I have to dissent from the majority opinion. I found both major and minor characters completely lacking in interest, and Rushdie never really lets you view inside their heads or peer into their souls. Amb. Ophals is a multinational Renaissance Man (he's rich! he's handsome! he's charming! He holds degrees in economics and law! and multiple passports! oh, and he paints like Matisse!) who happens to be a scoundrel where women are concerned, but his character is one-dimensional throughout, and the alleged charm & intellect never quite come through. His affinity for India and the Kashmir issue materializes out of nowhere, simply becoming another addition to his stellar resume. One day he is running the affairs of Europe, the next day he is advising Indira Gandhi on how to run HER country. His daughter, also named India, is likewise lacking in depth and sympathy: her first thought upon seeing her father's bleeding body is to worry about the mess the housekeeper will have to clean. Where critics see a wonderful multicultural allegories, I just see contrived and random events all of which serve to underscore that Ophals can't keep it in his pants. If you're looking for a great read and a love poem to India, I'd highly recommend, instead, Shantaram, which is also available on Audible.
This book is nothing but a string of worn-out cliches, none of which make for an interesting story. There is even a Forrest Gump moment, complete with a Southern-speaking Bubba (for shrimp, substitute oil) - it's so blatant , I don't know how the author is not ashamed of himself. Not a single character is interesting -- it's all pretty much plug-and-play machismo. Our main character rescues the damsel in distress (from a German concentration camp, but somehow she still looks like a million bucks) and whisks her off to Paris, while making time to have drinks with Ernest Hemingway. That is about as sophisticated as things get. I had to stop listening or else succumb to an irresistible urge to hang myself.
This book was an absolute joy--strong and very likeable characters (even the minor ones shine), a complex but interesting construction that gave it more depth than your average "linear" plot, punctuated with writing of sheer poetry. There are no stereotypes in the book, and it is never preachy: Germans and French are depicted as individual human beings, sometimes brave, sometimes treacherous, but each of them unique. Something crucial to my enjoyment of a book is not being able to predict how it will end -- and All the Night passed that "test" with flying colors. Zach Appelman's gentle narration was perfect.
THANK YOU JEREMY SCAHILL for bringing us Dirty Wars -- this is a book that had to be written, and in my view it should be read by everyone who is concerned about where our country is headed in its relations with the rest of the world. Succeeds brilliantly in describing how, and why, our most secretive, clandestine defense and national security assets (JSCO, drones) have evolved into the weapons of choice of our political and military leaders, and the shattering implications of this trend. Throughout Dirty Wars we follow the saga of US citizen Anwar Awlaki, targeted for "elimination" by the Oval Office without a shred of due process. Scahill very skillfully puts his story into its global context, but at the same time brings us back again and again to the heart-breakening, human story behind the so-called "signature strike" -- assassination by any other name -- that ultimately killed Awlaki, Samir Khan (another young American), and, soon thereafter, Awlaki's teenaged son and other family members.
Dirty Wars is not a hatchet job against Obama or Bush or any political group in particular. It's about how we as a nation have ceded basic constitutional rights and responsibilities in the name of fighting terrorism, even as, unwittingly, more terrorists and America-haters are created in consequence of our actions.
Scahill's book appears amid a flood of recent stories about NSA etc. harvesting all of our email and phone calls. But one question I haven't heard the media ask is: what the heck are they doing with all that information, what is its practical purpose? But having read Dirty Wars, the answer is pretty clear: they're using it to detect patterns of behavior and build out profiles and "signatures" for the list of kill targets that goes to the president's desk. All of this is going on extra-judicially, beyond any attempt at oversight, much less within legal structures. It is frightening.
There are a lot of legal thrillers out there. Many of them are good, gripping reads. Case of Redemption is not one of them. There is not a single intriguing character; the main character, Dan Sorenson, is so devoid of personality that the author is reduced to ascribing a personal tragedy to him in order to try to wring sympathy for him on the part of the reader. His professional partner, Nina, is equally blank and uninteresting; we find out more about the cut of her suits than what goes on inside her head. The lesser characters constitute a parade of annoying stereotypes that each seem to scream out, "I'm sorry for being so unoriginal, but the person who created me has no imagination."
The dialogue is banal in the extreme. Adam Mitzner seems quite taken with his creation in the form of Judge Perlmeyer (who's narrated with a Southern accent--why? this is New York), and gives her way too much real estate in the book to harangue Dan over his behavior in court. This, too, is an artificial way to generate sympathy for the thoroughly unremarkable main character, and does nothing to advance the plot.
The portrayal of the relationship between Dan and Nina is shockingly inept and cheesy. And as for the story itself -- there is not a single element of suspense or surprise, and the whole thing smacks of implausibility. Just two examples: this is a high-profile case involving a celebrity, there is no murder weapon, and the judge gives the defense only two weeks to prepare for trial? During their meetings with the defendant, L.D., in jail, our two legal eagles, Dan & Nina, never get round to asking him about his alibi on the night of the murder. I'm no lawyer, but isn't that pretty fundamental to a murder case? Yeah, I know, this is fiction, but to my mind, a story loses luster if it becomes too unmoored from reality and it's impossible to relate to anyone or anything in the book.
I didn't enjoy T & H nearly as much as I did the Potato Factory. Too much gratuitous violence for my taste (were the whale ship lashings really necessary?) and a number of characters from volume 1 of the series either drop out of sight for no reason or else get recycled. Found myself irritated and somewhat offended that with few exceptions, the women in this series are all prostitutes, either current or former. Maybe that was the reality of this time and place, I don't know. Even so, there was no need to pepper the dialogue with comments like "she is only a whore," "all women are whores" etc. Ugh.
