Staff pick

Sous Chef

24 Hours on the Line
by Michael Gibney

One of the great perks of my job is the advanced reader copies, which means I got to read this book before its publication date. Another perk of my job is the staff who come to know my reading preferences and set books like this aside for me.

In the age of Top Chef, The Taste, Food Network, and The Cooking Channel, I don't think readers who gravitate towards this kind of book need to be told to "reflect on the craft of cooking [...] from a slightly more mindful perspective." Parts of this book are pretentious. But, that being said, I enjoyed novel.

Written in second person, Sous Chef first comes across as an MFA writing exercise. I was resistant to it at first. And the prep sections of the book are a little too technical for me and are where his (or, your) overblown ego really shows. However, the ego is deflated by some left-out cheese and burnt hazelnuts.

Once service starts, the book really hits its stride. The kitchen is organized chaos, stifling heat, and relentless hard work. It is fast-paced and difficult to put down.

There isn't too much to say about this book; it is what is says: 24 Hours on the Line. If you can get past the narration shtick, Sous Chef is worth the read. It puts you in the midst of a clamoring kitchen with little time to rest. And you can read it the way it should be read, in a single day.

Kasher in the Rye

The True Tale of a White Boy from Oakland Who Became a Drug Addict, Criminal, Mental Patient, and then Turned 16
by Moshe Kasher

Moshe Kasher on the Pete Holmes podcast (You Made it Weird) is one of the funniest things I have ever heard. I can't stop listening to it, and I laugh just as hard every time. It's insightful and smart and hysterical. His memoir: less hysterical.

Moshe Kasher's life growing up is something I cannot imagine (hence, I had to read a book about it). He was a fuck-up, a stoner, an alcoholic, and an all-around piece of shit, and I don't think he'd contradict me on any of those points.

One of the things I loved so much about the podcast was how Kasher talked about his religious upbringing, how he was a Chassidic Jew when he visited his Farher in New York for a few weeks out of the year, but was otherwise not religious. It was an identity crisis, and one that generated a lot of religious shame. And he and his brother grew to be very different as a result of that upbringing: a comedian and a rabbi. That story I found most compelling. His book, however, focuses on the non religious side of his childhood. 

The book is exactly what the subtitle details. Moshe's upbringing was complex: son of deaf parents, divorce,  raised primarily by his man-hating mother and grandmother, bouncing around from school to school, and largely lost in unhelpful special education programs. On top of that, he was a smart-ass taking drugs, drinking, stealing, hanging out with screw-ups like himself. It goes from bad, to worse, to seriously, how could it be any worse?

Kasher is able to look back on his childhood with clarity and humor. There were plenty if moments when reading the book, I put it down saying, Oh my God! or laughing out loud. It's somewhat remarkable that Kasher grew up and became a successful adult. 

This type of memoir won't appeal to everyone. But if you've heard Kasher's stand up or know him from various appearances, it's worth reading. 

Staff Pick

Frog Music

by Emma Donoghue

Emma Donoghue is one of my favorite writers. I first read Room, which I loved, then Slammerkin, which was very different but equally enjoyable, and now I've finished her latest novel, Frog Music. Frog Music is part Western, part murder mystery, part medical thriller. But mostly, it is the story of what it is to be a woman in difficult circumstances. Blanche is a famous burlesque dancer and "fallen dove" in 1876 San Francisco, who is in full control of her life. She dances, sees to her micheton, and is even landlord for the building in which she and her maque, Arthur, and their third-wheel, Ernest live. But when Blanche runs into (or is run into by) Jenny Bonnet on her bicycle, Blanche's life is changed forever.

I so admire Donoghue's skill at storytelling. She paints the full picture of San Francisco, crowded with colorful characters. Jenny Bonnet is infamous around San Francisco. She is continuously arrested for wearing pants, and never backs down from a fight. Donoghue used what information she could find about Jenny, and took off from there. Within the first few pages, Jenny is shot dead. The rest of the novel is about how Jenny affected everyone she know, especially Blanche. Over the course of their tragically short but nonetheless influential friendship, Jenny asks Blanche questions about her life, which in turn cause Blanche to question choices she's made.

