HPB Trips: Goodbye, money!

Oh, what a beautiful diversion from our real errands!

Two Saturdays in a row (Nov. 1, Nov. 8) I attempted to drop the CR-V at the dealer for an oil change and a looksee at some small issues. Despite calling ahead, and being told of course we could drop in, when we got there they said, "too busy." I made an appointment for Tuesday night (spoilers: I forgot about it), and then we decided to salvage the trip with a little book-buying at Half-Price Books.

I wish I could say the four books I bought were long on my wish lists, but alas....

      

[Redacted - already had, returned]

Between Two Thorns by Emma Newman - I honestly thought Mandy might like it more than me, so maybe I'm not so evil. First in a series

Seed by Rob Ziegler - I thought this was a horror story by the same name (that one by Ania Ahlborn), was disappointed it wasn't, but then fascinated by the story anyway!

The Two-Bear Mambo by Joe R. Lansdale - love me some Hap & Leonard (coming soon to a TV station near you!); this is the third in the series.

Oh, and Mandy and Olivia might have bought some, too....

...and the following Saturday, while waiting for the oil change and actual service desired a week prior (spoilers: they said they didn't have time, schedule an appointment), I wandered across a busy LaGrange Road and wide, wind-swept parking lot to HPB yet again. After getting these five, I made the foolhardy decision to pop into PetSmart and get some cat litter. The 35 lb tub might have a handle, but it was not designed for long walks, as it whacks your leg and tries to trip you up, much like the cat waiting at home for the fresh poop gravel. I got some strange looks in the Continental Honda waiting room as I stumbled through the door, red-cheeked and breathy, clutching 35 lbs of cat litter to my chest, a plastic bag of gently used books spilling onto the floor. "No, no, I'm fine. Just practicing late life senility. Who wants to play buried treasure at the beach?"

Books legally obtained:

  

The Family Trade by Charles Stross - I've read some of his hard sci-fi, but only heard about this fantasy-ish diversion. First in a series

Handling the Undead by John Ajvide Lindqvist - author of Let The Right One In, another promising horror novel from a country of disturbed novelists.

Seven Wonders by Adam Christopher - I was looking for his first book, but this is a good consolation prize.

Definitely Dead by Charlaine Harris (bargain shelf, $1) - no matter how bonkers the show turned out, the Southern Vampire mystery books have a certain low-key charm to them.

Replay by Ken Grimwood (bargain shelf, $2) - I read a loaner copy a few years ago, but bought this for Mandy. The book is wonderful! You should all be so proud to be having a copy!

This would be why we have five substantial bookshelves in the house of unread books. We love books and encourage others to do so as well. 

-EMH

37. Sourcery by Terry Pratchett (Discworld #5)

After the gut-turning weird fiction of Laird Barron and the dark mind of Gillian Flynn, I needed a change.

DISCWORLD! Come for the tropes, stay for the casual nudity.

It took me three tries to get into Terry Pratchett's mind, but once I was there, you'd be hard-pressed to dig me out with a fork. This is the third Discworld book I've read this year (I'd link to previous reviews at this point, but we all know I'm writing these out-of-order), and they just keep getting better and better.

Sourcery is the fifth book, the story of a "sourcerer" or human well of wild magic. Long ago, other sourcerers laid convoluted waste to large swaths of the world, leading a magical detente and a non-binding agreement for wizards not to father children. For you see, wizards are the eighth son of an eighth son, and sourcerers are the eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son. And, as the story opens, we find out that one was just born to an angry wizard father who creates a prophecy to cheat Death (the personification of which is not amused).

The rest of the book is the collision course between the (slightly) older boy-sourcerer and those traditionalist forces at the center for Discworld wizardry, the Unseen University. And, happily, this brings the inept wizard Rincewind back to the fore.

For those who can't remember (who can blame you?), Rincewind was the arguable main character in the two-book story that started off Pratchett's series, The Color of Magic and The Light Fantastic. A failure at practical wizardry, he knows in his heart of hearts that he was meant to be a wizard. Accompanied by the Luggage (a carnivorous travel chest), the two are flung into the midst of a growing magical war that could tear the Disc apart!! Also there are barbarians, a talking hat, a well-read orangutan and the threat of the Apocralypse, the apocryhal apocalypse, an event no one is exactly sure will happen or, if it does, when that will be or what will presage it.

I enjoyed this one, quite a lot. There were a few dragging passages, but not a whole heck of a lot. These Discworld books are short, and Pratchett, while long-winded for the occasional comedic purpose, practices concise writing at all steps. He doesn't even add extra pages for chapter breaks - because there are none! More than his previous four books, he succeeded in painting the otherworldly locations and battles without flowery language. And knowledge of language is maybe Pratchett's strong suit. It allows him to twist convention and seed each page with his astounding wit.

