This bodice ripper binge needs to end. Though as far as coping mechanisms go, this is still healthier that all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets or bulk purThis bodice ripper binge needs to end. Though as far as coping mechanisms go, this is still healthier that all-you-can-eat Chinese buffets or bulk purchasing of Jaffa cakes.
This one was also delightful and offers the old advice for girls who go unnoticed by men. All you need to do is remove your glasses and get rid of that ponytail/ugly bun. If you're not wearing glasses and your hair is already down, and the hottest duke/high school football star still doesn't notice, then I'm afraid I've got nothing. Maybe put glasses on, and THEN remove them?
Which reminds me of how my ex loved when I wore big glasses and a ponytail. Because he was weird and no duke. Didn't even know how to dance the waltz.
Anyway, I'm gonna go finish that blasted Henry James now that I've been reading since July. ...more
Of all the bonkers romance novel plots, this was the bonkerest.
A princess from some made-up country is hiding in the United Kingdom and makes her livOf all the bonkers romance novel plots, this was the bonkerest.
A princess from some made-up country is hiding in the United Kingdom and makes her living by peddling cosmetics. And then she is drawn into a masquerade where she pretends she is someone else by putting on make up that is supposed to make her look like that other person, and somehow it works. I mean, YouTube make-up stars barely pull that off in 2D but sure.
The sex scene went on and on or maybe it felt like it because I was listening to audiobook and was doing interval cardio training during it and it really felt like forever. ...more
A white male American writing a book with a white middle aged female narrator reminiscing over the time she lived in Africa seems like a potential minA white male American writing a book with a white middle aged female narrator reminiscing over the time she lived in Africa seems like a potential minefield. But somehow, Banks pulled it off and didn’t lose any limbs on the mines.
For many mediocre writers Africa seems ripe for picking, full of conflict and tragedy provides the story with high enough stakes to make up for the lack of talent on the writer’s part. But Banks does it well. He doesn’t use the continent as some shitty metaphor. He talks about Liberia, a country that’s a product of specific time and history and not some ‘unnamed African country’ that’s just a weird mash-up of stereotypes sprinkled with acacia trees and sunsets. Occasionally the passages explaining the history and politics of Liberia felt tiny bit too educational, but this is really a minor quibble.
I’m not going to summarise the plot because there are already hundreds of reviews here that do just that, but I will say than other than Zack and the narrator’s father, there is almost a complete absence of white male protagonists in this book, which was very refreshing.
All in all, this was a little like American Pastoral but better. I don’t know why the rest of the world seems to be sleeping on Russell Banks. He is a fine, fine writer. And he did a brave thing here, writing about stuff he had no business knowing about and weirdly pulling it off. He also opted for writing the thing in flashbacks, which removes some of the dramatic tension, as we already know how some of it ends.
My favourite aspect of the book is how it treats the question of otherness - how the white narrator doesn’t seem to be able to overcome the ‘otherness’ of her Liberian husband, and then her own children who slip away from her and her feeble attempts at motherhood.
I read a great phrase, I think it was in one of the interviews with Banks about this book – ‘the guilty innocence of white privileged people’, which describes white women in Africa well. This is what the half-sarcastic title of the novel refers to, and what I think when I see those Instagram posts. You know which ones. ...more
Here is a very boring story of an alien woman who comes from a galaxy far, far away because all the men on her planet bWell, this was truly horrible.
Here is a very boring story of an alien woman who comes from a galaxy far, far away because all the men on her planet became so delicate, they lost interest in flirting (it's when a man randomly puts your hand on his penis bulging in his jeans so you can feel he is a manly man, or can't concentrate on a conversation with you because BOOBS), and they generally became so unmanly they can't now produce children, and if they do produce children it's 'females' only.
The most bizarre thing was that the whole thing had male gaze written all over it - we barely know anything about the hero, and the heroine on the other hand is only boobs, legs and blonde hair. The way she is described she is clearly some adolescent boy's fantasy and nothing a normal woman could possibly relate to. When the POV switches to her, it is mostly some nondescript cocktail of yearnings for a controlling manly man:
"None of the men on her planet would ever dare to be so controlling [...]" This was after the hero told her what to do for five pages and banned her from leaving the house because she was 'unwell'. And this was supposed to be lovely and romantic. Shit, lady, can I please get a ticket to your planet, because it fucking sounds wonderful.
The alien woman's mission is to get pregnant with a male baby and fuck off back to her planet to save them. It is never explained how they are absolutely sure that if she just gets pregnant, it will definitely be a boy, but I suppose it is because Texas men are so manly they can only produce more manly men.
