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aaronj21's Reviews (912)
As a child I once saw some bison at Yellowstone National park, since then I’ve thought they’re pretty cool animals and everything I’ve learned about them since has only reinforced that impression. Impressive singly or in herds, these animals seem to radiate a stoic, understated kind of strength. Although they only eat grass, everything about their anatomy and physique screams, “don’t f*ck with me”.
This book tells the story of the American Bison’s long and often fraught history with that most dangerous of American land mammals, humans. After thousands of years of evolving to perfectly suit their grassland habitat, Bison have had to deal with a lot. Extreme weather conditions, grazing pressure from recently reintroduced horses, and human predation. But all of these challenges were just a slight chill in the breeze compared to near extinction level extermination by White, manifest destiny minded settlers. The bulk of this volume is concerned with that particular story and the American Bison’s resurgence thanks to widespread conservation efforts, often from disparate quarters. The writing is capable and stays on topic, never straying too far from its brief but rife with enough detail to immerse the reader. The illustrations and maps also give scale and context for this period in history. If nothing else this book will pique reader’s interest, probably to watch the Ken Burns documentary of the same name, as intended, but also to learn more in general about America’s national mammal.
Settlers saw the Bison and immediately recognized it as an iconic national emblem, but then they shot them within a shaggy hair’s breadth of extinction, all for profit, only reigning themselves in at the last possible moment. And what could be more American than that?
This book tells the story of the American Bison’s long and often fraught history with that most dangerous of American land mammals, humans. After thousands of years of evolving to perfectly suit their grassland habitat, Bison have had to deal with a lot. Extreme weather conditions, grazing pressure from recently reintroduced horses, and human predation. But all of these challenges were just a slight chill in the breeze compared to near extinction level extermination by White, manifest destiny minded settlers. The bulk of this volume is concerned with that particular story and the American Bison’s resurgence thanks to widespread conservation efforts, often from disparate quarters. The writing is capable and stays on topic, never straying too far from its brief but rife with enough detail to immerse the reader. The illustrations and maps also give scale and context for this period in history. If nothing else this book will pique reader’s interest, probably to watch the Ken Burns documentary of the same name, as intended, but also to learn more in general about America’s national mammal.
Settlers saw the Bison and immediately recognized it as an iconic national emblem, but then they shot them within a shaggy hair’s breadth of extinction, all for profit, only reigning themselves in at the last possible moment. And what could be more American than that?
Compelling if slightly odd, Summerhouse is sun drenched melodrama at its best.
Have you ever eaten candy from another country? A sweet whose ingredients and even flavor are a complete mystery to you because the color is nondescript and the writing on the wrapper appears to be from the Sino-Tibetan Language Family? Yet when you pop it in your mouth you enjoy it enough to keep eating?
Reading Summerhouse was precisely like that experience.
Initially I was expecting some kind of dark, gay, beach read, something atmospheric and nuanced but ultimately not too dense. Then after getting further in I expected something Hitchcockian, layered with buried secrets and ironically futile machinations, shimmering with wit. But about halfway through my expectations changed yet again and I was getting dollops of telenovela and Shakespeare, all tearful confrontations and improbable circumstances with over the top dramatic flair and a deep core of earnestness.
In the end Summerhouse was all of these and none of them.
For the life of me I cannot reckon the repeated Virginia Woolf references (at least 3 by my count) but I was definitely invested and looked forward to seeing where the story would go. The writing felt a little stilted at times but that’s a perennial quirk of translated works and doesn’t carry much weight as a critique.
The basic premise is that Fehmi and Şener, a committed though outwardly closeted couple, live on an idyllic island near Istanbul. The serenity of their house and the orderliness of their golden years are disrupted when a devastatingly handsome new neighbor catches Fehmi’s eye. Over the course of one summer their lives will be upended in ways they could never imagine.
This book was immediately gripping for me. I cared about the fates of these characters and wanted to see what would happen to them. That being said, the plot was a little slow until the arrival of the new neighbors kicked things off. It was necessary for giving the reader context, but still, potential readers should be aware. As I'd already mentioned, the tone was a bit hard to parse. I felt distinctly off balance basically the entire time I was reading. Some bewilderment isn’t necessarily unwelcome in a thriller, however, and after a certain point in the story (you’ll know it when you read it!) my desire for answers became all consuming. The author has a keen sense for imagining the most stressful, dramatic thing possible in any given situation and then taking us there. The ending of this novel was as ambivalent as its tone. It’s the kind of book you foist on your best friend and lock them in a room with until they finish because if you’re anything like me, you’ll NEED someone to talk to about it.
