octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

Fascinating and unvarnished account of Orwell's time fighting in the Spanish Civil War, although as he himself admits he did very little actual fighting during his period in the trenches. His experience of war tended to be more one of observation: of disorganisation and spite and comradeship, but mostly of politics. It's fair to say that most of his observations here come though a political lens, but it is a self-aware one that contrasts actual behaviour and an honest assessment of feeling with the expectations of ideology. He can't help but spend some chapters in analysis, picking out exactly what's going on (far) behind the lines, though I have to admit that all the acronyms could be a little tedious and needed close attention so as not to mix up factions. His brilliant taking-apart of the propaganda and false history that was apparently swallowed whole and without question by his fellow countrymen and journalists, however, is particularly impressive.

Very much a book of two halves. The first was fascinating and compelling - a record of the time Frankl spent in various concentration camps in WW2. This is particularly of note as he was able, at the time, to see and analyse the behaviour of his fellow prisoners, combining an almost detached scientific viewpoint of their behaviour (he was a medical doctor) with the awareness of his own suffering. His slow groping towards a philosophy of hope, towards the detection of meaning in that suffering, is just so well written.

Then we get to the second half of the book, in which he puts his discoveries into a psychological framework, and suddenly it's all noogenics and existential realities, logotherapy and dereflection and academic footnotes. In the memoir-portion, Frankl is talking to everyone. In the analysis, he only thinks he is. I wanted to enjoy the second half, but comparatively the writing there is so turgid that it's a struggle to get through. And honestly, I don't think it's really necessary? It seems to me to dilute the strength of the first portion, and undermine the message of meaning by dragging it under the microscope and stretching it out with forceps: This is what I mean, do you see?

Well yes, I did, and it was so much clearer and more affecting in the first half.

2.5, rounding up to 3 stars. Better than the last one, primarily I think because it felt like there was less emphasis on the tedious Aubrey. Him and his interminable battles I still find rather tiresome, but when he's pushed to the background it gives the wonderful Dr. Maturin more time to shine. I would rather read about his island adventures in natural history any day of the week, than Aubrey doing, well, anything really.

Oh, Dr. Maturin... if only these stories were about you and the sloth.

Collection of space facts for kids, presented along the picture book lines of "A is for astronaut, B is for..." Slightly irritating that Asimov referred to astronauts as male all the way through. I mean, I know this book is old but it was still published some years after Valentina Tereshkova. On the subject of "old", however, the most interesting thing about this was the illustrations - many of which are what we would now call historical photographs.

Magical realist novel set in small town New Mexico, in which Sofia and her four increasingly strange daughters generally fail to get what they deserve. It's not a particularly happy story, though there's a strain of good humour running through it, but it is I think a particularly kind one, in that it's full of compassion for those who are different (and for those who have to live with them). It's funny and feminine and diverse, well worth reading. It certainly feels more accessible than some of the more iconic magical realist texts - Gabriel Garcia Marquez is an excellent writer, for example, but I find his prose very dense sometimes, admirable as it is, whereas Castillo has a lovely light touch with hers, and I find her informality very attractive.

One of my favourite children's books ever. I can't count the number of times I've read this; I've fond memories of it scaring me half to death as a kid. The Wilberforces are awful, but what strikes me most, from the first reading to this one, is how they're not the only monsters. Gee makes it perfectly plain what the stakes are - 11 year old twins Rachel and Theo either win against the Wilberforces or everyone dies... but to win, they've got to commit what is essentially genocide. The text doesn't shy away from this. Rachel is particular is truly disturbed by her role, trying (and failing) to find an alternative. Muddying the waters are the Wilberforces themselves. They are awful, but if they don't feel compassion or kindness they don't feel vengeance either, or sadism. Once Rachel's done her part she's essentially safe from them - there's no reason to kill her so they apparently don't even think of it. They're monsters, yes, but more monsters in the sense of sharks than of serial killers. And their final scene, the parents and the babies huddling together as a family while two children destroy their race for all time, is a chilling one.

There's just so much to unpack in this story. I love it, and always have done. And it's always so nice to have a NZ setting - every time I go to Auckland I see the volcanoes and think of Under the Mountain.

There's a fantastic idea behind this, and I did like the magic and the setting. The whole shadow-thing was interesting as well, if not as well explored as I'd have liked it to be, but I suspect that is something that will be remedied in later volumes. The setting however didn't really make up for the fact that I didn't care remotely about what happened to any of the characters - with the exception of those poor duped armies slaughtered miserably on behalf of the titular princes, simply because those nasty brats can't get along. I did feel a spark of sympathy for Corwin when his eyes got burnt out, but that disappeared along with his affliction.

Seems to me what Amber really needs is a good strain of republicanism and a few guillotines. It could only improve the place.

While not quite at the level of The Tombs of Atuan for me, this is very very close. It's amazing how much my opinion of the Earthsea books is dependent on the protagonist, and Tenar is my favourite of the Earthsea characters so it's no surprise this one earns full marks from me. Le Guin has built such a fascinating world with these books, and she does it so sparsely - every word chosen for maximum effect and not the slightest touch of padding or waffle. And Tehanu, for all this scarcity, is painfully and accurately told - not so much in the misogynistic actions of the bad men, such as Aspen and Handy, but in the actions of the men who consider themselves - and who by most standards are - objectively good. The blind condescension of Beech, for example, is ruthlessly drawn, no matter how kind he is to women in other ways. To me this change in perspective has always made the Ged stories and concerns of Earthsea seem faintly navel-gazing. A little distant from life, and all too pretentious. Tenar's version of life is, in comparison, far more immediately compelling.

I've read and reviewed each of the 4 books in this omnibus separately, so this is really just for my own records. The overall rating is an average of the individual ones, and those are split entirely by protagonist. A Wizard of Earthsea and The Farthest Shore each earned 3 stars. They're well-written and relatively interesting, but I just don't care about Ged, and in comparison to the rest his stories and concerns seem over-inflated. The Tombs of Atuan and Tehanu, however, have Tenar as the star and she is astonishing. These are smaller stories, of small communities and the kindnesses and pettiness therein, and they're so much more convincing and finely drawn that they both get 5 stars from me. (And hey, in both these stories Tenar even manages to make Ged a bit less dull, which is a feat in itself.)

I spent some time earlier this year trying to write flash fiction, and was a dismal failure at it. (My best attempt ended up ballooning to 3700 words.) But I have to admit that I don't really read a lot of flash fiction, so my failure to write it should really have been no surprise. I lack the concision. Reading this collection of 100 tiny mysteries brought that home alright.

This was an enjoyable enough read, though I still prefer longer short stories I think. There's not quite enough meat for me to really get into a lot of these, for all I can appreciate that many of them are accomplished pieces of writing. There was, however - and this is due to the editors rather than the writers - a heavy emphasis on stories where husbands killed their wives (or, less often, wives their husbands). This made the collection as a whole rather repetitive. A greater variety of mysteries would have been nice - more stories along the lines of the collection's stand-out pieces, the sci-fi "The Sooey Pill" by Elaine Slater or the comedic "Pure Rotten" by John Lutz, for example.