The Veil of Gold

by Kim Wilkins

I somehow got it in my mind this book is by a Russian author, which is (I thought) why I wanted to read it, but turns out she's Australian and it's just the story that's set in Russia. Had it on my to-read list for ages and, when I finally got around to it, found it not stellar but definitely a good read. It's a nicely layered combination of suspense and fantasy with historical referents, magic and Russian folklore, and a background love interest. It's pretty good, like I said, but I don't have much to say about it for some reason. Could be an enjoyable beach book, but don't forget to turn over periodically.

Warped Passages: unraveling the mysteries of the Universe's hidden dimensions

by Lisa Randall

This book made my brain hurt, in a good way. Took a while to read it, because I found it tough to read for longer stretches, but I've always loved the crazy science of particle physics. As if strange and charmed quarks, antiparticles and virtual particles weren't enough, this book tries to explain the extra dimensions that are required for string theory — and it turns out the extra dimensions are handy solutions even if string theory turns out not to be correct.

All the real math is in the notes at the end, so don't fear. The author does a good job of using analogies and diagrams to guide you through the process of imagining extra dimensions, and it really does come down to a feat of imagination. Extra dimensions could be wrapped up so tinily that they're functionally undetectable, or it could be their infinitude that makes them un-observable. Either way, they aren't directions per se, like our usual three spatial dimensions, or even like the fourth dimension of time, but they should at some point have measurable effects on particle collider experiments.

I'm not going to try to summarize any of the stuff in the book, but if you like this kind of stuff, you'll totally dig this book. I geeked out so hard that I took notes and at one point fretted over whether I'd be able to e-mail the author and ask her questions. I can't claim complete understanding (I especially have trouble with quantum field theory and virtual particles), and I'll be damned if I can properly explain it to anyone else, but I really hope some cool shit happens when the Large Hadron Collider is at full power!

Just for yuks, here's a link to a website with a grid of spinning Calabi-Yau manifolds, which is one possible shape for extremely tiny rolled up dimensions.

Maybe I'm Your Steppin' Stone: Loveliness

by Shiuko Kano

Hellz, yeah! In this super-sexy sequel to I'm Not Your Steppin' Stone, one of my favorite yaoi authors delivers the goods. The stories are pretty easy to follow, and the pretty boys are easy on the eyes. This is the more explicit end of yaoi, with lots of steamy scenes, plenty of grunting and groaning, and nothing left to the imagination. Yowza!

The Night of Your Life

by Jesse Reklaw

A dazzling collection of Jesse Reklaw's "Slow Wave" comics, retelling real dreams in four panels. With endless possibilities and the natural bizarreness of dreams, they run the gamut from funny to eerie and you-name-it. This is a really great book to read while drifting off to sleep, although I must sadly report not remembering any interesting dreams of my own on the nights I fell asleep with this book in my hands.

Yellow 1

by Makoto Tateno

Mail vol. 1

by Housui Yamazaki

I had high hopes for Yellow, which is by a very popular yaoi author, who also wrote the Hero Heel series, which I enjoyed (and about which I wrote here). I was quite disappointed by this jumbled and confusing story line about extra-legal drug snatchers, one hetero and one gay. Sadly, thumbs down.

Mail also is disappointing. It's somewhat similar to, but nowhere near as good as, Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service (reviewed here), kind of like when there's a good movie or TV show and then a bunch of lame imitations that go straight to DVD or get cancelled after half a season. The series is about a guy who can see ghosts and has a "spirit gun" to put tortured souls to rest.

Getting the Girl: a guide to private investigation, surveillance, and cookery

by Susan Juby

I absolutely loved this book. So many young adult novels are about girls, when I find one with a really great boy character it makes me quite happy, especially if he's short (like me) and cute (if I may be so humble). The boy in this book is very charming, confident, smart-assed and convincingly boy-ish, despite having been written by a lady author. (Huzzah, to you, Susan Juby!)

