Five Stars

Best for: Everyone. All of us should read it.

In a nutshell: In the future, firemen don’t put out fires – they set them. Specifically, they set books on fire.

Worth quoting:
“You weren’t hurting anyone, you were hurting only things! And since things really couldn’t be hurt, sine things felt nothing, and things don’t scream or whimper … there was nothing to tease your conscience later.”
“We must all be alike. Not everyone born free and equal, as the Constitution says, but everyone made equal.”

Why I chose it:
I figured I’d take the opportunity to finally read this book. I can’t believe I haven’t read it.

Review:
Oh holy shit. This was written in 1953. SIXTY FIVE YEARS AGO. And yet it is super relevant today. Damn, that’s depressing.

This is an extremely quick read. I started it yesterday and ended it yesterday. It takes place over just about a week (or less) in time at some point, in some place, in the US. People don’t read anymore because they aren’t allowed to. Books are banned, and firemen (I’d normally say firefighter because gender neutral, but that literally doesn’t work here) respond to people tattling on their neighbors who are suspected to have books. Because books aren’t necessary — the stories and ideas in them conflict with each other, and that can lead to harm, so it’s better to just watch stories with no plot that take up the entire living room, work a few hours pushing buttons or making widgets, and fall asleep with earbuds in playing pleasing music.

As someone who loves books, this was hard to read. But beyond that, the idea of government telling us that we aren’t allowed to read anything, a government that seems only interested in pleasure, but superficial pleasure. And look, I loves me some superficial pleasure. But for me, that’s not the only purpose in life. And in this version of the US, that’s the only goal. That’s all people look for.

I think what hit me the hardest was the discussion about how people slowly stopped registering for liberal arts courses (drama was the main example) until such colleges simply shut down, and people were only taught to push buttons and manufacture things. I see in that a bit of the push to move EVERYONE to STEM education. I 100% want people who haven’t felt supported in pursuing a STEM education and career to have access to it, and I don’t think we’re there yet. At the same, I see people slamming liberal arts degrees — things like philosophy, sociology, women’s studies, literature — as useless. You should get a degree in engineering, not history! And I think that is such a dangerous way of looking at things. There’s value in it all, and there’s definitely value in the ability to think critically. One can obviously learn to think critically without being a philosophy major (or going to college at all), but books and other ways to access discussion and knowledge are necessary.

The ending feels a little abrupt, but that’s okay. I’d recommend this to everyone, if only as a reminder of where things could go, and the dangers that accompany that.

Five Stars

Best for: Anyone who listens to long-form storytelling podcasts; anyone who appreciates good storytelling; anyone who can stomach a book with some really disturbing parts.

In a nutshell: Nineteen-year-old Sadie has gone missing, and its possible that it has something to do with the recent death of her 13-year-old sister. Her surrogate grandmother contacts an NPR-type radio station to see if one of their journalists can help find Sadie. (Ignore the tag-line on the cover though — it doesn’t do the plot justice.)

Worth quoting:
“I always forget fear is a conquerable thing but I learn it over and over again and that, I guess, is better than never learning it.”

Why I chose it:
I was at the independent bookshop in the town I grew up in and asked if they had Rebecca Traister’s new book Good and Mad. They didn’t, but the bookseller did say that if I’m interested in female rage, she had a suggestion for me. She wasn’t wrong.

Review:
This book is fantastic, but right up front I need to say that it deals with a REAL dark topic. Sadie is looking for Keith, who was her mother’s boyfriend for a while when she was 11 or 12. Very quickly we learn that Keith has done something to earn Sadie’s wrath, and frankly, it’s really not good. And this is a YA book. Jesus.

The story unfolds in a couple of ways: through a season one Serial-style podcast exploring Sadie’s disappearance, and through point of view chapters Sadie. They alternate, with the slowly catching up to Sadie’s story. So we’ll often get the podcast exploring things that we already know a little of, which makes it that much more compelling. Like, I know what’s already happened. You’ve got to work harder at figuring it out, West McCray (the podcast creator)!