Summerhouse was a bit of an odd duck as books go, but one I enjoyed spending time with. I would give it three and a half stars if such a rating were supported on this platform.
Have you ever eaten candy from another country? A sweet whose ingredients and even flavor are a complete mystery to you because the color is nondescript and the writing on the wrapper appears to be from the Sino-Tibetan Language Family? Yet when you pop it in your mouth you enjoy it enough to keep eating?
Reading Summerhouse was precisely like that experience.
Initially I was expecting some kind of dark, gay, beach read, something atmospheric and nuanced but ultimately not too dense. Then after getting further in I expected something Hitchcockian, layered with buried secrets and ironically futile machinations, shimmering with wit. But about halfway through my expectations changed yet again and I was getting dollops of telenovela and Shakespeare, all tearful confrontations and improbable circumstances with over the top dramatic flair and a deep core of earnestness.
In the end Summerhouse was all of these and none of them.
For the life of me I cannot reckon the repeated Virginia Woolf references (at least 3 by my count) but I was definitely invested and looked forward to seeing where the story would go. The writing felt a little stilted at times but that’s a perennial quirk of translated works and doesn’t carry much weight as a critique.
The basic premise is that Fehmi and Şener, a committed though outwardly closeted couple, live on an idyllic island near Istanbul. The serenity of their house and the orderliness of their golden years are disrupted when a devastatingly handsome new neighbor catches Fehmi’s eye. Over the course of one summer their lives will be upended in ways they could never imagine.
This book was immediately gripping for me. I cared about the fates of these characters and wanted to see what would happen to them. That being said, the plot was a little slow until the arrival of the new neighbors kicked things off. It was necessary for giving the reader context, but still, potential readers should be aware. As I'd already mentioned, the tone was a bit hard to parse. I felt distinctly off balance basically the entire time I was reading. Some bewilderment isn’t necessarily unwelcome in a thriller, however, and after a certain point in the story (you’ll know it when you read it!) my desire for answers became all consuming. The author has a keen sense for imagining the most stressful, dramatic thing possible in any given situation and then taking us there. The ending of this novel was as ambivalent as its tone. It’s the kind of book you foist on your best friend and lock them in a room with until they finish because if you’re anything like me, you’ll NEED someone to talk to about it.
Summerhouse was a bit of an odd duck as books go, but one I enjoyed spending time with. I would give it three and a half stars if such a rating were supported on this platform.
The original problematic situationship. A book that asks the question, what if love was stripped of all its noble aspects and was nothing but pure, undiluted, obsession? What if the two worst people you ever met fell in love with each other and made it everyone else’s problem?
The basic premise here is that there are two landed families in the north of England. They only have like three names between them (making keeping track of who hates and loves who very tricky) and spend all their time plotting against each other, falling in love with each other, or dying from the elements. There apparently isn’t much else to do up on the moors. Add to this mix a mysterious foundling, Heathcliff, and you have a recipe for an internecine family drama for the ages.
Wuthering Heights is, and I mean this in the best possible way, the gas station taquito of the Bronte novels. It’s just enjoyable on a basic, universal level. Jane Eyre is a wonderful book and she's a great protagonist, but she’s so noble and hard to emulate. She’s your older sister who did everything better than you ever could. And Villette has too much French in it for any novel, let alone an English one. And those are the only ones I’ve read, so there.
Wuthering Heights is also the perfect book to read in high school as a bright young thing and then again as a sad, washed up, Millennial adult. And that's just what I did.
Because to a lonely and very young reader with at best a shaky grasp of what romantic relationships actually are, the central relationship in Wuthering Heights seems like the gold standard. “He's more myself than I am”. “Whatever souls are made of his and mine are the same”. “I cannot live without my life. I cannot live without my soul!”. That shit goes hard, okay? And it’s precisely how you feel when first falling in love, or when you first think you’re falling in love.
As an older, grizzled, more experienced, reader I can still find something beautiful in these people’s wholehearted obsession with each other while also recognizing how unhealthy it all is. As it turns out you DO need more for a relationship than fixation and a willingness to die for each other, as these two walking train wrecks amply demonstrate.
