What everyone else says is true (I'm just adding my voice to the chorus): comparisons to The Secret History are apt and deserved. We've the philosophiWhat everyone else says is true (I'm just adding my voice to the chorus): comparisons to The Secret History are apt and deserved. We've the philosophical wanderings, the intentional cruelties - large and small, literary references, and morbid teenagers feeding off of one another's trauma.
I read The Secret History literally decades after publication and so perhaps time and its popularity built against any success of it being a favourite for me. Don't get me wrong - I liked it very much but, having read The Goldfinch first, I couldn't tear my heart away from the first love. So while I liked TSH and acknowledge The Orchard's comparisons to be worthy, it should be clear that it stands on its own merits.
I loved the Jewish setting. I loved the uncommon nod to teenagers/young adults having the depth and cleverness that sometimes makes them fascinating and lovely creatures and sometimes makes them self destructive monsters.
Be prepared for languishness, questions, frustrations, great writing. I unfortunately found one of the twists at the end something I saw, to the final detail, early on. This didn't detract, and I have to wonder if I was just lucky, or if others might suspect its arrival.
In a flush of election-influenced stress and weakness, I requested a flurry of ARCs from publishers, which is when HarperCollins allowed me this one, and is why I'm reviewing a couple weeks after publication. I'm happy to have received it because, while a number of book people I trust have recommended it, it's unlikely I would've otherwise gotten to it as quickly as I did, and I'm happy to have experienced such a fantastic reading experience to close out the year.
While a number of the base elements are superficially like TSH, the same solid piers also shore up this debut: lush, beautiful writing and strong storytelling....more
So, there's a tiny bit of Oh, really? C'mon! involving one of the threads in the plot, and it's not the monsters or the Nazis or even the (view spoileSo, there's a tiny bit of Oh, really? C'mon! involving one of the threads in the plot, and it's not the monsters or the Nazis or even the (view spoiler)[sacrificial table (hide spoiler)].
That, though, is my only qualm. There are so many amazing stories swirling around this one - the bankrupted ship (though I just looked on Amazon and Fantagraphics and it looks like you actually can get it now!), the paralysis - all before you even crack open the actual book itself.
All the fascination, though, isn't just around those stories - it's definitely bolstered by the authenticity and artistry and beauty and terribleness within the pages. The weird, depressed neighbor of a young girl/werewolf (not really) is murdered and the girl sets out to discover what happened. She's doing so in part to not have to deal with the things that are happening right in front of her, and to herself, but as in all good mysteries, she'll never discover what she wants to know if she ignores that stuff.
One of my favorite books of the year, so far. Don't even consider getting it on Kindle. Gorgeous and heartrending illustrations and storytelling....more
St. Martin's Press has always been one of my favourite publishers. Their publications are always top notch and warrant a second glance. When McDaniel'St. Martin's Press has always been one of my favourite publishers. Their publications are always top notch and warrant a second glance. When McDaniel's debut novel flickered on my radar, I was intrigued by the synopsis. When I realized that it is published by St. Martin's, I was sold.
Such assumptions can, of course, not always fulfill one's expectations.
In this case, however, my loyalty to St. Martin's was richly rewarded.
Reading The Summer over the last couple of weeks has been rather surreal. It's set in the summer of 1984 with incredibly oppressive heat just crushing the inhabitants of Breathed ("Breath-ed"), Ohio. I'm in Salt Lake, so we don't have the humidity as in Ohio, but the daily temperature has consistently been 97 degrees or above for the last three or four weeks. To muddle through this miserable weather while reading about a summer of hell was an interesting and highly apropos experience. McDaniel excels at setting the environment, both outside and inside Fielding Bliss' home.
The Summer That Melted Everything is magical realism. I have to wonder whether the author or other readers would fully agree with me on this assessment, but I found certain elements to be undeniably magical realism.