I know Judi McCoy was supposed to be some old lady but here are some ideas of who I think really authored this novel:
a) a 14 year old boy who has never read a romance novel in his life, but how hard can it be? He fancies himself a bit of a pick-up artist as well as a libertarian, because he read some stuff on the internet and it made, like, total sense. He refers to women as 'females' and he is a fountain of wisdom. He often publishes his thoughts on 'females' on twitter. And he really, really wants to get laid finally.
b) an AI based on artificial neural network made of 50s romance novels and 4chan forum threads
c) an actual fucking alien that's convinced she is totally passing for human...more
Rachel and Cory have been friends for years and she never considered him "in those terms". That is until she suddenly, accidentally sees him naked. FrRachel and Cory have been friends for years and she never considered him "in those terms". That is until she suddenly, accidentally sees him naked. From then on she is all hot and bothered.
It's a good thing young boys don't read this kind of books because what kind of message is it sending? That unsolicited dick pics might actually work and take you out the dreaded 'friend zone' if you only get the angle right?
Anyway, Rachel and Cory dance around each other for most of the book because even though they like each other and want to have sex with each other very badly, they realise they want different things in life - he wants to travel and she wants to settle down.
Eventually, they have the brilliant idea to travel for half the year and stay at home for the other half, and thus they live happily ever after. ...more
I bought this book as a part of Harper Perennial Collection set. I didn’t even know I had it. When I came across the title on my spreadsheet which lisI bought this book as a part of Harper Perennial Collection set. I didn’t even know I had it. When I came across the title on my spreadsheet which lists all the books that I own (out of which almost 400 are still unread) I couldn’t recall it all but it looked like the sort of lighter lyrical book one might take on holiday (if one is the sort of person who doesn’t take Fifty Shades of Grey on her holiday).
On the surface it is full of the really basic ingredients: coming of age, mystery, secrets, small village, drama, etc. But of course it all depends on how you cook those ingredients and Susan Fletcher cooked them well. She seems very aware of the clichés she might be falling into and swerves around them skillfully. She resists the temptation to which succumb many airport books – the annoying ‘one secret explains all’ solution. In the real life no secret is powerful enough to explain a whole life or even a few lives.
Of course, it never stops the characters. They will always try to make sense of whatever happened. Just as Eve Green does, now grown up and pregnant, revisiting that summer of over twenty years ago, asking herself a couple of what-if’s and mulling over a few regrets.
Behind the mystery, the secrets and the drama, there is also lurking a very beautiful understated love story, possibly the prettiest love story I have read in a while. Again, kudos to Ms Fletcher for pulling it off without resorting to mushiness and sentimentality.
Yet what really won me over in ‘Eve Green’ was the landscape. The eight year old Evie moved to a small village in Wales following the death of her mother and that village will grew to be a part of her the way a big city could never be. This attachment to the scenery shows on pages. Maybe this book caught me at the right moment, when I am sick of London and miss the Polish landscape, the fields, the meadows, the forests, the lakes, even the sea and the dunes. I might’ve grown up in Warsaw but I was exiled to the countryside every summer (and that’s two-three months at a time which for a child is near eternity). Spare the dead girl, ‘Eve Green’ really reminded me of my own summers spent between cows, fields and dirt roads.
I would be very curious to know how she developed as a writer since this debut book was published when she was only twenty-five. Her newest, fifth novel (The Silver Dark Sea) has just been released and it is now on my hottest to-read list. ...more
'On the Road to Babadag' won all possible awards in Poland and for a while it was all everybody was reading and talking about. So imagine my disappoin'On the Road to Babadag' won all possible awards in Poland and for a while it was all everybody was reading and talking about. So imagine my disappointment when I started reading it and all I wanted to do was to hurl it against the wall. It’s because I thought this would be a travel book. I thought Stasiuk would leave some small town in Poland and go through Slovakia, Hungary, Ukraine, Moldova, Serbia, Albania, Bulgaria etc. until finally he would reach Babadag, Romania where the book would end. It is called On the Road to Babadag: Travels in the Other Europe, after all. So what else should I expect? I thought Stasiuk would tell me some funny anecdotes. I expected some musing over the cultural differences between here and there. I thought it would be like Michael Palin’s New Europe only written from a perspective of someone actually from that ‘New Europe’.
