Book Review: A Gentleman in Moscow3/30/2022
A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles
My rating: 5 of 5 stars A gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles is a book so brilliant and well-crafted that it borders on tedious. Over the course of its 512 pages, Towles stuffs in a textbook's worth of history lessons, examining the many changes that Russia underwent during the 1920s through the 1950s. Simultaneously, he refocuses the lens away from major power players into the lives of the everyday citizens who populate Stalin's era. Our guide through this historical drama is Count Alexander Rostov, a nobleman sentenced to "house arrest" in the (formerly) glamorous Metropol hotel. Like a rich man living in quarantine, Rostov must find a sense of meaning in his now monotonous life - a Herculean endeavor for a gentleman so accustomed to luxurious travel and uninhibited activity. Through the Count's eyes, we see history unfurling through one dramatic event after another. Even more effectively, Moscow's readers are also privy to the psychological, emotional, and spiritual development of a fallen aristocrat. First and foremost, this novel is a love letter to Russian literature. Taking his cues from Tolstoy and other Russian writers, Towles crafts a sweeping epic that vacillates between the personal and the global, the micro and the macro. Incorporating politics, history, literature, music, and culinary arts, Towles establishes himself as a veritable encyclopedia; the author has no difficulty oscillating from the world of wine and fine dining to the realm of political persecution. It's a testament to the author's encyclopedic knowledge that none of it feels forced or orchestrated; rather, the Count is a truly believable benefactor and tour guide through the novel's multitudinous pages. A Gentleman in Moscow encapsulates a very specific era in world history: the aftermath of the Russian Revolution and the national transition into communism. Like George Orwell before him, Towles casts a suspicious eye on the Russian leaders who heralded a new age in international politics. But this is no Animal Farm . Whereas Orwell focuses almost exclusively on the political headlines and transitions of power that rocked the world, Towles is more concerned with the effects of the Russian Revolution on its citizens. That psychological insight is a powerful tool in the author's arsenal that translates the political into the personal and the global into the local. It's clear that Towles has a deep, abiding love of Russian literature and its complicated tropes. He draws upon his literary predecessors throughout A Gentleman in Moscow, even going so far as to quote whole sections of Dostoevsky's personal letters. In one passage, Towles gently jests about the tendency of Russian authors to use several different names/nicknames for the same character... and then proceeds to do the same with his own characters. It's a clever sleight of hand that reminds the reader just how well-versed, knowledgeable, and insightful Towles can be. The author has clearly done his homework, delving deeply into Dostoevsky, Chekhov, and Gogol (amongst others) - and sprinkling frequent allusions to these writers throughout the many, many pages of his novel. As the Count finds love, laughter, and life within the claustrophobic walls of the Metropol, the reader gets swept up in the daily doldrums and monthly meanderings of our protagonist. Along the way we encounter some unique, singular characters: a once-and-future movie star who rides the precarious waves of fame, a precocious young girl with a penchant for asking questions, a maître d’ who once juggled knives in the circus, a military officer obsessed with Humphrey Bogart films, and a meddling hotel manager with a vitriolic vendetta. These figures (and more) who populate the halls of the Metropol are cleverly crafted, thoughtfully imagined, and brilliantly realized. At times, though, A Gentleman in Moscow drags and sputters with self-involved sections that fail to keep the reader engaged. Perhaps that is the author's intent: we read through chapter after chapter of drudgery and daily minutiae... until the story ultimately coalesces into a meditation on aging and adulthood. All the while, Towles drops breadcrumbs for his reader, circling back to metaphors, symbols, and motifs until the novel's thrilling conclusion. So, while reading A Gentleman in Moscow might feel like being trapped inside a stunning literary hotel, you can't ask for better company during the long haul through the decades of the story. With Russia once again making international headlines, A Gentleman in Moscow has become even more relevant than when it was published in 2019. One can only hope that the 21st-century counterparts of Count Alexander Rostov are able to escape their claustrophobic confines and find freedom in their hearts - like the protagonist of Towles' enchanting tale. View all my reviews
