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amari_zI realized this weekend that I never posted this. I think it’s about two months old, although I haven’t actually read all that much in the mean time, between reading Donald Kagan’s 500-page The Peloponnesian War (excellent, by the way) and rereading old and reading new Harry Potter.
The Perfect Man by Naeem Murr. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, although I didn’t dislike it. The premise of the story, which is what intrigued me enough to pick it up without knowing anything much about it, is that a young half-Indian (South Asian) boy ends up abandoned by his English father in a small U.S. town in the 1950s. I found the book vaguely disappointing, mainly because it wasn't quite about what I thought it would be. It's well written, but I don't think I liked the main characters as much as I was supposed to, nor was I particularly charmed or intrigued by the denizens of the small town (a blurb mentions Faulkner, but I'm not sure I'd elevate it that high). I also wasn't all that interested in the "mystery" at the heart of the story.
Michael Cunningham's Specimen Days. I've read Cunningham’s books since At Home at the End of the World came out, and this was the most daring thing he’s written. The book is actually three novellas, all set in NYC--the first set at the time of the industrial revolution, the second in the present day, and the third in the future. The stories share the common thread of Walt Whitman (who actually appears in the first story (and maybe in the subsequent two)), as well as the three main characters who are reborn in each setting and who take turns narrating the stories. I'm not sure I picked up on all the ways in which the stories tie together, and I'm not sure they actually do all that neatly, but it was an interesting effort, and each of the stories is worth reading for its own sake. I particularly enjoyed the vision of future New York as a historical themed amusement park, especially since, when I first moved to NYC, I used to think of NYC as a grungy version of Disneyland. I also was reminded of the fact that I keep meaning to learn more about NYC history.
Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. I enjoyed Waugh's wit immensely, as well as his characters (the main character's father in particular filled me with glee). I happily ignored any overarching themes, which have to do with Catholicism and redemption and stuff like that (the subtitle of the book is, after all “The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder“).
The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I bought this on a whim. The only other book by the author I've read is All the Pretty Horses, back when I was in college, and I don't really remember it—I guess I must not have been too enthralled. This one, I picked up late at night and didn't put down until I was finished. I don't remember the last time I read anything (fictional) that creeped me out to this degree. It's beautifully written, and reminds me of something I can't quite put my finger on—maybe my own nightmares. The book follows a father and son as they travel through a post-apocalypse world (the exact nature of the cataclysm isn't explained), where there is no direct sunlight, nothing grows and no remaining animals seem to exist except man. I'm not usually freaked out by fictional stories, but I couldn't sleep after finishing this one, and it lingered on for days.
Saira Shah's The Storyteller's Daughter. I liked this book, although it wasn't perfect by any means. It's written by one of the makers of the documentary Behind the Veil, which, with the aid of RAWA, documented the Taliban's treatment of women in Afghanistan pre-9/11. The author grew up in England being told fantastic stories of her father’s Afghan homeland, and the book moves between those stories and her accounts of her travels as she tries to reconcile the romantic images with the realities she finds.
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. I was looking forward to this book, but I was rather disappointed. It wasn’t a bad book, but I, personally, didn’t find it particularly brilliant, profound, moving or memorable. The story is told in first person, in a take on the tradition of the bazaar storyteller: a Pakistani man narrates his story to a (I guess mysterious and menacing) American listener. He tells of how he went from an immigrant Princeton college student to what he is now—whatever that is exactly. I found it rather . . . shallow. It may be that I'm not the audience for whom this book is written—nothing in it was new or particularly insightful to me. I guess it might be more interesting to someone who hasn't thought much about the POV of a person such as the narrator or who isn’t very familiar with the part of the world he comes from. But I feel like the book's hype arises out of the subject matter rather than any other great virtue (is it supposed to shock anyone that some people from the so-called Islamic World (even those who are "liberal" and educated and living in the West) had somewhat ambivalent reactions to 9/11? Really?). I suppose it’s something that should be read by those who would find that shocking or eye opening. (The New York Times review called the book "chilling." I didn't really find it so. It’s far more chilling to actually read a few good news stories these days.) Nor did the narrative device particularly impress me; I was not wow-ed or shocked, as I guess I was supposed to be, by the ending (a la Arabian Nights). I did, however, enjoy the irony of the title.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. Having recently read two contemporary Nigerian novels, I felt it was way past time to read this one. One of the first books written by an African writer in basically Western novel style, it's an amazing book. The story takes place in Ibo village just as Christianity is moving in, and I found it an utterly intriguing glimpse into a vanishing world. I’m eyeing more of Mr. Abeche's work now. (Like I need to find more things to read.)
Paul Cartledge, The Spartans. I’ll post about this one separately. I was bored during one of my many recent loooong airport stays and had fun using reading this as an excuse to poke at the movie the 300. I just have to find what I did with the doc . . . .
And, since my last list of shame post, I’ve been GOOD. I think the only book I’ve bought was the new Harry Potter. Go me!
