You ain't nothin' but a hound-dog
Aug. 6th, 2013 08:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ventaBook #9 (as recommended by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
huskyteer):
Ford Madox Ford - Parade's End
Shortly after I'd posted my first review this year - of Rivers of London, which I loved - I realised I had a potential problem. Sooner or later, I was going to find something on this list that I was going to have to say I didn't like, and risk offending the person who'd recommended their pet book to me. Sadly, this moment has now arrived :(
Parade's End and I really didn't get on. I'm certainly not going to claim it's a bad book, but I spent almost all of it being completely bewildered and feeling like I had no idea what was happening.
The book is peopled with early twentieth century types, all terribly caught up in class issues, changing roles and (of course) the first world war. The characters all seem slightly repressed, and all say much less than they mean. They do often think for paragraphs between saying not very much, but sadly that still didn't seem to allow me to keep up with what the unsaid conversation was all about. With the net result that a lot of the time I was only dimly aware of what anyone meant, wanted, hoped for, and was trying to achieve.
Ford. Madox. Ford.[*] also frequently begins a chapter in the middle of the action, and only later fills in the detail of how this action came out. Which is fine, as a literary device. Sadly, when your reader is already pretty confused, the net result is... these people are on a cart. In the fog. Why are they on a cart? Did I miss a bit?
<flips back a few pages>
No. They just seem to be a on a cart. Where is the cart? I have no idea.
And so on. I'm very much prepared to accept that the blame for this lies squarely with me, and not with Ford. Madox. Ford.
Parade's End is really four books, all bound into one volume. Interestingly the last book, which takes place after the war has ended, seemed to make a lot more sense to me, and everyone seemed calmer and much more coherent. I assume this is an allegory of everywhere calming down after the war. So actually, the tome and I had almost reached a truce by the time I actually turned the last page. Even then, though, I found myself staring at the closing sentences - which were clearly Very Significant - and utterly failing to appreciate why.
If anyone who knows and likes the book would like to help me out, I'd love to be de-Philistined :(
Book #10 (as recommended bybeckyl):
Pat O'Shea - Hounds of the Morrigan
After the rather heavy-going of Parade's End, I positively galloped through Hounds of the Morrigan. I have actually read it before, and not really all that long ago, but had managed to retain almost no memory of anything that happens in it.
When my reading list was constructed, someone (damerell, I think) warned me that this book hadn't aged well, so I was expecting the worst. As a result, I was pleasantly surprised.
It's a book in the kids-find-weirdshit-in-summer-holidays vein, and is peopled with an entertainingly creative cast of characters along their journey. I think it never manages much of a sense of danger (compared to, say, an Alan Garner) but it does have the nice touch of the older child constantly worrying about his younger sister. Overall, it's a lightweight, easy read that just rattles along pleasantly and doesn't seek to make any deep and meaningful points.
Best of all, whenever anyone says anything unclear or gnomic, the central characters grumble about it extensively :)
Book #11 (as recommended by Joan (WINOLJ)):
Carol Shields - Unless
From what I know (or, rather, thought I knew) of Joan's taste in books I'd been expecting some sort of hard-boiled, gritty thriller when I started Unless. Which made for a bit of a surprise.
Instead, I got a rather reflective, expositionary novel in which the first-person narrator puts down her thoughts, memories, and theories relating to a particular event in her life. It mixes chronicling everyday occurrences with philosophy and feminism, and I found the net result strangely delightful. It's oddly light-hearted, and written in a style which made me wish I could do as much with so few words.
Once I'd finished Parade's End, I got the impression that the book had found me equally hard work. It looked worn, and tired, and the last few pages had escaped from the spine and come loose. The page-edges displayed, rather resentfully, a couple of red spots where I had somehow managed to spill wine on it.
I like to look after books. I like them to be able to keep hold of all their pages, and would prefer subsequent readers not to be able to determine what I have been eating and drinking while reading. Worse, it was a library book. Worserer, it was a library book which had been brand new when I checked it out.
Pristine, in fact, neatly tucked into its shiny new jacket. My date stamp was the first on the little sheet.
I took it back to the library feeling dreadfully guilty. Rather than leaving it on the shelf and skulking off, I handed it over and admitted that it had been new, and now it was very much not.
Oh, not to worry, said the cheerful library lady, giving it a quick look over. It was far too fat a book to have been published as a one-volume paperback, the pages were bound to come loose. The wine? Not a problem. Books come back in much worse states all the time.
She thanked me for caring, and waved me away.
So now, as well as feeling guilty for hurting Parade's End, I have to worry about all the poor books that come back in much worse states. What I felt was dreadful maltreatment of a book apparently wasn't worth a mention - what on earth do people do to them?
