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gwcoffey's reviews
520 reviews
Dracula by Bram Stoker
4.0
Somehow I got this far in life without ever reading Dracula. My daughter-in-law-to-be finally convinced me to pick it up—it is one of her favorites—and I blasted through most of it on a long car drive. It is unsurprisingly great, far creepier, more graphic, and more sexual than I expected given the 19th century publication date. I was also delighted to see how many of our modern Vampire tropes—I’m an unrepentant Buffy fan—are on full display here, from garlic and crosses to the whole “you can’t enter without an invitation” thing. The Vampires even turn to dust when staked (although with an explanation that doesn’t quite work in the Buffyverse). I saw echoes in Harry Potter here too, with the whole psychic-connection subplot. All this to say Dracula is so influential we live in a world more or less shaped by it. It was fun to go to the source.
Archive by Sofia Coppola
First and foremost, the book is gorgeous. The bold simple dustcover opens to reveal and even bolder, totally unadorned cover. And inside: hundreds of pages of photographs. Coppola is a visual storyteller, and I was most fascinated by her inspirations. Take, for example, the remarkable photograph Woman with Blue Bow by Jo Ann Callis. It’s a beautiful evocative photograph, and Coppola tells us:
I love getting these glimpses into her visual inspiration. The book is full of them. In a sense the whole book serves as a visual explanation—or at least exploration—of Coppola’s filmography, with very few words. It is so fitting.
5.0
I heard this book mentioned in a Terri Gross interview with Sofia Coppola. I’m a big Coppola fan, so I ordered it right away. It is primarily a scrapbook, organized by film, and full of images Coppola used as inspiration, along with set photos and snippets of script notes, letters and postcards. It also includes an introductory interview by Lynn Hirschberg where Coppola goes deep on her process and what drives her.
Across all my films there is a common quality: there is always a world and there is always a girl trying to navigate it. That’s the story that will always intrigue me.
First and foremost, the book is gorgeous. The bold simple dustcover opens to reveal and even bolder, totally unadorned cover. And inside: hundreds of pages of photographs. Coppola is a visual storyteller, and I was most fascinated by her inspirations. Take, for example, the remarkable photograph Woman with Blue Bow by Jo Ann Callis. It’s a beautiful evocative photograph, and Coppola tells us:
It fits the feeling in The Beguiled of frustration and being trapped in ultra-femininity.
I love getting these glimpses into her visual inspiration. The book is full of them. In a sense the whole book serves as a visual explanation—or at least exploration—of Coppola’s filmography, with very few words. It is so fitting.
Stolen by Ann-Helén Laestadius
3.0
I was engrossed by the first act of Stolen, seen through the eyes of a nine-year-old girl. I loved the indigenous voices, bits of language and culture, and ominous plot. Things take a tragic turn, and Elsa quickly grows up. We then get a more straightforward story, part thriller, part crime novel. And all through we see an honest, complex indigenous community largely discarded by the people in power, and tormented by colonizers. It’s a part of the world I was completely unaware of, and I enjoyed every page.
The Pisces by Melissa Broder
I won’t spoil it but there’s a passage near the end where Lucy’s talking to the palm trees that I found deeply redemptive and moving. And of course, I came away feeling like I understand our bitchy hero a little better, and I just want the best for her, whatever that may be.
5.0
This book was recommended effusively by an author I admire, Lulu Miller. So it went on my list. Broder is an exquisite writer, and I love a first-person narrative that goes deep, so it’s no surprise I loved this. It’s a book that will challenge you, or at least it challenged me. First, the protagonist, Lucy, is deeply unlikable from the start. She’s judgemental, self-absorbed, and dare I say it, kind of a bitch. But Broder handles her character deftly, and quickly you can’t help but root for her. It’s also a very sexually explicit book, which is not something I’m used to. I don’t think its sexual like a romance novel (although admittedly I’ve never read one). The sex talk is frank, crass, and almost constant, but it is never titillating. Broder uses sex as a mechanism to explore distance and closeness, self-love and desperation, and even suicidal ideation. In her hands, all the dicks and clits and butt-stuff reveal character at a subconscious level. It is very effective.
I won’t spoil it but there’s a passage near the end where Lucy’s talking to the palm trees that I found deeply redemptive and moving. And of course, I came away feeling like I understand our bitchy hero a little better, and I just want the best for her, whatever that may be.
I should add the book is a little mad, in the very best way. It’s a darkly humorous, dangerous, fast, engrossing, moving story. And again, exquisitely written. I want to recommend it to my daughters. I only hope it won’t make them feel too awkward to get that recommendation from prudish old dad. Yikes.
Belonging: A German Reckons with History and Home by Nora Krug
4.0
I read an excerpt of Krug’s powerful and deeply introspective book somewhere and knew I had to read the whole thing. In Belonging, Krug digs deep into an identity of collective inherited guilt. The structure is touching and powerful, never flinching from the fundamentally unanswerable questions it asks. As a white American I’m only slowly coming to terms with my own culpability in the collective guilt of my heritage (which is arguably worse because we have so far not even tried to atone). I found in Krug’s introspection something I could identify with. This is heady stuff and Krug never let me down with platitudes. She is not atoning. She is not excusing. And she is not self-flagellating. She is only exposing the naked bulb of a heritage of intense cruelty, and refusing to look away.
Rabbit, Run by John Updike
3.0
I’m not sure why, but I remember this book having some kind of resurgence in my childhood. Perhaps it was just in my household. But I remember seeing it being read by both my parents and my uncle, and I remember lots of talk among them about it. I was way too young to read it myself, but more recently a friend recommended it. Updike is a nuanced and linguistically competent writer, and the plot is fast and engaging. As a character study it is engrossing.
It’s hard in this modern era to look past the sometimes grating white-centerism of the book. Maybe that was intentionally thematic, but I can’t help but think it runs deeper. In this book there are Americans, men and women, and then there are Negroes and Chinamen and so on. The obvious implication is that non-white Americans aren’t real Americans, or at least require some kind of modifier. This doesn’t have much to do with the book itself, but as I said it is grating to me now. And serves as a reminder that if I had read this book 15 years ago, I doubt I would have noticed at all.
I also came away thinking the book is so deeply rooted in 1960s America that it was hard to relate to. In some way’s it’s a time capsule into an America that hadn’t yet been so deeply influenced by books like this. That makes it academically interesting but also subtracts from the ethos of the reading experience. I came away interested, intrigued, maybe even impressed. But not particularly moved. Is it a criticism that is lacks the timelessness of some of the “great” novels of the past? Probably not. At any rate I’m glad I read it and I think I probably will read the whole series.
Postscript: Perhaps I’m being overly negative here, but I’ll pile on. What’s up with the cover on the eBook edition? The publisher really phoned this one in which is a shame for a book of this calibre. It looks like someone squinted at the much more artful first edition cover below, sighed, said “That looks hard…” and fired up MS Paint and a clipart library. It really rubs me the wrong way when publishers treat their eBook releases like this.