Book 4: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Other Stories

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Other Stories
Robert Louis Stevenson

I find it difficult to believe that I have never before read "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde", and am already so familiar with it due to cultural saturation that the experience of reading it was rather sublime at times. Unfortunately, I could never look upon the story with entirely new eyes and read it with its eventual revelation effectively spoiled. Nonetheless, the novella is a powerful piece, an interesting and original parable about the evil that lies within each of us. The best thing about the story is the fact that while it is undoubtedly an allegory it never feels too heavy or overbearing and is always internally interesting. Readers are drawn in immediately, towards the climax of Dr. Jekyll's unfortunate situation, and an inventive narrative structure of backwards revelations keeps the surprises coming as the story unfolds. Stevenson manages to take one of the most famous tropes in English literature and develop it in an interesting, ambiguous, and timeless way- of course we accept the fundamental divide between good and evil within us, but Stevenson takes this metaphorical split onto the literal plane and mixes in a bit of science fiction to create a provoking and unrelentingly dark tale. There are no compromises and Stevenson pulls no unnecessary punches; "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" is an original tale that echoes seamlessly past its own time frame and dives fearlessly and subtly into the human psyche.

The other stories selected for this book are "The Bottle Imp", "Markheim", and "The Body-Snatcher", each of which have their merits and fit in well with the fundamental good/evil divide explored in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde". The first is an original re-telling of the typical genie story that has an interesting Faustian twist that speaks effectively to the possibilities of ultimate love, sacrifice, and selfishness. Despite an ending that seems a bit unfulfilled and a little too cheery given the tone of the rest of the story and its predecessor in this volume, "The Bottle Imp" is an original and enlightening take on a traditional narrative that should please any readers interested in Faust bargains. "Markheim" is a quick psychological thriller that effectively, though clumsily at times, speaks to the division of good and evil within one human being, though in a qutie a different way than "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde". It has a bit of a twist ending that is powerful though a bit too strident to be entirely effective- I assume it would hold more weight to its own contemporary audience. The last story in this particular grouping, "The Body-Snatcher", is a well-written pure horror story that employs an interesting front-nested narrative structure that frames the story rather well. Stevenson knows how to inject a sense of mystery throughout the entire story by clouding the reasons behind its opening tumultuous exhchange and again proves his knack of a well-structured story by ending absoulutely perfectly.

Throughout these four stories, it is clear that Stevenson is interested in the ways that good and evil impulses interact and affect us as we deal with them; he takes four very distinct approaches and draws no single conclusion. Each story comes to a vastly different ending in regards to its outlook on human nature, and none feel overly contrived or overwhelmingly thematic. Stevenson allows for a little fantasy in these stories and it serves him quite well, allowing him to explore humanity in a much more real way than much purely realistic fiction can. These stories never stray too far beyond the realm of possibility to stretch credulity and as a result form a powerful testament to our power to confront and deal with the evil that lies within each of us. Stevenson refreshingly abstains from becoming overly didactic (save in "Markheim") and knows exactly how to let a story form, develop, end, and, most importantly, breathe. His worlds simply exist without being at all overwrought (again, Mr. Markheim proves the exception with a disappointing final speech) and subtly explore darker themes without annoying moralizing. Robert Louis Stevenson proves himself immensely interested in the depths of the human psyche in these stories and approaches it with a depth of understanding that can only be appreciated by all-too-human readers. These stories are intellectually engaging and, more importantly, enjoyable and well-written and definitely deserve a look. "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" has certainly earned its place among the classics of English literature.

Grade: A

Book 3: The First Immortal

The First Immortal
James L. Halperin

The jacket of this book totally sold me; sure, I was a little leery of this unknown sci-fi adventure, but it had a fantastic premise and I decided to give it a chance. Despite its usually-subpar writing, I found The First Immortal incredibly entertaining and, almost despite itself, a thought-provoking piece of speculative fiction. If nothing else, this book has inspired me to write a book of my own condemning many of the fatal writing flaws effortlessly exhibited by this book. It's almost too bad that the writing of the book is so self-conscious, because its topic is incredibly interesting and, as a matter of plot, is dealt with well and in several unique facets. Halperin proposes a world in which cryonics (post-death freezing of the body in hope of future rehabilitation) becomes feasible in the coming century and studies the effects of its prevalence on societal attitudes about everything from death to the role of humanity in the universe to gay marriage. The science appears well thought-out, even if the timeline is a bit optimistic, and Halperin does an excellent job of creating a consistent future world that is believable in its completeness. He does not stop at exploring death but expands his vision into the future of computers and artificial intelligence, with the occasional irrelevant pimping of his other book (I can tell without even having read it). The future he explores is always interesting and is obviously well-researched and carefully considered; it's too bad his characters and general writing fall so far below the competence level when his setting excels.