Heathcliff is often unintentionally hilarious. What do you mean your brain broke because you accidentally rescued your enemy’s infant son from a fall? What do you mean you overheard part of a conversation and then disappeared for years only to come back with money, education, and perfect posture? What do you mean your dead girlfriend’s spite lingers even in death because her ghost only just barely haunts you for eighteen years? What. Do. You. Mean.
This novel is both better written and more grotesque than I remember. The narrator is attacked by a ghostly child in a dream one night and all but severs her arm off on a broken window pane. Heathcliff straight up kidnaps Catherine Linton (not the OG Catherine he’s in love with, but her daughter who’s named after her) and refuses to let her go back to her dying father until she marries his worthless son. Heathcliff goes mad, starves himself, and dies with a horrible rictus grin on his face, apparently finally reunited with Catherine.
On second reading I found much to enjoy and revisit from this novel. I particularly liked the hopefulness of the improbably happy ending. How Hareton and Catherine II were able to shake off the mountains of baggage their progenitors saddled them with and find their own happiness.
The basic premise here is that there are two landed families in the north of England. They only have like three names between them (making keeping track of who hates and loves who very tricky) and spend all their time plotting against each other, falling in love with each other, or dying from the elements. There apparently isn’t much else to do up on the moors. Add to this mix a mysterious foundling, Heathcliff, and you have a recipe for an internecine family drama for the ages.
Wuthering Heights is, and I mean this in the best possible way, the gas station taquito of the Bronte novels. It’s just enjoyable on a basic, universal level. Jane Eyre is a wonderful book and she's a great protagonist, but she’s so noble and hard to emulate. She’s your older sister who did everything better than you ever could. And Villette has too much French in it for any novel, let alone an English one. And those are the only ones I’ve read, so there.
Wuthering Heights is also the perfect book to read in high school as a bright young thing and then again as a sad, washed up, Millennial adult. And that's just what I did.
Because to a lonely and very young reader with at best a shaky grasp of what romantic relationships actually are, the central relationship in Wuthering Heights seems like the gold standard. “He's more myself than I am”. “Whatever souls are made of his and mine are the same”. “I cannot live without my life. I cannot live without my soul!”. That shit goes hard, okay? And it’s precisely how you feel when first falling in love, or when you first think you’re falling in love.
As an older, grizzled, more experienced, reader I can still find something beautiful in these people’s wholehearted obsession with each other while also recognizing how unhealthy it all is. As it turns out you DO need more for a relationship than fixation and a willingness to die for each other, as these two walking train wrecks amply demonstrate.
Heathcliff is often unintentionally hilarious. What do you mean your brain broke because you accidentally rescued your enemy’s infant son from a fall? What do you mean you overheard part of a conversation and then disappeared for years only to come back with money, education, and perfect posture? What do you mean your dead girlfriend’s spite lingers even in death because her ghost only just barely haunts you for eighteen years? What. Do. You. Mean.
This novel is both better written and more grotesque than I remember. The narrator is attacked by a ghostly child in a dream one night and all but severs her arm off on a broken window pane. Heathcliff straight up kidnaps Catherine Linton (not the OG Catherine he’s in love with, but her daughter who’s named after her) and refuses to let her go back to her dying father until she marries his worthless son. Heathcliff goes mad, starves himself, and dies with a horrible rictus grin on his face, apparently finally reunited with Catherine.
On second reading I found much to enjoy and revisit from this novel. I particularly liked the hopefulness of the improbably happy ending. How Hareton and Catherine II were able to shake off the mountains of baggage their progenitors saddled them with and find their own happiness.
Your life is already being impacted by the “Cowboy Apocalypse” even if you’re unaware of it.
A small but not insignificant portion of the population actively look forward to the end of the world. While this might seem like a fringe issue, the implications are far reaching and consequential.
You’ve seen preppers, we all have that one friend who’s a little too into The Walking Dead, and there are any number of hit shows and movies saturated with apocalyptic themes. Certain people tend to imagine the end of the world as a sort of open world video game. One where they have free reign and start out with an advantage (the guns and cans of beans they’ve been hoarding since the early 2000’s) over others. Fellow humans in this context are seen as, at best resources and at worst, threats.
The author of this book explores this impulse and dubs this conceptual framework “Cowboy Apocalypse”, two heavily loaded but exceedingly apt terms for this vision both of imminent collapse and phoenix like regeneration for the rugged, heavily armed individual. Central to this idea is the role of firearms, weapons that have had and continue to have profound, deadly consequences for our country.