Pratchett's humor walks a fine line between the goofy and the dry; I'd say it's the presence of satire mixed in that tempers the zanier moments. Given that this is the third book of his I've read this year, I've found myself wondering why it took so long and if, perhaps, being American is some impediment to discovering his quintessentially British work.

(Or maybe it's because of a slipshod publisher not knowing how to market these books here.)

Have you read other Discworld books before, but somehow skipped this one? If so, pick it up, and you'll enjoy it.

I would not recommend it for first-timers, however. Either of the previous two (Equal Rites, Mort) are a little more intro-friendly. Of course, since I read all series in publication order (the order intended by the author's subconscious creative self), I should just guide you to that two-part story mentioned earlier. It's really works best as one book.

I leave you with the original* wraparound paperback cover art, by the late Josh Kirby.

-EMH

*I've seen the same image a few other ways, either the background changed or slightly different coloration. 

36. Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

 

Holy.
Fudging.
Shirt.

Ms. Flynn, color me impressed. This is a messed up story*.

I honestly don't know what I can say about this book, made even more famous by the spot-on movie that was just released, that won't ruin any of the numerous twists, turns and shocks.

In brief: it's Nick's anniversary, and he comes to find an mess up living room and no wife. Signs of a struggle? Maybe. He calls the cops, and off we go. The story alternates from Nick's perspective (first person-past, narrating The Search) and wife Amy's diary (starting with the entry right after she and Nick first meet, years before). The back and forth is very frustrating, as each chapter is a guaranteed cliffhanger.

And that's all I can say. It's wonderfully written - one of the most controlled narratives I've ever read. Flynn never lets go of the story in any way, nor can you tell if she ever took any diversions that weren't part of a tight outline (even if that outline emerged after a few chapters when she was writing).

Because of that control, the love-to-hate them characters, the fully realized world that is nonetheless described to us by unreliable narrators, this book gets 5/5 without hesitation.

Nominated for the Edgar Award for best novel in 2013, she lost to Dennis Lehane. Come on, people! Lehane has enough awards cluttering his shelves. Flynn deserved it more.


-EMH

*There are twisty endings and then there are things like this that would madden a corkscrew.

35. The Imago Sequence and Other Stories by Laird Barron

In it's starred review, Publisher's Weekly says, "Barron intensifies the emotional impact of his fiction by providing protagonists who ultimately realize that their doom is inevitable and drag the reader down with them."

 

I could not agree more, in all that good and bad that goes with it.

 

 

 

The stories included:

 

 

"Old Virginia" (CIA agent protects a "psychic" asset circa Cold War; of course, it all goes to hell)

 

"Shiva, Open Your Eyes" (narrated from the perspective of a "monster" with a PI on his tail)

 

"Procession of the Black Sloth" (US ex-pat in Hong Kong finds that nightmares can seep into reality as he tries to untangle corporate espionage)

 

"Bulldozer" (Pinkteron agent hired PT Barnum hunts a killer who stole a Necronomicon-esque book)

"Proboscis" (an actor tags along with the poor man's Dog the Bounty Hunter team hunting a not so normal wanted man)

 

"Hallucigenia" (a wealthy man struggles to find answers after his wife's terrible accident)

 

"Parallax" (A famous artist's wife goes missing - as in vanishes from existence)

 

"The Royal Zoo is Closed" (end of the world...? Eh. Weak)

 

"The Imago Sequence" (a wealthy man tasks his thug/friend to acquire the final two paintings of a triptyche...paintings that, when taken together, could drive a man MAAAAAD!!)

 

 

Barron is categorized as a writer of "weird" fiction, meaning he traces his influences back to authors like Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith, Algernon Blackwood, etc. - those folks who brought a sense of the unknown, cosmic terror to bear on us puny mortals. How can one man fight against malice that plots across eons. You can't, sorry, just start dribbling with madness.

 

I have a confession to make: I've never read Lovecraft, the popular face of weird fiction/cosmic horror. Though I have one of the Del Rey collections, it's sat collecting dust (and evil!!) for several years. I infrequently pick up short story collections, and while I've heard his style is good in small doses, such as short stories, I always want to read a whole book. Putting a bookmark in and thinking I'll come back to it always leads to failure*. So my knowledge of the Lovecraftian mythos is based on Wikipedia skimmings, pop culture references and BOOM Studios' early HPL comics.

 

After reading Barron, however, I may have to brave the abyss.

 

These nine stories are not all winners, but are all imaginatively written and uniquely crafted to bring forth an unsettling dread in the reader. To get criticisms out of the way first, the stories that hit a bum note were few: "Zoo" is an odd sketch that's too short to matter, "Proboscis" wasn't terribly engaging and "Bulldozer" feels like it's missing a little something. That's not to say they are bad. "Bulldozer" is a good story, and "Proboscis" just needs a little tweaking.

 

But here's the great thing. You might be thinking, "So 1/3 of the book is meh? Why bother?!" Those are three of the shortest stories, taking up a small number of pages. The meat of the collection rocks it on all creepy fronts.

 

Other reviewers have gone into the "manly man-against-Unknown" theme running through the majority of the stories. If you've read any of these "reviews," you can tell I'm not a literary critic. Barron does write stories with depth, not just a linked progression of cheap scares and gore. Whatever praise and acclaim he's gotten over the last decade or so is clearly deserved. Yet he's also writing modern pulp horror. I don't want to confuse you into thinking that they aren't intelligent or that they are out and out "literary" fiction.

 

There's a lot of prose that could be considered florid (like weird fiction masters of yesteryear) and diversions into our characters' heads that provide a greater understanding of their motivation than you would expect to find in a genre book (should you be an NYT reviewer). He finds a happy medium. My biggest worry as I started "Sloth," the first novelette of the collection, was the wealth of description and becoming drowned in it. I'm not a big fan of describing every little thing about the setting (or even the character - leave something to the imagination), and he seemed, until I got into the groove of his writing, to be an over-writer.

 

I realized, however, that his descriptions, though complex and with the potential to be flowery as a old woman's couch, were easily digestible.The language was evoking comparisons to normal touchstones in everyday life. Why create a metaphor that ends up confusing the reader?

 

His strongest stories are the title novelette, "The Imago Sequence," "Parallax," and "Procession of the Black Sloth."

 

The potential in "Imago" is easy to see: an everyman is looking for paintings that carry with them a curse to drive the viewer mad - if viewed in sequence. Well, our protagonist has seen the first and found it sticking in the back of his mind, bringing terrible dreams. What could go wrong when his boss/friend asks him to hunt down the other two? As both a title and concluding story, it stands tall above the rest as an expertly written piece. Of note is the inclusion of a lot of dialogue. This might sound silly, but Barron's stories are not talky, and that can hurt them. More dialogue and less creepy introspection and exposition is a good thing (and serves to break up mammoth paragraphs).

 

I won't say much about "Parallax," but the slow unwinding of the main character's backstory, centering around the ongoing hunt for his vanished wife, is not to be spoiled.

 

I made the mistake of reading a large chunk of "Procession of the Black Sloth" while eating. DO NOT DO THIS. In fact, don't eat anything immediately before, during or right after you read any of these stories. The mental unease he creates is swiftly transferred to your stomach once you start munching away on something. Why? You don't know if that food is going to suddenly turn into maggots as you chew. There, now you share my pain. "Sloth" is all eerie moments and some frightening, very visual scenes of pure horror. The main character has been hired to find a corporate spy in his company's Hong Kong office. The spy work, living the double life, isn't healthy for him, and on top of that, the apartment block he lives in was probably built on an ancient Chinese burial site for all the bits of eeeeevil seeping through the gaps. It's all a downward spiral, and you cannot help but ride it with the character.

 

 

I rated it 4/5 on Goodreads, and I'll stand by it on reflection.

 

 

-EMH

 

 

*Notable exceptions:

Sherlock Holmes - I have the two-volume Bantam mass markets and have read two of the novels and paused before diving into the short stories.

Stephen King's novellas -  I tend to read them one at a time, here and there, though I power thru his story collections.

Mind the yawning chasm

(No mere gap here!)

It's been some time since I've posted here, and to that shortcoming all I can say is we sold our house shortly after the last post, moved into and partially renovated the new abode and had a kid in the interim. O, sloth!

Much like I tried to do 2 years ago, I'd like to jump in and start giving short reviews of the books I've read over the year(s). Since I started in 2012, I'm also going to revisit that year and 2013, posting reviews as of their respective year (if not exact date read). This way, you get the new fresh and on top, and the older books will slowly form an archive you can delve into as you find yourself enraptured by my lyrical reminiscences.

Maybe if I ever get caught up I'll delete this post and no one will be the wiser!


-EMH

1. Rats by Robert Sullivan

I dig these sorts of books. Singular in focus, quirky, infotaining, pop history without being brainless. Rats is exactly what it claims to be (and a little more, my only complaint): "Observations on the History and Habitat of the City's Most Unwanted Inhabitants." Sullivan spent a year (by happenstance starting no long before Sept. 11, 2011) observing a dogleg alley in Manhattan, close to Wall Street, and in this book chronicles said alley's vermin inhabitants.

Honestly, it's pretty good.

