Book 56: The Best of Electric Velocipede

The Best of Electric Velocipede

Edited by John Klima

This collection traces the history of The Electric Velocipede through some of the stories and poetry it published during its run. Though the anthology presents itself as a "best of" edition, the individual stories and poems drastically vary in quality (moreso than in most other collections) even if they do tend to improve as the volume proceeds. This book has its gems, as all of its kind do, but ultimately feels somewhat scattered without a sense of theme to guide it. The focus on speculative fiction is evident throughout, but it's difficult to get a handle on which genre a particular story is in as they flit between various fantasy and science fiction tropes. This is perhaps primarily a fault of the offending authors, but the frenetic reading experience could have been improved by more mindful organization (the effect of chronological ordering here results in a lot of disorienting jumps), effective introductory notes, or other ameliorating editorial factors. That said, the collection does have its high points and surely does not lack for variety; I was particularly surprised to find myself drawn in by some of the poetry. The Best of Electric Velocipede does provide a useful introduction to some lesser-known voices in speculative fiction, but its many misfires lead to a wildly uneven reading experience despite the success of its few gems.

Grade: C

Book 28: The Killer App

The Killer App

John Writher

I knew immediately upon reading The Killer App's back cover that the book could equally be an unexpected gem or an unpolished rock. Alas; with the exception of its excellent premise and related hints of promise, it is much more the latter than the former. Set in a near-future England where geneticists have developed an experimental procedure to transfer a grown human's consciousness into a newborn's body, the plot offers plenty of potential opportunities for serious meditation. Yet while Writher seems to acknowledge many of the conundrums he poses, he rarely pays them adequate attention. When he does focus more narrowly on the considerable ethical dilemmas inherent in his premise and posited by the plot's subsequent course, he often engages them not only far too late but also by means of a character's convenient change of heart that is too ill-defined and sudden to be at all convincing. Even the book's genuinely surprising twists, and their significant emotional fallout, fail to resonate or to provoke the type of philosophical inquiry that the premise deserves. Readers and characters alike suffer from clumsy prose and flat characters who don't quite act as though they are anything more but vessels for the author's narrative whims.

Two-dimensional characters may occasionally prove sufficient in the type of thriller that this book aspires to be, but The Killer App lacks the kind of consistent pacing that maintains readers' engagement. The book often feels fitful, with unexpected perspective shifts that sometimes see minor supporting characters' thoughts displayed with as much prominence as the protagonists', without a segway to allow readers to make sense of the switch. Twists both routine and unexpected (including not one, but two utterly unnecessary and woefully unconvincing romantic arcs) do keep the plot moving along, but the entire book is marred by an out-of-nowhere ending that is equally problematic because of its suddenness and its failure to follow up, or even acknowledge, the fate of several minor characters whose treatment drives much of one protagonist's moralistic deliberations (which are, at any rate, far too little and far too late for the book to fulfill its evident aspirations). To ignore these implications of the plot, especially after deliberately drawing such attention to them in the name of character development, is to effectively dissipate the novel's unique ideas and waste its corresponding potential.

Added to an endless parade of extraneous commas and a clear lack of competent copy editing, the book's listlessness can make for a frustrating reading experience, particularly when coupled with Writher's excellent ideas. The result is a premise that seems half-baked at best, with valuable literary real estate devoted to unconvincing emotional asides and insufficient character development where they could have explored the fascinating implications of the technology that Writher so brilliantly conceives. Yet despite its many flaws, the book nonetheless displays a fair bit of promise, with a compelling premise that allows readers to speculate even when it fails to capitalize on its conceptual strengths. The science fiction at the book's core is first-rate and its basic premise is more than worthy of further exploration, and I would love to see Writher or another writer take another stab at it. Hampered, however, by haphazard character development and a plot that ignores its more interesting implications for a seemingly neat, but wholly unsatisfying, conclusion, The Killer App fails to deliver on its considerable potential.

Grade: C

Book 19: The Professor and the Madman

The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary

Simon Winchester

I've been enthralled by the idea of the Oxford English Dictionary since I first encountered it in an undergraduate course about the history of the English language, and I figured that Winchester's account of two of its pivotal figures would be a nice way to learn a bit more about its remarkable history. While Winchester avoids the pitfalls that plague dry historical nonfiction (of both the popular and more academic varieties), The Professor and the Madman swings a bit too far in the other direction, coming across as impossibly disorganized despite its obviously good intentions and its ostensible focus on the quintessentially Victorian impulse to categorize (and thus make sense of) the world. The author's effort to interweave stories about editor extraordinaire James Murray, institutionalized power contributor William C. Minor, and the dictionary itself is a noble one, but the book and its readers become repeatedly lost in a seemingly endless stream of internal and external distractions.

Winchester seems to be an inherently capable writer, sticking to accessible (but refreshingly not condescending) prose even when halfheartedly posing existential questions and resorting to misplaced melodrama. It is, rather, the book's fundamental narrative incoherence that makes for a difficult and dissatisfying reading experience. Rambling asides range from obviously relevant and enlightening (the history of English-language dictionaries) to tangential, but potentially interesting (the history of schizophrenia as a psychological diagnosis) and, unfortunately, incidental and unnecessary (Irish participation in the American Civil War and possible post-Emancipation disillusionment with the Cause). Together, these diversions seem intended to pad an already slim volume instead of enhancing the story or providing meaningful historical context. Combined with a narrative structure that is fragmented at best and baffling grammatical errors as simple as mid-paragraph tense changes that render the surrounding text nearly incomprehensible, they contribute to the book's pervading sense of sloppiness.

The problems proliferate in the plot, such as it is. The book opens, predictably but reasonably enough, with a compelling anecdote that the surrounding stories can build up to and upon, but Winchester relates the same incident almost verbatim in a later chapter, only to immediately discredit it in favor of a more historically accurate version of events. I found the effect to be uncharacteristically condescending and almost infuriating in its pretension; moreover, why waste readers' time? The book shifts incessantly backward and forward in time and between plots concerning Murray, Minor, supporting characters (some of whom clearly don't deserve as much attention as they receive), and the dictionary itself, to the point where it has more conflicting and overlapping timelines than many time-travel stories I've encountered. I certainly don't believe that it is necessarily imperative to present a historically minded narrative in strictly chronological order, but the constant whiplash makes crucial cause-and-effect relationships and historical context nearly impossible to construct, understand, or follow: the book becomes a kind of postmodern jumble, isolated from meaning.

Winchester clearly has some good instincts, and it is possible to imagine the foundations of an intriguing historical tale herein, as haphazard as the book can seem. The deployment of well-chosen, straight-outta-OED definitions as the front matter for each individual chapter is effective and charming, and those portions of the book that do concentrate on coherent narratives are usually interesting and often well-told, at least until they inevitably veer into tangential territory. Both Minor and the dictionary itself prove to be compelling in their own right, and Murray provides a nice and necessary link between them. As Winchester's occasional existential, yet shallow, digressions prove, Minor's story is rife with opportunities to consider some very interesting existential questions, such as the morality of celebrating unmistakably positive events that occurred only because of a senseless murder. But the book, as it stands, is unforgivably clumsy and ultimately unrewarding, down to the marooned illustrations that the author and designer don't bother to caption or otherwise explain. Despite an interesting premise with plenty of potential, The Professor and the Madman instead conjures an ironic kind of chaos out of a story that is inescapably immersed in the history of efforts to codify and organize the world.

