I came to this book knowing nothing about it. I’m leaving it unfinished at 50%, knowing I hate pretty much everything about it…
First of all, it’s rareI came to this book knowing nothing about it. I’m leaving it unfinished at 50%, knowing I hate pretty much everything about it…
First of all, it’s rare that I read a novel and can tell after 5% that the author is an old white man. Why, you ask? Well, the hero, a retired police detective, never stops lamenting about his estranged and soon-to-be ex-wife while at the same time never stopping to ogle and lust after other women. Always commenting on their bodies, never on anything else…
»She had short hair and was wearing no make-up but didn’t need any.«
How very generous of him! The hero also keeps assigning “funny” nicknames to everyone around him, e. g. “»Agatha (aka Marge Simpson)« or the housekeeper/valet whom he calls “Dracula”. Of course, he’d never say that to anyone’s face.
Also, our hero is full of entitled self-pity and oh-so-funny remarks…
»This is justifiably reputed to be one of the greatest works of art in the world but all I can say is that it was probably a very cold day when Michelangelo sculpted the part of the statue’s anatomy that was attracting most of the attention.«
Also, this thing is excessively boring. Together with the turd that came before it, it induced the worst reading slump in my life so far.
The entire novel consists primarily of sexism, clichés and stereotypes and is so full of everything I do not like at all, that I can only actively warn against reading this.
To round this up, here’s all you probably want to know about Williams in his own words…
“Firstly, my name isn't T A. It's Trevor. I write under the androgynous name T A Williams because 65% of books are read by women. In my first book, "What Happens in Devon" one of the (female) characters suggests the imbalance is due to the fact that men spend too much time getting drunk and watching football. I couldn't possibly comment. Ask my wife…”
Amusingly, my wife actually read this in parallel (without either of us knowing that!) and gave up at almost exactly the same point and she had exactly the same things to say about - just in a less friendly way than I do here…
One star out of five for this streaming pile of faeces.
Not really sure why but this one simply didn't work for me. No star rating.Not really sure why but this one simply didn't work for me. No star rating....more
Oh, wow. This was… bad, really bad. I expected this to be fantasy while in fact this is a young-adult novel that feels like it was written by a teenagOh, wow. This was… bad, really bad. I expected this to be fantasy while in fact this is a young-adult novel that feels like it was written by a teenager.
Kissen (I’m sorry but as a German, I’m having a hard time with this name…), our queer, one-legged hero, goes on an adventure with a former knight, childhood friend of the king, a spoilt brat, Inara, from a noble house - a house that was literally burned down, including Inara’s beloved servants, and mother. Inara also has a pest problem, manifesting as a god (of white lies).
Among that lies naive romance, attempted-coming-of-age, fantasy-lite and a looooong journey that drags and drags and… You get the gist.
The writing is also mediocre at best and, even worse, errors abound: »Kissen wasn’t going to let him stupid that easily.«
Thankfully, that was the most aggravating mistake but, still, a disgrace.
I’m abandoning this at 70% to later slumber on my Kissen.
Seraphina Nova Glass' “On a Quiet Street” was, frankly, not for me. I gave it a genuine attempt, making it to 33%, but ultimately, I had to DNF. The novel starts with a mix of intrigue and melodrama, but it quickly veers into territory that felt clichéd and overly contrived – more akin to a soap opera than a compelling thriller.
The premise had potential: a gated community told about through multiple points of view, revolving around Paige and her devastation over the hit-and-run death of her son, Caleb. Yet, rather than diving deep into authentic, layered characters or gripping tension, the book becomes bogged down by outlandish twists and unconvincing developments. For instance, Paige’s emotional descent pivots to her seduction of Finn – her best friend Cora’s husband – in a toilet at a ball no less. That moment was more cringe-worthy than dramatic. Meanwhile, Cora eyes Paige’s estranged husband, Grant, and Georgia, supposedly agoraphobic, turns out to be a prisoner of her controlling judge husband. It’s all a bit much.
The writing was mostly mediocre at best, and the pacing felt like a dying snail on a steeply ascending slope. With four perspectives that sound strikingly alike, none of the characters felt distinctive or gripping either.
At 33%, still mired in shallow drama and soap operatic antics, I decided to cut my losses.
By now, I’ve read all of Tony’s books (and those of many other travellers!) and it seemed a logical next step to take a famous travel guide’s collection of supposedly funny travel stories…
Sadly, the promised “disaster stories” here are mostly of the following variety...
“Look, I did this and this is why: (long-winded explanations)” “I could have died from that long walk, the road traffic, my inability to overcome inertia, (blah blah)!” “And, lo and behold, I dangerously sprained my ankle!”
