I heard of Susan Jacoby's book (and Jacoby herself, I might add) through her interview on The Colbert Report. The topic struck a chord with me. I suppose I could describe myself as an intellectual even though I am only a teenager/young adult--I read for pleasure, as my membership on this site would indicate, and I regularly engage in thought and discourse about matters that may be labelled intellectual. As a result, a book about anti-intellectualism and anti-rationalism in America piqued my interest (I may as well note at this point that I am Canadian).

My overall impression of Jacoby's book is that it is extremely well-written. Whether you agree with her arguments or not, to any degree, the book is a worthwhile exploration of the subject it discusses. Jacoby charts the American attitude toward intellectualism, learning, religion, science, and more, throughout its history, from its founding to the present day. She does this in a lively, thought-provoking manner, providing quotations and statistics to back up her assertions. I found the trip through history alone quite pleasant; I enjoy books that link their subjects to historical and social contexts, thereby increasing my awareness of how the past influences our present day actions.

What of Jacoby's thesis? Well, I can't say I agree 100% with her. The great thing about living in a free country and being intellectual is the capacity to read and respect another's opinion without totally agreeing with it, of course. I share Jacoby's worries about how infotainment is crippling our children and our culture. I despise the plague of reality television and daytime TV such as Dr. Phil or Oprah. The fact that more people turn to that medium for their relaxation and entertainment--especially people may age--than read a book saddens me. I enjoy my books.

As a technophile, I can't fully support Jacoby's attitudes toward technology's role in this matter. I definitely agree that the public too often tries to find technological solutions to what are essentially social problems--as a programmer, I lament this fact daily, because it makes it harder for me to program when people constantly insist I add a feature designed to restrict something that should be common sense. I love technology; I really do. But that's because I use it responsibly. I spend what may be an unhealthy time on the Internet, I admit, but I do read books. I talk with friends, try to prod them into a vaguely intellectual discussion. I do my part.

The Age of American Unreason is a welcome break from the polarized polemics of political pundits obsessed with the upcoming American election. Jacoby may be a secularist and an atheist, but she gives the right its dues and criticizes the left when appropriate. She is emphatic and resolute in her opinions, but at the same time, Jacoby is humble--in her conclusion, she notes, "I too am nibbling at the edges. . . None of these suggestions addresses the core problem created by the media--the pacifiers of the mind that permeate our homes, schools, and politics" (315). To me, this combination makes her an effective author.

Her remarks remind me of [author: Douglas Coupland]'s novel [book: Girlfriend in a Coma], in which the main characters go through the apocalypse in order to be reminded of the most important aspects of life: to challenge everything. To question everything, to constantly seek answers and explanations. Exploration has been a constant driving force of humanity. Just because we've mapped the Earth doesn't mean exploration needs to stop. It simply means it must metamorphose into a mental exercise; we must continue to explore the nature of humanity. But we can't do that if we continue to ignore it by becoming slaves to television or shooting down opponents with ad hominem attacks. We must challenge everything we think is right, because so often, history has proven we've been wrong. And if we are right, then our efforts to prove ourselves wrong will merely make our conviction stronger.

As a voracious reader, I'm always pleased to find another fantasy author. This is the first book by Sharon Shinn that I've read, and it has not let me down.

Shinn weaves an interesting story that is so rich in detail and emotion that it feels cinematic. Her tone provides a humorous evaluation of each scene and allows me to imagine myself there, experiencing the events. This is not something that every author can do, and do well. By the time I was halfway through, I was cheering when the protagonists succeeded and booing when an antagonist gained the upper hand. And of course, I yelled at Cammon for falling in love with Amalie when that love was still forbidden--I tend to have a very energetic relationship with my books. I just couldn't put it down.

There are some aspects of the story that are campy. It lacks an element of true tragedy; I don't know if this is true of all of Shinn's books in this series, or just this book in particular. I enjoy it when things work out for the protagonists, but I just don't feel complete unless there is a single last note of sadness to go along with all the triumph. It can't be "happily ever after." There has to be some price paid (Senneth possibly losing her magic doesn't really compare, in my mind). Yeah, I'm a cruel, sadistic reader. :D But an ending with any hint of tragedy undermines the emotional importance of victory. It feels more hollow.

