I'll admit it: I bought this book for the schadenfreude. I skimmed over the financial stats and took particular glee in reading about people going froI'll admit it: I bought this book for the schadenfreude. I skimmed over the financial stats and took particular glee in reading about people going from billionaire to bankrupt overnight in the 2008 financial crisis. My favorite examples? A toss-up between the former billionaire who could no longer pay her phone bill and had to learn to do her own dishes, and the wife of a guy who when from $8 billion to $100 million overnight, who then had to cope with the "trauma" of flying commercial after they sold their private jets. Then there's the story of the repo man who has to travel with a former pro-wrestler when he takes back the toys of the ex-rich: jets, yachts, and sports cars. Oh yeah, then there's the chick who went so broke that the coral in her special tropical fish tank got repossessed. Oh, and the single tear that slid down the face of a woman who, with her husband, was building the largest house in America until they ran out of money. HAHAHAHAHA!!! LOVE IT.
Basically, the whole book is about these stupid people who are no better than you and me: they're rich on paper and they don't really own anything. Heh. Makes me feel a little less guilty about having charged the book. ;)
My one complaint are the five typos and numerous grammatical errors that I found, likely because this book was rushed into publication before the ex-nouveau riche could climb out of their financial holes and find money again. But what the hell? I'm willing to overlook the occasional typo if it means entertainment found in the financial ruin of the excessively wealthy.
:-D
Merged review:
I'll admit it: I bought this book for the schadenfreude. I skimmed over the financial stats and took particular glee in reading about people going from billionaire to bankrupt overnight in the 2008 financial crisis. My favorite examples? A toss-up between the former billionaire who could no longer pay her phone bill and had to learn to do her own dishes, and the wife of a guy who when from $8 billion to $100 million overnight, who then had to cope with the "trauma" of flying commercial after they sold their private jets. Then there's the story of the repo man who has to travel with a former pro-wrestler when he takes back the toys of the ex-rich: jets, yachts, and sports cars. Oh yeah, then there's the chick who went so broke that the coral in her special tropical fish tank got repossessed. Oh, and the single tear that slid down the face of a woman who, with her husband, was building the largest house in America until they ran out of money. HAHAHAHAHA!!! LOVE IT.
Basically, the whole book is about these stupid people who are no better than you and me: they're rich on paper and they don't really own anything. Heh. Makes me feel a little less guilty about having charged the book. ;)
My one complaint are the five typos and numerous grammatical errors that I found, likely because this book was rushed into publication before the ex-nouveau riche could climb out of their financial holes and find money again. But what the hell? I'm willing to overlook the occasional typo if it means entertainment found in the financial ruin of the excessively wealthy.
A French journalist creates an online identity to talk to jihadists, but unwittingly attracts the attention of a crazed ISIS fighter? Sign me up! I'veA French journalist creates an online identity to talk to jihadists, but unwittingly attracts the attention of a crazed ISIS fighter? Sign me up! I've stalked those ISIS idiots on Twitter for more years than I care to admit, and non-fiction about crappy countries is totally my thing. This book should be right up my alley! Right?
Sigh. Goddammit.
In the Skin of a Jihadist is just an extended version of Anna Erelle's NY Times/Daily Mail/Guardian articles promoting her book. If you've read any of those--hell, even if you just skimmed a summary on Buzzfeed--voila!, you've got the entire story. You can skip the book, because in 240 pages, there's not one detail that Erelle hasn't already published online.
Well, that's irritating.
But In the Skin of a Jihadist has bigger problems than being a longform version of Erelle's old web articles. The real issue is that despite its intriguing premise, this book is boring. (I survived Critical Theory in grad school, so "boring" isn't a word I toss around lightly). It's so lifeless that it damn near rivals Waiting for Godot/Moby Dick/anything by Jane Austen or Alessandro Manzoni, etc. as the dullest sh!t in print.
A contemporary book so monotonous that it sparks flashbacks of the bad classics?
