Just My Type is, well, just my type

Book 103: Just My Type by Simon Garfield

 If you have a favorite typeface -- and I do -- than Simon Garfield's Just My Type, subtitled A Book About Fonts, is the book for you.

If you don't have a favorite typeface, you might after reading Garfield's book. It's a fascinating look at how fonts are created, their importance in everything from branding products to signage and their recent proliferation due to the emergence of the home computer. 

No surprise that the brilliant Steve Jobs and his first Macintosh computer make a cameo appearance in the introduction. That Macintosh, loaded with a choice of fonts, "was the beginning of something," Garfield writes, "a seismic shift in our everyday relationship with letters and with type. An innovation that, within another decade or so, would place the word 'font' . . .  in the vocabulary of every computer user."

My favorite font is Palatino, a serif typeface designed by Herman Zapf. Release in 1948, Palatino is prized for its legibility and is one of the 10 most widely used serif typefaces. Zapf also later created Zapf Dingbats -- and who hasn't found a use that font?

Book 107: Stan Musial An American Life by George Vecsey

Stan Musial, one of the greatest ballplayers in the history of the game, deserves better than this disappointing biography by George Vecsey.

It feels as if Vecsey collected a few anecdotes, assembled them in chronological order and -- Voila! -- a biography of Musial.  

Yes, some of the anecdotes are entertaining. Very much so.  Baseball anecdotes have that attribute about them.  But this book simply doesn't compare with the fine biographies of Yogi Berra and Roger Maris that emerged last year.

Supergods disappoints

Book 101: Supergods by Grant Morrison

For this kid who has devoured comic books for the best part of six decades, contemplating Grant Morrison's survey of the history of comics was like the promise of a hot bath after a long run.

The trouble is sooner or later the bath water always cools. 

Supergods is launched faster than a speeding bullet as Morrison opens with the creation of the sun god, Superman, and four chapters that comprise a brilliant exposition on the Golden Age of Comics.

The Silver Age, which is where I enter the picture, follows in equally brilliant fashion. Morrison serves up Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, the Fantastic Four and Spider-man. Marvel madness grips the world of comics, and it's never the same again.

(In the interest of disclosure: I am a Marvel fan.  Make Mine Marvel. It's clobbering time. etc. etc. etc.)

It's in the final two sections  -- The Dark Age and The Renaissance -- that the book falters.  What began as an astute history of the comic books becomes Morrison's personal story.  

Some overlap between the two is expected -- Morrison is a towering figure in the industry today, but an unpleasant smugness filters through the book in the final half. Morrison begins to channel Dire Straits (money for nothing and chicks for free.)

That's bad enough, but what had been a balanced and thoughtful approach to comics goes a bubble off level as Morrison contemplates his peers.  Morrison isn't a great fan of Alan Moore's The Watchmen. (For what it's worth -- neither am I.). He's willing to acknowledge the impact Moore's had on comics, but that's about as much as he'll concede.  Frankly, he's a bit pissy about Moore's success.

Some of us feel that way about Morrison. I didn't like his work on the Justice League or Batman & Robin. I thought it a bit overrated.  WE3 was clever, but I'm starting to realize that it's the work of illustrator Frank Quitely, not Morrison's writing, that draws me in.

Back to Supergods.  It's OK. Only that.  Starts strong, but tapers off.

In the current parlance of comics, Morrison is no meta-human.

The Sense of an Ending a haunting, beautiful novel

Book 98: The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes

Like an aging welterweight, The Sense of an Ending is lean, slow of foot, but scrappy, hanging around until author Julian Barnes can deliver one final devastating punch for the knock-out.

Shortlisted for the 2011 Booker Prize, The Sense of an Ending begins with Tony Webster recalling his school days when Tony and his two pals are joined by Adrian Finn, "a tall, shy boy who initially kept his eyes down and his mind to himself" and who the fulcrum of this slim novel.

Adrian is the kind of boy all the others want to be like.  Self-possessed and clearly smarter than his mates he seems destined for certain success.

In university, Adrian begins dating Tony's former girlfriend. Later, Tony learns that Adrian has killed himself.

Tony marries, has one child -- a daughter -- and later divorces his wife, although they remain friends. Tony leads an altogether bland existence.  He goes to great lengths to avoid the upsets common to most lives. He is smugly proud of his ability to live a life that is comfortable, yet also free of any meaningful relationship.

Tony's comfort is disrupted when he receives an unusual bequest -- a gift of money from his former girlfriend's mother and Adrian's diary.  The money is quickly paid, but the girl friend, now a dour woman, withholds the diary and later burns it.

Tony is determined to unravel this minor mystery.  Why did a woman whom he'd met only once leave him a small gift of money on her death? What was in the diary? Why did Adrian take his life?

Tony makes several guesses, all of them wrong.  The answers, which Barnes skillfully withholds until the pages -- are unexpected and powerful. The impact lingers long. For Tony. For the reader.  

