BOOK REVIEWS

2001, Part F: June 2001

2001, Christian Sauvé

Featured this month:

 

 

Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason
Helen Fielding

Penguin, 1999, 338 pages, $19.00 Can. tp, ISBN 0-14-029847-9

I really liked Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones's Diary and it seems as if I wasn't the only one; the book remained one of Britain's best-seller for quite some time. With this success, and a successful film adaptation, it was inevitable to see a sequel popping up in bookstores.

The good and the bad news about The Edge of Reason are that, overall, it's more of the same thing. If you loved Bridget Jones in her first diary -and who didn't?-, you'll love her about as much in the second one. Our heroine is still adorably confused, the writing style still as brisk, and the overall effect quite sympathetic. If you loved the prequel, there's no doubt that you'll like The Edge of Reason.

Bridget begins her second diary scant weeks after the events of the first one; we find her still happily shacking up with Mark Darcy, the rock-solid barrister romantic hero of the first volume. All is well in paradise... or is it? A few obvious misunderstandings, comic interludes and disloyal incidents from acquaintances later, Bridget finds herself sort-of-single once again and determined to chuck all of her self-help books in the trash again.

Hey, don't worry; Mr. Darcy isn't all that far away, and neither is the happy ending. In the meantime, Bridget is free to make even more outrageous slip-ups, obsess some more about her body and suffer through the manias of her mother. You can't do the same romantic shtick twice, and the second volume of the Bridget Jones series is slanted towards broader comedy.

As usual, some specific bits are laugh-aloud funny; a Colin Firth interview published verbatim (because Bridget goofed up once more) reads like the most asinine fan interview ever conducted. Furthermore, several of the funniest bits are self-contained in wonderful epigrams. You might even recognize moments of truth in Fielding's prose. Your reviewer found himself laughing silly at the suggestions that Bridget was dumped for insufficient geographic knowledge, an incident with troubling similarities having happened in his immediate vicinity a few weeks before.

Alas, as comic bits go, Fielding also includes less-amusing moments. It's not easy to milk humor from a suicide attempt (fortunately, not Bridget's) nor a few days in prison, and indeed, the laughs feel far more forced during these moments. If you can't stand situational comedy whose setup is required by stupid misunderstandings, chances are that you'll have a few problems with this book, which depends heavily on Bridget and Mark Darcy not communicating effectively at several crucial moments.

The other big problem of The Edge of Reason is its occasional lack of relevance to the average reader. Everyone reading Bridget Jones's Diary could identify with the protagonist or relate her to an acquaintance, mostly because her problems were so universal. Not so in the sequel; how many of us get to fly to Italy to interview Colin Firth, or take vacations in Thailand and then by framed for drug smuggling? Granted, it's funny to see how Bridget reacts to these problems (she ends up lip-synching Madonna in prison) but on the other hand, it's not something we're likely to relate with our day-to-day lives. But, alas, maybe that's the price to pay to extend a one-novel character... But as long as Bridget doesn't find herself battling aliens by the third volume of the series, this isn't cause for serious concern.

These caveats expressed, fans of the first volume can't really go wrong by checking out The Edge of Reason. Sure, it's more of the same, but when it's as good as Bridget Jones's Diary, why complain?

 

 

Booked to Die and The Bookman's Wake
John Dunning

Booked to Die, Pocket, 1992, 394 pages
The Bookmans's Wake, Pocket, 1995, 432 pages

It's an axiom that mystery lovers tend to be book lovers. At a degree seldom shared by other genre fans, heavy mystery readers collect massive libraries and revere the book-as-object as something more than, indeed, a medium on which stories are reprinted. While SF fans can go to the movies and see aliens on the big screen, there's no other equivalent to curling up with a good mystery near a fireplace during a cold winter night.

Given this association, the premise behind John Dunning's "Cliff Janeway" diptych seems obvious; why not write mysteries about book-lovers? Our protagonist is initially a policeman with an acutely-developed sense of books. This puts him in a uniquely contrived position to be able to investigate book-related mysteries.

In Booked to Die, the novel opens as Cliff Janeway has to investigate the murder of a book-scout, the type of poor fellow who makes a paltry living by peddling found books to dealers. Everything seems normal, except for a stack of valuable books in his apartment. (Including, bless Dunning, Heinlein's The Green Hills of Earth.) At the same time, Janeway's rivalry with a bully-like character attains new heights, resulting in his dismissal from the police force. So he does what he always wanted to and starts a bookstore, leaving aside some time to investigate the book-scout murder.

Though it's a good mystery novel, it doesn't stop there: It's also a book for book lovers, one that will teach readers a great deal about the book trade. People who love books will feel as if they've just taken a crash-course in rare book dealing; they might even be tempted to do some small-scale collecting themselves...

