Maplewood, NJ, United States | Member Since 2010
Persuasion was the only Jane Austen novel I had not read so I recently decided to remedy that. Juliet Stevenson had cracked me up as the neurotic mother in Bend It Like Beckham, so I was sure I could count on her to bring out the comical side of the story (and Jane Austen always offers up some comedy). But I had no idea Stevenson was such a subtle and talented actress. As the omniscient narrator she sounds sensible, measured, and lovely. She delivers the story while not allowing the listener to get bogged down in Austen’s sometimes antiquated language. She successfully confers masculinity to the male voices without attempting to impersonate. And the women who are meant to be laughable, such as Anne’s sister Mary, with them she is ruthless. And it’s delightful.
In terms of the story – this is probably Jane Austen’s best. Pride and Prejudice will always be my long-standing favorite, having been the first book in my life that I couldn't put down, but Persuasion is Austen's smartest work, and you can sense her own maturity in it (it was her last completed novel). It takes the kind of characters we meet in her other novels and fast-forwards them ten years. These are grown women – not girls – dealing with love and loss, and learning about second chances.
As a huge Rachel Joyce fan (both her works haunted me in the best way possible) I was so excited to listen to her next book. But, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear Queenie’s side of the story. I knew it would be a hard one to hear unfold; but also it had remained a sort of lovely, blank, mysterious foil to Harold’s grueling journey. So I was surprised to find that there was so much richness up at Queenie’s end of England while she waits for his arrival. As in her other books, Joyce captures a diverse and widely representative sliver of humanity in a way that almost feels recklessly joyful, and some of the most satisfying parts of the book come as she identifies those moment of levity and abandon that might come at the closing of life. One of my favorite parts is when the hospice inmates are discussing what music to select for their funerals: one of the characters proclaims “no one’s gonna shed a tear for me… When I go you can stick a match under me and turn on the radio.” The marvelous British actress Celia Imrie captures all the myriad personalities that people the home, breathing life into so many people with very little of it left. And in giving voice to the dying, she proves so clearly that waiting is as much a journey as any that one might take on foot.
It’s difficult to articulate just how brilliant and utterly original this book is. You really have to experience it to understand what the author is up to here. By pulling the listener inside a bee hive and tracing the seasonal lifecycle of one remarkable worker bee, Laline Paull has created a breathtaking novel with shades of dystopia and the pacing of a political thriller, demonstrating Orwellian intelligence but somehow – refreshingly - lacking the satire.
Stepping inside the microcosmic world of The Bees threw my own world into relief and made me feel –surprisingly – rather small. That this full experience of life - dramatic, messy, complicated, harrowing - is happening all around us but on a tiny scale is incredibly humbling. Despite taking place almost entirely inside a hive, the story is begins and ends with actual human characters. The beekeeper and his family seem to stand in as symbolic representatives of the human race, which has the ugly habit of finding self-referential meaning in the natural world, always assuming itself to be the center of all drama. But Paull shunts these people into the position of mere bookends to the story, and they are completely ignorant of the richness and mystery that lies in between.
Orlagh Cassidy’s performance was almost erotic, a perfect production choice. The world of the hive is totally sensual, heady with scents and flavors. Communication between the bees happens through smell, dancing, and vibrations. It’s an ornate, lush, complex, and sweet world – filled with randy – and misogynistic – male bees.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about The Bees for the last six months, and it has not yet gotten the public recognition I believe it deserves. I’m doing my best to change that every time I recommend it to a friend or colleague!
My four year old is obsessed with Beatrix Potter, and this is one of her favorites. The images from the original book are sync’d with the story so she can enjoy the pictures along with the story when I’m driving and not able to read to her. Amazing!
When Catherine meets Lee he’s charming and passionate and everything she thinks she’s looking for. But in a carefully plotted narrative that cuts between Catherine’s care-free past and her damaged paranoid present, Elizabeth Haynes shows how what seems like love can and rapidly morph into brutal obsession and abuse. Full of the same dread and creepiness present in Gone Girl, Into the Darkest Corner catches you totally off guard as you wonder how you never saw the inevitable coming.
That headline is my highly professional assessment of this book. Strangely, I decided to give both the performance and the story a three, while overall I felt the book was four-star. Somehow the total was greater than the sum of its parts - or average in this case. In short, the story wasn't perfect - it felt a bit disjointed and I can't tell if it's much more or much less clever than I thought it was (but I'm certain it's one or the other). The performance was cute but the pacing was a bit odd and somehow I felt that Zara Ramm could have helped me keep track of the myriad characters better than she did. Plus, I think with any time travel book the narrator really has to work extra hard to help keep all the threads clear for the listener. But despite my grumbling, all the way through I was engaged and intrigued and charmed. This isn't life-changing literature but it is good, zany entertainment.
A heads up: it took me a long time to get in to this book. If you’re in need of a quick fiction fix, this might not be the place to start. I spent two-thirds of the book grumbling to myself that as intriguing and unsettling as this story is, it just wasn’t living up to The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry for me. But I’m so thankful I stuck with it – Rachel Joyce delivers in spades. It’s not so much that she gives a clever, tidy wrap-up (though there is a twist near the end), but she creates an utterly complex ending that somehow feels completely familiar. How is it that the history of your life moves along in a zig-zaggy, random, and seemingly unremarkable fashion, but then somewhere along the way it feels as if it was pre-destined all along? This instinctual belief is both incredibly universal and totally flawed – and Rachel Joyce captures it all.
