I am not sure whether I actually enjoyed this book. Probably not a good sign since I have already finished it but, you see, I find myself torn. I feel biographies should be written about people that DO something, people worth learning about. The circumstances portrayed in this non fiction are certainly tragic, but I am not sure if they merit a novel. I am also not sold on Krakauer’s writing style. The book follows episodes in the life and eventual death of Chris McCandless, a young man who starved to death while attempting to live off the land in Alaska. Krakauer was initially assigned to cover McCandless’ death for Outside Magazine and became so intrigued he decided to write a novel.

Chris McCandless was the oldest child of Walt and Billie McCandless and had been described as “intense” by both friends and family. An intelligent young man with a strong work ethic and strong social conscience. After graduating from college, McCandless embarked on one of his ‘adventures’ which included a disappearing act from his family and leading a nomadic existence making friends along the way. After traveling through and living in various western states, McCandless decided to go to Alaska. An avid reader and fan of Jack London, McCandless’ own journals are filled with Londonesque rantings about nature. In the spring of 1992 McCandless realized his dream by setting out alone, and ill prepared, into the Denali National Park following the Stampede Trail. McCandless ended up dying alone in the shelter of an abandoned bus and being found two weeks later. In total he had survived (probably, they are not sure the exact date of his death) 118 days. Initially, no one knew this young man’s identity. McCandless had been using the moniker Alexander Supertramp, and had no identification when he was found. Krakauer’s non fiction tries to paint a picture of McCandless as a vibrant young man, who due to a slight mishap, perished tragically.

Though I find McCandless’ life compelling, I am not sure if it is full length book compelling. I felt that Krakauer dragged out and overdramatized certain events to lengthen the book. Specifically, the last bit where he describes going to visit the abandoned bus with McCandless’ parents. I imagine that I could have read the Outside article and felt that I got enough of the story. The largest problem stems from my dislike of Krakauer’s writing style. He inserts this whole chapter hypothesizing that he and McCandless both had daddy issues thus feeling the need to take ridiculous risks. Um… yes. I had no interest in reading about Krakauer’s life. To me Krakauer is to writing what personal injury lawyers are to law. There he is, chasing ambulances and looking for compelling tragedies to make some ready cash because people love tragedies. So while I feel for McCandless’ friends and family, I do not think this book is the best tribute to his life and death.

First, I think I should let you know that I got this book for free… as a joke. When Borders went out of business (moment of silence), they gave a bunch of books that they couldn’t offload at a 90% mark down to my brother’s place of work. He came over once while I wasn’t home and hid them all over my bookshelves. The joke is on him because I will read anything! Johnny Weir’s biography isn’t terrible. I just find that I don’t care. I don’t follow figure skating, though I DO love the movie, Cutting Edge. So I am letting you know, up front, that figure skating and the Olympics don’t appeal to me at all.

Weir begins at the beginning, outlining his roots and briefly discussing his childhood and how he came into figure skating. One feels the natural affection he has for his mother, and his father, though Mr. Weir doesn’t figure much into this auto-biography. He then proceeds to outline his metamorphosis of sheltered child to outrageous “Pop Star on Ice”. He talks about overcoming his fear of competition, asserting his independence, and making his way in the world while doing his best to annoy the skating federation. Never having met Weir, or followed his career, I find that his auto-biography reads like that of a loud younger sibling that wants a lot of attention, but is not really as wild or interesting as he or she thinks. And like all stories told by younger siblings, you can’t count everything in this book as fact. It seems like Weir is outrageous to Weir, and maybe a few that emulate him, but not to the world in general.

I also found a bit of hypocrasy in his perception of events. He constantly asserts that there are rumors about him, ‘being a diva’ but they are untrue. Um, when a person refuses to room with other people during competition to the point of paying for his own room… uh, yeah, he is a diva. Worse, an entitled diva who believes his comfort is more important than protocol. Weir talks about his dedication, but then every other page is having little mini dramas and power struggles with his coaches, and cheating on established rules set out by his coaches. Apparently, Weir is also so kind and loving to his friends, but the way he went about letting his mother fire his first coach was underhanded, manipulative, and sneaky, definitely not loving and caring. What I found laughably funny were the less than subtle digs at Evan Lysacek (Olympic Gold Medalist). Apparently, any time Evan won it was politics and horribly judging but when Weir won they got it right. Sorry, but it can’t be both ways. Either the judges are horrible, or the judges are right.

