Laurie R. King, The Beekeeper's Apprentice

Laurie R. King, The Beekeeper's Apprentice. Fun, fun, fun!

Jhumpa Lahiri, The Namesake

Jhumpa Lahiri, The Namesake. Gogol (the American-born son if Indian parents) was a little flat, while his expatriate parents' surroundings and personalities were lovingly rendered. Gogol's affairs, academics, career, failed marriage, even his apartment were never convincing; he seemed a construct, a stereotype. His parent's emotions, even their furniture and food, were somehow more textured - it was odd because their role in the story was so traditional (immigrant parents and their American children, tensions ensue...) and yet they were more convincing. I was disappointed.

John Banville, The Infinities

John Banville, The Infinities. Gods, self, mathematics, death, family. A nearly mundane family drama acrobatically spun into a universe with slightly different underpinnings (for example, here Johann Beringer was correct and fossils were indeed the capricious fabrications of God). So much artifice, so many sly jokes, so many lovely narrative turns. The writing was ridiculously beautiful. Words so lovely the story was outshone by its clothes.

Tracy Kidder, Mountains Beyond Mountains

Tracy Kidder, Mountains Beyond Mountains. The Paul Farmer story. A dangerous book to read; a book to change your life.

E. O. Wilson, Anthill

E. O. Wilson, Anthill. Loved, LOVED the parts about the ants. The early story about Raff Cody falling in love with the longleaf pine forest was lovely, and the view of academia as a very specialized colony was fabulous. However, sadly, the end of the book had a clumsy and perfunctory Grisham-style thriller tacked on. And it wasn't very thrilling or even interesting (and so lacked the only redeeming quality of a real legal thriller). It seemed like a creative writing exercise where you're asked to re-create a certain style and you use a web template. This was especially disappointing, because Wilson can write so beautifully. It's like a lovely book was growing and it suddenly acquired a fifth useless leg mid-development. And I wanted more ants. So I suppose that after clinical rotations I'll stop putting off reading The Ants.

Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Markus Zusak, The Book Thief. Leisel is a foster child in a small town in the outskirts of Munich during World War II. She first becomes a book thief when she finds The Grave Digger's Handbook at her little brother's funeral. Despite the frequent tragedy, the book is funny, original, and emotionally convincing (it's easy to set a tragedy in that time and place, but it isn't easy to be genuine and tell a story that any child or adult can identify with). I loved Leisel and her friends and family; and I loved her discovery of words and the word use in the book itself.

P. D. James, The Private Patient

P. D. James, The Private Patient. One of her usual tight and intricate mysteries. I'm not really an Adam Dagleish fan. He's too perfect; a grown-up's fantasy - I mean, really, a tall, handsome, reserved, and distantly wounded critically acclaimed poet wedded to his work who comes WITH the perfect London flat? And unlike another ridiculously perfect British detective, he is never funny or silly or entertaining or close to human. I always enjoy reading her books, though, because they are like her detective: a little distant, a little chilly, but technically impeccable. This one, set in a private plastic surgery clinic at a lovely old manor house, was no different, and had lovely little plot twists in a nice tight frame.

Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey

Thornton Wilder, The Bridge of San Luis Rey. After five travelers die in an "act of God" (a rope bridge collapse), a priest tries to discover a rational system to determine why some are chosen to die and some are chosen to live. What evolves from this research is a beautiful distillation of the essence of five lives.

Bernhard Schlink, The Reader

Bernhard Schlink, The Reader (translated by Carol Brown Janeway). I had forgotten that I had read this, but couldn't stop. It's a surprisingly subtle story. Unbridgeable chasms between individuals. Language, literacy, awareness, guilt.

Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic, Eric, and Feet of Clay

Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic, Eric, and Feet of Clay. Feet of Clay was a detective story featuring golems and the City Watch. Cheery Littlebottem and Dorfl join the Watch, Lord Vetinari gets poisoned, Commander Vimes and Captain Carrot investigate. The Color of Magic and Eric (or Faust) were Rincewind adventures.

