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 15: Bossypants

Bossypants
Tina Fey

Ah, the high-handed celebrity memoir. Yes, usually I attempt to stay as far away from these (usually) ghostwritten, (often) clichéd (and occasionally) train wrecks, but a continuing flurry of positive reviews for Tina Fey's Bossypants combined with my natural love for the comedian and led me to pick this one up. And let me tell you, like the blurb given by Trees on the book's back cover, it was "Totally worth it." From the blurbs to the dustjacket and author biography, this book is end-to-end hilarious, and the text isn't bad either. Part autobiography, part essay collection, and part memoir, Tina Fey proves that her wit, charm, and intelligence are genuine as she successfully wears a variety of hats beyond the carefully cocked bowler she sports on the cover (assuming that the book is not ghostwritten). While some jokes fall a bit flat or seem slightly out of place, as may be expected, Fey is so often spot-on while joking about everything from feminist-rage-inducing clueless college boys to the joys of motherhood, and what is most remarkable is her ability to allow opinions, genuine and beneficial cultural criticism, and insightful observations about life and society to shine through her humor. Indeed, her thoughts on Photoshop and the unrealistic expectations placed on women's bodies are rendered even more powerful through her hilarious side-notes and non-serious, but still urgent, treatment of these topics. The constant barrage of jokes only occasionally becomes old, but more importantly serves to diffuse any potential tension and might hopefully help to provoke actual thought about an array of important ideas.

But let's be honest, here, Fey's elucidating thoughts on gender are a pleasant bonus and supplement to the meat of the book, which is a charming rendition of the author's life and experiences. Nestled between jokes are accounts of the joys of working a crap job while Pursuing the Dream and the importance of perseverance and loving oneself, though the Obvious Hammer is, despite the humor and somewhat surprisingly, deployed extremely rarely, if ever. One of the most interesting examples of this is Fey's recollection of the series of skits in which she portrayed Sarah Palin prior to the 2010 presidential election, rife with hilarious anecdotes and incisive commentary on that most bizarre of democratic processes. The memories of that strange period will be fresh in the mind of most of Fey's current readers, and her thoughts actually add to and elevate the conversation in surprising ways. What is best about Bossypants, however, is that the author never wears, well, bossy pants in her writing, allowing her to remain hilarious and effective while offering readers the option for a deeper experience. The book could benefit from a bit more organization, sure, but what Fey has created in a book that functions successfully on several different levels, from anecdote to political manifesto, while maintaining a genuinely happy face and always bringing something interesting to the conversations that arise. Fans of Tina Fey have probably already read this book, but anyone who takes a mild interest in the star should read this funny and insightful memoir/humor tract/manifesto-y thing, and hopefully Bossypants will make many both think and laugh as hard as I did.

Grade: A

Book 14: Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand

Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand: A Novel of Adam and Eve
Gioconda Belli

It is obvious from the beginning that this book comes from the pen of a poet, and its continued lyricism is even more striking for the fact that the book comes to English via the translation of Margaret Sayers Peden. My own unfamiliarity with Spanish makes a comparison impossible, but this edition of Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand reads so smoothly, aside from a few minor blips that usually seem more the work of typos than mistranslations, that one can't help but wonder whether translation was in this case of assistance rather than the usually assumed hindrance to art and interpretation. Regardless, the prose in the book is beautifully wrought and suitably adapted to evoke the inner emotions and confusion of the world's first couple in the impossibly difficult days after The Fall. The subject of Adam and Eve's first post-Garden experiences is one of almost numbing precedent and weight, encompassing quite literally the history of humanity and assuming importance in religions beyond those who hold Genesis sacred. The simplicity of the language and Hemingway-quick sentences illuminate and deepen understanding in what is, essentially, a simple story in which not many extraordinary things actually happen. Yet in its sparseness, Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand loads each action with meaning and invests the story with a proper sense of gravity. Here, those essential firsts (the first attempted return to the Garden of Eden, Adam's first time killing for food, the first artistic impulses) achieve that gravity they rightfully deserve as eye-opening precedents for all future generations.

