theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake About? 

I don’t think I have it in me to do a decent job of this, so I’m just going to use the text from the flap of the dust jacket. 

 
Particularly Sad
By page 15 of the novel, I’d already decided the title was pretty descriptive of the book. That impression never left off. Every page drips with sadness—even the most joyful moments of the characters’ lives are draped in it. There’s no joy, no happiness—the best is some contentedness and satisfaction that Rose finds in the last twenty pages. I’m not sure I remember a novel so consistent in the emotional tone.

So, what did I think about The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake?
This is a split decision for me. The Bender’s prose and language deserve at least 4 stars, maybe more. But for my reaction to the book? It’s probably a 2.
 
Aimee Bender can write—her language is fantastic. The prose is as delicious as the food described isn’t. This is the kind of writing that demands attention (maybe it demands a bit too loudly on occasion). If not for what comes in the next paragraph, I’d be requesting every one of her books from the library as soon as I publish this post.
 
But I found the style off-putting, I didn’t care about a single one of these characters and their various plights. I wasn’t that curious about Rose’s “special skills” (or any others displayed by characters). I didn’t care about the story, or anything else. While the writing was dazzling, it seemed distant and detached (a neat trick for a first-person narrative)—and it kept me distant and detached.
 
I absolutely expect to be the exception to the rule here, that just about everyone else fawns all over this. But…oh, well. For my money, if you want something written like this but with characters/situations/writing that engages you, you’re better off picking up a Tiffany McDaniel novel.
 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Twelve Monotasks About? 

We live in a society that celebrates the multitaskers, those who seemingly do a half-dozen things at once—while posting about it on Twitter/Instagram/etc. We feel inadequate if we’re not at that level—and if we are, we should be pushing for more. Thatcher Wine wants to call us back—at least some of the time, not necessarily all the time–to a more straightforward, more focused (remember focus?) way of life and work. Arguably, this would be a healthier and less stressed way of life as well. 

Using research from Neuroscience, Psychology, and insights from mindfulness practices, Wine outlines Twelve things to focus on—monotasks—Reading, Walking, Listening, Slppeing, Eating, Getting THere, Learning, Teaching, Playing, Seeing, Creating, and Thinking. After making his case of “The Art and Science of Monotasking,” Wine spends one chapter on each monotask, describing and defining it, showing its benefits, and giving some exercises to help the reader start practicing the task. He then gives a couple of wrap-up chapters—encouragements to practice these (and other monotasks) and reminders of the benefits. 

A Few Highlights 

I really like this idea—I know I need to focus more and this approach seems like a good way to build that ability. 

Some of the chapters seemed more attractive to me, as well as easier to fit into at least my life—the Walking, Eating, Seeing, and Playing chapters really stood out. Oh, and, obviously, the Reading chapter—that’s a given, right? It was a great way to start that part of the book. I’m not saying I thought the others were a waste of time or anything, but I read these chapters and immediately identified how I could easily make that part of my life and what the benefits would be. I bet most readers will have a few chapters like that, too—ones that jump out at them as being good fits—their lists will vary from mine, but they’ll have theirs. 

The chapters laying out the individual monotasks are arranged the same—by the third you know where you’re going to find what—the explanations, the benefits, the challenges, the practical exercises. It’s a firm outline and easy to use. 

Overall, for me, one of the biggest selling points of the book is that it provides a different vocabulary for what’s likely a good idea. I’ve read a few books and taken a few classes on dealing with stress, emotional wellness, etc. lately—one recurring idea was mindfulness, being present, and so on. There was something about the language that bothered me. I liked the concepts, but the pseudo-spirituality/pseudo-psychological terms it was couched it didn’t sit right with me. I always felt like I was being silly in not being comfortable with them, but it was a real stumbling block for me. Now, Wine’s monotasking isn’t the same idea—but they’re compatible, really compatible. But his approach, his terminology comes without the touchy-feely connotation—making it more palatable to many readers (I can’t imagine I’m the only one). 

A Few Problems 

While there were a few chapters that jumped out at me as being easily useful and adopted, there were a few that didn’t seem that easy to work into my life—and I’m not sure that Wine convinced me would be that helpful for me: Travel, Thinking, and Teaching. It’s possible—maybe even likely—that once I do the exercises, I’ll change my mind. 