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Book Review: Yours Cruelly, Elvira3/19/2022
Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark by Cassandra Peterson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars SPOILER ALERT (*but not really*): Elvira, that voluptuous Vampira-influenced vixen... doesn't actually exist. The raven-clad horror hostess that we know and love is a fictional character created by Cassandra Peterson and her collaborators. If you're expecting zombies, vampires, or werewolves in Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark , you might want to look elsewhere. If, however, you're in the mood for something less supernatural (although there are some real-life monsters and haunted houses in the book), this might be the macabre memoir for you. Peterson's autobiography begins with a brief summation of the day Cassandra - or "Sanni," as she's nicknamed - applied for the "horror hostess" position that made her (in)famous. Immediately afterwards, the self-proclaimed "Mistress of the Dark" flashes back in time with reflections on her humble origins. Born in Kansas to working-class parents, her life started unassumingly: her father was a salesman and her mother was a homemaker. However, when Cassandra was a toddler, she accidentally spilled boiling water on herself, resulting in third-degree burns covering 1/3 of her body. Poor little Cassandra wasn't expected to live, but - like some petite superhero - she miraculously recovered. It seems uncanny that such a physically scarred young girl would later become a horror icon, as if her affinity for monstrous outcasts stemmed from her own feelings of post-traumatic insecurity and isolation. Ironically, a girl who felt so disfigured and scarred from this trauma eventually develops into a successful rock groupie before ultimately becoming a modern-day sex symbol. Though Peterson's burned body could, by itself, be seen as a the defining trauma of her young life, this wasn't the last excruciating experience that she would encounter: Yours Cruelly addresses issues of child abuse, sexual harassment, sexual assault, addiction, and spousal abuse (among other topics) in its pages. As Peterson details in the early sections of the memoir, her mother was an abusive narcissist who left her daughters psychologically scarred and troubled. Even as her body healed from the burns that scarred her skin, Cassandra spent decades unraveling the psychological torture she endured in her youth. It's a heartbreakingly realistic twist from an actress best known for lighthearted fantasy. It's impossible to discuss Yours Cruelly without mentioning the many, many celebrity sightings in the book. At times, Yours Cruelly comes across as a never-ending cavalcade of crushes, namedropping encounters, and/or make-out sessions. And, of course, there's sex. Lots of sex. And I mean *LOTS* of sex. In Peterson's memoir, the only things that go "bump" in the night are promiscuous paramours. A small, incomplete list of romantic encounters includes the following famous folks: Jimmy Page, Eric Burden, Tom Jones, Jon Voight, Robert DeNiro, and (*wait for it*) Elvis Presley. Ms. Peterson has crossed paths with some fascinating historical figures in her seventy years, but her tongue-tied experiences with her idols come across as refreshingly earnest and endearing. When the scarred little girl who once obsessed over Vincent Price eventually becomes friends with the raspy-voiced horror icon, the reader shares Cassandra's wide-eyed wonder. In many ways, Peterson is just as star-struck by celebrities as her legion of fans are awed by her. Those moments serve as sweet reminders that the author, despite her own decades-long fame, has more in common with the general public than one might otherwise assume. What's arguably the most fascinating aspect of Cassandra's romantic sojourns, however, is that this boy-crazy vixen eventually finds true love... with a woman. Reading about Peterson's struggles as she comes to grips with her sexuality is simultaneously heartbreaking and inspiring. Although she initially balks at this chance for true love because of her heteronormative history, Cassandra ultimately finds lasting happiness with her life partner, "T," after accepting that their love breaks the binary shackles of heterosexuality. If a woman in the later half of her life can finally find her "happily ever after," then there is hope for the rest of us ghouls and goblins. Despite her inauspicious origins, Cassandra Peterson ultimately finds peace and happiness through a lifetime of healing and reflection. In the same way that Peterson left behind her *literally* haunted home, Briarcliff, the actress also leaves behind the ghosts of trauma that have haunted her entire life. Like a horror movie "final girl," Peterson overcomes her horrific experiences and lives to see another day. That alone