richardrbecker's reviews
418 reviews
How High We Go in the Dark, by Sequoia Nagamatsu
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
2.75
Maybe it's because the real pandemic we shared is too fresh in my experience to appreciate the one imagined Sequoia Nagamatsu, none of the stories within How High We Go In The Dark resonated with me. The work is desolate and bleak, filled with people so used to this imagined climate plague that their often similar and even repetitive analysis overshadows any empathy, emotion, hope, or anything.
That's not to say that writing isn't without merit. Sequoia Nagamatsu is a fine writer. The premise is almost suitable, linking characters over hundreds of years to tell the story of humanity in the aftermath of an arctic-born virus.
It's just that while the story is supposed to tell about the resiliency of the human spirit, the plague is so hard-baked into people's psyches that they cannot escape it, even after they escape it. Ergo, if How High We Go In The Dark started with the Black Plague instead of the one imagined, we would still be talking about it daily as if it shaped our existence.
Fortunately, humankind isn't like that. In the next decade, we'll mostly forget about the last pandemic because the fading of its experience is as much a part of the healing process as finding a place for it in our collective history. Unfortunately for the characters tucked inside Nagamatsu's work, that will not be the case. They will be forced to think of little else, even when faced with more intimate and immediate loss or gain.
That's not to say that writing isn't without merit. Sequoia Nagamatsu is a fine writer. The premise is almost suitable, linking characters over hundreds of years to tell the story of humanity in the aftermath of an arctic-born virus.
It's just that while the story is supposed to tell about the resiliency of the human spirit, the plague is so hard-baked into people's psyches that they cannot escape it, even after they escape it. Ergo, if How High We Go In The Dark started with the Black Plague instead of the one imagined, we would still be talking about it daily as if it shaped our existence.
Fortunately, humankind isn't like that. In the next decade, we'll mostly forget about the last pandemic because the fading of its experience is as much a part of the healing process as finding a place for it in our collective history. Unfortunately for the characters tucked inside Nagamatsu's work, that will not be the case. They will be forced to think of little else, even when faced with more intimate and immediate loss or gain.
Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, by Neil deGrasse Tyson
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
fast-paced
5.0
Astrophysics for People in a Hurry by Neil deGrasse Tyson is everything you wanted to know about the field and then some. Tyson dances across a dozen topics, starting with the big bang and finishing with a cosmic perspective that reminds readers why astrophysics and space exploration are vital pursuits that propel humankind beyond the primal.
If you've ever wondered about things like dark energy, dark matter, invisible light, and exoplanets, Tyson's books will provide a basic understanding of all these things, along with refreshers on the laws of nature, physics, astronomy, and the cosmos. He deftly handles these topics with the passion of an explorer who truly loves our home planet Earth.
This is one of those few and rare books that, even unsigned, will find a permanent place on the bookshelf so it may be mined again as needed. It's worth keeping around because Tyson does do much more than explain things — he proves their importance and kindles our imagination — by expressly demonstrating how far we've come in learning to search for and find the unseen, even if it exists right in front of our noses (and especially so). Even more remarkable, he manages to do all of this in the short span of 244 pages, giving the entire range of subjects a quantum-like feel because this book is bigger on the inside than the outside.
This is a must-read for anyone who tilts their head skyward on occasion and wonders. Splendid.
If you've ever wondered about things like dark energy, dark matter, invisible light, and exoplanets, Tyson's books will provide a basic understanding of all these things, along with refreshers on the laws of nature, physics, astronomy, and the cosmos. He deftly handles these topics with the passion of an explorer who truly loves our home planet Earth.
This is one of those few and rare books that, even unsigned, will find a permanent place on the bookshelf so it may be mined again as needed. It's worth keeping around because Tyson does do much more than explain things — he proves their importance and kindles our imagination — by expressly demonstrating how far we've come in learning to search for and find the unseen, even if it exists right in front of our noses (and especially so). Even more remarkable, he manages to do all of this in the short span of 244 pages, giving the entire range of subjects a quantum-like feel because this book is bigger on the inside than the outside.
This is a must-read for anyone who tilts their head skyward on occasion and wonders. Splendid.
A Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving
emotional
funny
inspiring
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
While A Prayer for Owen Meany is often called a book about faith (written by an author who self-describes himself as faithless), it's more of a hidden (and forbidden) love story ahead of its time. The story is told to us by narrator John Wheelwright, Owen Meany's best friend.