It is perhaps unsurprising, then, that the book's less charming aspects come when the pace accelerates or when the language outpaces the deliberative introspection that makes the book work. While it is understood that the (interestingly female gendered) Serpent speaks in theologically philosophical riddles that twist her forked tongue as she illustrates timeless conundrums (and these indeed are one of the book's foremost charms), other complex words and constructions serve not to deepen understanding but, rather, pull the reader forcibly out of the story. Likewise, as the pace of understanding accelerates toward the end of the novel, and quite rapidly at that, the tone feels rushed yet strangely drawn out as the author somewhat clumsily handles the story of Cain and Abel. Likewise, there is a strange resorting to presumed gender roles between Adam and Eve, which makes an odd bedfellow with a story that is so obviously revisionist and uses an only recently possible feminist lens to view the story. It is difficult to decide whether one should be praising Belli for her obvious care for the story and grappling with its implications or being frustrated at the forceful way in which the Serpent informs Eve that she will take the blame for sin in the world. While Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand is not the kind of book that is meant to offer any answers to the great philosophical questions of theodicy, it does provide a noble, intellectually honest, and religiously sensible effort to provide a new twist on the Adam and Eve story, raising questions in a thought provoking manner and using beautiful, sparse language to fully populate her newly created Earth. Despite some missteps that may make reading a bit frustrating, Infinity in the Palm of Her Hand is a brilliant launching point for theological discussion and will satisfy the intellectually inclined if not totally entertain readers looking for an all-encompassing and internally consistent story.

Grade: A-

Book 13: Like You'd Understand, Anyway

Like You'd Understand, Anyway
Jim Shepard

Single-author short story collections can do a variety of different things, from encapsulating several points of view on a theme or showcasing the diversity of an author's talent. Jim Shepard's offering, Like You'd Understand, Anyway, does a bit of both, exploring a range of individual perspectives across geography and time in a series of intimate character portraits. While Shepard clearly has- and displays- a keen ear for voice and style, however, some elements within the stories in this collection arise often enough to become repetitive rather than uniquely elucidating and enough stories offer too little in the way of closure to make the collection resonate as powerfully as it could. The great poise and potential of Shepard's work are clear from the outset, and "The Zero Meter Diving Team" serves as an excellent opener with its moving depiction of one man's guilt following the meltdown at Chernobyl. As in "Eros 7," Shepard subtly evokes the inner lives of Soviet citizens, paying attention to those differences in societal upbringing that offer degrees of internal differentiation but carefully avoiding a lazy resignation to their Soviet-ness as a sole defining characteristic. Indeed, it is main character Valentina Tereshkova's relentless and unsympathetic immaturity that sinks "Eros 7," just as the brilliantly rendered and almost bewildered familial guilt of nuclear engineer Boris Prushinsky, combined with a sense of beautifully desolate hopelessness, that allows "The Zero Meter Diving Team" to soar.

It is not merely a matter of unlikable protagonists that might make readers hesitant about Shepard's stories. While Parisian executioner and narrator Charles-Henri Sanson waxes self-piteous in "Sans Farine," the story nonetheless achieves an emotional impact other stories only grasp for, often desperately in final sentences. One can feel Shepard's Serious Literary Instincts fighting, and unfortunately beating, common sense as one story after another ends with interesting poetic strains but without any hint of true resolution. There is much to be said for subtlety, and it is certainly not always desirable for an author to beat theme into readers' heads with the Obvious Hammer, but Shepard's elusiveness almost becomes insulting as he bows to the gods of Serious Literary Merit. His stories suffer for this pandering and sadly become inaccessible for all but a select group of readers, a true shame given the clear depth and quality of Shepard's talents. Using first-person narration throughout his stories, Shepard deftly navigates everyone from a Nazi-funded anthropologist ("Ancestral Legacies," though said scientist's story ultimately comes across as silly for a lack of narrative thrust) to troubled American seventh graders during the Vietnam Era ("Proto-Scorpions of the Silurian" and the tragically close to meaningful "Courtesy for Beginners"). It is these latter two that make the collection become truly onerous, however, each displaying a similar enough story and narrative voice that readers will become distracted from the matter at hand and merely think, "Wait, didn't I just read this?"