makes this an inspiring affirmation of the human spirit. Yours Cruelly isn't for everyone, and the divisive responses to the book's release are testament to that. With memoirs, it can be difficult to distinguish the artistry of the storytelling from the larger-than-life exploits of the famous storyteller. But, while Peterson lacks the poetry of Frank McCourt, her many Hollywood adventures (not to mention harrowing hardships) make this memoir a fascinating read - and a delightful excursion from the horrors of the real world. While it's sometimes challenging for the general public to distinguish the character "Elvira" from the actress who portrays her, this memoir of irreverent, mischievous exploits and observations (coupled with Peterson's signature wry sense of humor) establishes the author as a figure much more complicated - and worthy of love - than her raven-clad alter-ego. As the book closes, the Mistress of the Dark reminds us that, as much as the character of Elvira loves the shadows, there is a light of hope still to be found in even the darkest of days. View all my reviews
Anxious People by Fredrik Backman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars In turns blunt and brilliant, hilarious and heartbreaking, Anxious People is an absolute revelation. Having read A Man Called Ove a few years ago, I anticipated a similar sensibility for Fredrik Backman's Anxious People... and I was not disappointed. While covering very different ground than A Man Called Ove, Anxious People radiates with Backman's signature wry humor and piercing insight, introducing a diverse cast of complex characters thrust into an absurd scenario: a bank robbery gone awry. Over the course of the novel, these characters become (in the words of one protagonist) the "Worst. Hostages. Ever." Saying much more than that would ruin the many surprises that Backman has in store for his readers. Imagine a Peter Sellers film directed by Paul Thomas Anderson with a script by John Green, and you might have a slight glimpse of what's in store for you. That kind of combustible comedy (with cutting satire interwoven throughout) is exactly the kind of unpredictable narrative that Backman has crafted. Somehow, Anxious People manages to pack a potent punch while subverting expectations all along the way. The novel begins with a bank robbery, but the book twists and turns and contorts into a much broader rumination on life, love, loss, grieving, parenting, and mental health. As Backman proclaims to his readers, human beings are frequently best described as "idiots" - but those self-same "idiots" are often simply misguided, wounded creatures trying to navigate the complex waterways of life. It's no accident that the architectural structure of a bridge plays a pivotal role in several scenes: so much of Backman's story forces characters to bridge the gaping chasms that divide them. Along the way, readers also get to make their way across the tenuous, rickety platforms that connect characters - but Anxious People repeatedly reminds us that teetering on the ledge is never the solution to life's cruelties. I don't want to spew out too much plot summary, however, because so much of this novel's genius relies upon subverting the expectations of readers and avoiding tried-and-true (albeit tedious and tired) tropes of storytelling. At one point, Backman makes an offhand reference to the definitive "twist-ending" film, The Sixth Sense... and then immediately pulls off a narrative trick worthy of M. Night Shyamalan himself. It's a clever and calculated move, an impressive flex of the muscles that will undoubtedly inspire many readers to thumb through previous chapters to search for breadcrumbs. Fortunately for them, there's a literary feast scattered throughout these pages. It's rare that I give any novel a five-star rating (it's the elitist English teacher in me), but Anxious People absolutely deserves such potent praise. The flawless juxtaposition of silly and serious, heartfelt and humbling, makes Backman's novel a unique piece of literature. In the end, this life-affirming novel will make you laugh, cry, and experience every emotion in-between - sometimes, even, within the confines of a single page. View all my reviews
My Best Friend's Exorcism by Grady Hendrix
