book reviews

Book review: The Stand Complete and Uncut Edition

This review was originally posted on Broken Forum.

I decided to take advantage of one of my e-reader’s main strengths by finally reading The Stand Complete and Uncut Edition. I bought the paperback of the original The Stand back in 1980 (I was 15), devoured it quickly and loved it – except for the deus ex machina which struck me as pretty dumb. In 1990 I bought the hardcover of the uncut edition. It’s over 1150 pages long and weighs four pounds. Picking it up to read felt like exercise and I didn’t exercise.

It stayed unread for 20 years.

But I noticed the book in the Kobo store for something like $9 and I thought, “Am I willing to add $9 to the $23 I already spent on the hardcover edition I bought and never read in 1990?” That $23 is what you call a sunk cost, so I put down the nine bucks and grabbed it. There is no danger of the e-book version of The Stand putting my back out when I pick it up and for this I am grateful.

Now the questions were: Would this story still resonate with me 33 years later? Would I even recognize the additions/changes in the uncut edition? The answer to both is yes!

Stephen King changed the time frame of the story from 1980 to 1990 when he added those 400 or so pages back to the text and updated some pop culture references to keep things in order. There are a few minor slips here and there and generally the novel still feels like it’s set in 1980. The 70s vibe resonates clearly, swipes at President Bush (the elder) notwithstanding, but in the end it’s not really a negative. Trying to rework the language and flavor of the story to make it better fit 1990 would have been a fool’s errand.

There’s also a certain level of amusement to be found in how King presents ‘old’ characters like Glen Bateman, a sociologist in his 50s (King was 27 or so when he wrote the book). Invariably they are slow, arthritic — physically enfeebled but usually wise. I’d almost forgotten that sense of immortality you have in your 20s. The world and time stretch out endlessly before you. People in their 50s? Almost dead!

The story itself holds up just fine. The massive sprawl of the uncut edition pulls off the impressive feat of never feeling flabby or excessive. King has fleshed out the characters by restoring scenes that don’t change the story but enrich it. Trashcan Man especially benefits from this, adding a layer of pathos to what was largely just a crazy firebug. I was surprised at how Flagg himself comes across (I realize he appears in The Dark Tower series but I’ve not read that, so I only know him from his appearance here) because I remember him being much scarier in the original. Despite having numerous magical abilities he seems strangely weak and unsure here. The new ending that puts him in charge of a primitive tribe on some remote tropic island is downright funny.

And what about that deus ex machina at the end? I remembered it vividly — the literal hand of God appears and blows up the nuclear warhead, vaporizing Las Vegas, ending the stand with a bang. I don’t know if it’s been changed in the uncut edition but in it the hand is never described as being exactly that. One character refers to it as such and the text offers that it did look like a hand but it feels like King hedges a bit by avoiding the precise phrasing that would state YES THIS IS ACTUALLY GOD’S HAND, PRETTY CLEVER EH? It also seems the hand doesn’t directly set off the bomb, it just pushes Flagg’s big ol’ electric spark into it, underlining how playing with fire (Trashy and Flagg alike) is very very bad. In all, the hand didn’t bother me this time.

If you’re looking for an end of the world story with a large cast of endearing/crazy characters (most of whom smoke a lot, something King himself must have been doing at the time because it felt like every character smoked because the author did) and you haven’t read The Stand, I can recommend the complete and uncut edition (the only one you’ll find new) unreservedly. It’s an often bleak but surprisingly brisk-paced ride.

Book review: Heart-Shaped Box

Having already read Joe Hill’s short story collection 20th Century Ghosts and his second novel Horns, I felt it was time to check out his debut novel, Heart-Shaped Box.

This is a tale of revenge as delivered though a mean ghost inhabiting a haunted suit, a simple story, told directly and played out at a brisk pace. It’s lean to the point of having virtually nothing in the way of subplots but that’s okay because the core story is vividly drawn. The main character of aging heavy metal star Judas Coyne could have easily lapsed into cliche or stereotype (imagine Ozzy Osborne being cast in a movie adaptation) but Hill does a good job of making him feel genuine, turning the life or death struggle with the ghost into a chance for Coyne to redeem himself, at least in part, for past sins. Some may prefer the ending to be more Grimdark™ but I was pleasantly surprised and found it fun, even playful.

