Enduring Love, by Ian McEwan

It’s funny how even the happiest times can be suddenly and forever ruined by the simplest of things. A poorly-planned remark when joking with a pal. A turned ankle while running the stairs. A glance down when driving. The most innocuous of acts can have life-long consequences.

The characters in Ian McEwan’s novels know this fact of life very well, as many of his characters suffer devastating effects from the most mundane of actions. Enduring Love is no different; Joe sits down to a lovely picnic with his wife moments away from a catastrophe that, unbeknownst to him, will change him forever.

The Voice at 3:00 A.M., by Charles Simic

After hearing Charles Simic named as Poet Laureate, I just had knew I needed to get my hands on his poetry. The small taste I had earlier gleaned did not whet my appetite. I searched online: I hemmed, I hawed, I debated which volume to purchase.

I need your help.

See, I love to read. I also like to shop. And I reallly like to shop for stuff to read.

Put them together and what do you get?

The Amazon Kindle.

I want a Kindle. I need a Kindle. First, it will help me read and shop. Lots. Only -- and this is nice -- I won't have to find storage space for all the books I'd buy in paper form. (I'm running out of bookshelf room, as I've already filled three large bookcases and have not room for another.) Even better still, the Kindle's sneaky: my husband would never know that I spent another [insert dollar amount here] on books. I'd be spending less anyway, not only because Kindle books are cheaper but also because some sites even offer free e-books.

The Dogs of Babel, by Carolyn Parkhurst

I have to say that I have an unhealthy love for my three dogs. (I also have a cat, but she’s a bitch so I don’t speak of her often. No, seriously, she is a ROYAL bitch. She actually had the balls to leave a turd on the floor because I didn’t say hello to her quickly enough. Asshole.)

The Long Walk, by Stephen King

Okay, let me get something out of the way. I do a lot of cardio. A LOT of cardio. I walk, run, whatever, at least five times a week. And I can say unequivocally, without a doubt, that I would be the first mothereffer issued a ticket if I were a contestant in Stephen King’s The Long Walk.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, by Sherman Alexie

My latest review for Pajiba has been posted on Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. It's for young adults, so I was a little nervous reviewing it, as I always am when reviewing books written for a younger audience. This is, of course, in addition to my already healthy dose of anxiety that accompanies every review I write for Pajiba. They keep you on your toes over there, they do.

Anyway, this is Sherman Alexie's first novel for young adults, and I have to say I found it quite enjoyable. Usually when reading a book written for teens, I have to keep reminding myself of the fact so that I can avoid being unnecessarily harsh. Thankfully, I didn't need to do much reminding during Diary.

Deeper, by Jeff Long

180 More: Extraordinary Poems for Every Day, edited by Billy Collins

I've been dreading writing this review (even though I should have done so months ago) because I simply have nothing to say about this collection.

I loved it and thoroughly recommend it, but there is absolutely nothing to say about it, other than it's a must-read for poetry fans. But that's not really interesting.

Shutter Island, by Dennis Lehane

It's 1954 and US Marshal Teddy Daniels heads to Shutter Island, just off the coast of Boston. He and his new partner, Chuck, are assigned to locate a missing person. It's not just any missing person's case, however: this one comes with a twist.

Shutter Island is home to the Ashecliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and the missing person in question is Rachel Solando, an extremely violent and delusional individual who murdered her three children. Her escape, however, is right out of a movie: she escaped from a locked room and a hospital full of employees onto the rocky, uneven terrain of the island -- all while wearing no shoes. Repeated searches for Solando turn up nothing, and time is of the essence. A hurricane is bearing down on the island, leaving communication and retreat impossible.

Lady of the Roses, by Sandra Worth

I usually begin reading historical fiction with some trepidation. My brain automatically associates the term “historical fiction” with hokey covers, bad writing, and long, boring passages designed to educate the reader. Aaron Hamburger, in his article for Poets & Writers entitled "The Pitfalls of Historical Fiction" hits the mark when he writes that "too often, works of historical fiction suffer from what Henry James called 'fatal cheapness' – moments of crude, awkward writing and oversimplified representation of both history and literature."

The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini

Atonement, by Ian McEwan

There are certain books that, after having finished them, one almost weeps for the experience. Reading Atonement, my first McEwan novel, was just such an event.

Larryisms: Book One, by Larry John

For the record, Larry John seems like a nice guy. He seems like the type who could swig back a few beers, tell a few stories, and eat so much off the grill that you feel like an anorexic supermodel standing next to him. And to that I say: Bravo, Larry John.

However, a good drinking buddy does not a good author make, so I’m just gonna call this one like I see it right from the get-go: at best, this is a bathroom book, plain and simple. At worst, well, it’s a waste of money, but I got it for free, so no worries on my end.

The Soul Thief, by Charles Baxter

I'm pleased to report that another review's up over at Pajiba, this time on Charles Baxter's Soul Thief. You can read my review here.