On a positive note, this book is a quick read. I also enjoy the fact that Weir doesn’t make a melodrama about his sexuality. His opinion is that he is comfortable with that tiny aspect of his life, and doesn’t feel that it needs to define him. He doesn’t feel the need to become an advocate or spend pages and pages droning on about how difficult his life has been because he is gay. I am sure that anyone who likes figure skating or books without a lot of substance would enjoy this book. Unfortunately, I like auto biographies with a bit more meat. I’d love to read something written by Weir’s father, or brother, it would be an interesting perspective.

As Nobody (as the toddler is called) learns about life, death, the Graveyard, and himself he makes some friends along the way. He has a ‘guardian’, Silas, a little girl named Scarlett, and a ghost witch buried in No Man’s Land help Nobody understand the world around him. As Nobody grows, he is not free from the threat of the man who killed his family long ago. I enjoy Nobody as a character because he isn’t terribly noble, or brave, or obedient. In short, he is like a regular boy. That degree of normalcy mixed with the paranormal makes this story incredibly sweet. Not that I seek after sequels, but I would be interested to see what other adventures Nobody could encounter after leaving the Graveyard.

There were so many great aspects to this book, but other aspects left me flat. When I read an autobiography, I expect a person to relate the events of their life with a level of passion or interest, and why not? Most people enjoy talking about themselves. My Two Chinas could have been written by a stranger, some of the episodes in the book were retold with such a lack of passion that I wouldn’t have believed, except for the use of the first person, that Biagiao Tang wrote this about himself. His life is compelling, the way he told the story was not.

Tang was born in the Hunan Province of China and grew to maturity during the 70s and 80s. Originally, Tang was a brilliant student, the only son (but not only child, he had heaps of sisters!) of two educators. Due to a bizarre medical issues, Tang’s life took an unexpected turn, one that might have included academic excellence and eventual towing of the Party line to one of a student leader of the pro democracy movement questioning the atrocities of Tiananmen Square. Tang, as a young student, states his opinions about the pro democracy movement and outlines its weaknesses honestly, and again, dispassionately. After the crackdown of students and sympathizers, Tang becomes an outlaw on the run. Unfortunately, he ends up in a Chinese Prison. Eventually, Tang is released and immigrates illegally to Hong Kong, and eventually comes to the United States and continues to lobby about human rights violations in China.

I enjoy his description of life in Hong Kong and his observations about pro democracy. I didn’t enjoy his description of being in prison in China. He describes tortures that he witnessed, but doesn’t mention about his own tortures on a personal level. This might have to do with the respectful and private Chinese culture but it certainly doesn’t work well for a memoir. There is a fine line between over dramatizing and showing the personal effects of a life lived with fear, uncertainty, and injustice. I can understand why Tang holds back, but it doesn’t make the story personal to the reader. I don’t regret my time with this book, as it showed events unfolding in China and many realities that we overlook daily to get our cheap Chinese made goods, but I do wish Tang would have put more emotion into the book.

Technically, there are three novels composed in the Bascombe Novels. First, The Sportswriter, second, Independence Day, and third, The Lay of the Land. I toyed with the idea of reviewing each of these separately, but I read them together and neither book stands above or below the others. So, all together now…  The trilogy begins with Frank Bascombe awaking on Easter morning to meet his ex wife in the cemetery where their oldest son, Ralph is buried. During the first novel Frank seems to be hanging by a thread, flitting from one situation to the next, ruminating on the finer points of life and sports-writing.  He never refers to his ex wife by her first name, which I found a bit annoying. At times I enjoyed the book because Ford is a talented writer. He has a way of expressing mundane situations and philosophising about them and making them interesting. Don’t want to spoil it all for you, but the novel might end in a bit of a nervous breakdown.

