Book reviews

How does one review a literary classic, one that has had such impact that the author’s name has become an adjective for the type of totalitarian state depicted in the book?

You don’t. What can I add that hasn’t already been said about 1984? It follows the protagonist Winston Smith as he harbors secret thoughts of defying the all-seeing, all-knowing government that has risen up to control nearly every aspect of a citizen’s life. In the end he finds he has been lured into a trap, is caught, exposed, broken and then released back into public life, fully converted to loving Big Brother while waiting the random and inevitable bullet to the head that will end his life, his existence to be completely erased shortly thereafter.

It is difficult not to be impressed by the level of detail Orwell brings to the totalitarian regime and in particular its use of Newspeak to shape and control the language, beliefs and the very thoughts of those under the government’s control. The past few years of revelations that every government around the world is spying on everyone all the time makes the novel more timely now than it has perhaps ever been.

And yet in the end, as horrific the depiction of life in 1984 is, and as terrible, controlling and untrustworthy as so many modern governments are (even those in supposed democracies), 1984 still requires the reader to buy into some less-than-credible premises: that the world would coalesce around three major powers, all of them equally matched militarily to the others, and that a government could maintain the exhaustive level of control depicted to not only stay in power, but to reinforce that power and strengthen it, especially in the age of the Internet (though some governments have certainly tried to keep a lid on things).

In the end the complaint about credibility is a minor quibble. The world of Airstrip One (nee England) is presented so vividly that it’s hard to not be affected by the utterly bleak depiction of a world where crushing hope is a fundamental principle.

1984 is not a fun book, but it is one that should be read by anyone at all interested in the state of government and the influence it has on our daily lives.

While the 2011 collection A Book of Horrors isn’t quite the dramatic return to “classic” horror that editor Stephen Jones calls for in his introduction–one where he all but calls readers idiots for favoring “such genre categories as ‘paranormal romance’, ‘urban fantasy’, ‘literary mash-up’ or even ‘steampunk’” over horror–it’s still a perfectly good collection and far less hit-and-miss than others I’ve read.

The fifteen stories cover a typical mix of styles, with King’s intro piece “The Little Green God of Agony” being a traditional monster mash that is mostly build-up but the preamble to the inevitable attack, complete with lightning cracking in the background and the power going out, is good enough to overcome the conventional ending.

The two longer pieces are both standouts, with Elizabeth Hand’s “Near Zennor” neatly weaving together the loss of a loved one, events three decades past and n unsettled present filled with lingering mystery, a sense of dislocation and possibly things lurking in the dark. There are some good chills as the protagonist visits the English homestead of his recently deceased wife and ends up under a burial mound that threatens to claim him as its latest internee. Some might complain that not much actually happens and there’s no traditional resolution as such but this is a good example of the journey taken being interesting all on its own.

The other long piece is “A Child’s Problem”, inspired by the painting by the 1857 painting by Richard Dadd as seen here:

Dig the look on that kid’s face.

Author Reggie Oliver spins the scene into a tale of self-inflicted revenge, as a boy staying with his authoritarian uncle is challenged to find certain artifacts on the estate, things that the uncle may later wish may have been best left alone. Set in the early 19th century, Oliver does a fine job in capturing the flavor and language of the era without it coming across as arch or artificial. The boy, young George St Maur, is initially timid, at times frightened by his strict, intolerant uncle but in the end matches him with his own bluster and cunningly turns the tables on him, with appropriately gruesome results.

Ramsey Campbell’s “Getting it Wrong”, a dark twist on quiz shows that offer helplines like Who Wants to be a Millionaire? would fit nicely in any revival of The Twilight Zone. It’s also a cautionary tale on being a deliberate jerk. If everyone posting juvenile, insulting comments on the web suffered the same consequences as the story’s too-clever-for-his-own-good protagonist, the web would be…a little more polite. Let’s be realistic, even knowing the consequences, some people will still be jerks.

Robert Shearman’s “Alice Through the Plastic Sheet” is an odd, funny and at times gag-inducing take on dealing with noisy neighbors in suburbia, with a vibe halfway between the off-kilter feel of the mannequin episode of the original Twilight Zone and something more darkly comedic.

While the collection is a less horrifying than the title suggests, there’s enough here to please most horror fans. Those expecting monsters, gruesome deaths and terrifying sights in every story may be less satisfied.

Doctor Sleep tells the story of the adult Dan Torrance, son of the late Jack Torrance, who was last seen getting blown up by an overloaded boiler in the Overlook Hotel in Stephen King’s 1977 novel, The Shining.

The bad news for the surviving male member of the Torrance clan is he’s picked up his dad’s habit of drinking heavily, getting into fights and living a bleak, unhappy existence.

King chronicles the painful bottoming out of Dan, who finally finds some hope and a great deal of danger in a small town in New Hampshire. At the same time he has been developing a psychic bond with a young girl whose own powers far outstrip Dan’s. This girl–Abra–eventually becomes the target for a group of near-immortals that call themselves The True Knot. The Knot maintains its longevity by inhaling “steam”, the psychic essence that escapes from someone experience pain, either mental or physical (a big payday for them early on is the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, where the suffering and anguish fills them like an all-you-can-eat buffet).

