Take a photo of a barcode or cover
theanitaalvarez's Reviews (1.77k)
This is Alice Munro’s only novel. She’s usually a (brilliant) short story writer, so this is a little out of her comfort zone. But in a way, she manages to make every chapter some sort of short story that ties very nicely with the others.
The book, very broadly speaking, tells the story of Dell Jordan, a young girl that lives in the town of Jubilee. Through the pages we get to see the pains of growing up, her family, her religious questioning and the beginnings of love and sex. It’s Dell the one that tells her story, and the way she works out the details reveal how much she sees of the world she is in. Dell is clearly a good observer, even as a kid. She appears to have some sort of preternatural knowledge of her world.
What I really like about Munro’s writing (besides how beautifully she shows details) is the kind of characters she creates. They are all very vivid and realistic, and they seem a little like people you’d meet if you’re going through rural Canada. Or even, you could find them anywhere. Because they are so human and unique, that makes them, in a way, citizens of the world.
The Jordans are an interesting family. I particularly liked the mother, who seemed a little incongruous with a fifties’ town in rural Canada. She is educated and liberal in a town where there are like four churches. From her, Dell learns to be independent and the importance of getting an education.
One of the sections that really got to me is when Dell and her best friend, Naomi, begin parting their ways. Naomi leaves school to begin working and Dell continues to be there. It’s very sad, because they were best friends and shared everything. And also because it was too realistic. This is how many friendships end, not with a big fight or anything like that, but with people slowly drifting apart. At some points here I cried a little for Dell and Naomi’s friendship.
But the book is called Lives of Girl and Women, so it’s natural that is focused in this kind of things. Female friendships are usually very important in our growing up, and it’s common to outgrow them. It’s a fact of life. The same happens with Dell’s discovery of sexuality, which dominates the final section of the novel. For most women, discovery of sexuality is usually linked to the discovery of love. Again, those things are also facts of living as a woman. Dell’s path throughout the novel is a path of self-discovery. She is building up her identity, and every experience in her life (even those that seem menial at first) is part of that.
I’d recommend this book for women. If you want to begin reading Munro, however, I think it’s better to start with some of her short stories. I’m not sure why, but this does not seem like the kind of book you want to read to first see how an author writes.
The book, very broadly speaking, tells the story of Dell Jordan, a young girl that lives in the town of Jubilee. Through the pages we get to see the pains of growing up, her family, her religious questioning and the beginnings of love and sex. It’s Dell the one that tells her story, and the way she works out the details reveal how much she sees of the world she is in. Dell is clearly a good observer, even as a kid. She appears to have some sort of preternatural knowledge of her world.
What I really like about Munro’s writing (besides how beautifully she shows details) is the kind of characters she creates. They are all very vivid and realistic, and they seem a little like people you’d meet if you’re going through rural Canada. Or even, you could find them anywhere. Because they are so human and unique, that makes them, in a way, citizens of the world.
The Jordans are an interesting family. I particularly liked the mother, who seemed a little incongruous with a fifties’ town in rural Canada. She is educated and liberal in a town where there are like four churches. From her, Dell learns to be independent and the importance of getting an education.
One of the sections that really got to me is when Dell and her best friend, Naomi, begin parting their ways. Naomi leaves school to begin working and Dell continues to be there. It’s very sad, because they were best friends and shared everything. And also because it was too realistic. This is how many friendships end, not with a big fight or anything like that, but with people slowly drifting apart. At some points here I cried a little for Dell and Naomi’s friendship.
But the book is called Lives of Girl and Women, so it’s natural that is focused in this kind of things. Female friendships are usually very important in our growing up, and it’s common to outgrow them. It’s a fact of life. The same happens with Dell’s discovery of sexuality, which dominates the final section of the novel. For most women, discovery of sexuality is usually linked to the discovery of love. Again, those things are also facts of living as a woman. Dell’s path throughout the novel is a path of self-discovery. She is building up her identity, and every experience in her life (even those that seem menial at first) is part of that.
I’d recommend this book for women. If you want to begin reading Munro, however, I think it’s better to start with some of her short stories. I’m not sure why, but this does not seem like the kind of book you want to read to first see how an author writes.
Real rating: 2.5 stars.
While this book is beautifully written, I had some problems with the way in which events were represented. The story is about a man, the titular piano tuner, who is sent to Burma to tune a piano. In his trip he learns about the different culture and how music can bring peace to a colonized country. Because yes, the whole thing is set during the Victorian Age with the whole expansion of frontiers and so on as a background.
But the thing is that it’s all pretty much like the Disney-Park version of colonization. The major who asked for the piano is supposed to be the good guy, the one who wants to bring peace to the Shan people they are colonizing. We’re supposed to see the rest of the English military as proud and mean. They’re there to bring their “culture” to the natives, while Major Carroll is meant to be seen as a good guy, as he wants to use music in order to unite the cultures. He respects the Shan in a way no other occidental man has ever done and so on.
And to bring on the cliché storm, there’s also a mysterious and attractive Asian woman, Khin Myo. She’s educated and polite, and the piano tuner, Edgar Drake, seems fascinated by her. Because… colonized women are exotic and sexy, I guess. Or at least that’s the way they’re seen in colonialist fiction.
It was really hard to me to connect with the protagonist, piano-tuner, Edgar Drake. At some points in the novel I only wanted to raise my eyes to heaven and cry a little. The descriptions he makes are Othering, at the very best. Everything is “exotic”, “pure” and so on. Through his eyes we were supposed to see that Shan culture is just as good as the British one (which very much true), but with the way they were portrayed, I think it failed a little. Presenting natives as good and innocent is paternalistic and condescending. The only instance when we get to meet some sort of Shan revolutionary hero is very much watered-down and he’s again shown as mysterious and exotic. That’s not the best way to show that we’re all humans and the same.
