Scan barcode
hernamewaslily's reviews
237 reviews
Girl in a Band by Kim Gordon
4.0
Girl in a Band is an autobiography/memoir by Kim Gordon that chronicles her time in the band, Sonic Youth.
Gordon uses her divorce from her husband and band mate Thurston Moore as a way to structure the narrative, with the divorce bookended the novel and the rest filling in the gaps. Clearly, the book was written as a way to process his betrayal (he cheated on her) and occasionally it does veer into rant territory. But when you compare that to other books about similar things by similar people (pick any male rock musicians memoir), this is relatively tame.
In the middle section of the novel, Gordon organises ten chapters about ten different Sonic Youth songs which she uses to explain her time in the band and what she was doing at the time, which works very well.
What I liked a lot about this book is that it doesn’t go from her childhood to adulthood in a straightforward way, rather it skips back and forth. It also doesn’t assume the reader is living under a rock the way a a lot of biographies do in terms of explaining historical context or bands. Having said this, I think even if you aren’t that knowledgeable about Gordon or Sonic Youth, you can still get a lot out of this book as it covers a myriad of themes from family and marriage, to music and art. The book is also filled with some very cool photographs.
Gordon uses her divorce from her husband and band mate Thurston Moore as a way to structure the narrative, with the divorce bookended the novel and the rest filling in the gaps. Clearly, the book was written as a way to process his betrayal (he cheated on her) and occasionally it does veer into rant territory. But when you compare that to other books about similar things by similar people (pick any male rock musicians memoir), this is relatively tame.
In the middle section of the novel, Gordon organises ten chapters about ten different Sonic Youth songs which she uses to explain her time in the band and what she was doing at the time, which works very well.
What I liked a lot about this book is that it doesn’t go from her childhood to adulthood in a straightforward way, rather it skips back and forth. It also doesn’t assume the reader is living under a rock the way a a lot of biographies do in terms of explaining historical context or bands. Having said this, I think even if you aren’t that knowledgeable about Gordon or Sonic Youth, you can still get a lot out of this book as it covers a myriad of themes from family and marriage, to music and art. The book is also filled with some very cool photographs.
No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood
3.0
Split into two parts, Patricia Lockwood’s ‘No One is Talking About This,’ follows a woman who is well-known on the internet with the first part concerning her adventures in “the portal” (the internet), and the second part taking a more dramatic turn when she gets a text from her mum about a family emergency.
The first part reads like a twitter feed with its short, staccato paragraphs that build up to present a bigger commentary on the internet at large and its effects on our culture. Those who, like myself, spend an embarrassing amount of time online will recognise the references to memes and news stories (however this does make me wonder the experience of reading this novel be like if you are not as online) which makes for a fun read. Moreover, Lockwood has a great sense of humour and her observations are incredibly astute without being too New York Times op-ed in tone. The second part shifts in tone and offers a more traditional narrative with an exploration of grief. Lockwood still interjects with comical observations on goings-on in the portal, which helps the novel not get bogged down by the much more sombre tone.
Some criticism about this novel has suggested that it feels like two different books in one, and whilst I can see where they are coming from, I think that that is sort of the point. It draws on this idea of the internet being one life and reality being another, and what happens when one becomes all-consuming.
I’d recommend this for fans of Lauren Oyler’s book, ‘Fake Accounts,’ (which I won’t lie, I did not like at all) but there are definitely similarities so if you, 1) enjoyed it, you’ll probably like this, or 2) disliked it, this offers a much better exploration of the internet’s effect on reality.
The first part reads like a twitter feed with its short, staccato paragraphs that build up to present a bigger commentary on the internet at large and its effects on our culture. Those who, like myself, spend an embarrassing amount of time online will recognise the references to memes and news stories (however this does make me wonder the experience of reading this novel be like if you are not as online) which makes for a fun read. Moreover, Lockwood has a great sense of humour and her observations are incredibly astute without being too New York Times op-ed in tone. The second part shifts in tone and offers a more traditional narrative with an exploration of grief. Lockwood still interjects with comical observations on goings-on in the portal, which helps the novel not get bogged down by the much more sombre tone.
