As Good As Dead by Elizabeth Evans

A shy girl from a small town and working class family, Charlotte is ecstatic to be accepted into the prestigious Iowa Writers Workshop. She heads to Iowa City to find an apartment and meets the beautiful and beguiling Esme. She and Esme move in together and become best friends. Many years  pass and Charlotte is a published author and tenured professor. Her university boyfriend, who was away in Italy completing his doctoral research while Charlotte lived with Esma, is now her husband, and he and Charlotte live a settled life in Tuscon. Charlotte and Esme are no longer friends; Esme moved away from Iowa and stopped answering Charlotte's letters. Out of the blue, an older, fatter, less beautiful Esme turns up at Charlotte's house and all of the wounds she thought had healed from the past reopen, tearing her life apart.

This book has some really good points. It is very well written and it is an excellent evocation of life in academia. I was not surprised to red that Evans herself is an emeritus professor - the academic aspects of the book are incredibly authentic. I also thought it did an excellent job of capturing the rivalries and love in some university female friendships, where neither of you are sure who you really  are yet. It does have a few problems, though. Esme's husband, Jeremy, who Charlotte slept with while he was dating Esme and Charlotte was dating Will (not a spoiler - it's revealed in the first chapter) is so repulsive that it's impossible to understand why he would come between the beautiful Esme and the talented Charlotte. Nor did I buy that Esme would do what she did at the end of the novel - it was set in the 1980s, not the 1950s, and her actions seemed more suitable to an earlier time. Plus I found the ending of the novel such an anticlimax! Because the book starts so strongly but tapers off near the end, I wonder if it just lacked enough meat to be a fully fledged novel and the story might have been better suited to a novella format.

Despite these flaws I enjoyed reading this book and would definitely read another Elizabeth Evans novel. Three stars.

Thug Kitchen: Eat like you give a f*ck (2014)

The Thug Kitchen cookbook developed from the widely popular Thug Kitchen blog. For those who don't know the back story, it was an anonymous blog that posted vegan recipes with lots of "fuck" and "shit" littered everywhere. When the cookbook came out, it turned out the two "thugs" behind the kitchen were a white university-educated couple in their 20s who like pretending to be thugs on the internet. It's kind of obnoxious but I didn't really give it much thought.

However, I did always like the recipes, so when my library got the cookbook I put a hold on it. There's a lot of swearing. Not just a little bit - a lot lot. There is so much swearing that the library put the book underneath the counter and checked with me how I felt about profanity before giving it to me. I swear all the time so profanity is not an issue but I that the ratio of profanity to non-profane word would be about 1:10. There is *a lot* of swearing.

While I don't give a fuck about swearing (see what I did there?) I do care when I start reading a cookbook where the authors clearly think their readers are well below average intelligence. For example, on a page entitled "congatufuckinglations" (they're congratulating me for buying the book. Most authors thank the reader for choosing to spend their hard earned dollars on them, but the authors of Thug Kitchen are actually doing me a favour by allowing me to buy their book. Thanks guys!), the authors give the following advice:

"There's a big difference between 1/2 teaspoon of salt and 1/2 tablespoon. One is going to complete a dope dinner and the other is going to end with a plate of regret."

Thanks guys! I have the intelligence to look at your recipes on the internet on a computer I purchased myself with the proceeds of my work but until you pointed it out, I had *no idea* that tablespoons and teaspoons were different! How embarrassment. That's not dope at all.

Other gems are when the authors of a vegan cookbook explain that a salad is really just plant nachos. Because of course someone who is interested enough to borrow or buy a book on vegan cooking would need an explanation of what a salad is because I'm certain they've never seen a salad before. What the fuck, Thug Kitchen? Just give your reader the tiniest bit of credit.

Look, the recipes look pretty good but the tone of the book is so obnoxious that it's hard to look past.

Purity by Jonathan Franzen (2015)

There are many long detailed reviews of Purity on the Internet that discusses the themes, plot and writing of this book in great length. Rather than add to their numbers, I give you this.

Based on reading Purity, here is a list of things that Jonathan Franzen likes:
* writing about penises
* writing about masturbation
* the sound of his own voice
* feeling like he is cleverer than everyone else
* going on and on about the things he does not like

Based on reading Purity, here is a list of things that Jonathan Franzen does not like:
* women
* mothers
* women
* kids today
* the Internet
* women
* modern life
* attempts to address environmental issues
* women

Apparently Jonathan Franzen is married, which surprises me because this book reads like it was written by someone who had never actually spoken to a woman and is attempting to reconstruct them based on what he had read in other books. 

