Review | The Casual Vacancy, J.K. Rowling

Britain JK RowlingI really, really wanted to like this book. I love the Harry Potter series, and here’s the thing: I also really like English village stories, social satire and political intrigue. I started reading J.K. Rowling’s The Casual Vacancy knowing it would be nothing like Harry Potter, and determined to read it on its own merits. Reviews of this book generally seem to fall into two categories: it sucks because it lacks the magic of Harry Potter, or it’s obviously not Harry Potter (duh!) and it’s absolutely amazing!

In my defence, I did give this book a fair chance — several, in fact. I started and stopped reading it several times over  the past couple of months, trying to see if I’d enjoy it more in a different mood. Unfortunately, about halfway through, I admitted defeat. I didn’t enjoy this book, and quite frankly, I didn’t want to waste any more of my time trying to get through it. This doesn’t mean it’s a bad book — opinions on it are fairly evenly split, which tells me you’ll either love the book or hate it, and it’s likely a matter of personal preference.

In the interest of fairness, whenever a publisher sends me a book, I make it a point to finish it before posting a review, just in case something happens in the last few pages that changes my opinion of the book. In this case, however, as I said, I didn’t want to keep trying anymore, and so, in case the book suddenly becomes much more to my taste at the halfway point, my apologies. Consider this a review of only the first half.

The reason I couldn’t get into Casual Vacancy is that it lacked the magic of Harry Potter. And by magic, I don’t mean wands and wizards, but rather narrative magic. Harry Potter cast a spell over the reader, and made me want to keep turning the page. It was compelling storytelling, with characters you cared about, and with a few exceptions, Casual Vacancy fell flat.

Rowling’s writing is as solid as ever, with a touch of Austen-like wry humour in her tone. Take the opening sentences for example:

Barry Fairbrother did not want to go out to dinner. […] However, his wife had been a little stiff and uncommunicative over lunch, and Barry deduced that his anniversary card had not mitigated the crime of shutting himself away in the study all morning. [p.3]

So far, so wordy, but the contrast between the formal “mitigation” and the trivial “anniversary card” is a bit of a convivial smirk at the reader, setting the tone of subtlety and irony that Rowling attempts throughout.

Rowling focuses on the mundane in this book. The tale of a small town political battle is told with endless minutiae of daily life. It’s as if Rowling wanted to prove how ordinary and un-magical she could write, and ends up being a bore.

I think part of the problem is that there’s a huge cast of characters, with little to differentiate them. They’re mostly greedy and power hungry, which could make for some wonderful gritty storytelling, or sharp, biting satire. Rowling’s writing lacks the edge to pull it off, and instead merely points them out to us, as though presenting a series of generic bad people one after another after another ad nauseum.

There are moments of brilliance. I love the scene where a woman decides to wear a sari to Barry Fairbrother’s funeral — even though her neighbours will disapprove, it’s like an inside joke between her and Barry. Great moment, touching, yet with a rousing touch of defiance against social conventions. My favourite, however, is Sukhvinder’s story. A teenage girl who unfortunately has facial hair, she is bullied in school (by a boy I actually loathed in the few chapters I’d read of him) and called a hermaphrodite, a hairy ape and so on. In probably the best scene from what I’ve read, Rowling writes how Sukhvinder hides in her room, with her mother and sisters talking in the background, and cuts herself. It’s taut, tense and powerful, and I wish the rest of the book had that same power.

Unfortunately, the story of the adult characters, which is the focus of the book, is much less compelling, much more meandering. I was bored; I couldn’t care less; I gave up.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | Where’d You Go, Bernadette?, Maria Semple

The email from Hachette Book Group Canada began: “Please let me know if you’re interested in receiving the book that Jonathan Franzen ‘tore through…with heedless pleasure,’” but it was Maria Semple’s book trailer (above) that hooked me. If she could make me laugh this hard with the trailer, I really wanted to see how much funnier the actual novel would be.

whered-you-goWhere’d You Go, Bernadette? is about fifteen year old Bee’s quest to find her mother, Bernadette, who has disappeared. At first, the story sounds like it would be depressing (a missing mother!) or at the very least, a literary award bait type coming of age/quest narrative (journey of a young girl, etc, cue violins). Fortunately, in Semple’s hands, the premise is comedic gold. This book had me laughing throughout — not subdued, ladylike giggles either, but rather chortling, falling off the bed in hysterics laughing.

It even has what is probably one of my favourite lines in a book, ever:

I attempted to pull Ms. Griffin off the teddy bear, which appeared to be causing her acute distress. [p. 176]

I love the format Semple chooses — instead of doing a straightforward narration of events, Semple tells her story through emails, newspaper clippings, and other pieces of research Bee uses in trying to find her mother.   Through this, we get to here Bernadette’s voice, which is hilarious, naive, and somehow also tragic. Bernadette is a compelling character, a talented architect whose work takes America by storm and yet who somehow ends up a homemaker in Seattle.

Seattle is hardly the middle of nowhere, but Bernadette is horribly displaced, and her snarky comments about Microsoft, the rain and five-way intersections are razor-sharp. She is so out of her element in fact that she outsources most of her day-to-day work, such as making travel arrangements or buying graduation presents, to a “virtual assistant from India” for 75 cents an hour. Her emails to Manjula, the virtual assistant, are chatty and free-wheeling, reminding me of Becky Bloomwood from the Shopaholic series, and just like Becky, Bernadette seems much too naive to realize when she’s over her head.