Yikes. And it gets worse.
I get that Erelle is a journalist who wants to be taken seriously. I also get that she wants her subject matter to be taken seriously. But when you invent a fake identity to pursue a story, there goes my ability to consider you a serious journalist. As for the story itself? Catfishing some waste-of-life pussy ISIS fighter? Meh. I think I saw that on MTV once.
With her dubious professional ethics, near-zero credibility as a journalist, and a flimsy story, Erelle had nothing to lose when she started writing this. She could have written anything. Why she didn't drop the journalism shtick and focus on breathing life into her corpse of a book is beyond me. But no, she stuck to the (not very exciting) facts and called it good.
Lame.
Come on, Anna! Where's your creativity? I've got a couple of ideas to make your book less of a chore to read. See if you can work these in by the time the second edition rolls out:
Tell the real truth: You know what I mean. Spill it. Was the ISIS guy hot? Were you ever attracted to him? Were there any late night phone calls that your boyfriend didn't know about? Speaking of your boyfriend, he sounds hot. Can you tell us more about him, other than the fact that he sits in the corner brooding? Thx.
Embellish: As noted above, your professional integrity went out the window when you created a fake identity. You're no different than those of us who Twitter-stalk these assholes behind a fake avatar image, so we really only half believe you anyway. Well, run with it! Tell us some sweet little lies and liven up this party! Say you were toying with the idea of converting to Islam but a new-found love for Scientology stopped you. Say that you actually catfished 5 ISIS fighters, 2 of their wives, 1 of their slaves, and a few of their sheep. Describe your pet unicorn. Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just make something up! If it's interesting, we'll pretend we believe it.
Criticize someone, anyone, anything, for fuck's sake! Why be objective when you can engage readers with your opinions about the situation you created with your ISIS bachelor? There's already a fatwa against you, so why the fear of stirring the pot? Go ahead, tell us why you think Islam sucks -- we can handle it. Or tell us how ISIS fighters think they're tough shit, but compared to the hotties in the Légion Étrangère or the Japanese during the Rape of Nanking, they're really just a bunch of whiny little girls. Better yet, make fun of your terrorist beau for being a fucking moron. Come on, tell us how in the hell a 38 year-old was dumb enough to be fooled by your fake identity, and then mock the hell out of him! I mean, being catfished when you're old enough to remember Prodigy and AOL? HAHAHAH!! DUMBASS!! LOL! (See how easy it is, Anna?) Voice an opinion! Just do something! And make it count.
Add some personality. How about French-ifying the text a little? You know, call the ISIS fucker a tête à claques, drop a few meaningless Foucault and Sartre quotes, and remind us of the superiority of France as you blow smoke in our faces with disdain. (God I love French people). See? I like your book better already.
Revise the "purpose." Yeah, yeah, yeah, your selling point is that your fake identity gave you precious insight into how ISIS manages to lure young European women to Syria. But come on, that's about the lamest attempt of all to legitimize your book. Yes, it's shocking when seemingly normal girls disappear from their comfortable lives, only to pop up on Twitter in a niqab, married to a hairy stranger, and posing with Kalashnikovs in war-torn Raqqa. But "How does it happen?" Come on, really? Um. It's called brainwashing, and teenagers are the easiest targets. It's not complicated: teenagers are vulnerable, they long for a sense of purpose, they romanticize dumb things, and they make stupid decisions. And when their parents give them unfettered access to a device that connects them with the world... Well, gee, what could go wrong? When you're 15 and the hot ISIS fighter you met on Twitter tells you that you're "different" and "special," that means something. When that same stud tells you'll get to fire guns learn self-defense, be a sex slave get married in the lawless totally safe caliphate, and bring up the next generation of Muslims...that sounds rad. And when the hot stranger packages it all as a sacred mission that guarantees a spot in heaven? Holy sense of purpose, Batman! That's way cooler than sitting through 10th grade chemistry! Something tells me you already knew this, Anna.