The trilogy continues with and older (wiser?) Frank who is trying to connect with his second son, Paul. Frank has changed careers and is now selling houses. Happily this gives Frank the opportunity to encounter a whole new group of people to theorize with and about. Frank seems to think he has grown as a person. He is now referring to his ex wife by her name, Ann, but she has remarried and his relationships with women do not seem to have evolved. He is ‘seeing’ a woman named, Sally Caldwell, and he bought a hot dog stand(?). In short, he is living life, Bascombe style. Again, Frank rambles around and the novel culminates with Paul having a serious accident.

And our trilogy mercifully ends a few years later. Frank and Sally have since married and separated. Ann’s new husband died, and Frank’s two kids are a collective mess. Frank is still selling houses, but he’s moved and has taken a jr. partner in his ventures. Frank also has cancer. As I am writing the run down of what happened, I am furrowing my brows. When taken all together the whole series is a bit over the top and ridiculous. But while you are reading through the thousands of pages, I assure you, it doesn’t seem QUITE as ridiculous. The biggest problem I had with the book was an instant dislike of the main character, Frank. So three novels narrated by this character didn’t do much for me. I also think the original book showed promise until the nervous breakdown part. After that nothing felt terribly authentic. I kept thinking… no worries, Frank will just have another nervous breakdown, and we’ll move on.

This set of books was long, and not really worth the time I spent reading it.

I like old books. I like the smell of their pages and how they  look on my bookshelves. I like the nice book bindings, and the sometimes beautifully colored illustrations. Apparently, my nine month old son agrees because he is eating the book as I type. I was very excited when my husband brought a set of old books (without dust jackets, score!) from a random garage sale. That meant each book was a true mystery with the potential to be amazing, or truly awful. Sadly, the first book falls into the latter category.

Brigges’ (who I am not entirely sure is an actual person) narrative begins in a shanty in Texas where a white trash family has a set of Christmas visitors, a young pregnant lady and her husband. She gives birth to a daughter, Christmas Rose, and promptly dies. The young father, who barely makes an appearance in this story, turns the child over to the physically deformed seventeen year old, Jansie. Apparently, providing and teaching Chris begins to transforms Jansie from a bitter young woman to a caring old spinster. When Chris is sevenm Jansie goes to a revival and accepts Christ… and here is where the unbelievable, and kind of lame story, lost me.

Let me make it clear, I do not like most Christian fiction. Spirituality is a very personal and intimate matter that doesn’t translate terribly well into fiction. I don’t mind if main characters are Christian, or a novel has underlying Christian symbolism or themes, but when characters undergo ‘conversions’ that are the main point of the book, I kind of cringe. These conversions always feel false to me.  The novel continues with deaths due to illness, struggles with poverty, broken engagements, and the list goes on. It really is too much, and none of it appears terribly authentic. To me, fiction either needs to be so ridiculous that one escapes reality entirely, or it needs to mirror reality in such a way that one can see familiarity in every page. This book missed those marks entirely. But it still smells nice.

Meh. Longest. War. Ever. Or so this book would have me believe. The actual title of this book should have been. I Hate McCarthur, and Here is Why, oh and also, His Entire Geneology, and the Failings of His Ancestors. I was prepared to like this book at the outset, and was bitterly disappointed. The title is deceptive. I truly believe that had Halberstam actually written solely about the Korean War, I would have enjoyed the book. Unfortunately, Halberstam wants to give every mitigating factor, as well as a bizarre detour into the life of General Douglas McCarthur, as well as a very poor attempt to sum up USSR’s relations with their neighbors. Halberstam is both a journalist and a historian, according to his bio which makes me highly suspect. Here is where every journalist posing as historians should actually study Mr. Orlando Figes. Journalists are NOT historians. Historians are historians, and when they write books, they try to stick to the point instead of making sweeping generalizations.