John is a complex character, bitter and angry about religion and politics. While some might mistake his anger primarily against the Reagan administration, it later becomes clear that John, although now living as a Canadian, is angry about American politics in general. This resentment grew out of The Vietnam War and cost him the life of his best friend. His bitterness toward religion is multifaceted, initially rooted in his family's decision to change denominations, but eventually tested and reconciled.
His best friend, Owen, is a tiny person with a big personality and an annoyingly squeaky voice. In contrast to John, Owen believes he was put on this Earth as an instrument of God. He also thinks everything is fated, a conviction underscored by dreams and prophecies that give Owen vivid insight into his own death. Unfortunately, he also killed John's mother, accidentally hitting a foul ball that broke her neck at a Little League game.
On its surface, the book is simple. We know at the onset that Owen's miraculous death is how John can eventually resolve his faith. But in the development of the story, we find the plot and subplots are beautifully complex, especially because John Irving does such a fantastic job leading his readers astray by feeding them false assumptions — enough so that Irving could tell which reviewers read his book and which merely skimmed the first few chapters.
Irving accomplishes this feat by pretending to provide a rambling narrative. In reality, Irving wrote the book backward, finish to start, and masks many of the novel's surprises by being astutely in control of its telling. In this way, much of the novel feels like an exercise of free will despite being painstakingly predetermined. (Even John Wheelwright's Master's thesis is about writer Thomas Hardy, an author obsessed with fate.)
Yet, it is not merely fate and faith that Irving explores. As mentioned, the actual plot is a love story, just under the surface. In a nutshell...
"If you care about something you have to protect it – If you're lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to find the courage to live it." ― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
John is a complex character, bitter and angry about religion and politics. While some might mistake his anger primarily against the Reagan administration, it later becomes clear that John, although now living as a Canadian, is angry about American politics in general. This resentment grew out of The Vietnam War and cost him the life of his best friend. His bitterness toward religion is multifaceted, initially rooted in his family's decision to change denominations, but eventually tested and reconciled.
His best friend, Owen, is a tiny person with a big personality and an annoyingly squeaky voice. In contrast to John, Owen believes he was put on this Earth as an instrument of God. He also thinks everything is fated, a conviction underscored by dreams and prophecies that give Owen vivid insight into his own death. Unfortunately, he also killed John's mother, accidentally hitting a foul ball that broke her neck at a Little League game.
On its surface, the book is simple. We know at the onset that Owen's miraculous death is how John can eventually resolve his faith. But in the development of the story, we find the plot and subplots are beautifully complex, especially because John Irving does such a fantastic job leading his readers astray by feeding them false assumptions — enough so that Irving could tell which reviewers read his book and which merely skimmed the first few chapters.
Irving accomplishes this feat by pretending to provide a rambling narrative. In reality, Irving wrote the book backward, finish to start, and masks many of the novel's surprises by being astutely in control of its telling. In this way, much of the novel feels like an exercise of free will despite being painstakingly predetermined. (Even John Wheelwright's Master's thesis is about writer Thomas Hardy, an author obsessed with fate.)
Yet, it is not merely fate and faith that Irving explores. As mentioned, the actual plot is a love story, just under the surface. In a nutshell...
"If you care about something you have to protect it – If you're lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to find the courage to live it." ― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
The Bottoms, by Joe R. Lansdale
dark
lighthearted
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
5.0
The Bottoms by Joe R. Lansdale is a mesmerizing short novel set in Depression-era East Texas. The protagonist, Harry Collins, is an older man recounting his experience as an 11-year-old boy while living on a farm outside of Marvel Creek, near the Sabine River bottoms.
When Harry and his sister, who goes by Tom, discover the corpse of a young black woman tied to a tree in the forest, the children assume it is the work of a figure out of local lore — the Goatman. However, his father — a barber, farmer, and local constable — insists there is no such thing. Yet, the inhuman treatment of the body suggests a different kind of monster, if not the infamous Goatman.
Theories of who killed this woman, a local prostitute, abound during a distinctly amateur investigation. As little progress is made, a very active contingent of the Ku Klux Klan decides to take swifter and more careless action than Harry's father. Meanwhile, the Goatman is still out there, and Harry and Tom have set their sites on exposing a creature they've seen with their own eyes.