Grade: C

Book 8: Who We Are

Who We Are: Our Official Autobiography

One Direction

And now for something completely different! There's no use in pretending that my love of boy bands hasn't extended beyond my tween years, and I figured that this would be a quick enough read with some potential to present little-known facts or interesting (if heavily edited and marketing-approved) insight into each of the One Direction lads. But alas; as a reader who is well outside the range of the book's obvious target demographic, I was bound to be disappointed despite my lowered expectations. I hesitate a bit to judge Who We Are on its literary merits, as it has a very clear and narrowly defined purpose, but I do feel that it has the potential to disappoint One Direction fans who are now old enough to expect a bit more of a genuine effort from the marketing team. The introduction and jacket copy imply that Who We Are will offer a more personal glimpse into each of the members' reactions to the various landmark events in their remarkable (and remarkably dense) career, and by that measure I think it is ultimately a bland failure that offers little new information on the group.

The book is built on a solid foundation, comprised of five chapters that purport to tell each individual member's story in their own words, and the choice to begin with the more serious-minded Liam gives an initial impression that the book may actually offer something interesting. Unfortunately, nothing really comes of it in the end, and the book immediately, repeatedly, and apparently unapologetically rescinds on its promise to be more than a re-hashing of the group's history. It cannot be a coincidence that each of the members devotes significant time to each of a small number of events, often describing them nearly verbatim, and the whole thing rings false as a result. Likewise, the attempt to distinguish the five narrative voices, while extant, is lacking almost to the point of futility, and too many of the stories and would-be asides align too perfectly to have originated organically. Too often, a chapter refers overtly to the others and to the same limited catalog of events in a way that betrays its utterly artificial construction. Maybe each member would conveniently and coincidentally choose the exact same shows and anecdotes to reflect upon, but in this context I'm simply not buying it.

I might be more forgiving of the repetition if the remainder of the book didn't feel so relentlessly artificial in a way that openly mocks its opening salvo of lip service to genuine revelation. Many moments are posed ever so precisely upon the precipice of actual emotional honesty, to the book's credit, but the author beats a hasty, and usually awkward, retreat as soon as they come within a mile of controversy. I didn't expect Who We Are to be a tell-all memoir actually written by the principals, but it would be nice not to be relentlessly pandered to, my intelligence and loyalty (and that of all fans) called into question simply because some manager decided on a party line that excludes any hint of real human emotion. It is genuinely moving when Liam's chapter admits to his chronic anxiety (a trait I share, described in a way that made me immediately relate and feel deep sympathy) and when other cracks begin to come into focus, but honesty is a precious commodity in this book and whoever had final say in it was careful not to stray to far from the concocted storyline.

For a band that begs to be taken seriously, One Direction's management is awfully eager to present them as yes-men who always enjoy what they're doing, even when the book itself admits that they may not be 100% perfect 100% of the time. Perhaps the overall effect would be less galling if the members themselves hadn't let slip a few (completely warranted and reasonable) complaints in recent months, but I believe that the dual emphasis on the five as regular guys and as infallible, ever-grateful puppets does far more harm than good. It's disingenuous when the book carefully and immediately backs away from any half-statement that doesn't dwell excessively on how massively amazing every single facet of their lives is. There are hints of real depth and complexity, to be sure, but they are mostly to be discovered between the lines. Unsurprisingly, readers who fawn over the lads' every move will find precisely what they're looking for in this volume, but those who have grown up with the band might find it lacking, particularly in the context of the band's more recent, unfiltered statements, missteps, and honest admissions.

I suspect that moral quandaries about quality, consistency, and morality won't trouble most of the book's readership, but I nonetheless feel that the book does a disservice to band and fans alike by pretending that everything is always perfect and cheerful in the land of superstardom. The first-person chapters, hints at vulnerability (however small), and smug appeals to fans' own vanity will convince the converted that this biography offers something new, unique, and valuable in the One Direction canon, but we unwashed may find ourselves wishing for something more. The book does offer a small glimpse behind the scenes, and it wasn't a complete waste of my time due to my lack of knowledge about the kind of chronology the book so stridently (but inaccurately) says it avoids, but it doesn't live up to its own promises and doesn't keep up with the band's own musical and personal maturation. Readers who wish to know more about the emotional state of the group would be better advised to listen to Midnight Memories and Four for a far more honest glimpse at their inner lives. Despite presenting a welcome- though worn- facade to its primary audience, Who We Are is just another example of unconvincing marketing that shows little respect to its subject and its potential consumers.

Grade: C

Book 11: Worst. Person. Ever.

Worst. Person. Ever.

Douglas Coupland

Ever the master of cynical witticisms, Douglas Coupland's latest offering is full of the sarcasm one comes to expect from his works; unfortunately, however, this particular book relies too heavily on shock value and too little on effective plotting or character development. I've read several of Coupland's books and usually appreciate his biting insights, but Worst. Person. Ever. falls flat for me for a number of reasons. First and foremost among these is the penultimate plot twist, which is yet another in a series of unfortunate events to befall our narrator, Raymond, who is a truly loathsome creature indeed. But this twist, just when it seems that things might turn out okay for this utterly despicable man, is unnecessary and handled in such a way that it is easily the most offensive moment in a novel narrated by an unrepentant misogynist. My main problem with the "joke" is the way it is handled: just after Raymond encounters the pivotal fact, there is an abrupt chapter break and scene change, without comment. This exposes the author's belief that the audience will inherently understand (and implicitly agree) that, yes, this is a terrible turn of events that Changes Everything. I'm not one to call for political correctness for its own sake (or I wouldn't have made it past the book's second paragraph), but the implication that this particular characteristic supersedes every other aspect of the character's personality is at best a mishandled criticism of the attitude that the book itself accidentally fosters and at worst an outright hateful. Of course Raymond believes this turn of events disqualifies him from a happy ending (and on some level I can appreciate the character's consistency), but the fact that his feeling remains unstated requires that readers agree- and gives the book a sour aftertaste for those who absolutely do not.

Similarly, I assume (or at least desperately hope) that the novel is an attempt to comment on (rather than endorse) the abhorrent views that Raymond and his ilk espouse through exaggeration and hyperbole. In a way, the entire novel is a joke based on Raymond's initial affirmation in his belief in karma- and indeed, it is pleasant to see him constantly getting the comeuppance he so richly deserves, often in spades. However, it is sometimes difficult to parse the novel's rampant misogyny, and I would have hoped that Coupland would do more to deliberately call out and undercut Raymond's more odious beliefs and statements. I appreciate the neat trick Coupland pulls in making the reader almost want to root for this utterly horrid individual, and the consistency of Raymond's voice and character, but despite the book's obvious satirical take on the subject matter it leaves a lingering feeling of discomfort.