I can’t think of anything in the way of meaningful criticism toward the story. Perhaps Hill has gotten some of the details of life in a heavy metal band wrong. If so, I haven’t detected them. On the plus side, I especially like how Hill’s characters and Coyne in particular behave realistically and yet believably. There are no ‘walk into a dark room without turning on the lights’ moments. The characters may be vulnerable or out of their depth at times but they’re also smart and resourceful.

Recommended.

Book review: Summer of Night

Summer of Night by Dan Simmons is a semi-autobiographical novel set in the rural Illinois town of Elm Haven in the summer of 1960. The ‘semi’ part is due to the use of fictional characters and unspeakable ancient evil featured throughout the story.

The edition I have is from 2011 and includes a new introduction by the author in which he underlines how much things have changed for kids since 1960, with the ‘safe’ distance they can travel from home being severely reduced and the preponderance of safety measures that act to stifle as much as protect. Like bike helmets or something. The whole thing comes off as a bit of a rant and worse, Simmons spoils a major part of the book without warning. If you happen to read Summer of Night (and as you’ll see I think it is very much worth doing so), skip the intro until after you’ve read the book.

The story begins with the end of school for the summer and the closing of the cavernous Old Central School that the half dozen boys of the self-named Bike Patrol attended. But the school happens to contain a wee bit of very old evil that wants out. The rest of the story sees the boys alternate between idyllic summer days spent playing baseball, swimming and hanging around and running for their lives to escape from the horrors slowly being visited upon their town. All the while they work to figure out what’s really going on and how (or if) they can stop it.

Simmons does a terrific job in capturing classic childhood fears–monsters in the closet (it’s true), things trying to grab you from under your bed (yep, true) and horrible monsters in the dark (true again, and it’s even worse than you imagined). There’s also an undercurrent of ‘teachers are evil’ that will probably delight many a school-aged kid reading this.

As with most horror novels there are a few things–notably a kid’s behavior here and there–that don’t make much sense when you start thinking about it, and the climax feels oddly rushed, as if Simmons was impatient to be done with the story or lost interest once it switched over from nostalgic reminisce to full-blown horror. I also didn’t care for the handful of blatant contrivances Simmons uses to help push the plot along (the smart kid’s father basically invents the telephone answering machine, as one example). Overall, though, it’s an enjoyable, albeit somewhat predictable ride. The recreation of small town America in the early 60s feels authentic as all get-out and the boys, parents and citizens of Elm Haven are all nicely drawn, whether they are upstanding and honest, unrepentant bullies or a bit undead.

You’ll also be glad to never set your eyes on a rendering truck.

Book review: Stories of Your Life and Others

As part of Broken Forum’s Book of the Month Club, I read April’s entry, Ted Chiang’s Stories of Your Life and Others (amazon.ca link). I’ve slightly reworked my review from BF below.

This is a collection of short stories so I’ll offer my thoughts on all eight.

First up is “Tower of Babylon”. An interesting riff on the construction of the wonder that focuses on the practical over the spiritual. The ending is appropriately fantastical.

“Division by Zero”. Math nerds would probably go nuts over this. Since I was anti-math in school (not by choice but by aptitude) I was less engaged, although I liked the base conceit of ‘everything we know about something big is wrong’ and the repercussions therein.

“Understand”. When brainiacs collide! This was good, as it surprised me by dropping in several red herrings that in some authors’ hands would have been trite plot turns. It also reminded me, oddly, of my 2012 NaNoWriMo novel which tackles a similar theme of how extraordinary power would be used differently based on one’s moral compass, to the betterment/detriment of humankind.

“Story of Your Life”. The science involved in the dual spoken and written languages of the aliens is complex, fascinating and well-presented. The recollections of the daughter never connected emotionally and felt tacked on, and the first contact itself seemed more a necessary backdrop to provide the examination of understanding languages rather than to explore first contact itself. Flawed but still well worth reading.

