Tagged: book reviews

Review of The Martian, by Andy Weir

Finally there’s proof that I’m not the only one with Mars on the brain.  Originally published as an ebook in 2009, Andy Weir’s The Martian was destined for broader horizons.  Recently picked up by Crown Publishing (a subsidiary of Random House Publishing), it spent a handful of weeks on the NY Times Bestseller list earlier this year.  Must be nice.

Weir’s first novel is all heart.  And by heart, I mean comedy.  Maybe that sets the wrong tone.  Beginning again then.  The book is all Watney.  Mark Watney is the first astronaut (we all know there’s going to be one) to be stranded on Mars.  And The Martian, first and foremost, is about Mark Watney.  From the opening line, to the last page, Weir’s development of Watney through how he handles the obstacles that present themselves to him as he attempts to live on Mars acts as the life-giving oxygen necessary to sustaining his life on Mars.

The critics (really anything you’ll read about the book) frequently laud Weir’s attention to detail and eloquent grasp of the science behind traveling to and living on the red planet.  But that’s not what kept my attention.  (Like I have any way of verifying any of the story’s science anyhow.)  What I do know is that I enjoy the feeling I get as bursts of unexpected air come out of my mouth or nose. And this book causes plenty of that.  It’s a weird feeling, the feeling that accompanies laughing at unmoving text.  But it is as enjoyable as any other feeling I can think of.

If you’re like me, you probably won’t rush out and buy the book based on a recommendation.  But you might pick it up off the bookstore shelf and begin reading it.  Here’s what you need to know as you begin to feel guilty for reading so long and hurriedly put the book back before anyone can claim that you must now purchase it because you’ve read too much of it: despite the opening chapters, the book is not just a diary.  I started chapter’s four and five with a bit of a groan because while funny and interesting, it was a little too much Mark Watney.  Then chapter six arrived in a much welcomed third person omniscient point of view.  From there on out, it is a nice balance between the two.

In the end, it is a page-turner.  It is funny.  And its theme is hope.  If you have any interest in one of those three things and are space-curious, read it.

Review of Quiet, by Susan Cain

The film V for Vendetta has a line which goes, “Artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use them to cover the truth up.”  Growing up, I was under the impression that internalizing the latter sentiment was required in order to call yourself an American.  In other words, when I heard the line, the idea that politicians lie was nothing new.  But I can’t say I had ever heard the first part, the part about artists deliberately using lies for good, until I watched that movie.  Neither a politician nor an artist, Susan Cain attempts to simply tell the truth in her book Quiet.  However, Fyodor Dostoevsky (artist) has this to say about telling the truth in his classic Crime and Punishment: “If there’s the hundredth part of a false note in speaking the truth, it leads to a discord, and that leads to trouble.”  My experiences have convinced me that Dostoevsky speaks the truth.  What we want to know, though, is how does Susan Cain do?

As best I can tell, Cain’s thesis in Quiet is that between the two major and decidedly different personality types (extrovert and introvert), in America the extroverts have convinced everyone that their type–their personality–is the ideal personality.  More simply, Cain would like to be Luke Skywalker for introverts and return balance to the force.  Unfortunately, there is quite a bit more than a hundredth part of a false note in her book.  Two of them warrant attention here.  

First, there is a section where she attempts to demonstrate that The West has a history of valuing extroverts, while The East has a history of valuing introverts.  How does she go about this supporting this claim?  Like any rhetorician, she uses proverbs.  One of The East’s proverbs she provides comes from the reputable founder of Taoism, Lao Tzu, and reads, “Those who know do not speak.  Those who speak do not know.”**  Fair enough.  The provided proverb for The West, on the other hand, comes from Ptahhotep.  What Westerner doesn’t have a few ol’ Ptahhotep’s sayings memorized?  For the fuzzy, Ptahhotep said in 2400 BCE, “Be a craftsman in speech that thou mayest be strong, for the strength of one is the tongue, and speech is mightier than all fighting.”**  With writing being a relatively new form of communication back then, this guy may have just been saying the what-might-actually-be-a common western proverb, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”  And, from where I sit, that has nothing to do with extroverts or introverts.  