On the good side, I guess that the investigation behind the novel was decent. Mason really seemed to know his stuff about piano making and tuning. However, whenever Edgar began talking about pianos, it seemed as if he was quoting an encyclopedia. And most of the times, it didn’t add anything to the plot. There’s a letter that she writes so the British Military are treated to a class about the history of the piano and the Erards in particular. And we, the readers, are treated to a lecture that describes a lot of useless information. Yes, I know that it’s supposed to give context or show an aspect of Edgar’s character, but it was useless (unless the objective was showing how boring Edgar really was or how much research the author did).
The ending felt a little too abrupt to me. We have about three hundred pages of novel, and everything ends in about ten. All that building up for something big to happen for nothing! Seriously, this was the most disappointing part of the book.
By the way, at some points the book reminded me about Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. But, while that book is disturbing in many levels (or maybe it’s just my trauma for overanalyzing this book in class), The Piano Tuner is only repetitive and paternalistic. We’re treated to another watered down version of colonization.
While this book is beautifully written, I had some problems with the way in which events were represented. The story is about a man, the titular piano tuner, who is sent to Burma to tune a piano. In his trip he learns about the different culture and how music can bring peace to a colonized country. Because yes, the whole thing is set during the Victorian Age with the whole expansion of frontiers and so on as a background.
But the thing is that it’s all pretty much like the Disney-Park version of colonization. The major who asked for the piano is supposed to be the good guy, the one who wants to bring peace to the Shan people they are colonizing. We’re supposed to see the rest of the English military as proud and mean. They’re there to bring their “culture” to the natives, while Major Carroll is meant to be seen as a good guy, as he wants to use music in order to unite the cultures. He respects the Shan in a way no other occidental man has ever done and so on.
And to bring on the cliché storm, there’s also a mysterious and attractive Asian woman, Khin Myo. She’s educated and polite, and the piano tuner, Edgar Drake, seems fascinated by her. Because… colonized women are exotic and sexy, I guess. Or at least that’s the way they’re seen in colonialist fiction.
It was really hard to me to connect with the protagonist, piano-tuner, Edgar Drake. At some points in the novel I only wanted to raise my eyes to heaven and cry a little. The descriptions he makes are Othering, at the very best. Everything is “exotic”, “pure” and so on. Through his eyes we were supposed to see that Shan culture is just as good as the British one (which very much true), but with the way they were portrayed, I think it failed a little. Presenting natives as good and innocent is paternalistic and condescending. The only instance when we get to meet some sort of Shan revolutionary hero is very much watered-down and he’s again shown as mysterious and exotic. That’s not the best way to show that we’re all humans and the same.
On the good side, I guess that the investigation behind the novel was decent. Mason really seemed to know his stuff about piano making and tuning. However, whenever Edgar began talking about pianos, it seemed as if he was quoting an encyclopedia. And most of the times, it didn’t add anything to the plot. There’s a letter that she writes so the British Military are treated to a class about the history of the piano and the Erards in particular. And we, the readers, are treated to a lecture that describes a lot of useless information. Yes, I know that it’s supposed to give context or show an aspect of Edgar’s character, but it was useless (unless the objective was showing how boring Edgar really was or how much research the author did).
The ending felt a little too abrupt to me. We have about three hundred pages of novel, and everything ends in about ten. All that building up for something big to happen for nothing! Seriously, this was the most disappointing part of the book.
By the way, at some points the book reminded me about Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. But, while that book is disturbing in many levels (or maybe it’s just my trauma for overanalyzing this book in class), The Piano Tuner is only repetitive and paternalistic. We’re treated to another watered down version of colonization.
This was very uncomfortable to read. Mainly because the author has a paternalistic view on her tenants that feels very dated. This book was written in the 1930s, so of course they had a completely different view on colonial relationships. If you intend to read a good account of the relationships between colonizers and colonized, however, this might be an interesting thing to read. It shows how rich white people dealt with Africans and how they saw their role in the Empire. And (at least for me), this is very interesting in several levels.
Isak Dinesen (aka. Karen Blixen) was an upper class European woman who moved into Africa with her husband. This book shows her views on the natives and colonization. Obviously, she seems to think that they are doing something good for them. But, unlike other colonizers, she appears to put some sort of value in the traditions and cultures of the people in the farm. Other times, though, she presents them as quaint rather than as having equal value to European culture. She moves along this spectrum of possibilities throughout the whole book, so it’s rather hard to get what she really thought about them.
This memoirs chronicle her life in a farm in Africa. She talks about the daily life in it and its surroundings, her relations with the people who work for her and so on. She has a direct and straightforward style, which makes the book quite easy to read. Not too adorned or too bare.
As said before, this book is hardly a critical analysis of colonial relations. The natives are not given a voice (obviously, these are Blixen’s memoirs) and the whole story is tinted with some sort of romantic ideal of African in mind. At some points she reminded me of my missionary aunt, who’s just arrived from Mozambique and seems to feel that it’s her duty to preach us about it. Both Blixen and my aunt make a point of emphasizing how innocent and pure the natives are, and how generous they are for inviting them to their houses. I’m not saying that this people are actually mean or evil. But I think that characterizing them in this way is Othering. Blixen and my aunt other Africans by thinking of them as people in another category.
This is why I found this book so hard to read. I’m a twenty-first century English major. I know that people don’t fit in tiny little boxes, that they are complex, that their relationships cannot be described in single ways. And reading the memoirs of a twentieth century aristocrat in Africa is also showing me a completely different way to see the world. One which I don’t agree with, as well.
Blixen/Dinesen’s view of Africa feels a little as if she’s talking about a completely different planet. And I guess that is because it is a different planet for her, a completely different world. And in that sense, this book works really well as a historic document, presenting a woman’s point of view about the empire, from the position of the colonizer. I’d have liked to see more of the other side, but I’m realistic enough to understand that it wasn’t possible.
If you’re interested in Colonialism, read it. If you don’t really care for it, I’d give it a miss and read something else instead.