The plot itself is set up to cover just over 100 years and focuses on Benjamin Franklin Smith (a rational deistic scientist with an estranged- though totally legitimate- son, go figure) and his descendants as they deal with the emerging and exploding science of cryonics. Halperin does a good job of drawing a portrait of Ben in the beginning, but clouds any judgment with what I like to call the Obvious Hammer, a style of writing in which the theme is emphasized to the detriment of any literary quality. Teenage Ben and his best friend Toby sit around having unbelievably existential discussions in the days immediately preceding Pearl Harbor, and while Ben's outlook on life as the world's most precious commodity goes a long way to describe his fascination with cryonics, it does not need to be so incessantly beaten into the reader. Other characters are, for the most part, underdeveloped two-dimensional moving plot devices; the glaring exception is Ben's sole son Gary, who is characterized fully only to become baffling and inconsistent several times throughout the book. Characterization is clearly not Halperin's strong point, and though readers are at least interested in his actors, it is clear from the beginning that the book is mostly a forum for a lengthy exploration of the effects of cryonics on society. Far too often, Ben and co. simply represent different sides of a philosophical debate instead of nuanced, individuated human beings.

Though its biggest writing flaws are its lack of reliable characters and its stunning use of the Obvious Hammer, The First Immortal has some truly questionable structural decisions. The first person narration is entirely misplaced and serves only to confuse the reader; the "I" comes in at entirely inappropriate moments and reminds us that there is no plausible way the narrator could know everything about his great-grandfather's childhood or his ordeal during his time at a World War II prison camp (well, I suppose that with immortality and a perfect memory Ben may have had time to narrate all of this, but why to his great-grandson and not, you know, to readers directly?). Additionally, though the overall time span of the book works, certain jumps are too large and there are huge gaps in the general sense of this world. The book inexplicably switches from a diary-like format, with dates simply listed to deliniate sections, to an AP-fronted style without so much as a warning or even a page break. This latter style makes sense and is deployed effectively to give readers headlines relevant to the time in question, saving Halperin time in constructing and explaining technological developments, but its sudden appearance seems gimmicky; it would have been more effective if used uniformly throughout the book. Halperin's use of seemingly-irrelevant detail in these headlines is excusable because it gives readers a working knowledge and certain familiarity with the strange new world, but he all too often describes his words with laughably unrealistic dialogue- there is so much redundant explaining between characters who would already know everything being said that it almost becomes a running gag, entertaining rather than infuriating.

This, then, is the fundamental conclusion that I draw about The First Immortal: it is a wonderful attempt at using fiction to explore some truths about existence, with a strong sense of its issues and themes, but it takes itself way too seriously and its author is really a terrible writer. The ideas presented are excellent and interesting, but the poor writing demeans them and makes the whole book come across as yet another work of bad sci-fi, which is too bad because there is something behind the book that is incredibly interesting and telling. I actually enjoyed this book despite its many glaring writing flaws because the world it presents is so compelling and so realistic that I was sucked in and hooked. Sure, the book isn't helped much by its introduction ("Two [incredibly self-righteous and too-serious] Caveats") or its bibliography/further reading postscript that makes the whole book retroactively seem like an advertisement for cryonic freezing and research, but it is, at heart, fun. I don't know if I would exactly recommend this book, but I did enjoy it despite my inherent and near-constant desire to groan. It's bad, it really is, but it transcends its horrible writing to become entertaining rather than infuriating and worth a look.

