Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart, by Joyce Carol Oates

This was an okay book--impressive considering Ms. Oates's incredibly prolific output, but otherwise left me rather cold toward it. My main criticisms:

1. It felt like three books hastily condensed into one, and while those three books were divided neatly into three chapters, I didn't feel that there was enough narrative similarity--besides of course the fact that they all followed the lives of Iris Courtney and Jinx Fairchild--to justify continuing the book past, well, any arbitrary point.

2. I didn't really "feel" the characters. I can't really explain why or why not, but no one was particularly sympathetic, to me, and so I was perhaps less involved in the plot than I otherwise would have been.

3. Hasn't this plot--racist New York town, a black boy and a white girl, gambling father, alcoholic mother, detached daughter, a murder--already been done? What's more, a million times? Maybe I'm just connecting disparate books and authors--John Updike, everyone from the South, every mystery writer--but nothing about this book felt original. While Ms. Oates is a fine enough writer, that's a giant stumbling block for everyone, especially since I didn't really feel like she did it the best of everyone--it'd be hard to beat out To Kill a Mockingbird. Or indeed to do anything better than John Updike. Besides, I'm sick of this plot; hasn't everyone and their barely-literate dog written about racism?

I'll give Ms. Oates another chance sometime, probably, simply because it would be so gratifying to like her--one would never run out of reading material!--but so far, at least, my opinion on her is not very high.

Building the Kingdom: A History of Mormons in America, by Claudia Lauper Bushman and Richard Lyman Bushman

This book was written for non-Mormons--evident because it covered the basics of Mormon history so thoroughly--but was interesting and detailed enough to appeal to Mormons as well. I've heard most of this history a million times before, but the Bushmans still managed to make it interesting, mostly through good writing, use of primary sources, and a more fair and balanced approach than church lessons usually give--they mention, for instance, that the Mormons fought back in Missouri. Though the section on modern Mormonism is far too short and simplified, that can be forgiven considering the amount of history they were trying to cover; I only hope that they someday write another book focusing on the church from 1890-on.

Highly recommended--readable history, interesting stories. It makes me proud to be a Mormon.

Byuck, by Eric Jepson

I liked it. I'll give more detail when it's actually published.

Saraya, the Ogre's Daughter, by Emile Habiby

Having read The Secret Life of Saeed the Pessoptimist several times now, and having read (and translated) several other of his short stories, I can confidently claim to be a fan of Emile Habiby. I love his unique perspective on Palestine--that of "one who stayed," according to the title of a documentary film--and I love his writing voice, which is eminently creative and lyric, full of wordplay and allusions and poesy. It's great in Arabic, and it's great in English--at least, in the English of Saeed.

In the English of this novel, however, it's not so great; the translator has been faithful to the "Arabic" feel of the prose, but, alas, too faithful. Reading it feels like reading one of my own translations: stilted, awkward, and all-too-literal. While it gives an accurate impression of the original Arabic novel, it's no fun to read, at least not in an English mindset. Perhaps I'll go read it in Arabic, perhaps not--in any case, I certainly wouldn't encourage anyone to read it in English. (Saeed, on the other hand, is not to be missed.)

My Hard Bargain, by Walter Kirn

I'll give this one a big fat "meh." The stories weren't terrible, but weren't great either, and I was very unimpressed with Kirn's research--or lack thereof--about Mormons. He calls a non-missionary an "Elder," which is incorrect because, although other men may technically be elders, they are not referred to as such, and, what's more, it's a non-missionary who becomes a bishop, meaning he wouldn't be an elder at all, he'd be a High Priest. In another story, a character talks about his parents being in Mesa doing temple work, baptizing the dead, which is strange because adults doing temple work would probably be doing endowments, not baptisms, and mentions that a certain girl had been picked by their bishop to write to a missionary, and that they would get married later--something that is certainly inaccurate, because while girls do write to missionaries and sometimes marry them later, they're certainly not chosen by the bishop.

In addition to all that, the stories were lackluster and only halfway interesting. This one, alas, was a waste of time.

Jimmy Corrigan, the Smartest Kid On Earth, by Chris Ware

It's easy to pan a book, easy to disparage it or trivialize it or dismiss it, but sometimes very, very hard to accurately express my feelings about a book I liked as much as this one. I could tell you that it made me cry not once but several times, or that, while reading it, I had to jump up and email the friend who recommended it to me, mostly to thank him, but even that wouldn't convey, I don't think, the way this book affected me.