It's also nice to read a YA book that's not about personal tragedy but is about a reasonably well-adjusted kid who's concerned about the social tragedies of others and the unfairness of high school clique-ery, and who's aware of the many charms of young women who aren't skinny mean girls and also aren't soon-to-be-swanlike ugly ducklings.

Finally, it's Canadian, which is almost as good as being British.

The Year of Secret Assignments

by Jaclyn Moriarty

I nearly checked this out the first time I saw it... then about a year later a friend recommended it... then another year went by before I actually checked it out... then another year went by before I read it. When I finally did, I got a little nervous about the multiple-narrators thing, but I actually liked all the characters. It's a good and interesting story, told primarily via letters and journal entries, with well-developed girl and boy characters, though the girls get more ink. There's tension and mystery, and there's romance but it's not too much dwelt upon. As well there are cute Australian boys and sassy Australian girls, but no wombats or joeys. I give it an 8 out of 10, keeping in mind that I'm very stingy with 10s.

Naming Nature: the clash between instinct and science

by Carol Kaesuk Yoon

I found this book very frustrating, and I actually didn't finish it. I skimmed parts, but I was still committed to seeing it through — and then I just couldn't stand it any more and gave up about 10 pages from the end. I was hoping the book would have more info on the ways different cultures name, classify and organize the living world. Although that was part of the author's original concept, it apparently fell by the wayside when she picked up the science vs. instinct theme.

The history of scientific classification of the living world is interesting enough for a nerd such as myself, and for sure there are some intriguing connections and conclusions to be drawn from the comparison of functional, pragmatic, amateur, "natural" or "native" classification to the increasingly abstract-seeming minutiae of truly scientific evolutionary classification based on genetics and molecular biology. It is my opinion, however, that the author is exaggerating both the violence and importance of this supposed clash of worldviews. Even to use the word clash is perhaps overblown. And the whole thing about fish not existing is pure claptrap.

I look at it as being a bit like language: anyone, given the right education, can operate in at least two modes of speaking, formal and informal; lean too far to one side, and the other may suffer for that individual, but it hardly rocks the very foundations of language or imperils our aggregate ability to communicate. Scientists may insist that "fish" isn't, in some technical way, a valid evolutionary category, but the rest of us (even those of us who know what the scientists are saying) have a perfectly functional idea of "fish" and suffer no doubts about it; put all your roe in one broodpouch and maybe the other will suffer, but, in the vast majority of situations an ordinary person is likely to encounter, the two can co-exist quite peacefully.

The Archimedes Codex: how a medieval prayer book is revealing the true genius of antiquity's greatest scientist

by Reviel Netz and William Noel

Seems like a total nerd book, and I've never denied being a nerd, but I'd really like to believe that non-nerds would enjoy this book too. It's surprisingly well-written, considering neither author has a (non-academic) writing background. Even though I'm a nerd, I'm not particularly interested in antique books, cutting-edge imaging technology or maths, but the two writers did a good job of conveying the excitement and importance of both discovering and decoding an unknown manuscript and of revealing the breadth and extent of previously unrecognized ancient knowledge.

It's amazing that these treatises could be recovered (partially, at least) after so many years and mistreatment, and it's equally flabbergasting to realize that way back in B.C. days Archimedes was on the verge of inventing calculus, which, after his demise and the loss of much of his work, didn't come to fruition for almost two millennia. Especially astounding in light of the fact that virtually all modern science and technology wouldn't be possible without calculus. What could the world be like if we'd had that 2,000 year head start?

Twelve Long Months

by Brian Malloy

It is very important to mention that fag hags are, in many ways, essential to gay culture and particularly necessary for the support and nurturing of baby-gays. Having acknowledged that, however, it's also important to be aware of the potential emotional pitfalls of the fag-and-hag relationship, including but not limited to: the hag who loves her fag too much, and the fag who relies too much on his hag and takes advantage of her generosity. This book isn't quite about either of those scenarios, but it does brush up against them both. It mostly deals with the related issue of the straight girl who isn't really a fag hag but does have a tendency to date closeted gay guys who later come out of the closet and break her heart.