Halberstam hooks you immediately in the middle of the Korean War when American troops pass the infamous 38th parallel and are ambushed by Chinese troops (yes, Chinese troops) near Unsan. Instead of learning from this little mistake, America and her allies push through and enter what Halberstam calls, The Coldest Winter. Ah, the lost opportunity of this book almost makes me angry. When Halberstam sticks with the war in Korea and the accounts of personal soldiers and individual military engagements, this book is delightful. Unfortunately, you have to wade through so much of the author’s thinly veiled personal ideological take on each political and military leader involved. A brief set up to understand Korea was needed, but a few paragraphs would have sufficed where Halberstam used several chapters.

This book left me flat. Do I have a greater knowledge and understanding of the Korean War? Yes. Did Halberstam know when to say when? No, and in the end, the negative outweighs the positive in this non fiction.

Ah, refreshing, refreshing Stella Gibbons. I really like her style. When my husband and I were dating, or perhaps I waited until we were engaged, I made him read Cold Comfort Farm aloud with me. The poor man had to endure my constant, “I saw something nasty in the wood shed.” It must not have put him off too much, because here we are. But I digress. I was prepared to like this book, and I did. I am a sucker for a retelling of a fairy tale and Gibbons, in her signature style, takes Cinderalla and makes it completely ridiculous. She also makes a nice little mockery of British society in the process.

Nightingale Wood begins when Viola Withers moves in with her in-laws after her husband’s death. The house is dreary, and her in laws are even worse. There is her father in law, a man who holds the purse strings and likes to know where every penny is located. Then, there is Madge, Viola’s masculine sister in law, who is obsessed with golf and dogs. Poor Tina, another sister-in-law, who tries her best but just falls short. The only glimmer of normalcy is Saxon, the chauffeur, and he has his own set of problems at home.

Every good Cinderella story needs a prince charming, and Victor Spring, the resident eligible bachelor does the job nicely. Despite his unspoken ‘understanding’ with childhood friend Phyllis, Victor can’t help but notice Viola’s prettiness and want to help out. A serious of interesting misunderstandings transpire but happily Gibbons, and Viola both manage to triumph in this fun little read. What Gibbons does well is create characters that are slightly odd ball, but very recognizable. I don’t recommend this novel for everyone, though. Unfortunately, I’ve found that Stella Gibbons is an acquired taste for many. As a fan of Gibbon’s writing style, this met my expectations.

Fallada’s novel is based on the true story of Otto and Elise Hampel who are executed for writing anti Hitler postcards and dropping them around Berlin. The fictitious couple Otto and Anna Quangel begin their small rebellion after they get a letter about the death of their son during the fall of Paris. In addition to the Quangels, the Nazi family Persicke, petty thief Borkhausen, separated Kluges, and Trudel (the Quangel’s almost daughter in law) show us the many personalities and conflicting emotions that encapsulate war time Berlin. The reader experiences the fear and triumph each time Otto drops one of his cards. With each close call, my heart was actually beating and I felt that same sickness that Fallada describes Anna as feeling as she waits for Otto to return home.

I have read no other book on the subject that illuminates the state of the average German and so effectually show how someone like Hitler could completely control an educated populace. The reality and the fiction combine to quite effectively break my heart. Of the 276 post cards and nine letters only 18 were not immediately turned over to the authorities and it is supposed that the missing cards were immediately destroyed by whoever found them. They were not passed from hand to hand and read. They did not start a revolution of ideas. They got no ‘converts’. But in the end, that does not matter, so much as ‘remaining decent’. And in Otto’s own words, “Do you think its mad to pay any price for remaining decent?”

Silas Deane was a lawyer, merchant, and wedder of wealthy widows. On the urging of Benjamin Franklin, Deane goes to France with the secret mission of securing arms, supplies, and French support for the coming war. Along his travels he brokers arms deals with Caron de Beaumarchais who authored The Barber of Seville, who happens to be in the habit of brokering seedy deals for the current monarch. It was during one of these intrigues that Beaumarchais encountered the bizarrely cross dressing Chevalier d’Eon in London. Deane and Beaumarchais manage to get guns, supplies, and adventuring Frenchmen off to the colonies just in time, but are labeled traitors for their efforts and both die in poverty and obscurity.