A tremendous story with unique and interesting characters, especially in Ikie Solomon. Humphrey Bower does an exceptional job of narration. I can't imagine who would not like this audiobook.
The Light Between Oceans is the story of how two good people can make a wrong decision, and the consequences of their error in judgment. The narrative is simple, uncomplicated, and gently flowing (somewhat in the tradition of Pearl Buck's The Good Earth), but underneath the surface it explores in forceful terms some basic flaws of the human condition: how easily we seek to rationalize what we know to be wrong; the temptations of selfishness; our overwhelming dependence on others for happiness; the fickleness of destiny. Tom, the light-keeper who survived WW1, confronts the core moral dilemma much differently from his wife Isabelle, a survivor of a string of still births and miscarriages, and the contrast between their mentalities is, in my view, extremely compelling. Due to an ipod fumble, I unwittingly skipped over 10 or 12 chapters in Part 2 and ended up listening to the last chapter of the book. If that had happened with most other audiobooks, I likely would have said, nah, I won't bother to listen to what I missed since now I know how it ends. In this case, however, I went back to listen to the skipped chapters, and enjoyed them none the less for knowing how it would all end -- which I think is a testament to M.L. Stedman's beautiful writing and a great story. A book, after all, shouldn't be just about getting to the denouement on the last page, but about enjoying an entire experience, page by page (or digital bit by bit). And Light Between Oceans more than measures up to that basic standard. The only reason I didn't give the audiobook 5 stars is that narrator Noah Taylor has a habit of whispering/mumbling the ends of his sentences, which hinders comprehension.
I'm a huge Steven King fan, but this just did not do "It" for me. What you have is a mature story with well-developed, likable characters that--much to the story's detriment--has been contorted into a thoroughly pointless and (to me) unentertaining and waaaay-too-long saga of an evil presence that lives in the drains of the small town of Derry, Maine. Steven King, at his best, can do "creepy" like no one else (The Stand still sends shivers down my back) but with It, he totally fails to fascinate with this manifestation of evil in the form of a shape-changing clown. There's a veritable orgy of the ghoulish and grotesque over 20+ hours of audiobook but none if it's in the least bit scary or original. Including 20 different instances of children having their limbs pulled off does not make a horror story any more horrific, it simply makes it dreary. The book would have been so much better if King had left out all the supernatural elements and told a simpler story of Derry and its inhabitants, past and present.
A challenge for anyone writing a story based on historical facts and events is that the reader essentially knows how it will end; the key to success, in my humble opinion, is to illuminate some unknown, intriguing, or original aspect of that history that will add to our appreciation. Winds of War begins by raising two interesting (although hardly original) questions: how could a civilized country like Germany descend into such madness? and, how did Hitler get away with it for so long? (in Wouk's telling, the Allies didn't get their act together until the Nazi invasion of Norway). Unfortunately,once raised, the story doesn't explore these questions in any depth, which is a shame. Winds of War unfolds as a kind of Greatest Hits of WWII narrative (the Holocaust! the Blitzkrieg! Pearl Harbor! the A-bomb!) from the perspective of Navy Captain Victor Henry and his family. I had trouble working up any interest in the Henrys and their entourage; the characters are shallow and one-dimensional. "That Churchill fellow gave a pretty good speech last night" is about as deep as it gets. One thing that troubled me no end: neither Henry nor his annoying wife, Rhoda, ever question the morality of their living in the SS-appropriated home of a Jewish family that is clearly destined for Auschwitz.
About mid-way through Winds of War, it occurred to me that plunging into a good, general history of WWII would be considerably more interesting than Wouk's fictionalized version--not to mention the many great works of fiction set during that time period (two of my favorites are Erich Maria Remarque and Irene Nemirovsky) that plunge the reader into a Europe turned upside down and force us to confront that most disturbing of moral dilemmas: what would YOU do in this situation? would you act any differently? And there are so many fascinating, real-life stories from WWII that can't be topped by any fiction (read Studs Terkel, The Good War). Winds of War just doesn't measure up, I'm sorry to have wasted an audible credit on it.
There's a reason why GWTH is considered one of the greatest of American novels, and Scarlett and Rhett two of the most fascinating characters ever invented on the page. This book has it all: story, history, romance, family, personalities, glamour, and tragedy. Even the secondary characters, like Mr and Mrs O'Hara, are dazzling. If, like most people, you are familiar with the film version only, you'll find that the film followed the book quite closely, right down to the final "I don't give a damn." There are a couple of notable exceptions: in the book, Scarlett has two children by her previous marriages, not just the ill-fated Bonnie. (It doesn't much matter, as she is not a terribly attentive mother.) Another surprise is the presence of the Ku Klux Klan throughout the narrative, which Margaret Mitchell treats as a force for good -- but which, of course, was eliminated from the film version.
And on that note, before you undertake reading GWTH, be aware that it is a *masterful* piece of Confederate propaganda. In Mitchell's telling, the slaves were never ill-treated; they did not seek their freedom but had it forced upon them by the evil Yankees; they did not know what to do with themselves when freed, thus many took to crime, indigence, and government handouts (a refrain which echoes even today in US politics, especially on the right). The mission of the KKK was to protect white women from being raped by freed black men. Curiously, despite the wealth of historical detail that Mitchell provides, she never mentions the assassination of President Lincoln--I can only speculate that she was at a loss to spin it in a way that cast the South in a positive light.
But if you can overlook all that, and bear in mind that the mentality of the period during which the book was written (1930s) is, itself, gone with the wind, you'll be rewarded with one hell of a read. Linda Stephens is a superb narrator, too. Her rendition of Scarlett deserves an award; it captures all her complexities, effortlessly moving from coquette to loving daughter to savior of Tara and its inhabitants. Bravo!
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