I found several insightful gems in this book. The term “Cowboy Apocalypse” itself is something of a revelation. But also, for instance, the idea that preppers embody a kind of Calvinist worldview dividing the world into the elect (themselves and their families, the prepared) and everyone else who they view as inherently unworthy and dangerous. The moment I read this it instantly clicked. This kind of thinking explains why in most doomsday narratives preppers tell themselves, everyone outside the immediate family is treated with suspicion or hostility. They’re already predetermined to be a threat even if they aren’t actively doing anything threatening.
Another useful insight I found was the author’s position that apocalyptic ideation serves as a form of escapism for people who feel threatened or vulnerable in the current world. They imagine themselves as heavily armed Mad Max style survivors in a future apocalypse to distract from their sense of powerlessness in real life. That’s not to say such escapism is justified or benign.
The best parts of this book for me were where the author drew connections between the “Cowboy Apocalypse” mental framework and current events. Everything from Doomsday Preppers (the show and the people themselves), the ubiquity of FPS games, resurgent racism, and January 6th.
Where the book struggled, in my opinion was with what I like to call “This Could Have Been and Essay” syndrome. While I did appreciate the broad scope and disparate connections the author made, this sometimes gets carried too far, to the detriment of the book as a whole and the point the writer was trying to make in particular. I think a series of shorter, more focused essays could have accomplished the goal better, personally. That being said, this issue didn’t stop it from being a worthwhile exploration of the “Cowboy Apocalypse” phenomenon.
Overall this was an interesting volume that might have worked better in a slightly different format. I felt that sometimes the author stretched a point almost to absurdity to justify the length of an average book. While this made parts of the middle of the book difficult to get through, it was one I was ultimately glad I read, I'd give it two and a half stars.
A small but not insignificant portion of the population actively look forward to the end of the world. While this might seem like a fringe issue, the implications are far reaching and consequential.
You’ve seen preppers, we all have that one friend who’s a little too into The Walking Dead, and there are any number of hit shows and movies saturated with apocalyptic themes. Certain people tend to imagine the end of the world as a sort of open world video game. One where they have free reign and start out with an advantage (the guns and cans of beans they’ve been hoarding since the early 2000’s) over others. Fellow humans in this context are seen as, at best resources and at worst, threats.
The author of this book explores this impulse and dubs this conceptual framework “Cowboy Apocalypse”, two heavily loaded but exceedingly apt terms for this vision both of imminent collapse and phoenix like regeneration for the rugged, heavily armed individual. Central to this idea is the role of firearms, weapons that have had and continue to have profound, deadly consequences for our country.
I found several insightful gems in this book. The term “Cowboy Apocalypse” itself is something of a revelation. But also, for instance, the idea that preppers embody a kind of Calvinist worldview dividing the world into the elect (themselves and their families, the prepared) and everyone else who they view as inherently unworthy and dangerous. The moment I read this it instantly clicked. This kind of thinking explains why in most doomsday narratives preppers tell themselves, everyone outside the immediate family is treated with suspicion or hostility. They’re already predetermined to be a threat even if they aren’t actively doing anything threatening.
Another useful insight I found was the author’s position that apocalyptic ideation serves as a form of escapism for people who feel threatened or vulnerable in the current world. They imagine themselves as heavily armed Mad Max style survivors in a future apocalypse to distract from their sense of powerlessness in real life. That’s not to say such escapism is justified or benign.
The best parts of this book for me were where the author drew connections between the “Cowboy Apocalypse” mental framework and current events. Everything from Doomsday Preppers (the show and the people themselves), the ubiquity of FPS games, resurgent racism, and January 6th.
Where the book struggled, in my opinion was with what I like to call “This Could Have Been and Essay” syndrome. While I did appreciate the broad scope and disparate connections the author made, this sometimes gets carried too far, to the detriment of the book as a whole and the point the writer was trying to make in particular. I think a series of shorter, more focused essays could have accomplished the goal better, personally. That being said, this issue didn’t stop it from being a worthwhile exploration of the “Cowboy Apocalypse” phenomenon.
Overall this was an interesting volume that might have worked better in a slightly different format. I felt that sometimes the author stretched a point almost to absurdity to justify the length of an average book. While this made parts of the middle of the book difficult to get through, it was one I was ultimately glad I read, I'd give it two and a half stars.
With an exuberantly kinetic art style, solid characterization, and a plot line reminiscent of 1950’s Beach Movies / Creature Features with a delightfully queer update, “Toxic Summer” is a powerhouse of a comic that oozes quality from every panel.