As Barnes writes in the closing of this haunting, yet beautiful novel:

"You get towards the end of life . . . There is accumulation. There is responsibility. And beyond these, there is unrest. There is great unrest."

Two mystery writers deliver gripping tales, one falters

Peter Robinson, Steve Hamilton and Lee Child -- three great mystery writers, but one of them let me down. 

Book 102: Before the Poison by Peter Robinson 

A few pages into Robinson's newest mystery, Before the Poison, and I was waiting for DCI Banks to take the stage. He never did. 

Ultimately, I realized Robinson's new book is not a part of the Inspector Banks series, but a one-off. 

Chris Lowndes composes musical scores for movies.  After the death of his beloved wife, he's flees L.A. for a remote estate in his native England.  He soon learns that the large house he purchased has a history.  

Fifty odd years ago, on a snowy night, the local doctor died in the house.  At first it appeared to be a massive heart attack, but suspicions were raised, leading police to believe the doctor was murdered by his wife. She was convicted and hung.

The solitary Lowndes hears things go bump in the night. Then he starts to see things.

Now it appears Robinson has written a ghost story. But it doesn't take many pages to realize the book that isn't an Inspector Banks mystery, isn't not ghost story either.  And that's the problem with Before the Poison. It's not much of a mystery.

Lowndes sets out to prove that the doctor's wife is innocent. Innocent or guilty there's nothing at stake here. She's long dead, and any evidence long-vanished. There's no ghost to exorcise and nothing, absolutely nothing, riding on the outcome.

It's unusual to encounter such a disappointing effort from Robinson.  I've often felt his long-running Inspector Banks series was the equal to the work of Ian Rankin.  But Before the Poison doesn't come up to par. Both Lowndes and Robinson would have been better off leaving this mystery unsolved.

Book 105: The Hunting Wind by Steve Hamilton 

Each book by Hamilton in his Alex McKnight series is better than the last. In the case of The Hunting Wind, the first McKnight mystery not in the Upper Peninsula -- this one's set in the Lower Peninsula --  it all starts with the first sentence:

"When the left-hander found me, I was sitting in my usual chair in front of the fire, trying to stay warm."

The left-hander and McKnight haven't seen one another in some 30 years when they were teammates in the minor leagues. The left-hander was a pitcher with a trick pitch and McKnight was his catcher.

Now, 30 years later, the left-hander needs McKnight's help again. He spins a story of a search for a long lost love.  Of course, his tale tends to be as unreliable as his pitch once was and McKnight is caught up in a deadly mystery.

The pitcher may not deliver, but Hamilton does.

Book 106: The Affair by Lee Child 

A few books ago I thought Lee Child might have jumped the shark.  His Jack Reacher series just didn't have the spark that characterized a dozen earlier efforts.

Boy, was I wrong.

The Affair is vintage Lee Child. Vintage Reacher.  Not only for the quality of this altogether gripping thriller, but it's set in 1997. Reacher's still part of the U.S. Army and dispatched to a military outpost in Mississippi after a women is murdered.

It's not the only murder. There were others. In his efforts to solve the murders, Reacher is caught between the military, who are convinced the murders are the work of a local, and the local sheriff, who is convinced the murders were the work of a solider.

Did I mention the local sheriff is a retired Marine, and that she's hot?  

No one writes quite like Lee Child and no one has a character quite like Reacher.  Unique -- that's the word to describe this series and this book. Also, fast-paced, gripping and fun.  Jumped the shark, my ass.

A story started in Reservation Road concludes in Northwest Corner

Book 97: Reservation Road by John Burnham Schwartz

Book 104: Northwest Corner by John Burnham Schwartz

Guilt, not grief, is the emotion that runs through John Burnham Schwartz's story of a 10-year-old boy who is struck and killed by a hit and run driver.

It is not only the driver of the car who experiences guilt, but the dead boy's father and mother and little sister.  Each one is imprisoned by a mantra of "if only."

If only I had not had to pee. If only I had ordered him away from the highway. If only . . .  It is a sad and isolating refrain that rings true, yet is truly false. We cannot know if the smallest change in behavior by a member of Josh Learner's family on that summer evening could have saved him.  

That might have made an interesting story, but it is not the one Schwartz chose to write. Instead, equally engrossing, is his account of how guilt fractures the lives, marriages, careers and relationships of those near to Josh's unfortunate death; not only the Learner family, but Dwight Arno, who was driving the car that struck Josh.

We see the slow dissolution of the Learner marriage. The couple is buried so deeply in their individual grief and guilt that they are unable to find solace in one another. Already divorced when we meet him, Dwight Arno is a dissolute man whose life, already fraying at the edges, now unravels entirely.

Saddest of all is the impact on the Learner's daughter, Emily, and Dwight's son, Sam. It is as if three children died that night.  

Unable to comfort themselves, there is no chance that the Learners can comfort Emily. The reader hopes that she is the light that will lead them away from their despond. If you can't shake your grief on your own do it for Emily. Instead, they grow increasingly remote. 