[*] I have to say it like that, blame Neil Hannon.
huskyteer): Ford Madox Ford - Parade's End
Shortly after I'd posted my first review this year - of Rivers of London, which I loved - I realised I had a potential problem. Sooner or later, I was going to find something on this list that I was going to have to say I didn't like, and risk offending the person who'd recommended their pet book to me. Sadly, this moment has now arrived :(
Parade's End and I really didn't get on. I'm certainly not going to claim it's a bad book, but I spent almost all of it being completely bewildered and feeling like I had no idea what was happening.
The book is peopled with early twentieth century types, all terribly caught up in class issues, changing roles and (of course) the first world war. The characters all seem slightly repressed, and all say much less than they mean. They do often think for paragraphs between saying not very much, but sadly that still didn't seem to allow me to keep up with what the unsaid conversation was all about. With the net result that a lot of the time I was only dimly aware of what anyone meant, wanted, hoped for, and was trying to achieve.
Ford. Madox. Ford.[*] also frequently begins a chapter in the middle of the action, and only later fills in the detail of how this action came out. Which is fine, as a literary device. Sadly, when your reader is already pretty confused, the net result is... these people are on a cart. In the fog. Why are they on a cart? Did I miss a bit?
<flips back a few pages>
No. They just seem to be a on a cart. Where is the cart? I have no idea.
And so on. I'm very much prepared to accept that the blame for this lies squarely with me, and not with Ford. Madox. Ford.
Parade's End is really four books, all bound into one volume. Interestingly the last book, which takes place after the war has ended, seemed to make a lot more sense to me, and everyone seemed calmer and much more coherent. I assume this is an allegory of everywhere calming down after the war. So actually, the tome and I had almost reached a truce by the time I actually turned the last page. Even then, though, I found myself staring at the closing sentences - which were clearly Very Significant - and utterly failing to appreciate why.
If anyone who knows and likes the book would like to help me out, I'd love to be de-Philistined :(
Book #10 (as recommended by
beckyl): Pat O'Shea - Hounds of the Morrigan
After the rather heavy-going of Parade's End, I positively galloped through Hounds of the Morrigan. I have actually read it before, and not really all that long ago, but had managed to retain almost no memory of anything that happens in it.
When my reading list was constructed, someone (
damerell, I think) warned me that this book hadn't aged well, so I was expecting the worst. As a result, I was pleasantly surprised.It's a book in the kids-find-weirdshit-in-summer-holidays vein, and is peopled with an entertainingly creative cast of characters along their journey. I think it never manages much of a sense of danger (compared to, say, an Alan Garner) but it does have the nice touch of the older child constantly worrying about his younger sister. Overall, it's a lightweight, easy read that just rattles along pleasantly and doesn't seek to make any deep and meaningful points.
Best of all, whenever anyone says anything unclear or gnomic, the central characters grumble about it extensively :)
Book #11 (as recommended by Joan (WINOLJ)):
Carol Shields - Unless
From what I know (or, rather, thought I knew) of Joan's taste in books I'd been expecting some sort of hard-boiled, gritty thriller when I started Unless. Which made for a bit of a surprise.
Instead, I got a rather reflective, expositionary novel in which the first-person narrator puts down her thoughts, memories, and theories relating to a particular event in her life. It mixes chronicling everyday occurrences with philosophy and feminism, and I found the net result strangely delightful. It's oddly light-hearted, and written in a style which made me wish I could do as much with so few words.
Once I'd finished Parade's End, I got the impression that the book had found me equally hard work. It looked worn, and tired, and the last few pages had escaped from the spine and come loose. The page-edges displayed, rather resentfully, a couple of red spots where I had somehow managed to spill wine on it.
I like to look after books. I like them to be able to keep hold of all their pages, and would prefer subsequent readers not to be able to determine what I have been eating and drinking while reading. Worse, it was a library book. Worserer, it was a library book which had been brand new when I checked it out.
Pristine, in fact, neatly tucked into its shiny new jacket. My date stamp was the first on the little sheet.
I took it back to the library feeling dreadfully guilty. Rather than leaving it on the shelf and skulking off, I handed it over and admitted that it had been new, and now it was very much not.
Oh, not to worry, said the cheerful library lady, giving it a quick look over. It was far too fat a book to have been published as a one-volume paperback, the pages were bound to come loose. The wine? Not a problem. Books come back in much worse states all the time.
She thanked me for caring, and waved me away.
So now, as well as feeling guilty for hurting Parade's End, I have to worry about all the poor books that come back in much worse states. What I felt was dreadful maltreatment of a book apparently wasn't worth a mention - what on earth do people do to them?
[*] I have to say it like that, blame Neil Hannon.
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no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 02:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 12:31 pm (UTC)I remember loving this as a kid, glad to hear it still holds up okay.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 02:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-09 02:26 pm (UTC)Sheesh, these excuses... can't you balance a book on top of a baby while you're changing them, or something :)
no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-07 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-09 02:25 pm (UTC)I concede that it wasn't my new favourite book, but reading it was certainly (a) interesting and (b) a thing I probably wouldn't have organised otherwise so goal reached :)