My rating: 4 of 5 stars Like a teenager suddenly and unexpectedly possessed by an ancient demon, I was not prepared for Grady Hendrix's My Best Friend's Exorcism. While Hendrix continuously crafts my favorite kind of horror (hilarious and haunting in weighted measure), he tends to lose his path towards the end of each novel. In fact, I once described Grady Hendrix as "the Stephen King of modern horror... but not in a good way." My biggest complaint with Hendrix is that, like King, he creates brilliantly creative premises, but fails to live up to the promise of such clever conceits. With My Best Friend's Exorcism, however, Hendrix has crafted a heartfelt horror novel and actually managed to "stick the landing." Imagine Linda Blair doing a Simone Biles routine as choregraphed by James Wan, and that just about sums up My Best Friend's Exorcism. Like William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist, Hendrix's novel depicts the untimely and horrific possession of a young girl - with all the trimmings and trappings of stereotypical supernatural scripts. Over the course of My Best Friend's Exorcism, best friends Abby and Gretchen grow up from E.T.-loving little girls to substance-abusing adolescents; along the way, the two girls form close relationships with a couple of classmates (Margaret and Glee) and partake in the usual soaking-up-the-sun activities of typical teenagers. That all changes one night, however, when the acid-addled girls go skinny-dipping and Gretchen mysteriously disappears into the woods. When she reappears, she's... different. After a slowly emerging sense of horror starts to overtake Gretchen (first with invisible pricking of her skin and ultimately transforming into something much more overwhelming), it gets dark. Really dark. Chaos ensues, friendships unravel, and the seemingly unbreakable bond between Gretchen and Abby is driven to a breaking point. Cue the titular exorcism and watch how the story unfolds. As would be expected, there are the usual, predictable elements of exorcism stories: demonic entities, unsightly transformations of the possessed, voracious vomiting, a plethora of profanity, and fantastical familiars of the woodland variety. However, Hendrix deviates from expectations with some unforeseen alterations: iron-pumping exorcists, high school hierarchies, horrifying eating disorders, and a poppy 1980s soundtrack. This novel also shares DNA (and a South Carolina setting) with The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires, though the two books offer decidedly different takes on surviving the supernatural. The juxtaposition, while jarring, provides just enough levity to lighten the horrifying levitation of high school girls. It's clear that Hendrix loves his old-school horror: between his many novels, he's tackled demons, devils, vampires, serial killers, haunted houses, and various other macabre monster mashups. But he also has a soft spot for vintage "sisterhood cinema" (or "chick flicks" to the cynical), drawing upon films as diverse as Steel Magnolias, Mean Girls, and Beaches. No one can accuse Hendrix of unabashed, malevolent misogyny - especially considering that every single one of his novels is written from the perspective of a female protagonist. In that regard, My Best Friend's Exorcism is very much in line with Hendrix's attempts at creating empowered female characters. With this novel, Hendrix balances a respectful reverence with more subversive sendups of the horror genre. Nothing is sacred to Hendrix - nor is anything profane enough to remain off-limits. That includes all the terrifying tropes of horror, as well as the timeless binds of sentimental sororities. I have to admit, I actually dragged my feet reading this novel, working my way through the rest of Hendrix's oeuvre before finally tackling My Best Friend's Exorcism. Boy, did I make a mistake. The talented and insightful Claire Laminen once told me that MBFE was her favorite Hendrix novel, and I wish I had taken her sage advice sooner. Though I've consumed Hendrix's books like Goya's "Saturn Devouring His Son," thoroughly enjoying the goofy twists and turns of his comedic horror, I did NOT anticipate the emotional connections forged between the two main protagonists of the novel, Abby and Gretchen. Unlike Kris Pulaski's solo journey in We Sold Our Souls or Lynnette Tarkington's withdrawn isolation in The Final Girl Support Group, Abby and Gretchen have a tightknit bond that's as unbreakable as Marley's chains. Between the violent and disturbing supernatural descriptions, Hendrix manages to weave in some truly heartfelt relationships, examining a sisterhood between Abby and Gretchen that's even more powerful than Satan's minions. And THAT makes My Best Friend's Exorcism a truly unique, worthwhile read. View all my reviews
My Best Friend's Exorcism by Grady Hendrix
