Drama

I enjoy James Bond films, and while awaiting the debut of Quantum of Solace, found From Russia with Love on the shelves of Kelly’s lake cabin I picked it up, curious to see how Ian Fleming’s character compared to those of the films. One look at the book and it is clear that Ian Flemings novels opposite to the political-military thrillers like Hunt For Red October and the book is marketed as a mystery. Yet the book contains no enigma- the Soviet plot to kill Bond is revealed in the exposition. Perhaps I’m expecting too much out of the 180 or so pages, and it may be that Bond without action scenes is an impossible sell for me. But I found the book underwhelming . The characters other than Kerim are nearly one dimensional, and after the exposition few even get the chance to show personality. The plot seems basic and there is little satisfaction in the way that Bond triumphs over his enemies. Worse, the book is full of the worst offenses era, full of Communist stereotypes, mysoginy, Eurocentrism and homophobia. Perhaps the elements that were once exciting, such as the 4 day ride on the Orient Express now seem banal in a world where Istanbul-London can be little more than a day trip. Whatever the reason, I highly doubt I will ever ponder any element in this book, save when I see the next movie and sigh in relief that I didn’t have to read the book.

**Decohere ** * Ubik—the only book that reads you as you read it. Side effects include narrative dissonance and ontological vertigo. * Do books need to make sense? Ubik certainly doesn’t. Supposedly that’s the meta point - a dream, or constructed reality always has seams the reader can pick at, Ubik just makes it more obvious. The core narrative is about surviving in half-life, and different minds collide and cannibalize. Yet, if the narrative is not even an attempt at coherence, what are we left with? Art? A dream? Why do we even read? Maybe Ubik is the diving board from which the reader should jump into more profound thoughts. I just fell into the abyss. ...

Last week was at my college alma mater, and I was surprised at the memories that came back to me. The campus was permeated with fear and self criticism, bad memories of asking for a loan, opening a bank account with a $50 paycheck, or thinking about how to spend the last $4. What I forgot was the wild ambitions, of foundj a club, gettingperfectgrades, the compulsive gap to live in a fantasy world since incremental progress was itself depressing. Of mice and men nails this reality of being poor. Thinly sirprisj g part is how hard it is to see the reality when you are in it. ...

A book about the culture. How it is created, the meaning we give it, the supposed truths that such culture creates. There is definitely meat on the bones here, just gotta think some more about what that meat really is. Much better than I expected, glad I read the unabridged version.

aka: the dangers of attending a masquerade ball and credulity of accusations of adultery.

45th book of 2019 Came into this book with a strong recommendation from a friend thinking that I would get a novel similar to Foundation or Childhood’s end. Instead it was a collection of short stories, pretty depressing, confusing, unbelievable, or all three. Considering all the higher ratings from people I respect, that must be some sort of literary value to this book that I’m missing, or some higher art form that I should enjoy, but I just haven’t been able to get into it. Bailing.