MARCH 2024

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Hihi here’s what I read in March (spoiler alert it’s mostly Bond stuff):

Dune by Frank Herbert. Already wrote about my experience with this, but yeah, this was great. Big worm! Big fan. And I’m terrible at watching movies in a timely manner so, no, I still haven’t seen part two, thanks. 

This month’s short story was “Jim Martini” by Michael Bible. A thoroughly modern corporate tale that at times reminded me of one of Mad Men’s surreal interludes. (Absolute favorite show, so not a bad thing.) Irreverent and playful. I dug it a lot.  ⠀

And that’s it for the regular reads. Literally everything else was Bond, because I am a ridiculous, obsessive person. 

Trigger Mortis by Anthony Horowitz. I just wish Horowitz wrote more of these.

For Your Eyes Only by Ian Fleming. Very interesting collection of short stories that find Fleming further experimenting with his Bond formula. To varying success. I didn’t think much of the first two stories, but really enjoyed the last three. In particular “The Hildebrand Rarity,” which, with its stunning underwater scenes, is a showcase of Fleming’s mastery at establishing mood and atmosphere. Also I do love a capsular setting, of which the luxurious yacht at the center of the story is certainly one of Fleming’s most opulent.  

Thunderball by Ian Fleming. Enjoyment of this was a bit marred by rewatching the movie and not being too thrilled by it. Still, a solid Bond entry. The Bahamas location was just great. Loved that Leiter got an extended role here, too. Also we got to go both inside a fancy yacht and a high-tech submarine, and that’s just super neat. 

The Spy Who Loved Me by Ian Fleming. Fleming’s infamous failed experiment. Admire him for going so out of his own comfort zone, but this is truly a royal mess. His female narrative voice is deeply unconvincing, for one. For another, the structure simply doesn’t come together. The first part reads like the maudlin diary entries of a juvenile caricature, while the second is a mid-century gangster farce, with Fleming at his most intolerable in terms of dialogue. Only the final part manages to feel like a Bond book, but it comes a bit too little, too late.   

And then I just read a bunch of Bond comics. I read too many of them — because, again, a ridiculous person — so I’ll just talk about the highlights here.

James Bond: Vargr / James Bond: Eidolon by Warren Ellis, James Masters. Both re-reads. I had forgotten, but these were actually the first Bond things I ever read, having picked it up back when they came out because I was a big Ellis fan. I enjoyed them both a lot back then and, naturally, after having read entirely too much about this ridiculous character, I appreciate them a lot more now. 

James Bond: Hammerhead by Andy Diggle, Luca Casalanguida. Reading this after the Ellis and Masters run was like going from Casino Royale to Die Another Day. Fun, but lacked the wit and finesse of the previous comics.

James Bond: Service by Kieron Gillen, Antonio Fuso. Love Gillen but this was just bland as hell.

James Bond: Black Box by Benjamin Percy, Rapha Lobosco. Liked this one a bit more than the other non-Ellis runs. I feel like it did the globetrotting thing exceptionally well. And I enjoyed how simple and modern the storyline was. The Dynamite comics do a better job at bringing Bond to contemporary times better than the films, I feel like. They’re great at making our current, contentious times almost feel like another sort of war — neither hot or cold but perpetually hazy and chaotic. 

James Bond: Kill Chain by Andy Diggle, Luca Casalanguida. Liked this one a hell of a lot more than their previous effort. It felt much more in line with the Fleming novels. Bringing SMERSH into the modern day was an ingenious move, and having that not only feel believable but inevitable was just skillful storytelling.

James Bond: The Body by Aleš Kot, Various. One of the most fascinating Bond stories I’ve come across. One thing that I love about the Fleming novels is how surprisingly often they go into Bond’s psyche, something the films hardly ever do — at least until Craig’s tenure. The Body, though, is a thorough character study about what it means to be a blunt instrument wielded by a fallible, amoral government. The only place it falters is that at some point it feels like you’re reading about someone entirely different from the peculiar, singular character Fleming created. Still, some absolutely brilliant storytelling here.

