Book 15: Bright Lights, Big City

Bright Lights, Big City
Jay McInerney

There is great authorial risk when straying from normal literary mores and conventions, particularly those involving narrators (which tend almost exclusively toward first- and third-person singular narrators, even in cases where narrative may alternate between chapters or sections). Jay McInerney, however, achieves his desired effect when utilizing the second person present tense ("you are") as the main narrative voice in his atmosphere-heavy Bright Lights, Big City. From the first sentence of the book, the use of "you" as the primary narrative voice has a disorienting effect on the reader which in this book successfully mirrors and even enhances the confusion experienced by "you" during a mad rush of cocaine- and alcohol-fueled highs and hangovers. The book is heavier on atmosphere than on plot and even character development outside of the main character, but these are enough to sustain it through its short duration. Though the third act twist is a bit unsatisfying, unexpected, and leaves some loose ends, even this uncertainty seems to echo the (ironically?) brute driving force of the novel. Despite the main character's malaise and desire to escape, that desire seems at times frantic, culminating in many sudden blackouts and accompanying breaks in the text.

This, then, is McInerney's great achievement: he has been able to take a jarring, awkward narrative voice, a flat supporting cast, an occasionally tangential and repetitive plot, sudden unexplained breaks in the narrative, and a wholly unlikely Transformative Climax Moment and spin them somehow into a compelling narrative that is, despite the annoying elements that comprise it, enjoyable to read. The evil, out-to-get-you boss may be a bit overplayed, but here it somehow fits with the tone of the novel and with the main character's general outlook on life. And to create such a well-rounded main character out of the reader solely by telling "you" what "you" think is a remarkable achievement; McInerney allows readers just enough memory-based self-exposition while utilizing outside characters' reactions and assessments to create a fully realized second-person character. So many elements herein are cliche and tired- the struggling, self-loathing writer, escaping the past in New York City- but are given fresh life in the rapid-fire pace and persuasive voice of the novel, which is tinged with just enough dark humor to sustain the desired effect without turning into brazen satire or outright silliness. This is a serious book. Bright Lights, Big City is an absorbing reading experience almost despite itself, and successfully utilizes narrative voice and pacing to create a compelling and engrossing reading experience.

Grade: A

Book 14: Songbook

Songbook
Nick Hornby

I take music very seriously, in that I cannot function without music accompanying me, whether it plays as I write my assignments or silently guides my walking patterns. I love talking about music and thinking about music and, occasionally, just basking in the glory that is the perfect Lady Gaga song. To read a book like Songbook seemed a perfect fit, and while Nick Hornby has clearly crafted a labor of love, the shades of pretentiousness that seep through the gushing prose overwhelm any sense of sheer joy this collection should have rightfully achieved. The essays in this book center on a number of pop songs that illuminate different aspects of the sensibilities of "pop" music and, in some of the more personal (and moving) essays, on his life. This writing is moving and powerfully conveys the importance of music to those who cherish it and who allow music to define and shape our views of the world. Hornby invariably stumbles, however, in attempting to justify his tastes. While this self-conscious love of undeniably pop (and often as un-hip as Rod Stewart) phenomena is unbiased, Hornby's continual need to defend his choices and showcase how truly hip he really is plagues the book. In nearly every essay, Hornby finds a way to name-drop some obscure group while frantically attempting to defend his love of the simple verse/chorus/verse structure of the everyday, brilliant pop song.

It is easy to understand why Hornby would feel overly defensive about his musical tastes; this is the man, after all, who gave us High Fidelity. Having spent an entire book discussing songs that move him despite being of a different kind of quality than, say, Mozart or even the usual critical darlings, Hornby then listens to the top ten Billboard albums of July 2001 and is insultingly dismissive of Destiny's Child and Alicia Keys, as well as all of the other artists. His broad dismissal of this music confirms the reader's building suspicions, nurtured gradually throughout the book, that Hornby is, despite his most forceful objections, a music snob. Simply put, if the song means something to him, it's wonderful; a song that does not impress him, however, cannot really have any merit. This revelation also retroactively colors Hornby's past selections, which are almost deliberately subversive and, on reflection, serve to create a sense of credibility to Hornby's music taste. At its end, the book reads more like an extended apology than a love letter, a carefully calculated argument to provide the author with hipster credibility as he claims to embrace that which is lowly and popular.