“The Evolution of Human Science”. I used to be a big fan of fictional articles but am less so now. This one didn’t do much to shift my position.

“Seventy Two Letters”. A delightfully off-kilter story combining the Victorian era with golems and class warfare. Chiang’s use of language here is studied without being too formal, capturing the flavor of the time. I enjoyed the alternate universe where animated dolls stand to better or worsen the human condition. The more sinister aspects with assassination attempts and break-ins felt a bit unfinished, hinting at a larger story.

“Hell is the Absence of God”. Basically a long way of saying “God isn’t fair, sucks to be you (or me)” but much like “Seventy Two Letters” the alternate universe where Heaven and Hell are literal places and angels are physical manifestations that trail destruction and death (and sometimes miracles) is fascinating and well-presented.

“Liking What You See”. On the other hand, the multiple viewpoints of this take on “lookism” was merely okay. It was overly long, I never felt much for any of the characters and while an examination of what constitutes beauty and how it affects western (and other) societies is a worthy subject, the presentation was a little flat.

Overall I enjoyed the collection. Chiang presents his visions clearly, paints alternate worlds effortlessly and does a fine job of exploring ideas, the hallmark of good (or great) science fiction. I felt his characters were sometimes flat and can’t recall any of the stories really sticking with me because of the people in them.

Book review: Southern Gods

Southern Gods is one of those books that can be glibly, though accurately, summed up with a trite phrase. In this case it would be “Cajun Cthulhu”. The title holds great promise on what turns out to be a strangely small scale adventure considering the subject matter of gods trying to destroy our world.

The story begins by following the lead of hired muscle “Bull” Ingram, a giant of a man who has been tasked by a DJ to track down a man he’s sent out to sell records to local radio stations. As Ingram journeys across the 1951 south he uncovers dark horrors that suggest the very world itself may be in peril due to malevolent and ancient gods trying to bust on through.

The early chapters are promising. Ingram is a rough but likable kind of lug and the mystery behind the pirate radio station that broadcasts music to go crazy by, along with Hastur, a devilish Blues musician, are set up nicely. Things start to come apart at the Ruby, a nightclub Ingram goes to in order to meet–and kill–Hastur. The scene is a literal orgy of violence that sets in motion the rest of the events and despite the author’s loving attention to every gory detail, the depiction fell flat for me. As I mentioned in the Broken Forum thread and in agreeing there with another poster, Drastic, when you’re openly invoking the Cthulhu mythos as Jacobs does here, sure you can bring your own take to the material but if you stray too far it’s no longer really Cthulhu anymore but its own thing. That in itself isn’t bad but reducing the Necronomicon to a book filled with grotesque imagery that makes you go crazy just looking at it, feels unconvincing. The angle with the music and singing, which struck me as far more interesting and original,  is largely forgotten once the bad books are uncovered, to the story’s detriment.

The ‘love’ interest may as well have come with lug nuts, it was so blatantly bolted onto the plot. The other leading protagonist, Sarah, seemed to switch between being weird and emotional to focused and strong more on the requirements of the story than through any natural character arc. I felt nothing in regards to the daughter Franny’s fate because for most of the book the character is tucked away in the background.

In the end, what started out as an intriguing take on the Cthulhu mythos ends up a disappointment that focuses on the wrong things. I also noticed a strangely high number of typos and grammatical errors in the book. Somewhere in the first half of this book is a great take on the Cthulhu setting but the second half squanders it for what is basically a protracted slugfest. Not exactly what I imagined in a ‘evil gods out to enslave humanity’ story.

Book review: John Dies at the End

I recently finished reading John Dies at the End by David Wong, editor of cracked.com*. This is not a long book but it took nigh-forever to finish reading because every reading session was started just late enough that I’d nod off within 30 minutes. This is not a knock against the book, it would have happened no matter what I was reading at the time.

This is a silly and plot-light tale that began as an Internet thing™ and eventually evolved into an actual book (which I bought via the Internet, thus completing the circle). It follows a pair of dopey guys in their mid-20s as they fight weird-ass (and I use the term literally) demons and other things that threaten to destroy the world as we know it. Apart from an ending that feels a bit like “Uh, how do I wrap this all up?” the journey is fast-paced, absurd and often very funny. The sub-genre of funny horror is ill-served so this is a welcome addition to it.