Despite its flaws, Worst. Person. Ever. is occasionally very funny and does display traces of Coupland's signature wit, as deployed in his best work. Here is an author who has a very pointed view of the modern world, and I always welcome his insights on subjects as diverse as the ideology behind reality show casting, pollution, the use of nuclear weapons, and Americans' vocal public distaste for f-bombs. At times I literally laughed out loud or silently smiled in absolute agreement. Likewise, some (but by no means all) of the plot twists are equally well conceived as things manage to go from terrible to somehow worse. Some, however, are far too bizarre even for a novel so clearly devoted to the utterly absurd. The humor is intended to be over-the-top, but it still must be delivered with a modicum of restraint that Coupland (and his editors) seem to lack; many elements of the story are so completely random that they end up distracting the reader. There's nothing wrong with having a number of very clever and outlandish ideas, but trying to cram them all into a novel (even a novel like this) rarely works to the book's best advantage. Thus the book contains one of the funniest and most bitingly satirical uses of nuclear weapons this side of Dr. Strangelove, as well as a completely unsatisfying, abrupt ending that rankles regardless of the reader's opinion of Raymond's own satisfaction with this conclusion. For every good idea in the book there are a handful of less effective sneers and would-be jokes that fall flat and detract from the narrative.

Though the novel is crammed with the type of caricatured (yet individualized) individuals one expects from this type of romp, there is a severe drop-off from the well-realized Raymond to the other main players. The idea for the primary sidekick- a previously homeless man who turns out (naturally) to be a total babe magnet- is solid and rife with opportunities for genuinely funny jokes, but the potential is wasted as Coupland runs this good idea (like so many others in the book) into a cliff. This character takes on traits and knowledge whenever the author deems it convenient, and though I know better than to assume that the book will be particularly realistic I still found myself frustrated by these far too common incidents. The lack of a straight man hurts the novel and ultimately contributes to a sense of utter ridiculousness that renders much of its insights moot. There are pleasant aspects of the novel (the integration of humorous factoid "sticky notes" is a nice callback to the footnotes of Generation X), but ultimately it lacks consistency outside of its main character's devotion to horrible ideologies. Worst. Person. Ever. contains glimpses of Coupland's genius and a few truly hilarious observations and situations, but overall the book is far too scatterbrained (and actually offensive) to make a positive lasting impression.

Grade: C

Book 42: Atlantic

Atlantic: Great Sea Battles, Heroic Discoveries, Titanic Storms, and a Vast Ocean of a Million Stories
Simon Winchester

I picked this up both based on the author's reputation and on my own belief that it would be a nice, well-written history of the remarkable Atlantic Ocean from a number of different perspectives and, to some extent, that's what Simon Winchester delivers in Atlantic. To another, however, he talks about this bit without actually defining what it is about the Atlantic Ocean that makes it, well, the Atlantic and not the Pacific or Indian or either of the polar seas; his text is littered throughout with references to a kind of Atlantic-ness, but never once does he address this contention, and the book suffers, condemned to flail rather than cohere. Without the appearance of this much-needed overarching theme, the chapters, arranged in a somewhat bizarre homage to Shakespeare's "All the world's a stage" speech (no, really) make little sense in relation to each other and even less within themselves. The idea of casting the waters as a being with several stages of life is less clever than cutesy, and while grouping developments such as exploration, war, and environmentalism into their own chapters makes sense, the cuts Winchester makes between them are divisive, and the individual parts are never allowed to coalesce into a single, intricate picture. He misses the ocean for the individual molecules of di-hydrogen monoxide. Even these, however, frequently become misplaced, and the book is littered with irrelevant anecdotes and irredeemably uninteresting, disruptive, and downright pointless footnotes that often have nothing at all to do with the subject at hand.

A lack of greater strategic planning is evident on a paragraph-by-paragraph level, as well, as the author seems to introduce an idea only to discard it entirely after the next indent, without so much as a line break or, heaven forbid, three dividing asterisks. All of this makes the book slightly maddening before its information is even digested, and repetition, likely borne of the deceptively haphazard organizational scheme, makes the book even more cumbersome. With all of this said, however, the book isn't all bad; it certainly contains quite a lot of interesting, if not entirely riveting, information, and Winchester does touch on several different aspects of life in, around, and on this mighty ocean. For all its faults, the book has a sense of grandiose perspective, and when the author turns his attentions to geology or the effects of modern industrialism, this sense of magnitude helps him create a persuasive argument for respect; it is also quite evident that this is, fundamentally, a love story between man and water.

Unfortunately, however, these pure instincts are also corrupted throughout the text, which is woefully anglocentric. While it seems a reasonable bet that the reason the Atlantic so captivates our intrepid author and, indeed, his intended audience, is the fact that European and North American countries (currently) exert such international prowess, there seems little excuse to ignore Africa when it isn't, you know, spawning civilization or, more criminally, the Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking Americas when Great Britain isn't fighting to retain that shadow of its former empire cast in the Falkland Islands. Even worse, he makes assertions that are patently untrue and which offended even my far-from-delicate sensibilities; at one point, Winchester seriously suggests- no, asserts- that the Atlantic was the first of the world's oceans to be crossed. This is mind-numbingly stupid at its very best, as the Pacific Islands were discovered, explored, and settled long before Columbus. And it is not only this galling lapse that betrays a myopic devotion to the Atlantic that hampers Winchester's ode and actually works to diminish the Atlantic as readers frantically search to undermine the author's interminable single-mindedness. Here, then, is a case of tragically wasted potential, a book that I wanted to be engrossed by but which only served to frustrate and actively foil my attempts to like or engage with it. There is good information here, to be sure; there are excellent stories, and despite Winchester's mishandling, the idea of telling the story of the Atlantic as a, or perhaps even the, formative ocean of the modern world remains compelling. It's just a shame that Atlantic can't quite do the subject justice.

Grade: C+

Book 33: The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation

The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation
Jonathan Hennessey and Aaron McConnell

The United States Constitution certainly cannot be considered underrepresented in nonfiction literature. Upon reflection, then, it is perhaps not so surprising to discover that it has been adapted- or, more accurately, interpreted, in a graphic format. Regardless, I was stoked to discover the book, and did not hesitate before picking it up; shame, then, that for all its good intentions The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation doesn't quite succeed in elucidating, or even illustrating, its source material. Writer Jonathan Hennessey certainly displays good instincts in attempting to provide historical context for the revolutionary document, but seems unable to understand the benefits of a consistent, coherent narrative throughout the book. The number of non-sequitur jumps both in the historical background (which not quite explicitly purports to deal with the Preamble) and between different clauses, articles, or amendments within the body of the Constitution is bafflingly high and makes comprehension at times impossible. Though I am by no means a serious constitutional scholar, I do have a background in the subject; at times even I had to read or re-read entire pages just to catch up or to attempt to understand a leap in logic despite my own familiarity with the source material. And while it's true that the Constitution is not at its heart a narrative document, that fact does not excuse its would-be adapters, who raise very large, complex topics in a single panel and, one panel later, move onto explaining the next article. This makes no sense, is disorienting, and actively discourages any actual understanding of, or interest in, the Constitution, making it more inaccessible than it may at first appear.

