DNF 40%. Enough is enough. I think over a third of a book is sufficient to know that it isn’t for me. This quitting before the end seems like a plot iDNF 40%. Enough is enough. I think over a third of a book is sufficient to know that it isn’t for me. This quitting before the end seems like a plot in my quest for one thousand reviews before the end of 2025, but I’m not out to torture myself with a book about some neurotic head-case. In the Goodreads’ suggestions of “Readers also enjoyed” there were a slew of other books I didn’t like at all. Ugh, I punished myself more than necessary to leave this DNF in good conscience.
For no good reason, I pressed on past 75% in spite of not finding a bit of charm in this novel so many readers feel is charming. I was so bored of how Eleanor is so completely clueless about the simplest human interactions that I simply couldn’t read yet another example. I get it, she’s some sort of alien.
I did happen across a line I thought was funny, although it was intended as humor. She’s at a party and there’s a DJ playing loud music, “We found a table as far away from the source of the noise as possible.” I think “Source of the Noise” would be a great name for a rock band, or simply my description of rock music in general....more
I read Tom Stoppard’s obituary today and thought it an excellent opportunity to refresh my memory of one of his brilliant works. This sudden interest I read Tom Stoppard’s obituary today and thought it an excellent opportunity to refresh my memory of one of his brilliant works. This sudden interest has nothing to do with my quest of reaching the hallowed Goodreads plateau of ONE THOUSAND REVIEWS and that this work is only sixty pages. Let me reiterate this point: I don’t make the rules around this place which state that there is no minimum page requirement to qualify as a review.
There is so many volleys of clever dialogue that it sometimes seems like a game of lawn tennis.
ROS: I’m afraid. GUILD: So am I. ROS: I'm afraid it isn't your day. GUIL: I'm afraid it is.
How can these lines be so simple and ordinary yet so clever at the same time? Like the two faces of the coin(s) they are tossing.
ROS: I've never known anything like it! GUIL: And a syllogism: One, he has never known anything like it. Two, he has never known anything to write home about. Three, it is nothing to write home about... Home...What's the first thing you remember? ROS: Oh, let's see... The first thing that comes into my head, you mean? GUIL: No---the first thing you remember. ROS: Ah. (Pause.) No, it's no good, it's gone. It was a long time ago. GUIL (patient but edged): You don't get my meaning. What is the first thing after all the things you've forgotten? ROS: Oh I see. (Pause.) I've forgotten the question.
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I read this novel in high school on my own, without a teacher forcing it down my throat. I was a shit student then for reasons I won't go into here, bI read this novel in high school on my own, without a teacher forcing it down my throat. I was a shit student then for reasons I won't go into here, but my home was full of books. I went through a tough time in the history of my family and reading was my refuge.
I'd not seen the film when I began the novel. I loved it, but I was seventeen and ignorant of history. I have come to despise anything praising Dixie, whether it's novels or movies. I hate Clint Eastwood for this very reason. The South was just a horrible place with slavery and an almost non-existent middle class to prop up the plantation owner scum.
It is revolting how the author painted the Northerners as more intolerant of the Blacks than their former masters, like the slave owners treated them as human beings. Fuck Margaret Mitchell and the whole mythology of the American south. Sweet home Alabama, my ass. I piss on your rebel flag and shit on the statues of your generals. The South were traitors to the ideals of America. All men are created equal. If you can't get on board with that, fuck off.
OK, this may seem like a weak entry in my quest to reach one thousand reviews before the end of 2025 as I read this in 1975. But I read the damn thing and haven't reviewed it. As I said before, I don't make the rules here.
It’s like she took the vocabulary words from the SAT exam and shoe-horned all of them in this novel, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. Or maybe sIt’s like she took the vocabulary words from the SAT exam and shoe-horned all of them in this novel, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. Or maybe she ripped out all the pages from a Word-a-Day calendar, mixed them up, and put one of those words on every page. And by the way, she forgot sesquipedalian.
I was constantly reminded of the line, “I eschew obfuscation, espouse elucidation,” which I thought was coined by W.C. Fields, but sadly, it wasn’t. This won't infringe on my high opinion of Fields, but he's just a touch less funny than I thought he was before I googled this and had to pull his authorship. Big vocabularies don’t make good books, but sometimes they make shit funnier.
The World Court case against some African despot accused of "terrible atrocities" (as opposed to light-hearted atrocities?) wasn't much in the way of a good story.
I just thought this had nothing I’m interested in when it comes to a novel. That’s it for my review. Just want this in my rear-view mirror. Three stars just because I don't want to be an asshole, or to be perceived as being an asshole. I can't help who I am, but bumping this up a couple of stars doesn't cost me anything,
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Only nine more to go!...more
The setting was the only thing that kept me in this book to the end. I didn't like the murder mystery, but the meteor soon to hit the earth was fascinThe setting was the only thing that kept me in this book to the end. I didn't like the murder mystery, but the meteor soon to hit the earth was fascinating. Great idea, sort of weak execution.
