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Powell's Staff:
Five Book Friday: In Memoriam
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Every year, the booksellers at Powell’s submit their Top Fives: their five favorite books that were released in 2023. It’s a list that, when put together, shows just how varied and interesting the book tastes of Powell’s booksellers are. I highly recommend digging into the recommendations — we would never lead you astray — but today...
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Brontez Purnell:
Powell’s Q&A: Brontez Purnell, author of ‘Ten Bridges I’ve Burnt’
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Rachael P.:
Starter Pack: Where to Begin with Ursula K. Le Guin
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Customer Comments
Michelleyevshky has commented on (20) products
Ignorance
by
Milan Kundera
Michelleyevshky
, February 24, 2011
I really loved this book--about nostalgia and the ignorance of memory and even love. Milan Kundera is spare and powerful with words. Kundera uses a passive voice in this book which creates a muted, nearly objective point of view. That creates an even more powerful sense of nostalgia, I found myself wanting to get closer to the picture. The way the scenes were laid out created a second (or third) level of nostalgia, which was quite impressive. I definitely recommend this book, it was beautiful and lonely and wants to be comforted.
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Reservation Blues
by
Sherman Alexie
Michelleyevshky
, July 29, 2007
This is a review I have meant to write for a very long time. I am finally daring to do so. I first read this book as a very young girl, underneath my covers with a flashlight. And then about a year ago I had the chance to see Sherman Alexie speak at a community college--I went on a whim, not connecting who he was, but while there I realized he was the writer of a great deal of excellent poetry I revere and this book, Reservation Blues, that I had loved and allowed myself to live in as a little girl. Browsing the Goodwill book section a few weeks later I found an old copy of this book and snapped it up, a very happy book-lobster. I re-read it after 10 years. I hated it this time around. It wasn't the writing, the writing was the same boggling mind-trail Alexie is so excellent at revving through. It was a single phrase that slashed at me, the sentence was attributed to Big Mom, the wise character, Watcher, and strange Savior of the book, aimed at Victor, a victim of sexual abuse at the hands of a priest. "...you should forgive the priest who hurt you when you were little...that poor man hasn't even forgiven himself yet." I re-read that part and my mouth sort of fell open, and I felt betrayed by Alexie, who I felt didn't understand what he was doing when he wrote the book. I realize that when someone writes a book they largely write for themselves and of their own experiences in a vicarious way. I am all too aware of how many Indians were raped by priests, and the deep anger alot of Indians have towards white and half-white people as a result of the genocides. I think the power of forgiveness is a wonderful tool for healing for SOME people. But not all. I feel strange criticizing and hating this sentence. I want so badly back into the rest of the book, but am unable to step back in. I was locked out of his beautiful world with those words, because those words are used to hurt people in institutions of religion, used to silence and place the burden of guilt on victims of brutal sexual assault, and used to dumb down followers. Forgiveness is a main theme in all of Alexie's writing, and I have come to expect this of him. I don't resent the theme as long as it is clearly separated from the abusive machinations of institution. Usually he manages. He fails here, slipping the theories in willy-nilly without a clue. I think he is trying to hit all the major problems Indians face in one book, and not having personally been raped in the church (which I am willing to state quantitatively based on the way he glibly throws around religious language and talks about Catholicism, a wonderful freedom that victims of CSA do not have) he fails here, and manages to pour salt on the wounds (albeit with such innocence and such a good heart that it hurts MORE for all its damned arrogant innocence). Victor is not a well-fleshed out character and his abuse, his reactions to that abuse, is never delved into aside from the single event. There is no analyzation of his reactions. His "tough-guy" fasod mostly remains in place throughout, slipping to reveal the outlines of the soul beneath only a few times. Alexie only seems to understand the full-on anger reaction to abuse, he doesn't understand the deep guilt that victims of CSA have, nor does he understand the type of pain in having a "safe" spirituality spout out a flat forgiveness line that rings in tune with the corporate rapists of religious institutions. (And so few are sorry. And if this priest were sorry, why didn't he try to make amends? Why didn't he pay for counseling? Why didn't he turn himself in? What's that? He cared about himself more? He had 60 more victims? He doesn't want to go to jail? He's narcissistic and can't stand the thought of not being God's right hand? Ah. Yes.) Alexie had no right to fling these theories out in such disarray, in the mouth of someone looked up to as a God-figure. The character Big Mom fills is a vast one, so her dialogue had better be good. He was essentially speaking for God. Shame on him! I generally mock reviews that say, "this book is bad because the theory is bad." Well, here I am, hating a book with excellent writing for bad theory. Mr. Alexie, I like you and I'll make a deal here, I'll stay out of the sweat lodges and your spirituality if you'll stay away from my spirituality, and refrain from telling me my spiritual path.