Find better material. When it really comes down to it, I don't care about some dumbass jihadist in Iraq. Call me when a bomb falls on his head. Or not. I don't care. This whole war thing has been going on, ad nauseam, since the beginning of time, and there's absolutely nothing new or noteworthy about ISIS...well, other than their propensity for blowing themselves up in their quest for world domination, but you can't expect a Milennial terrorist to know that "No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. You win by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country." But even laughing at ISIS gets old. If you really want to get my attention, use your fake identity something interesting. Infiltrate a group of young French women planning to move to Syria, and give us the scoop on what hell they're thinking. Or, trick a local imam into dating you and tell us what happens. Better yet, see if you can become 2nd wife to that ass-clown Anjem Choudary and write a salacious tell-all. Or, if Anjem doesn't pan out, become wife #4 to some devout Muslim/secret polygamist living in Paris and let us know how it goes.
See what I'm getting at here?
Save the dry reporting for your articles. You're hardly a journalist in the book, so give us the goddamn goods or go home.
A short, entertaining read about the roller coaster ride of the first year of a Silicon Valley start-up.
I just didn't get that into it because I readA short, entertaining read about the roller coaster ride of the first year of a Silicon Valley start-up.
I just didn't get that into it because I read the same thing (in less than 500 words) on ValleyWag every day. Well, that, and I already lived through the first dot-com bubble: for every Steve Jobs and Larry Page, there were thousands of computer geeks that bypassed college in favor of jobs at AOL, Kozmo, etc. I'm guessing they either went back to school or found jobs pumping gas somewhere....?
Now, as detailed in No Exit, history is repeating itself in Silicon Valley. The thing is, I just don't care about these people. I didn't in 1999, and I don't now.
The only real kernel of interest I found in this e-book was the attitude of a younger, too highly-paid, and very far removed generation of 20-somethings in Silicon Valley, who believe "the whole university system is going to be made obsolete because of technology [because people can learn anything online and through webinars]" and who can't seem to grasp the concept that "coffee shops [and] other...storefronts on streets [are] businesses with costs and revenue models."
I find myself sneering at young, privileged people who opt out of college in favor of work; these types will always know how to code better than you or I ever will, but you'll never have a conversation with them that goes beyond the intellectual level of an uneducated 19 year-old. Ugh.
I adore computer geeks, programmers, and entrepreneurs, but I detest the dimwitted -- nor do I trust any group that believes their method alone will render education "obsolete."
Silicon Valley? Definitely not my crowd.
And definitely not something I want to read about.
Come to think of it, the 50 page thing worked out quite well.
I wanted to read this memoir because I fell in love with Lilli Palmer's face a little when I watched Mädchen in Uniform. Who was thiAh, Lilli Palmer.
I wanted to read this memoir because I fell in love with Lilli Palmer's face a little when I watched Mädchen in Uniform. Who was this woman whose countenance, with every change of the camera angle, shifted between a likeness of Lucille Ball, Audrey Hepburn, and Julie Andrews? Who was this actress whose presence -- somehow both youthful and regal -- was so commanding that I was holding my breath when she was onscreen?
Unfortunately, Lilli Palmer's memoir isn't nearly as exciting as that onscreen presence.
The real problem with this memoir is that it's a lot of performance and very little substance. (Actresses writing books, anyone?) Lilli doesn't seem to get that readers want to know about her, and thus she's written a book about everyone but herself. That's problematic for readers like me who couldn't give a rip what it was like working with Clark Gable, partying with Gary Cooper, hosting Greta Garbo, entertaining Noël Coward, meeting Helen Keller, summering with Wallis Simpson and Prince Edward, etc. etc. etc. When Palmer isn't discussing her famous friends, she's entirely fixated on the career of her husband, Rex Harrison, while only permitting herself to reprint one or two of her own positive reviews.
