Book 43: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
J.K. Rowling

If the plot started to thicken at the end of Goblet of Fire, here we see a full-blown cement mixture. The book is long, yes, but on re-reading I agree with Rowling, who challenged naysayers to point out the part of the book they would extract. Everything in the book seems necessary, aside from an outburst or two of the very-adolescent Harry. Even these, however, contribute to characterization and help create a marked contrast in the next book of the series. The fourth book is the pivot between Harry's innocent years and his true quest to fully defeat Lord Voldemort, and Order of the Phoenix provides good rising action, which exponentially increases throughout the book to send it from a fever pitch through a series of calming tones to a dramatic crescendo.

Rowling only continues to prove her intricate knowledge of her fictional world as she guides the reader through the mysteries of Harry's fate. There are clues scattered throughout the book about Harry's ultimate mission and fate, and the last two hundred pages successfully set the stage for the full-blown war of the last two volumes. Though the book is less exciting reading on consecutive passes, its connection to the rest of the series rings true and makes it quite important in the greater scheme of things. While we're still in the dark about many of the secrets of the final installment of Harry's story, Order of the Phoenix provides much fodder for theories and deep philosophical quandaries regarding the futures of certain characters. We have long known that the fate of the wizarding world rests on Harry's shoulders, and in Order of the Phoenix we, along with Harry, finally know why. It's worth trooping through the book to get to its information; the Prophecy within is crucial to the years ahead.

Grade: A

Book 42: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
J.K. Rowling

Well, what can I say? This book maintains the momentum set up by the first three installations of the ever-enchanting series and ratchets up the speed a notch towards the end. Being the fourth book in a seven-book series, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire succeeds as a carefully crafted pivot for the action. The book begins with the promise of an adventure outside of Hogwarts but within the magical realm, but things quickly begin to go sour and the reader knows along with Harry that darker doings are afoot. Though Prisoner of Azkaban was the first book in the series to overtly show signs of future connections, this book is where things really begin to get sticky, with its final chapters clearly outlining the continuation (and end) of the series.

The book itself builds beautifully on the traditions Rowling has built up through the series. The reader is entirely immersed in the magical world she has created. The feeling of plausibility is only heightened by Rowling's continued references to our own world- the parallel world knows about us and their musings about Muggles are a continuing source of humor. One of the most clever devices within the books, however, is Rowling's usage of metrics from within her own books. Harry isn't described as being "as happy as a kid in a candy store," no, his happiness is compared to his ability to conjure a particular brand of protective spell. In this way, the world of Harry wraps itself around the reader and allows the plot to fully develop and surround the reader. The ending of this book perfectly foreshadows the next in the series, and though the tension is clearly building it ends satisfactorily in and of itself. Like the forthcoming books, however, the tense ending creates the mystifying air of anticipation that accompanies each of the later books and which really links the series together as a whole.

Grade: A

Book 41: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
J.K. Rowling

After a brief hiatus, I have indeed returned with the third Harry Potter book under my belt. Much like the first two, I find it singularly enchanting and always delighting, though parts get a bit tedious on a re-read. This book is yet another turning point in the series, as more attention is paid to Harry's specific backstory and the reasons why he is the wizard with the ability to defeat Voldemort, or at least the guts to try. This book is incredibly important as the series progresses, and establishes connections that will become central in the next few books. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban looks ahead like the first two Harry Potter books didn't, and there are a few well-phrased clues that a well-seasoned reader of the later books will regret overlooking the first time around.

This volume only cements the boy wizard's power in the minds of his devoted readers, who can eagerly accompany him across the grounds of Hogwarts and really beyond them for the first time. Familiar pastimes like Quidditch games and the comic relief of the Weasley twins relieve the pressure of the enormous plot, which can get a bit mind-boggling on a first read. Certain chapters near the end require a couple of read-throughs to thoroughly get their point across, but the book definitely accomplishes its task of continuing to inch Harry closer to his destiny. I think that it is also worth mentioning that I, as a time travel buff and armchair time travel philosopher, think that Rowling has put together some of the tightest time-travel writing I have ever seen. She did it right and I am forever grateful. This book is the final book of the Potter series that can really be construed as happy or innocent, and it is very pleasant to end the peaceful years of Harry's time at Hogwarts with this book. The approaching war is but a dull, scattered sense of fear and Harry can bask in the joy of discovery before the mysteries start to take a troubling toll.