The podcast sections are brilliant. The first episode starts with the fact that there is a theme song for it. That alone was just an excellent touch. And by the fourth episode, the first line is always “The Girls is brought to you by Macmillan Publishers.” Like, of course it eventually has a sponsor. It has to make money somehow. But seeing it written out (as opposed to, say, skipping through that week’s Hello Fresh or Casper Mattress ad read) illuminates how absurd it is. The story of the murder of one sister and the disappearance of another has a sponsor. Yikes.

Plus they way the podcast episodes are written – I could hear them. Of course, I first thought the host was a woman, so I was literally hearing Sarah Koenig as I read it, and had to adjust later on. (What? West is a gender-neutral name.) Then there are the descriptions of different conversations, like the host on the phone with his producer, or interviewing someone in person, or doing their voice-over in studio. I listen to many podcasts (The Dream is my current favorite).

By interspersing the podcast episodes with perspective chapters from Sadie, seeing what she’s going through, her trauma, her pain, her determination, it’s a reminder that these podcasts are about real people. Sometimes they’re historical, with the individuals long-dead. But so many of them are about real people, with family and lives. I keep referencing Serial, but I think this is a bit different from that, because, for all they may have tried, that was more about the accused murderer than the victim, and I don’t think Hae Min Lee’s family was happy about it, whereas in this book, Sadie’s family is explicitly asking for help.

Sadie is an interesting character. She’s from a dying town, and spends her whole life until the story picks up living in a trailer. She cares for her sister after their mother — who has a substance use disorder — leaves them. She doesn’t see much a future for herself, and is fueled mostly by her sister’s murder. It’s heartbreaking, the moments when you see that Sadie could have had a different life. Not dramatically different, but there are so many what-ifs: What if her mother had stayed? What if her mother hadn’t favored her younger sister? What if her sister hadn’t been murdered?

There are a lot of cliffhangers – nearly every Sadie chapter ends with an “oh shit,” then the next chapter is a podcast episode. It makes it so hard to stop reading; I was up until about 11 reading it last night, and just finished it this evening. The end had be processing a whole shitload of emotions.

I don’t read much YA unless it’s so popular that it’s about to / has already become a movie (So, basically The Hunger Games, The Hate U Give, The Fault in Our Stars). I’m just not in the know, and so usually I need someone to make a recommendation. This book is also a YA murder mystery, so yeah, not really one that would normally be on my list.

But damn, I’m thankful to the bookseller who recommended it. Female rage indeed.

Four Stars

Best for: People who like personal essays and also Ms. Robinson’s style of humor (e.g., loads of hashtags)

In a nutshell: In the follow-up to her first collection of essays, Ms. Robinson shares more of the serious aspects of her personal life (including her financial challenges, her experience with interracial relationships, and the failures of feminism) while also telling hilarious stories about meeting Oprah and Bono (not at the same time, but could you even imagine?).

Worth quoting:
“I am also a ludicrous trash fire like the kind you see on Naked and Afraid when people sign up to be in the wilderness when they’re barely capable of troubleshooting Mozilla Firefox, let alone making an actual fire from scratch.”

Why I chose it:
I enjoyed Ms. Robinson’s first book, and this one looked pretty great.

Review:
I have to admit that I don’t listen to 2 Dope Queens anymore. It sort of fell out of rotation for me, mostly because some of the stand-up acts were just not my thing, and it’s hard to figure out how to fast-forward the right amount on a podcast. But that doesn’t mean I stopped enjoying Jessica Williams or Phoebe Robinson. So when I saw Ms. Robinson had a follow-up book out, I knew I wanted to read it.

I laughed a lot while reading this book. Not on every page, but definitely each essay — including the more serious ones — offered something to crack up about. I think her style may not be for everyone, as she tends to employ a lot of ridiculous abbreviations and beyond long hashtags, but for me, it works.

While the book focuses on some things that are indeed trash, I also really enjoyed the sections where Ms. Robinson focuses on what’s gone well in her life. It doesn’t feel like bragging; it’s just more fun to read about the good things. I’m genuinely happy for her.

