actual confines of this struggling Alamo of ads. (Characters are constantly "walking Spanish down the hall," a.k.a. being laid off.) Everything that happens is plausible and believable. It's alternately heartbreaking and hilarious, often at the same time, as when one man whose life revolved around his job sneaks in after being fired to take apart his work chair piece by piece, box it up, and hurl it into Lake Michigan.
This is Ferris's first novel, and the collective "we" voice he gives the narrator(s) is smart and fresh. Anyone who's been part of a work "team," or ever had a "workstation" (cube!) to call his own, or ever engaged in or overheard the gossip in the hallway -- he will love this book.
A fair portion of the dialogue comes in diatribes sent between characters over e-mail. This is another brilliant move on Ferris's part. You wince along with the sender of an e-mail when he accidentally hits "reply all" at the worst time. You also begin to care -- really care -- for a few people as their faults and cruelty and vulnerability come through. When you get to the end, it's all been worth it.
The sad, silly, sordid affairs at an unnamed fictional ad agency in Chicago will have you wondering who at your own office or in your own life is repped here by the well-drawn fleet of characters.
The action (and there IS some action) rarely leaves the actual confines of this struggling Alamo of ads. (Characters are constantly "walking Spanish down the hall," a.k.a. being laid off.) Everything that happens is plausible and believable. It's alternately heartbreaking and hilarious, often at the same time, as when one man whose life revolved around his job sneaks in after being fired to take apart his work chair piece by piece, box it up, and hurl it into Lake Michigan.
This is Ferris's first novel, and the collective "we" voice he gives the narrator(s) is smart and fresh. Anyone who's been part of a work "team," or ever had a "workstation" (cube!) to call his own, or ever engaged in or overheard the gossip in the hallway -- he will love this book.
A fair portion of the dialogue comes in diatribes sent between characters over e-mail. This is another brilliant move on Ferris's part. You wince along with the sender of an e-mail when he accidentally hits "reply all" at the worst time. You also begin to care -- really care -- for a few people as their faults and cruelty and vulnerability come through. When you get to the end, it's all been worth it.
Truth & Beauty: A Friendship by Ann Patchett
3.0
The novelist pens her first work of nonfiction here with an account of her topsy-turvy life and friendship with the writer Lucy Grealy, who was first a poet and always a head-, heart-, and handful. The two met in college, lived together at the Iowa Writers Workship, and basically did life together, regardless of whether they were in the same place.
And they were not often in the same place, be it NYC vs. Nashville or love vs. self-pity. Grealy did have viable complaints in how doctors had treated her since age 10, as she had a rare cancer of the jaw bone that always meant reconstructive surgery. Her appearance was always changing; she could never get used to or accepting of her own body, of her very own face. (That is the subject of Grealy's acclaimed memoir, Autobiography of a Face, about which my interest is now piqued.)
Patchett may be a better novelist than a memoirist. I don't know, as I haven't read Bel Canto, The Patron Saint of Liars, or any of her others. This retelling of their public and private moments - of their triumphs and travails in romantic, personal, and professional realms, and in that order of seeming importance - is good and noble to honor the memory of Grealy. (She died in NYC a few years ago of a suicide or accidental overdose, depending on whom you ask.)
The book is sympathetic to Grealy largely, but Patchett's resolve admittedly waned after 12-15 years of seeing her friend's self-destructive behavior. "You know one day I'll leave you over this," she told Grealy of her heroin addiction. "Oh, I know," came the ambivalent reply.
Grealy's family, specifically her sister, has lashed out at Patchett's take on their own, and understandably. Grealy does not come off as a grateful or benevolent person in this book. Yes, she's had a uniquely rough life, and since a young age, but she's whiny, sexed-up, and generally inconsiderate of the tolls that her words and ways are taking on herself and others. Yes, she ravished friends with money and gifts. But she was also wasteful with her success and income and fame; she squandered a lot. One finishes the read thinking Patchett deserves a medal for sticking by Grealy's side as long as she did.