The leader of the Knot is a woman with a few psychic tricks of her own named Rose the Hat. By turns caring and threatening, she leads her group across the U.S. and through the centuries. Upon discovering Abra’s existence she fancies the girl could be tapped as a nigh-endless supply of steam.

King does a fine job of weaving the various sides of the story together, intertwining them neatly as they converge toward the inevitable confrontation. The ending–which I won’t spoil here–surprised me in being conventional yet satisfying.

Dan’s descent as he hits bottom with his drinking is perhaps even more horrifying than the ghosts of the Overlook that seek him out. King’s own battles no doubt informed these scenes and they have a stark authenticity that buttresses the supernatural elements.

My strongest criticism–and it’s overall fairly mild–is one I often have with King’s characters, and that’s the way so many of them have an almost prescient ability to correctly guess the actions or motivations of others, as if every person in King’s universe has some low-grade version of the shining. Having said that, King does explain in Doctor Sleep that many people do have exactly that, so it’s a convenient way to retcon the ability in the characters in his previous billion or so novels.

Doctor Sleep is vintage King, as trite as that sounds. His storytelling and characterizations remain as vital as they were when the original tale of the Overlook Hotel debuted 36 years ago.

Or how to review a really long book series in a really short blog post.

I picked up the original paperback release of the first Dark Tower novel, The Gunslinger, way back in 1982. I generally stay away from book series, especially unfinished book series, so I didn’t read it. In 2003 a revised paperback edition came out with a much spiffier cover. Unlike most King revised editions, this only added 35 or so pages instead of 3,000.

I still didn’t read it.

Finally last year I decided to get the ebook version of the revised edition, read it and enjoyed it. I read two other books before tackling The Drawing of the Three, read one other book after and at that point read the last five of the seven book series back to back. In all I compressed a series that stretched out over 20 years to about two months.

Here are my ultra-brief takes on each book. Overall I found the series quite enjoyable, but with inevitable flaws and writer decisions that almost derailed the whole thing for me.

• The Gunslinger. Tight, excellent portrait of Roland as a man obsessed. His journey across the desert is filled with searing and bleak imagery. 9/10
• The Drawing of the Three. An excellent continuation, bringing in the new players and giving Roland some good foils. 9/10
• The Waste Lands. This book probably best captures the epic journey as just that–an epic journey. It also introduces Blaine, a lovably insane monorail that threatens to kill everyone on board if they can’t answer his riddles. 9/10
• Wizard and Glass. This is effectively a standalone novel where Roland recounts the time spent as a teen in the Mexico-styled town of Mejis. Certain key events and items tie into the larger story. I enjoyed it as a change of pace but was anxious to get back to the main thread. 7/10
• Wolves of the Calla. This is another story that is effectively standalone as the group defends the citizens of Calla Bryn Sturgis against the “wolves”. Enjoyable but ultimately seems kind of unnecessary. This may have worked better as a book published after the series concluded. 6/10
• Song of Susannah. A worthy continuation, with action taking place in our world and Roland’s. Lots of King the character here. I rolled my eyes at first then just rolled with it. Still not a huge fan of him inserting himself in his own story. 8/10
• The Dark Tower. A gloomy, somewhat sour book to end the series, though most characters sort of get a happy ending. King ends with a nice bit of symmetry and the spider is an effective monster here, unlike the lame one in IT. 8/10

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (Susannah Clarke) is one of those books I’d been meaning to read for some time and I finally picked it up last year. Perhaps fittingly I have also taken my time in finally committing to a review. Unlike the novel, I will be brief (this is is no way a criticism of the book, its length is perfectly suited to the tale it tells).

This is a dense yet whimsical novel, one that is amazingly polished for being the author’s first. Clarke vividly depicts an alternate Victorian era where magic exists but has fallen into disuse, something that the titular characters first separately then jointly work to change, with unexpected results for both.

Strange and Norrell are each in their own ways difficult men who do not always get along with others, with Norrell being a near-misanthrope. The married Strange is more accommodating to others and bolder, putting aside Norrell’s studied approach to reviving magic in favor of grand displays of magic done on behalf of England in its wars against the French. The conflict between the men forms one of the main pillars of the story, with another being the abduction of several people by a malevolent fairy. Clarke does a terrific job in bringing the various events together, employing archaic language that gives the feel of being a history recorded by someone who lived in the time.

Each chapter includes footnotes that are often pages long and that Clarke apparently expected these to be rejected by the publisher. Their addition adds a quirky scholarly feel that further contributes to the book’s presentation as historical artifact. At the same time, the author occasional intrudes to offer a pointed opinion about one character or another. It’s something that could come across as twee but Clarke handles it confidently.

I have not read many alternate history novels (actually, I don’t if I have read any) but this still strikes me as being an excellent example of the genre. Recommended.

I try to read a few classics or pseudo-classics every year and the first one I tackled for 2014 is Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland because all of Lewis Carroll’s work is in the public domain, which means it is free, baby, free. And the ebook edition I read is based on the original 1865 edition that includes John Tenniel’s wonderful illustrations.

