Three Delays by Charlie Smith

Published May 18, 2010.

Author website.

Billy Brent and Alice Stephens are star-crossed like all great lovers. Their need for each other drives them from Istanbul to Miami, Venice to Mexico. After years of encounters and escapes, they lose themselves deep in a desert wilderness, searching for a way forward, only to learn that sometimes the trail simply forks.  (amazon.com)

I scratched this one very early on, like a couple dozen pages in early on.  Really, I'm okay with literary.  I can handle it.  But there comes a point in literary where it stops being good to read and starts being a showcase of the author's perceived awesomeness and that's where my eyelids start to sag.  If I wanted to gaze at a naval I'd pick at my own.  Thanks.

Perhaps it was the incessant use of 'waked up' that made me want to murder puppies.  Yes, technically it's correct.  And technically it makes my ears bleed.  I don't know if this was the author trying to be quirky and use a little-used form of 'to wake' to make his writing stand out as OMG EDGE AND AWESOME.  Or if this was a means to showcase the inherent quirkiness of the MC, except it made Billy sound like a pretentious douche.  Either way I just couldn't take it.  After about five instances of the MC being 'waked up' I stopped. I don't care how awesomely quirky it makes anyone look.  I don't care if it's technically right.  It either makes one sound completely uneducated (who actually uses waked up for past tense? personally I'm on board the woke up train) or like a self-aggrandizing dick.  The former would be okay if the MC were actually uneducated.  He's not.  He's traveling Europe, getting high, existentially pondering life and spending SOMEONE'S money doing it.  Which files him into the latter category.  Gross.

Or maybe it was the meandering drug-induced hazed of a "plot" I kept trying to get involved in but it just seemed far too all over the place for me to keep track of.  Billy's trying to get back together with Alice despite the fact that she's married (what a stand-up guy) and his buddy contracted malaria or something and was hospitalized so the poor guy (the MC, not the sick friend) had to hop himself up on his own and there was a lot of drugs and stuff.  I didn't really see much of a point to it all and I certainly wasn't seeing any "star-crossed lovers" going on here.  Just Billy trying to harass some chick into leaving her husband for him.  The relationship looked pretty one-sided where I stood.

Nope, just wasn't into it.  The instances of 'waked up' were enough for me to DNF it but if that weren't a problem the spirograph plot would have kicked me out eventually.  I just didn't give a rat's ass about Billy and Alice was just a voice on the phone at the time I stopped.  Plus whatever plot there was seemed more focused on drugs and Billy dissecting his own thoughts than anything else.  Blah.  Not for me.

Ban Factor: High - Just for the drugs alone.  There are a lot of drugs.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman

Published 2009.

Quentin Coldwater is brilliant but miserable. A high school math genius, he's secretly fascinated with a series of children's fantasy novels set in a magical land called Fillory, and real life is disappointing by comparison. When Quentin is unexpectedly admitted to an elite, secret college of magic, it looks like his wildest dreams may have come true. But his newfound powers lead him down a rabbit hole of hedonism and disillusionment, and ultimately to the dark secret behind the story of Fillory. The land of his childhood fantasies turns out to be much darker and more dangerous than he ever could have imagined . . . (book back blub)

This book was pegged as HARRY POTTER for adults. If by HARRY POTTER they meant that a seemingly ordinary boy gets admitted to a school for magical folk, then yes, it's HARRY POTTER-esque. But that's where the similarities end. THE MAGICIANS felt like it was a bastardization of THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA as written by Faulkner while throwing up at the end of a long night. If you don't get the Faulkner reference, there isn't a story of his where alcohol doesn't have a very prominent presence. It's EVERYWHERE in THE MAGICIANS. I don't have a problem with that but, well, Grossman isn't Faulkner. I'm not some literary snoot or anything but let's face it, 'Hills Like White Elephants' is pretty epic. THE MAGICIANS is, well, not.