Grade: A

Book 40: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
J.K. Rowling

Here we are at book two of J.K. Rowling's magical series, and yet we have only scratched the surface of Harry Potter's mysteries. This book picks up right where its predecessor left off, with Harry at the dreaded Dursleys' eagerly awaiting another enchanting trip to the castle on a hill and the alternate life afforded him at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The forces of evil, however, are only beginning to gather as a striking streak of freak murder attempts rocks the school and reminds the world of witchcraft that Lord Voldemort, epitome of all evil villains, is still alive and well; if not in presence, then in spirit.

In this second glimpse into the alternate universe hiding just beyond our own, Rowling does not fail to enchant and mystify just as adeptly as she did in Sorcerer's Stone. We continue to learn more about the wizarding world and are never more confused than Harry, whose own ignorance makes our learning possible and, in a literary sense, allows droll explanations by characters to remain in context. Rowling's wonderful powers of description do not fail her as she opens our eyes to all new pieces of the Potter puzzle, and within each description and each subtle detail there is a piece of a clue regarding future events. It is truly amazing to go all the way back to this book after being up to speed on Half-Blood Prince, knowing full well the significance of certain items and events, significance that seemed heavy at the time but not so weighty as it is now. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets shows the stirrings of greater things and colossal events that will begin to shape the future of the wizarding world. This is the point where the series begins to pick up extrinsic steam propelling it beyond any individual book and into the enchanting universe of mystery and magic Rowling has created for us.

Grade: A

Book 39: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
J.K. Rowling

I have this crazy ambition to read all of these books before book seven comes out on the 21st and I decided to begin at the beginning. It's very odd and very exhillirating to re-read the book that started it all. The familiarity of the book does make it quite difficult to evaluate on any sort of objective basis, and I think that I will abandon my usual efforts and simply heap my own critical praise onto this much-beloved book.

First things first: Rowling starts things off with a bang. Even a cursory glance at the first chapter title ("The Boy Who Lived") indicates that there are weighty matters at hand. The subject matter is dark enough to be interesting to mature readers but Rowling is clever enough to prevent things from becoming too awfully frightening. Reading the book, it is easy to forget that the world of Harry Potter exists only in Rowling's imagination and, therefore, ours. Her immaculate power of description radiates throughout the book, making everything believable and leaving nothing out. The book is riddled with clues regarding not only the end of Sorcerer's Stone but also the grand conclusion of the series. Rowling's world may not be as complex as Middle Earth, but it is as well thought out as Tolkien's universe and contains a similar power to entrance and delight.

The plot may be slightly predictable, but this might also be the fact that I've read the entire series thus far about two or three times (and this particular book in two languages). What emerges in the plot is an intricately woven conflict between good and evil with a few sharp surprises whose repercussions linger throughout the rest of the series. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone may be a basic story of good versus evil, but in the hallways of Hogwarts it is not always so simple to distinguish the two. This elegant and brilliantly thorough narrative is a delightful kick-off to a complex and captivating series, leaving plenty of questions to the tomes ahead but prodding the reader forward instead of leaving too many frustrating blank spaces. I'm so glad I decided to read all of the books again; this book makes for a wonderful afternoon.

Grade: A

Book 38: I Am No One You Know

I Am No One You Know
Joyce Carol Oates

Callie recently asked me, "How do you evaluate a collection of short stories?" Seeing as I'm not a true literary critic (being hopelessly amateur in my endeavors here), I don't know if my answer was correct in any high literary sense, but my general idea is to try to get a picture of the collection as a whole. This works particularly well when the collection has been written by a single author, rather than being compiled. This particular collection of short stories constitutes a heavy tome of psychological studies that focus on the unexpected, hidden lives of people we think we know or think we are. Each of the main characters in this book could be someone you meet on the way to work, the barista in Starbucks or the high-powered lawyer who helps you sift through your parents' will. "The Girl with the Blackened Eye" has never told anyone of her harrowing ideal; even her husband isn't privy to that particularly gruesome week of her history. Yet here she is, laying it out for us and committing her emotional trauma in ink for a general audience. Her believability only underscores the thrilling power of each and every one of these stories.

