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hernamewaslily's reviews
237 reviews
Train Dreams: A Novella by Denis Johnson
5.0
Denis Johnson’s ‘Train Dreams,’ follows the life of Robert Grainier, an ordinary labourer in the American West at the turn of the century.
Described on the blurb as an ‘epic in miniature,’ this slim novella is packed with references to and tropes of American literature and culture that readers with be familiar with: from the transcendentalism of Whitman and Thoreau (like Thoreau’s Walden, Johnson’s protagonist lives self-sufficiently in a cabin in the woods just as in Thoreau’s ‘Walden’) to the enacting of Manifest Destiny through Grainier’s participation in the so-called ‘civilising mission’ of the New World.
Johnson interweaves the personal changes in Grainier’s life (marriage, children, work, death, etc.) with the transformation of the nation as it chugs along the tracks of progress, offering an empathetic and nuanced understanding of this character and his position in the world.
I particularly liked the role of sound in the novel, namely the motif of howling that is evident throughout - the howling of the wolves in the forest, of the trains as they ramble down the newly built tracks, and, eventually, of Elvis Presley through the radio. I thought this was an incredibly original way to depict this transformative period.
‘Train Dreams’ is a masterclass in storytelling, and offers a heartbreaking yet hopeful vignette of the human and the American condition. ‘Train Dreams’ exceeded all of my expectations and every other novel I read from here-on-out is going to have a hard time competing with it.
Described on the blurb as an ‘epic in miniature,’ this slim novella is packed with references to and tropes of American literature and culture that readers with be familiar with: from the transcendentalism of Whitman and Thoreau (like Thoreau’s Walden, Johnson’s protagonist lives self-sufficiently in a cabin in the woods just as in Thoreau’s ‘Walden’) to the enacting of Manifest Destiny through Grainier’s participation in the so-called ‘civilising mission’ of the New World.
Johnson interweaves the personal changes in Grainier’s life (marriage, children, work, death, etc.) with the transformation of the nation as it chugs along the tracks of progress, offering an empathetic and nuanced understanding of this character and his position in the world.
I particularly liked the role of sound in the novel, namely the motif of howling that is evident throughout - the howling of the wolves in the forest, of the trains as they ramble down the newly built tracks, and, eventually, of Elvis Presley through the radio. I thought this was an incredibly original way to depict this transformative period.
‘Train Dreams’ is a masterclass in storytelling, and offers a heartbreaking yet hopeful vignette of the human and the American condition. ‘Train Dreams’ exceeded all of my expectations and every other novel I read from here-on-out is going to have a hard time competing with it.
Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby Jr.
4.0
This is a difficult book to read, let alone recommend. It’s dark and controversial subject matter,which made it subject to an obscenity trial in England in 1966 and caused it to be banned in Italy, as well as Selby Jr.’s unconventional writing style that eschews the conventions of spelling and grammar both make it uninviting to the casual reader.
Yet it is also because of these factors that make this book such a compelling read. The prose is slick and colloquial, with a cadence that slaps you in the face and forces you to pay attention to the depraves scenes of poverty, gang rapes, drug abuse, alcoholism, paedophilia, and domestic violence. But shining through this depravity, are glimmers of light, such as the joyous camaraderie between a group of cross-dressers or the widow that keeps the memory of her husband and son alive through her daily rituals.
Ultimately, this is an important book in that it lays bare the realities of working-class Americans in a decade that is typically associated with prosperity and all the trappings of the American Dream.
Yet it is also because of these factors that make this book such a compelling read. The prose is slick and colloquial, with a cadence that slaps you in the face and forces you to pay attention to the depraves scenes of poverty, gang rapes, drug abuse, alcoholism, paedophilia, and domestic violence. But shining through this depravity, are glimmers of light, such as the joyous camaraderie between a group of cross-dressers or the widow that keeps the memory of her husband and son alive through her daily rituals.
Ultimately, this is an important book in that it lays bare the realities of working-class Americans in a decade that is typically associated with prosperity and all the trappings of the American Dream.
Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy
5.0
Cormac McCarthy’s ‘Blood Meridian,’ a western (or anti-western depending on your perspective) set in 1850s that follows a nameless 14-year-old runaway referred to only as “the kid” as he makes his way from Tennessee to the American Southwest. After a failed stint with the Army on a filibustering mission that lands him in jail in Chihuahua, the kid finds himself in the company of a band of outlaws and scalp-hunters called the Glanton Gang and joins them on their mission to scalp as many Apache Indians as possible. Led by Judge Holden, most often referred to simply as “the judge,” a towering, deathly pale, and completely hairless man with a ruthless attitude towards those he tortures and murders (he believes that war is man acting on his natural instinct), the gang are soon taken to killing and scalping any supposed enemy they come across.
This novel is an incredibly violent one. McCarthy lays bare the grim realities of the wild west, which has so often been ignored in popular culture in favour of tales of feel-good tales of virtuous cowboys triumphing over evil savages; in McCarthy’s wild west, no one is innocent, and each man is as brutal as the next regardless of their race. Not only do the Glanton Gang scalp those they view as inferior, as well as torture, rape, and pillage those unlucky enough to cross their path, but Native American tribes skewer their enemies with spears and pierce their flesh with arrows, whilst Mexican bandits “pummel one another like apes.” It is not only the characters that are violent, but also the landscape itself, which offers an array of hostile terrains where the dead bodies of babies hang from trees like a sickening mobile and where “lakebed[s] of lava [is] all cracked and reddish black like a pan of dried blood.”
Despite all of its violence, or perhaps because of it, ‘Blood Meridian’ is a truly masterful piece of storytelling. I savoured this novel and was engrossed with each page. This is my first McCarthy and will surely not be my last.
This novel is an incredibly violent one. McCarthy lays bare the grim realities of the wild west, which has so often been ignored in popular culture in favour of tales of feel-good tales of virtuous cowboys triumphing over evil savages; in McCarthy’s wild west, no one is innocent, and each man is as brutal as the next regardless of their race. Not only do the Glanton Gang scalp those they view as inferior, as well as torture, rape, and pillage those unlucky enough to cross their path, but Native American tribes skewer their enemies with spears and pierce their flesh with arrows, whilst Mexican bandits “pummel one another like apes.” It is not only the characters that are violent, but also the landscape itself, which offers an array of hostile terrains where the dead bodies of babies hang from trees like a sickening mobile and where “lakebed[s] of lava [is] all cracked and reddish black like a pan of dried blood.”
Despite all of its violence, or perhaps because of it, ‘Blood Meridian’ is a truly masterful piece of storytelling. I savoured this novel and was engrossed with each page. This is my first McCarthy and will surely not be my last.
The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett
3.0
Having previously read and enjoyed Dashiell Hammett’s ‘The Maltese Falcon,’ perhaps his most popular novel (which was no doubt helped by its filmic adaption that starred Humphrey Bogart as detective Sam Spade, as well as the mystery concerning the whereabouts of the prop falcon used in the film), when I picked up a copy of ‘The Thin Man’ I had high expectations. Unfortunately, these weren’t quite met.
The premise of the novel concerns Nick Charles, who has since retired from detective work after having married Nora, a wealthy, young socialite, being drawn back into the line-of-duty following the murder of a young woman. At the centre of this investigation is the dysfunctional Wynant family, where each member is under suspicion as having dunnit.
It makes sense that this translated well to film and TV (the book has had a number of adaptions) because nearly all of the novel is conversations between the various cast of characters, which after a while becomes tedious; it’s all tell and no show. Hammett does switch up the settings a bit, from hotel rooms to speakeasys to lawyers’ offices, but he does little to really set the scene. They are simply places convenient to the story.
The best thing about this book was Nora, a ‘lanky brunette[] with [a] wicked jaw[]. With her witty commentary that is sharp, pointed, and hilarious, steals every scene she is in and pairs nicely with Nick’s ‘I’m too old for this shit’ persona. The partnership between Nick and Nora definitely works overtime to keep the energy of the novel up.
I have a soft-spot for anything pulpy and/or noirish; I relish in tales about fast dames and crooked cops and hard-edged men with a chip on their shoulder, and whilst I do think I’m more of a Raymond Chandler gal – he just ticks all my boxes for what I want out of a mid-century detective tale – I wouldn’t say no to trying out another Hammett tale. This book in particular just wasn’t what I wanted out of a detective story. It is a light-hearted comedy of errors that does the job just fine.