Generally, the story would be interesting enough to keep me excited, but Paul’s style was far too theatrical. It came across as a story on Dateline NBC where they play melodramatic music and ask leading questions ending with cliff hangers right before commercial breaks. For example d’Eon had nothing to do with the arms deal. He/She was the reason Beaumarchais was in London which is entirely incidental to the narrative. The cross dressing thing is weird, but could have been and aside. Or it could merit a book of its own, but it didn’t need to be added to this book. I’d recommend this for people who have a fleeting interest in history, but can’t quite manage a more difficult non fiction.

Francis Mackey had plans to leave for England with his girlfriend, Rose, twenty-two years ago. She never showed, and he thought that his good for nothing family had scared her off. Then, her suitcase is found leading to the discovery of a body and Francis’ personal mission to find the truth. Along the way we are introduced to Scorcher Kennedy, a longtime frenemy and lead detective on the case. Francis also has to reunite with the family dysfunction that he left behind. I find Frank a likable character, and was along for the ride, unfortunately Frank’s family becomes annoying to the nth degree. Not just his siblings but his ex wife and daughter. Heaven help me, I was hoping the little girl might not figure so heavily into the story.

As always with French, there are a lot of things that work. An interesting crime that involves multiple layers, cops (or excuse me, guards if we are going to be strictly Irish about the thing) that don’t play strictly by the rules, engaging new characters. Yet, in this novel I felt that French was reaching, trying to make the story better than it actually was. I guessed the killer (and the motive) as soon as the murderer’s character was introduced (boo-yeah!) which is a bit of a disappointment in comparison with her previous efforts. If this were the first Murder Squad I picked up, I probably wouldn’t actively seek the others. In the end, it was likable, but not a must read.

Rose, Bianca, and Cordy (all from Shakespeare, I’ll let you figure it out), the Andreas sisters, are a collective hot mess. Rose is annoyingly responsible, Bianca is a superficial thief, and Cordy is homeless, pregnant, and without a clue. Happily they get it sorted out by the end of the novel. Brown is a talented writer, and at times the beauty of her prose is like a great sunset. One just has to pause and take it in for a minute, but at other times, the story gets bogged down by the weird (yes, pun intended) narrative voice. During certain narrative portions Brown uses a collective voice of the sisters. Yes, a collective voice. So, she will be talking about one of the sisters, with the collective voice. It is strange and off putting and would throw me out of the narrative every time.

I also had a hard time relating to this book. Maybe it is because I don’t have sisters, and my brothers and I get along, but the whole underlying mentality of these sisters continually comparing themselves to each other to form their own collective identity is bizarre. I don’t believe that is how women act in general, nor do I believe that is how families work. The Weird Sisters did accomplish one thing, I see potential in Eleanor Brown and have an interest in her career. She’s talented, there is no doubt, and I would like to see (stepping away from Shakespeare, of course) what else she has to offer.

I have a slight confession. I don’t usually read the preface, introduction, or forward in books. I find that if I’ve never read the book I get too many spoilers. If the preface is written by someone I find interesting, I will go back and read it at the end. Most of the time; however, I am content to read the book and have done. I read Ken Emerson’s introduction, and I am glad I did. It reads like a thesis statement from college days. Emerson explains why he included the things he did and why. He also states the purpose of the book. This thesis helped me appreciate his work.

For those who aren’t into popular music from the 50s and 60s, the Brill Building, is a building in New York that housed some of the finest songwriters. Think Tin Pan Alley, if you enjoy Broadway during the era of Gershwin (which I do!).  The Brill Building can honestly be considered a songwriting factory. Many of the songs we consider old standards were written, sold, and produced in its hallowed halls. Emerson focuses on six famous songwriting duos who worked with Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. The collective body of work includes anything from “Jailhouse Rock” (Elvis Presley), to “Loving Feeling” (The Righteous Brothers) , to “We Gotta Get Out of This Place” (The Hollies). Emerson has an extensive knowledge of music, and Always Magic in the Air reads like a texbook. To truly appreciate this book, one needs an interest, and knowledge of music.

