Absurdistan, by Gary Shteyngart

(Warning: profanity ahead)

Absurdistan
Gary Shteyngart

Has anyone read this book? If so, can you explain what's so funny about it? Cause I read half of it, and I refuse to torture myself anymore during this glorious summer. This book fucking blows.

I rarely buy hardcover books. If I do, it better be worth my money. Unfortunately, my no-hardover policy prevents me from reading the newest books, causing me to wait months, even years, before the paperback version arrives. I thought: no more! I will read new releases! Bring on Gary Shteyngart!

Somewhere, God is laughing.

Ok so the story is about Misha, a rich, fat, Jewish Russian whose father is recently deceased. Because his father murdered an American, Misha is exiled in Eastern Europe, unable to return to America, the land of his dreams, his friends, and his love, a Puerto Rican stripper who (and, remember, I've stopped the book halfway through) appears to be using him for his money. The scenes are so tedious, so not funny, I'm surprised I got as far as I did.

The only funny part (when Misha raps) appears at the beginning of the book. It's this same section I read in a review - the same review that convinced me to buy the book, I might add. Unfortunately, the funny is discontinued by about, oh, page 10. And there's about 350 pages in the book. Oh, and all the characters are bloody boring cows, so it's not like you can cling to them, either.

In a nutshell: Take A Confederacy of Dunces, make Ignatius Russian, kill off both parents, and then SUCK OUT ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING HUMOR. Now you've got Absurdistan.

And now to top it all off I'm stuck with the hardcover.

Bibliolatry Scale: abandoned

Dear Zoe, by Philip Beard

Dear Zoe,
Philip Beard

On September 11, thousands died, although not all of those deaths were caused by hijacked planes and falling buildings. Tess DeNunzio's little sister, Zoe, died that day, and Tess tries to come to grips with Zoe's loss, her own place in Zoe's death, and the fact that Zoe's death will remain anonymous in the face of a national tragedy.

Dear Zoe, is a series of vignittes written by Tess, a fifteen-going-on-sixteen year old. Kudos to Beard for truly sounding like a teenage girl. Unfortunately, I found much of the second half of the book to be cliched and predictable. (However it is only the second book I've read which deals with September 11, albeit indirectly, so I guess that is something. Maybe.)

Illuminating? Not really. I was enticed to read the book because a snippet had appeared in a writing magazine. It seemed to have depth, to offer order out of chaos. I was suckered. The book was okay, but definitely lacked profundity. Perhaps if I had stopped reading after the first half, I'd think differently. Ho hum.

In a nutshell: Meh. If you don't have anything better to read, go for it. It's pretty short. I got the hardback on sale from barnesandnoble.com for about 2 bucks. That's saying something, no?

God, I feel like a jerkoff.

Bibliolatry Scale: 2 out of 6 stars (1 of those might be out of pity; I'm not sure.)

The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold

The Lovely Bones
Alice Sebold

The furor over The Lovely Bones has sufficiently died down enough for me to permit myself to read it. Hmpf! I thought. I don't read popular fiction. I read literature. Well, sometimes a popular book just feels good, even if it's a book narrated by a murdered girl.

For anyone still unfamiliar with the story, our narrator is Susie Salmon, murdered by a neighbor while she walked home from school. (This is not a spoiler; it's the first chapter.) She narrates the work from heaven, where she watches her family cope with her disappearance.

First, the pros. The Lovely Bones was surprisingly well written. I was shocked by the beauty I found in a few simple lines. The story was gripping, even though I had already heard countless people talk about the book, and I finished it in about a day.

The cons? There were a few. The ending was a bit formulaic for me, a bit too New Age in the "let's all get happy" kinda way. A couple of the scenes seemed a bit contrived. But these drawbacks are minor compared to the work as a whole.

Illuminating? In a way. There is much to be said for Sebold's vision of heaven, but the pessimist in me says not to be comforted by images of frolicking dogs or dancing relatives. There is much to be learned about letting go, but I'm not sure I'd be so forgiving if I were in Susie's position.

In a nutshell: Not perfect, but does justice to the label "popular fiction."

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

Seven Types of Ambiguity, by Elliot Perlman

Seven Types of Ambiguity
Elliot Perlman

Can we ever truly know another person? Is anything ever unambiguous? These are just a couple of the questions Australian author Elliot Perlman tackles with Seven Types of Ambiguity. Unfortunately, it seems (and I must agree) that we can never really, fully know another person, not our spouses, not our parents, not even ourselves. No relationship can ever be unambiguous. Everyone always has too many secrets, too many private desires. Perlman will have you pondering the nature of every relationship in your life. Ah, what a glorious read.

This book has been described as a "behemoth" -- and, at over 600 pages, it is -- but such a label is misleading. It leads one to think that such a book is tedious, over long, and worse, boring. This book is none of those. I stayed up late reading it. I couldn't put it down. Unfortunately I was without power for over 24 hours; had reading by candlelight been as romantic as it's made out to be, I would have finished much earlier than I did. Quite simply, this is an amazing book. I defy someone to put this book down before finishing it.

The story is simple -- well...not really. Simon, unable to get over the woman who left him ten years before, kidnaps her son. Well, really he only picked him up from school, watched him for two hours, and gave him some chocolate milk. Pretty straightforward, right? Nothing is ever so simple. This "simple" story is complicated when told from the points of view of seven different narrators. Each one both forwards the plot and adds a new shade of meaning previously unknown. (By the way, this book is not to be confused with Empson's literary criticism of the same name, although Perlman frequently acknowledges his indebtedness to the work.)

Illumination Factor: This book will make you analyze each and every relationship you have. What do you know about the people in your life? What do you know about yourself? How much can we really be sure of? There is always so much that remains hidden, it seems silly to use the word "truth" at all.

