This site will share with you hundreds of book and film reviews written since 2009. Also a chance to discuss these reviews together with some of my creative writing to be added.
This may be too short to appeal to lovers of crime fiction who like to get immersed in a convoluted tale. The style is very clear, carrying the plot along at a good pace, with development of distinctly different characters. I liked what seemed to be the realistic portrayal of life in a small, dusty southern town, where people know each other's business, racial prejudice lingers on, and a shopping trip to Memphis is the highlight of the week. It seemed a bit dated – with typewriters and a kind of unconscious lack of political correctness, until I noted it was first published in 1981.
The one sentence paragraphs grated a bit. But this could make it good for someone learning English.
A growing sense of tension, and the heroine's mixture of anger over her situation, and suspicion of almost everyone around her is well handled. She seems to "work things out" rather quickly. There is a touch too much of the Mills and Boon on the romantic front, and the denouement is a bit of a let-down BUT overall, this isn't a bad "quick read".
Since the reviews so far have been small in number but very glowing, I feel the need to offer a different viewpoint. I have not included a plot outline, as others have done this already.
I found the lengthy descriptions of small scale events very tedious. Early examples of this are:
– where the doctor walks round the house to his host's workshop, finds it locked, so has to go back all the way round the building. Why did the author not just include a plan?
– the account of the pageant performed by the deaf children to their parents, together with the frequent focus on their repetitive language practice and the dreary poems they have to learn.
– references to long-superseded electrical and optical equipment without any brief notes of explanation: this means either reading stuff one does not understand, or having the flow of reading disrupted by the urge to go and research.
A few errors made me doubt the accuracy of the rest e.g. the description of chrysanthemums, tulips and irises growing together in an open bed. Then there was a paragraph about stamens, stigma and pistils that didn't seem quite right. This matters because reading detail that is inaccurate and serves no other purpose is a waste of time.
The emotional coldness of the book repelled me utterly. I think some of it is meant to be humorous, as when Carrefax senior considers attaching a tapping device to a coffin in case the deceased ( a very close relative) should come back to life. However, the upshot of the fact that the main characters observe the world so clinically, without a drop of empathy, is that one cannot engage with them or care about their fate.
I did not mind the lack of plot, or the disjointed structure. Some images are striking, as when the infant Carrefax observes the beauty of the wing he has plucked from an unfortunate fly, and peers at the Hatching Room through it. The reviewer who feels the book needs to be read slowly, and improves on a reread, may have a point – but life is short, and there are many books which make a positive impact from the outset!
I sense that other readers would like to make this into a kind of "cult book" – if so, I don't want to join.
My Antonia – pronounced "Anton-ee-a" is a "Little House on the Prairie for adults" classic that I would not have thought to read unless required to do so for a book group. Published in 1918, this "early modern" novel forms a bridge between the old and the new. It has all the flowing style and precision of a C19 work – reminded me of Thomas Hardy – yet is pared of any unnecessary verbiage to give a vivid impression of the striking landscape of Nebraska in the late C19 when it was developed largely by immigrants from Germany and Scandinavia.
We see the vast expanses of red prairie grass, "running" in the wind and the sunflowers following the bends of the country roads, perhaps where the Mormons scattered seeds as they travelled west to Salt Lake City. Based on her own childhood memories, Willa Cather has the successful lawyer Jim Burden recall his childhood, dominated by his friendship with the vivacious Antonia, daughter of a family of penniless Czech immigrants, forced by hardship and duty to give up any thought of education which would enable her to escape from a life of toil on the land. I feared the tale would be admirable but dull. In fact, it is brought to life by the varied cast of believable characters and the string of surprisingly entertaining anecdotes – the killing of a rattlesnake, dubious escapes from wild wolves, and so on.
The storyline is fragmented in structure and lacks a strong plot – yet it seems the author was deliberately experimenting with the structure. The long first "book" focused on prairie life is probably the best. The middle sections ramble through Jim's adolescence and college education. For a while we lose sight of Antonia altogether, but in the final part, the middle-aged Jim meets up with her – now a mature "matriarch" with a brood of children, still living on the land to which she has become too attached ever to think of leaving. The book questions the nature of success: despite his fine career, Jim is childless, and the people he met in his rural childhood have more "reality" for him than what he learns in his academic studies. A major point of the book seems to be that "the best days" of his life prove to be the earliest ones that he cannot recapture.