This pretentiousness ultimately pervades the essays to an extent where it is far easier to deconstruct Hornby out of this book rather than construct a fresh understanding of the merits of pop songs. Though there are some wonderful song recommendations in this book and some intriguing insights into the ebb and flow of popular genres and movements throughout the years (Hornby writes with an understanding of context that illuminates his essays), Hornby's self-consciousness ultimately overwhelms the book's more literal content notes. The autobiographical notes within these essays are more often self-serving than honest, and even the interesting historical notes are presented with a holier-than-thou air of all-knowing. Songbook is a tribute to a series of important songs and moments that have influenced Nick Hornby, and there are some insights into the history of pop culture and, indeed, critical dismissal thereof that are worth finding (particularly Hornby's assertion that critics may be more effective when they are actually fans of the artist in question). Despite two passing mentions of Hanson that defend them as a worthwhile listening enterprise (which I wholeheartedly support), Songbook falls prey to the air of pretentiousness that so often clouds memoirs, essays, and music criticism.

Grade: B-

Book 13: Shanghai Girls

Shanghai Girls
Lisa See

Not every book is going to capture both character and historical book as well as, say, A Tale of Two Cities; in fact, such an achievement is nearly impossible, but surely it is not too much to ask that historical fiction, even when rigorously researched, be supported by more than a skeleton highlight reel of Important Events in This Idiom. Such is the main problem with Lisa See's Shanghai Girls which, despite the depth of the research that clearly went into creating the well-described worlds of Shanghai and Los Angeles around World War II, is driven purely by a cast of egomaniacal characters and the historical merit is thrust uncomfortably to the forefront. From the second paragraph of the book, main character and narrator Pearl is revealed to be petty and self-indulgent, and things only get worse as she is exposed to harrowing adversity. Events like a prolonged gang rape are relayed in a flat, even tone, removing any power or (horrifyingly) sympathy that may arise in readers. Worse still, it seems that See is exploiting the brutal power of such a traumatic event, having characters refer to it in passing occasionally but otherwise treating it as, well, one of those things, refusing to have Pearl deal with it in a realistic or even particularly interesting way. This seemingly major plot point, like others, fades into the noise of the background and only arises when it is necessary to make a (usually petty) point.

This illustrates the fundamental problem of Shanghai Girls: its characters are horrible people and it is nearly impossible to feel any sympathy for them. Pearl and her sister May throw out the required Character Development Lines (complete with an insultingly predictable and unconvincing Reversal of Understanding Argument at the book's utterly dissatisfying climax) without showing any real growth throughout the novel. Instead of feeling sorry for Pearl and her (unbelievably) even more petulant younger sister May, or even feeling sympathy for the terrible trials they see as they flee war-torn Shanghai for the horrors of the mid-century Chinese immigration experience, readers want to reach into the book and slap some sense into these weak and petty women, who hilariously seem to be seen by their delusional author as Strong Role Models. Most egregiously awful is Pearl's uncanny ability to forget her own opinions and See's propensity for one-liners of the very worst kind. One moment, Pearl laments her lack of advancement in America. Fair enough, but not when a few pages later sees her unflinchingly proud of all she has achieved; reversals like this (and Pearl goes back and forth without retrospective insight) are lazy and plague the novel, taking an important and often ignored immigrant narrative and using the worst possible kind of characters to represent it.