The Perfect Man by Naeem Murr. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, although I didn’t dislike it. The premise of the story, which is what intrigued me enough to pick it up without knowing anything much about it, is that a young half-Indian (South Asian) boy ends up abandoned by his English father in a small U.S. town in the 1950s. I found the book vaguely disappointing, mainly because it wasn't quite about what I thought it would be. It's well written, but I don't think I liked the main characters as much as I was supposed to, nor was I particularly charmed or intrigued by the denizens of the small town (a blurb mentions Faulkner, but I'm not sure I'd elevate it that high). I also wasn't all that interested in the "mystery" at the heart of the story.
Michael Cunningham's Specimen Days. I've read Cunningham’s books since At Home at the End of the World came out, and this was the most daring thing he’s written. The book is actually three novellas, all set in NYC--the first set at the time of the industrial revolution, the second in the present day, and the third in the future. The stories share the common thread of Walt Whitman (who actually appears in the first story (and maybe in the subsequent two)), as well as the three main characters who are reborn in each setting and who take turns narrating the stories. I'm not sure I picked up on all the ways in which the stories tie together, and I'm not sure they actually do all that neatly, but it was an interesting effort, and each of the stories is worth reading for its own sake. I particularly enjoyed the vision of future New York as a historical themed amusement park, especially since, when I first moved to NYC, I used to think of NYC as a grungy version of Disneyland. I also was reminded of the fact that I keep meaning to learn more about NYC history.
Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh. I enjoyed Waugh's wit immensely, as well as his characters (the main character's father in particular filled me with glee). I happily ignored any overarching themes, which have to do with Catholicism and redemption and stuff like that (the subtitle of the book is, after all “The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder“).
The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I bought this on a whim. The only other book by the author I've read is All the Pretty Horses, back when I was in college, and I don't really remember it—I guess I must not have been too enthralled. This one, I picked up late at night and didn't put down until I was finished. I don't remember the last time I read anything (fictional) that creeped me out to this degree. It's beautifully written, and reminds me of something I can't quite put my finger on—maybe my own nightmares. The book follows a father and son as they travel through a post-apocalypse world (the exact nature of the cataclysm isn't explained), where there is no direct sunlight, nothing grows and no remaining animals seem to exist except man. I'm not usually freaked out by fictional stories, but I couldn't sleep after finishing this one, and it lingered on for days.
Saira Shah's The Storyteller's Daughter. I liked this book, although it wasn't perfect by any means. It's written by one of the makers of the documentary Behind the Veil, which, with the aid of RAWA, documented the Taliban's treatment of women in Afghanistan pre-9/11. The author grew up in England being told fantastic stories of her father’s Afghan homeland, and the book moves between those stories and her accounts of her travels as she tries to reconcile the romantic images with the realities she finds.
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. I was looking forward to this book, but I was rather disappointed. It wasn’t a bad book, but I, personally, didn’t find it particularly brilliant, profound, moving or memorable. The story is told in first person, in a take on the tradition of the bazaar storyteller: a Pakistani man narrates his story to a (I guess mysterious and menacing) American listener. He tells of how he went from an immigrant Princeton college student to what he is now—whatever that is exactly. I found it rather . . . shallow. It may be that I'm not the audience for whom this book is written—nothing in it was new or particularly insightful to me. I guess it might be more interesting to someone who hasn't thought much about the POV of a person such as the narrator or who isn’t very familiar with the part of the world he comes from. But I feel like the book's hype arises out of the subject matter rather than any other great virtue (is it supposed to shock anyone that some people from the so-called Islamic World (even those who are "liberal" and educated and living in the West) had somewhat ambivalent reactions to 9/11? Really?). I suppose it’s something that should be read by those who would find that shocking or eye opening. (The New York Times review called the book "chilling." I didn't really find it so. It’s far more chilling to actually read a few good news stories these days.) Nor did the narrative device particularly impress me; I was not wow-ed or shocked, as I guess I was supposed to be, by the ending (a la Arabian Nights). I did, however, enjoy the irony of the title.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. Having recently read two contemporary Nigerian novels, I felt it was way past time to read this one. One of the first books written by an African writer in basically Western novel style, it's an amazing book. The story takes place in Ibo village just as Christianity is moving in, and I found it an utterly intriguing glimpse into a vanishing world. I’m eyeing more of Mr. Abeche's work now. (Like I need to find more things to read.)
Paul Cartledge, The Spartans. I’ll post about this one separately. I was bored during one of my many recent loooong airport stays and had fun using reading this as an excuse to poke at the movie the 300. I just have to find what I did with the doc . . . .
And, since my last list of shame post, I’ve been GOOD. I think the only book I’ve bought was the new Harry Potter. Go me!
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 09:34 pm (UTC)stalkdo some reconnaissance on him.I don't really care between cake and fried, so whatever you think is good. Do they have crazy flavors? Probably not too, too crazy for me (I'll do crazy, but generally only in certain directions). You generally can't go wrong with chocolate though (unless you add coconut). ;)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 09:56 pm (UTC)I want it. I don't need/have no room for/can't eat a plastic donut.