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Harry Potter 07 & The Deathly Hallows
by
J.K. Rowling
Michelleyevshky
, July 22, 2007
***Note: Some broad, vaguely worded spoilers.**** This is my least favorite Harry Potter book and it hurts to say so. I am a big fan, and have been since my older brother snuck me a copy (beneath my evangelical father's eyes) of Sorcerer's Stone. I am now all grown up and reading Harry Potter has been, in many ways, the mile marks of childhood for me. Let it be known that I don't give criticisms to JK Rowling lightly, and that while a great deal of what I have to say is negative, it's my honest opinion, and not disgruntled fanmenship. I was at my local bookstore by 5 p.m. on Friday night and hit about the middle part of the line at the stroke of midnight. By 9 am on Saturday I was finished, finished, finished... Despite my desperately anxious reading, many parts of the story dragged and it just didn't FEEL like Harry Potter. Hogwarts took second stage next to the hectic, dangerous travels of our fine trio. When the pieces started falling (from the sky, as it were) into place there was a hurriedness, a randomness, a helter-skelter dissonance that bothered me like an itch. The ending tasted like raw sugar by the spoonfull--it left me with a stomach ache, and frankly, it read like poorly written fan-fiction. Rowling thrives on dialogue, indeed, I'd say she's one of the best writers of dialogue I've ever read. Yet she doesn't capitalize on that large talent, instead relying on a tentative weakness: the contemplative Harry. This was a grand mistake on her part. We all knew, coming into this book, that there would be huge revelations about our favorite sadistic teacher. Sadly those revelations were anti-climactic, seen through the Pensieve and in the middle of a large...er..."disturbance" in the continuing present of Harry Potter Land. To remove Harry from the emotion of the present and put him in a calcified rendition of the past was jerky and rang false. In this sense there was no closure with Snape; Harry never got his showdown; Snape never got his moment of revelation where he shivers in all his bitters. I missed that interaction very much. I was looking forward to it. That is the crux of my disappointment in the book: Harry's isolation and silence. Harry has always, always relied upon a wide bevy of friends, even in Order of the Phoenix, only marching to do battle alone at the emotional climax, wherein with a stroke of luck, he saves the day. In this book he remained continually withdrawn. I didn't laugh much, I didn't cry, and I felt trapped in a bubble throughout. I felt ostracized from this last book. Some more problems I had with Harry Potter the Final: -The individual deaths seemed to have no meaning in relation to the overall plot and character progression. In this way, they seemed gratuitous. Rowling has said in interviews that she gave one character a reprieve and as a result gave two others the slash. I have an idea which character got the reprieve, and think, while I would have been devastated at that death, it would have been a better book with that death, and without the obvious two deaths she opted for. It would have had meaning to the overall arc and swing. As was, I blinked slightly at two of my favorite characters' demise and plunged on without a tear. -Too condensed. I felt like I was in a college lecture: Harry Potter 101. Interesting to the fan like me, but a novel isn't an encyclopedia, and shouldn't be made into one. Okay. Okay. Enough of the negatives. Let's face it: This is Harry Potter! And all of us here love Harry. What were the things I loved? -Just seeing my beloved characters. I missed them, and love them as if they were real. As long as they're around, even if they're not talking and even doing alot of dying, I'm happy. -Harry Potter all grown up. I kept wondering throughout the frantic travelings if Harry Potter had a moustacne? A beard? Ron did at one point. I wonder if Harry got all prickly. -Closure. Yeah. No more guessing. We know now. And the intricacies of plot were fantabulous. Thank you, JK. In the second to the last chapter I swallowed hard. The last page! I saw Harry exit the pages before my eyes, walk through an open door. I felt like my childhood had just waved goodbye and maybe it just did. Goodbye Harry Potter. We will all miss you!
