Hikikomori and the Rental Sister

~by Jeff Backhaus

Hikikomori and the Rental Sister is Jeff Backhaus' debut novel. I first learned about the book through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, but after I started reading the novel it seemed like I was seeing it mentioned everywhere. Hikikomori and the Rental Sister was published in 2013 by Algonquin Books in the United States and by HarperCollins in Canada. Algonquin Books focuses on publishing the works of young and upcoming writers. Backhaus' debut caught my attention because of the use of "hikikomori" in the title. A sociological phenomenon in Japan, hikikomori are young people who have withdrawn from society. Rental sisters are a sort of outreach counselor who work to reintegrate and bring hikikomori back into the world. Hikikomori are a subject that I have a particular interest in and so was curious to see how Backhaus would incorporate the phenomenon into his first published novel.

For three years, Thomas Tessler has shut himself away in the room he once shared with his wife Silke, only occasionally sneaking out of the apartment at night to replenish his supplies of food. For three years, Silke has been desperately waiting for her husband to open the door so that they can return to some sort of life resembling normalcy. She still loves him, but after such a long period of time she is beginning to lose hope. Silke decides to give Thomas one last chance and hires Megumi to draw him out into the real world. Initially Megumi had no intention of helping Silke or Thomas--her own tragic experiences with her brother living as a shut-in in Japan is a wound that is still very fresh. But she has a hard time saying no when confronted head on by Silke and the Tessler's plight. In the end, it turns out that Megumi needs Thomas just as much as he needs her.

Hikikomori and the Rental Sister is a tale of pain, loss, guilt, and grief. Megumi, Silke, and Thomas are all broken people who have had their lives torn apart by circumstances out of their control despite any blame they might place on themselves. Although Silke is in many ways the catalyst of the story, she is the character about which the least is known. Unfortunately, she is largely left undeveloped. Hikikomori and the Rental Sister places its focus on Thomas and Megumi and their relationship instead, slowly revealing their personal tragedies and trauma as the novel progresses. Like Silke, they are both in need of healing. In the beginning, Thomas is very reclusive and withdrawn. To him, Megumi is a pest. But she doesn't give up on Thomas and in the process shows him parts of herself that no one else has seen before. He changes her and she changes him. The relationship they develop with each other is complicated one.

Hikikomori and the Rental Sister is an engrossing and extraordinarily intimate novel. The chapters shift between first-person and third-person narratives told in the present tense. Personally, I often find novels written in the present tense to be irritating. But in the case of Hikikomori and the Rental Sister, Backhaus has done an excellent job and has used the technique to great effect. The chapters told from Thomas' point of view come across as particularly immediate and personal as the readers are privy to the changes in his thoughts, feelings, and state of mind as they occur. There isn't really a grand story or driving plot to Hikikomori and the Rental Sister. Instead, the novel captures the characters at a very specific time in their lives which may or may not be turning-point for them. I found Hikikomori and the Rental Sister to be an absorbing read and a strong debut. I would certainly be interested in Backhaus' future works.

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The Secret of the Nightingale Palace

~by Dana Sachs

The Secret of the Nightingale Palace, published in 2013 by HarperCollins, is Dana Sachs' second novel. When I saw The Secret of the Nightingale Palace offered through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program it caught my attention. I was unfamiliar with Sachs and her work--she has written both fiction and nonfiction, and translates Vietnamese fiction into English as well--but the title and cover implied that Japanese culture influenced the story. I'll admit it was those elements that most interested me in The Secret of the Nightingale Palace. Although I requested a copy of the novel, I was still a little surprised when I was matched up with the book--I don't read much contemporary American fiction these days. Still, I was looking forward to giving The Secret of the Nightingale Palace a try.

Since her husband For died of leukemia two years ago, Anna has struggled to move on with her life, stuck in a sort of limbo. Although she loved Ford dearly, his illness was an extremely difficult one and strained their relationship. Anna's marriage to For also negatively impacted her relationship with her family. In particular, her grandmother Goldie never approved of him and the two women haven't been on good terms for years. But now Goldie has called Anna up, somehow convincing her granddaughter to accompany her on a cross-country trip from New York to San Francisco, supposedly to return a collection of Japanese art prints to a close friend she hasn't seen since the 1940s. Sixty years after she left the city, Goldie returns to San Francisco but she has hidden the personal significance of the journey from Anna.

The Secret of the Nightingale Palace alternates between Anna and Goldie's travels across the United States in the 2000s and Goldie's life in San Francisco in the 1940s as a young woman. I much preferred the parts of the novel that focused on the past and Goldie's relationship with the Nakamuras, an aristocratic Japanese family she befriends after moving to the city, under the shadow of World War II. Unfortunately, I didn't really like Goldie herself as a person. She is very calculating and manipulative. Despite declaring that race and money shouldn't and doesn't matter, Goldie is extremely judgemental and classist. Seeing as The Secret of the Nightingale Palace seems to be more her story than it is Anna's, I had a difficult time actually enjoy the novel. To be honest, I wasn't that fond of Anna, either. Sachs does capture the women's generational differences very well, but the two of them can be very cruel to each other.

Another difficulty I had with The Secret of the Nightingale Palace was the novel's pacing. Particularly at the beginning of the book there seemed to be superfluous information and extraneous scenes. Instead of creating any sort of atmosphere, they just seem to be getting in the way of the actual story. I found the first part of The Secret of the Nightingale Palace to be very tedious. Fortunately, the pacing improves immensely as the novel progresses. But even though I was largely frustrated with The Secret of the Nightingale Palace, there were a few elements I really liked. For one, I greatly appreciated the broad diversity (ethnicity, sexuality, etc.) of the cast of characters. I also enjoyed the connection and inspiration that Anna, as a comic artist, was able to draw from the Japanese prints. Sadly though, my favorite part of The Secret of the Nightingale Palace wasn't the novel itself, but Sachs' acknowledgments in which she discusses her motivations, influences, and research methods for writing the tale.

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Sailor Twain: Or, The Mermaid on the Hudson

~by Mark Siegel

I've been aware of Mark Siegel's Sailor Twain: Or, The Mermaid on the Hudson for quite some time. It was initially released as a webcomic beginning in 2010 with the goal of being collected into a single-volume graphic novel, which it was by First Second in 2012. I have never read any of Siegel's previous works, but I do know him as First Second's editorial director. Despite all of the great buzz I had heard about Sailor Twain, I never quite got around to reading it while it was being serialized. Perhaps it's because I've never had a particular interest in mermaids. (This actually strikes me as a little odd considering that I have a great interest in legends and mythology and a tremendous love of water.) Still, I was excited to see review copies of Sailor Twain offered through Library Thing's Early Reviewers program and was thrilled when I was selected to receive one of them. I was looking forward to finally getting around to reading Sailor Twain.

Responsible for the steamliner Lorelei and it's excursions on the Hudson River, Captain Twain runs a tight ship. But things begin to fall apart when Jacques-Henri Lafayette, the ship's owner, mysteriously disappears. Twain is left to deal with the younger Lafayette brother Dieudonné who isn't so much interested in the Lorelei itself as he's interested in the liner's female passengers. Matters become even more tenuous when Twain rescues a wounded mermaid who seems to have a strange connection to the Lafayettes. The mermaid has an odd effect on Twain and he can't help but be drawn to her. His work on the river has already caused him to start to drift away from his ill wife Pearl and their shared dreams. The mermaid's alluring presence only seems to be hastening the seemingly inevitable demise of their relationship.