Grade: C

Book 2: Shampoo Planet

Shampoo Planet
Douglas Coupland

Shampoo Planet is Coupland's follow-up to his generation-defining Generation X and proves to be an interesting successor when read in this context. This novel follows the same basic structure and tone of Generation X, although it is set a few years later and focuses on a younger and, perhaps, less aimless generation. This book feels very much the same as its predecessor and contains much of Coupland's charm and typical missteps. Coupland's writing style and the strong voice of his narrator do much to capture the feeling of the era as experienced by his characters. Coupland uses some stereotypes in his writing but his major characters rise above them. There are times when main characters Tyler and Anna-Louise seem like they're just quipping stereotypical sound bytes at each other, but there are others in which their cynicism feels incredibly nuanced and appropriate. There is no question that Coupland has a hold on the mindset of these millennial generations, but his wit can be heavy-handed and overbearing at times. When Coupland is on target, however, the book shines as a time capsule of the era and even our own. Shampoo Planet is most definitely a product of the early nineties, but many of its concerns are still felt strongly in today's society- Coupland simultaneously writes in his time and for the future, which perhaps says more about contemporary American society than a present-day novel might.

This book also improves on Generation X in terms of breadth of characterization and plot development. The plot is simple but takes Tyler on his necessary journey; it resolves in a rather silly manner but because the novel concentrates more on interpersonal relationships this awkward resolution is acceptable. Certain characters fall prey to pointless stereotypes (Harmony is a woefully obsessed Dungeons and Dragons nerd who is entirely unrealistic) but others rise above them (ex-hippie Jasmine comes to some interesting conclusions about the world); Coupland, as usual, provides and eccentric and sarcastic yet entirely relatable and likable cast. He also provides and intricate sense of setting from a backpacker's Europe to yuppie-wannabe rural Washington to the unglamorous Hollywood. Shampoo Planet is, like its predecessor, an accessible and interesting novel tied inextricably from its time period but relevant even today. Coupland captures in his nonchalant and conversational style the voice and outlook of a generation trying to strike a balance between their 60s-era parents and the dawning hope of a digitized, corporate future. Coupland is not always eloquent but he is always revealing and more often than not can draw laughs and sympathetic sighs in the same breath. As Tyler says while inscribing dollar bills with revealing one- or two-line observations, "What I write are not sins; I write tragedies."


Grade: A-

Book 1: Tipping the Velvet

Tipping the Velvet
Sarah Waters

So begins another year of reading, hopefully one as successful as the past two have been, both in terms of quantity and quality. Thankfully, Tipping the Velvet proved to be an excellent and successful beginning, an excellent and absorbing read that kept me intrigued despite its flaws. It is nice to finally encounter a book featuring lesbians and their relationships that doesn't trivialize them or throw them in as an afterthought. The book is an excellent use of lesbianism in serious, literary fiction, and that in itself is quite an accomplishment. Indeed, the best aspect of Tipping the Velvet is its impeccable sense of setting- turn-of-the-century England (particularly London) is incredibly vivid and real, and the characters who populate it seem believable and well-suited to their time period. One would think that a teeming underground of lesbians in the 1890s is unlikely and too influenced by modern standards, but I found most of its quirks and characters intensely believable; it helps that Waters places her lesbian characters into clusters, who of course would all know each other and create circles for other lesbians to move within. London itself is remarkably rendered and absolutely comes alive, perhaps even more so because I've been there but certainly becauase of Waters's sense of time and place and, of course, literary skill.

What is more interesting is that Tipping the Velvet, though incredibly specific to its time and place, is more of a character study than a period piece. It is, at heart, the story of a selfish young girl learning what love, and more specifically love for women, means. Nancy herself is very three-dimensional; though I greatly enjoyed the book, I'm still not sure I'm entirely fond of her. Nevertheless, she is intriguing and it is interesting to see how she becomes alternately resourceful (when out of luck) or content and lazy (when privileged). It is easy to judge her prior complacency and her helplessness when she is cast out of her heavens, but she is reacting fairly to her circumstances. Additionally, it is thrilling to watch her come into her own as she plays with conventional notions of gender through her appearance. Waters does her readers a great service by refusing to make Nancy a great and flawless heroine; her humanity prevents the book from becoming trivialized and allows its focus on lesbianism to be taken seriously and the book to be read by those outside of this small , expected audience. It is too bad, then, that its plot often feels contrived and becomes, by the end, quite predictable. Each section of the book ends quite similarly, and there are many occasions when the foreshadowing is a bit thick. The climax amusingly recalls the end of The Jungle with its unabashed, but firmly setting-specific, socialist rhetoric.