Despite its flaws, however, there is significant merit in Shepard's stories, from his unceasing sympathy to his short, effective sentences. In fact, when the author allows himself to unwind and become engrossed in particular narrative territory, the stories shine and attain far more meaning than the groping ambitiousness of their Serious Literary counterparts. "The First South Central Australian Expedition" even manages to pull off the lyrical ending while offering closure and maintaining an air of ambiguity and nuance, proving that the best literature can successfully combine both intimate character portraiture and, shocker this, an actual story. Nonetheless, none of the stories in this collection are for the weak of heart, and while some will reward due attention others remain just a small step away from the lack of self-consciousness that would make them truly resonate. Each offers a rare complexity of character more remarkable for the range of personas Shepard tackles in the collection. Particularly worth reading are the aforementioned "The Zero Meter Diving Team" and "The First South Central Australian Expedition," as well as the very timely look at the brutality of high school masculinity and (not, as one may expect, wholly unrelated) high school football in "Trample the Dead, Hurdle the Weak." A failure to evoke Ancient Greece in "My Aeschylus" is countered by the success of "Hadrian's Wall" and "Sans Farine," and in its first half even the painfully immature "Eros 7" has a few moments of insightful observation. Though father and family issues are beaten to death by the time "Courtesy for Beginners" rolls around, as a standalone story it offers an interesting perspective on these issues, even if it cuts out just before becoming truly powerful. Like You'd Understand, Anyway is, in its way, a tragic collection, bursting with ambition and showcasing an immense talent hampered by conventions of style and woefully inadequate standards for determining merit; regardless, the stories within offer a range of carefully rendered psychological portraits that will evoke in readers sympathy and the feeling that Jim Shepard is so close to crafting something truly magical.

Grade: B+

Book 12: Crusader Nation

Crusader Nation: The United States in Peace and the Great War, 1898-1920
David Traxel

This book is admirably presented as a broad-reaching antidote to the plague of specificity that so threatens readability in history and other, related fields, and to some degree it succeeds in distilling an under-appreciated and overly simplified era in United States history. Unfortunately, however, though these ambitions for a broad scope are appropriate and occasionally successful, Traxel's effort is marred by often horrid writing, an inexcusable lack of any remotely discerning editorial eye, and an often myopic obsession with anecdotes that more often detract from, rather than strengthen, the seemingly salient points at hand. This complete misunderstanding of not only generally accepted conventions of English grammar but also of ways in which to construct, support, contradict, or even display rudimentary understanding of an argument makes the book almost unreadable at points despite unmistakably good intentions and some very good and important pieces of information buried in the muck. Traxel's attempt at a general history of the Progressive Era is appreciated, but the book lacks sufficient focus to maintain either a cohesive argument or a consistent level of exploratory depth, rendering its attempt to speak for the 22 (or so) years it covers absolutely moot and making its epilogue a truly laughable attempt at retroactive concision.

Traxel's primary problem is that the text is at several levels nearly unreadable. Most substantial works can be expected to have a number of mistakes that simply slipped by copy editors, but the level of grammatical error in Crusader Nation truly transcends reasonable levels. The book often becomes contradictory or, worse, incomprehensible on a sentence level when prepositions are woefully mishandled or missing. In the book's final chapter alone, there are at least five sentences whose conclusions were surely meant for far different assertions than those with which they began, and that these leaps occur in two- or three-clause sentences puts the oversight of author and editor(s) alike beyond reasonable explanation. The confusion engendered by this book's clumsy mishandling of narrative structure echoes Traxel's numerous lexical missteps and omissions, with the use of section and even chapter breaks particularly baffling. While some line breaks are indeed used to shift the course of action or facet of historical development being explored, others seem to be conjured of nowhere and disrupt wholly reasonable lines of inquiry; that these breaks appear in a book where so many incongruous ideas are linked in endless incongruous passages makes the entire idea of consistency laughable and will frustrate readers hoping for a glimmer of consistency. Worse still is an utter lack of understanding regarding the importance and/or use of transitions of any sort. In one particularly galling instance, one chapter's last page included a section break properly used to precede a brisk geographic and chronological departure…that was wholly ignored in the next two(!) chapters and returned to far later. It is certainly not easy to juggle a number of interrelated thematic narrative threads while maintaining a sensible timeline, but though there is no one universally efficient and desirable method for doing so Traxel ably demonstrates a thorough grasp of several terrible ways to attempt the same.