Unprepared for motherhood, and Arthur uninterested in being a father, Blanche gave up her son P'tit Arthur, to live on a farm. When Jenny asks about P'tit, Blanche has few answers. So she decides to find P'tit and visit him. When she finds P'tit, not in a farm outside the city as she expected, but rather in a dark, congested house, serving as a baby farm, Blanche snatches him up to bring home. Suddenly a full-time mother, Blanche is forced to re-evaluate her life.

Donoghue's writing is vivid and expertly paced. Just when you're swept up by the story of Blanche rescuing P'tit, Donoghue transports you forward in time again to investigate Jenny's murder. When I met her when she spoke at BC, I told her her pacing creates just the right amount of angst in the reader.

Her talk at BC was incredible. I could have listened to her speak about writing and research all night. What I especially respect is the amount of responsibility she feels when undertaking a project of historical fiction. She wants to present these people as who they were; she won't turn saints into villains or vice versa. And I think she's successful in sticking to a true story and a true time line while fleshing out their personalities and situations. The characters who populate Frog Music were real (with the exception of the nice journalist, who Donoghue had to invent), and Donoghue has given them another life and additional fame, which these bohemians would have relished.

The Bell Jar

by Sylvia Plath

It seems I fall into book rut more and more frequently, lately. I'll be a quarter or half-way through multiple books, and nothing's really grabbing me yet. The Bell Jar is what pulled me out of my rut this time (of all things). This is a book I could live inside. I unabashedly love this book, however cliche that may seem. I cannot adequately articulate how much I love the passage about Esther's life branching out like the fig tree. It hits me on a level that is beyond words. It resonates every time. There's so much I love about this book

I first read The Bell Jar in high school (and subsequently wrote an awful, very short one act play about the book, which was essentially what I thought Esther's interview with the asylum review board would look like. It put people to sleep. An rightly so. I try not to think about it.) I feel like my teenage self, rereading this book, and not in a bad way. I'll bet if I could find the copy I read in high school, I'd find that I've marked the same passages and sentences in both copies. But I can certainly connect with Esther more now than I could then. (And these are the kind of sentiments that cause my mother to worry about me.) My heart goes out to Esther. Who hasn't felt their life branching out before them like a fig tree? Not knowing which fruit to choose, paralyzed by the fear of choosing the wrong one, and this watching the fruit rot on the branch and fall to your feet? Doctors and lawyers, I suppose. They seem to know what they want to be when they grow up straight from birth, and have a pretty set career path. English majors, on the other hand. . . 

I appreciate the open-ended quality of the book as well. If the shock treatments had definitively cured Esther, that would ring false and too convenient, and I would be disappointed. Instead, although the bell jar has temporarily lifted, Esther worries about it trapping her again some day. However, in the beginning chapter she does mention something about her having a child now as she looks back on her life, implying she's fine now, married, and even had children. What I don't like about this book, and I understand it's representative of the time, is the emphasis on marriage and children. Esther thinks her life will fall into place once she's evened the playing field and slept with someone, and feels liberated by her diaphragm which ensures she won't be trapped into marriage by a pregnancy. And yet she ends up married with a child anyway. What happened the Esther who didn't need a man? She rears her head so briefly. She seems empowered by women like Philomena and Jay Cee, but also slightly weirded out by them and doesn't want their special attention. Ester wants to be singled out and special, but also not. She wants to be a self-sufficient writer, but also a house wife, despite her thinking she can't be successful at either. Sometimes I find Esther a little disappointing. But she doesn't know herself. And, by the end of the novel, I still don't think she does.     

I don't like to read this book through a biographical lens, but it's difficult not too. Which makes the ending especially sad because we know the bell jar did trap Plath again later in life. As much Esther seems to believe it, protected sex and eventual marriage don't fix everything. 

Despite the unresolved quality of the novel and its themes of depression, being paralyzed in the face of so many choices to make, and the presumption of marriage, I have such a fondness for this book. After I finished it, I immediately though, I should read this book again.

And then my brain exploded

This was, by far, one of the best readings I've gone to. Colum McCann's writing is exceptional, and he's an incredibly nice man. He even read a new, unpublished story. I even managed to not gush. . .too much.

Staff Pick

Apron Anxiety

by Alyssa Shelasky

I started reading Apron Anxiety just after I read Ruth Reichl's Tender at the Bone, which was quite a while ago. I've been sidetracked by other books, but, mostly, I just could not get into Apron Anxiety. I love the title and the subtitle, and, initially, that was about it. But I decided to buckle down and get through it. I hate looking at my bedside table and seeing half-finished books, making me feel guilty.

