5 posts tagged “reviews”
Bryan Burrough reviews two books about Bonnie and Clyde. He likes one. The other . . . not so much:
The one to pick up is “Go Down Together: The True, Untold Story of Bonnie and Clyde,” by Jeff Guinn, which is easily readable and includes much of the last two decades’ new scholarship. The one to avoid is “Bonnie and Clyde: The Lives Behind the Legend,” by Paul Schneider, a book whose idiosyncrasies include the author’s devotion to such italicized gun sounds as, on Page 8 alone, Pop! Pop! and Blam! and Rata rata rat. On Page 277 an automatic rifle is quoted as saying, Rata rata rata rata rata bang pow rata blam. Two pages later it remarks, Blam pow bangbangbang pow. At any moment
one half-expects thought bubbles, or maybe Spider-Man
and the Incredible Hulk, to leap from the text.
—David
My review of Seiichi Hayashi's Red Colored Elegy begins:
Here's a rough synopsis of the plot of Seiichi Hayashi's Red Colored Elegy: A young couple, committed to their art, struggle to keep themselves, their art, and their love alive. This will strike no one as wildly original. What is surprising, however, is that, despite its hoary story line, "Red Colored Elegy" is a success.
Read the rest here.
--David
In most of the developed world, for most of the post-World War II era, the notion that torture might be OK was about as open to discussion as the notion that adulterers should be stoned or that Africans should be enslaved. Now, however, torture is back on the table, and even thinkers as mainstream as Harvard professor Alan Dershowitz refuse to categorically rule out its use.
This sea change in how we think about torture came about largely as a result of the revelation that Americans were, in fact, torturing inmates at military prisons, most notably in occupied Iraq. Many of us were shocked by this state of affairs and found the argument most frequently trotted out in support of torture, that extreme measures are necessary in a time of war, specious at best. There is, however, a grain of truth in this linkage of war with torture: Torture may not be necessary when a country is at war, but when a country is at war torture is likely to occur. We know that mistreatment of prisoners has been a part of the occupation of Iraq; can anyone doubt that it was a part of earlier, more popular occupations?
That's from my review of Terese Svoboda's Black Glasses Like Clark Kent
—David
Daniel Wells arrives in Tonoharu believing that his "legacy was to be monumental. Fluency in Japanese, adoring students and colleagues, [and] a revolutionized curriculum . . . ." Things don't, of course, work out this way.
My review of Lars Martinson's comic book, Tonoharu
—David
I'd like to review Ian McEwan's latest novel On Chesil Beach
Friends know the difference and save discussion until everyone in the group has done seeing the movie or reading the book. But they do tend to fall into the rave-review trap: talking up the books and DVDs they lend you ("This is sooo amazing, you have to read it.") until you can't but be disappointed. You really only want them to choose an item for you with discernment and hand it over with, "I think you'll enjoy it."
For non-fiction, the dual nature of reviews isn't a problem, for an opinionated overview of the content spoils nothing beforehand, and can be returned to for added pleasure and insight after reading. But fiction... I want the in-depth discussions afterwards, but knowing anything ahead of time about a book I've already decided to read at best saps some of the pleasure in the unknown, and at worst is a wretched hijacking of the storyteller's art. So when I see a review of a book I plan to read, I clip it and put it away unread until I finish the item in question.
Most recently, this was On Chesil Beach. After turning the final page, I immediately dug out the reviews I'd been saving. They ventured interesting and well-argued opinions, pointing out things that I'd missed and giving me a more nuanced appreciation of what I'd read. Nevertheless, there was that schizophrenia again, for the reviewers had to withhold plot points and not discuss things that might spoil the book for a reader to be.
No such scruples for Colm Tóibín in the London Review of Books, who in a perceptive and entertaining review spills the entire story. Clearly, the quality of the review relates to its profligacy with plot. Great for me (or someone with no intention of reading the book itself), but—I believe—an act of robbery for the potential reader.
And now to On Chesil Beach
I think you'll enjoy it.
--Julian