I was so disappointed in this book, moreso than probably any other book I've read. I was a fan of roughly one and a half characters of the ensemble cast that did nothing but pity themselves, drink too much, screw up each others' lives and then get everything handed to them, which they would then complain about. Alice, while a bit of a mouse, ended up being the best out of all of them, and by a pretty large margin. She was strong where the others were extraordinarily weak and saw the good in everyone with hardly a complaint. She was followed not-too-closely by Josh who really didn't do much except exhibit erratic magical ability but he wasn't an asshole so he gets kudos in my book. The rest? Janet was a twat that I was rooting for to die by the end of it. Eliot's a petulant child that held absolutely no interest to me and Richard was your stereotypical suede elbows academic that really needed to just shut the hell up. And Quentin? I have never seen a character pity himself so much in my life. Oh woe is him for how absolutely shitty his life is despite the fact he never did a damn thing to earn a better one. I HATED Quentin and that poses a pretty major problem considering he's the main effing character. He wasn't even endearing in his douchery. He was just a dick that projected his issues onto everyone else and barely took responsibility for anything he did.

I almost gave up on the book just past the halfway point simply because it was plotless. I had no idea where the story was going and I couldn't even fathom an educated guess. Quentin went through school, made friends, graduated and then went insane with drinking, drugs and sex. And then . . . ? No and then! The plot itself doesn't actually make an appearance until just past the halfway point where the kids get off their self-indulgent asses and do something with themselves. But when they did they didn't actually earn anything they got, or survived. Other people did the fighting for them, a deus ex machina comes in just before the climax to save them and the story kicks itself in the nuts and ruptures a testicle when it makes a sacrifice that NO ONE is appreciative of. What am I supposed to find appealing about this, exactly? These kids get everything, earn none of it and then complain about their lives the entire fucking time. For the love of god . . .

In the beginning I was roped in. I liked the voice. That was probably the best part of the book. The overall tone and self-deprecating air the voice took hooked me in. But when Quentin didn't stop complaining and he made some really crappy friends and the story was aimless for half the book and Quentin was still complaining and completely screwing up his life but blaming other people for it and never ultimately took responsibility for himself but kept on complaining, the voice was drowned out. You can't support a cube with a toothpick, you know.

The world itself was insubstantial. I get that with literary stuff it's much more character-driven but what could have been great opportunities to make the world Quentin was in a little more dynamic, it was brushed aside with horribly bland and sterile description to focus on what kind of wine they were drinking. By the end of the book I felt like the world wasn't in focus, either the Brakebills world or Fillory. In HARRY POTTER the world was its own character. In THE MAGICIANS, it felt like the world didn't matter. The magic was just the tool and didn't need to be explained. As a reader, I just needed to know it was there and that was enough. This world worked differently, I didn't need details. Well, yeah, I do. I didn't give a flying fuck what kind of wine they were drinking or who was screwing who (since it was ultimately irrelevant to the plot, for the most part). What the hell was the world like? Okay, so there's finger-waving and some words and poof, magic happens. And then . . . ? No and then! Fillory's another world that's really green with some talking animals. And then . . . ? No and then! I kept waiting for the world to be expounded upon just a little more and I never got it. But I could tell you what kind of noises Alice made during sex. Right.

I just felt that where there should have been more detail there was next to none and where there was far too much I could have lived without the majority of it. I couldn't stand the majority of the characters, they didn't earn anything they got and the story skimmed from one cover to the other without me really giving a crap. I didn't feel this lived up to the hype at all. Then again comparing it to the likes of HARRY POTTER probably hurt it more in my eyes than anything else. If you want something like HARRY POTTER, then just read HARRY POTTER and then go read some HP smutfic when you're done if you want some sex in it.

Literary ultimately isn't my thing but I can appreciate a good story when I read it. This didn't even have that. And I know literary is much more character-driven than non-literary. But these characters really sucked. So maybe I "didn't get it." I'm sure others will. But if this is what HARRY POTTER for adults is, I'll just stick to HARRY POTTER. Thanks.