A customer at the bookstore told me to stick with Apron Anxiety, that Shelasky is supposed to be unlikable. Now, I'm onboard with unlikable characters in fiction. In a memoir, in real life, why do I want to continue reading about someone totally self-absorbed living her high class dream of a life in New York City? Why do I want to read a memoir that contains so much bragging? Her awesome mother, a childhood of good food (they almost NEVER went out to eat, and CERTAINLY never got take-out), a stellar education, fabulous writing/journalism jobs, and a fantastic sex life. How am I supposed to relate or empathize? Add to that her infatuation with New York City, and I'm ready to check out. Oh, and she's not a stress eater, but a stress non-eater. No sympathy.

And talk about self-involved! "Some people might say that I'm a hot girl. . ." Regardless of how that sentence ends, how am I supposed to like this girl? Oh, and not girl, at that point in her book, by the way, an almost-31-year-old WOMAN. Stop being a girl. And her D.C. neighbors are "just too ordinary to ever understand me." Blech.

Her writing is not bad, but it does feel very People-magazine trendy: "I waited for the neighborhood to become a little less sketchy and a bit more Starbucks," "après -work appeltinis," and you get an 'A' in alliteration. We get it. Knock it back a bit.

I think I know what the problem is: I don't want to read any more blogs-become-books. Or, maybe I'm just a judgmental bitch. (Both could very well be true.)

And yet. . .and yet, I found myself happily swept up in her romance with Chef. (Sign me up for one of those., even if I have to move to D.C. I draw the line at moving to NYC.) The book became worthwhile finally after 60-some-odd pages. Too long, if you ask me. But she suddenly became a person I wanted to know. . .maybe. Amid relationship turmoil and cooking adventures, her life remains too fabulous to be relatable. Her good fortune is somewhat astounding to me, and I'm not sure she ever realizes that. But she does become less of a barbie or Sex-and-the-City action-figure, and a little more human.

Apron Anxiety was enjoyable, after 60 pages of obnoxious. This is a low-commitment book, the kind I can read while watching Project Runway, which is nice sometimes. But, even by the end, I don't want to be friends with Shelasky (and I'm sure she would be fine with that). Her life is too fabulous, even with its up-and-downs, and, ultimately, I just can't relate. My own journey into the kitchen has been dramatically different. Read this book, or don't, just don't expect too much if you do.

The Kept

by James Scott

I'm still reeling a bit from reading James Scott's The Kept. As a first novel, it is striking and memorable. This is the perfect dead-of-winter novel; it's cold and clear and dark and beautiful.

Just the fist few pages of this novel are a smack in the face. You only just meet Elspeth Howell, and you already know that nothing about her life is going to be the same. It's 1897 upstate New York. Elspeth is trudging through the deep snow, returning from her last job as a midwife, to her isolated home, only to find it dark. No smoke coming out of the chimney. And a body next to her front door. Scott doesn't ease his readers into this scene. It's a shock to the system. It's brutal.

But Scott counters the violence and brutality of this moment, and of more to come, with really elegant descriptions. His language isn't flowery or decorative, and yet, this snowy landscape is beyond being only stark. Scott's use of metaphor and simile color and shade the world he created, without clouding it.

I don't want to give too much away, but this novel took turns I didn't expect, making the story pleasantly difficult to predict. In a way, it resists classification. It isn't strictly historical fiction or a dustbowl Western-type. Both Elspeth and her twelve-year-old son Caleb change immensely over the course of the novel. They are stoic and largely unknown to each other when the novel opens. Gradually they unearth secrets, voicing their fears and suspicions, and learn more about one another than they ever knew before, and my heart broke for them every step of the way.

The Kept is a dark novel, for sure, but it is so much more that just that. As I described it to Scott, it's devastating, but in the loveliest way.

Provence 1970

by Luke Barr

I really wanted to like this book, but it's a bit of a mess. 

First of all, in writing this book, Barr is trying to capitalize on the moment. Food writing is at its most popular and most prolific, as a genre for professional writers to amateur bloggers. What better time to publish this book? While it's a loving homage to his great aunt M.F.K. Fisher, the language and the descriptions are a little too precious. 