Are those sort of girls the audience for this book? I don't know that it would be very interesting for a gay male, teen or otherwise, and I don't see it appealing a whole lot to the average hetero teen girl either. It isn't terrible, and it does hit all the usual young adult relationship buttons (romance, neglected friends, heartbreak, re-affirmed friendships), but overall it's just...kinda...meh.

Everybody into the Pool: true tales

by Beth Lisick

I really loved this author's 2008 book, Helping Me Help Myself, because I really connected with her sense of humor. Published in 2005, this one is, I think, her first book, and it just isn't as good. Not totally disappointing, but not as many laugh-out-loud moments for me. It's more of a Sedaris-style collection of stories/essays/recollections of family and social life, whereas the other has a unifying theme of trying out different self-help regimens — but I don't think that's the pivotal difference. The 2008 book probably had better editing, and even a few years can do a lot to polish a writer's voice. Also, maybe she just works better with some structure.

Not a bad book, but not super. Easy and quick enough to read, though, and good enough to recommend to people who are really into the Sedarises, Chelsea Handler, etc., and that sort of snarky and sarcastic observational humor.

The Book of Dead Philosophers

by Simon Critchley

Cicero said, "To philosophize is to learn how to die," so why not compile a book of the deaths of philosophers through the ages. The sentiment — not universal but far from uncommon among such folk, particularly the ancients — has some connection with the (also ancient) notion that no one can be judged happy or to have lived a good life until s/he has died. And such a compendium as Critchley has assembled is itself a memento mori.

It's also a great book, surprisingly entertaining, something that will stand up to multiple readings, and a book I actually want to own. (As I've mentioned before, wanting to own a book is a big deal for me, and I've only bought four or five books during the ten years I've been working in a library.)

So, why a memento mori? Critchley believes that fear of death — including but not limited to: fear of non-being; fear of the afterlife or reincarnation; fear of dying painfully or alone; fear of not having lived a good/long/satisfying/meaningful enough life — has a negative impact on our lives while we are living them. Fear of death, he argues, must be confronted and overcome, so thinking about death is to be encouraged rather than avoided. We can be aided in this endeavor not only by philosophers' ideas about death but also by the particular circumstances of their deaths, and the harmony, or lack thereof, between the two.

The author includes more women than most people ever imagined were philosophers, and he also gets in some non-Western guys. No living philosophers, of course, but some who've died within recent memory. Most of the entries don't fully explain the individual philosophers' schticks, but some do give an overview — and in either case there's definitely fodder for future trivia games.

Tab Hunter Confidential: the making of a movie star

by Tab Hunter, with Eddie Muller

I saw this book when it was brand new, and my interested was piqued* — I mean, super hot movie star teen heartthrob guy that turned out to be a homo, what's not to like? But it was a couple years before I actually checked it out and got around to reading it.

It's pretty much what you'd expect. Nothing scandalous, no "reveals" or outings of other actors or confessions of debauchery, but pretty interesting in places, especially when he's writing about his early career under the old-Hollywood studio system of exclusive contracts. The book is maybe a tad long for a celebrity autobiography, but at the same time it gets sketchier and sketcher toward the end, as if the author(s) were rushing to meet a deadline or were themselves losing interest. I still give it decent marks overall, and, given the circumstances (hetero sex symbol who's secretly gay), I think it's actually a plus, rather than a minus, that there's much more weight given to Hunter's professional ambitions/frustrations and his personal feelings than to insider gossip and sassy zingers.

The Life and Loves of Mr. Jiveass Nigger

by Cecil Brown

I didn't know much about this book or its author, but I picked it up because it seemed as if it might be some sort of bridge between the more intellectual and literary work of people such as Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison and Colson Whitehead and the supposed gritty urban "real"-ism of the gangsters-drugs-money-bling-and-sex novels that are so popular these days.