The premise of the novel concerns Nick Charles, who has since retired from detective work after having married Nora, a wealthy, young socialite, being drawn back into the line-of-duty following the murder of a young woman. At the centre of this investigation is the dysfunctional Wynant family, where each member is under suspicion as having dunnit.
It makes sense that this translated well to film and TV (the book has had a number of adaptions) because nearly all of the novel is conversations between the various cast of characters, which after a while becomes tedious; it’s all tell and no show. Hammett does switch up the settings a bit, from hotel rooms to speakeasys to lawyers’ offices, but he does little to really set the scene. They are simply places convenient to the story.
The best thing about this book was Nora, a ‘lanky brunette[] with [a] wicked jaw[]. With her witty commentary that is sharp, pointed, and hilarious, steals every scene she is in and pairs nicely with Nick’s ‘I’m too old for this shit’ persona. The partnership between Nick and Nora definitely works overtime to keep the energy of the novel up.
I have a soft-spot for anything pulpy and/or noirish; I relish in tales about fast dames and crooked cops and hard-edged men with a chip on their shoulder, and whilst I do think I’m more of a Raymond Chandler gal – he just ticks all my boxes for what I want out of a mid-century detective tale – I wouldn’t say no to trying out another Hammett tale. This book in particular just wasn’t what I wanted out of a detective story. It is a light-hearted comedy of errors that does the job just fine.
Rabbit, Run by John Updike
4.0
John Updike’s 1960 novel, ‘Rabbit, Run,’ is the first of a tetralogy which follows the life and times of Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom. In this novel, Rabbit is a twenty-six year old former high-school basketball star who is fed up with his life: he has grown to detest his alcoholic wife, he struggles to connect with his toddler son, and he hates his job as a door-to-door salesman peddling a device called the ‘MagiPeeler.’
One evening, after having got home from work to find his pregnant wife drunk, his son at his parents, and his car left parked outside his in-laws, Rabbit decides to escape it all. Initially he plans on driving as far south as he can, but he doesn’t make it very far, instead getting cold feed and returning to his hometown where he shacks up with a sometime prostitution called Ruth he meets through his old basketball coach, Marty Tothero - a rather slimy character that lost his job due to an unexplained scandal - following what @quietly.arrayed deems as one of his ‘favourite literary double dates.’ Following this, Rabbit’s life falls into a tailspin, and he spends the rest of the novel reckoning with what to do next. This all reaches it breaking point when his wife goes into labour and Rabbit is forced to confront his future as a husband, a father, and a man.
One of the hosts of my favourite book podcast, the sadly now-defunct Slate Audio Book Club, described this novel as a ‘companion to The Catcher in the Rye,’ which probably explains why I like it so much. Like J.D. Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ (my all-time favourite book), ‘Rabbit, Run’ offers a stunningly witty and beautifully rendered critique of 1950s American culture, ranging from the nuclear family, American consumerism, class mobility, and religion, to psychoanalysis, sexual promiscuity, gender relations, and death - all of which is contained in around 300 pages.
It is also an incredibly horny little book.
The novel is laden with sexual references, sexual commentary, and sexual scenes. Sometimes they are titillating and gratuitous, often Updike allows us into the inner-thoughts of Rabbit who can’t seem to keep it in his pants and assumes every woman he meets wants to bang him, but other times the novel’s treatment of sex is surprisingly honest and real. For example, one evening not long after having given birth, Rabbit attempts to sleep with wife, but all she can think about is the new moves he has learned from his ‘whore.’ Another example comes (pun somewhat intended) when Rabbit asks Ruth to give him a blowjob - a rarity in those days apparently - following an argument about her career as a professional girlfriend which he both hates and loves about her.
I really loved this book. The more I think about it, the more I like it. A genuinely superb novel and one I would recommend to anyone.