I do not worship at the alter of French cooking or French food, or Julia Child, for that matter. (Although I do respect the way that woman cooked an egg.) I am now more interested in M.F.K. Fisher and her philosophy of "For my own meals I like simplicity above all." So a book about the American foodie scene turning away from its fancy French infatuation and pretension appeals to me. But what stands out to me about this book is how poorly executed it is. 

Barr's book is chock-full of nostalgia. Nostalgia for his childhood with his aunt, for his own time in Provence at the Child's Provence La Pitchoune home, to reiterating his aunt's nostalgia for the Provence-that-was, pre-1970. The repetition is terrible. Barr latches on to a theme and beats it to death.

I got caught up on is Barr's lack of story telling. He's a teller rather than a show-er. For pages and pages, every vignette seems to end with something to the tune of, But attitudes were changing, or, But things were about to change, or, Nothing was going to be the same It's painfully repetitive.  We get it. Just show me the change, tell me the story, not your foreshadowings. It's filler it's an attempt to create tension, or suspense, or plot where there is none. But maybe the fault is in my reading, approaching this book too much like a memoir rather than the biography it is. It picks up speed about halfway through the book, when Barr spends more of his time talking about Julia Child's tensions with Simone Beck and her dislike of French snobbery in cooking. Ultimately, the huge change Barr constantly foreshadows is that M.F.K. Fisher decided she was content to not go back to France and live out her days in California with her family and simple food. *Shockwave*

I know how important these people and France were in changing the attitudes of American cooking and American food. I love the movie Julie and Julia. But I'm more interested in the Alice Waters, fresh, seasonal food philosophy than French influence. I have no desire to read Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Currently I'm lusting over Nigel Slater's Notes from the Larder. Provence 1970 is not a bad book. But it's not good, either. The writing is cozy and loving and comfortable. It's a nice read, but nothing to write home about.

The Magician King

by Lev Grossman

It is so satisfying to get wrapped up in a fantasy series again. (Although, now I'm sad that I have to wait until August for the third book!) I enjoyed this book immensely, more so than The Magicians. I think that's due in part to having established the existence of magic and Fillory, and the Brakebills education being out of the way.

Initially, I was not thrilled with the reappearance of Julia (yes, technically she reappeared at the end of The Magicians). I didn't have enough time to recover from Alice's death, and I felt like she just didn't belong in Quentin, Eliot, and Janet's story. She's too sulky and mysterious for too long; it's frustrating. However, I love that we got the story of her hedge witch education. She's heartbreaking, and halfway through the story I wanted nothing more than for her to get all the good things in her life she deserved. Her story was, at times, much more interesting than what Quentin was going through. I hope she appears in the third book, although, if this was the end to her story, I can be happy with that; she did get her happy ending.

I also enjoyed that we got to catch up with Josh. And good for him! He's another character I really root for (Eliot and Janet, at this point, I couldn't care less about). But I didn't want him to stay in Fillory. He really made his mark in Venice, and I wanted him to go back. And, while I'm on the subject, what a dirty trick of Eliot's! Quentin doesn't get angry at him, and it's not explicitly addressed, but Eliot totally screwed him over. When he handed Quentin the seven keys to turn in the locks, he knew that meant the quest was over and Ember would kick him out. He let Quentin take the fall. Granted, I don't think Eliot would have the strength to cope with being kicked out of Fillory, and now Quentin does, but still, it was a dirty trick.

I will say, this book is a bit preachier than The Magicians. Grossman is straying more into Narnia territory. He's toeing a fine line between religious (and I mean religion in all is permutations, not just Christianity like C.S. Lewis) believer and atheistic satirist. Sometimes I can't decide where he falls. But the book has a nice balance of believers and skeptics. I think Grossman is doing the best to not alienate any potential audience, and so he tries to stay pretty even-keeled. The FTB/Murs magicians research and adventures in religion and paganism was a nice (although ultimately tragic) detail.

I can't wait to see what happens to Quentin now. If he doesn't run into Penny again, that would be fine with me. Magic and the magical world(s) has gotten more complicated, and I'm looking forward to what Grossman does next. What if they don't get to keep magic forever? Will Quentin be exiled to Earth? And what's he going to do without all his friends? August seems like a very long way away. If you haven't begun this series, I highly recommend it. For all the issues I had with The Magicians, it was well worth it to get to The Magician King.

The Magicians

by Lev Grossman

Well, I have another childhood disappointment to add to my list: I'm too old to get my acceptance letter to Hogwarts, to find Narnia in a wardrobe, and to take my Brakebills entrance exam. (Or maybe I took it an failed an had my memory altered. . .But that would be worse.)