My rating: 4 of 5 stars Like a teenager suddenly and unexpectedly possessed by an ancient demon, I was not prepared for Grady Hendrix's My Best Friend's Exorcism. While Hendrix continuously crafts my favorite kind of horror (hilarious and haunting in weighted measure), he tends to lose his path towards the end of each novel. In fact, I once described Grady Hendrix as "the Stephen King of modern horror... but not in a good way." My biggest complaint with Hendrix is that, like King, he creates brilliantly creative premises, but fails to live up to the promise of such clever conceits. With My Best Friend's Exorcism, however, Hendrix has crafted a heartfelt horror novel and actually managed to "stick the landing." Imagine Linda Blair doing a Simone Biles routine as choregraphed by James Wan, and that just about sums up My Best Friend's Exorcism. Like William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist, Hendrix's novel depicts the untimely and horrific possession of a young girl - with all the trimmings and trappings of stereotypical supernatural scripts. Over the course of My Best Friend's Exorcism, best friends Abby and Gretchen grow up from E.T.-loving little girls to substance-abusing adolescents; along the way, the two girls form close relationships with a couple of classmates (Margaret and Glee) and partake in the usual soaking-up-the-sun activities of typical teenagers. That all changes one night, however, when the acid-addled girls go skinny-dipping and Gretchen mysteriously disappears into the woods. When she reappears, she's... different. After a slowly emerging sense of horror starts to overtake Gretchen (first with invisible pricking of her skin and ultimately transforming into something much more overwhelming), it gets dark. Really dark. Chaos ensues, friendships unravel, and the seemingly unbreakable bond between Gretchen and Abby is driven to a breaking point. Cue the titular exorcism and watch how the story unfolds. As would be expected, there are the usual, predictable elements of exorcism stories: demonic entities, unsightly transformations of the possessed, voracious vomiting, a plethora of profanity, and fantastical familiars of the woodland variety. However, Hendrix deviates from expectations with some unforeseen alterations: iron-pumping exorcists, high school hierarchies, horrifying eating disorders, and a poppy 1980s soundtrack. This novel also shares DNA (and a South Carolina setting) with The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires, though the two books offer decidedly different takes on surviving the supernatural. The juxtaposition, while jarring, provides just enough levity to lighten the horrifying levitation of high school girls. It's clear that Hendrix loves his old-school horror: between his many novels, he's tackled demons, devils, vampires, serial killers, haunted houses, and various other macabre monster mashups. But he also has a soft spot for vintage "sisterhood cinema" (or "chick flicks" to the cynical), drawing upon films as diverse as Steel Magnolias, Mean Girls, and Beaches. No one can accuse Hendrix of unabashed, malevolent misogyny - especially considering that every single one of his novels is written from the perspective of a female protagonist. In that regard, My Best Friend's Exorcism is very much in line with Hendrix's attempts at creating empowered female characters. With this novel, Hendrix balances a respectful reverence with more subversive sendups of the horror genre. Nothing is sacred to Hendrix - nor is anything profane enough to remain off-limits. That includes all the terrifying tropes of horror, as well as the timeless binds of sentimental sororities. I have to admit, I actually dragged my feet reading this novel, working my way through the rest of Hendrix's oeuvre before finally tackling My Best Friend's Exorcism. Boy, did I make a mistake. The talented and insightful Claire Laminen once told me that MBFE was her favorite Hendrix novel, and I wish I had taken her sage advice sooner. Though I've consumed Hendrix's books like Goya's "Saturn Devouring His Son," thoroughly enjoying the goofy twists and turns of his comedic horror, I did NOT anticipate the emotional connections forged between the two main protagonists of the novel, Abby and Gretchen. Unlike Kris Pulaski's solo journey in We Sold Our Souls or Lynnette Tarkington's withdrawn isolation in The Final Girl Support Group, Abby and Gretchen have a tightknit bond that's as unbreakable as Marley's chains. Between the violent and disturbing supernatural descriptions, Hendrix manages to weave in some truly heartfelt relationships, examining a sisterhood between Abby and Gretchen that's even more powerful than Satan's minions. And THAT makes My Best Friend's Exorcism a truly unique, worthwhile read. View all my reviews
Dragon Hoops by Gene Luen Yang
My rating: 5 of 5 stars Gene Luen Yang's newest graphic novel, Dragon Hoops , is magic - pure and simple. As someone with little interest in sports and limited patience for graphic novels, I debated picking up this behemoth of a book. After all, the 400+ pages collected herein make for an opponent more intimidating than LeBron James. In the end, though, I'm grateful that I took the time to read Yang's clever comic masterpiece. Dragon Hoops is an autobiographical journey into high school athletics, as told through the lens of a high school math/computer science teacher - who also happens to be an award-winning writer/artist. Over the course of the graphic novel (which takes place during the 2014-2015 school year), Yang plunges into the world of sports and embraces the multitudinous