That said, the serious chapters are well done. The essay on feminism is a great look at the ways women of color often don’t feel supported by white women, and her vulnerability when discussing her financial troubles is relatable to the point that I think it could genuinely help some similarly situated folks.

If you like Ms. Robinson, I think you’ll enjoy this book.

Two Stars

Best for: People interested in some fun home and beauty tips (but only if you skip the section related to health and food, because it is awful). If you’re really interested in a fun minimalism book, just get the Marie Kondo one.

In a nutshell: French author has ideas on how to live a minimalistic life, mostly borrowed from her view of Japanese culture.

Worth quoting:
“Life is far more enjoyable when we cultivate the habit of losing ourselves in our own thoughts: this is a precious gift that brings great happiness.”

Why I chose it:
I love shit like this (usually). I like organizational tips.

Review:
This book is equal parts useful and dangerous. On the one hand, Loreau offers some great points about being present in the moment, about minimizing our possessions, and about the need to focus on one thing at a time. Given the fact that I’m currently writing this review while listening to a podcast and eating breakfast, I can obviously use some help on the latter at least. If that were the entirety of the book, then this would probably be a three-star book for me.

But it’s not. Loreau also jumps into the discussion of physical and mental health, and hoo boy, does she get it super wrong. I mean yes, of course, less sugar is probably a good thing (for most, but not all, people), but her obsession with getting the reader to want to be slim (skinny) is just bizarre. There’s a whole section of affirmations focused on this idea, as though one cannot be fat and happy or “overweight” and healthy. It’s insulting. And if someone had a history of body image issues or disordered eating, it could be triggering.

And then there’s her flippant ideas about mental health and human relationships. She literally says that we should “swap our therapy sessions for a case of champagne.” The fuck? She also thinks we should never be critical of others or complain. Her solution is we should write a lot (good!) but never share our writing. Yes, I’ve seen and understand the thinking of, if you’re upset with someone, writing them a letter to get it all out and then burning the letter. But this feels different. I think that if Loreau were in charge of the world, there would be no negative or critical analysis of anything.

So, this book failed as a Brain Candy read because it wasn’t just fun and fluffy. But I chose it for that, so I’m stuck with it.

Two Stars

Best for: People who like fantasy. So, apparently, not me.

In a nutshell: It’s billed as the back story of the wicked witch of the west. Instead it’s a convoluted mess of a book that I could not follow.

Worth quoting:
“Galinda didn’t often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not; the whole point of conversation was flow.”
“I don’t dress for your approval, boys.”

Why I chose it: I initially tried to read the Audrey Hepburn book Alabama Pink reviewed, but after about 80 pages it still felt like homework. I thought this would be a fun read.

(Narrator: It was not.)

Review:
I think this solidifies my thought that Alabama Pink and I would not have belonged to the same book club. I absolutely hated the Cannon Book Club pick by Craig Ferguson (seriously, it’s so bad), and of the remaining dozen books to review for this square, none really caught my eye. I tried the Audrey Hepburn biography and it was as dry as a desert and just as monotonous. I realized that Wicked was an option, and given how popular the musical is, I assumed this would be a fun, interesting read.

Sadly, I assumed incorrectly.

I think part of this is because I just don’t enjoy fantasy that much. I don’t like having to learn a new vocabulary, or new worlds. Having to memorize the geopolitical landscape of a fictional world just isn’t generally my favorite thing to do. So clearly this isn’t the book for me.

I also think that it isn’t particularly strongly written. I mean, I’m sure my opinion is wrong, and someone out there could explain to me how it is factually a masterful book, but clearly I missed something. In fact, when I finished, I went back to read the Wikipedia entry about the book, and holy shit. Plotlines were discussed that I didn’t even recognize.

Books shouldn’t feel like chores. At least, I don’t think they should. And I don’t mean they shouldn’t be challenging, or tough, or interesting. I’ve read many books that are slow reads, that I need to concentrate on deeply, and that have many layers to explore. But those books don’t feel like things I’m trying to get through so I can get to something better. Sadly, this one did.

Three Stars

Best for: I’m not sure. I guess, anyone from the US who wants a little bit more of the story?

