An Exorcist Tells His Story, by Gabriele Amorth

An Exorcist Tells His Story
Gabriele Amorth

Like the Mulder of old, I too want to believe. Also like Mulder, my desire includes not only extraterrestrials, but all forms of the supernatural. Ultimately I'm looking for a reason to believe in God, as the lapsed Catholic in me is not able to believe on faith alone. Again, like my fictional, alien-hunting kindred spirit, I need some proof.

Not too long ago, I saw The Exorcism of Emily Rose, which was apparently "based on a true story." Yeah, I immediately thought. So was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and we all know how that went. (If you don't, the real "massacre" didn't occur in Texas, didn't, so far as I know, include a chainsaw, and didn't feature a deformed freak. So, yeah, based on a true story indeed.)

I immediately wondered how "true" The Exorcism of Emily Rose was. My search led me to Amazon.com, where I would commence my research with a healthy dose of shopping. I found that apparently the movie is based on a true story called The Exorcism of Anneliese Michel. The book didn't sound as interesting as I'd hoped, but it did lead me to An Exorcist Tells His Story.

Gabriele Amorth is, to quote the back cover, "the renowned chief exorcist of Rome." So I expected a few interesting anecdotes. Basically, I just wanted to know if the devil is real. Cause that would help me out some. Now, I'm sure you're thinking, OF COURSE the devil is real. And I believe evil is real, but The Devil? The medieval, horned, cloven-footed fallen angel guy? Sometimes I'm not so sure. Well, An Exorcist Tells His Story had me starting to believe...and then it got all...well...medieval on me.

First, Amorth delivers a long lecture on the history of Satan, quoting the Bible and providing all these references to back up the fact that this stuff happens. So it's more theoretical than "here, listen to this cool story about the time I kicked that demon's ass" sorta stuff. When I remembered that I get to read about 60 research papers a year, I was especially annoyed at purchasing another one.

Even worse is that (not surprisingly) it gets all preachy, talking about how our modern society is uber-Satanic. And he had me at first: I admit, in a world where Paris Hilton makes the news more often than the war in Iraq, I'm willing to admit the presence of the devil. My skepticism grew, however, when he started discussing other dangerous elements of our modern society. Namely...

YOGA.

REALLY, DUDE? Yoga is SATANIC? For real? Come on. Have you ever done it? It's a hell of a workout. (Did you see how I slipped a joke in there?) Anyway, it wasn't at all dark and evil-like. (I could insert another lame pun about the "burn" it gave my muscles, but this review is already too long and I have a headache.)

So basically I was starting to get into it, but then he had to get all theoretical and research-paper like, and then say that yoga is Satanic, which just made him seem all out-of-touch and annoying. Give me a break. Thankfully my current read (also by a Vatican-type person) is WAY better. It's full of anecdotes that really put the fear of God in ya. Which is, of course, what I'm looking for.

Bibliolatry Scale: 2 out of 6 stars

Gigi, by Colette

Gigi, Julie de Carneilhan, and Chance Acquaintances: Three Short Novels
Colette

I defy anyone to read Gigi without falling immediately head-over-heels in love with both Gigi and her creator.

Gigi is a young girl being trained in the arts of the courtesan in turn-of-the-century Paris. Under the careful eye of her aunt, Gigi is learning how to dress, eat, fake weaknesses, and even choose cigars--all to please the rich men that will come into her life. Gigi, however, wants a life greater than this. While her own idealism seems immature to her family, it is this very quality which is Gigi's ultimate victory.

The story is not only perfectly delightful but also quite hysterical. I laughed out loud as Gigi, wishing to avoid a vague euphemism for her genitalia, asks to know its proper name. Her grandmother, however, sternly admonishes her: There is no other name. Each scene is embued with a subtle humor which entertains the reader at every turn.

This collection contains not only Gigi but also Julie de Carneilhan and Chance Acquaintances. Both of the latter pieces are short and delightful, and after reading them, I now want to read everything Colette ever wrote. There is, however, only one Gigi.

In a nutshell: If you haven't been introduced to Collete (described as "one of the glories of France" by Michael Straight), this is the perfect collection to begin with. J'adore Gigi!

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars (for Gigi)

The Harrowing by Alexandra Sokoloff

The Harrowing
Alexandra Sokoloff

Ok ladies and gentlemen, Halloween is fast approaching and, as it's my favorite holiday, that means I'll be tearing through a lot of fear-inspiring reads. The Halloweeny began with The Harrowing by Alexandra Sokoloff.