Often, the reader is confused as to who may be right or wrong when a certain moral quandary comes up; we are left to figure it out along with the narrators and characters themselves. This is surprisingly genuine and touching- the stories may seem to end abruptly, but perhaps that is because their leading men and ladies don't know where they're heading, either. Every story is satisfying and deserves a moment of deep thought. Oates consistently invokes psychological and moral ambiguity within her stories and they somehow resist the urge to become weighty morality plays. Each tale, each life has its own set of problems and solutions, and each invites the reader to examine complex situations from uneasy angles. On the surface, it seems natural that a suburban divorcee should shy away from a convict, but when even she doubts her racial neutrality we are not automatically inclined to support her. We may initially balk at the idea of student-teacher love, but here is a case that defies expectations and encourages the reader to at least entertain possibilities beyond the initial negative reaction.

Oates poses constant challenges to her reader, but challenges at just the right level of difficulty. No situation is cut and dry; Oates gives us plenty of chances to doubt the veracity of the narrators and to argue along silently as they doubt themselves. Neither are the moral issues presented abstract and therefore meaningless. The stories are entirely tangible and readable, and this is what the collection in its entirety hinges on. "I am your son," one narrator says to an Alzheimer's-ridden man, "I am no one you know." Rather than being no one we know, Oates's characters could be anyone we know, from a passing glance to the intimacy of, well, intimacy. In this book the reader finds issues never expected to be met head-on, but which silently nag nonetheless. The reader is silently encouraged to look beyond the facade and realize that these narrators are, in fact, people we know, if we only bothered to look.

Grade: A

Book 37: Atonement

Atonement
Ian McEwan

I feel like I'm not up to the task of reviewing this book. I finished it yesterday and I'm still digesting it. This is a book not to be taken lightly, and it has as much to say about the writing of literature as it does about its story. This initially frustrated me, and I kept silently urging McEwan to press forward with the plot already. The central conflict in the book isn't even introduced until the first section is mostly past, and while the writing is always brilliant and evocative, the plot is constantly bogged down by incessant detail. What is most interesting, however, is the fact that this minor oversight, if we can call it that, doesn't matter at all by the end of the book and in fact enhances its rhetorical power. This book is much more than the story it contains; it is really a speculative treatise on the art and power of writing.

I should have seen it coming. It's right there on page 35, in a quote I mentally siphoned off: the writer of novels has the power to communicate as if telepathically with their reader. The ink is a direct medium between the two individuals, and the author's vision is realized on the page, becoming a kind of truth. What happens, however, when the truth of the fictional world is muddled by a fictional author? Atonement not only begs the question inside its fictional world but transcends that world to bring the issue directly to its readers. McEwan and his vision hang over the novel, standing aside bemused as it smacks the reader minutes after putting it down. Atonement is a powerfully written book about the terrible power of words, and their limitations. The book forces us to ask ourselves how atonement can be reached, and if our feeble gasps of apology can ever be enough. It is a self-conscious work, but McEwan's lingering smirks only add to the charm of the book.

This has been purposefully vague and probably mostly unhelpful, but I cannot encourage you enough to read this book. The novel gets exponentially better with every minute that passes since the pages are set aside and the ideas left to simmer. The words themselves are evocative and elegant, paying excellent tribute to a time of grace that has disappeared behind the commercial value of the estates of the rich and powerful. The book contains some of the most painful war writing I've ever encountered, with vivid imagery that never ceases to shock or utterly stun. Atonement is a perfect book for a reading group. I feel that it is so hard to do justice to its genius alone here, speaking to and not with my own readers. If you're feeling at all contemplative about the nature and value of literature or even the power of art in general, Atonement will nudge you in interesting directions you hadn't considered before.