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River Secrets
by
Shannon Hale
Michelleyevshky
, July 03, 2007
I should preface this review by noting that Shannon Hale is easily one of my favorite fantasy writers. Her creative writing ability is notable and obvious. Take for instance the sentence "spring poked out everywhere." This book is rife with marvelous metaphors and the plot is great...but it's been done before and better in both "Goose Girl" and "Enna Burning." Added, Hale seems to make little effort to differentiate the bevy of characters she releases onto the reader in the beginning pages. I've read both of her previous Bayern books and "Princess Academy."I felt this book was cliche and overkill. Overkill? Case in point: at the finale of our epic hero and heroine step into a boat and kiss their way to the final page. It was cliche and could have been done better. Did I love this book? No. But I liked it. Regardless of the flaws I pointed out, this book still floats on Hale's excessive talent and imagination. Bayern is a place I want to go over and over again. I welcomed the chance, even if it wasn't as memorable as the last two times I went. For Hale's ability I give this book a three. In the general writing crowd where Hale stands a head taller, this book gets a four.
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Brothers K
by
David James Duncan
Michelleyevshky
, July 03, 2007
After more or less bitterly mocking my conservative Adventist upbringing with my very Catholic best friend 7 years ago, he laughingly recommended this book to me, saying it might help me "deal" with that upbringing to soothe away the bitter. Ohmymymymy. I checked this out at 9 in the evening and by 4 in the morning had finished this...this...this...the word book, from this book-lover, does not do this book justice. This is the monster of books, the God of all books, it's been given a little book-sceptre and rules over all the rest of the book-ette proletariat. It's bourgeois book and beastie book. Even better, instead of pompously lording it over all the rest of the lesser books, it quotes them, loves them, welcomes them in for one big book party. I have two copies of this book. One copy is signed and is missing three pages, and is ripped in two from reading it too many times. The other is yellowed and sits on top of my bedstand. I have parts of it committed to memory, and re-read over and over and over. The thing that strikes me most about Duncan's style is his underlying foundation, his ability to find love in the most crazed places: from the Adventist church to Vietnam to Canada to the village dotted desert outside Pune. There is a certain naivete in looking for unmitigated love in these places, but while various of his characters embody that Dostoyevskyan naivete, I get the feeling that Duncan is an incredibly down-to-earth guy and that down-to-earthness meshed with mysticism, Adventism gone fanatical, non-violent violence, etc. leaves a lasting impression. I would say his main foundation is that love is an uncontrollable force, it takes on faces we might never expect of it. We see that over and over again as we watch this family's epic story unfold so heartbreakingly and terribly. As for my old friend's comment that "The Brothers K" might help me "deal?" Yes. And then some. I felt like someone had hit me over the head with a frying pan after reading this book. Maybe it was the staunchly Adventist Mama Chance who stepped out of the pages and gave me a good iron whack. Duncan called The Brothers K (and I might be misquoting him a bit) his 700-some page attempt at coming to terms with his own Adventist/Presbyterian upbringing. Having been raised solely Adventist I find it necessary to point out that some of the theology he attributes to Adventism is incorrect, particularly that Adventists don't believe in a literal hell. The culture, which is ultimately what matters in a book like this, he has portrayed amazingly well, right down to the children's rooms being in the church basement. I understand, from an interview he had with Dan Lamberton of Walla Walla Adventist College, that he was originally trying to write about Baptists, which is bigger and more mainstream and therefore more meaningful to readers, but found himself always returning to his Adventist upbringing, finally switching over altogether. This book was amazing. While I'm not sure that Duncan would like that I felt hit over the head by a frying pan wielding Mama Chance, it turned out for me, and it keeps turning out. This book "holds multitudes." I can read it and come out crying and laughing and head-achey and glowy and furious and excited depending on which page I'm turning to and which character I'm reading about. So. Should you buy this book? Dear friend, buy two copies of this one, for one will fall apart on you for all that page turning.