This is neither very entertaining nor does it make for a good read which is why I’m abandoning this for good.
Sadly, I found none of this in “Our Missing Hearts”: Bird, the boy we’re immediately introduced to and who dominates the first half of the book, remains bland and indistinct. Beyond general empathy for him having lost his mother and living under difficult circumstances with his father, I never really felt for him or got emotionally engaged.
For a dystopia, there’s also nothing new or special in this novel: Hatred against what seems to be “foreign”, xenophobia. Books aren’t burned in this society but removed and made into pulp. Children are taken from their parents if the latter don’t intend to raise them by the doctrines of the regime.
There’s nothing new here and no original thought seems to have occurred to Ng. She also abandoned her unique onion-like narrative style and her prose is just adequate but absolutely nothing special anymore.
I’m giving up on this book while being around half-way through because going on feels like a waste of precious reading time. Even more so since trusted “book friends” tell me it’s getting even worse later on.
I hope Celeste Ng finds her way back to the heights of her earlier works.
This is one of the very few books I’m not finishing. Let me explain why: The problem with this one is that Benjamín Labatut introduces the history of This is one of the very few books I’m not finishing. Let me explain why: The problem with this one is that Benjamín Labatut introduces the history of an invention to us. Let’s take the first story on “Prussian Blue” as an example:
Labatut starts by shortly describing the invention itself and what lead to it. He then proceeds to tell us about the inventor(s) and how they relate to each other and the world. Labatut does this, and that’s my first issue, at break-neck speed. He drops name after name after name and forms connections between them in rarely more than a single sentence. It’s exhausting and not very illuminating.
Much worse, though, whenever there’s insufficient historical evidence Labatut chooses the most lurid and raciest possible explanation. For example Fritz Haber’s (Haber played a most prominent role in chemical warfare) wife, Clara Immerwahr, did commit suicide - but the reasons are unclear. Immerwahr’s marriage to Haber was unhappy on many levels and she may or may not have been against World War I - there are conflicting accounts.
Labatut, though, decides to paint her as condemning Haber for perverting chemistry and killing herself about that.
If there are two possible conclusions, it’s always the sensationalist one Labatut chooses. Even in that first story, in which the author claims is only one fictionalised paragraph, there are a lot of instances in which Labatut takes great liberty at recounting the details of his subject.
Last but not least, I do not like the ambivalent form: Labatut writes as if presenting established historicals facts but on the other hand takes literary freedom especially in later stories without clearly marking such occasions - what’s true and what’s his artistic license? Unless you take the time and actually research the subject matter yourself, you won’t know. And you’ll never know at which points Labatut overly simplifies the facts or goes on to embellish them.
»The quantity of fiction grows throughout the book; whereas “Prussian Blue” contains only one fictional paragraph, I have taken greater liberties in the subsequent texts, while still trying to remain faithful to the scientific concepts discussed in each of them.«
This book isn’t really about scientific concepts, though, but about the societal and historical implications of those concepts and how they influenced their inventors and the world. That - without embellishments and fictionalised parts - could be a truly interesting read.
The way this book is written, though, is just a wild, high-speed ride through selective and partly fictionalised history. That’s not for me.
First of all, we’re jumpingDNF at 58%... I really hoped I would like "A Soldier's Quartet" by Colin Baldwin but it was not to be for a lot of reasons.
First of all, we’re jumping around in time as if we were Doctor Who’s new companion - from 1918 to 2018 to 1914 and so on and on… This is not only confusing and exhausting, it actually wastes the chance to actually make us care about the German soldier Wolf who first dies and only later do we get insight into some of his life before.
Also, the narration about Conrad’s contemporary research into the letter doesn’t really work for me: It’s a thinly veiled memoir of Colin's endeavours and it feels entirely authentic (including some “classic” German habits and traditions) - but, to me, it’s just not very interesting. A lot of it would totally work and amaze me if told briefly and anecdotally in person. Not so much as a book, though.
There’s also at least one instance in which a lot of story is told - only to be summarised immediately afterwards in a dialogue between Conrad and his neighbour Wally. This made no sense at all story-wise and intrinsically felt weird - would you make your neighbour summarise what you’ve told them over the fence for the last few weeks?
At least part of the writing was (sometimes literally) extremely flowery and over the top:
»Suddenly, the flowers reverted to the colours of war. He was infuriated by their trickery. They turned and took aim, delivering a crushing blow. He felt powerless to defend himself.«
Last but not least, I really disagree with some fundamental assumptions, ideas and wording: Chapter ten is called “1914. Germany Enters The Great War”. No, Germany didn’t enter it, Germany caused World War 1. They most likely didn’t want the war but they knowingly accepted the risk of a global war and fought it as long as they possibly could.
