He’s been in the bigs for less than four weeks, but it’s already pretty clear that Bryce Harper, the Washington Nationals’ uber-hyped new outfielder, is on a trajectory to superstardom. Still, that doesn’t mean he deserves a biography quite yet. Yardley agrees. He’s pretty harsh: “‘The Last Natural’ is an absolutely preposterous title and Miech, a longtime sports writer, is at best a pedestrian stylist.” He does give Miech credit for doing his homework, but the writing appears to be unforgivable. Maybe when Harper’s been around long enough to mature as a player, he’ll get a biography to match.
Man, this review is pretty awesome. Maslin lays into this guy–who actually has a fair amount of cred–pretty heavily. Even without Maslin’s commentary the book sounds like a hack-job tea party cash-in. Maslin lays on the sarcasm right from the get-go:
“The Amateur” by Edward Klein is a book about an inept, arrogant ideologue who maintains an absurdly high opinion of his own talents even as he blatantly fails to achieve his goals. Oh, and President Obama is in this book too.
The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom, by Christopher Healy. Reviewed by Susan Carpenter (Los Angeles Times).
This book, which “challenges every presumption readers have ever had not only about Cinderella’s savior but about the nameless princes who brought enduring bliss to other fairy tales’ forever-young heroines,” sounds pretty cheeky, but could also be pretty charming (pardon the pun) if pulled off right. A send-up to classic fairy tales? I’m at least intrigued. And it sounds like he sneaks a little scholarship in the back door. Worth a deeper look.
This is a quirky little piece from the brand-new Slate Book Review. It contains a few oddities like a big block quote in the early going, and a bar graph detailing how many pages the main character spends at different activities. These quirks befit a massive (600+ page) debut novel full of lists, anecdotes, asides, court transcripts, and other digressions. Another peculiarity: De La Pava self-published this book in 2008, and it was only recently picked up by the University of Chicago Press (more on that here). That alone makes it worth a look. Find this book at Goodreads.
Newman kicks off with this eye-catching opening line: “No subject offers a greater opportunity for terrible writing than motherhood,” and then proceeds to explain that writing well about children is hard because child-rearing is so mind-numbingly boring. On the shortlist of qualities I prize in book reviews, “acerbic humor” might be at the very top. Find this book at Goodreads.
Ulin finds Irving’s latest—which follows the life of a bisexual man over the course of four decades—good, but too familiar and ultimately unbelievable. His meditation on the modern-day role of sexually political novels like this one is well worth reading, shame that Irving’s novel does not seem the same. However, Jeanette Winterson, in the New York Times, takes a more favorable outlook. But then Ron Charles breaks the tie on Ulin’s side. Find this book at Goodreads.
Julavits’s latest mixes a pitch-black tone with a markedly silly setting: a liberal arts college for psychics. Sounds like it has enjoyable passages that don’t quite cohere. Oh, and a completely inappropriate cover. Find this book at Goodreads.
I actually picked this book up last week, based on this funny blog entry by Lawson (a pro blogger who calls herself The Bloggess). I’ve only read the first twenty or so pages, but I already know I’m probably going to like it. She’s got a sort of bitter playfulness to her sense of humor. Kelly certainly seems impressed, comparing her to David Sedaris. I’ll have my own review in a few weeks and I’ll tell you where I come down.
People sang the praises of Mantel’s last work, Wolf Hall, from the rooftops. It won the Man Booker Prize, amongst others. I started this novel about the court of Henry VIII, but it never grabbed me so I abandoned the pursuit. But in her review, Powers makes a compelling case to why you should read both Wolf Hall, and this, its sequel.
If that’s not enough monarchic politics for you, here’s a book on Henry VII. Owchar makes repeated reference to the Game of Thrones show on HBO (as well as Martin’s books), with regards to political maneuvering. But the line between GoT and the War of the Roses was one originally drawn by Martin, so I suppose it’s apt. (This is a double review, also touching on a graphic novelization of GoT, so that’s the incentive for Owchar’s connection.) The Penn portion of the review is heavy on the history, as the book surely is, but it’s certainly interesting if you’re into this kind of thing.
This is my third pick in a row with somewhat musty subject matter, but it’s also rather fascinating. It documents an art collector’s quest to prove a painting he purchased was actually painted by perhaps the most famous artist in history. There appears, however, to be a bit more depth than you might expect from such a book, with Silverman relating his own compulsion to exert “much effort, and lots and lots of money, into what is in the end a very expensive hobby.”
Christopher Priest has been writing about the Dream Archipelago for more than 30 years. The Archipelago is a fictional island chain between a cold, Europe-like land of technology and deferred warfare, and an Africa-like place where the fighting actually happens. This latest book about the islands comes across as a guide to 53 of their unknown number, but it also contains a nearly indescribable mystery woven in. This is a crazy, intricate book, and a great review at the new LA Review of Books site. Find this book at Goodreads.
On one hand, this is a historical novel about the death of one of Hitler’s super-henchmen, Reinhard Heydrich. Simultaneously, Binet inserts a writer-narrator with serious qualms about the book he’s writing. It’s an interesting twist for a historical novel, and well-handled in this quick review. Find this book at Goodreads.