When describing his eleven-year-old self, Jim appears to be an unusually perceptive child, often slipping more into the voice of an educated mature woman – the author herself?! Although based on a real person, you may feel that Antonia is somewhat idealised as in part a creation of Jim's nostalgia. I sensed a touch of unconscious racism in the description of the blind negro pianist. You could say the ending is a little romanticised, although there is the subtle indication that Antonia's husband is a malleable man who fathers her children and allows her to live out her rural dream.
Although it is slow-paced, and the plot is fairly slight, I would definitely recommend this novel. If your version has an introduction, save it until afterwards, so as not to prejudice your reading of this evocative tale.
An American damaged by childhood and Gulf War traumas becomes a corrupt investment banker on the brink of what we know to be a major financial collapse. He comes into conflict with a well-connected but eccentric, slightly demented neighbour who sees the building of his grandiose mansion on a once rural riverbank as a symbol of all that is rotten in the state of America. This sounds like the recipe for a good read.
Drawn to this novel by a glowing newspaper review and interesting dust jacket blurb, I was soon disappointed. The warning signs come as early as the prologue, in which the author uses flashbacks and digressions to skirt round a US naval incident in the Gulf, rather than transporting readers into the heart of the drama. I did not mind the slow pace of the plot, but there are too many overlong minor scenes, such as Nate's druggy dealings with his mates, and the issue of his "being gay".
The dialogues tended to grate on me because they are unnatural. Although I realise that Charlotte Graves is meant to be an eccentric elderly lady, the monologues inflicted on her student Nate, and the diatribes of her two talking dogs (especially the bigoted preacher Wilkie – yes, I know it sounds odd) are tedious and very hard to follow, adding nothing I could see to an appreciation of what is rotten with current US society, which I took to be the point of the book.
The book is only occasionally moving – much less than it should be, as when we learn that Nate is haunted by the fact that he might have averted his father's suicide if he had looked for him further. And why not use the space to give us more insight into the main character, the financier Doug Fanning?
Haslett slips frequently into passages of reflective, philsophical creative writing which left me cold because they seem too "studied". He mentions Joyce at one point, so I wonder if he was attempting "stream of consciousness" at the points when the sentences become very long, rambling wildly from one point another. After one example too many of this on page 120 of the hardback, I decided the book was not worth reading.
BUT then it improves – for a while. From Part 2, the plot speeds up and there are some humorous and well-written scenes, in particular the court hearing of Charlotte's dispute over Doug's mansion, with a neat twist at the end, and also the observation of Henry's relationship with his sister Charlotte, his irritation yet affection, as she feeds him baked beans and gives the dogs prime steak because one of them "demands" it.
However, the dramatic potential of Doug's inevitable fall as a cheating financial dealer is missed. The book sputters on like a damp squib at the end with a few blandly descriptive chapters which shed little further light. Just the odd passage, like the evocation of "that nowhere place" the Arabian desert, on page 285 reveals a talent for writing which is in general absent.
I am left feeling that this story has the ingredients to be good, but needed much more attention to "narrative drive" and to clarity of important ideas and insights for it to be successful.
Although already a classic, this short and well-constructed novel deserves to be better known. The deceptively simple, crystal clear prose which lends itself to being read aloud has the power to bring alive, even for an urbanised C21 westerner, what it was like to live in a “primitive” West African tribe on the brink of destruction by the well-intentioned but insensitive and arrogant imperialist administrators and missionaries.
Without being in any way patronising, tedious or glamorising tribal life, we are brought to appreciate the humanity and dignity of these people, even though they do not comply with our cultural norms. We begin to understand the rhythm of cultivation based on the yam, the closeness to nature – there are beautiful descriptions of the different types of rain and wind, the complexity of the social networks which bind the tribe together. It is easy to identify with the variety of characters and their distinctive personalities and shifting emotions, very like our own. So, the sudden moments of barbarity are chilling as when Okonkwo, understandably frustrated over no longer being able to control events, is described in passing as drinking wine from the human head gained in battle. Similarly, the dominance of superstition- the sacrifice of twins and mutiliation of deceased infants to discourage them from returning, are shocking. Yet you can see how people essentially “no different from us” may fall into this way of thinking as a way of explaining or coping with events when they do not have access to “science” or “rational explanations”.