For some of the monotasks (and those three are good examples, again, your results may vary), I really had to wonder how universally adoptable they’d be. For example—I commute alone, in the dark (one way)—I can’t do a lot of what he suggests in the Travel chapter. Some of the others seem more geared toward people like Wine—the self-employed, business owners, or managerial types—all with a degree of affluence. People who are at the low end of the corporate ladder, don’t have the freedom or ability to do a lot of this. It doesn’t take down the whole system, but it’s a chink in the armor. 

On the more nitty-gritty end of things, there’s a lack of variety in personal anecdotes that Wine uses. There are three formative events in his life that he uses as the basis for observation, for personal examples, etc. Were I him, I’d probably base most things I say off of those same events/experiences. It just makes the reading seem repetitive. This isn’t an attack or a problem with the system he’s proposing, it just makes the reading a bit duller. 

So, what did I think about The Twelve Monotasks? 

As always, I’m trying not to evaluate the arguments or thesis—my goal is to talk about the reading experience. That said, if I was going to evaluate Wine’s arguments and proposed methods—it’d be a pretty positive assessment. This is definitely the kind of book I’m likely to return to, but more on that in a minute. 

The problem with evaluating the reading experience is that I didn’t read it the way Wine intended. Once you get to Part II, “The Twelve Monotaks,” the reader is supposed to take them one chapter at a time. Read about the task, take in the guidance and practice it before moving on to the next. I didn’t have that kind of time between the publicist and today (even if I waited until release day, I wouldn’t have). But I can imagine how that would work—and it’d be better than plowing through it as I did. 

But even plowing through without the breaks take each in turn with some practice, I got a pretty good idea of how it should work. It seems like a solid approach, one that’s not overwhelming either—rather than trying to work in 12 or so new disciplines into your life, go for one. And then another. It’s the camel nose in the tent approach. I can see that when I return to this in the coming months, slowly bringing in each task to my life is going to work much better than diving in and trying to add all twelve at once. 

A lofty goal—helping people learn/relearn/recapture the ability to focus in a world full of distraction—and a common-sense approach to pursue it. It’s the makings of a good read—whether the method is successful or not is probably up to the reader. But Wine gives the tools in an attractive, easy-to-read manner. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post, the point of which is to catch up on my "To Write About" stack—emphasizing pithiness, not thoroughness..
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I really enjoyed Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) and Why Not Me?—this has the same kind of humor—and the audio versions of all three are equally charming.

But I don't know, this seemed lifeless? Sweet and genuinely funny, but it left me wanting a bit more. I don't think it was just the length, either. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post, the point of which is to catch up on my "To Write About" stack—emphasizing pithiness, not thoroughness..
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A fictionalized version of MacDonald's memoir, it's hard to tell what's memoir, what's a joke, what's a mixture. The more obivously genuine moments are marred by their vicinity to the clearly fictional. As a book? This is a mess—a self-indulgent, erratic, mess.

But wow. This was funny—even most of what I didn't like was funny.

Don't go into this thinking you'll understand MacDonald's life, career, or humor better. Go into it expecting a strange performance art-like experience with some giant laughs and you'll be set. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post, the point of which is to catch up on my "To Write About" stack—emphasizing pithiness, not thoroughness..
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Another horrific murder in Amish country. I'd love for a few books to involve other crimes in this community. I realize it's her shtick, but a little variety could help things.

That aside—the villain of this piece is horrible and creepy, and you can feel the evil. Watching Kate and Agent Tomasetti try to figure out the motive behind the killing and the identity of the killer was a fun ride. I really do like these individually—even if I wonder about the series as a whole. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post, the point of which is to catch up on my "To Write About" stack—emphasizing pithiness, not thoroughness..
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For book 2 to remove our non-magical bartender to a guild of Magic Users from the Guild Members for the majority of the book is a pretty gutsy move. I'm not sure it was the right way to go, and I'm not sure it was successful. But it was gutsy.

The story was...okay, I guess. It really didn't do a lot for me, but the last few chapters—pretty much when Tori reunites with her friends made the whole thing worth it. And the Dresden File hat-tip was fantastic.