Grade: A

Book 36: What I Know Now: Letters to My Younger Self

What I Know Now: Letters to My Younger Self
Edited by Ellyn Spragins

This book is a cute little volume that I spotted one day outside of the Dawn Treader. It looked like it might hold some interest for me in my current quest of self-improvement, and I decided to pick it up. I'm not exactly disappointed that I did, but I'm definitely glad that I bought the book used and not new. The premise is intriguing enough: what would you say in a letter to your younger self, given the chance? The women writing in this book represent a cross-section of successful high society, from singers to newscasters to CEOs, reminding us all that even the best among us stumble. I find this top-down approach a tad condescending, but the book has bigger issues than that.

The problem with the letters in this book is that they are often too specific to a certain writer's situation to be useful to the populace at large. By the end of the book, the themes become repetitive, though through no fault of the writers themselves. The prose that introduces each letter also becomes tired and trite. Instead of generally acquainting the reader with the writer, the preludes descend into lists of accomplishments and oversimplifications that are really unnecessary. The letters themselves are usually fairly short, and while some have nice bits here and there, they are too introspective to really resonate to an audience at large. I believe that a project like this could be useful if done correctly, but this particular attempt settles for cliche and isn't particularly useful for the discerning reader.

Grade: B-

Book 35: I, Robot

I, Robot
Isaac Asimov

I have such mixed feelings about this book. I really, really liked it. The story was incredibly absorbing and the metaphors were significantly complex and poignant to strike me by pleasant surprise. Asimov knows how to construct a parallel future to our own and the book is chock full of subtle commentary that lets us know exactly how, in the robot-ruled future, we are truly at fault. It is no accident that the last story in the book is called "The Evitable Conflict". But where the plot itself soars to success, the prose itself is base and, at times, dreadful. I, Robot is never actually painful to read, but nonetheless there were moments where I had to groan out loud at the unbelievable characters and extraordinarily bad dialogue.

Asimov is, no doubt, a great writer. He is, however, much more concentrated when it comes to developing plot and creating (and resolving) conflict. Specific aspects of the writing seem to give way under the importance (or perhaps just the sheer brilliance) of these more focused elements. There is often overly-descriptive dialogue. Two robot field testers are not going to need to tell each other the explicit history of robotics on Earth and the development of certain prototypes. Sure, we can assume that these remarks are sarcastic, but the characters an d their relationships aren't well enough established by the time they begin to engage in this sarcastic expose. Likewise, the very form of the book also detracts a bit from its power to engage the reader. The idea of a young reporter talking to an old robotic scientist about the history of robotics is excellent, and telling the story in vignettes is, I believe, the proper form for the book. This young journalist, however, is as ignorant as the reader about his own world. The italicized passages where he interacts with the interviewee give away too much of the stories to come; when we know that certain characters are going to survive or that certain developments will or will not take hold in society, the stories themselves become less thrilling and merely fulfill expectations rather than shock. Asimov doesn't need the overarching story arc to make his point.

With all of that being a bit harsh, I must return to the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Sure, the dialogue occasionally got to me and the interludes took me out of the story, but the stories and the general history of society are so compelling in themselves that I could forgive the imperfect writing. Asimov's strengths are not only his best attributes, but also outstrip others by miles. I absolutely cannot believe that this book was published in 1950. Aside from the dates (much of the story takes place in the 1990s- yikes!), I, Robot doesn't seem at all dated. This book could have been written today, and with the same power. It works both because robots per se haven't taken over society and because computers have. The view of a robotic society may be partial to the 1950s, but the idea of a society governed by artificial intelligences greater than itself is not a fantasy in this Internet Age. Have you ever won a game of chess against a computer? I didn't think so. Asimov is right on target with his assumptions that human-created technology will eventually overtake human capabilities. The robots (our computers) have the best of human reasoning and infallible logic- in spades.

