Author: August

The prose in this book was as compact and exciting as it has been for all the previous books, but Fleming was pretty obviously losing steam. The idea of dressing him up as a Japanese miner (including skin dye!) and training him in Japanese customs and then expecting him to pass muster in less than a week is patently ridiculous. The Japanese culture is incredibly nuanced, and at the time Fleming wrote this novel, the influence of the West had not extended so far into their culture as it has now, making Bond’s transformation even less believable. I suppose the only consolation is that it doesn’t work. Bond is found out very quickly by almost every Japanese person he meets. I won’t comment on the Euro-centric attitudes that border on racism; I’ve already mentioned how poorly Fleming fares with non-European cultures when reviewing previous Bond novels. All that should be… Continue Reading →

I actually finished reading this on Thursday night (this being Saturday afternoon), but my allergies were so severe that I could barely think, let alone write a coherent blog post. Likewise last night after work. The allergies are with me still, but they have cleared sufficiently that I can now function more or less at my previous level, paltry and insufficient though that may be. The Amber Spyglass was not quite what the first two books were. It didn’t have the sense of fun, adventure and wonder of The Golden Compass, nor was there the sense of transition of The Subtle Knife. This was a book almost exclusively of conflict and self-discovery. It’s also a book of considerable controversy, probably more so than the other two. One of the big points of contention is the so-called “sex scene” near the end of the book. The two underage children do not… Continue Reading →

The shortest of the three novels in the His Dark Materials series, The Subtle Knife feels very much like a transitional work. At least one new major character is introduced (Will), and a new magical object (for which the book is named), but otherwise very little seems to have happened as far as Lyra’s adventure to find her father is concerned. The book does feel considerably more mature, dealing more frankly with matters of sexual maturity and issues of moral authority (and not coming down entirely against moral authority; Pullman rather sensibly comes down only against arbitrary moral authority). I can’t say that I had as much fun reading this one as I did The Golden Compass, but I now have more respect for Pullman’s ability to pull together a functioning set set of rules for world-building. Lyra’s world seemed rather skimpy in the first volume, but pulls together nicely… Continue Reading →

I had originally planned to read The Pale Horseman by Bernard Cornwell for book number thirty-eight, a book that had come to me along with a dozen or so others in a package from my father (whose taste in historical fiction is quite good; he steered me towards Patrick O’Brian, after all), and I had even announced that fact on this blog, but I got a hundred pages in only to learn that it was the second book in a series, and that while I had been sent the third book, I had not been sent the first. I am not the sort of person who will read a series out of order, so I switched to The Golden Compass instead, and here we are. For those not in the know (although how could you not be, given that it was recently adapted into a major motion picture starring Nicole… Continue Reading →

I can’t remember anymore if I’d read some of these stories prior to this week, or if I’d simply heard so much about them that it only seems like I had. I was interested in reading this book because O’Connor had a reputation for being controversial, and also for being somewhat forgotten, although I don’t pretend to know how true that last is. I only know that finding even this one volume of her work was pretty damned hard, and I had to look for quite some time. (I may not have mentioned this before, but I don’t buy books online unless it’s absolutely necessary; even when buying used or remaindered, I prefer to give my money to someone in the neighbourhood.) I have no difficulty seeing how her stories could be seen as controversial back in 1948. They address head on issues of race and religion; they tackle a… Continue Reading →

This is a bittersweet moment for me. Well, not this exact moment. More like three hours ago, when I finished reading the book. That was a bittersweet moment. You see, Michael Helm has only written two novels. On the one hand, I just finished reading a second spectacular novel by Michael Helm; on the other hand, there are no more Michael Helm novels left for me to read. I can guarantee you, that should I compile a list at the end of this year as I did at the end of last year, a list describing those books that I enjoyed reading the most in that year, both of Helm’s novels would be on it. In fact, I think it’s safe to declare Helm my favourite living Canadian author, supplanting the still wonderful Sheila Heti. Actually, come to think of it, all three of my favourite (living) Canadian writers of… Continue Reading →

What is it with French flaps these days? I hate the goddamn things. Sure, I suppose they look pretty and expensive, but books saddled with them almost always have tighter bindings, and that makes them more difficult to hold open, and all that extra weight near the outside edge of the book means that they can flop closed on you at exactly the wrong time. They are just a pain in the ass. I know, I know, Ed had told us that we shouldn’t talk about the cover when we review a book, that treating the thing like an artifact is out of bounds. Ed is wrong (or full of shit, depending on how much he’s irritated you on any given day). In an ideal world—and in the academic world as well, which is far from ideal—we talk about “texts” rather than “works” or “books”. Texts are these mystical abstract… Continue Reading →