Siegel's artwork in Sailor Twain is a marvelously fit for the story that he is telling. Done in charcoal, the illustrations are almost seen through a sort of fog. The artwork captures the dirty reality of the engine room just as well as it conveys the otherworldliness of the mermaid and her influence. The mood that Seigel's artwork creates is wonderfully effective as Sailor Twain becomes increasingly ominous and atmospheric as the graphic novel progresses. The younger Lafayette's trysts and dalliances on board the Lorelei are handled tastefully and incorporate a light touch of humor. Perhaps more provocative is the portrayal of Twain's attraction to the mermaid. What begins as mere curiosity evolves into a source of inspiration, eventually leading to desire and obsession. This progression isn't only revealed through Sailor Twain's words, but through its artwork as well.

Although Sailor Twain is a modern narrative, in some ways the story felt like a classic fairytale, especially in its exploration of the mythology and superstitions surrounding the mermaid. The story is somewhat dark and there are lessons to be learned--in the end, everyone is held accountable for their actions. I liked all of the characters a great deal. The younger Lafayette isn't as disgraceful a person as he might first appear. Twain's descent into obsession as he struggles against his impending doom, trading one dream for another, is utterly fascinating. The overture and coda of Sailor Twain seemed a little forced to me, as if attempting to give the story more closure than was absolutely necessary. But overall, Sailor Twain is a well written and engaging graphic novel. I enjoyed it immensely.

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Otaku Spaces

~written by Patrick W. Galbraith
~photography by Androniki Christodoulou

A bit of an otaku myself, I was naturally interested in Otaku Spaces, written by Patrick W. Galbraith with photography by Androniki Christodoulou. I was very happy to be selected to receive a review copy of the book from the publisher Chin Music Press through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. I was also thrilled to be introduced to Chin Music Press. Originally established in Tokyo and now headquartered in Seattle, much of the publisher's catalog is devoted to Japan-related titles. Although I haven't read it yet, I know Galbraith as the author of The Otaku Encyclopedia: An Insider's Guide to the Subculture of Cool Japan. And while I am not personally familiar with Christodoulou's work, she is an award-winning photographer who has recently been focusing on traditional and contemporary Japanese culture and on otaku culture in particular. Otaku Spaces seemed like it was in good hands and so I was excited to have the opportunity to read it.

While there have been plenty of books and articles exploring the otaku phenomenon, there has been a tendency, as Galbraith points out in the introduction of Otaku Spaces, to "talk about them but not to them." Otaku Spaces changes that by including profiles and in depth interviews with nineteen people, most of whom self-identify as otaku, in an attempt to challenge the stereotypes fostered by popular culture. Otaku Spaces begins with an excellent introduction that briefly examines the origin of otaku culture and the history of the term itself. The introduction is followed by a brief glossary before Otaku Spaces turns to the real showpiece of the book, "Otaku Interviews and Portraits." Each profile is accompanied by a photograph of the individual posing with their collection. The next sections are the photographs and profiles of "Otaku Places" such as Akihabara and Ōsu, interviews with "The Experts," and additional "Supplementary Material."

Galbraith and Christodoulou interview a wide variety of otaku, from those interested in underground paraphernalia to those interested in pop culture collectibles. Otaku are commonly associated with anime and manga, which are certainly well represented in Otaku Spaces, but they can frequently be involved in other subject areas as well. Stereotypically speaking, otaku are usually thought to be male, but there are plenty of female fans included in Otaku Spaces as well. I was surprised to discover that I was actually already knew of some of the otaku interviewed for Otaku Spaces, such as the cross-playing champion kickboxer Nagashima "Jienotsu" Yūichiro. But for every otaku I already knew there were four or five that I was meeting for the first time. Otaku Spaces provides a wonderful opportunity for them to share their knowledge of and passion for the things that they love, whether that be calculators or video games or just about anything else.

While many of the questions that Galbraith and Christodoulou ask the interviewees are tailored to their specific interests or collections, there are several questions that they make a point to ask each individual. These include questions like "Are you an otaku?," "Will you continue to collect in the future?," and "What is the difference between an otaku and a collector?" among others. The answers vary from person to person, emphasizing the fact that there is really no one type of otaku but that they are all experts in their own way. They may not always agree, but that is a valuable lesson in and of itself. The otaku in Otaku Spaces are real people with real lives, proving that there is more to otaku than just stereotypes. Otaku Spaces is an enlightening and engaging volume. It's also a very attractive book with full color photography and simple infographics. Otaku Spaces is easy to recommend to anyone interested in otaku specifically or in Japanese pop culture in general.

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The Lesbian Fantastic: A Critical Study of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal and Gothic Writings

~by Phyllis M. Betz

When The Lesbian Fantastic: A Critical Study of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal and Gothic Writings by Phyllis M. Betz was offered through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, I immediately requested a copy. An avid reader of science fiction and fantasy since my youth, and with a personal interest in all things queer (I mean no offense by the term, it's how I identify), I was excited for the opportunity to read The Lesbian Fantastic. Betz has previously written two other full-length works about lesbian genre fiction: Lesbian Detective Fiction: Women as Author, Subject and Reader in 2006 and Lesbian Romance Novels: A History and Critical Analysis in 2009. The Lesbian Fantastic was published by McFarland in 2011. Even though I haven't read any of Betz's previous works, although their subject matter does interest me, I was looking forward to reading The Lesbian Fantastic.

Gothic, fantasy, and science fiction literature deal with human confrontations with the "Other." Stereotypically, the genres are frequently associated with straight men and male readership. In The Lesbian Fantastic Betz explores how these genres and their tropes have been adopted and adapted by and for lesbians, who are often considered to be the Other in society. After a preface and introduction, The Lesbian Fantastic begins with a chapter on the historical backgrounds and contexts shared by the genres. Betz then devotes a chapter to each genre separately as well as a chapter to mixed genre works. The Lesbian Fantastic ends with Betz's conclusions, the appendix "Why Would a Lesbian Author Use Gay Characters Rather Than Lesbian Ones?", chapter notes, a list of works cited, and an index.

The Lesbian Fantastic is inconsistent in how it portrays itself. The description on the back cover and the subtitle seem to indicate that science fiction is the genre most prominently addressed while in fact it is the one with the least information on it in the book. Paranormal isn't explored as its own genre and is instead folded into gothic, the genre that Betz spends the most time discussing. Betz also made the regrettable decision to employ the term "fantasy" to encompass all of the genres examined in The Lesbian Fantastic while continuing to use two other definitions of the word, including the one for the more specific fantasy genre. It is not always clear exactly what material Betz is analyzing in each chapter, sometimes looking a books written by lesbians and sometimes looking at books that are representative of lesbians or include lesbian characters or perspectives. Betz also has the unfortunate tendency to confuse sexuality and gender, which admittedly are very closely related but are two distinct concepts.