Between his fear of losing his son and his violent responses, Dwight steadily pushes Sam away.

Some of the questions unanswered in Reservation Road are resolved in Northwest Corner, which revisits the characters 12 years later.  (Real time and fictional time are almost identical. Reservation Road was released in 1998. Northwest Corner appears in the bookstores 13 years later.)

The story focuses largely on the Arnos.  Sam, about to graduate college in Connecticut, unexpectedly shows up on his father's doorstep in California.  He has been involved in a bar fight. His assailant, another student, is near death in a local hospital.

Dwight's life is back on track, following a brief prison sentence. Sam's sudden reappearance in his life is welcome, yet threatens to undermine the shaky foundation on which Dwight's life rests.

Has the violence Dwight exhibited during Sam's childhood tainted the boy's entire life? How do Dwight and Sam bridge a gulf created by distance, lies, prison and violence? Will Sam be just another victim of that summer night when Josh Learner died and Dwight Arno fled in confusion and fear?

To answer these questions would be to deny the reader the pleasure of discovering the answers for himself. It is enough to say that the story which started in Reservation Road with a violent death concludes in Northwest Corner with promise and a kiss.

Homicide Survivors Picnic a noteworthy story collection

Two story collections; one I can recommend and one I cannot.

Book 94: Not the End of the World by Kate Atkinson

The one I cannot recommend, and it pains me to say this, is by Kate Atkinson.  I'm something of a fanboy of Ms. Atkinson.  This collection of stories, released in 2002, comes almost exactly midway between several very fine novels.

Atkinson's skill with the long form does not translate to the short story. Oh, there's a couple of stories worth reading here, but only a couple.   

The exquisite work in miniature exhibited by the best practitioners of the short story (Alice Munro and William Trevor come to mind) is simply missing from the dozen stories assembled here.

Book 100: Homicide Survivors Picnic by Lorraine M. Lopez

This story collection from Lorraine Lopez was shortlisted for the 2010 PEN/Faulkner Award for fiction. 

Facing strong competition from Sherman Alexie (War Dances), Lorrie Moore (A Gate at the Stairs) and Barbara Kingsolver (The Lacuna), it didn't win. Alexie won the prize. He'd win about any competition that I juried. 

Still, I'd place Lopez's work squarely in the middle of the five shortlisted titles. Behind Alexie and Kingsolver, ahead of Moore and Colson Whitehead (Sag Harbor).

Lopez is an observant writer, who must have a stint as a social worker in her background.  Many of the stories, including the title piece, Batterers and Human Services, are drawn from that milieu.  

The stories are sympathetic and knowing, yet the characters' excuses and rationalizations don't give them a free pass. The reader is able to hold them to account as a result of Lopez's insight and intelligence. Through the candid lens of her writing we know the characters better than they know themselves.

Newest books by Pelecanos and Penny reflect care and craftsmanship

Little wonder that the mystery genre is so wildly popular. It's a big house with accommodations for a range of styles and approaches.  No better example exists than the two books below -- one a hard-boiled thriller, the other a classic mystery in the tradition of the English cozy. Both reflects the care and craftsmanship of their authors. Both are superb reads.

Book 96: The Cut by George Pelecanos

With a nod to noir, D.C. writer George Pelecanos returns to his roots in The Cut. 

Pelecanos's most recent novels foundered in a high-minded bid to attain a level of moral instruction. That's gone.  His new character, a veteran of "I-raq", is a man of action and moral relativism. He has no qualms about the bodies he leaves in his wake nor his mission to restore stolen drugs to a jailed dealer. Neither will the reader.

With its smooth, jazz-like dialogue, a narrative that sweeps along at breakneck pace and scenes of sudden, explosive violence, The Cut recalls Pelecanos's first four novels, commonly known as the D.C. quartet. It also demonstrates the degree that Pelecanos's work as a writer on HBO's The Wire now influences his novels through concision, focus and pace.

Pelecanos celebrates his return to hard-boiled thrillers and lays claim to his literary heritage. Within the course of the novel he gives a chin nod to Elmore Leonard (Spero's brother is teaching Leonard's Unknown Man #89 to his high school class), Daniel Woodrell and Willy Vlautin (Spero presents a love interest with copies of The Death of Sweet Mister and Lean on Pete. Are you sending a message, she asks. "Good clean writing," says Spero) and Donald Westlake (with a reference to The Hunter, written under Westlake's pseudonym Richard Stark).

He also acknowledges a couple of characters who have served him well in past thrillers -- Derek Strange and Nick Stefanos. Stefanos was the narrator of Pelecanos's first three novels. Strange was a lead character in a number of the novels that followed.  These two may reappear. For now, it's enough to know that Spero "had heard tell of the man, Derek Strange, and his latest partner, a middle-aged Greek whose name he could not recall."

The Cut contains many of the stylistic touches that distinguish a novel by Pelecanos -- the street-level tour through Washington, D.C. and references to food and music. In one sense, there's nothing new to The Cut. It's simply a welcome return to the mean streets Pelecanos has traveled so artfully in the past.