The events of the first volume having been settled, The Bookman's Wake take the book-loving motif even further by delving into the world of the bookmakers. The story revolves around the memory of two brothers, the Grayson, who once reigned supreme over the book trade as masters of the limited edition books, pieces so rare and so well-produced that twenty years later, they still fetch outrageously high prices. As could be expected, Janeway is gradually brought in the mystery, where he'll find troubling hints of murder, illicit relations, betrayals, sibling rivalry, thievery and forgery. As a thematic evolution, it's a natural progression even though most base readers might not find it as immediately compelling as the book-collecting trade. On the other hand, there's more to learn here, about a subject most people don't know about, but who will undoubtedly find fascinating.

In any case, both books a pure treats for mystery lovers and bibliophiles. The writing is clean, crisp and with considerable appeal through good narration. The mysteries are intricate, with some surprising twists and a few last-minute secrets. Satisfying mysteries, but as you can guess, it's the book lore which sends both books to above-average territory. Consider the first novel a must-read, and the second one a recommended novel if even you loved the first one.

[April 2007: Alas, the magic isn't to be found in The Bookman's Promise, the third entry in the Cliff Janeway series. Janeway is on the hunt for rare manuscripts this time around, but the book is marred by a few bizarre character moments, as well as a lengthy historical section that stops the narrative for dozens of pages. From a treat, the series has become an imposition. We'll see later about the fourth novel in the series.]

 

Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog
Mark Leyner

Harmony, 1995, 216 pages, $26.50 Can. tp, ISBN 0-517-59384-X

When reading anything by Mark Leyner, the tagline from the HIGHLANDER film series come to mind: There can only be one. You might try to find similar authors, but even a carefully-blended mix of Thompson, Adams and Stephenson won't even come close to the pure undiluted Leyner. His mixture of wide-ranging knowledge, go-for-broke recklessness and carefully-honed absurdity easily places him in a special position in modern humor writing.

Though as of this writing I haven't yet been able to manage acquiring a copy of Leyner's breakthrough book My Cousin, my Gastroenterologist, I was first hooked on his follow-up novel, Et Tu, Babe? a hilarious portrait of the writer-as-megalomaniac. Reading this book after so many intensely boring genre novels was like discovering MTV after a decade of Masterpiece Theater. Mainlining with pure caffeine. Adding nitrous oxyde to your morning commute.

Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog is Leyner's third book (well, fourth if you include I Smell Esther Williams, about which later.) and while it is in a few ways a let-down after Et Tu, Babe, there's nothing wrong with an extra dose of pure Leyner.

Part of the letdown is inevitable, going from the unified (if disjoint) narrative of Et Tu, Babe? to the straight-ahead collection of plays, short stories and gonzo journalism in this follow-up. It's not that Leyner is best at novels (his longer pieces are really excuses to go from one hilarious vignette to another), but shorter pieces can't depend on sustained jokes and long build-ups. Blah, whatever; there are still more jokes per square page here than anywhere else.

The second issue here is that Leyner seemed to have grown up a little. Either that or I've become used to his style. Nah. If you take a look at Leyner's first book, a 1983 collection of pieces entitled I Smell Esther Williams, you'll find an unrecognizable -and nearly unreadable- Leyner. While each sentence has a kernel of comic effect, they don't seem to relate to each other in any fashion, and the result is a hyperspeed mish-mash of quasi-epigrams that's just impossible to read in any fashion. Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog serves to show how much Leyner's been working on his craft. There are very few incoherent passages (and those who are pass quickly) and Leyner shows that he's more than able to sustain our interest for longer pieces (the play "Young Bergdorf Goodman Brown" is 80 pages long, and fun from start to finish)

One amusing note; there appears to be some nonfiction content in Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog, if I believe a few interview made by Leyner after the publication of the book. The problem is that they're not identified, and probably unidentifiable. What I took to be one of the zaniest pieces in the book ("The Good Seed", about -no kidding- a sperm bank located in the Empire State Building) is in fact a nonfiction piece with some high-octane extrapolation thrown in. Good luck trying to find the rest of the nonfiction, if there's any more.

If I've succeeded in scaring some of you away from Leyner's stuff, good; Not everyone can handle his books. It's not enough to acknowledge that Leyner has no compunction about writing with his fantasy date with Princess Di, insert hard-core pornography in his pieces, recommend bringing your kids to practice extreme sports such as drag racing or committing crimes in order to become more attractive to the opposite sex. You've got to embrace his weirdness and make it your own. If the idea of loving, exemplary parents driving their kids to murder somehow strikes you as interesting in any way... well, welcome to the club. You'll love the required reading material.