Although Betz has some interesting ideas and makes some valid arguments, overall I found The Lesbian Fantastic more frustrating than anything else. The Lesbian Fantastic is not a long book; each chapter is progressively shorter, meaning Betz doesn't have the space to thoroughly examine each subject. Volumes could be written about each individual genre alone; Betz only scratches the surface and is unfocused enough that most of the genres and subgenres aren't done any justice. I do understand why Betz would choose to address gothic, fantasy, and science fiction together in The Lesbian Fantastic. The genres are closely related in their history and in the themes they address. It is notoriously difficult to draw definitive lines between the genres upon which all fans and critics would agree. But the most problematic issue with The Lesbian Fantastic are the errors scattered throughout the book. Sadly, these aren't limited to typographical errors. I noticed several facts that Betz got wrong, too, which makes me question the rest of The Lesbian Fantastic. Still, the book does provide some interesting food for thought.

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J-Boys: Kazuo's World, Tokyo, 1965

~written by Shogo Oketani
~translated by Avery Fischer Udagawa

When Shogo Oketani's book J-Boys: Kazuo's World, Tokyo, 1965 was offered by Stone Bridge Press for review through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, I immediately requested a copy. I was very happy when I was matched with the book. Stone Bridge Press published J-Boys in 2011 with a translation by Avery Fischer Udagawa. Some of the individual chapters and stories had previously been published in various journals and anthologies, but as far as I can tell this is the first time they've been released as a collection. I also believe this is Oketani's first full-length work of fiction. Oketani has previously written a collection of poetry called Cold River and frequently works with his wife Leza Lowitz as a co-author and co-translator. I have never read any of Oketani's previous works, but because of my interest in Japan and because I've enjoyed other books released by Stone Bridge Press, I was glad to have the opportunity to read J-Boys.

J-Boys is told in a sequence of fourteen stories organized chronologically by month. The individual stories could easily be read separately but are tied together by the same characters. Kazuo Nakamoto is a nine-year-old boy growing up in the city of Tokyo in the 1960s. He lives with his mother and father and his younger brother Yasuo in a small home in the Shinagawa Ward. Kazuo leads a fairly typical life, going to school, hanging out with friends, and helping out at home. But he's old enough now that he's starting to notice that life in Tokyo and in Japan is changing. The nation still lives with memories of World War II while at the same time it is becoming more and more Westernized. In particular is the influence of American pop culture. While Japan is busy reestablishing itself as a world power, Kazuo is busy growing up.

I am not particularly familiar with 1960s Japan, so J-Boys was a treat to read for that reason. J-Boys is semi-autobiographical; Oketani has based the stories off of his own memories of growing up in Japan in the 1960s and some stories were inspired by other kids that he knew. In some ways, Kazuo almost seems to be a stand-in for the author himself. There's certainly a sense of nostalgia that shines through. One of my favorite things about J-Boys was the inclusion of photographs of Japanese schoolchildren from the 1950s and 1960s, many of which depict scenes described in J-Boys. Oketani also includes brief side bars that explain in more detail specific concepts mentioned in J-Boys, everything from tofu, to Japanese terminology, to pop culture references.

While I found J-Boys to be interesting and informative, as an adult reader I didn't find it to be particularly engaging as a collection of short stories. However, I could easily see the book being incorporated into an educational unit for middle grade social studies. It almost seems that J-Boys was written with that very purpose in mind and the reading level is appropriate for younger readers. The individual chapters are very straightforward and there is very little narrative tension or embellishment. Although the stories feature recurring characters, there isn't really any overarching plot. Oketani is simply relating what it was like to be a kid in 1960s Tokyo. So, while J-Boys may not have readers hurriedly turning pages to discover what happens next, I still think that the book is valuable if approached within an appropriate context. I know that I learned some interesting things about what it was like to live in Japan in the 1960s, which is something I knew very little about before.

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Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Book

~by Ric Meyers

Although personally I study traditional Okinawan karate-do, I am also interested in martial arts in general. I enjoy watching martial arts films, too, and some of the very best of those are specifically kung fu movies. And so when Ric Meyers' work Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Book, published by Emery Books in 2011, was offered through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, I was very pleased when I was paired up to review the book. Meyers is an inductee of the World Martial Arts Hall of Fame for his contributions writing about Asian martial arts films and to the martial arts movie industry. In addition to numerous articles and reviews, he has so far written three major works on the subject: Martial Arts Movies: From Bruce Lee to the Ninjas in 1985, Great Martial Arts Movies: From Bruce Lee to Jackie Chan and More in 2001, and finally Films of Fury in 2011. (He was also a contributor to The Encyclopedia of Martial Arts Movies.) Films of Fury, in addition to being a stand alone book, is also a companion to the documentary Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Movie which was also written by Meyers.

Films of Fury consists of an introduction, a preface, ten more or less thematic chapter exploring kung fu films, actors, directors, and choreographers, a list of Meyers' personal top one hundred kung fu films up to 2010, and an index. The first chapter, "Kung Foundation,"  gives a basic overview and history of kung fu and kung fu films. From there Meyers examines Bruce Lee in "The King of Kung Fu," the films of the Shaw Brothers studio (many of which have only recently made their way to Western shores legitimately) in "The Shaw Standard" and Jackie Chan in "The Clown Prince of Kung Fu." "The Clown Prince's Court" looks at other influential players active around the same time as Chan. The changing roles of women in kung fu films is explored in "Women Wushu Warriors," Jet Li's career is featured in "Jet Powered" and the films of John Woo and the rise of firearms in movies are the focus of "Gun Fu." "Kung FU.S.A" examines the (mostly) sorry state of kung fu films in the U.S. Finally, there is "Kung Futures" in which Meyers looks at where kung fu films are heading and who we should pin our hopes on to be the next "greats."

The chapters of Films of Fury are arranged in a vaguely chronological order but as each one generally focuses on a particular subject rather than a specific time period there is plenty of overlap in history. It's somewhat difficult to establish a comprehensive timeline because of this, but overall I liked the arrangement by topic. Films of Fury seems to be written with a Western audience in mind which compounds the problem of discussing the history of kung fu cinema chronologically since many of the films were released abroad at different times and under different titles. Occasionally, Meyers' writing seems to devolve into a listing of titles and names (which are unfortunately not used consistently throughout the book) and sometimes he'll talk a bout a specific title at length without explicitly establishing why it is important to do so, but for the most part the book is interesting and engaging.

Although it is obvious that Meyers is quite knowledgeable about kung fu movies, Films of Fury is far from a scholarly work on the subject and serves more as a pop history. Meyers writing style is extremely informal which makes the book more approachable but is also cringe worthy due to bad puns and jokes (see the chapter titles for some examples) as well awkward grammar and structure. I also had hoped for better reference materials. Despite there being a "selected index," there are no coherent listings of the films or people mentioned which makes navigating and finding specific information in Films of Fury troublesome. However, Meyers enthusiasm and passion for kung fu movies is readily apparent as well as contagious. After reading Films of Fury, I wanted nothing more than to sit around and experience all the martial arts films discussed for myself.

