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smart_as_paint's reviews
172 reviews
Beartown by Fredrik Backman
4.0
The bears of Beartown exist in three dimensions. Every character has depth. Everything is complex. Everything is not as it seems.
Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre by Max Brooks
2.0
I used to love Avocados. Every day I would come home from school and eat avocados. They were hearty and complex and quickly shaped my flavor identity. Until one day I day, I came home and ate an avocado that was unripe. The taste wasn't bad but it was wrong in a thousand indescribable ways but I ate it anyway because avocados were my favorite food. This was a horrible mistake. I've never been able to eat avocados without thinking of the unprepared blandness of that fruit
Devolution is an unripe avocado. Don't let it ruin your pallet. Just read World War Z.
Devolution is an unripe avocado. Don't let it ruin your pallet. Just read World War Z.
1984 by George Orwell
4.0
Orwell, darling, you know you don't have to put your academic slashfic in the middle of your seminal dystopian novel.
My favorite part of 1984 is when an old man differentiates capitalism and authoritarianism by the shape of the oppressor's hats.
My favorite part of 1984 is when an old man differentiates capitalism and authoritarianism by the shape of the oppressor's hats.
The Magic School Bus and the Electric Field Trip by Joanna Cole
3.0
Shout-out to Phoebe's grandmother for carving out a heart shaped hole with a circular saw. She's the best carpenter since Jesus.
The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket
3.0
The Bad Begining is a double-edged sword.
And by that I mean that it is not a literal blade with two edges. If you find yourself in need to a weapon, I would recommend looking elsewhere for something to defend yourself. The pen may be mightier than the sword but that is rarely useful information in a duel.
In this case double-edged means equally capable of doing good and doing ill (I'll leave it up to the the reader's discretion to decide why inflicting damage might be metaphorically positive). For example, The Bad Begining provides a lense through which to view language and it's role in shaping narrative. Unfortunately, It also comnects devience to immorality. Heteronormative adults are foolish but good. And everyone outside that narrow norm is evil.
I look forward to finishing the series but I do hope that Snicket changes his tune.
And by that I mean that it is not a literal blade with two edges. If you find yourself in need to a weapon, I would recommend looking elsewhere for something to defend yourself. The pen may be mightier than the sword but that is rarely useful information in a duel.
In this case double-edged means equally capable of doing good and doing ill (I'll leave it up to the the reader's discretion to decide why inflicting damage might be metaphorically positive). For example, The Bad Begining provides a lense through which to view language and it's role in shaping narrative. Unfortunately, It also comnects devience to immorality. Heteronormative adults are foolish but good. And everyone outside that narrow norm is evil.
I look forward to finishing the series but I do hope that Snicket changes his tune.
The Reptile Room by Lemony Snicket
4.0
The reptile Room:
There is a very old story about two scantily clad people living in a human-sized terrarium. You might have heard of it. After all, it comes from a time when new books were rare and libraries practically unheard of. Well in this story, these two nudists are tricked by a snake into consuming illegal fruit and, as a result, are ejected from their place of residency.
This story is almost entirely unlike the second book in the tragic life of the Baudelaire orphans. True, both texts contain devious serpents, the acquisition of knowledge, and being forced to abandon one's paradisiac childhood home. But that is where the similarities end.
Unlike the previous installment in the tale of the Baudelaire orphans, The name of this book is a bit of a misnomer, a word which here means inaccurate. This glum tale has less to do with reptiles and more to do with family. In this way, it is superior to its predecessor. Gone are the incessant connections between deviance and evil (gone too are the horrific implications of marriage between the adult Count Olaf and the 14-year-old Violet). Instead, the orphans have an opportunity to explore what brings them joy. And for that reason, I find this book superior to the original.
PostScript, a word which here means this author doesn't know where else to put this so they thought to squeeze it in at the end:
The author's explanation of dramatic irony is second to none. It's truly a masterclass in breaking the fourth wall.
There is a very old story about two scantily clad people living in a human-sized terrarium. You might have heard of it. After all, it comes from a time when new books were rare and libraries practically unheard of. Well in this story, these two nudists are tricked by a snake into consuming illegal fruit and, as a result, are ejected from their place of residency.
