I’m a writer and a language geek, and while that doesn’t necessarily make me a devotee of Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, the connection to my alma mater (which White attended and Strunk taught at) makes up the difference. The truth is I think Strunk and White is a fantastic book for those looking to hone the mechanics of their writing. And for any fan of that classic work, Mark Garvey’s Stylized: A Slightly Obsessive History of Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style is an enjoyable romp through how Elements came to be. Including unpublished letters from White and insight from a number of well known writers like Dave Barry, Adam Gopnik, and Lost’s Damon Lindelof, Stylized revels in the history of “the little book” and its effect can be best summed up by saying it made me want to go and re-read The Elements of Style immediately.
The final chapter of The Middleman, in comic book form, we learn all of the secrets of how the story would have ended. What other women holds The Middleman’s heart? Who is Manservant Neville? What is The Middleman’s name? Does he know the Doctor? All that and more, answered. With the same hilarious gags as the show, and a fun list of references included therein, including a few bittersweet comments about what would have been running jokes had the much loved show earned a second season. Alas, we salute you Middlemen, wherever you are!
I picked up this book because the first twenty pages or so was excerpted at the end of the most recent Felix Castor book. It teased at dark urban fantasy, and that’s precisely what Madness delivers. The world is a fascinating one, and the prose is exceptionally detailed, and at times somewhat overwrought and laced with non-standard spacing and the like—much of which is potentially explained by the vagaries of youth; the author was first published at a rather young age (her teens). Still, she does a fantastic job immersing us into the story of urban sourcerer Matthew Swift, returned from the grave with the help of the blue electric angels, and bent upon revenge against his former teacher. The twists are somewhat telegraphed, but the solid writing makes up for that—and I won’t even hold against her that she used the exact joke I’d planned for one of my subsequent stories. Great minds, after all.
I love Nick Hornby. Unabashedly and unreservedly. Last year’s Slam was one of my favorite books: a frank look at teenage pregnancy from the perspective of a clueless adolescent male (and all the redundancies that implies). This year, Hornby switches gears entirely, with the story of reclusive musician Tucker Crowe. Crowe, a 1980s era singer/songwriter, disappeared into obscurity in the middle of that decade, leaving behind one album widely regarded as spectacular (Juliet) and a cult of mystery and Internet-fueled speculation around him, a chief contributor of which is one of the book’s main characters, Duncan. Duncan’s long-suffering partner, Annie, has had just about enough of his obsession, and when an acoustic demo version of Crowe’s famous album (the eponymous Juliet, Naked) appears, tensions start to rise. It’s a funny, sweet meditation on talent, middle-age, parenthood, and what we leave behind.
The fifth book in the Felix Castor series, The Naming of the Beasts picks up almost exactly where book four, Thicker Than Water left off: Asmodeus (in the flesh of Fix’s best friend Rafi) is loose in London, and he seems to have murder on the mind. We finally get a look inside Jenna-Jane Mulbridge’s paranormal science experiment, investigate Rafi’s past, and revisit familiar friends and foes. While at times it seems like a few characters have been thrown in just for show, the climactic shootout is well worth the wait—but it does raise the question: will there be a book six? Or is Castor done for good?
Volume 5 of the continuing Season 8 of Buffy (I also read Volume 4: No Future for You recently but apparently forgot to enter it here). This volume is comprised of five stand-alone vignettes, which verge from the dark to the hilarious (I particularly liked the mission Buffy and Andrew take together, which features some classic Buffy-style pop culture references). I love the whole season 8 concept, and the writing is so good, it reminds me of all the things I loved about the show. Looking forward to the next volume.
Every year I read a few books I just don’t care much for—this year, one of them was The Good Thief. On the face of it, the story of a one-handed orphan boy in the early 19th century, adopted by a thief and con man, seems like a great idea. But the execution is colorless, and the characters are weaker than I hoped. Most of all, in the same problem I had with much of Joe Abercrombie’s works, the story lacks shape. It’s redeemed somewhat by the ending, in which many of the plot threads are resolved, but much of the book is a meander of seemingly unconnected events. I think I was also partially uncomfortable as for some reason it seemed like a young-adult story starting out, but it didn’t become apparent until around halfway through that it was exceptionally brutal and graphic. Any way, not on my recommended list.
Pratchett’s latest, hot off the presses. This time, Sir Terry focuses his attention on association football, or what we Yanks would unwittingly call “soccer.” Lord Vetinari (one of my perennial favorites) attempts to tame Ankh-Morpork’s version of the sport, which is little more than an organized mob, into something much nearer our own world, with predictably humorous results. Pratchett is in fine form here, and he gets credit for making me laugh out loud at several parts. Features cameos by a number of his well-known other favorites, such as Rincewind and Sam Vimes—and what would any Ankh-Morpork story be without Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler. Surprisingly enough, in a story with as much mayhem as this one has, there’s nary an appearance by our old friend Death. More’s the pity.
A delightful little story for kids and adults alike, following the young title character and his encounters with Norse mythology. Part coming of age story, part timeless classic, Gaiman’s storytelling is as always masterful: at turns both uplifting and sharply funny. I kept thinking as I read it that this would be the perfect story to read aloud to kids. It’s close cousin in some ways to his Newbery Medal-winning The Graveyard Book, with the two protagonists even sharing rhyming names (and, to a certain extent, similar goals). A quick read, but a recommended one.
I’ve been reading this book on and off for the better part of a year (it was a Christmas present along with Roy Blount’s Alphabet Juice) and I’ve at last finished it. Hitchings’s book traces the various influences of English over history, cataloging its borrowings from languages like German, French, Japanese, Arabic, and more. While at times it’s easy to get bogged down in his lengthy list of vocabulary, there are plenty of “a-ha” moments here when you come across a particular word. I especially enjoyed Hitchings’s last couple chapters, which deal with English’s more recent changes and project the kind of development the language is likely to undergo in the future, as non-native speakers outpace native speakers, and other languages such as Spanish and Chinese continue to impart their own influences.