Some criticism about this novel has suggested that it feels like two different books in one, and whilst I can see where they are coming from, I think that that is sort of the point. It draws on this idea of the internet being one life and reality being another, and what happens when one becomes all-consuming.
I’d recommend this for fans of Lauren Oyler’s book, ‘Fake Accounts,’ (which I won’t lie, I did not like at all) but there are definitely similarities so if you, 1) enjoyed it, you’ll probably like this, or 2) disliked it, this offers a much better exploration of the internet’s effect on reality.
The Girls by Emma Cline
5.0
Emma Cline’s ‘The Girls’ follows 14-year-old Evie Boyd, who gets swept up into the dark side of sixties counterculture when she inadvertently joins a cult, based on the Mason family. At first, she revels in their free-spirited approach to life, and is mesmerised by one girl in particular, Suzanne, but as the story progresses, Evie comes to discover a much more sinister side to this sisterhood.
However, the novel is not really about the cult itself, but rather what it represents in our cultural history about women and the ways in which they have contributed to their own debasement. Cline’s mediations on girlhood are particularly astute, especially on young female sexuality, which is represented in equal parts embarrassing and empowering. We witness Evie as the active initiator, such as when she sneaks into her friend’s older brother’s bedroom and climbs into his bed, and as the passive victim, such as when she is expected to give the Charles Manson-esque leader of the cult, Russell, a blowjob in his trailer-home.
Cline’s writing is superb - albeit a bit heavy on the metaphors, which don’t always land. Nonetheless, her prose is evocative, seductive, and sinister. The latter of which leaves you wanting to know what’s going to happen next (even though, if you’re aware of the Manson murders, you already know).
I really enjoyed this book. I have a particular love of 1960s American history and counterculture, so this was definitely a bit of me. I think fans of Rachel Kushner, Joan Didion, and Eve Babitz would really like this. Or if you’re not into reading but liked Tarantino’s ‘Once Upon in Hollywood,’ give this a go. I would also recommend Cline’s short story collection, ‘Daddy’ if you want to dip you toe into her work.
However, the novel is not really about the cult itself, but rather what it represents in our cultural history about women and the ways in which they have contributed to their own debasement. Cline’s mediations on girlhood are particularly astute, especially on young female sexuality, which is represented in equal parts embarrassing and empowering. We witness Evie as the active initiator, such as when she sneaks into her friend’s older brother’s bedroom and climbs into his bed, and as the passive victim, such as when she is expected to give the Charles Manson-esque leader of the cult, Russell, a blowjob in his trailer-home.
Cline’s writing is superb - albeit a bit heavy on the metaphors, which don’t always land. Nonetheless, her prose is evocative, seductive, and sinister. The latter of which leaves you wanting to know what’s going to happen next (even though, if you’re aware of the Manson murders, you already know).
I really enjoyed this book. I have a particular love of 1960s American history and counterculture, so this was definitely a bit of me. I think fans of Rachel Kushner, Joan Didion, and Eve Babitz would really like this. Or if you’re not into reading but liked Tarantino’s ‘Once Upon in Hollywood,’ give this a go. I would also recommend Cline’s short story collection, ‘Daddy’ if you want to dip you toe into her work.
Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
4.0
When I was an undergrad, I had to read ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’ and didn’t expect to like it as much as I did because I really dislike sci-fi. The thing with Vonnegut’s use of science fiction, however, is that he grounds it in reality, and laces with humour and satirical commentary which makes it so much more readable to me. Since then, I’ve been wanting to read more of Vonnegut’s work so when I got hold of this stunning copy (from 1965!), it made its way to the top of my to-read list.
The premise of this novel concerns the narrator John/Jonah quest to write a book about what happened on the day the atom bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. In order to do this he sets about interviewing the three children of the atom bomb’s co-creator, Felix Hoenikker. He soon discovers that before his death, Hoenikker had created a world-ending chemical compound called ice-nine which his children all have a piece of…
The book explores issues concerning the morality of science, the power of technology and weapons, and the purpose of religion, as well as colonialism and the idea of American exceptionalism. Whilst these topics are pretty heavy, Vonnegut manages to make them digestible through his use of humour.
