Book 58: At Home

At Home
Bill Bryson

I have read and enjoyed several of Bill Bryson's books, which successfully use humor and, where necessary, solid research to make science and history fun for the average reader or to craft unique topical memoirs. In At Home, he turns his talents from the geological timespan of the entire history of the universe (though much abridged) to a more focused look at the last hundred and sixty years or so. More particularly, he focuses on household objects, the myriad customs and objects that affect us every day and which we may not ever really consider due not to their obscurity (as may be the case with the Yellowstone caldera) but due to their omnipresence. Indeed, it is the absence of these things that startles us and yet, as Bryson points out in his introduction, they hardly seem to merit any special attention. The result in this specificity is a strangely unfocused collection, which blatantly and often violates some of the rules Bryson appears to lay out in his heading. He says, for example, that the book's focus is meant to be on the years from 1851-2009, but the histories he relates often date back far further than that. This is fine as the historical notes add significant depth to his stories, but it is unclear why the first chapter of the book focuses so heavily on 1851 when that focus does not successfully set up the following anecdotes.

This scattershot vision permeates the book, which is brilliant in overall structure but severely lacking in the minutiae. Bryson structures the book's chapters around the various rooms in his English house, which is at once a clever and natural way to organize a book about household objects. Bryson is also able to use these rooms in unforeseen ways: while the kitchen is, obviously, about food and dining, the cellar chapter focuses on building materials, and the bedroom on childbirth and death. These all make sense in retrospect, and though the connections are occasionally tenuous they make enough sense and allow Bryson to explore more facets of domestic history. He does not, however, stick to his stated topics, and many topics pop up throughout many chapters in unexpected and often distracting ways. The book maintains an oddly steadfast fascination with English manor architecture, which is interesting and perhaps deserving of its own chapter, but which feels distinctly like a disjointed subplot as architects pop up sporadically and as readers are expected to recall arcane details from earlier chapters. This is bizarre, as it very precisely undermines the point of the room-by-room structure. English countryside architecture is certainly fascinating, but without meaningful visual aids it is dreadfully misplaced in this book as Bryson seems to simply throw in stories he finds interesting for their own sake, with no eye toward the grander narrative he's attempting to create.

This lack of organization and focus is shameful, as Bryson is often at his funniest. Though he has a tendency to overly romanticize The Wide Arc of History (he is constantly referring to people as "the first/last man/woman/person in history to do x") and to wander far and wide from his own stated path, he has an eye for the interesting and bizarre and a knack for relating these stories with the wit they deserve. Bryson's prose is, when it isn't trying too hard to be, gut-bustingly hilarious and efficient for casual readers. For those of a more academic stripe or for those whose interest is piqued by a particular room, Bryson often mentions his sources and includes a much-appreciated bibliography of recommended reading, along with the research notes available at his website. Despite its missteps in construction and wandering attention span, the book does provide a lighthearted and informative history of those things we hardly take time to consider. It is obvious that Bryson has done proper research and he is usually able to deliver his punchlines without an overbearing sense of his own hilarity. At Home is, despite its flaws, an accessible and enjoyable history of domestic life that can be easily enjoyed by both more serious and more relaxed readers.

Grade: B+

Book 57: The City & The City

The City & The City
China Miéville

All around us, every day, are worlds we choose, whether consciously or not, to "unsee" despite being on some level aware of their existence. Whole undercurrents of society constantly escape our notice and, though there is much psychologically at stake in preserving our comfortable notions of the world and how it is built, imagine adding a nationalist ideology into the mix; imagine, for a moment, that the community you choose to ignore is, instead, a bustling metropolis countering the slow industrial decay of your home country. China Miéville takes this premise literally, places a hardboiled mystery into a dual city occupying the same physical space, and explores the ways in which we build the world around us. That he does all this without the heavy-handed moralizing one would expect from such a heavy starting point is remarkable, and the overall product and its lingering aftertaste greatly overshadow its faults. For all of the book's fantastic pretensions, Miéville's choice to use a hardboiled mystery plot fuses cold, hard reality with the more whimsical elements of the book and, upon reflection, makes the book much more realistic and delivers an aftershock upon reflection that changes one's perception of the book entirely. It is interesting, then, that the main fault of the book lies in its most mystical elements, which seem over-played and far too confusing to be of any real service to the book. The presence of a mystical force is necessary for the book to function, and indeed resonates deeply upon reflection, but the way it is handled makes a first and/or careless read more of a burden than it ought to be with such well-constructed and otherwise well-handled material.

