Author Archives: bookdwarf

Tuesday’s Links

I’m not sure what to make of this article by Tyler Cowen on Slate in which he claims that shopping at independent bookstores is nothing more than posturing. We do it to be cool basically, but the chain stores really do things better. Obviously, I disagree with much of the article, but I’m more curious about what you think? Do you think independent bookstores provide a useful service, or should we just go the way of the dodo and concede that Cowen is correct? Do you think independents have anything valuable to offer anymore?

The Leopard by Giuseppe di Lampedusa

Based on the life of the author’s great-grandfather, The Leopard tells of proud Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina (in Sicily), during the time of the Risorgimento, or the movement for unification in the 1860s. A man of great appetites, Fabrizio moves through a time where he is the head of his family and a natural leader of the Sicilian people. The chapters of this delightful novel each take place during a specified time period—the first four cover 1860 and the last four cover the next 20 years. The events of the book tell the story of a changing Sicily. Fabrizio knows not only that he’s an aging Prince, but also that he represents a dying era.

Written over the course of 25 years and only published after death, di Lampedusa understands the delicacies of human conversation. He also gets at the heart of man, proud by nature yet one who appreciates the subleties of life. Packed with details of late 19th century Italian life, The Leopard paints a wistful portrait of family whose fortune change even while they try to maintain the status quo. A delicious read, I found di Lampedusa’s novel difficult to put down.

Soft by Rupert Thomson

Readers may be aware of my growing fondness for Rupert Thomson after I read his excellent Divided Kingdom last year. I vowed to make my way through his previous books. So far I’ve read The Insult and The Book of Revelations. Soft makes my fourth Thomson novel. I’d say that this is not his best work, but interesting nonetheless. One of the things I appreciate about Thomson the most is that each book is different. His plots differ radically.

Soft tells the story of three different characters with intertwined fates revolving around a new soft drink. In the first section, we meet Barker Dodds, former night club and barber. After some unpleasantness with a local family that thinks he killed one of their family members, he flees Plymouth for London, where he ends up with a job as a barber, but not before making friends with an unsavory character. Dodds can’t escape his violent past—and he knows it. Eventually he accepts a “job” before he even knows what it is, to kill a woman named Glade Spencer.

The next section follows Glade and tells the story of why Dodds must kill her. She’s an artist/waitress with an American boyfriend. Glade never seems connected with the real world, almost like an observer rather than a participant. When her boyfriend Tom invites her to a wedding in New Orleans, she accepts and then has to scrounge up money to buy a dress. Little does she know that by agreeing to participate in a sleep study, her life would change forever.

Then we move on to the third character, an ad executive named Jimmy Lynch. He finds himself the protege of his new American boss, who was brought in as a hired gun. Jimmy’s new ad campaign for Kwench! sets the whole plot in motion.

Glade, Dodds, and Jimmy’s stories come together in the last two sections of the book, though Jimmy never meets Dodds or Glade face to face. Thomson obviously means Soft to be a comment on consumer culture, yet it’s also a mystery. Even with such finely developed characters, the plot seems improbable, but I still found myself reading it eagerly.

More David Mitchell

I don’t know why all of these Mitchell links cropped up today, but here they are:

Hot Topic: The Literary Version of the Cold Call

Around the blog world you can hear the cries of pain from various bloggers who’ve been inundated with email lately from perhaps well-meaning publicists who don’t take the time to read the blogs they’re emailing. I’m not sure if I feel the same sort of animosity that Ed does—I just delete the emails about books I know don’t appeal to me (any book on spirituality goes quickly). Bloggers can make a difference sure, but I only review books that I care about. I won’t shill for anyone and I will only mention books that I find worth mentioning. It’s fairly clear when someone hasn’t taken the time to read my site, yet emails, sometimes several times, about books that I won’t care about. I don’t have to time to answer them all unfortunately. Sorry if I offend anyone, but to maintain my own sanity that is the way it must be done.

Wednesday Links

Someone Woke Up on the Wrong Side of Crazy Today

Seriously, what’s going on with Michiko? First AM Homes:

A. M. Homes’s dreadful new novel, “This Book Will Save Your Life,” reads like a cartoon illustration for a seminar on men and middle age — a pastiche of all that is hokey, hackneyed and New Agey in Robert Bly’s “Iron John” and Gail Sheehy’s “Understanding Men’s Passages.”

and now Philip Roth:

“Everyman,” the title of Philip Roth’s flimsy new novel, announces that the book’s hero is meant to be a sort of representational figure: an average Joe, an ordinary guy, an homme moyen sensuel…The problem is, this nameless fellow turns out to be generic, rather than universal: a faceless cutout of a figure who feels like a composite assembled from bits and pieces of earlier Roth characters. Spending time with this guy is like being buttonholed at a party by a remote acquaintance who responds to a casual “Hi, how are you?” with a half-hour whinge-fest about his physical ailments, medical treatments and spiritual complaints.