RE: My quest to reach 1,000 reviews in 2025
I'll be the first to admit that this is a terrible review, but at least I finished the entire book, all 362 pages. I'm not saying that I won't stoop to reviewing a short story because it's:
**spoiler alert** Hicktown, Indiana, isn’t a life sentence, but I suppose no one ever tells people they’re free to leave whenever they choose. This st**spoiler alert** Hicktown, Indiana, isn’t a life sentence, but I suppose no one ever tells people they’re free to leave whenever they choose. This story collection is sort of like a prose retelling of an opera in which South Park’s “Uncle Fucker” song is one of the arias. His invented Indiana town of Mount Moriah with its poor grammar, bad teeth, and willing livestock just seems like fertile territory for uncle fucking, maybe even worse.
If you’re looking for even the faintest shred of joy, hope, redemption, human dignity, or humor, this ain’t for you. What this fictitious Indiana town needs desperately is free birth control handed out in something like an ice cream truck playing “Pop Goes the Weasel,” and for those who miss the call, a mobile abortion clinic (I think the same theme music is appropriate if you think about it).
The Continental Divide A mother lovingly chops down her own family tree as her only act of defiance against the male creeps in her life. This is a terrible thing to say, but—god’s truth—the world could use better parents or more abortions, fewer mistakes and a lot more people thinking about what having a child means.
Bird Fever Did turkey poop make our son ill, or was it the cleaning supplies under his bed? We will never know.
Plucked From the Lame and Afflicted Any story that begins, “There was only one vacancy, a room with a double bed, when Nelson and Pastor Snow checked into the motel,” is gonna be good, right, at least for all the Catholic priests out there. Spoiler alert to Catholic priests, Nelson just finished high school, and he’s just shy of adulthood. WAH, WAh, wah, waaahhh. Is that how you write the sound-effect of all the priests suddenly losing their erections? https://www.myinstants.com/en/instant...
Please, Mister, Please Uncle Fucker out for a quiet drive in the country is passively ambushed by Bonnie and Cletus the slack-jawed yokel. This was my favorite of the bunch.
Blue Moon I didn’t get this one. Corn holing in the locker room? Cam on both ends of whatever it was that went somewhere that made reporters flock to the courthouse at Uncle-Fucker-ville, Indiana. Cam left football-less and now he was losing his gal Penny to some half-a-homo (He's nice to women, must be gay, right?) at the insurance agency. Spoiler Alert: it was a plunger, no details on which end went where, exactly. Rectum? Nearly killed’m.
Man on the Tracks Learning that he’s good at building a character and an atmosphere, but the stories don’t have much in the way of beginnings, middles, and endings. If you don't deal with your anger issues, you'll end up in at the bottom of a trash dumpster with your ex fuck buddy from the can.
Little Dude I just couldn’t make it through this one. Sorry, little dude.
Lady Liberty Almost had an entire story here, but then it ends when the cop walks up to Edmond's door and hears some weird noises which could've been Edmond jerking off. Cop got scared off. Moma's boy turned moma poisoner just like that. The author conjures extreme violence like coaxing a genie out of a lamp with only a rub with the hand—no pun intended, or was it?
The Half Hour “Turd Painting” is defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary as hoisting unearned praise upon something base and without merit, in this case a young woman named Maizey with scaly elbows. Eew! I mean, she’s tall and has nice legs, but scaly elbows? She’s nothing less than a monster (note to self: google “scaly elbows”). Once again, not much of a story here and Mount Moriah, Indiana, desperately needs a Planned Parenthood.
The Devil’s Age Another story in this collection that can be filed under “Shit Parenting.” I love my dead gay son” and flying off a cliff a la Thelma and Louise seem like mixed metaphors. I mean, not only was his violent son putting lemon in his hair to bring out blond highlights, he was doing it with his friend, probably while they were singing “It’s Raining Men” together.
It’s like the reviewer probably hurt himself bending over backwards to find praise for this collection. This comes from the review and I doubt anyone who doesn’t have an MFA in creative writing would understand or care:
“Winesburg” still reads like a correction to American hypocrisy. Rather than community, there’s betrayal, repression and isolation founded in secrets that distort its citizens’ inner lives. Johnson’s book reads not like an imitation of Anderson, but as a fellow traveler. Secrets and betrayals remain prominent, although interiority is less integral than it is in “Winesburg.” In Johnson’s Indiana, psychic pain manifests as physical violence, while wickedness assumes the shape of a psychopath…
Huh? “interiority is less integral…” My eyes rolled back in my head so hard I fell over. I can't wait to use those words in a sentence. I guarantee that whatever the context, they won't make any less sense than in that review,...more
…This Cressy was married to a lad named Johnny Ralls. Ralls is out of Quentin two, three days, or a week. He did a three-spot for manslaughter. The gi…This Cressy was married to a lad named Johnny Ralls. Ralls is out of Quentin two, three days, or a week. He did a three-spot for manslaughter. The girl put him there. He ran down an old man one night when he was drunk, and she was with him. He wouldn’t stop. She told him to go in and tell it, or else. He didn’t go in. So the Johns come for him.”