Overall, however, this book is truly amazing. The setting is utterly original, and revealed in just the right doses to keep readers abreast of what is happening but still allowing understanding to develop in an organic way that quite alters perceptions of both readers and characters by the book's conclusion. Miéville delivers a fantasy with a solid footing in reality, one that does not preach but rather seeps into the reader's consciousness at its conclusion or upon reflection. This is a book to be savored after it is finished, a book that requires reflection without actually asking for or requiring the necessary sustained mental effort. The City & The City will reward both readers who come for the fantasy/noir combination and those who want to probe a bit deeper into the world that is truly represented by the two cities, and what their secrets and the secrets of their strange intersections may mean in our own shared reality.

Grade: A

Book 56: The View from Castle Rock

The View from Castle Rock
Alice Munro

Alice Munro is very nearly universally hailed as one of the finest short story writers of this time, and over the course of her career and various collections she has only come to build upon her outstanding reputation. It is clear that Munro has a keen eye for the short and sweet and an even better eye for a clever, deeply revelatory turn of phrase. It is boggling, then, how she manages to take an intimately personal set of linked stories, whose full arc plays out over the course of the book, and make them routinely dull, tedious, and uninteresting, though her use of atmosphere borders on brilliant. Even with that said, there certainly isn't a dearth of interesting, vibrant, and original material within the book; it seems, however, that for every relevant plot point or clever observation there are numerous hurdles that must be jumped to reach the next one. Most of these stories try, unsuccessfully, to balance two or more plots, often strained across generations; while there is nothing inherently wrong in this approach, and while it is an appropriate ambition for an extended family history, Munro seems to deflect attention just when the present story becomes interesting. Suddenly, dramatically, the lens whirls in a desperate attempt to focus as the reader's head is left spinning. It is almost as if Munro, the master of the short story, would have been better off structuring this book as a memoir, as it is done a great disservice in its present, scattered form. There are enough recurring elements and, understandably, enough links and consistent characters between the stories to justify a slight re-working and the construction of a more collected narrative than that brazenly attempted, but ultimately missed, in the book as it is.

The structural problems inherent in the collection mask and occasionally overwhelm its strengths, which come more often and far more consistently at its more intimate levels. Though plots and stories divide and collide at an often furious and frantic pace, Munro is able to construct compelling characters, even allowing her estimation of herself to slip into the tolerably objective. Her depictions of the pleasant familiarity- and accompanying constriction- of closely-bound families and social groups are poignant and effortlessly effective, along with her prose, which flows with ease despite often lacking particularly interesting or relevant subject matter. Among the jumbled storylines of the book are moments of clarity and delightful observation that immediately satisfy, only to remind the reader that so much of the book is bogged down by its weighty ambitions and, yes, its past. Despite a glut of thought and heavy construction, then, the collection is able to provide some satisfaction and enjoyment, though in its component pieces rather than its as a haphazard whole. An admirable singularity of purpose mitigates the ultimate failure to cohere, and the author's ability to see intimately into the private lives of a variety of characters is not always undermined by the stubborn, stale potholes in which they often become stuck. Showing a remarkable range, Munro is successfully able to evoke a number of convincing lives throughout a number of historical periods home and abroad and ties them together to produce a broad and far-ranging family history. Its ambitions are a dreadful mis-fit with its form, but somehow and despite itself, A View from Castle Rock forges an engaging,(if slightly overwrought) whole out of internally disparate material.

Grade: B

Book 55: The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death
Charlie Huston

This book, as the title suggests, is not for the faint of heart. If there is a single defining characteristic to this book, it is the coarse, direct delivery of dialogue and explanatory narration, snappy, gritty, and gory. Narrator Web makes no apologies for his decidedly antisocial behavior, and his inclination to swiftly destroy any semblance of normal human interaction is at first disorienting. It is indeed hard to sympathize with a narrator who is so deliberately, deeply unlikeable and alienating that even his closest friends have abandoned hope. There is, of course, good reason why Webster Goodhue acts the way he does, and sharp readers will be able to put the pieces together before Huston, just a touch too late, puts them together himself. The result of this delayed gratification is that the book feels a bit adrift; the plot is sufficient, but the characters and the language are so abrasive that it is difficult to get a firm grasp on the novel until the plot has kicked into high gear. Adding to this uncertainty and reader detachment is the tangled web of Web's life, which while making his actions understandable and ultimately ensuring that the thematic elements of the novel come together in its conclusion still takes a while to come together. Even so, however, it is not clear that a second reading would vastly illuminate anything, Web's personality tics memorable enough that their explanation in retrospect is sufficient.