Isak Dinesen (aka. Karen Blixen) was an upper class European woman who moved into Africa with her husband. This book shows her views on the natives and colonization. Obviously, she seems to think that they are doing something good for them. But, unlike other colonizers, she appears to put some sort of value in the traditions and cultures of the people in the farm. Other times, though, she presents them as quaint rather than as having equal value to European culture. She moves along this spectrum of possibilities throughout the whole book, so it’s rather hard to get what she really thought about them.
This memoirs chronicle her life in a farm in Africa. She talks about the daily life in it and its surroundings, her relations with the people who work for her and so on. She has a direct and straightforward style, which makes the book quite easy to read. Not too adorned or too bare.
As said before, this book is hardly a critical analysis of colonial relations. The natives are not given a voice (obviously, these are Blixen’s memoirs) and the whole story is tinted with some sort of romantic ideal of African in mind. At some points she reminded me of my missionary aunt, who’s just arrived from Mozambique and seems to feel that it’s her duty to preach us about it. Both Blixen and my aunt make a point of emphasizing how innocent and pure the natives are, and how generous they are for inviting them to their houses. I’m not saying that this people are actually mean or evil. But I think that characterizing them in this way is Othering. Blixen and my aunt other Africans by thinking of them as people in another category.
This is why I found this book so hard to read. I’m a twenty-first century English major. I know that people don’t fit in tiny little boxes, that they are complex, that their relationships cannot be described in single ways. And reading the memoirs of a twentieth century aristocrat in Africa is also showing me a completely different way to see the world. One which I don’t agree with, as well.
Blixen/Dinesen’s view of Africa feels a little as if she’s talking about a completely different planet. And I guess that is because it is a different planet for her, a completely different world. And in that sense, this book works really well as a historic document, presenting a woman’s point of view about the empire, from the position of the colonizer. I’d have liked to see more of the other side, but I’m realistic enough to understand that it wasn’t possible.
If you’re interested in Colonialism, read it. If you don’t really care for it, I’d give it a miss and read something else instead.
I’m not getting into the historical aspects of this novel because I don’t really know about Japanese history. I know that there’s been quite a controversy regarding Golden’s portrayal of Geisha, so I read the book with a pinch of salt (and I looked up for a book written by an actual Geisha in order to compare them).
The book is presented as the actual memoirs of a Geisha settled in New York (Sayuri), and they recount her life from childhood to young womanhood. She begins in a poor family, whose mother is very sick and her father is struggling to take care of his two daughters, Chiyo and Satsu. Eventually, they are both sold to a woman who sells them in turn. Chiyo gets to be sold to a Geisha house, while Satsu doesn’t. Chiyo later finds out that her sister was sold into prostitution, which makes a sharp contrast with her own life. But both of them are miserable and try to escape. Of course, their attempt fails and Chiyo doesn’t get out (as far as she knows, her sister does get her freedom).
In the house where Chiyo serves, the main Geisha is Hatsumomo. She’s one of the most famous Geishas in their city. She instantly takes a disliking of Chiyo, and later manages to get her out of Geisha-training. However, when things seem very bleak to poor Chiyo, she meets the Chairman. He’s an older man, married and rich. She’s instantly struck by him.
A short time later, Mameha, another of the most famous Geishas in town, takes an interest in her and manages to get her back into Geisha-school (I really suck at remembering Japanese names, please forgive me). She also takes up the challenge of making Chiyo the greatest Geisha in all their district.
The rest of the book is basically a lot of scheming, planning and plotting against Hatsumomo. And World War II appears there, a little. While the book is very interesting, I could never forget that I was reading a man posing as a woman. An American man posing as a Japanese woman. There’s a lot to be said about that, but I’ll leave it for another occasion.
While the relations between women are very important, the author pays a lot of attention to the sexual aspect of their lives. I don’t know much about Geishas, but I do know that they weren’t prostitutes. And, at certain points, this book seems to forget that. Their roles as artists are left in the background, and are scarcely brought up before being left out at all. I feel that they should’ve been emphasized because they were the centre of their world. I missed reading about the world that was mainly populated by women, an essentially female world that made them who they were. The book should have been less about the males in Chiyo/Sayuri’s life and more about women and how their identities are forged in such an environment.
It’s a entertaining read, but if you pick it, don’t expect it to be an actual account of what a Geisha’s life was. It’s written by an Occidental man and it is written to appeal to occidental readers. Don’t forget that.
The book is presented as the actual memoirs of a Geisha settled in New York (Sayuri), and they recount her life from childhood to young womanhood. She begins in a poor family, whose mother is very sick and her father is struggling to take care of his two daughters, Chiyo and Satsu. Eventually, they are both sold to a woman who sells them in turn. Chiyo gets to be sold to a Geisha house, while Satsu doesn’t. Chiyo later finds out that her sister was sold into prostitution, which makes a sharp contrast with her own life. But both of them are miserable and try to escape. Of course, their attempt fails and Chiyo doesn’t get out (as far as she knows, her sister does get her freedom).
In the house where Chiyo serves, the main Geisha is Hatsumomo. She’s one of the most famous Geishas in their city. She instantly takes a disliking of Chiyo, and later manages to get her out of Geisha-training. However, when things seem very bleak to poor Chiyo, she meets the Chairman. He’s an older man, married and rich. She’s instantly struck by him.
A short time later, Mameha, another of the most famous Geishas in town, takes an interest in her and manages to get her back into Geisha-school (I really suck at remembering Japanese names, please forgive me). She also takes up the challenge of making Chiyo the greatest Geisha in all their district.
The rest of the book is basically a lot of scheming, planning and plotting against Hatsumomo. And World War II appears there, a little. While the book is very interesting, I could never forget that I was reading a man posing as a woman. An American man posing as a Japanese woman. There’s a lot to be said about that, but I’ll leave it for another occasion.