Set in a poverty-stricken and racially divided community, Lansdale tells a tale of how people once scraped by in a rugged and less hospitable environment. The story is memorable and authentic, exploring men and women who can be both kind and noble or cruel and vulgar. A surprisingly epic and unforgettable story for its size.
When Harry and his sister, who goes by Tom, discover the corpse of a young black woman tied to a tree in the forest, the children assume it is the work of a figure out of local lore — the Goatman. However, his father — a barber, farmer, and local constable — insists there is no such thing. Yet, the inhuman treatment of the body suggests a different kind of monster, if not the infamous Goatman.
Theories of who killed this woman, a local prostitute, abound during a distinctly amateur investigation. As little progress is made, a very active contingent of the Ku Klux Klan decides to take swifter and more careless action than Harry's father. Meanwhile, the Goatman is still out there, and Harry and Tom have set their sites on exposing a creature they've seen with their own eyes.
Set in a poverty-stricken and racially divided community, Lansdale tells a tale of how people once scraped by in a rugged and less hospitable environment. The story is memorable and authentic, exploring men and women who can be both kind and noble or cruel and vulgar. A surprisingly epic and unforgettable story for its size.
Honor, by Thrity Umrigar
dark
reflective
sad
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
Thiry Umrigar depicts a side of India that few people see. This side isn't a brightly illuminated urban landscape filled with visionaries and thought leaders poised to usher in a global powerhouse but rather a rural landscape clinging to misogyny, poverty, caste systems, and secular discrimination so severe that public shaming and execution are accepted.
That's not to say Umrigar's protagonist isn't allied with the former. Smita Agarwal is an American journalist born in India but left with her family to the United States as a teen. Being back in her country, as a favor to a colleague, opens up old wounds as she investigates a disturbing crime in a backward village named Birwad. She enlists the help of her friend's associate Mohan, who not only helps her navigate a chauvinist landscape but is deeply grounded in the country's philosophical tradition rather than its secular or patriarchal one.
While the primary plot follows Smita's investigation into the burning of a Muslim man at the hands of his wife's Hindu brothers, Smita carries her own skeletons — secrets that could undermine her relationship with Mohan and possibly jeopardize her safety. Along with Smita's story, Umrigar inserts several passages from the point of view of the widow, Meena, who broke with the village's tradition by first taking a job outside the home and then marrying a Muslim, thereby dishonoring her family.
Overall, Honor is an excellent read that delves into the pitfalls of entrenched social conditioning. Umrigar does a fantastic job presenting this dehumanizing world as casually accepted by everyone involved. The only question mark comes in at the end, leaving us to wonder about Smita's surprise decision.
While I won't share it in this review, it doesn't strike me as something an American journalist would do. But who knows? Other readers may feel differently, affording Smita more flexibility in placing philosophical consideration and heritage ahead of the only life she had ever known.
That's not to say Umrigar's protagonist isn't allied with the former. Smita Agarwal is an American journalist born in India but left with her family to the United States as a teen. Being back in her country, as a favor to a colleague, opens up old wounds as she investigates a disturbing crime in a backward village named Birwad. She enlists the help of her friend's associate Mohan, who not only helps her navigate a chauvinist landscape but is deeply grounded in the country's philosophical tradition rather than its secular or patriarchal one.
While the primary plot follows Smita's investigation into the burning of a Muslim man at the hands of his wife's Hindu brothers, Smita carries her own skeletons — secrets that could undermine her relationship with Mohan and possibly jeopardize her safety. Along with Smita's story, Umrigar inserts several passages from the point of view of the widow, Meena, who broke with the village's tradition by first taking a job outside the home and then marrying a Muslim, thereby dishonoring her family.
Overall, Honor is an excellent read that delves into the pitfalls of entrenched social conditioning. Umrigar does a fantastic job presenting this dehumanizing world as casually accepted by everyone involved. The only question mark comes in at the end, leaving us to wonder about Smita's surprise decision.
While I won't share it in this review, it doesn't strike me as something an American journalist would do. But who knows? Other readers may feel differently, affording Smita more flexibility in placing philosophical consideration and heritage ahead of the only life she had ever known.