There are scant seconds of interesting moments -- referring to herself as a "fat" young woman when she couldn't have been more than 135 pounds; casually mentioning binge eating and swallowing handfuls of laxatives; revealing tidbits about the hot Latin lover she took after discovering her husband was boning a costar half his age; coming to terms with being a Jew returning to Germany 20 years after World War II -- but these are too few and far between.
And what a disappointment.
I kept waiting for the part where she'd tell us what the hell she was doing in a 1958 West German movie about lesbians. What was it like to make a movie that was 50 years ahead of its time? Was there critical or public backlash? What made her agree to do the film in the first place? But alas, we only learn that her costar gave her flowers on the first day of shooting.
Sigh.
Well. Okay, maybe she'll tell us what sparked her interest in doing The House that Screamed, another film with strong homosexual overtones and themes of torture, mental abuse, and incest. What was Lilli doing making a film like that...in good ol' Catholic Spain...in 1969? What brought on the desire? And what happened next?
Again, we get nothing.
Okay, so what was it like making The Counterfeit Traitor? Did Willaim Holden behave himself, or was he slipping the tongue on bad takes and falling down drunk between scenes? What was it like to play a woman whose grim fate so easily could have been her own?
>>Cue to crickets chirping<<
But Lilli, surely there must be something you're willing to give up to your readers? Did you really like doing all of those whitewashed American films, or were you into the darker and more complex things you were filming in Europe? Which male costar was the best kisser? What were you really feeling when you found out Rex Harrison was fucking Kay Kendall?
Really, Lilli. Who are you?
Well, that's one question you should never have to ask at the end of a memoir.
Lilli Palmer was an amazing actress, a gifted painter, and she had one of the most captivating faces I've ever seen. But we can't all be perfect.
The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon is perfect for a specific group of people: job-seekers.
If you're currently looking for work, pThe Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon is perfect for a specific group of people: job-seekers.
If you're currently looking for work, pick up a copy of this book, as it does convey a very important message. That is, never work at Amazon. And no, that message is not just for prospective employees who are thinking of braving the Jungle-esque conditions of the distribution centers. The message is for anyone thinking of joining any part of the company: never work at Amazon.
If you're not from the Pacific Northwest and haven't heard the horror stories from former employees of the biggest churn 'em and burn 'em since Brown's slaughterhouse (complete with 16-hour stints at the office and 108 social media posts in 20 days), The Everything Store should offer up more than a few hints about daily life at the company: a "breakneck pace of ...work," where "meetings [are called] over the weekends," and employees are expected to "work smart, hard, and long." UGH. And don't expect to inquire about a better work-life balance; someone already asked about that at a sales meeting, and Bezos responded that "if you can't excel and put everything into it, Amazon might not be the place for you."
Heh. I guess it's not the place for people who have lives in general. Moving on.
Then there's Bezos himself (who I used to liken to Steve Jobs, but smarter), the guy who reinvented the way we read and continues to drive a Civic despite having more money than God. Perhaps I harbored a secret fantasy or two about seducing him for an Amazon log-in, but... never mind. The book makes him out to be an evil genius type, and really, that's probably not too far off the mark. Christ, if he gained a few pounds and carried a cat, he'd look like Dr. Evil, too.
What's with Bezos, anyway? He owns Google and Amazon stock, so he can't be about the money. The book basically explains that Bezos, like most hyper-successful entrepreneurs, is one of those powerful types that loves working and only cares about winning. Those quoted in the book describe him as "impetuous and controlling" and "deranged," with "ice water run[nig] through his veins." Let's not forget that he has a history of "lashing out at executives who failed to meet his improbably high standards." Wow. Sounds like a blissful place to spend 8+ hours a day, especially with pressure like that coming from the top down.
Again, if you're job-searching, this is a great book to read for learning just why you should never work at Amazon. Then again, you don't need the book for that: just read the reviews on Glassdoor by former employees. Better yet, ask around Seattle a little: you'll learn that the average Amazon employee turnover is 6-9 months, and you'll hear tales about people who worked so much and had so little free time that the only way to get personal items—you know, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant?—was to order them from Amazon...and have them delivered to their desk...at Amazon.