»It is my belief, the young men mentioned in this letter, and all soldiers who died in the war, have no voice in history. I now wish to give them a chance to speak.«
And that’s the second issue: No, I strongly disagree with that statement. Twice my country has tumbled the world into the horrors of global wars. Twice its young men fought for their respective leader and their country. They were proud to fight, in very many cases they volunteered to fight. In both world wars they fought, committed war crimes and so on.
I’m saying: No, the German soldiers deserve no voice. They do not deserve the many memorials all over Germany either. What they did needs to be remembered, who they were may be forgotten. I’m stating this as one whose own grandfather died as a soldier in World War 2. His name shall be forgotten.
There are some truths about Europe that I’d like to highlight, though:
»When it’s the language, culture and friendship that bind us, borders and walls become irrelevant.«
That is absolutely true and with the Schengen Area, (most of) Europe has grown together like never before. For the purpose of travelling the borders are practically gone. I’ve travelled in Europe before the treaty of Schengen of 1995 and it was a dream come true when the borders peacefully fell away…
»One blink of an eye and you wouldn’t even know you’ve crossed a border!«
Even after all these years whenever I cross the border into my beloved France, I cry because there’s nothing that prevents me from visiting the country in friendship that my own Germany has fought against not even 80 years ago…
(At least I cry if I even notice I crossed the border because in the border regions between the German state of Rhineland-Palate and French Alsace, there often simply is no discernible border!)
So, all in all, I cannot help but rate this book at two out of five stars. I still encourage you to read this book if you’re interested in World War 1 - my conviction is, of course, highly subjective and your mileage may differ.
Nichts für ungut, Colin, and I hope we can stay friends!
Ich fühle mich angewidert und beschmutzt von diesem Buch. Der Autor, der offenbar das letzte Quäntchen Geld aus seinem Namen machen möchte, ist sich fIch fühle mich angewidert und beschmutzt von diesem Buch. Der Autor, der offenbar das letzte Quäntchen Geld aus seinem Namen machen möchte, ist sich für kein rassistisches Klischee zu schade.
Gleich zu Beginn lesen wir über Hitler, den der Autor verharmlosend-kumpelhaft als “Adolf” tituliert:
»Was zum bis dato größten Krieg der Menschheitsgeschichte führte. Adolf verlor ihn und starb.«
Eine der kenianischen Figuren (eigentlich sogar alle) wird als dummer, tölpelhafter, ungebildeter Wilder dargestellt:
»Schlimm genug war es, dass einen der Strom beißen konnte, bloß weil man einen Nagel in ein Loch in der Wand steckte. Aber die Maschine zum Schreiben war ja regelrecht lebensgefährlich!«
Noch ein Beispiel für den geradezu beiläufigen Rassismus in diesem Machwerk:
»Denn über den typischen Kuh- oder Ziegenhirten der Savanne gab es prinzipiell viel Gutes zu sagen, aber wer tiefschürfende Einsichten in den Sinn des Lebens erwartete, suchte sich besser andere Gesprächspartner.«
Auch Frauen sind offenbar für den Autor allenfalls dann etwas “wert”, wenn sie den Anstand haben, für uns Männer attraktiv zu erscheinen:
»Jenny wuchs heran, ohne auch nur das kleinste bisschen attraktiv zu werden. Sie hielt sich im Hintergrund. Besaß null Ausstrahlung. Kleidete sich unvorteilhaft.«
Diesen Satz legt der Autor übrigens seinem Erzähler in den Mund, nicht seiner neo-nazistischen Figur…
Nein, danke, ich habe dieses wirklich unerträgliche Buch nach 13% abgebrochen, nachdem meine Frau, die sich die volle Länge dieses Schunds angetan hat, mir sagte, es würde eher noch schlimmer und nicht besser.
Wer mehr über das Buch erfahren möchte, ohne sich dessen Ekelhaftigkeit selbst auszusetzen, dem sei ein exzellenter Beitrag des Deutschlandfunks empfohlen.
(Und wer diese Rezension bei Amazon liest, der google “massai dlf”.)
0 von 5 Sternen und “Hausverbot” für alle weiteren Bücher dieses Autors.
We all know them: Those relatives at family reunions who insist on telling “terrific jokes” that make us cringe. If you don’t, let me put you into theWe all know them: Those relatives at family reunions who insist on telling “terrific jokes” that make us cringe. If you don’t, let me put you into the right mood:
»When asked if they would have sex with Bill Clinton, 86% of women in D.C. said, "Not again."«
Or this one: »3 men are stranded in a boat with 4 cigarettes and no way to light them. So they toss the 4th cigarette overboard, which makes the whole boat a cigarette lighter.«
Ok, you’re with me, right? Now imagine a book that’s full of humour like this. A book that tries so hard to be funny that it actually becomes tiresome. I’ve tried “Discworld” before and found it lacking in all departments but “Good Omens” made even that look good.
