Review of “Modern Philosophy. An Introduction and Survey” by Roger Scruton
This was quite a different presentation of philosophy than Bertrand Russell’s historical approach. The wide field of Western philosophy is covered by topic, with references to many philosophical systems and their relevance to each topic. Thus, philosophy is presented as a series of problems that fall between science and religion. No answers are given, but the reader is led to the cusp of the philosophical envelope in a very interesting style.
The overall scholarly writing style is interspersed with literary humor (some of these serious ideas are indeed bizarre). The sentences are too long (again), but well constructed.
The book is almost 500 pages, but most sections are the length of encyclopedia entries. In fact, he is structured very much like an encyclopedia. I plan to keep it on the shelf because you can’t do an internet search if you don’t know where to start.
Review of “Other Voices, Other Rooms” by Truman Capote
This is the author’s first novel. I read it because I enjoyed In Cold Blood, but it wasn’t fiction. I wanted to see how he wrote in my genre. This is obviously a first novel. It is both overwritten and underwritten; I will address these bold statements in this review.
First, the grammar and punctuation are excellent, and the writing style is easy to read and quite clear.
The author must have used every metaphor and simile available in English. He was apparently trying to write his “great American novel” so he packed in colorful, often nonsensical, metaphors. Some entire paragraphs are allegory. He must have read Ulysses. However, this is not a literary masterpiece; for one thing it is too short …
Underwritten, what do I mean by that? While written in the style of a nineteenth century English novel (e.g. Pride and Prejudice) this book is incomplete. As written it is 186 pages, much too short for such a writing style, and there’s a reason: the author didn’t have the stamina to complete it. Several interesting threads arose and were built up but, when they occurred, they were either wrapped up in a few sentences, or dropped like a hot potato. As with most novels I’ve reviewed, at about the halfway point, the author lost interest. They started using metaphors with no obvious connection, shutting down side subplots, and (seemingly) just trying to wrap it up.
This is a painful story told from the perspective of an optimistic boy of twelve (or so), although not in the first person. That was one of the disconnects I found in the use of metaphors: many of them were beyond the experience of the protagonist. Perhaps if Capote had gotten closer to his main character, he would have completed the book.
This is the last book by Truman Capote I’ll be reading …
Repaso de “Yo no soy tu Perfecta Hija Mexicana” por Erika L. Sánchez
Este libro fue escrito por jovenes. El carácter central tiene quince años y tiene que tratar con la muerte de su hermana mayor. Ella está deprimida y comparte sus pensamientos pero la historia es repetitiva. Entiendo que es muy triste perder una hermana pero ellas no estaban cerca. Julia descubre un secreto sobre su hermana que no puede contar a sus padres. El grande momento de su dolor no es descrito pero solo mencionado más tarde.
Este libro es bueno para lectoras españolas intermedias porque tiene vocabulario simple. Trama sencilla. Personajes simples. Es creíble pero yo no estaba convencido que Julia haría lo que ella hace. La autora nos muestra los pensamientos más oscura de Julia pero ellos no indicaron problemas emocionales tan serios. Sin embargo tal vez así es la depresión. Bueno.
Review of “Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre” edited by Walter Kaufmann
This book contains excerpts and essays written by a number of writers who’ve been identified with Existentialism. Apparently, no one wanted to be identified with the new philosophy; furthermore, the common thread between these authors is the analytical method associated with this movement, but they were interested in different questions. Some of them are simply writers who revealed Existentialist ideas through their characters; several were theologians looking for a way to find the roots of Christianity; it wasn’t until Sartre that someone called themself an Existentialist.
These authors (except the professional writers like Dostoevsky and Camus) write horribly; even the best of the philosophers (Sartre) wrote obscurely, whatever he was trying to say lost in recursive, circular reasoning that abused common words like “being” to the point of insanity. His fiction was fine, however, which leads me to conclude that these serious thinkers were struggling to describe what today might be called “mindfulness”, by which I do not mean meditation but, rather, awareness of the whole mind-body system and how it is impacted by our actions and thoughts. I could be way off base there because I really couldn’t say what Existentialism is, after reading these critical works.
But I don’t feel too bad because this was a complaint mentioned by Kaufmann (a renowned philosopher); Existentialism isn’t a dogma or ideology, but instead an incomplete and abstract approach to being in yourself and true to who you really are all the time.