Maybe Cain just made a little mistake, but still understands the big picture?  I wanted to believe so, too.  But then she added, as her concluding proverb for the perpetually extrovert-loving West, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”  Now, I am under the impression that a proverb is prescriptive in nature, not just a true, clever sentence.  I have never heard anyone use that truism in a genuinely prescriptive manner.  Maybe I’m sheltered.  I’ve told people, mockingly, to squeak if they want something, sure, but I’m pretty sure they understood the tone of my advice included that I thought they’d lose a part of their soul for doing so.  I think the bigger problem is that, by definition, there aren’t any proverbs that advise self-promotion and talking endlessly.  Quite the opposite.  The thing about proverbs is they have to stand the test of time to earn the title.  In her research for western proverbs promoting extroverted characteristics, I find it hard to believe she didn’t stumble across “the empty can rattles the most.”  But, then, had she included that one in the book, her thesis would’ve lost some bite, I think.  

The second false note, which is not exactly false, though it definitely calls into question the gravity of the entire supposed problem, is deep into the book.  We find ourselves in the midst of a lover’s quarrel.  It seems that extroverts and introverts are often attracted to each other, which can sometimes result in marriage.  This causes problems, it seems.  For Greg and Emily, the problem is dinner parties.  Greg wants to host them.  Emily does not.  As it turns out, once Greg and Emily learn that Emily’s introversion is not wrong or bad, a compromise can be struck.  Cain’s advice?  Don’t focus on the number of dinner parties, but the format.  She says, “Instead of seating everyone around a big table, which would require the kind of all-hands conversational multitasking Emily dislikes so much, why not serve dinner buffet style, with people eating in small, casual conversational groupings on the sofas and floor pillows?”**  A friend of mine recently enlightened me to a witty phrase that defines Greg and Emily’s situation and I think fits here: White whine.  Seriously though, ladies, if you have multiple sofas and throw pillows that you don’t mind replacing every other weekend after your friends prove they’re not the refined diners you’d like to believe they are, then I can already tell you’re beautiful–we should chat.

Is there an extrovert ideal in America?  Has a (perhaps unintended) consequence been that introverts get lost in the shuffle, or worse yet, believe they should strive to change a part of themselves which cannot be changed and live with the resultant shame?  Susan Cain believes so.  I’m not convinced.  Maybe I’m not her target audience.  In any case, I’m attempting to navigate life using something a good friend taught me recently: “Every person has a story.  If you listen to it, you just might avoid judging them.”  When that doesn’t work, I fall back on Billy Joel’s, “Don’t take any shit from anybody.”  But a bibliography containing only two entries probably isn’t robust enough to get published and entice readers.  I guess if I hope to ever be published, I’ll just have to make it up as I go.

****

*Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment. New York: Modern Library, 1950. Print.

**Cain, Susan. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. New York: Crown, 2012. Print.

 

Review of The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman

Timeless and universal.

I have a rule.  Well, Ecclesiastes has a rule that I believe is true.  It goes like this:  “There is nothing new under the sun.”  When it comes to “get rich quick” or “relationship” books, it is impossible for me to not use this standard.  If a book claims that it has come up with a new way to make money or keep a relationship strong, then, generally, I discard it promptly.  I just simply refuse to believe that mankind’s soul has changed in any appreciable way in our existence.  That being said, Chapman’s The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate is nothing new.  And that is good.

The book’s largest flaw is that it is a book.  It really could have been a flyer; I’m picturing a large picture representing perfect bliss overlayed by a few sentences at the bottom.  The sentences being something like this:

People express and feel love in different ways.  It seems that there are five ways.  They include physical touch, quality time, acts of service, gifts, and words of affirmation.  Try to speak your partner’s language(s).