There are a few problems with Tipping the Velvet, but overall it is a strong book and an interesting alternative vision of the turn-of-the-century world often recalled in modern art. The book's depiction of the music-hall life and streets of busy, bustling London are astounding and vivid, as are the characters. The novel deals quite interestingly with an aspect of life largely untouched by serious works of fiction and is frank, but not condescending, in its depiction of lesbianism and the effects it has on both lesbians and those around them. Waters uses her supporting cast to explore various means of dealing with same-sex attraction and raises issues of shame and the idea of coming out without being disingenuous to her story or seeming trite. Many timeless issues that arise with not only same-sex attraction and relationships, but also through ideas about gender presentation, are present in the novel and form an undercurrent that are appreciated by those in the know without being condescending to those who prefer more traditional partners. Nancy is a convincing and lively narrator, despite the character flaws exposed by the narrative, and though there are issues with the overarching plot, individual sections and encounters are handled deftly. Tipping the Velvet lacks a little in its overall execution, but in the minutiae is proves itself addictive and quite revealing, an original and spellbinding look at turn-of-the-century London seen through the eyes of an under-utilized minority.

Grade: A-

2008 Year in Review

Well, I tallied 61 books this year, a fair number between 2006's 58 and 2007's whopping 66. I think a list may be overkill with the easily accessible calendar and tags on the right margin there, but I'd like to take a couple of moments to reflect. This year I've been able to guide my own reading much more than in previous years because I am now out of undergrad and not taking any classes. I had an abysmal January, reading only Freakonomics, but I quickly got up to speed and read at least four books in every month except for March, when I read three. Because my goal is not only to read 52 books but to try to average them out, I think I did a pretty good job. I feel a bit like my total is inflated because of the Stephanie Plum series, a series that I was very attracted to in the beginning but which, with the exception of To the Nines, faded considerably into stereotypes and internal cliche; I enjoyed Stephanie's adventures this year but I think I will bid adieu to Trenton in the new year. I am grateful, however, that she has introduced me to the depth present in the mystery novel via The Plot Thickens and that I will continue to read the genre.

My favorite book of 2008 is probably World War Z by Max Brooks, an imaginative and wholly believable zombie narrative told convincingly as an oral history. The narrative form and voices are absolutely perfect and this book, which I chose because I felt I'd need an excuse to read it, ended up becoming permanently imprinted on my brain. This is also the year that I began reading Douglas Coupland, and while his Generation X themes tend to be somewhat dated for me, I enjoy his wit and will continue to read him in the future. Rashomon and Seventeen Other Stories opened up my eyes to Japanese literature, and I hope to seek out more in the future. The Godfather was fantastic as well. The best nonfiction of the year was definitely An Utterly Impartial History of Britain, which was informative but had just the right level of snarkiness to keep it interesting; I am so glad that I picked it up in Heathrow.

I had a very successful year this year and I hope that I can keep up the numbers and the quality of the books I've been reading. See you in 2009.

Book 61: The Best American Short Stories 2008

The Best American Short Stories 2008
Edited by Salman Rushdie

I always enjoy this annual collection of "literary" fiction and I find it quite interesting to see how the guest editor's personal taste colors the collection from year to year. I was far more impressed, for example, by Stephen King's collection than by Ann Patchett's, for example, but overall I think Salman Rushdie's collection is the most interesting to me, with a higher number of quality stories willing to break out of the litfic mold and surpass any and all expectations of greatness and nuance. There are, of course, a few of the indecipherable but (of course) highly "literary" middle-age sorry-for-oneself stories such as "May We Be Forgiven", which tries to introduce a twist at the end but which fails miserably. "Bible", while interesting and thrilling, cannot resist falling into this trap at its tragically yawn-inducing "conclusion" and exemplifies all that is wrong with the insular litfic world. The story I hated most, however, was "Galatea", a poor excuse for expository writing that made no sense throughout, a fact made even more frustrating by the promise of intrigue and a bit of horror with the introduction (and following complete lack of development) of a character known as the Collegetown Creeper. Heaven forbid anything in the story make sense. So this year's edition, sadly, does fall prey to what Rushdie himself refers to as "creative writingese".