A jaunty and altogether pleasant comic, the kind of thing that makes you think “Is this a series? I really hope this is a series, this should definitely be a whole series” because it’s just that good.
Two best friends’ plans for a fun-filled summer go awry when a toxic spill fills their days with shoveling dead fish and battling mutant merpeople instead of partying on the beach and kissing boys.
The rapport between Leo and AJ, our dual protagonists, is compelling and fun. It’s the emotional core of the story. They annoy each other to no end, they know each other better than anyone and use that knowledge for evil, they’re best friends, in short. It’s so refreshing and neat to read a story like this about two gay friends. Usually readers would be fortunate to get even a single gay sidekick character. The plot is well paced and has big “You Meddling Kids” vibes with a couple of appropriately meta twists. Wit and humor help the narrative along but are used sparingly enough to avoid saturation.
The art style is phenomenal and I really can’t say enough positive things about it. The shading and color choices are tinged with emotion and really propel the story along in the best possible way. I especially liked the way the night scenes were rendered. The character design is top notch throughout. Our main characters look compelling and distinctive but so do the townspeople. Aunt Judy is an icon and I want to be her when I grow up, obviously. The mutants themselves are also visually amazing, squamous and vaguely menacing with a mysterious, shadowy cast.
Overall this was such a joy to read that I really can’t think of anything that would improve it. I really hope to see more of these characters and will also look into other projects the artist and author have worked on based on the strength of this comic alone.
A jaunty and altogether pleasant comic, the kind of thing that makes you think “Is this a series? I really hope this is a series, this should definitely be a whole series” because it’s just that good.
Two best friends’ plans for a fun-filled summer go awry when a toxic spill fills their days with shoveling dead fish and battling mutant merpeople instead of partying on the beach and kissing boys.
The rapport between Leo and AJ, our dual protagonists, is compelling and fun. It’s the emotional core of the story. They annoy each other to no end, they know each other better than anyone and use that knowledge for evil, they’re best friends, in short. It’s so refreshing and neat to read a story like this about two gay friends. Usually readers would be fortunate to get even a single gay sidekick character. The plot is well paced and has big “You Meddling Kids” vibes with a couple of appropriately meta twists. Wit and humor help the narrative along but are used sparingly enough to avoid saturation.
The art style is phenomenal and I really can’t say enough positive things about it. The shading and color choices are tinged with emotion and really propel the story along in the best possible way. I especially liked the way the night scenes were rendered. The character design is top notch throughout. Our main characters look compelling and distinctive but so do the townspeople. Aunt Judy is an icon and I want to be her when I grow up, obviously. The mutants themselves are also visually amazing, squamous and vaguely menacing with a mysterious, shadowy cast.
Overall this was such a joy to read that I really can’t think of anything that would improve it. I really hope to see more of these characters and will also look into other projects the artist and author have worked on based on the strength of this comic alone.
This was a charming novel and very moving in parts. The characters were well thought out and seeing their growth and progression was entertaining. I didn't expect the humor but it was there pretty consistently. I think the first quarter or third of the book is easily the strongest. The family is struggling, there's drama and real stakes and there's just something very compelling about it all. However, I didn't really get this same strength throughout, and the narrative dragged towards the end for me.
I'm a bit annoyed at Jo's ultimate fate. It was kind of sad actually to see this independent, spirited author end up in a very domestic, traditional role.
The tone could also be *excessively* sermonizing at times which is saying something because the novel is pretty obviously trying to instill moral lessons throughout. Every now and then this didactic angle becomes just too much and it's as if Louisa May Alcott herself turns to the camera and says "writing sensational adventure stories will sap your morals and corrupt your character!". This is your brain, this is your brain on popular fiction. Just say no to salacious romance stories, kids.
All in all I can see why it's been so well beloved throughout the years and can only imagine how engrossing it would have been to readers when first published.
I'm a bit annoyed at Jo's ultimate fate. It was kind of sad actually to see this independent, spirited author end up in a very domestic, traditional role.
The tone could also be *excessively* sermonizing at times which is saying something because the novel is pretty obviously trying to instill moral lessons throughout. Every now and then this didactic angle becomes just too much and it's as if Louisa May Alcott herself turns to the camera and says "writing sensational adventure stories will sap your morals and corrupt your character!". This is your brain, this is your brain on popular fiction. Just say no to salacious romance stories, kids.
