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By Sean Clark, on July 30th, 2010
[Find previous installments of JABBIC here. You can suggest covers we should use by emailing us here.]
Four of our contributors guessed the premise of Morten Ramsland’s Doghead with only this cover image available to them. Now it’s up to you: which paragraph below is based on the real novel? The answer, and who wrote which fakery, will be posted in the comments later today.
1.) Hampton J. Beagle is among the last of a dying breed. After spending his life steadily climbing the corporate ladder at the investment firm, Dogman Sacks–starting in the mail room and working his way to CEO–he now spends his days listening to the advice of entitled MBA’s who believe they know the corporate world better than he does. When he makes the decision to steer clear of an iffy real estate bubble, and invest instead in soup, dog food, and a company that makes ascots, Many of his underlings call for his resignation. Will Hampton be able to convince the board of his worth, or are his days as Top Dog numbered.
2.) Doghead is the bizarre saga of three generations of a spectacularly dysfunctional family. Patriarch Askild is a naval architect who becomes so obsessed with cubist art that his ship designs become cubist, which gets him fired by one shipyard after another until he’s forced to move to find work. It’s also the story of Askild’s wife, Bjork; their sons, Knut and Jug Ears; their nephew, Applehead; and their grandchildren. Although the book is often mordantly funny, its dominant themes can have overtones of tragedy: World War II; marital, generational, and class conflict; superstition; cruelty; violence; the absence of love; lack of communication; Scandinavian reserve; and sheer loopiness.
3.) A man wakes to find his head transplant has gone horribly awry. He now has the head of a dog. Needless to say, his life as a lowly zoo keeper will never be the same. But the world is never as it seems, as his new dog senses make perfectly clear. A funny romp through a zany world of humans, filtered through the mind of a simple, dogheaded man.
4.) Sofie Sorensen is riding high as VP of Affairs at one of Denmark’s top marketing firms — she may not be pretty, but she’s quickly becoming known as one of the best young minds in all of Copenhagen. But when NordMark hires Sven Jensen, a former classmate, to write copy, Sofie’s troubled past is unleashed. Newly haunted by her memories of being named head mutt in Sven’s “Doggie Pound Club,” Sofie slowly begins to lose her grip on her goals, her staff … and her hysterical hypertrichosis.
5.) Gnut is an ugly man. He was born that way. But that’s never deterred him when it comes to the ladies. Except one. Sera in an ex-pat from Brussels, and is immune to Gnut’s charms. So he determines to do anything to bed her, no matter how outrageous. This is a madcap novel full of twists and shenanigans. Brimming with hilarity and just a dash of wisdom, Doghead is the best novel to come out of Denmark in ages.
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By Nico Vreeland, on July 29th, 2010
Author: Tarquin Hall
2010, Simon & Schuster
Filed under: Mystery
| C4 Ratings.....out of |
10 |
| Language..... |
5 |
| Entertainment..... |
5 |
| Depth..... |
4 |
The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing has the foundation to be a phenomenal mystery. India, with its unique culture, makes a fascinating backdrop. The case itself is intricate and compelling, and Tarquin Hall has a terrific knack for plotting. The characters, from a distance, seem interesting, likeable, and fun.
That last part is where the foundation begins to crack. The more you see of Hall’s characters, the clearer it becomes that he doesn’t like them. Vish Puri—the detective sorting out the case—is a soft, arrogant hypocrite, who complains about India’s treatment of its poor from under the parasol his servant must forever hold above him. He’s incapable of speaking without mentioning how brilliant and insightful he is, and incapable of moving without complaining about the heat.
He’s insufferable, in other words, and Hall seems to delight in making him so, along with the rest of his cast; you’ll be hard-pressed to find a loving, or even amiable, description of anybody in this novel. Hall also takes great pleasure in keeping the culture at arm’s length: his interpretations of Indian customs are awkward and piecemeal, he seems to barely tolerate the country itself.