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Netsuke

~by Rikki Ducornet

When Rikki Ducornet's Netsuke was offered through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, the title immediately caught my eye. I had recently seen a collection of netsuke--miniature sculptures used as toggles to secure personal belongings in traditional Japanese dress--at the Toledo Museum of Art. Now, Ducornet's Netsuke isn't actually about netsuke, although they are used symbolically. Instead it is about the sexual proclivities of a troubled psychoanalyst, but I found this premise to be fascinating as well. I haven't read any of Ducornet's previous works but in addition to Netsuke, released by Coffee House Press in May 2011, she has written seven novels, three short story collections, five poetry collections, and a book of essays, many of which have been translated into multiple languages. In addition to being a writer and a poet, Ducornet is also an illustrator and a painter.

Netsuke closely examines the internal turmoil of an unnamed psychoanalyst. Akiko is his third wife and their marriage is close to failing as well. If she suspects him of being unfaithful, she mostly keeps her suspicious to herself. In the meantime, he feels compelled to drop hints and leave clues about his many and frequent affairs although he claims not to want to hurt her. He sleeps with complete strangers and people he picks up at local establishments. Most damning of all, he abuses his power as a psychoanalyst and seduces his own patients, trying to convince himself that it is for their own good as well as for his own. But it is only a matter of time before his life completely unravels as he struggles to keep control of the volatile situation he has created.

The protagonist is really not a likeable guy or a sympathetic character. He is completely aware of what he is doing but does not fully understand the extent his actions affect other people although he obviously knows that they do. His betrayals of his wife, of his patients, and of his sexual conquests are harsh, brutal, and ultimately explosive. I can't help but wonder about his previous two marriages; surely there must have been some indication or warning for Akiko that he would be dangerous person to become involved with. It is apparent from the very beginning of Netsuke that things cannot possibly end well for the psychoanalyst or any of those connected to him. And although it is often painful to watch his demise, unlikeable though he is, it is also oddly compelling and difficult to look away. The ending is not entirely unexpected but it still makes a stunning impact.

Netsuke is a very brief but very intense novel. From most of the review I've seen, it is a book that readers either absolutely love or absolutely hate. I can certainly understand why some people have problems with the novel. The subject matter, for one, is rather dark, difficult, disconcerting, and distressing. The language that Ducornet employs is strong and could easily be offensive. Just about every iteration of "fuck" is used as well as many other choice words and phrases. I didn't have an issue with the language and found it to be appropriate to the story, but others would probably appreciate the warning. Ducornet's narrative style in Netsuke, while lyrical and often evocative, is also fragmented. Of course, this is a reflection of the protagonist's state of mind and Ducornet captures it extremely well. This does mean that the reader never gets the full story and is almost exclusively limited to the extraordinarily biased viewpoint of one character, but the technique is very effective.

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The Devotion of Suspect X

~written by Keigo Higashino
~translated by Alexander O. Smith and Elye J. Alexander
2005 Naoki Sanjugo Prize Winner

The Devotion of Suspect X is only the second of Keigo Higashino's works to be translated into English. (Vertical published his novel Himitsu, "Secret," under the title Naoko in 2004.) This is really too bad since he is both a popular and award-winning author in Japan. The Devotion of Suspect X is arguably his most notable book--originally published in Japan in 2005, it won him the Naoki Sanjugo Prize and was made into a film in 2008. The novel is scheduled for release in English in February 2011 by the Minotaur imprint of St. Martin's Press. I was happy to receive an advance copy of The Devotion of Suspect X through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. I was also very excited to learn that Alexander O. Smith--one of my favorite translators--worked on the novel's translation with Elye J. Alexander. I had never read any of Higashino's work before, but was really looking forward to The Devotion of Suspect X.

After Yasuko unintentionally kills her ex-husband during a violent struggle in her apartment, she is surprised when her next door neighbor, the brilliant mathematician Ishigami, offers to do all that he can to help cover up the crime. He asks for nothing in return but Yasuko and her daughter must follow his plan exactly for it to work. Incredibly, Ishigami seems to have taken into consideration all possible outcomes and the investigation proceeds just as he predicts. The detectives suspect that something isn't quite right with the situation, but the evidence tells a convincing story even if they are uneasy about it. But then Ishigami is unexpectedly reunited with Yukawa, a former university classmate, rival, and friend. Yukawa, who often acts as a consultant to the police, may be the only person in a position to see through Ishigami's schemes. However, Ishigami is prepared even for this unforeseen scenario.

Even though the characters are extremely important in The Devotion of Suspect X, the reader never really gets to connect with or know them that well, or see what's going on inside their minds. It is this not knowing that drives the story. Ishigami is terrifying in his brilliance specifically because the depth of his devotion and the lengths he is willing to go to protect Yasuko are unknown. There is no question he has helped her and her daughter and his incredible intelligence has allowed him to do this extraordinarily well. Throughout the novel, the enormity of exactly what he has done and the ultimate truth behind the situation is slowly revealed. Although I predicted some of the plot developments, I'll admit that I didn't see some of the final twists coming. Ishigami's genius is stunning and in many ways the ending is heartbreaking.

Technically, The Devotion of Suspect X is the third volume in Higashino's Galileo series, which features Manabu Yukawa. However, the book stands alone perfectly well. I wasn't even aware that it was a part of a series when I started reading it and only discovered that fact later on. I do hope that the previous two books, Tantei Galileo and Yochimu are translated because I would really like to read them now. The thing that I was most impressed by in The Devotion of Suspect X was how Higashino effectively and very subtly built tension as the novel progressed. I didn't even realize how worked up I had become until the end of the book when Higashino finally releases his grip. Occasionally, he would linger on a particular mathematical theory or concept for too long and I wouldn't necessarily call The Devotion of Suspect X a page-turner. However, I found it to be thoroughly engrossing and I really hope to read more of Higashino's work in English.

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Popular Hits of the Showa Era

~by Ryu Murakami
~translated by Ralph McCarthy

Popular Hits of the Showa Era is the second novel by Ryu Murakami that I've had the opportunity to read. Earlier this year I received a review copy of Murakami's Audition through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. In fact, that is the same way I managed to snag an early copy of Popular Hits of the Showa Era, scheduled for release by W. W. Norton in January 2011. The novel is translated by Ralph McCarthy, who also provided the translation for Audition. As with many of Murakami's other works, Popular Hits of the Showa Era received a film adaptation. The film, known as Karaoke Terror in English, was directed by Tetsuo Shinohara and released in Japan in 2003. The original Japanese publication of the novel was in 1994. After finishing Audition, I was interested in reading more of Murakami's works, so I was very excited to have been selected to receive a review copy of Popular Hits of the Showa Era. (Also, I absolutely love the cover design.)

Meet the Midori Society--a group of women in their late thirties who all happen to have the same given name. They've been meeting for years. But their lives are thrown into turmoil when one of the Midoris becomes a victim of a spontaneous homicide. The culprit is a member of a group made up of mostly twenty-something, rather disturbed young men who gather together every Saturday, even though they don't know each other all that well. The murder triggers an all-out war between the two groups, a cycle of revenge that quickly reaches epic proportions. In addition to their animosity toward each other, the Midoris and the young men have plenty in common. To begin with, they all love karaoke and the individual group members are incredibly self-absorbed. At least they were until now. As the violence escalates, the groups discover a cohesion and shared purpose in their lives like never before as they draw together to defeat their newly declared enemies.