Really, though, I’m proud to say that there is an even more fun way to help you figure out your love language(s).  How I like to think about these five languages is via one language:  song.  Want to know which language is yours using songs?  Then continue reading.

To start, if you think Kevin Costner defeats Errol Flynn in the battle of Robin Hood’s, we all know the only reason this happened is because Errol didn’t have Bryan Adams’ classic ballad “Everything I Do (I do it for you)” to accompany his swashbuckling sword fights.  And your choosing Kevin means that your language is likely “Acts of Service.”

On the other hand, if everyone in the room but you noticed that you sat up during Moulin Rouge as Ewan McGregor belted out “My gift is my saw-ong…” in tribute to Elton John’s unforgettable “Your Song“, your language might just be “Words of Affirmation”.

If it is impossible not to feel warm all over when somebody tells a story about the summer of 1991, the summer during which you recall hearing Extreme’s “More Than Words” on every radio station across the nation as you drove to the west coast to greet Gulf War One’s returning victors, then you’re only hurting yourself if you don’t own up to “Physical Touch” being your love language.

Next, and admittedly a bit of a stretch (but then again, it isn’t my language, so I wouldn’t identify with it.  Am I right Gary?), but if the only time you feel like someone really gets you is each year at Christmastime, specifically each time Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” is played, then your love language is “Gifts”.

Lastly, if you  can finish, “Eeeiiff eye-ee-eye-ee-eye (breath) shu-uld stay…” without hesitation, there can only be one conclusion.  Your love language is “Quality Time”.   (That Costner is receiving two shout-outs is beyond me.  By the way Ma, he’s looking great once again in an upcoming action flick “3 Days to Kill”.  Check out the trailer by clicking here.)

In the end, the book only takes a night to read.  Not that you need to anymore.  You’re welcome.

****

*Chapman, Gary D. The Five Love Languages. Chicago: Northfield Pub., 1992. Print.

Review of A Fly Went By by Mike McClintock and Fritz Siebel

In the classic children’s book A Fly Went By, Mike McClintock harnesses the The Great War’s lesson and with perfect eloquence tells a story that frees children from fear.  With Fritz Siebel’s poignant illustrations as the glue holding a child’s gaze, McClintock’s repetitious prose etches its way into a young listener’s mind.  The story is simple:  a boy sees a fly go by, and asks him, “Why?”  We soon find out that the fly ran from the frog.  But the frog isn’t chasing the fly; he “ran from the cat, who ran from the dog.”  The boy continues his search for the thing behind all the running, and in perfect metaphor to life, it turns out that a man was the first to run, and he ran from sounds of unknown origin.  The chain reaction resulting in all the characters running in fear thus began.  We soon discover, though, that these sounds were caused by “a sheep with an old tin can.”

Like any toddler whose parents read this book to them, apparently I had the big finale memorized before I knew how to read.  It wasn’t until after college, though, that in reading the book to a nephew I realized the lesson that stamped itself on my person.  Have no fear.  “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”  Be brave.  These sentiments and more are captured within McClintock’s fun little book.  It is a sure winner for parents who are looking for ways to teach their children a timeless truth–without the children knowing class is in session.  A life without fear is a life worth living and a gift worth giving.  Give children freedom from fear.  Share with them the story of a boy who “sat by the lake, and looked at the sky.”

****

McClintock, Marshall, and Fritz Siebel. A Fly Went by. [New York]: Beginner, 1958. Print.

Review of Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston

Push through the first chapter.

Anyone who has worked through Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights knows how rewarding sticking with a book can be.  Zora Neale Hurston’s classic Their Eyes Were Watching God is nowhere near as difficult, but the eventually transparent phonetic spelling of the dialect along with the introduction of several female characters does make for a slow opening.  Push through the first chapter.

We are quickly introduced to Janie and her life in the deep south.  From the start we are told about Tea Cake, who is apparently the man Janie loves after two less-than-successful marriages.  Hurston uses the familiar start-with-an-intriguing-end-then-tell-how-it-came-to-be formula, and–as usual–it works well.