In short, Hall’s narration is oddly detached from the characters, setting, and action of the novel. There’s a good mystery in the heart of this book, but Hall does everything in his power to curb your enjoyment of it. … Continue reading »
By Nico Vreeland, on July 28th, 2010
So Amazon announced the new Kindle Wednesday. Two big pieces of newsworthiness here.
One: TeleRead nailed the prediction. I mean, by a matter of hours.
Two: this wi-fi-only Kindle is a contender. It’s only $139 (ships Aug. 27), making it the cheapest E-Ink ereader on the market. Our problems with Amazon and Kindle still exist: the proprietary Kindle format means that you can never completely trust that you’ll always own your books; there’s always a chance that they’ll pull a Yahoo! Music and your ebooks will simply disappear. Of course, this is true of all DRMed formats, but with Adobe DRM, you can borrow library ebooks and not spend money you might never get back. To make matters worse, Jeff Bezos is kind of a jerk, and he frequently does things that are either stupid or just kind of bullyish.
All that said, $140 is a great price—that and the presence of Kindle apps on computers and smartphones makes the whole package quite tempting these days.
As for Kindle 3 (3G version), it’s the same as the old Kindle 2. It’s black now, I guess. A touch smaller. Buttons are a little different. Otherwise the new Kindle is nearly identical to the old, and still not our first choice for an ereader.
By Nico Vreeland, on July 28th, 2010
This mondo 2-page ad (click for the full-size version) appeared in this week’s New Yorker. Presumably, this is Conde Nast’s doing, right? In the spirit of Got Milk?, I suppose. Still, I’m confused about several points.
One, I honestly don’t know who this is aimed at. It seems to be addressing the Internet. It seems to be verbally fondling the Internet, actually, or at least verbally groveling at the Internet’s feet (those go hand-in-verbal-hand, right?).
Two, what’s the strategy here? When milk or beef or pork or other generalized goods do these ad campaigns, they’re not in response to direct threats to their industries (like, for instance, the fact that Apple hates magazines). The Where’s the Beef? ads, for example, were not trying to convince people that eaters eating pasta were good for cattle ranchers, and that cattle ranching led right back to eating pasta. And what about the bizarrely vague claims like “magazines drive Web searches—with nearly double the effectiveness of the Internet itself”? Who are those for? This thing is half self-pep-talk and half propaganda; in other words, it’s a mess.
Three, why is this ad in a print magazine? You’ve got me, I’m a magazine reader. Put it in the iPad version of the issue. What? There’s not an iPad version? Oh… well… I’m sure magazines will be fine, though.
One thing’s for sure: somebody up there at Conde Nast is getting mighty nervous about the “popularity” of this whole “Internet” thing.
By Sean Clark, on July 27th, 2010
Authors: Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
2008, The Dial Press
Filed Under: Literary, Historical, Romance
| C4 Ratings.....out of |
10 |
| Language..... |
6 |
| Entertainment..... |
7 |
| Depth..... |
5 |
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (I’m going to call it GLAPPPS from here) is an epistolary novel occurring immediately post World War II. At its heart, it’s a subdued romance, though on the surface it’s a tale of community and friendship and bravery and belonging. Not really my kind of book. Still, I liked it.
Juliet wrote a column for a London newspaper during the war. When she hears of the Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie society, she becomes intrigued by the name alone–as, I admit, I was with the title of this book. She writes letters to a number of the inhabitants of the small British island, and slowly begins to cultivate fondness for, then relationships with, many of them. Most especially the kind and quiet Dawsey Adams (who, I should note, reached out to Juliet and informed her of the society in the first place).
The society originated on the occupied Channel Island as an excuse to have dinner parties under the noses of the Germans. As the occupation stretched, and with it the lack of news from the mainland, the false literary pretense of the group became real, a connection to culture and community. Eventually the pigs they were eating in secret ran out, along with much of the rest of the island’s food. The society continued, with the dinners replaced with the best they could come up with: most creatively, potato peel pie. … Continue reading »
By Shannon C. Walsh, on July 26th, 2010
[A new entry in our "I Loved This Book When..." series will appear every Monday this summer. To keep up with this series or any other, check out our Special Features page.]