I understand some of what See was trying to do; obviously, immigrant narratives are rich with the tension between a desire for assimilation and love for one's home country and culture. There are ways, however, to write about this conflict without petulance and there are ways to deal with the ambiguity of these complex emotions without the black-and-white platitudes that populate this novel. One moment Pearl's father-in-law is an unrepentant dick and the next they reach An Understanding of Each Other; this, too, may reflect some elements of real life but for the rest of the novel Pearl is 100% understanding of the man and never shows any shades of gray in her estimation of him. This is absolutely maddening, especially when placed in the hands of an annoying narrator. See's choice of present tense for the sweeping book, which sees decades pass in awkwardly phrased catch-up sentences, is disastrous and makes no sense, often inducing confusion when the narrative leaps so quickly to reach its next Illustration of History. I believe that Lisa See's heart is fundamentally in the right place, and that her decision to tell a difficult story is brave, but the execution in Shanghai Girls is terrible. There are interesting descriptions of place and moments where even the narration cannot stand in the way of powerful events occurring (see especially Pearl and May's time on Angel Island), but ultimately my distaste for these two women made Shanghai Girls a real struggle to get through. The sibling tension is over-hyped, the narration is terrible, and Shanghai Girls suffers from interesting content matter, good research, and horrible storytelling.

Grade: C-

Book 12: Lush Life

Lush Life
Richard Price

I bought this book at the Strand in New York, after realizing that I had neglected to pack a book for my Spring Break trip; what better, I thought, to set the mood than a gritty murder mystery set in the city I was exploring? Lush Life is just the kind of book I was looking for, a rich mystery with layers of character depth and an unflinching portrayal of the class conflict engulfing neighborhoods like Manhattan's Lower East Side. Lush Life may attempt a bit too earnestly at times to enhance the conflict between those living in the projects and the shadow of the neighborhood's tenement past and the ultra-cool hipsters who use the grime as a marker of credibility, putting it into the words of his characters or, worse, in his exposition instead of allowing it to develop more naturally. For the most part, however, Price nails character development in a way very rarely seen in mystery novels. Each of his characters leaps off the page in full three-dimensional reality, and its easy to underscore the praise he receives for his dialogue, which is entirely realistic and which beautifully serves its dual purposes of advancing the plot and developing the characters speaking and responding.

Likewise, Price's decision to tell Lush Life with a shifting third-person focus rounds out his Lower East Side, presenting each of its entangled worlds and characters with a first-person familiarity that rounds out the complete picture of modern New York. We understand at once the necessary persistence of detectives Matty and Yolanda and the way that it slowly deteriorates Eric Cash. We understand the quiet desperation of the gunman while watching the havoc it wreaks on the murder victim's father. All bases are covered and what readers experience is akin to these stories as they manifest themselves in the real world. There is clearly a sense of right and wrong throughout the novel but there is also a hint of something more, a glimpse at the system that produces senseless killings like the one in the novel without heavy-handed moralizing or long soliloquies from the author. The characters get into this kind of discussion from time to time, but these discussions appear mostly to be in the vein of the characters and, with a few exceptions, do not infringe upon the story being told. Though the crime at its core is simple and the resolution quick as it comes, Lush Life excels as a study of New York's Lower East Side and the complex ecology of characters that inhabit it. Richard Price presents an unapologetic glimpse into this neighborhood and into the effects that murder has on the human psyche in many forms.

Grade: A

Book 11: All-Star Superman

All-Star Superman
by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely

All-Star Superman is intended by and large as a re-imagining of the man who may be the world's best known and most popular superhero and is designed for readers who are at least familiar with the general ebb and flow of the Superman comics throughout the years, summing up his origin story in 1-3 pages and including a wealth of in-jokes for those well-versed in the comic's history. How do I know this? I was lucky enough to experience All-Star Superman as a book club suggestions, and the room was filled with a lively discussion about the way that this two-part book fits into the Superman canon (quite well, from what I gathered). As an absolute newcomer to the comic, however, who has never even seen any of the movies, I felt a bit lost throughout the book, which is not an ideal entry point for n00bs like myself. The art was sufficient and the overall story arc, which involves Superman facing the fact of morality, is an interesting direction in which to take a long-lived and beloved character. This story, however, takes a backseat to various cameo appearances of other Superman adventures, and while the uninitiated can appreciate the thematic effects of the appearance of a gaggle of Superman doppelgangers, issue-long diversions do not add any real depth to the overall story and serve only to distract. All-Star Superman may be a rare treat for long-time fans of the Man of Steel, but those new to the legend may be better served by boning up on Superman's history before approaching this patchwork book.