But I digress. For those of us not looking for work, what about the book? My guess is if you have a day job filled with meetings, sales reports, executives, and the latest from Wall Street, the last thing you want to unwind with after a hard day's work is a book about meetings, sales reports, executives, and the latest from Wall Street.
Decent read, but I just couldn't handle it.
Meh -- whatever.
***I do wonder how long my review will last on Goodreads now that Amazon owns the site. In my defense, I'd like to state that I downloaded my copy of the book from Amazon, I've followed the new rules regarding book reviews, and I'm still totally open to seducing Bezos in exchange for an Amazon log-in. Love ya, Jeff!***...more
I first encountered Dominique Moceanu the same way everyone else did: on TV when she was a bright-eyed 14 year-old at the 1996 Atlanta Games. I still I first encountered Dominique Moceanu the same way everyone else did: on TV when she was a bright-eyed 14 year-old at the 1996 Atlanta Games. I still remember the little tumbler with an eerie resemblance to Nadia, talking all about how in this moment her life was "absolutely perfect." That struck me so much that now, 16 years later, I still remember my first thoughts at hearing those words. I thought, "Well, that kid's either naive or lying." After reading this memoir, I suspect it was -- and still is -- a combination of both.
This book reads like a blog, and that's probably because all of the information available here can be found on Dominique Moceanu's Wikipedia page. That's right. Her accusations of abuse at the hands of her father an the Karoyli's, the spat with Kim Zmeskal (don't worry, Dommi, you win, Kim Zmeskal sucks!), the eating issues, the drugs, the sister given up for adoption that Dominique didn't know existed until 4 years ago: it's already up on the Internet, and it takes about ten minutes to read. This book expands on none of it and just rehashes it all at a Sports Illustrated level of literacy.
The only thing that did strike me as somewhat fascinating was the fact that by the end of the book, Dominique is all growed up and claiming to have a life of near perfection. Even the title of the book, "Off Balance" implies that her hardships are in the past and that her present life is balanced. How familiar. How like the 1996 Games when everything was "perfect." How naive.
I suspect that we'll be hearing from Dominique Moceanu again in several years, perhaps in another memoir, and hopefully with juicer details about what she was covering up this time around. My prediction? It'll have something to do with the 20 or so times in this book that she felt the need to highlight in (embarrassingly excessive detail) the "stunning" and "absolute" and "perfect" physical beauty of every female mentor she encounters. *Interesting.*
I will NOT say anything bad about Sarah Waters. She is just more proof that the British have been and always will be better writers than their AmericaI will NOT say anything bad about Sarah Waters. She is just more proof that the British have been and always will be better writers than their American counterparts. This chick gives us the best of intensity and suspense of Daphne du Maurier and all of the naughty sex scenes that Daphne skimped out on. In short, Sarah knows what she's doing.
That said, it took me a year to read this book. It was tense, dark, and was in no way like its sex-fest un-putdown-able predecessor Tipping the Velvet. The ending pissed me off so much that if I'd the book-book (and had not been reading it on my cell phone) I would have tossed it across the room in bitter frustration.
Yeah, whatever. It was still a fine piece of writing, better than anything you or I could dream of penning out, and an interesting story. Sarah Waters is an artist, whether you like her books or not.
While Sarah Waters' debut novel Tipping the Velvet is a perfect marriage of beautiful writing and a thrilling plot, the driving force behind FingersmiWhile Sarah Waters' debut novel Tipping the Velvet is a perfect marriage of beautiful writing and a thrilling plot, the driving force behind Fingersmith is the plot alone. The magic of Waters' language is absent in this novel.
That said, the story is pretty good, although somewhat predictable, far-fetched, and at times laughable. Think of it as a pure mix of The Prince and the Pauper, Rebecca, and Scooby Doo, minus the "I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids." Have patience with the many cliches that somehow slipped in, including "straight as a blade," and "white as milk."