While the relations between women are very important, the author pays a lot of attention to the sexual aspect of their lives. I don’t know much about Geishas, but I do know that they weren’t prostitutes. And, at certain points, this book seems to forget that. Their roles as artists are left in the background, and are scarcely brought up before being left out at all. I feel that they should’ve been emphasized because they were the centre of their world. I missed reading about the world that was mainly populated by women, an essentially female world that made them who they were. The book should have been less about the males in Chiyo/Sayuri’s life and more about women and how their identities are forged in such an environment.
It’s a entertaining read, but if you pick it, don’t expect it to be an actual account of what a Geisha’s life was. It’s written by an Occidental man and it is written to appeal to occidental readers. Don’t forget that.
I’ve heard a lot about Pamuk, because he won a Nobel Prize. But I had never read anything by him until this book. And I regret taking such a long time to read him, because he’s wonderful.
This book follows the story of Ka, an exiled poet, who returns to Turkey in order to investigate the suicide of a group of girls (supposedly because of the country’s ban of headscarves in schools). While in Kars (the city where the girls killed themselves), he becomes involved in an attempted coup, and a love affair with an old friend.
Throughout the whole book, Ka meets different types of fundamentalists. Some of them are from the religious variety; others are politically inclined, and so on. Ka, by contrast, seems to be almost devoid of an opinion. He goes from one group to another, trying to make them agree on something. His only interest in the novel seems to be the love of beautiful Ipek. He wants to marry her and move together to Germany (where he lives).
Women in the book are somewhat in the background of the action. The headscarf girls’ suicides are the trigger for many religious and political tensions to explode. Ipek is there to give Ka some semblance of purpose. Her sister, the also beautiful Kadife, is the one who seems to have a more active role in the story, but she is also used by different groups of men to make a point. I’ll probably sound like I’m obsessed with women in fiction (I am), but in a novel that starts with women killing themselves, I’d expect women’s roles being questioned. And they are, even if they are mostly questioned by male characters. That could be Pamuk’s commentary on how different groups think of women and how they’re used in their political plans.
There’s also some sort of critique to how media is used to control people’s minds. In the city of Kars, art and culture are weapons for the war they are fighting. Whoever gets control of the media, gets the control of the people in the city. Ideologies and ideals are translated into shows, spectacles that are only meant to attract the masses. It’s a very creepy view, but the scariest thing is how it seems to work. There’s a lot of fuss over Kadife’s decision to show her hair in national TV, as she is admired by many young religious men and women. Her decision to bare her head may seem trivial to westerners, but it is a big deal in the novel (and I’m sure that for women who decide to do that, it is also huge). It’s interesting how gender and sex end up playing in this novel.
I don’t know much about conflicts in the Middle East, so I can’t really comment much on the political issues here. However, there’s a lot to say about fundamentalism. As I already said, many characters here are fundamentalists; they cling to their views and are not willing to discuss them. And of course, this leads to a very conflictive and tense outcome.
I liked this book a lot, even if it is a bit slow. It is also beautifully written, so that’s a plus. If you want to give it a try, go ahead.
This book follows the story of Ka, an exiled poet, who returns to Turkey in order to investigate the suicide of a group of girls (supposedly because of the country’s ban of headscarves in schools). While in Kars (the city where the girls killed themselves), he becomes involved in an attempted coup, and a love affair with an old friend.
Throughout the whole book, Ka meets different types of fundamentalists. Some of them are from the religious variety; others are politically inclined, and so on. Ka, by contrast, seems to be almost devoid of an opinion. He goes from one group to another, trying to make them agree on something. His only interest in the novel seems to be the love of beautiful Ipek. He wants to marry her and move together to Germany (where he lives).
Women in the book are somewhat in the background of the action. The headscarf girls’ suicides are the trigger for many religious and political tensions to explode. Ipek is there to give Ka some semblance of purpose. Her sister, the also beautiful Kadife, is the one who seems to have a more active role in the story, but she is also used by different groups of men to make a point. I’ll probably sound like I’m obsessed with women in fiction (I am), but in a novel that starts with women killing themselves, I’d expect women’s roles being questioned. And they are, even if they are mostly questioned by male characters. That could be Pamuk’s commentary on how different groups think of women and how they’re used in their political plans.
There’s also some sort of critique to how media is used to control people’s minds. In the city of Kars, art and culture are weapons for the war they are fighting. Whoever gets control of the media, gets the control of the people in the city. Ideologies and ideals are translated into shows, spectacles that are only meant to attract the masses. It’s a very creepy view, but the scariest thing is how it seems to work. There’s a lot of fuss over Kadife’s decision to show her hair in national TV, as she is admired by many young religious men and women. Her decision to bare her head may seem trivial to westerners, but it is a big deal in the novel (and I’m sure that for women who decide to do that, it is also huge). It’s interesting how gender and sex end up playing in this novel.
I don’t know much about conflicts in the Middle East, so I can’t really comment much on the political issues here. However, there’s a lot to say about fundamentalism. As I already said, many characters here are fundamentalists; they cling to their views and are not willing to discuss them. And of course, this leads to a very conflictive and tense outcome.
I liked this book a lot, even if it is a bit slow. It is also beautifully written, so that’s a plus. If you want to give it a try, go ahead.
This was one of the few Isabel Allende’s books I hadn’t read, at this point (I’m still missing a few, though). I wasn’t particularly interested, considering that this is non-fiction and I didn’t use to read much non-fiction back in the day (a lot has changed since then, I guess). So, I picked this up at my aunt’s and gave it a read.
It’s fun how I live in the same country, but everything is completely different for me. Well, not everything, but a lot has changed since the 60s. There are a few things that basically remain the same. Some of her comments about Chilean character and society hold true.