If you are a humorless monster (and I use the term literally) you may not find this to be a literary masterpiece but that’s okay. There’s already a sequel out for you to froth over. I’m not picking it up yet because it’s still out of my price range but I will eventually. Sorry, Mr. Wong–if that’s your real name (spoiler: it’s not).

 

* I still can’t decide if Cracked was an excellent alternative to Mad magazine or a shameless ripoff. Probably a little of both. The website is nothing like the magazine of yore, which is not a bad thing. It’s just a web thing.

Book review: A.D. After Disclosure

A.D. After Disclosure by Richard M. Dolan and Bryce Zabel is one of those speculative books I loved as a kid and still enjoy as a world-weary and skeptical adult. The premise of the book is simple: What if there are intelligent non-humans on the planet right now and their presence is revealed to the world, whether through some undeniable event (a mass sighting of UFOs) or through disclosure (a presidential address in which all the conspiracy stuff of the Majestic 12/Roswell, etc. are all but confirmed)? Through nine chapters the authors explore how disclosure might be handled and what the effects on the world would be. Most scenarios are fairly grim, with long-term social disorder, riots and turmoil as people panic at the thought of an undoubtedly superior species being here alongside us. The book also explores in detail the purpose and motives of the ‘gatekeepers’ who they believe already have confirmation of the ‘others’ as the authors call them and go into detail (and conspiracies!) over how the mass media, working alongside and sometimes taking direction from the government, has stuck to a narrative of ridicule and scorn, to insure the public never takes these ‘little green men’ seriously.

At least we have UFO Hunters on G4.

While the authors clearly believe that the government or some shadowy part of it is concealing the presence of aliens/intelligent non-humans they admit to being uncertain as to who exactly these aliens are and offer speculation that covers everything from time travel to sentient machines. They also believe there is more than one species here and each group may have different purposes or motivations. Some may be here to help, some to harm. Why are they being so secretive? The authors never provide a firm answer but suggest that the repeated sightings and encounters over the last 70 years may be part of a campaign to acclimate us to their presence before the big reveal. They also suggest that our own rapidly advancing technology (singularity by the mid-21st century, baby) may force the hand of the aliens and/or government.

The speculation put forward is interesting, if not revelatory, and fun to think about. The authors get Very Serious regarding secrecy and clearly mistrust government and the media, so if you’re inclined to be a distrustful sort this may resonate with you. I found it a mite overbearing at times but if you assume the authors are being honest, you can understand their conviction because they paint a picture of a government system that has been willfully misleading its people for many decades.

As a popcorn book, I had a decent time with it. Now I must go stare at the sky and ponder.

(This review was originally posted on Broken Forum.)

Book review: Redshirts

John Scalzi’s novel Redshirts is pretty close to what you expect from the title, assuming you know the pop culture reference. In the original Star Trek series a group of main characters would go on an away mission and bring along one or two ensigns, typically dressed in red shirts. Often enough for it to be a seeming pattern, these ‘redshirts’ would die in some horrible way. You always knew who was going to die because it was never one of the main characters (killing main characters is incredibly trendy now with TV series,but back in the 1960s it was relatively rare). Redshirts is set in a Star Trek-like universe where a group of ensigns aboard the Universal Union’s flagship Intrepid begin putting the pieces together and realize that they are all in danger of expiring in horrible ways if they don’t do something.

That something comprises the bulk of Redshirts’ story, one told in a fast-paced style with characters volleying witty rejoinders like phaser fire. Although there are some obligatory touching moments, most of the story is played for laughs and succeeds thanks to a consistent stream of absurdities and the ensigns’ collectively deprecating reactions. Naturally there is also time travel and the story ends with a series of codas that wrap things up in a somewhat gimmicky but still effective manner.

It’s a short, light read and just about the perfect summer book to lose yourself in for an evening or two. Recommended.