While The Summer is set in 1984, the claustrophobic, small-town world, the characters populating it, and the activities of the boys make it feel quite a bit older, sometimes by decades. Sometimes it even has that fantastical feeling you get with magical realism where it's both solid, grounded every day life... but set perhaps even in another world or another dimension/version of our own.
The boy who (seemingly) randomly just shows up in town, claiming to be the devil, Sal, has a maturity and insight unheard for a boy of thirteen or fourteen years old. Don't get me wrong - I am frequently annoyed by reviewers claiming that children in some books wouldn't think/act like their purported age (see: Flavia de Luce series) and this would be for a couple of different reasons: sometimes not giving real children enough credit, and also taking into consideration that many novels could be seen as being told by (or could be inferred to be told by) an older, wiser narrator reflecting on their childhood. But Sal repeatedly seems preternatural, speaking and acting in a way beyond even what one might expect from a boy forged from his experiences. This was anything but a negative to me but I imagine some readers reading without an acceptance of a magical realism element might be put off by this.
My third claim to magical realism for this excellent debut is McDaniel's often strange, twisty, elegant language. It's unique, with certainty, and every once in a while it can be disconcerting, as in this passage where, after reading it three or four times, I was still left with, "What??":
"All love leads to cannibalism. I know that now. Sooner or later, our hearts will devour, if not the object of our affections, our very selves. Teeth are the heart's miracle. That a mouth should burst forth on that organ without throat and crave another's flesh, another's heart, is nothing short of a miracle."
Here, please allow me to put forth a couple of caveats: St Martin's provided an advanced reading copy for my review (the novel's release date is July 26, 2016). I do not always quote from advanced copies because there's always the possibility that changes can be made proceeding the publication date. I'm quoting here because I find some of the language to be poetic, eloquent, finely wrought and want to share because I feel they provide great examples of what you'll be getting into with this novel. Just be aware that changes could be made. As well, maybe you read that paragraph and have no qualms. I certainly didn't with these other passages I selected:
"Summer in Breathed was my favorite season of all. Nothing but barefoot boys and grass-stained girls flowering beneath the trees. My favorite summer sight was those trees. Whether up in the hills or down around the houses, trees were Breathed. Some were old, and they squatted, clothed in heavy moss and time like they were enduring Neanderthals who should not exist. Others were timelessly modern, smooth and lean and familiars to twine."
"She didn't say anything, just threw her arms around him. It was like a cold burning between them. Their skeletons joined at soggy throbs. The space they filled before us, like twisted wire, embedding into itself. They were one grasp. One curve of flesh. One heart breaking in startled, flickering cracks."
Things I didn't love about The Summer: scattered passages similar to the first example I provided, where it felt like the twistiness of the language was perhaps taken just a bit too far so as to be confusing, and to pull me from the story trying to figure it out. Also, I felt somewhat uncomfortable by an element of the characterization of the primary antagonist in the novel - it feels like a physical abnormality is highlighted as part of his darkness, but there was never really a point at which I felt like this was a part of his motivation, or at least not strong enough to be a part of his motivation, to highlight this abnormality as contributing to his darkness. Since this has been done to real people with the condition, it felt a bit like an unnessary and outdated stereotype.
Things I did love about The Summer: McDaniel's tense and original writing, the darkness and depth, and the questions surrounding Sal, the boy claiming to be the devil. While he is most frequently portrayed as more of a fallen angel - kind, generous - rather than a straight devil, there are actually moments in which you realize that some of his actions could be seen as either good or bad, intentional or unintentional. There's also the possibility of Fielding, the protagonist and the boy who brings Sal home with him, as either being an unreliable narrator or at the least an unreliable observer, and this tension just adds richness and layers of patina to this engrossing debut.
My cello teacher will spend 20 minutes patiently explaining a concept to me and then, when I try to iI think I'm thinking too much about all of this.
My cello teacher will spend 20 minutes patiently explaining a concept to me and then, when I try to implement it in my playing she'll say, "You're thinking too much! Just... stop thinking."