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Selected Poems Of Langston Hughes
by
Langston Hughes
Michelleyevshky
, June 29, 2007
Langston Hughes' poems makes my knees knock. There is a little thrill with each poem, like I'm landing in a vat of buttermilk, and splashing happily about. With the subject matters he dares tackle one would think it'd be more realistic to walk away from a deluge of his work in deep depression. Not so. Instead I walked away with a dreamy smile and knocking knees. His ability to cull the beauty from the horror is...is...is I'm wordless.
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Crazed
by
Jin, Ha
Michelleyevshky
, June 21, 2007
This is the first novel of Jin's that I've read. I was not disappointed and give this book a loud, standing ovation. After his academic advisor and prospective father-in-law collapses from a stroke, Jian, a graduate student studying poetics, is assigned to care for the professor. As Professor Yang grows increasingly more neurotic with each passing day, Jian faces a devastating personal crisis within himself while pondering the mysteries and paradoxes pointed parroting from his old mentor uncorks. This book is subtle and slow-moving, the words culled to bare essentials. The plot progression relies heavily upon psychological deconstruction of its characters, but unlike in Russian literature, it deconstructs characters through the seive of Jian, a fallible tool for such a job, and the reader is left knowing more of Jian from this perspective and less of of the peripheral minor characters shuffling forward to the bubbling finale of The Crazed. I enjoyed reading Jin's use of the English language, as it is fresh and interesting, unfettered by certain colloquial ruts a native American English speaker tends to use. Whenever possible within the English language rules of word order he seems to place the verb as his core and bends his sentences and extremities around those verbs. The result is a certain fluidity that unlike some (say me, for example) doesn't get hung up on phonemes and fluff. This book was excellent and masterful, like the stiff, bitter, and neutral taste of vodka. I'll be reading more of Ha Jin, you can be sure of it.
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Nobody Nowhere
by
Donna Williams
Michelleyevshky
, June 09, 2007
If I could describe this book in one word it would be "safe." Donna's world winsomely twinkles, it's no wonder she--and all autistics--find the "real" world terrifying. She describes in childlike trust and a type of naive bluntness her inability to connect with others. Her bluntness is not synonymous with bravado, and that becomes quite clear as she tells of her harrowing childhood. This book is autistic, and beautifully so. The terror and climax of the book fades in and out, just as she does. In one clip of prose she is talking about her often saddening childhood and in another, fantasms and wisps, or the feel of fingers tapping out a rythym. Five stars and a standing ovation for her dreamy bravery and fighting forthrightness. Anyone who works with an autistic, is an autistic or loves an autistic or even knows an autistic should read this book.
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Reading Judas
by
Elaine Pagels
Michelleyevshky
, June 06, 2007
I am still coming to terms with this book. This book is the translation (by Karen King) of one of the newest Gnostic discoveries, the Gospel of Judas, accompanied with an interpretation of it by Elaine Pagels. The book's layout is, in my opinion, sketchy. First comes Pagels' interpretation, followed by Kings' translation, followed by nearly 50 pages of notes and references. I dislike reading something after being told what to believe about it so after realizing I disliked the layout turned immediately to the Gospel of Judas. My first impression of the Gospel of Judas was laughter. It was a bit ridiculous in a mean-spirited sort of way. There was homophobia and what could be dumbed down as racism and anti-Semitism, even anti-Christian sentiments. It was originally written in Greek in the first century C.E. although the translated version was from Coptic and the fourth century. The writer was not Judas, but presumably some early Christian. The setting is eight days before Jesus' death and the synopsis is that of Jesus picking Judas out from amongst the twelve to be given the Mysteries of the Kingdom. A great deal of the text has, unfortunately, been lost. The notes were comprehensive, though very nitty-gritty. I went through the Gospel again with the aid of King's historical context and etymology. This helped sort out some of the places in which I found myself at sea. Then I allowed myself to read Pagels' interpretation. She sees the writer as responding to the early Christian concept of martyrdom and sacrifice. There were those, like Irenaeus, who saw martyrdom as a gift from above, and the only way to obtain eternal life. The Gospel of Thomas, as Pagels reminds us, calls some victims "empty martyrs...testify only to themselves." (This brings to mind the likes of Eichmann. Surely if there ever were a martyr to a cause Eichmann would be one, though few Christians believe he might also