That being said, I'm extremely glad that I chose to read this book. I'm certainly going to be reading more Sharon Shinn books in the near future.

This is one of those books I would only read because I randomly picked it up off the "New Books" shelf of my library. When I lack specific books I want to get on a trip to the library, I try to keep an open mind and stretch my comfort level when it comes to the type of book I might enjoy. This one looked like a "maybe." I'm not into the whole romance thing, so I was hoping it would be pretty funny. And I was right.

To me, it reads like a romantic comedy movie more than a book. I could see each scene happening in my head, and it had the same sort of pacing that a movie has--if it isn't a movie yet, then I wouldn't be surprised if it becomes one soon.

As with most plots of this nature, I found it utterly predictable. Certain aspects were surprising, of course--I didn't see the best friend dying by a lightning strike on Peter's wedding day, of course. But it was clear that Peter and Holly would end up together, somehow, and that everyone would live happily ever after. If you're looking for a fresh new plot with compelling characters, you won't get it here. Oh, the characters are interesting, and you'll end up hating most of them by the end. But you have to be able to stomach the smugness that the book exudes as all the threads come together and the loose ends get tied up.

It was OK. Enjoyable light reading, and it fulfilled my need to yell at the book when characters are being stupid and cheer when good things happen.

Noah Charney knows a lot about art. His writing, however, leaves much to be desired.

The book improved much throughout the course of the story. It started out as an uninteresting, rather dull story with disparate characters. Charney employs some rather unusual metaphors and descriptive phrases. At the very end of the story, when all is revealed and the mystery solved, one can look back and say, "Oh yes, this all comes together, how interesting."

Unfortunately, in order to get to that point, the reader must first slog through several chapters' worth of art history and Da Vinci-code-style puzzle pieces. Now, don't get me wrong. I like art, and I like art history. Charney clearly knows what he's talking about, but that's the problem--he is so passionate about his subject that he lectures, through his characters, far too much. While I normally enjoy learning fun facts from fiction, in this case, it breaks up the pacing of the story.

And what was with the random French and Italian sprinkled among the conversations? Yes, it is very nice that you know French and Italian (or know people who can help you translate it). But I already feel like you're bludgeoning me with a pretentious headstone of knowledge. This multilingual dialogue is just too much.

The Art Thief is a satisfactory mystery if you can stomach the ultra-intellectual cruft packed around the nugget of story goodness. If you are more into mysteries--or even art--than I am, you may enjoy it more. I wouldn't rush out to buy it though.

Dirk Gently ... what can I say about Dirk Gently ... well, to be honest, I read this book only because it was written by Douglas Adams. As a huge fan of h2g2, I was expecting something awesome.

What I got was ... okay. Not awesome, perhaps great, definitely okay. There are aspects of Dirk Gently that I find appealing. I enjoyed the geometric conundrum of the sofa, and the Electric Monk, but found other parts a little too bizarre to be enjoyable.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. We are talking about an author once affiliated with the Pythons, who are a shining example of how bizarre British humour can be (and don't love them for it). It doesn't necessarily work as well in a book.

So, I prefer h2g2 when I want to read something by Douglas Adams. Dirk Gently has its merits, but h2g2 feels more natural, more original, and just plain fun.

I received this audio book as a gift from a coworker; she had acquired it for (she says) a quarter at a flea market. Whatever the monetary value, however, this book is a little piece of history to me. It is perhaps the most tangible connection I will ever have to the BBC radio series of h2g2.

[b:The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy|11|The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy, Book 1)|Douglas Adams|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1156039839s/11.jpg|3078186] as narrated by Stephen Moore is a wholly different experience than any other edition of Hitchhiker's. Of course, this is true of every edition of h2g2--it changed with each medium (anyone who has read the books and listened to the radio series, or seen the movie and read the books, knows what I'm talking about). The difference in this case is that the story did not change, but suddenly it has a context: it's narrated by an Englishman.