She beautifully renders the earnestness with which children approach the issues of adulthood, and the inherent misunderstandings that arise when these two worlds collide. She heartbreakingly depicts the damage that is caused when children aren’t just loved simply and wholeheartedly. I just can’t stop thinking about this book and reflecting on my own childhood in the context of it. And in the final chapters there is a scene of reconciliation that takes place in a suburban café that feels like it maybe happened in the background as Harold Fry and his entourage marched on by. Where Joyce’s first book contains elements of individual triumph, Perfect simmers with anxiety until reluctantly, gratefully finding peace and forgiveness.
Paul Rhys was a solid choice for narrator, and I think it was probably necessary to choose a man to read, but I didn’t always love his female voices, so I’m pulling one star off for this.
In the wake of the recent overturn of DOMA and Prop 8, I occasionally came across articles and social media posts referencing one of E.M. Forster’s lesser-known classics, Maurice. Having never read or listened to it before I thought this was an appropriate time to pick it up.
Due to the fact that that homosexuality was illegal in England for much of Forster’s life – and that Forster himself was a closeted gay man – the author requested that the novel not be published until his death. But the themes and subject matter may be the least shocking thing about Maurice (especially to contemporary ears). And indeed, as is often noted by Maurice’s first love, Clive Durham, the Greeks wrote about homosexual love quite rapturously. No, the most intriguing thing about Maurice – and here is the spoiler alert – is that this story has a happy ending. One is so prepared to expect tragedy from such a premise. But the fact that Forster could imagine two men finding happiness, if not societal acceptance, in pre-WW1 Britain, was remarkably forward thinking for his time. However the two men have to literally disappear into the ether, and the story ends that way - with a true vanishing - giving one the sense that Forster was unable to conjure up a viable realistic circumstance in which a relationship such as this could flourish. But he writes with such exhilaration for a possible future that Maurice ultimately serves as a hopeful and wonderful last testament from the grave.
Peter Firth’s reading is elegant, and perfectly captures the various levels of social strata through which Maurice travels, lending credence to the impossibility of the situation that a modern reader might struggle to grasp otherwise. He illuminates the desperation and anxiety with which Maurice faces his predicament and his clarity of tone helps the listener hear and feel the story beneath some of the heavier, more intellectual monologues that Forster peppers throughout. This definitely falls into my list of classics that are better heard than read.
In my self-description I wrote that I’m often drawn to heart-wrenching books. Well, this one certainly qualifies. If you read the synopsis of this story it will tell you that Me Before You is about a quadriplegic and the relationship that he forms with his care giver and how an unexpected love blossoms between them. Fine. This is indeed the narrative. But I’d tell you that what it’s really about is the impossible. (And not in the nice, hopeful “he did the impossible!” way. I mean in the wretched way.) I’ve never listened to a book that made me feel more trapped and claustrophobic. This is a real-life horror story about people who desperately want something they simply can’t have, and about differing perspectives that can never be reconciled. There’s a creepy old maze in the town where this novel is set that serves as a central point of imagery. And that’s what Jojo Moyes’ book feels like exactly: a tangle of directions, an unsolvable problem, knowing that there's no way out. How do you move forward if you keep turning circles on yourself because there is no acceptable answer? This book is simply crushing and will make you feel grateful for every moment of happiness you’ve ever had in your life. And yet, please don’t let the depressing picture I’ve painted scare you off. I can’t say this book is uplifting: it’s not. But it is revealing and instructive and even occasionally lovely.
Given the heavy subject matter, I don’t think I could stand it if Me Before You wasn’t perfectly narrated, and luckily it is - by a brilliant multicast. Though the content of the story is nothing like The Help, the multiple-perspective casting here is as authentic and well-executed.
I recommend this one highly to anyone up for an emotional challenge. However, there were a handful of side characters whose viewpoints just didn’t strike me as valid, or who could have been more sophisticatedly rendered. It’s only for this reason that am I not giving this book a full five stars.
Full disclosure: The Handmaid's Tale is my favorite book. It is my number one all-time pick among books, having topped my list since I first read it five years ago. So perhaps I came to this audiobook somewhat biased, but in a sense I think my love of the work set me up to be a harsher critic of the audio production. But listening to it served as a total reminder of why it is so incredible.
Last month, when we ran a little editorial feature about the books we were grateful for, I wrote about The Handmaid's Tale. It makes me grateful for a lot of reasons: I'm grateful to live in this society, in this time period. I'm grateful that my daughter won't know the kind of oppression so wrenchingly depicted by Margaret Atwood (who is for the record a total genius). And I'm grateful for how totally humbling this book is. No other work of literature is such a complete reminder that we are all just fragments, or moments in time, and we're all destined to become - if we're so lucky - mere historical footnotes. The framed narrative Atwood uses (and I won't elaborate so as not to spoil) really drives this point home.
I was worried that no narrator could live up to my expectations given my belief in the importance of this book. But Claire Danes is just vivid. She doesn't act, and she doesn't need to. She recounts. She breathes out the tale as if she is living it. Resigned, beaten down, traveling through hell by putting one step ahead of the other. I was utterly convinced by her performance and have not been able to shut up about it since. Everyone on my team is going to listen to this before I'm through, and I hope everyone who reads this review will too!
After talking my my co-worker Chris into checking out some of my favorite YA books it was my turn to take him up on a recommendation – and his pick for me was WAY outside of my normal listening zone. 14 is a Lovecraftian sci-horror novel that feels pulpy and modern at the same time. There’s plenty of kitsch, and lots of old-fashioned sci-fi techniques are on display here, but the voice is still totally fresh, as is Ray Porter- who totally nails the narration. It’s one of the weirdest and best books I’ve ever listened to, and from the number of 5 star reviews it would seem our listeners agree!
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