That less than stellar introductory paragraph, however, does not do justice to the collection as a whole, which features many vibrant and intriguing stories that are original and teem with life and creativity. Rushdie does not shy away from that which is fantastic or even science fictional, with T.C. Boyle's creative and clever look at pet cloning ("Admiral") leading the bunch. Also outstanding are Katie Chase's "Man and Wife", which does an excellent job at turning suburbia into the Third World without being overly moralistic or self-righteous, and Karen Russell's "Vampires in the Lemon Grove", which is unapologetically fantasy and which provides a refreshingly original take on vampires in a saturated market. I simply cannot get enough of her work. "The Wizard of West Orange", by Steven Millhauser, is another outstanding example of science fiction that demonstrates flawlessly that genre writing can actually (surprise!) touch on human themes and with excellent, "literary" writing to boot. I am exceedingly pleased that this year's crop of stories included many stories that went beyond the real world and took risks with alternate realities while retaining the quality expected when the word "best" is appended to the work.

Even the realistic stories in this collection are original and fresh. Rebecca Makkai's "The Worst You Ever Feel" is absolutely stunning from start to finish as it successfully harnesses the power of music to drive its narrative. This is also a fundamentally American story without re-hashing the overplayed immigrant narrative- Makkai is able to look at the refreshing promise of the "free world" without resorting to stereotypes and while powerfully evoking Old World tragedy. "The Worst You Ever Feel" is a worthy successor to the American immigrant story because it simply allows those themes to exist within the story without rambling on about the American Dream and other such cliche bull- the story breathes and is one of the most emotionally powerful pieces I have ever read. I eagerly await her upcoming short story collection. "Missionaries", by Bradford Tice, is not as evocative or emotionally moving but provides an interesting look at two young LDS missionaries and their vastly different approaches to their task, again without being heavy-handed or moralizing at all. Tice allows the reader to explore and experience the story, and the reader is richer for it. Christine Sneed's "Quality of Life" is likewise subtle and brilliant, exploring the time-old assertion that we are always in control of our lives in a fresh and ironic way, without being sappy or bitter and allowing the story to confront an uncomfortable truth head-on.

It's a pity that the stories are reprinted in alphabetical order, because the second offering is by far this collection's best and belongs only at the end of anthology (though I will concede that it would be a good opener). "The Year of Silence", by Kevin Brockmeier, is absolutely stunning and fantastic. I was made giddy by the fact that it was include, because it is science fiction through and through and not the kind of story usually respected by the hoity-toity litfic types. Its narrative form is absolutely perfect and shows deliberation and mastery of the craft. The story is of a city that gradually basks itself in silence and its attendant introspection. Told in the first person plural with as much success as Eugenides in The Virgin Suicides and in discrete chunks of plot, the story builds much as the situation within and, like Makkai's, simply allows its prominent themes to breathe and exist without over-exposure.

This collection, despite its (exceedingly small) share of boring and over-wrought stories, shines throughout and continually surprised me. There are at least four stories that vie for my opinion as the absolute best of the collection, and each one shines in an entirely different and unexpected way. Rushdie does an excellent job of selecting original and imaginative stories that illuminate our world by casting subtle shadows instead of showering us with blinding flourescence. This collection offers so much and every reader can be excited by at least one story in the bunch. The Best American Short Stories 2008 is, overall, the best installment that I have read and showcases what I believe must be the best and brightest of American short fiction. There is variety, there is depth, and there is truth in these pages.