Though the script is admittedly thin and the subject matter naturally difficult to illustrate, the art in the book is not disastrous; neither, however, does Aaron McConnell create a particularly riveting graphic aspect to this graphic work. While I personally enjoy his rougher, almost harsh drawing and inking styles and his tendency toward monochrome images, there is a certain schizophrenia to the artwork within the book. McConnell's use of recurring motifs is hit and miss: the incomplete portrayal of African Americans is a clever and effective illustration of the implications of the Three-fifths Clause, but the portrayal of each branch of government as a (male) suited figure with a representative building for a head is a bit bizarre. Other illustrations bear an uncertain relationship to their accompanying text, or attempt to introduce artistic tropes in odd and ultimately disorienting ways. Moreover, page and panel design seems only half thought-out, and while the authors show some intent towards innovation, text boxes seem misplaced and reading direction is often unclear. One page, for example, shows two three-panel stories side by side, though there is no indication that they should be read as two columns rather than more traditionally left-right and up-down. The clutter of too many text boxes only adds to the discord, and illustrations with speech bubbles are more often redundant than illustrative.

The visual cacophony of the book, combined with over-zealous text that alternately provides too much and too little detail, makes it a far less effective teaching tool than it otherwise could be, and ultimately this adaptation of the Constitution tends to make matters unnecessarily complicated. The United States Constitution: A Graphic Adaptation is an encouraging attempt at making American governmental structure accessible to a new audience, but unfortunately cannot create that harmony between pictures and text that is necessary in creating an effective, enjoyable graphic narrative.

Grade: C

Book 22: The Gum Thief

The Gum Thief
Douglas Coupland

Douglas Coupland has made his name studying the inner workings of ordinary people, those of us who live humdrum lives at the margins of society, who may or (as is usually the case with his characters) may not buy into the latest hype or trend. While The Gum Thief is a continuation of Coupland's ongoing exploration of generational mindset(s), its fondness for metafiction tends to cloud the main storyline rather than enhance it, allowing the book-within-a-book to take over the novel without necessarily enhancing readers' understanding of the character writing it. In fact, for a writer whose view of his characters is usually so astute, Coupland's inability to distinguish them or to allow them to speak for themselves is remarkable. Though the ambition evident in the book's mixed viewpoint structure is admirable, every character's epistolary voice carries the same tone and makes the same kind of observations that seem hackneyed rather than pointed. Indeed, Coupland's problem here may be that he has done too well in depicting the kind of detached, wry, wannabe ironic observations that made Generation X and its successors so poignant. Here, it feels as though the author is striving just a bit too much for authenticity, and what remains is a thinly disguised attempt to channel the voice of a cynicism the author himself may not fully comprehend. Readers get the overwhelming feeling that, ultimately, people just don't talk (or think) this way.

The overt ambitions of the novel are also evident in its chaotic narrative structure, which relies far too heavily on the main protagonist's authorial pet project, a truly wretched novel. While Coupland does an admirable job channeling Roger's angst throughout the invented Glove Pond, that angst remains self-pitying and, ultimately, uninteresting. Instead of gaining a better understanding through a subtle handling of narrative nuance, readers get backstory in large, frantic gulps that ring hollow more often than inspiring sympathy. Coupland has not created unlikely or unrealistic characters, but he has made his traditional cast of outcasts boring and difficult to care about as their tedious observations about the modern world fall flat. The book also squanders a glorious opportunity as the office superstore setting falls by the wayside rather than providing what should have been an ideal breeding ground for the kind of cynicism that springs here from other sources. Instead, Coupland relies more and more heavily on Glove Pond and its transparent cast, concluding the book in a truly unsatisfying ending that seems borne of the same malaise that colors the rest of the book. The book is not without its humorous moments, and shows promise at its beginning and, indeed, throughout; there may in fact be poignancy hidden herein, though it is difficult to pry out from the tenor of self-loathing that makes the book so tedious at times. Yet, despite this, the book is difficult to put down and it is only at the end that the reader is left completely disappointed; this is a book that seems capable of so much more than it delivers. The Gum Thief shows promise in its setup and at moments during its execution, but too-lofty ambitions and high reader expectations make the book fall sadly flat despite, or perhaps because of, its desperate desire to be witty.

Grade: C

Book 16: Starburst

Starburst
Frederik Pohl

Science fiction often gets a bad rap from the more erudite literary crowds, and may be accused of concentrating on fanciful ideas rather than character development or a steady plot. Of course, much work in the genre manages to surpass low expectations, but the fact remains that some science fiction, like some work in all genres, simply misses the mark; this, unfortunately, is the case with Starburst. The book has several elements that should make it a success, starting with an interesting, sufficiently knotted plot and a host of fervent, intriguing ideas driving both the science and promising some rich character development. Pohl, however, seems unsure how to actually develop his ideas, and instead flails as he gives away interesting elements of the plot too early, too late, or in muddled prose that confuses his ideas even as he's attempting to work through them. While there are times when the book becomes quite readable and almost enjoyable, Pohl's choice to utilize the first-person voice of doomed space crew members as they report back to Earth often backfires as neither reader nor the message's in-story recipients know quite what is happening aboard. Worse, when Eve Barstow takes the reins of the story, it is almost impossible to slog through her woefully low (and unsympathetically rendered) self-esteem issues to get to the heart of the story at hand, which is often hidden among unnecessary self-pity masquerading as character development but ultimately fooling no one. The unreliable narrator can be a powerful literary device, true, but alternated here with the kind of overbearing omniscience that ruins any narrative surprises it merely serves to confuse and to make readers feel as though they have missed a crucial reveal.

The story of Starburst is in other ways a story of missed opportunities. Despite its slim size, the novel seems to be at least two, and possibly more, novels crushed together asymmetrically: herein lies a doomed space mission, a civilization rebuilding itself, and a post-apocalyptic future, and though each part seems to consistently demonstrate a kind of them about self-sufficiency they appear to be ripped out of different novels. The vast differences between these three acts mean that Pohl's choice to have the United States on the verge of civil war is bizarre and incongruous at first, but makes perfect sense at the end of the book. But by beginning with it as mere background without a hint of explanation or even the promise of future relevance, Pohl loses readers at the outset, making it less impressive and far less redemptive when, suddenly, the setting becomes thematic in the book's final third; by this point, readers may not care. Again, there is the hint of a good authorial instinct in simply having the setting begin as it irrevocably is, but an inability to integrate it or to spin it into a robust story. The same, sadly, is true of the narrative arc of the book, an interesting inversion of redemption that, too, falls flat after being placed in the hands of unlikable and horribly underdeveloped characters. This, however, only occurs after sex strangely hijacks the narrative, leaving more completely bizarre elements of Pohl's imagination dormant until he deigns to explain them chapters later. These authorial failures render the book frustrating at best, and mask what is at heart an interesting premise and story. With some character development, tighter appreciation of plot development and revelation, and more exploration (rather than trite explanation) of the satisfyingly intriguing scientific ideas that pop up unexpectedly, this novel could have been an interesting examination of what makes us human. Instead, though the question is asked throughout, Starburst is plagued by too many problems in construction and execution to be a satisfying read even within the sometimes suppressed (though inherently unfair) standards placed on science fiction.