Bernadette also has to deal with “gnats,” what she calls the fussy, snobbish women in her neighbourhood. The biggest gnat of all is a woman named Audrey Griffin, who hires “a blackberry abatement specialist” to clear her yard, and who is constantly at odds with Bernadette. Without giving too much away, I had no idea something as simple as “abating” a yard of blackberries could escalate into one of the most epically comic neighbourhood battle of wills I’ve ever seen.

Given how hilarious this book is, it’s a lovely surprise, and a testament to Semple’s talent, that it never devolves into pure farce. Rather, there’s much heart in this novel. We end up really caring for Bernadette and her family. Take for example my Goodreads update on page 266:

this book has been hilarious so far, but this part might just make me cry. 😦 I really want Bee to find her mom. 😦 [Goodreads]

The book gets to you. I was muttering “gnat” whenever I saw Audrey’s name, and I was truly worried when I realized another woman had the hots for Bernadette’s adorably geeky husband. The reason Bernadette moved to Seattle in the first place is on one hand, utterly comic, yet on the other, rather heartbreaking. Bernadette is a believable, lovable figure from her very first email to Manjula, yet her pre-Seattle life adds so much more depth to her character.

The ending is a bit too neat, especially considering the utter wild abandon that characterized the comedy throughout the novel, but I was still happy with how things turned out. The narrative also slows down considerably when Semple abandons the madcap rush through bits of evidence and instead switches to straightforward narration from Bee’s perspective. The switch makes sense, story-wise, but the narrative momentum waned. Still, Where’d You Go, Bernadette? is comedic gold. If that book trailer makes you giggle, be warned: the book will make you laugh, will make you gasp, and every once in a while, may even make you shed a tear or two.

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Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, Robin Sloan

9780374214913Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore is my book soulmate. Seriously, if ever a book were to combine all the elements that would make me fall in love with it, this is it.

The title alone is enough to hook me, and, I suspect, any fellow book lover. The idea of a bookstore open 24 hours sounds like heaven. And no, online retailers don’t count — sure you can download an ebook or order a print book at any time, but there’s a magic to actually being in a bricks and mortar place. And Mr. Penumbra’s store in particular has the musty, old book charm that makes me want to spend hours in it.

Even better, Penumbra’s store is an indie! Bookseller protagonist Clay is used to customers asking for book recommendations, then leaving to buy it on their e-reader. As a bookseller at an indie myself, I could relate, and the scene where author Robin Sloan creates a clever reversal of this scenario made me as baffled and overjoyed as it did Clay.

I’m an avid mystery reader, and Sloan teases his reader with a creepy, utterly compelling one: What books are in the dark stacks Clay is forbidden to read? Who are the customers who come in the dead of the night to return a book to those stacks and pick up a new one? I was definitely hooked. Where would the author take this?

To his credit, Sloan completely blindsided me. When I think of a book about an indie 24-hour bookstore, with mysterious leather-bound tomes taken out in the dead of the night, I have a certain type of storyline in mind, and I bet you do too. So it took me completely by surprise when Sloan introduced a digital element — 3D mapping, Google search capabilities, computer wizardry — and somehow managed to make it all work with the mysterious, musty atmosphere of the old-fashioned bookstore. I admit, as a total book and mystery geek who also happens to be a tech geek, all I could think was, this book was tailor made for me.

Too often, the divide between the physical and the digital, the old school and the new, is posited as a one or the other type deal. You’re either a print book person or an ebook person, someone who appreciates the handwritten card or someone who loves the 3D IMAX 42fps type movie. Obviously, reality is rarely so clearcut, but in books at least, I usually find either nostalgia for the way things were or all out Cory Doctorow-style techno-geekery. To have both so seamlessly in one book just blew me away.

To be honest, the reason behind the mysterious customers disappointed me at first. On one hand, it would’ve been really difficult for any author to come up with an explanation impressive enough to live up to amazing build up, but then again, it also made me feel like Sloan settled for safe, overdone Dan Brown territory. Not a spoiler — Mr. Penumbra has nothing to do with Mary Magdalene, but the customers are using the books to search for something, and the object of their search disappointed me. Sloan reverts to a classic trope, and after having build such an exciting, esoteric world, the familiar was a letdown.

But then, again Sloan surprises me. And again, it’s with his masterful integration of the digital with the physical. The object of the customers’ search may be overdone (in my view, at least), but the combination of ways in which Sloan makes his various characters conduct this search is highly original. The final answer is highly original as well, and quite frankly, brilliant. Bravo, Mr. Sloan — you’ve blown me away.

I am in love with this story. I love that it manages to bring together so many things I love, including science fiction and fantasy, an absolutely awesome romance, even typography and design! My copy is filled with underlined text, marginal notations, and at the very end:

Posted on Instagram 26 Sept 2012

Sometimes, words aren’t enough.

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Thank you to Harper Collins Canada for an advanced reading copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

[Note: If you live in the US, your edition of Penumbra has a glow-in-the-dark cover!]