this is the highly subjective way I read and interpret literature
(the emphasis lies on literature, so you'll only find a couply of trashy readings here and there)
It’s spring, gardening season is starting (or has already started), so it’s the best possible timing to read Fukuoka’s book about natural, ecological farming.
And so far, it is beautiful!
You really have to bear in mind that the date of origin is 1937 and for that, I am pleasantly surprised that it is not more preachy or propaganda-ish. Of course, there is a lot of inner-European nationalism and racism in the text (to be fair, if there was any time to be a racist nationalist, the 1930’s would have been it), of course, the protagonist is a smart Englishman and of course, the English will probably save the world from the homosexual Nazis – at least according to Burdekins novel.
I understand, why there is a lot of fuss about Swastika Night in feminist circles, but I would not claim the degenerated status of women to be the main focus of the text. As far as I am concerned, Burdekin’s novel deals mainly with the deliberate erasure of history and the consequent making up of your own stories by the people = men in power (yes, mayor 1984 flashback and although there is no being sure about it, it is very likely that Orwell borrowed heavily from Swastika Night). I am actually really sorry that only the feminist aspect stuck with it and Orwell snatched away the whole meddling with history discourse, because Burdekin not only brought the issue up 12 years prior to him, but she executed in a much more elaborate way.
Oddly enough, I felt some very homophobic tendencies despite the central bromance between Alfred and Hermann. She highly propagates the Christian family model consisting explicitly of father, mother and children and once she even states that „normal“ equals „not homosexual“, but I guess it was the 1930’s after all.
Now about the whole language thing… well, her efforts of mixing in some German here and there are quite cute in the beginning, Burdekin obviously took pride in this, but soon it just made me cringe and I wished she would have abandoned the idea completely. We are talking the Die Hard German level of a Hans Gruber – no wonder, Karl didn’t have a clue what to do, after Hans yelled „Karl, schieß dem Fenster!“ at him.
But despite using some incorrect German, ignoring the existence of every single Umlaut and treating the article of der Führer as if it would be part of the name and needn’t to be grammatically altered (I get it, it is a tough language to learn, mistakes happen and I am still glad, people make the effort), her use of language in this setting is simply confusing. It was hardly ever clear to me, in what language the characters were conversing with each other (not that it matters much, but it felt very forced and strange sometimes), for example, in one of the earlier chapters, the Knight von Hess, Alfred and Hermann have a conversation about history and real life Hitler, so von Hess explicitly states in the beginning that he will speak English: "I think," he said, "that I will speak in English. […] I want to make absolutely certain that Alfred understands everything I have to tell." And just four pages later this happens: "it is certain, that he never married, but whether he had intercourse with women in a sexual sense or not, we do not know." "Married?" said Alfred. "I’m sorry, sir, that’s a German word I don’t know."
I might be picky here, but did I miss them switching the language somewhere along the way? Did Burdekin foresee the infamous Denglisch? The whole book was like watching Inglorious Basterds in translation, without all the linguistic nuances that make up the best part of the movie. Now, I know, she could never have written her novel in German, but it would have made so much more sense to just come up with any excuse to let her characters speak English! And why did she herself bring up this whole issue in the first place?
Overall, the book could have done without the Christian propaganda towards the end also, the democracy bashing really came as a surprise. But despite that, Swastika Night is a solid dystopian novel, unjustly reduced to its feminist content.
Oh boy… One chapter in and I can already tell that this text has the potential to be good, but at the same time, there will definitely be some eye-rolling on my part.
First published in 1940, Boye creates an uncanny and throughout above-average dystopian novel in which the protagonist Leo Kall invents the drug Kallocain, which, once injected, forces you to say the truth for eight minutes straight while being fully conscious and aware of it – all of this in a totalitarian, paranoid surveillance society.
And what happens? It turns out, that everyone, even the most faithful poster citizen is hiding something. Not necessarily a crime, but everyone has his or her personal skeleton in the closet he or she is trying to hide from the state, from their families and/or even from themselves. Of course, an invention like that is easily exploited, especially, after a law is passed according to which one can be convicted on the basis of their thoughts and intentions only, because with the help of a little Kallocain, you have no other choice than to tell it all (Minority Report problems, anyone?).
It is the old, but unfortunately still relevant tale of exchanging freedom for assumed security which in the end results in a state of terror, because the omnipresence of surveillance creates fear and paranoia instead of security. The novel starts a bit slow, but picks up speed quite soon and stays exciting throughout despite having a relatively predictable plot and mostly ok characters with the exception of the protagonist, his wife and the chief of police - those three are great, multifaceted figures.
Despite its flaws, Kallocain offers a number of strong scenes, ideas and images, many of them concerning human relations and let me tell you, that some of them really go deep. There is a gruelling forlornness lingering in this text, but Boye shows an amazing finesse in dealing with it.
Although I despise the overall smartass macho behaviour of Hemingways male protagonist, For Whom the Bell Tolls deserves every bit of praise it got since its publication.
Yet I am still a bit torn about what to write here, because with every aspect I want to highlight as being amazing and extraordinary, comes a ‘but’.