Book 99: A Trick of the Light by Louise Penny  

I don't know which is more absurd -- that the denouement of Louise Penny's new mystery comes on a dark and stormy night with the all the suspects assembled by a crackling fire or that it works.

Because it does work. Just as it has worked so well in her past novels. Penny embraces the elements of the traditional English cozy and then rises above those conventions with an intelligent plot and vivid characters to produce a compelling mystery.

Penny's greatest strength lies in her characters.  Despite the large number of characters that populate her novels by simple necessity -- there's the homicide investigation team, the inhabitants of Three Pines and those figures we meet because of the demands of the current story -- Penny manages to give them each distinct personalities.

I cannot recall another author of a continuing series who has been as successful as Penny in telling the stories of each of her recurring characters.  She works at an almost leisurely pace, introducing their back story, their passions and peccadilloes, over the course of several books. Each character gets their turn in the spotlight.

Penny's gift is to create characters the reader cares about. We cannot wait to know what happens next in their lives. What does the future hold? What events are soon to unfold in the village of Three Pines?

On several occasions in A Trick of the Light, characters observe that Three Pines isn't on any map. No matter. Any admirer of intelligent, well-written mysteries knows the way to this small Canadian village.

Closing in on TBR Pile Challenge

More progress this past week in the Internet reading challenge issued by The Roof Beam Reader. I dipped into the alternates list, reading John Burnham Schwartz's Reservation Road.

The 2011 TBR (To Be Read) Pile Challenge is to read 12 books from your to-be-read pile in 12 months. The challenge began in February, so I am in good position with several months remaining.

This is where I stand:

1. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
2. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
3. War and Peace by Mr. Tolstoy
4. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
5. The Darkness That Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker
6. Under the Dome by Stephen King
7. White Noise by Don Delillo
8. Yogi Berra Eternal Yankee by Allen Barra
9. The Welsh Girl by Peter Ho Davies
10. Winter in the Blood by James Welch
11. Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson
12. Emotionally Weird by Kate Atkinson

Alternates:
Reservation Road by John Burnham Schwartz
Tales of Burning Love by Louise Erdrich

Men dominate women in personal reading habits

I could do better.

Earlier today I stumbled on the website of VIDA Women in the Literary Arts. Founded in 2009, VIDA seeks “to address the need for female writers of literature to engage in conversations regarding the critical reception of women’s creative writing in our current culture.”

Recently, they’ve been pointing out the imbalance between the sexes in publication rates in “literary” periodicals such as The Best American Short Stories, The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Harper’s and Granta. 

Surprise! Men dominate women across the board.

Which led me to wonder about my reading rate.  How many women authors to I read compared to men?

Surprise! Men dominate women across the board. 

More than two-thirds of my reading is by male authors.  In fiction, 50 books by men compared to 24 females. In non-fiction, 15 books by men and 7 by women. (A total of 96 books. Among my current reading -- two men and one woman.)

Frankly, I am surprised. I thought my reading would include more women.  I like female authors. Edith Wharton, Willa Cather, Alice Munro and Margaret Atwood are among my favorite writers. I don't discriminate according to sex, at least consciously.

In my current reading, several authors, both male and female, were read more than once. In 2011, I’ve read four books by Louise Penny and two by Steve Hamilton because I’m working through their complete oeuvre.

The roster of female authors is solid. With works by Kate Atkinson (2) and Ann Patchett – again two of my favorite writers. Note – that's two of my favorite writers, not two of my favorite female writers. 

There’s also Jennifer Egan, Karen Russell, Siobhan Fallon and Lee Smith. Fallon’s short story collection currently ranks as the best collection of short stories I’ve read this year. Smith’s is close behind and has the distinction of penning the funniest story I believe I have ever read.

I’m not only surprised by the dominance of men over women in my reading, but disappointed. Some of the imbalance has to do with genre fiction. I’ve read a lot sci-fi this year, but only one book in that genre by a woman – Sherri Tepper. Yet she’s not the only female sci-fi writer.

I read a lot of mysteries too – Michael Connelly, Robert Crais, George Pelecanos, but there’s also Louise Penny, Laura Lippman and Jan Burke.  Still, more men than women.

My survey won’t change my reading habits immediately. The truth is I rarely consider whether a certain book is written by a man or woman.

Maybe it’s time that changed.

Four books yet to be read in reading challenge

In the final four months of 2011, I have only four books left to read in the Internet reading challenge issued by The Roof Beam Reader.

The 2011 TBR (To Be Read) Pile Challenge is to read 12 books from your to-be-read pile in 12 months. The challenge began in February, so I am in good position with several months remaining.

I start one of the alternates, John Burnham Schwartz's Reservation Road, tomorrow.