Skimming the introduction and preface, I saw that — despite the words in its title and some of the language inside — it got positive reviews in fairly conservative Time magazine and the Sunday Review of Books. Those reviews (and others, I'm sure) cited the book's exploration and deconstruction (my word, not theirs) of black male identity and myths of black male masculinity and virility, making requisite (inevitable?) comparisons to Ralph Ellison's The Invisible Man.

Throughout the majority of the book, I was thinking it didn't seem to be measuring up to the comparison. Toward the end it started getting interesting, however, and I was especially excited to read a quote that put me in mind of one of my favorite passages in one of my favorite books of all time, Toni Morrison's Sula:

"The black lover was a true warrior, a true soldier who is doomed, cursed, to fighting a perpetual battle with an elusive enemy, and with the foreknowledge that he can never be the victor, and fighting every day with this foreknowledge that he can never be the victor makes him victorious every moment of his life. His only security being in knowing that, as a black man, there is no security. Not as long as the world is the way it is."

That last sentence fragment is a bit distracting, and it too easily gives away the hard-won victory, leaving power squarely in the hands of the Man rather than gathering the paradoxical power of having nothing left to lose. (Nod to Janis Joplin.) But still, things were getting meaty, and I was still excited, even though it was obvious by this point that the good stuff was all crammed into the last 20 pages.... Alas, the philosophizing was coming thick and heavy — too heavy, and too explicit. The characters were actually saying the things that the reader ought to be inferring from their actions or from narrative hints and nudges.

All the ingredients are present, but the final result is lacking finesse. Also, there's a noticeable streak of misogyny and homophobia, which isn't surprising but is still disappointing, especially considering that the author had made the acquaintance of some very notable gay and/or female African American expatriates.

Rock On

by Dan Kennedy

Had this checked out a long time, then I heard the author on the radio (Fresh Air probably) and finally got around to reading it. No danger of literary prizes, but a perfectly fine book, funny, entertaining, smooth. A great book, in fact, for a vacation. It's one of those workplace/wacky-life memoirs in the vein of Working Stiff and How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, written by a guy who falls into his dream job working (or hardly working) for a record company marketing department; hilarity ensues, while the record industry collapses around him.

Metropole

by Ferenc Karinthy

You know, I look at this blog sometimes and think, What the hell have I been reading? Sure, reading crap that's fun is, well, fun. But then I read something like this, and I remember that the world is full of amazing, high-quality, non-crap literature that also is fun to read. I also need to start reading more Russian and Eastern European stuff, and should read some more books from Europa Editions. I do have some Russian books on my to-read list, and at least one that's on my shelf right now, and I have at least two books published by Europa on my to-blog list. There are lots of new books I want to read, but it's so nice to be occasionally blown away by a "classic"; reading this made me feel the way I felt when I read Confessions of a Mask.

Anyway, Metropole is almost sci-fi, and it's about language, whether it's ever truly possible to communicate and/or to understand another person. The protagonist is trapped in an unfamiliar city, unsure how he came to be there, completely baffled by a language that both sounds and looks like gibberish, even to someone such as himself, a linguist fluent in six or seven languages and conversant with a great many more. Unable to have even a simple verbal exchange or to express himself in pantomime, he cycles through rage, despair, acceptance, determination, fear, loathing, ambition... while trying to escape from this city that seems never to end yet is paradoxically, impossibly crowded with unhelpful and indifferent gabbling swarms of people who, one begins to suspect, may not even be able to understand one another.

Words like Babel, Orwellian and Kafka-esque spring to mind too easily to convey the subtlety with which the author — a Hungarian linguist born in 1921 (the book was first published in 1970, I believe) — explores the essential role of language, both in the life of the individual and in the greater cultural milieu, and the aching human need to speak, to listen, to be heard. And the story also manages to be exciting and suspenseful, a mystery and a puzzle that will draw you in and keep you reading.