It’s hard to classify this book. It’s a bit memoir and a bit essay. She’s basically talking about how she sees her (our) home country. And I find it very interesting how she reflects on how being Chilean has defined her character in one way or another. She talks about how Chileans don’t like talking too loud and order everything in diminutives (agüíta, cafecito), which is something that’s very ours. She links it with what she seems to think of as an inferiority complex on our part. Or how we don’t like to show off. She analyzes all that and tries to reconcile it with her own identity.
That is also interesting, because Allende also makes a point of showing how different she is from Chilean society. I guess that that’s something everyone does from time to time. We see a lot of stuff we don’t like, and desperately want to show that we’re not like that. If someone says Chileans are “classist”, they immediately follow by saying that they are no, of course. Or make a comment on how obsessed Chileans are with last names and the schools people went to (seriously, it’s usually one of the first things you get asked by anyone you meet), but they don’t really care.
Allende does this all the time, showing herself as a rebellious and unconventional woman (I don’t doubt that she is, of course). She has a critical outcome on our society, and calls out hypocrisy and how fake are some standards.
Allende’s Chile is also very different from mine. I was brought up in a small town, born after the dictatorship and so on. Her Chile is Santiago’s upper class, in the middle of the 20th century. That makes for a completely different Chile for both of us. My only criticism is that the book seems to assume something like “Santiago is Chile” (NOT), and it shows a narrow view of what Chile actually is. Of course, it’s understandable because it’s about Allende’s memoirs, so trying to show the whole of Chile isn’t the scope of this book.
Allende’s style is engaging and entertaining, so I enjoyed this book. It’s an interesting view of my own country that showed me how different can be my perspective from others, even if we’re talking about the same country. If you’re curious about Chile’s recent history, it’s an interesting source (not really historical, but shows a contemporary perspective).
It’s fun how I live in the same country, but everything is completely different for me. Well, not everything, but a lot has changed since the 60s. There are a few things that basically remain the same. Some of her comments about Chilean character and society hold true.
It’s hard to classify this book. It’s a bit memoir and a bit essay. She’s basically talking about how she sees her (our) home country. And I find it very interesting how she reflects on how being Chilean has defined her character in one way or another. She talks about how Chileans don’t like talking too loud and order everything in diminutives (agüíta, cafecito), which is something that’s very ours. She links it with what she seems to think of as an inferiority complex on our part. Or how we don’t like to show off. She analyzes all that and tries to reconcile it with her own identity.
That is also interesting, because Allende also makes a point of showing how different she is from Chilean society. I guess that that’s something everyone does from time to time. We see a lot of stuff we don’t like, and desperately want to show that we’re not like that. If someone says Chileans are “classist”, they immediately follow by saying that they are no, of course. Or make a comment on how obsessed Chileans are with last names and the schools people went to (seriously, it’s usually one of the first things you get asked by anyone you meet), but they don’t really care.
Allende does this all the time, showing herself as a rebellious and unconventional woman (I don’t doubt that she is, of course). She has a critical outcome on our society, and calls out hypocrisy and how fake are some standards.
Allende’s Chile is also very different from mine. I was brought up in a small town, born after the dictatorship and so on. Her Chile is Santiago’s upper class, in the middle of the 20th century. That makes for a completely different Chile for both of us. My only criticism is that the book seems to assume something like “Santiago is Chile” (NOT), and it shows a narrow view of what Chile actually is. Of course, it’s understandable because it’s about Allende’s memoirs, so trying to show the whole of Chile isn’t the scope of this book.
Allende’s style is engaging and entertaining, so I enjoyed this book. It’s an interesting view of my own country that showed me how different can be my perspective from others, even if we’re talking about the same country. If you’re curious about Chile’s recent history, it’s an interesting source (not really historical, but shows a contemporary perspective).
I liked this book, but didn't love it as so many people have. The story was okay, as were the characters and the world itself. And that's it. Okay. Not mind-blowing, not amazing. Okay. Maybe it's because I'm getting tired of the same formula for these young adults triologies that are invading bookshops everywhere (teenage girl protagonist, first person-present tense narration, dystopian future).
So, this book was correct. Tris was interesting as a main character. Her struggles to find her own place in a society that reduces people to one main characteristic were somewhat compelling. Though I have to mention that I became a bit annoyed later on, when everyone kept reminding me how awesome and unique Tris was. Despite, you know, causing way much more damage than the bad guys themselves. Seriously, how come that everyone loved her when she kept doing what she was not supposed to do. I guess that the idea was to show her as an independent and brave hero ("Oh, she doesn't follow the rules. That's so awesome"), but I felt she was more dumb than anything. Really, there's a limit about how many times you can jump the rules and get away with it and Tris passed it in the first book of her saga. Her relationship with Tobias/Four was sweet, but I felt it was a bit rushed. And the fact that he was her instructor of some sort didn't feel right. Yes, they made a fuss about keeping it secret, so nobody would say she was taking advantage of dating a tutor or anything. But still, I don't think it was right on Tobias/Four side. He should've known better.
Anyway, the book was exciting and caught me while reading it. The only problem I had is that I felt I've been there before. I had read similar stuff before and wanted something more. Shame I didn't get it.
So, this book was correct. Tris was interesting as a main character. Her struggles to find her own place in a society that reduces people to one main characteristic were somewhat compelling. Though I have to mention that I became a bit annoyed later on, when everyone kept reminding me how awesome and unique Tris was. Despite, you know, causing way much more damage than the bad guys themselves. Seriously, how come that everyone loved her when she kept doing what she was not supposed to do. I guess that the idea was to show her as an independent and brave hero ("Oh, she doesn't follow the rules. That's so awesome"), but I felt she was more dumb than anything. Really, there's a limit about how many times you can jump the rules and get away with it and Tris passed it in the first book of her saga. Her relationship with Tobias/Four was sweet, but I felt it was a bit rushed. And the fact that he was her instructor of some sort didn't feel right. Yes, they made a fuss about keeping it secret, so nobody would say she was taking advantage of dating a tutor or anything. But still, I don't think it was right on Tobias/Four side. He should've known better.
