Humph...and I thought Darling Jim was bloody!

Darling Jim reveals itself, after a brief set-up, by the discovery of diaries. A crime has been committed, but the details remain a mystery. The diaries, and a persistent postal worker, take us into the dark tale bit by bit.

It's gothic and a bit bloody, but eminently readable and entertaining. There is a fairy tale interwoven story that I could have done without, but aside from that, Moerk gives us great characters: From the itinerant seanchaí, the irresistible and charismatic Jim Quick to the three wonderful Walsh sisters.

The story arc is perfectly over the top – impossible coincidences and outrageous twists. But immense fun.

I really like novels that have a major music motif, but this one wouldn't be at the top of my list. Its amusing and entertaining, but at bottom forgettable. Fact, I read this a month or so ago and forgot to add it here.

Damon Galgut's novel never lagged and held my interest throughout. It's an immediately compelling mystery of political corruption, and land development schemes, meant to tell the story of a South Africa in flux.

A little heavy on the metaphors (Weeds in the yard that must be tended to. The urge to destroy the legacy of a father as 'revenge').

There is one repeated and extended 'identity' metaphor that works on all levels. If not at the Coetzee level (and what is?), the novel is still engaging and worthwhile.

I read the sample chapter on this one and was, if not exactly hooked....interested. A good first chapter.

Back in September 2001 (but 5 days after the 9/11 attacks) Vice-President Dick Cheney layed out his own Shining Path vision. It has come to be known famously as his “Dark Side” quote.

It’s hard to ignore the eerie echoes of Cheney’s sinister vision when reading this novel of the terrorism, political corruption and moral dilemmas of the sendero luminoso days of Fujimoro’s Peru.

First-timer Roncagliolo does a good job of immersing the reader in the increasingly murky divisions between authority and chaos.

I’ve read a few of Colson Whitehead’s books (The Intuitionist, John Henry Days) , and he always keeps me coming back for more though he’s not one of those author’s that I have to this point anticipated with relish. I keep expecting more, because I think he has it in him.

His latest book seems on the same plane to me: accomplished, interesting in general, well-written including some memorable moments of recognizable universal insight. Yet, not a book that has me in that “I can’t wait for his next book” mode. Not a book either that has caused me to give up on him. I’d probably pick-up his next book as a fill-in. A let’s see what Colson has to say now thing if there wasn’t something more pressing that I just had to read..

My 2d Williams and every bit as good as my first. If pressed, I'd put it just shy of Augustus. Splitting literal hairs. Or is that metaphorical hairs. Ah...I've never split a hair in any case. But I digress.

The first thing that struck me was the radical departure in style from the earlier read - matter-of fact, and low key, much like its subject.

The subject is quite a departure as well, but of course much akin to Williams' own surroundings in academia.

In Stoner, you can be buffeted by life, but still find grounding in new circumstances. It's a gentle, quiet lesson. As is the book. With wonderful characters and a comprehensive sense of place (academia).

I'm still of two minds on Whitehead. I'll read this one and render my final judgement. Worried, Colson?

Vlautin calls Bukowski, and deWitt goes all in.

Trippy, and I loved the literary rivalry and Dickens envy, but the length did me in. It doesn't always, but it did this time. And the scarab in the brain...well, frankly it creeped me out.

Finally finished up with, ummm, that other book. Now for something completely different. It's large, but seems thoroughly accessible. And after only 25 pages, I know this is a book that I won't dread 'having' to pick-up again.

I've yet to learn the discipline of a good reader: Quit while you're ahead, or quit before you've wasted too much of your time. I've realized I never will learn this though. This is a book I should have gently forgotten about. Instead I slogged through it over 2 weeks time. Two weeks. What would have normally taken 3-4 days - 5 including a weekend. Weak in inception, weak in follow through and lacking in any real interest - whether characterization, plot, or (failed) theme. This is not a recommendation.

The other thing is that having spent so much time on a disappointment, I'm harsher than I should be. Because of my compulsion, I take it out on the book.

I'm starting this one now. Quotes from Kierkegaard and Camus on the frontpiece. I'm getting an existential vibe. I'm slightly nauseous and feel like a cigarette. heh-heh.

What I really liked about this book is that Murakami is a natural storyteller. You know how great athlete's make it look so easy? Murakami has a seemingly effortless story-telling style that is irrestible, that really does draw you in and make you comfortable. . And he seems like a very decent guy, too.

Another novel to fill in the holes in my readng pedigree (I finally got around to "Motherless Brooklyn" a few weeks ago). I've read Murakami's last two, but have never gone back to catch up.

Ultimately disappointing. I gather this is quite a departure for Coe, so it's a shame that I started at the 'wrong' place. Although a male author writing about complex relationships between several women seems an odd - even audacious - subject, the characters are quite good. The framing device is 20 photos (one is a painting). And though I do love novels written within that structurs, the descriptions of the images seemed a bit unnecessary in many ways. In a few instances the novel also stretched credibility and teetered on melodrama. Ah, but I make it sound lesser of a novel than it is. It was fine. And fairly short at that.

And then there are some novels that easily give a sense what we might find, and where we are going. A death. Funeral arrangements to be made. A husband who may be guilty of the little neglects that can creep into a marriage. All in 1 page.

Reads like a cross between Pinter and Beckett, a post-modern absurdist novel rooted in the mundane: Failed marriage. It's a bleak vision but told with a certain fatalistic humor. But 1/3 of the novel is just too long to get its sea legs.