This story is almost entirely unlike the second book in the tragic life of the Baudelaire orphans. True, both texts contain devious serpents, the acquisition of knowledge, and being forced to abandon one's paradisiac childhood home. But that is where the similarities end.
Unlike the previous installment in the tale of the Baudelaire orphans, The name of this book is a bit of a misnomer, a word which here means inaccurate. This glum tale has less to do with reptiles and more to do with family. In this way, it is superior to its predecessor. Gone are the incessant connections between deviance and evil (gone too are the horrific implications of marriage between the adult Count Olaf and the 14-year-old Violet). Instead, the orphans have an opportunity to explore what brings them joy. And for that reason, I find this book superior to the original.
PostScript, a word which here means this author doesn't know where else to put this so they thought to squeeze it in at the end:
The author's explanation of dramatic irony is second to none. It's truly a masterclass in breaking the fourth wall.
The Wide Window by Lemony Snicket
4.0
For certain self-proclaimed literary scholars, the singular word 'they' is a bugbear, a word which here means frustratingly undesirable. But it's actually quite simple. There are many words in the English language that we use to refer to an individual other than their name: person, man, woman, child, adult, bugbear. These nouns have a great deal of power. They can hurt and heal and even (if my esteemed colleague Monsieur Phlamel is to be believed) let one live forever.
For example, when Count Olaf refers to the children as 'orphans', he is technically correct. As you know, Violet, Claus, and Sunny Baudelaire are all in possession of dead parents. But that doesn't stop his incessant use of the word 'orphans' from being a hurtful reminder of what might have been. Count Olaf uses 'orphans' to speak pain into existence. Through his wicked words and atrocious actions, the three Baudelaire children are unable to find new parents and remain— in every sense of the word— orphans.
Pronouns are no different. Much like every other noun, they hold power. 'He' and 'She' carry as much (if not more) meaning than 'bugbear' or 'orphan' because pronouns come laden with expectations. We are given these expectations when we are very young. And for some, they remain a comfy sweater. But like many presents we receive at an inconstant age, they don't always fit.
'They' is a word that has long been used to describe someone whose gender is unknown.
If you were to see a distant figure swimming in Lake Lachrymose, you might lean over to your restless companion and whisper "I sure hope they haven't eaten a two-week-old wedding cake." As society has evolved, language has followed suit. For those of us who do not fit comfortably in 'him' and 'her', the singular 'they' is a welcome respite.
With that necessary explanation out of the way, I must now turn my attention back to the third book in the catastrophic chronicle of the Baudelaire children. Or more specifically, count Olaf's henchperson of indeterminate gender. As Mr. Snicket so mournfully recounts, our three young heroes find themselves in need of a sailboat and come face to face with the henchperson of indeterminate gender.
To the author sometimes known as Lemony Snicket, I now direct the rest of this review at you. If I learned one thing from your wretched retelling of the Baudelaire children's tale, it's the deterministic power of language. Villains torture the sentences they speak. Dismissive adults define words for dismayed children. Aunt Josephine, the guardian in this loathsome text, is the epitome of this phenomenon. It's her rigid use of grammar that reflects her own unwillingness to bend to meet the needs of her charges, a word which here means the Baudelaire children. She may not be willing to face her own anxieties but at least she knows the proper use of 'its'.
With all this in mind, WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY must you insist on describing the henchperson of indeterminate gender in such gruesome detail? Let me remind you that many of your readers find no comfort in the twin sweaters of "him" and "her." So how might they feel when THE ONLY representation of their unease is described as a 'Lumbering' 'Creature' of 'Brobdingnagian' proportions? And this does not even take into account your continued use of the pronoun "its", a word whose very intention is to remove humanity from the subject.
Your writing comforted me as a child and continues to do so well into adulthood. Mr. Snicket, I write this review because I believe in the existence of blindspots. You let the shadow of stereotype block out any personal agency they might have had. I do not wish to defend the actions of this henchperson and I do not know which pronoun the henchperson might use. And despite your exhaustive research into the lives of the Baudelaire children, neither do you.
