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thegreatmanda's Reviews (459)
A good read. This is a sequel to The Bean Trees, but I wouldn't say it's necessary to read them in that order, only somewhat helpful. As with The Bean Trees, I very much enjoyed the main characters, but the plot only held my attention some of the time and the not-so-main characters hardly any of the time. I'm not sure why this is true of these two novels, as the other Kingsolver works I've read have bowled me over with fully-realized and engaging characters. I'm glad I read this book once, but I doubt I'll return to it over and over as I have Prodigal Summer and The Poisonwood Bible.
There are countless sources of information about the Holocaust available today, but there is no substitute for hearing about the experience from someone who lived through it. I have a difficult time making myself read books that I know will be this upsetting, but Night is necessary. Read it once and carry it with you always.
It has its moments, and I did enjoy the last disc or two of the audio book (it had a total of 10 discs), but overall I found this a very dull read. I was literally 7 or 8 discs into the book before I even started caring about any of the characters, probably because it was so difficult to wade through all of that self-conscious, self-important prose. I suppose the self-consciousness fits the main character, but it's still massively annoying. Skip this and read Mark Haddon's A Spot of Bother or Nick Hornby's A Long Way Down instead.
Remember those comforting old two-dimensional animated films in which visually simple characters moved around in front of a relatively vivid, richly-painted backdrop that never moved?
Yeah. That would be this book.
My three-star rating is an uneasy averaging of various warring opinions in my head. The overall setting and feel of Mango Street and its surrounding milieu are, as in those old cartoons, a backdrop that is vivid and well-executed, but generally just sits there in the background. That part of the book gets a solid four from me. The reader gets a strong sense of the neighborhood, and of the way Esperanza feels when she speaks of being tired of looking at things she can never have.
Characters and writing style collectively get a precarious two. Our cast, again like the visual simplicity of pre-Pixar animated characters, wander around and do their thing in a relatively two-dimensional and underdeveloped fashion. At first I attributed this to the vignette-style narration, which leaps around between characters so fast that it's difficult sometimes to keep them straight. Having finished the book, though, I realize that even Esperanza, our constant narrator, has failed capture my interest. When the book ended, I just thought, "Well, ok... but so what?"
My least favorite thing about this book was the writing style, which strove so self-consciously for innocence and youth that the struggle was painful to watch. I must try to be fair on this point; I think that this aspect of the writing was exacerbated by an appalling audio-book performance, so I kept trying to block out the sound of the narrator's voice and imagine the words as though I were reading them off the written page instead. A difficult task while I was in the middle of a shift at my job, but I did my best. I can definitely tell you that reading the physical book is the way to go in this case, but I still think the forced naivete of Esperanza would have driven me nuts even had I sat down and read it. Cisneros often uses metaphor and simile, and these are hit-and-miss; I thought the one about babies smelling "pink" was just short of brilliance, but a little while later she referred to someone's toes as being "little pink rosebuds." Human toes? Is she serious? I could not stop my eyes from rolling.
In all art forms - dancing, music, visual arts - the audience should see only the form, the motion, and/or the message of the art, and none of the effort behind it. This book is a whole lot of effort behind a thin message, a transparent copy of other writings that have done the same thing so much better. When I think about stories of young women coming through difficult circumstances in the search for their own identities, I think of The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, or of Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone. Next to my years-old memories of these novels, The House on Mango Street feels like something I will have forgotten a month from now.
(Just a quick note about the audio book - I try to leave opinions that relate only to audio versions of books out of my reviews, generally speaking, but since I know a couple of my Goodreads friends also listen to books, I will say this. DO NOT bother with this audio book. My review for that version would be about half of a star, if that were possible. In addition to everything I've already said, the thing is read by the author in this insanely childlike voice that doubles her desperate need to write an Important and Profound novel about Innocence and Loss. That in itself is horrendous to listen to, but if you consider that deliberately tiny and girlish voice in light of the fact that the woman was fifty years old when this edition was released, it just becomes downright pathetic. If you absolutely have to read this book, read it. Don't listen.)
