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Myths are like the past’s dreams, handed down to the modern generation. They’re collective unconscious forms that shift in and out of the fog of memory and imagination. I love them, and Gaiman obviously loves them, and I haven't read such awesome re-tellings since Mary Pope Osbourne's, which I grew up with and am biased towards.
Plus, these myths were full of surprises. Serious quests and adventures were spiked with modern humor, and Gaiman took pains to give goddesses their full characters and power. I found myself laughing and smiling a lot until my heart broke at the end. Because Loki no, Loki why, Loki dON'T.
An honestly brilliant collection, and I look forward to telling these myths again and again.
Plus, these myths were full of surprises. Serious quests and adventures were spiked with modern humor, and Gaiman took pains to give goddesses their full characters and power. I found myself laughing and smiling a lot until my heart broke at the end. Because Loki no, Loki why, Loki dON'T.
An honestly brilliant collection, and I look forward to telling these myths again and again.
What more can I say about this book that hasn't already been said? It's required reading. Having, knowing, and thinking about 1984 is a necessary part of being a citizen of democracy.
Like many other readers, I picked up Déjà Dead because I liked the Bones TV series so much. The other reviews of this book warned me that Déjà Dead and the Tempe Brennan books bear little resemblance to their small screen counterpart, so I was semi-prepared to not find my favorite Jeffersonian residents in its pages. Which is good because what I found was a lot stranger.
In the TV show, the Jeffersonian team describes Dr. Brennan's books as very technical, with some sexiness on the side (provided by Angela). When the Jeffersonians say things like this, they're not only describing how TV Dr. Brennan would write a book, they're describing Reiches' actual book series. Déjà Dead features many descriptions of the minutiae of forensic and crime work. If you're interested in that sort of thing, you're going to adore Reichs' writing. If you're more of an Agatha Christie fan where the detective reveals nothing until the end, you're going to be displeased.
Uneasily married to this depth of science is a wealth of beautiful descriptions and poetic language. I could picture everything in this story, from the grime on the street to the clouds in the sky. Being an English major, I ate all this up. However, I wasn't quite convinced that Tempe would describe her world with such eloquence. Scientists can appreciate beauty and their surroundings, of course: there are many artists who are also scientists. But, like any other skill, they have to work at it. From what I know in Déjà Dead, Dr. Brennan has spent zero time thinking about metaphors. She's too busy examining bones and trying to understand her daughter. Where the heck did all these metaphors come from?
The other drawback is the overfull cast of characters. There's A LOT of men in this book, and they all get one detailed description and then we never are reminded who they are again. I desperately wanted a character index. I also couldn't figure out who was supposed to be Booth. There are Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Zack analogous characters, but no Booth. Is his character made up by Hart Hanson or is he an amalgamation of all these dudes or what? Imma miss that boy.
On the diversity front, there's plenty of feminism and girl power to balance out the testosterone. Several characters are of color are present in various roles (A man of Cherokee descent is an expert on saws! One detective looks Antonio Banderas!) and language/bilingualism is a major theme. All and all, a good, gory murder read.
In the TV show, the Jeffersonian team describes Dr. Brennan's books as very technical, with some sexiness on the side (provided by Angela). When the Jeffersonians say things like this, they're not only describing how TV Dr. Brennan would write a book, they're describing Reiches' actual book series. Déjà Dead features many descriptions of the minutiae of forensic and crime work. If you're interested in that sort of thing, you're going to adore Reichs' writing. If you're more of an Agatha Christie fan where the detective reveals nothing until the end, you're going to be displeased.
Uneasily married to this depth of science is a wealth of beautiful descriptions and poetic language. I could picture everything in this story, from the grime on the street to the clouds in the sky. Being an English major, I ate all this up. However, I wasn't quite convinced that Tempe would describe her world with such eloquence. Scientists can appreciate beauty and their surroundings, of course: there are many artists who are also scientists. But, like any other skill, they have to work at it. From what I know in Déjà Dead, Dr. Brennan has spent zero time thinking about metaphors. She's too busy examining bones and trying to understand her daughter. Where the heck did all these metaphors come from?
The other drawback is the overfull cast of characters. There's A LOT of men in this book, and they all get one detailed description and then we never are reminded who they are again. I desperately wanted a character index. I also couldn't figure out who was supposed to be Booth. There are Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Zack analogous characters, but no Booth. Is his character made up by Hart Hanson or is he an amalgamation of all these dudes or what? Imma miss that boy.
On the diversity front, there's plenty of feminism and girl power to balance out the testosterone. Several characters are of color are present in various roles (A man of Cherokee descent is an expert on saws! One detective looks Antonio Banderas!) and language/bilingualism is a major theme. All and all, a good, gory murder read.
holy fRICK, it's Outlander, the book that launched a thousand tourists to Scotland and single-handedly supports Sam Heughan's jawline and Caitriona Balfe's fabulous hair. What is not to like
COLORLESS TSUKURU TAZAKI & HIS YEARS OF PILGRIMAGE was an interesting read.
