I forgot to save my rant-like review from earlier, so here’s the abbreviated version: it’s bad. I’m sure the author felt quite satisfied with himself after finishing this novel, thinking it to be some progressive and refreshingly woke take on female protagonists. Ariel, a man’s idea of a woman, is the main character. She’s astonishingly beautiful- surprise- and middle-aged! Ariel’s age is portrayed through her technological ineptness in the social media era in which, - Pavone repeatedly laments- privacy is increasingly elusive and identities are easily concealed. Much of the mystery of the novel derives from the prospect of suspicion, a sort of artificial suspense that is drawn out through an overly-long jaunt across Lisbon. One of the book’s only distinguishable assets is its setting, which itself is only cursorily described and lacking any atmospheric tint.
Two Nights in Lisbon is a typical crime novel, complete with satisfactory writing and a page-turning quality. What I find notably upsetting about this generic piece of pop literature is its portrayal of women. Its depiction of Ariel as being an outrageously attractive woman who’s identity is nearly exclusively defined by her appearance- and consequently her interactions with men- harmfully fabricates lived experiences the author clearly does not understand.
This book is extremely comforting and mystical, somewhat mirroring the wonder of children’s books- a quality affirmed by the reoccurring theme of the vitality of storytelling. It’s endlessly engaging and entertaining, despite some flat storylines; I personally found Omeir and Anna’s POVs to be overdrawn and disappointingly dry in the context of one of the most fascinating periods of history. Just like the titular Cloud Cuckoo Land, the book is a whimsical epic- even if its various storylines and folios are connected by a single thread.
I find it extremely difficult to rate this book. While I personally do not enjoy Saramago’s dense writing, I appreciate its intelligence. Even though I trudged and, admittedly skipped—there is a whole section detailing medieval tortures allotted to alphabetically listed victims—through its intimidating blocks of text I recognize that the whole experience was marginally worth the time. It’s indeed a challenge to get through this deceivingly mid-sized novel. Chunks of texts drag on for pages upon pages, sentences rarely allowing one to take a breath. And quotation-less quotations. Unforgiving? Definitely.
Obviously, a non-canonical “Gospel” is blasphemous. The inversions presented in this novel are compelling because they offer a different chronology of a story so familiar. The narrator, an omnipresent yet strangely reminiscent figure, guides the reader through a retelling of Jesus Christ’s life that will surely scandalize some. At times vaguely satirical, Saramago captures a Biblical setting fairly well despite some clumsy modern flourishes. EGREGIOUS sexist commentary further drags down the writing.
“Gospel” is interesting, with a few interesting insights in to Christian theology because of its creative reversals. Both the content and prose are heavy, making this novel inaccessible and perhaps not worthwhile for most.
Absolutely magnificent writing and atmospheric settings are what elevate “The Secret History” to excellence. The characters are flawed and endlessly interesting, their exploits richly told by Tart’s delectable (uncomfortable word, I know) prose that truly distinguish this book from other murder mysteries. Be warned, however, this is a long book: the pacing is quite slow. I feel some parts were a little indulgently stretched out to showcase the writing and world-building.
Consider this more of a sweeping introduction into the function and structure of the Supreme Court of Canada than a thorough critique of the supposedly intrusive judicial body. Slayton delivers a compelling and well-researched exploration of the Supreme Court that is especially relevant in 2022, months after Sullivan and Chan and the monumental overturning of Roe v. Wade in the United States. Unfortunately, as prescient of the subject matter it is, Slayton writes extensively about the Supreme Court as it were precisely in 2011. Character analyses of the justices at that time make up a substantial, albeit not uninteresting, part of the book. Other comparisons simply didn’t age well: a suggestion to follow the American-style process of nominating judges has infamously led to some terrible appointments in recent years. It feels like the thesis of this novel is somewhat hastily arranged at its end with a few cogent recommendations for Court reform, namely the introduction of term limits. The middle portions are hampered by unnecessary and snide remarks on the individual justices are rulings which, without the pages necessary for full argumentation, feel like an attempt to inject opinion into this largely objective piece. While not completely justifying the need and scope of Supreme Court reform, Mighty Judgement is an accessible and informative read for those interested in learning more about Canada’s most superior Court.
War should have been written by a sociologist, not a historian. The subject of this book: “how conflict shapes us” is far too broad of a topic and calls for more sociological analysis than historical retelling. Dr. MacMillan attempts to examine multiple facets of war and its effects on human nature- however, her examples are oddly specific and glaringly Eurocentric. For a book claiming to at least gently touch upon the human proclivity to war it’s extremely misguided to almost exclusively focus on European history. The Western part of the world wars and obscure 17th century British wars loom disproportionately large in this novel. Wherever an interesting case study from non-Western sources emerges MacMillan chooses instead to pivot to yet another passage from an Edwardian English soldier. This might seem tedious- and it is. You would think that a novel with such unending possibilities would be more interesting. Aside from a few well-written tidbits, much of Wars is overdone military history without much greater insight.
It’s actually pretty well-written. She’s obnoxious and vain and patronizing, though. An honest depiction of the moral quandaries of being, like, really hot which can come across as very entitled and self-serving to us plain-looking plebs.
I enjoyed this book. Nothing really happens, and it’s basically just millennials talking and complaining about life. It’s peaceful, in a way, and I enjoy the pretentious philosophical rants in the middle. The characters are realistic and well-developed, except for maybe Alice, who is quite clearly a self-insert. It’s very contemporary, which makes it relatable and somewhat cringeworthy at the same time.
I was pretty underwhelmed by this book. On one hand, the prose is amazing and consistent with American War. And then there’s, well, everything else. The characters are nearly caricatures, none of them truly fleshed out other than the cynical smuggler and aspirational Umm Ibrahim. Both the plot and its cast lack originality and seem to regularly lapse into overdone cliché. The message is strong enough to sustain this book which ultimately fails to innovate.