obtain eternal life.) With this argument in place Pagels reiterates the Mysteries of the Kingdom which Jesus imparts to Judas, claiming that this anonymous first century writer was claiming that it is through becoming part with "divine spirit" that eternal life is obtained, not through martyrdom. I found this to be a frustrating, enlightening, and interesting read. The Gospel of Judas itself, masterfully translated and torturously placed in context with history and etymology, was after all, only boorish bunk. Very old boorish bunk, granted, but still boorish bunk. I thought Pagels' explanation of early Christian histories fascinating and wonderful, but thought her explanations of what the anonymous author meant sometimes probable and often far-fetched. I don't think we CAN know what the writer meant, any more than we can know what the rest of the gospel writers meant. Her attempts to try came across at times too confident in her own knowledge, of which she is no doubt one of the most knoweldgable alive today. I am not giving this book a rating because of an assumption formed off two facts. Fact One: I dislike books on religion and only read them to understand the history of the world and why it is the way it is today and to come to terms with my own evangelical upbringing. Fact Two: Elaine Pagels and Karen King are both competent scholars and good writers/translators. Assumption: I am far, far, far from an objective reviewer, and as an amateur cannot effectively rate this book on a scale from 1 to 5. Any attempt to do so would be inaccurate.
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The Rwanda Crisis
by
Gerard Prunier
Michelleyevshky
, June 04, 2007
This book--dull as a doornail--is the only sensible deconstruction of the Rwandan genocide out there, and believe me, I've read them all. I wept at the calculated coldness that Prunier dissects; I wept at the pieces, and the smooth, hot coals I cradled in my palm. This book gave me blisters. Toss those easy, primitive theories on Rwandese tribal factions or the wide-eyed machete-wielding Protestant Hutu crying "demon possession, mea culpa": Prunier goes deeper, putting his own horror on the shelf for clear-eyed clarity. He plumbs the history of Rwanda, top to bottom. There's not a nook or cranny of evidence I've heard of that he doesn't explore. He mainly points to the colonialist Europeans who manipulated and separated and created Hutu and Tutsi tribes. Holistic, honest, brilliant, he separates facts and theories from each other with a humble incision. Yet with or without this careful separation it's apparent: his theories hold water AND blood.
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Good Omens
by
Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman
Michelleyevshky
, June 04, 2007
Laugh out loud fun and games with both heaven and hell. The battle of good and evil isn't all about the sword of truth and demon dances, there are moments of treaty and beneath that white flag both demon and angel peer bewilderdly into the fog and flummery of humanity. Add to this the mistakes of the divine, the mix-up of the satanic, the baying hound of hell and you've got some Gaiman-y goodness and Pratchett-y prose you won't soon forget.
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Blue Castle
by
L M Montgomery
Michelleyevshky
, June 04, 2007
This is easily Lucy Maude Montgomery's best book. Early feminist with fiery tongue and quick wit, she writes romance like she's writing comedy, everything done a mighty island from the corseted Victorian. Even without this arched and dancing wonder of word construction of Montgomergy's, the plot would be plenty reason to pick up the book. Frumpy, dull Valancy takes a turn for the wild when she discovers she's got a year to live. It's a riot from society, where Valancy changes churches just to annoy her overbearing mother. I read this in the church library as a little girl, and it was ever after, one of my most favorite books in the whole, wide, wondrous, book-filled world.
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Leaving Church
by
Barbara Brown Taylor
Michelleyevshky
, June 03, 2007
With a carefully structured format, former Episcopalian priest, Barbara Brown Taylor, splices the why of her anti-climactic divestment. Cut into thirds (Finding, Losing, Keeping) she covers her spiritual journey, many times verging on the apologetics of the spiritual vs. religious route. At first I was a bit disappointed she dwelt so much on her role of pastor and the examination of the usefulness/logic of such a profession. I originally picked this book up searching for a kindred spirit as ex-church peon. But I was able to reach across the differences we shared in stations and identify with her journey, undoubtedly a testament to Brown's empathy and talent. This is the first "Christian" book I've read in 5 years. It drew mixed emotions. I cried as I read Brown's description of tending to broken birds yet recoiled at her tendency to wrap her spiritual experienced up as anecdotal. Yet this was a good book, well worth the read for either side of the track: heretics (etymologically meaning those who make a choice, as Taylor informs) or faithful church-goers.