Grade: C

Book 59: Talk to the Hand

Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door
Lynne Truss

Readers coming to this book from Truss's previous bestseller Eats, Shoots & Leaves will be at once delighted with and, perhaps, slightly disappointed in this follow-up. Truss brings her trademark uncompromising crankiness to problems with rudeness and public interactions in modern society, with mixed results. Truss is occasionally at her hilarious, cynical best in this book, but there is an overwhelming feeling of desperation throughout the book, as if she is trying so hard to be crotchety that she forgets what she is saying and relies instead on the crankiest possible wording and reaction, to the point where she repeatedly undermines her own arguments. One moment she is celebrating an action and the next deriding it; should we be mindful of people's privacy or indignant that they don't want to interact with us? Truss doesn't come down on one side or the other, and in such an opinionated work as this the waffling quickly becomes annoying. This, coupled with the over-the-top tone and prose, often means the book feels like a gimmick, which is unfortunate because Truss is occasionally very funny. Her continuously offended tone works with the subject matter, but is stretched to the point of breaking the flow and effectiveness of what she is saying; the book becomes at some point a caricature of itself. Talk to the Hand is an occasionally witty look at some societal patterns of rudeness in the modern age, but ultimately the book is too self-conscious to be much more pleasant than grating.

Grade: C

Book 16: SuperFreakonomics

SuperFreakonomics
Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner

The intrepid Levitt and Dubner return with this follow-up to their smash hit Freakonomics, which explored many counter-intuitive phenomena observed in the real world through the theoretical framework of economics, a premise that drives this sophomore effort. Unfortunately, Levitt and Dubner attack this intriguing idea with a ferocious sense of self, inserting themselves into every paragraph and almost shunting the actual material to the side as they gloat and provide smug asides that show just how wonderful, funny, and against the grain they run. One of the book's opening explorations, for example, actively condones drunk driving because drunk walking statistically causes more deaths (or seems to) and drunk drivers are highly unlikely to get caught. This may be true to the data (though some of their numbers are suspect, like equating the number of drunk miles driven with drunk miles walked; I suspect the two are very different numbers), but instead of exploring ways to fix this situation, the authors bask in their audacity. There are many points throughout the book where the gloating, self-aggrandizing tone becomes actually disgusting and it seems like Levitt and Dubner deliberately sought out controversial topics just so they could break the mold and undermine the dominant wisdom. I am not against this idea; in fact, I embrace open-minded thinking and novel approaches to problems, as well as being fascinated by psychology. It's just that Levitt and Dubner could be a bit more scientific in their presentation rather than trying so hard to produce forced humor that is rather juvenile and distracting.

If Levitt and Dubner want to be treated as hard-nosed scientists, they should perhaps introduce fewer snide remarks that, instead of proving how hilariously snarky they are, merely seem immature and designed to make readers see exactly how hilariously snarky they are. And though attribution and context is important, the chapter of the book that focuses on global warming essentially becomes an advertisement for a select group of scientists and their company. I've seen much more subtle ad copy, and this from two authors whose mission is to introduce scientific thinking into the mainstream. That is not to say that there isn't some intriguing science or interesting observations within; indeed, they pepper the book (sections about prostitutes in Chicago and on altruism are particularly good). SuperFreakonomics is, however, a book obsessed with itself, and some of the data seems at least slightly suspect, to say nothing of resulting observations. Unlike the scientists they claim to be and over their own self-deprecating comments in the book's introduction, Levitt and Dubner appear to have come to the book with an agenda. Sections on prostitution and altruism, as mentioned above, are worth seeking out and reading, but overall SuperFreakonomics reads like a long ego trip that isn't particularly effective and is quite unpleasant to read.

Grade: C

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 64: The I Hate the 21st Century Reader

The I Hate the 21st Century Reader
Edited by Clint Willis and Nate Hardcastle

The title of this book really tells you most of what you want to know: this book is a collection of short essays lamenting the more lamentable facts of life five years into the new Millennium. Released in 2005 and relying entirely on current-events commentary (often from sources of questionable reliability and very questionable writing or fact-checking ability), The I Hate the 21st Century Reader has become necessarily dated over time. Among the rampant Bush-bashing, which shockingly has not actually aged well (despite being my own angry mantra of choice in the same period), there hide a few gems of excellent quality. Paul Krugman's "For Richer," a study of the widening gap between rich and poor in America, admittedly comes from a notorious liberal but is nonetheless an excellent and level-headed look at an ongoing problem and some of its potential consequences. Though taking a few (well-deserved) jabs at the Bush tax cuts, Krugman manages to persuasively discuss the danger of runaway executive salaries, placing the problem in economic and historical context to create a convincing argument. Its polar opposite may be James Fallows with "Countdown to a Meltdown," a laughably unsuccessful attempt to look back at the present from 2016. As with all speculative fiction, it is easy to point out the amusing errors Fallows makes and assume that the piece is silly, but bad writing compounds a lack of foresight driven by a mad desire to make Bush look bad. Admirable though that action may be, Fallows comes off sounding like a very bad satirist instead of creating the earnest call to arms he so fervently seems to desire. It isn't just that he gets the years after 2005 wildly wrong, its that the essay is consistently immature and adds no understanding to its contemporary situation that rises above childish name-calling.

It isn't surprising, then, that the most successful essays in The I Hate the 21st Century Reader are those that examine broader historical trends or ethical issues. Like Krugman's essay, which places economics in historical context, many of the essays in the book aren't wedded exclusively to the early years of the 21st century and pose interesting dilemmas that should be considered into the present day. The two essays in the "Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Science" section consider interesting ethical situations posed by the emergence of black-hole creating particle colliders and human-animal hybrid creations without succumbing to dogmatic black-and-white simplicity. J.M. Berger's "Extreme Science!" does a particularly good job examining the problems inherent in the ultra-specific specialization of today's scientists and injects humor into some very sobering observations. Likewise, "The Coming Death Shortage," by Charles C. Mann, provides a very interesting look into the potential problems caused by an aging population, again addressing the problem with historical context and providing an excellent lead-off piece for the book's best segment, "The New Death." Essays exploring the potential of devastating illnesses to wear on a decaying public health infrastructure and the triumph of the pharmaceutical companies in convincing us we are all suffering from myriad diagnosable problems (an exploration thoughtfully juxtaposed with lyrics from "Mother's Little Helper" by the Rolling Stones) highlight important issues that must be dealt with.

While other intriguing selections await (most notably "The Rebellion of the Tools" and the poignant post-Katrina "The Corpse on Union Street"), the majority of the anthology's best work is present in its first third. Unfortunately, however, these two standout sections occur early in the book and the essays continue on their anti-Bush crusades, often to the detriment not only of their wit and writing quality but also of their arguments, which seem petty when paired so inextricably with the partisan barbs. Sadly, the latter is the dominant force in this anthology, and the virtiol present in various selections from The I Hate the 21st Century Reader undermines otherwise interesting and important points. The anthology suffers from partisan politics so much that it is difficult for even those who agree with its angry writers to enjoy it four years on. The I Hate the 21st Century Reader, then, is valuable for two key reasons: firstly, there are gems to be discovered among its selections that provide thoughtful perspectives on important issues, both wedded to the historical context in which they were written and transcending it to remain vital. Secondly, The I Hate the 21st Century Reader already functions as a sort of nostalgic look back on an era when liberal columnists engaged in the sport of Bush-bashing in seeking solutions to the nation's ills. The hate is in full force and ultimately creates a showcase of anti-Righ sentiment worth revisiting five years on.