 

 

Snapshots from Hell: The Making of an MBA
Peter Robinson

Warner, 1994, 286 pages, $27.95 Can. hc, ISBN 0-446-51786-0

I must confess that I have often thought about writing a book about my first (and so far only) university degree. Mostly while undergoing said degree, usually whenever I was stuck in my room studying for yet another mind-crushing exam. By the end of the program, I even had a dramatic arc of sort with an happy ending; the story of a young man bouncing back from a humiliating first year, going from academic probation to a cum laude B.Sc. The idea shelved itself a few months after graduation, as I was struggling with the wonderful work of steady employment; I suspected that my story wasn't at all very compelling. Tales of love triangles, demonic teachers, transient friendships, Jolt-fuelled all-nighters, razor-thin academic close calls, cryogenic winter mornings and the discovery of the Internet must be nearly universal amongst Computer Science students; what else could I bring to the common mind pool? By showing me what a truly gifted writer could do with such things, Peter Robinson's Snapshots from Hell took me back -screaming and shouting- to my university days of not-so-long ago and made me think again about my own experience there.

Few other academic acronyms mean more than MBA. In theory, these three letters are associated with analytical skills, business acumen and financial success. Get an MBA, says common wisdom, and you can start your business, become the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and conquer the world. But the actually process of getting an MBA isn't quite as well known. Granted, we assume it must include some studying and some class time, but what else, exactly?

Peter Robinson was the right person at the right time to take us inside an MBA program. Having quit his job as a speechwriter for Ronald Reagan, Robinson moved across the country to Stanford and began his business training. Unlike many of his classmates, Robinson was more familiar with words than numbers; as a "poet", he'd have to mold his mind to the mathematical exactitude required of him after years of Washington double-answers.

But that also put him in an ideal position to report on what he saw. Given his gift for clear writing, this is invaluable to us readers; Robinson can be wickedly funny, observant or analytical, and we can not only follow, but also understand his experience.

Snapshots from Hell mostly covers Robinson's first year at Stanford. Given my personal experience, I can agree with this choice; first year is tough on anyone and anyone not destroyed by the experience can only come out of it stronger. Robinson suffered -and his narrative describes his pain-, but he eventually won out. By the second year, he was used to it. Still, it's a small stroke of genius to name the three sections of the book "Inferno," "Pugatorio" and "Paradiso (sort of)"

The writing style is simply wonderful, compulsively readable like a novel and yet filled with details that clearly bring out the lessons to learn from Robinson's odyssey. Tales of friends dealing with the program are as illuminating as Robinson's own efforts, allowing a glimpse of the program's effect on various type of students.

It's hard to tell when Robinson's skill ended and my own personal empathy kicked in, but in any case, I loved Snapshots from Hell. It accomplishes what it sets out to do -tell the world about the perils on an MBA degree- in such a wonderful way that it's hard not to be enthusiastic about it. It definitely ranks as a must-read for anyone -like me, yes- who's toying with the idea of getting an MBA some time in the future. Better warned than surprised, right?

 

 

Plum Island
Nelson DeMille

Warner, 1997, 574 pages, $8.99 Can., ISBN 0-446-60540-9

Hey, guess what, constant reader? It's summer. Uncovered sun, oppressive humidity, TV reruns... Like most winter-hardened Canadians, I suddenly feel the need to stop all activities, sit in the shade and work really hard at doing absolutely nothing. As there is a definite limit to the number of hours you can cat-nap -believe it or not- it's always a good idea to keep a good seat-of-your-pants thriller to fill in the rest of the day.

Chances are that you won't be able to find much better than Nelson DeMille's Plum Island in the summer-reading category. A big fat thriller mixing tension with smart-ass narration, this is one book that will keep you interested through it all without necessarily requiring excessive amounts of concentration. Just perfect for your summer-addled mind.

Plum Island isn't as much about a story as it's about a character, our wisecracking narrator John Corey. Appropriately enough for a summer read, our novel begins with its hero in semi-vacation, actually on disability leave after a serious three-bullet incident in New York City. Temporarily relocated on the eastern edge of Long Island, Corey is, in theory, free to read as many fat thrillers as he'd want to.

That is, if two people he knew didn't have the misfortune to get killed in what initially seems to be a messy robbery. It's not, of course, and as Corey digs deeper in the case, he discovers small-town scandals and suddenly has a lot to learn about pirate treasures and biological warfare. Limping and annoying his way to a solution, Corey even gets to sleep with two women and shoot a few people. All very satisfying. Or sign that you went from drowsy from dreaming in your lawn chair.

