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millennial_dandy's reviews
346 reviews
One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston
adventurous
emotional
lighthearted
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.25
'One Last Stop' is a fine book, perfectly suited to the reader who just wants to squee over a perfectly cute queer love story.
That's it, that's all she wrote.
Except...
I haven't read Casey McQuiston's mega-hit 'Red, White, and Royal Blue', so I can't compare the two, but I will say that 'One Last Stop' falls into the neo-liberal trap in ways that lead me to think 'Red, White, and Royal Blue' probably isn't for me.
'One Last Stop' tells the story of two young women who find each other and fall in love on the New York Subway in the late 20-teens and overcome the obstacle of love interest, Jane, having been trapped on the subway since some time in the 1970s as a sort of not-ghost.
Honestly, I really liked this premise, especially as over the course of the narrative it's revealed just how deeply involved in the fight for queer rights Jane had been in the late 60s, early 70s -- a particularly important turning point for gay rights, Stonewall having occurred in 1969. She represents a time in recent queer history where activism was much less sanitized, much grittier and messier and necessarily more violent than what is considered 'acceptable' today.
And I sincerely thought this aspect of Jane's personal history would be important, you know, considering what all was going on and continues to be going on in the late 20-teens... considering who was president in the 20-teens...something something #MeToo....the trans community being vilified on a national stage and relegated to a culture war issue that served as a flashpoint for open hostility towards queer people that don't conform to incredibly narrow parameters of what 'acceptable' queerness looks like (or whether it can be considered acceptable at all)...
But no, no, 'One Last Stop' doesn't concern itself with any of this because it's just supposed to be a cute, time-travel love story.
And honestly, I wouldn't even pick on it for side-stepping the reality of the time period McQuiston chose to set it in (that is to say, late 2019, early 2020) in service of a fluffy plot except that the <i>way</i> she chose to do it kind of pissed me off. It would have been one thing to simply present an alternate reality in which things are fine, actually (as many queer people genuinely felt) ... in 2010.
But why, <i>why</i> go out of your way to present the queer experience in 2019 as a monolithically fluffy, happy party in which everyone is welcome and loved, in which the cast of almost unbelievably diverse characters all experience the world in exactly the same way, whether they be white, Black, Brown, trans, cis, skinny, fat, a drag queen or starving artist university student? Why do this, knowing, surely, that this is untrue, and then on top of it, have the audacity to have the present-day characters chastise Jane for pushing back on micro and macro aggressions she experiences and witnesses on the subway in 2019, and insist that 'it's not like that anymore. We can relax, we don't have to fight anymore. Everything's fine, actually.'
In 2019 things were objectively <i>not</i> fine, actually, and I find it both baffling and irresponsible of this author to participate in revisionist history in this way. Especially when a better story was <i>right there. </i> How powerful would it have been to have two queer women, one from the 1970s and one from the 20-teens, meet only for Jane of 1974 to realize how very little progress has actually been made? How marginally all of the blood, sweat, and tears of her generation actually moved the dial. Yes, that would have made for a much sadder story, but it also would have been more truthful.
And, frankly, it also would have offered the opportunity to utilize Jane's more punk-rock approach to activism as a catalyst to shake the other characters out of their little rainbow neo-liberal bubble.
<i>Ughhhhhhhhhh...</i>
Yes, this book made me angry, in case that wasn't clear.
There's nothing wrong with wanting to tell a story of queer joy. To tell a story where struggle and hardship aren't the central themes. But truly, I can only implore authors who want to tell cute, unserious, fluffy queer love stories to do better than this.
That's it, that's all she wrote.
Except...
I haven't read Casey McQuiston's mega-hit 'Red, White, and Royal Blue', so I can't compare the two, but I will say that 'One Last Stop' falls into the neo-liberal trap in ways that lead me to think 'Red, White, and Royal Blue' probably isn't for me.
'One Last Stop' tells the story of two young women who find each other and fall in love on the New York Subway in the late 20-teens and overcome the obstacle of love interest, Jane, having been trapped on the subway since some time in the 1970s as a sort of not-ghost.
Honestly, I really liked this premise, especially as over the course of the narrative it's revealed just how deeply involved in the fight for queer rights Jane had been in the late 60s, early 70s -- a particularly important turning point for gay rights, Stonewall having occurred in 1969. She represents a time in recent queer history where activism was much less sanitized, much grittier and messier and necessarily more violent than what is considered 'acceptable' today.
And I sincerely thought this aspect of Jane's personal history would be important, you know, considering what all was going on and continues to be going on in the late 20-teens... considering who was president in the 20-teens...something something #MeToo....the trans community being vilified on a national stage and relegated to a culture war issue that served as a flashpoint for open hostility towards queer people that don't conform to incredibly narrow parameters of what 'acceptable' queerness looks like (or whether it can be considered acceptable at all)...
But no, no, 'One Last Stop' doesn't concern itself with any of this because it's just supposed to be a cute, time-travel love story.
And honestly, I wouldn't even pick on it for side-stepping the reality of the time period McQuiston chose to set it in (that is to say, late 2019, early 2020) in service of a fluffy plot except that the <i>way</i> she chose to do it kind of pissed me off. It would have been one thing to simply present an alternate reality in which things are fine, actually (as many queer people genuinely felt) ... in 2010.
But why, <i>why</i> go out of your way to present the queer experience in 2019 as a monolithically fluffy, happy party in which everyone is welcome and loved, in which the cast of almost unbelievably diverse characters all experience the world in exactly the same way, whether they be white, Black, Brown, trans, cis, skinny, fat, a drag queen or starving artist university student? Why do this, knowing, surely, that this is untrue, and then on top of it, have the audacity to have the present-day characters chastise Jane for pushing back on micro and macro aggressions she experiences and witnesses on the subway in 2019, and insist that 'it's not like that anymore. We can relax, we don't have to fight anymore. Everything's fine, actually.'
In 2019 things were objectively <i>not</i> fine, actually, and I find it both baffling and irresponsible of this author to participate in revisionist history in this way. Especially when a better story was <i>right there. </i> How powerful would it have been to have two queer women, one from the 1970s and one from the 20-teens, meet only for Jane of 1974 to realize how very little progress has actually been made? How marginally all of the blood, sweat, and tears of her generation actually moved the dial. Yes, that would have made for a much sadder story, but it also would have been more truthful.
And, frankly, it also would have offered the opportunity to utilize Jane's more punk-rock approach to activism as a catalyst to shake the other characters out of their little rainbow neo-liberal bubble.
<i>Ughhhhhhhhhh...</i>
Yes, this book made me angry, in case that wasn't clear.
There's nothing wrong with wanting to tell a story of queer joy. To tell a story where struggle and hardship aren't the central themes. But truly, I can only implore authors who want to tell cute, unserious, fluffy queer love stories to do better than this.
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
adventurous
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
<i>"The one who pours himself a cup of vengeance is likely to drink a bitter draught."
"Yes, if he is poor and clumsy; no, if he's a millionaire and adroit." </i> p.385
The Count of Monte Cristo is, despite its girth and size, an excellent gateway into the Classics. And this for a number of reasons:
One, having been written serially, each chapter or at most, each couple of chapters, contains within a short story with a climax and cliffhanger that together serve an overarching plot. This means that the pacing clips along, so that before you know it, you're three hundred pages deep and still in the thick of things.
Two, it's much more linguistically accessible than classics/literary fiction has a reputation to be. Not that the prose isn't lovely in places--it is-- but for the most part, the prose is there as a vehicle for an exciting story. For someone who isn't looking to or is just starting to get used to wading through dense, multi-line sentences, each with their own dense, philosophical musings, metaphors, and hidden meanings, Monte Cristo is perfect. Given that it was written in the mid 19th century, there are some stylistic quirks that are obviously different to how such a novel would be written today, but it's easy enough to get into the rhythm.
Three, it is thematically pretty straightforward. This is principally a revenge fantasy plot wrapped around the question of whether or not revenge is a worthy cause to pursue. It explores how seeking revenge impacts the person seeking it as well as the fallout when it goes to plan. There's also a related question that Dumas raises about where, if anywhere, Providence ends and free-will begins. This may sound like a slightly more esoteric ponderance, but Dumas keeps it accessible by having the Count/Dantes call himself 'the Hand of God' about which he has several conversations with other principal characters.
I was frankly pretty amazed by how little in a novel published in the mid 1840s aged poorly. There are a few things that on first blush may appear to be at odds with our 21st century sensibilities, but Dumas makes it clear contextually that he as the author isn't suggesting these things are good, but is in fact including them as proof of the Count/Dantes's corruption. At one point, the Count tells one of the 'good guys', Franz, about how he acquired one of his <s>slaves</s> servants: by waiting until after the man had had his tongue cut out to rescue him from execution because 'he'd always wanted a mute servant.' <i>"For a moment Franz said nothing, considering what he should think of the cruel good humour with which his host had told him this story."</i> (p.316) And then later, when the Count speaks of this slave, Ali, again to someone else: <i>"He receives no wages, he is not a servant, he is my slave, he is my dog. If he were to fail in his duty, I should not dismiss him. I should kill him." Baptistin's eyes bulged"</i> (p.528)
Then, of course, there's the elephant in the room: the Count's slave girl/mistress, Haydee, who he buys when she's a child, raises as his daughter, and eventually ends up in a romantic relationship with (thanks, I hate it). Even though this is the area where Dumas treads the closest to...poor taste (?) to say the least, he still has enough context and negative reaction from other characters to this relationship that the narrative isn't celebrating it. Still, definitely gives one the ick.