I've been thinking too much about this book.
Picking apart and criticizing the bits that bothered me (repetition, even though it's probably perfectly justified, given the protagonists's condition), but then applauding the bits I relate to, like the effects a migraine has on your physical brain, and emotional state.
I wonder whether I should've been put off by the marketing of the book that admonishes the reader not to reveal the twist, and then wonder if I really did see the twist earlier than I perceived it.
I'm critical of parts I actually liked, I'm confused as to whether some of it makes enough sense for me to accept the chain of events as plausible. I'm not sure whether to place the book on a couple of my goodreads shelves that I will, whether it really falls under certain categories.
And, three or four stars?
See? Thinking too much.
I'm glad to have read it, and it may be the very first book I've ever proclaimed to be a great summer read - sun and light and water atmosphere but also intrigue and confusion that kept me reading, and dark enough for my tastes (which I think is perhaps what many readers looking for a stereotypical "great summer read" might not want in their novels)....more
Definitely one of the best mysteries I've read this year. I loved all of the elements here, including the protagonist and the way she relates to her lDefinitely one of the best mysteries I've read this year. I loved all of the elements here, including the protagonist and the way she relates to her life and those around her, and the inclusion of the supernatural elements.
The mystery was engaging, and the characters were sympathetic and believable. I did want to write a review and then go ahead and mark Searles backlist to-read but although I don't find the synopses of his two previous books to be enticing, I will definitely be on the lookout for his next one!...more
What seems to me like an excellent representation of the time during the Troubles, and also of a young man coming of age whilst dealing with the issueWhat seems to me like an excellent representation of the time during the Troubles, and also of a young man coming of age whilst dealing with the issues. Great characterizations, very Irish sensibility. ...more
Have you ever met someone who's gone through something traumatic - it doesn't have to be surviving a bombing (where his mother did not), like Theo in Have you ever met someone who's gone through something traumatic - it doesn't have to be surviving a bombing (where his mother did not), like Theo in The Goldfinch, but at least something you know would be damn hard to recover from - and wondered how they do recover? Or even look back on your own recovery from such an event and wonder how you ever managed?
Theo's journey of struggling to his feet and figuring out how to understand the good and the bad behaviors of himself and those around him is the core of The Goldfinch. It's heartbreaking and fascinating and tremulous to experience this particular character's journey. It's also about friendship, love, loyalty, kindness (which seems a rather simple word but is as valuable as the painting here), art, history.... so, so much and yet it's not all too much. I'm not going to be one of the many reviewers who say that this book is too long because I like long books and didn't find anything extraneous here. If you don't like some philosophy, some searching by the characters, you might feel a bit bogged down but I always found these bits really bits rather than chunks and always something to which I related and over which I ruminated.
Tartt is more talented than any other author I've read at conveying gestures by characters that I can immediately understand because I've seen them in people around me, "My dad put his arm around her wait and drew her to him with a sort of kneading motion that made me sick."
She re-affirms for me why I travel and why one should accept and seek out new adventures: "...no, the ocean gives me the shivers but then I've never been on an adventure like yours. You never know. Because -" brow furrowed, tapping out a bit of soft black powder on his palette - "I never dreamed that all that old furniture of Mrs. De Peyster's would be the thing that decided my future. Maybe you'll get fascinated by hermit crabs and study marine biology. Or decided you want to build boats, or be a marine painter, or write the definitive book about the Lusitania."
Pippa's vulnerability (and own recovery from the same trauma): "She accepted my hand in hers, without saying anything - all bundled up, she hadn't let them take her coat. Long sleeves in summer - always swathed in half a dozen scarves, like some sort of cocooned insect wrapped in layers - protective padding for a girl who'd been broken and stitched and bolted back together again." Lines like this are what makes Tartt's writing so beautiful for me - some might think using both stitched and bolted is redundant but I find them both absolutely pertinent and necessary.