In a nutshell: Seven Types of Ambiguity will not let you go until you've read the last page. You'll be glad you lost sleep or read until you felt ready to drop.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars

Black Swan Green, by David Mitchell

Black Swan Green
David Mitchell

Being 13 sucks. Being a stutterer sucks. Being a pariah sucks even more. Such is the plight of Jason Taylor, the narrator of Mitchell's latest, Black Swan Green. From Taylor's perspective, Mitchell explores the world of adolescent hierarchies. Sounds a bit like Prep, right? Yeah, a little, with two major differences: Black Swan Green is actually good, and David Mitchell can actually write. Oooh, burn. Yeah, I said it.

Black Swan Green is different from Mitchell's other works I've read (namely, Ghostwritten and Cloud Atlas) that featured shifting perspectives and multiple narrators. I was worried that the move to a single narrator would cause Mitchell to lose some of his appeal. Thankfully, it didn't. I'm glad to see he's not a one-trick pony. Instead, Mitchell appears to be at the top of his game, and I'm happy to proclaim him my favorite contemporary author. Just look at him. He's absolutely adorable. Too adorable to be straight, but we can hope, no?

Each chapter is a short story spanning a year in the life of Jason, a boy whose parents' marriage is disintegrating, whose school life is awful, and whose "Hangman" is constantly tripping him up with words he can and cannot say. Jason finds an outlet in his poetry. My only complaint with the book is that we don't get to read his poetry for ourselves. Usually I hate when authors write poetry for their characters (ugh, like in Possession), but I think it would have been acceptable here.

Illumination Factor: Jason Taylor is such an awesome kid. We could all learn a lesson from him. That doesn't mean the book is preachy. Thankfully, not at all.

In a nutshell: Another success for David Mitchell. If you haven't read anything by him, this is as good a place to start as any. I can't wait for his next work.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

Straight Man, by Richard Russo

Straight Man
Richard Russo

Ah, to be a college professor. Annoying students. Office politics. Budget cuts. I'm glad I didn't go for my Ph.D. If this is what being a professor is all about, forget it.

William Henry Devereaux, Jr. is English department chair for a small college in rural Pennsylvania. He seems to do very little teaching and instead deals mostly with his department, quelling worries that he is not looking to fire members due to budget cuts. In fact, he doesn't even have a budget. In a moment of spontaneity, Hank threatens to kill a duck a day (it's actually a goose) until he gets one. From there, things get worse.

Straight Man wavers from quite amusing (I think I laughed out loud once, although there were quite a few funny scenes) to quite introspective. While dealing with his departmental woes, Hank is also in the midst of a mid-life crisis. He is unsure if his chosen path is the right one. He hasn't written in years. He still lives in his father's shadow. To top it all off, he can't pee. Hopefully, it is nothing more serious than a kidney stone. Poor guy.

I enjoyed this book and its insight into the world of academia. My only complaint is that it left me a bit cold. I sympathized with a few of the characters (especially Hank), but overall I wasn't moved to the core, if you know what I mean.

Illumination Factor: I guess there's some in there if you dig around a bit, but this isn't a book I'd turn to for comfort or advice. This would probably make a good beach book, if I were into the beach.

In a nutshell: Meh. That about sums it up. Pretty funny, an overall okay book, but didn't make me want to read more of Richard Russo.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion

The Year of Magical Thinking
Joan Didion

At this point, most people are familiar with The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion's attempt to come to terms with the grief she experienced following the death of her husband and near-fatal illness of their daughter in December 2003. I was also familiar with the general premise, but I was still unprepared for what awaited me. Didion's memoir is a clear analysis of what happens to someone after losing the most important person in one's world.

I had been wary going in to the book, as I am naturally suspicious of anyone who is able to profit from grief (this probably stems from "Professional Widow," a song by Tori Amos). This does not mean I belief grief should be private, swept under the rug, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable with someone whose grief is able to win not only the National Book Award but also lots of money in the process. However, Didion cannot help being a successful writer, and it is natural that one should turn to writing during such a time.

I have read many reviewers which criticized Didion for "name-dropping" in the book (for example, after John's death, she had dinner with so-and-so; while driving down this street in LA she was reminded of going with John to work on so-and-so's screenplay), but to be honest, I didn't recognize a single name she mentioned, so I wasn't really bothered by it. Again, she cannot help being a successful writer and knowing other successful people.

Other reviewers didn't like her lifestyle, one which is clearly upper-class: she and her husband frequently traveled the globe: Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles, and back again. However, I didn't feel she was rubbing her riches in the reader's face, as some critics have suggested; rather, Didion mentions their travels as a way of illustrating her plight: traveling almost everywhere with her husband, every major city is thus fraught with memories--is there any place on earth that will not remind her of her loss? Didion's wealth is just another reminder that money and fame do not keep tragedy at bay--we are all equal when it comes to loss.

Unfortunately, what Didion didn't know while writing the book, was that more grief was to come. Although Quintana nearly died, after a few months of recovery, it appeared she had fully recovered. This was not to be the case. Quintana died suddenly about a year following her recovery, just as this book was being published.

Illumination Factor: High. We must all face death at one time or another, and its always good to have the words of someone who suffered the same grief. However, Didion does not (in fact, cannot) offer a cure-all, a way to magically heal the pain that the death of a loved one visits on the survivor. The Year of Magical Thinking is instead one woman's way of reaching out to the world, to let other grievers know they are not alone.

In a nutshell: A work that is not altogether uplifting, The Year of Magical Thinking looks at grief head-on, and analyzes the crazy thoughts and feelings that go along with it. A book that will--unfortunately--be necessary one day.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4.5 out of 6 stars