I rather think that the relative openness with which Dumas displays his tale's moral compass makes it a good starter for a reader just learning how to do literary analysis. What Dumas has to say about revenge can be easily extrapolated from the things his characters say and do in addition to the consequences and outcomes of those actions.
And, frankly, it's just a very compelling story with a memorable protagonist, a very discussable plot, and with enough intrigue to flesh itself out.
Sure, in a novel over 1000 pages, there are bound to be things that get overwritten, and a few too many side-plots, but it all comes back together in the end in a way that makes getting through those moments still feel worth it.
Is it the greatest novel ever written? I wouldn't accuse it of that, but it's definitely clear to me why it's stood the test of time, and I wouldn't be surprised if we saw a Netflix mini-series in the nearish future now that BookTok's gotten a hold of this sprawling novel.
"Yes, if he is poor and clumsy; no, if he's a millionaire and adroit." </i> p.385
The Count of Monte Cristo is, despite its girth and size, an excellent gateway into the Classics. And this for a number of reasons:
One, having been written serially, each chapter or at most, each couple of chapters, contains within a short story with a climax and cliffhanger that together serve an overarching plot. This means that the pacing clips along, so that before you know it, you're three hundred pages deep and still in the thick of things.
Two, it's much more linguistically accessible than classics/literary fiction has a reputation to be. Not that the prose isn't lovely in places--it is-- but for the most part, the prose is there as a vehicle for an exciting story. For someone who isn't looking to or is just starting to get used to wading through dense, multi-line sentences, each with their own dense, philosophical musings, metaphors, and hidden meanings, Monte Cristo is perfect. Given that it was written in the mid 19th century, there are some stylistic quirks that are obviously different to how such a novel would be written today, but it's easy enough to get into the rhythm.
Three, it is thematically pretty straightforward. This is principally a revenge fantasy plot wrapped around the question of whether or not revenge is a worthy cause to pursue. It explores how seeking revenge impacts the person seeking it as well as the fallout when it goes to plan. There's also a related question that Dumas raises about where, if anywhere, Providence ends and free-will begins. This may sound like a slightly more esoteric ponderance, but Dumas keeps it accessible by having the Count/Dantes call himself 'the Hand of God' about which he has several conversations with other principal characters.
I was frankly pretty amazed by how little in a novel published in the mid 1840s aged poorly. There are a few things that on first blush may appear to be at odds with our 21st century sensibilities, but Dumas makes it clear contextually that he as the author isn't suggesting these things are good, but is in fact including them as proof of the Count/Dantes's corruption. At one point, the Count tells one of the 'good guys', Franz, about how he acquired one of his <s>slaves</s> servants: by waiting until after the man had had his tongue cut out to rescue him from execution because 'he'd always wanted a mute servant.' <i>"For a moment Franz said nothing, considering what he should think of the cruel good humour with which his host had told him this story."</i> (p.316) And then later, when the Count speaks of this slave, Ali, again to someone else: <i>"He receives no wages, he is not a servant, he is my slave, he is my dog. If he were to fail in his duty, I should not dismiss him. I should kill him." Baptistin's eyes bulged"</i> (p.528)
Then, of course, there's the elephant in the room: the Count's slave girl/mistress, Haydee, who he buys when she's a child, raises as his daughter, and eventually ends up in a romantic relationship with (thanks, I hate it). Even though this is the area where Dumas treads the closest to...poor taste (?) to say the least, he still has enough context and negative reaction from other characters to this relationship that the narrative isn't celebrating it. Still, definitely gives one the ick.
I rather think that the relative openness with which Dumas displays his tale's moral compass makes it a good starter for a reader just learning how to do literary analysis. What Dumas has to say about revenge can be easily extrapolated from the things his characters say and do in addition to the consequences and outcomes of those actions.
And, frankly, it's just a very compelling story with a memorable protagonist, a very discussable plot, and with enough intrigue to flesh itself out.
Sure, in a novel over 1000 pages, there are bound to be things that get overwritten, and a few too many side-plots, but it all comes back together in the end in a way that makes getting through those moments still feel worth it.
Is it the greatest novel ever written? I wouldn't accuse it of that, but it's definitely clear to me why it's stood the test of time, and I wouldn't be surprised if we saw a Netflix mini-series in the nearish future now that BookTok's gotten a hold of this sprawling novel.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Adult/minor relationship, Violence
Days at the Morisaki Bookshop by Satoshi Yagisawa
emotional
hopeful
lighthearted
reflective
relaxing
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.75
A thoroughly enjoyable little novel.
Very much within the 'slice of life' category, 'Days at the Morisaki Bookshop' follows our protagonist as she navigates a nasty break-up, quits her job, and tries to piece herself back together while living above her uncle's titular bookshop.
At least, that's where we start.
Certainly, 'Days at' starts out this way, but the real meat of the story is what happens afterwards. It's about Takako using this experience (with a little prodding from her uncle) to develop a stronger sense of self and, of course, a love of books.
Her transformation into a reader will be familiar to the target audience of this novel, but author Satoshi Yagisawa captures it so well: that feeling of euphoria when for the first time you read something that moves you. And then the follow-up realization that it's a high you can achieve over and over again (though, of course, not every novel is going to be a winner).
It's also about how, despite reading itself being a solitary activity, the brotherhood of 'readers' gives one access to this entire network of people who feel the same way, even if they aren't interested in the same books as you. It's about how the books that move us can reflect something of ourselves at a certain moment in time.
Takako’s relationship with her uncle develops so naturally, and he’s such a genuinely nice, if somewhat eccentric person without feeling too one-dimensional. Sometimes he makes questionable decisions, he can be a little bit of a push-over, but as we find out more about him, and he reveals why he was so keen to help out his estranged niece, it becomes difficult not to like him.
Sometimes, I think authors are tempted to use some inciting incident as the only connection between two people without taking the time to build up their relationship beyond that, but Yagisawa really takes the time to let a realistic kinship develop between Takako and her uncle (and Takako and her love interest) before even telling us why he took her in in the first place, and that made the entire story feel more authentic and ultimately more worthwhile. In some ways, it’s not a bad guide for showing the reader how to really ‘see’ the people in their lives.
It would be pretty easy for this type of book to fall into feel-good cliches, and there are moments where it is a little on-the-nose in terms of promoting 'being a reader', but these moments aren't too, too sugary sweet, and the main thrust of the novel is the plot rather than being 'pro book propaganda' (if there is such a thing).
Takako's character arc is believable (if a little accelerated there at the end) and I like how much more likable she becomes as she pulls herself out of the depths of her post-break-up depression; there's a nice bit of sincerity in that.
The secondary storyline about the relationship between Takako's uncle and his tempestuous wife is compelling; certainly, the aunt as a character is very intriguing. I'm not sure I loved how that storyline resolved since it tied up a little too neatly for my taste, but in a novel that's meant to be cozy and uplifting, it is what you'd expect.
I suppose I'm just not a fan of happy endings, which says more about me than about this novel, so pay me no mind.
I loved my time spent at the Morisaki Bookshop, and like one of the characters we meet, I am deeply jealous of Takako for getting to recharge her batteries there; what reader wouldn't love that? A little room above a used bookstore jam-packed with old books that you get to read at your leisure, help organize, and sell to local book enthusiasts? That's the dream, for sure. And Yagisawa captures it in the kind of dreamy prose that makes 'Days at the Morisaki Bookshop' the perfect summer read.
Very much within the 'slice of life' category, 'Days at the Morisaki Bookshop' follows our protagonist as she navigates a nasty break-up, quits her job, and tries to piece herself back together while living above her uncle's titular bookshop.
At least, that's where we start.
Certainly, 'Days at' starts out this way, but the real meat of the story is what happens afterwards. It's about Takako using this experience (with a little prodding from her uncle) to develop a stronger sense of self and, of course, a love of books.
Her transformation into a reader will be familiar to the target audience of this novel, but author Satoshi Yagisawa captures it so well: that feeling of euphoria when for the first time you read something that moves you. And then the follow-up realization that it's a high you can achieve over and over again (though, of course, not every novel is going to be a winner).
It's also about how, despite reading itself being a solitary activity, the brotherhood of 'readers' gives one access to this entire network of people who feel the same way, even if they aren't interested in the same books as you. It's about how the books that move us can reflect something of ourselves at a certain moment in time.
Takako’s relationship with her uncle develops so naturally, and he’s such a genuinely nice, if somewhat eccentric person without feeling too one-dimensional. Sometimes he makes questionable decisions, he can be a little bit of a push-over, but as we find out more about him, and he reveals why he was so keen to help out his estranged niece, it becomes difficult not to like him.