Yeah. That would be this book.
My three-star rating is an uneasy averaging of various warring opinions in my head. The overall setting and feel of Mango Street and its surrounding milieu are, as in those old cartoons, a backdrop that is vivid and well-executed, but generally just sits there in the background. That part of the book gets a solid four from me. The reader gets a strong sense of the neighborhood, and of the way Esperanza feels when she speaks of being tired of looking at things she can never have.
Characters and writing style collectively get a precarious two. Our cast, again like the visual simplicity of pre-Pixar animated characters, wander around and do their thing in a relatively two-dimensional and underdeveloped fashion. At first I attributed this to the vignette-style narration, which leaps around between characters so fast that it's difficult sometimes to keep them straight. Having finished the book, though, I realize that even Esperanza, our constant narrator, has failed capture my interest. When the book ended, I just thought, "Well, ok... but so what?"
My least favorite thing about this book was the writing style, which strove so self-consciously for innocence and youth that the struggle was painful to watch. I must try to be fair on this point; I think that this aspect of the writing was exacerbated by an appalling audio-book performance, so I kept trying to block out the sound of the narrator's voice and imagine the words as though I were reading them off the written page instead. A difficult task while I was in the middle of a shift at my job, but I did my best. I can definitely tell you that reading the physical book is the way to go in this case, but I still think the forced naivete of Esperanza would have driven me nuts even had I sat down and read it. Cisneros often uses metaphor and simile, and these are hit-and-miss; I thought the one about babies smelling "pink" was just short of brilliance, but a little while later she referred to someone's toes as being "little pink rosebuds." Human toes? Is she serious? I could not stop my eyes from rolling.
In all art forms - dancing, music, visual arts - the audience should see only the form, the motion, and/or the message of the art, and none of the effort behind it. This book is a whole lot of effort behind a thin message, a transparent copy of other writings that have done the same thing so much better. When I think about stories of young women coming through difficult circumstances in the search for their own identities, I think of The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, or of Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone. Next to my years-old memories of these novels, The House on Mango Street feels like something I will have forgotten a month from now.
(Just a quick note about the audio book - I try to leave opinions that relate only to audio versions of books out of my reviews, generally speaking, but since I know a couple of my Goodreads friends also listen to books, I will say this. DO NOT bother with this audio book. My review for that version would be about half of a star, if that were possible. In addition to everything I've already said, the thing is read by the author in this insanely childlike voice that doubles her desperate need to write an Important and Profound novel about Innocence and Loss. That in itself is horrendous to listen to, but if you consider that deliberately tiny and girlish voice in light of the fact that the woman was fifty years old when this edition was released, it just becomes downright pathetic. If you absolutely have to read this book, read it. Don't listen.)
Not the best book I've ever read, but it was all right. It's been several years since I read it, and nothing in particular stands out in my memory aside from a vague sense of enjoyment. I also remember liking it several stars better than that lame movie they made out of it.
This book gets a three because I like the series as a whole, will probably always like it, and will keep reading until she either dies or ends the series. I liked the fact that there was new Kay Scarpetta material, I guess. I also like that she has her own office and facility again - that whole Florida episode was just odd.
What I don't like is the fact that Cornwell insists on making every single major character completely miserable all the time. Can't someone be at least reasonably content for at least the duration of a single novel?
Ever since Benton "died" (whatevs, Wesley, whatevs), things have generally gone downhill. Like I said, I'll keep reading, but I hope that future volumes are a little less daytime soap melodrama and a little more vintage Scarpetta.
And if anyone finds Marino, would you kick him in the nuts for me? Please?
What I don't like is the fact that Cornwell insists on making every single major character completely miserable all the time. Can't someone be at least reasonably content for at least the duration of a single novel?
Ever since Benton "died" (whatevs, Wesley, whatevs), things have generally gone downhill. Like I said, I'll keep reading, but I hope that future volumes are a little less daytime soap melodrama and a little more vintage Scarpetta.
And if anyone finds Marino, would you kick him in the nuts for me? Please?