"I give The Wide Window four stars. A well-crafted narrative that reminds you to never discover your heroes' views on gender"
For example, when Count Olaf refers to the children as 'orphans', he is technically correct. As you know, Violet, Claus, and Sunny Baudelaire are all in possession of dead parents. But that doesn't stop his incessant use of the word 'orphans' from being a hurtful reminder of what might have been. Count Olaf uses 'orphans' to speak pain into existence. Through his wicked words and atrocious actions, the three Baudelaire children are unable to find new parents and remain— in every sense of the word— orphans.
Pronouns are no different. Much like every other noun, they hold power. 'He' and 'She' carry as much (if not more) meaning than 'bugbear' or 'orphan' because pronouns come laden with expectations. We are given these expectations when we are very young. And for some, they remain a comfy sweater. But like many presents we receive at an inconstant age, they don't always fit.
'They' is a word that has long been used to describe someone whose gender is unknown.
If you were to see a distant figure swimming in Lake Lachrymose, you might lean over to your restless companion and whisper "I sure hope they haven't eaten a two-week-old wedding cake." As society has evolved, language has followed suit. For those of us who do not fit comfortably in 'him' and 'her', the singular 'they' is a welcome respite.
With that necessary explanation out of the way, I must now turn my attention back to the third book in the catastrophic chronicle of the Baudelaire children. Or more specifically, count Olaf's henchperson of indeterminate gender. As Mr. Snicket so mournfully recounts, our three young heroes find themselves in need of a sailboat and come face to face with the henchperson of indeterminate gender.
To the author sometimes known as Lemony Snicket, I now direct the rest of this review at you. If I learned one thing from your wretched retelling of the Baudelaire children's tale, it's the deterministic power of language. Villains torture the sentences they speak. Dismissive adults define words for dismayed children. Aunt Josephine, the guardian in this loathsome text, is the epitome of this phenomenon. It's her rigid use of grammar that reflects her own unwillingness to bend to meet the needs of her charges, a word which here means the Baudelaire children. She may not be willing to face her own anxieties but at least she knows the proper use of 'its'.
With all this in mind, WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH WHY must you insist on describing the henchperson of indeterminate gender in such gruesome detail? Let me remind you that many of your readers find no comfort in the twin sweaters of "him" and "her." So how might they feel when THE ONLY representation of their unease is described as a 'Lumbering' 'Creature' of 'Brobdingnagian' proportions? And this does not even take into account your continued use of the pronoun "its", a word whose very intention is to remove humanity from the subject.
Your writing comforted me as a child and continues to do so well into adulthood. Mr. Snicket, I write this review because I believe in the existence of blindspots. You let the shadow of stereotype block out any personal agency they might have had. I do not wish to defend the actions of this henchperson and I do not know which pronoun the henchperson might use. And despite your exhaustive research into the lives of the Baudelaire children, neither do you.
"I give The Wide Window four stars. A well-crafted narrative that reminds you to never discover your heroes' views on gender"
Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones
3.0
The more this book tries to understand the magic, the less fun it is. It thrives in the whimsical cracks of ignorance. The mystery of the successful hat business far outshines the climactic wizards' duel.
Also, is Diana Wynne Jones suggesting that Welsh people are inherently magic? When the Kansas snake oil salesman is carried off to Oz, he uses lies and misdirection to convince people that he is a wizard. When Howl goes to Market Chipping, he just is a wizard. And so too is the Wizard Sullivan. As far as the text is concerned, all the wizards are Welsh. And that gets 3 stars right there.
Also, is Diana Wynne Jones suggesting that Welsh people are inherently magic? When the Kansas snake oil salesman is carried off to Oz, he uses lies and misdirection to convince people that he is a wizard. When Howl goes to Market Chipping, he just is a wizard. And so too is the Wizard Sullivan. As far as the text is concerned, all the wizards are Welsh. And that gets 3 stars right there.
Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl
4.0
Because so many Young Adult stories center on the child finding their independence, the parent child relationship is so often forgotten.
Not here. Oh no. Definitely not here.