Grade: B

Book 10: Rock Bottom

Rock Bottom
Michael Shilling

Blurbs are usually somewhat uninformative, simply self-serving little sentences praising a work. The information available on the cover of Michael Shilling's Rock Bottom, however, is quite revealing, including blurbs from colleagues at Michigan and proclamations that, due to the fact that he was once in a Rawk Band, Shilling Totally Gets It, Dude. While there is certainly a can-do spirit about the novel, which chronicles the awesome rise and demise of a four-piece joke outfit, the over-eagerness and author's desperate search for credibility are its most striking aspects. Yes, more striking than the constant over-the-top attempts to gross-out the audience (really, the bass player's eczema is overplayed) and his brave (and annoying) attempt to use the word "fuck" in every single sentence of his book. It's very easy to see what Shilling gets wrong, from hopelessly stereotypical characters to the clear fact that the book is obviously a Mary Sue-type experience for its author, but there is some talent throughout. Shilling takes five characters who loathe each other and alternates the narrative's perspective to make each of them, except for the bass player, Bobby, more or less sympathetic in a matter of minutes. This ambiguity is the truest chord struck by the novel, which shows many sides of a situation without calling undue attention to the fact that it's doing it.

Overall, however, it's hard to really appreciate this novel. Interesting enough and with its moments of wit (and occasional good digs at showbiz), Shilling's authorial flaws simply draw too much attention to themselves. Constantly referring to his characters as "the singer" or "the guitar player" in places where names or pronouns would be more than sufficient, Shilling comes off as pretentious, an air echoed when he mangles the renegade sex-maniac drummer's Coming of Age experience. The author's desperate desires to be at once Very Cool and Hip and a Good Writer collide often in this novel, with hilariously wrong depictions of the world of rock and roll, particularly a party scene so disjointed that it seems nearly impossible Shilling has ever been to a party in his life. Strangely, however, despite its structural flaws and obvious wannabe attitude, Rock Bottom is oddly compelling. Shilling does bring to life a cast of characters who are, despite their typecasting, interesting enough to follow around Amsterdam for a day. Rock Bottom has its moments of great humor and insight, and deftly handles its multiple perspectives. This book may be laughably far away from the real thing, but there are glimpses of wit and talent and, overall, the ride isn't so bad...until the hangover.

Grade: B-

Book 9: Seven Seasons of Buffy

Seven Seasons of Buffy: Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Discuss Their Favorite Television Show
Edited by Glenn Yeffeth

I return to my favorite alternate reality with Seven Seasons of Buffy, which came on my radar because a number of prominent genre writers I enjoy contribute essays to the collection, which is a fan-based, casual examination of Buffy the Vampire Slayer from a number of different and interesting viewpoints. Though the anthology's essays vary considerably in quality, style, and viewpoint, each has a significant and heartfelt contribution to make to readers' understanding of the extraordinary show. Essay topics run the gamut, from Jacqueline Lichtenberg's wonderful and academic "Power of Becoming" to a defense of Xander disguised as a demon pupil's final essay ("Is That Your Final Answer...?" by Roxanne Longstreet Conrad). In the case of the latter, and of many of the weaker essays, the author tries just a bit too hard to be on point or tries a bit too hard to strain towards a casual or academic tone. The best essays, by contrast, are neither ashamed of the author's unabashed love of this quirky little show nor overly concerned with how they sound; it is obvious that many of the essayists in Seven Seasons of Buffy want to use their allotted pages to share something they love, or find troubling, about the show, and the essays that flow naturally are, naturally, the strongest of the collection.