Anyway, the book was exciting and caught me while reading it. The only problem I had is that I felt I've been there before. I had read similar stuff before and wanted something more. Shame I didn't get it.
So, it's almost three months since I finished this book. Right now I have thing more clear about my feelings for this book.
As a Divergent sequel, it was an improvement from the last one. In general, I tend to prefer the first installment of a saga over the others. In this case, I enjoyed Insurgent a lot more than I did Divergent. So, there's some points there.
However, there are several things I didn't like about this book. If I felt that Tris was tiresome and boring in the first part, she was up to eleven in this one. Half of the event in the book were something along these lines:
Four: Tris, don't do this thing. It's dangerous and people will die.
Tris: Okay, I won't. (Five seconds later) Okay, I'm going to do it. (People die and Tris angsts over it for thirty pages).
After a few times, it got old. All her bullshit about "self-sacrifice" became really annoying after lots of people died because of her. I gather that it was to make us, the readers, like the oh-so-cool Tris because she's so willing to give up her life for... well, nothing really. So, yeah... I would've prefered her to learn something and act as an intelligent hero for once. Wasn't she supposed to be as smart as an Erudite? And the long gushings about her feelings for Four/Tobias were booooring.
Still, what saved this from being "Tris Prior's show" were her friends. I don't know why, but in several books I feel more drawn to secondary characters than to the main ones. Insurgent was one of those books. I really liked all the other characters: Shauna (poor thing!), Christina, Marlene (seriously, the worst death ever), Uriah, even Caleb (yeah, I know what he did, but I could get his motivations better than I could get Tris'). I looked forward to reading about them, and that's kind of the proof of a good character. Why Veronica Roth decided to focus in the most boring ones of the bunch, is anybody's guess.
All in all, the plot was good. I would've erased most of Tris and Tobias' relationship, but the action scenes were good and exciting. And I liked how the plot developed, from the internal conflict between the factions to something that clearly bigger than all of them. However, we got a few very predictable plot points. I always feel kind of cheated when I can guess plot points from the very beginning. And I just knew that Tobias' mother was going to show up. Maybe because Tris gave it so many turns. But, anyway, it was indeed an entertaining book and it caught me until I finished, so... I guess it was as okay as Divergent. It's the kind of book I can read and enjoy, but I'll probably won't love.
As a Divergent sequel, it was an improvement from the last one. In general, I tend to prefer the first installment of a saga over the others. In this case, I enjoyed Insurgent a lot more than I did Divergent. So, there's some points there.
However, there are several things I didn't like about this book. If I felt that Tris was tiresome and boring in the first part, she was up to eleven in this one. Half of the event in the book were something along these lines:
Four: Tris, don't do this thing. It's dangerous and people will die.
Tris: Okay, I won't. (Five seconds later) Okay, I'm going to do it. (People die and Tris angsts over it for thirty pages).
After a few times, it got old. All her bullshit about "self-sacrifice" became really annoying after lots of people died because of her. I gather that it was to make us, the readers, like the oh-so-cool Tris because she's so willing to give up her life for... well, nothing really. So, yeah... I would've prefered her to learn something and act as an intelligent hero for once. Wasn't she supposed to be as smart as an Erudite? And the long gushings about her feelings for Four/Tobias were booooring.
Still, what saved this from being "Tris Prior's show" were her friends. I don't know why, but in several books I feel more drawn to secondary characters than to the main ones. Insurgent was one of those books. I really liked all the other characters: Shauna (poor thing!), Christina, Marlene (seriously, the worst death ever), Uriah, even Caleb (yeah, I know what he did, but I could get his motivations better than I could get Tris'). I looked forward to reading about them, and that's kind of the proof of a good character. Why Veronica Roth decided to focus in the most boring ones of the bunch, is anybody's guess.
All in all, the plot was good. I would've erased most of Tris and Tobias' relationship, but the action scenes were good and exciting. And I liked how the plot developed, from the internal conflict between the factions to something that clearly bigger than all of them. However, we got a few very predictable plot points. I always feel kind of cheated when I can guess plot points from the very beginning. And I just knew that Tobias' mother was going to show up. Maybe because Tris gave it so many turns. But, anyway, it was indeed an entertaining book and it caught me until I finished, so... I guess it was as okay as Divergent. It's the kind of book I can read and enjoy, but I'll probably won't love.
I’ll admit I had some issues with this book. I know about OSC politics and his opinions about homosexuality, but I hoped that his writing didn’t have anything to do with them. After three years of studying literature, I should’ve known that was a vain hope. Shame on me.
So, right now I’ll try to explain all the reasons why reading this book was infuriating and disgusting for me.
This book basically is about Ender Wiggins, a six-year-old who is so awesome and cool that he’s the only one that can save Earth from the horrible threat of a race of ugly aliens. Why? Just because. Throughout the whole book there is absolutely no explanation why Earth’s best shot is a child as opposed to, I don’t know, an ADULT. No, we’re only told that he’s the most intelligent child in Earth and that’s reason enough to allow him to command our armies.
I would’ve understood (and maybe even liked) this book a lot better if the children were took to Battle School to give them a thorough training, so they became officers as adults. I know about suspension of disbelief, but I need something to sustain that. That someone tells me that those children are the best choice we have is not something. If anything, that's nothing that might help me suspend my disbelief.
So, we have awesome and incredible Ender who can do literally anything. He’s the best in everything he does, whether it is strategy, fighting or whatever. He’s so amazing that he beats the videogame the teachers make them play, something nobody ever managed to do. Because he’s the coolest kid ever.
When you realize that Ender will have little difficulty, if any at all, confronting everything the evil teachers put in his way, the book becomes boring. Almost every chapter in Battle School is basically the same: teachers talk about this amazing kid and they try a new test to prove him, Ender passes brilliantly and the chapter ends. It’s mind numbingly. I like my heroes with flaws. I like that they can fail and move on. I like that they can be defeated every once in a while. But that doesn’t happen with Ender. He’s never confronted with something he can’t do.