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Notes of a Dirty Old Man
by
Charles Bukowski
Michelleyevshky
, May 30, 2007
"Notes of a Dirty Old Man" is a haphazard, unfortunately redundant and angry collection of rants by an undeniably gifted writer and poet. Bukowski heaves his heavy bagful of words off his back in an angry plop--then deserts that bag entirely in favor of the bottle, leaving whatever shards of "spirit" within to be stirred in with the silt. If you like, or can weather, reading about masturbating with a phone mouthpiece or killing someone with a typewriter, you've met your match. Why do I give this a two if I find it so disgusting? Well, Bukowski is a genius. The angry bitter mumbling of a madman sometimes subsides away and into the madness of spirit and beauty. (Strangely, I don't doubt the cutesy family film "Angels In the Outfield" was jacked from this collection. There have been stranger things, but not many.) He sums it up well in these clarified, aching words: "...all the hard poems; he'd played hard-man all his life but he was soft. everybody was soft, really--the hard was only there to protect the soft." I think he tried to shake his audience off him like a bad hangover. If that's what he was trying to do, he did a good job of it.
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Books of Bayern 01 Goose Girl
by
Shannon Hale
Michelleyevshky
, May 30, 2007
I'm a sucker for modernized mythology and fairy tales (Mother Goose with morality, essentially). This book is easily one of the best. In the strain of Ella Enchanted it covers the fairy tale of the goose girl. When starting out I was expecting this book to follow the old tired plot "princess doesn't want to marry prince but falls in love with him despite her feminist leanings." This was a welcome twist on that unfortunate plot line, with the main character Princess Ani, kicking serious butt. The queer, shy, swan and wind whispering Princess Anidora of Kildenree is sent to a neighboring country in marriage. After en-route betrayal Anidora is reduced to goose girl, herding the flocks for the royal she was meant to marry. A book like this doesn't come along often. I was elated at the finishing page, completely transported to the mystical lands Shannon Hale created. I wish I could wipe my mind free of the plot and read it all over again, completely fresh, welcoming the thralls of a perfectly executed story.
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Frank Boyden: The Empathies
by
Frank Boyden
Michelleyevshky
, May 26, 2007
This is a startling book of art and prose. Why startling? Alot of artists can do beautiful. Alot of artists can do ugly. Not very many can do both at once. Frank Boyden can. Perhaps what most struck me about his prints was the way he created this paradox: left and right sides of the faces were very commonly incongruent. Sometimes when they were congruent a shaft of light disturbed that congruence into stereotypical ugliness. He used other tools: skinny, knobby fingers hiding an unseen pool of eyes or deformities or overgrown, bumpy noses with a tongue scatologically flicking out to clean warts or a sunken skull sided with a white and bald dull-eyed destitue or lumpy skin flagging on the frame-up as if the poor portrayed gentlewoman hadn't a skull to hold her head up. His use of incongruence remains my favorite. I kept covering up half the picture on several to try and make these faces stereotypically beautiful. I whispered to them that if they would only...they really could be quite beautiful, you know, if only they tried. The prose is a duo of a song. Kim Stafford's essay "The Long Sleep of Asia" covers the voice of a single picture, giving the voice of silence and empathy and wait and love. David James Duncan is at first a whirlwind of essay then a parade of quotes. His essay is a clear hit, excellent in every way and his quotes are profound. The problem? The layout of those quotes make it difficult to pinpoint which voice belongs to which mouth. I began to play a board to book game of memory, shuffling the voices and the mouths to ownership (a real problem when like in drypoint 22 armor shutters the mouth and in 48 when the presence of a mouth is questionable). I found it endearing, but I'm biased about David Duncan. To me the gem came at the end with a new short story by Duncan, a fledgling of a piece: three fat pages that swell in layers of art. All in all it was a great book. I felt the layout could have used some work. The material, however, was phenomenal.
