Roof Beam Reader
Adam Burgess
Review: How I Paid for College by Marc Acito
Acito’s first novel, How I Paid for College: A Novel of Sex, Theft, Friendship & Musical Theater
Review: The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie
Where to begin with this novel? First, the prose & style: While I find Rushdie to be a supreme story-teller and master of language, it is sometimes difficult for me to enjoy reading his particular Indian-dialect English. The mix of cultural Indian-English grammar and style with lofty English vocabulary is, at times, uncomfortable and discombobulating. Also, Rushdie’s obsession with the eminence of London, England (as, like his writing style, is present in other works) is sometimes a bit much to swallow. I appreciate the author’s love for the particular progressive, comfortable culture indicative of and represented by the English, but the bias is almost too blatant to be meaningful. In terms of story/plot: I found it very difficult to get involved in the story, because it was all over the place. Not just in terms of setting and time, but characters were one thing and then another. “Home” was one place and then someplace else. I understand the appeal and the necessity, but the overall effect was so distracting and generally confusing, that it became difficult to care about any of these people or places. This is unfortunate, because the story itself, as it turns out, is really quite meaningful – not just in terms of the religious revelation (or disillusionment) but in terms of the psychological issues being addressed. Part of me sunk into this novel at times, and really dug in – roaring through the pages; but the book took some time to really finish, as certain elements were truly displeasing. Overall, I think the performance is solid and the awards/recognition well-deserved, though perhaps I am in disagreement with the reasons why (I prefer the final pages, where mental illness is at root, rather than the majority of the story which focuses on the religious …especially because this focus on the religious is eventually revealed to be a delusion). All-in-all, interesting and meaningful with moments of distraction and frustration.
Review: The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain
With each new encounter, Twain proves himself to me to be both brilliant and complicated. The Prince and the Pauper
Review: The Wasp Factory by Ian Banks
While I respect Banks’s intent – to expose human cruelty and how one family member’s pain can lead to the dysfunction and pain of all others, I must say – this novel, like it’s characters, is just one hot mess. Though the book was relatively short – about 180 pages – it took forever to read, because the story lacked direction and, seemingly, purpose. The first one-hundred pages were self-indulgent and lacked a psychologically exacting purpose, though the novel attempts to set itself up as psychologically stimulating and purposeful. The dystopic family structure is well-received and the effects of a mother-less household is understood; still, the only truly meaningful sub-plot of this story was the tragic experience of the narrator’s older brother, Eric. His downfall and the explanation thereof seemed genuine and honest – the pain and terror in his experience was not pressured or over-done. Had this been a story about Eric, perhaps it could have worked. As it is, especially as one who has read Eugenides’ Middlesex
Review: A Boy’s Own Story by Edmund White
A refreshingly realistic tale of a gay boy’s “coming of age.” White makes a point of expressing his distaste for fanciful boy’s tales in which all boarding schools are brothels of young sex and violence, then proceeds to tell a painfully true story (autobiographic) about a youth growing up confused – his mother’s companion, his father’s shame, his sister’s punching bag, physically and emotionally. The boy struggles with self-image, with friendships and sexual experiences, with religion and philosophy, with truth and farce. While the story itself did sometimes get dwarfed by the over-arching themes which it meant to present, the novel still ends powerfully in that its stays true to its purpose. The narrator accomplishes what he meant to, but is left without any deus-ex-machina type epiphany. While I find the comparisons to Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye 
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