It is not really like that at all. This book is just pure poetry and you have to accept that to be able to read it. As soon as you do, you will embark on a journey that’s one of a kind. Stasiuk’s accounts of his travels are non-linear, context-free, often confusing, full of ‘maybes’ and ‘perhaps’ but what they never lack of is beauty. Even if he is fixated on the subject of animal excrement, he produces the most lyrical description of cow’s shit. Travelling for Stasiuk is not caused by the typical wanderlust. It’s more of a strong urge to be in the ‘here and now’. He writes when describing a trip he took in Poland before the borders opened:
“I had no passport then, of course, but it never entered my head to try to get one. The connection between those two words, freedom and passport, sounded grand enough but was completely unconvincing. The nuts and bolts of passport didn’t fit freedom at all. It’s possible that there, outside Gorzów, my mind had fixed on the formula: There’s freedom or there isn’t, period. My country suited me just fine, because its borders didn’t concern me. I lived inside it, in the centre, and that centre went where I went.”
This obsession with here and now is obvious throughout the book because Stasiuk’s descriptions are often careless when it comes to detail and context. He disarmingly admits he doesn’t remember where this happened or when, or whether it happened at all. He can only offer a collection of impressions, smells, sounds and sights, maybe a nameless person here and there, some sliver of a dialogue.
He stays clear of big cities and famous landmarks. He explores the backwater and laments its disappearance. He does get high on poverty and destitution. You almost get the impression he is offended by every new ATM or internet café which sprouts up in the villages he so fondly remembered to be completely free of any 21st century influence. He wouldn’t be the first and won’t be the last travel writer to fetishise backwardness. We have to forgive him for that because he writes it all so beauitifully:
“At the same hour, in that same dying light, cattle were coming home: from Kiev, say, to Split, from my Rozpucie to Skopje, and the same in Stara Zagora. Scenery and architecture may change, and the breed, and the curve of horn or the colour of mane, but the picture remains untouched: between two rows of houses moved a herd sated cattle. They were accompanied by women in kerchiefs and worn boots, or by children. No isolated island of industrialization, no sleepless metropolis, no spiderweb of roads or railroad lines, could block out this image as old as the world. The human joined with the bestial to wait out the night together.”
'On the Road to Babadag' is a lyrical journey through the provinces of Europe and through its subconscious. To Stasiuk that Europe is all that there is, that’s the centre of his universe, it’s where the heart of Europe beats. Thanks to that we are spared witty jibes and superfluous comparisons between East and West....more
This was my favourite book of those published by Stork Press - a new independent publisher concentrating on translated works from Central and Eastern This was my favourite book of those published by Stork Press - a new independent publisher concentrating on translated works from Central and Eastern Europe.
When you read the synopsis of Freshta and learn that it is about women in Afghanistan and family secrets and it really doesn’t sound like nothing new but such simplified slogans don’t do the book justice. First of all, it was written by a Czech woman, who brought the very typical Czech humour to it, making the story a bitter sweet comedy-drama. It is very easy to write a gut-wrenching tear jerker about the sad lives of Afghan women. It has been done and sold millions. It’s a lot harder to write something funny, to give Afghan women something to laugh about. It requires more talent and artistry.
Petra Prochazkova is a Czech journalist and war correspondent, who grew up during communism and has been a war correspondent from many former Soviet Republic. All that allowed her to bring something new and fresh to the table, precisely the fantastic notion that the world is not just divided between East and West, which is what many books about Muslim culture would have you believe. The reality is that there are a million tiny cultural clashes everywhere and it’s lazy to describe it otherwise. Not only there are differences between thousands of existing cultures but also between different generations within those cultures – something that should be obvious to everyone but in the world of 140 characters tweets and 5 word headlines such nuances often get lost.
Herra, the main character and narrator of the novel, is a half Russian, half Tadjik woman who marries an Afghan man. To her new Afghan family, she represents the West, and to the British and American humanitarian workers she is just another woman wearing a burka, Tadjik or Afghan could barely make any difference in their heads. Herra tries to negotiate these two worlds, neither of which truly her own and her witty observations are the true strength of the novel. It is not because of the ‘family secrets’, ‘tales of husbands and lovers’ you should read this book but because of its cultural perceptiveness which shows a more complex picture of Afghanistan. Also, did I say it was funny? ...more
This should actually get two stars only but me and Kate Atkinson go way back. I read her 'Behind the Scenes in the Museum' when I was a newbie to the This should actually get two stars only but me and Kate Atkinson go way back. I read her 'Behind the Scenes in the Museum' when I was a newbie to the grown-up literature and I loved it. I am quite afraid to go and revisit it now because after reading 'Case Histories' I am not sure if Atkinson can actually write.