Grade: A

Book 60: Ten Big Ones

Ten Big Ones
Janet Evanovich

Stephanie Plum returns yet again in this tenth installment (eleventh if you count the Visions of Sugar Plums train wreck) of her adventures as a barely-competent bounty hunter in Trenton, New Jersey. Unfortunately, one book reads just like another and though there is remarkable continuity between the stories, Evanovich is beginning to seem incapable of deviating at all from her tried-and-true formula. The addition of gang warfare to Trenton seems like either an attempt to focus on a real and growing problem or, more often, like a cheap and exploitative way to add suspense to Stephanie's life. At this point, though, readers know that she won't be killed or seriously harmed, so even when her car is blown up within the first few pages there is little suspense or intrigue to drive the novel. Ten Big Ones lacks the charm deployed by the previous installment's hilarious field trip and previously vivid Trenton is beginning to seem contrived and bland. This could be because the Burg is so familiar to readers, but when Evanovich adds an entirely new section of town (Slayerland), Trenton becomes just another gang-ridden, decaying city. Also maddening is the completely unrealistic expository dialogue about gang problems in Trenton, problems that, suspiciously, have never revealed themselves before, right alongside a borderline offensive explanation of gang graffiti that echoes the novel's quiet racist tones. Stephanie's ongoing romantic saga with Joe and Ranger is at its most insipid in this book and is particularly uninspired, with Stephanie quickly going downhill from a humorously confused woman to an immature brat. I am quickly losing my sympathy for the once-spunky protagonist and as strong supporting characters like Lula and Grandma Mazur are tragically reduced to stereotypes and predictable outbursts, the series weakens considerably. Everything that once made this series fresh and interesting is quickly becoming stale and boring and, though there are some good bits to this tale, I think I'm going to quit the series soon before it becomes unbearably cliche. Ten Big Ones is a good effort with some good quick gags and a hilarious (if rushed) resolution, but because it fits so well and so blandly into the established Plum universe it is incredibly disappointing.

Grade: C+

Book 59: The Manchurian Candidate

The Manchurian Candidate
Richard Condon

Having never seen either of the movie adaptations of this book, I went into it relatively unspoiled, which I think is a good thing because I was permitted to engage in the novel's big reveal precisely as it was intended, just before the heretofore barely implicit became blindly obvious. Because the political implications of the novel hinge on this plot twist, it is difficult to assess the novel on a first reading. For much of the story, I was somewhat bored and confused by different characterizations and rambling paragraphs of exposition that seemed to add little to the story; in retrospect, some of these bits are useful but some are unnecessarily long and come into play far later for minor plot variations. The book is largely boring but speeds up fairly well in the end, achieving a thrilling intensity in its last hundred pages that would serve it well in the previous parts. The book is also hard for someone in my generation to judge, as it feels most at home in the Cold War and must, therefore, take on a vintage feel to the modern reader. Ultimately, it is a decently written but dated story that raises its interesting issues far too late, and with far too little exploration, to make it particularly politically compelling.

The story itself is quite interesting and should pose interesting philosophical and ethical questions: what would happen if an enemy force could manufacture a Medal of Honor winner and use him as an ultimate, almost undetectable weapon? Unfortunately, a lot of the intrigue gets lost and bogged down by a downright unlikeable cast of characters who are almost impossible to relate to and a whole lot harder to care about, until maybe the very end of the book when it is too late for Condon to manufacture sympathy. Though the plot is driven by an original and well-executed idea, it crams far too much of its intrigue into its final, rushed act and fails to sustain interest throughout. The writing itself is passable and the book as a whole simply interesting, to be read and passed quietly into the "read" pile. Those interested in Cold War literature or brainwashing will probably enjoy this book, and anyone cynical about American politics will appreciate the cold and stark portrait of Raymond's mother as the most coldly calculating of political opportunists and the driving force behind an underdeveloped McCarthyist hysteria. There are hints of interest throughout the book, but they are either woefully overplayed or frustratingly underdeveloped. Ultimately, The Manchurian Candidate is consistently vaguely interesting until its final successful act, by which point readers' ambivalence has gone unchecked for so long that it's hard to get wrapped up in the action and the book is reconciled to a place on the shelves of mediocre dated political thrillers.