Enjoy the story, because frankly, it's all you've got.
What's not to like about this book? It's decently written, there are clear-cut good guys and bad guys so there's no pesky character analysis to botherWhat's not to like about this book? It's decently written, there are clear-cut good guys and bad guys so there's no pesky character analysis to bother with, and social injustice runs rampant but there's lots of revenge and redemption, Hollywood style, for those who are wronged.
I actually enjoyed it.
However...there's a certain aspect of this book that left an iffy taste in my mouth. There's just something weird about a 40 year-old white woman telling us what it was like to be black in Mississippi during the civil rights movement.
I suspect people that truly loved this book on a literary level are the kind of folks who have no problem buying a knockoff designer bag, the kind of thing that looks real and feels genuine and could fool everyone except those with the keenest eye. If you can parade around an imitation as something authentic, be it Chanel or Prada or literature, then The Help is the book for you.
Two stars have to come off for his conviction that the two Koreas will be united one day soon and for his nonchalance about human rights abuses in that country. Reunification is not guaranteed, especially if the current regime is able to hold on to its power. As for the human rights issues that the author blatantly shrugs off, I think the some 200,000 people currently in North Korea's gulags just may beg to differ with the author.
A book divided into two parts. The first is all terror and suspense as an unknown psychopath, dubbed The Monster, murders and mutilates couples makingA book divided into two parts. The first is all terror and suspense as an unknown psychopath, dubbed The Monster, murders and mutilates couples making love in their cars in the hills outside of Florence. A few innocents will take the fall but eventually be released or have their names cleared posthumously. Part one ends with the case being closed, although the serial killer is still unknown today. Part two is about Douglas Preston and his journalist partner, Mario Spezi, trying to solve the case on their own, resulting in Preston learning a little about Italy the hard way.
Preston lands in Italy -- no doubt a starry-eyed, clean-shaven, soap-sudsy-smelling American who is comfortable in his notions of a civilized world -- intending to write a murder mystery. He lives in expensive apartments in Florence, walks around the city and understands and appreciates its Renaissance history without the help of a guide book, and makes friends with high society. Charming. But it's not all Botticelli and Giotto. He first experiences a little Italian reality when he puts his kids in school and finds teachers smoking on the playground and spanking students. He then notices that no one, not even the English teacher, speaks English. Oh well.
Eventually Preston gets sidetracked by the story of The Monster of Florence and begins investigating the story with Italian crime journalist Mario Spezi who covered it for over 20 years. Preston finds that not only were logic and evidence completely ignored and discarded in the case, but new theories were virtually invented by crackpot lawyers, psychics, and whoever else to fit the personal needs of those working on the case. Witnesses were bribed, stories were twisted, and most shit was made up. Preston is shocked. Why not follow the trail of evidence? Why have people bought into some conspiracy theory about a satanic cult and stories of cadaver-swapping? What on earth is going on?? Why in the world is the legal system here so seemingly corrupt and different from that in the USA?? I bite my lip.
Preston pisses off the wrong people in the name of some idealistic American something that I long ago forgot the name of ... justice, I suppose. He encounters and gets on the wrong side of state prosecutor Giuliano Mignini (the same corrupt weirdo who basically invented the Amanda Knox case without evidence to support his theories) and soon enough Spezi is fingered as the Monster of Florence and Preston is named as his accomplice. Our American hero stands up for journalistic/human rights and helps Spezi out of an unjust imprisonment. Wow. Thank goodness for Douglas Preston.
Sarcasm aside, I do believe that Part 2 is in many ways as horrific as part 1. The first half deals with murder, the second half deals with an unjust legal system robbing people of their lives in much the same way. It's Preston's tone that drove me batty ... I mean, I hate to say this, but you're in Italy, for God's sake, what did you expect? It's not all pizza and friendly people and opera, and whaddaya know, in a different country the legal system also operates differently. The world is not America, you tool.