The story takes place at Baird College as students travel home for Thanksgiving break. Five students, mostly strangers to one another although connected by a mutual dislike of home, remain behind on campus. With everything closed down and a storm raging overhead, the students inadvertently come together to pass the time. And what better way to pass the time than with a Ouija Board? I’m sure you can see where this is headed.

In fact our word for today, kiddies, is STEREOTYPICAL. Can you say that with me? That’s right. Let’s start with the five kids who hate going home: a veritable Breakfast Club of stereotypes, we have the meathead jock, the nerd, the rebel, the slut, and the depressed loner. We even have, in a supporting role, the rich snob as the meathead’s girlfriend. The plot itself is stereotypical as well, as it isn’t hard to figure out what will happen once the ball gets rolling. Finally, The Harrowing (and what the hell is up with that title, I ask you? Talk about melodramatic) is full of gothic devices: strange rapping, thunder and lightning, scary séances, gloomy castle-like buildings, and more.

You’d think that such a book would warrant a poor review, and I’ve certainly spent the better part of this one commenting on the book’s weaknesses. And yet, I couldn’t help but enjoy it. True, I’m already biased toward the spooky. But The Harrowing is such a fun read that I couldn’t put it down. And, to be fair, there were a few surprises thrown in that I didn’t see coming.

Aside from the above-mentioned stereotypes, there were a few other flaws. A few elements seemed illogical; a few allusions seemed as if they would later be important but were in fact not. However, these flaws are relatively minor. Be advised that this is light reading, as far as illuminating texts are concerned. It’s a ghost story, plain and simple, with a possible lesson of accepting yourself—and that’s pushing it.

In a nutshell: If you’re like me and you enjoy a good ghost story, pick up The Harrowing. Sure, it’s melodramatic and stereotypical, but that’s what the genre is all about.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4.5 out of 6 stars

Eleanor Rigby, by Douglas Coupland

Eleanor Rigby
Douglas Coupland

Ah, look at all the lonely people. Where do they all come from? Will Coupland answer these questions that have been plaguing Beatles' fans for decades? Let's see.

Liz Dunn, our "Eleanor Rigby," does not lead a happy life. She is overweight, unattractive, and extremely, hopelessly, lonely. She has given up any idea of finding happiness, and has instead found a sort of comfort in her routine, which has become her life. She, like Prufrock, is no prince, but only an attendant, good to start a scene, but certainly not interesting enough to star in it.

Dunn's routine is interrupted by Jeremy, her son, given up for adoption when Liz was 16. Her return to life is chronicled through the novel. Suddenly, she is the star.

Eleanor Rigby was immediately enjoyable due to the brilliant insights littered through its pages, especially the beginning. They are nothing new but are uttered with a clarity I had not seen before. And yet, something stops Rigby from being better than this. Is it the tone? The utter lack of conflict? The fact that it's "too readable"? I'm not sure--but I do know that by the end, I know nothing more about loneliness than I did before: it sucks. Where do the lonely people come from? They come from loneliness? That's as much of an answer Coupland offers. Cold comfort for the lonely people.

In a nutshell: Interesting, but not earth-shattering. Add to the "had the potential to be better" pile.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

The Town That Forgot How to Breathe, by Kenneth Harvey

The Town that Forgot How to Breathe
Kenneth Harvey

Where, exactly, does a good book go bad? Can the turning point be pointpointed? If so, can the book be saved? Sigh. Unfortunately, it's too late to save The Town That Forgot How to Breathe. It's a shame to watch a book so full of promise, brimming with the author's enthusiasm, fall obscenely short of the mark.

I came across this book quite by accident. Browsing around Barnes and Noble, I happened upon this book, the cover of which quite intrigued me. I read the back of the cover. Oooh, I thought. Sounds scary like. Sea monsters? An unknown illness? Ghosts? Count me in!

And, for awhile, it was good. Until Harvey felt that he needed to add a lesson to his story; and I'm certainly not saying lessons are bad--I'm a teacher, of course I think lessons are good--but when the lesson appears with all the subtlety of a meat cleaver....well, then, lessons are bad.

The story revolves around a small Newfoundland town, whose sleepy residents are jarred into reality when things start going screwy. First, people begin succumbing to a mysterious illness in which people stop breathing. More precisely, they forget to breathe. Then, peculiar creatures come forth from the sea. Bodies expelled from the bay are years dead, yet perfectly preserved. Ghosts appear. Like I said, sounds interesting, right? Well just wait.

A major problem with the novel is that several noteworthy elements (which you would expect to be intricately linked to the message, the monsters, or SOMETHING) are simply dropped, as if the text ran away from the author. It seems as if the novel is itself a hydra (another dropped idea) that Harvey lost the ability to control midway through. And you can hardly blame him: he weaves such a tapistry of countless characters, events, omens, and spooky imagery that he cannot possibly develop them all. Too bad.