First of all, the writing is outstanding. Hemingways prose not only draws you in plot-wise, but reaches a level of awesomeness, only few other writers ever achieved. On so many instances, I paused and wondered how someone can write like this? Some sentences seem to be so simple and short at first glance, yet they contain an overwhelming amount of meaning, wisdom and emotion. While it doesn’t get much better than that, I’d rather have had some of the dialogues cut out completely, because many of them were so repetitive without adding anything relevant to neither the story nor any of the characters involved that the thought to just skip ahead crossed my mind more than once. For example, the whole back and forth between Jordan and Pilar about her refusal to tell him what she saw while reading in the palm of his hand took up two very tedious and unsatisfactory pages at one point.
Secondly, the language. Of course, this ties in with the writing style and, as already mentioned, some parts are just wonderful and a pleasure to read. Hemingway uses a pretty realistic and forward way of expression (I guess, he himself would prefer using the term ‘honest’ in this context), here and there he randomly mixes in some Spanish sentences or throws a puta madre into the conversation from time to time, which are small contributions to the setting, but they enhance the atmosphere a lot.
But speaking of setting and of mixing in some Spanish, I have to admit, that in my opinion this is also the cause for the novel’s greatest weakness. In order to give the reader a better feeling of a book written in the midst of a Spanish guerilla group, Hemingway resorts to the use of archaisms and some odd expressions which did not really work out so well, because they sometimes read like a google translate version of a real Spanish text. Also, it is quite cute and annoying at the same time, that in order for his characters not to curse, all the swearwords are replaced, for example simply by ‘obscenity’ (except they do it in Spanish, because this is obviously ok). This might be the result of censorship or some form of modesty in the 40’s (I really don’t know), but, could you imagine this fearnaught dynamiter Robert Jordan look you straight in the eye and tell you to ‘go muck yourself’? Well, neither can I.
So I guess the bottom line here is, that I really, really liked and enjoyed For Whom the Bell Tolls, I binge-read great portions of this novel (and I would do it again), but other parts (especially the repetitive dialogue parts) bore the obscenity out of me.
So far I really love some parts of it, but others feel redundant and quite boring to be earnest (sorry, Hemingway)
As the cover informs me, this is "The most famous science fiction novel ever written". Well, I am no expert for science fiction literature, but I wouldn’t go this far. And even if it is the most famous sci-fi novel ever written, it certainly is not the best.
First of all, I disliked this initial will-they-won’t-they relationship between Jill and Ben so much, because it felt completely out of place and rather irrelevant (which it turned out to be, surprise), although I did like Jill from the very beginning. Secondly, Heinlein is bringing in a bunch of new characters in every new part of the book whom I personally didn’t care much about, could only distinguish from each other to a certain degree (until the very end) and who replace the well established characters as protagonists. Then in the third part, he finally starts to focus on the Man from Mars, letting the former main characters like Ben or Harshaw fall into almost complete oblivion. Also, while focusing more and more on Mike, Jill gets so incredibly one dimensional and stereotypical, that it was hard to bear at some points and last, but not least, the lack of storytelling quality became painfully apparent as the book carried on.
Starting from chapter three, the rest of the book basically becomes a treatise on sex and orgies – from a male and VERY heterosexual point of view – this goes as far as Ben, running out of a building, naked and in full panick mode, just because Mike tried to touch him while he was making out with Jill on the sofa or Harshaw explicitly stating (more than once) that being gay is without any doubt "a wrongness" for men, yet while being a lesbian is also wrong, it is somehow less wrong and therefore tolerable.
And if all of the above wouldn’t be bad enough on their own, the dialogues are so badly written, it hurt. They are not just stylistically bad, but most of the time they consist of nothing but tough talk, without anybody taking action or doing even a fraction of what they were saying for the last four pages (this especially concerns the character of Jubal Harshaw). I was not expecting high class literature when I picked up Stranger in a Strange Land, but the only other instance I can remember when I encountered dialogues written this bad was while watching The Expendables.
The last thing, that probably bothered me the most was the sexism. Sexism in the 60's was obviously an everyday thing and let us all take a moment to be thankful that what was considered "normal" fifty years ago would nowadays involve a nasty lawsuit. I could give you countless examples of passages that not only annoyed, but seriously upset or disgusted me, but I posted some of them here already and this review is getting way too long as it is.
I really tried to get into the story, but this book simply didn’t work for me, although the basic underlying problem of human expansion and exploitation (be it other countries or other planets) as well as the human ignorance when it comes to different believes, societies or species would be a super interesting topic to explore (not to mention the abuse of power and the government trying to produce a doppelgänger, putting out fake news and covering up their actions), but I don’t think that this was Heinleins goal. To be honest, I am not quite sure of what Heinlein wanted to get across here. Love thy neighbour, maybe?
This edition contains three Texts by Cavendish, but I skipped both The Contract and Assaulted and Pursued Chasity and only read The Description of a New World, Called The Blazing World from 1666, the one and only text of its kind written by a 17th century authoress. It is a mixture of what I perceive as a fairy tale, utopian fiction, romance, „scientific“ speculation and a little bit of meta science fiction elements thrown into it with a very peculiar punctuation and way too few paragraph breaks.