The book reeks of female-empowerment, which can be off-putting at times, but upon completion, the reader discovers that that notion was ancillary to Hurston’s sure message.

I’ve always assumed that good books are considered good for a reason.  (I say this to emphasize that I’m a half-full reader when it comes to highly recommended books.)  For me, what separates a book from other artwork, is the work that’s required to intake  it.  Reading is interactive, to say the least, and unlike other art-forms, the power of a book rarely fades.  Add to this perspective the notion that there really aren’t that many eternal truths, instead just a few that require a steady river of reminding, and it is clear why this novel resonates with readers of all backgrounds.

The setting, characters, and drama are all believable and compelling.  Janie’s concluding wisdom conceals any would-be flaws.  It is a lesson as old as time, but as refreshing as sweet tea just poured into a glass of crushed ice on a sweltering summer afternoon.  Maybe you’re looking to read something new.  If so, be sure to check out Hurston’s classic.

****

Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God. New York: Perennial Classics, 1998.

Review of Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, by Haruki Murakami

Murakami’s Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World continues the post-modernistic tradition that aware readers have come to love.  Upon completing the second chapter, it is clear that something different, something unfamiliar is occurring.  The story is rife with metaphors and characters that work enough to keep us engaged, but it is really the storytelling’s style itself that causes our fingers to seek an instantaneous transition from one page to the next.

The story’s feint is that it’s about a detective.  Of course, no tale worth its salt is ever about what it portends.  Some authors make their points directly.  For Murakami, who convincingly communicates that he is well-read, however, it is simply no longer interesting to tell the reader what to think.

As with other post-modern and fabulistic works, this book is a reaction.  It is a plea to cause readers to never forget that no one should be taken for granted.  In using these artistic movements, Murakami firmly plants his feet and announces to the world that he is not to be trifled with.

In the end, there is certainly nothing new under the sun.  Yet Murakami has found a way to take his readers on a journey that is fun, difficult to predict, challenging and finally, rewarding.  If you’ve been in a reading rut and need a book to shake things up, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to discover that you can’t put this one down.

****

Murakami, Haruki. Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World: A Novel. New York: Vintage, 1991. Print.

Review of The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer

Like the British accent today, Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales charms at first, but in the end sounds ridiculous.  Buh-dumh-ching!  Really, though, the book is just too old.  Reading it under the tutelage of a doctoral professor of Middle Earth (or is it middle-English?) is the only way to do it, and even then it is slow going at best.

After finding out that the rape that appalled you was supposed to be funny, you’ll find yourself being chided for laughing at the next rape–because that one was not funny.  The entire collection is a roller-coaster of meanings and double meanings, which all need to be explained step by step.  They need to be explained not because they were written in another language, no, middle-English is actually the first version of English we are told; the reason they need to be explained is because life was so very different back in the 14th century.  Well, no, that’s not right either.  Or is it?  Wait, what’s going on?

After three months of reading and studying, I am still not convinced why I should value so highly a work that requires so much explanation.  Does the Mona Lisa require explanation?  The pyramids of Giza?  Plus, the apparent result of fully investing oneself in Chaucer’s genius leads only to wanting to sleep with the man.  While intriguing to some, I can’t get there from here.

This review might have become more a review of the course or the way the Tales were presented than the Tales themselves.  Oh well.  While there were enjoyable moments, for any reader that hasn’t skipped reading books written in the last 700 years since the Tales, there was nothing new.

In the end, The Canterbury Tales may have been new in their day, but the serious reader need not feel guilty for skipping this seminal work.

Review of Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis

The back cover C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity has the word “Religion” printed in the upper left corner.  This should be the first clue as to who the publishers thought Lewis’ audience would be.  Mere Christianity, which is mostly the printed version of several radio talks Lewis gave, does little more than preach to the choir.  Granted, every writer or speaker must choose a target audience.  And in this book, Lewis chooses Christians.  Throughout the 192-page book, concepts familiar to Christians and lay-theologians abound.  Lewis’ voice is clear and his intent, noble.  When it comes to religion, though, results seem to be more important than intent, and here is where we begin to question Lewis’ work.