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The Perks of Being a Wallflower
by
Stephen Chbosky
Michelleyevshky
, May 26, 2007
I read this 4 years ago at 19. It was read to moonlight and flashlight, curled in a sleeping bag. I still remember those few hours fondly. Charlie is an instantaneously likable character writing to an anonymous never-present benefactor. "I am writing you because she said you listen and understand and didn't try and sleep with that person at that party even though you could have." Off Charlie goes. A gentle, codependent high-schooler confessing on a spectrum of issues from an unrequited crush to homophobia to fighting parents to a sad sister to a jock brother to his English teacher who ladles out assignments like a soup nazi. Underneath and above and through it all throbs a shy, tentative voice coming into his own. The results have that special oomph which only comes with true talent. This is a beautiful, soulful, emotional piece. Buy it for your son, your daughter, AND yourself. It's that good.
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Polish-English Dictionary: Volume 1 to 3
by
Iwo Cyprian Pogonowski
Michelleyevshky
, May 23, 2007
It's a monster for the slavophile. You can be assured that any Polish word you've heard--be that in an 80's Kieslowski drama, or slang on the streets--will be in these behemoths. Complete with a linguist's love-toy of a foreword. Problem? Too big to lug on the plane, it's for the serious student, not the tourist.
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God Laughs & Plays Churchless Sermons in Response to the Preachments of the Fundamentalist Right
by
David James Duncan
Michelleyevshky
, May 22, 2007
For those of you familiar with David Duncan, who've been waiting for his next novel for the past decade and a half, this is another appetizer in the strain of "River Teeth" and "My Story As Told By Water." Yes. This is a political book by David James Duncan. Duncan waxes angrily eloquent about current American events in this small quaint, quilt of a book. He nearly always sticks to opinion, leaving sustained argument to others. It should be noted that this book is, as he calls it, "an occasional book." It's sort of pieced together to make a whole. At moments he is bursting with anger, others with love, sometimes he is bursting with both emotions at once. It is paradoxical. This book is opinionated and drives those opinions mainly on good writing and emotion. Further, and much more truly, it is a spiritual book. Perhaps the one foundation of this book as spiritual is set in the Kierkegaardian conceits in regards to reverencing the Catholic monastic life, sometimes at cost to Protestant exegesis of the Bible, though never in full-on war with it. If you love David James Duncan, are primarily an emotional individual, and agree with the premise of his statements then you will love this book. If you are none of the above, or only one of the above, you will have some problems soaking in the meat of his undeniably superb creative writing.
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Flight
by
Sherman Alexie
Michelleyevshky
, May 19, 2007
Flight is wunderkind Sherman Alexie's newest novel after a loooong ten-year pause. It is also his first youth and science-fiction novel. The wait was well-waitered. His newest character is angsty, time-travelling Seattle Indian teen, Zits. With his aesthetically applied moniker, Zits shows externally what seems to be an emptiness internally: sharp, red pustules of rage. After shooting up a bank lobby on the encouragement and companionship of pale complexioned, Nietzsche-quoting fellow teen inmate, Justice, Zits disappears into a time rift, body-hopping the continental United States' space and history, pondering the whys and wherefores and what-to-from here's of his new pal "Justice." With a nod to the late, great Vonnegut in the title-page quote and post-publication interviews, Alexie acknowledges his indebtedness to his literary predecessors. He also, as always, draws heavily from his contemporary Indian culture in much the way his past works did: through Indian lore (ghost dancing is again referenced, this time prior to shooting up the bank lobby) and through Indian rhythm. And perhaps this is the way Alexie most stands out as a writer: his prosody is deeply reminiscent of oral traditions and the much later Beat Generation we saw in the 1960's and 1970's. Hearing Alexie talk his art is a must. As YA fiction, Flight succeeds on all levels. It is not the heady, intellectual pudding of yester-years, instead it is a proud and pithy piece, appealing to those of the younger generation simply for the rash action, searing self-hate and contradictory arrogance of Zits. The entire premise of this book is a caution to step back, and a roaring laugh verging on tears at Zits' self-mocking impotence, exactly the type of thing every red-blooded teen is dealing with today. Flight is great, however you can be assured that this is not going to be Sherman Alexie's best novel. We will see better and hopefully many, many more.
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