James Bond: Himeros by Rodney Barnes, Antonio Fuso, Giorgio Pontrelli. This is what I mean by the Bond comics really going all out to make him a contemporary figure. This is an Epstein storyline, and not even a thinly-veiled one — the only things changed are the names. I guess it’s problematic in the sense that in this fantasy world Bond prevails and drags this evil ordeal out of the shadows and back into the light, but what is fantasy for if not for wishful thinking sometimes?

And now the only remaining question is: Will I read something not Bond-related any time soon? Ha ha ha who knows I don’t goodbye

 

DUNE by Frank Herbert

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dune by frank herbertReading Frank Herbert’s Dune turned out to be a downright mesmerizing experience. Which was surprising to me because while I have obviously known about the book for ages I always assumed it would be a dry, dense, and difficult read. It turned out to be anything but. I found myself really taken in by Herbert’s prose, which is really stark and straightforward even when the story takes the most psychedelic of turns towards the climax. “Organic,” was the word that kept coming to mind. This story feels like a living, breathing thing in a way precious few others do. It’s no wonder it’s endlessly compared with The Lord of the Rings. It lives in that same mythic mind field.

I genuinely have no idea how so many people consider this a fully stand-alone novel, though, since the ending is so abrupt and honestly quite anticlimactic. Supposedly Herbert decided to write Messiah partly as a response to the public’s reaction to Dune’s themes, but I find it hard to believe that he didn’t have a sequel already in mind. As dense as the novel is, it does feel very much like the first half of a story. (Which is why I got the second book as soon as I finished this one. I look forward to reading it.)

But also, despite all the complex, intricate lore and cachet surrounding this classic of science fiction, at the end of the day, the story’s just a hell of a lot of fun, too. I had a blast reading this. Big worm! Big fan. 🪱

FEBRUARY 2024

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Hello again here’s what I read in February:

Misery by Stephen King. I spent a lot of January reading about writers and figured I’d continue with that trend. This was as intense as I expected it to be, but also surprisingly psychedelic, which I really dug. A classic for a reason. ⠀

Lunar New Year Love Story by Gene Luen Yang, LeUyen Pham. Yang is one of my favorite authors, so I bought this without even reading the synopsis. Thinking the title was descriptive enough, and I didn’t expect more than a simple love story. Instead this is a poignant, melancholy and at times strikingly dark exploration about the relationships we build and the ones we destroy, both romantic and familial. I wasn’t initially impressed with Pham’s artwork, but it ended up growing on me. Her detail work is wonderful and she portrays movement beautifully (traditional lion dancing features heavily in the story and some of the spreads depicting it are gorgeous). Wonderful read. ⠀

Artificial Condition by Martha Wells. This is the first book I’ve read so far this year that I didn’t completely love, which says a lot about the kind of reading I’ve been doing lately because this was still a hell of a lot of fun. I just really like Murderbot as a character and enjoy reading about its anxious shenanigans. ⠀

The Princess Bride by William Goldman. Despite the fact that I’ve long said this is my favorite story in the world, this was actually only my second time reading this novel. It’s a perfect book, really, one that hits all my spots: metafictional, whimsical, fantastic, earnest without ever losing its droll, playful edge. ⠀

I also read some short stories. I’m trying to make an effort to read more short stories.

“The Last Serving” by Lincoln Michel. Really enjoyed this Twilight Zone-style tale about what meat consumption could look like in the future. Short and sweet and perfectly morbid. ⠀

“The Krakatoan” by Maria Dahvana Headley. I had only read one other thing by this author (The End of the Sentence, co-written with Kat Howard). While I loved that excellent horror tale, this one just really didn’t do it for me. ⠀

I fell into a slump halfway through the month (which I hauled myself out of by reading Dune of all things), but still a very solid month, I think.

JANUARY 2024

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Oh hi hello here’s what I read during the month of January.

Bookshops & Bonedust by Travis Baldree. The coziest way to start the new year.