At every turn Lewis remarks, “If this is useful, use it.  If not, skip it.”  It’s all very heart-warming until we stop and consider the repercussions of failure.  As a Christian, Lewis relentlessly forces the reader to acknowledge the unpleasant parts of Christianity, most notably–though he never addresses it outright–an afterlife in hell.  We find it disconcerting that a book would be geared towards those who have already avoided this hell.  We can’t but think of Sunday school stories of Jesus seeking out the sinners, not the saints.  Instead of mirroring this trend, Mere Christianity decides to tackle such high-brow concepts as the nature of God, the Trinity, Jesus, predestination, usury and more.  In fact, he offers commentary on such a breadth of topics that it would be impossible for him to come out squeaky clean.  Take the following example.  At one point Lewis tries his hand at explaining why Christianity hasn’t fared better throughout history, assuming it is true.  He writes:

You will find this again and again about anything that is really Christian: everyone is attracted by bits of it and wants to pick out those bits and leave the rest.  That is why we do not get much further: and that is why people who are fighting for quite opposite things can both say they are fighting for Christianity (81).

With this assessment Lewis opens the door to debating why Christianity hasn’t/doesn’t/isn’t (fill in the blank).  Our own unending curiosity already led us to an answer that even Lewis can’t top.  To be specific, in his own attempt at clarity Tolstoy infects his readers with idea that Christianity has continually missed the mark because, as a religion, it harmonizes that which was never intended to be harmonized.

And herein lies our most pointed criticism of Lewis’ “beloved” classic.  Our problem with his enterprise comes after reading many of his eloquent metaphors which do kind of make sense.  A man of his skill should have recognized his limitations.  A man of his skill should have recognized the problem as it stood in front of him, and stands in front of us today.

C. S. Lewis can’t offer us salvation.

Christianity can’t offer us salvation.

There is only one man who can offer salvation–and his name is Jesus.

In the end, Mere Christianity is nothing more than another misguided, divisive attempt to unite a religion seemingly set on a path of unending fragmentation.

****

Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity: Comprising The Case for Christianity, Christian Behaviour, and Beyond Personality. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996. Print.

Review of Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

In Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Marlow’s apathetic voice is Conrad’s gift to readers.  Through this apathy readers have a defibrillator to use on their hearts, which have slowed to a stop after contemplating the full meaning of the tale.  Without this literary device, countless souls would be unable to return to their pleasant state of existence.

Conrad introduces Marlow as the novella opens.  Within two pages we discover Marlow has decided to tell an unrequested tale containing an uncommon bleakness that offers no immediate value to the audience.  By the end, we are left feeling despondent, depressed, and largely in a state of wonder.  We ask ourselves, “If this horror happened to a man such as Kurtz, it surely would happen to little ol’ me.  And that being the case, what’s the point of even trying?”

Add to these feelings the fact that the story is only 70-pages, and we find ourselves returning to page one with a singular goal.  We long to discover that we overlooked the hope.  Returning to page one with this new sense of purpose, we begin to notice that Marlow’s story is preempted by the notion that “the bond of sea…had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s yarns—and even convictions.”  Likewise, Conrad demonstrates his value by creating this tolerance in those of us without this bond.

Marlow’s apathy is palpable throughout the tale—evidenced by his ability to remain a detached observer.  During this re-read we notice that this apathy, then, is Conrad’s gift to us.  This apathy lights the path which will lead us out of darkness.  Conrad doesn’t intend for us to remain in darkness.  He wants us to take Marlow’s journey; not believe that we’re Marlow.  The key to coming out whole is to remember this–remember that, unlike Marlow, we still care.

****

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. New York: Dover, 1990. Print.