This book is a strange mixture of the immediate, rough and tumble plot and a more reflective, somber undercurrent that emerges in brief glimpses before Huston launches into another violent, curse-laden crime spree. The novel is contemplative and has something to say about living and, more importantly, about erasing signs of death both literal and symbolic, but overall it is a novel of action. It feels almost as though Huston is attempting to slip the deep philosophy in amongst, and despite, a cracking story. The dissonance, however, resolves into a pleasant chord and the book is a surprisingly pleasant read, if one can get over the language and the often gruesome depictions of...well, gruesome things. Web's history as an intellectual and as an educator adds an extra layer of meta-cognition to the book: Web is dragged into the world of low-class, underachieving criminals much as the target reader is, for this book is aimed at a deep-thinking audience. It's an interesting transplant, especially as the alienation keenly explored throughout the book is at once offensive and redemptive. The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death is an ever-surprising juxtaposition of the abrasive and the vulnerable, of fast-paced action and sober reflection, and despite being a bit uneasy with itself at times, it somehow works.

Grade: A-

Book 54: American Slavery--American Freedom

American Slavery--American Freedom
Edmund S. Morgan

A friend who was dissatisfied with my previous review of Morgan's The Birth of the Republic thrust this book at me along with a challenge, asserting Morgan's prominence as an early American historian and this particular book as a revolutionary work in the historiography of the Revolution. I must say that either the previous book was actually quite poor or I wasn't quite paying attention, because this book is an excellent and well-written, if slightly overreaching, history of colonial Virginia. Most astonishing is the fact that Morgan is able to write what amounts to a dry and slow-paced economic narrative in prose engaging enough to keep reluctant readers interested, though a strong interest in the subject matter may in fact be a prerequisite to any attempts on this book. The prose is far from remarkable, but in being adequate, let alone on the good side of adequate on which he falls, Morgan already vastly outpaces most historical academics. Unfortunately, he routinely falls into some similar traps, including some chronological zig-zagging that doesn't quite make sense thematically. It is understandable and expected, for example, that some figures will need to be borrowed from years in which records actually survive, but this can lead to achronological data that leads to distractions and which ultimately distances both Morgan and the reader from the narrative threads at hand. Many aspects of the book's timeline are, on reflection, somewhat puzzling. The book, which purports to be a history of colonial Virginia and the ideology of the Revolution fermenting among the tobacco fields and within a slave-holding society, but the bulk of the text centers firmly on the 1600s. This is important background, of course, but when Morgan finally realizes that he has a thesis to prove, there is a rapid 100-year jump that surely warrants far more than the two chapters devoted to it.

This lack of focus occurs repeatedly within the book, as Morgan confuses important- and relevant- background information with fluff. All of the information contained herein is interesting, and it all relates to other information within the book, but Morgan's thesis regarding the parallel development of representative government and slavery would be better-served with a more deliberate focus or with a longer narrative that more fully covers post-seventeenth century development. As it is, Morgan does an excellent job covering important attitudes that colored Virginian rhetoric through the turbulent 1700s but only pulls them together in what feels like a desperate last gasp for his thesis. The arguments he presents are compelling, but his rush to end everything so swiftly in the final chapter relies heavily on the reader's trust as he flings assertions around without nearly as much deliberation as previously. Despite a lackadaisical pace, however, American Slavery-American Freedom does make some excellent, original, and well-articulated points about the economic and ideological environment in which both slavery and liberty (though this is an afterthought in Morgan's book) concurrently took such a firm grasp. As a history of colonial Virginia, the book is an excellent resource for historians with a thorough look at societal attitudes both home and abroad that inevitably shaped the colonial experience. American Slavery-American Freedom may not live up to its billing, but it is nonetheless a reasonably readable book exposing, if not quite expanding upon, the ways in which freedom and slavery could become so inextricably linked.