Book review: Wildwood Road

I am not the fastest reader so it usually takes me a few weeks to plow through a book. In the case of Wildwood Road (Christopher Golden) I was able to finish it in a mere six days. This was a nice change of pace–a novel that tells its story without any real padding. The downside is the experience almost felt too brief and a bit perfunctory.

It tells the tale of a nigh-perfect couple living in Boston and how a few too many drinks at a masquerade party leads to nearly running down a mysterious little girl on a quiet night road. From there things get weird as Michael the guilty husband tries to set things right by taking the girl back to her home, a ramshackle old house on top of a hill that seems to be haunted by…things. These ghosty creatures do a number on Jillian the wife to scare off the husband from pursuing matters further. More to the point they turn her into Ultra Bitch, which is kind of fun to watch. Golden does a good job in making her a wildly unpredictable force and I was actually fooled–whether by design or not–by a scene in which a friend is asked to ‘babysit’ her, the outcome of which I hadn’t predicted. I was less convinced by the depiction of memories as physical things you can pluck from the air as they float by.

Oh, and the little girl, she wore a peasant blouse and blue jeans. I remember this because Golden mentions it approximately five thousand times over the course of the novel.

The story is told with economy but the omniscient voice is perhaps a little too all-seeing as it hops from character to character. There is very little for the reader to work out for himself as everything gets neatly explained in time. In a way it’s nice to not have things remain murky just for the sake of conjuring up an atmosphere of mystery, but a little more subtlety would have worked, too.

Overall this was a fast, enjoyable, but unremarkable read, a novel I would describe as solidly good.

Book review: The Fog

I finally decided to check out James Herbert, the popular English horror author who has enough cachet (and sales) to warrant his own section in most bookstore horror sections. I didn’t do any real research in picking a title, I just read a few descriptions and grabbed the first one that sounded good.

That turned out to be his 1975 novel The Fog (no relation to the John Carpenter movie of the same name). It’s his second novel and understandably still has some rough edges as befits an early book. It has for the most part aged well — you could easily plop the premise down in present-day England and not have to change much at all. I also like the conciseness of the story. There is little flab here, no long digressions or exposition. While this at times makes the writing and characterizations a bit perfunctory (and Herbert occasionally spells things out a little too explicitly, telling rather than showing) it does result in a snappy narrative.

The plot is science fiction horror, revolving around the accidental release of a biological warfare agent into the English countryside. It emerges as a yellow fog from a crevice and anyone who comes into contact with it is driven batty, some sooner than later. The story revolves around a government team and an unwitting immune individual working to contain and/or destroy the fog before all of England goes as mad as George. Along the way there are numerous colorful vignettes in which it is illustrated just how various people go insane. This usually involves violence, sex or often both! The Fog is very old school in the way it entwines sex and gore together, just like those “make out in the car and die” horror movies from the 1950s. The difference is people don’t get killed for having sex, rather they kill as they are having sex.

The nadir of the novel is probably a comprehensive sex scene between the protagonist and his girlfriend with creepy daddy issues. It’s played straight, so to speak, in that neither character is insane (at the time) but it comes off (ho ho) as second rate softcore porn. I’ve no idea if this is a James Herbert thing or if he was just a horny young man at the time he wrote this (checking, he was 32 at time of publication so perhaps horny youngish man is more apt).

The last third of the novel is essentially a chase sequence following the fog. It’s actually more interesting than it sounds, especially given the double whammy of deadly fog combined with nutty people running around in it.

In the end this is a competent but unremarkable novel. I am uncertain if I will read more Herbert.

Book review: Poe’s Children: The New Horror

Poe’s Children: The New Horror (Kobo link)

The two genres I read the most are science fiction and horror and with horror I especially like anthologies and collections because horror stories work well in short form where it’s easier to suspend your disbelief because the shambling monsters have to caper for only a few dozen pages or so and not hundreds.

A few years ago I started a thread on Quarter to Three asking for horror story recommendations (the first reply is still classic — I specifically said I was not interested in series or vampire stories and the initial suggestion is for a vampire series) and one of those recommendations was for the then-new anthology Poe’s Children: The New Horror (2008). It featured a good mix of famous and lesser-known authors and hey, how could you go wrong with Peter Straub as editor? Even if it seemed a bit odd that he would include one of his own stories. Editor’s privilege, I guess.