Asimov's book is a critique of our need to create ever-increasing convenience. He also nails religion and reactionaries down pat. His insights on faith are, for once, non-polarizing and tolerant. Where it looks like Asimov is going to criticize religious faith (giving it, after all, to robots), that faith ends up helping everyone and makes logical sense. The Society for Humanity, a radical anti-robot society, is simply hungering for a simpler past that wasn't so simple for those living in it. I, Robot takes the trend of Americans to want it "faster and faster and now, dammit!" and extrapolates it to its fullest potential. He asks us where we're going but doesn't make it clear that artificial overlords are the worst thing for humanity after all. His humans are disenfranchised but are better off than ever. Asimov's commentary is intelligent and nuanced and transcends the book to apply directly to current life here in 2007. The book may be lacking in the points of fine literature, but it is a most thought-provoking piece that should not be ignored.

Grade: B+

Book 34: The Mists of Avalon

The Mists of Avalon
Marion Zimmer Bradley

Fear not, blog readers, for though I have been absent my reading time has been well spent. This book is anything but a quick, light read but it is thoroughly enjoyable and worth the time and effort it asks. The Mists of Avalon is nothing less than a complete and compelling revision of traditional Arthurian legends and manages to add an entirely new edge to the stories we all know so well. Bradley is nothing if not thorough, and addresses most of the crucial junctions in the Arthur story: the dubious conception of Arthur, his coronation and the bestowing of Excalibur, the rise of Lancelet and the seeds and fruit of his betrayal, the banishment of the Saxons from Britain, and the treachery of Mordred are all covered. Even the Holy Grail makes an appearance, though its significance in the pagan context of the book is somewhat confused and ill-explained. Readers familiar with the general gist of the Arthur tales will find their expectations thoroughly met; the only major exception I could think of was Gawaine's altercation with the Green Knight, which would have been entirely irrelevant (as with the unfortunate inclusion of Gareth's expedition to the Red Lawns). Bradley brilliantly weaves the traditional plot lines into her own story of the end of the age of magic and Fairy.

The book is a splendidly imagined tale that recasts Arthur's reign as the last critical juncture in the conflict between pagan traditions and the rising tide of Christianity. The book is hardly friendly to the new religion at first, making some excellent jabs at Roman religion that speak to the heart of its problems today, but softens as the pagan lands are themselves won over. The initial illusion of ultimate right and wrong is properly blasted by the end of the book, and if this makes the last page somewhat confusing (which it does), it speaks to the complexity of the novel and the excellence of this book in assuming the form. The book itself faces subtle changes and forces the reader to reconsider formerly held notions initially supported by the book itself. In fact, the greatest strength of the book is to take an incredibly well-established collection of legends, throw some feminist and anti-Christian spin on them, and come out with something that everyone can benefit from. Whatever dogma lies behind the book is not immediately visible, and while the characters in the book express their opinions quite forcefully, they refrain from being overly preachy at the reader.

Here we get Morgaine (Morgana le Fay) and her story, not the Arthur-centric tales of macho heroism and damsels in distress. Morgaine and the Lady of the Lake are the ones truly in power, which is a refreshing take on the sometimes clichéd man-rescues-woman motif. The world of Arthur is far more complex than previously suspected, and the book only expands on the potential of Arthurian lore. Though the fantasy elements strewn throughout the book can sometimes serve to distract the reader with their improbability (they are interacting with a work that strives mainly to present a sort of truth behind the legends), many are well-received in turn and generally make sense, even within the realm of Christianity. Bradley pushes these elements a little far at times, but once the reader is acclimated to the new world where magic meets history the fantastic often becomes a pivotal part in the tale.

The book is easy to read and flows well outside of the occasional (and thankfully infrequent) slips into the first-person perspective of Morgaine. These slips, particularly that at the end of the main plot, only confuse the reader and muddle what otherwise was clear. While Bradley's work may benefit from some doubt (and indeed I'm sure that some was intended), important plot elements are obscured and confusing when presented this way. What Bradley has done is to take a familiar story and recast it as the collision and resulting conflict between paganism and Christianity, presenting the E! True Hollywood Story of Morgaine, the real power behind Arthur's throne. Never preachy or boring, The Mists of Avalon is a must-read for those interested in diving into the deep and enchanting world of Arthurian legend.

Grade: A