In a nutshell: A bunch of people who have worked in (and possibly still do work in) the White House tell their tales of a completely inept President and some horrifying policies.

Worth quoting:
“In the car, Trump described his advisers, ‘They don’t know anything about business.’”
“Trump gave some private advice to a friend who had acknowledged some bad behavior toward women. Real power is fear. It’s all about strength. Never show weakness. You’ve always got to be strong. Don’t be bullied. There is no choice.”

Why I chose it: This seemed like a sad, appropriate choice for the BINGO category, and also something I should probably read.

Review:
Meh. I don’t think this book was that interesting. I mean, from a historical perspective, it’s an important book. And the fact that the journalist was able to gather such detailed insight into this presidency and administration is amazing and necessary.

But it’s not a good read.

It’s basically like reading a diary. There’s no real through line at all. I guess maybe that’s what happens when you write the story while it’s still unfurling itself? The main point is that Trump is just woefully inadequate and obviously completely unqualified to do much of anything, let alone run the government of a nation of 350 million people. Also, he’s a racist. And very, very lazy. And a great example of why you don’t want a business leader running the government.

There! You don’t have to read this.

A couple of complaints I have, and why I chose the title to this post that I did. Obviously Bannon was a source, as was Porter. You know, the white supremacist and the wife beater. And I get that they had insider information that Woodward wanted to tell the story; there were just moment throughout the book where I almost forgot what horrible people they are. And while some people might think that’s a good thing, to get the full story, I think that’s a bad thing. Because I think we need to recognize that everything Bannon does is colored by his white nationalist views. His motivation is clear, but other than his introduction and a couple of sections on ‘globalization,’ it could be easy to forget what a horrible person he is. And I’m not okay with that.

Additionally, the last chapter focuses primarily on Mueller, and seems to be arguing that Mueller has nothing (at least, that’s how I read it). It obviously comes directly from Trump’s attorney Dowd, who is trying to portray himself positively. Whatever, it’s not surprising that someone might have some selfish reasons for communicating with Mr. Woodward. But what frustrated me was his repeated claim that Trump “doesn’t have time” to participate in the Mueller investigation. A claim that isn’t refuted, but is clearly wrong. Trump DOESN’T DO ANYTHING. I mean, he does a ton of horrible things *cough* Kavanaugh *cough*. But it doesn’t take him any time at all. He doesn’t even start his day until 11 AM. He’s golfed something like 200 days that he’s been in office. He has plenty of time.

As I said, the book is likely very important, but you’ve probably gotten as much out of it as I have if you listened to the evening MSNBC shows the week it came out.

Four Stars

Best for: Young adults.

In a nutshell: Lara Jean writes letters to boys as a way to get over them. Somehow, they get sent. Yikes

Worth quoting: “It’s funny how much of childhood is abut proximity. Like, who your best friend is is directly correlated to how close your houses are; who you sit next to in music is all about how close your names are in the alphabet. Such a game of chance.”

Why I chose it: The Netflix version of the book has been getting great reviews, so I figured I’d check out the book. After accidentally ordering the German-language one, I finally got my hands on it in English this week.

Review:
*Minor spoilers*

A few months ago, my mother and I were talking on the phone and she shared that while she was cleaning up in my old room, she ran across a letter I’d hidden in a book. It was apparently something I’d written in middle school, and was to a boy who I don’t know anymore, but who I definitely remember having a crush on. She said she didn’t read it, but who knows. Regardless, when she told me about it, laughing, I told her to shred it. I was MORTIFIED.

Guys, I’m 38. That letter was written at least 24 years ago. Even typing it out now, I’ve got slight butterflies in my stomach, because it would have been humiliating had it ever gotten to its intended recipient.

Which is all to say – holy shit, does Lara Jean handle herself amazingly well when the letters she’s written get out. Luckily, none of the guys she sends them to are total assholes, which I guess helps. But still, I think the biggest take-away from this for me is that she doesn’t just immediately disappear into herself; she takes back what control she can to try to fix the situation. I think that sends a good message to readers.

