Monday, August 22, 2005
Vacation round-up.
First was Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett. It totally reminded me of all the Louis L'Amour westerns my grandpa used to read. But deeper, with a hero who admits he begins to like the vengeance and the killing.
Then it was on to lighter fare with The Serpent On The Crown by Elizabeth Peters which my dad brought up for me to read after he finished. I was so glad to find that this one was much better than the last one. I guess I don't have to give up on this series after all.
After that one I pulled out Killing Yourself To Live by Chuck Klosterman because I'm going to the signing tonight and wanted to read it before I got there. Many have complained about it being all mopey about his ex-girlfriends and yeah, it was, but I didn't care because it was still funny and had enough music stuff to keep it moving. Although his idea of obscure (Sloan, Lemonheads, Ben Folds Five, and Raymond Carver) totally isn't. Seriously, dude, on what planet are those obscure references? I'd now like to introduce you to the indier-than-thou asshole side of me...
I wanted to follow that one up with Travels With Charley (what with the whole cross country trip thing) but I wasn't feeling it, so decided on Norwood by Charles Portis instead. It had a long trip in it too, so it all worked out just fine. I dug this one a lot and am looking forward to reading his other books.
That brings me to the weekend. Home. Getting sick. I spent Sunday reading Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls by Bennett Madison which was completely predictable but so enjoyable I didn't mind all that much. It was like a cross between Nancy Drew, Single White Female, and one of those chick-lit books about shopping I haven't read. The author is all of 23 and this is his second book. I feel so unsuccessful.
Then I busted out The Complete Frank Miller Batman by, well, Frank Miller, so I could read Batman: Year One. It was funny though - the introduction was so defensive about adults reading comics (it was written in 1989) and now we've come so far out the other side that Michael Chabon is giving speeches about how it's sad that comics aren't for kids anymore. Anyway. Loved it, but not as much as The Dark Knight because really, how do you beat Batman kicking Superman's ass?
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First was Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett. It totally reminded me of all the Louis L'Amour westerns my grandpa used to read. But deeper, with a hero who admits he begins to like the vengeance and the killing.
Then it was on to lighter fare with The Serpent On The Crown by Elizabeth Peters which my dad brought up for me to read after he finished. I was so glad to find that this one was much better than the last one. I guess I don't have to give up on this series after all.
After that one I pulled out Killing Yourself To Live by Chuck Klosterman because I'm going to the signing tonight and wanted to read it before I got there. Many have complained about it being all mopey about his ex-girlfriends and yeah, it was, but I didn't care because it was still funny and had enough music stuff to keep it moving. Although his idea of obscure (Sloan, Lemonheads, Ben Folds Five, and Raymond Carver) totally isn't. Seriously, dude, on what planet are those obscure references? I'd now like to introduce you to the indier-than-thou asshole side of me...
I wanted to follow that one up with Travels With Charley (what with the whole cross country trip thing) but I wasn't feeling it, so decided on Norwood by Charles Portis instead. It had a long trip in it too, so it all worked out just fine. I dug this one a lot and am looking forward to reading his other books.
That brings me to the weekend. Home. Getting sick. I spent Sunday reading Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls by Bennett Madison which was completely predictable but so enjoyable I didn't mind all that much. It was like a cross between Nancy Drew, Single White Female, and one of those chick-lit books about shopping I haven't read. The author is all of 23 and this is his second book. I feel so unsuccessful.
Then I busted out The Complete Frank Miller Batman by, well, Frank Miller, so I could read Batman: Year One. It was funny though - the introduction was so defensive about adults reading comics (it was written in 1989) and now we've come so far out the other side that Michael Chabon is giving speeches about how it's sad that comics aren't for kids anymore. Anyway. Loved it, but not as much as The Dark Knight because really, how do you beat Batman kicking Superman's ass?
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