Each chapter takes its title from the name of a song that is either mentioned in it or plays a role in the story. Even though I was unfamiliar with most of them, I was still able to understand the songs' significance, albeit not always completely. In addition to the music references, Murakami also makes plenty of references to other aspects of Japanese pop culture. I may not have caught them all, but I appreciated those that I did. Popular Hits of the Showa Era is a dark comedy and satire; some of the more subtle humor might be lost on readers unfamiliar with Japan, but the ridiculous and outrageous plot certainly makes up for that. The humor will certainly be difficult for some readers to take--Popular Hits of the Showa Era is not a nice book. The events that occur are truly horrible even if the writing is hilarious. Murakami doesn't shy away from the gruesome or twisted, which doesn't surprise me at all after having read Audition.

Popular Hits of the Showa Era is depraved, absurd, and terribly amusing, which is probably why I enjoyed it as much as I did. And I do mean "terrible" in all sorts of senses of the word. The novel is extreme and over-the-top and honestly, some readers will be completely appalled by it. McCarthy has done a fine job with the translation, keeping the humor of Murakami's writing intact (something that can be difficult to do moving between different languages and cultures.) Popular Hits of the Showa Era isn't a particularly long novel so it reads fast, but it still packs quite a punch. By the end of the book, the story reaches a level far above and beyond believability, if it ever had any to begin with, and I reveled in its absurdity. It's definitely not for everyone, though.

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Dante's Divine Comedy

~by Seymour Chwast

Seymour Chwast's adaptation of Dante's Divine Comedy is his first graphic novel. I'm not actually familiar with Chwast's previous work although I feel like I should be. Chwast is an award-winning graphic designer and illustrator. He has also designed several fonts and typefaces. While Dante's Divine Comedy is his first graphic novel, some of Chwast's work has been previously collected in Seymour: The Obsessive Images of Seymour Chwast and in The Left-Handed Designer. So why was I interested in his adaptation of Dante's Divine Comedy when it was offered through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program? Precisely because it was an adaptation of Dante's Divine Comedy, one of the great classics of Western literature.

My first true exposure to Dante's Divine Comedy beyond what I had subconsciously picked up as a reader from the collective psyche (it's a highly influential work) was in an undergraduate seminar called "Just for the Hell of It: The Seven Deadly Sins in Music and Literature." As part of the class, we read the first two, and arguably most interesting, books of the Divine Comedy—The Inferno and The Purgatorio. Chwast encompasses both of these as well as The Paradiso in his adaptation of the epic poem, although "Inferno" takes up nearly half of the book. He also includes a very brief introduction to Dante and his work, but then jumps right into his own rendition.

I have seen a number of different reactions to Chwast's graphic novel, from those who adore it to those who are absolutely appalled by his "defilement" of the source material. I, for one, found his illustrations to be quite enjoyable and even charming. For the most part his adaptation is fairly straight forward and simple although every so often he provides a visual interpretation that is both delightful and clever. I like the sense of humor that he brought to the Divine Comedy, something that others have taken offense to. Overall, I wasn't blown away by the illustrations, but they frequently made me smile. I get the feeling that I've seen his work before, but I haven't been able to place where yet.

I think that it is important to remember that Chwast's adaptation of Dante's Divine Comedy is just that—an adaptation. It never claims to be anything else and for what it is I feel that it's successful. Chwast chooses some of the most famous scenes and highlights of the Divine Comedy to feature in the book (although he does miss some of my personal favorites). Text is kept to a minimum and he offers very little explanation, leaving his artwork to speak for itself. Fortunately, the illustrations can be appreciated even when its difficult to tell exactly what is going on in the narrative or what its significance or meaning is. In fact, the book almost seems like a collection of illustrations inspired by the Divine Comedy more than anything else.

For me, the most interesting portions of Chwast's book were "Inferno" and "Purgatory." This seems to indicate that prior familiarity with the Divine Comedy is necessary to really appreciate what Chwast is doing with the work. As soon as I reached "Paradise," which I haven't read, his adaptation started to lose some meaning for me. I can only imagine the confusion of a reader who hasn't previously encountered the Divine Comedy in some form or another before picking up Chwast's adaptation. Chwast's Dante's Divine Comedy certainly can not be used to replace the original , or even serve as a coherent summary, but it makes a lovely companion volume.

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Fidel: An Illustrated Biography

~written by Néstor Kohan
~illustrated by Nahuel Scherma
~translated by Elise Buchman

Fidel: An Illustrated Biography by Néstor Kohan and illustrated by Nahuel Scherma, two Argentinians, was originally published in Spanish under the title Fidel para Principiantes (roughly translated as "Fidel for Beginners") in 2006. Seven Stories Press, a publisher based in the United States, published a translation by Elise Buchman in 2010 with additional illustrations by Miracle Jones. (Unfortunately, I couldn't tell you for certain which illustrations belong to which artist.) I learned about Fidel through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program and was lucky enough to snag a copy of the book for review. I was excited to be selected because I actually know very Little about Cuba or Fidel Castro and was interested in learning more, especially in graphic novel form.

First things first--despite how it is being marketed, Fidel is neither a graphic novel nor a biography of Fidel Castro. Instead, it is more of a political history of Cuba, in which Castro is of course a very important figure, that happens to be accompanied by artwork and illustrations. There is nothing wrong with this, but it certainly was not what I or others were expecting the book to be. Fidel's layout makes the subject matter very approachable but it is also problematic. The book is written as a progression of short entries, each focusing briefly on a specific topic with at least one related illustration. This allows Kohan to convey quite a bit of information in a relatively short period of time; the problem with this approach is that nothing is examined in depth and occasionally the text feels more like a listing of names, dates, and facts rather than a cohesive narrative. Because of this, some previous knowledge of the people and events involved (which I don't have) would be useful to a reader.

But even considering that, Fidel does still serve as a decent, if brief and opinionated, introduction to the subject involved. The entries follow a roughly chronological order beginning with Castro's birth in 1926 and ending with events in 2006, the year the book was first published. Unfortunately, there is no index included, but Fidel is fairly short and can be easily browsed. While Castro is an understandably recurring theme in the book, I wouldn't really say he is the focus. Instead Kohan explains revolutionary ideals and thought, Cuban politics and government, and Cuba's participation in the global arena.

Fidel is obviously written with an extreme bias and a blatant anti-United States sentiment. Now, I will be the first person to admit that the U.S. has done some pretty shitty things, but I found the one-sided vehemence to be off-putting and that's not because I am an American. For whatever reason I found Scherma's illustrations, which are as equally passionate and searing as the text is, much more palatable. In fact, the artwork was my favorite part of the book--Scherma effectively uses several different styles of illustration and collage work. Kohan and Scherma offer a valuable viewpoint in Fidel, one not often heard in the U.S., but I can't help but feel I've only heard part of the story. The differences between ideology and the reality of its implementation is glossed over and the presentation of events is easy to understand but ignores the complexities involved in any given situation. However, I am glad I had the opportunity to read Fidel and certainly learned some things about Cuba's international relations that I wasn't previously aware of.