Before I get on with the review though, some basic plot. Tsukuru Tazaki is a forty-something civil engineer who specializes in designing railroad stations, which he has found fascinating his entire life. One day, Tazaki meets Sarah, a travel agent, and they begin dating. Wanting to know more about his past, Sarah asks about Tazaki's high school days, and boy, does she get more than she bargained for. Turns out that Tazaki had 4 friends in high school, and they existed in near perfect communal harmony. Even when Tazaki went to university in Tokyo and they stayed local, they were the best of friends. Until, without warning, Tazaki's friends told him they never wanted to see him again because "you know why." Tazaki's inner emotional life has been messed up ever since, and Sarah suggests visiting each friend to find out why they kicked him out of the group. Tazaki agrees and goes on a pilgrimage to visit each friend.
Outside of the manga universe, I'm still pretty unfamiliar with Japanese literature, and listening to Tsukuru Tazaki's struggles on audiobook only highlighted this factoid to me. I was prepared for the beautiful setting descriptions, the lovely, tangled personal intricacies, and the emphasis on telling in order to show. What I was not prepared for was Tazaki's pilgrimage, while also occupying physical reality, emotionally being about traveling out of suicidal depression. That packed a lot of whallop for me.
Granted, perhaps the first line about Tazaki wanting to kill himself in university should have been warning enough. But, being a brave reader, I forged ahead anyway. By the middle of the book, though, I was frustrated. It might have partially been the audiobook narrator's bland, matter-of-fact style or it might have been Murakami's intent with Tazaki's character, but it seemed like Tazaki was thinking something SO DUMB at every turn. He constantly puts himself down, and this verbal tic awkwardly corners his companions into building (ha!) him back up. Despite this chapter-ly listing of his faults, he takes zero steps to change his behavior, and therefore takes no responsibility for what he sees as his defects. After each pilgrimage visit, he thinks he will never re-visit the friend again and erases all the positive emotional feeling he attained talking with them. It's a bit maddening, though I suppose that's authentic mental illness for ya.
The most disturbing part of Tazaki's attitude is his thoughts on women. According to Tazaki, women's bodies are "stronger" and "more sensitive" than men's, and therefore women can bear suffering easier. One of his high school friends, Shiro, especially possessed this delicate strength, and on her went all the group's adolescent feelings they had to suppress in order maintain their perfect sense of harmony. And so, all their mental illness, all their carnal (and sometimes same-sex!) longing, and all their violence is almost literally superimposed on Shiro's body. The outright misogyny is really quite gross.
The ending is also not the best, because, while the pilgrimage is complete, what Tazaki's learned about himself is minimal. A start, to be sure. He still depends on Sarah, like Shiro before her, to subdue and suppress his mental issues. He's taken the first step out of an self-made death, but it's a small step. Even couched in Murakami's beautiful language, that's not enough for me.
Before I get on with the review though, some basic plot. Tsukuru Tazaki is a forty-something civil engineer who specializes in designing railroad stations, which he has found fascinating his entire life. One day, Tazaki meets Sarah, a travel agent, and they begin dating. Wanting to know more about his past, Sarah asks about Tazaki's high school days, and boy, does she get more than she bargained for. Turns out that Tazaki had 4 friends in high school, and they existed in near perfect communal harmony. Even when Tazaki went to university in Tokyo and they stayed local, they were the best of friends. Until, without warning, Tazaki's friends told him they never wanted to see him again because "you know why." Tazaki's inner emotional life has been messed up ever since, and Sarah suggests visiting each friend to find out why they kicked him out of the group. Tazaki agrees and goes on a pilgrimage to visit each friend.
Outside of the manga universe, I'm still pretty unfamiliar with Japanese literature, and listening to Tsukuru Tazaki's struggles on audiobook only highlighted this factoid to me. I was prepared for the beautiful setting descriptions, the lovely, tangled personal intricacies, and the emphasis on telling in order to show. What I was not prepared for was Tazaki's pilgrimage, while also occupying physical reality, emotionally being about traveling out of suicidal depression. That packed a lot of whallop for me.
Granted, perhaps the first line about Tazaki wanting to kill himself in university should have been warning enough. But, being a brave reader, I forged ahead anyway. By the middle of the book, though, I was frustrated. It might have partially been the audiobook narrator's bland, matter-of-fact style or it might have been Murakami's intent with Tazaki's character, but it seemed like Tazaki was thinking something SO DUMB at every turn. He constantly puts himself down, and this verbal tic awkwardly corners his companions into building (ha!) him back up. Despite this chapter-ly listing of his faults, he takes zero steps to change his behavior, and therefore takes no responsibility for what he sees as his defects. After each pilgrimage visit, he thinks he will never re-visit the friend again and erases all the positive emotional feeling he attained talking with them. It's a bit maddening, though I suppose that's authentic mental illness for ya.