Sometimes, I think authors are tempted to use some inciting incident as the only connection between two people without taking the time to build up their relationship beyond that, but Yagisawa really takes the time to let a realistic kinship develop between Takako and her uncle (and Takako and her love interest) before even telling us why he took her in in the first place, and that made the entire story feel more authentic and ultimately more worthwhile. In some ways, it’s not a bad guide for showing the reader how to really ‘see’ the people in their lives.
It would be pretty easy for this type of book to fall into feel-good cliches, and there are moments where it is a little on-the-nose in terms of promoting 'being a reader', but these moments aren't too, too sugary sweet, and the main thrust of the novel is the plot rather than being 'pro book propaganda' (if there is such a thing).
Takako's character arc is believable (if a little accelerated there at the end) and I like how much more likable she becomes as she pulls herself out of the depths of her post-break-up depression; there's a nice bit of sincerity in that.
The secondary storyline about the relationship between Takako's uncle and his tempestuous wife is compelling; certainly, the aunt as a character is very intriguing. I'm not sure I loved how that storyline resolved since it tied up a little too neatly for my taste, but in a novel that's meant to be cozy and uplifting, it is what you'd expect.
I suppose I'm just not a fan of happy endings, which says more about me than about this novel, so pay me no mind.
I loved my time spent at the Morisaki Bookshop, and like one of the characters we meet, I am deeply jealous of Takako for getting to recharge her batteries there; what reader wouldn't love that? A little room above a used bookstore jam-packed with old books that you get to read at your leisure, help organize, and sell to local book enthusiasts? That's the dream, for sure. And Yagisawa captures it in the kind of dreamy prose that makes 'Days at the Morisaki Bookshop' the perfect summer read.
The Escape Room by Megan Goldin
dark
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.5
If you're 'looking for a man in finance, trust fund, 6'5'', blue eyes', then you've come to the right place, and by all accounts your man's name is Vincent. Certainly, our ‘everyman’ POV character, Sarah Hall, seemed to think he was her savior when he plucked her out of oblivion to work on his hot-shot Wall Street team.
But working in finance is pretty brutal as it turns out (who'd have thunk?) and everyone is awful to each other, constantly trying to jostle for position on the top rung of the corporate ladder, stepping on whoever they have to in order to get there, be that a co-worker or some faceless blue-collar workers in a city they'll never visit that they've just forced to lose their jobs.
'Escape Room' isn't some hidden masterpiece of literature, but for all that it's more Christopher Pike than it is Vladimir Nabokov, author Megan Goldin had a fun, compelling tale of revenge she wanted to tell, and it worked.
For the most part, Goldin tries to ground 'Escape Room' in reality: the reality of working a brutal. pressure cooker job with punishing hours and uncaring higher-ups, the reality of being a woman trying to make it in a man's world, the reality of being groomed to be a cutesy little materialist within a hyper-capitalist system that you help uphold. These sections could sometimes be a little on-the-nose, but in the end it's not like Goldin is wrong about any of it, so she might be loud, but at least she's loud and right. And boy does she make you want to eat the rich by the time the whole thing is over. Or, at least, she makes sure you're not particularly sorry when a team-building exercise gone wrong (or is it?) leads four such deplorable people to be trapped together on an elevator over the weekend.
The mystery at the heart of 'Escape Room' turns out to actually be pretty heavy and horrifying, but is, alas, also representative of something I have no doubt could happen at a company like the one she builds this one up to be: a playground for overgrown frat bros.
That is to say: 'Escape Room' gets a big ole trigger warning for sexual assault in the workplace.
After that, the novel evolves from a 'what is going on?' type of thriller to more of the 'I Spit on Your Grave', feminist revenge plot.
Or is it?
Does <i>anyone</i> come out of 'Escape Room' looking good? Or is the one pulling the strings ultimately just as selfish and horrible as the four people they lock on the elevator? You decide!
Now listen: after staying pretty plausible for the first 2/3, for the climax Goldin just went 'fuck it' and let her imagination and love of heist movies run wild. And honestly, love that for her. Just know that after 'the big reveal' you're not supposed to go over anything else with a fine-tooth comb -- you'll only be stopping yourself from having fun if you do because none of it will stand up to scrutiny and that isn't really the point anyway.
It was a fun read, and my favorite part is that the puppet-master character's end game and what actually happens on the elevator aren't completely in-synch and I loved imagining them finding out what actually happened after the end of the book.
If you know, you know!
But working in finance is pretty brutal as it turns out (who'd have thunk?) and everyone is awful to each other, constantly trying to jostle for position on the top rung of the corporate ladder, stepping on whoever they have to in order to get there, be that a co-worker or some faceless blue-collar workers in a city they'll never visit that they've just forced to lose their jobs.
'Escape Room' isn't some hidden masterpiece of literature, but for all that it's more Christopher Pike than it is Vladimir Nabokov, author Megan Goldin had a fun, compelling tale of revenge she wanted to tell, and it worked.
For the most part, Goldin tries to ground 'Escape Room' in reality: the reality of working a brutal. pressure cooker job with punishing hours and uncaring higher-ups, the reality of being a woman trying to make it in a man's world, the reality of being groomed to be a cutesy little materialist within a hyper-capitalist system that you help uphold. These sections could sometimes be a little on-the-nose, but in the end it's not like Goldin is wrong about any of it, so she might be loud, but at least she's loud and right. And boy does she make you want to eat the rich by the time the whole thing is over. Or, at least, she makes sure you're not particularly sorry when a team-building exercise gone wrong (or is it?) leads four such deplorable people to be trapped together on an elevator over the weekend.
The mystery at the heart of 'Escape Room' turns out to actually be pretty heavy and horrifying, but is, alas, also representative of something I have no doubt could happen at a company like the one she builds this one up to be: a playground for overgrown frat bros.
That is to say: 'Escape Room' gets a big ole trigger warning for sexual assault in the workplace.
After that, the novel evolves from a 'what is going on?' type of thriller to more of the 'I Spit on Your Grave', feminist revenge plot.
Or is it?
Does <i>anyone</i> come out of 'Escape Room' looking good? Or is the one pulling the strings ultimately just as selfish and horrible as the four people they lock on the elevator? You decide!
Now listen: after staying pretty plausible for the first 2/3, for the climax Goldin just went 'fuck it' and let her imagination and love of heist movies run wild. And honestly, love that for her. Just know that after 'the big reveal' you're not supposed to go over anything else with a fine-tooth comb -- you'll only be stopping yourself from having fun if you do because none of it will stand up to scrutiny and that isn't really the point anyway.
It was a fun read, and my favorite part is that the puppet-master character's end game and what actually happens on the elevator aren't completely in-synch and I loved imagining them finding out what actually happened after the end of the book.
If you know, you know!
The Gambler, Bobok, A Nasty Story by Fyodor Dostoevsky
challenging
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
<b>this collection translated by: Jessie Coulson</b>
<i><b>The Gambler --> 3.5/5</b></i>
<i>"I had a strange, mad idea that I should be certain to win at roulette here. Why I had this idea, I don't know, but I believed it. Who knows, perhaps I believed it because I had no choice -- there was nothing else left." </i> p.44
'The Gambler' occupies a strange place in the Dostoevsky line-up. It was written under financial duress in the same year he'd go on to publish 'Crime and Punishment' and in a lot of ways, the pushed-out nature of the novella is fairly obvious.
Though the central exploration of gambling does remain the focus of the narrative, there are many, many times when (likely to push up the word count) Dostoevsky descends into xenophobic tirades about Germans, the English, but most often, the French. Much of this material would be familiar to anyone who has read 'Winter Notes on Summer Impressions,' a series of essays he wrote following an extended trip to Europe that seems to have really lit the flame of his mistrust of The West. Granted, there was real reason for some of his vitriol, but even punching up is often mean-spirited, and it gets a bit tiresome by the end of the story.
Another bad habit he indulges in 'The Gambler' is his shallow writing of women, particularly young women. Nothing distinguishes this love interest from, say, the love interest in 'Uncle's Dream.' Polina is just another bitchy, self-serving woman who friend-zones the protagonist and is downright cruel to him, readily taking advantage of his love for her and in the end never reciprocating his feelings. He even manages to cross-list this limp characterization with his hatred of the French by having her fall in love with a ne'er do well French opportunist and scathingly adding at the end that Russian young ladies are particularly susceptible to the vapid charm of Frenchmen.
<i>Yawn. </i>
That being said, easily the most interesting character is Grandmama, who represents the only type of woman Dostoevsky up until this point has ever been able to write successfully: old ladies with tornado personalities. These sections with Grandmama brought much needed life to an otherwise lackluster tale, and she provides some excellent comedic moments of brash commentary as her lack of inhibition and tidal-wave of chatter washes over everyone she comes in contact with:
"You're very pretty. I should fall in love with you if I were a young man. Why don't you get married? However, it's time I went." ... "Are you ashamed of being with me, eh? Stay at home then; nobody's asked you to come." (p.80, 85)
Grandmama is the other character for whom gambling becomes a problem, and Dostoevsky does a great job pointing out that the addiction can sneak up on anyone, whether young or old, rich or poor, and regardless of whether or not a person knows better. However, he does make it clear that the consequences impact different people very differently.