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Under the Poppy

~by Kathe Koja

I was very interested when Kathe Koja's Under the Poppy was offered through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. Although I am unfamiliar with Koja's previous work, she has been nominated for and has won several awards and honors, including a 1991 Bram Stoker Award for her first novel, The Cipher. Under the Poppy is a novel meant for adults due to its subject matter--a historical tale set in the high society, theaters, and brothels of 1870s Belgium--and that is exactly what appealed to me. So, I was very happy when the Almighty Algorithm paired me up with Under the Poppy. I was even more excited when my review copy arrived and I discovered that Koja was a native of Detroit which really isn't that far from where I live now.

Located in an out-of-the-way town near Brussels is a unique brothel called Under the Poppy. In addition to its bawdy stage shows, the Poppy specializes in making its patrons' fantasies realities, adding elements of role-play instead of just providing a good fuck. The whores' performances in the front of the house and behind closed doors attract clients with sometimes dubious proclivities who are willing to pay good money to indulge in their perversions. Decca and Rupert, co-owners of the Poppy, take good care of the men and women who work there and they all form an odd sort of family. Decca is in love with Rupert while he is in love with her missing brother and puppet-master Istvan with whom he grew up on the streets. When Istvan suddenly appears at the Poppy and with war looming on the horizon, everyone's lives are thrown into turmoil. Even more troubles closely follow Istvan's arrival as dangerous and powerful men become involved with the affairs of the Poppy and its people.

I really wanted to see Rupert and Istvan happy together, but the time and place make their relationship difficult at best not to mention their own personal capriciousness and stubbornness getting in the way. Once they've been reunited, the war (which I assume was the Franco-Prussian war--I don't remember it ever being explicitly stated) only signifies the start of their troubles. At times the book conveys an almost overwhelming sense of dread and impending heartbreak. There's plenty of drama happening both onstage and off as the characters deal with blackmail, betrayal, and deceit. With an intricate web of manipulation and performance, it is difficult for the men to know who is really working the puppet strings in their lives, but it is certain that they are not always the ones in control. Ultimately though, Under the Poppy is a love story.

I loved the story, I loved the characters with all of their failings and charms, I loved the gritty setting. By all rights I should have loved Under the Poppy. But I didn't, and it was mostly because of the writing style. A large part of the novel is written in a highly-stylized, third-person present. While occasionally stunningly beautiful in its phrasing, overall I found it difficult to follow and the dialogue confused. However, the sections interspersed throughout the book narrated by secondary characters were marvelous. Looking beyond the style, I really did like Under the Poppy. Apparently there is also a stage production planned for the Detroit Opera House which I wouldn't mind seeing. Taking place in a historically vivid setting, Under the Poppy is an emotionally captivating story that is unfortunately hindered by its presentation in the novel.

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Taroko Gorge

~by Jacob Ritari

Taroko Gorge, which I was delighted to receive from Unbridled Books through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, is Jacob Ritari's debut novel. One of the great things about Early Reviewers is that I discover books that I am interested in that otherwise I probably wouldn't have heard of; Taroko Gorge is a perfect example of this. A couple of things particularly caught my attention. First of all, the title Taroko Gorge. At one point I had a roommate from Taiwan and she had mentioned Taroko National Park to me before. And secondly? Okay, I admit it, Japanese schoolgirls. Ritari makes use of a clash of cultures--Taiwanese, Japanese, and American, each with somewhat strained relations--and combines his personal experiences and knowledge of all three to bear on his story; Ritari has both lived and studied in the United States, Japan, and Taiwan.

When three ninth grade Japanese schoolgirls go missing on a class trip to Taiwan's Taroko Gorge, two drunken American journalists find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time--the last people to have seen the girls alive. As more time passes, the less likely it is that the three students will be found again. But the search is delayed while the remaining group waits for the Taiwanese authorities to arrive. The Americans stay to help investigate, but promptly come under suspicion themselves. Nobody seems to trust anyone, even the students start accusing each other, and the situation quickly becomes volatile. Time is running out for the girls and it appears as though things are only going from bad to worse. In stressful circumstances even good intentions are easy to take the wrong way and the results can be devastating.

Taroko Gorge is told from the perspective of four different characters: Peter Neils, one of the American journalists; Michiko Kamakiri, the last classmate to have seen the girls and who also holds a grudge against them; Tohru Maruyama, the guilt-ridden class representative; and Hsien Chao, the no-nonsense Taiwanese detective leading the search. Ritari brings out their individual personalities, problems, and prejudices with ease. Each narrator seems to be unreliable to some extent--Michiko even admits right off to being a liar--but the whole truth is slowly revealed as the novel progresses. (And just as a warning, the Americans have very foul mouths. Realistic? Yes. Did it bother me? No, but it might others.) In some ways, Taroko Gorge reminded me of Battle Royale which I recently read and which was briefly referred to in the book. Particularly, the psychological elements--the group dynamics, trust issues, assumptions, and thoughtless accusations--all feature prominently. Not to mention the fact that we're dealing with the same age group of students whose class trip has gone terribly wrong.

A reader with some familiarity with Japanese culture or with Buddhism will probably get more out of the Taroko Gorge than someone without, but it is not necessary to enjoy the story by any means. The tenses used in Ritari's prose are a bit unstable, slipping between past and present, but as the story is told in the first-person, I think this adds to the conversational tone of the writing. It is not always clear which language is being spoken at any given time, and some portions are left untranslated, but I was never confused as to what was being said or going on. There was one thing that did annoy me about Ritari's writing and that was the frequent use of an ominous "it." Generally I could tell from the context what was being referred to even if "it" wasn't explicitly stated, but I found it to be an unneeded way to create mystery and tension, especially as Ritari provides plenty of that to being with. Although not without some flaws (what book is, really?), Taroko Gorge is a strong debut. I thoroughly enjoyed it and am very glad I had the opportunity to read it and I wouldn't hesitate to pick up another work by Ritari.

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Poison

~by Sara Poole

Poison, Sara Poole's debut novel, is the tenth book that I have been privileged to receive through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. I was actually somewhat surprised to be matched up with Poison, but do not dare to question the Almighty Algorithm. I was interested in and requested Poison for a few different reasons. The first thing that caught my eye, besides the lovely cover, was that it was to some extent about the infamous Borgia family. (I recently learned about the Borgias through You Higuri's historical fantasy manga Cantarella.) The second thing interested me was that Poison deals with, well, poison and is narrated by a professional poisoner--something that has become a particular interest of mine lately (really, this is nothing to worry about, I assure you). I enjoy historical novels and even though I haven't read many set in Renaissance Italy, I was looking forward to trying out Poole's work which promised at hints of romance and intrigue, too.

Francesca Giordano is young and ambitious. More specifically, she is determined to become the professional poisoner of the Borgia family, a position that was previously held by her father before his murder. Despite her age, and despite her sex, she secures the title regardless of the cost, believing that only then will she be in a powerful enough position to avenge her father's death. But the responsibilities of a poisoner are heavy, especially when your charge has his eyes set on the papacy. Francesca quickly finds herself deeply involved in the plots and intrigues of Rome and the Church. Hoping that in the process she will be able to discover the truths behind her father's murder, she must first decide exactly how much, and who, she is willing to risk.