The most disturbing part of Tazaki's attitude is his thoughts on women. According to Tazaki, women's bodies are "stronger" and "more sensitive" than men's, and therefore women can bear suffering easier. One of his high school friends, Shiro, especially possessed this delicate strength, and on her went all the group's adolescent feelings they had to suppress in order maintain their perfect sense of harmony. And so, all their mental illness, all their carnal (and sometimes same-sex!) longing, and all their violence is almost literally superimposed on Shiro's body. The outright misogyny is really quite gross.
The ending is also not the best, because, while the pilgrimage is complete, what Tazaki's learned about himself is minimal. A start, to be sure. He still depends on Sarah, like Shiro before her, to subdue and suppress his mental issues. He's taken the first step out of an self-made death, but it's a small step. Even couched in Murakami's beautiful language, that's not enough for me.
Another plane trip, another chance to sigh longingly over Claire and Jaime.
DRAGONFLY IN AMBER is packed to the brim with a bit of everything. Catching the plot is like catching a live snake, with subplots galore. The nature-based imagery and refreshing characterization leave not an annoying cliche in site. The themes and motifs deepen and intertwine in surprising ways, and my favorite by far is Claire as a White Lady because YES. With her characters, Gabaldon takes firm hold of the reader's heart and twists and pumps and wrenches it as she likes. It's a little bit wonderful, and it makes perfect sense that Claire calls artists the real sorcerers.
All of this was present in the first book though, and Gabaldon shows more of her struggles as a new novelist in this sequel. While the OUTLANDER series' sense of time is slippery (they are time travel novels, ya know), Gabaldon reflects that in her writing to the point of exasperation. The plot jumps around in time a lot, solely for the sake of drama. It reminded me of trashy TV shows and left my fingers itching for a red pen to edit these sections and tell Gabaldon to just tell the story in order.
In addition, the plot is bookended by sections that intersperse Claire's first person POV with the grown Roger Wakefield's POV. Gabaldon struggles a lot with this, and for no earthly reason makes Roger's POV in third person. These POV sections Do Not fit together nicely, and I frequently had to stop and ask myself wtf. The switching seems like a clumsy attempt to write about things Claire wouldn't have access to, but if I wanted to watch Roger flop around, I'd walk to the local duck pond. The only positive thing about getting sort of inside Roger's head is that I get to see what a huge adorkable historian he is. I know everyone wants to be a Claire when they go back in time, but we'd all probably end up being Rogers.
But but but buuuuuutt, Ohhhhhhhh mYYYYYYYYYYY GOOOODDDDDD, the majority of the book is back in the past in Claire's powerful and beautiful POV, with the kind, giant Red Jaime by her side. I got mad at Jaime a couple times because he was too awesome and too fictional. I'm being absolutely spoiled by this series, and I can tell you already that I will be comparing a lot of romance I read to OUTLANDER and finding them wanting.
DRAGONFLY IN AMBER is packed to the brim with a bit of everything. Catching the plot is like catching a live snake, with subplots galore. The nature-based imagery and refreshing characterization leave not an annoying cliche in site. The themes and motifs deepen and intertwine in surprising ways, and my favorite by far is Claire as a White Lady because YES. With her characters, Gabaldon takes firm hold of the reader's heart and twists and pumps and wrenches it as she likes. It's a little bit wonderful, and it makes perfect sense that Claire calls artists the real sorcerers.
All of this was present in the first book though, and Gabaldon shows more of her struggles as a new novelist in this sequel. While the OUTLANDER series' sense of time is slippery (they are time travel novels, ya know), Gabaldon reflects that in her writing to the point of exasperation. The plot jumps around in time a lot, solely for the sake of drama. It reminded me of trashy TV shows and left my fingers itching for a red pen to edit these sections and tell Gabaldon to just tell the story in order.
In addition, the plot is bookended by sections that intersperse Claire's first person POV with the grown Roger Wakefield's POV. Gabaldon struggles a lot with this, and for no earthly reason makes Roger's POV in third person. These POV sections Do Not fit together nicely, and I frequently had to stop and ask myself wtf. The switching seems like a clumsy attempt to write about things Claire wouldn't have access to, but if I wanted to watch Roger flop around, I'd walk to the local duck pond. The only positive thing about getting sort of inside Roger's head is that I get to see what a huge adorkable historian he is. I know everyone wants to be a Claire when they go back in time, but we'd all probably end up being Rogers.
But but but buuuuuutt, Ohhhhhhhh mYYYYYYYYYYY GOOOODDDDDD, the majority of the book is back in the past in Claire's powerful and beautiful POV, with the kind, giant Red Jaime by her side. I got mad at Jaime a couple times because he was too awesome and too fictional. I'm being absolutely spoiled by this series, and I can tell you already that I will be comparing a lot of romance I read to OUTLANDER and finding them wanting.