His commentary on the nature of gambling addiction, the logic by which gamblers justify returning to their game of chance of choice even after it has demonstrably ruined their lives is easily the most worthwhile aspect of the novella, and was likely drawing on his own struggles with gambling. Right near the end of the novella, when the protagonist has hit rock bottom, he admits that his desperation for money has now gotten mixed up with the thrill itself of the moments of possibility before he finds out whether he's won or lost: "When, on my way to the gaming room, I hear from two rooms away the chink of the coins pouring out of the scoops, I am thrown into a ferment [...] Yes, in such moments one forgets all one's previous failures. I had got this, you see, at the risk of more than life, I had dared to run the risk -- and now I was a man again!" (p.155)
There's definitely something to be said of the several times he equates success or failure at the roulette table to either succeeding or failing as a man, and there's an implication that 'being a man' is the psychological driver that lead to the gambling; if he had more money, he'd be a real man. If he were a real man, he'd get the girl. But then, when he does have the money, the girl he attracts is a gold digger who, though she seemingly does really care about him, nevertheless robs him blind and ironically only comes to value him once she realizes he doesn't care about the money.
So, he leaves men with a real catch-22: you're not a real man if you don't have money, and women won't want you unless you have it. But once you have money, the only women you can get just want the money. They're only interested in you as a person if you don't have money, but then they'll only view you as a friend. Or something like that.
It's sad, really. And it again speaks to the type of male reader that reads stories like this and sees a reflection of their own bitterness that then leads them to either nihilistic inceldom or the 'red-pilled' manosphere, or both.
And I feel for them, I do; under patriarchy, the pressure on men to secure financial success in order to be considered valuable is immense, and has existed at least since this was published in the 1860s. However, but, and also, that doesn't make it true. And I think a lot of straight men (and probably some queer men too) would be much happier if they realized how artificial that definition of successful manhood is. And it's certainly not the thing that is going to lead most men (certainly not most women) to mutually loving, equitable, happy relationships.
Just saying.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<i><b> A Nasty Story --> 4.5/5</b></i>
<i>"What is heroism? - this. Consider: given the present relations between all classes of society, for me, me, to go to the wedding festivities of my subordinate [...] is to cause confusion, turn all ideas topsy-turvy, create a chaos like the last days of Pompeii! Nobody will understand it. Stepan Nikiforovich will die without understanding it. It was he who said we shan't be able to stand it, you know. Yes, but that's you, old man, victim of paralysis and stagnation, but I-will-stand-it!"</i> p.196
This is basically just Dostoevsky having fun ragging on performative, self-centered Liberalism (derogatory), and as a Leftist I lived for it.
The plot is incredibly simple but effective. Protagonist Ivan Ilych (not to be confused with the poor fellow in Tolstoy's novella) is hanging out with some of his older acquaintances of equal social standing, and he starts talking about how social change is good, actually, and they're being stuffy if they disagree. As he's taking his leave, he discovers that his coachman has gone off with the carriage and not returned back yet. Ivan Ilych gets super annoyed and decides to walk home even though he's a little bit tipsy. On the way, he comes upon the wedding party of one of his subordinates and decides to gate crash specifically so he can espouse his understanding of how people like them really are just the same as someone like himself, and to get them to praise him for being an ally of the people.
He has a vivid fantasy of everyone at the wedding fawning over this bravery on his part, and for lowering himself to attend a lowly poor wedding and grace such poor folk as themselves with his presence when surely he could be off rubbing shoulders with his own kind.
It does not, needless to say, turn out quite as he'd pictured.
Not only is he very obviously an unwanted guest, the fact that propriety dictates the Groom and everyone else must nevertheless treat him with deference and respect makes everything even more awkward. To cover his embarrassment at having wildly misjudged how him showing up uninvited would go and that no one is interested in hearing his little speech (and indeed that the little speech was actually pretty stupid), Ivan Ilych gets progressively more drunk, and basically ruins this guy's wedding and inconveniences everyone in the household after he gets sick and passes out.
Afterwards, he's so embarrassed about the whole thing that he decides his older friends were right and that as far as the classes are concerned, it's a ne'er the twain shall meet type situation.
It's deeply funny, but should be avoided by anyone who suffers from second-hand embarrassment because boy let me tell you: there's a lot of it.
Liberal-hating conservatives will enjoy this because the humor leans on the hypocrisy of elitist Liberals they love braying about. Leftists will also love this for that reason, but from the Left. If you know, you know. And if you don't know 'A Nasty Story' is an excellent gateway.
Near pitch-perfect slice of life and lighthearted but pointed social commentary from my man, Fedya.
<i><b>The Gambler --> 3.5/5</b></i>
<i>"I had a strange, mad idea that I should be certain to win at roulette here. Why I had this idea, I don't know, but I believed it. Who knows, perhaps I believed it because I had no choice -- there was nothing else left." </i> p.44
'The Gambler' occupies a strange place in the Dostoevsky line-up. It was written under financial duress in the same year he'd go on to publish 'Crime and Punishment' and in a lot of ways, the pushed-out nature of the novella is fairly obvious.
Though the central exploration of gambling does remain the focus of the narrative, there are many, many times when (likely to push up the word count) Dostoevsky descends into xenophobic tirades about Germans, the English, but most often, the French. Much of this material would be familiar to anyone who has read 'Winter Notes on Summer Impressions,' a series of essays he wrote following an extended trip to Europe that seems to have really lit the flame of his mistrust of The West. Granted, there was real reason for some of his vitriol, but even punching up is often mean-spirited, and it gets a bit tiresome by the end of the story.
Another bad habit he indulges in 'The Gambler' is his shallow writing of women, particularly young women. Nothing distinguishes this love interest from, say, the love interest in 'Uncle's Dream.' Polina is just another bitchy, self-serving woman who friend-zones the protagonist and is downright cruel to him, readily taking advantage of his love for her and in the end never reciprocating his feelings. He even manages to cross-list this limp characterization with his hatred of the French by having her fall in love with a ne'er do well French opportunist and scathingly adding at the end that Russian young ladies are particularly susceptible to the vapid charm of Frenchmen.
<i>Yawn. </i>
That being said, easily the most interesting character is Grandmama, who represents the only type of woman Dostoevsky up until this point has ever been able to write successfully: old ladies with tornado personalities. These sections with Grandmama brought much needed life to an otherwise lackluster tale, and she provides some excellent comedic moments of brash commentary as her lack of inhibition and tidal-wave of chatter washes over everyone she comes in contact with:
"You're very pretty. I should fall in love with you if I were a young man. Why don't you get married? However, it's time I went." ... "Are you ashamed of being with me, eh? Stay at home then; nobody's asked you to come." (p.80, 85)
Grandmama is the other character for whom gambling becomes a problem, and Dostoevsky does a great job pointing out that the addiction can sneak up on anyone, whether young or old, rich or poor, and regardless of whether or not a person knows better. However, he does make it clear that the consequences impact different people very differently.
His commentary on the nature of gambling addiction, the logic by which gamblers justify returning to their game of chance of choice even after it has demonstrably ruined their lives is easily the most worthwhile aspect of the novella, and was likely drawing on his own struggles with gambling. Right near the end of the novella, when the protagonist has hit rock bottom, he admits that his desperation for money has now gotten mixed up with the thrill itself of the moments of possibility before he finds out whether he's won or lost: "When, on my way to the gaming room, I hear from two rooms away the chink of the coins pouring out of the scoops, I am thrown into a ferment [...] Yes, in such moments one forgets all one's previous failures. I had got this, you see, at the risk of more than life, I had dared to run the risk -- and now I was a man again!" (p.155)
There's definitely something to be said of the several times he equates success or failure at the roulette table to either succeeding or failing as a man, and there's an implication that 'being a man' is the psychological driver that lead to the gambling; if he had more money, he'd be a real man. If he were a real man, he'd get the girl. But then, when he does have the money, the girl he attracts is a gold digger who, though she seemingly does really care about him, nevertheless robs him blind and ironically only comes to value him once she realizes he doesn't care about the money.
So, he leaves men with a real catch-22: you're not a real man if you don't have money, and women won't want you unless you have it. But once you have money, the only women you can get just want the money. They're only interested in you as a person if you don't have money, but then they'll only view you as a friend. Or something like that.
It's sad, really. And it again speaks to the type of male reader that reads stories like this and sees a reflection of their own bitterness that then leads them to either nihilistic inceldom or the 'red-pilled' manosphere, or both.
And I feel for them, I do; under patriarchy, the pressure on men to secure financial success in order to be considered valuable is immense, and has existed at least since this was published in the 1860s. However, but, and also, that doesn't make it true. And I think a lot of straight men (and probably some queer men too) would be much happier if they realized how artificial that definition of successful manhood is. And it's certainly not the thing that is going to lead most men (certainly not most women) to mutually loving, equitable, happy relationships.
