Nov 14 - Nov 17, 2011

Bedbugs
Ben H. Winters
Horror
Published 2011
253 pages

9.5/10

  After much fruitless hunting, Susan finally finds her dream home in the upstairs apartment of a two story house.  She promptly moves in with her husband and daughter and starts to get settled - unfortunately, she begins to find small flaws in the domicile: a crack in the floorboards, mysterious noises... and bedbugs. 
  Bedbugs only she can see...

  Every once in a while, a book comes along that totally blows my mind.  This is one such book.  It contained the key elements of a great story - originality and good writing.  And it also helps that it's totally fucked up and weird, and that happens to be right up my dimly lit, spooky alley.
  Really, Bedbugs is balls to the walls, blow your head off, eating peas with honey (I've done it all my life, they do taste kind of funny... but it keeps them on the knife) fucked up.  Bedbugs.  Sure.  Creepy enough.  But a house that's infested with... well, I can't even begin to describe exactly just what type of bedbugs they are without giving the story away, so lets just say they're a bit worse than your average bedbugs, which are pretty bad anyways, plus all the other super fucked up shit that goes down that I also can't talk about because it'll ruin just how shockingly weird and fucked up this story really is... all I can say is WHOA.  Epically out there, while still maintaining a solid plot, characters, and scenes.
  I had no idea where, precisely, the story was going, how it would end, or who, specifically, the antagonist was right up until the last few chapters.  I was totally blindsided.  Not because it was deliberately confusing or vague; on the contrary, all the clues were right there in front of my face - I was just distracted by the effortless writing and mad flow, if you will.
  The author has talent, both with the ideas and the task of putting pen to paper.  Or fingers to keyboard, as I'm sure it's done nowadays.  It's so easy to find one or the other (great writing and terrible premise, or the more common great premise and terrible writing) so when the full package comes together, I'm stoked.  Great writing is especially important, because it articulates what the author is trying to get across to you.  But everyone's perception of great writing is different - I have a preference lots of action and little contemplation (yet I love Stephen King - go figure) and masses of sick disturbed subject matter. 
  Great, believable characters with natural dialogue are also a bonus, as that seems to come few and far between in a lot of books.  I really liked Susan - her neurosis was fully endearing to a fellow neurotic like myself.  Without going into too much detail, at the very least I could sympathize with her, and even understand her.  But without the fact that I just straight up like her, the slow wearing degradation of her psyche is utterly fascinating... like watching a drunk chick  ruin a wedding.

With all those attributes, this story flowed really REALLY well.
  Unfortunately, there a few parts that irked me.  Sigh.  This didn't get a 10/10  for two reasons.  One, there were some editing errors, and those always jerk me right out of my "Imagination Zone" or whatever the fuck you call it when you're completely immersed in a bitchin' book.  Come on editors!  Wake up!  Reason numero dos is because the protagonists went to the store and bought "a thing of frozen sausage".  A thing?  A THING of frozen sausage?!  Not a pack, or string, or bag, or package - A THING OF FROZEN SAUSAGE.  That shit would not fly in English class, and it don't fly here.  These are definitely minor infractions, though, and I'm just neurotic and nit-picky. 
  All in all, I would most definitely recommend this book to just about anyone, but especially fellow neurotics, because it will probably make even the most hardened bad asses feel a little (or a lot) squeamish. 
  Nighty night.
  Sleep tight.
  Don't let the bedbugs bite...

Oct 3 - Oct 9, 2011

The Year of the Flood
Margaret Atwood
Dystopian Future
Published 2009
434 pages

10/10

  The future has slowly but surely crept up upon us, and it is very bleak indeed.  There are far fewer animals and greenspace, life has exponentially grown more regimented and desensitized, and the shit is about to hit the fan...

  When I started reading this book, I was worried.  VERY worried. 
  First off, there were two narratives.  Two narratives means twice the amount of protagonists to remember, and half the time to bond with them - the risk runs high that I might just end up not giving a flying fuck about either one, unless expertly handled.  Secondly, the timeline wasn't linear - we jumped back and forth from present to past all willy-nilly, like a time machine piloted by Calvin and Hobbes: 

