Chris > Recent Status Updates

the main character, the boy, is very flat... but this is a fun enough thriller

From a technical perspective, there is a totally valid attempt here to tell the backstory of growing up with the dad, counter-pointed against the present-day chase through the woods after the dad.
From an emotional perspective, the whole thing just comes across as "thin." so so thin. I realized this is a "thriller" , not literature, but wow it's thin.

Reading this because I wanted to see how modern/popular writers handle outdoor adventure story-telling.

on one hand... this is kind of dry war reporting... "we did this and then did this and then did this.."
on the other hand... this is history... and Mowat's first hand accounts and experiences really paint a picture that shouldn't be lost... of how brutal war was and what these young men had to do... what they endured.. even when they weren't actually in the middle of a battle.

Ohhhh... that's why Stalin had most Polish communists killed or jailed in the 1930s ... they weren't the right type of communists... they were Trotsky-ites. Never really seen that explained before. (page 87)

It's kind of perplexing... but while I a) acknowledge that this is just a beautifully and sumptuously written book, i also b) can't really get into it!

very sophisticated and suave storytelling and style. don't capital "L" love it so far... but wow, Towles can write prose.

Kind of struggling with this book. It's more a collection of 2 to 4 page essays on travel and traveling (and the human body) than it is a novel.

really not enjoying this. it's all preamble. the hundreds of tiny little moments that led up to the firing on Fort Sumter.

He's precariously close to losing me. Book has a lot of "bloat" and side-stories which, sure , have some relevance, but isn't really needed.

In the foreword, he quotes from Nazi regulations prohibiting jazz: #8 of the ten regulations begins... "plucking of the strings is prohibited, since it is damaging to the instrument and detrimental to Aryan musicality."
#3.. "the pace must not exceed a certain degree of allegro, commensurate with the Aryan sense of discipline and moderation."
Fascists sure are afraid of people being free and enjoying life.

As with some other re-reads over the last while, not enjoying this one as much as I did when I read it 20+ years ago.

While I don't remember much... I remember loving this book when I read it (around 30 years ago!). First few pages makes me think I was right back then:
There is beauty everywhere on earth, but there is greater beauty in those places where one feels that sense of ease which comes from no longer having to put off one's dreams until some improbable future (pg 4)

Pg 177... there are "book stuffers" . Authors who "stuff" useless pages into their e-books, which makes Kindle Unlimited users flip quickly through those pages, which, for the author, increases their "pages read" count on K.U. and therefore their profits.

Sheesh!

"After the e-book boom, between 2009 and 2014, romance writers' median income rose 73%, while the median income of all other authors dropped 42% !!!! (page 3)

200+ pages into this book and not a single thing has happened, apart from John Grady falling in love with the girl... and even that seems... artificial.

No wonder I can't remember a thing about this book - it's insanely boring :(

I've read this book perhaps 4 times, and there is NOTHING in literature that devastates me like the dog-fight scene.

He took up her stiff head out of the leaves and held it or he reached to hold what cannot be held, what already ran among the mountains at once terrible and of a great beauty. (pg 127)

Pg 118: Para qué trajo la loba aquí? De que sirvió?
(why did you bring the wolf here? what good did it do?)

Some of these scenes, when Billy first catches the wolf, and has her on a leash like a dog.... :)
-Well come on to the house.
-What do you want me to do with her?
-Her?
-This here wolf.
-Well I guess it'll just have to lay around the kitchen till we get done eatin.
-Lay around the kitchen?
-It's a joke, son. Hell fire. You brought that thing in the house you could hear my wife in Albuquerque with the wires down.

they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode at once jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing. pg 30