Just saying.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
<i><b> A Nasty Story --> 4.5/5</b></i>
<i>"What is heroism? - this. Consider: given the present relations between all classes of society, for me, me, to go to the wedding festivities of my subordinate [...] is to cause confusion, turn all ideas topsy-turvy, create a chaos like the last days of Pompeii! Nobody will understand it. Stepan Nikiforovich will die without understanding it. It was he who said we shan't be able to stand it, you know. Yes, but that's you, old man, victim of paralysis and stagnation, but I-will-stand-it!"</i> p.196
This is basically just Dostoevsky having fun ragging on performative, self-centered Liberalism (derogatory), and as a Leftist I lived for it.
The plot is incredibly simple but effective. Protagonist Ivan Ilych (not to be confused with the poor fellow in Tolstoy's novella) is hanging out with some of his older acquaintances of equal social standing, and he starts talking about how social change is good, actually, and they're being stuffy if they disagree. As he's taking his leave, he discovers that his coachman has gone off with the carriage and not returned back yet. Ivan Ilych gets super annoyed and decides to walk home even though he's a little bit tipsy. On the way, he comes upon the wedding party of one of his subordinates and decides to gate crash specifically so he can espouse his understanding of how people like them really are just the same as someone like himself, and to get them to praise him for being an ally of the people.
He has a vivid fantasy of everyone at the wedding fawning over this bravery on his part, and for lowering himself to attend a lowly poor wedding and grace such poor folk as themselves with his presence when surely he could be off rubbing shoulders with his own kind.
It does not, needless to say, turn out quite as he'd pictured.
Not only is he very obviously an unwanted guest, the fact that propriety dictates the Groom and everyone else must nevertheless treat him with deference and respect makes everything even more awkward. To cover his embarrassment at having wildly misjudged how him showing up uninvited would go and that no one is interested in hearing his little speech (and indeed that the little speech was actually pretty stupid), Ivan Ilych gets progressively more drunk, and basically ruins this guy's wedding and inconveniences everyone in the household after he gets sick and passes out.
Afterwards, he's so embarrassed about the whole thing that he decides his older friends were right and that as far as the classes are concerned, it's a ne'er the twain shall meet type situation.
It's deeply funny, but should be avoided by anyone who suffers from second-hand embarrassment because boy let me tell you: there's a lot of it.
Liberal-hating conservatives will enjoy this because the humor leans on the hypocrisy of elitist Liberals they love braying about. Leftists will also love this for that reason, but from the Left. If you know, you know. And if you don't know 'A Nasty Story' is an excellent gateway.
Near pitch-perfect slice of life and lighthearted but pointed social commentary from my man, Fedya.
Atlantis Found by Clive Cussler
adventurous
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
<i>"Are you saying doomsday is less than two months away?" "Yaeger nodded solemnly. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." </i> (p.276)
I'd never read Clive Cussler before, and just had a vague notion of him as 'one of those authors your dad picks up at the airport' types of writers.
That was completely correct (*affectionate*). 'Atlantis Found' was a romp wherein Dirk Pitt ran around the globe being a badass, 'pew-pewing' with his neat little gun while a bunch of neo-Nazis 'pew-pewed' back with really big guns, and the whole thing culminates with him rescuing a team of 65 top American military servicemen from certain death at the hands of the would-be Fourth Reich.
And also, the Nazis found Atlantis, something something they want to destroy the world to rebuild it in their own image because of this for...reasons? But who cares? We're just here to self-insert as Dirk Pitt while he runs amok as a good guy with a gun, beating back the ladies with a stick.
He's not some corporate stooge or a wimpy techie or a bougie elitist -- he's just a down to earth, no-nonsense <i>man</i> -- just like you. Probably. Maybe. You could be. Some of this 'I'm a simple man' schtick turned back around and was unintentionally very funny. Like, at one point he's out to dinner at a French restaurant with his senator girlfriend, and when the waiter comes over, this happens: "Pitt did not attempt to pronounce the menu courses in French. He held to straight English." (p.290)
Another unintentionally funny thing was Cussler's writing of women in this novel. Specifically, the descriptions as various women are introduced. The introduction of 'Atlantis Found's' token girlie almost felt like satire:
"Ambrose guessed her height at five feet eight inches, her weight at a solid 135 pounds. She was a pretty woman, not cute or strikingly beautiful, but he imagined she'd look very desirable when dressed in something more alluring than jeans and a mannish jacket." (p.39)
Like, I'm sorry, but who describes someone like this? I feel like this is how you'd describe a horse or an alien. As I say: the objectification is so out there it turns back around and it's just funny.
My favorite moment like this has to be later, though, when Dirk Pitt is investigating a U-boot that has just been sunk in Antarctica by the US military (don't worry about it) and he finds the body of a woman aboard this sunken vessel and describes her corpse this way: "What had once been a beautiful woman stared at him through wide, sightless, blue-gray eyes [...] She wore the standard Fourth Empire black jumpsuit, but its material was shredded, as though a giant cat had raked its claws across it [...] A finely contoured breast was exposed by the torn cloth." (p.219)
Just...why? For whom is this in there? (I shudder to guess)
Bizarre descriptions like these aside, the plot itself is pretty unhinged on its face in a way not unexpected for 'pew-pew' man-lit (to coin a phrase), but in some ways I feel like it wasn't unhinged enough. I got the sense that Cussler was restraining the plot somewhat by trying to ground it in reality. Like, buddy, your starting point is <i>Atlantis</i>; go nuts. But by trying to keep everything within the realm of possibility, he ended up making that entire segment of the plot pretty dull, which was a pity.
The same could not be said for the Nazi plot, however. Unfettered imagination on that count. And everything about that was more enjoyable to read (in that dumb fun sort of way) as a result. Once we established that a saved vile of Hitler's sperm was involved in creating a race of super-Nazis I was in. Like: alright, let's go for a wild ride.
Based on other reviews of this installment in the Dirk Pitt series, I get the impression that a lot of fans didn't really care for this one, but since I've nothing to compare it to, I can only say that it was...fine. Silly and absolutely not something that was aimed at me by any stretch of the imagination (I realized that for certain when he described this random grandmother-aged side-character as 'twenty pounds on the plump side'), but for what it was it was interesting in an ethnographic sort of way.
And contrary to popular opinion, I thought it was adorable that Cussler self-inserted in the story and had the main characters call him 'dad'.
I'd never read Clive Cussler before, and just had a vague notion of him as 'one of those authors your dad picks up at the airport' types of writers.
That was completely correct (*affectionate*). 'Atlantis Found' was a romp wherein Dirk Pitt ran around the globe being a badass, 'pew-pewing' with his neat little gun while a bunch of neo-Nazis 'pew-pewed' back with really big guns, and the whole thing culminates with him rescuing a team of 65 top American military servicemen from certain death at the hands of the would-be Fourth Reich.
And also, the Nazis found Atlantis, something something they want to destroy the world to rebuild it in their own image because of this for...reasons? But who cares? We're just here to self-insert as Dirk Pitt while he runs amok as a good guy with a gun, beating back the ladies with a stick.
He's not some corporate stooge or a wimpy techie or a bougie elitist -- he's just a down to earth, no-nonsense <i>man</i> -- just like you. Probably. Maybe. You could be. Some of this 'I'm a simple man' schtick turned back around and was unintentionally very funny. Like, at one point he's out to dinner at a French restaurant with his senator girlfriend, and when the waiter comes over, this happens: "Pitt did not attempt to pronounce the menu courses in French. He held to straight English." (p.290)
Another unintentionally funny thing was Cussler's writing of women in this novel. Specifically, the descriptions as various women are introduced. The introduction of 'Atlantis Found's' token girlie almost felt like satire:
"Ambrose guessed her height at five feet eight inches, her weight at a solid 135 pounds. She was a pretty woman, not cute or strikingly beautiful, but he imagined she'd look very desirable when dressed in something more alluring than jeans and a mannish jacket." (p.39)
Like, I'm sorry, but who describes someone like this? I feel like this is how you'd describe a horse or an alien. As I say: the objectification is so out there it turns back around and it's just funny.
My favorite moment like this has to be later, though, when Dirk Pitt is investigating a U-boot that has just been sunk in Antarctica by the US military (don't worry about it) and he finds the body of a woman aboard this sunken vessel and describes her corpse this way: "What had once been a beautiful woman stared at him through wide, sightless, blue-gray eyes [...] She wore the standard Fourth Empire black jumpsuit, but its material was shredded, as though a giant cat had raked its claws across it [...] A finely contoured breast was exposed by the torn cloth." (p.219)
Just...why? For whom is this in there? (I shudder to guess)
Bizarre descriptions like these aside, the plot itself is pretty unhinged on its face in a way not unexpected for 'pew-pew' man-lit (to coin a phrase), but in some ways I feel like it wasn't unhinged enough. I got the sense that Cussler was restraining the plot somewhat by trying to ground it in reality. Like, buddy, your starting point is <i>Atlantis</i>; go nuts. But by trying to keep everything within the realm of possibility, he ended up making that entire segment of the plot pretty dull, which was a pity.