These two opening sentences sell the review (and the book):
Even if you are familiar with the News of the World phone-hacking saga, you will be gobsmacked by this account. It is a tale of stupidity, incompetence, fear, intimidation, lying, downright wickedness and corruption in high places.
Damn. My only concern is whether I’m physically capable of reading 300 pages about Rupert Murdoch without killing myself. Find this book at Goodreads.
OK, so USA Today isn’t exactly The New York Review of Books, but in this case the medium fits the subject. King’s latest occupies a middle slot in his Dark Tower series. In a riff on The Canterbury Tales, the Dark Tower’s central hero, Roland the gunslinger, sits down with his companions around a campfire and tells stories. Almost certainly not a masterpiece, but neither should it be a clunker. Find this book at Goodreads.
Book trailer of the week: I’m stealing a page from Sean’s WBBR handbook. Here’s a pretty hilarious book trailer starring Neal Stephenson, for his new “group-written” book The Mongoliad.
Robinson is a fantastic author. Her essays are no doubt as great as her novels. I really like her notion here that, at least to her, “lonesomeness means the opposite of isolation,” instead allowing for a means of appreciating the world that surrounds her. It sounds, however, that this book of essays might be a little too Christian-focused for my taste, but her skill with words will likely make up for that. To be honest, I really mostly want to read this one because of the title.
This review is pretty funny, mostly from all the quotes it pulls from this book. Langella shares the dirt on a slew of Hollywood icons, most dead and/or from a bygone era. Still, this book looks worth a look. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hear about how he and Raul Julia teamed up on Jill Clayburghfor “a pulsating Oreo cookie with nothing remotely chaste about where our hands and mouths wandered”?
It’s a little tough to believe there wasn’t a whole lot of drugs involved in this one. Nica, a young British aristocrat in the late 40s, hears a Thelonious Monk album, and promptly decides to walk out on her husband and 5 kids, and spend the next 36 years more or less as a jazz groupie. The book’s nonfiction, written by Nica’s great niece. Sounds pretty crazy, but could be a fun read.
Steve Almond turns in a characteristically insightful and entertaining piece about Etgar Keret’s new book of stories. Almond expounds about reality and publishing, and makes Keret’s stories sound pretty damn good—he calls them “exhilarating” and “funny,” and Almond has a keen sense of humor himself. He also, however, notes that Keret’s style is “unadorned” and “expository,” and that the collection as a whole is uneven. Still, a writer of Almond’s notable creativity noting the imagination of a collection, as he does here, is high praise indeed.
Wilson’s latest book deserves attention simply by virtue of his resume, which Woodard details for almost half the review. Suffice it to say, Wilson is legit. In this latest volume, Wilson examines the nature and cause of altruism. The accepted scientific explanation for this, he says, is wrong, and the answer he now espouses explains, in one aspect, how religion itself is an evolutionary byproduct. Fascinating stuff.
I’m not sure I ever need to read another novel about the witness protection program (this one was more than enough), but I also have a terrible weakness for “noir thrillers,” and this one looks to fit that bill: a mob wife in witness protection (for ratting out her husband) learns she’s being hunted by both her husband’s people and a crooked U.S. Marshal. She flees to the edge of a continent, and gets help from a pseudonymous sailor named Gray. Depending on Epperson’s character work, this could be terrible or terrific.
With the Red Sox not doing much to improve an unapologetic and overrated pitching rotation, and my dynasty fantasy baseball team more or less built around the assumption that Clayton Kershaw is the second coming of Sandy Koufax, I’ve already found myself watching and listening to just as many Dodgers games as Sox games so far this year (MLB.tv’s stupid blackout restrictions have something to do with it, too.) But my fair-weather fandom aside, this book looks pretty cool. It compiles pictures of people and ephemera, but, most interestingly, it is punctuated with essays and reminiscences of famous Dodger personalities like Tommy Lasorda and Vin Scully. Baseball fans should give this a look. Also, it’s not too often you see a review of a coffee table book, so the review is neat in that regard as well.
Here’s another review of Leyner’s zany return to literature. I’m about halfway through this book myself, and having a hard time putting my thoughts about it into words. Di Filippo’s write-up is a bit more concise than the Ben Marcus review Nico briefly mentioned last week, and he’s able to sum this book up nicely:
If mythographer Joseph Campbell were still around to rewrite the Ramayana for the cast of Jersey Shore, the result might approximate Leyner’s novel — except without as many outrageously funny transgressive absurdities.
I really like the reviews they run over at Strange Horizons. They have a knack for dismantling a book (usually fantasy of some variety) and revealing all its faults, while still giving it the fairest shake they can. Truslow’s review of Regicide –a surreal-sounding book about an imaginary city in real-world Britain--is another example of a criticism that could very well be more interesting and entertaining than the book itself.