I'm still in on this series/group of series, but I bet when all is said and done, this'll be the one to forget. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader as part of a quick takes post, the point of which is to catch up on my "To Write About" stack—emphasizing pithiness, not thoroughness..
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This is a cute read for people who like the idea of Sherlock Holmes, but aren't that interested (or ready) in the real thing. Which may sound dismissive, but it's not supposed to be. I can easily see why the people behind the movie(s) latched onto this character. I can also easily see why they tweaked the content of this book and expanded it for the first movie (does the second book some/all of what they used to expand?).

I don't know that I'm going to go the distance with this series, but I can easily see going for one more dip in the pool.

Fast, amusing, and pretty clever. This look at Sherlock and Mycroft's little sister is a pleasant little book. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise About? 

Balthazar Jones has inherited the world’s oldest living tortoise from his family—it’s been handed down for generations. It’s not the most interesting thing about him, but it’s going to prove pivotal. 

Eight years before, Jones moved into the Tower of London with his wife and son, because that’s where Yeoman Warders live and work. Most of the world knows them by the nickname, Beefeaters. A few years later, his son dies suddenly. Jones and his wife, Hebe, stopped really talking or communicating that day—both wrapped up tightly in their grief. 

Now, the Queen’s Equerry comes to Jones and tells him that the Queen wants to move the animals she’s been given by various nations to the Tower of London, re-establishing the menagerie there, and he gets to run it. After all, the keeper of the world’s oldest tortoise must know something about caring for animals, right? 

His fellow Yeoman Warders aren’t happy about this at first—particularly the Chief Yeoman and the keeper of the ravens. Things go wrong pretty quickly with the animals in the menagerie, but it increases the popularity of the Tower, and tourism is booming. Also, it turns out that most of the Beefeaters end up enjoying the animals. 

Hebe works in the Lost and Found for the London Underground where she and her officemate are diligent in seeking to reunite people with their lost property (very frequently odd things, it should be added), and will sometimes go to great lengths to do so. It is this strange little pocket universe they work in, and I was fascinated by that. 

There are too many characters to list here—each eccentric in their own way (for example, the Tower chaplain, who secretly writes erotica with a sold moral core). 

Around the time that the animals arrive, , everyone’s life changes—some for the better, some for the worse. As the Tower’s residents have to cope with the new arrivals, this collection of characters has to adjust to the changes rippling through their lives. 

The Tone 

Whimsical, but never outright funny. Comic and yet mournful. Grief permeates this novel—for opportunities lost, for mistakes made, for the death of a son and maybe a marriage—yet there’s an optimistic note throughout. 

It’s hard to pinpoint the tone, think Gaiman’s Stardust meets Jennifer Weiner, and you’ll be close. It’s incredibly quotable, with some sparkling sentences (but for the quotes to make any sense, I’d have to go for longer pericopes than I’m comfortable with—so no examples, just take my word for it). 

So, what did I think about The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise? 

I really liked this. It felt like a fairy tale about the contemporary world and without any real magic (well, maybe). 

You can’t help feel bad for all the characters (with one exception—the book would’ve been better without them if you ask me). They’re lonely, they’re heartbroken, and they have no real hope of their lot in life improving. But they keep going. They keep living their sad, lonely lives until something happens to change things. It’s kind of inspirational. 

Charming prose, characters you sympathize and empathize with almost immediately, and some very strange events make for a good, entertaining read. At times I felt like I was about to fall in love with the book, but sadly, that didn’t happen—I did like it a lot, though. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Daughter of the Deep About? 

So here’s the thing—the events and characters of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Mysterious Island are based on actual events and people—but Verne was given a few skewed details. One hundred-fifty years later, descendants of these people are running rival schools their ancestors founded, the Land Institute and the Harding-Pencroft Academy. 

Students at HP are only told about their origins at a certain point, and their mission is to graduate future leaders in a variety of disciplines to guard the science that Nemo developed and slowly, carefully introduce it to the world. 

Land Institute students are told their origins earlier and their mission is to rush that science out into the world—even if by doing so, it’ll unleash societal upheaval, economic trouble, and will upend established science for years. 