There are moments of humour, such as the fact that one may recognise an “ancestor” in a fearsome mask as one’s husband by his gait, but would never dream of admitting this – rather as a child might pretend now not to know that Father Christmas is really his father dressed up. Also, some of the traditional sayings and old stories are very funny and entertaining.
The book succeeds in arousing some shame and anger at the way in which the British undervalued, failed to understand and destroyed this way of life, and played a part in replacing it with a fractured, corrupt “bastardised western” culture which has led to some horrendous civil strife.
Having just discovered Achebe and been bowled over by “Things Fall Apart”, I thought at first that this sequel lacked the former’s authentic magic of the evocation of tribal life amongst the Nigerian Igbo on the brink of being torn apart by the arrival of “the white man”.
However, the subtlety, insight and humour of this well-written tale soon began to engross me as I began to understand the dilemmas of Obi Okonkwu, grandson of the key figure of “Things Fall Apart” who returns from a scholarship in 1950s England where he has developed a love of English literature and adopted what he imagines to be an English way of life, only to find himself still a second class citizen in his own country, despite holding what is regarded as a privileged civil service post in colonial Lagos. We know from the outset that Obi has been caught and punished for corruption. The interest lies in how such a clearly perceptive and essentially honourable person can have allowed himself to fall into this trap.
Although a sad fable, like “Things Fall Apart”, reading this is a positive experience, because of the portrayal of a variety of characters with contrasting and opinions, together with the irony and humour that runs through Achebe’s work.
This thought-provoking book clarifies the dilemma in which many Nigerians must have found themselves, caught between old customs and beliefs and the desire to succeed on the terms that westerners have encouraged them to pursue. The reasons for the scale of corruption in West Africa is also explained – such as that it is simply regarded as helping members of one’s family or commmunity – and the fact that so many fall prey to it is made understandable.
My only reservation is that some developments occur too abruptly, but perhaps the resulting focus on what is most important to the author increases the dramatic impact of this short novel.
These Eyewitness Guides are so attractive that they whet your appetite to visit new places. However, in the case of Corsica, where it is quite hard to get tourist information outside the main centres, I agree with the reviewer who found this guide a bit sketchy.
It does not emphasise enough how even some of the main routes e.g. Calvi to Ajaccio, are very slow-going, narrow with endless hairpin bends. This calls for suggestions for realistic itineraries, and good places to use as bases. I now think that Corte would be a good choice, because it has fairly fast roads to Bonifacio, Ajaccio and Bastia BUT that may mean missing out on some of the fascinating places off the beaten track. I booked a week in Feliceto, one of the hill towns in the northern Balagne which I planned to explore, but had to trim the itinerary – we decided not to go to the interesting-sounding Les Calanques because it required to much stressful driving. So, the guide is misleading, for instance, in suggesting that you can do a tour of the “Artisans’ Road” (which include Feliceto) without making clear that it is quite a marathon. Also, there is no clear advice on how to find the craftsmen in the hill towns, nor a check on just how active they really are – the glass-maker I found seemed pretty moribund.
Town maps e.g. Calvi on page 81 tend to be too small. More advice would be useful on how to get into town centres and locate suitable parking. The familiar double-page spreads on the “historic heart” of some towns often prove lacking in detail and accuracy e.g. the citadel of Calvi on pp 78-79. A indication of the directon of due north on this type of “map” would be interesting.
Some towns I came across “on the road” are not given the mention they deserve e.g. Belgodère. Important local roads are neglected e.g. the D81 from near L’Ile Rousse to St. Florent, which has some beautiful viewpoints and interesting rock formations which are not flagged up in the book. Since the Corsicans themselves don’t signpost sites of interest much, they are too easy to miss without the aid of a good guide.
More information on the starting points for short walks, rather than gruelling hikes, would also be useful. For instance, we found by chance a very attractive moderate difficulty walk to and from Sant’Antonino and Pigna (both worth a visit).