Grade: C

Book 42: History of Libraries in the Western World

History of Libraries in the Western World
Michael M. Harris

No, boys and girls, your intrepid reporter did not forget an article in front of that title, which is an incredibly apt fit for this dry, academic text. Harris definitely demonstrates a full grasp of the history of libraries in America and Europe, but what is lacking in this litany of collections and numbers is a great deal of context or intrigue. By and large, History of Libraries in the Western World is, in fact, a list of great libraries throughout the history of the Western World, and the number of books believed to be in those collections. There are entire paragraphs that are naught but lists, meaningless without context or distinguishing remarks and whose numbers exist without contextual note of their relative size to the era. Obviously there is a huge difference between a medieval collection in the hundreds and a modern collection of such paltry standards; Harris makes no note of this, however, and continues merrily to list library after library. This isn't to say that the book is a complete failure, however, though it is just about the driest book I have ever had the misfortune to come across. There is no academic argument and no Great Strand of History herein, but Harris does manage to inadvertently create a general timeline in between his endless, pointless library lists.

The book begins promisingly enough, with its introduction enumerating several factors that go into library creation and maintenance (including economic and political stability), most interestingly positing that libraries represent a kind of power and a thirst for control, being that they are assembled with deliberation and purpose. One may assume that the following pages will illustrate these principles, but political and economic developments are rarely mentioned in the pages that follow, often posing as segways between lists (with the hilarious exception of the contemporary economic crisis, mentioned alarmingly in almost every paragraph of the final sections). One cannot fault Mr. Harris too much for his lack of foresight, but even in 1996 it was obvious that libraries were headed toward a digital age that deserves more than a page's mention in such an epically sweeping volume, where it is relegated to the conclusion. The organization of the book isn't too bad as Harris guides readers from the various cultures of the ancients through the present day, making a necessary pit stop at the eastern Byzantine Empire and organizing his history through geography as much as historical epoch. This works but creates some awkward tension as he moves into the modern era, thoughfully dividing Europe and the Americas but creating entirely different time periods for these chapters without fully explaining why. Sure, it's obvious why the European chapter ends at 1917, but why does America's terminate in 1850, particularly when many collection figures therein are given through the 1870s or even later?

This illustrates a fundamental problem with this book: Harris has no desire to present context or construct an interesting argument, or even a dull one. This book strives to be dryly academic and as such is a great resource but very nearly unreadable. Harris seems to catch stride quite late in the book, where his discussion of the development of European national libraries and the United States's fascination with public libraries (arising out of our democratic tendencies and their bias towards an informed population; also interestingly linked with anti-immigration and Americanization policies), but it is by far too late to salvage the volume. Additionally, the geographic bias of the book is wide-ranging in the early chapters but narrows considerably, with the final European chapter mentioning Eastern Europe (which is still the West) for about one paragraph while focusing extensively on more popular countries, to say nothing of the bare mention of Latin American libraries. Harris seems unsure how to construct an interesting and varied text and though he very usefully divides discussion of modern libraries by type (public, governmental, collegiate/academic, school, and special) he fails to paint a picture as a whole and instead plods along country by country, again and always with the lists. History of Libraries in the Western World is a fairly thorough examination of collections throughout history and contains useful theoretical fodder in its introduction as well as a few interesting bits throughout, but this is not a book to be read lightly as a single, connected narrative; it would find its place, I feel, best in the reference section. But if you want to know the history of the number of volumes at Harvard, this is the place to go.

Grade: C

Book 37: The Social Life of Information

The Social Life of Information
John Seely Brown and Paul Duguid

It's back to the nonfiction with this book, which is an outlook on the possible trajectories of information technology from the authors' starting point around the turn of the Millennium. It's strange to revisit this book a full eleven years after most of its examples have had the chance to play out, and though it isn't fair to judge the book simply by the authors' inability to accurately forsee the future, it is hilarious to note a few instances where they are hilariously wrong (my personal favorite is assuming that a start-up will never be able to capture a market again; hello, Google). It is not these forgivable failures that sink The Social Life of Information, however. Buried within its excessive verbosity and obsession with authors' employer are interesting ideas, sure, but it is too damn hard to find them in the rambling, often contradictory prose offered by Brown and Duguid. The authors are perhaps a bit too enthusiastic as they fill their pages with incomprehensible jargon and work on the underlying assumption that readers share a strong business background. Particularly egregious is a mention of 6D thinking well before the list of 6Ds, odd buzzwords that all begin with de- or dis- and which are completely obtuse and unexplained, popping up occasionally in subsequent chapters (despite the authors' insistence that the "essays" can be read in any order). I mean, what does "disintermediation" even mean? Instead of shoring up their argument by explaining how each D represents a trend, the authors leave the words uselessly hanging.

This type of assumptive writing is prevalent throughout the book, which teems with unexplained examples that seem unrelated to the text at large and which unexpectedly pop up later after being left hanging for far too long. Brown and Duguid indulge in technical talk that is, at best, self-indulgent and throw in bonus-point vocabulary words that detract from meaning and come across as flagrant showboating. Their inability to construct an academic argument also adds an air of self-importance; though there are several coherent points in the book, these are repeated as bite-sized tidbits and aren't connected to the data presented. Often, Brown and Duguid use the book as a platform to attack futurologists and predictions of the future, a tendency that is hilarious when they are wrong (which is often) and ironic when they devote twenty pages or so to describing a future of universities which hasn't come to pass yet and doesn't seem to be close. It's paradoxical that in their love of paradox-exposing and use of the word "paradoxical" they unwittingly create a paradox in their own book. Amidst all this bad writing, they make the same point time and again. The Social Life of Information argues, where arguments can be found, that technology can't be ripped from the social context of humanity; the way we use information is as important as how we use information. Brown and Duguid have come up with many interesting examples of this but can't seem to connect them with each other or with larger principles; it's up to the reader to connect the dots and to discard the 85-90% of the book that is useless statistics and almost-unreadable language. The Social Life of Information is an interesting attempt to contextualize technology, but only hardcore information buffs willing to withstand a battery of poor prose should bother with this incoherent list of sometimes interesting ideas.

Grade: C

Book 34: The Anarchist in the Library

The Anarchist in the Library
Siva Vaidhyanathan

The problem with so much nonfiction lies not in the ideas it espouses but the ways in which those ideas are presented, often with academic arrogance, disjointed ideas, and unexciting writing. Unfortunately, Siva Vaidhyanathan falls prey to all of these vices in The Anarchist in the Library, a book intended to be a jarring look at how anarchistic principles govern the Internet and information sharing systems in the real world. Instead, the book becomes a jumble of interesting, if poorly presented, ideas and grand pronouncements the author hilariously seemed to miss when declaring modesty in the book's concluding chapter. The book wisely begins with cursory definitions of anarchy and Cynicism (in the Greek philosophy sense) but almost immediately goes astray when these are presented in a confusing manner that presumes knowledge on the reader's part while attempting to serve as an introduction to the ideas in question. Things get more confusing from there as Vaidhyanathan continuously points out anarchy in systems but leaves it only as a label, taking it only at face value and failing to connect the dots or examine how the supposed anarchy is affecting the systems in question. This failure is also present at a mroe general level; it is possible to see what Vaidhyanathan is getting at in his discussion of anarchy and the rampant digital distribution of unauthorized free songs or the nuanced problems copyright (on which he appears to be an expert), but his discussion of the WTO and the People's Republic of China is a bit more obtuse and simply exists without any explanatory threads to connect it to the other ideas in the book.