Purity is not good. I strongly advise you to read the Intercept review Stop Sending Me Jonathan Franzen Novels instead of the actual novel - it's eminently more satisfying.

One star.

Last Drink to LA by John Sutherland (2014 reprint)

Anyone who has been reading this blog or following my reviews on Goodreads will know that I adore a drinking memoir. Next to cookbooks, they are my favourite type of non-fiction. I have an insatiable thirst for them (see what I did there? *pats self on back with cleverness in true John Sutherland Style*). Last Drink to LA is a different type of drinking memoir to the normal one. Divided into three parts and an epilogue, former academic John Sutherland takes a discursive approach to drinking. He's not interested in facts or statistic: he likes stories, and that is what makes up most of this book.

The first section is a history of drinking through a literary lens. Sutherland discusses famous drunk historical figures (mostly authors) and provides quotes from the writers' literary outputs relating to their drinking. This section was largely interesting, although Sutherland's frequent use of Latin got a bit tiring after a while. We get it, you've had a classical education. Bully for you. For those of us who haven't (basically everyone under 70), you're just making it harder for us to enjoy your writing. I also found the author's fondness for using the phrase "topped himself" to describe successful suicides a bit cavalier, but maybe I'm sensitive on the subject, seeing suicide as a bad thing. The drunks he discusses in this section are all men; for John Sutherland, women drunks aren't an actual thing. It's not their fault - their weak female bodies can't handle the drink, unlike the strong manly men for whom drinking is related to cultural ideals of masculinity. Sure thing, John.

The second section is where my problems with the book really built up. It is a history of AA. I am not a fan of AA. Many other authors have written of its negative aspects. I have a lot of problems with it: the centrality of religion; its complete lack of accountability; its poor success rate; its promotion as alcoholism as a disease for which abstinence is the only cure (many people who have periods of problematic drinking are able to be social drinkers later in life without any problems with alcohol); and its clear sexism. Sexism is not a problem for John, who as I mentioned only considers men true drunks (the two drunk women mentioned in the first section were wives; the two drunk women mentioned in this section are prostitutes, so John neatly slots women into the the Madonna-whore literary dichotomy). John is not concerned with facts, only with stories. Since the AA model is based on stories - people (men) standing up in rooms and recounting how they got there - John likes it a lot. In fact, he says the reason that he stopped attending AA meetings is because he wasn't a good enough storyteller (John likes to be the best at everything). He acknowledges the central cognitive dissidence of AA - that it both asks you to accept alcoholism as a disease that is not your fault and at the same time take responsibility for all of the horrible things you did while drunk and be responsible for choosing abstinence - but he doesn't explain it, just acknowledges it and move on. This section was not very interesting.

The third section was the one where I really got cross. This is John's story of how he sobered up. Basically, his life in London was falling apart due to his problems with alcohol. Because he was brilliant, he got offered a job at an American university, which he took, leaving his wife and son behind in the UK. The only bar within walking distance was a gay bar, so that's where he went to drink. One morning he woke up in the bed of a man, went to touch the man's penis but instead of a penis found only a stump. He went home, drank three bottles of wine, and the next day rang AA to give up the demon drink.

This story is full of so much what-the-fuck I don't even know where to begin. Firstly, being gay is not contagious. You don't catch it by going to a gay bar. John says it's lucky he gave up drink because if he hadn't he probably would have got AIDs. Dude, it's not the drink that gives you AIDs, it's unprotected sex. I just can't even with the attitudes towards gay sex here. Also, why include the information about the penis stump? If there had been a penis there when you groped the guy ("accidentally, as I trust", he says, har har), would you still be drinking? In fairness, he does say in the epilogue he shouldn't have included that information in the original book, but I was reading a reprint. Take it out if you don't like it.

The bit that made me see red was this statement: "On at least one occasion, I had been physically abusive to my wife and son. Drunks do these things (and worse)." No, John, drunks don't do these things - domestic abusers do those things. You committed domestic violence. You hit your wife and child, not the drink. Does he acknowledge this or get help for it? No, of course not. None of this is John's fault! It's the drink. John is blameless. He later reveals that his son attempted suicide as a teenager and has had a lifelong struggle with drugs and alcohol. He writes: "Addiction was, I suppose, my legacy to him, his patrimony; like alcoholic father, like addict son." Bullshit, John. The poor kid grew up with an alcoholic violent dad who hit him and cheated on his mum. He dealt with this by taking drugs and drinking. You can't hand wave this away by pretending there's some genetic lottery your son has just lost. You were violent and abusive and, if you bothered to do any research, you'd see the connection between experience abuse and abusing drugs and alcohol.