And then there's The Lesson, the other major problem with the book. It seems that Harvey intends a lengthy sermon on the evils of modernity. And this he delivers, again and again...and again. It finally becomes so heavy-handed that it was all I could do to finish the damn thing. The second half of the book was sacrificed to reinforcing the point (ad nauseum), so the ending could be spyed a million miles away. That's no fun. Unfortunately, the end of the novel is a jumbled mess of technological mish-mash, pompous sermonizing, and bland predicitability.

Illuminatng? Sure--but I'll save you the trouble: our modern age is awful; it disassociates us from our past and our roots. And apparently electricity is REALLY bad. So go live with the Amish--it's better than reading this book, anyway.

In a nutshell: At first intriguing, then just plain annoying, The Town that Forgot how to Breathe perfectly illustrates wasted potential. Coulda been a really good one...

Bibliolatry Scale: 1.5 out of 6 stars

Twisted City, by Jason Starr

Twisted City
Jason Starr

Ok, I won't deny it, this was a weird effing book. I was wondering, wondering, wondering, wondering what in the HELL was up with this guy--was up with this book period--and then...I got to the end.

Wow.

David Miller is the novel's protagonist, and the story begins when his wallet is stolen while he's drinking in an NYC bar. Thinking his wallet is gone forever--and with it, his favorite picture of his deceased sister, Barbara--Miller despairs of ever seeing it again. Thankfully (or not), a woman finds it and calls Miller to come pick it up. But life is never that easy, right?

In his quest to get his wallet, Miller is drawn into a "twisted" world of crime and deceit. Meanwhile, his crazy girlfriend is getting crazier and crazier and his job continues to pile on the stress. Seems like the poor guy just can't get a break. Soon he is being blackmailed and the problems just keep increasing. It would help if Miller wasn't such a dumbass.

Or is he? Don't convince yourself you know David Miller--because you don't. Twisted City's strength is its voice, and Miller is a character you won't forget in awhile. Interestingly enough, his isn't very likeable and makes dumb decision after dumb decision--and yet, I wanted him to succeed. I rooted for him. I wanted to curse out loud when he made yet another asinine move--but I still felt for the guy. It's a testament to Starr's quality of writing when he makes an annoying, unlikeable character sympathetic.

However, narrative voice aside, Twisted City is all about the ending, which is abrupt and hits you with all the subtlety of a brick wall--but it's a brick wall I didn't see coming (and I'm one of those obnoxious pricks who swears up and down she knew Bruce Willis was dead long before he knew in The Sixth Sense. And I did, seriously. Like five minutes after the opening scene. I'm not making it up, I swear. Seemed kinda obvious to me. Secret Window? Same thing. What can I say? I'm a genius. Okay, not really.) My greatness aside, I didn't see this one coming, and it turned what would have been just an okay read into something that had me scratching my head for quite awhile afterward.

In a nutshell: A fun page-turner that will not make you ponder great truths--but sometimes a book can just be F-U-N. And twisted. Did I mention twisted? Have fun with this one.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

The Stolen Child, by Keith Donohue

The Stolen Child
Keith Donohue

What separates you from the other faces in the crowd? What makes you you? And what's to say that you couldn't very easily be someone else? These are the main themes explored by Keith Donohue in his first novel, The Stolen Child.

The novel is inspired by Yeats' poem of the same title (click here to read it), about a young boy stolen by fairies. Donohue takes this idea and runs with it, creating a fairy world unlike anything I've ever read before.

One day, young Henry Day is kidnapped--not exactly by fairies as we are quickly informed--but rather by hobgoblins--better yet, by changelings. Henry Day becomes of their world and is newly christened "Aniday." As a changeling, he and the other "children" live in a state of relative immortality in the forest. Aniday must wait his turn (which might take a century) before he can kidnap a child and return to mortal life. Meanwhile, the changeling who stole him takes his place and lives the life of Henry Day.

Each chapter is narrated by a Henry Day--either the new one or Aniday. As the story progresses, we find each character troubled by his new identity, and each struggles to make sense of their worlds.

The Stolen Child's effect on me was quite interesting: I felt really no emotional connection to either the characters or the plot. And yet, when I got to the very end, I nearly cried. Couldn't tell you why, however. Extremely odd, to say the least.

In a nutshell: An interesting, though not earth-shattering, read. I didn't find that it had much new to say about identity, and it didn't illuminate any great profundities for me. It was basically an interesting "fairy" tale with a modern twist.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars