A stranger on the Internet instructed me to review this book, so I guess I’ll do as I’m told.
This book is okay. Actually, the second half of this bookA stranger on the Internet instructed me to review this book, so I guess I’ll do as I’m told.
This book is okay. Actually, the second half of this book is great, but still not great enough to resurrect the full work to anywhere beyond its three-star label of mediocrity.
Often with mystery novels there is a slow but steady build of intensity, a momentum that gathers in a such a way that the reader remains riveted to the end. That occurs here, as well, so I don’t ascribe my disappointment with the first half of the book to any lack of momentum on its part. Instead, I think I was turned off by the writing. In fact, I’d say that the plot drive in the second half was so well executed that it overcame what I would otherwise have to describe as naïve, whimsical writing. But in the author’s defense, he was (at the time of this book’s initial publication, anyway) a naïve writer. The Other was Thomas Tryon’s first novel, written after having spent much of his early adulthood as a Hollywood film actor.
The Other is a frame story, but the identity of the narrator is unknown until the book’s denouement. The story involves two twin boys, one of whom is a vicious evildoer while the other acts as his doe-eyed apostle. Of course, every evil deed performed is accompanied by telling amounts of circumstantial ambiguity so one could probably see “The Big Reveal” coming a mile away, especially if he’s seen enough M. Night Shyamalan films. Still, the reveal (and the events which occur after it) are well executed, as I stated earlier, which makes this book—all being said—ok....more
Another great Anton Chekhov play. I’m not really sure what it is I love about Chekhov, though if I had to narrow it down I might attribute that love tAnother great Anton Chekhov play. I’m not really sure what it is I love about Chekhov, though if I had to narrow it down I might attribute that love to some of his more pitiable characters—think Lubov Andreyevna, for example, or Treplev from The Seagull. Or I might say that there’s a kind of understatedness to his plots that bring his plays to life in a way that is often unmatched. There are recurring themes, also, that unify his four major works. The characters in Uncle Vanya discuss at length the destructive nature of idleness, as the sisters do in Three Sisters. Chekhov was all about dedicating one’s life to his or her work, making oneself useful to some degree. There’s also a recurring theme of accepting one’s station in life and carrying on in the face of adversity. The show must go on; it is the only way we can survive.
I still think The Cherry Orchard is his best work, though this one may come in at a close second. Here is my list of Chekhov plays, ranked:
1. The Cherry Orchard 2. Uncle Vanya 3. The Seagull 4. Three Sisters
This is a great book and I was totally enthralled. Krakauer’s writing is spectacular. It is such a personal story, made so not just by the author detaThis is a great book and I was totally enthralled. Krakauer’s writing is spectacular. It is such a personal story, made so not just by the author detailing his own experiences mountaineering, but also by incorporating McCandless’s family in the suffering and loss of their son. Yet somehow Krakauer keeps it all grounded, presenting a strategically balanced view of McCandless himself despite what I must imagine to be a profound desire either to glorify him in his admirable quest for self-reliance, or to vilify him for the reckless audacity he demonstrated along the way. Or perhaps both.
Because that’s the thing about McCandless’s story. It isn’t so much that it’s difficult not to form an opinion of him one way or the other; it’s that any opinion formed is bound to be fluid, rapidly shifting from veneration to condemnation and back again. It’s fair to say McCandless was an estimable guy, not just talking in rhetoric about the societal evils of homelessness and hunger but actually going out and attempting to do something about it. It’s also fair to say he was kind of an asshole, treating his parents with relentless cruelty on account of some unrealistic moral standards he for some reason held them to. But he wasn’t an asshole for going to Alaska, seemingly unpreparedly, and succumbing to what he should have known better to avoid. For that he was only a kid, a kid who took big risks (as kids are wont to do), but ultimately a kid who just got unlucky.
One thing I kept thinking about while reading this book is the idea of self-reliance. Because it isn't really an absolute, right? There are degrees to which one can be self-reliant. I mean, even Thoreau went into town periodically to buy tools or to barter for whatever. Does that invalidate his approach? Did McCandless take the concept to an extreme by forsaking a map because maps are drawn by other human beings? (The answer to that is YES.) But by the same token, what is wrong with categorizing our own lives as “self-reliant” if we are able to perform all of our daily tasks without the assistance of others? I don’t really endorse this argument, by the way. I’m only saying that I think there is value in striving toward a state of self-reliance, but I simultaneously hold that survivability will certainly drop to zero the closer one actually comes to completely attaining it....more
Probably the biggest problem with The Scarlet Letter is that we make kids read it while they’re still Boom! Another case of youthful idiocy corrected.
Probably the biggest problem with The Scarlet Letter is that we make kids read it while they’re still too dumb to appreciate it. I was one of those dumb kids who thought it was over-written and dull. And yeah, it is over-written, but sort of in the same way that zombie scenes in The Walking Dead are over-written. It’s not a bad thing! And but by no means is this book dull, either. I was engaged from start to finish.
For those who have never heard of “words” or “books” before, The Scarlet Letter is the story of Hester Prynne, a woman in mid–17th century Puritanical New England who is shunned for her participation in an extramarital affair—one that produced a child (which is probably what gave her away). But instead of the focus of the book being on Prynne herself and the hardships of her living among a bunch of judgy McJudgersons, it’s rather about the revenge that is sought by the man she has wronged (i.e. her husband). The situation that follows comes to redefine the idea of sin and moral decrepitude. Of course, we’re talking Puritanical sin here where it’s off to the gallows if your sleeves are too short or if you’re caught smoking in the street. (God only knows what might’ve happened if anyone discovered you receiving a blowie in the horse alley that one time.) In fact, those prudes are so careful not to appear improper that Hawthorne likens them—during a day on which they should be having the most fun ever, mind you—to infirmary patients.
Into this festal season of the year—as it already was, and continued to be during the greater part of two centuries—the Puritans compressed whatever mirth and public joy they deemed allowable to human infirmity; thereby so far dispelling the customary cloud, that, for the space of a single holiday, they appeared scarcely more grave than most other communities at a period of general affliction.
Anyway, I’ve gotten sidetracked again. The Scarlet Letter is superbly well written and I am glad for having given it the second chance it so deserved.
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