Sullivan explores the nature of the "wild rat," but also uses it as a lens to focus on certain aspects of the city, population expansion, trash and disease. He also digs into the rat itself, its social habits and habitat, how it thrives, its negative image in the broader culture (and really, it's sort of deserving of it) and how it will always fit into our ecosystems. The rat, its life based around our detritus, certainly says something important about our way of life (right? Yeah, maybe).

Of particular interest are the times when he first observes them and sees how they start rummaging through trash bags, their wriggly bodies seen only as bulges roaming underneath the black plastic of the Chinese restaurant's garbage sacks. We all know rats exist in the alleys and sewers of "the world," especially the city, but rarely do we get the opportunity to examine their behavior. Nor do historians or zoologists care about these four-legged flea factories save when their actions coincide with an outbreak of plague. But they are a fascinating animal on their own, able to survive and thrive in a variety of locations and environments. It's that history we get into over the course of the book, their crossing our paths.

Yet...it's these diversions from the more zoological aspect of the book that didn't always carry water for me. The rent strike in large part because of rat infestation - yeah, that was interesting social history. But not all of the rest. I will admit, I wanted more of his stories observing from his camp stool across the street from the alley, further detail on all aspects of the urban (and beyond) dwellings.

Wouldn't it have been great if he followed an exterminator on a long-ranging underground excursion, not to find the rat Shambhala, but just to see these hidden dens in full flower. Not that his trip with some city trappers wasn't informative, but I love the nature documentaries that stick the camera down into the nest, follow the creek's bottom dwellers: a zoom lens on the micro among us. He certainly looked at the city's trash and visited more than one exterminator (once more proving they aren't all crazy chemical-spewing, kill-happy stereotypes).

Reading this, I didn't find his presentation gross, but I'm not squeamish when I'm just reading about something. Perhaps, in the oily fur, some of these scenes would be a little much (no, not in the slightest, says the kid in me). This is pretty good urban zoological history; just don't expect it to have quite the breadth of a book written by a true biologist. Sullivan's eye looks to the social impact and tangents for healthy chunks of this slim book.

Still, not disappointed that I read it, and I will absolutely read more by him (such as The Meadowlands, about the maligned NJ swamp home to an abundance of wildlife and pollution in equal measures).

And how about that cover! One of the best I've seen. One more time:

3.75/5

-EMH

0. Lucky Wander Boy by D. B. Weiss

Two distinctions: this is the only novel by Game of Thrones (TV) co-creator Weiss; and this is the first book I read on my new Kindle Paperwhite!

The Kindle will have me coming back for more; Weiss...stick to TV, buddy.

Here's what I wrote on Goodreads:

The book as described is not what was written. Oh sure, it started that way, and was very engaging, humorous. But as it continued, that lighter quality, a playful satire of geek obsession, vanished. It got depressing, and with no likable character to anchor the story, faltered. I think those who want to find profound meaning in the intersection of their childhood angst and video game obsession will praise this book. But unless you find yourself damaged by society for your 16-bit habit, this book won't resonate.

Not as favorable as I could be.

My issues stem from the main character, Adam Pennyman, being not only less-than-dynamic, but a sad sack that I just didn't care about. His "Catalogue of Obsolete Entertainment" is a lot of fun, interesting as a series of interludes, nicely assembled. In his desire to complete the catalogue, he must uncover more information on the near-mythical arcade game "Lucky Wander Boy," a fever dream Japanese import that defies easy categorization. The book flap, on his quest's difficulty:

But even with the help of a plucky fellow game-head named Clio, such a reckless expedition will require the agility of Pac-Man, the nerves of Mario, and the tenacity of Frogger. Not to mention, a whole lot of luck.

Sounds fun, a little irreverent. Video game nostalgia is a growing sub-genre of pop fiction (or maybe sci-fi/speculative; perhaps the delayed Bildungsroman), and when I discovered and bought this book (on sale) based on it's quirky description, I expected a lighter story, a little mad-cap, with some good satire and a small amount of personal growth. It simply wasn't described as a heavy book, or depressing.

Which is, unfortunately, what it becomes. It almost verged on existential horror, as Adam gropes for meaning in his life, with the only hope (in his mind) resting on a video game no one remembers. If he can find the creator, finish the book, put this behind him.... By the closing pages, I was hoping he would crack his nut in some small way and not leave us in a psychological dark room.

As I said, it starts down the road with good, snarky cheer. The cast of characters are all entertaining, the game studio setting perfect for what he had planned. I am quite sorry it fell apart by the end.

The cover quote is by his GoT co-creator, David Benioff. He also tries to tie Michael Chabon to this (..."does for video games what Michael Chabon did for comics."), and I could not stress the differences more. You actually care about Chabon's characters, plot and resolution.


2.5/5

(One positive: I really liked the Kindle Paperwhite's reading experience. Highly recommended.)

-EMH