Stephen Moore has a history with h2g2; he was not just some random English actor chosen for the role. And in fact, he is perfect as the narrator. Hitchhiker's takes on a life of its own under his narration.

I suppose I should at this point note that I enjoy audio books. Not everyone does. And it's true that they are largely hit-or-miss--the book requires a good narrator, or else it ruins your experience of the story. However, audio books are both an enjoyable and a practical experience. You can listen to audio books when ordinary reading is out of the question (trust me: reading and driving do not mix). So when I extol the virtues of this audio book, it is from the standpoint of someone who will actually listen to audio books. If you dislike audio books (or if you don't own a cassette player...), I'm not sure this one is good enough to make you change your mind.

If you like h2g2, however, I would definitely recommend listening to this if you ever get a chance. Even if you've heard the radio series, this is slightly different, because it is the book. It's nice if you've a quiet night at home with nothing much else to do. Make a cup of tea, pop this in the tape player (yes, those still exist), and press play.

This is an intriguing piece of historical fiction. The two main characters are both strong women, although in different ways. Christi Phillips switches between seventeenth century Venice and present day with ease, and her writing style makes everything very easy to read. If you have an interest in Venetian history, or just like historical fiction or heroines in general, this book may suit you.

I would have liked a little more suspense. Parts were supposed to be suspenseful, but they didn't really seem that way to me. I guess that if this book has any failing, it is the fact that parts of it just seem handed to us as more of a recount than a dramatic narrative. The most exciting part, to me, was actually near the end when Claire was almost arrested--the parts with Alessandra in the Doge's prison at the hands of Silvia was not nearly as fun. I don't think that Phillips gave us enough of Alessandra's character with which to empathize with her and her love for Antonio. After her debut as a courtesan, indeed, Alessandra becomes more distant from the reader. Claire, on the other hand, becomes more accessible. Parts of the book are rather predictable, and others come as surprises (I did not foresee Andrea Kent actually being Andrew Kent, nor did I foresee their collaboration).

The Rosetti Letter is a solid, enjoyable novel. I wouldn't rush out to buy it, but if you don't have anything in particular to read next, you could do far worse.

It's exciting to read a new Douglas Coupland novel. After discovering jPod two years ago, I devoured the rest of Coupland's oeuvre. When I learned he had a new book out, I rushed to pre-order the trade paper back version. The Gum Thief. Intriguing.

In fact, I didn't expect an epistolary novel. But that didn't detract from my experience.

The two main characters, Roger and Bethany, have a bizarre relationship and play counterpoint to each other. Roger is the burnt-out middle-aged divorced guy, out of shape and in the bottle. Bethany is the lost twenty-something, playing at being Goth while she tries to figure out what she can do with her life--and how she can deal with her passive-aggressive mother.

At first I didn't like Roger. I thought he was creepy, and a touch pathetic. Then it occurred to me that he's supposed to be creepy and pathetic--very pathetic. So then you expect him to go through some life-changing crisis that will help him rise above this pathetic rhythm and find something important, something that gives him meaning.

Well he does, and he doesn't. That's the thing about Coupland novels; they seldom provide answers, just questions. They provide glimpses into how people react--not what they do, but how they actually feel--during the tenuous period when the crisis has passed and you are left to pick up the pieces with no idea of the shape of the puzzle any more.

Some of the transitions were a little too non-linear for my taste. Coupland usually has a smooth narrative style; this book feels less intact. At first I didn't like the Glove Pond excerpts, but then I grew to enjoy how insane Steve and Gloria were. And I'm sure that many English teachers in the years to come (hopefully) will have their students analyzing those excerpts in order to conclude something about Roger. Coupland's very clever.

