annoying Archives - The Y Logs

Yzabel / December 25, 2014

Review: Science… For Her!

My rating: [rating=1]

Summary:

Megan Amram, one of Forbes’ “30 Under 30 in Hollywood & Entertainment,” Rolling Stone’s “25 Funniest People on Twitter,” and a writer for NBC’s hit show Parks and Recreation, delivers a politically, scientifically, and anatomically incorrect “textbook” that will have women screaming with laughter, and men dying to know what the noise is about.

In the vein of faux expert books by John Hodgman and Amy Sedaris, Science…for Her! is ostensibly a book of science written by a denizen of women’s magazines. Comedy writer and Twitter sensation Megan Amram showcases her fiendish wit with a pitch-perfect attack on everything from those insanely perky tips for self-improvement to our bizarre shopaholic dating culture to the socially mandated pursuit of mind-blowing sex to the cringe-worthy secret codes of food and body issues.

Part hilarious farce, part biting gender commentary, Amram blends Cosmo and science to highlight absurdities with a machine-gun of laugh-inducing lines that leave nothing and no one unscathed. Subjects include: this Spring’s ten most glamorous ways to die; tips for hosting your own big bang; what religion is right for your body type; and the most pressing issue facing women today: kale!!!

Be prepared to laugh about anything in this outrageous satirical gem.

Review:

(I got an ARC through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review.)

I was hoping this one would be funny, with pokes to some “girly” magazines and their “silly” articles, yet also real scientific data in it—like a textbook with serious information, only in the shape of articles, lists of tips, etc.

It wasn’t the case. It only looked the part… until I started reading it.

Science here was reduced to a bare minimum. Nothing any high-schooler wouldn’t know, nothing really interesting, nothing to learn here. So the Earth is orbiting around the sun: big news. Reproduction: I learnt more about it in the anatomy book I got when I was 7. Either you really don’t know much about science and this is going to be useless, or you already know a bit, and it won’t be of any use to you. If there’s a middle-ground in that muddle, it’s a very thin and invisible one.

The rest didn’t save the book: it was just too heavy-handed to my taste. Like using plaster coating instead of foundation. Too full of fat jokes, rape jokes, wife-beating jokes, mean jokes, tasteless jokes in general, that went on for far too long, again and again and again. After the Nth iteration of “I can’t get over my boyfriend” and “here’s a dick” and “fat ugly bitch” and so on, I was glad I had had a few drinks in me to keep on reading. (Note: I’m only a social drinker, and a moderate one at that. When I need booze to get me through a book, it’s bad, bad news.)

There’s humour, satire and political incorrectness… and then there’s just too heavy and thick to bear. Hey, wait. Thickium: the one element you won’t find on the periodic table, because it’s atomic number is so high it actually fell off said table. See? I can do science, too.

It takes real skill to properly satirise any subject. I don’t think that skill was anywhere to be found here. In the end, I just wasted my time. (And probably would have wasted it much less if I had read an actual issue of Marie Claire, Elle, or whatever, instead. Unless the US versions of those magazines are really so much worse than the French ones, in which case I won’t ever touch them with a ten-foot pole.)

Yzabel / November 25, 2014

Review: The Glass Magician

The Glass Magician by Charlie N. Holmberg

My rating: [rating=1]

Summary:

Three months after returning Magician Emery Thane’s heart to his body, Ceony Twill is well on her way to becoming a Folder. Unfortunately, not all of Ceony’s thoughts have been focused on paper magic. Though she was promised romance by a fortuity box, Ceony still hasn’t broken the teacher-student barrier with Emery, despite their growing closeness.

When a magician with a penchant for revenge believes that Ceony possesses a secret, he vows to discover it…even if it tears apart the very fabric of their magical world. After a series of attacks target Ceony and catch those she holds most dear in the crossfire, Ceony knows she must find the true limits of her powers…and keep her knowledge from falling into wayward hands.

Review:

(I got a copy courtesy of NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review.)

Again, an easy and fast read, much like the previous installment, but had not I already gotten a copy through NG, as mentioned above, I doubt I would’ve read it.

Some parts of the book were still pleasant. I still liked the idea behind the magic, and the more prominent use this time of Gaffers and their powers—seriously, working with mirrors, travelling through them, using them to spy on or find people? That’s awesome! It would have remained awesome if the rules of magic in that world hadn’t been broken in a snap of fingers at the end, and in a way that just any apprentice would probably think of at some point in his/her career. And who got to stumble upon it? Ceony.

Ceony this time just plunged deep into Too Stupid To Live territory, taking actions that a character as smart as she’s supposed to be would have immediately thought twice about. So, sure, she came prepared… but clearly not enough. And she definitely did not think through all her moves and what they may imply for other people. Not wanting to endanger more people is a very fine motive, only not when it ends up achieving exactly that.