Some actual samples of the humour? Here’s one about sperms:
»And there were his fellow trainees—fellow sperms, to switch metaphors, all struggling forward in the knowledge that there could only ever be one Chairman of Industrial Holdings (Holdings) PLC, and that the job would probably go to the biggest prick.«
Or this gem, bordering on xenophobia:
»A man threw himself through the window, a knife between his teeth, a Kalashnikov automatic rifle in one hand, a grenade in the other. "I glaim gis oteg id der gaing og der—" he paused. He took the knife out of his mouth and began again. "I claim this hotel in the name of the pro-Turkish Liberation Faction!"«
And nothing’s better than combining a little climate change with nuclear weapons testing:
»“I'm surprised there was any water left in the pond. I blame it on the lack of nuclear testing, myself. You used to get proper summers when I was a boy. It used to rain all the time."«
The assembled “dad jokes”, “politically incorrect jokes”, the juvenile humour - it just became too much and so I did not finish this steaming turd of a book.
One out of five stars. Go and watch the TV series instead - that’s actually pretty good! (Which tells you a lot about this book…)
“Not to be confused with William Goldman.”, Wikipedia helpfully told me when I looked up Golding - and yet I did confuse flashy, flamboyant Goldman wi“Not to be confused with William Goldman.”, Wikipedia helpfully told me when I looked up Golding - and yet I did confuse flashy, flamboyant Goldman with the unpretentious Golding. A grave mistake.
“The Princess Bride”, supposedly the “good parts only” version of his alter ego’s novel, starts with an introduction by its author whom I immediately disliked after reading it. His often-occurring interruptions of an extremely banal and simple story were further aggravating.
I also strongly disliked pretty much every single character: Buttercup, beautiful and an enormously stupid damsel-in-distress; the perfect Westley who is basically super-human from his first appearance onwards; Humperdinkh, the plotting prince of the land; the evil six-fingered count - I was almost bored to death by them all.
The story is mind-numbingly daft: Girl rejects boy in favour of a prince, boy finds fame/infamy, girl gets rescued by boy, consequently regrets all her life choices and tries to make amends.
Cliché after cliché after cliché as Goldman does could have led to a biting satire but this drivel reads more like an homage to the “cloak & sword” genre that is, thankfully, quite dead.
I rarely don’t finish a book (in fact, at the time of writing, it’s number 11 in 48 years); much more rarely at 74% but this sorry effort of a novel made me want to stop reading entirely.
This is one of the rare occasions I’m giving up on a book but I just don’t enjoy this one at all… From the beginning, I’m confronted with “paranormal”This is one of the rare occasions I’m giving up on a book but I just don’t enjoy this one at all… From the beginning, I’m confronted with “paranormal”, “supernatural” bullshit.
»My mother was a witch.«
Yes, sure… But that’s not all, superstition abounds…
»The forking of the fingers to divert the path of malchance.«
Then there’s the catholic priest… I despise anything related to so-called “churches” which, to me, are dens of bigotry, hypocrisy and a haven for hostile and misanthropic beliefs and people. And, worst of all, home to any kind of preacher (the child-molesting variety gets extra protection).
So, yes, even in a negative context as in this novel, I don’t want to hear about those male harpies.
Also, a novel that in all seriousness tells me »Scrying with chocolate is a difficult business.« is beyond redemption.
The 25% I’ve read were also very, very clichéd with simplistic characters, a heroine that left me entirely and completely devoid of interest in herself or her “illegitimate” daughter and parts that felt so old-fashioned I was afraid of dying of boredom.
When I realised I was actually binge-watching the worst kind of TV show just to avoid reading this one (despite having ample time to read after a minor (but really annoying!) surgery), I allowed myself to let this one go. Since I don’t feel I read enough to give a star rating, I’ll abstain for once.
Let’s face it – I'm not going to finish this weird book. I’m totally confused: I pretty much loved Marchetta's earlier novel “Saving Francesca”. It waLet’s face it – I'm not going to finish this weird book. I’m totally confused: I pretty much loved Marchetta's earlier novel “Saving Francesca”. It was one of the best books I’ve read 2019 so far.
Thus, I expected to love “The Piper’s Son” as well but I never got into this book. Somehow, the entire book with its plethora of characters and jumps in time falls flat for me.
What I’m taking away for myself is this: Just as in music there are one-hit wonders in literature as well. To me, it seems like Marchetta is one of those – she wrote one amazing book in which she told the one great story she had to share with all of us and for that I’m grateful.