As far as the film is concerned, I think the changes they made make sense, but it’s odd to see Josh with so little screen time and Peter with so much. Also, I did not picture John Corbett as the dad, but he does a great job. The ending is a bit more Hollywood than the book, but again, I get it. They had 100 minutes; they made it work. If you had to pick one or the other, I’d say it’s about even for me, but I think the book every so slightly wins out.

Four Stars

Best for: People who enjoy an interesting mystery set in a different country (unless you’re from Iceland, in which case, people who enjoy an interesting mystery).

In a nutshell: Ari Thór is about to finish police school and has been offered a posting in a very small, very northern town in Iceland, starting right before winter arrives. Someone has died, and he suspects murder. But the rest of the town isn’t so sure.

Worth quoting:
“She was a prisoner of her own prosperity, here in this spacious detached house in a quiet neighbourhood, where people paid to cut themselves off from the world’s problems.”

Why I chose it: I visited Iceland this summer (it was amazing and I can’t wait to go back), and of course had to buy a book while I was there.

Review:
I read this book in a day and then immediately went online and ordered the other four books in the series. So, there’s that.

I enjoy a good mystery — I’ve just never really known where to go to find one. A couple of years ago I got into Stephen King, but I’m not big on supernatural components, and wasn’t sure when it was going to pop up in his writing, so I’ve mostly stopped. I used to read John Grisham books (more thriller than mystery, I guess) when I was younger, but haven’t picked one of his up in years (is he still writing?).

For me, this is a good mystery. There are a lot of characters, but not so many that I can’t keep up with them. There are some red herrings, but they aren’t ridiculous. However, I’m not sure if there is enough there that one could actually figure out exactly what really happened, so while the reveal is satisfying for sure, there is a very little bit that one might suggest comes out of left field. Regardless, it was an enjoyable read for me.

As I’ve made clear (https://cannonballread.com/2018/08/im-annoyed-you-all-made-me-read-this/), I don’t read nearly as much fiction as non-fiction (I just checked, and I’ve read 100 fiction books since starting with Cannonball Read 5, and 297 non-fiction books), and generally I don’t pick books with male protagonists. I also am leery of male writers, as the women they write (if they include them at all) are often superfluous to the story, or outright offensively stereotypical.

Mr. Jónasson’s writing didn’t fall into that category for me, thankfully. While his main character is a young man, there are women who feature prominently in the book. They don’t all exist just to satisfy or move forward the men in the book. Because of Jónasson’s writing choices, many of the women get at least one point-of-view chapter, and I think he does a good job of creating an interesting community of characters that I wanted to learn about.

Four Stars

Best for: People who enjoy good writing about medical issues. NOT for those who get squeamish reading about surgical procedures.

In a nutshell: Surgeon Atul Gawande (you probably know him from Being Mortal; I think my favorite of his is the Checklist Manifesto) shares stories about his time as a surgeon, exploring the reality that surgeons are humans and make mistakes.

Worth quoting:
“In the medicine, we have long faced a conflict between the imperative to give patients the best possible care and the need to provide novices with experience.”

Why I chose it: I can’t believe I haven’t read this yet – I thought I’d read all of his books. So when I sorted my Goodreads list for this CBR10 I was shocked to see it on there. I worried I’d start reading it and realize I’d read it before, but nope. It was new to me!

Review:
First off – CANNONBALL! My sixth since I started with CBR 5. Ah, how the time flies.

I enjoyed this book. I think it could have been better organized, but any time I get to read Dr. Gawande’s writing, I know I’m going to learn something and I’m going to enjoy reading it. He’s so talented, it seems unfair – a surgeon who can also write, and write well?

This book explores, through three distinct parts, the challenges of medicine that arise because humans are humans who need to learn and who make mistakes. The first section looks at learning and mistakes, the second at trying (and sometimes failing) to solve medical mysteries, and the third focuses on indecision.