At the end, we all know that Ender will win and destroy the evil aliens (who didn’t seem very evil to me. I mean, they weren’t a constant threat, leaving the invasions aside). It’s true that in almost every story, the main character will succeed. But in the stories I consider good, usually the protagonist is forced to face something that they think they cannot overcome. So, the ending is more satisfactory for me as a reader. With Ender, it was like another test of the evil teachers.
About the characters, this story is a completely centered around Ender. Everything the other characters do has to do with him and they are characterized according to whether they like or not Ender. If a character likes Ender they are probably amazing soldiers, nice persons and very intelligent. In that group we can have Alai (I was actually surprised that OSC portrayed an Arabian boy so nicely, kudos!) , Petra and Dink. On the other hand, characters who don’t suck up to wonderful Ender (some of them with actual good reasons to dislike the boy, if I may say so) are portrayed as terrible soldiers, mean and selfish. We have here Bernard, Bonzo and Rozen, whose portrayals were even borderline racist. Forget about that, straightforward racist. At least for Bernard and Bonzo. Bernard had a “stupid-sounding accent” because apparently France has decided to teach their children English after they learn French (which actually sounds perfectly okay for me), and Bonzo has “Spanish pride”, whatever that means. The nationalities of the characters who like Ender (and I still wonder why) aren’t brought up.
And that gets me to another point: the world order. Okay, I get it. We are under the threat of another bugger invasion (but I’ll insist that they didn’t seem much of threat anyway. I recall reading something about them not attacking civilians), so we have to unite. I’d be cool with that. But then we have the US’ normative becoming the world ones. Everyone has to speak English (they call it Standard, but I’m not stupid), nobody can have more than two kids (unless someone says that your third kid will be awesome, based on the intelligence and abilities of the previous ones), and so on. I don’t think that for unity around the globe we need to have all the same culture and shame those who doesn’t. And it begs the question: why do everyone have to accept the US’ standards and not somewhere else’s? That part was chauvinistic, to say the least.
Oh, the off-handed comment about women having centuries of evolution working against them was appalling. I mean, who on Earth is that the males of a species are more developed than the females? It made no sense and made me angry. Unless, in Ender’s universe women appeared centuries later than men, who reproduced somehow without women. That’s the only explanation that I can think of to justify that stupidity.
Well, actually, while in this world they can guess that a child is going to be a genius just looking at the older siblings (yeah, that made no sense in the book either), they cannot see that they have a text-book psychopath in front of them. Maybe the scientific advances they are supposed to have weren’t so awesome after all.
I’ll admit that the premise of this book was interesting enough. The whole idea of pushing kids to their extreme was somewhat shocking, but it could have worked (maybe if the kids were a couple years older). Nevertheless, the execution felt clumsy and didn’t work for me. It’s not that I don’t like science-fiction. I do like it. But this book felt like propaganda, and bad propaganda at that.
So, right now I’ll try to explain all the reasons why reading this book was infuriating and disgusting for me.
This book basically is about Ender Wiggins, a six-year-old who is so awesome and cool that he’s the only one that can save Earth from the horrible threat of a race of ugly aliens. Why? Just because. Throughout the whole book there is absolutely no explanation why Earth’s best shot is a child as opposed to, I don’t know, an ADULT. No, we’re only told that he’s the most intelligent child in Earth and that’s reason enough to allow him to command our armies.
I would’ve understood (and maybe even liked) this book a lot better if the children were took to Battle School to give them a thorough training, so they became officers as adults. I know about suspension of disbelief, but I need something to sustain that. That someone tells me that those children are the best choice we have is not something. If anything, that's nothing that might help me suspend my disbelief.
So, we have awesome and incredible Ender who can do literally anything. He’s the best in everything he does, whether it is strategy, fighting or whatever. He’s so amazing that he beats the videogame the teachers make them play, something nobody ever managed to do. Because he’s the coolest kid ever.
When you realize that Ender will have little difficulty, if any at all, confronting everything the evil teachers put in his way, the book becomes boring. Almost every chapter in Battle School is basically the same: teachers talk about this amazing kid and they try a new test to prove him, Ender passes brilliantly and the chapter ends. It’s mind numbingly. I like my heroes with flaws. I like that they can fail and move on. I like that they can be defeated every once in a while. But that doesn’t happen with Ender. He’s never confronted with something he can’t do.
At the end, we all know that Ender will win and destroy the evil aliens (who didn’t seem very evil to me. I mean, they weren’t a constant threat, leaving the invasions aside). It’s true that in almost every story, the main character will succeed. But in the stories I consider good, usually the protagonist is forced to face something that they think they cannot overcome. So, the ending is more satisfactory for me as a reader. With Ender, it was like another test of the evil teachers.
About the characters, this story is a completely centered around Ender. Everything the other characters do has to do with him and they are characterized according to whether they like or not Ender. If a character likes Ender they are probably amazing soldiers, nice persons and very intelligent. In that group we can have Alai (I was actually surprised that OSC portrayed an Arabian boy so nicely, kudos!) , Petra and Dink. On the other hand, characters who don’t suck up to wonderful Ender (some of them with actual good reasons to dislike the boy, if I may say so) are portrayed as terrible soldiers, mean and selfish. We have here Bernard, Bonzo and Rozen, whose portrayals were even borderline racist. Forget about that, straightforward racist. At least for Bernard and Bonzo. Bernard had a “stupid-sounding accent” because apparently France has decided to teach their children English after they learn French (which actually sounds perfectly okay for me), and Bonzo has “Spanish pride”, whatever that means. The nationalities of the characters who like Ender (and I still wonder why) aren’t brought up.