Worse still than these mistakes in general flow are those made by Traxel when deploying his facts, and the number of contradictions in this book is beyond absurd. It is to be understood that a book of this breadth, and particularly one so heavily reliant on anecdotal illustration, may concentrate on providing opposing primary source viewpoints, and the appearance of such in Crusader Nation is certainly encouraging. Here again, however, Traxel manages to take the interesting and intellectually stimulating and turn it into the incomprehensible. Historians may argue over Woodrow Wilson's opinions on balance of power in the government, and likewise his own views may have changed over the course of his lifetime; regardless, to call Wilson a firm states' rights advocate only to laud his belief in a firm, strong, and centralized national executive branch in the same paragraph is careless at best. More likely, given Traxel's enthusiasm for lending partisan credibility to a range of views, is that this and the book's numerous other insane contradictions represent a kind of hedging; what the author does not seem to grasp, however, is that a broad history may carry a certain kind of argument or viewpoint (see, for example, Howard Zinn) or may actually elucidate specific contradictory viewpoints rather than simply presenting them as equally credible and correct.

The text of Crusader Nation is similarly marred by unfounded accusations and an inconsistent use of endnotes and attribution, and though the book's representation of a number of important issues across a broad historical era will necessarily need to make some omissions, the author's choices are often bizarre. Why, for example, concentrate so heavily on journalist Jack Reed? Better yet, if the reason is, as I suspect, Reed's involvement in a number of important battles throughout the era, why not explain this in a brief introductory note or throughout the text? Rather than illuminating his decisions, Traxel inexplicably returns to the same man's experiences time and again, frustrating readers who are unaware of the reasoning behind this decision and who indeed may be justified in thinking it an accident borne of what appears to be a disorganized mind. Subjects appear and disappear with disarming rapidity, and while some subjects get marvelous treatment, other crucial events and movements of the era are neglected entirely or dismissed out of hand. Prohibition and women's suffrage are two particularly notable absences, often alluded to as the author flails away during scattered attempts for argumentation but never explained or given half of a fair shake. Why women's suffrage is only alluded to in a book that often emphasizes the increasing social importance of the gender and of some of its luminaries is, simply put, beyond this reader's understanding.

And yet, amidst the terrible writing and utter lack of organization on any discernible level, the book does have some redeeming qualities. Early attempts to represent various business and political interests surrounding the trust-busting era are handled well, if not particularly so, and treatment of some subjects is particularly illuminating. Workers' history and oft-forgotten struggles of menial laborers to unionize, often with deadly results, arise consistently throughout the book and are placed (though perhaps accidentally) in a larger context of reform and, later, patriotism. Also appreciated is an examination, however clumsily handled, of the importance of Mexican affairs on American interests during the mid-1910s, a subject not usually examined in the context of the First World War but which likely warrants far more attention than is currently afforded it in general public understanding. Nor does Traxel shy away from contentious issues, though the absence of African-Americans, rare mentions of the arts or culture, and a gross oversimplification of speech suppression after the nation's entry into the war will rightfully induce some misgivings. Most illuminating and actually worth praise is Traxel's handling of the opening of World War I as seen via Europe; rather than discarding the first weeks of the conflict as irrelevant due to geographic displacement, the book provides an engrossing description of Europe on the brink and at the onset of the most unimaginably horrifying four years the world had seen. Likewise, a focus on American neutrality remains engaging despite the familiar flaws in Traxel's authorial skills and, while certainly biased and problematic, at least provides a general framework for understanding Stateside opinion and action during the nation's (quasi-)neutral years.

Crusader Nation that are particularly illuminating, and their quality remains at a low enough level that the rest of the text is simply not worth slogging through to find them. A balance of anecdote and more strenuous analysis is well-intentioned but also fails to gain traction as the scales are inevitably tipped toward the irrelevant and overly detailed on one hand and the far too broadly sweeping on the other, proving again the author's good intentions but inability to make good on any of them. Moreover, gross errors and contradictions will appall seasoned historians and do a disservice to readers looking for a more general introduction to the period; even those like myself who are largely unfamiliar with the era and looking for a good general introduction will find many logical and editorial faults. Readers who make it to the book's epilogue will be justified in believing it terribly inconclusive as it provides running commentary on future historical trends that is not particularly tied to any coherent arguments in the foregoing text. Traxel appears to believe that a few allusions to arguments he could (or should) have constructed will provide acceptable substitutions for the arguments themselves, and the book is a failure judged by this epilogue. Plagued by bad writing and an immeasurably insufficient editorial process, Crusader Nation presents a reasonably thorough but poorly constructed and ultimately inadequate view of the Progressive Era that might appeal to the most forgiving of interested readers but whose scant successes are overburdened and far outweighed by a catalog of missteps.