In cases such as these, there's a good possibility that I'll become confused and disoriented and, eventually, pissed off (not unlike crowds at sporting events in Vancouver *cough* Stanly Cup riots *cough*).  So yeah, mighty worried on my end when I started reading The Year of the Flood.
  Luckily, this is a Margaret Atwood book.
  So while I initially suffered some unusually crafted book jitters, I quickly became accustomed to the style and dove in full force.  And because it was slightly more complicated of a read, it felt all the more satisfying to read it.
  I was invested in both protagonists: Toby, because she was so complicated; I loved that she put out the outward appearance of being a supreme hardass to the other characters, but underneath it all she was as banged up a human being as the rest of us.  Ren, on the other hand, was naive and vulnerable and emotional; I could identify with her because she handled situations the same way I felt I would, and she was achingly human for all the world to see.  And yet you could see a lot of Toby in Ren, and Ren in Toby.  It was almost as though they were two different versions of the same character, which was really neat.
  Even the beginning of the chapters, where we were given a glimpse of the indoctrination of the Gardeners, was crucial because it gave us insight into the critical shaping of these women, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally.  And again, because they both spent so much time with the Gardeners, it helps to draw us to their similarities as opposed to their differences. 
  The future that The Year of the Flood described was hardly outlandish.  Gene splicing is growing by leaps and bounds as we speak, the gap between the rich and poor is becoming more and more pronounced (Gated communities and ghettos still exist) and I wouldn't be surprised if there was already a shady police force doling out justice as seen by the wealthy.  Oh, that does already exist?  I rest my case.  This book just takes all those elements and makes them more pronounced, and adds neat futuristic elements that make the read a little more realistic, in a way.  It IS the future, after all.  Of course there's going to be liobams!
  Did I mention there was a SeksMart?  Clandestine grow-ops?  Inward spiritual journeys fueled by magic mushrooms?  Christ on a cracker, Margaret Atwood is a rad lady.
  Honestly, I was dreading the end of this book, counting the dwindling pages and feeling kind of depressed that it was going to be over, because I liked it so much that I wanted more.  Luckily, I caught many a reference to Oryx and Crake, and I do happen to have a copy of that book kicking around...

Jan 3 - Jan 5, 2011

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Hunter S. Thompson
Gonzo Journalism
Published 1972
204 pages

10/10

    A Gonzo Journalist and his Samoan attorney crash Vegas in a Great Red Shark on a drug-fueled bender, on the pretense of writing a legitimate article.  FOR REALS.
    Fear and Loathing is a trippy tome.  The style, the subject matter, the suicidally-high levels of drug use, the adventures; it's all insane.
    Reading this is intense - the format is stream of consciousness (short blunt chapters, paragraphs, and sentences and totally unreal at times) but the actual writing itself is pure gonzo journalism.  Facts facts facts, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish, no matter hoe depraved and violent, no matter how impossible and hallucinatory.  All told from the front and center.  Other journalists watch, Thompson LIVES.
    No one, BUT NO ONE, could do what this man does - metaphorically and literally.  The style is instantly recognizable, and the things he's done would have landed a normal, decent human being in a variety of undesirable locations ... the type without easy escape routes.  He writes so candidly of his excessive drug use, all the highs (watching lizard people eat each other in an orgy of blood in a casino) as well as lows (vomiting into your shoes while naked in a closet) that while it should discourage the average person contemplating a dabble in the dark side, it just kind of makes me think, "Man, I can get my hands on some serious narcotics, but I will never get my hands on this kind of AWESOME.  Not only did drugs give him a great experience, they didn't in any way hinder the reporting of said experience.  DRUGS ARE AWESOME."  Honestly, it makes me want to do drugs right now (although I do have to work tomorrow and then go to the strippers).  But I don't think this book was ever meant to be a deterrent... really, Thompson seemed the type to encourage heavy drug use.  But now I'm just speculating.
    I find everything he writes about all very legitimate.  Obviously the hallucinations seem pretty well cut and dried drug-induced, but the introspection, the wild emotional mood-swings, they also speak of heavy mental brain stimulation.  And not the kind you get from discussing your love for the Lord with the bake sale ladies.  The only things I have trouble with are the things they get away with.  Christ.  But to be fair, they were living in a different era.  Hell, I know people who could smoke on planes.  Now you can't even light up an electronic cigarette on a plane because it could incite a riot or some such bullshit.  But you know what?  I'm GLAD they got away with it.  SOMEBODY had to live a Grand Adventure, and honestly, I'm too much of a weenie to do it myself.  No honey, you can't use that here!  The flight instruction manual says not to!
    As with all books I've read over and over again, there was the ever present sense of "Get The Hell On With It Already!" syndrome, but it generally wasn't as bad as usual with this book, probably because Fear and Loathing is one of those action packed, easy to whiz through reads.
   Amazing AMAZING book.  Fantastic adventure.  Incredible reporter.  DOPE.