I really enjoyed this book and as a fan of mid-century American fiction this really hit the spot. I will surely be making my way through Vonnegut’s catalogue.
The premise of this novel concerns the narrator John/Jonah quest to write a book about what happened on the day the atom bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. In order to do this he sets about interviewing the three children of the atom bomb’s co-creator, Felix Hoenikker. He soon discovers that before his death, Hoenikker had created a world-ending chemical compound called ice-nine which his children all have a piece of…
The book explores issues concerning the morality of science, the power of technology and weapons, and the purpose of religion, as well as colonialism and the idea of American exceptionalism. Whilst these topics are pretty heavy, Vonnegut manages to make them digestible through his use of humour.
I really enjoyed this book and as a fan of mid-century American fiction this really hit the spot. I will surely be making my way through Vonnegut’s catalogue.
Falconer by John Cheever
3.0
John Cheever’s Falconer tells the story of Ezekiel Farragut, a university professor and heroin addict, who has been imprisoned at Falconer prison for murdering his brother. Whilst in prison, Farragut ruminates on his life thus far: his failed marriage, his child, his addiction, his sexuality. The latter of which I was quite taken with as the novella is incredibly frank and explicit in its discussions about homosexuality (and, briefly, lesbianism) and sex in general. One scene in particular that stands out describes how some of the prisoners participate in public, group masturbation, ejaculating into a trough; an act that the narrator describes as an 'utter poverty of erotic reasonableness.’ I think it’s important to note here that whilst Cheever himself was gay (although he was married with children), he was incredibly homophobic (no doubt an internalisation of his shame). Without getting too psychoanalytical, it would perhaps not be amiss to suggest that this scene, and the book in general, is about these internalised feelings. In fact, whilst Falconer is often considered to be a prison novel, some have suggested that it is actually a novel about being closeted, whereby the setting of the prison represents being trapped in ones sexuality.
I’ve never read any Cheever before but had obviously heard a lot of great things about him given that he is considered one of, if not the, greatest short story writers in American fiction and has earned him the title of ‘the American Chekhov’. Yet, I found this novella a real slog to get through, despite it being only 150 pages long. I wouldn’t say his writing style is particularly hard to read, but I struggled to connect to this text and often found my mind wondering whilst reading, although this probably speaks more to me and my fuzzy dissertation brain than to the quality of Cheever’s storytelling. I also found the ending slightly cheesy - but as to not ruin it for anyone who might pick this, I won’t say anymore about it! I will probably re-read this at some point because I think a lot of it went over my head. I also want to read some of his earlier work which sounds a bit more me.
I’ve never read any Cheever before but had obviously heard a lot of great things about him given that he is considered one of, if not the, greatest short story writers in American fiction and has earned him the title of ‘the American Chekhov’. Yet, I found this novella a real slog to get through, despite it being only 150 pages long. I wouldn’t say his writing style is particularly hard to read, but I struggled to connect to this text and often found my mind wondering whilst reading, although this probably speaks more to me and my fuzzy dissertation brain than to the quality of Cheever’s storytelling. I also found the ending slightly cheesy - but as to not ruin it for anyone who might pick this, I won’t say anymore about it! I will probably re-read this at some point because I think a lot of it went over my head. I also want to read some of his earlier work which sounds a bit more me.
Gotta Get Theroux This: My Life and Strange Times in Television by Louis Theroux
3.0
‘Gotta Get Theroux This’ is a memoir by national treasure and documentarian Louis Theroux. It charts his unexpected career in television and goes into behind-the-scenes detail on some of his most (in)famous documentaries, such as those involving the disgraced Jimmy Saville, to whom Theroux worked and had a sort of friendship with. It was interesting to find out how Theroux began his career, which seemingly occurred on accident with Theroux initially wanting to be a sitcom writer rather than the affable host we now know him as. There is a lot of behind-the-scenes commentary on how certain shows got made (or didn’t), as well as justifications for the subjects covered (or, not covered) which were compelling.
