For Feisty Feminists

A friend recommended this book to me, and said it was both funny and incredibly vulgar. The main character/narrator, Charles Highway, is a 19-year-old studying to get into Oxford, while drinking and having sex as much as he can. He also keeps files on people of interest in his life - his family members, girls he is trying to seduce - and writes down things he plans to say. When he plans to go to a museum exhibit with Rachel, he visits it the day before so he can write down interesting things to say about the art work - including short speeches with planned ‘ums’ and ‘I don’t knows’. When he runs into her unexpectedly, he cuts the meeting short because he doesn’t have notes on what he should say. He’s a quirky character, at first fairly unlikeable. He grows on the reader as he develops respectable qualities - qualities he was probably hoping to avoid.

It was, as promised, funny and extremely vulgar.

The Turnaround is the story of an incident of violence and the effects it has on the lives of those present. The relatively brief exposition introduces the characters when they are teenagers, and three white kids drive into a black neighborhood high on beer, pot, and bravado. The situation escalates, and spins out of control. Pelecanos (a writer and producer on The Wire) tells a good story, putting the suspense and forward momentum of a good crime novel together with empathetic but flawed characters.

Those who were there at the incident react in different ways; one character lashes out because he thinks the world owes him, another reaches out to try and find some reconciliation and understanding. Pelecanos knows his characters, and conveys a full picture of even minor characters - even when you don’t agree with a characters’ actions or decisions, you understand why they chose that path.

My only criticism of the book was the ending. After a fairly realistic, character-driven story, it ends in a way that feels incredibly unrealistic - it’s like if, at the end of the fourth season of The Wire, not only did Namond go to live with Colvin, but Dukie moved in with Prez, Randy went to live with Carver, and Michael with Cutty. And then they all got unicorns as birthday presents. I exaggerate, but after a fairly gritty, realistic novel that doesn’t shy away from any of the character’s flaws or blink when describing acts of hate and violence, the ending seemed out of place.

Roger Ebert is a great movie critic, and I say that for two important reasons: first, I find that, whether I agree with his rating on a movie or not, I can always get a sense of whether I will enjoy the movie or not. Second, he is absolutely in love with the movies, and it is great to read reviews from someone who is trying to enjoy the experience, rather than trying to nitpick and tear a movie down. (Additionally, he is a huge fan of Werner Herzog, with whom I am slightly obsessed.)

Scorsese by Ebert is a collection of his previous writings on Martin Scorsese and his movies - reviews, interviews with the man himself, and articles written for Ebert’s ‘Great Movies’ collection - and re-considerations of some of the movies. Reading it was fairly pleasurable, as I like Ebert’s writing and have seen enough of Scorsese’s movies to have some sense of what Ebert is going on about, but have missed a few to make it interesting to read the reviews. Reading all of Ebert’s writing on Scorsese has its pitfalls - many movies feature a review, an interview and a ‘Great Movie’ essay or reconsideration that mention many of the same plot points or images, making it repetitive to read it all at once - but also has a certain appeal. Reading all of it in a few days made me want to make a point of watching Scorsese’s whole output to see the common themes and the evolution of those themes, and his visual style, throughout the decades. I not only want to seek out for the first time After Hours, Mean Streets, and New York, New York, but I want to rewatch those inarguable classics Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, Goodfellas - and the mind-trippy, not respected enough The Last Temptation of Christ. (Willem DaFoe is a great Jesus, and I don’t find the movie blasphemous.)

Perhaps most interestingly, the book made me rethink the role of women in Scorsese’s movies. They seem to be firmly on one side or the other of the Madonna/Whore divide, and I usually find this pretty weak and a sign of unimaginative, uncompelling movie making. But through the interviews, Ebert shows that Scorsese is painfully aware of this division, and that it reflects his own struggle with a dichotomy that he rationally knows is false, rather than an unexamined simplification of half the world’s population.

Scorsese by Ebert is a good read for movie fans, but better as something to page through and read what interests you than to read all the way through.

This book is why people read suspense novels. I have never been a huge fan of the genre, beyond beach or travel reads, but this book absolutely transcends the genre. It is a smart, taut tale that gives you little clues, but leaves you guessing and second-guessing constantly.

The Spy Who Came in From the Cold is an espionage thriller that begins in Cold War Germany, with the main character, Leamas, waiting for one of his double agents to make it across the Berlin Wall before he is discovered. Le Carre writes it so that you don’t quite understand the meaning of this chapter, but the events gain significance as the book goes on. Leamas is an agent for British intelligence, and he goes back to England after this opening to find out his new assignment. His boss, Control, is the head of intelligence (note: this reminded me of the recurring sketch from A Bit of Fry and Laurie featuring Tony and Control, and made me chuckle). They have a complicated scheme to take out an East German operative.

At this point, le Carre really starts hiding his hand. I knew that there was a plot at work, but never knew exactly how much of Leamas’ actions were part of the plot, and how much were his own personal actions. Le Carre throws the reader a bone once in awhile, revealing that certain things were exactly according to plan, but when he does, there are always other complications underway. (Please note that this review is being written in my head with a British accent.) Le Carre even includes some ethical explorations, as opposing agents question not only Leamas’ loyalty, but why he thinks that British intelligence has more moral methods or ideology. There is a bit of a love story added into the mix, but it didn’t offend my dear-god-why-do-they-throw-a-love-story-into-everything sensibilities, as it is - after the initial exposition of that plotline - put into the story in a relatively subtle way. The story has crosses and double-crosses to keep you guessing, but is always sure and steady. There is little temptation to turn to the end and see what happens, as knowing the ending is not nearly as fulfilling as knowing how the story got there. It ends on a poingnant note, never wasting a page along the way.