travelin' reading list, part III

In our effort toward austerity, we decided to table the fantastic list of book recommendations that I received, and instead switch Kindles for a while.  Ed is something of an Amazon impulse shopper, so he has a tremendous backlog.  Unfortunately, he doesn't know what any of the books are about, and his Kindle doesn't get wifi here, so the plot summaries are of no use.

Since I'm generally too lazy to go online and read about my options, going the route of start a book with zero idea about its subject or genre has been kind of an interesting experiment.  I've ended up reading quite a few things I never would have chosen, but really enjoyed.  Between this and my experience with the Genghis trilogy, I'm starting to think I don't really know my own taste at all.

Lush Life by Richard Price
I remember when this first came out all the hubbub about the racial stereotypes, the colloquialisms, the cartoonish portrayal of hipster Manhattan.  But what I don't remember is anyone mentioning that its a thoroughly captivating noir-ish book about a high profile murder on the Lower East Side.  Perhaps I was just homesick, but the thinly anonymized descriptions of my old stomping grounds (I do miss the Cubano at Schiller's) was accurate and engaging.  Ed and I agree Mr. Price's editor was asleep on the job but, overall, this was New York readin' at its finest.  

How to Talk to a Widower by Jonathan Tropper
The Book of Joe by Jonathan Tropper
I'm going to group these together because Jonathan Tropper keeps rewriting the same book.  The highest evolution is "This is Where I Leave You" which is, incidentally, the funniest book I have ever read.  Ever.  Haha out loud funny.  Like these others, its about the son of a wealthy Jewish family from the suburbs of NYC who has a complicated/strained/estranged relationship with his tribe but, due to an unfortunate circumstance, must return to his roots.  Everybody loves a good homecoming story and I imagine Jonathan Tropper must have had one hell of family reunion at some point in his life to get this much mileage out of it.  His books are Gross Pointe Blank without the guns.  You can almost hear the Hollywood studio exec pitching the story to Paul Rudd.  

The Ax by Donald Westlake
I'm not giving anything away when I say upfront that this book is about a middle management guy who gets severed from his firm and decides to kill off the job applicants in his field that he sees as his competition.   As an HR professional, I find his insight into the mind of the desperate and unemployed pretty fascinating.  The downfall of the book, though, is that we never get it up to really love or hate this guy.  I wanted him either to be a sympathetic figure in a bad situation, or a despicable villain.  It feels like the author crapped out on taking a side, and the narrator is neither.  He's just a boring middle aged guy in a boring marriage in a boring suburb.  Who happens to kill people.  Boring. 

Bad Things Happen by Harry Dolan
I'm realizing as I type that Ed's Kindle has a lot of murdering on it.  Perhaps something we should discuss at some point.  This book was about several murders committed within a literary community.  It started off fast and captivating; great character development, a colorful community in Ann Arbor, and plenty of writerly dialogue.  Sadly, it devolved into something campy and ridiculous.  I read a review that said readers might find it a "tad improbable."  I'd say on the improbability scale, the needle lands on "fucking ridiculous."  Pass.
 

Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About by Mil Millington
I think this was supposed to be a comedy.  Its by a British author so, hard to tell.  This may be a case of a concept that works as a blog but fails as a novel.  From the reader's perspective, there's almost nothing about this relationship that seems happy or worthwhile.  Both of the characters are tossers.  Save us your pain, and just break up already.  

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
Unexpected hit of my lifetime.  I never would have guessed that a sci-fi character study about children raised to donate their organs would rock my brain.  I haven't stopped thinking about it since I finished it.  I'm so glad I started this book with no prior idea of what it was about, because I never would have read it.  And it. Was. Bad. Ass.  So beautifully written and tragic and vaguely Catcher-ish, but in the best way.  You go, Kazuo.