Among these excellent tributes to an excellent show, two in particular stand out: Scott Westerfeld's "A Slayer Comes to Town" and Justine Larbalestier's "A Buffy Confession." Though Margaret L. Carter does a good job sorting out the uses of alternate realities and parallel timelines in her essay "A World Without Shrimp," her examples become repetitive and, unfortunately, the subject has been treated more effectively by Westerfeld. His examination of the general tropes at play in these kinds of narratives, and how they relate to the Buffyverse, is brilliant, placing Buffy in the context of science fiction and other genres while exploring a facet of the show that makes it uniquely brilliant. This is the best example of the more academically-minded essays in the group, but Larbalestier best exemplifies the overly devoted, fanboy/fangirl-type essays. Her Buffy confessions are heartfelt without becoming overwrought, with the possible exception of her evisceration of season 7 (which may not, in truth, be entirely unwarranted), and her examples of Buffy festivals, tracing the thematic threads of the series through episodes and seasons, will soon be replicated in my own apartment. Her love of shines through every word and this essay, half of which is constructed as a defense of the show and of purely sitting back and enjoying it (heaven forbid!), should surely set in motion Anya's-Afraid-of-Bunny-Rabbits festivals throughout Buffy fandom.

Seven Seasons of Buffy gets off to a slow start and is somewhat uneven, but each author has clearly put consideration and care into their writing about the show. Tackling different aspects of the show from a considerably casual viewpoint allows the book to maintain an air of conversation between the authors and their readers, linking fans together and giving Buffy devotees a fair share of intellectual fodder for consideration and debate. The collection would benefit from a better introduction (Drew Goddard's page and a half is very nearly unreadable) and by putting its essays in order; its current grouping swings from subject to subject and would benefit from some considered thought. Glenn Yeffeth has, however, succeeded in bringing together a number of talented and entertaining writers to discuss many of the different aspects of what makes Buffy the Vampire Slayer great television, great art, and, most importantly, a lot of fun. Buffy fans should embrace this opportunity to dive back into Sunnydale and get to the heart of the issues explored by Joss Whedon and company during the show's seven year run of brilliance.

Grade: A-

Book 8: The Surrogates

The Surrogates
Robert Venditti and Brett Weldele

When Second Life first became a large presence, there was a lot of discussion about online avatars and the perils of living your life through, well, a surrogate self. This idea is brought to the world of the real in The Surrogates, a quick sci-fi/mystery hybrid that takes place in a world where the real has been mostly exchanged for a life lived by surrogates, virtually controlled bodies that have radically altered human interaction in the mid 2000s. Venditti successfully intersperses the plot of The Surrogates with subplots and additions that examine some effects the widespread use of surrogates has had on the population of Central Georgia Metropolis, and it is no coincidence that a renegade group of religiously-fueled anti-surrogate humans plays a central role in the development of the graphic novel. The plot can wear a bit thin at times, with its big reveal not-too surprising and its conclusion full of expected thematic ambiguity, but The Surrogates is nonetheless compelling throughout. The story itself and the science that drives it are a compelling and well-thought-out extrapolation of the central premise of surrogacy. Accompanying the story is the artwork of Brett Weldele, extremely compelling in its harried, unfinished pencil-based lines and uneven coloring. Weldele has a particular visual style that relies on monochromatic scenes, themes, and spreads that help tie the novel together thematically and enhance the reading experience. The Surrogates creates a relevant and realistic future world as its artwork embellishes its noir-ish feel and is, all told, a satisfying graphic novel.

Grade: A

Book 7: Flashforward

Flashforward
Robert J. Sawyer

I never watched the eponymous ABC series, but I was from the start intrigued by the central premise of Flashforward: that, for two minutes or so, humanity suffers a mass blackout and a vision of the future. With such an interesting premise, and especially with a pair of well-esteemed CERN physicists as the story's central characters, there are many interesting problems to explore about the Meaning of It All. Robert J. Sawyer, however, misses most of these opportunities despite admirable attempts at channeling metaphysical problems through the lens of, well, physics. Using scientists as protagonists allows Sawyer to place the bulk of the story around the scientific core of the events of the novel, but it results in some stilted prose and unrealistic dialog. Coupled with some overdone scientific explanation in the novel's second act, the primacy of science hampers the novel and prevents it from addressing the great philosophical concerns that should be its driving force. Instead, the roles of fate and choice in human life are relegated to condescension and unrealistic scientific debate by people who would be significantly more aware of the debates they are engaging in than their over-justified prose shows.

