It’s been a good season for churning through books, ever since I picked up a new e-reader I’ve just been reading harder and faster than I was previously. Here’s some mini-reviews:
The Magic Mountain – Thomas Mann
Like all good books it comes with a postscript advising you to read it twice before forming an opinion. I haven’t read it twice so I’m not sure I should form an opinion yet, but I have, and it’s that this is a good book and the doings of dopey engineer-philosopher Hans Castorp will stay with me for a long.
The Empusium – Olga Tokarczuk
I wasn’t convinced this was specifically riffing on The Magic Mountain until Tokarczuk put in a joke about erotically borrowing someone’s pencil, at which point it was undeniable. A wonderful bit of charged, nasty feminist writing about how men would be happy fucking the dirt if they could get away with it.
Master and Commander – Patrick O’Brien
Boats boats boats boats boats, and more boats. O’Brien elevates what could be a standard bit of naval tosh with his totally idiosyncratic ability to pick scenes and perspectives.
Post-Captain – Patrick O’Brien
I confess I was not particularly charmed by the Jane Eyre parody, other than in the mere fact of it. That aside, and ignoring that someone has glued an extra ending onto a book that already has several, an enjoyable second outing for the Anti-Napoleon lads.
Sword of Destiny – Andrzej Sapkowski
Absolutely godawful, a charmless collection of shorts that somehow has none of the positive qualities of The Last Wish. Cannot work out from Wikipedia or the sub-Wikipedia collection of citations on the matter if these particular stories were written before the ones in that collection, but in any case they aren’t good. The eponymous ‘Sword of Destiny’ is the worst, with an incredibly irritating depiction of later protagonist Ciri.
Blood of Elves – Andrzej Sapkowski
Better, thank God. Sapkowski eschews the short stories to tell a longer narrative, albeit a little too long as it doesn’t end when the book does. A good read despite that though.
Wittgenstein’s Nephew – Thomas Bernhard
Another instance of Bernhard making real figures and real life into the subject of a harrowing, delirious first-person rant. Very much in the vein of The Loser, although not quite as electric as that book in the depths of obsession and self-loathing. I laughed out loud when, mere pages before the end and in the midst of an emotional breakdown over the death of his friend, Bernhard (the protagonist and author) goes on a wild tangent about actors conspiring with audiences to ruin his plays.
Celine Dion’s Let’s Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste – Carl Wilson
A fun read with an appropriate amount of insight; as a dabbling poptimist of many years the ideas weren’t particularly new to me but the history of Celine and her endearingly weird phenomenon were.
The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea – Yukio Mishima
Bleak stuff from Mr Mishima, as you’d expect, but the tight and beautiful prose is a stark contrast to the slightly distracted, oddly curtailed The Decay of the Angel. That book ends up being something of a counterpart to this one, the bright-eyed sociopathy of boat enthusiast Noboru being the closest thing to a hope for the future a Mishima protagonist can offer, where Tōru in Decay is an infinite disappointment to the ailing Honda.