One evening, after having got home from work to find his pregnant wife drunk, his son at his parents, and his car left parked outside his in-laws, Rabbit decides to escape it all. Initially he plans on driving as far south as he can, but he doesn’t make it very far, instead getting cold feed and returning to his hometown where he shacks up with a sometime prostitution called Ruth he meets through his old basketball coach, Marty Tothero - a rather slimy character that lost his job due to an unexplained scandal - following what @quietly.arrayed deems as one of his ‘favourite literary double dates.’ Following this, Rabbit’s life falls into a tailspin, and he spends the rest of the novel reckoning with what to do next. This all reaches it breaking point when his wife goes into labour and Rabbit is forced to confront his future as a husband, a father, and a man.
One of the hosts of my favourite book podcast, the sadly now-defunct Slate Audio Book Club, described this novel as a ‘companion to The Catcher in the Rye,’ which probably explains why I like it so much. Like J.D. Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ (my all-time favourite book), ‘Rabbit, Run’ offers a stunningly witty and beautifully rendered critique of 1950s American culture, ranging from the nuclear family, American consumerism, class mobility, and religion, to psychoanalysis, sexual promiscuity, gender relations, and death - all of which is contained in around 300 pages.
It is also an incredibly horny little book.
The novel is laden with sexual references, sexual commentary, and sexual scenes. Sometimes they are titillating and gratuitous, often Updike allows us into the inner-thoughts of Rabbit who can’t seem to keep it in his pants and assumes every woman he meets wants to bang him, but other times the novel’s treatment of sex is surprisingly honest and real. For example, one evening not long after having given birth, Rabbit attempts to sleep with wife, but all she can think about is the new moves he has learned from his ‘whore.’ Another example comes (pun somewhat intended) when Rabbit asks Ruth to give him a blowjob - a rarity in those days apparently - following an argument about her career as a professional girlfriend which he both hates and loves about her.
I really loved this book. The more I think about it, the more I like it. A genuinely superb novel and one I would recommend to anyone.
Appaloosa by Robert B. Parker
2.0
I love American history, cowboys, Americana, etc. and this year I have made a point to delve into more western novels. So far the westerns that I have read have all been great, or at least entertaining. This one however… not so much.
‘Appaloosa’ by crime writer Robert B. Parkers follows cop duo Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch as they attempt to tame the lawless town of Appaloosa by arresting Randall Bragg , a criminal rancher with a large posse of henchman, who had previously murdered the town’s city marshal and holds the town captive with his ruthlessness. Interwoven within the main narrative arc, is the relationship between Virgil and a recently widowed woman called Allie French, and the love triangle the ensues when Allie comes onto Cole.
I really wanted to like this book, but I just couldn’t get into it. Not so much because of the plot itself, which whilst was cliched, I don’t expect westerns to be mind-blowingly original in this regard, but because it was a poorly constructed and poorly written novel.
The pacing was all over the place with things either happening too quickly - sometimes the story would skip ahead in time by weeks and months - or would drag on so slowly with pointless conversations between characters that didn’t help progress the plot or even expose anything of note about the characters.
The thing that irritated me the most about the book, was its point-of-view that seemed to argue both for law and order and against it. This could have been handled with nuance and finesse by a better, more literary minded author - Parker writes popular fiction that is supposed to appeal (and sell) to anybody and everybody.
Unfortunately, this seeps into the entirety of the novel, resulting in a middle-of-road, bland, Ideological framework whereby the ‘good guys’ don’t really do anything and the ‘bad guys’ also don’t really do anything. Moreover, there was little little character development, cringe worthy dialogue, a horrible horse metaphor, and an incredibly unearned ending. An overall disappointing read.
‘Appaloosa’ by crime writer Robert B. Parkers follows cop duo Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch as they attempt to tame the lawless town of Appaloosa by arresting Randall Bragg , a criminal rancher with a large posse of henchman, who had previously murdered the town’s city marshal and holds the town captive with his ruthlessness. Interwoven within the main narrative arc, is the relationship between Virgil and a recently widowed woman called Allie French, and the love triangle the ensues when Allie comes onto Cole.
I really wanted to like this book, but I just couldn’t get into it. Not so much because of the plot itself, which whilst was cliched, I don’t expect westerns to be mind-blowingly original in this regard, but because it was a poorly constructed and poorly written novel.