Grade: A-

Book 53: The Begum's Millions

The Begum's Millions
Jules Verne

It has been quite a while since I joined Verne on one of his fabulous scientific journeys, and on a recent trip to the library this title, heretofore unknown to me, jumped out. The jacket promised a juxtaposition of utopian and dystopian futures, and I was immediately on board for what promised to be an intimate look not only at Verne's own dual-pronged vision of the future but also of his own time. What emerged as the novel progressed was a book whose merits are derived primarily for its exposition of the author's own historical context rather than from its own literary or even imaginative merits, two qualities that are conspicuously absent despite the lasting enchantment of some of Verne's other works. The premise and plot are simple enough, with variations on either stemming directly from the racist overtones still resonating from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, and the characters likewise leave much to be desired. The usual imaginative vigor one would expect from a Verne story is suppressed for the sake of politics, and while the book does have some interesting things to say about industrialization and mechanized war (along with a chillingly prescient view of German self-promoted racial superiority) they are often couched in the language of pure political hatred. Even for caricatures, the characters in the novel are drawn with the thinnest of strokes, too brittle to be subjected to even the most routine of twists or turns.

The main problem with this book is that nothing is ever in doubt, and without any semblance of a sustained plot, it's nearly impossible for the reader to maintain interest, and the interesting points that are hidden among the rote and routine stay hidden beneath the surface. Most egregious, perhaps, is Verne's sustained racism which, against Germans, may seem misguided but still fair given the time in which he lived. His blatant attacks on Asians, however, are bewildering and truly unnecessary, though one must commend the translator for leaving them intact in a politically correct day and age. Even these egregious actions, however, manage to fall by the wayside as the overwhelming banality of the plot takes over, and not for want of imagination. Even readers unfamiliar with Verne's better stories will recognize the missed opportunities in his dual utopian/dystopian future, where setting serves only to illuminate stereotypes instead of attack the ideas out of which they are constructed. Rampant militarism was fairly German in the time period, but Verne tips his hand way too soon and too often to make anything out of it, falling back on harsh and unrealistic portrayals to dehumanize the Germans in much the same way their puppet state dehumanizes its own workers. Somehow, I believe the irony is lost on the author.

Even his utopian society (which itself is rather unambiguously named France-ville) is radically underused, existing only as a foil to the Germans and with only a half-chapter explaining its central tenets: France-ville is great because, well, it's great! Verne likewise abuses his heroes, with lead man Marcel brimming with excruciating perfection and with the strange half-resolved story of Octave, perhaps the only character in the book who threatens to have a hint of actual depth. This, too, is wasted, as he is introduced as a slob and promptly ignored, only to reemerge miraculously (and utterly inexplicably) as a war hero and Good Man. And all of this bad writing and poor construction surrounds some interesting scientific speculation that is actually worthy of Verne. His visions of destruction and of the City of Steel are reasonably terrifying and not entirely inaccurate, and though his characters' motives cannot be trusted, the destructive forces they intend to utilize are sufficiently frightening even in the nuclear age. The book also provides some moments of great humor, though these usually come unintentionally and do not sustain the book, though its final punchline (before the requisite sappy and unsupported, though entirely predictable ending) resonates and is, indeed, as clever as it is bizarre. Unfortunately, however, fans of Jules Verne and of dystopian literature are set to be disappointed by an almost complete lack of literary merit that cannot be salvaged as interesting ideas are constantly upstaged by rampant racism and an overt political agenda. The Begum's Millions is, despite some good ideas, overwhelmed by questionable intentions and dodgy writing, though it may prove valuable as a historical text illustrating the developing European nationalism of the late 19th century.

Grade: C+

Book 52: Boychiks in the Hood

Boychiks in the Hood: Travels in the Hasidic Underground
Robert Eisenberg

Upon admitting only the most passing familiarity with the ultra-Orthodox Hasidim, and indeed with many strains of modern Judaism, a friend recommended Boychiks in the Hood to me as a lighthearted, casual introduction to a growing facet of modern Jewish life. It fulfilled on both fronts, which can hardly be surprising from the immensely clever title, but lacked a strong editing eye from either the author or his own editors and is disappointing in aggregate despite some excellent moments. Boychiks in the Hood is, despite its singularity of purpose, oddly disjointed and often distracted, providing a haphazard and often confusing introduction to Hasidism and its many facets where Eisenberg promises simplicity. Indeed, there is a strange paradoxical feel to the book, at once simple and complex, straightforward and taking the most twisted of turns only to return to the point of origin with almost nothing gained of the temporary distraction. It certainly is not beyond the capability of a travelogue to entertain, but this book often seems confused as to what kind of narrative it is actually providing: one moment, Eisenberg is enjoying the company of a Hasidic family on the Sabbath, only to elaborate on the history of that sect's leaders. Fair enough, but all of this is accomplished in a fine frenzy, with nary a line break in sight. Paragraphs and topics materialize out of thin air, only to be absorbed the prematurely aborted narrative as if nothing ever happened; surely Eisenberg could have conjured the slightest of transitions, either thematic or visual?