Amphigorey and Ascending Peculiarity by Edward Gorey. Gorey was a wonderful weirdo and I love him.

Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey. I love reading about creative peoples’ creative habits and this was a delightful collection.

Terry Pratchett: A Life With Footnotes by Rob Wilkins. I miss Terry.

The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett. I really, really miss Terry.

My Father, the Pornographer by Chris Offutt. Heart-wrenching story about fathers and writing and obsession. One of the most fascinating memoirs I’ve ever read.

I also read “Selfies,” a short story by Lavie Tidhar, which had a great and creepy concept but was entirely too short.

And that’s it. This was the best reading month I’ve had since last October. Which is surprising because January is usually a very uneven, slow period for me, characterized by reading slumps and just general exhaustion after the holiday season. But not only did I manage to read quite a bit this time around, I also ended up loving pretty much everything I picked up. It’s a nice change of pace. And a hell of a start to my reading year.

THE WEE FREE MEN by Terry Pratchett

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the wee free men by terry pratchettI had to check. The Wee Free Men is the first Terry Pratchett book I’ve picked up in nearly eight years. I honestly couldn’t tell you why it’s been so long, because I adore Pratchett’s writing. Maybe somewhere deep down I feel I should deprive myself of wonderful things. I don’t know. In any case, Rob Wilkins’s wonderful biography shook me out of this foolish reverie, and I can only be grateful, because of course I ended up loving Tiffany Aching’s first outing, in the fiercest of ways.

“Fierce” is the appropriate word. Because while ostensibly a children’s book, Wee Free Men is also a sterling showcase of how Pratchett channeled his famous anger. An anger that stemmed not from malice or pettiness, but from a place of deep empathy. He took note of the myriad of ridiculous ways people could be awful to one another, how easily we can slip into selfish, sinister roles. He witnessed, in short, the injustice of the world, and he raged righteously and furiously against it. Thus: Tiffany Aching, an angry character if there ever was one — and one of the finest protagonists I’ve ever come across.

Like Terry, Tiffany chooses to be pragmatic with her rage. She may come from a small, sometimes infuriatingly closed-minded community, but it is her home. Her parents may not exactly pay much attention to her, but she knows she is cherished and cared for all the same. She has a little brother, who is often as sticky as he is annoying. She’s not entirely sure she loves him, not really, but she figures that doesn’t matter — he is her duty and her responsibility. So when outside forces threaten the safety of these things Tiffany considers her own, well, she just won’t stand for it. She will, indeed, fight back (with the help of some particularly aggressive and devoted blue-skinned pictsies). And it is a glorious and beautiful thing to behold.

The Wee Free Men is a story about family and duty; freedom and rebellion; the magic of the mundane. About how vital and important it is to take care of one another, not just because of sentimental reasons, but simply because that is how the flock carries on, forever and ever, wold without end. It is one of the finest things Pratchett ever wrote.

TERRY PRATCHETT: A LIFE WITH FOOTNOTES by Rob Wilkins

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terry pratchett by rob wilkinsI laughed. I cried. I cried while laughing and I laughed while crying. Reading Terry Pratchett: A Life With Footnotes, Rob Wilkins’s biography of his deceased employer slash mentor slash partner was a beautiful emotional journey.

Usually I prefer my biographies to be a bit more impartial towards their subjects. A healthy distance, I find, makes for a clearer, more cohesive profile. Wilkins was literally unable to do that, so instead he delivered a profoundly intimate portrayal of a beloved friend – and the book is all the better for it, which goes to show how much I know.

It is also an exceptionally candid account, which surprised me to no end. These sorts of biographies tend to be written with rose-colored glasses on the author’s face, with the most unpleasant aspects of a person’s life either glossed over or simply not dwelled upon. Wilkins doesn’t shy away from the uncouth, churlish aspects of his relationship with the writer, who could be flighty and temperamental in the best of times, and a cantankerous, capricious bastard at the worst. It’s a refreshingly raw and honest approach, and it makes the more heartfelt, touching moments which abound in this book all the more pointed and impactful.