All in all I can see why it's been so well beloved throughout the years and can only imagine how engrossing it would have been to readers when first published.
A bit hectic for me. I also found myself wishing the background information before the revolution had been more substantial, one short introduction just doesn't seem to cut it. I did learn a lot though and had no idea how little I actually knew about the Russian Revolution. The author's style does lend urgency, which I liked, and he's careful to show how things could have very easily gone any number of other ways.
Listen, I picked up this book on the strength of its title alone, and because it was a free audiobook. I didn’t intend to actually read it and I didn’t think I’d like it much if I did. The synopsis didn't really do anything for me and I started listening mainly as an antidote to the post reading blues I sometimes get after finishing a book.
So glad I did. This book is utterly charming in the old sense of the word. In the sense that while listening I felt I was being charmed, persuaded, influenced to perceive something favorably, possibly against my will. The whole thing is just so damn warm and friendly and oddly life affirming. Not much happens but I feel like I’m actually there. These feel like actual people and I care, oh boy do I care, about their lives. I want to know more about Magda the hotel manager. I need to see what happens with Kaspar and his bird, Warhol. I have GOT to find out what Sam and Daniel’s whole deal is. More than any specific plot point or character drama, I just love living in this story. I wish Sam’s trip in Berlin, and this book, were longer than they are.
I can’t say enough positive things about the narrator of the audiobook, Charlie Carver. He juggles a slew of different tones and dozens of distinct accents, with what seems like effortless ease. His emphatic narration and facility with tone made the listening experience feel cinematic.the humor landed, the emotional bits resonated, everything was in its proper place.
I fully recognize that I may be bringing more to this particular book than the average reader. That, like a warm beverage on a winter morning, my delight in this title has more to do with the circumstances I’m in rather than the quality of the thing itself. Even the worst coffee can be a comfort when it’s cold out and maybe this book struck me as so good because it was precisely what I needed at this specific time.
Whatever. The fact remains, I didn’t look for anything special in this book beyond an eye catching title, and yet I enjoyed myself enormously. It’s a wonderful thing to be pleasantly surprised, particularly by a book.
So glad I did. This book is utterly charming in the old sense of the word. In the sense that while listening I felt I was being charmed, persuaded, influenced to perceive something favorably, possibly against my will. The whole thing is just so damn warm and friendly and oddly life affirming. Not much happens but I feel like I’m actually there. These feel like actual people and I care, oh boy do I care, about their lives. I want to know more about Magda the hotel manager. I need to see what happens with Kaspar and his bird, Warhol. I have GOT to find out what Sam and Daniel’s whole deal is. More than any specific plot point or character drama, I just love living in this story. I wish Sam’s trip in Berlin, and this book, were longer than they are.
I can’t say enough positive things about the narrator of the audiobook, Charlie Carver. He juggles a slew of different tones and dozens of distinct accents, with what seems like effortless ease. His emphatic narration and facility with tone made the listening experience feel cinematic.the humor landed, the emotional bits resonated, everything was in its proper place.
I fully recognize that I may be bringing more to this particular book than the average reader. That, like a warm beverage on a winter morning, my delight in this title has more to do with the circumstances I’m in rather than the quality of the thing itself. Even the worst coffee can be a comfort when it’s cold out and maybe this book struck me as so good because it was precisely what I needed at this specific time.
Whatever. The fact remains, I didn’t look for anything special in this book beyond an eye catching title, and yet I enjoyed myself enormously. It’s a wonderful thing to be pleasantly surprised, particularly by a book.
My thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
Pretty much what it says on the tin, lots of camp, humor, magic, and love.
Our protagonist, a sad, gay (it’s the 80’s, most gays have something to be sad about), prospective med student, Joe, follows his chaotic best friend to Fire Island for a summer of bartending, new experiences, and love. Still dealing with the loss of his first love, Joe attempts to navigate life on the island, new love interests, and his eccentric older housemates who are rumored to be witches.
Look, if you pick up a book called Disco Witches of Fire Island and don't like it’s silly, queer, historical fiction / fantasy, I don't know what to tell you. You might have known what you were getting into.
This was a delightfully engaging story that worked on multiple levels for me. Set in the 1980's it is, in part, an elegy for the previous, more carefree decade of the 70’s. During a time of Regan, AIDS, and pervasive pessimism, who wouldn’t look fondly back to disco, free love, and the birth of queer liberation only a few short years ago? It’s also a charming fantasy tinged story with a unique magic system and a satisfying, if predictable outcome.