I thought this paragraph was pure gold, revealing the entire story in a few, taught sentences. However, I got it all wrong. I thought he was coming back to murder the woman who put him away, but they’d reconciled and she was waiting for him faithfully at the Windermere Hotel. But other people have plans for Johnny Ralls when he comes back for the gal. I think my first assumption could have made a better story, with Tony the Detective getting between the former lovers, but it didn’t go my way.
As it goes, nothing much happens other than introductions. The real actions goes on off camera, as they say in the movies (I think because what the hell do I know what they say in the movies?)
“You know who they are?” Tony said softly. “I could maybe give nine guesses. And twelve of them would be right.”
No one writes stuff like this, not for a long time. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds hard and cool.
There are lots of other lines that need a codebreaker to understand. I wonder if anyone really talked like that or if it was all manufactured by crime writers.
More than anything else, this book makes me want to read others by this same author. That isn’t completely true because more important than seeking ouMore than anything else, this book makes me want to read others by this same author. That isn’t completely true because more important than seeking out other titles by Frank McDonough, I am once again left in complete and utter, disbelief that the Germans and their allies in other countries could have been such animals in their dedication to their goals. I’ve probably read at least fifty books on the history of the Nazis and WWII, yet I’m still shocked at the barbarity of their crimes.
Almost as sickening at the Nazis' crimes is the fact that these views are held dear by so many idiots today, or views very similar. How do you fight against such poisonous ideas?...more
The only reason I read this was to push me towards the noble goal of reviewing one thousand titles before the end of this year, 2025. Notice my use ofThe only reason I read this was to push me towards the noble goal of reviewing one thousand titles before the end of this year, 2025. Notice my use of the word “titles” instead of books, because in achieving my noble goal, I am stooping to the shameful method of leaning heavily on short stories (this is the third one I’ve hammered out today!).
As this story has the American Civil War as the backdrop, and the name Ambrose Bierce has sort of a southern accent, I figured this story would praise the glory of the Rebel army, something I despise and come across way too often in stories and movies. Don’t even get me started on that topic, it’s why I hate Clint Eastwood.
The tale begins inauspiciously for me with the description of a handsome young man about to be hanged. He wears the fine garments of a planter, a civilian, but we later learn he was a faithful follower of the Confederacy, or insurrectionist scum as I call them. I read on, waiting to be told about his noble cause and the villainy of the Northern Army. The gentleman daydreams of a possible escape. Ugh, I thought, not again.
Not to give out a spoiler, but the little story has a happy ending....more
A story about an undead dead guy and grave robbers on a stormy night? Hell yes, count me in.
This is part of my diabolical and perhaps unethical run atA story about an undead dead guy and grave robbers on a stormy night? Hell yes, count me in.
This is part of my diabolical and perhaps unethical run at reaching 1,000 reviews by the end of this calendar year. This story clocks in at only 616 words, yet I get credit for one entire review. If brevity is the soul of wit, it's also the strategy of a scoundrel....more
This is the first step in my diabolical plan to make a total mockery of Goodreads policies by reviewing the tiniest, weeniest stories I can find. I reThis is the first step in my diabolical plan to make a total mockery of Goodreads policies by reviewing the tiniest, weeniest stories I can find. I realize that getting credit for a book when it’s just a sixteen-page story is sort of cheating, but I’m desperately trying to reach 1,000 reviews before the New Year. Don’t judge me, I don’t make the damn rules around here. If you don’t like it, take it up with management.
Reviewing these puny tomes is like hunting at a petting zoo, something I’ve been politely asked to stop after I shot a rabbit out of a toddler’s arms (No toddlers were harmed in the writing of that sentence, but I’m not sure about the actual event because I had to make a hasty getaway when the parents came after me.)
This was a story I was probably assigned back when every kid was supposed to read this supposed classic. Upon reading it in my senior years, it turns out I didn’t miss anything, and the time I spent not reading it in my delinquent teen years was probably better spent doing whatever it was I did back then.* But now that I'm sort of old, what the fuck else do I got to do?
*My reading in those years leaned heavily on Penthouse Forum letters and the foul-mouthed stories of the taxi driver Bernie X in National Lampoon....more
I read another book in this series and found it usefull; this one wasn't, not even a little.
I understand that this series isn't about history, but theI read another book in this series and found it usefull; this one wasn't, not even a little.
I understand that this series isn't about history, but there was almost zero history in this edition and it's impossible to understand a culture without some knowledge of their history. So much of the advice handed out here was so incredibly commonsensical that it seemed like the intended readers are space aliens without any information about human interactions. I was just looking for a primer about Cambodia since I know so little about the country. This book was no help at all. If all you’re looking for on what you should bring as a gift if you’re invited to someone’s home in Cambodia, this may be for you. Maybe you can re-gift your copy of this book to the family....more
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