madness of varsity basketball. There are plenty of comical "fish out of water" elements, as the decidedly unathletic Yang delves deeper and deeper into the history, hysteria, and histrionics of sports teams; however, Yang's nascent interest in b-ball slowly evolves into a mild obsession, forcing him out of his comic-book comfort zone into more ambiguous, athletic territory. Part of what I found so captivating about Dragon Hoops is its deviation from traditional sports-hero tropes. After all, as Yang himself admits in the opening pages, he's about as athletic as Superman wearing a Kryptonite necklace. Fortunately, Yang went against his better judgment and threw himself headfirst into the world of high school athletics. His individual profiles of the student-athletes on the team, coupled with intermittent examinations of sports history, provide a fascinating perspective that will engage even non-obsessives (like yours truly). What I personally found most engaging wasn't the victories that Bishop O'Dowd's Dragons accrue on their path to the state championship: it's the honest glimpses into Yang's personal life, including his creative process and his relationship with his family. I know I'm in the minority here, but I would much rather spend an afternoon interviewing Gene Luen Yang than Shaquille O'Neal. As a fellow high school teacher, I appreciate Yang's nods to the subtleties of working on a secondary school campus. Dragon Hoops addresses big issues, including work-life balance, overt racism, and campus-wide scandals; Yang also artfully addresses the surreal inanities of his job, like student-created nicknames for teachers, the inability to properly fist-bump a colleague, and a limited understanding of high school sports culture. Dragon Hoops earnestly elucidates the stories of Yang's community, as well as his own internal struggles as he decides whether or not he should quit teaching and pursue a full-time career in the comic book industry. It might not be as flashy as a game-winning three-point shot, but it's just as powerful from my perspective. That being said, Dragon Hoops has its finest moments when Yang breaks free from the traditional tropes and limitations of graphic novels. In a series of fourth-wall-breaking panels, Yang agonizes over his obligation to truthful, perfectly accurate history - versus the imperfect, inaccurate aspects of storytelling that he must embrace for a cohesive narrator. It's a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a master artist, and the audience is in for quite a treat as Yang recounts his personal - and professional - experiences. Fans of basketball, comic books, and non-fiction can all find something to celebrate in this masterpiece of a graphic novel. To put it simply, Dragon Hoops is a slam dunk. View all my reviews
The Disenchantments by Nina LaCour
My rating: 5 of 5 stars Despite its title, The Disenchantments is a thoroughly enchanting coming-of-age novel that tackles imperfect romances, adolescent rites of passage, and raucous rock & roll. In some ways, Nina LaCour's book is a sprawling, untidy, chaotic mess - not unlike the Riot Grrrl music that the characters in the novel adore. And yet, despite those imperfections, the novel is a a gorgeous escape into the trials and tribulations of youth. Is the book perfect? No, but it's still a heartfelt, lovingly crafted novel worth the read. Much of The Disenchantments revolves around the will-they-or-won't-they romance of Colby, the novel's heartsick narrator, and his best friend, Bev, the lead singer of the novel's eponymous band. BFFs from childhood, Bev and Colby have a rich, sophisticated relationship - despite the fact that they've never taken the plunge into a formal romance. Over the course of seven days (the first week of summer following high school graduation), Colby and Bev drive up the Pacific Northwest coast from their hometown of San Francisco to Bev's band's final gig in Portland. Their companions on the trip, adopted sisters Alexa and Meg (drums and bass, respectively), help Colby and Bev navigate the journey - of their relationship and the final tour for The Disenchantments. When long-buried secrets start to spill out and Colby's meticulously plotted post-graduation plans fall apart, the band members (and Colby, their sole male companion) face a reckoning that will determine what happens at the conclusion of the tour. Over the course of this picaresque adventure (which includes bizarre gigs, late-night diners, crummy hotel rooms, and other road trip trappings), The Disenchantments examines the tenuous webs that unite and connect each of its characters. LaCour tackles a wide swath of subjects in the novel - too many, perhaps, than can be effectively addressed in a meager three-hundred-page book. I can see why some readers might be bored or underwhelmed by The Disenchantments: the story sometimes rambles like a road trip without a