Apart from my gripes against Preston, there was some interesting information about Mignini and his conspiracy theory cronies. I just wish this book had been written by someone less ... oh, I don't know self-aggrandizing and naive.
I think today we often mistake sad or depressing for "good."
So, this was a well-written, sad, depressing memoir that oWhat can I say? It's a memoir.
I think today we often mistake sad or depressing for "good."
So, this was a well-written, sad, depressing memoir that oftentimes went on rambling for pages like a drunken rant and probably weren't edited down because they were sad and "good." Didn't we already make the same mistake with James Joyce?
Anyway. Good? I can't say.
I liked the story on the whole and even though I was releived to be finished with the book, I found myself wanting to read the sequel.
I wanted a biography of Pat Tillman, not a scathing critique of the Bush administration. While the actions of George W. Bush and his staff regarding tI wanted a biography of Pat Tillman, not a scathing critique of the Bush administration. While the actions of George W. Bush and his staff regarding the events surrounding Tillman's death are totally relevant to the story, here Krakauer abandons his usual objectivity and jumps head-first into an attack on Bush that leaves the author sounding like nothing more than a pissed-off liberal Seattle-ite. (And I can say that because was a pissed off liberal Seattle-ite.) Ugh. Go cry into your cappuccino.
It's infuriating that such a beautiful and well-told biography suddenly veers off course and tosses the reader in the middle of an old political debate.
I don't need Jon Krakauer to tell me Geroge W. Bush was a horrible president. I lived through 8 years of that smug bastard and I don't want any more. I DON'T WANT ANY MORE. The only thing that pisses me off more than George W. Bush are people who keep going on about him. Let's drop it, shall we?
I wish Krakauer had dropped it. He let his anger at Bush destroy his own story, taking an otherwise perfect biography and turning it into a story of old-hat politics.
Sucked. But because half was good, I'll put it on my meh-whatever shelf. ...more
Long, boring book blow fuse in brain, make me stupid like cave-man. I write review anyway.
Organized crime, bad. Exist everywhere. Even on internet. MLong, boring book blow fuse in brain, make me stupid like cave-man. I write review anyway.
Organized crime, bad. Exist everywhere. Even on internet. Must stop organized crime in silly ways suggested by author, a BBC journalist.
Booga booga.
Anyway, back to my normal self.
The most interesting part of this book were the interviews and conversations with wild criminals and gansters in various corners of the world from Odessa to Dubai to Colombia -- almost as fascinating as these billionaire criminals are the dirt-poor state police who try to catch them. Yet, any interesting parts are quickly mowed over and buried in boring, dry statistics that kill any charm the book may have. Damn, and it all looked so promising, too, with Quentin Tarantino-esque characters on the cover of my edition. Oh well.
Let me give you the long and short of it so you can avoid reading this and go do something else with your time: Organized crime spread due to the fall of communism, hence all the rich Russian gangsters today; Organized crime exists in India, Dubai, South America, well, everywhere; the author doesn't like trafficked women; the Yakuza are a bunch of pussies; Nigerian phishing scams are bad; Canada sells lots of weed to America; Colombia is dangerous; China copies things; Cyber crime sucks. And that's it.
Now. Excuse me while I go find myself a job in the criminal underworld where people are actually making money in this economy. I've been a 9-5 sucker for too long now.
Much like The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, I can't give a fair review of this book because the poor bastard is dying. I feel for the guy, I'm sorry Much like The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, I can't give a fair review of this book because the poor bastard is dying. I feel for the guy, I'm sorry for him and his family, his wife, and his poor kids who are never going to know him.
Did his book inspire me? Impart anything more than one cliche' after the other? Was it moving, deep, poignant, intelligent? No to all of the above. Did the book, which was supposed to be about achieving your childhood dreams, live up to what it said it would? No. In fact, it wasn't as much about fulfilling your own goals as much as it was an "I'm so great," story.