The story itself was okay, the ramblings about natural philosophy and alchemy were extremely tedious and way too long, but the part where the protagonist Empress starts to hang out with the author of the book (her „platonic“ bestie) woke me up again. I would have loved the Empress to prefer the zombie army over the submarines to conquer the world she originally came from, but well, I guess the 17th century was a bit too early for a zombie hype.
Only a male author in the 60's could let his female protagonist say some bullshit like this. Classic or not, but Stranger in a strange land really disgusts me from time to time, just take a look at this passage:
It is not because I needed to read a book on how to get an optimistic perspective on life that I came across Danny Wallaces book, but a couple of weeks ago I rewatched the Jim Carrey movie Yes Man (recommended btw) and noticed for the first time, that it was based on a book – and that made me curious. Also, while the lot of you are reading Halloween-themed stuff and my timeline here is filled with stories about ghosts, murderers and/or spooky stuff of all sorts (not complaining, do your thing, guys and girls), I also wanted to bring in some fresh air and diversity to your timelines as well. You’re welcome.
So basically, this book is about Wallace’s experiment to „say Yes more“, which means, he started saying „yes“ to basically anything and everything which led to a lot of new experiences – good ones, bad ones, strange ones and really awkward ones. Of course, there’s the obligatory responding to email spam and scams (he wrote this in 2005), but despite doing obviously stupid things like that, it is a very nice read. Not very demanding in an intellectual kind of way, but entertaining and even a bit inspirational nonetheless.
And it is very British indeed!
Oh dear. Sticking with the dream metaphor, I have to say that this book was a nightmare in more than one regard! After the very rough start it gives you thanks to the overly antiquated language, you’d think it would get better once you’re used to that, but this is not the case whatsoever, because all of L’an 2440 remains an exhausting, yet not really rewarding read.
First of all, Mercier must have had a severe footnote fetish. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that almost every page contains at least two of them, sometimes the footnotes even take up more space on the page than the actual text. And as if this wouldn’t have been enough distraction, there are hundreds of additional annotations and comments by the translator as well as editor of this book, so focusing on the already not electrifying plot is a serious challenge.
Secondly, instead of describing his utopian vision of Paris in 2440, Mercier is almost exclusively complaining about his 18th century present and – if you think about it – even this happens in a weird way. In his dream he talks to a bunch of 25th century people and it seems that every one of them must be a historian specialised in 18th century France, because they are very well informed about various details of everyday life during that time. And I mean very well informed indeed.
For a utopian novel there are hardly any innovations to be found, Merciers idea of improving the shitty present doesn’t go any further than having a "good" monarch ascend the throne and enact a bunch of morally improved laws. All in all, this is way too preachy, exhausting and too far off from the good old liberté, égalité and fraternité to enjoy reading it.
Oh man, Science Fiction from the 60's... So. Much. Sexism.
I am having a lot of Logan's Run flashbacks.
This is A. J. Lieblings fascinating (and very episodical) account of America’s golden age of boxing. It does not only deal with the careers of legendary fighters like Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano or Sugar Ray Robinson (amongst others), but it includes the people behind and next to those iconic boxers as well. I was probably pretty biased towards this book right from the very beginning, because after dreaming about it for years, I finally found the time (and the balls) to start boxing myself and regardless of all the initial insecurity, frustration, the never-ending soreness of muscles and every punch in the face I got since then, I still love every minute and every round of sparring!
I never thought it possible to write about boxing like this – graceful, incredibly poetic, insightful and humorous. AJ Lieblings sharp analyses show his enthusiasm – I would even go as far as calling it his love – for the sport and everyone involved in it. His understanding of fine pugilism itself helps him to find amazing metaphors, thus creating a poetic mixture of boxing and literature, filled with underlying (pretty sophisticated) jokes that will hit your jaw like a straight right as soon as you drop your guard for a second.
But The Sweet Science is also a celebration of nostalgia. By rendering an era before TV and commercial success started to ruin sports in general and drag it down to the publicity spectacle most of it is today, Liebling demonstrates what it meant to personally go to an event, to be there, being completely present in the moment and to not only observe what is going on around you, but to actively engage and interact with your environment.
There are indeed some downsides to this as well. First and foremost its outdatedness, by which I especially mean the television bashing and the slight, but persistent racism (he really tries hard to not only mention every fighters skin colour, but to also give you a very good idea of the exact shade of it). Also he is mainly focusing on the heavyweight division (as always), although he is mentioning some noteworthy light- and welterweights as well.
Overall I think that AJL succeeded in capturing the often overlooked beauty of boxing while at the same time elevating the craftsmanship of sportswriting to a whole new level. If you think like my mum (who still hates the idea of me putting on gloves) and consider boxing as being just another level of brawling, a dumb sport for brutal nincompoops who frantically swing at each other, I can only beg you to read this enthusiastic and lively account and let yourself be convinced of what a sweet, sweet science boxing truly is.
So. Many. Footnotes!
Seriously, half of almost every page is filled with footnotes by the author, I can hardly focus on the text.