I found most fascinating the back stories of each songwriting duo and how they collectively dealt with the changing music scene, changes within the industry, and creative (and in some cases marital) difficulties.  I would have enjoyed the book more if Emerson would have made the personal lives central to his work, but as I read the introduction, that wasn’t the book he intended to write. This non fiction just wasn’t a good fit for me. In something as fluid as the changes within the way people understand and view music, I need one solid event, or solid principle characters, to hold my interest. This book taught me quite a bit, but didn’t give me as much joy as the songs Emerson was writing about.

This novel is the second in A Peculiar Crimes Unit series. If you recall the first book received decent marks, and I was interested in the sequel. Unfortunately, the sequel isn’t as good as the first book. Again we find Arthur Briant and John May in the midst of a possible unit shutdown as Bryant decides it is time to retire. Before retirement can happen, one last case must be solved.  I like to think that I am a kind of a sleuth. I made my husband confirm this fact the other day, as he disinterestedly agreed that I would be a great detective, at my urging, Despite this endorsement of my sleuthing skills, I was unable to detect any breadcrumbs that good authors leave so the reader can try to solve the mystery as well. In stories like this, a reader feels cheated when they pull a murderer out of nowhere with a motive that is so far fetched it couldn’t even have been speculated. I think it is poor writing. And The Victoria Vanishes is a victim.

Despite the unsolvable mystery, Fowler keeps the reader going with his historical knowledge of the public drinking culture in Britian. Who knew the difference between a public saloon and a bar? I found those tidbits the most interesting. Full Dark House also painted a very historical and realistic picture of theaters in London. It makes me wish that Fowler would try his hand at some non fiction. The characters are also interesting, particularly the addition of Renfield, the new enemy to all who has a softening of heart… or do all the hearts around him soften? Anyhow, it isn’t quite enough to make this novel a great book.

I will not be purchasing any more Fowler, maybe in a day of nothing to read, I will stroll on down to the library and see about the rest of the series. At this point, however, there is no over arching mystery to keep me engaged, nor are the characters quite exciting or lovable enough to really worry about whether the PCU will be closed forever, or will it somehow rise again. I am perhaps being unfair to this book, but with so many great mysteries out there, modern and otherwise… there really is not a need to spend more time than necessary on this series.

Can you tell a book by its cover? All I know is when I saw the cover illustration which sports three children and a pale governess, I was sold. My husband commented on how nicely bound the book was, and he IS the authority in this house, as he did take a class on book binding in college. More than a nice cover, The Mysterious Howling is a fun, feel good story about how a little love and understanding can make even the most daunting situation, rewarding.

The story begins when Miss Penelope Lumley is given the job as a governess to three children who appear to have been raised by wolves. This would be no easy task to a seasoned governess, but Penelope is only fifteen and a graduate of the Swanburne Academy for Poor Bright Females. Lord Ashton found the children while hunting and much to his wife, Lady Constance’s, annoyance he insists “Finders Keepers” and refuses to send the children away. Thus Penny is forced to teach the children the basics of a good etiquette as well as how to stop chasing squirrels.

Wood keeps the story lively in the Lemony Snickett style without being quite so over the top and precocious. The narrative is peppered with memorable sayings from Agatha Swanburne, founder of the Academy, my favorite of these was, “If it were easy to resist, it would not be called chocolate cake” How can one dislike a book with such a wealth of wisdom? The book also provides sufficient mystery to encourage a reader to continue on with the series. For example, what WAS the howling? Why is Thomas, the coachman, always lurking around? Who are Penny’s parents and where are they? Where are the Incorrible’s parents? I look forward to the second installment.

Oh, Julian… why did the book have to end that way? Why? Wait, I feel I am spoiling this review by letting my feelings overcome me. Let us start at the beginning. I have long had a love for Mr. Fellowes (which is why I feel I can call him Julian). When he played Kilwillie on Monarch of the Glen, I rooted for him to get Molly. When I watched the first season of Downton Abbey via Netflix… my heart soared. Yes, I watched the special features where the interviewed him, and I loved him even more. As I began Past Imperfect, I thought that we were platonic soul mates. Then I read the ending and I felt a betrayal that is even now making me a bit sad.