Ban Factor: High - due to the general shitting on Christianity, presence of magic and magicians, sex, profanity and drinking

Going Away Shoes by Jill McCorkle + Contest!

Published September 22, 2009.

Jill McCorkle, a master of the short story whose work has been compared to that of Alice Munro and Lorrie Moore, is a writer whose characters insist on our immediate and total attention. Here, in her first collection in eight years, are eleven new stories bristling with her signature wit and weight. One way or the other, all of these stories are about women looking love in the face without flinching. Some of them are confronting the reality of domestic disruption; others are simply flirting with the possibilities - and dangers - of change. From the first tale to the last, McCorkle's stores are the genuine article, the work of a great storyteller who knows exactly how - and why - to pair longing and laughter. (book back blurb)

The thing with short story collections is that unless you're familiar with the author, you have to be careful because you're not going to know what you're getting into. My favorite short story author is Flannery O'Connor. That woman can do no wrong with the short story. They're so dementedly elegant that you can't put them down. But she is only one of a very few whose short stories I like. The rest . . . meh.

This is one of the meh. I'd never heard of Jill McCorkle before I snagged this book at BEA but I knew it was pretty chicky just from the title. Usually I like some variety with my short stories. This one . . . not so much.

Every single story, save for one, sounds like it could have been the same woman telling the same story over and over again. I didn't see any stretch of the imagination, I didn't see any stretch of writing talent; I just saw a woman cranky with the world telling the same miserable story over and over and over again. Needless to say, I was bored and disheartened.

The only short that carried any weight, that pulled me in at all an invigorated me with the words was "Magic Words." The way it's written reminded me of Ellen Hopkins's book Tricks, where you have a bunch of different stories converging into one plot by the end. That's what this one did and while is had the same disparaging "I am woman in bad relationship" tone, it was meatier, it meant more. The voices varied and I actually believed in the talent I was reading.

Other than that, at the end of the day, I couldn't tell any of the other stories from the rest. I understand the overall theme of the book but it is possible to write different stories within that theme. Really. If you get your hands on this book, pick a story at random and read it. You won't need to read any of the others because they're all the same. But make sure you read "Magic Words," if nothing else. That one's the best out of all of them, by far.

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The Society of S by Susan Hubbard

First published in 2007.

"If you ever want to hide from the world, live in a small city, where everyone seems anonymous."

That's the advice of twelve-year old Ariella Montero, who lives with her father in Saratoga Springs, New York, in a house haunted more by secrets than by memories. The Society of S traces her journey south, to Asheville and Savannah, and on to Florida, as she learns that everything she knows about her family is a lie.

When she finds her mother, she learns the truth: Ariella is a fledgling member of the Society of S.

S stands for Sanguinists: a sect of environmentalists concerned with ethics and human rights - although they happen to be vampires. S also stands for synesthete: a person able to see words and letters in colors. The letter S is lucky for Sara, Ariella's mother, who gravitates to cities such as Savannah and Sarasota. But will it be lucky for Ariella?

Susan Hubbard's novel is an intricate literary mystery that raises provocative questions about the way we live now. Ariella's voice will lure you into a world where you'll meet the others among us: vampires who cope with their special nature and need for blood in a variety of ways, ranging from the savage to the mundane to the scientific. (jacket flap blurb)

Environmentalist vampires. That sounded, well, interesting to say the least. The real selling point, though? The hardcover was $5 on the Barnes and Noble bargain rack. Can’t beat that! And I have to say, thank whatever god may exist that that’s all I paid for it. I would have been peeved if it cost any more.

I must have missed the “literary” note in the jacket flap (I skim, it’s highly likely) but, even then, I don’t think the writing in this was good enough to be deemed literary. Not that I think literary is bad, but I would have expected something other than the hype the jacket flap was offering if I had seen that note. This is the second book where I was swayed by the flap and it thoroughly let me down (regardless of my missing the “literary” point).