This book is touching and funny and devastating at times - her cancer treatments are truly horrifying - but the title seems a misnomer. Not sure what's to be gleaned from the book about truth and beauty exactly. I love reading about writers' interactions and how they feed off of each other professionally and personally, and some of that's here, but I'm not sure what's beautiful about a life that's by turns self-aggrandizing and self-destroying.
Maybe Grealy's family's beef is warranted. Maybe this didn't need to be written, at least not so soon after her demise. Still, Patchett's firsthand take is sometimes intriguing and always readable. It was never going to be enough, their friendship. Lucy Grealy's end was going to be tragic no matter what, it seemed, and because she'd have it no other way.
And they were not often in the same place, be it NYC vs. Nashville or love vs. self-pity. Grealy did have viable complaints in how doctors had treated her since age 10, as she had a rare cancer of the jaw bone that always meant reconstructive surgery. Her appearance was always changing; she could never get used to or accepting of her own body, of her very own face. (That is the subject of Grealy's acclaimed memoir, Autobiography of a Face, about which my interest is now piqued.)
Patchett may be a better novelist than a memoirist. I don't know, as I haven't read Bel Canto, The Patron Saint of Liars, or any of her others. This retelling of their public and private moments - of their triumphs and travails in romantic, personal, and professional realms, and in that order of seeming importance - is good and noble to honor the memory of Grealy. (She died in NYC a few years ago of a suicide or accidental overdose, depending on whom you ask.)
The book is sympathetic to Grealy largely, but Patchett's resolve admittedly waned after 12-15 years of seeing her friend's self-destructive behavior. "You know one day I'll leave you over this," she told Grealy of her heroin addiction. "Oh, I know," came the ambivalent reply.
Grealy's family, specifically her sister, has lashed out at Patchett's take on their own, and understandably. Grealy does not come off as a grateful or benevolent person in this book. Yes, she's had a uniquely rough life, and since a young age, but she's whiny, sexed-up, and generally inconsiderate of the tolls that her words and ways are taking on herself and others. Yes, she ravished friends with money and gifts. But she was also wasteful with her success and income and fame; she squandered a lot. One finishes the read thinking Patchett deserves a medal for sticking by Grealy's side as long as she did.
This book is touching and funny and devastating at times - her cancer treatments are truly horrifying - but the title seems a misnomer. Not sure what's to be gleaned from the book about truth and beauty exactly. I love reading about writers' interactions and how they feed off of each other professionally and personally, and some of that's here, but I'm not sure what's beautiful about a life that's by turns self-aggrandizing and self-destroying.
Maybe Grealy's family's beef is warranted. Maybe this didn't need to be written, at least not so soon after her demise. Still, Patchett's firsthand take is sometimes intriguing and always readable. It was never going to be enough, their friendship. Lucy Grealy's end was going to be tragic no matter what, it seemed, and because she'd have it no other way.
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling
4.0
Okay, now it's getting good. In this fourth installment, the reader starts to discern that Rowling is taking the series ultimately to a gratifying, climactic head that will be worth having read the first three volumes.
And these are just that - volumes. HP4 here clocks at 734 pages, and I see already that HP5 is 870. Guh! In this age of ADD-riddled adolescents, who has the time and patience to read a book that long? (This ADD-addled one doesn't.) But, well, this isn't the heavy stuff of Thomas Pynchon, so we can allot Rowling her page counts. Lord knows the publishers did.
The distraction in this book is the Triwizard Tournament that brings in (good grief!) more characters from two other wizarding schools, French and Slovak if you must know. It's funny to see present-day geography repped in these books; the accents are comically and phonetically presented, and a dimwitted witch finds herself in Albania and reaps the consequences after running into You-Know-Who.
The conclusion of HP4 is satisfying though the series is hardly over. One fairly major character does not make it out of this book, and while I knew that going in actually, the departure is sure abrupt.
The usual suspects are coming into their own. Hermione and Ron are great as Harry's boy and girl wonders, funny and biting by turns. Dumbledore and Snape are always becoming more fully realized, though McGonagall seems slighted as each volume goes by. (Maybe she gets more play in the three to come?) And the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Mad-Eye Moody, is a great add. (Of course he can't last.)