Grade: D+

Book 11: American English: Dialects and Variation

American English: Dialects and Variation
Walt Wolfram and Natalie Schilling-Estes

Ah, textbooks. Those semester-long providers of endless drudgery and dry, condescending, and repetitive information, with page after page of endless examples and dull prose, will soon be dead to my required reading lists, but here is an example of the good mixed in with the otherwise dominant bad. As a textbook, American English: Dialects and Variation can be expected to run a bit on the dry side, and dry it is indeed, though there is a sly humor that meanders its way through the book and occasionally pops up in unexpected places. Though it is not a book most would choose to read for fun and is certainly not meant for a general audience, the book is engaging and informative, with an exceptional glossary and indispensable appendix of grammatical features discussed throughout the book, making it useful as a reference book beyond the initial run-through. Nor is the prose, dull though it may be, quite a slog. There are plenty of places where it could be more lively, but the authors are careful to introduce new concepts with plenty of illustrative examples and relevant academic studies that clarify potential questions while providing suggestions for further reading. In fact, one of the most useful aspects of the book is the bibliographies and suggested reading that accompany each chapter, providing readers with a vetted list of the linguistic studies that provide the foundation for the book's assertion. This academic honesty and thoughtfulness for the audience is appreciated and echoed in the book's greater organizational scheme, which presents variationist linguistics first through a series of chapters exploring the nature of variation and its potential causes and then moves into specific aspects of variation (race, gender, or age, for example) and, finally, practical applications. These final two chapters, in fact, are the only part of the book that becomes cumbersome for interested readers, as a promise to explore applications of dialect study stalls instead on educational aspects. This follows a very intriguing (and more widely applicable) treatment of the linguistics of standardized testing, and while the information presented on teaching dialects is interesting enough for those particularly interested, the focus is too specific, too drawn out, and does not provide a fitting conclusion to the book. Instead, the authors insert an overt agenda that reaches far beyond the book's general, self-justifying, and reasonable assertion that variation is legitimate and which makes the final chapters not so much a summation as a slog. Regardless of its final failure, however, American English: Dialects and Variation is a remarkably useful and accessible introduction to variation and dialects for the academically inclined and, though dry, efficiently packs a wealth of information and examples into a reasonably slim and easy volume.

Grade: A

Book 10: Lysistrata

Lysistrata
Aristophanes

It is difficult to enter the study of any ancient literature without a serviceable knowledge of ancient culture, and in that regard it is impossible to separate my reading experience of the Lysistrata from the work of translator Alan H. Sommerstein. Unfortunately, however, this thought occurred to me not afterward in a fit of particular gratitude but, instead, in the midst of reading the book. Sommerstein’s introduction to Aristophanes and his endnotes are immensely useful to readers who, like me, have little experience with Ancient Greece, but his work is sadly transparent throughout the work in numerous missteps and distractions. It is, of course, difficult to display the nuances of dialect, slang, and vulgarity in any work’s non-native language, and the supplementary material within the book indicates that Sommerstein has a firm grasp on the play’s context and creator. Nonetheless, the rendering of Spartan speech in a stereotypical and borderline offensive exaggerated Scottish dialect does not imply the general difference I believe the author was aiming for but, instead, simply makes the group sound, well, Scottish. Various Britishisms that appear throughout this particular translation are forgivable as the dialect is presumably Sommerstein’s own, but the silliness of the Scottish Spartans and of numerous awkward constructions will immediately and forcibly drag American minds away from the text at hand and will induce a pondering of the translator rather than the text itself.