The two schools are in sort of a cold war until the Land Institute launches an attack on HP, and the freshman class has to head to sea to try to survive. While on the run, the class is told about HP’s origins and our central character, Ana Dakkar, learns about her family history, forcing her to take a leadership position and more. 

Can Ana and the rest of the freshman survive the Land Institute*? Can they utilize Nemo’s technology in ways no one else has? Who will control Nemo’s heritage? 

* It is unfortunate that the ocean-going HP Academy is rivaled by the “Land Institute.” It feels a little too-on-the-nose, even though it’s named for Ned Land. 

Plausibility 

Because this is aimed at the MG crowd, I can buy the whole “a bunch of preteens/teens outsmart and outperform dangerous and super-smart older teens” nature of the plot—it’s pretty much a given in the genre. 

Also, the whole Land Institute teachers/administrators allowing students to start killing people is a pretty hard pill to swallow. For some reason, I had an easier time buying competing mythological figures setting teens against teens. 

But hey…if it’s in a universe where everything in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is based on reality, and that Nemo’s tech worked (and still does!)? Well, hey, I can buy a little less-than-plausible High School actions. 

So, what did I think about Daughter of the Deep? 

I had a lot of fun with this. A goofy premise, but well-executed. I dug the characters, the action was solid and the pacing was good—enough to keep the reader engaged and entertained, while giving enough breathing room for a little character development. 

And there’s a giant cephalopod—every undersea adventure needs one of them. 

If this is the beginning of a series (and it feels like it), there’s a good chance I’ll come back for more. But honestly? I think it’d be better as a stand-alone. 

Either way, this is a fun ride—and one that’ll hopefully spur the target audience into giving Jules Verne himself a try. 

 This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Dead House About? 

The big task force that Fiona’s in, trying to get at the group she’s been on the heels of since book 1, is about to be shut down—they’re just not getting results. Predictably, Fiona isn’t dealing well with it. She needs something else to do to remind her why she’s with the police. 

Circumstances too elaborate to get into lead her into being a detective on-scene near a small village to oversee a found body until the local police with jurisdiction can take over—but in the end, we have Fiona alone in a room with a corpse for a few hours. Naturally, she develops a strong emotional connection with the body and becomes determined to find out what happened to this woman. 

There are no obvious signs of violence—and even some signs of care—to the woman, but she’s dead and she’s been left in a remote location without anyone notifying the authorities. And, it turns out, she’s been missing for quite a while. 

Fiona needles her way into the investigation, of course (because what else is she going to)—and the path that she and the DI she’s assisting leads far beyond the small town they start in and to some truly dark places. (yeah, that’s incredibly vague, but I’m faced with being vague or giving you a few thousand words almost spoiling the story beats on this one) 

So, what did I think about The Dead House? 

Yes, over the last couple of books particularly, Fiona’s doing a good job on socializing, on connecting with people, on acting “normal” (a goal she longs for and yet doesn’t want at all). I love seeing that kind of development, as much as we like to see damaged protagonists struggling to cope—it’s always great to see them making healthier choices. 

But at the same time…you put Fiona in a room alone with a corpse for too long so she develops a bond with the person she starts calling “Carlotta” (and resists using Carlotta’s actual name when she’s eventually identified)? I’m in. Fiona as the creepy detective who’s way too interested in dead bodies is just fun to read about. 

Bingham doesn’t throw out all the progress she’s made, Fiona just sidesteps it for a little bit. Her natural tenacity and the people skills that she’s developing aid her in this investigation (and her self-destructive tendencies hinder her, too). It’s really the best of both worlds as far as Fiona’s character goes. 

I wasn’t as taken with this story as I wanted to be—as I expected to be. And when the final whodunit reveal was made, I’d been waiting for it for longer than I should have been—not because I’m all that clever, but who else could it have been? That said, when the motivation and methods behind the reveal are made clear? That blew me away and creeped me out. 

I can see how this is going to help the overall arc of the series, it had some great moments—and any time spent in Wales with Fiona is a reward. But I wanted a bit more from this one. Don’t start with this one if you’re interested in the series, but if you’ve read the rest, you’ll enjoy this one.