Disclaimer: A complimentary copy of this book was furnished to me by the wonderful people at the Hachette Book Group.
Book 3: Crossroads of Twilight (Book 10 in the Wheel of Time Series) by Robert Jordan
And here we reach an impasse in the Cannonball Read. Because I was so hardcore about my reading last year, I’m now plenty deep into many of my series. So how do you write a review about a series that’s several years old, and that’s already 10 books deep? The final answer is, you avoid it.
Wheel of Time is epic in every sense in the word. At this point, it’s like a game of Risk. It’s nicely broken down into packs of characters, where we watch each individual storyline advance carefully. At this point, Jordan’s sort of been treading water on the last books, so much story to get through that he’s only had time to deal with three or four plot points per book. In some of the middle sets, he’s just had to time to concentrate on moving very little. It’s gotten very formulaic, droning along for 800 pages and then doing everything super quick in the last 25 pages, and always leaving with a huge twist. It’s actually an improvement over the first few books, where Jordan would set up what essentially was a huge battle between Rand and the forces of evil, with Rand killing off one of the bad guys.
At this points, I just want fucking Tarmon Gaidon to happen already goddammit. I’m getting sick of every female character sniffing and grunting about MEN! I’m getting tired of every male character mooning over a woman and bitching about how difficult it is to understand women. For a series that started with probably one of the strongest female characters in fantasy literature in Moraine, Jordan quickly dropped every single female into a terrible Twilight sparkly love ooze. It really is the damn crossroads of twilight, where every damn character is now pining for someone else and spending entire chapters on these self-conscious internal monologues.
Which is a shame, because the straight plot is actually quite good. As I said, Jordan’s done such a great job sort of locking down his major plot threads and then deftly weaving them a few steps at a time. But at this point, it feels like the series has just gotten overlong. It reminds me of most American situation dramas like Lost and Heroes, where they have no idea how long the series is going to run so they just sort of meander for an entire season before dropping the three major plot points they’ve meted out for this season.
Plus, now that I’ve been exposed to George R.R. Martin, and the other descendants of Jordan and Tolkien, it’s difficult to stay attached to the lengthy series. Fortunately, Sanderson has begun the three part wrap up to the series, and it’ll gradually come to a close. But at this point, I just want it over. Please, end, fight the bad guys, die or win, and get this shit over with. For Light’s sake!
Book 2. Hit Parade by Lawrence Block
I love me some hit men. I don’t know what it is about professional assassins that make them so captivating, but there’s nothing like a good hit man story. And Lawrence Block has taken this to almost Seinfeldian levels of hilarity and glory. The humor comes from the mundane and the practical, sharp dialogue exchanges and a desert dry wit, without ever descending into slapstick or over-the-top setups.
In the third installment of the short story collection series starring everyone’s favorite snuff artist, Keller is looking to retire. He’s getting old, and it’s becoming too much trouble to keep killing. His stamp collection still holds his interest, but he wants out of the game. So he teams up with his trusty booking agent Dot, taking practically every job that comes along with reckless disregard for his usual meticulous control, all so he can get that final big score.
Hit Parade is comprised of several short stories that all share a general arc. Think graphic novel series. They all interconnect, some characters in earlier stories paying off in the later pieces, and all framed around the same overall goal of Keller and his big cashout. What fascinated me about this novel is that it dealt primarily with the events of 9/11. Keller lives in New York, and watching the impact of the towers falling adds such a layer of depth and wistful beauty to the stories that I absolutely did not expect. Aside from the concerns for heightened security — Keller can no longer pay cash for flights, getting weapons on the plane is virtually impossible — it has a personal impact on Keller. He ends up volunteering at the food service lines, spooning food to the fireman working at Ground Zero. It’s terrifically honest, and amazingly selfish in it’s portrayal.
The casual back and forth between Dot and Keller is still the bread and butter of this novel. I’m rarely one for asking for novels to be turned into cinema, but this begs for it. It’s beyond the whole Moneypenny/Bond innuendo, as there’s never even the thought of a romantic interaction between Dot and Keller. It’s a business arrangement, but the personal relationship is so strangely intimate without being sexual. Dot cares about Keller, because he makes her money, but because also because he’s her top guy.
There are attempts on Keller’s life, threats, screw-ups, sour deals, and the usual, but it never goes for that ridiculous hyped-up finish: nobody breaks into Dot’s White Plains home to take her hostage to get to Keller. Nobody is hunting Keller for sport. Everything is so casually put together, so matter-of-fact, and yet there are plenty of exquisite twists and plot points. If Garrison Keillor ever decided to write episodes for the Sopranos, this is how they would have turned out.
I’ll probably be reviewing the most recent book, Hit and Run, in the coming months, but you can definitely get copies of the first two books, Hit Man and Hit List. I cannot recommend this series highly enough, as it’s quick, refreshing, and has never disappointed yet.
Book 1. The Strain by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan
Fucking vampires. I’ve about had it up to here with fucking vampires. Because I read them “off season” (see: after I finished my first hundred books), you were spared my thoughts on The Twilight Series. Which basically amount to this: if you cut out all the bullshit twee Romeo and Juliet by way of Wentz and Simpson professions of desperate emo love, you’d have a pretty solid novel. Instead, we’ve got kids wandering around the malls in black eyeliner drinking Clamato juice out of silver goblets they bought at Hot Topic. Worse yet are the adults who are fawning over this tepid repackaged kiddie-porn. I can understand a fucking teen falling for this shit, but really, shame on you. Tell me you read it for the articles.