Here’s one of them, courtesy of the Wikipedia article. I love these. Yes, enough to marry them.

Having never read either of the Alice books and getting the ebook edition, which weights exactly zero of anything, I had no idea the story was so short and finished it in a day. As befits the literary nonsense genre it belongs to, the story is filled with absurd imagery, copious amounts of word play and puns a-plenty. My biggest surprise was probably how daft Alice is, often having long and odd conversations with herself and obsessing over her size, among other things.

This was a pleasant read but one that did not leave me necessarily hungering for more.

This Book is Full of Spiders is David Wong’s pseudo-sequel to John Dies at the End. Unlike the latter book, Spiders has a much tighter narrative and is darker overall, though the irreverence, drunkenness and general ineptitude of the main characters carry over from the first volume.

The title is also accurate. Arachnophobes will be left squirming uncomfortably at the giant piles of spiders that lead to a kind of zombie apocalypse in Wong’s hometown of [Undisclosed].

What I like most is the way Wong balances the disparate elements and makes them all work. The protagonist is flippant, his best friend ridiculous, yet you are made to care about them. There are scenes that are both horrifying and moving. There are photos of John’s penis. Repeatedly.

Wong writes dialogue that is both direct and believable, even when (or especially when) people are discussing things that are outrageous or terrible. The only lapses are minor ones–he relies a bit too much on happenstance and coincidence to move the story along at certain points, but never to the point where it seriously detracts. Likewise, the conceit of never naming the town–in order to keep people from going there and having bad things happen to them because the place is so screwed up–falls apart after he describes the town being a headline all over the world after it is placed under quarantine. That and a video shot there gets 18 million hits on YouTube. Not so much [Undisclosed] anymore.

Overall, though, This Book is Full of Spiders builds nicely on the groundwork laid in John Dies at the End and is–dare I say it–a more mature book. Plus, how can you resist a story where the author describes his hair as looking combed by an angry cat?

John Wyndham’s 1953 novel The Kraken Wakes is at times quaintly British and outdated but still an intriguing portrayal of a truly alien attack on Earth.

Telling the story from the first person perspective of Mike Watson, a reporter with EBC, a fictional competitor to the BBC, the novel chronicles three phases of an alien invasion that starts with red meteors plunging into the deepest parts of the world’s oceans–a frontier that no human had visited back then (and few have visited since). For a time there is no immediate connection between the meteors and any kind of alien incursion. This changes when great quantities of sludge churn up from the deeps, suggesting an intelligence at work.

Investigation leads to unseen retaliation, as a bathysphere sent down to investigate is compromised and its crew of two killed. Britain responds by dropping a nuke into the deep but they have no way of knowing what happens. The aliens then disrupt shipping with unknown weapons that shatter ships apart in moments and follow by sending remote-controlled and/or organic “sea tanks” to attack coastal populations, snaring people and dragging them back to the ocean depths for unknown purposes (food? entertainment? both?) The tanks are discovered to be very vulnerable to explosives and are for the most part repelled.

This leads to the third and final phase, with the aliens warming the ocean’s waters, causing a precipitous rise in sea levels across the globe. The aliens clearly don’t want to share their new home with landlubbers.

The main characters of Mike and his co-worker and wife Phyllis, are witness to several events directly and their employer the EBC uses them to present stories covering the drawn-out invasion. The meat of the story takes the form of long monologues by characters recounting incidents or expounding on what can or must be done. This creates a bit of a distancing effect, in spite of the husband and wife team being intimately involved or witness to much of the action. It does allow Wyndham to recount various opinion pieces and the prevailing mood of the public and government, which lends a journalistic “witness to history” feel that somewhat compensates for the distancing effect of the monologues. A large part of the novel details the reaction of the world to the years-long invasion events, with public interest waxing and waning with activity and governments generally disinclined to take more decisive action. It’s somewhat depressing in how authentic the reactions and actions feel. Basically humanity waits until it’s too late.

The science is kept fairly low key and holds up credibly due to the vagueness–and the fact that nukes are the answer used most often. The most outdated part of the novel is the still-entertaining back and forth between the West and the Soviets, with the Soviets playing up the rhetoric against the fascist, capitalist West (and trying to blame every alien attack on them, while they only wish to preserve Peace with a capital “p”).

Perhaps my least favorite part of the novel comes right at the end. Wyndham paints an increasingly bleak picture of a world greatly depopulated and only just hanging on above the rising water and appears about to end the story on this depressing and uncertain note. Instead, a person delivers a message to Mike and Phyllis on their newly-made island refuge that the Japanese have created a sound-based weapon that kills the aliens dead and everything will be peachy after all (apart from the depopulation and newly terrible climate, that is). The revelation comes so late in the story that it feels like a deus ex machina, a happy face sticker to make the reader feel better about things.

Still, it’s not enough to detract from the overall story and it is clear the surviving people still have a long struggle ahead of them to restore society to something that doesn’t get regularly eaten by possibbly jelly-like beings living five miles below the ocean surface.

Also I don’t think I’ve read a novel where two characters refer to each other as “darling” more than this one. Maybe it was the style (of writing) at the time.