So, I agree the book would benefit from a check on local detail. If there is a need to keep down costs by limiting pages, some editing might be helpful to “streamline” the existing text.
I found this quite gripping, although I only read it “to complete the trilogy” and find out what happened at the end – after being very disappointed by Part 2 “Played with Fire”. This final section has a much more detailed and meaty plot and seems to be better written, not just short scenes with plenty of gratuitous violence for the inevitable film. The “Hornets’ Nest” reminds me of a soap, with different sub-plots and characters coming to the fore in turn e.g. Erica’s trials as the editor of a declining paper – I liked the “topical touches” such as her outrage that the bosses should award themselves large bonuses for laying off the journalists!
There is real menace in the questions as to whether Salander will be further attacked when lying vulnerable in the hospital, or whether she will be incarcerated again in a mental institution for the convenience of others. The dialogue in the trial scene is also quite dramatic and well-handled.
Some “professional reviewers” have described this as the weakest book in the trilogy, too rambling and tedious because the author’s untimely death prevented a thorough edit. I agree that some sections are too long and dry e.g. Gullberg’s involvement in Sapo – yet some of this would have come in handy to explain Part 2! As ever, some parts read more like Larsson’s notes for a novel, rather than the digested end product. Yet, I find some of the excessive detail quite interesting and even laugh out loud when, once again, he lists the various Stockholm streets down which characters walk, drive or stalk each other – this must be entertaining for Swedes in the know, but is meaninglesss to everyone else.
Although this can be corny and hammy at times (can Erica’s husband really be so long-suffering, and is it plausible she would not know where he had gone on his conference?), unpolished and clunky at others, as “pulp fiction” goes this is better than most – good for a long plane flight. Despite the tendency for the “good guys” to win out “too easily”, there is always the possibility that Larsson will sacrifice one of the them. Beneath the thud and blunder, some serious issues are raised about say, the importance of democracy and respect for human rights. I have always admired Swedish society, yet now realise there is an underside of corruption. I had thought Sapo ludicrous until the notes at the end made me realise how much Larsson has been “inspired” by sad reality. As ever, Salander’s super-hacking skills and vast illicitly gained wealth seem improbable and yet we live in an age transformed by computers. Lastly, some of the pathos of her position really comes through in this final novel, including the way she has been hardened and damaged by ill treatment, yet has the capacity to “learn” a degree of empathy, and a better way of living, from her contact with people like Blomkvist.
The “open-ended” yet positive ending also seems to me to strike the right note. The only loose end I could see was the whereabouts of Salander’s estranged sister Camilla. Perhaps, as already suggested, Larsson had a fourth novel in mind, which might also have included depriving Salander of the burdensome fortune which criminalises her to no purpose, since she has no idea how to use it.
⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4 Stars
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest (Millennium Trilogy Book 3)
You probably need to be a middle-aged, middle-class, urban-dwelling, arty, erudite Jewish male to appreciate this book fully.
The opening paragraphs irritated me enormously with Treslove's ludicrous fantasies about the women he met dying in his arms like opera heroines. Gradually, however, the narrative hooked me with the crazy roller-coaster of farcical scenes peppered with the dry Jewish wit that made me laugh out loud. Although the wordplay was at times too much to take, I particularly liked the Stoppard-cum-Pinter talking at cross purposes dialogues. The unlikely trio of friends, Libor, Treslove and Finkler were developed as distinct and interesting characters, arousing in turn dislike and irritation yet sympathy as regards the two younger men. The scenes between Treslove and Libor were very poignant. I also noted some telling little comments – such as the fact that part of Schubert's brilliance lies in the way he sounds as if he is improvising effortlessly music of great originality and beauty.
Although "not much happens" and there were quite a few points where my interest flagged, as in Treslove's obsessive speculation over the identity of his strange female mugger, and the meaning of her words "You Jew", or whatever it was, only for this particular incident to "fizzle out" anyway, the story gained pace, depth and some menace towards the end.
The final chapter disappointed me at first, and seemed a little tame and flat in its wording, yet was on reflection the only possible ending.