Whilst the book goes into great detail about Theroux’s career, there is very little about the man himself, and when he does divulge personal information, he often comes across as the bad guy. For example, his discussions about his first marriage suggest someone who is neglectful and self-centred. Likewise, similar issues arise in his second marriage, which become more pronounced when he has children. (Clearly, he is the common denominator). On the one hand, I think Theroux’s honesty in owning up to his shortcomings as a husband does highlight his ability to self-reflect, which is arguably the most evident when he discusses Louis Theroux ‘the character’ - the one you see on screen, bemused and naive as he interviews Neo-nazis and religious zealots - and the one he is off-screen - neurotic and anxious, but also incredibly intelligent and inquisitive. Yet on the other, it doesn’t do much to warm the reader to him, which would perhaps be off-putting to someone who doesn’t already have some kind of connection to him.
I was already a fan of Theroux’s going into the book and reading it hasn’t changed my feeling about him; I’ll still tune in to his shows. An overall entertaining book.
Whilst the book goes into great detail about Theroux’s career, there is very little about the man himself, and when he does divulge personal information, he often comes across as the bad guy. For example, his discussions about his first marriage suggest someone who is neglectful and self-centred. Likewise, similar issues arise in his second marriage, which become more pronounced when he has children. (Clearly, he is the common denominator). On the one hand, I think Theroux’s honesty in owning up to his shortcomings as a husband does highlight his ability to self-reflect, which is arguably the most evident when he discusses Louis Theroux ‘the character’ - the one you see on screen, bemused and naive as he interviews Neo-nazis and religious zealots - and the one he is off-screen - neurotic and anxious, but also incredibly intelligent and inquisitive. Yet on the other, it doesn’t do much to warm the reader to him, which would perhaps be off-putting to someone who doesn’t already have some kind of connection to him.
I was already a fan of Theroux’s going into the book and reading it hasn’t changed my feeling about him; I’ll still tune in to his shows. An overall entertaining book.
Hombre by Elmore Leonard
4.0
Considered by some as ‘one of the best westerns of all time,’ Elmore Leonard’s 1961 novel ‘Hombre’ follows a mismatched group of stagecoach passengers consisting of an Indian agent and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Favor, a teenage girl called who had been kidnapped by Apaches and held captive for a month, an abrasive man called Braden, the coach driver Mr. Mendez, Carl Allen a young clerk and narrator of the book, and James Russell, or simply Hombre as he is also known, a white man who has been raised as and lives as an Apache. All is going well until the passengers discover, after having exchanged racist remarks and backwards attitudes about Native Americans, that Russell isn’t, by their definition, a white man. Shocked by the revelation that Russell is not one of them, ‘he doesn’t look Apache, does he?’ Mrs. Favor points out, and confused as to why he would ‘[want] to live the way they [the Native Americans] do,’ the passengers banish Russell from the stagecoach and forced to ride up top with the driver, but when the stagecoach is later attacked by a gang of robbers, he is the only one they can rely on to lead them to safety.
Because the narrative is told from the point of view of Carl Allen, a young clerk, who recalls the story in a simplistic reportage style, the prose can be quite dull. There is a lot of Allen just explaining what happened – or not explaining; he makes a point in pointing out things that he didn’t pay attention to – without expanding much. The novel’s strength really lies in the interactions between the characters. Leonard pulls at the threads of tension that arise between the group as they struggle to survive. We see some characters reveal their true, not-so-honest intentions and others rise to occasion when even they themselves didn’t believe they could do it.
What struck me most about this text, given its length (my copy came in at a slim 168 pages), the fact that it was published in 1961, and because of its genre, of which is typically written by white men about white men, was how nuanced it was in its discussion of racial and cultural identity. The novel really calls into question and hold accountable those who believe in the colonial myths about Native American ‘savages’ by presenting a narrative in which its hero, who though technically white is by all accounts Apache, utilises what he has learnt from living as an Apache to keep the group alive.
Of course, the novel is not perfect and as critic Matt Wanat points out, it is still under the guise of white subjectivity. However, he continues, in his discussion of the film adaption of the novel, though the comment is applicable to the novel too ‘Hombre’ “is not only shaped by privileged point of view but also about privileged white points of view.” This is established in the fictionalised authors note that prefaces the novel when Allen reveals that “some of my ideas about John Russel at the time […] are embarrassing to put on paper.”