This is where I stand:

1. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
2. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
3. War and Peace by Mr. Tolstoy
4. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
5. The Darkness That Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker
6. Under the Dome by Stephen King
7. White Noise by Don Delillo
8. Yogi Berra Eternal Yankee by Allen Barra
9. The Welsh Girl by Peter Ho Davies
10. Winter in the Blood by James Welch
11. Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson
12. Emotionally Weird by Kate Atkinson

Alternates:
Reservation Road by John Burnham Schwartz
Tales of Burning Love by Louise Erdrich

Rowling's Harry Potter isn't all that magical

Book 93: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling

Book 95: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling

I've done it. I've read them. Two books about that famous Potter boy. The one with the scar like a lightning bolt on his forehead. The one who had all those muzzy adolescents standing in line at midnight waiting for his next book to be issued. The one who starred in those movies.

O.K. Exactly what was all the excitement about?

Typical isn't it? Late to the party and now chippy about it.  Would I have been so snarky if I'd stumbled on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when it first appeared on the shelves of the local bookstores. Admittedly, I have the benefit of hindsight, but the books aren't all that well written (there is hope that the writing improves with each successive book) and they aren't terribly original.

That lack of originality is part of the appeal. Rowling's genius is not in unveiling something entirely new, but in repackaging something old.  Just as Harry stumbled on the Chamber of Secrets, she's stumbled on an ancient formula that compels 12-year-olds to read voraciously. 

In these two books, and I assume throughout the series, Rowling appeals to the fantasy life of the typical adolescent. A fantasy life that has nothing to be with magic or basilisks, flying cars or Sorting Hats, but everything to do with the perception that NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME, NO ONE APPRECIATES ME, and NO ONE KNOWS HOW REALLY, REALLY SPECIAL I AM. 

Here's two things I think Rowling got spot on:

1. Potter's an orphan. Brilliant. He lives with a family of Muggles -- the sobriquet for us non-magical sort -- who don't like him, who don't recognize there's anything special about him and who won't let him exercise his special gifts i.e. talking to snakes and other magical stuff.

Harry finds a new family, and friends, once's he packed off to Hogwarts. I cast Hagrid as the mother and Dumbledore as the father.

Think about it. What's the first thing Hagrid does after meeting Harry? He takes him shopping for school supplies. Bet, you did that with your mum. He's always quick to offer a refreshing cup of tea and bit of advice. Dumbledore is the stern, but supportive father. He know it's best if Harry learns for himself, but he's there in the background, with a vanishing cloak or a phoenix to hand, should Harry need help extricating himself from a spot of  bother.

2. Anyone can develop magical powers.  There are entire families with magical ability, true, but Harry's mother's parents were Muggles. The same is true for that Hermione Granger. My God! Her parents are dentists.  You can't get LESS magical than that, yet she's the star pupil of Hogwarts. (I won't add a third point and get into all that suppressed sexuality that the films tap into in such marvelous fashion.)

But if anyone can develop magical powers, if a genetic line of succession isn't necessary, why I could become a powerful sorcerer. You could as well.  It's all there, bubbling below the surface, especially for our typical 12-year-old who doesn't understand those strange feelings he/she is experiencing is called puberty and is not one damn bit magical.

I understand that down the line the books in the Potter series grow fatter and darker.  I suppose I'll read them, but I don't feel any rush (that might require a tidy little compulsion spell, I suppose) now that I've satisifed my curiousity.

One aisde: The Guardian (a Brit newspaper) recently conducted a poll to see who was the favorite Harry Potter character. The winner was Severus Snape. Hermione was second and Harry was fourth -- a distant fourth. 

Two thoughts on the poll: Harry is a rather innocuous character, which I think is by design.  The less well drawn he is, the easier it is for our 12-year-old audience to identify with him. He's an everyman. We can all wear Harry's cloak.

The second thought is that the vote was driven more by the movies than the book.  In the movies, with his sneer and upturned brow, Alan Rickman is superb as Snape.  He makes the character come alive. Snape's rather one dimensional in the books (at least these first two). He doesn't like Harry and he's the source of suspicious when anything nasty happens. Convenient that.

Chernow's Washington a fat, but fine biography

Book 92: Washington by Ron Chernow 

The writing is serviceable, the research impeccable and the portrayal of the man, who even in his lifetime was proclaimed "The Father of His Country," is balanced.

And its title is the smallest thing about Washington, Ron Chernow's biography of George Washington. This book is fat.

As these things go, it's not morbidly obese. There's 817 pages of text. With notes, bibliography, index and other addendum the entire book stretches to 904 pages. And it's a single volume, not three. 

Still, it felt as if it took as long just to read Chernow's lengthy section on Washington leadership during the Revolutionary War as it did for that first wrangle with the British to play out. (Nine years if you've forgotten your high school civics.)

In a brisk 294 pages, David McCullough gives us a lively -- and sufficient -- account of one critical year in the war in his 2005 history 1776.  James MacGregor Burns and Susan Dunn neatly summarize Washington's entire presidency in fewer than 160 pages in George Washington -- their entry in the uniformly stellar American Presidents Series by Times Books.