The Discovery of France: a historical geography from the Revolution to the First World War

by Graham Robb

This fascinating gem sat on my shelf for a very long time. Once I started reading, it was a long haul. It's not the sort of nonfiction that keeps one up reading in bed; rather, it's the kind that, while terribly interesting, will make one nod off on the couch. I still recommend highly, but the reader should be prepared and plan accordingly.

While a good hundred of the 450-odd pages are devoted to end notes, indices and such, the remaining 300 pages are dense enough with type and information to make up for it. On the one hand, The Discovery of France is academic in its level of detail and the amount of research it comprises, but it's not textbook-y or dry in its presentation and style. I was sort of reminded, in fact, of Alain de Botton (The Architecture of Happiness), who's so good at making the mundane into the transcendent (or simply revealing that is has been all along) and whose chapters nibble around the edges of his thesis instead of launching a systematic, hierarchical attack. While Robb isn't quite as lyrical as de Botton, he does have a knack for meaningful anecdotes and telling details. His narrative also meanders, eschewing strict chronology in favor of a thematic arrangement, painting a sort of Cubist collage instead of drafting a rigid outline or graph.

Many profundities lurk beneath the surface of this mostly droll-seeming tale of the formation of the nation of France out of so many thousands of regions, dialects and traditions: one can draw inferences about nationalism and colonialism, economic and linguistic hegemony and exploitation, the fragility of identity and the shifting, shimmering thing called "community." But Robb is just telling a story, largely without judgement or prejudice, leaving the debates and politics to others so inclined. The personal is political — by which is meant everything is political — but it's exhausting to be forever strident, righteous and globally aware. Taking time just to enjoy the scenery, to wander and wonder, is cleansing for the soul.

Blindness

by Jose Saramago

While I was reading this book, a friend picked it up and started reading one of the back-cover blurbs that compares it to the Bible in scope, magnitude, depth or some crap like that. Now, it's definitely an allegory, or you could call it a parable, but it's also a lot like a zombie movie, or any post-apocalyptic story. But then, I guess the Bible is sort of a zombie story too, or maybe Jesus was a vampire?

Anyway, it's a good book: gripping, entertaining, thoughtful and meaningful, a meditation on what it means to "see", literally and figuratively, to see when others cannot. Because the blindness is contagious, and the stricken are put in internment camps, the book also explores how people form groups, die or survive, and help or oppose or oppress one another in closed environments with limited resources.

I'm very curious about the movie version now, especially about how it portrays the blindness and how faithful it is to the book.

Catching Fire

by Suzanne Collins

Gaaaaaah!!! This book is sooo good, it almost hurts to read it, but you'll read it really quickly anyway. It hurts even more to tear oneself away or — quelle horreur — to finish it.

This sequel absolutely lives up to the promise of its predecessor, The Hunger Games. The best plot twist comes at the beginning; once you get half to three-quarters through, the ending won't come as a complete surprise, but that just makes the anticipation all the sweeter. Even so, I don't want to give away even one bit of the story.

My only complaint is that the protagonist, Katniss, is acting like a typical 16-year-old. But that's as it needs to be; as in the Harry Potter series, if she actually listened to the few trustworthy adults and stopped being so self-centered, it would be a pretty short story.

Me2

by M. Christian

If I didn't know Alyson Books is a real publisher, I'd've sworn this dreck is an instance of vanity publishing. I only read one chapter, and even that only because I was waiting for laundry or something. I almost stopped after one paragraph. In just a few pages, I found four or five really lame errors — not even typos, as they seem to have run spell-check at least, but those sad sort of writing and grammar errors from which spell-check cannot save you. Eye don't no wear this arthur learned to right, butt this mite bee the wurst book I ever almost red.

I think it's meant to be about body-snatchers or clones or something. Gay ones.