Initially I wanted all the characters to stop talking about Fillory and just say Narnia. Fillory is so obviously molded after Narnia. It annoys me when novels reference other books that don't exist. But I'm sure Grossman couldn't get the ok to write about Narnia; that wouldn't surprise me. And as I continued to read, I realized it would have been too difficult to integrate Narnia into what he was doing. And why am I so against a new magical land? That's not fair. I didn't feel that way when reading about Narnia or Hogwarts for the first time.

What I do take issue with, though, is the magic. It's too vague. I feel like I could cast Hogwarts spells, but Brakebills magic is more complicated, but not clearly explained. The spells are in ancient languages and require fancy finger play, none of which I could hope to recreate. (For clarification: I'm not actually trying to be a magician, but I would like to have a clear picture in my mind of what they're learning at Brakebills academy.) I felt a little too shut out from this world to inhabit it along with Quentin and his cohort.

And along those lines, I feel like I understand how Quiddich is played, and if I had to, I could sub-in for a beater, but I have no idea how Welters is played. There are two huge tournaments of Welters in the book, but no one seems to actually care about it: the students, the faculty, Dean Fogg, or Grossman.

I think this obscure quality of the book is due, in part, to how fast the book moves. It spans Quentin's four years at Brakebills plus a year or so beyond. There's a lot that Grossman doesn't bother to describe; he rushes Quentin's education a little too much, I think. Quentin's semester at Brakebills South, however, is one of my favorite parts of the book. And, of course, the class's way of getting there (I really don't want to give too much away). Grossman speeds through Brakebills, though, because he wants to get Quentin and his friends out of the safety of the school and out into the real world. . .or worlds.

This book has its flaws: the speed, the occasional pretentious language and metaphors (why say a difficult passage of Bartok rather than a difficult passage of music?), the indeterminate magic. But there is still a lot to like about this novel. I found myself getting angry with Quentin and Elliot and Janet a lot -- Seriously? You're magicians. Stop throwing your lives away! Grossman's novel, in comparison to The Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter is a better mix of real-world teenage angst and real-world magic. Grossman's magic is more dangerous, more difficult, and has clearer serious consequences. This book builds as it goes on, and gets better as Quentin progresses through Brakebills and after graduation. Grossman took on a lot in this first book, and I'm looking forward to see what he does next. My enjoyment of The Magicians far outweighed any of my frustrations. I had to go out and buy the second book as soon as I finished The Magicians. In the end, I'm more than happy to immerse myself in the world of Fillory.

Holiday Staff Pick!

Blue Plate Special

by Kate Christensen

Kate Christensen is my soul sister. Reading Blue Plate Special is like commiserating with a literary soul mate over several glasses of good wine. She loves food, I love food. She loves New England, I love New England. She loves reading and writing, I love reading and writing. She's gluten intolerant, I'm gluten intolerant. She's a writer, I want to be a writer. Christensen has shot to the top of my list of Writers Who, If I Ever Met, I Would Freak Out and Embarrass Myself (other writers include Cheryl Strayed and Colum McCann).

Christensen's writing is as warm and inviting as the smell of fresh-baked bread. I was hooked from the introduction: "To taste fully is to live fully. And to live fully is to be awake and responsive to the complexities and truths--good and terrible, overwhelming and miniscule. To eat passionately is to allow the world in." I've never lived out West. I've never been a nanny in France. And I don't know what a Waldorf School is. But I really connected with this book. Her experiences are vastly different from mine, but at the core, she is open and relatable.

Christensen's memoir is about figuring it out. And as someone who is deeply intrenched in trying to figure it out, I really appreciate Christensen's vignettes of family, growing up, love, loss, and food. I enjoy reading about someone else's struggle, experiencing their process of understanding themselves and where they fit in the world. Christensen is generous with her writing and doesn't shy away from what was difficult or uncomfortable in her life. Sometimes she is the villain of her story, sometimes the hero, sometimes a supporting character.

The pacing of this book is excellent. It's composed of relatively short vignettes of her life. She doesn't get overly sentimental, or wallow in self-pity; she is measured yet honest. She allows readers to share in her triumphs and missteps, and a lot of food stories and recipes a long the way. I haven't read any of Christensen's novels, but now plan to. And if you haven't read Blue Plate Special, you definitely should. When the weather turns cold and dark, what's better than curling up with a great food writing/memoir?