The same could not be said for the Nazi plot, however. Unfettered imagination on that count. And everything about that was more enjoyable to read (in that dumb fun sort of way) as a result. Once we established that a saved vile of Hitler's sperm was involved in creating a race of super-Nazis I was in. Like: alright, let's go for a wild ride.
Based on other reviews of this installment in the Dirk Pitt series, I get the impression that a lot of fans didn't really care for this one, but since I've nothing to compare it to, I can only say that it was...fine. Silly and absolutely not something that was aimed at me by any stretch of the imagination (I realized that for certain when he described this random grandmother-aged side-character as 'twenty pounds on the plump side'), but for what it was it was interesting in an ethnographic sort of way.
And contrary to popular opinion, I thought it was adorable that Cussler self-inserted in the story and had the main characters call him 'dad'.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Misogyny, Sexism, Murder
The Crocodile by Constance Garnett, Fyodor Dostoevsky
funny
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
I like the Gogol-esque absurdity of the satire in this one. Very on the nose, some might say, but still very funny. I read somewhere that this was a piece he hadn't polished fully before publication, and that definitely shows in the abruptness of the ending, but nevertheless it's a fun little entry from a great writer.
His xenophobia was definitely showing though, and I really wish he hadn't chosen to tie his anti-capitalist leanings to that because it wasn't necessary and feels lazy.
A much, much better satire of his was 'A Nasty Story', which I'd recommend far before I'd recommend this.
All in all, even if the central image of a man living inside a crocodile is memorable and, with a bit of a re-write, 'The Crocodile' could have been quite good, it's largely a big 'meh' from me.
I did chuckle once or twice, for what it's worth.
His xenophobia was definitely showing though, and I really wish he hadn't chosen to tie his anti-capitalist leanings to that because it wasn't necessary and feels lazy.
A much, much better satire of his was 'A Nasty Story', which I'd recommend far before I'd recommend this.
All in all, even if the central image of a man living inside a crocodile is memorable and, with a bit of a re-write, 'The Crocodile' could have been quite good, it's largely a big 'meh' from me.
I did chuckle once or twice, for what it's worth.
King's Gambit: A Son, a Father, and the World's Most Dangerous Game by Paul Hoffman
adventurous
funny
informative
reflective
slow-paced
4.75
"There was a moment when we exchanged smiles. My smile was 'I'm happy to be here, amazed I lasted this long.' His smile was 'I'm going to kill you.'"
I'm still not sure, having finished 'King's Gambit', why Hoffman decided to give it this particular subheading, but this odd choice notwithstanding, it's an excellent quasi-ethnography of chess culture, and I really enjoyed my time with it.
No doubt in part because of his socialite positioning in New York, work in top editing positions for titles such as Discover and Britannica (plus a little bit of luck in some cases) Hoffman had opportunities to rub shoulders with all of the top players of the 2000s chess scene. As a result, he had some great anecdotes to tell of having dined with the likes of Kasparov and Karpov, a slew of world champions, and top women players like Jennifer Shahade and Irina Krush. Also, a few off the wall experiences like getting flown to Libya to interview and play chess against General Gaddafi and ending up playing the insane, chess-obsessed Kirsan Ilyumzhinov: funder of the infamous 'Chess City' and president of the republic of Kalmykia as well as FIDE's president from 2003 - 2018.
He gave us a colorful depiction of his time in Moscow as a chess journalist during which he was taken to a speakeasy located under a KGB building by several top players in the tournament he was covering.
And to what end are we regaled with these wild tales of neurotic players, corrupt officials, and prisoners playing at Grandmaster level while serving life sentences for murder? Well, it's to show just how wacky and weird the 'game of kings' can be. Throughout the text, Hoffman (as well as many of his subjects) muse over whether or not being sane and being a chess genius are mutually exclusive. Ultimately, he leaves the answer open-ended.
The structure of the book and the amount of time spent discussing chess strategies and moves leads me to think this is aimed at an audience already fairly familiar with the game (and certainly one must have an interest in its intricacies to want to follow along during these digressions). However, the time dedicated to a history of the game and vignettes of famous historical players would imply that this is a book someone just dipping into the world for the first time might pick up. So, a target audience is somewhat hard to pinpoint.
Indeed, many of the reviews seem to be split between old hats whinging about the lack of depth and casual readers complaining that it isn't friendly to a lay audience.
I think they're both right, which does make this a rather hard sell as it really is only for readers squarely in the middle.
That being said, as someone closer to the lay reader side of things, I still found it a page-turner, and didn't mind too much that the chess strategy stuff often went a bit over my head; I could still get the general idea, and he didn't do so much of this that it bogged down the reading experience too, too much.
What I do think fairly splits readers down the middle is the titular father and son story about Hoffman's relationship to his own father. He tried very hard to connect his tumultuous relationship with his father to chess, and sometimes he could. But large swathes of that plotline (if you will) really had nothing to do with the subject of 'the world's most dangerous game' as the title would lead one to believe. Hoffman is a good enough writer that I followed the little family saga with some interest, but I do wonder, considering that Hoffman has done a lot of work in editing, how that section made it into the final edit when it really felt like a completely separate story and topic that only once in a while tied back to memories of his playing chess growing up.
I get that he was trying to frame all the chess history and interviews and investigations with his own experiences as a player and trying not to succumb to the seduction of chess obsession, and in particular, not wanting to let chess get in the way of his relationship to his own son, and so on and so on. He's the reader's 'everyman' perspective. Makes sense. But still, there must have been a better way to streamline that because as it is, the genre of 'King's Gambit' is muddled.
Is it Hoffman's autobiography? Is it an ethnography of the culture of high-level chess playing interspliced with a bit of history and some dramatic tales of intrigue?
Well, it's trying to be both, so you really have to know that and be on board with that to like the book.
I didn't know that, but I'm pretty amicable, and so I did get on board, and I really enjoyed doing a bit of chess globetrotting and parasocial elbow rubbing with the who's-who of the chess world of the 2000s. So if you're interested in that more socio-psychology side of the game, this is a good springboard. Hoffman's bibliography and even just the way he brought high level but less uber-famous players to life offers fertile ground for those looking for further reading.
There are definitely sections I'll read again. His first-hand stories about the Kasparov/Karpov rivalry (really, all his stories involving either of the 'Ks') are a delight.
I'm still not sure, having finished 'King's Gambit', why Hoffman decided to give it this particular subheading, but this odd choice notwithstanding, it's an excellent quasi-ethnography of chess culture, and I really enjoyed my time with it.
No doubt in part because of his socialite positioning in New York, work in top editing positions for titles such as Discover and Britannica (plus a little bit of luck in some cases) Hoffman had opportunities to rub shoulders with all of the top players of the 2000s chess scene. As a result, he had some great anecdotes to tell of having dined with the likes of Kasparov and Karpov, a slew of world champions, and top women players like Jennifer Shahade and Irina Krush. Also, a few off the wall experiences like getting flown to Libya to interview and play chess against General Gaddafi and ending up playing the insane, chess-obsessed Kirsan Ilyumzhinov: funder of the infamous 'Chess City' and president of the republic of Kalmykia as well as FIDE's president from 2003 - 2018.
He gave us a colorful depiction of his time in Moscow as a chess journalist during which he was taken to a speakeasy located under a KGB building by several top players in the tournament he was covering.
And to what end are we regaled with these wild tales of neurotic players, corrupt officials, and prisoners playing at Grandmaster level while serving life sentences for murder? Well, it's to show just how wacky and weird the 'game of kings' can be. Throughout the text, Hoffman (as well as many of his subjects) muse over whether or not being sane and being a chess genius are mutually exclusive. Ultimately, he leaves the answer open-ended.
The structure of the book and the amount of time spent discussing chess strategies and moves leads me to think this is aimed at an audience already fairly familiar with the game (and certainly one must have an interest in its intricacies to want to follow along during these digressions). However, the time dedicated to a history of the game and vignettes of famous historical players would imply that this is a book someone just dipping into the world for the first time might pick up. So, a target audience is somewhat hard to pinpoint.
Indeed, many of the reviews seem to be split between old hats whinging about the lack of depth and casual readers complaining that it isn't friendly to a lay audience.
I think they're both right, which does make this a rather hard sell as it really is only for readers squarely in the middle.
That being said, as someone closer to the lay reader side of things, I still found it a page-turner, and didn't mind too much that the chess strategy stuff often went a bit over my head; I could still get the general idea, and he didn't do so much of this that it bogged down the reading experience too, too much.
What I do think fairly splits readers down the middle is the titular father and son story about Hoffman's relationship to his own father. He tried very hard to connect his tumultuous relationship with his father to chess, and sometimes he could. But large swathes of that plotline (if you will) really had nothing to do with the subject of 'the world's most dangerous game' as the title would lead one to believe. Hoffman is a good enough writer that I followed the little family saga with some interest, but I do wonder, considering that Hoffman has done a lot of work in editing, how that section made it into the final edit when it really felt like a completely separate story and topic that only once in a while tied back to memories of his playing chess growing up.