And it’s a remarkably funny book – as it damn well should be. Terry would be ineffably proud of his personal assistant.

But in the end the best possible thing I could say about this biographical tome is that it made me pick up a Pratchett book immediately after finishing it. Terry’s novels are, after all, small miracles, as Neil Gaiman sagely observed. Rob Wilkins tells us exactly why.

AMPHIGOREY by Edward Gorey

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I got the first Amphigorey volume last year after finishing Mark Dery’s biography of Edward Gorey, Born to Be Posthumous. I finally picked it back up almost a full year later, and have been cheerfully reading a book from it every other day.

Until this lovely, lugubrious collection, The Gashlycrumb Tinies was the only proper Gorey book I had ever read. Which is wild even to me, considering how much love I have for the man’s art and style. This veritable beast of a volume boasts books like The Unstrung Harp, The Doubtful Guest, The Object-Lesson, The Willowdale Handcar, and The Westing Wing, however — stories that are regarded among Gorey’s best, so I very much feel as if I dove right into the deep end of bibliography.

The aforementioned books are all brilliant, but it’s The Unstrung Harp that in particular called out to, with its magnificently farcical and melodramatic portrayal of an author’s life. One surprising thing I learned from Dery’s book is that Gorey actually thought of himself foremost as a writer, and then as an artist — a notion that is clearly evident in this story.

It still stands that the man’s art often spoke louder than words, though, so I figured it pertinent to include some of my preferred pieces in this post.

BOOKSHOPS & BONEDUST by Travis Baldree

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I enjoy books far more than I do coffee, so it’s a bit funny that I liked Bookshops & Bonedust a little less than I did Legends & Lattes. But that’s only because Lattes felt like such a breath of fresh air, whereas Bonedust feels much more familiar. Still welcoming, to be sure, but somewhat less spellbinding.

Even so, I found that this worked well as a companion piece to the first novel, further elaborating on its themes of found families and fresh starts while navigating its own motif established by the book’s epigraph: “Because the right things happen at the wrong time.” In Bonedust we find a Viv that is not only comfortable in her current circumstances, but thriving. Then when something happens which puts that life on hold, she’s understandably despondent. But the incident places her in the appropriate position to reconsider her prospects, and with the help of new companions — new perspectives — Viv begins to realize that her life will probably not always look the same, but that that may not be such a bad thing after all. Could, in fact, one day be desirable. And thus a foundation is laid.

I love the world Travis Baldree has conjured up for this series, but even more so, I love the characters he’s populated it with — these larger than life personalities full of wisdom and warmth. I will gladly revisit any time we are invited back.

YEAR IN REVIEW ○ 2023

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I don’t think I have much to say about my reading life this year that’s different from years past. I come to the same conclusions every turn around the sun: to have more fun with my reading; to not worry so much about always having something to say about what I read; to trust and welcome my whims and flights of fancy. And at the start of every year, I forget these lessons, and have to spend the following twelve months trying to learn them again. 

So I guess my only hope and resolution for my reading life the coming year would be this: to relearn my lessons early, so that I can better appreciate the stories to come.

Here are some of the stories I appreciated the most in 2023: Continue reading “YEAR IN REVIEW ○ 2023” →

A CHRISTMAS CAROL by Charles Dickens

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A Christmas Carol is, I think, one of our most human stories. You could take away all its festive fittings and pious peculiarities and it will still remain just as impactful, this story about redemption and restitution. This story that, from the very start, implores us to have empathy for others. This story that practically begs us to not shun away from humanity, lest we lose our own.

People are a cyclical lot. We have a frustrating tendency to forget our lessons and repeat our mistakes. It’s part of why we write stories. To remind ourselves that we can and must be better; that what is lost can be found again; that there is always hope, should we have the courage to change.

Charles Dickens’ ghost story of Christmas is 180 years old, and remains one of our very best, most unequivocal reminders.

Happy holidays, everyone.