500 Gluten Free Dishes

by Carol Beckerman

I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me sooner to review a cookbook. I have been loving this cookbook and cooking from it for a few months now. Now, yes, I am gluten-free, so my cookbooks are of the gluten-free variety. But don't let that turn you off if you aren't on a gluten-free diet! And if you are gluten-free, I highly recommend this one from the 500 series.

First of all, the book itself is small, which is perfect for those like me who have a painfully small kitchen and need to maximize space. It easily lays flat (non of that cookbook stand nonsense) and won't take up a lot of room on your counter (or windowsill, if you're like me). Best of all, the recipes are easy to follow. Yes, they require things like white rice flour, tapioca flour, xanthan gum, etc. But such is the life of a gluten-free cook/baker. You learn to live with it. And though I've only been cooking from this book for a few months, I already have a few go-to recipes.

The breakfast recipes in this cookbook are great. I don't like starting my day wired for sugar: cereal, french toast, waffles, etc. Every once-in-a-while I'll go for sweets in the morning, but, typically, I prefer savory dishes in the morning. And this cookbook doesn't disappoint: savory cheese & onion hotcakes, cheese & ham mini muffins (which I love and have made over and over), and the ham & cheese strata (for special occasions).

There are also great lunch options for those of us who can't just go out and grab a sandwich at work. Two of my favorites are the cranberry & pecan baked wild rice with shallots and the quinoa & avocado salad with orange dressing. They're perfect to take to work. They're make-ahead dishes that can last you through the week and are served cool.

The other great thing about this book is that it offers variations on each dish. There are dairy free options, different spice and herb combinations; it's super useful. I don't know that it's necessarily "the only compendium of gluten-free dishes you'll ever need," but it is a great staple to have in your gluten-free kitchen.

The Creeps

by John Connolly













I waited years for this book. I so enjoyed The Gates and The Infernals, I couldn't wait for the third book in the Samuel Johnson series. But, as much as it pains me to say it, I was a little disappointed with The Creeps.

In The Creeps, the little town of Biddlecombe, England is once again threatened and invaded by forces of evil in the Multiverse. It falls to Samuel Johnson, his trusty dachshund Boswell, and friends (Dan and his morally questionable dwarves, Sargent Rowan and Constable Peel, Maria, Nurd and Wormwood (the two most endearing demons), and a rag-tag team of scientists (who helped start the whole mess in the first place) and assorted monsters/demons) to save not only Biddlecombe, but the Multiverse itself. The tears in space and time are explained, we find the reason for all the supernatural energy in Biddlecombe, and loose ends are tied.

Connolly continues a trend in the series that I love, which is his use of footnotes. For me, they are where the book really shines, when Connolly breaks in, in his own voice, to make a bad pun, or explain a joke, or tell the reader about string theory. They are clever and a highlight of the book. Not only are these authorial intrusions funny and entertaining, they're informative as well. The book overall contains a lot of historical and scientific facts, but they tend to be concentrated in the footnotes. And they make me feel like a kid with an infinite capacity for curiosity. Everything is connected and interesting and leads to more facts to be discovered.

The Creeps, however, is a little too silly for my taste, as well as a little too complicated. The demon-possessed toys skew the humor too young. I realize that these books are aimed for younger readers, but the elves and teddy bears and poorly explained evil storybook characters just didn't do it for me. Connolly's previous demons and dark forces were much more creative (Nurd, Wormwood, Crudford, The Watcher, etc.). And the multi-layered Multiverse is complicated in The Creeps. The Shadow Kingdom vs. Hell vs. Earth. I think Hell vs. Earth was enough. I also wish The Creeps had been darker, which is what impressed me so much about The Infernals. The silly and the chthonic (thank you, Connolly, for introducing me to that word) were better balanced in the previous two books.

The major flaw in the Samuel Johnson books, I hate to say, are the culminating battle scenes. The build up to the epic showdowns between Samuel & co. and the demonic forces is long and intense, and just doesn't pay off. The final battle in The Creeps is over in two short chapters! And in all three books these climax scenes aren't very vivid or difficult for the forces of good to win (with maybe the exception of The Infernals). Connolly puts so much thought and finesse into the characters and their journeys, but ultimately disappoints.