The painting The Goldfinch is, of course, pervasive through the novel both in it's physical presence and also in all it's symbolic levels, but this description of the "little guy" (as Boris would say) in the painting is just perfect and heart-rending: "Yet even a child can see its dignity: thimble of bravery, all fluff and brittle bone. Not timid, not even hopeless, but steady and holding its place. Refusing to pull back from the world."
Oh, my god. I want to quote so much from this book. I'm feeling teary, having transcribed these lines. I know people talk about books that have changed their lives, books they will return to, books that are milestones in their reading careers. SECRET: I'm an English major. I am always reading, I am always finding books I adore, I am always exhausted by excellent books and dread picking up whatever's next in the queue because I'm certain that it'll never live up to what I've just experienced. So I assure you, I am affected. But the secret? I'm not entirely sure I've had one of those books until this one. One of those books that I will call one of the pinnacles of my life, of my experience. I read some incredible books, right up there. But I think this is the first in that ultimate, intimate category.
But I have to - I have to one more quote. It's long, but, well, just, HERE, take it:
"Only here's what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted - ? What if the heart, for it's own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility, and strong social connections and all the blandly - held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster? Is Kitsey right? If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight towards the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is singing at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or - like Boris - is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?"
Okay. Just ONE more: "And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn't touch."...more
beautiful. And it's not even the story/plot so much as it is the writing, the ideas, the images (though that's always the way with Gai...interesting.
beautiful. And it's not even the story/plot so much as it is the writing, the ideas, the images (though that's always the way with Gaiman, for me). I wasn't even all that excited by the plot while reading and yet I finish with an otherworldy, warm, strange, almost confused, pleasure that just infuses me. ...more
I almost stopped reading. I'm not sure why - I'd just finished Bog Child and had a rough transition - too much of the same author at one time? I was aI almost stopped reading. I'm not sure why - I'd just finished Bog Child and had a rough transition - too much of the same author at one time? I was also initially put off by what seemed an over-reaction on part of the protagonist (Holly/Solace) to some things that happened, and also a lack of empathy, but I was proved to be impatient (as I often am, even as a reader).
Strong story and though I'm not all that familiar with YA, I imagine it can be highly recommended for the category. Adventures, symbolism, discoveries - of others and oneself. Ultimately, the protagonist seemed believable, and Dowd's writing is sympathetic and quite beautiful, as always. ...more
I'm confused about the rating for this review (3 or 4?), and I think it's because I must like the protagonist of a novel, to some extent, to really apI'm confused about the rating for this review (3 or 4?), and I think it's because I must like the protagonist of a novel, to some extent, to really appreciate the book. It's probably not fair, but I think that a lack of appreciation or respect for the protagonist is one element that frequently affects my ultimate rating of a book.
Even though the story was told from the first person point of view of Framboise, and so she could have better explained herself of justified her behavior as a child, I always thought of her as nasty, as unforgiveable. She was the primary instigator in so much pain her her mother's life, and never for a justifiable reason; her excuses were, essentially, "I was growing," "my mother and I were so much alike, it was understandable I treated her like shit." The worst abuse I saw from the mother was yelling and swearing, maybe some emotional abuse; certainly not acceptable, but her actions never seemed to justify Framboise's responses. Framboise also seemed to have a protective and loving father, and had absolutely no sympathetic response to his death in war. Since when is any behavior by a child excusable, just because the person is a child? As they have experiences and see the damages from their actions, grow older and have their own pain and grief, they become more responsible and culpable in creating such experiences for others. Framboise's shrugging it off, as an older woman, as the forgiveable actions simply because she was a child, did not work for me.
I enjoyed the food aspects of the book, of course, and though it could be debatable, I'd posit that much of the descriptions and images are at least bordering on magical-realism. I laughed a few times, appreciated the setting, but often spent my time with the book baffled at the actions of Framboise and her siblings with no distinctive justifications for the things they did. ...more
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