And that gets me to another point: the world order. Okay, I get it. We are under the threat of another bugger invasion (but I’ll insist that they didn’t seem much of threat anyway. I recall reading something about them not attacking civilians), so we have to unite. I’d be cool with that. But then we have the US’ normative becoming the world ones. Everyone has to speak English (they call it Standard, but I’m not stupid), nobody can have more than two kids (unless someone says that your third kid will be awesome, based on the intelligence and abilities of the previous ones), and so on. I don’t think that for unity around the globe we need to have all the same culture and shame those who doesn’t. And it begs the question: why do everyone have to accept the US’ standards and not somewhere else’s? That part was chauvinistic, to say the least.
Oh, the off-handed comment about women having centuries of evolution working against them was appalling. I mean, who on Earth is that the males of a species are more developed than the females? It made no sense and made me angry. Unless, in Ender’s universe women appeared centuries later than men, who reproduced somehow without women. That’s the only explanation that I can think of to justify that stupidity.
Well, actually, while in this world they can guess that a child is going to be a genius just looking at the older siblings (yeah, that made no sense in the book either), they cannot see that they have a text-book psychopath in front of them. Maybe the scientific advances they are supposed to have weren’t so awesome after all.
I’ll admit that the premise of this book was interesting enough. The whole idea of pushing kids to their extreme was somewhat shocking, but it could have worked (maybe if the kids were a couple years older). Nevertheless, the execution felt clumsy and didn’t work for me. It’s not that I don’t like science-fiction. I do like it. But this book felt like propaganda, and bad propaganda at that.
1 star. Just because I could tweet a few funny quotes and Goodreads doesn’t allow us to give zero stars. Seriously, we need those, Goodreads.
I think that I was expecting something completely different. When I first read about this book, I thought it was a book about actual science that mocked the style we often get in “women” magazines. I liked that idea. It’s pretty obvious that Science is a field that doesn’t involve women as much as it should, and there’s a lot to be said about the topic. The idea seemed interesting and fun to read. I actually like science (please, don’t tell my Physics teacher from high school, I have a reputation to maintain), and I’m always ready for new and interesting ways to new information.
Instead of that, I got this
The whole book is written with the voice of an utter IDIOT. I’m pretty sure that most women magazines don’t like their reporters to sound as if they have been lobotomized. Repeatedly. Don’t get me wrong, the first few pages were funny indeed. I laughed.
But it very soon it got OLD. There’s a limit for how many “oh, I’m a woman and I’m an idiot” comments a writer can make in one book. This one in particular got over it in the first chapter, seriously. Maybe it was because I wanted something completely different, but the “silly” woman gag was more than overly long. It was annoying and irrelevant.
It’s okay to mock how women are seen in science fields. Humor is indeed a powerful subversive weapon, and it can be used to help to bring attention to several issues. But you have to make a point. Remember how Tina Fey and Amy Poehler joked about how awesome Amal Alamuddin was and how it was her husband who got all the fame? (For those who don’t know Amal is a Human Rights lawyer and George Clooney’s wife)
Maybe Megan Amram was making a point and the problem is that I didn’t get it. Still, I feel that she decided to go for the easy laughs instead of actually addressing the problem (that is, women’s participation in the sciences). Besides, there were some jokes that weren’t even that funny, like the jokes about the narrator’s boyfriend keeping her locked in his basement. Rape and abuse are not funny and I was very uncomfortable while reading those parts. You can’t just make light of the suffering of hundreds of women around the world. So not cool, people.
I don’t even know why I even finished this book. Perhaps I’m a bit of a masochist and like to suffer (not really), or maybe because I have the pathologic compulsion to always finish what I start (which is why I’ve only ever not-finished one book in my entire reader life). I regretted spending my time in this book. (That’s actually a first!)
I really wanted to be one of your multiple best friends, Megan, but it was too much for me. So let’s stay as casual acquaintances.
I think that I was expecting something completely different. When I first read about this book, I thought it was a book about actual science that mocked the style we often get in “women” magazines. I liked that idea. It’s pretty obvious that Science is a field that doesn’t involve women as much as it should, and there’s a lot to be said about the topic. The idea seemed interesting and fun to read. I actually like science (please, don’t tell my Physics teacher from high school, I have a reputation to maintain), and I’m always ready for new and interesting ways to new information.
Instead of that, I got this
The whole book is written with the voice of an utter IDIOT. I’m pretty sure that most women magazines don’t like their reporters to sound as if they have been lobotomized. Repeatedly. Don’t get me wrong, the first few pages were funny indeed. I laughed.
But it very soon it got OLD. There’s a limit for how many “oh, I’m a woman and I’m an idiot” comments a writer can make in one book. This one in particular got over it in the first chapter, seriously. Maybe it was because I wanted something completely different, but the “silly” woman gag was more than overly long. It was annoying and irrelevant.
It’s okay to mock how women are seen in science fields. Humor is indeed a powerful subversive weapon, and it can be used to help to bring attention to several issues. But you have to make a point. Remember how Tina Fey and Amy Poehler joked about how awesome Amal Alamuddin was and how it was her husband who got all the fame? (For those who don’t know Amal is a Human Rights lawyer and George Clooney’s wife)
Maybe Megan Amram was making a point and the problem is that I didn’t get it. Still, I feel that she decided to go for the easy laughs instead of actually addressing the problem (that is, women’s participation in the sciences). Besides, there were some jokes that weren’t even that funny, like the jokes about the narrator’s boyfriend keeping her locked in his basement. Rape and abuse are not funny and I was very uncomfortable while reading those parts. You can’t just make light of the suffering of hundreds of women around the world. So not cool, people.
I don’t even know why I even finished this book. Perhaps I’m a bit of a masochist and like to suffer (not really), or maybe because I have the pathologic compulsion to always finish what I start (which is why I’ve only ever not-finished one book in my entire reader life). I regretted spending my time in this book. (That’s actually a first!)
I really wanted to be one of your multiple best friends, Megan, but it was too much for me. So let’s stay as casual acquaintances.