That said, however, Lysistrata is a delightful and surprisingly vulgar play, humorous for modern readers and understandable despite a number of contextual references to Greek culture and history that may not be immediately understood by modern readers. Moreover, the play is at times uproariously hilarious, and its take on the ability of physical desire to trump all human evils is surprisingly cutting even in these enlightened times. Lysistrata is an enjoyable read for its own sake, and Sommerstein’s occasional inadequacy is significantly mitigated by his adeptness at translating the songs of the play’s various choruses, which absolutely shine. The play is well constructed, though the ambiguity of time leaves the plot seeming at times a bit disjointed, and the work is revealing about the context of its creation even if some of that context is obscured either by the fog of history or a particular reader’s own unfamiliarity with the topic. Generally speaking, each character develops his or her own voice, and though the plot can seem a bit silly and gets downright dirty, even for today’s standards, at some points the play contains what is necessary and few distracting embellishments. While some phrases are repeated too often and an undue emphasis is often placed on sex and the naked body, Aristophanes succeeds in creating a lasting play that is readable and relevant millennia after its creation. Though Lysistrata may suffer at the hands of overeager translators, it remains a quick, fun, and surprisingly revealing read for modern readers, though it is certainly not for the faint of heart.

Grade: B+

Book 9: Zot!: The Complete Black and White Collection, 1987-1991

Zot!: The Complete Black and White Collection, 1987-1991
Scott McCloud

To call Zot! a graphic novel is a bit inaccurate, as this particular collection instead represents the complete run of the black-and-white comic series over a number of years. As a self-contained body of work, however, the collection does portray a number of narrative arcs and presents an addicting fusion of manga-influenced artwork, the classic American superhero tradition, and comics' late-1980s foray into the everyday problems otherwise relegated to more highly regarded types of literature. Though some oblique references to the series' earlier 10-issue color run may be a bit confusing, this particular collection is well-annotated to avoid confusion, and these references and in-jokes are generally of the kind that will enhance longtime readers' experience with the book without greatly hampering those new to the series. In fact, what makes Zot! so appealing across a range of audiences is an elegant mixture of a great historical awareness that contextually situates the comic in a particular point of genre development and a well-developed series of engaging storylines that are well-balanced and that engage a number of topics, themes, and storytelling tones. While there is nothing inherently revolutionary about the collection, it represents a successful attempt to fuse new storytelling styles and techniques in American comics with a delightfully old-fashioned superhero and classic teen coming-of-age angst.

Zot! is a series that is appealing and marvelous despite some very obvious shortcomings. Though McCloud's explanatory essays, which themselves are a welcome addition and are presented helpfully after the storylines in question rather than as spoilers, frequent self-derision regarding the artwork is distracting, though not entirely undeserved. McCloud does, however, call undue extra attention to the inconsistency in his art, which is apparent but which does not greatly hamper the general reading experience. It should be obvious to most readers that the comic is primarily character-driven, and though there is a bit of necessary nuance lacking in taut emotional scenes, his eye for perspective makes his futuristic scenery stand out, particularly as it is rendered in black and white. Moreover, McCloud clearly has a good grasp of the medium and its particular affordances and abilities, and series of panels meant to convey very small changes in expression or gestures may not quite achieve their artistic goals, but are nonetheless effective in representing the effect of what the author/artist is going for. This is, ultimately, what is important about Zot!, which is clearly not intended to survive solely or even mostly on artistic merit but which instead challenges boundaries and is more than sufficiently supported by its storylines, writing, and characters.

In fact, McCloud's constant apologies attempt to atone for problems that are often not even evident. Part of Zot!'s charm is its distinctive artistic style, and the resistance to color illustration allows the content to triumph over the use of superhero cliché. And while McCloud does utilize some character exaggerations that often make the comic seem too earnest, there are signs of author, artist, and character growth over the course of the series. Even the traditional-seeming supervillains are thoughtfully constructed to represent different possibilities for a future gone awry, and McCloud is able to utilize the superhero narrative as a critical device rather than as a narrative fallback. It also helps that he often displays exceptional talent, from an implicit understanding, if not complete mastery, of comics' potential as revolutionary narrative medium to a number of issues nominated for various accolades. McCloud displays an exceptional range. He nails effective political commentary, from the non-threatening De-Evolutionaries, who revert humanity back to monkeys with special ray guns, to the overzealous capitalism of the Blotch. Here, too, are more serious threats to humanity posed by once-human robot Dekko (whose visions are rendered in absolutely stunning artwork) and, most tragically, by technology itself, as personified in 9Jack9, a true "ghost in the machine." The story arc of the same title lingers, its haunting conclusion and surprisingly dark tone aptly setting the stage for the more mature second half of the series. The implicit darkness of Dekko and 9Jack9 will stay with readers, though their last hurrah comes as comic relief as Zot's worthy nemeses come together for a pitch-perfect battle that provides a perfect segway between the series' two main thematic halves while entertaining and rewarding fans.