I found it somewhat hard to believe that Francesca, a young woman, was so easily able to obtain the position of the Borgias' personal poisoner. Ignoring that, I actually really liked this basic premise of the book. However, I often was troubled by the characters in Poison. Their motivations and reasoning behind their actions were not always clear. Even when explained, the leaps of logic were sometimes difficult to follow and only occasionally made any sense to me. Part of this may be caused by the prose telling more than showing. Francesca would declare what her feelings were but little was given to support her statements and I wasn't convinced. It's unfortunate, but the characters and their characterizations just didn't work for me.

Ultimately, I must say that I was mostly disappointed with Poison. There were elements that I enjoyed immensely--the interesting historical tidbits and the portions about poisons, poisoning, and poisoners' duties were fascinating--but I found the book to be more frustrating than anything else. I felt little or no connection with Francesca throughout the entire novel, a problem seeing as she is not only the heroine but the narrator as well. She had a habit of breaking the narrative flow to make a comment or address the reader directly. Sometimes this technique can work very well, but in the case of Poison it was just annoying, especially when the asides often amounted to "I could tell you more about this, but I'm not going to" and obscured the chronology of the story. Personally, I also wanted the writing to be more descriptive than it actually was; I never really got a good feel for Poison's time and place which is a weakness when dealing with historical fiction. However, I did greatly appreciate Poole's inclusion of an author's note where she mentions some of the sources she consulted and briefly discusses where historical fact and fiction intersect in Poison. So, while I did not enjoy Poison as much as I was hoping to, I am glad that I had the opportunity to read it.

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Audition

~written by Ryu Murakami
~translated by Ralph McCarthy

Imagine my delight and surprise that, when after more than a year went by without receiving any books through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program, the Almighty Algorithm has blessed me two months in a row. I was particularly interested in reading Ryu Murakami's Auditions, translated into English by Ralph McCarthy, and so was excited to be chosen to receive an advance copy from W. W. Norton. Now, I haven't' actually read any of Murakami's work before, although he has been recommended to me several times. Nor have I seen Takashi Miike's controversial cult horror film Audition which was based on Murakami's novel (though I do plan to). Murakami began his writing career with Almost Transparent Blue in 1976. Since then, he has been nominated for, and has won, numerous awards for his work. Only a handful of his books have been translated into English so far, and I get the impression that some people are pretty excited that Audition has finally reached the U.S.

Seven year ago, Aoyama's wife Ryoko died of cancer. Since then he has continued to live out his life as a documentary filmmaker and has deliberately cultivated a meaningful relationship with his son Shige. He has shown little interest in remarrying until his son encourages him to consider it. But being a middle-aged widower, Aoyama's options are somewhat limited when it comes to meeting women he would be interested in for a long-term relationship. Then Yoshikawa, his good friend and fellow filmmaker, comes up with a scheme--they'll hold an audition for a film they have no intention of making, ensuring that Aoyama will have plenty of opportunities to meet young and interesting women. Aoyama reluctantly agrees to the plan, not entirely convinced it will be worthwhile until he sees the resume and photograph of Yamasaki Asami out of thousands of applicants. Many of his friends are uneasy about her, but Aoyama is determined that Yamasaki Asami is the perfect woman for him, despite the unusual circumstances that surround her.

The first thing I noticed when I received Audition was how short it is; the book can easily be read in a few hours. Although it was shorter than I expected, there is nothing wrong with this. I didn't really know what to expect when I started reading Audition other than it was supposedly horror fiction. I say supposedly because most of the book only has a vague, low-key sense of foreboding; it's not until the last chapter or so that the book turns highly disturbing, gruesome, and intense. It is certainly not a story for everyone. Another thing that might be off-putting or offensive to some readers is the largely (but not completely) negative portrayal of women in the book. But, it is appropriate for the story in which many of the characters hold women in disdain to one extent or another, particularly those women working in the entertainment industry.

It wasn't until late in the book that I had a strong inkling about where Murakami was taking the story. The beginning of the book could have easily led into a romantic comedy rather than horror. There are hints along the way, but Audition is mostly told from Aoyama's point of view and he tends to be blinded to most of the situation by his obsession with Yamasaki Asami. The narrator does occasionally let something slip through, almost explicitly directing comments toward the reader which I found to be disconcerting and inconsistent with the rest of the book. Generally, the writing is sparse and direct and while not exactly crude it can be rather blunt. Aoyama himself at times comes across as somewhat of a jerk, but I still liked him and ultimately found him to be a sympathetic character. I particularly enjoyed his easy relationship with his teenage son Shige (who I also liked quite a bit). Overall, I found Audition to be an absorbing albeit uncomfortable read (it really is horror, after all) and I'm interested in trying some of Murakami's other books and films.

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Backing into Forward: A Memoir

~by Jules Feiffer

It's been over a year (fifteen months to be exact), but it has finally happened--the Almighty Algorithm has once again deemed me worthy to receive a book through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program! I was chosen for Jules Feiffer's memoir Backing into Forward. I requested a copy because it seemed like I really should have known who Feiffer was even though I couldn't quite seem to place him despite his work looking vaguely familiar to me. I mean, Feiffer has won a Pulitzer for his comic strip in the Village Voice which ran for over four decades; he has also won awards for his plays and screenwriting. He has written novels and children's books, which he has also illustrated. Like Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth. (Aha!--I think to myself--That's why I know him!) And in his early days, he worked under Will Eisner himself on The Spirit. (Well, heck. How cool is that?) So, I was looking forward to reading Feiffer's memoir and learning more about this player in comics that I had completely failed to recognize.

Feiffer tells his story in what basically amounts to a long series of vignettes with the addition of photographs, clippings, and a small selection of his comics and illustrations. All of this is roughly divided into three main parts: "Gunslinger," "Famous," and "Another Country." The first part mainly concerns Feiffer's childhood and young adulthood, his early work in comics and his rise in the industry. Both Parts Two and Three look at Feiffer's continued success and work in comics, but also how he often found himself "backing into" other areas of expression--novels, film, children's books, theatre, teaching and lecturing, deliberate political activism, and now a memoir, to name a few. The man has led a very busy and interesting life.

The advantage to using vignettes is that each short chapter packs its own discrete punch of visceral wit and charm. The problem is that it left the book feeling disjointed, especially as the end approached. Chronology is only vaguely followed from one chapter to the next and each section could, and often did, cover decades. The book doesn't read well as a cohesive whole, but approaching each chapter as a stand alone entry helps and works. But, it also feels like quite a bit is missing or left out. Feiffer also has a tendency to drop names which is fine if you can recognize them, and I sometimes did, but some segments seem to devolve into listing all of the famous people that he know or happened to meet in passing. In addition to the name dropping, some references that were being made or that weren't fully explained I just didn't completely get. Perhaps I'm just too young.

I really enjoyed the first third or so of Backing into Forward but the book started to drag for me in the last half. Part of this may be due to the fact that personally I am more interested in comics than I am in theatre and film. I absolutely loved the inclusion of some of Feiffers' Village Voice comics, which I hadn't actually read before and which exhibited a wit and humor that I appreciated greatly. I also very much enjoyed Feiffer's writing style which was heavy on sarcasm and self-effacing humor with some elements greatly exaggerated to good effect (although, occasionally this would obscure the truth of the matter being discussed). While I didn't every really laugh out loud, I did find myself consistently and happily amused. Overall, Backing into Forward was an entertaining read and I hope to track down more of Feiffer's comics since I particularly enjoyed those.

