Here, I post another book-type list that I got from bluchickenninja.
…and I feel good about this one, too, because it is a list of the last 10 books that “came into my possession”. Or, since I loathe people giving me books…it becomes the last 10 books that I bought. And I was having trouble recalling them, so ultimately that is a good thing, as it means I’ve curbed my need to constantly buy books.
Spies, by Marcel Beyer
It was a (nearly) cheap-as-free book that I picked up to satisfy my Wolf, because he got very taken with learning about the Spanish Civil War, and he wanted to find a story connected to that…so we did. I read a few pages before getting it, and was baffled because there is a huge stylistic difference between the Prologue and the first chapter…we wanted to see what was up with that, and if it had anything to do with the bookstore basically paying us to take this off their hands.
I don’t expect to get to get to this one before fall, just because of the ponderousness of GoT.
Trigger Warning, by Neil Gaiman
I love Gaiman’s writing. Even the books of his that I haven’t liked as much are well above the level of satisfaction I get from many other authors. I will probably get to this one in late summer…and see if there’s any merit to the title, which I recall reviewers who hadn’t even read it getting huffy over because they see it as belittling their mental disorders. I can’t speak to that until I read it, but if it does turn out to be belittling to the mentally afflicted, that will be disappointing, and I will probably respect Gaiman less…but we’ll see when we get there.
The Road Back, by Erich Maria Remarque
I am reading this now. I’ll have a more full opinion once I’ve actually finished it, but so far it is not bad. It isn’t as upsetting as the book it follows, for sure.
Dreams in The Witch House, by H.P. Lovecraft
This book is all of Lovecraft’s trippy dream-stories and slightly lesser weird tales. The dream stories annoyed me until I realized I wasn’t reading them in the proper frame of mind–you know, as though they are dreams that someone is telling me about–but I am glad to have read them.
All Quiet on The Western Front, by Erich Maria Remarque
Ah, such a sad book. I should only go into bookshops with a chaperone, so that they can stop me from doing anything foolish when I realize that we have read all the promising-looking Lovecraftian anthologies, and my Wolf brightens up and says, “hey, remember that really upsetting thing we read in high school…? Let’s find it!” Then I could probably have also been prevented from acquiring items #1 and #3.
The Children of Old Leech, assorted authors
I mistakenly thought this was a collection of Laird Barron’s work, but really it is an anthology to honour his particular style of weird tale…I liked it. I like that authors of weird tales feed off of other authors in the genre…it has little threads of continuity that other writing doesn’t have, and that is great for building on creepy feelings. I love it.
The Beautiful Thing that Awaits Us All, by Laird Barron
Then there is Barron’s actual writing, which is awesome and creepy…and more like to be gory than Lovecraft’s work. I particularly like his adaptions of some of Lovecraft’s themes…creepy mountain men and outlaws, which I think he uses to better effect than Lovecraft did…but that’s just me. And the monsters, naturally, are creepy.
Dr Who Anniversary Collection, various authors
I was excited to read some Doctor Who stories, although I am admittedly a little out of the loop, having not seen any of the older series at all. They were alright though.
The Ocean at The End of The Lane, by Neil Gaiman
This one is not one of my favourites by him, but it is equal parts childhood-fantasy and morbid, upsetting stuff, and I do like both of those things in my books. I think that the biggest thing I was not a fan of was the way it ended…it was not a satisfying resolution. Or any kind of resolution, really.
Maddaddam, by Margaret Atwood
This was a huge disappointment. The first book in this series, Oryx and Crake, was amazing. It had everything it needed to be a stand-alone book. And then Atwood made it a trilogy, and introduced children. And if there is one thing I have learned about books, it’s that when a child is introduced, the book is essentially over. It’s never any good. Never. Because of the same dilemma that all literature, and much of life itself holds–that the child must destroy its parents in order to live. Their stories pale in comparison to the story of the child, and so we must go back to YA books, where the child will find out its talents and a place in the world…and one forgets about the dull and increasingly ridiculous lives of the parents.
*shrug* I just really wish she hadn’t made this a trilogy. But if you love sci-fi, I definitely recommend the first book. Just try very hard to stop yourself after that.