Such comparisons are not entirely fair, or apt.  Chernow is furnishing us with an updated biography of the entire life of Gen. George, while McCullough, Burns and Dunn are providing us with snapshots. Yet the problems inherent in such a lengthy work remain, and that is the author's tendency to include material that is extraneous and to be repetitive.

Do we really need to know in whose home George stayed during a certain winter of the war? Let me answer that -- it's on a need to know basis and no one needs to know.

Chernow tends to repeat certain points that he wants to make. He's like the proverbial Chicago voter who goes to the polls early and often. Themes that are repeated include Washington's bad teeth, his icy reserve that hides a violent temper and a sentimental streak, his flirtations that came up to the line but never crossed it (as far as we know, let it be understood: George liked the ladies) and George's profligate spending.  (He also liked nice stuff.)

On a positive note, Chernow, who also wrote a fine and fat biography of Alexander Hamilton in 2004, knows this cast of characters especially well.  He is adept at helping us understand the tempestuous relationships between George, Hamilton, John Adams, Jefferson and Madison.

He makes the political struggle between the Federalists and Republicans vivid and current, and neatly explains many of the heated issues of the day from Citizen Genet to Shay's Rebellion to Washington's distrust of political parties.

Chernow's Washington is a solid biography and a worthy read. It all comes down to a reader's willingness to devote a considerable chunk of time to one book.

Cornwell stumbles with The Fort

Book 91: The Fort by Bernard Cornwell

I thoroughly enjoy Cornwell's Saxon Series and Agincourt was a treat, but The Fort fails to rise to the standards of those books.

Perhaps it the particular slice of Revolutionary War history that Cornwell chooses to recount -- a rather dreary standoff between British troops and Massachusetts militia.

Known as the Penobscot Expedition, the militia, accompanied by an impressive fleet of ships from the Continental Navy, attempt to seize Fort George from the British.  The doughty Brits are out-numbered and initially the fort is virtually indefensible, which would seem to promise a quick American victory.

Victory is in the offing when the Americans quickly gain control of the high ground and are poised to charge the fort.  But the American leader of the campaign falters and the quick victory promptly turns into an extended stalemate.

The Americans are riven by dissension and poor leadership.  They never do seize the fort. Instead, additional British ships arrive and the Penobscot Expedition becomes the worst naval disaster in U.S. history until Pearl Harbor.

The most interesting aspect of The Fort is Cornwell's portrayal of Paul Revere.  We know of Revere as a brave patriot largely, Cornwell points out in the book's historical notes, due to Longfellow's inaccurate poem. Cornwell depicts Revere as a difficult man, who blithely ignored orders from his superiors, and who may have been both a thief and a coward.

It may be that Cornwell's more at home with swords and long bows than muskets, but The Fort is a disappointing effort from this master of historical fiction.

Hamilton's Winter of the Wolf Moon a rewarding thriller

Book 89: Winter of the Wolf Moon by Steve Hamilton

I've now read three books by Steve Hamilton -- the first two entries in his Alex McKnight series and his one-off, The Lock Artist -- and I will admit that I am an unabashed fan.

The setting, the characters, the plots and his fast-moving narratives make Hamilton's thrillers a pleasure to read.  But, perhaps, the best element of the McKnight series -- set in Michigan's Upper Peninsula -- is the humor.

Hamilton's use of humor reminds me of Robert Crais.  Humor is largely absent from many thrillers. You won't find it in the writing of Michael Connelly or Ian Rankin. Not to knock them, I thoroughly enjoy their work.

But Hamilton, like Crais, brings a certain attitude to his novels that seems to say "this isn't rocket science or literary fiction, let's have some fun."  Hamilton's world view is a bubble off center.  He's enjoying himself and wants the reader to do so too.

Book 90: Disturbance by Jan Burke

I've also been a fan of Jan Burke's Irene Kelly series.  As a former newspaper reporter and editor, I've enjoyed Kelly's newsroom antics at the Las Piernas News Express.  But with Disturbance I'm beginning to have my doubts about the continuing viability of the series.

This is Burke's first Irene Kelly novel in five years. In between was the awful, The Messenger, which appears to have been Burke's effort to tap into the hunger for supernatural thrillers among a sizable population of readers. 

The Messenger didn't work and I can only hope that Burke doesn't venture into that territory again.

Yet Burke's commitment to the Irene Kelly series seems lacking.  Disturbance, a sequel to Bones, just doesn't have the same oomph of her past novels.   In the opening of Disturbance the serial killer, who almost dispatched Irene in Bones, is paralyzed and in prison.  It isn't long before his paralysis has been miraculously cured and he escapes from prison.

But wait . . . as they say on all those late-night commercials . . . there's more.  Aiding his escape and inevitable bid to kidnap Irene is a trio of admirers, who, as it happens, are the serial killer's sons.  Burke observes that the killer is known for planning well in advance, but this is taking planning to the extreme.