Danny the Champion of the World is 224 pages of hyper concentrated bonding. The text even has a post script reminding parents to be open and honest with their children.
And you know what? It works. It works really well.
Danny's father is an instant classic. He's firm and nurturing, kind and serious, playful and intentional. There is a fire hose of love flowing to Danny that is impossible to ignore. He's the father that every kid dreams of.
Perhaps Dahl's greatest achievement in the creation of this platonic paragon of fatherhood, is the rough edges. He is no Gary Stu. Danny's father is irrational and human. He makes mistakes. And you love him even more.
Roald Dahl Is at his best when creating worlds that kids want to be a part of. And he is never better than Danny the Champion of the World.
Not here. Oh no. Definitely not here.
Danny the Champion of the World is 224 pages of hyper concentrated bonding. The text even has a post script reminding parents to be open and honest with their children.
And you know what? It works. It works really well.
Danny's father is an instant classic. He's firm and nurturing, kind and serious, playful and intentional. There is a fire hose of love flowing to Danny that is impossible to ignore. He's the father that every kid dreams of.
Perhaps Dahl's greatest achievement in the creation of this platonic paragon of fatherhood, is the rough edges. He is no Gary Stu. Danny's father is irrational and human. He makes mistakes. And you love him even more.
Roald Dahl Is at his best when creating worlds that kids want to be a part of. And he is never better than Danny the Champion of the World.
The Miserable Mill by Lemony Snicket
3.0
The Baudelaire children have a run-in with capitalism, a word which here means "the workers at the Lucky smells lumbermill who are forced to toil at a dangerous job while a smoke obscured man with an unpronounceable name gains all the profits." It is apparent to any sensible reader that the capitalism of bossman Sir and the nefarious schemes of the sinister Count Olaf are two sides of the same coin. Both cause great hardship to those who must live under their respective shadows. Both aim to rob individuals of what is rightfully theirs. Both will even result in messy tragedy. The only difference is legality. Count Olaf is labeled a criminal while bossman Sir is an entrepreneur.
You might be saying to yourself "That is not fair" for that is a reasonable reaction to becoming aware of capitalism. To that, I have two things to say. First, life is not fair. Especially when the rules and regulations of life are handcrafted by the very individuals who benefit the most from ensuring that it remains unfair. Second, the words "moral" and "legal" are not antonyms. Just because it is legal for Sir to pay the workers of the Lucky Smells Lumbermill in coupons, does not make it moral.
Sir is a villain. He is no less of a villain than the villainous Count Olaf. And, in this author's humble opinion, he is even more sinister. Because when these dreaded books come to a close and Count Olaf is no longer able to steal the fortune of the Baudelaire children, we will breathe a sigh of relief. The easily identifiable wrongdoer can no longer do any wrong. It will feel like a victory. And we shall be relieved. And even though Count Olaf is no more, The Lucky Smells Lumbermill will still be stealing the fortunes of the unfortunate workers who have no choice. When this moment comes, I want you to spare a thought for these workers and ask yourself:
"Why isn't Sir the antagonist?"
You might be saying to yourself "That is not fair" for that is a reasonable reaction to becoming aware of capitalism. To that, I have two things to say. First, life is not fair. Especially when the rules and regulations of life are handcrafted by the very individuals who benefit the most from ensuring that it remains unfair. Second, the words "moral" and "legal" are not antonyms. Just because it is legal for Sir to pay the workers of the Lucky Smells Lumbermill in coupons, does not make it moral.
Sir is a villain. He is no less of a villain than the villainous Count Olaf. And, in this author's humble opinion, he is even more sinister. Because when these dreaded books come to a close and Count Olaf is no longer able to steal the fortune of the Baudelaire children, we will breathe a sigh of relief. The easily identifiable wrongdoer can no longer do any wrong. It will feel like a victory. And we shall be relieved. And even though Count Olaf is no more, The Lucky Smells Lumbermill will still be stealing the fortunes of the unfortunate workers who have no choice. When this moment comes, I want you to spare a thought for these workers and ask yourself:
"Why isn't Sir the antagonist?"