I’ve heard various rumors about several of the authors included in this anthology (especially Nietzsche and Sartre), but the editor addressed some of these in the prefaces. I think, from this brief introduction, that their ideas changed over time and the statements accredited to them are both taken out of context and from earlier periods of their careers, when they were more likely to say outlandish things for the hell of it.
I can’t really recommend this book because so many of the essays are unintelligible; however, I wrote copious notes within its pages and plan to revisit it.
I hate finishing a book and don’t know what it was about …
Review of “In Cold Blood” by Truman Capote
This is a true story written in a masterful dramatic style. It is told by an impersonal narrator but, because so much information was available to the author, the characters carry the story. I didn’t know the details of the grisly murder of the Clutter family in 1959, so reading this book was a surprise; I found it a real page turner, especially the scenes describing the murderers’ actions after the fact.
This could easily have been a fictional crime drama. Apparently the perpetrators were willing to share their experience, probably because they knew how it would end. Maybe their fifteen minutes of fame.
The writing is excellent; in fact, I just ordered the author’s first novel to see how he writes fiction, being constrained as he was by the facts in this book.
One last note, I didn’t notice any writer fatigue at the halfway point; the author never lost focus, and it shows in the final product.
I recommend this book both as a true crime novel and as simply a good read …
Review of “Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of The World” by Haruki Murakami
The title of this science fiction novel is a bit off-putting, but you can’t judge a book by its cover. This book was written in Japanese, so the English translation has a little of Alfred Birnbaum (the translator) in it as well. Between them they created a very good story. There are some loose ends and irrelevant additions, but I’ve seen those errata in every book I’ve read. And, as with other novels, there is some deterioration after the half-way point, but nothing distracting.
The style is interesting. The first-person narrator alternates between present and past tense in a deliberate manner, a clue to what’s really happening. The book is filled with clues that got my attention but which I was unable to connect. I don’t want to say too much about the plot because, on face value, it’s a story about parallel worlds and a man caught between them. The story reminded me of The Matrix (1999) and Inception (2010), but the truth is that those films were probably inspired by this book, which was published in 1991.
With dozens of clues presented to the reader, Murakami leaves the most important question unanswered, allowing the reader to add their own ending. I have my story and I’m sticking to it.
I recommend this book because it is readable and fun. And when you finish it, you have gained insight into …
Review of “Dava Shastri’s Last Day” by Kirthana Ramisetti
This is a story about a wealthy woman’s assisted suicide, but she had her death announced several days early because she wants to see what people say about her. I was expecting a lot of drama and disappointment. However, I was disappointed rather than the main character. The big surprises are presented early and discussed repetitively throughout the rest of the book. There is a lot of repetition as her adult life is presented in a series of flashbacks, which often occur without warning.
The author sticks to multiple point-of-view narration for most of the book but, confusingly, the narrator begins hopping between perspectives, even within a paragraph. That’s called “head hopping” and it is very confusing to read. No matter whose POV is used, the narration reads like a technical report. That’s too bad because the story is weak and needs some good writing to prop it up.
The characters are mostly undifferentiated, with a few exceptions. Thus, the dialogue is confusing because there aren’t enough “dialogue tags” to keep up. I had to reread a lot of the dialogue.
The central character likes music, so the author uses a nice trick of having songs from different periods of her life appear to represent her dying memories. I don’t think it was done well because I found myself annoyed at not knowing if real and fictional songs and artists were mixed up; you see, the story takes place in 2044. Usually, I would have checked out some of them, but it wasn’t worth the effort. Of course, I recognized Pink Floyd and a few others from more recent decades.
The reader is supposed to have mixed feelings about Dava Shastri, but I just couldn’t get involved with the story enough to care. To ruin an already poorly written book, the epilogue explains what happens to Dava’s children (all adults) over the next months to years.
Talk about beating a dead horse …
Review of “Rabbit, Run” by John Updike
The author of this literary fiction must have been a student of James Joyce (Ulysses) because it is primarily a stream-of-consciousness portrayal of several months in the life of a young man who is trying to escape his pregnant wife and young boy. The plot is secondary to the writing style, which really placed me in the mind of a character I despised throughout, although several of the other characters found him charming and wanted to be around him. I thought about writing this review the way the book is written but decided that would be too much work. I can’t imagine keeping this up for 325 pages and, apparently, it was difficult for this iconic American writer too; like most of the books I’ve reviewed, it starts unravelling about halfway through.