What the fuck does this have to do with the price of tea in China? Nothing. Only to say this. Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan are intent on taking it back. They haven’t, not by a long shot, but they’re goddamn trying. Because the two men have created what amounts to a really well-done Sci-Fi Channel movie about biohazards that turn people into motherfucking real vampires. These cocksuckers sure as shit don’t sparkle in sunlight: they burst into flames as God intended.
A plane touches down on a runway after losing contact with the tower, and everyone save four random folks — a pilot, a rocker, a lawyer, and a computer programmer — are all dead from some mysterious unexplainable malady. The tension of the novel would have worked so much better if — similar ironically to the first Twilight novel — they hadn’t given away that it was a vampire novel. It’s set up like a 28 Days Later, where nobody has any damn idea what’s happened, if the virus is contagious, if it even is a virus, only they pepper it with a combination of old school Dracula type shit (a sinister black coffin) and some really shameful Lifetime melodrama.
The Strain takes it’s time to get into the action, kind of stumbling through the narrative set-up to get to the meaty vampire action. There are a shitton of characters to introduce: from the bioscientist hero to the rat-killing exterminator to the creepy old Eastern European man who portends ill omens when the creatures are unleashed. The characters do feel a little prepackaged, but Del Toro and Hogan give them just enough backstory and depth to raise them above mere cannon fodder or cardboard cutouts. Do I care about these folks? Eh, a little bit. But not really. It’s kind of like Heroes towards the second season. Just as you’re starting to really give a damn, someone else is introduced, and so it’s quite a bit to keep track of. But you quickly figure out who’s gonna stick it out, and who’s not long for this world.
Who you do care about are the vampires. Setting up the mythology of your supernatural is critical to any sort of zombie/vampire novel — even if the story is “we have no idea”. The vampires of the Strain are more like biological oddities, and since we’re dealing with medical professionals, there are plenty of autopsies and scientific data to make it really squishy. Rather than fangs and lack of tan, the vampires essentially develop a cancer that eats the host, turning them into a feeding machine. They develop stinger lashing tongues that shoot out and suck the life out of their victims, infecting them with the virus. They’re susceptible to ultra-violet rays and silver.
Since this is coming to us from one of the forgers of the Blade Trilogy, Del Toro knows what he’s doing. And it’s pretty disgusting and visceral and awesome. It’s a little cheesy and the dialogue gets painful — particularly their insistence on including a subplot involving a painful divorce proceeding and the custody battle. I don’t want people cramming a goddamn Ally McBeal episode into my killfest, you dig? At times, the novel feels a bit like the Jurassic Park sequels, when you want a little more Jurassic Park. There’s nothing going on in the novels that couldn’t have just been as easily set up in script form first. Del Toro’s a talented director, if a bit too overly sentimental for his own good. And since there are two authors, I’m not sure who’s really to blame for which lacks.
I’ll definitely stick with the series, as it’s popcorn fun. And it’s refreshing to remember that you don’t have to be some sort of douchey desperate teenage to be hurt by a vampire you love. It hurts even worse when your family member wants to eat you.
Another Warrior On The Mesa
I’m in.
I wasn’t going to do the Cannonball Read again this year. After we lost Amanda, my heart wasn’t in it. Nicole took to torch from my sweaty hands and is running strong and keeping the spirit alive. She’s taken the total from 100 books to 52 (one a week). But she’s upped the review rules.
I’m less interested in defending my title as I am about the new reward. Dustin at www.pajiba.com has promised to donate to Lil A’s (Amanda’s Son) College Fund. I can’t pass that up.
So I’m back on the wagon. I’m pretty sure I can do the 52. It’s going to start up November 1st. Once again, please, please, please join this year. ANYONE who crosses the finish line earns this sweet young boy some cashola. He will more than likely get a degree in asskickology or advanced necrolimination.
Plus, Amanda’d totally fuck me up if I pussed out. Please join up on the Facebook Group or through Pajiba.
Wink, Tell Them What They’ve Won!
To all my Cannonball Participants, I am insanely proud of what we’ve all accomplished. And I’ve decided to handsomely reward participants.
For the sake of my own sanity, the special prize will only be given to someone who has completed 25 books by September 1st. My reasoning is thus: I have to get everyone’s addresses so the special prize can be rewarded, so I need at least some sort of timeline to find out how many to mail, and also, I figure, to have read two books a months show that you were at least in the game. Fair enough? Doesn’t have to be, it’s my game.
If you read 25 books by Sept. 1st, but didn’t get a review up, I trust you. It’s like we’re giving away cars or some shit. Just write to me, or better yet placeholder it on your blog, saying “I read these 25 books!” And then message me on here or at priscogospel at hotmail dot come and I’ll get you your prize. I’m cross posting this on the blog as well so everyone can participate.
It looks like we’re going to have three more in the Champeen club. To those of you that make it to 100, I’ll come up with some sort of gorgeous reward, I assure you. But not much, I ain’t exactly rolling in the dough. Oh, and what is your special prize? Your very own, rare collectable, The Pajibrary Card. Nobody but you and the other Cannonball Readers will ever get one. So now, when you admit that you enjoyed Delta Farce, or you have a secret crush on Robert Pattinson, you have something to set aflame!
I don’t know if I will be continuing the Cannonball Read in the next year. If someone would like to take over the hosting duties and tallies, please contact me. Thanks for playing! Prisco