This is some sort of psychological drama/crime story, so you don't expect the writing to knock you of your feet. However, quite often I read that Atkinson writes 'literary crime fiction' and that is an overstatement at best. And if it isn't an overstatement, then I really don't want to read the non-literary crime fiction.
The main character is Jackson, private detective who is trying to resolve 3 or 4 different cases at the same time.
There are constant changes of POV and we are stuck in the characters' heads and informed about their every little thought. I think there are way better ways to create a character than to drown the reader in their never ending stream of consciousness.
I will give you an example:
"The language students all seemed to be dressed in combats, in khaki and comouflage, as if there were a war going on and they were the troops (God help us if that were the case). And the bikes, why did people think bikes were a good thing? Why were cyclists so smug? Why did cyclists ride on pavements when there were perfectly good cycle lanes? And who thought it was a good idea to rent bicycles to Italian adolescent language students? If hell did exist, which Jackson was sure it did, it would be governed by a committee of fifteen-year-old Italian boys on bikes."
Well, if hell does exists, I am sure it is filled with books full of hackneyed inner rants. Also, is it me, or is something seriously grammatically wrong with the last sentence I quoted?
"Shirley was wearing blue surgical scrubs. Jackson didn't think there was anything much sexier than the sight of a woman in surgical scrubs and wondered if he was alone in thinking that or if most guys did. There should be opinion polls on these things."
Opinion polls, what? Why am I reading this?
Let's just say that if I wrote anything like the paragraph above my creative writing teacher/consultant would rip me to pieces and tell me to take up knitting.
Another thing that annoyed me was a very lazy presentation of the backstory of each 'case'. We are quickly presented with a bunch of stereotypical characters summarised in a couple of sentences so we are left with no doubt as to how we are supposed to feel about them.
There were too many subplots that were random and served only as breaking points for another subplots. I only managed to muster enough of enthusiasm to care about one of the 'cases'.
There was as well a lot of build-up that promised you God-knows-what but the resolution fell flat on its tits.
Actually, f that, I am changing it to two stars....more
This book is pretty much every teenage girl fantasy come true. Angela Ardis was an ordinary woman who decided to write a letter to 2Pac, when he was iThis book is pretty much every teenage girl fantasy come true. Angela Ardis was an ordinary woman who decided to write a letter to 2Pac, when he was in prison. The whole thing was a result of a bet Ardis had with her co-workers. She was prepared to lose it but then, shockingly, 2Pac called her back.
And this is how 2Pac and Ardis became pen-pals. 2Pac had quite some time on his hands, so he could write her letters and poems to entertain himself, and Ardis was having an epistolary affair with the world number 1 bad boy. They were both winning.
Women love celebrities and they love men in prison. A celebrity in prison? It hardly gets better than this. The reason women love men in prison is because men in prison are what women want men to be. They won’t try to have sex with you for the simple reason that they can’t, they are behind bars. Men in prison can only talk and listen, words is all that they have. So all their concentration goes into talking and listening. They will write you letters! What other man will write you letters these days? Only a man in prison!
Taking all that into consideration, you will be hardly surprised to learn that Ardis ditched the perfectly sweet guy she was dating and got carried away.
It reminded me of my private obsession with 2Pac. When I was about 13 I was quite positive we would get married one day. If you think it a bit weird that a little white girl in post-communist Poland was in love with 2Pac, let me just tell you that the only language this little book has been translated to was Polish. There was quite of a cult following of 2Pac in Poland back in the day.
What’s interesting about 2pac’s and Ardis’ correspondence is that after the first letter Ardis sent him, which consisted of a few rather uninspired lines, 2Pac was relocated a few times and Ardis’ letters weren’t reaching him. This, however, didn’t stop him from writing to her. 2Pac was going deeper and deeper into the whole thing without any activity on her part. This leads me to conclusion that Ardis could've been anyone. 2Pac was just lonely and sad, and probably quite bored. This provided entertainment and opportunity to create an ideal partner who he could write to.
I mean, their whole correspondence is soft porn intercepted with assurances about how ‘real’ their thing is. There is no real substance to it, no firm base to build any meaningful relationship. It was just like an endless r’n’b song where they constantly repeated how much they were feeling each other. It seemed to me it just provided 2Pac with an outlet for his creativity. He was an artist and on that occasion he decided to play a game of seduction.
