Reviews – Page 40 – couldreads

It bears repeating

For a long time I thought that I would never re-read books. My refusal was part badge of honor and part common sense. After all, there are bazillions of books in the world, the vast majority of which I will never even know exist, let alone find the time to read, so why waste precious hours on novels I’ve already absorbed?

Then I got older, and books I had in my youth sworn allegiance to as lifetime favorites became little more than dull memories, or overarching sentiments (“yeah…I remember…liking it?”) It was with this in mind that I began slowly and occasionally picking up old favorites, particularly those I thought might seem different to me now that I’m old and wise and at least vaguely understand politics. I’ve read 1984 at least three times, Fahrenheit 451 two and, more recently had a second go at Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, which I was inspired to read again after all the (completely justified) hype surrounding Freedom.

A Separate Peace, the 1959 novel by John Knowles, seemed like the perfect candidate for a re-read. It’s one of those books most people know they’ve read, but from which most readers are separated by at least a decade, having been assigned the book in high school or even earlier. I am one of those people: I have vague memories of A Separate Peace from my formative middle-school years, when a novel about two prep school best friends probably resonated with me the same way the Babysitters Club did (I didn’t really babysit, but understood what it was like to spend a lot of time thinking about boys.) But other than some general recollections, I couldn’t tell you before this week what exactly A Separate Peace was about.

These Days, I’d Prefer to Be Deaf

It would have been difficult to time this week’s read any more perfectly. As the political debate season (and by season, I mean solid year of campaigning) heats up, I just so happened to dive into a book whose central conceit is a capital city in which 80% of the voters have cast blank ballots, throwing the electoral process into chaos and resulting in the government’s wholesale abdication of the city and investigation into what the politicians consider a large-scale conspiracy. Throw in a Michele Bachmann or two and it might as well be present-day.

I first discovered José Saramago a few years ago, when I read Blindness for a book club. Saramago fans will remember Blindness as the story of a city whose entire population goes blind, save one woman who uses her inexplicably retained sight to protect her husband and a group of strangers while they’re stuck in the insane asylum where they’ve been forcibly quarantined (they were sent there when the government still thought the epidemic could be controlled through isolation). Mark Ruffalo fans will remember Blindness as a 2008 movie with an all-star cast and a really disturbing rape scene. Me, I remember it both ways–as a dedicated reader of socio-political Armageddon-type novels, and as the girl who once followed Mark Ruffalo around a Tower Records for 20 minutes (discreetly…ish.) Continue reading “These Days, I’d Prefer to Be Deaf”

Another Endorsement for Sweden

A friend and I have a tradition: I read a book, I enjoy said book, I recommend said book to her, she expresses interest in borrowing/reading it, I say “Ohhh, but there’s some rape.”

You’d be surprised how often this comes up. I’d never given much thought to my propensity for rape scenes, but considering the number of times I’ve had to give this disclaimer to my friend (who is many months pregnant and therefore nauseated by literary or cinematic displays of extreme violence), I’m beginning to wonder if I have a problem.

Which brings me to Box 21. International mystery in the same vein as Girl with the Dragon Tattoo? Check. Strong female protagonist up against chauvinistic male authority figures? Check. Well-developed story with gripping narrative and enjoyable twists? Check. Violent rape? Ah yes, check.

I can’t remember why I originally bought Box 21, but as I left for the shore a few weeks ago it seemed a natural choice for beach reading (high-octane thriller, less than 400 pages, paperback). This was the kind of book I had no problem rolling out of bed at 8 a.m. to enjoy on the hotel balcony, while my lethargic vacation-mates dug their faces deeper into their pillows until it was tanning time. Continue reading “Another Endorsement for Sweden”

Not on my bucket list

I’ve been trying to think of the best way to explain the effect this week’s book had on me, and I think it’s this: Over the weekend, I came very close to watching Blue Crush 2.

In the end I didn’t (True Blood prevailed) but the point is the thought was there. And ultimately, isn’t the biggest testament to a nonfiction book whether or not, in the end, it leaves you wanting to know more?

Actually, in the days after I finished Susan Casey’s The Wave, I found myself doing all sorts of additional research: looking up YouTube videos of surfer Laird Hamilton—who Casey interviews at length throughout the book—reading articles on wave research, and ironically, preparing my apartment for an imminent hurricane. It seems once I started learning about the world of extreme weather, the topic became all but unavoidable.

I guess I should give you a little context. The Wave is a nonfiction book, true, but it’s the kind of nonfiction book that immersed its author; for every interview with a world-renowned scientist, there’s a long afternoon spent a mile offshore, watching tow surfers take on 40-foot waves from the back of a lurching fishing boat. Susan Casey even moved to Hawaii for the duration of her research, and the book includes a photo of her gamely hanging on to a Jet Ski just a few minutes before Hamilton took her down the face of Jaws, one of the most impressive (and terrifying) waves in the world. It’s this immersion, in addition to Casey’s impressive research, that makes The Wave not only accessible, but riveting. In the vein of Mary Roach (my aforementioned favorite nonfiction author), Casey finds a way to bestow upon her readers the enthusiasm she seems to share with the subjects (scientists, surfers, etc.) of her story.

The Wave covers a broad spectrum (wave pun!) of oceanography, focusing primarily on the surfers who pursue the world’s most dangerous waves, and the scientists studying them (the waves, not the surfers). Threaded throughout the book are both camps’ understanding of rogue, or freak waves, the kind that level towns, destroy ocean liners and exist despite the fact that they’re mathematically inexplicable. Casey’s transitions from the adventures of the world’s greatest surfers to the findings of the world’s greatest oceanographers are never confusing; rather, it seems to take both perspectives to impart upon readers the enormity of the subject. A surfer who’s had a near-death experience with a fifty-footer and a scientist who’s seen the hull of a boat ripped clean off by one have different outlooks on the ocean, save one unifying reaction: deep respect.

Courage, redemption, and pee

I did it! I departed New York City for an entire week to tan myself and eat fried Oreos at the Jersey shore, during which time I did not so much as pick up a newspaper, open a laptop or respond to any of the approximately zero tweets I received during my absence. Consequently, I have no idea what’s going on in the world right now, unless said goings-on include international debate over the rules of Flip Cup, and/or how deceptive it is to name fries covered in Old Bay “crab fries” and then market them to unsuspecting beach-goers.

In any case, while I did not necessarily keep abreast of current events, I did make good on my promise to spend at least 0.07% of vacation time reading. (In beach trips of yore, this percentage was much closer to, say, 75, but it’s surprisingly difficult to shun your friends (and/or a cold beer) in favor of a poolside lounge chair and a paperback. Mostly because they yell at you.)

So I’ve finished three books since I last wrote, which is a bit of a cheat since I decided last weekend that it made far more sense to to obsessively plan my beach-side dessert roster (Day 1: ice cream, Day 2: funnel cake, and so on) than write up a final book review before leaving. Whatever, now I just look super accomplished.