Tag Archives: 50BookPledge2011

A Visit from the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan #50BookPledge

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Jennifer Egan’s A Visit from the Goon Squad has got to be one of the most hyped books in the past few months. My co-worker had been recommending it since it first came out, but it wasn’t really on my list of books I have to read. I’m not too big a music fan, and to be honest, the idea of a chapter in powerpoint, while intriguing, also turned me off: I’m not too big on gimmicks. What eventually convinced me to read Goon Squad is the phrase “Time’s a goon.” I’d heard of it as a quote from the book, and the significance of that with the title touched me. So I read it.

True enough, when a character utters that line in the middle of the book, I got… well, not chills, but that ineffable pull you feel whenever something touches you deeply and makes you want to reach for something just beyond your grasp. “Time’s a goon” ties together all the seemingly disparate stories within Goon Squad, and makes you realize the breadth of Egan’s tale. Goon Squad begins with Sasha, who suffers from kleptomania, and her boss Bennie, an aging music executive and former rocker. The story then traipses through time, picking up one element in a character’s story and skipping with it into the past, often with a completely new set of characters and an altogether different perspective.

I’d say the story feels like a web, with threads stretching out in different directions and spinning everywhere till it returns to the centre, but it feels more like a hyperlinked cyberweb. You click on random elements, get taken to some other story that’s still somehow connected, and, in the end, return home. I may have been wary of the Powerpoint chapter, but Egan has changed my mind. The Powerpoint, with all its bullets and arrows and random phrases in bubbles, depicts the overall structure of Goon Squad perfectly. Because this chapter is narrated by a younger character, the next generation, so to speak, its form also wonderfully illustrates the drastic changes that come with the inevitable passage of time. And, quite frankly, the powerpoint form turns what could’ve been a maudlin, albeit emotionally significant, chapter into something zippier and more interesting.

So did I like Goon Squad? I liked portions of it, ended up feeling deeply about some of the characters, and I admire what Egan has accomplished. I didn’t completely love it, and that may just be because I couldn’t fit it all into a linear narrative. I found myself caring about a character and wanting to find out more about him/her, only in the next chapter to be taken to a completely new set of characters, or an event in the character’s past. There are a lot of characters, some of whom only appear for a chapter, and after a while, I just got confused about how a certain character knew another (which I knew was explained in an earlier chapter, but which I’d forgotten already).

I liked the Powerpoint chapter, but a couple of the other gimmicks just made me go “meh.” Egan uses footnotes in one chapter, which reminded me of David Foster Wallace, but overall, I found the actual events in the chapter much more compelling. The footnotes were okay, but just that: okay. The thing about text messaging at the end, where a young character gets tongue-tied when she speaks and needs to “T” her responses to someone right in front of her, is funny, kinda sad, and actually reminds me a lot of what’s happening in real life. That being said, Egan then needed to continue with the conceit, and, especially with a little kid texting along, it just started to feel precious. Especially with a lot of phones now having QWERTY keyboards, text language phrases like “4 rEl??” and “no more Ar/lyt” just feels like it’s trying too hard to be hip.

Would I recommend it? Sure. It’s a Pulitzer winner, and there are points when the realization about time and aging, and seeing these characters age in ways they didn’t expect or particularly wish for, is poignant, and heart-tugging. At times, especially in the first chapter, it reminded me of Eleanor Henderson’s Ten Thousand Saints, probably because of the description of music, and the insights on time and aging. Egan does use some clever gimmicks, and for the most part, uses them well, or at least has a good reason for using them (not just gimmicks for gimmicks’ sake). I would’ve preferred a bit more focus, perhaps a more linear narrative or at least less characters. But that would’ve been a different book and not as ground-breaking.