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Why the Long Face?

~by Ron MacLean

Why the Long Face? by Ron MacLean is the seventh book I have been privileged to receive and review through the Early Reviewers program at LibraryThing. Recently I have been asked to read and review several short story collections. This has been a nice change of pace for me since I don't tend to gravitate towards short fiction. Why the Long Face? is the second book of MacLean's to be published, the first being his novel Blue Winnetka Skies. Swank Books, "dedicated to the spread of independent fiction," is responsible for the publication of both his novel and this particular collection of some of MacLean's shorter works.

With a few exceptions, the fifteen stories in this collection tend to be short on plot, but usually make up for it in characterization. The themes range from father and daughter relationships (which actually both begins and ends the book), to medical mysteries, to the meaning of art, and to all sorts of things in between, both expected and not. A few selections verge on being incomprehensible, but most make some sort of sense, only it may be an odd sort of sense. The collection is a nice mix of traditional storytelling and more experimental efforts.

Nine of the fifteen stories included in the book previously appeared in a variety of other publications while the remaining six are published for the fist time in this collection. I was slightly confused that the table of contents divided the stories into three groups of five for no apparent reason, thematic or otherwise. Every story is just a bit quirky, some exceedingly more so than others, and as a result the book is a rather eclectic mix in subject and style. As with many short story collections, I really liked some of them while I didn't care much for some of the others. But, overall, it was an enjoyable book and I think just about any reader would be able to find at least one story they can appreciate.

The stories in Why the Long Face? weren't nearly as strange or surreal as I was expecting them to be, with a few notable exceptions. Granted, those elements can still be found fairly easily in many of the stories, but I wouldn't say that they are the predominating characteristics. The best word I can come up with to describe the stories and the collection as a whole is "interesting." They are very smart, sometimes overly so, and offer a glimpse into the minds of MacLean's slightly peculiar but very human characters. Overall, an enjoyable collection.

Stories include: "Aerialist"; "Las Vegas Wedding, Or, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Meets Gertrude Stein at the Luxor"; "South of Why"; "Dr. Bliss and the Library of Toast"; "Strange Trajectory: A Story of Phineas Gage"; "Where Morning Finds You"; "Figure with Meat"; "Between the Bar and the Telephone Booth"; "Why I'm Laughing"; "The Encyclopedia of (Almost) All the Knowledge in the World" (previously published as "What Liebniz Didn't Know"); "Over the Falls"; "Mile Marker 283"; "terror/home"; "Last Seen, Hank's Grille"; and "Symbiosis."

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The Uncommon Reader

~by Alan Bennett

A version of The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett initially appeared in the London Review of Books before being printed as a book in Great Britain in 2007. It wasn't until the end of 2008 that the novella made its way to the United States. I was fortunate enough to obtain a copy through LibraryThing's Early Reviewers, making it the sixth book I've received through the program and among the ones that I've enjoyed the most.

It began with a single book borrowed out of politeness. Her Majesty the Queen had wandered into a traveling library to apologize for the racket her corgis were making. Much to the chagrin and frustration of her advisors and family members, the first book is followed by another and then another until the Queen is consumed by the need to read. This newly formed habit is met with differing levels of non-support, but as the Queen she has the freedom to ignore this to some extent despite the multiple attempts made to reign in her addiction. While her reading becomes somewhat problematic for her responsibilities regarding matters of state, the Queen discovers that her mind has become more open and her sensitivity towards others has increased.

The plot of the book is really more of an excuse to expound and ruminate on readers and the act of reading than it is to tell a story. Regardless, the Queen's tale is delightful and Bennett even manages to work in a few amusingly clever twists by the end of the slim volume. The pacing was a bit uneven, moving along in fits and starts, but the book is short enough that this isn't terribly troublesome. Quite a few literary references are dropped throughout, and even though I didn't recognize them all I appreciated the ones that I did (there's even a dig at Harry Potter, which amused me greatly).

Overall, I found that I enjoyed The Uncommon Reader very much, although I was left with a feeling of wanting something more after I finished it. Generally delightful, the novella seemed empty at times and occasionally a little full of its own cleverness. As a novella, the book is easily and probably best read in one sitting. The story will be most appreciated by those who are themselves already avid readers and who understand the addictive and often subversive power of books and reading.

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Any Given Doomsday

~by Lori Handeland

Any Given Doomsday was offered by St. Martin's Press as part of LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program. An unprecedented number of books, one thousand copies to be exact, were sent out to the Reviewers chosen by the Almighty Algorithm. The book is the first in a new series by the established author Lori Handeland called "The Phoenix Chronicles." (I'll admit, the series name is one of the main things that caught my attention. That and the model on the cover is cute.) I figured that I had a pretty good chance, and I haven't received an Early Reviewers book for quite some time, so requested a copy. This makes my fifth book through the program.

Touted as urban fantasy, Any Given Doomsday is really much more accurately described as paranormal romance. (Sort of. Perhaps paranormal lust, or paranormal sex would be even closer as there was hardly any actual "romance.") St. Martin's also made "In the Beginning" available online, a short story that precedes the series. It really would have worked much better as a prologue to Any Given Doomsday than as a stand-alone story, and would have given the book a little more oomph in the process.

Elizabeth Phoenix is an ex-cop and a psychic. She left the Milwaukee police force after the death of her partner, for which she blames herself. Her world is turned upside down when her foster mother is brutally murdered and Elizabeth herself is found unconscious at the scene. Jimmy, a former lover (and foster brother), has recently sauntered into town and is now under investigation for the killing. More or less convinced of his innocence, they leave Milwaukee together and drive to New Mexico to find her mentor, Sawyer--the one man she hates more and want to see even less than Jimmy. Because she has discovered not only that she is much more powerful than she knew, but that she is a pivotal player in the struggle between supernatural good and evil. Armageddon is swiftly coming, and Elizabeth must learn to accept and control the gifts she never wanted to have in the first place.

What I liked best about this book was the wide variety of paranormal creatures, half-breeds, and others that make their appearances--whether nasty, benevolent, or ambiguous. The character of Sawyer was the one who intrigued me and captured my imagination the most. His role as the "whore of the federation" and its implications fascinated me. I appreciated the power that was given to sex, but unfortunately the last half of the book seemed to devolve into an excuse for scenes rather than having any real substance.

Overall, Any Given Doomsday came across as very generic and cliched. It uses trope after trope, convention after convention, stereotype after stereotype, and doesn't do much (if anything) new with them. The explicit sex, which actually does have something to do with the plot, didn't bother me so much as bore me with its repetitiveness. (Admittedly, the context and circumstances of the first scene were rather dubious.) Despite this, Handeland manages to move the plot along a a good pace, making the book a very quick, and at times even fun, read.

Unfortunately, the plot itself suffers from inconsistencies, especially in the details, as well as from the fact that simple, understandable solutions were often ignored for more convoluted and unconvincing ones. While not terrible, there are quite a few paranormal romances that I would recommend over Any Given Doomsday (and I haven't even read that many). Definitely not the greatest book, but it was a decent enough distraction, though I can hardly take it seriously.

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