As in the first volume, some historical elements were too out of place: she’s supposed to be of a struggling, working class-like background, but her father would take her to fire a gun when she was younger? This doesn’t scream “poor family background” to me, not in London at the end of 19th century. Other jarring elements included Ceony’s take on skirts and other views of women as creatures made to cook and take care of men:

“Langston didn’t seem to notice—he thought the tomatoes alone were a treat, and Ceony determined the man needed to get married right away. She wondered if Delilah could be coerced into dating him.”

This might have worked for another character. Not for a young woman who’s shown to act in daring ways, affirms her right to stay with her current master even though some may disapprove, wants to decide her own fate, and so on. Which is one of the problems I had with the romance in the first book: centered around the man, who was everything.

Speaking of the romance: still not convinced, all the more because of that weird chapter from Thane’s point of view, thrown among all the others narrated in Ceony’s, in which he thinks about his feelings for her. Less cooking this time; more fussing over things that seemed to spring out of nowhere (the allergy, for instance). Also, more blushing.

As for the villains, I found them paper-thin (pun totally intended). Grath and his fellow magicians would have been impressive in other circumstances, and their powers and cunning should have been put to better use. Instead, I never got to really understand their motives. Freeing Lira? All right, but what about a bigger plan, why have they been such targets for years (except for Excision, of course)? And Saraj. Why should the resident psychopath be Indian, and depicted in such a blatant display of “Danger: here comes the tall, dark stranger, so of course he must look suspicious, and of course those suspicions were well-founded”?

Decidedly, this isn’t working for me. (Nor is the cover, which is nice, but doesn’t look like anything that was in the book.)

Yzabel / November 3, 2014

Review: The Book of Strange New Things

The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber

My rating: [rating=2]

Summary:

It begins with Peter, a devoted man of faith, as he is called to the mission of a lifetime, one that takes him galaxies away from his wife, Bea. Peter becomes immersed in the mysteries of an astonishing new environment, overseen by an enigmatic corporation known only as USIC. His work introduces him to a seemingly friendly native population struggling with a dangerous illness and hungry for Peter’s teachings—his Bible is their “book of strange new things.” But Peter is rattled when Bea’s letters from home become increasingly desperate: typhoons and earthquakes are devastating whole countries, and governments are crumbling. Bea’s faith, once the guiding light of their lives, begins to falter.

Suddenly, a separation measured by an otherworldly distance, and defined both by one newly discovered world and another in a state of collapse, is threatened by an ever-widening gulf that is much less quantifiable. While Peter is reconciling the needs of his congregation with the desires of his strange employer, Bea is struggling for survival. Their trials lay bare a profound meditation on faith, love tested beyond endurance, and our responsibility to those closest to us.

Review:

(I got a copy through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review.)

At first I thought I’d rate this book higher: its beginning as well as premise were quite catchy, and I was fairly intrigued at what Peter, the main character, found on planet Oasis, as well as to what would happen with Beatrice, how they’d keep in contact, whether their relationship would hold, and so on.

There are very strong moments in it, especially when contrasting Peter’s privileged experience to Bea’s day-to-day life. (The fact that she lived in Great Britain, that the problems she mentioned happening there were connected to places and brands I do actually know, allowed me to connect more personally with her experience.)

However, two things turned to be a definite let-down for me. The first was insidious enough that I didn’t noticed it in the beginning, but it kept creeping back: regular allusions to other people in terms of skin colour and of characteristics that smacked of a certain… narrow-mindedness, to say the least. I don’t meab skin colour as simply descriptive, but as judgmental. For instance, a nurse from Guatemala is several times compared to an ape, and not in a shiny manner:

Nurse Flores spoke up again, her simian face unexpectedly illuminated with sharp intelligence.

(Other occurrences include her “monkey face” and “simian fingers”.)

I also found that gem, which I don’t even deem deserving any comment at this point:

She was heterosexual despite her butch appearance.

For a while, I wondered if this was part of a process regarding Peter’s character, as hints of his changing, but I’m not so sure, because it clearly didn’t fit with his acceptance of the Oasans, who were so much more different. Although at times he does come off as pretty judgmental—especially when women are concerned—and didn’t help to make me like him:

Her face betrayed no emotion, although her lips twitched once or twice. Maybe she wasn’t a strong reader, and was tempted to mouth the words?

Clearly no one would ever mouth a word while reading for any other reason than struggling with the text. And, once again, it’s about a woman.

Peter didn’t strike me as particularly likeable anyway

It didn’t matter, for the moment, that she misjudged him. She was overwhelmed, she was in distress, she needed help. Rightness or wrongness was not the point.