Jane Smiley, Ordinary Love and Goodwill

Jane Smiley, Ordinary Love and Goodwill. Two beautiful novellas about family life.

Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife

Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife. A delicious fluffy layer-cake of a story. I loved the holey time-addled story line (and while chronological impairment is a plot gimmick, it's fun, enlivened the plot, and provided an excuse to talk about the nature of love, identity, and choice). Henry and Claire were lovable, their friends and family were perhaps even more interesting, and the setting in and around Chicago was an extra layer of icing. But I wish Claire had more of her own identity. So much of her self was wrapped up in Henry, waiting for him, helping him, loving him - although I suppose she was essentially a child-bride and so perhaps that level of entanglement is not surprising. I really wonder about her art. Were her thoughts expressed in her sculptures alone and hidden from us? Perhaps not, since most of her works that were described also seemed to revolve around her relationship with Henry or around Henry himself. I would have found the love story more powerful if I felt they both had stronger identities- Henry apart from his time-wandering, and Claire apart from Henry. But I suppose that our personalities are often constrained and defined by the happenstance of our lives.

William Gibson, Spook Country

William Gibson, Spook Country. This book wasn't really science fiction, more like techno-now fiction; sort of a spy-art-gizmo-post-9-11 hodgepodge. The only hazard of writing in the near-present is that the tech in this 07 book already seems quaint. Interesting plot with (wonder of wonders in this genre!) a moderately interesting grown-up female reporter/ex-musician with an actual personality as narrator. Naturally she gets sucked into a strange and intricate caper involving satellites, dirty money, and shadowy government organizations. My major complaint about William Gibson is that he doesn't really like people, he likes things. All his books are absolute love stories to things and designs (they should come with tiny replicas or glossy catalogs) but the people never really go anywhere or develop - if you expect that than they are a fine entertainment.

Samuel Shem, The House of God

Samuel Shem, The House of God. Dr. Roy Basch undergoes a curriculum of self-defense training and skill set acquisition including bouncing, buffing, and turfing during the absurd purgatory of intern year in the Seventies. It's hilarious (and bitter, and very very raunchy). I kept hearing this strange vocabulary and references to characters like the Fat Man over the last few years - so, I thought I had better read this and then anything I get myself into in the next couple of years will seem benign by comparison.

E. Nesbit, The Wouldbegoods

E. Nesbit, The Wouldbegoods. Loved it. The better they try to be, the more trouble they make - I love the Bastable kids. And for kicks, check out E. Nesbit's wikipedia page; who knew she was a radical?

John Updike, The Witches of Eastwick

John Updike, The Witches of Eastwick. Complete muck. Blech. Not even the sermon on parasites at the end saved it.

Terry Pratchett, Unseen Academicals

Terry Pratchett, Unseen Academicals. Loved this one. Sports, academia, high fashion, pies, and candle dribbling.

Victor LaValle, Big Machine

Victor LaValle, Big Machine. Ricky Rice gets a mysterious letter and a one-way greyhound ticket to northeastern Vermont. He leaves his job as a night janitor and enters a surreal secret organization in a stone library. He spends his days with ex-criminals and ex-junkies doing research and preparing reports while dressed in immaculate 1920's menswear. It gets weird from there.

More comics

So, it's the end of spring break and we've been on a comics binge at my house. The Iowa City Public Library has a phenomenal collection of comic books (really amazing) and we have them stacked on every surface of our house. It's been great, because the boys are getting to see classic superheroes and lots of new stories. I read Renee French's The Soap lady to the boys. Horrifying and beautiful - I really need to go see the Mutter Museum. Next I read a couple of Neil Gaiman collaborations to myself: Murder Mysteries and The Facts in the Case of the Departure of Miss Finch. Yawn. But best of all has been Tank Girl by Alan Martin and Jamie Hewlett. She's my new friend. Pow!

Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated. Funny, silly, charming, heartbreaking. Sometimes the letters were a little precious - but Alex the letter-writer actually became more human as the story continued (and self-conscious as they could be, the emotions felt genuine). The scenes with Sammy Davis Junior Junior the insane dog were hilarious enough for me to forgive any possible sin of earnestness.