Porch Music, by Kathy Maresca
hopeful
slow-paced
4.5
4.5 stars, rounded up. Porch Music is an ambitious and enjoyable first novel by Kathy Maresca, who manages to juggle multiple first-person perspectives from characters who ultimately and unapologetically overwhelm the plotline. And there is nothing wrong with that.
While the story is primarily about Seminole matriarch, Ma-Ki, who protects her husband's murderer for fear her children might avenge the death, some smaller subplots and threads weave the fabric of this Seminole family together in the 1950s. Enough so, the family members and their unwavering faith stay with the reader more than the overarching story.
Maresca flawlessly captures the region's dialect, adding a layer of authenticity to the novel and bringing her characters to life. But, ironically, this also created one of my quibbles with the book. Sometimes the dialect levels the first-person narratives too much, limiting a distinction that should exist with multiple first-person storytellers. So while their perspectives differ, their voices are not always distinct enough to rise above their shared dialect.
But this is a minor thing when considering the whole of the book. The characters, Buster and Janie, Rose and Ma-Ki, Maggie, and others, have a story to tell. Sure, it's a story about secrets and sometimes intolerance. But it's also a story of family, faith, and hope stitched together in an enjoyable debut.
While the story is primarily about Seminole matriarch, Ma-Ki, who protects her husband's murderer for fear her children might avenge the death, some smaller subplots and threads weave the fabric of this Seminole family together in the 1950s. Enough so, the family members and their unwavering faith stay with the reader more than the overarching story.
Maresca flawlessly captures the region's dialect, adding a layer of authenticity to the novel and bringing her characters to life. But, ironically, this also created one of my quibbles with the book. Sometimes the dialect levels the first-person narratives too much, limiting a distinction that should exist with multiple first-person storytellers. So while their perspectives differ, their voices are not always distinct enough to rise above their shared dialect.
But this is a minor thing when considering the whole of the book. The characters, Buster and Janie, Rose and Ma-Ki, Maggie, and others, have a story to tell. Sure, it's a story about secrets and sometimes intolerance. But it's also a story of family, faith, and hope stitched together in an enjoyable debut.
The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell, by Robert Dugoni
inspiring
lighthearted
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell is an extraordinary novel by Robert Dugoni. The only caveat is that Dugoni sometimes likes life to be wrapped up too neatly by the end. There is nothing wrong with that, really. It's a matter of personal opinion.
Dugoni wins in capturing the life of someone with a rare condition, ocular albinism, and how it compounds his social interactions in something more than a coming-of-age story. Like most children with visible disorders or impairments, Sam Hill is bullied until he finds comfort in the company of other misfit friends, who enjoy varying levels of acceptance from their peers.
Such stories always provide an excellent opportunity to explore the power of friendships, life lessons from the seemingly random experiences of youth, and (most importantly) the idea that some of our worst experiences in life often lead to our most significant accomplishments (unless we allow ourselves to drown in those woes as antagonists often do). And since Dugoni tells the story as an adult looking back on his childhood instead of real-time, he capitalizes on the character's ability to share or omit details to create and release tension for the reader at will. He does a splendid job of it right up to the last five or ten percent of the book, where it becomes a bit more of an extended epilogue — the balloon of tension fully released a little too soon.
The story is especially rich in its ability to remind us that we all can make our lives extraordinary. And that exceptional lives aren't necessarily measured by incredible feats as much as moments of personal achievement — getting our driver's license, attending a prom, graduating from high school, getting a job, making a marriage proposal, helping family members, enjoying the company of friends, etc. I do love this about the book because Dugoni is spot on with his premise: the little things make our lives meaningful. Drink them up. And by drinking up the moments he shares with us through Sam Hill, Dugoni might help you appreciate your own extraordinary life.
Dugoni wins in capturing the life of someone with a rare condition, ocular albinism, and how it compounds his social interactions in something more than a coming-of-age story. Like most children with visible disorders or impairments, Sam Hill is bullied until he finds comfort in the company of other misfit friends, who enjoy varying levels of acceptance from their peers.
Such stories always provide an excellent opportunity to explore the power of friendships, life lessons from the seemingly random experiences of youth, and (most importantly) the idea that some of our worst experiences in life often lead to our most significant accomplishments (unless we allow ourselves to drown in those woes as antagonists often do). And since Dugoni tells the story as an adult looking back on his childhood instead of real-time, he capitalizes on the character's ability to share or omit details to create and release tension for the reader at will. He does a splendid job of it right up to the last five or ten percent of the book, where it becomes a bit more of an extended epilogue — the balloon of tension fully released a little too soon.