However, I still love the Samuel Johnson series. I want to recommend it to everyone, regardless of age. They're books that I really do think have something for everyone (unless you hate fantasy/science fiction, but even so, I think these books could change your mind). The series is enjoyable and fun, and they're great books to get lost in. The Infernals, for sure, is my favorite in the series, but I still recommend The Creeps. (You can't abandon a series 2/3 of the way through!)

Nine Inches

by Tom Perrotta

Sometimes I wonder if Tom Perrotta falls under the category of Stuff White People Like. He feels a little like a niche writer (suburban, first-world-problems, family dramas, etc.) at times, but it's a niche I happen to love.

I've already said quite a bit about Tom Perrotta; I'll try not to repeat myself too much. He is one of my favorite writers, partly because his stories seem so effortless. Everything about this story collection feels true-to-life. Just regular people going about their days, coping with their own personal tragedies, trying to get by. Nine Inches concerns people who make bad choices and have to deal with the consequences. It's life.

My favorite stories are probably "Senior Season" and "The Test-Taker." My only qualm about "Senior Season" is that the narrative voice seems to sophisticated for a high school senior. Aside from that, I really don't take issue with Perrotta's writing. These stories, for all the character flaws and bad choices, are really enjoyable.

This is a boring post because I just like everything about this book. And you should read it.

The Dark Path

by David Schickler

This is a book I didn't know I needed to read until I started reading it.

I read Schickler's story collection, Kissing in Manhattan around the time it came out, and I remember being slightly scandalized by it. I wouldn't have picked up Schikler's memoir if I didn't work in a bookstore. It came in, I read a review, and I was intrigued; it was something different. So I gave it a shot. And I loved it. 

The Dark Path is about Schickler's struggle reconciling his faith and his love for God with his love for girls and women. It's not the kind of crisis-of-faith memoir I was expecting. The book starts with Schickler at eight years old, and for the first few chapters I was bracing myself for what seems like the inevitable alter boy/pedophile priest anecdotes. Fortunately that didn't happen. Instead Schickler's story is about his strong faith and how he felt God in what he terms, the dark parts of life (hence the title, as well as his book, Kissing in Manhattan). 

Schickler seriously considered becoming a Jesuit priest, but the Jesuit life doesn't jive with his love for his college girlfriend or his love for short stories. What I connected with most is Schickler's notion that he would be an artistic priest. He found God in fiction.   

I'm not here to proselytize, but I really connected with this memoir. With the faith struggles, the love of High Mass and the solemnity, and feeling called to an artistic, creative life. And the memoir isn't all Church and reverence. It's funny and sad, a little sexy, and, at times, awkward and uncomfortable. But all mixed together in a really successful and satisfying way. This isn't a self-indulgent memoir or a preachy memoir. Schickler lays bare parts if his life for the reader, asking nothing more than to take it for what it is. That is the most successful tactic of this memoir. Don't let the Catholicism of the book drive you away. It's a wonderful memoir of growing up and trying to find purpose and meaning in the world. I recommend this book for anyone who enjoys memoirs, coming-of-age tales, crises of faith, love stories; it's all of the above. 

TransAtlantic

by Colum McCann

Transatlantic is a beautifully composed book, one that I feel like I didn't devote my full attention to (I sometimes read too many books at once, and one inevitably gets neglected) and should read again.

In this sweeping narrative, McCann weaves together intergenerational and intercontinental relationships. The novel jumps around chronologically, from Frederick Douglass' visit to Ireland in 1845, to the present, illustrating how decisions, chance occurrences, and conflict (namely the violence in Northern Ireland, but also the American Civil War and WWI) resonate through the generations. At the center of the novel is Lily Duggan and her lineage, creating a history that stretches between Britain and North America. 

I do feel the book lags a little during the chapter about the US senator and the peace negotiations in Northern Ireland during the 1990s. The book is somewhat slow in general, but this chapter drags its feet, somewhat appropriately mirroring the age and exhaustion of its central character and the negotiation process itself. I almost think this chapter could have been excluded because it strays a little from the family's story, but I understand it's inclusion. Maybe it could have been shorter, though.

Aside from that small issue, this is a really lovely book. The story, across the generations, is twinged with nostalgia and melancholy, without being overly sentimental. McCann writes with a focus on language rather than plot, so if you are looking for lyricism and poetry in prose, I highly recommend this elegant novel.