It is this kind of schizophrenia which far too often characterizes the book both within page-sized chunks and on aggregate; it would hardly be surprising if the bulk of the contextual and historical information within this book is actually lost because of its poor and shortsighted organization. Despite some witty and wry observations (which occasionally become overbearing, shouting, "I'm so clever!" far too often), the book fails to capitalize on a built-in organizational scheme and instead languishes in a kind of purgatory. The good intentions inherent in the book's intuitive, geographically-based chapter divisions go to waste as Eisenberg cannot sit still long enough to tell one simple story without a barrage of confusing and ill-placed details. A crucial element of understanding Hasidic culture is recognizing some of the major differences that distinguish particular branches of Hasidim, but the pinball nature of description, elaboration, and comparison in Boychiks in the Hood makes it almost impossible to separate one sect from another. Instead of building logically based on the communities the reader has already been introduced to, Eisenberg focuses on groups yet to come, returning to previous information as erratically as he adds new points. This Frogger-type deluge is accompanied by some fervently reiterated points that make Boychiks in the Hood occasionally read like an ill-defended dissertation. Eisenberg seems almost obsessed with the population explosion of Hasidim, particularly in relation to secular Judaism (though he never makes it clear whether 'nonreligious Jews' are secular in the traditional sense or include those who practice within the more mainstream Reform and Conservative branches), but his repeated assertions that nonreligious Judaism is dying become distracting after the fourth or fifth feverish repetition.

These stylistic flaws and distractions are almost tragic, for Boys in the Hood begins with a noble purpose and does have a talented writer, if not a fully fledged author, behind it. There is, as I have noted, a lot of valuable information in this book, which takes a compassionate look inside a heretofore mysterious alternate lifestyle and does much to demystify its ways. Eisenberg makes his own views on religion clear throughout the book, but always disagrees respectfully and draws equal attention to shared cultural and historical elements of Jewishness as to the differences between the ultra-Orthodox and the completely secular. Cultural tidbits that linger long enough to make an impact are intriguing and do much to explain certain well-known elements of Jewish cultural and religious practices in further depth. While the history of and differences between Hasidic sects may be almost as elusive as a useful definition of Hasidism, shared practices across different Hasidic communities are clearly defined and explained as Eisenberg draws the reader into his own learning experiences. His biographical and descriptive portrayals of yeshiva students and Talmudic scholars may occasionally trend toward the dismissive, but the author's representations of their arguments may be taken at face value and provide interesting points for reader rumination.

Readers will, despite Eisenberg's repeated efforts at distraction, leave with an increased knowledge and understanding of modern ultra-Orthodoxy throughout the world. The geographic scope of Boychiks in the Hood may be its most important aspect, as far-flung communities illustrate the complex interplay between situational and more specifically Jewish customs. Eisenberg also has a mind for history, using modern communities in two very distinct parts of Europe (Antwerp and rural Ukraine) to illustrate the devastating effects of the Holocaust and to link modern practice to the flourishing pre-catastrophe centers of Jewish life. Indeed, this book's examination of the Holocaust and its effects on Judaism are some of the most insightful I have read, though their offhand nature often belies their subtly profound significance. Boychiks in the Hood is not, then, without many redeeming qualities. The book balances incredible frustration with incredible articulation, creating a singular reading experience that is hard to pin down. As Eisenberg bounces merrily from topic to topic, so the reader is alternately enthralled and maddened by the lively prose and simple editorial oversights, intellecutally provoked by the wry observations but emotionally provoked by moments of condescension that seem out of place given the general congenial tenor. Boychiks in the Hood is, like the modern Hasidic communities it presents, impossible to pin down completely, but represents a mildly rewarding experience for those who want a nonacademic and personal introduction to the Hasidim in most of their modern incarnations.