My feelings are mixed. I appreciate the quality of the writing, but it was a little self-indulgent or "too clever by half" at times. Likewise, the capacity to examine questions from all angles was sometimes tedious but also enlightening. I admire the fact that the author pulls no punches – but, as a Jew, he can of course "say the unsayable" in a way that perhaps a "Gentile" cannot. The anecdote about the Jew who had an affair with a holocaust denier went beyond the bounds of taste for me, but I could see on reflection that the point of the book was to cover every conceivable prejudice and twist associated with Jewishness. The author may in the process provide many readers with an increased understanding of "being Jewish" issues. Yet at the same time I did at times get heartily bored with the self-absorption, and endless agonising over being Jewish. Treslove's desire to become Jewish as a way of belonging was interesting (after my initial scepticism), but overdone to the point of becoming a "reader turn off". A slightly less neurotic character might have been more convincing and moving – but at the expense of some of the farcical humour.
I was touched by the relationships between "the trio" and the main women in their lives: Malkie, Tyler and Hephzibah. The descriptions of the latter's cooking – a mammoth effort and fifty pans to produce an omelette with chives- were hilarious, as was the image of her searching the bed for the small portion that was Treslove's. Portrayal of the mothers of Treslove's sons was less satisfactory. The male obsession with ogling women in wet bikini bottoms made me groan. Continual digs at the BBC as a ghastly workplace seemed like an overused "in joke" for friends reading the book. Some of the violence seemed gratuitous, such as Finkler's murderous lust for Tamara Krausz, and the overuse of the F-word by almost everybody.
So, I would recommend this novel but am not sure that it deserves to win the Booker, even though it reminded me at times of Saul Bellow, John Updike and Paul Auster…..Yet I have made a note to read "Kalooki Nights"….. (n.b. proved as unreadable as many reviewers have found this!)
This very readable account of the momentous, chilling, chaotic events of the French Revolution distinguishes itself from the many previous versions through its focus on one of the arch-villains – the coldly fanatical and ruthless Robespierre. The author points out the many contradictions in this complex figure: although he believed that even those too poor to pay tax should have the right to vote, he became a dictator who suppressed free speech and people's right to defend themselves; despite his dislike of bloodshed, he pushed through new laws to speed up the process of guillotining "traitors"; although he lacked qualities of leadership, was reclusive, made sick by tension and was not a naturally good speaker, he was quick to identify and exploit opportunities to gain power; he prided himself on being morally "incorruptible", yet fell prey to jealousy of talented revolutionaires such as Danton, and saw them as rivals who must be destoyed.
Ruth Scurr provides somes explanations for his personality and behaviour – the death of his mother when he was still very young, the influence of the College where he was "indoctrinated" with ideas of the republic in classical Rome and Greece. Yet, it remains unclear to what extent his ideas became more extreme over time, or whether he suppressed his fanaticism until there was a chance to exercise power. I was particularly struck by the way he rejected the atheism which you might expect to arise from the revolution, and the great arrogance with which he concocted single-handed the "new religion" of worship of "The Supreme Being".
As the book progressed, I became more convinced that Robespierre was mentally unstable and psychopathic, often changing his mind, indulging in very exaggerated language, and turning rapidly against former colleagues for whom he appeared to feel no empathy.
Ruth Scurr has done a good job overall, and obviously has to demonstrate her academic credentials. In general, I could have done with less detail and more emphasis on key events, players and their relationships. At times, I realised too late that a faction or individual was important, and had to use the index to search back and refresh my memory, only to find that e.g. the "Hébertistes" weren't explained as clearly as I would have liked. The important coverage of Robespierre's final bloodthirsty summer and his own death seemed too rushed. I also found irritating the author's tendency to imagine Robespierre doing or thinking in a certain way e.g. her analysis of his final scream seemed a bit "over the top".
Despite a few reservations, this book left me wanting to read more about the French Revolution and some of the other characters who fell by the wayside before Robespierre – Danton in particular caught my interest.
So, I recommend this biography to anyone wanting to increase their understanding of a fascinating period in history. If you are pressed for time, the author's introduction gives you quite a useful summary of Robespierre as a person.
This is my review of 
Antenna Reviews 