The pacing was all over the place with things either happening too quickly - sometimes the story would skip ahead in time by weeks and months - or would drag on so slowly with pointless conversations between characters that didn’t help progress the plot or even expose anything of note about the characters.
The thing that irritated me the most about the book, was its point-of-view that seemed to argue both for law and order and against it. This could have been handled with nuance and finesse by a better, more literary minded author - Parker writes popular fiction that is supposed to appeal (and sell) to anybody and everybody.
Unfortunately, this seeps into the entirety of the novel, resulting in a middle-of-road, bland, Ideological framework whereby the ‘good guys’ don’t really do anything and the ‘bad guys’ also don’t really do anything. Moreover, there was little little character development, cringe worthy dialogue, a horrible horse metaphor, and an incredibly unearned ending. An overall disappointing read.
Male Tears by Benjamin Myers
3.0
Male Tears is a short story collection by Benjamin Myers. One critic described Myers’s work as an example of Yorkshire Gothic, and whilst I think this does not apply to all the stories, there is definitely a gothic feel to some of them, which I really enjoyed as it created an atmosphere of uncertainty that was really compelling.
The general theme of the collection is about masculinity and many of the stories are about mans' relationship to nature and the ways in which masculinity can be defined by how men interact with it (i.e., toiling the fields, manual labour, hunting, and so on). As such, it was largely about working class men, a demographic that I feel is often ignored in contemporary fiction, popular culture, and political discourse (aside from Buzzfeed-esque, reactionary complaints against straight white men which are past the point passé now). Myers explores this fertile ground of the contemporary working class male experience with sympathy and understanding.
As with most short story collections, not every story was hitting, but a few of my favourites were:
- A Thousand Acres of English Soil
- Ten Men
- The Whip Hand
- Snorri & Frosti
A mixed reading experience but overall a worthwhile read. I’d be interested to read more of the authors work, especially his novels, because when the stories were good, they were v good in terms of their prose, characters, themes, etc.
The general theme of the collection is about masculinity and many of the stories are about mans' relationship to nature and the ways in which masculinity can be defined by how men interact with it (i.e., toiling the fields, manual labour, hunting, and so on). As such, it was largely about working class men, a demographic that I feel is often ignored in contemporary fiction, popular culture, and political discourse (aside from Buzzfeed-esque, reactionary complaints against straight white men which are past the point passé now). Myers explores this fertile ground of the contemporary working class male experience with sympathy and understanding.
As with most short story collections, not every story was hitting, but a few of my favourites were:
- A Thousand Acres of English Soil
- Ten Men
- The Whip Hand
- Snorri & Frosti
A mixed reading experience but overall a worthwhile read. I’d be interested to read more of the authors work, especially his novels, because when the stories were good, they were v good in terms of their prose, characters, themes, etc.
Taste: My Life Through Food by Stanley Tucci
4.0
Best known as an a-list Hollywood actor, a food aficionado, and all-around zaddy, Stanley Tucci showcases his literary talents in this food memoir or ‘foodoir’ - is a joyous read that captives just as much as it makes one salivate.
Tucci takes the reader from his childhood days where he swapped his veal cutlet sandwiches for marshmallow fluff at recess, to his days as a starving artist in New York City living off of greasy burgers and burnt coffee, to meeting his second wife over a love of the culinary arts, to having his life and livelihood upturned by a cruel cancer diagnosis that forced him to literally retrain his palate.
I was surprised at how good a write Tucci is. He has such a distinct voice and his charm oozes through each page. But where Tucci really shines is when he interweaves food and theatre.
There is a brilliant section in which Tucci likens the restaurant, with its bustling back of house where chefs sweat and swear over ovens that contrasts with the serene front-of-house where the restaurant is staged and every worker, from hostess to sommelier, acts out their role dutifully, to that of a theatre production where the backstage and on-stage function similarly. His passion for both food and acting in this section are so strong and the connection he makes is spot on, that I was dazzled. There was something very literary about it and it has stuck with me since I finished reading it.