I loved all Christopher Pike novels when I was upping my bra sizes. From the ages of 10 to 14, I read every book he wrote or had written: a total of 29 young adult and 3 adult novels—though I am appalled to discover that I missed a Tatyana Ali / Jonathan Brandis TV movie based on Fall into Darkness, which is inexplicably billed as “A True Story.” (I admit I had JB on my wall during his SeaQuest 2032 days, right next to 21 Jump Street’s Johnny Depp. I liked boys with pretty faces, which, later in life, will make perfect sense.)
I distinctly remember my first Pike experience. I was home sick from school, sitting on the couch as my mom left for work. She’d made sure I had all of the necessities in reach: a can of Pepsi, the remote control, and two books she’d brought home for me (which I greeted with the customary aloofness of a preteen). The cover—by which I judge a book—of Remember Me pictured a girl’s body sprawled on the flagstones below a balcony railing where an ominous hand rests. Whisper of Death’s cover had the black-robed, skeletal figure of Death hitchhiking near a few scared teenagers on a deserted highway.
I chose to start with Remember Me because I thought that Whisper of Death would be scarier (even though now I think the cover is cheesy); I wasn’t sure I wanted to be home alone and petrified. After all, just a couple of years earlier I’d made my mother return a book about a rogue, school-project volcano that she had suggested might be too scary for me.* If I couldn’t sleep with The (unread) Volcano Disaster in my bedroom, how could I read a book that I (wrongly) assumed was about the character Death stalking and killing teenagers? … Continue reading »
By Nico Vreeland, on July 23rd, 2010
[Find previous installments of JABBIC here. You can suggest covers we should use, or volunteer to write a blurb, by emailing us here.]
JABBIC is kind of like Balderdash with book covers. Based only on the cover at right, four of our contributors made up a one-paragraph premise for this week’s contestant, Shadow Play, by Rajorshi Chakraborti. Can you reverse-engineer their fabrications and pick out the book’s real plot? (The answer will be posted in the comments later today.)
1.) An internationally renowned novelist and commentator has disappeared from public view. What’s worse, the police want to question him about a murder; he was the last person to have met a young journalist who was later discovered dead on her doorstep. Then his editor receives a package of papers in which the writer claims to explain his part in recent events and his reasons for not surfacing. The material includes chapters from his latest work of fiction about a serial killer turned hired assassin. Is the novelist right to believe that he is being hunted, or is it his past that has finally borne down to haunt him?
2.) Professor Hugo Schmidt has discovered an entire society living in the shadows that follow us around every day. Using specially designed goggles he has studied their culture, and come to a shocking conclusion: the “Shadowkind” are preparing to invade our reality. Both a taut thriller and dark meditation on the costs of imperialism, Shadow Play represents the stirring of an exciting new political voice.
3.) Roger Tupman first saw the shadow when he was nine years old. It danced along the side of his family’s summer cottage, mimicking his movements, and taunting him to follow it around the property. For the rest of the summer, the boy and the shadow enjoyed an uneasy friendship; Roger nervous about the shadow’s intent, the shadow mocking and teasing him. As the years pass, Roger decides the shadow was a product of his overactive imagination, but he still can’t help but be nervous when his mother announces that they are returning to the lake house for another vacation. Will the shadow be there, with its twisted games? And how much worse with the games be now that Roger is sixteen?
4.) Cold War-era America has turned Alan Walsh into a paranoid patriot. A proud McCarthyist, Alan spends his days and nights fending off the Red Scare, mostly by chronicling every move his neighbors make. Alan even goes so far as to sift through their trash, looking for any sign of a communist take-over. But what happens when Alan finds a shadowy figure fishing through his own rubbish one damp night? Is he being targeted for his own out-of-the-ordinary antics? Find out in Rajorshi Chakarabori’s suspense-filled Shadow Play.
5.) Three years after municipal clerk Leonardo Forrester goes missing, renovations on his wife’s foreclosed home reveal a secret bomb shelter that leads to an intricate labyrinth of underground alleys—and unearths a conspiracy dating back decades before Forrester’s disappearance. Now detective Paul Sander must learn to play the diabolical games of a civilization of people who only leave their subterranean lair at night.