First off, that very first line in the blurb completely bugs me even as I type this because it’s entirely backwards. Considering that statement is coming from a girl who’s been sheltered her entire life, it’s fitting that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about but since it’s a running motif, it’s bugging me even more. Anonymity doesn’t come in anything small, small cities, small towns, nothing where people can be a little too close. Anonymity comes in major cities because no one gives a damn.

Ariella’s journey (and this is not YA, despite the age of the MC) doesn’t start until a little more than halfway into the book (that would be around page 150). Seriously. Everything up until that point is backstory and a pretty pointless lead-up to get her out of the house. It really bothers me when authors use their writing to display just how smart they know they are and this is a prime example of that. The absolutely needless knowledge (not to mention stilted dialogue and inner thoughts) this child has is obviously just a means to express to the reader just how much the author knows, thinly disguised by Ariella’s sheltered and “formal” upbringing by a father with a very prominent stick up his butt.

The whole notion of the Society of S is first mentioned even further into the book and is nothing more than a passing note. I’ll admit, the notion of environmentalist vampires, as explained by the story, makes sense. They’re going to be around for a while so of course they’d want a stake (har har) in the caring for the planet. Really, it does make perfect sense. Too bad, unlike the flap makes it out to be, it’s really just a speck in this rambling smart dump of literature, science and all things unimportant.

The author skims over action in favor of telling. She’s way too concerned with showing the enormously stilted voice of this girl by pumping her own mind into the book and leaving plot and relevance by the wayside. This novel is a prime example of what too much telling can do to a work. I never really got into Ariella’s head, not really. I was told her reactions to things like killing her would-be rapist or to the death of her friend but I wasn’t shown any of it. I felt like I was just kind of hovering over a scene being played out by a bunch of mechanical actors going through the motions until they got to the end.

Being able to see words and letters in colors (using a word that I just can’t get my tongue around) is also a pointless running motif in the story. I have no idea why it’s in there. The notion that the letter S carries weight and allows Ariella to find her mother carries much greater weight but is overshadowed by being able to see colors. I’m still failing to see the point in that other than yet another means for the author to show how much she knows about this rare aspect of humans. Really, it’s pointless. If the concept were removed entirely it would do nothing to the skeleton plot.

The voices of this novel blend into one lump of combined characters. Ariella sounds like her father who sounds like her mother who sounds like every other person present in the story. All of the dialogue was just as stilted, all the information was just as meaningless, all the action was just as flat and emotionless which just made the story as a whole completely empty and devoid of life. I found the actions of this young girl completely unrealistic and she acted the robot the author portrayed her as although I have a strong feeling that wasn’t intentional.

In terms of mystery, there is none. I don’t think there's a single suspenseful sentence let alone an entire novel here filled with mystery, if this book is anything to go by. Suspense and mystery involves something other than brain dumping. It involves character, emotion, life; everything this book is lacking. Unless it's been redefined and I didn't get the memo.

This is a lifeless story that’s constantly on the brink of moralizing and teaching the reader the ills of living one way or another. I don’t want to read that when I’m reading a work of fiction. I don’t give a poo about the authors views on things. If she wants to portray her opinion on such things, do it in an essay, not disguised as a work of fiction. The novel is emotionally void, lifeless and lacks character to the extreme. It falls as limp as overcooked asparagus. It reads like eating a rice cake–it doesn’t necessarily taste good but it’s something even though it’s hardly more substantial than eating nothing.

I’ve honestly never read a more lifeless, empty book. Maybe you can chalk it up to the fact that I’m not too big of a fan of literary work (the high stuff, anyway), or that I’m not this book’s target demographic. Fair enough. But I do know enough about what I’m reading to see the gaping void this book is causing and the limp writing involved between the two covers. It’s almost like the author didn’t want people to get sucked into the story (contrary to what the flap says) but just to have them sit there while they’re talked at. That’s not how I like to spend my time reading.