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A review by dreamofbookspines
The Book on Fire by Keith Miller
4.0
This book is a deep cardamom kiss. It is every daydream you've ever had of living in a library rolled into one and exploded into a vast library that could not be contained even in your thoughts.
Another reviewer complained that Miller comes from the adjective school of writing. I personally enjoy thick description* in my novels, but if you're someone who prefers the starkness of, say, John Steinbeck's writing, then this book is not for you. On the other hand, if you like authors like Francesca Lia Block, whose books are poetry to me, then this might be for you.
While the writing and description are both beautiful, there are some issues of exoticization and "man-voice". Exoticization because it's all about veils and look at these exotic women and oooo isn't it special. Miller makes it all about The Exotic East, which is pretty vomit-inducing for a sociologist like me. And then there's the problem of "man-voice". I don't have a better term for this. Put it this way: the majority of books I read are by women. This is a purposeful choice on my part (see Inga Muscio for more explanation). And it is very, very evident that this book is written by a man. For brief but unpleasant periods, the story becomes all about testicles and/or penises. I couldn't care less about male genitalia. But those parts are mostly brief and easy to skim.
The four stars are mainly because of the problem of man-voice and the exoticization. But this is a beautiful book, with descriptions so deep you can sink into them like cloud-beds. Be sure to read with a stash of almond cookies, tea, and apricots.
* Thanks Clifford Geertz! You intended that term academically, but I intend to use it whenever possible.
Another reviewer complained that Miller comes from the adjective school of writing. I personally enjoy thick description* in my novels, but if you're someone who prefers the starkness of, say, John Steinbeck's writing, then this book is not for you. On the other hand, if you like authors like Francesca Lia Block, whose books are poetry to me, then this might be for you.
While the writing and description are both beautiful, there are some issues of exoticization and "man-voice". Exoticization because it's all about veils and look at these exotic women and oooo isn't it special. Miller makes it all about The Exotic East, which is pretty vomit-inducing for a sociologist like me. And then there's the problem of "man-voice". I don't have a better term for this. Put it this way: the majority of books I read are by women. This is a purposeful choice on my part (see Inga Muscio for more explanation). And it is very, very evident that this book is written by a man. For brief but unpleasant periods, the story becomes all about testicles and/or penises. I couldn't care less about male genitalia. But those parts are mostly brief and easy to skim.
The four stars are mainly because of the problem of man-voice and the exoticization. But this is a beautiful book, with descriptions so deep you can sink into them like cloud-beds. Be sure to read with a stash of almond cookies, tea, and apricots.
* Thanks Clifford Geertz! You intended that term academically, but I intend to use it whenever possible.