I suspect Fellowes used more than a little of his own memory to recreate the London Season of ’68 in Past Imperfect.  The novel cleverly begins with our main character being summoned to his dying enemy’s home. He hasn’t seen Damian Baxter for forty five years when they had a falling out in Portugal. Throughout the novel the episode in Portugal is eluded to, leaving the reader to wonder… Seriously, what happened? Damian tasks our unnamed narrator with finding a child he may have had during that fateful time when they were friends. This journey leads our narrator into the lives of people who he also considers remnants of his past, including the woman he once loved.

Fellowes is a master at the conversational narrative. He sprinkles his writing with keen social observations that will leave the reader agreeing or disagreeing. His thoughts are particularly insightful as his voice is that of a middle aged person looking back on life with the benefits of added wisdom. Fellowes also does a lovely job of springing back and forth between times. Often when a tale has to go backward it is confusing or very obvious. Fellowes leaps seem nice and logical and do not take the reader away from the story. The ending was a bit too neat and tidy for my tastes. I really dislike the end. I am not a fan of infidelity in real life, and in fiction it is most often crass. While Past Imperfect wants to be a journey of discovery, the ending turns the whole narrative into a nostalgic leap backward… and it turns out what happened in Portugal wasn’t all that exciting.

Those of you know know me are aware of my love for anything Jasper Fforde. It is with great disappointment that I report I really could have done without this latest installment in the Thursday Next series. Like all in the Thursday Next series, it was entertaining, but it wasn’t exciting. It didn’t reveal any exciting plot points. It didn’t help you like the characters any more or any less, and I am sincerely wondering why it was written at all. Perhaps one day Fforde will elaborate, but for now, on to my thoughts.

The narrative begins with the bookworld Thursday Next going about her bookword duties. For those who haven’t read the Thursday Next series, let me just say… you won’t understand. The descriptions of the bookworld are interesting as are the contrasts between the ‘real’ and ‘fictitious’ members in the Thursday series. Bookworld Thursday laments that she never made Jurisfiction and that there is no Landen written into the series, which is quite sad. Despite falling readership and disputes with other characters in the series about how Thursday should be read, Thursday manages to have a semi romance, begin training an understudy, and discover that the real Thursday is missing.

A missing Thursday is always bad news. As the written Thursday tries to find out what is happening, with the assistance of her robot butler, the reader is taken along hilariously through Fiction Island in hopes of avoiding an international incident involving Racy Novel… Fforde’s fans and bibliofiles everywhere will enjoy BookWorld and the many references to authors and novels throughout, but in the end, it did not feel like a book that belonged to the Thursday Next series. Rather some sort of spin off that didn’t really start anything new. Think of it as The Foundling in The Chronicles of Prydian Series.

I am skeptical when I pick up books by Nobel Laureates. There is something so pretentious about the Nobel and Pulitzer prizes. I often wonder who are the back patters, and why is it so exciting for the back pattees to get the recognition? And then there is always the disappointment of feeling that something is over rated. Yet, when I saw the book on discount, my frugal nature overtook my cynical self, and I was rewarded. Waiting for the Barbarians is truly a good book. This book is set in a fictional Empire and the narrator is magistrate over one of the frontier settlements. The ambiguity of geography and description mean this Empire could be anywhere at any time.

In the beginning of this novel the narrator meets Colonel Joll, who has come from the Third Bureau to look into the barbarian problem. I hate to call Colonel Joll the antagonist in this novel, because that makes the roles defined and the entire tale clear and concise. It is not as simple as that. No good book ever is. The narrator describes their roles best when he observes, “I was the lie that Empire tells itself when times are easy, he the truth that Empire tells when harsh winds blow. Two sides of imperial rule, no more, no less.” Though the narrator has served in this post for years, and has never seen any problem with the barbarians, every few years there will be renewed rumors that the barbarians are mounting an attack. Colonel Joll rounds up some of the barbarians and begins his interrogations.