The weakest thing about the book, and without sounding too ‘chronically online’ it is that Tucci can be very tone death. As much as I love him waxing lyrical about the joys of 6-course tasting menus and having multiple Fortnum and Mason hampers to hand - the foodie in me understands this passion and this desire for great quality food and being willing to pay out for it - there were times when I wish he reigned it in a bit. Especially in his covid diary section that should have been cut completely as it was entirely unnecessary.
That aside, I was surprised at how good this book was. Celebrity memoirs can be a mixed bag and celebrity memoirs about their hobbies can be even more mixed, but Tucci has certainly raised the 'steaks' (we love a pun around here) of what a celebrity memoir can be.
Tucci takes the reader from his childhood days where he swapped his veal cutlet sandwiches for marshmallow fluff at recess, to his days as a starving artist in New York City living off of greasy burgers and burnt coffee, to meeting his second wife over a love of the culinary arts, to having his life and livelihood upturned by a cruel cancer diagnosis that forced him to literally retrain his palate.
I was surprised at how good a write Tucci is. He has such a distinct voice and his charm oozes through each page. But where Tucci really shines is when he interweaves food and theatre.
There is a brilliant section in which Tucci likens the restaurant, with its bustling back of house where chefs sweat and swear over ovens that contrasts with the serene front-of-house where the restaurant is staged and every worker, from hostess to sommelier, acts out their role dutifully, to that of a theatre production where the backstage and on-stage function similarly. His passion for both food and acting in this section are so strong and the connection he makes is spot on, that I was dazzled. There was something very literary about it and it has stuck with me since I finished reading it.
The weakest thing about the book, and without sounding too ‘chronically online’ it is that Tucci can be very tone death. As much as I love him waxing lyrical about the joys of 6-course tasting menus and having multiple Fortnum and Mason hampers to hand - the foodie in me understands this passion and this desire for great quality food and being willing to pay out for it - there were times when I wish he reigned it in a bit. Especially in his covid diary section that should have been cut completely as it was entirely unnecessary.
That aside, I was surprised at how good this book was. Celebrity memoirs can be a mixed bag and celebrity memoirs about their hobbies can be even more mixed, but Tucci has certainly raised the 'steaks' (we love a pun around here) of what a celebrity memoir can be.
The Motorcycle Diaries by Ernesto Che Guevara
4.0
Before he became one of the most influential political figures of the 20th century, Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, then a young medical student, embarked on a nine month long road trip through South America with his friend, Alberto Granado. It was on this journey, however, which is rendered in a visceral and insightful prose, that Che’s radicalisation was fully set into motion.
As Che and Alberto travel to the various countries that make up the continent, they meet a variety of people from miners exploited by American industrial companies and communists persecuted by right-wing governments to indigenous tribes struggling to hold onto their identities and lepers exiled from their homes.
Yet despite the poverty and depravation they witness, Che writes with a humour and lightness that warms you to him and his cause, and maintains the humanity of the subjects he discusses. Rather than seeing a lost cause, Che sees promise in the will of the people.
A truly moving read that, unlike a lot of political books, is incredibly easy to read as well as literary; particularly his depictions of the people and the landscapes of South American which are simply beautifully executed. But what this book really excels at is how it endears you to the man himself. It gives an insight into his thoughts and feelings and his politics - he is as self-deprecating and crude as he is stoic and sincere.
This is great introduction to the man who is often remember as a symbol on a t-shirt than the revolutionary he was.
As Che and Alberto travel to the various countries that make up the continent, they meet a variety of people from miners exploited by American industrial companies and communists persecuted by right-wing governments to indigenous tribes struggling to hold onto their identities and lepers exiled from their homes.
Yet despite the poverty and depravation they witness, Che writes with a humour and lightness that warms you to him and his cause, and maintains the humanity of the subjects he discusses. Rather than seeing a lost cause, Che sees promise in the will of the people.
A truly moving read that, unlike a lot of political books, is incredibly easy to read as well as literary; particularly his depictions of the people and the landscapes of South American which are simply beautifully executed. But what this book really excels at is how it endears you to the man himself. It gives an insight into his thoughts and feelings and his politics - he is as self-deprecating and crude as he is stoic and sincere.
This is great introduction to the man who is often remember as a symbol on a t-shirt than the revolutionary he was.