My first creeping doubt came as I read Straub’s introduction, in which he frames the collected stories as part of a new wave of literary horror while at the same time almost apologizing for them being labeled horror at all because horror stories are apparently the domain of hormone-fueled teenage boys or something and this presumably makes them worthy of nothing more than scorn. I get the impression that the best way to read these stories is with pinky extended. So I extend my pinky and start in.

The opener is “The Bees” by Don Chaon and it’s fairly conventional, a ghost revenge story that comes together neatly and for the protagonist, horribly in the end. Its worst flaw is it didn’t take me long to start poking away at the plot holes but hey, it’s a short story, so time to move on.

Elizabeth Hand’s “Cleopatra Brimstone” features a young American woman house-sitting in England. She has a fascination with moths that extends to being able to transform her sexual conquests into them. It’s a quirky premise and is handled well. My only real complaint with the story is that it went on too long. The various conquests did not distinguish themselves enough to warrant having as many as there were detailed. A snappy ending concludes the story on a high note.

And then we get to a funny thing, a ‘story’ called “The Man on the Ceiling”. I put that in quotes because it’s not a conventional story as such, more a meditation or mood piece, with repeating imagery, shifting viewpoints and no specific focus, just overlapping feelings of dread or wanting and such. Sound interesting? The author notes at the end of the book inform me that husband and wife authors Steve and Melanie Tem’s effort is ‘the only work ever to win the International Horror Guild, Bram Stoker and World Fantasy awards in the same year’. And I found it boring, pretentious and pointless. I cannot recall the last time I read a short story that actively annoyed me as much as this one. If this vapid, indulgent piece of nonsense is what passes for ‘literary horror’ I think I may stick to lurid tales for oversexed boys. I suppose this is a case of different strokes. I am left so dissatisfied that at this point I actually set the book down for some weeks before pressing on.

The next few stories are decent enough but the overall theme of the anthology is becoming clearer, as many of stories are more mood pieces, veering away from the concrete to the ethereal, using words to create images that are fuzzy around the edges, leaving out details deliberately to confuse or beguile. I’m okay with this. I freely admit I prefer my fiction more straight-up because I’m more interested in being entertained than challenged but a change-up on occasion is like cleansing the palette. And my palette is about to get cleansed with the literary equivalent of bleach.

“Louise’s Ghost” is a story that shows off its cleverness with broad strokes. A little girl loves the color green, so everything must be green. The two adult protagonists are both named Louise so at times it’s difficult to distinguish who is saying what. But it’s clever because it blurs their identities and makes a statement about how interchangeable we all are or whatever the hell point author Kelly Link was trying to make. Maybe it was to simply give the reader a headache, in which case she succeeded with me. The story is further addled with dialog that is twee as all get-out. I will give Link credit, though — there are moments when all of these elements actually pull together and it really is clever and witty. I also give her points for offering something that isn’t Very Serious.

“Plot Twist” is a self-referential piece that does its shtick very well — three people stranded in a desert, running out of supplies and wondering why no one ever comes along the road they walk along. As is often the case with these kinds of high-concept pieces,  David J. Schow’s ending seems gratuitously ‘shocking’ and isn’t really satisfying. Still, the journey to get there is worth the trip.

Along similar lines is Thomas Ligotti’s “Notes on the Writing of Horror”, although the gruesome ending is to be expected with Ligotti. His darkly comedic prose may not be to everyone’s taste but I find the more of his work I read the more I want to read, so it is apparently a taste I like.

Neil Gaiman’s entry “October in the Chair” is vintage Gaiman, a warm tale of a young ghost in a forgotten town.

I skipped Stephen King’s “The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet” because I read it nearly 30 freaking years ago.

