The Iowa Baseball Confederacy

I wish I'd read this book when I was 16 years old -- it's the kind of book that can make a fantastic impression on a kid. Unfortunately, reading it later in life takes out some of the unbridled joy that I think I would have felt reading this as a kid. I wonder if there's a better novel lurking in here -- one where Kinsella shows, rather than tells.

Not that this was unenjoyable, I just think this could have been more than it was.

The Trial

The Trial reads like a nightmare or a joke, and for some time, our protagonist is convinced that fun is being had at his expense. Kafka is often read (to the chagrin of the writer of the introduction) as allegory, but this can be read straight.

There's a feeling of inevitability here, as the machinery grinds on Josef K until we reach our conclusion -- he's never as in control as he seems to think he is.

My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me

I was pretty skeptical about this anthology, but it was no more uneven than most others, and there were some standouts here.

Alissa Nutting's "The Brother and the Bird" gives the volume its title, Brian Evenson's "Dapplegrim" is a compelling take on a story with which I was until now unfamiliar, and Aimee Bender's "The Color Master" was a quite evocative.

It was really interesting to see a lot of stories that I was not familiar with, even in the European tradition, and see several disparate takes on the same tale.

Worth paging through, at least.

Angelmaker

Angelmaker isn't anything groundbreaking, but it's a lot of fun. A story of a man rebuking his father's criminal past by living a straight-and-narrow lifestyle, of an aged former spy trying to stop a Doomsday Device, and a mysterious order of monks.

Nick Harkaway names his protagonist "Joe Spork," and then never comments on the name further, other than to lay out Joe's ancestry (father, career criminal, mother, joined a convent within the past ten years, grandfather, a clockmaker and artisan, grandmother, mysteriously absent.) Joe's ancestry sets up a tension that's central to his chapters: his repudiation of his father's criminal ways, and his embracing his grandfather's honest living, makes it tougher for him to deal with the problems that crop up throughout the course of the novel; what to do when you need information, and your best sources of that are from a past where your father was a notorious gangster?

Unfortunately, this dilemma is more or less all the characterization we get on our protagonist, who is overshadowed by supporting characters, such as the elderly former spy, her cartoonish nemesis, and an underworld figure or two. We even get a love interest who's nearly as much of a blank slate as Joe is. Luckily, this isn't a deep, psychological novel where that would be a killing blow; it's pulpy fun, and that's merely a minor negative here.

The Buried Giant

One of the perks of being a respected author is that you don't wind up in the fantasy ghetto, even if you write what looks like a fantasy novel. I would argue that The Buried Giant, while set in a fantasy world, isn't so much a fantasy novel as it is an allegory; for memory, and for a long-term relationship.

The Buried Giant plays with Arthurian legend, but just as scaffolding; the story could be set in any other country, with another set of mythology. The real story here is between the aged married couple, Axl and Beatrice (which, as our author notes "[p]erhaps these were not their exact or full names, but for ease, this is how we will refer to them.") Our story begins with Axl and Beatrice in their village, where they are disrespected and mistreated, so they decide to journey to their son's village, despite having little memory of him, where the village is, or if he'd be happy to see them.

Axl and Beatrice (as well as nearly everyone else we encounter in the story) have problems with memory; events that occur mere hours earlier fade in people's minds, and events of a few weeks ago are all but gone, unless prompted by others. Why and how is slowly revealed over the course of the story, as Axl and Beatrice travel their (limited) world, in search of their son's village (which is described as a few day's walk away).

I read a review which describes The Buried Giant as "Game of Thrones with a conscience," which I can't agree with; this isn't a large, lush, fleshed out fantasy world, and Ishiguro isn't given to exposition dumps. Information is hinted at before being stated outright, and some things never do get stated or explained. This is done to underscore the fragility and transience of memory, even through the (foreshadowed and ambiguous) ending.

I think I'd like to revisit this again at some point -- a second look might make some things clearer.

The Six-Gun Tarot

I was recommended The Six-Gun Tarot by an AV Club review some time ago, and I'm glad I picked it up. It's a fun Western fantasy set in a world much like ours, but not quite. (Actually, it almost feels like it is set in our world, just with Golgotha soaking up all the fantasy elements before they get to the rest of us.)

Golgotha is a very hodgepodge Western fantasy setting; there's a Chinatown, Mormons, Indian legends, other religious trappings, heads in jars, a member of an ancient order of assassins, and some sort of Lovecraftian horror. That sounds kitchen sink-y as all hell, and it's a credit to Belcher that he pulls it off.

Some criticisms: the book feels almost episodic, in an in-media-res sense -- characters will refer to a wacky or supernatural event from the past, and it'll be just brushed aside. With juggling many characters and arcs, some of them can get a little bogged down. I'm not sure how I feel about the treatment of women here; there's one character whose entire life story feels like a tragedy, and another who feels like she never quite got where the author wanted her to go.

All in all, this is a fun fantasy novel that doesn't drag too much and is worth checking out.

Legacy of Ashes

Legacy of Ashes is a pretty damning read (so damning that it merits a review/rebuttal on the CIA's official website, which I did not find particularly convincing). Weiner takes his title from Eisenhower, describing the failures of building a capable intelligence agency.

Legacy of Ashes is a bit frustrating, in that two repeating themes are that the agency can't find good analysts and/or covert operatives, and that the agency is constantly bleeding talent. Which is it? It could be turnover (employees hired, trained, then leave immediately for more lucrative work in the private sector, as Weiner documents happening during the Iraq War), or it's inconsequential, because these people don't know what they're doing, anyway. The CIA's rank-and-file, when they are mentioned, don't come off particularly well -- unable to speak foreign languages, unfamiliar with cultures, continually producing bad analysis, etc.

Legacy of Ashes reads as a litany of obfuscation, willful ignorance, and legerdemain on the part of the CIA's various directors (particularly Allen Dulles), and their attitudes towards the rest of the government, as well as other members of the CIA. There are times in the 50s (as well as the 60s, and 70s) where the right hand (analysis) didn't know what the left hand (covert action) was doing. I don't think any of the Presidents come off well, either; either asking the CIA to act against its charter, or authorizing missions with sketchy scope.

Unfortunately, it feels like Weiner starts skimming towards the end of the book. Some of this just may be due to events beyond his control, in that it's more easy to have something declassified from fifty years ago, as opposed to five-to-ten. But the agency does start to come across a little better post-Vietnam, even with the Latin American meddling and arms-for-hostages.

This is a pretty damning indictment, even if it is less than perfect; it paints a picture of an agency that has difficulty finding its ass with both hands, and given US foreign policy post-World War II, that unfortunately sounds about right. Worth reading to just shake your head.