Delirium, Lauren Oliver #50BookPledge

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In Lauren Oliver’s Delirium, love has been diagnosed as a disease, and everyone is required to undergo the cure when they turn eighteen. When I first heard the premise, my cynical brain immediately thought it was brilliant. No more Eponine-style romances for me! Thing is, the procedure doesn’t just kill off romantic love. My sister, who also read this book, called it practically a lobotomy, and that’s what it is: the doctors surgically remove every last bit of passion. You will never been heartbroken, but you will also view your friends and children with cold logic (you’ll give your baby milk because he’s hungry and needs food to live, not because you can’t stand to see him cry). You will no longer feel depressed, but you will also never enjoy your hobbies with as much fervour as before. Hana, the best friend of protagonist Lena, tells her early on, “You know you can’t be happy unless you’re unhappy sometimes, right?” And it’s true. Cliches aside, if you remove all violent emotion, you’ll have to remove the good with the bad.

Unlike Hana, however, Lena can’t wait for the procedure. When she was very young, her mother committed suicide because she was too infected by amor deliria nervosa to be cured. All Lena can remember is her mother laughing and dancing with her (then immediately checking to see if anyone had noticed; too much laughter after all is a symptom of delirium) and her mother fiercely telling her, “I love you. Remember. They cannot take it.” Lena is heartbroken by her mother’s death, and looks forward to being cured and freed from all that pain. I love that the heroine begins the novel looking forward to the procedure, and horrified whenever Hana makes negative comments about it. My natural reaction, once I found out the procedure destroyed all passion and not just romantic love, was to wonder how anyone could think that was a good idea. Lena’s desire to forget a completely different kind of pain made sense to me, and showed me how this procedure could be seen as a good thing, even by intelligent, non-brainwashed-drone individuals like Lena.

But Lena falls in love. Only three months before her procedure, she meets a boy named Alex, who has the scars of the cured, but whom Lena saw laughing when something messes up an evaluation interview. I love how she falls in love with him not just because of his good looks (though he is hot), but because of the tremor of laughter in his voice, and the constant look of amusement in his eyes. In a world where serenity is prized and passion is feared, happiness is enticing. Alex too, it turns out, first develops a crush on Lena when he sees her acting silly during a run — as Lena discovers during class picture day, even her ordinary looks are transformed into great beauty when she’s really happy. It’s wonderful seeing this tale from Lena’s perspective — I worry with her when Hana sneaks off to attend an underground party (with real music! Not the government regulated chipper tunes!), I feel for her whenever she remembers her mom, and I get just as giddy as she does whenever she meets up with Alex. She still worries about ending up like her mother, and I love what Alex tells her about the downside of the cure: “That’s when you really lose people, you know. When the pain passes.” I think of when my grandfather died, how my biggest fear is forgetting how he looks, or how he sounds. Pain sucks, but Alex is right; pain also keeps the past alive.

As you can probably tell, I love this book. It’s an emotional ride, which reminds me of how repressing emotions actually ends up making them burst out even more violently. I love how it goes beyond just a romance, and deals with the value of passion in so many things — friendship, family, music, hobbies, and yes, love.

I remember how violently I felt about things when I was younger, and how much more practical I am today. I remember how, when I was young, an older cousin told me never to fall in love, because it hurt too much, and I remember how I, fuelled by Disney movies mostly, vowed never ever to turn away from love, because I’d rather be hurt than block myself from feeling. I remember changing my mind later on, and chalking it up to maturity. Delirium is about a surgical procedure that removes strong emotions, but I wonder, though not as extreme, do we all subject ourselves to a similar procedure in the name of growing up?

This book will make you believe in love again. At the very least, it will make you realize why numbing yourself against pain, while tempting, can never work in the long term. Delirium ends with a bang, which actually reminded me of a Le Carre novel (I can’t say which, as that would totally be a spoiler). It’s a wonderful, exciting book that I hope will touch you like it has touched me.

By the way, if you plan on getting this book (as you should!), just to let you know, I found out on the Harper Collins Canada website that Delirium: The Special Edition will be published July 20, 2011. It’ll have new cover art, a Q&A with author Lauren Oliver and an exclusive excerpt from her next book! Pretty cool, eh? (Thanks to Harper Collins Canada’s Savvy Reader for letting me know details about Delirium: The Special Edition!)