My lone gripe here: Rowling uses too many ellipses. I know it's a small gripe, but it's distracting when, in most places, a comma would have been mighty fine.
Regardless, the show marches on like the giant it is.
And these are just that - volumes. HP4 here clocks at 734 pages, and I see already that HP5 is 870. Guh! In this age of ADD-riddled adolescents, who has the time and patience to read a book that long? (This ADD-addled one doesn't.) But, well, this isn't the heavy stuff of Thomas Pynchon, so we can allot Rowling her page counts. Lord knows the publishers did.
The distraction in this book is the Triwizard Tournament that brings in (good grief!) more characters from two other wizarding schools, French and Slovak if you must know. It's funny to see present-day geography repped in these books; the accents are comically and phonetically presented, and a dimwitted witch finds herself in Albania and reaps the consequences after running into You-Know-Who.
The conclusion of HP4 is satisfying though the series is hardly over. One fairly major character does not make it out of this book, and while I knew that going in actually, the departure is sure abrupt.
The usual suspects are coming into their own. Hermione and Ron are great as Harry's boy and girl wonders, funny and biting by turns. Dumbledore and Snape are always becoming more fully realized, though McGonagall seems slighted as each volume goes by. (Maybe she gets more play in the three to come?) And the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Mad-Eye Moody, is a great add. (Of course he can't last.)
My lone gripe here: Rowling uses too many ellipses. I know it's a small gripe, but it's distracting when, in most places, a comma would have been mighty fine.
Regardless, the show marches on like the giant it is.
Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer
4.0
An adventure tale that, to me, is just the right size at about 200 pages. Chris McCandless was an idealistic college grad who resented his parents, gave away his life savings of $24,000, and hitchhiked around North America and finally up to the Alaskan wilderness to find himself and something higher. He read the right people (Tolstoy, Thoreau, et al.), lived like John Muir, and just operated outside of a lot of our society's confines. I would have liked to meet him. He left indelible impressions on all whose roads intersected with his.
This book moves fast, as did the man himself. Krakauer's style reminds me of Erik Larsson's in 'Devil in the White City.' Larsson writes better, and Krakauer's very much the magazine journalist he was before these books of his erupted. He's detailed and witty, good at transitions. He does well to acquire the young man's journal from the voyage and has obviously interviewed at length the parents, sister, friends, and highway acquaintances of the lad. Those excerpts and quotes go far. If the people truly said those things, and like that, it's an eloquent bunch.
The book flows like one of those crashing streams McCandless tried to cross to save himself in the North. It's hard to put down and can be read in a day, even by a snailish reader like me. Krakauer's comparisons to his own restless, embittered coming-of-age story fit well and make for more convincing writing. You can see why he took to McCandless's story.
Chris (aka Alexander Supertramp) was smart, gifted, wild, loving, and ultimately maddening. His family really seems to have gotten a raw deal in the whole thing, and yet they want his story to be told. You know what's coming, but it doesn't make it any easier to take.
This book moves fast, as did the man himself. Krakauer's style reminds me of Erik Larsson's in 'Devil in the White City.' Larsson writes better, and Krakauer's very much the magazine journalist he was before these books of his erupted. He's detailed and witty, good at transitions. He does well to acquire the young man's journal from the voyage and has obviously interviewed at length the parents, sister, friends, and highway acquaintances of the lad. Those excerpts and quotes go far. If the people truly said those things, and like that, it's an eloquent bunch.
The book flows like one of those crashing streams McCandless tried to cross to save himself in the North. It's hard to put down and can be read in a day, even by a snailish reader like me. Krakauer's comparisons to his own restless, embittered coming-of-age story fit well and make for more convincing writing. You can see why he took to McCandless's story.
Chris (aka Alexander Supertramp) was smart, gifted, wild, loving, and ultimately maddening. His family really seems to have gotten a raw deal in the whole thing, and yet they want his story to be told. You know what's coming, but it doesn't make it any easier to take.