In this sense then, having Allen as the unreliable and naïve narrator who sems to ask more questions than he answers makes sense because it is through him that the reader, who we may assume that at the time the book was published was perhaps not as progressive as a reader today, can learn about these issues in a way that is not belittling nor confrontational.
Overall, I found ‘Hombre’ a compelling read and at less than 200 pages Leonard packs in a lot – especially in the final chapter where I could feel the dust sticking to the sweat behind my neck as the novel reached its climax in a day-long standoff underneath the scorching and unrelenting rays of the desert sun. I’ve been really enjoying getting into the Western genre, which I think is both over- and under-represented in fiction, and this was a great classic to add to the list.
Because the narrative is told from the point of view of Carl Allen, a young clerk, who recalls the story in a simplistic reportage style, the prose can be quite dull. There is a lot of Allen just explaining what happened – or not explaining; he makes a point in pointing out things that he didn’t pay attention to – without expanding much. The novel’s strength really lies in the interactions between the characters. Leonard pulls at the threads of tension that arise between the group as they struggle to survive. We see some characters reveal their true, not-so-honest intentions and others rise to occasion when even they themselves didn’t believe they could do it.
What struck me most about this text, given its length (my copy came in at a slim 168 pages), the fact that it was published in 1961, and because of its genre, of which is typically written by white men about white men, was how nuanced it was in its discussion of racial and cultural identity. The novel really calls into question and hold accountable those who believe in the colonial myths about Native American ‘savages’ by presenting a narrative in which its hero, who though technically white is by all accounts Apache, utilises what he has learnt from living as an Apache to keep the group alive.
Of course, the novel is not perfect and as critic Matt Wanat points out, it is still under the guise of white subjectivity. However, he continues, in his discussion of the film adaption of the novel, though the comment is applicable to the novel too ‘Hombre’ “is not only shaped by privileged point of view but also about privileged white points of view.” This is established in the fictionalised authors note that prefaces the novel when Allen reveals that “some of my ideas about John Russel at the time […] are embarrassing to put on paper.”
In this sense then, having Allen as the unreliable and naïve narrator who sems to ask more questions than he answers makes sense because it is through him that the reader, who we may assume that at the time the book was published was perhaps not as progressive as a reader today, can learn about these issues in a way that is not belittling nor confrontational.
Overall, I found ‘Hombre’ a compelling read and at less than 200 pages Leonard packs in a lot – especially in the final chapter where I could feel the dust sticking to the sweat behind my neck as the novel reached its climax in a day-long standoff underneath the scorching and unrelenting rays of the desert sun. I’ve been really enjoying getting into the Western genre, which I think is both over- and under-represented in fiction, and this was a great classic to add to the list.
Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid
2.0
Like the residue left behind on the shores of Malibu’s coast by the Pacific Ocean, Taylor Jenkins Reid’s novel ‘Malibu Rising’ is frothy. The novel follows a day in the lives of the four children of singer Mick Riva, a Sinatra-like figure, and June Riva, a Malibu native and heir to a failing seafood restaurant, though it largely focusses on the eldest child, Riva, a statuesque blonde beach-babe who is wise beyond her years and takes on a maternal role acting in loco parentis for her siblings – surf-star Jay, photographer Hud, and wallflower, Kit. In the first part of the novel, the narrative interweaves the story of how Mick and June got together and subsequently broke apart in the 1950s, 60s and 70s, and the impact of this on their children in the novel’s current day of 1983. The second part of the novel focusses on the party Nina is throwing and how a fateful incident that occurs as a result of it finally sets the family free.
I think of Jenkins Reid as the Ryan Murphy of fiction. Not only because they both have a fascination with popular and celebrity culture and that their creative outputs often expound on well-worn cultural clichés, but because the quality of their finished products is often mixed. Take for example Murphy’s miniseries ‘Hollywood,’ a revisionist history of Hollywood’s golden age that imagines it as a progressive industry where racism and homophobia and sexism are no more. The series is not bad per se, its entertaining and visually stunning, but it is so clearly paying lip service to the current politically correct and identity obsessed culture that it feels insincere. ‘Malibu Rising’ likewise suffers from the same fate. The plot is akin to a soap-opera or a made-for-tv movie, and the writing offers little in terms of literary merit with much of the dialogue being cringe-worthy and littered with poorly replicated ‘80s teen-speak and unnecessary expletives, and the simplistic prose is forgettable. It is far too heavy-handed on the symbolism (we get it: waves = freedom) and why is everyone an orphan? There are far too many orphans in this book.