It isn't that Vaidhyanathan's ideas aren't interesting or provocative; on the contrary, presented more coherently they could form a powerful manifesto about the digital age. The problem is that The Anarchist in the Library is far too concerned with naming systems and practices that promote or disrupt the reigning oligarchies and not nearly concerned enough with explaining how this is happening, why he calls it anarchy, or why it's important. Some overall themes are hinted at in the book's conclusion but they are far too little and come far too late. It is interesting, and perhaps fitting, that Vaidhyanathan's book seems to mirror the systems he describes within: it is a loose connection of ideas presented here, there, and everywhere with only the slightest hint of any editorial oversight. Some are excellent and well-presented (his discussion about copyright is engaging and well presented) while many are confusing and unnecessarily alarmist. In that sense, there's a kind of anarchy in this book, a collection of interesting ideas that just kind of float there and would benefit from some higher control, the kind of control Vaidhyanathan is consistently suspicious of in his book. Ironic, eh?

Grade: C

Book 14: The Pickup Artist

The Pickup Artist
Terry Bisson

This novel, like so many others, begins with a wonderful premise, one that can open up immense questions about the nature of expression and censorship- but a different kind than we are used to. Unfortunately, however, while his narrator's voice rings true and is eay and enjoyable to immerse oneself in, the philosophical potential of the novel's set-up is wasted on absurd plot developments that provide nothing but distraction and, in the end, disappointment. Bisson begins impressively, with his narrator addressing the reader directly and throwing readers headfirst into his world, where his job is to confiscate lingering works of art from artists who have been deleted. The conceit looks promising as Shapiro begins to doubt the utility of his job, but it quickly descends into a chaotic tangle of increasingly absurd and unexplained events. There is suspense and the reader comes to care about the characters (or at the very least Shapiro and his sick dog), but Bisson begins on such a serious note and with such a serious and important (not to mention meta) topic at hand that the novel's descent into endless jokes seems almost offensive, as if Bisson himself has missed the point in order to garner a few cheap laughs. There is too much that is unexplained and nebulous in this book, too much extraneous matter that simply doesn't belong- quite a feat for a slender volume such as this.

Though the novel fails on the largest levels, The Pickup Artist does have its merits. Shapiro is a likable and able narrator; the reader understands immediately the major predicament of the unfamiliar narrative world. Bisson also wisely intersperses historical notes between plot-based chapters, explaining the backstory behind the continuous cleansing of the artistic lexicon and giving the novel its most ponderous and fitting moments, even if they too dissolve into meaninglessness when they collide with the plot. Certain aspects of the novel, such as this backstory, are extremely well thought-out and thought-provoking, even after the book's events fail to hold the reader's interest. The talent and fundamental ideas are present here, along with some hilarious jokes, but they are lacking in execution as Bisson seems too concerned with making a "fun" book rather than an important one (and the two need not be mutually exclusive). The overall theme of the book, which takes the original premise and stands it on its head somewhat, is definitely interesting and provides a nice circular tie to the confiscation of A Canticle for Leibowitz that sets off the novel. Ultimately, the ideas and the writing are here, but the novel's execution and plot fail to give it the weight its subject matter deserves, weight that can be provided by the correct subtle hands but which is here used excessively to the detriment of the novel's overall quality. Bisson provides an interesting overall narrative and his ideas regarding artistic saturation are particularly relevant in the Internet era, but as soon as Shapiro steps afoul of the law the story follows him into unpleasantly loose and pointless territory.

Grade: C

Book 13: The Truth Machine

The Truth Machine
James Halperin

I read this author's two books in reverse order, which didn't do much except dull my expectations for this book and provide me with some basic expectations about the plot of this novel; my expectations were, for the most part, duly met and even at times exceeded. I knew that Halperin is at best a lousy writer, but I was absolutely unprepared for the extremely dull and at times hilariously stiff nature of his prose. That's what I get for expecting retroactive improvement in his writing style; The First Immortal looks excellent compared to the writing in this book. Here again, however, we have a fundamental conflict for readers: Halperin's writing is sufficiently terrible but his ideas are again interesting and pose interesting questions, even if he does blatantly call attention to them while interjecting his own personal beliefs into every second of his future vision. Held to any reasonable literary standards, then, this book is terrible; I found it nonetheless quite enjoyable, though much more wooden and far more underdeveloped than his second novel.

The characters are all wooden caricatures with completely predictable and unrealistic actions and concrete beliefs that are relayed incessantly to the reader without much straight exposition to back them up. Everything is quite compact and fits rather neatly, making even the likable characters grating after a while and the reprehensible characters truly repellent. The Truth Machine does, however, look at world events on an incredibly grand scale and chooses adequately connected characters to drive them and, consequently, the plot. Even I was rooting for the main characters to triumph by the end of the book, though I found his stuttering distracting and remarkably unnoticed in situations where it should raise significant alarm. In fact, Pete Armstrong, the novel's protagonist (not to be confused with the author, per the author bio!), is actually rendered more dislikable by his distinguishing characteristics; when he is a wooden cutout he is somewhat tolerable. Other characters seem realistic only because Halperin operates in a world of sweeping generalities and needs those who populate his world to be easily understood. The characters of The Truth Machine, while absolutely driving its action, are almost incidental to the story being told, and while this leads to boredom and dissociation, it allows Halperin to focus his efforts on the ideas the characters unfailingly represent.

Halperin operates mainly in black and white, with generous doses of The Obvious Hammer thrown in for good measure. He is extremely transparent about his beliefs, including those on mandatory capital punishment and his minor obsession with cryonics. This rampant evangelism would be maddening were it not rendered absolutely laugh-out-loud hilarious by the appendices and the author's own extra sections. The former is a useful addition to the outrageously unbelievable premise of the narrative's construction while the latter, calling for readers of The Truth Machine to help make it a reality, actually made me laugh out loud. The book includes the hilarious author bio I described above, which notes the similarities between the author and his protagonist (one sentence is actually, "There the similarities end."); the acknowledgments section is certainly appreciative but clearly self-aggrandizing; and, true to form, the book contains advertisments for the World Futurist Society and the science of cryogenics. Halperin is, at the very least, always aware of himself and what he is doing.

Perhaps despite himself, then, Halperin has actually constructed an interesting, if over-executed, narrative conceit by having a computer narrate the book- while this is plausible given the vast technological developments he foresees, he doesn't include any relevant technologies in the body of the novel and often interrupts the flow of events with parenthetical notes that try way too hard to make the computer narrator believable. The footnotes, many of which (cleverly?) insult our own primitivism by explaining semantic differences to readers contemporary to the book's events, are equally unhelpful and actually call attention to the conceit rather than adding to its delusion. Funniest, though, is the computer's introduction, which seems to be an unintentionally ironic acknowledgment of Halperin's lack of literary finesse: the computer apologizes for his lack of literary flourishes, perhaps apologizing for the poor quality of the prose to follow and even the news timelines that begin each chapter, which are actually well thought out and perhaps the book's most redeeming feature.