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By Sean Clark, on July 22nd, 2010

[This novel is a C4 Great Read.]
Author: J.D. Salinger
1961, Little, Brown & Company
Filed Under: Literary, Short Stories
| C4 Ratings.....out of |
10 |
| Language..... |
9 |
| Entertainment..... |
7 |
| Depth..... |
8 |
I suspect many of you have already read this book, either because it was assigned in school way back when, or because gobbling up J.D. Salinger is an American teen rite of passage. I, it shames me a little to admit, never did. But now I have. Good on me.
This is going to be a real brief review, and not even much of a review. More of like a signpost point to why you should read this. It’s short, it’s funny, and it’s superbly written. I guess that’s about the sum of it. I’ll go on though.
Franny and Zooey is comprised two short stories (originally published in the New Yorker—in fact, there’s a bunch of good Salinger in their archives, like the novella, Hapworth 16, 1924, unpublished outside the magazine) attached together. As a whole, it makes up about 100 pages and 5 scenes. … Continue reading »
By Nico Vreeland, on July 21st, 2010
[This is the inaugural episode of Armchair Detective, a C4 column about reading mysteries. This time: how passion can make or break a mystery. Follow this column here.]

Relatively late in my reading career, I came to the decision that I shouldn’t try to finish bad books, because they sour me on reading and waste my time. Mysteries are a bit different because they naturally reward a finished read, and I think there’s value (and fun to be had) in deconstructing what makes the bad ones bad. If I’m going to quit on a mystery novel, it’s probably dead middle of the road: not bad, per se, but certainly not good. Just, kinda, average.
Last week, I had to quit on not one, but two mystery novels—If the Dead Rise Not, by Philip Kerr, and The Man from Beijing, by Henning Mankell—both of which looked and felt much better than average. At first, I couldn’t quite figure out the problems I had with them—when I finally did, I found that it was one problem with two sides. These two novels and their complementary shortcomings illustrate a crucial, but subtle, element of good mystery narrative.
I started reading If the Dead Rise Not first, after I heard a glowing review on Fresh Air, and it sounded terrific. Dead has a great hook: it’s set in pre-WWII Nazi Germany, when Hitler’s crimes are just beginning, but there’s already no justice in Berlin for Jews. It stars Bernie Gunther, who was forced out of the police for not being a Nazi, and, though he’s been reduced to a hotel detective, he’s the only one willing to dig into the shadows.
Kerr uses oppression and injustice to light Gunther up with righteous rage, but he doesn’t give Gunther anywhere to go, and we’re left with a human flamethrower, spouting fire impotently into the air. … Continue reading »
By Marc Velasquez, on July 20th, 2010
[This first-hand account of life inside Sing Sing is a C4 Great Read.]
Author: Ted Conover
Vintage Books, 2001
Filed under: Literary, Nonfiction
| C4 Ratings.....out of |
10 |
| Language..... |
7 |
| Entertainment..... |
9 |
| Depth..... |
10 |
When Ted Conover wanted to write a book about the lives of prison guards, he started the way most journalists would: he asked the New York Department of Correctional Services (DOCS) for access. They denied him permission.
Considering Conover’s methods as a writer, he probably wanted to be denied. He’s an immersion journalist—one who embeds himself in the lives he wants to chronicle. He becomes one of his subjects. So after the DOCS said no, Conover became a “Newjack,” or a rookie guard, at Sing Sing, one of the most notorious prisons in the country. Newjack is the result of Conover’s experience.
At it’s core, Newjack reads like a travel narrative, and Conover’s experience is a journey. Conover guides us through the prison block, and shows us its inhabitants. He explains his training, and he points out how it left him mostly unqualified for what he would encounter within the walls. He tells us about Sing Sing’s infamous history—its menacing wardens, death chamber, and well-used electric chair—and he shows us how life inside is still just as nasty as it was when Sing Sing was the death penalty capital of the country.
… Continue reading »
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