Grade: B-

Book 58: To the Nines

To the Nines
Janet Evanovich

It's been a while since I've joined Stephanie Plum in her never-ending adventures as Trenton's least capable bounty hunter. To the Nines is a worthy installment in the series, where Evanovich relies on her tried-and-true Stephanie tricks while adding enough new ingredients into the mix to make the book seem original and fresh. Stephanie's narration is again the driving force in the novel, although there are times when it seems tired and gets repetitive. Stephanie's continual comments about her family are generally reliably hilarious but occasionally venture in to the world of slight annoyance. Lula remains painfully stereotyped and almost offensively stupid, at times though her conception of the Atkins diet is, at its core, absolutely hilarious. Joe Morelli and Ranger, the men in Stephanie's life, are surprisingly well-developed in this novel, with their uneasy alliance in full view and beginning to be explored, though Stephanie too often comes across as shallow and immature when it comes to the two male bombshells. The plot itself of To the Nines is what makes it shine in the expanding Plum catalogue- instead of succumbing to the series fatigue hinted at in the past few books, Evanovich livens things up with a well-executed field trip to Las Vegas for several of the main characters. The most exciting development this includes is a further exploration of Vinnie's secretary Connie, who is vibrant and who successfully steps into the role of major back-up character for the trip. Trenton's character is more muted in this volume, but Evanovich's attention to characterization (with the obvious exception of the blatantly racist portrayal of Pakistani McDonald's employee Howie) and an original and haunting central plot line make this installment of the Stephanie Plum series a delightful addition to the collection.

Grade: A-

Book 57: Ragtime

Ragtime
E.L. Doctorow

This novel is truly that in the most basic sense of the word: its mode of storytelling feels new and vigorous while retaining enough of the classical mode to hold readers' attention and interest. Ragtime is a fast paced and ever-moving story of a country and a world moving through a period of rapid change and to have its story told through a conventional narrative structure would diminish its power. Initially I was put off by its lack of concrete characters or sensible, tangible plot points; by reading the book, however, I was drawn further and further into its tangled web and the swift current of its portrait of America between 1900 and World War I. Doctorow reveals himself to be an immensely skilled author, able not only to deliver a well-paced and continually interesting postmodern look at our not-so-distant past but also to realize when it is proper to take a step back and allow the reader to get their bearings. It would be easy to be swept away entirely in the constant flood of information that distinguishes and characterizes this novel, but Doctorow nimbly links his stories, his real-life and imagined characters and situations, and creates a story that draws its readers effortlessly into the tune of a different era.

Readers may be at first concerned about the fluidity of plots and hasty character sketches; the use of historical figures such as Emma Goldman and Harry Houdini does, at times, seem like a gimmicky way to give the novel a kind of credibility. What the novel does, however, is draw a large and complex portrait of its setting at its outset, gradually narrowing its focus and refining its plot. At the end of each section, the plot has moved considerably closer to the familiarly-named family that holds the book together. Though its narrator is never revealed and often moves from almost first person (referring to said family as "Father", "Mother," and the like) to an over-arching third person in the span of a sentence or two, the story feels familiar and intimate. Its spell is only broken in its fourth section, where it is revealed that portions of Houdini's story are, for example, drawn from his personal papers. Thematically, however, this drastic break from the book's reverie is particularly poignant as the plot moves into the times of Woodrow Wilson and the impending shellacking that World War I will give to the early century's semblance of 1800s normalcy. The over-arching plot of the novel, intertwined successfully with a multitude of side-plots that reflect the diversity of their New York settings during the period, zeroes in unexpectedly on a subtle yet vibrant discussion of the institutional racism that consistently mars America's record as a bastion of justice and democracy. This topic, however, is handled with remarkable care and calm and presented ironically- and, miraculously, without overt comment- alongside an immigrant success story that somehow only seems stereotypical in retrospect.

Ragtime is a novel that must, as its epigraph suggests, be read slowly and preferably in as few sittings as possible. It succeeds only when the reader allows it to throw them headfirst into its incredibly realistic and richly detailed world, the realism of which is accomplished through masterful use of simple, direct sentences and through a surprisingly effective lack of quotation marks. This novel is a beautiful presentation of the thunderous cachophony that hides beneath our conceptions of the early 20th century. Doctorow manages to take relatively straightforward, time-tested narratives of the maligned but dignified minority, the immigrant working their way up from the Lower East Side tenements, and the WASP-turned-revolutionary and weave them together in a way that is unapologetically realistic and utterly compelling. It is only evident afterward that the plot itself of Ragtime relies on stereotypical reconstructions of its era; this itself is even forgivable given what Doctorow adds to these stories to make them personal and to make them come alive in his chosen and perfectly rendered era. New York itself is the true main character of Ragtime, in which all its other figures operate and with which they interact, and which comes splendidly alive in this unique and compelling book. Ragtime will hook you in without your knowledge and is an invariably exciting portrait of America just after the turn of the last century.

Grade: A