The ending was not as satisfactory as I would have liked it. Then again, isn't that typical Coupland? If a book is to more accurately portray life, how can it have a neat and tidy ending? Instead it just leaves you hanging, because that is how life goes. Coupland mocks this philosophy in the epilogue, a letter from Roger's writing class instructor:

"Your characters also seem like real people, which might sound like a compliment, but don't jump to that conclusion. Characters need to sound as if you made them up, or else people won't feel as if they're reading writing...."

Coupland's characters do feel like real people (some may disagree with this statement, but I think that primarily comes from a semantic disagreement of the nature of "real." I'm talking about the people behind the mask we see in everyday life.) For that reason, my favourite character has to be Greg a.k.a "Mr. Rant." Firstly, I can totally see that sort of person existing in real life, coming into where I work, and complaining about everything. I can imagine how this would wear on anyone in his life--a girlfriend, siblings, friends.... I was glad to see that Coupland gave him a larger role to play than a stock character, although the unresolved relationship between him and Bethany left me hanging!

The Gum Thief is an excellent new novel by Douglas Coupland. I don't think that I would recommend it to someone who has never read Coupland before; this is not his best novel. However, it was still good enough that I read it in one afternoon, and laughed throughout the book.

Some books are written purely to entertain. Some books are written with a purpose in mind, to explore a theme and somehow communicate an essential aspect of humanity from one person to another. This is art through language. The Cellist of Sarajevo exemplifies this.

Steven Galloway very clearly states in his afterword that this is not a historical novel; it is not meant to accurately convey the details of the siege of Sarajevo. What it does instead is portray the thoughts and feelings of those who endure such a harrowing event. It is truly, at its core, a struggle to retain one's humanity. As terrible as the war is, the thought that it might never end, that it might become the new, normal reality of day-to-day living, is even scarier.

Books like this serve an integral role in society. The Internet has given us instantaneous information propagation, but it has also desensitized us, forced us to increase our levels of apathy just to get by. The Cellist of Sarajevo pokes through that shroud of apathy to remind us of our humanity, not by shocking us with a depiction of human rights violations, but by showing how ordinary people, like us, attempt to survive in the face of such events.

Steven Galloway is not from Sarajevo, did not live through the siege. Yet he masterfully does what a great writer can: uses a setting as a vehicle for telling a story that transcends one time and place and becomes an experience well worth the read.

I respect Ursula K. Le Guin greatly, for although she tackles many difficult and controversial topics, she never beats you over the head with her opinions. Works like her [b: The Left Hand of Darkness|18423|The Left Hand of Darkness|Ursula K. Le Guin|http://images.gr-assets.com/books/1488213612s/18423.jpg|817527] allow you to read an intriguing story while at the same time, if you want, open yourself to new ideas.

Le Guin brings a feminist voice to the eponymous Lavinia, a character from Vergil's Aeneid. She tells Lavinia's story from her point of view, wrapping it within the meta story of Lavinia encountering the poet Vergil through a series of dream sequences. I found that a bit hard to follow, but it didn't really ruin my enjoyment of the book.

It isn't just Lavinia's story, though, which is truly what makes the book work. Le Guin uses Lavinia to bring us a glimpse of a period of history often overlooked in contemporary literature. Many authors write about ancient Rome and Greece, but until now I've never encountered a book set just prior to the founding of Rome. Le Guin shows us what life might have been like for those Latin villagers, what a noblewoman like Lavinia could have expected in terms of being married off, the rituals and beliefs in their pre-Olympian, pre-Christian cultures. I found it fascinating.

So why only two stars? Well, frankly, it is not as good as most of Le Guin's work. "Okay" is not good enough--I expect better! Plus, in places the narrative was somewhat dry, so while the setting and characters were interesting, the story was not always so. Some people might not like the narrative style either--there is very little dialogue, except in Lavinia's conversations with Vergil. Instead, it is told in an almost stream-of-consciousness perspective, with Lavinia relaying back her interpretation of the other characters' thoughts and actions.

If you don't read this book, you're not missing out on anything big and impressive. If you like Le Guin, Lavinia, or pre-Roman Italy, you'll probably enjoy this.