I get that he was trying to frame all the chess history and interviews and investigations with his own experiences as a player and trying not to succumb to the seduction of chess obsession, and in particular, not wanting to let chess get in the way of his relationship to his own son, and so on and so on. He's the reader's 'everyman' perspective. Makes sense. But still, there must have been a better way to streamline that because as it is, the genre of 'King's Gambit' is muddled.
Is it Hoffman's autobiography? Is it an ethnography of the culture of high-level chess playing interspliced with a bit of history and some dramatic tales of intrigue?
Well, it's trying to be both, so you really have to know that and be on board with that to like the book.
I didn't know that, but I'm pretty amicable, and so I did get on board, and I really enjoyed doing a bit of chess globetrotting and parasocial elbow rubbing with the who's-who of the chess world of the 2000s. So if you're interested in that more socio-psychology side of the game, this is a good springboard. Hoffman's bibliography and even just the way he brought high level but less uber-famous players to life offers fertile ground for those looking for further reading.
There are definitely sections I'll read again. His first-hand stories about the Kasparov/Karpov rivalry (really, all his stories involving either of the 'Ks') are a delight.
All the Wrong Moves: A Memoir about Chess, Love, and Ruining Everything by Sasha Chapin
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
lighthearted
4.75
"I didn't get decapitated, so my affair with chess really wasn't so bad."(2)
I postulate that the reason most memoirs are...of a... questionable caliber is because the author simply did not understand why they were writing it. And more specifically, for whom. As such, many memoirs-- no matter how interesting the life of the writer--feel under-edited, navel-gazey, and sloppily organized. Very often while reading memoirs I find myself thinking "so what?"
Happily, this is not such a memoir.
Sasha Chaplin may have made all the wrong moves when it came to chess, but he made all the right ones when it came to putting this memoir together.
"All the Wrong Moves" tells the story of a man chasing the dream of being interesting, being extraordinary, being a winner...and crashing and burning and feeling miserable (both physically and spiritually) as a result.
That's right: this is secretly a self-help book. But not one of those preachy ones with steps and little daily tips; this is a self-help book meant to humble its audience when you, the reader, realize you may also have, at some point or another, suffered from main character syndrome. "How would the rest of this go? I wondered. Like, the rest of my life? [...] Running from one distraction to another, finding any defined life unbefitting of a never-ending sense of grandiosity." (174)
Chaplin positions himself as the 'everyman' and yet, as we follow his tumultuous chess journey from one exotic location to the next, we are let in on a little secret: you don't have to be a chess champion to be interesting. His character sketches of the people he meets, and his quintessentially Millennial self-deprecating sense of humor move the narrative along while in between anecdotes about himself he sprinkles in lessons he's learned from past mistakes, and quirky little fun facts about the titular sport of chess.
And yes, this is a book about chess as much or more so than anything else, so you do have to be at least a smidge interested in it to pick this up, yet Chaplin keeps things accessible in a way that suggests the chess stuff is geared towards a fairly unfamiliar audience. That is: you would probably walk away from the book knowing more than you did before. Certainly, you'd walk away knowing a few fancy names for various chess strategies. You'd also come away with a good sense of a few of chess's 'main characters'; quirky grandmasters, neurotic (and normal) chess superstars, a slew of wacky (and normal) people Chapin played during his pursuit of chess fame and fortune, including the last person he ever played chess against.
If you have even a fleeting interest in the world of competitive chess and how it could land a guy on a questionable toilet in the middle of nowhere in India a few years after leaving it all behind to move to Chiang Mai with a girl he'd just met, 'All the Wrong Moves' could be for you.
And if you're still not sure, read it to find out the secret of chess from grandmaster and prominent side character, Ben Finegold -- it really hits once you finally get there.
I postulate that the reason most memoirs are...of a... questionable caliber is because the author simply did not understand why they were writing it. And more specifically, for whom. As such, many memoirs-- no matter how interesting the life of the writer--feel under-edited, navel-gazey, and sloppily organized. Very often while reading memoirs I find myself thinking "so what?"
Happily, this is not such a memoir.
Sasha Chaplin may have made all the wrong moves when it came to chess, but he made all the right ones when it came to putting this memoir together.
"All the Wrong Moves" tells the story of a man chasing the dream of being interesting, being extraordinary, being a winner...and crashing and burning and feeling miserable (both physically and spiritually) as a result.
That's right: this is secretly a self-help book. But not one of those preachy ones with steps and little daily tips; this is a self-help book meant to humble its audience when you, the reader, realize you may also have, at some point or another, suffered from main character syndrome. "How would the rest of this go? I wondered. Like, the rest of my life? [...] Running from one distraction to another, finding any defined life unbefitting of a never-ending sense of grandiosity." (174)
Chaplin positions himself as the 'everyman' and yet, as we follow his tumultuous chess journey from one exotic location to the next, we are let in on a little secret: you don't have to be a chess champion to be interesting. His character sketches of the people he meets, and his quintessentially Millennial self-deprecating sense of humor move the narrative along while in between anecdotes about himself he sprinkles in lessons he's learned from past mistakes, and quirky little fun facts about the titular sport of chess.
And yes, this is a book about chess as much or more so than anything else, so you do have to be at least a smidge interested in it to pick this up, yet Chaplin keeps things accessible in a way that suggests the chess stuff is geared towards a fairly unfamiliar audience. That is: you would probably walk away from the book knowing more than you did before. Certainly, you'd walk away knowing a few fancy names for various chess strategies. You'd also come away with a good sense of a few of chess's 'main characters'; quirky grandmasters, neurotic (and normal) chess superstars, a slew of wacky (and normal) people Chapin played during his pursuit of chess fame and fortune, including the last person he ever played chess against.
If you have even a fleeting interest in the world of competitive chess and how it could land a guy on a questionable toilet in the middle of nowhere in India a few years after leaving it all behind to move to Chiang Mai with a girl he'd just met, 'All the Wrong Moves' could be for you.
And if you're still not sure, read it to find out the secret of chess from grandmaster and prominent side character, Ben Finegold -- it really hits once you finally get there.
Spirits in the Dark by H. Nigel Thomas
It was this exchange that made me suspect the intended audience of 'Spirits in the Dark' was white people. As someone who has been this white person, I can say with my full chest that it is deeply cringe to whine like this, as though anyone owes you their friendship just because you want it and just because you think not being racist entitles you to it. Stop that.
Moving on.
As the novel progresses, Jerome's exasperation and irritation with well-meaning white people begins to metamorphose into flat mistrust and hatred, culminating in him blacking out while having sex with a white-passing colleague. Later, she reveals to him that he tried to choke her. "I can' help how I look Jerome," she says. "and now that yo' tell me yo' choke me that night cause yo' think I White, I think I woulda prefer not to know. I woulda prefer to think of you as a weirdo."(p.159)
What's interesting about this plotline is how it illustrates the complexity of racialized generational trauma. Of course it's not acceptable for Jerome to go around choking out random women he perceives to be white, nor is it fair to instantly mistrust a someone just because they're white (especially when the white people we see him interact with are in large part not bad people), but it is understandable why growing up under a cultural legacy of racialized oppression would result in a hatred of 'whiteness'. And, I mean, yeah. 'Whiteness', conceptually, is something most people should be leery of--white people included.
'Spirits in the Dark' masterfully demonstrates how high a task it is to ask a person to interpersonally compartmentalize very raw feelings of resentment while at the same time not condoning or rationalizing generalized prejudice. 'In the Castle of My Skin' grapples with this push and pull as well, but not as a main plot thread.
Racial tension between white and Black people isn't the only thing 'Spirits in the Dark' is about, though. While we do spend a lot of time on it, we spend just as much, if not more, on the racial tension between Black residents of the island, where in many ways, the racial hierarchy imposed by whiteness is upheld; the closer a person is to 'passing' as white, the better off the are socially. This is most thoroughly explored when a group of Ghanian students arrive on the island for a few weeks of cultural exchange.
We see through their interactions with the islanders how, over the course of many years of colonisation, 'African' has become synonymous with 'backwards' and 'barbaric.' He writes of how the islanders would tell stories of African cannibalism and how 'African' was used as an insult. Whereas, on the other hand, British culture is a bar of civilization to be met: "While he walked the half mile home he thought about bad English and good English and he decided he would speak good
English, the English the librarian spoke. Not the English his mother spoke." (p.6)
And yet, even if he "is elevated above his jungle status in proportion to his adoption of [Britain's] cultural standards" (Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks), he will always be Black.
It is while showing one of the Ghanian boys around that Jerome (and the reader) is first directly confronted with the simultaneous truths that Black people are not a monolith, and yet there are many shared experiences between Black people even when they are from countries with vastly different cultures. And the experience that binds Black people together and forms the backbone of the Black identity is: subjugation under whiteness; a bond through shared historical trauma.
And then, as though these two themes weren't enough for so small a novel, Thomas adds one more layer of complexity: Jerome is gay.