Strangely, though, for its stilted cardboard characters and its over-reliance on science in a particularly human drama, Flashforward is continually compelling. Neither Theo nor Lloyd, the book's leading players, may be especially unique or even compelling, but the murder-mystery aspect fits in well with the book's central premise and successfully drives the plot until Sawyer begins grasping for straws in the third act, where the book loses almost all of its momentum. This is almost criminal given that the final act explores the future seen at book's beginning and should resolve most of the plot; unfortunately, however, the flow of time in Flashforward is as stilted as some of its prose and much of its interpersonal reactions and any impact Sawyer's take on fate and choice may have had is dulled by excessive explanations, rendering the book's resolution moot by the time it arrives. Added to Sawyer's occasionally hilarious missteps in reading 2009 (surely it is reasonable to expect that futurists of 1999 would foresee DVDs supplanting VHS tapes?), the floundering plot makes Flashforward an initially intriguing foray into the nature vs. nurture that turns stale because the author just doesn't have the writing chops to carry his ideas to enjoyable fruition. Flashforward is, despite its flaws, oddly compelling, but ultimately fails to deliver on its excellent ideas.

Grade: C

Book 6: Overclocked

Overclocked: Stories of the Future Present
Cory Doctorow

If there is one thing to be said about Cory Doctorow's fiction, let it be said that the reader is never unsure where he stands on the ethical issues he presents in his stories. From Little Brother to "Anda's Game," Doctorow draws a clear line in the sand regarding technology and digital rights. This convinction is usually admirable, but Doctorow's relentless optimism also makes his stories a bit less powerful and prevent them from packing an adequate punch, invariably becoming an unbelievable, deus-ex-machina with sunshine and a smile. This is not to say, for example, that system administrators could not rebuild a world riddled with a cacophony of simultaneous terror attacks (as in "When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth"), but that a story with some wonderfully dark moments does not automatically require a happy, pleasant ending. Doctorow's stories are compelling and feature intriguing plotlines involved the increased ability of nations and corporations to wage "infowar," but occasionally he allows his personal convictions to overwhelm the story, much to its detriment. This effect is most pronounced in "After the Seige," an otherwise moving picture of slightly futuristic lopsided warfare; though his introduction makes his allegorical ambitions clear, the reasons for the seige are presented in a fashiion reminiscient of name-dropping. Doctorow wants Overclocked and "After the Seige" to reflect something, dammit, even if he has to awkwardly cram it in.

This tendency toward the Obvious Hammer is unfortunate, because there are many interesting ideas explored and alluded to throughout the book. "Printcrime," for example, is a well-executed and brief allegory for digital content copying that actually works; instead of torturing a tangentially related plotline, Doctorow allows the technological exploration to drive the plot and, together, they create an excellent little story. "Anda's Game," likewise, manages to avoid the overly-saccharine for the bulk of its story, setting up such an interesting and obvoiusly allegorical situation that the more subjective insertions actually take away from the strength of the plot, which in this case can be trusted to stand on its own (though perhaps with some more believable dialogue). "I, Row-Boat," however, lacks some of this drive and doesn't quite accomplish the depth of meaning it aspires to, due likely to under-explained mental developments that hamper understanding. The centerpiece of Overclocked, "I, Robot," provides an excellent representation of the collection as a whole. Riffing successfully on Asimov and a bit too dramatically on Orwell, the story argues for the freedom of all information to the detriment of both the plot and the argument: it's just too sickly sweet, too perfect, to be believable. This, then, is the fundamental world of Overclocked. Cory Doctorow has many brilliant ideas and fiery opinions, but is unable to successfully utilize short fiction as a platform on which to advocate for them.

Grade: B-