jonscott9's reviews
204 reviews

Robinson's prose is elegant and simple. Her characters are the same. John Ames reminded me of a 77-year-old Congregationalist minister version of Atticus Finch. It's set up as a 240-page letter from Ames to his 7-year-old son by a much younger wife who Ames married late in his own existence. If this doesn't sound fantastic, trust me, you don't want to miss the beauty of this book. I can't do it the slightest justice. It's just gripping.

And it won a Pulitzer if that does it for you.


Opening line:
"I told you last night that I might be gone sometime, and you said, Where, and I said, To be with the Good Lord, and you said, Why, and I said Because I'm old, and you said, I don't think you're old."

Imaginative and thoughtful. Lewis embarks on a bus trip between hell and heaven and witnesses a number of interactions between transparent "ghosts" (those traveling from hell) and "bright spirits" (those residing in heaven). Some of the confrontations between these people (they do have bodies) are quite affecting and thought-provoking, especially in the situations of the dwarfish man and the woman, and the man with the lizard on his back.

Lewis also encounters the Teacher (George MacDonald, whose own Phantastes catalyzed Lewis's spiritual birth), who stays with him for the latter half of the book. Their conversations are of exceptional depth.

I could probably read one 6- or 7-page chapter of this book at a time and ponder its themes and subjects for a week afteward.

This dialogue-heavy, dialogue-rich read is well worth it.

Alternately heartwarming and heartbreaking. This is Buechner's fourth memoir, and no, that's not too much in light of his 80 or so years, life experiences, and body of work. He touches on so many subjects -- his friendship with the late poet James Merrill, his family tragedy, some of his great works, and the life well lived. The touch Buechner gives whatever he is writing about is the most gentle and yet most searing touch I have encountered in literature. I love to read him when I am in need of calm in my own life.

I found this first novel by the doctor-turned-author to be troubling in a couple ways. First, the subject matter gets to be so heavy and devastating. If something can go wrong for someone in this story, it almost certainly will. One scene in particular left me sitting around silent for the rest of that evening. Second, the narrator got to be whiny and ingratiating to me. Was this Hosseini's intent? I don't quite think so. Amir (narrator) also makes some questionable decisions even as an adult. He left me shaking my head at some turns of fate, and so did some of the coincidences that happen in the book, for they are many.

Still, The Kite Runner is highly readable. The bandwagon for this book is cruising. I can see why people take to it. There's also a CliffsNotes-styled history lesson about mid-1970s strife in Afghanistan with the Russian invasion, too. This covers the inception of the Taliban, and the descriptions are chilling in light of 21st-century (read: current) events.

Best to come in without expectations, or too-high ones anyway. For all that I'd heard of this book, I expected some manifesto on par with Lewis's Mere Christianity. In reality, a lot of Rob Bell's ideas are good, but they're nothing startling or new. My favorite passage actually has to do with the concept of heaven coming down and enveloping earth when this world is through. Interesting thoughts, and his style and personality are fresh, but on the whole I wanted more, I guess. Maybe this is what I get for checking out a book a couple years after the bandwagon's crossed the finish line.

Anne Rice performs here a daunting if not audacious task in narrating this account from the mind and tongue of the 7-year-old Jesus Christ. Controversial, yes, but also reverent and, well, forever relevant.

This is quite the departure for the former queen of vampire lit, and apparently she's to continue in her historical fiction works about the Christ. Know this: She's for real. A lengthy author's note at the back of the book informs the reader that Rice herself has done quite the research into Jewish life and culture of the day to prep for this novel.

I won't tell you where this story ends. It has some wonderful poetic sections and does justice to what is, needless to say, some weighty material.

This fourth read from Miller was to be chock full of thoughts and insights on the harsh and hilarious realities of growing up fatherless, as he did when his father "split" when he was quite young. Unfortunately this thin book wades through tales of Miller's years spent in the garage apartment of his friend and mentor, John MacMurray, who's billed as the co-author. (I'd not want my name attached to this book if I was him.)

Long story long, this book was simply a disappointment. The subject matter's of great interest; it's just that Miller really doesn't discuss it, and when he does, it's with all the depth that a high-school junior with solid English-class instruction could muster.

He's really not even that great of a writer. Not once was I compelled to underline a passage or retain a sliver of the contents. I wanted meat; I was handed a bare wishbone. As for any discussion of Miller's literary merits holding up to those of, say, Anne Lamott, I've concluded recently that it's no contest. It's like comparing apples and orangutans. Lamott's writing flows; Miller's a glorified blogger.

Anne Lamott is a gifted writer. Say what you will about her theology or her self-absorption--hey, she readily admits it with charming self-deprecation--but she is a treasure hidden in the rock, one who operates with a style and a pained grace all her own. One never reads Anne Lamott thinking that he's read the stuff before or elsewhere.

Here she takes on the subject of writing itself. Within these pages, the author paints a tragicomic portrait of Everywriter with classic chapters ("Shitty First Drafts") and practical advice on procrastination, filing ideas away for later birthing, and the like, all emerging from the depths of her own experience. She's come a long way from California food writing, in short, and she's here to tell you that you--yes, you--can do the same.

But you'll never know if you don't try, and Lamott does well to pepper her book on writing with some stark realism that meshes well with the hilarious anecdotes she's always been prone to share.

This is a must-read for anyone who fashions himself a writer.

Great anecdotes about Christian spirituality and relationships, well told and presented like a series of essays. It stays congruent, though. This is the one book Miller was born to write. Made me happy and sad, prone to rejoice or mourn, at some points, sometimes at once.

This book does exactly what it's intended to do. In that it gives fans of pro tennis (the women's game in particular) an insider's scoop on the 2000 season on the tour. Venus Williams takes center stage among other notables who need only first-name introductions: Martina, Serena, Anna, Monica, and other names ending in "-a."

The Hoosier-bred, Ivy-educated tennis scribe Wertheim provides enough locker-room fodder and backstory to keep the fan-reader involved, all while flexing his usual witty, literate writing muscles.

It's a quick, entertaining read.