Being rejected by the academic world he loves is one thing; in some ways it's something that doesn't surprise him. But his investment in literature and academia more broadly isolates him from his family (his father often pooh-poohing his son's 'obsession' with reading). He finds it hard to fit in with his 'own people.' Then he begins having sexual thoughts about other boys, something he knows, were he to act upon those thoughts, would at best get him ostracized and at worst...
Jerome can't stifle or hide being Black, but he can stifle and hide the fact that he's gay. And he does. For thirty years.
He tries to find community in the Christian church, but ultimately rejects it when he realizes Christianity is just another tool of subjugation--something pointed out by one of the Ghanaian students at the beginning:
After giving up on faith in a white Christian god, he succumbs to the mental pressure of trying and failing to fit in somewhere and has a nervous breakdown. Then another one. And another one.
In the end, in a last-ditch effort to find peace within himself and to feel a sense of belonging he's been missing his entire life, he decides to join the Esosusu (Spiritualist Baptists), a religious sect that is a fusion of Christianity and West African spiritualism. In order to join, he must first undergo a spiritual cleansing in the form of spending three days more or less isolated in a pitch-black room.
Whether or not his attempt at psychic healing is ultimately a success, I leave for you to discover when you read the novel yourself.
challenging
emotional
hopeful
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
"He resented whiteness as a reference point: sometimes he tried to replace it with greed, the drive to control others, and tribalism, but those terms always gave way to whiteness and blackness, and he wondered when he would stop being a shadow of England and a person in his own right."p.159
I buddy read 'Spirits in the Dark' with a friend from St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and one of the first things she said about the novel in our discussion was that there is no Isabella Island in St. Vincent and the Grenadines. It made me wonder why author H. Nigel Thomas chose to fictionalize the setting of the plot, but not any other location referenced in the text (e.g. 'America', 'England,' etc. are all written about by name). I can only assume it's to create the opportunity for generalization, which would only make if the assumed/intended audience was a non-Vincentian one.
Unlike Barbadian author George Lamming's 'In the Castle of My Skin' (referenced by name in 'Spirits in the Dark' as a contentious book read by a primarily white class in St. Vincent that causes trouble among the students when the Black minority of the class support Lamming's representation of a white plantation owner), 'Spirits in the Dark' comes across as having been written for a white audience.
Much of the focus of the protagonist, Jerome's, inner turmoil centers around his identity as an educated Black man struggling to thrive in a recently independent former British colony. Through this lens we see how he is forced to be twice as good as his white classmates only to get half as much (or less). Unlike his white classmates, he isn't able to cut up because while they would risk (at worst) a slap on the wrist if caught, he risks expulsion.
The existence of this sort of caste system is something his white friend and classmate, Peter, tries to empathize with, but cannot. And despite his earnest attempts to express how (what we would now call) 'woke' he is, how much he understands the situation -- perhaps even better than Jerome does himself-- Jerome never rewards him by letting him off the hook as 'one of the good ones' and in fact grows increasingly irritated with him, especially after an exchange during which Peter accuses Jerome of giving him and the other white students 'the cold shoulder.'
I buddy read 'Spirits in the Dark' with a friend from St. Vincent and the Grenadines, and one of the first things she said about the novel in our discussion was that there is no Isabella Island in St. Vincent and the Grenadines. It made me wonder why author H. Nigel Thomas chose to fictionalize the setting of the plot, but not any other location referenced in the text (e.g. 'America', 'England,' etc. are all written about by name). I can only assume it's to create the opportunity for generalization, which would only make if the assumed/intended audience was a non-Vincentian one.
Unlike Barbadian author George Lamming's 'In the Castle of My Skin' (referenced by name in 'Spirits in the Dark' as a contentious book read by a primarily white class in St. Vincent that causes trouble among the students when the Black minority of the class support Lamming's representation of a white plantation owner), 'Spirits in the Dark' comes across as having been written for a white audience.
Much of the focus of the protagonist, Jerome's, inner turmoil centers around his identity as an educated Black man struggling to thrive in a recently independent former British colony. Through this lens we see how he is forced to be twice as good as his white classmates only to get half as much (or less). Unlike his white classmates, he isn't able to cut up because while they would risk (at worst) a slap on the wrist if caught, he risks expulsion.
The existence of this sort of caste system is something his white friend and classmate, Peter, tries to empathize with, but cannot. And despite his earnest attempts to express how (what we would now call) 'woke' he is, how much he understands the situation -- perhaps even better than Jerome does himself-- Jerome never rewards him by letting him off the hook as 'one of the good ones' and in fact grows increasingly irritated with him, especially after an exchange during which Peter accuses Jerome of giving him and the other white students 'the cold shoulder.'
"Why don't you play soccer with us after school sometimes? The other Black boys play with us. We do all sorts of things together. You don't even listen when we talk to you. [...] It's not my fault that I'm White. And it isn't myfault that I'm British." (p.74)
It was this exchange that made me suspect the intended audience of 'Spirits in the Dark' was white people. As someone who has been this white person, I can say with my full chest that it is deeply cringe to whine like this, as though anyone owes you their friendship just because you want it and just because you think not being racist entitles you to it. Stop that.
Moving on.
As the novel progresses, Jerome's exasperation and irritation with well-meaning white people begins to metamorphose into flat mistrust and hatred, culminating in him blacking out while having sex with a white-passing colleague. Later, she reveals to him that he tried to choke her. "I can' help how I look Jerome," she says. "and now that yo' tell me yo' choke me that night cause yo' think I White, I think I woulda prefer not to know. I woulda prefer to think of you as a weirdo."(p.159)
What's interesting about this plotline is how it illustrates the complexity of racialized generational trauma. Of course it's not acceptable for Jerome to go around choking out random women he perceives to be white, nor is it fair to instantly mistrust a someone just because they're white (especially when the white people we see him interact with are in large part not bad people), but it is understandable why growing up under a cultural legacy of racialized oppression would result in a hatred of 'whiteness'. And, I mean, yeah. 'Whiteness', conceptually, is something most people should be leery of--white people included.
'Spirits in the Dark' masterfully demonstrates how high a task it is to ask a person to interpersonally compartmentalize very raw feelings of resentment while at the same time not condoning or rationalizing generalized prejudice. 'In the Castle of My Skin' grapples with this push and pull as well, but not as a main plot thread.
Racial tension between white and Black people isn't the only thing 'Spirits in the Dark' is about, though. While we do spend a lot of time on it, we spend just as much, if not more, on the racial tension between Black residents of the island, where in many ways, the racial hierarchy imposed by whiteness is upheld; the closer a person is to 'passing' as white, the better off the are socially. This is most thoroughly explored when a group of Ghanian students arrive on the island for a few weeks of cultural exchange.
We see through their interactions with the islanders how, over the course of many years of colonisation, 'African' has become synonymous with 'backwards' and 'barbaric.' He writes of how the islanders would tell stories of African cannibalism and how 'African' was used as an insult. Whereas, on the other hand, British culture is a bar of civilization to be met: "While he walked the half mile home he thought about bad English and good English and he decided he would speak good
English, the English the librarian spoke. Not the English his mother spoke." (p.6)
And yet, even if he "is elevated above his jungle status in proportion to his adoption of [Britain's] cultural standards" (Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks), he will always be Black.
It is while showing one of the Ghanian boys around that Jerome (and the reader) is first directly confronted with the simultaneous truths that Black people are not a monolith, and yet there are many shared experiences between Black people even when they are from countries with vastly different cultures. And the experience that binds Black people together and forms the backbone of the Black identity is: subjugation under whiteness; a bond through shared historical trauma.
And then, as though these two themes weren't enough for so small a novel, Thomas adds one more layer of complexity: Jerome is gay.
Being rejected by the academic world he loves is one thing; in some ways it's something that doesn't surprise him. But his investment in literature and academia more broadly isolates him from his family (his father often pooh-poohing his son's 'obsession' with reading). He finds it hard to fit in with his 'own people.' Then he begins having sexual thoughts about other boys, something he knows, were he to act upon those thoughts, would at best get him ostracized and at worst...
Jerome can't stifle or hide being Black, but he can stifle and hide the fact that he's gay. And he does. For thirty years.
He tries to find community in the Christian church, but ultimately rejects it when he realizes Christianity is just another tool of subjugation--something pointed out by one of the Ghanaian students at the beginning:
"Every British boy knows about King Arthur and St. George. Every Jew knows about Abraham. The first thing missionaries do is spread propaganda about their heroes and force others to give up theirs. You know why? Because when we adopt their heroes, we begin to think like them, we become destabilized, we begin to want to be like them, and then they can do whatever they like to us."(p.64)
After giving up on faith in a white Christian god, he succumbs to the mental pressure of trying and failing to fit in somewhere and has a nervous breakdown. Then another one. And another one.
In the end, in a last-ditch effort to find peace within himself and to feel a sense of belonging he's been missing his entire life, he decides to join the Esosusu (Spiritualist Baptists), a religious sect that is a fusion of Christianity and West African spiritualism. In order to join, he must first undergo a spiritual cleansing in the form of spending three days more or less isolated in a pitch-black room.
Whether or not his attempt at psychic healing is ultimately a success, I leave for you to discover when you read the novel yourself.