In a nutshell: Adequate...but coulda been so much better.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

Three Dollars, by Elliot Perlman

What becomes of our younger, more idealistic selves? When I was in college, I swore I’d never become what I am today: married, suburban, domestic. I can hardly remember what I’d imagined for myself, exactly, but at some point in the intervening years, that person slowly dissolved and was replaced by the woman I have become.

I don’t really mind the loss of my idealistic self. Sure, she was more fun and got in a lot more trouble, but she was also unrealistic, neurotic, and generally unhappy. Now I know that what I once viewed as placid complacency is not actually so. It is possible to retain the good elements of our youth while shedding the bad. It is possible for me to enjoy being all the things I'd once held in contempt. Being a suburban wife is actually pretty awesome.

Saturday, by Ian McEwan

Oh, shit. I've gone ahead and ruined a good book.

My biggest gripe with Saturday lies not with McEwan or his work, but rather with myself. It was my fault, you see, for reading Saturday immediately after reading Atonement, a novel which blew me away and knocked me senseless. In short, I was setting myself up for failure, for Saturday is no Atonement.

Beautiful Children, by Charles Bock

My review on Bock's Beautiful Children is up at Pajiba, so click here to read it.

In a nutshell: A solid debut novel: not perfect, but better than you might think.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4.5 out of 6 stars

More Than Human, by Theodore Sturgeon

Have you ever heard of science-fiction master Theodore Sturgeon? One of the leading figures of science-fiction’s Golden Age? What, you haven’t? For shame!

Hell House, by Richard Matheson

I know I've said this before, but if I knew of a house with a reputation for killing those who venture there, I wouldn’t visit it. Sure, I’d be curious. I’d probably drive up, maybe even stand on the porch. But go in? And, worse, stay overnight?

Cake, by Doreen Fitzgerald

When you reference one of my favorite foods in your title, I'm immediately impressed. So I began Cake, a collection of selected poems by Doreen Fitzgerald, with a favorable outlook.

Cake's poems are short, mostly all a single page. The shortest is the title piece, which reads They say you can't / have it / and eat it too, / but then, / while you're chewing, / it's all yours.

Despite the playful tone of "Cake" most of the other pieces are more serious in nature, especially when Fitzgerald writes of her past. Those with a nostalgic feel are among the most powerful, as well as those which discussed nature. (The title of this post, by the way, comes from one of my favorites entitled "From the Far Side.")

The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson

The Fall of the House of Bush, by Craig Unger

My latest review for the good people over at Pajiba is up, for a book that is astounding for, among other things, its amazingly long title: The Fall of the House of Bush: The Untold Story of How a Band of True Believers Seized the Executive Branch, Started the Iraq War, and Still Imperils America's Future.

Loose Girl: A Memoir of Promiscuity, by Kerry Cohen

Like all bibliophiles, I have my pet peeves when it comes to books. One such peeve involves the dust jackets which accompany hardcover books. In general I find them annoying, and never do I read with them on -- they get all flimsy and wonky and they're just generally a pain in the ass. Needless to say, immediately upon reading a hardcover book, the first thing I do is remove the dust jacket and store it atop a bookshelf in my library. Priorities, and all that.

The Invention of Morel, by Adolfo Bioy Casares

The Invention of Morel has been getting a lot of attention recently due to its appearance on Lost. I don’t watch Lost, so don’t expect any great revelations about how Morel explains the show. By the way, are they still on that damn island? I only watch quality television, like Big Brother 9. I like my tv with a side of brainlessness, thank you very much.

The Invention of Morel begins as our unnamed protagonist, a fugitive from the law, hides on an uninhabited island. One day, mysterious tourists suddenly appear, and our fugitive is frightened they have come searching for him. He needn’t have feared, however; it’s clear they are unaware of him.

Life Before Man, by Margaret Atwood

I’ve commented before that Margaret Atwood can do no wrong in my book. I haven’t read all of what she’s written, but even her mediocre stuff is better than most other writer’s best. She’s one of the few writers whose work I will read without questioning, without reading reviews, or even without perusing the back jacket. If it’s Atwood, it’s in.

The Zombie Survival Guide, by Max Brooks

I like books, right? And everyone knows how I just luurve zombies. So if you add the two together, I’ll like the result, right?

Right?

Samedi the Deafness, by Jesse Ball

My first review has been published over at Pajiba, one of my favorite sites ever (hence my squee of joy).

The Wentworths, by Katie Arnoldi

The Wentworths features some of the worst human beings I’ve encountered in a long time. They aren’t evil dictators or serial rapists or junkie pedophiles. No, they’re worse -- they're super-rich L.A. snobs. However, I maintain their position at the bottom of the human pile because they’re so insidiously common, and one feels as though a Wentworth or two lurks on every street in the country – at least in the more affluent neighborhoods, that is. Each Wentworth takes douchbaggery up a notch, as if they’ve all secretly agreed to see who can make the biggest case for compulsory euthanasia.