Ten Thousand Saints, Eleanor Henderson #50BookPledge

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Eleanor Henderson’s Ten Thousand Saints hooked me from the first line: “‘Is it dreamed?’ Jude asked Teddy. ‘Or dreamt?’” Not sure why I liked it so much, and I certainly don’t really care about the answer, but I do want to find out more about someone who would ask that question. I also love the way Henderson describes Teddy as wearing “opalescent, fat-tongued Air Jordans, both toes bandaged with duct tape” and Jude as “the one in Converse high-tops, the stars Magic Markered into pentagrams.” Character and time are established with such vivid, concrete detail, and there’s something endearing about the image of Magic Markered pentagrams and duct taped toes.

It’s no secret that Teddy’s about to die; the very first page situates the story “on the last morning of 1987 and the last morning of Teddy’s life.” By the second page, it probably isn’t much of a mystery either how he dies. Adopted by a pair of diehard hippies, Jude grew up taking drugs like other kids take pop, and the novel begins with Jude and Teddy  “celebrating Jude’s sixteenth birthday with the dregs from last night’s bowl.” So when Teddy dies of an overdose, how is a guilt-ridden Jude supposed to cope? He goes to live with his pot-dealing father in New York (he even names his bongs!), and that’s where the story really takes off.

Jude meets Teddy’s half-brother Johnny, who introduces him to straight edge, an underground youth culture that is vehemently against drugs, meat and sex. There’s quite a bit of irony in Jude’s parents shaking their heads and wondering where they’d gone wrong raising a son who now rejects drugs. There’s also quite a bit of wistfulness as Henderson explores the generational gap. Jude’s mother is a sweet, sympathetic character, whose decision at one point to be a part of the gang rather than a mother leads to hurt feelings. I also love how she wonders why her generation’s music about sex and drugs sounded so mellow and peaceful, while her son’s songs about morality and just saying no had to be so angry. Jude’s friend Eliza is such an intriguing character as well — she’s pregnant, and so is forced to grow up quickly (as are Jude and Johnny, who band with her and vow to help support the child), and at the same time, foreshadows a future generational gap that she will face with her own child. Her pregnancy both highlights the urgency of the trio figuring themselves and their lives out, and also expands the story of three teenagers into a bit of a family saga.

There is so much I can say about this book! It’s the kind of story that builds slowly, drawing you in closer and closer as you keep reading, until it ends and I, at least, was left with thinking, “Wow! What an ending.” I love the way Henderson develops her characters. I didn’t grow up in the 80s, and straight edge culture isn’t something I’m familiar with. But I was definitely drawn in by all these complex characters, who are all dealing in their own way with Teddy’s death and their potential role in it, and trying to figure out who they are and who they want to become. I just made the book sound incredibly cheesy, but it’s not; Henderson’s narration is subtle, humorous and heartfelt.

I love the way Henderson describes things: “he placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head slowly, slowly up until her eyes met his, the way a parent will prepare a child for a reprimand, or the way a man will prepare a woman for a kiss.” Tender, and what a spot-on image parallel! Or: “‘It’s a nice face,’ she said. Nice. It was so much more than nice, but she couldn’t think of a better word. You didn’t call a boy beautiful, not a boy who was your husband’s best friend, not a boy who didn’t like girls and who went around picking fights and who you really did think was beautiful.” Again: spot on, with the last phrase.

Saints goes beyond just wonderful characters and descriptions; it encapsulates an entire era — the reaction against the consequences of hippie lifestyles and the realization that, no matter how cool you may be, your children will always seek to differentiate themselves from you. Saints also deals with homosexuality and the advent of the AIDS crisis. I love the way Henderson reveals that a character is gay: “‘You want to know what it feels like? Bein’ with a girl?’ Rooster dropped his hand. ‘It feels like bein’ a fuckin’ coward.’” Bam.

Henderson’s characters feel very, very real, and so does their story. I don’t know if I’d call it a page-turner, but it does make you live in Jude, Eliza and Johnny’s world. To be honest, after the first page, I didn’t really get into it until Teddy died (which, because I glossed over that bit in the first page and didn’t bother to read the plot summary, came as a complete shock to me). But, like I said, it just kept building, and the ending is just wonderfully wistful. Beautiful, wonderful book. Highly recommended.