So let's talk about how this book affected me: deeply. And depressingly. While I don't have a list of every book I've ever read (my list starts when I was 16, something I will always regret), I declared to a friend, once I had finished this book, that it was by far and away the most depressing thing I've ever read. The story of Jimmy Corrigan, an emotionally stunted, lonely man in his thirties, and his meeting his absent father for the first time, as well as the parallel story of Jimmy's grandfather being abandoned by his own father, this work touched me deeply with its brutally honest look at loneliness, family, and social bonds, from the perspective of a main character who has plenty of the first and too little of the last two. This was a hero who can't do anything right or get anything right, a pathetic and frustrated man who, by his very existence, begs for the sympathy it will be so hard for him to get. This is tragedy on a small scale, and, to me at least, is far more affecting for only encompassing the lives of this one small, unsuccessful family. I will never again trivialize comics as a medium: how could I, having read this book, which is so clearly and undeniably a masterpiece?

This Is the Place, by Peter Rock

I've been in a mood to read things about Mormons lately, and the pickings are rather slim around here. I went to my local public library and search for any fiction about Mormons, and ended up with this, which seemed extra appealing to me because it was set partially in Wendover, Nevada, and hey! I've been there!

Having been to Wendover, however, was not enough to make this book particularly noteworthy. (Nor, in fact, was this book enough to make Wendover particularly noteworthy.) As the story of an aging casino dealer and his strange obsession with an even stranger Mormon girl (she thinks she sees visions in the desert; she pursues those visions to Las Vegas,) and the disastrous consequences of the strangeness of both characters, This Is the Place falls strangely flat: the characters weren't unique enough to hold my attention for long, and the disastrous consequences were mundane enough, and under-written enough, that I barely even noticed them happening.

The best thing about the book, I thought, at least, was its portrayal of Mormons: Rock, not a Mormon himself, treats them sympathetically but accurately: some are genuinely good people genuinely trying to do good, others are total hypocrites, others are struggling with a wide variety of problems, and all are human. It was refreshing to see a portrayal from an outsider that doesn't treat Mormons and the Mormon church as a monolithic whole.

Not nice enough that I'd recommend this book to anyone, though, alas.

The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

I read this in my hour in between classes today; it was so short and easy that I could start and finish it without even bothering to check it out of the library. While it was an interesting read for an hour, I wouldn't it among my favorite books, or even my favorite books of the month, or even my favorite books on post-apocalyptic situations. While some scenes of the father protecting his young son were touching, on the whole the book seemed shallow and not particularly original--definitely not McCarthy's best.

Children of Men, by P.D. James

I watched this movie about six months ago and really liked it, less for its plot than for its vision of the horrors of a barren future, which I thought were very well-imagined and well-depicted, a rare combination. I figured the book was worth trying, and I was right: it was, in many ways, far better than the movie (and drastically different--I hadn't quite realized that most movie reviews were telling me the plot was a loose adaptation, and so it was a shock to encounter an entirely different cast of characters, setting, and final goal), particularly in its exploration of this possible future. The apathy that settles over the globe is, apparently, a symptom of an aging population, who, with no future generations to bequeath the earth to, only want to live and die in peace and comfort. Though the second half of the book is worse than the first--their desperate chase across England into Wales was, for the most part, less than compelling--I thought this book worth the read, both for, as mentioned, its frightening vision, but also for its ultimate goal: whereas the movie was political, the book is almost religious in its ultimate story, that of a lonely, unloving and unlovable aging man redeeming himself, not so much through heroism, though he is, at times, heroic, but through love, through finally caring about another human being enough to risk himself for them. It was quite unexpectedly lovely, a touch of light and hope in a dark and doomed world, and, as that element was sadly lacking in the movie (except maybe for the scene in which Clive Owen first sees that the teenager he's transporting is pregnant, a scene I love to watch for the mixed shock and hope that steal over his face as he stares), I'd have to rate the book, whatever its flaws, higher than its film adaptation.

The Line of Beauty, by Alan Hollinghurst

Now, I know this got great reviews, and even a Booker Prize, but, frankly, I just thought it was boring. I didn't see what was so great about the writing, which seemed to take forever to make a point, and wasn't even all that beautiful on its way, I didn't sympathize with the characters, I didn't really "feel" the setting--which, arguably, is because I don't remember Britain in the 80s, but, then again, shouldn't a truly great book make me feel what I can't remember?--and I was a bit turned off by all the gay sex described in detail. I guess it should have been a tipoff for me that this novel was described as "Jamesian" and the main character is a James scholar; I feel much the same way about Henry James, after all.

I'll chalk this one up to another overly-pretentious Booker disappointment.

Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

This book had all the features of a Terry Pratchett book, so many, in fact, that I didn't detect the hand of Neil Gaiman at all. Why'd it take two?

Not, of course, that any of that is a bad thing: Terry Pratchett books are highly enjoyable, and this one was no exception. It was funny, imaginative, and well-paced, a great read for a Saturday afternoon.

Travels With Alice, by Calvin Trillin

Very, very funny, in that dry, self-mocking way I love so much. I doubt Calvin Trillin is the original clueless man with a competent (and female) family, but he uses the theme well. I read this while walking to and from school over the course of a few weeks, and thought it was the perfect traveling companion, much as, I think, both Calvin and Alice Trillin would be.