An utterly charming tale told with the seemingly effortless grace of a born storyteller. Of course, we all know that what feels effortless often takes some of the most effort. The story weaves legend with solid characters, realistic details, and the hard repetition of survival. This book is suitable for so many ages and levels of readers, with always relevant lessons never too earnest nor to heavy-handed. I won't soon forget this book or those who inhabited it.
I finished this book a few hours ago and I still feel lost in it. Part of me wanted to go back and read it from the start, even though I'm not much of a re-reader, to catch things I know I missed. The world of the woods is lush, filled with beautiful imagery of birdsong, trees, with love and lust, and peopled (although not solely by people) with a cast of fascinating and maddening characters. I found the format, of 12 essentially interlinked chapter-stories, interspersed with various intermissions (blurred images, music, lyrics, almanac pages, &etc.), a nice variation on more traditional novel composition, adding layers to an epic that is about more than the words on the page. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was more evocative than imaginative, which isn't a bad thing necessarily, but left a slight desire for a little more...of something. I'll likely be coming back to this one at some time in the future.
This is one of those books that you finish it and you go "ok, that was pretty good" but you're not quite sure why or what else to say. Nonetheless, I'll try: The characters were largely nuanced and interesting, despite that you can only know them in a very superficial way. Was the narrator reliable? Maybe? Probably? He seemed to know about as much about taking minutes as some of my coworkers, although at least he has the excuse of being a Mennonite ex-con. It's based on a heartbreaking true story, and one whose victims needed a voice. I'm not a religious person, but the theme of faith never bothered me (after all, what else would these women know?). Overall I think the author does well with the conversational format, even if it lends itself to losing track of time because you just don't get many pauses.
An alternately riveting, enlightening, and fascinating account of two largely forgotten figures of the American 19th century. This is the sort of new or newish nonfiction that I really enjoy, where the author relies on both traditional and previously un- or under-utilized sources to draw attention to a slice of history that has fallen through the cracks. I found the author's writing style effectively wove adventure story, character background, and the larger context together, and disagree with assessments of it as dry and academic. (If this was dry or academic to you, I envy you the texts you got to read in your education.) While fairly dense and crammed with information, this, in my opinion, is among the most interesting and engrossing nonfiction you can find.
Petty. Stubborn. Opinionated. Outspoken. Madame Restell (Ann Trow Summers Lohman) was all of these things. But she was also courageous, smart, skilled, and stood firmly in her conviction that women have an absolute right to control their own bodies and the size of their families. Here's a woman who would have absolutely bought herself flowers. And this book is not just about her, but about a time and place, about shifting beliefs and social mores, and about abortion. 19th century New York City (and the USA) weren't as different from today as we'd like to believe, and the author tells this tale with humor, candidness, and no small amount of urgency.
Art! Death! Life! Family! Martyr!. There's a staccato here, and humor. There are weavings and unweavings and reweavings, traveling back and forth in time and in narrator. I love the sheer creative breadth - poems and excerpts from the main character's book-in-progress, dream narratives, descriptions of visual art and installations. It's not unapparent that it's a first novel--it's a little disjointed and deus ex machina in places--but it still manages to handle philsophy and faith with some grace, and to nicely balance the morbid with joy.
I admittedly have a hard time with super hyped books, or super hyped anything really. The more popular it is, the more I tend to hate it. I didn't hate this book. In fact, I liked it. The writing was beautifully layered. The story was engrossing. The games that the characters created were a delight. And unlike some readers, I like when authors throw in an occasional word I don't know and have to look up. The characters? Well, I'm reminded of a line from the comic Strange Planet: "The being is fictional. My anger is real." Between self-pitying Sam, manic pixie dream girl Sadie, and milquetoast Marx, ugh. The grandparents were the only ones I could tolerate. All in all, I liked this more than I've liked most super hyped things.
A highly enjoyable account of the lead up through the aftermath of the Boston Massacre centered on the families affected instead of the usual suspects (ahem, white dudes of generally high status). I'm a fan of learning about history through underappreciated and/or largely ignored voices and this book largely delivered. Nothing is ever as black & white as it first seems, and Boston of the 1760s and 1770s is no exception. The intermingling of military and citizens was unavoidable once troops were placed in the city, and the connections both created new families and tore existing families apart, as would continue to be the case throughout the American Revolution. Interesting, with fine details, and the sort of conversational telling of which I'll never tire.
Strange. Succinct. Brutal. Raw. There are six characters to whom we're introduced. None would you want for a friend, nor would they want you, except perhaps in the most superficial way. There is a balance of internal morass and dialectic against external duties and social mores that drives both tale and characters to the climax. It feels inevitable (in fact in a few places characters note the sureness they will soon die) but nothing here is a given or a surety. The writing is stunningly controlled, although occasionally reliant on a dated racism of both time and place that may make the concise novel a slog or an impossibility for some readers.
A quiet book, centered around a not-so-quiet family, which is at its best in subtle details linking different characters and moments together over time and page. The plot was a whispered thread, the characters were not particularly likable, yet there was an elegance and nuanced handling to the writing that draws the reader through even the most excruciating parts. There are hints of the work of finer British authors such as A.S. Byatt and Ali Smith, but this book doesn't quite reach that elevation. Overall a fine novel by an author I'd be willing to read again. 3 to 3.25 stars.