At 550+ pages, Plum Island might have felt considerably longer if it wasn't for Demille's narration. John Corey is true-blue NYPD cop, with an extra dash of wittiness. His eye for detail and odd observation really help at giving life to the novel, and that's not even mentioning the dialogue. Expect to laugh out loud a few times: Fortunately for us, Corey doesn't like everyone he meets, and it's invariably more fun to see the fireworks between our fearless protagonist and his least favorite characters.

The thriller mechanics are as efficient as they can be from a writer with nearly a dozen other thrillers to his name. The slow accumulation of clues is steady, and even the red herring scenes are efficient, such as the memorable visit to a biological research center. A professional product from beginning to end.

Still, there are lengths. They get worse as the sneering humor evaporates, more characters die and suddenly, we're in straight no-joke thriller with man-against-man, man-against-nature and man-against-himself life-and-death conflicts. The last hundred pages stretch beyond reasonable length and even the most indulgent summer readers might feel a few faint touches of exasperation.

But hey, guess what? Doesn't matter. As you lie down, sweltering in thirty-degree heat, you'll feel grateful for yet more time spent with John Corey in the cold, humid, windy shores of Long Island. There's plenty in Plum Island to keep even the most demanding summer reader interested. Forget your bookmark and pick up your sun-tan lotion, because you're going to be reading for a while.

 

 

The Alienist
Caleb Carr

Bantam, 1994, 599 pages, $8.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-553-57299-7

These days, it seems that everyone loves a good serial killer thriller. A criminal type ideally suited to the needs of fiction (ie; "he has killed before... and will kill again until our heroes stop him!"), the rise in dramatic popularity of the serial killer can also find its roots in the rise of real-world cases of such criminals. While it would be foolish to maintain that the serial killer is a wholly modern creation, it does seems as if the late twentieth-century has been a breeding ground for them. You can most probably name half a dozen off the top of your head without breaking a sweat.

You could blame many factors for this recrudescence (I'm arguing for easier transportation, media coverage, broken families and MTV myself) but the problem has become so relatively commonplace that modern police science now features a special area of expertise called "profiling". You can read John Douglas's Journey into Darkness for details, but profiling codifies all that's been learned from past experience with criminal behavior and tries to fit this knowledge with known details from repeat offenders in the hope to learn about the criminal and predict his actions.

Profiling as an accurate tool only took off in the 1970s, but criminals have been with us far longer. It only takes a little imagination to wonder when was the earliest time we could have conceived of profiling and applied it to a serial murderer. That's essentially what Caleb Carr does in The Alienist, taking us to 1896 New York City.

Our narrator is John Moore, a journalist dragged more or less willingly in the hunt for a child murderer. The main character, however, is someone else; Laszlo Kreizler, a gifted alienist (psychologist) who, well in advance of his time, is making headway on the science of profiling.

The book is quick to hook us by an efficient introduction to the crimes and the team of investigators that will track down the perpetrator. (Including the requisite proto-feminist tough-girl character just so to acknowledge political correctness) New York City is a fascinating place, today or a hundred years ago, and Carr's skill at representing the pre-skyscraper city without pedantry is one of his most laudable accomplishments.

This is not a novel that will put you to sleep. Despite the historical setting, Carr is deliciously modern in his pacing, and compelling scenes flash by at a fast clip. One annoyance, though; Carr loves cliffhanger chapter endings, so don't plan on reading "just another chapter", because the changes are that you'll just keep going. Which, depending on whether you have to wake up early the following morning, might not be a bad thing.

I had the chance to curse my lack of knowledge of historical America once more while reading The Alienist, because even though the book is perfectly understandable without a history degree, there are a fair number of celebrity cameos (J.P. Morgan, Theodore Roosevelt, etc...) that hint at a superior level of enjoyment for gaslight period buffs.

But don't worry; the only requirement to relish The Alienist is a love of good thrillers. Avid readers of crime fiction will get an extra kick of reading about the protagonists' effort at developing proto-profiling decades before the actual event. There is an undeniable intellectual appeal to witness the investigators pieces together clues and obscure reference to eventually come at a correct answer, even if the "poor abused killer" shtick isn't new, even a hundred years ago. It's also a bit of a letdown when the resolution is enacted in a violent Hollywoodish manner, but that, of course, is hardly the point of the book.

It's hard to oversell Caleb Carr's The Alienist. Not only does it succeed on a conceptual level, giving us an original premise and an ambitious scope, but it also gets the more mundane elements correctly; the scenes, characters and the writing keeps our interest. Perhaps more successful as the sum of its parts than a die-hard crime thriller or social history, but still: Grrreat book; don't miss it.