As for the epilogue, just don't read it. It's a bunch of self-serving twaddle about how great John is. He got to serve on a Booker prize and made a really important decision that was really important because John is super important. Since quitting booze, he's never even wanted a drink, because John is excellent at all things, even not drinking. Shut up, John.

On Writing, by Stephen King (2001)

As I have mentioned previously, I am currently reading a lot of books on writing in a desperate attempt to get the tools (and, more seriously, the motivation!) to finish writing my thesis. Quite a few of these books mention Stephen King's On Writing. Given that Stephen King is a novelist, it's not one I would have considered but my due date is soon enough that I am prepared to try anything, so I picked it up from the library.

On Writing is part memoir part writing guide. The memoir provides some details of his childhood, where he and his older brother were brought up by their mother in rural America. It was a rough childhood. I did find the memoir part a bit boring - mainly because, as King himself points out, a lot of the things he remembers clearly he has put in his books. The bit of the memoir I found interesting was his history as a writer. Even as a primary school kid, he was writing books for his mum. Then, as he got older, he was inspired by a gory horror film to write a book, which he made copies of at home and sold at school. As a teenager, he wrote short stories and sent them into magazines. They were rarely published but he kept going - writing was a compulsion for him. After high school went to college and qualified as a teacher. He met his wife at uni and they had children quickly. After he graduated, he wasn't able to get a job as a teacher so he worked in a laundry while his wife worked at Dunkin Donuts. He continued to write at night, working on the novel that would become Carrie. King knew that writers should have an agent, he got an agent. The Kings lived in poverty until he sold Carrie for the princely sum of $200,000 and his life changed. He became a huge success, had more children, became an alcoholic and drug addict, got sober and then, a few years later, got hit by a bus. There was really quite a lot going on!

In the writing part of the book, King gives his advice on how to be a good writer. His tips are pretty simple - read a lot, write a lot, and above all work hard. In fact, the number one piece of advice I took from this book was that to succeed, you need to work bloody hard (which, FYI, did not prevent me from faffing about all day yesterday on the internet and ending up with about 50 words added to my thesis. I did feel really guilty about it though, so thanks for that, Stephen!). I think every budding fiction writer should read this book for this message alone. That said, King says quite bluntly that no amount of practice is going to make a bad writer a good or even competent writer, so while working hard will make you a better writer, you can't do anything if the inspiration isn't there in the first place.

On Writing was published in 2001, and it shows. There's little in it about the internet, and I imagine  the how-to-get-published part of the book is well and truly obsolete. I would love to read an updated version and find out what King thinks about the internet, because he really hates television. He writes:

But TV came relatively late to the King household, and I'm glad. I am, when you think about it, a member of a fairly select group: the final handful of American novelists who learned to read and write before they learned to eat a daily helping of video bullshit. This might not be important. On the other hand, if you're just starting out as a writer, you could do worse than strip your television's electric plug-wire, wrap a spike around it, and then stick it back into the wall. See what blows, and how far.

Just an idea.

I did have a few minor quibbles. King meets his wife, Tammy, in a writing class. They both want to be writers, but he said that she didn't make it because she couldn't find that extra hour in the day to work on her writing. The truth is that she couldn't find that extra hour because she was using it to look after the kids while King was writing. He had such a compulsion to write and has been such a success that I'm not sure she had any other choice, but it was definitely unfair of King to place the burden on her (also, I was a bit sick of Tammy by the end of the book. King talks about her all the time but only ever in relation to what she does for him. He devoted thousands of words to her but I know nothing about her after reading all of those words). That said, On Writing is well and truly worth a read for anyone who works with words for a living. Four stars.

Purl Up and Die by Maggie Sefton (2015)

You know the concept of hate-reading? I tend to not hate-read much (who has the time? Plus, I at one stage I was hate-reading so much I almost disconnected my right eye by rolling it too much*). However, my exception to the rule has always been Maggie Sefton's Lambspun series. This series of books are so bad! The characters are basically cardboard cutouts that are given really terri;e dialogue, the dialogue is awful (all of the characters sound exactly the same) and the books are so repetitious that about 90% of the story could cut with no noticeable effect on our understanding of the plot. But I keep reading them, bitch about how terrible they are, then put a reserve on the next one as soon as it arrives at the library.

BUT NO MORE! 2015's Lambspun mystery, Purl Up and Die, is officially my last. The novel opens as Kelly goes across the street to work in the yarn store (guys, Kelly likes to work on spreadsheets at the yarn store). She orders an ice coffee (guys, it's hot in Colorado in summer AND Kelly likes coffee). Then a woman who is not in the main group comes into the yarn shop. Because Sefton only introduces two new characters per book, this woman will either be murdered or be the murderer. The only mystery is which one it is. Kelly, who is the literary equivalent to the chewing gum that gets stuck on the sole of your favourite pair of runners, sits in on a class without paying the teacher for it, causes a disruption for the other attendees who actually paid, then leaves.