The concluding batch of stories, which concentrate on our Earth and which do not utilize the portal that facilitates travel to superhero Zot's brilliantly retro-futuristic world, grounds the series and allows it to wrap up in such an effective manner. As the series opens, readers are left to wonder why we shouldn't, after all, want to live in a world whose perfection stems from favorite visions of Golden Age futurists. Early in the book, protagonist and Earth girl Jenny wonders why we might bother to appreciate anything about our world, but as these sentiments are echoed in the series' final lines, they display a depth made possible only by the intervening stories. McCloud is, in some ways, a genius, one who more than makes up for his own acknowledged shortcomings by presenting readers with the familiar in an unfamiliar context, forging meaning out of cliché and elevating comics to a new artistic respectability. Ultimately, Zot!: The Complete Black and White Collection, 1987-1991 has its awkward moments and growing, but the overall effect is a marvelous blend of traditional escapism and real-world relevance that transcends its own limitations to present a wonderful collection of riveting stories that is truly a joy to read.

Grade: A

Book 8: Eugénie Grandet

Eugénie Grandet

Honoré de Balzac

This installment of Honoré de Balzac's Comédie Humaine promises a realistic look at rural France in the early 19th century, advertising a well-fought contest between two rival families for the hand of an unthinkably rich miser's eligible daughter. Surely this promise will maintain the slowly dwindling hopes of readers as they maneuver through the dense exposition that occupies a good deal of the book's opening stages. Rather than opening directly upon the action, or even alluding to action, Balzac takes readers through an agonizingly monotonous and just slightly tedious history of Felix Grandet and the acquisition of his millions. The lot makes for a fascinating look at post-Revolutionary French economics and certainly paints a story of a very keen, very cunning man, but without anything to break the tedium, readers whose strong suits lie outside economics may find themselves lost in the details. The story shows a bit more promise once events catch up to the present, but even then it seems unsettled and a bit unsure of what, exactly, the story is. Various framing devices suggest that the story centers around the potential suitors of Eugénie, and indeed this is initially borne out in some of the book’s funniest moments, but a series of events detracts from that narrative and makes the book seem to be something else altogether. This is, of course, fine if the desired outcome is a history of Eugénie Grandet, but readers are justified in feeling a bit misled by expectations of a different sort altogether.

For modern eyes, the book also suffers from its location in literary history. Balzac’s idea of a three dimensional heroine is rather flat, and though the injustices suffered by Eugénie at the hands of the various men in the book are effectively enraging, she is hardly a character to root for. Even Grandet himself barely transcends stereotype, relegated to the part of an uncompromising miser but somehow spared full indignation in a number of awkward moments. It is difficult to see where Balzac stands in all of this, and difficult to see what he is driving at as the novel time and again changes its tone and focus; the novel is undoubtedly about the history of a particular provincial family, but it is a bit more difficult to get a handle on what aspects of this family readers are meant to focus on. This overall incoherence masks a dry wit that is at times quite entertaining and which, one suspects, would be well-suited to some of the narrative paths the novel embarks upon, only to hesitate and retreat into a dull stupor. Within the jumble, there are also some interesting observations about money and miserliness, and about gender relations in early France. The book is undoubtedly a valuable historical artifact, but it can be tough going for some modern readers as it presupposes some familiarity with economic concepts and nuances of French society and, more importantly, as it dances around its themes without really settling upon a few to explore in further depth. At book’s end, it is difficult to tell what, precisely, readers are supposed to get out of the experience.