At some point, 2Pac admits to Ardis that there is another woman in his life, whom he calls Queen. He then goes into some very illogical, juvenile explanations of how all three of them could live happily ever after. Ardis, despite her slight infatuation and 2Pac’s celebrity status, calls bullshit. Then 2Pac complains that women always say they want honesty but when they get it, they can’t handle it. Of all the stupid lines, this one must be my favourite. Women want honesty, but not just in words, in actions too. If you are a dick and tell me honestly about it, it doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t make you an honest man, you’re actually still a dick.
Anyway, beware of men who call you Queen. That’s usually a sign of something fishy going on. I was dating this guy once who was calling me a princess and telling me I was his only Princess. And guess what, I WAS his only Princess. Because the other two were called, respectively, Queen and Wifey.
‘Inside a Thug’s Heart’ was quite a short book. If I don’t stop writing this review soon, it will probably be just as long as the book. Ardis tried to stretch it out by including her reveries that featured 2pac, their imaginary conversations and loves scenes. Ah, I remember... I used to have loads of those with Ginuwine when I was 16.
And you know how the whole thing ended? She went to visit him in prison, they kissed, and then he never called her or written her again. Men, eh? Sometime later he got shot, so girlfriend could at least cash in on the whole thing.
As a matter of fact, this gives me an idea… Do you know of any celebrities that are currently in prison? Didn’t Wesley Snipes get busted for tax evasion or something? ...more
I am not even going to be funny in this review. I was fucking crying reading this. And mind you, I usually read on the train. At least it wasn't "Kite I am not even going to be funny in this review. I was fucking crying reading this. And mind you, I usually read on the train. At least it wasn't "Kite Runner" or some other crap.
The accounts Juan Williams gathered in this book are all related in a rather matter-of-factly manner. "A large ball of fire floated across our yard toward the rose bush by the steps. The ball rolled over and turned into Mama".
I have so much admiration for all the people who fought in the Civil Rights Movement. How the hell can you stay commited to the 'non-violence' approach when someone has just set your mother on fire? How do you live surrounded by so much hatred?
I just don't get where people find it in themselves to hate so much. I used to hate one person once and it was exhausting so I stopped and some of these people would hate actively all their lives a whole race of people. Were they that insecure?
And I know I am using past tense because I am naively optimistic.
My friend John tells me that Juan Williams is a right wing-ish kind of a guy over there in US, the Fox News type, but I swear I couldn't tell. There is an account that presents smuggling immigrants through border into the US as a legitimate form of civil disobedience. ...more
Initially I was under the impression that this book is a historical novel, so I wasted first 20 pages waiting for the novel to start. Once I realised Initially I was under the impression that this book is a historical novel, so I wasted first 20 pages waiting for the novel to start. Once I realised it was actually historical non fiction I started really enjoying it. Milton unearthenes some little known part of world history and delivers it to us in a very exciting form. Who does not like stories about pirates and Moroccan sultans? Here definitely crueler than in Disney films. And the moral is: slavery is bad and all humans are equally capable of inhuman behaviour. It is actually so widespread that I am not sure why it is called 'inhuman' as I can't think of any other species that engages in such behaviour.
Here is some English logic for you: When then Englishmen were enslaved by the 'Moors' it was because the Moors were 'beasts', as only 'beasts' could do something so barbaric. Now, when the English did the same to Africans around the same time, that was ok because Africans were beasts, so there were no contraindication to enslaving them. And that's how the English managed to sleep with a clear conscience.
I particularly enjoyed this episode recounted by Milton where an English ship with a cargo of Africans destined for slavery in North America gets captured by Moroccans and the whole crew gets sent to slavery in Morocco. And isn't it ironic.. don't you think?
All in all, good book, people. You can read it in two evenings. Sometimes I found Miles' style a little too pompous for my liking. Right now I am reading „The Professor and the Madman” and I am enjoying Simon Winchester's style a lot more because he's got jokes. Though on the other hand when you write about slavery it is probably not ok to joke. ...more
Finally. I have finished this bloody book. It took me, I think, three weeks. And I can't explain why. It was well written (most of the time), there WAFinally. I have finished this bloody book. It took me, I think, three weeks. And I can't explain why. It was well written (most of the time), there WAS a storyline, the characters were quite original and should be interesting but for some reason I didn't care at all. Maybe you have to be Canadian to feel this book. Or maybe it was the wrong phase of the Moon. Or who knows. I only became somewhat interested in it around page 230. But I think I can describe the whole experience as 'meh'. Which is why I need to read some silly historical romance now. See, what you did to me Colin McAdam?...more
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