The dude has a winning attitude in the face of an unfair hand life has dealt him. That doesn't mean that he can write books, or that his "wisdom" has won me over.
I still feel for the poor dude, though. :( ...more
This book sducked. But I'm keeping it off of my sucked shelf. Why?
You know those few absolutely great actors? The way Helen Mirren can go from an evilThis book sducked. But I'm keeping it off of my sucked shelf. Why?
You know those few absolutely great actors? The way Helen Mirren can go from an evil English teacher in Teaching Mrs. Tingle to the regal and elegant Elizabeth in The Queen? The way that Bette Davis could in one film convince us she was a near retirement theater actress, and in the next be a frightening washed-up child star verging on insanity? The way Johnny Depp has you shocked that the same person who played Tom Hanson on 21 Jump Street is the same man who played Gilbert Grape AND Jack Sparrow?
Curtis Sittenfeld has this same talent. Did the woman who so eloquently captured the life of New England private schools in Prep really write American Wife, too? Sittenfeld's ability to completely adopt the voice of her character is nothing short of genius. Yet, she took on the task too enthusiastically in this one. The fictional tale of a first lady based on Laura Bush is about as exciting as you'd expect her own autobiography to be. The thrill of descriptions of wallpaper. The stimulation of reminiscing about her parents taking her to Michigan to see a bridge. The flashbacks of her daughter's Montessori cirriculum. >shudder< Sittenfeld did a wonderful job on an extremely dull character. 600+ pages of a dull woman talking, talking, talking ZZZZZzzzzzzZZZzzZ.
Long. Boring. Meandering. Full of useless details. The two most interesting characters were those based on Barbara Bush and Karl Rove, and they don't show up enough to make the book worth it.
Back to our above-mentioned actors. Bette Davis won 2 Oscars, but still made the hellish fiasco of a film, The Wicked Stepmother. And what the hell was Helen Mirren even thinking when she did Teaching Mrs. Tingle, a film so far beneath her?? And Johnny Depp is a hot, talented babe, but he still has Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare under his belt.
So, Sittenfeld is a great writer. That doesn't mean she can't write a flop. She's only human. ...more
Like most people, I bought this book because I was intrigued by the true story of murder in a good Victorian family, and the detective mystery that foLike most people, I bought this book because I was intrigued by the true story of murder in a good Victorian family, and the detective mystery that followed.
I didn't pay for 200 pages of what read like some friggin mediocre senior honors thesis. I don't care about how the murder turned up in Wiklie Collins, I don't care what Dickens thought about the crime, I don't care which novels it inspired. This book was just saturated with end-notes, footnotes, and quotes ... not that they were distracting from the story itself. There just wasn't any real story here, and the comparisons to literature and all extras are filler.
The best parts of the book deal with the actual crime and the suspects -- probably a total of 90 un-put-downable pages. The rest? ZZZzzzzZZZZZzzzz....
Any more like this and I'll be creating an "I want my money back" shelf....more
This book is just another something cranked out for mass market publishing to be devoured by the page-turning idiots of the world.
I wouldn't care if This book is just another something cranked out for mass market publishing to be devoured by the page-turning idiots of the world.
I wouldn't care if this were a book by Grisham or Clancey, because I'd know what to expect. This book pisses me off in particular because Ken Follett did it. I mean, come one. The guy knows how to write, Pillars of the Earth and World Without End were fucking amazing. If he just puts some damn effort into it, he writes great stuff. But this was a churned out piece of trash that I finished only because I had nothing else to read.
Flat characters, predictable plot, some suspenseful moments that were lessened by the fact that every page was an insult to my intelligence. Classic good cop vs. bad cop vs. Nazis vs. good guys vs. spies vs. Denmark vs. zzZzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzZZZZzzz ....
Fuck that. I'm gonna like go watch some Gossip Girl on the net, it'll be more mentally stimulating.
nb. this goes on my whatever shelf. the book sucked, but ken follet can't go on my sucked shelf. it would just be wrong. ...more
La Petite Américaine
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