Grade: B

Book 51: Sandman Slim

Sandman Slim
Richard Kadrey

Some books are designed to be, above all, fun, where others strive to connect with readers on a more intellectual level, provoking thought and engaging the reader at every twist and turn. Sandman Slim is, at a visceral level, and incredibly enjoyable book and a truly unique sarcastic fantasy-noir quasi-apocalyptic novel. The devil, however, lies in all of the details of this book, including the plot, the characters, and Kadrey's maddening inability to maximize the deep philosophical potential of his work. Sandman Slim deals with the devil and with heaven, including a hierarchy of angels and imps and a main character who firmly resolves to stand between the two ever-warring forces. This philosophical conflict, while evoked beautifully by the gruff and cynical first-person prose, is never fully realized as Kadrey seems more concerned with adding interesting plot elements than using them. The book seems in this way to be built toward an inevitable sequel, but readers may feel somewhat conned by the tantalizing hints of higher meaning and philosophical depth, which could easily have been offered regardless of Slim's potential as a series. There is a lot to be said about the themes upon which this novel only fleetingly touches, and though it seems Kadrey has something to say about death, love, and morality, which are easily the book's major themes, what it is remains uncertain after hints and miscues.

This problem with overall vision, whether too little or too much of it, is reflected in some plot holes and inconsistencies within the book. Death, injury, and immunity are key factors throughout, but are neither adequately explained nor consistently treated. Characters who should have immunity according to the book's internal logic (insofar as it exists) find themselves subject to crippling attacks, and other characters appear invincible one moment and vulnerable the next. It is as if Kadrey wished to introduce plot elements without paying careful consideration to how they would affect the believability of the world he has otherwise so realistically evoked. This, and Chekhov reigns supreme through transparent foreshadowing. Sandman Slim consistently hints at something bigger but is weighed down by minor inconsistencies that add up to a somewhat frustrating reading experience. This is incredibly unfortunate, as it is obvious that Kadrey is a top-notch author and provides a quirky narrative voice. Protagonist and narrator Stark may have the inconsistency imposed upon him, but damn can he tell a story. The language in this book is vivid and pitch-perfect, absolutely consistent and simultaneously creating a dark and dirty noir L.A. as well as a grungy ex-con (of sorts) whose primary motivating factors may surprise without becoming unbelievable or inconsistent.

Likewise, Kadrey's imagination is at once astonishing and terrifying, with some of the best and most evocative fight scenes I have read as well as an arsenal of weaponry that readers can't help but wish to see on a big screen and indeed, this book is almost screaming to be made into a film despite the prominence of language as its driving element. The tiniest of details combine to create a truly extraordinary view of the darker side of human nature and a much-maligned L.A., which makes it all the more maddening that other elements of the book are not as tightly constructed. The book is full of potential constantly showcased, only to crash in disappointment when its promises are not fulfilled or the author distracted from building theme or plot by a fancy turn of phrase or wry observation. Sandman Slim begins as a rough-and-tumble revenge story with celestial implications, and ends with a flimsy, under-explained apocalyptic aversion. It is a novel that attempts to explore the middle ground between good and evil, Heaven and Hell, but which too often gets caught up in its own cleverness. Sandman Slim will fulfill readers looking for a fun and unique thrill ride, but will frustrate those who hope for a little more weight behind its hefty themes.

Grade: B

Book 50: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest

Stieg Larsson

This, the final book in Larsson's sadly posthumous Millennium Trilogy, presents a captivating and ultimately worthy end to the intertwined stories of renegade journalist Mikael Blomkvist and the enigmatic Lisbeth Salander. Though it lacks a bit of a punch and, like its predecessors, may suffer from a lack of a more critical editorial eye, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest will please readers who bring high expectations and a thirst for further adventures with the extremely well-drawn and vivid cast. This book directly follows the concluding lines of the previous installment, and does not dwell too long on recapitulation before launching directly into an attack on Swedish society and people around the world who allow violence against women to drive their actions or policies. Larsson can be forgiven for his lack of subtlety as he sticks ruthlessly to this theme, allowing it to direct and shape his narrative while only occasionally allowing his passion, which is evident, to overwhelm the narrators. This is mostly a matter of obvious over-eagerness and does not overshadow the greater merits of the book, which builds wonderfully on the ideas, plots, and characters built so painstakingly through its successors. It is clear from the start that Larsson knows where his story and his characters are going, and his management and integration of several subplots is superb, with only the rarest small detail vanishing into obscurity. The Millennium Trilogy is both sharply and intricately plotted and the meticulousness of the author adds to its mystique and, ultimately, the strength and clarity of its moral message.