The book starts off intensely, with Gawande sharing how he learned to put in a central line. It’s quite graphic, and does a great job of getting across the point that we all know somewhere in our mind (or every Thursday night when we watch Grey’s Anatomy): that doctors have to learn somehow. And usually that means performing on patients who are sick and injured. As patients, we want the best to treat us and our families, but the best only get there by practicing, which means that at some point we’re going to get the worst.

The second section, on medical mysterious, explores the frustration of healthcare professionals and patients when there is something wrong but we don’t know the cause and don’t know how to fix it. Like, for example, the woman who had nearly uncontrollable nausea for her ENTIRE PREGNANCY. Basically, what the Duchess of Cambridge had, but apparently it never stopped. I just … ack.

The final section is a reminder of the fact that sometimes, doctors just don’t know exactly what to do. The last chapter illustrates this amazingly well, with a woman who either has cellulitis or flesh-eating bacteria, and the doctors — and the patient — need to make a decision on the path forward. It looks at how much should doctors be directing care and how much should patients be? How do you find a compromise that respects the choice of the patient but also the knowledge and experience of the doctor?

Like I said, it’s an interesting book. It’s not a five-star read for me mostly because the chapters aren’t as well-connected as they could be. But it’s a strong four, because it’s Gawande.

Two Stars

Best for: Others seem to like this, and I don’t want to insult them or their taste, so I’ll just say — I’m not sure who it’s best for, but it sure as shit isn’t me.

In a nutshell: The lives of loathsome men and superfluous women intertwine in a weak, ridiculous, and boring novel.

Worth quoting:
Nothing. Nothing is worth quoting, unless it’s in an effort to point out how sexist and / or racist Mr. Ferguson’s writing comes across to me.

Why I chose it:
You all. You did this to me. I was not going to participate in the November book club, but I’m attempting to do a blackout BINGO, so I had to read it. I’m not pleased. I’ve not disliked fiction this much since those free Cinderella revisited books we got to review a few years ago.

Review:
No wonder I had trouble finding this book in Mr. Ferguson’s home country. They’re really doing him a favor by pretending this book doesn’t exist. I ended up buying it via Audible, and listened to it on long runs so I could experience it in chunks. I took some notes on my phone as I ran, hoping that perhaps I’d be able to write that it started slow but ultimately won me over.

Nopety nope nope.

The plot itself is, I suppose, interesting. Maybe? I don’t know. I rarely read fiction, and I think the last fiction I chose with a male main character was The Martian three years ago, which I enjoyed. Generally speaking, though, I got enough exploration of the male experience in high school English. And this book certainly didn’t make me any more interested in seeking out male protagonists or anti-heroes.

There are few women in this book, and they all exist to serve the men. Even the most fully-formed woman, Claudette, is basically just there to help George figure some shit out. It’s frustrating and sexist. Mr. Ferguson is not good at writing women, and that is pissing me off again as I write this review, so I’ll just leave it there.

I also struggle with authors who make their characters so repugnant that they use slurs and are all universally bigots. Can it really be considered a thoughtful character choice when all of your characters are shitty bigots? I started to wonder if Mr. Ferguson just wanted an excuse to use racial slurs / crappy accents / racist descriptions of people. That seems unfair to Mr. Ferguson, but also, perhaps it’s something he should think about?

Finally, the thing that I think bothered me the most is that the simple act of “being fat” is apparently the most awful, disgusting, and evil thing Mr. Ferguson can think of. Saul is fat, other people are fat, and Saul is described as disgusting. This ventures over to ableist near the end, when Saul seeks healing (he’s now also in a wheelchair), and is told he can’t be healed because “that’s who he is.” Now, perhaps Mr. Ferguson meant something else, but I heard it as suggesting that if you’re fat and in a wheelchair, you’re a bad person. And I’m super not okay with that. I’m not okay with any of this lazy writing, but this got me so pissed I almost gave up on the book, but I only had a little bit left.

I’m flummoxed that this is the book that the CBR folks thought we all should read and discuss this fall. There are a bunch of different little side stories that theoretically could be considered interesting, but overall I was super bored, and when I wasn’t bored, I was pissed. Clearly I’m not the target audience, but I am having such a hard time figuring out what is appealing about it.