The story is especially rich in its ability to remind us that we all can make our lives extraordinary. And that exceptional lives aren't necessarily measured by incredible feats as much as moments of personal achievement — getting our driver's license, attending a prom, graduating from high school, getting a job, making a marriage proposal, helping family members, enjoying the company of friends, etc. I do love this about the book because Dugoni is spot on with his premise: the little things make our lives meaningful. Drink them up. And by drinking up the moments he shares with us through Sam Hill, Dugoni might help you appreciate your own extraordinary life.
48 Hours, by William R. Forstchen
informative
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.25
I'm a fan of the One Second After series by William R. Forstchen. Unfortunately, 48 Hours falls short despite a similar premise with much higher stakes.
This time, humanity is faced with a Coronal Mass Ejection from the Sun (instead of EMPs), threatening to shut down and possibly destroy the world's electrical infrastructure. Worse, the CME is expected to peel back the magnetosphere just before a more sinister event, which could lead to a mass extinction.
Forstchen has the chops to write such a story, but he just doesn't do it. There are too many infodumps, too many plotlines, too many characters, too many themes to tackle, and even some repetitive narratives that weigh the novel down until it becomes untenable. Add a short timeframe of 48 Hours to these troubles, and Forstchen never allows readers to really understand any of the characters beyond the surface, which are often stereotypical: a national security-crazed admiral, a populous 'people' president, a selfish governor, an overtly analytical scientist, a morally-inspired serjeant, etc.
In his afterward, he calls the 48 Hours an essay. And in doing so, he provides an accurate description of the work. The book's information is interesting if you have never thought about it before, which is the best part of the novel for those who enjoy simplified science. But if you are looking for characters with more depth or a more exciting plot, like those from his One Second After series, 40 Hours will likely fall short for you too.
This time, humanity is faced with a Coronal Mass Ejection from the Sun (instead of EMPs), threatening to shut down and possibly destroy the world's electrical infrastructure. Worse, the CME is expected to peel back the magnetosphere just before a more sinister event, which could lead to a mass extinction.
Forstchen has the chops to write such a story, but he just doesn't do it. There are too many infodumps, too many plotlines, too many characters, too many themes to tackle, and even some repetitive narratives that weigh the novel down until it becomes untenable. Add a short timeframe of 48 Hours to these troubles, and Forstchen never allows readers to really understand any of the characters beyond the surface, which are often stereotypical: a national security-crazed admiral, a populous 'people' president, a selfish governor, an overtly analytical scientist, a morally-inspired serjeant, etc.
In his afterward, he calls the 48 Hours an essay. And in doing so, he provides an accurate description of the work. The book's information is interesting if you have never thought about it before, which is the best part of the novel for those who enjoy simplified science. But if you are looking for characters with more depth or a more exciting plot, like those from his One Second After series, 40 Hours will likely fall short for you too.
We Are All the Same in the Dark, by Julia Heaberlin
dark
reflective
sad
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
As long as you don't mind character development overshadowing the plot until it becomes surprisingly passive for a thriller, We Are All the Same in the Dark will fit nicely in this year's reading list. Julia Heaberlin serves up three characters for us to relish (and then miss as we change perspectives): Wyatt Branson, a haunted loner who is suspected of his sister's disappearance a decade earlier; Odette Tucker, a one-legged local police officer who is deeply connected to Wyatt; and Angel, a one-eyed girl who found on the side of the road as if tossed out in a grave of spent dandelion wishes.
All three of these characters are amazingly well-wrought, so much so that it's almost annoying when we never hear from them again. This is especially true of Wyatt. His bit is painfully too short.
And then you'll quickly forgive Geaberlin because Odette is a tenacious protagonist despite her own scar connected to the disappearance of Wyatt's father and sister all those years ago. Some people think the loss of her leg is all Wyatt's fault, too, while others believe she is harboring a secret because the pair of them once dated. The truth is somewhere in the middle, with Odette carefully balancing her own belief in Wyatt's guilt or innocence, even after all these years.