The Spy Who Came In from the Cold by John le Carré
3.0
Le Carre's classic was "the best spy story [Graham Greene] ever read," so it had much to live up to. It delivers, but not as you may expect. And isn't that just like a spy? If you're looking for Bond-esque action and steam or chases in the vein of Jason Bourne (or Bourne movies anyway), thou shalt be disappointed. But if you're game for mind tricks and double-crossing and all the true accoutrements of what goes into espionage, this read has those in spades.
It's amazing what this author packs into roughly 200 pages. It's dialogue-driven, so know that. The talking flows, though, and it doesn't tell more than it should. Of course there's an affair (Liz Gold), a villain (the fiendish Mundt), and the helpful crony spy (Fiedler), but Alec Leamas is largely alone in this book, even when he's with other people.
The life of a spy is bleak and unattractive, as are the lessons gleaned from this book. Probably no author knows that bleakness better than John le Carre, who worked in British intel before becoming an author and penning this Cold War-era classic. Of course he gives the characters his own thoughts to express about the Cold War, a split-up Germany, and socialism/communism, but it's not heavy-handed and, dated though it may seem, it's timeless.
In short, Leamas does what he must to execute one more master plan, that being to bring about nemesis Mundt's ruin and ultimate end. It really ramps up at the end, giving a photo finish to a spy who, despite having this last go, does his best to come him from the cold. Well worth the read from a man on top of his craft. Interest is piqued now to read his Constant Gardener.
It's amazing what this author packs into roughly 200 pages. It's dialogue-driven, so know that. The talking flows, though, and it doesn't tell more than it should. Of course there's an affair (Liz Gold), a villain (the fiendish Mundt), and the helpful crony spy (Fiedler), but Alec Leamas is largely alone in this book, even when he's with other people.
The life of a spy is bleak and unattractive, as are the lessons gleaned from this book. Probably no author knows that bleakness better than John le Carre, who worked in British intel before becoming an author and penning this Cold War-era classic. Of course he gives the characters his own thoughts to express about the Cold War, a split-up Germany, and socialism/communism, but it's not heavy-handed and, dated though it may seem, it's timeless.
In short, Leamas does what he must to execute one more master plan, that being to bring about nemesis Mundt's ruin and ultimate end. It really ramps up at the end, giving a photo finish to a spy who, despite having this last go, does his best to come him from the cold. Well worth the read from a man on top of his craft. Interest is piqued now to read his Constant Gardener.
Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner by Frederick Buechner
4.0
This book is just what the title says, a daily reader from one of the richest, warmest voices still living in literature. These morsels of solid food for mind and heart will see many days even after the dear man is gone too.
No bones about it, Frederick Buechner is my favorite living author. He simply has a way of putting things that moves me to action and repose at the same time, to both internal contentment and stark rage at the world's pains and injustices. Having his tomes at hand to glance at or pore over is one way I stay sane and positive. Come what may, Buechner's elegant, sometimes archaic language churns like butter before my eyes.
This compact read includes excerpts from most of his major works, including the exquisite, Pulitzer-nominated Godric, a novel. For what it's worth, it also comes with Maya Angelou's stamp of approval, as the two are friends. I think of Angelou and Buechner, Capote and Harper Lee, and more: Nothing beats those times when great voices find friendship.
No bones about it, Frederick Buechner is my favorite living author. He simply has a way of putting things that moves me to action and repose at the same time, to both internal contentment and stark rage at the world's pains and injustices. Having his tomes at hand to glance at or pore over is one way I stay sane and positive. Come what may, Buechner's elegant, sometimes archaic language churns like butter before my eyes.
This compact read includes excerpts from most of his major works, including the exquisite, Pulitzer-nominated Godric, a novel. For what it's worth, it also comes with Maya Angelou's stamp of approval, as the two are friends. I think of Angelou and Buechner, Capote and Harper Lee, and more: Nothing beats those times when great voices find friendship.