Pick this up for an easy beach or vacation read.
Pretty much what it says on the tin, lots of camp, humor, magic, and love.
Our protagonist, a sad, gay (it’s the 80’s, most gays have something to be sad about), prospective med student, Joe, follows his chaotic best friend to Fire Island for a summer of bartending, new experiences, and love. Still dealing with the loss of his first love, Joe attempts to navigate life on the island, new love interests, and his eccentric older housemates who are rumored to be witches.
Look, if you pick up a book called Disco Witches of Fire Island and don't like it’s silly, queer, historical fiction / fantasy, I don't know what to tell you. You might have known what you were getting into.
This was a delightfully engaging story that worked on multiple levels for me. Set in the 1980's it is, in part, an elegy for the previous, more carefree decade of the 70’s. During a time of Regan, AIDS, and pervasive pessimism, who wouldn’t look fondly back to disco, free love, and the birth of queer liberation only a few short years ago? It’s also a charming fantasy tinged story with a unique magic system and a satisfying, if predictable outcome.
Pick this up for an easy beach or vacation read.
A thoughtful and moving meditation on Apocalypse.
When the improbably named Isherwood Williams finds himself one of only a handful of survivors left in the wake of a lethal plague he tries to go on living and find meaning after what is essentially the end of the world.
I love contemplative apocalypse stories. I love reading stories where material survival isn’t the sole or only focus after cataclysm, where characters have to grapple with the larger implications of their particular “End”. Books I would shelve in this category include Station Eleven, On the Beach, and the Moon Of The Crusted Snow. I had always assumed this style was a relatively recent literary invention. However, this novel, an exemplar of the subgenre, was written all the way back in the 1940’s.
This was an interesting and immersive read. Its pacing was pleasantly odd and when I thought I knew what was going to happen I was mistaken. Isherwood’s story is intercut with passages from some future historian, possibly Ish himself, describing the decline and changes all around him. This is a book very preoccupied with humanity as a whole, what the dominance of our species meant for all other life on the planet and what our sudden absence would mean for the earth.
The Earth Abides was unlike any other “End of the World” story I’d read before. It was contemplative, bittersweet and vaguely nostalgic.
(Spoilers Ahead)
One of my favorite things about this story was Ish’s whole arc as a character.
Ish tries to single handedly fix the world and create little versions of himself to get the lights back on but ultimately he realizes that he can't do that and it may not even be a good idea if he could. He is in a fundamentally different world now...that's what Apocalypse is. He doesn't abandon his designs entirely; he nudges the new people in a few helpful directions. But ultimately he understands the world will be what *they* make it, it’s theirs now just as the old world was his.
Not everyone will agree, but I thought this was a satisfying and profound way to end the story.
When the improbably named Isherwood Williams finds himself one of only a handful of survivors left in the wake of a lethal plague he tries to go on living and find meaning after what is essentially the end of the world.
I love contemplative apocalypse stories. I love reading stories where material survival isn’t the sole or only focus after cataclysm, where characters have to grapple with the larger implications of their particular “End”. Books I would shelve in this category include Station Eleven, On the Beach, and the Moon Of The Crusted Snow. I had always assumed this style was a relatively recent literary invention. However, this novel, an exemplar of the subgenre, was written all the way back in the 1940’s.
This was an interesting and immersive read. Its pacing was pleasantly odd and when I thought I knew what was going to happen I was mistaken. Isherwood’s story is intercut with passages from some future historian, possibly Ish himself, describing the decline and changes all around him. This is a book very preoccupied with humanity as a whole, what the dominance of our species meant for all other life on the planet and what our sudden absence would mean for the earth.
The Earth Abides was unlike any other “End of the World” story I’d read before. It was contemplative, bittersweet and vaguely nostalgic.
(Spoilers Ahead)
One of my favorite things about this story was Ish’s whole arc as a character.
Ish tries to single handedly fix the world and create little versions of himself to get the lights back on but ultimately he realizes that he can't do that and it may not even be a good idea if he could. He is in a fundamentally different world now...that's what Apocalypse is. He doesn't abandon his designs entirely; he nudges the new people in a few helpful directions. But ultimately he understands the world will be what *they* make it, it’s theirs now just as the old world was his.
Not everyone will agree, but I thought this was a satisfying and profound way to end the story.