roadmap, meandering like an extended guitar solo in an overpacked pop song. However, those overly callused critics are missing the point: this is a book about escaping the tedious ordinariness of everyday life and embracing the extraordinary events that occur in frustratingly short bursts. The Disenchantments reminds us there is more magic in the human existence than just a multitude of mundane days. I, for one, am grateful for the reminder - and I appreciate the message (reprinted on the cover) that "maybe we always were the people we imagined ourselves to be." All good "rock" novels require a firm foundation in the classics and a deep appreciation of modern music. Does Nina LaCour have good taste in tunes? Absolutely. Rock goddesses Sleater-Kinney play a pivotal role in the novel, with Carrie Brownstein and company even making an appearance during a live concert that Colby and Bev attend in San Francisco. Other musical references (including the Runaways, Heart, and Elliott Smith) imbue the novel with authentic hipster cred. Music aficionados (like yours truly) will undoubtedly geek out over these awesome musical artifacts. This is a novel I wish I had read in high school... if the book had been written by then, of course. I have a soft spot for YA novels and I'm a sucker for road trip stories - and an even bigger sucker for books about rock bands. Besides the fact that I'm no longer a young adult (heck, I've been teaching young adults for almost two decades), I'm probably the target demographic for LaCour's novel. Perhaps I'm a bit biased because I just published my own novel about... *ahem*... imperfect romances, adolescent rites of passage, and rock & roll. Even without those biases, however, I can safely say that The Disenchantments is a minor masterpiece. As I finish revising the sequel to Incomplete , I can only hope that my two rock-band-themed novels hold up as well as Nina LaCour's delightful Disenchantments. View all my reviews
The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix
My rating: 4 of 5 stars Grady Hendrix is the Stephen King of modern horror... but not in a good way. In the same manner that "The King of Horror" captures our attention with brilliant ideas - and then sometimes fails to live up to those captivating concepts - Mr. Hendrix has once again fallen short of his potent potential. That's not to say that The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires is a worthless waste of time; on the contrary, the book is a unique take on the tried-and-true vampire story that will undoubtedly please hordes of horror fans. It just misses the mark, like a stake through the appendix rather than the heart. Here's the basic plot, broken down in simple, succinct terms: a housewife and her family move to a southern town in the 1990s and do their best to fit in, but a mysterious stranger interferes with the mundane comfort of their lives. Spoiler alert: it's a vampire. As would be expected when the Undead appear, situations spiral out of control and things get weird. Really weird. You will find no sparkle-skinned heartthrobs in these pages, nor will you encounter Transylvanian trauma. Instead, Hendrix has conjured up a villain who comes across as more of a child molester than a champion of evil. In that regard, Hendrix has reclaimed vampires from the neutered necrophilia of the Twilight series and updated Bram Stoker for a new generation of horror junkies. There are moments when Hendrix's humor sneaks through (my personal favorite is a cringe-worthy scene in an awkward book club meeting when the hostess hasn't read that month's selection), but much of the novel focuses on the dark undercurrents of modern suburbia. These true-crime-loving housewives aren't only squaring off against the town's new vampire: they're also facing the trials and tribulations of child-rearing, finances, religious faith, alcoholism, domestic abuse, and a flurry of other Faustian issues. At times, it's hard to determine whether the malevolent antagonist of the novel is more frightening than the insensitive, manipulative husbands who undermine the stability of their wives' lives. In the end, these women will need all their strength - and a supportive community - to overcome the variety of vicious villains in their neighborhood. I would like to give this novel a rating of 3.5 stars, but GoodReads doesn't allow half-stars for reviews. Because of Southern Book Club's clever twists and intermittent humor, I'll round up to four stars. I wish that the final product could have warranted more, but sometimes our expectations fall short of reality. However, as Shelby in Steel Magnolias says, "I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special." For now, I'll settle for four hundred pages of an engaging Grady Hendrix novel if the other option is no Hendrix at all. View all my reviews
We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix
My rating: 3 of 5 stars As a music-obsessed writer who loves the horror genre, I really, really want to love this book and give it a five-star review. Alas, like so many other rock 'n' roll narratives, Grady Hendrix's We Sold Our Souls falls a bit short of brilliance. Despite its clever premise and adoring homage to rock history, Hendrix's novel feels more like Friday the 13th than Almost Famous - and resonates more like KoЯn than Black Sabbath. And yet, while Hendrix hasn't quite written the heavy metal masterpiece that the world deserves, We Sold Our Souls is a lot of frivolous, fantastic fun. The general conceit is this: what if all those archetypal rock stories of artists selling their souls in Faustian deals with the devil aren't farfetched fantasies? Enter Kris Pulaski, the washed-up, has-been lead guitarist for a now-defunct 1990s metal band, Dürt Würk. Unhappily working the nightshift as a hotel receptionist, Kris only has foggy memories of what went wrong with Dürt Würk on a fateful contract-signing night - and why the lead singer went on to become a nü-metal mega-superstar without the rest of his bandmates. Kind-of spoiler alert: as the novel's reader can infer from the title, it involves supernatural contracts with shadowy figures. Filling in the blanks is part of the fun, though, so I won't go any further with spoilers. Let's just say that the old "getting the band back together" tropes have never been quite as gory or malevolent. Imagine the Blues Brothers, but with far more blood, suffering, and death. 'Nuff said. All flaws aside, We Sold Our Souls might have one of the best book covers in recent history: it's meticulously modeled after an issue of Rolling Stone, right down to the looping cursive of the title font and the fictional article titles that provide hints of key character names and plot points. The bottom of the cover even mimics the adhesive address labels that magazines print before shipping issues off to subscribers. If only the rest of the book matched the quality of the cover, this book would be a rock & roll masterpiece. Alas, We Sold Our Souls only ventures as deep as a shallow grave - leaving the reader wanting a more substantial burial. View all my reviews A Change of Course...3/4/2020 When I was a wee little Levin, waaaaayyy back in the 1980s, my dad said something that's stuck with me over the ensuing decades: "Everyone has a book inside of them, waiting to be written." Though my father often gave terrible advice, I accepted this one piece of wisdom as gospel. Somewhere, deep down inside of me, I just knew that there was a book waiting to be unchained and unleashed upon the world. In 2013, when I pulled the plug on my band, Far From Kansas, I heard my father's voice echoing through my waking hours. The book was there, in its gestational state, eagerly awaiting evolution. I just needed to make time to write it.
After reading a Rolling Stone article about Nine Days frontman John Hampson, I realized that my bizarre life of teaching during the day and playing in a band at night wasn't such a unique duality. What must it be like, I wondered, for a student to discover that her mild-mannered English teacher used to be a rock star? And there it was. My novel. The seed of inspiration had been planted and my book was swirling in the ether, quietly taking shape as I explored characters and plot lines. I wrote my first scene in April of 2014 - Saturday, April 19th, to be exact - while I waited in line outside Salzer's Records in Ventura for National Record Store Day. Over the next few months, pages poured out of me. The work came quickly; and while it wasn't all gold, there was enough bronze and silver for me to forge something worth reading. A lot has happened since then. My second daughter was born. My father passed away after a long battle with cancer. My stepfather died unexpectedly of a heart attack. We moved into a new house. I came out of "teaching retirement" and returned to the classroom for a stranded batch of AP English students. I secured financing for a recording studio on campus. I co-produced four albums with the school Choir program. All of these experiences informed the novel that I had been secretly writing. Sometimes, life imitated art; just as often, art imitated life. Occasionally, life and art swirled together in anarchic mixtures with blurry lines. Now, six years after writing that first scene, my debut novel is done. Technically, my long-gestating book has evolved into two books: Side A and Side B. As I put the final touches on the first novel in this "duology," I'm excited to share my words with the world. So, my father was partially right. There was a book inside of me, waiting to be written... it just ended up being two books. I only hope that there are many more to follow. AuthorMild-mannered librarian by day… and a mild-mannered rock & roller by night. Archives
August 2023
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