Yes, poor little misunderstood preacher, in his paradise light-years from Earth, with his mission of evangelising people who’ve been welcoming him with open arms, while his distressed wife struggles with worse problems and calls him on his bullshit—sorry, “misjudges” him. Not that Bea’s so much better, considering one thing she did in his back. And she has her prissy moments of I’m-so-much-better-than-you when she describes how her hospital “gets the dregs”, i.e. people who don’t have the means to get private health insurance.

So while I expected a story that’d show me the struggles of a couple trying to stay united despite the distance, and would focus as much on both parties, I got a bleak reminder about how human beings, even (especially?) the ones who preach love, can sometimes be the worst. Which, in itself, is actually brilliant writing. Just… not what I would’ve wanted to read, not now. And not with the constant lingering doubt: were those the characters‘ views, or the author‘s?

I was also not impressed with the ending: too open for such a story. Too many threads left loose. As if the author had become bored with his story, and decided to let it hang there.

Clearly there were beautiful moments in this novel, that can make you feel like you’re really “with the characters”, but the other problems kept distracting me so much that this read ended up being more tedious than pleasant.

Yzabel / August 20, 2014

Review: The Fault in Our Stars

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

My rating: [rating=1]

Summary:

Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel’s story is about to be completely rewritten.

Review:

I’m not at ease with cancer stories. That illness itself makes me shudder; I might go as far as to say I’m even mildly phobic about it. But I still wanted to check this book, after reading so many good reviews about it, and after I was told that it wasn’t so much about vivid descriptions of cancer itself. So, when it popped up at the library near my parents’ home, I seized the opportunity.

Well, I might be a horrible, callous person, because I just don’t get the whole tear-inducing, heart-wrenching hype around this novel. Or maybe whatever passes for a heart in my chest cavity was too busy rolling its metaphorical eyes at all the pompousness, which for me totally ruined the story. It made me wonder if a thesaurus was harmed, raped and defaced in the process. When using Big Words, the least one can do is to us Big Words That Actually Mean What They’re Supposed To Mean. (Definition of hamartia: the error in judgement that causes the hero to achieve the opposite of what s/he meant, leading to the actual tragedy. Not just any character flaw.) This is not how I, of all people, could be touched, not when I’m too busy wondering who the hell talks like that.

Hazel struck me as pretentious, and incredibly judgemental when it came to a lot of people around her. Gallows humour I could definitely take, understand, and appreciate—but this wasn’t humour. This was just demeaning. The way she spoke of the support group and of Patrick, as if his life had no value? Disgusting:

“…the relief that he escaped lo those many years ago when cancer took both of his nuts but spared what only the most generous soul would call his life.”

I sure couldn’t empathise with her attitude towards her parents at times (how dare they show feelings and cry; or wake her up at 5:30 in the morning to prepare and board the plane to go to Amsterdam; or send her to support group, instead of allowing her to basically be already dead in
her everyday life). Even her attitude towards her teachers, when she attended morning classes.

And the “metaphors”. That whole thing with the eggs and breakfast foods and me going “can we get to some actual point, and not some stupid rambling about a topic that I wouldn’t even tackle if I were completely wasted?” Or the hurdles:

“And I wondered if hurdlers ever thought, you know, This would go faster if we just got rid of the hurdles.”

That’s not philosophical. That’s idiotic.

The love-at-first-sight trope seldom works for me, and it didn’t work here either. It turned the narrative into something rather cheesy, especially with all the pompous dialogues. (Seriously, I’ve met my share of university teachers and educated people in general… and we just don’t talk like that, certainly not without preparing our speeches first. So teenagers, no matter how smart? Sorry, I just can’t believe it.)

Somehow, it reminded me of some of the stuff I wrote when I was 15-16, and found recently at the bottom of a cardboard box. I remembered those “pieces” as witty, smart, full of deep meaning. I remembered writing them with such goals in mind. I was good at writing, too; I always had top grades in French and Literature classes. Then I read those again—now, that is, 20 years later—and I realised how full of myself I was at the time, and how my Big Words And Sentences were in fact just so shallow. The characters here, and their way of talking and being, left me with the same feeling. They never seemed to leave the surface level. Now that I’m done with the book, I still don’t know what Hazel likes (apart from An Imperial Affliction and her favourite TV show), what else she used to do before being diagnosed, and so on. She’s defined by 1) her illness (though said illness looked kind of like a ploy to elicit emotion, rather than anything else) and 2) Augustus, and… What else? I have no idea.

I think it could’ve been a great story… only without its pretentiousness, without its flat characters, and without its tendency to take the reader by the hand to put his/her nose into the supposed deep meaning hidden within the pages. When you feel like a novel is trying to manipulate you, is when suspension of disbelief shatters.