Peter Straub’s “Little Red Tango” produced a weird effect for me right from the title. I jokingly referred to a short guy I thought was one hot tamale in college as Little Red and after doing that for two years it’s difficult to see the phrase and not think specifically of him. In Straub’s story the titular character is a kind of idiot savant who lives in a hoarders-style apartment and does weird and magical things for musicians and music lovers with his vast collection of vinyl records. The story is quirky and magical but grounded in the everyday, the grit and discomfort of ordinary living mixed with extraordinary events. In the case of “Little Red Tango” Straub was correct to invoke editor’s privilege and include it.

The collection ends with “Insect Dreams” by Rosalind Palermo Stevenson. Set in the 17th century, it tells of a trip a young woman named Maria Sibylla makes from her native Netherlands to the lush jungles of Surinam in South America, there to study the insect life both as a researcher and artist. The prose is written with a languid and poetic style, with a formal and sometimes melodramatic flair. Although slow to get going, the story drew me in as it progressed and I became more interested in Maria’s experiences in this strange and dangerous land. The closest the story comes to horror, however, is when a ‘monster’ turns out to be a plantation owner who treats slaves sadistically (one scene has him literally pull the arms off a girl who resists his advances) but this  — as terrible as it sounds — is treated more an incidental to the main story. Were it not there the story would not really fit in a horror anthology at all, literary or otherwise.

In the end I came away from Poe’s Children disappointed. There are some very good stories here and there is decent variety despite the classification as ‘new horror’ so if you like gore, you’ll get some of that and if you like explicit sex, you’re covered there, too (so to speak). I found the collection very uneven, though and can’t recall the last time multiple stories in a collection actually annoyed me. Finishing the book was more a relief than anything.

Thumbs down for me but it is quite possible that I’m just too dang juvenile to appreciate art when I see it.

Book review: You Are Not so Smart

As part of the January Book of the Month Club thread on Broken Forum, I read You Are Not So Smart by David McRaney. This is a collection based on McRaney’s website of the same name. Here’s my review, which can also be read in the thread linked above.

I finished the book in about three weeks after setting it aside for most of a week. It’s one of those books that is very put down-able while still not being a bad book at all.

The concept of the book as described on amazon.com:

You believe you are a rational, logical being who sees the world as it really is, but journalist David McRaney is here to tell you that you’re as deluded as the rest of us. But that’s OK- delusions keep us sane. You Are Not So Smart is a celebration of self-delusion. It’s like a psychology class, with all the boring parts taken out, and with no homework.

Based on the popular blog of the same name, You Are Not So Smart collects more than 46 of the lies we tell ourselves everyday, including:

  • Dunbar’s Number – Humans evolved to live in bands of roughly 150 individuals, the brain cannot handle more than that number. If you have more than 150 Facebook friends, they are surely not all real friends.
  • Hindsight bias – When we learn something new, we reassure ourselves that we knew it all along.
  • Confirmation bias – Our brains resist new ideas, instead paying attention only to findings that reinforce our preconceived notions.
  • Brand loyalty – We reach for the same brand not because we trust its quality but because we want to reassure ourselves that we made a smart choice the last time we bought it.Packed with interesting sidebars and quick guides on cognition and common fallacies, You Are Not So Smart is a fascinating synthesis of cutting-edge psychology research to turn our minds inside out.

On the plus side, the book is an easy read, the conversational tone works well to draw the reader in and McRaney has done his homework on the subject. While a lot of what he writes about seems self-evident when it’s laid out for you, I still found it valuable in the general sense of knowing that your brain can be a tricksy thing and better understanding how it tries to trick you can be helpful when it does so in a way that can have negative or unintended consequences.

The last chapter, which chronicles the horrifying mock prison experiment, ends the book on a somber note compared to the overall tone and left me with the feeling that a deeper take on the subject might have worked better. The book betrays it roots as a series of blog posts and McRaney really does nothing to expand the book beyond a series of vignettes with nothing to tie it all together. I would have enjoyed it more if McRaney had adopted a specific angle on why he had collected these examples of how ‘we are not so smart’. There are hints of it here and there where he offers advice (from himself or others) on how to work against your brain’s need to shortcut or fill-in but the larger picture of what all this means and what we can all do about it is left mostly untouched.

In short, an enjoyable and easily digested book but I’d have preferred a more substantial take on the matter.