Irene is kidnapped. It doesn't feel like a spoiler to disclose that plot point. You knew it was coming.  After her kidnapping, events do unfold in a surprising, yet not particularly satisfactory, manner.  Sad to say, it feels as if Burke mailed this one in.

Hadley takes the reader on a rewarding trip on The London Train

Book 87: The London Train by Tessa Hadley

Two people meet on a train to London. Improbably, their chance meeting leads to a love affair. It is intense, but brief.  Both are married; the man has children and makes clear that they are what's important to him.

Tessa Hadley charts the course of this affair and its effects upon the man and woman in the beautifully told, closely observed The London Train. The novel is really two novellas, one belonging to the man and one to the woman.

The woman is only mentioned in passing in the first novella, The London Train. Paul, her erstwhile lover, is reeling. His mother has just died and now he learns that his oldest daughter, from his first marriage, is missing.  He later finds her living with a Polish man, safe, but pregnant.

Paul flees his rural home, leaving his current wife and two young daughters.  He lives for a spell with his daughter and her lover, entertaining thoughts of an affair with a woman his daughter's age.  

In the second novella, Only Children, Cora has fled London and her husband for the consolation of her childhood home. It soon becomes clear that the affair has had a more lasting, unsettling effect upon Cora than Paul. 

The affair fulfilled the needs of both Paul and Cora.  Paul is a sexual predator, blithely unconcerned with the impact of his cheating on his wife or Cora.  Cora is unaware of her needs until Paul stirs something deep within her. Now -- hurt, confused, angry -- she withdraws from life.

Hadley has given the reader a subtle, powerful study of how one event effects two people so differently. It is honest and true and disquieting.  The London Train is a challenging journey with a rewarding destination.

Book 88: All The Time In The World by E.L. Doctorow

Readers of The New Yorker will recognize many of the stories in this collection by celebrated novelist E.L. Doctorow. Seven of the 12 stories were originally published in that magazine.

It is an uneven collection.  Some of the stories are superb, yet others fail to meet a reader's expectation.  Liner Notes: The Songs of Billy Bathgate feels incomplete. It is as if Doctorow couldn't fit these pieces into a novel, hated to see them go unused and so here they appear.

The solution is to skip this book -- there are far better story collections on the bookstore shelves just now -- and subscribe to The New Yorker.

Stross rules, Robopocalypse falters

Rule 34: Generally accepted internet rule that states that pornography or sexually related material exists for any conceivable subject. (Urban Dictionary)

Singularity: Technological singularity refers to the hypothetical future emergence of greater-than human intelligence through technological means. (Wikipedia) 

Book 85: Rule 34 by Charles Stross

Book 86: Robopocalypse by Daniel H. Wilson

There's a commonality between these two novels that I'll let the reader self-identify.

Rule 34 is written by Charles Stross, a veteran science fiction writer, and Robopocalypse is by Daniel H. Wilson, who has written a handful of books, including How to Build a Robot Army and How to Survive a Robot Uprising. (Whether those previous titles are fiction or non-fiction, I don't know.)

The title, Rule 34, is a bit of misdirection from Charlie. His protagonist, Edinburgh Detective Inspector Liz Kavanaugh, heads a crime unit known as the Rule 34 Squad.  But, despite the title and Liz's nominal police responsibilities, this isn't about Internet porn.  

Instead, Liz is caught up in a murder investigation. Actually, she's caught up investigating multiple homicides. Several of the Edinburgh underworld are dying in bizarre fashion -- killed by seemingly harmless household appliances. 

Later, Liz and her colleagues learn that the murders aren't confined to Edinburgh. Someone is killing off a passel of bad guys in innovative ways.  

I could sum up Rule 34 as standard Stross fare, but if you haven't read him you wouldn't know that means an edgy, inventive thriller with a jaundiced views of how the future looks from here.  It's probable enough to be disturbing, improbable enough to be deliciously disturbing.  

There have been some new entries recently -- notably authors Mieville and Bacigalupi -- but Stross is still the reigning king of cool among today's crop of science fiction writers.

Straining the bounds of probability is Wilson's Robopocalypse. The comparisons to Michael Crichton on the inside flap of the dust jacket are an indication of what the reader can expect.  No, in this case, Wilson's book doesn't read like a chubby movie script, but it is a breezy little read that wants so badly to be a bestseller.

A full-fledged A.I. (artificial intelligence) is loose in the world and it's pissed.  It's been "killed" something like 14 times before and determined that that won't happen again. It turns its fury on humanity. Humanity wins. That's not a spoiler. Wilson furnishes the outcome in the novel's first sentence.

That does let some of the suspension out of Robopocalypse.  What Wilson does, in lieu of suspense, is give us some nasty "isolated incidents" followed up zero hour, when the machines turn against mankind, followed by man's steps to survive in various locations from a major city to an Indian reservation in Oklahoma. And, finally, all out war.

We win -- the dinosaurs are herded back in their cage. Well, maybe we win. There's just a suggestion the A.I. may have survived. (Hell, it's more of an outright promise that a sequel is coming. The truth is the villain dies in these books about as often as one of Marvel's costumed heroes.)