The story concludes with Angel, a one-eyed runaway who Wyatt rescues roadside, and Odette temporarily takes in her custody to sort out who she is and where she comes from. By the time we pick up on her perspective, Angel's rescue and circumstances to be given a new identity are ancient histories, but her connection to Odette is not. She has one more thing to do to repay a lifelong debt to her savior.
The writing and the characters will certainly stay with you, a five-star psychological fiction right up to the end. But it's in the end, that I stripe one star away as the climax creeps up so silently that it doesn't read like a climax at all but an underwhelming explanation of events over the course of thirty years that few, if any, would see coming or even care about. As long as you don't read it for the end, We Are All The Same In The Dark is still worth savoring.
All three of these characters are amazingly well-wrought, so much so that it's almost annoying when we never hear from them again. This is especially true of Wyatt. His bit is painfully too short.
And then you'll quickly forgive Geaberlin because Odette is a tenacious protagonist despite her own scar connected to the disappearance of Wyatt's father and sister all those years ago. Some people think the loss of her leg is all Wyatt's fault, too, while others believe she is harboring a secret because the pair of them once dated. The truth is somewhere in the middle, with Odette carefully balancing her own belief in Wyatt's guilt or innocence, even after all these years.
The story concludes with Angel, a one-eyed runaway who Wyatt rescues roadside, and Odette temporarily takes in her custody to sort out who she is and where she comes from. By the time we pick up on her perspective, Angel's rescue and circumstances to be given a new identity are ancient histories, but her connection to Odette is not. She has one more thing to do to repay a lifelong debt to her savior.
The writing and the characters will certainly stay with you, a five-star psychological fiction right up to the end. But it's in the end, that I stripe one star away as the climax creeps up so silently that it doesn't read like a climax at all but an underwhelming explanation of events over the course of thirty years that few, if any, would see coming or even care about. As long as you don't read it for the end, We Are All The Same In The Dark is still worth savoring.
The Island of Dr. Moreau, by H.G. Wells
dark
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.25
I picked up The Island of Dr. Moreau in the spirit of Halloween. H.G. Wells didn't disappoint. He provides some great pacing, creepy antagonists, and a gothic vibe after protagonist Edward Prendick is stranded on a Pacific island by the notorious Dr. Moreau.
While Prendick isn't my favorite protagonist (he's a dullard), his low threshold for fear does lend something to the story. Specifically, while the creatures may or may not make your skin crawl, Prendick's hysteria helps the island feel impossibly claustrophobic. There is nowhere to run. There is nowhere to hide.
My primary criticism of the work is that Wells didn't give Prendick any room for transformation. He essentially remains the same terrified soul from start to finish. Conversely, the net sum of the book is more frightening than expected. While horror stories don't generally spook me, I did appreciate the atmosphere he created that far and away is spookier than any of the film adaptations that have been made. It's creepy, especially if you apply your imagination.
The three human residents on the island rely on the fragile illusion of their status to keep the beasts in line as H.g. Wells tackles evolution, creation, and the abuse of science. It's a timely reminder that as smart as science can be, it needs to be constrained by ethics.
Overall, it's a timeless classic that doesn't feel dated. Even after all these years, the tale reads like a modern novel presented as a carefully preserved period piece. It's a must for anyone who appreciates a horror story written by one of the true masters.
While Prendick isn't my favorite protagonist (he's a dullard), his low threshold for fear does lend something to the story. Specifically, while the creatures may or may not make your skin crawl, Prendick's hysteria helps the island feel impossibly claustrophobic. There is nowhere to run. There is nowhere to hide.
My primary criticism of the work is that Wells didn't give Prendick any room for transformation. He essentially remains the same terrified soul from start to finish. Conversely, the net sum of the book is more frightening than expected. While horror stories don't generally spook me, I did appreciate the atmosphere he created that far and away is spookier than any of the film adaptations that have been made. It's creepy, especially if you apply your imagination.
The three human residents on the island rely on the fragile illusion of their status to keep the beasts in line as H.g. Wells tackles evolution, creation, and the abuse of science. It's a timely reminder that as smart as science can be, it needs to be constrained by ethics.
Overall, it's a timeless classic that doesn't feel dated. Even after all these years, the tale reads like a modern novel presented as a carefully preserved period piece. It's a must for anyone who appreciates a horror story written by one of the true masters.