Quickly: Since I’m trying real hard but to have nothing but baseball on my mind this week, here’s a quality look at a whole bunch of baseball books out right now. Also: it’s a couple years old, but some guy made a pretty hefty Amazon list of baseball books that I’m really tempted to read all the way through. I loved The Bullpen Gospels, and Dirk Hayhurst’s next book is waiting for me at the library, so I’m pretty excited about that. One last, slightly different baseball-book list from the Daily Beast.
Kevin Barry’s outlandish first novel overflows with “literary marvels,” Hamill claims, “marvels of language, invention, surprise.” It takes place in anachronistic 2053 Ireland, where computers and cell phones do not exist, and the housing projects are named after poets. It features a violent gang called the Fancy and a noirish style that reminds Hamill of Frank Miller (the creator of the comic books Sin City and 300). Despite all that, the “the binding story is about love.” Sounds like a high-risk, high-reward genre mashup.
This collection of baseball essays sounds perfect for the start of the season. They seem to be centered around the Yankees, and the review (Ulin is a Yankees fan himself) carries some fire. Plus the anecdote about Ulin playing Wii baseball with his daughter is pretty hilarious.
This biography of human paraquat Pat Buchanan sounds more interesting than I would’ve thought. Continetti leans right, but still admits that “Buchanan’s life has been remarkably consistent: He tends to bring out the worst in people,” and doesn’t seem to admire Buchanan’s historic brand of vitriolic political punditry. I certainly won’t be picking up the book, but it’s interesting to see the gears working inside a famous (and famously durable) crazy person.
Last week, I knew only the broad strokes of John Kennedy Toole’s life: he committed suicide after failing to find a publisher, then his mother worked tirelessly to get his great novel, A Confederacy of Dunces, published, and it won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction twelve years after Toole’s death. As it turns out, the details are more gruesome and heartbreaking than even that cheerless synopsis would indicate. Butterfly evidently weaves a biography of Toole together with an account of the creation and publication of Confederacy. Parker sticks to the latter (and tries a bit too hard), but if you’re a Toole fan, read this review and the Toole Wikipedia entry at least.
When I hear “Master Blaster” the two things I think of are a midget riding a giant, and an NES game with better music than game play. This book has absolutely nothing to do with either of those things. Instead, The Master Blaster is a novel about a U.S. commonwealth in decline, Saipan, in a series of Pacific islands formerly exploited for cheap labor where what could be considered American-made products we churned out. Despite serious subject matter and a somewhat politicized plot, the novel sounds pretty funny; there appears to be no small amount of irony employed by the author. Maslin certainly seems enamored.
You can probably just read the first paragraph of this review and make a decision about whether you’d want to dedicate a few subway rides to this book. He also works “sad panda” into his evaluation. Thumbs up (seriously, I’d rather read a review like Dayton’s than anything the Chicago Tribune has ran in months).
Krause is a doctor in bio-acoustics who “lugs his recording equipment around the globe, seeking to capture the vanishing soundscapes of our rapidly changing Earth.” He sounds like a bit of a nutter, but in the good way. I’ve got a real hard on for nature documentaries, especially more recondite ones like Microcosmos and Sunrise Earth, so I’m all for a read on the Earth’s bio-rhythms and humanity, even with our music, is messing with that. He very well could come across as an aging hippie on a soap box, but I’m intrigued enough to learn for myself if that’s true.
Bonus Book Trailer: No trailer for you! It’s been a while since I came across a good book trailer that wasn’t at least a year old. I think people finally realized that book trailers are kinda stupid. So I’m retiring this segment from my WBBRs rather than scrounging for material or picking on fifth graders. If I actually do come across a good book trailer (probably won’t), I’ll share it as a true bonus.
Alain de Botton seems like an eloquent intellectual who descends only occasionally into maddening pretension. His latest book, in which he prescribes that atheists adopt some of the practices and rituals of organized religion, is the kind of pretentious societal prescribing that should’ve probably been killed. Brooks indulges him for quite a while, teasing out the most enlightening facets of de Botton’s thesis, before finding that “many of his ideas seem silly.” This is a book to read about, but not one to read. Also, the sketch of de Botton’s idea for a “Temple of the Earth”—a Washington Monument that you stand inside to become non-deifically inspired—is something to see.
This odd review throws a wet blanket on my own anticipation of Rash’s latest novel, portraying it as a straightforward, mechanical tale of doom, described in simple language, with inevitable results. That would also be a fair description of Serena, Rash’s excellent previous novel, but Le Guin doesn’t find much to recommend The Cove. It’s cause for a bit of concern, if not yet panic.
Ulin’s opening line reads: “I want to talk about criticism, about what it is and how it operates.” He never really quite gets there, not in the way I wanted from one of the country’s best book critics writing about another critic whom he obviously admires. But along the way, Ulin’s meanderings are worth the trip, and it seems John Leonard would’ve liked it that way.
This might be one of those books that everybody likes but me—it wouldn’t be the first time. Ron Charles writes pretty sharp reviews, and he’s obviously smitten with Groff. She writes good characters, I’ll stipulate that, and it sounds like this novel will play to her strengths (interiority, as opposed to interaction). But I’m still not buying.
The Last Natural, by Roy Miech. Reviewed by Jonathan Yardley (Washington Post).