After finishing Robopocalypse, my first thought was: "Well, it wasn't as bad as I expected." It's a quick little read. Nicely paced. But I would have liked one idea. Just one.  My thoughts then went to Robert Sawyer's provocative WWW trilogy (Wake, Watch and Wonder), which dares to contemplate a benign singularity.

Conclusion: Read Rule 34. Stross is good. Very good.   And if you still have an urge to read about A.I.s, turn to Robert Sawyer's fine trilogy.  Now that's an idea.

Gone With The Wind an American classic

Book 81: Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

I only read six books the entire month of July.  The reason is that Gone With The Wind consumed half the month.   This is one big ass book.  My paperback copy runs to 1,448 pages.  

It's not difficult to read. Mitchell has a comfortable style that invites the reader in, but there's just so much ground to cover. The novel ranges from the halcyon days prior to the war, to the war (still known in these parts as the War of Northern Aggression) and finally to the post-war Reconstruction.

It is not THE great American novel, but it is a great American novel that warrants a place alongside such classics as Huckleberry Finn and The Great Gatsby.  Interesting, isn't it, how many of the books we view as American classics are about race and class. 

Gone With The Wind is a flawed book. (I'm not certain there are any books I'd consider flawless.)  I'll tackle Mitchell's missteps first.

The book is wildly overwritten. Mitchell would have benefited from an editor who would have trimmed this book by several hundred pages.  Another alternative would have been to split it into three books. It's structure lends itself easily to a trilogy.

A better editor could have trimmed the purple prose, too.  Mitchell's prose style can be too ornate, too flowery, too to much.  Many of the love scenes, whether it's Scarlett and Rhett or Scarlett and Ashley are far too over-heated to be effective. 

And, yes, the novel is racist.  But I wouldn't change that.  I think to eliminate the backward racial attitudes of the Southern planters would be to excise the heart of this novel.   How else would we understand how demeaning racism is -- for the racist and the subject of his contempt -- if these passages were not left to stand.

I understand that it is offensive and hurtful, but seems an accurate portrayal of the way of thinking once widely prevalent throughout the South.  Scarlet and her peers think nothing of the stereotypes that they impose on  blacks -- who are perceived as lazy, as children, as witless apes, as nothing more than an accumulation of base desires. Yet they have an affection for the blacks who live among them; affection expressed, unfortunately, through paternalism and condescension.

Gone With The Wind, published in 1936, was only a generation or two removed from the Civil War. The attitudes and beliefs that fostered the outbreak of war had not vanished by the time of the book's publication -- sadly,  many of those attitudes and beliefs still exist today.

It shocking to find the Ku Klux Klan -- an evil blight on our country's history -- portrayed as a noble band of husbands merely seeking to protect the honor of Southern (white) women.  We know them today as a bunch of violent, cruel men, threatened by the cultural upheavals brought about by the end of slavery, who calmed their fears by wreaking vengeance on the most vulnerable segment of Southern society -- the free black.

Yet, set against Mitchell's defense of the Klan is her all too accurate indictment of Reconstruction.  One can't help but wonder how difference the post-war South might have been had Lincoln lived.  He was not their worst enemy, but their best friend.  Under Lincoln's leadership the South would have been invited to return to the Union with leniency and forbearance.  

The most brilliant aspect of Gone With The Wind is how Mitchell uses Scarlett and Melanie to embody the South's two difference responses to Reconstruction.  For Mitchell, Melanie represented the old South -- proud, noble and sacrificial.  Scarlett is the new South. Driven by fears she does not understand, Scarlett will lie and cheat and willingly make unwise alliances.  She may hate Northerners of every stripe, despise Carpetbaggers and Scallywags, but she never hesitates to do business with them.

It is the relationship between Scarlett and Melanie -- not between Scarlett and Rhett or Scarlett and Ashley -- that is at the heart of Mitchell's novel.  It is the love between these two women -- a love Scarlett never truly recognizes until its lost -- that establishes Gone With The Wind as a great American novel.

+ + + + +

A quick update on one of my 2011 reading challenges: With the completion of Gone With The Wind I have only five of 12 books remaining in the challenge issued by The Roof Beam Reader.

The 2011 TBR (To Be Read) Pile Challenge is to read 12 books from your to-be-read pile in 12 months. The challenge began in February, so I am in good position with several months remaining.

This is where I stand:

1. Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
2. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
3. War and Peace by Mr. Tolstoy
4. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
5. The Darkness That Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker
6. Under the Dome by Stephen King
7. White Noise by Don Delillo
8. Yogi Berra Eternal Yankee by Allen Barra
9. The Welsh Girl by Peter Ho Davies
10. Winter in the Blood by James Welch
11. Human Croquet by Kate Atkinson
12. Emotionally Weird by Kate Atkinson

Alternates:
Reservation Road by John Burnham Schwartz
Tales of Burning Love by Louise Erdrich