The durability of Larsson's characters through three large books, and the continuing revelations about their variously complicated pasts is a testament to his meticulous planning as well as his talent for building complex, rich characters who can handle the pressure imposed by strong thematic currents as well as the plot-centered nature of a crime novel. It's a shame that Lisbeth Salander, the girl on whom the series hinges, does not feature more deeply in the climactic episode of her life, and his decision to place the action most significantly on his (male) journalist hero is interesting given the attention paid to women, and particularly women in positions of power. Lisbeth is far from neglected, but though the issue of agency is strongly addressed throughout the novel, some of its conclusions appear to be at ends with its ultimate message. This conflict, if taken as unintentional, re-casts the entire thesis of the book in a different light, as even Larsson's headstrong and ferocious heroine must be saved by a man. In Mikael, too, Larsson is not all-forgiving, but it is at times too easy to see him as a Mary Sue, given the repeated assertions of journalistic integrity and Mikael's own self-importance. Again, however, these flaws in the book(s) are both hidden just beneath the surface and are actually referred to more blatantly by the supporting cast. The real progress of women remains ambiguous, which though it may be unintentional does suit the novel quite nicely.

These flaws, as with most found in The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest and in the greater Millennium Trilogy, are minor and detract only very slightly from the more present matters at hand. The books are incredibly well-written and captivating from start to finish. The characters are far from the cookie-cutter protagonists who haunt most crime series, and their individuality does not appear drawn from a checklist or forced upon them; these people seem, moreso than many characters, vividly real. Larsson can hardly be faulted for foreign readers' unfamiliarity with Swedish geography, which does generate some confusion, and the consistently high quality of the books is remarkable given their length. It is true that, with some editing, some extraneous matter could be removed, but the books always pick up just when they appear to drift into dullness and readers can always expect to be further intrigued. This final installment leaves a bit to be desired with regards to suspense, but Larsson's brilliant, if long, courtroom denouement is as satisfying for the reader as it must have been for the author to write it. There is nothing too unexpected after the first two books, but the Millennium Trilogy should nonetheless hold up as a classic and original series in a genre plagued by cliche. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest has, as all novels do, its minor flaws, but it is a worthy conclusion to the story of Lisbeth Salander, a brilliant and fiercely original character whose fame is, in the end, justly deserved.

Grade: A-

Book 40: Alone in Berlin

Alone in Berlin

Hans Fallada

It's understandable enough that much of the literature surrounding the Second World War centers on resistance to the existing regimes, and that most of these works devote their time to the small success of well-organized movements, partisan fighters, or good people helping to hide Jews or other undesirables from their persecutors. In Alone in Berlin, Hans Fallada draws attention to less successful efforts at resistance and paints a picture of wartime Germany in many more shades of gray than the stark black and white preferred by many of the era's chroniclers. Though the thrust of the main plot is occasionally lost as the narrative gets sidetracked, the novel offers a reasonably comprehensive view of the lives of a few normal and ordinary Germans who participated in small acts of resistance to the mighty Reich. Fallada's willingness to expose the near futility of his heroes' actions does not ultimately betray his underlying faith in human decency, but instead contributes to the book's thorough realism. Readers get the sense that Alone in Berlin reflects, as the book's afterword puts it, "the banality of good."

The range of characters explored in the book grounds Fallada's examination of Berlin in wartime, contributing to the book's sense of comprehensiveness despite the centrality of one couple's story. Fallada is also willing to look at the past from different points of view, and while the moral timbre of the book is never in doubt, significant attention is given to less savory Party and Gestapo members as well. Shifting tenses can be a bit distracting, but a preference for the present tense lends the story a sense of urgency and contributes significantly to its superb sense of setting. Though the plot lags at times throughout the middle of the book, an extremely well-executed (and lengthy) denouement transforms the book from a good novel into a brilliant one. It is here that Fallada unleashes a biting satirical tone, as well as displaying a deep sense of empathy and compassion. A well-placed interlude provides a break from the heaviest moments and the book's final sections most fully explore its central themes, presenting a thoughtful and relevant commentary on the efficacy of even the smallest acts of human decency. Alone in Berlin has small slips, but recovers in fine fashion to present a realistic and thorough view of Berlin during the Second World War as well as a moving commentary on human action, inaction, and, above all, decency in the face of overwhelming evil and overwhelming odds.

Grade: A