Colonel Joll soon moves on, and the consequences lead the narrator to question his existence within this system as well as the nature of man. Not necessarily light topics. This isn’t a feel good novel, and I am certain many people would consider it fairly disturbing, but I enjoyed it because it didn’t moralize, it didn’t preach, it didn’t answer easy solutions. Barbarians simply presented a glimpse into the ambiguity that is each life. How we choose to interpret that is up to us.

In modern parlance I would consider myself ‘a fan’ of Lincoln. From the many biographies I’ve read, to the bajillion hour Ken Burns Civil War Documentary that my nocturnal newborn and I watched, Lincoln stands out as an all around good guy. More importantly, he wasn’t a hypocrite which in these days of political intrigue and outrage, is a pretty amazing fact. The only problem with Lincoln is the in flux of information about the man. While Tried By War was okay… it wasn’t new or revelatory, or even that exciting. It was a book that didn’t need to be written.

When you approach a topic like Lincoln or WWII or Prince William and Kate Middleton (yes, I saw a biography about them at the book store just last week… tell me, what have they done in their lives beside be born well, and have decent orthodontia?) you have to realize that that market has been tapped. Dry. Very, very, dry. So if you were to write a book on any of the aforementioned topics, it would have to be stunningly good, which Tried By War wasn’t. McPherson got the facts correct as far as my Civil War scholarship could ascertain (thank you, Dr. Karen Carter for teaching me that Civil War Song in high school), but couldn’t make it interesting or original enough. McPherson tries to focus on Lincoln’s actions as a Commander in Chief, but it is difficult to divorce orders issued, and actions taken directly relating to the war, without examining the larger political construct… in which case it becomes just another Lincoln biography.

McPherson is a thorough researcher and first person accounts are compelling, but I can not help but suspect he had a lot of research left over from Battle Cry of Freedom (which is sitting on my to read bookshelf as we speak) and decided, “What the heck? One more book!” I did the same thing in college when my exhaustive research on Getulio Vargis during WWII made for several good research papers, not the least of which was cleverly titled ‘Axis or Allies: Brazil’s search for Hegemony in WWII’. But I stray. If you are a Lincoln fan, and find that you just haven’t read enough about the good man. This book is for you. If you are like me, you are ready for a great McLellan biography. I’d like to hear his side of the story.

I bought this book with the expectation of being disappointed. I really enjoyed French’s In the Woods and figured that she would use many of the same devises she’d used in the first book, but that I would see them coming and it just couldn’t be good. How pleasantly surprised I was to discover that not only did I absolutely enjoy the book, I can’t wait to read the third installment in her Murder Squad series. The Likeness follows Cassie Maddox (who we met in the first book) as she is recovering from the emotional fallout from her last case with the Murder Squad. The book does not try to incorporate all the characters from last time, but does follow Cassie’s story and provides some interesting back ground that we didn’t have during the last book. For example, we know that Cassie worked undercover and that it ended because she was stabbed, but we learn more before the novel is finished.

Cassie’s old boss Frank suggests Cassie go undercover again when a body turns up using her old identity from her undercover days. Cassie’s boyfriend, Sam (yeah, they stayed together) reluctantly agrees and so begins the search for the girl who stole Cassie’s fake identity, Lexie Madison. Throughout the novel French again casts a wonderful spell on the reader. The impossible seems probable and I could not stop reading because I wanted to know what happened. I cared about the victim. In so many crime dramas the victim becomes almost an afterthought. The appendix to the motive which becomes the real story. Because you know so very little about this victim, you long to know more and discovering who she is is as important as discovering who killed her or why she was killed.

I was worried that French would pull her old In the Woods tricks and leave so many things missing. Not so. I almost feel bad for doubting her. The mystery is solved all neat but not exactly tidily. Great mystery books make you forget that you are reading a character and make you ask questions as though the characters are real people. I found myself continually asking… why? Why? Why? Hoping for a different outcome, hoping for a happier ending. And that, folks, is what makes a great book!