Where Jenkins Reid is more successful is in her exploration of women, especially the role of the mother/mother figures of June and Riva, respectively. I think she handles how eldest daughters often become surrogate mothers to their siblings whether they want to or not, and the cyclical entrapment of motherhood that can occur between generations. In the novel, June’s mother is a typical housewife and lives a rather mundane life. Though June tried her best not face the same fate, hoping naively that by marrying Mick she will surpass a life of domesticity, she ultimately finds herself in exactly the same position as her mother when Mick ups and leaves her with their four children. Likewise, when tragedy strikes, a teenage Riva has to put her life on hold and step into the role of caregiver to her siblings.
Yet whilst this is the best feature of the book it still isn’t great, especially if we compare it to writers such as Elena Ferrante who is masterful at interrogating the female psyche.
As I put in the opening of this review, the novel is frothy. It lacks substance and is forgettable. I don’t expect a lot from Jenkins Reid’s novels; they are chick-lit for the millennial generation (i.e., easy to read, cliché plots, trite prose, with shoe-horned in identity politics) and overtly feminine, which given that things such as bookstagram and booktok, as well as the publishing industry as a whole, are largely made up women and girls, makes sense as to why her work is incredibly popular despite the fact they are lacking in literary quality.
If you’re looking for something easy and entertaining to read, this is perhaps the quintessential ‘beach read,’ but I think you could do a lot better. Clearly, this book was just not for me and I don’t think I’ll be exploring her further.
I think of Jenkins Reid as the Ryan Murphy of fiction. Not only because they both have a fascination with popular and celebrity culture and that their creative outputs often expound on well-worn cultural clichés, but because the quality of their finished products is often mixed. Take for example Murphy’s miniseries ‘Hollywood,’ a revisionist history of Hollywood’s golden age that imagines it as a progressive industry where racism and homophobia and sexism are no more. The series is not bad per se, its entertaining and visually stunning, but it is so clearly paying lip service to the current politically correct and identity obsessed culture that it feels insincere. ‘Malibu Rising’ likewise suffers from the same fate. The plot is akin to a soap-opera or a made-for-tv movie, and the writing offers little in terms of literary merit with much of the dialogue being cringe-worthy and littered with poorly replicated ‘80s teen-speak and unnecessary expletives, and the simplistic prose is forgettable. It is far too heavy-handed on the symbolism (we get it: waves = freedom) and why is everyone an orphan? There are far too many orphans in this book.
Where Jenkins Reid is more successful is in her exploration of women, especially the role of the mother/mother figures of June and Riva, respectively. I think she handles how eldest daughters often become surrogate mothers to their siblings whether they want to or not, and the cyclical entrapment of motherhood that can occur between generations. In the novel, June’s mother is a typical housewife and lives a rather mundane life. Though June tried her best not face the same fate, hoping naively that by marrying Mick she will surpass a life of domesticity, she ultimately finds herself in exactly the same position as her mother when Mick ups and leaves her with their four children. Likewise, when tragedy strikes, a teenage Riva has to put her life on hold and step into the role of caregiver to her siblings.
Yet whilst this is the best feature of the book it still isn’t great, especially if we compare it to writers such as Elena Ferrante who is masterful at interrogating the female psyche.
As I put in the opening of this review, the novel is frothy. It lacks substance and is forgettable. I don’t expect a lot from Jenkins Reid’s novels; they are chick-lit for the millennial generation (i.e., easy to read, cliché plots, trite prose, with shoe-horned in identity politics) and overtly feminine, which given that things such as bookstagram and booktok, as well as the publishing industry as a whole, are largely made up women and girls, makes sense as to why her work is incredibly popular despite the fact they are lacking in literary quality.
If you’re looking for something easy and entertaining to read, this is perhaps the quintessential ‘beach read,’ but I think you could do a lot better. Clearly, this book was just not for me and I don’t think I’ll be exploring her further.