The experience isn’t all unpleasant, however, and there are some good points to the book, most notably when Balzac displays a bit of exasperation at a particular habit. Neither Parisians nor provincials are entirely immune from his barbs, and though they are small and easy to miss they break up what can otherwise be a dull or confusing narrative thread. Likewise, the hints of plot that emerge occasionally from the atmosphere induce readers to keep reading, if never quite paying off, and the book certainly illuminates many of the facts of life in both rural and urban France in the early 19th century. Abundant details, however, are lumped together and easily become meaningless, lost among the muddle. Ultimately, however, though the (male) characters (and, perhaps unsurprisingly, a female servant) are generally well-drawn and the plot threatening interest at various intervals, the book might prove more trouble than it's worth. Eugénie Grandet is an excellent historic artifact but the book's lack of pace may prove too dull and disconnected for many readers.

Grade: B

Book 7: In the Land of Invented Languages

In the Land of Invented Languages: A Celebration of Linguistic Creativity, Madness, and Genius

Arika Okrent

Though it irks my inherent cataloger, the fact that this lovely book bears the library's "Fiction" sticker is quite apt, as it deals with that purest realm of fiction, the invented language. As much as our own natural language patterns evoke within us and to our conversational partners a sense of who we are, it quickly becomes apparent that life In the Land of Invented Languages is far from unbiased, much to the chagrin of the intrepid language inventors that form the core of Okrent's engaging, humorous book. Concentrating on broad trends in language invention but adapting a narrower focus to zoom in on particular iterations of certain larger schemas about language and, by extension, the world, the book neatly falls somewhere between historical survey and case studies. Though this form naturally suits the subject matter (it is, after all, difficult enough to grasp the basics of any given language, much less to understand its mechanics well enough to place it in historical or linguistic context), a balance is not always struck and the book seems to lack overall structure despite the author's clearly sound instincts. A desire to provide examples and to entertain betrays Okrent as each of the book's sections begins with an individual anecdote, often tracking a certain language inventor, a practice good for drawing readers into the action straightaway but which is executed here so effectively and to so much depth that the inevitable withdrawals toward the larger picture inevitably seem abrupt. There are few transitions between chapters within broader sections, and where they do exist they don't quite make sense; it seems wasteful, for example, for the second section to dive straight into Okrent's (hilarious) recollections of her recent stint at an Esperanto convention only to abandon that language for several chapters. The thematic threads that link each section's eventual redemptive chapter with its neighbors and with its opener are thoughtful and rendered well throughout each segment, but the transitions are apt to induce vertigo. The trick works for the book's introduction and concluding chapter, but the effect is, sadly, not scalable.

In the Land of Invented Languages actually is. The book is nothing short of delightful as the author proudly embraces the oddities that define those people crazy enough to invent languages, crazy enough to learn or use them, and the complete lunatics who find all of this intriguing enough to embark upon a book project. The scope of invented language history is massive, and though it the book's primary exhibits are obviously trimmed off of a far larger whole, its focus can be awfully specific, occasionally at the cost of greater elucidation. Okrent does, again, clearly have the right instincts in grouping trends together and placing them within their respective historical paradigms, illustrating them thoughtfully and peppering the combination with the truly weird anecdotes she seems to have a nose for and obviously enjoys. The book, however, feels at times like a loosely tied whole and is in danger of falling apart, united more by the author's enthusiasm than by some small, thematically-minded touches that would serve to make the book much more coherent for linguistic newbies.

Strange, then, that the book is a genuine pleasure to read. Okrent’s obvious enthusiasm for the material combines with an appropriately skeptical eye to create a book that is full of pep and which successfully deploys an array of zingers. It is obvious that the work is, to a large extent, a labor of love, but it is one deployed with a sense of underlying purpose and humor. Nor does it lack all technical sophistication; while the book is far from a dry academic exploration of language invention, it contains enough of a technical vocabulary to be useful to those more versed in the language of linguistics. Importantly, however, the material is absolutely accessible, with linguistic nods a bonus for interested readers and spanning a number of topics that should be of interest to audiences various and sundry. There is a bit of inevitable history that informs various linguistic choices, some geography and study of perceptions of Chinese scripts, and a range of sociological considerations. Okrent seeks to place invented languages in both the context of their historical era as well as the particular concerns and motivations of their creators, and in the process she delivers a thought-provoking collection of individual case studies that begs, but never desperately, relevant larger questions. In the Land of Invented Languages is a witty, engaging book that makes up for its organizational anarchy with interesting, well-delivered content.

Grade: A-