Review: Shadow Puppets by Orson Scott Card

Posted on January 12, 2010 by

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Another masterful installment of the fantastic Ender/Bean series. I find it maddening that an author whose creative work I respond to with such favor can be so repellent to me on a personal/political/religious level. It is easy to see some of Card’s political leanings and social beliefs in his works, once one is made aware of them; still, the Ender novels as well as other independent works – like Songmaster – seem somewhat liberal and inclusive, which would be opposed to Card’s ultra-conservatism. Luckily, the writing is so wonderful and the stories so magical that it isn’t too difficult to put aside my feelings for the author and simply enjoy the work (though I can’t see myself buying copies of his books – I’ll have to continue to borrow them from friends/libraries). I finished Shadow Puppets in one day, though it’s about 350 pages, and I’ll be cracking open the next in the series – Shadow of the Giant – tomorrow. Still such an incredible sci-fi fantasy series, though, perhaps not surprisingly, some of the magic of Ender’s Game and Ender’s Shadow has been lost. Well worth the read.

Review: Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut

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This is the 6th Vonnegut novel that I have read, and while I plan to continue reading more – this and the previous read (Breakfast of Champions) have left me underwhelmed. Granted, the idea is great – humanity after its own destruction, as explained by a narrator who is related to one of Vonnegut’s most beloved characters, Kilgore Trout and who also happens to be a one-million-year-old ghost. Pretty nifty stuff; still, I found this lacking the polish that Cat’s Cradle and even Slaughterhouse-Five demonstrated. And while Vonnegut displays his characteristic cynicism toward the human race and its “accomplishments,” Galapagos lacks the sharp humor of, say, God Bless You Dr. Kevorkian or A Man Without A Country. Overall, I found the story interesting and mildly entertaining – the Mandarax quotations were always welcome additions to the read, especially when the interpretations formed tended to be ironic. Still, of my list so far, this one is nearer to the bottom. (I can’t help but rank, here: Cat’s Cradle; A Man Without A Country;, God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian; Slaughterhouse-Five; Galapagos; Breakfast of Champions).

Review: Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse

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I was initially drawn to this book because of the many classical complexes/situations which were promised; however, I found the plot ultimately lacking and, though my interest was piqued at various points throughout the book (more so at the beginning and end, however) it was difficult to empathize with or relate to the main character, Goldmund. His life-journey seemed relatively pointless and superficial, though it was meant to be the foundation for Goldmund’s later revelation and artistic awakening. I was bored by the monotonous affairs and was much more interested by Goldmund’s interactions with other male characters and, eerily, with his reaction to/fondness for the dead – but perhaps this is the point. I was particularly moved by some of the tender moments between Narcissus and Goldmund at the end of the novel, though the last page and final words left me greatly disappointed and confused about what the true purpose of the story would be. I was admittedly and, I think, understandably disturbed by Goldmund’s obsessive compulsion for his mother, which (without giving too much away) then left me feeling bothered by the way Hesse chose to end the novel; I believe I would have been much more satisfied – and much more appreciative of the story and its characters, had Hesse chosen to end the novel focusing on Narcissus and Goldmund. All-in-all, it was an interesting but unsatisfying read. I’m glad to have read it, and I’m still a fan of Hesse’s poetic style and daring themes. Demian, however, is a better example of what I expect from Hesse, though I’m eager to read Siddhartha, for which Hesse is most famous.

Review: Ask the Dust by John Fante

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How I got through a bachelor’s program in English and a graduate program in American Lit without touching John Fante is beyond me (especially considering I did my graduate work in Los Angeles!). Ask the Dust was humorously honest in its portrayal of L.A. life and lifestyle – particularly in regards to class and race relations (everybody in the story wants to be just “American” but each character can’t help but exaggerate the ethnic heritage of the others). The prose is a beautiful precursor to Salinger and Kerouac; the plot and disillusionment anticipates Nathanael West’s Day of the Locust, though, for Fante, writing is still the un-threatened art-form. The unrequited love-triangle between Arturo, Camilla, and Sam was tragic, absurd, and entirely believable. I also enjoyed the subtle, particular detail paid to the seamless yet distinguishable “burroughs” of Los Angeles, including Long Beach, Bunker Hill, and Santa Monica – this honesty to detail was also present as the characters traveled north to Bakersfield and south to Laguna Beach. I will admit that Bandini was a bit of a loose canon – not much explanation for the wild tangents he would run off on, or the angry, almost violent tendencies toward women, and the narration would run equally wild at certain points (as with the description of the earthquake) but the cynicism and sarcasm are clear, truthful indicators of the period. I think The New York Times had it right when they said: “Either the work of John Fante is unknown to you or it is unforgettable. He was not the kind of writer to leave room in between.” Fante had been unknown to me, until he was mentioned in passing by another grad student, in context to a discussion; however, now that I’ve taken the chance and read my first Fante novel, I am sure it will not be forgotten – and will be succeeded by future experiences with this gritty, poetic American nobody.

Review: The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown

Posted on January 12, 2010 by

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Dan Brown has done it again! Though this third novel in his Langdon series was over 500 pages long, I managed to warp through it in less than three days (on a weekend when the Chicago Bears were playing the Pittsburgh Steelers, no less!). While the previous two novels in the trilogy I found to be brilliant, both in style and plot, this third takes the prize for truly ingenious subject matter and theme. We should be used to submitting to Brown’s brilliance in forcing us to question our beliefs of religion and the constructs of history, but in The Lost Symbol, Brown somehow manages to make us question our own humanity – the true nature of our relationship with God. While, I admit to having been a bit turned off by some of the supernatural elements throughout the book (my academic sensibility, like Langdon, was continually butting heads with the plot of the story, but of course Brown made me realize the error of my ways within the last few pages of the novel), I was eventually brought around. Interestingly enough, I was about two-thirds of the way through with the book when I found myself discussing it with a co-worker, who has recently been delving into meditative and yogi practices. I distinctly recall saying that I was truly enjoying the book, but was a bit baffled by Brown’s leaning toward the magical/fantasy – and I stated that I hoped (or anticipated) Brown would reel me in again soon. He did. Superiourly. Brown is a master story-teller, a fantastic researcher, and a brilliant historian. After three incredibly well-done books, he finally managed to puddle my previously tickled brain and make me want to seek out Masonry.

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