The plot is as much based on the thoughts of the characters as their actions. This is a tragic story about a young man (Harry Angstrom) who dwells on the good old days, when he was a basketball star in a small Pennsylvania town, while selling vegetable peelers at a department store. After abandoning his family, he ignores the advice of everyone around him, even his beloved coach, who turns out to be mortal when viewed through Harry’s cynical eyes. Indecision and feelings of duty lead Harry to reversing course several times, ultimately leading to personal tragedy and humiliation.
Part of the book (there are no chapters) applies the close point-of-view method to several characters and this is where Updike’s skill as a writer shines. While maintaining the stream-of-consciousness style, he eloquently presents several characters’ perspectives on Harry’s predicament.
No detail in any scene is too small to warrant description, but this is where the story gets a little sketchy, especially towards the end. I think the author was running out of metaphors. Nevertheless, I was impressed with how he brought inanimate objects like streets to life, making them characters rather than backdrops. His detailed descriptions of the town where Harry lived are probably excessive, except that some of these paths were followed more than once, each time from a different spatiotemporal perspective, as Harry’s mental gymnastics evolved.
I don’t like tragedies personally because I hear them all the time in the news, but this book was published in 1960. I enjoyed reading about anachronistic devices, e.g. rotary phones with handheld receivers, from a time when I was a young child. Like I said, nothing is overlooked, not even a meal eaten with chopsticks in a Chinese restaurant in a small Pennsylvania town.
I am currently writing a science fiction novel, and I can already see Updike’s influence on my writing; however, I won’t be describing dappled shade as “…a darkness in defiance of the broad daylight whose sky leaps in jagged patches from treetop to treetop above him like a silent monkey.”
That is damn good writing, but maybe it’s meant for writers rather than the average reader.
This is excellent literary fiction.
Repaso de “Cajas de cartón” por Francisco Jiménez
Este libro es colección de cuentos sobre la miserable vida de las trabajadores migrantes en California durante los cuarenta. Es ficción pero basado en historias reales. Se cuenta a través los ojos de un nińo mexicano de que tiene solo cuatro años después su familia cruza la frontera ilegalmente.
Ellos viven en tiendas de campañas y chozas y cocheras mientras trabajan desde el amanecer hasta el anochecer siguiendo la cosecha de uva y lechuga y algodón. El autor asiste la escuela en muchos pueblos mientras creciendo. Sus hermanos menores son americanos pero su hermano mayor y él mismo son indocumentados pero su padre tiene tarjeta verde.
El final es angustioso pero demasiado cierto. Es un buen libro tanto para adultos como para niños.
Review of “Trashlands” by Alison Stine
This is a post-apocalypse book about people who are living lives not that different from poor people anywhere. They dig through trash looking for something to sell, except the only thing they seem to find is plastic. That is the premise that requires the reader to suspend disbelief. They live in old cars but don’t collect metals. Their world is filled with plastic, periodically replenished by floods that bring this bounty from undisclosed locations. The world is covered in plastic. The central character’s son was even kidnapped and forced to work in a factory sorting plastic and making plastic bricks. For some reason, it cheaper and easier to make bricks from recycled plastic than the way people have been making them for thousands of years.
It sounds like centuries after the collapse of modern civilization, right? Nope. Many of the older people were alive shortly after the apocalypse, so it’s been maybe fifty years since the collapse; but no one seems to recall what happened or at least they aren’t sharing it with the reader. However, the cataclysm seemed to involve fire, flood, earthquakes — but no nukes. Oh and plastic. The author really has a fixation with plastic, which I can understand, but the story fails to explain why it is the only material of interest.
The writing style is typical for post-apocalyptic authors these days: short sentences with questionable grammar and mostly simple nouns and adjectives; however, the characters seem to know more than they profess to know repeatedly. (It is hard to keep an ensemble cast in line.)
As with so many novels I’ve reviewed, the writing deteriorated after the half-way point, finishing as if the author realized she wasn’t writing War and Peace. In other words, there isn’t much of a plot the way it is written; the elements are all there but they don’t come together to form a cogent story. I found myself dreading my daily reading most days, although there were a few good points.
In my opinion (humble and semiliterate), the author’s fascination with plastic ruined the story. She spends too much time telling the reader how much plastic there is in Scrappalachia, and how hard life is for the people who live there, told from every character’s perspective (they’re all the same), and not enough telling the story described on the back cover.
Her dream fizzles along with everything else. To give the author the benefit of the doubt, maybe that’s the point — there is no escaping destiny.
Perhaps American writers have become as cynical as nineteenth century Russian authors …
Timothy R. Keen 
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