Category Archives: Book I’ll Forget I Read

The Knife of Never Letting Go: This is Why I Blog

      I blog because of my (absent) memory. My ability to read a book, enjoy a book and immediately forget the plot is honed and practiced. Case and point: I finished reading The Knife of Never Letting Go last week. IknowI liked it because I messaged S. who recommended it to me to say I liked it, but do you think when I sat down to write this review I could remember what I liked about it or why I enjoyed it? Nope. Zip. I couldn’t even recall the plot without turning to wikipedia for a reminder. It’s a sorry state of affairs up in my brain.

What I do remember liking – on jogging my memory by way of Wikipedia – is a plot that is neither so implausible as to be entirely fantastic nor so realistic as to be realism. The integration of fantasy elements succeeds in defamiliarizing the real in such a way as to encourage the reader to ask questions about social interactions, use of the environment and those truths we believe to be “self-evident.” The thrust of the plot has our protagonist – Todd Hewitt – drastically reconsidering all he felt to be true about his community’s history, politics and way of life. He’s made to question authority figures, familial trust and received wisdom as he repeatedly encounters evidence that those he trusted lied to him. It’s a masterful plot in paralleling what any young person must encounter as they realize that adults lie and that promises made to children (you can be anything you want to be) are in not mendacious they are at least false.

His companion, Viola, is a charmer too, and I’d like to see her narrative point of view introduced in later books to balance out her character and make her less of an accessory and more of an actor in her own right. Personal preference, maybe.

I liked the fight sense, the quest narrative and the climax. Less settled with the conclusion of the text and the requirement for later installments. I’m a firm believer that a book – even one in a series – should be a selfcontained unit.

So there you go. I’ll likely read the next in the series, but I can’t say it was a memorable read (though admittedly this is more my fault than that of the text…).

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I am the Messenger: Little things matter

      In Markus Zusak’s I am the Messenger the reader is presented with the argument that we determine the course of our lives not only in grand decisions about where we live, or what our occupation might be, but also in the smallest of actions – buying icecream for a stranger or reading to a friend. While the novel seems intent on driving home this message of “little things matter,” it seems to me that in doing so it overwrites the stronger thematic messages of the narrative: that choices require intention and bravery; that close relationships demand not just rote participation, but sustained attention; and that presumed satisfaction with our lives does not, in fact, guarantee we are living with our fullest integrity, our greatest enthusiasm.

That the novel doesn’t itself seem clear about its argument matters less given that the arguments about choice come through all the same. And perhaps it’s just this reader that would rather attention be paid to the complexities of “will” and the limitations of our histories, than to platitudes like “little things matter.”

I’m again impressed with Zusak’s sincerity in arguing for the importance of stories in understanding our lives and our relationships with others. I was a little irritated with the heavy handed metafiction of the past few pages, if only because it appears there for the first time, and reads as if he couldn’t quite work out how to end the novel. *spoiler* I was also irritated with the neat ending between Ed and Audrey – far too pat for the complexity of his character development.

All that said, a hugely engaging plot, a great sense of humour, and an accessible thematic landscape good for young adults, but also for those in the grip of a twenty something (code: me) searching for what it might all mean and how I might go about living with intention and sincerity. A good read.

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Salmon Fishing in the Yemen: Sweet

    Salmon Fishing in the Yemen is very sweet. It’s got a light hearted plot (UK fisheries scientist is hired by a billionaire sheik to introduce salmon fishing to the Yemen), sympathetic characters and an entirely undemanding set of thematic questions. Reading is is the equivalent to drinking a hot tea after a rainy day: soothing, heart warming and altogether unexciting.

I’d not recommend Salmon Fishing because it doesn’t offer you anything fresh – the characters are all familiar, their concerns pretty standard. Sure the plot is a bit quirky, but it’s a sort of quirk-for-the-sake-of-sweetness that reminds me of young women who wear quirky mittens (me) or people who cultivate quirky habits like only ever wearing odd socks (M.). I grant that the form – a series of diary entries, transcripts, letters, interviews – lends a certain novelty to the narrative form, but it’s nothing we haven’t read before and doesn’t offer enough to make it anything other than another sweet quirk.

And so there you go. A sweet read for this still-receptive-to-the-sentimental reader.

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The Lamplighter: First to Fall

     So I made this deal with myself after 10-10-12 that I’d only read books I found to be “good” (noting that “good” doesn’t mean I’m enjoying them necessarily, but rather that I see some merit in reading them) and so true to this promise I’ve stopped reading Anthony O’Neill’s The Lamplighter. I’ve not adopted a particular rule for how long to give the book to win me over (should I read half of it? only a quarter? how soon do you know that a book is no good?), nor have I yet dealt with the terrible guilt wracking me: maybe the book was poised to radically improve? maybe had I given it another 30 pages it would have won me over? And this, I fear, is the trap that led me to finish “Not Without My Daughter” and it’s kind. A compassionate reader has no place in the world of far too many stories to ever read. I hope with practice to be cut throat. No more terrible books! I’ll work on some policy recommendations with respect to how long to keep reading and how to deal with the guilt and keep you posted.

I don’t get it. By all accounts I *should* enjoy The Lamplighter. It’s a historical murder mystery set in Gothic Scotland full of mystery and suspense. But I just didn’t care about the characters, found the pace plodding and the tone dull. So there you go; I stopped reading it half way in and I don’t care to say any more about it.

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