I must admit, though, that even the flaws of The Truth Machine only add to its charm, and while it's bizarre to read about "future" events happening in a mythical parallel 2009, Halperin's visions are, again, quite interesting. He hits his main points pretty hard, and while I certainly disagree with him on many of them he does occasionally present the merit of the detracting sides and has clearly thought out his positions on the issues. He praises rationalism throughout without insulting religion (just the institutions, not the beliefs themselves), a nice change of tone from the current atmosphere and includes some debates pertinent to the book's main issues. And though the book's characters are unrealistic and two-dimensional, I found that they were still compelling in their own way as they shaped this potential future. It's shocking, too, to see the kinds of things Halperin got right and sobering to realize that certain timelines once seemed viable (no, we did not get an AIDS cure last year). This book is kind of a literary train wreck in its writing, but at the same time it is hard to look away entirely or even to dismiss Halperin's happy jaunt into the realm of speculative fiction. The Truth Machine is rudimentary in many ways but it tackles interesting moral dilemmas, however condescendingly, and is actually enjoyable purely as entertainment and brain fodder.

Grade: C

Book 5: Europe Central

Europe Central
William T. Vollmann

Here is a book that, judging by its jacket, sounds right up my alley: a collection of paired, loosely connected stories focusing alternately on the USSR and Germany during World War II. The book itself looks and feels as epic as its central conflict, but unfortunately it is hampered throughout by this very knowledge. Reading the book with the knowledge that it is a recipient of the National Book Award lays bare the book's pomposity and creates an unfriendly image of the author as compromising quality for award-worthiness. It is understandable that the vast Europe Central won an award but unfortunately this accolade does not reflect any sense of enjoyment or coherence when approaching the book, which is weighed down immensely by its cheap attempts at grandiosity and which ceases to be readable in its pursuit of honors. The project itself, to produce paired stories that expose moral dilemmas and reactions during the 20th century's most destructive conflict is interesting and occasionally yields fascinating results which are again muted by the posturing inflicted upon the reader. Vollmann takes an interesting and important structure and buries it beneath self-aggrandizing writing that is overbearing and at times so annoying that it is hard to imagine Vollmann legitimately believing that his sentences are the best way to get his point across.

Readers should know by the first sentences of the book whether they are cut out to be dragged along in this quagmire of metaphor and nonsensical characterization and narration; the opening chapter is absolutely impossible to decipher and, while raising interesting points that are few and far between, succeeds only in introducing a shaky and useless telephone metaphor that occasionally comes back throughout the book. Much of the writing in this tome echoes this useless prelude as Vollmann stretches metaphors well past literary acceptability. Time and again metaphors extend sentences well beyond the limits of reason and, while these are often insightful, drag readers right out of the story and force them to recognize how clever the author is. This kind of writing is nothing but self-serving and, frankly, the importance of the book's core subject matter demands a more serious and mature writing style. Vollmann far too often uses Europe Central as a showcase for his witty insights which go on pompous display instead of being usefully integrated into the narrative (insofar as one may exist). Even more infuriating is the narration that mars most of the Russian chapters and which ends all of its sentences by abruptly dropping them before they say anything. It's almost as if they, so to speak, well, you know.

The subject matter and weight of these Russian chapters is also a problem. It is understandable that the content of this book would fall toward the Russian side; after all, it is no secret that the USSR bore the brunt of the absolute destruction that defines World War II's style of warfare. For a book masquerading as a look at all of Central Europe, however, Europe Central hardly focuses on the German side at all. This is an exceptionally glaring displacement of attention because the German mentality was so central to the war in the first place. Most frustrating, however, is the fact that the German-focused chapters of the book are its most coherent, best written, and to my admittedly biased mind the most interesting chapters by far. These infrequent and unfairly truncated chapters become mere pit-stops, however, as Vollmann travels the boring and incessantly redundant Shostakovich highway. Dmitri Shostakovich is a fascinating character to follow throughout the tightening paired nooses of Soviet oppression and German military aggression. Vollmann again misfires, however, when constructing the famous composer and every Russian ever as entirely obsessed with a certain enigmatic woman who happened to be his mistress for a year. By the end of the book, I would audibly groan whenever her name was mentioned; her legend is an interesting segway into the exposure of certain Soviet crimes and into Shostakovich's personal life, but using her as the sole inspiration for everything he ever did takes it much too far and turns him into a one-dimensional whiny character, hardly one readers want to follow for so much of the book.

Most annoying about this book is the fact that buried beneath the overbearing weight of unnecessary literary posturing and award-baiting are some incredibly moving stories that shed new and intriguing light on certain moral dilemmas faced in conflict. "Woman with Dead Child", an early look at Käthe Kollwitz's life and art, is incredibly moving if hampered a bit by this work's usual literary hang-ups. "Into the Mountain" provides an original look at the parallels between Norse mythology and Hitler's demise. When Vollmann focuses on an intense character portrait and limits it to one story, he belongs in the highest echelon of World War II fiction. "The Red Guillotine" makes a subtle comparison between the Soviet and German regimes and forces readers to face the uncomfortable fact that each may have been equally repressive and, perhaps, equally evil. Vollmann shows complexity and depth when probing his carefully selected and incredibly thoroughly defined characters within the contexts of the tough moral decisions they are forced to make. There are incredibly complex moral distinctions explored in "Clean Hands", the story of an SS officer who joins simply to reveal the organization's atrocities to the world, and "Breakout", the tale of Soviet general Andrey Vlasov and his cooperation with the Nazi regime against the USSR. The subjective and often fluid nature of ethical judgment, both by historical actors and in hindsight, is preserved in these stories especially as they (more or less) objectively expose the reasoning behind each man's actions. Vollmann is at his best here where he allows his stories to concentrate on compact narratives that center around a strong character- neither is drawn out and each shows an impeccable sense of narrative construction both within itself and in relation to the work as a whole. Vollmann positively shines in these select stories.

Judging Vollmann's vast effort, then, is clouded equally in shades of grey as its best narratives are. His best stories deserve to be preserved and read by anyone interested in the psychology of morals along with those interested in the unique mental climate provided by World War II. Here, Vollmann follows through on the jacket's promise to explore moral decisions forced in wartime. Here also the two great powers of Central Europe, Germany and the USSR, are compared in subtle and astoundingly anti-didactic ways: there is nothing forced in these stories; they are completely genuine. This makes the egregious errors which haunt the vast bulk of Europe Central even less forgivable and absolutely maddening. There is great promise but readers are everywhere disappointed and occasionally even despised. Additionally, those wishing to make any sense whatsoever of several crucial elements of the story must be well-versed in musical theory and history, Nordic and German mythology, and the history of World War II before even attempting to read this book. It is entirely an accident that one of my college classes touched on Shostakovich's Fifth Symphony and its relationship to Stalin; without this nuanced exposure most of the composer's chapters, which dominate the book by far, would have made no sense whatsoever. Vollmann often refuses to make anything at all clear and sacrifices meaning for "art", mirroring perhaps Shostakovich's deepest ambitions but creating something extremely inaccessible and deeply difficult to read, let alone enjoy. This book reeks of wasted talent and unfulfilled promises while its best chapters show that it could have been more than worthy of its subject matter. Readers would be well-served to seek out this book's best stories, but its general framework is distorted and reading all of Europe Central is a waste of time for the majority of readers who simply want an engrossing, useful, or intelligible narrative.

Grade: C

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