Next, Kelly goes and visits her client, who is apparently a successful businessman. Not according to this dialogue:

The buzzer on Arthur's phone system sounded. "Oops, that's my secretary. Reminding me that my next appointment is here."
Kelly drained the last of the coffee and gathered her portfolio into her briefcase bag. "I'd best get back, anyway. You're in good shape, Arthur. So now I need to see what Don Warner and company have waiting for me."

While Arthur may be playing a professional businessman, it is more than clear a professional editor never went near these pages. For starters, one doesn't gather a portfolio into a bag - one either gathers a portfolio and places it in a bag or just simply places it there without gathering it first (also, not briefcase bag but either briefcase or bag - briefcase is a noun not an adjective). Additionally, who says "oops" when a buzzer goes? How can you be reminded of something you haven't been told about in the first place? Why are these people speaking in single-clause sentences? It is all so, so bad.

A few pages later, Kelly's boyfriend "smiled into her eyes" (you smile AT someone, not into random physical features), and I was out. Done. Finito. All over.

There's bad which is fun to read and play with and then there's work that is so excrutiatingly bad that you feel bad for the author, publishing house and anyone who has their name attached to the book. The Lambspun series has now reached that point and I am done with it. HereIRead out.


*Not a true story. However, more believable than any of Maggie Sefton's bestselling novels.

The Children Act by Ian McEwan (2014)

When I was younger, I loved Ian McEwan. I first read him during the long dark final weeks of my Honours year, where in an effort to gain a bit of sanity and perspective I had escaped to the fiction section of my university's library and grabbed the first book from an author who wasn't dead who I had heard of. The book was Atonement, and I loved it. I then promptly devoured Black Dogs and Enduring Love. I was mesmerised by Saturday - I wanted to roll around in the prose of that one eventful day that in fact told the story of an entire life. But then, the McEwan-HereIRead love affair came to a crashing halt with the publication of On Chesil Beach. I bought this "book" for full price from a reputable bookseller, only to take it home and realise it was the novel equivalent of the first-year essay I'd submitted with 2.5-line spacing and 5cm margins, hoping the lecturer wouldn't notice that it was about half of its expected length (they did). On Chesil Beach is a short story padded out (and charged like!) a full novel based on some clever typesetting and a lot of blank pages. Even worse, it is a stupid story. I felt both ripped off and cross. Despite this, I still bought Solar when it came out. Just to give you an idea what type of story Solar is, there is a chapter where the protagonist thinks his penis has fallen off but in fact what fell off was (I think) the lid of a tube of lip balm. Stupid stupid stupid. I didn't even end up finishing it. I am clearly a slow learner, because I gave McEwan one more chance with Sweet Tooth. With a much kinder than I would be today two-star review, I was done with McEwan.

That is, until I watched last month's ABC's The Book Club. Marieke Hardy described Ian McEwan as that old boyfriend you feel fond about but forget how crap they are until you give them a call to talk to them again. I agreed with her completely! So when said that that his new novel, The Children Act, was wonderful, I picked it up.

The best I can say about this book is that it's not completely awful. Much like Saturday and Solar, we see the whole book through the eyes of a single character, in this case Fiona Maye, a High Court judge. When the book opens, she is reeling from the shock of her husband telling her he wants to have an affair because they haven't had sex for seven weeks and one day. She says no, he moves out and then she has to make rulings on a number of difficult decisions, including whether or not to rule that doctors can separate Siamese twins when the separation means certain death for one boy but not separating them means both twins will die and whether or not to override the wishes of a Jehovah's Witness boy who is 17 years and 9 months old and refusing a life-saving blood transfusion.

The Children Act is written very well because McEwan writes very good prose but, again, as with On Chesil Beach, the plot is just so stupid. No-one jeopardises a 30-year marriage because they haven't had sex for seven weeks but McEwan's characters act like this is a reasonable course of action for an educated couple whose professions are based on communication to take. Reading this book made me feel like McEwan hasn't actually spoken to any real people for a long time because actual humans just don't act like the characters in his novel do. Plus, let's be honest - McEwan is a massive elitist snob who doesn't like women very much. His contempt for women and the lower classes leaps off the page, not even barely disguised. It was quite surprising how obvious it was (although not surprising in and of itself).

Not a terrible book but I don't want to contribute to encouraging anyone to read it, so two stars.