Used Books Blog

Do you remember the Choose Your Own Adventure book series? If you grew up in the 80s I’m guessing you might. I know I do.

Here’s what Wikipedia has to say on the subject.

Choose Your Own Adventure was one of the most popular children’s series during the 1980s and 1990s, selling over 250 million copies between 1979 and 1998, and translated into at least 38 languages.

I can understand why they were so popular. Written in the second-person, these books put you, the reader, in the driver’s seat, allowing you to make choices during the narrative that effect the outcome of the book. Talk about empowerment!

Here’s an example from the The Abominable Snowman, the first book in the Choose Your Own Adventure series.

If you decide to cancel your meeting with Runal and search for Carlos, turn to page 7.

If you feel Carlos is OK and go ahead with your plan to meet Runal, turn to page 8.

You make these choices frequently through the book, winding your way to one of multiple endings. The number of endings for each book could be as high as 44, or 30 like in my favorite of the series, Inside UFO 54-40.

There was usually one really good ending. You’d try again and again to get to that ending instead of the others that ended in death, imprisonment or some other misfortune. Inside UFO 54-40 was unusual in that none of the normal paths actually got you to the really good ending. ‘Paradise’ could only be found by breaking the rules of the book and finding the ending you wanted by thumbing through to that elusive, orphaned, page.

While I certainly enjoyed the structure of the Choose Your Own Adventure books, it was the lesson in Inside UFO 54-40, about thinking outside of the box, that stuck with me.

Choose Your Own Adventure books have been praised for capturing reluctant readers. I wasn’t one of those. I was reading Watership Down, Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Cat’s Cradle, Dune and Caves of Steel. But the series helped continue my passion for books. It seems to have done that for many others, and is also heralded as a great gender neutral series because of the second-person narrative style.

The series was written by a number of authors though most were penned by R.A. Montgomery and Edward Packard. Montgomery is trying to revive the series through Chooseco, his new publishing company. I can definitely see a way for the series to connect to a new generation, but it’ll take better integration with the Internet and a major overhaul of the Choose Your Own Adventure site.

Perhaps a few dedicated fans with technical savvy can reach out and help Chooseco? It’s a worthwhile endeavor in my opinion.

In the mean time, check out the great collection of covers and reviews at gamebooks.org and pick up a few used copies for your kids (or you).

Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski is a well-crafted, absorbing novel that fuses travel, anthropology and mystery. In many respects it feels a bit like a Paul Theroux travelogue, albeit Berlinski is far kinder to most of his subjects. And while this is a work of fiction, the main character certainly bears a strong resemblance to the author in more than just name.

How do I know this? I worked with Mischa briefly in 2001. Though our ‘relationship’ can be, at best, characterized as a casual acquaintance, Mischa is hard to forget. His speech has a particular cadence, a roller coaster of speed from slow drawls to excited animation and his wit, usually dry and mellow, can also reach an acid exasperation at times. Fieldwork captures the essence of Mischa quite well, giving great life to the novel.

Fieldwork follows Mischa, a rather aimless young man, who has tagged along with his girlfriend to Thailand. Berlinski’s description of Thailand is fantastic, with particular emphasis on colors, flowers and smells. Amid the odd writing assignments Mischa learns about the story of Martiya van der Leun, a Dutch Malaysian anthropologist who murdered a Christian missionary. At first intrigued, and then obsessed, Mischa wants to learn more about Martiya’s life and how she wound up dying in a Thai prison. Fieldwork is not a who-dunnit but is, instead, a why-dunnit.

Berlinski uncovers the life history of Martiya and her victim, David Walker, through various interviews and correspondences with relatives and friends of both. It is a tricky and interesting way to breath life into the characters while at the same time slowly building the plot of the murder mystery. In retrospect, it’s a lot like an episode of Without a Trace, which I happen to enjoy.

Without being overt, Berlinski shows that the missionary and anthropologist are alike in one central way, they each embark on a type of fieldwork. The fieldwork is not easy, and both must be passionate about their cause, whether it is to document and understand or convert and save.

Following these passionate folks, the novel moves from the small Dyalo village of Dan Loi to Berkeley to China to the Lot, a nomadic village of sorts composed of those following the Grateful Dead. And the present day interludes reveal that Mischa himself has embarked on a type of fieldwork.

Don’t let the themes of Fieldwork scare you off. I’m not really the religious type nor would I normally sit down to read an anthropological study. Yet, Berlinski makes these things interesting, stripping away stereotypes and preconceived notions and replacing them with engaging and well-rounded characters. The latter, presenting the balanced portrait of these characters - the good and … not so good - ensures that Fieldwork doesn’t become stale.

Though not brimming with hilarity, there are a number of wry comic moments and odd, dry wit.

… they ascribed all ill fortune to witchcraft, from the most trivial, a stubbed toe, to the most grave, a sulky wife or death.

Read the quote again if you haven’t chuckled the first time.

I can understand why Fieldwork is a finalist for the prestigious National Book Award. It is well researched, well written and, like Mischa, hard to forget.

Restless by William Boyd is a fascinating novel that exposes the British Security Coordination (BSC), an extensive British covert spy operation aimed at persuading the US to enter World War II. However, this engrossing spy intrigue is hamstrung by non sequitur characters and over-reaching thematic metaphors.

Restless takes place in two time lines: the mid-1970s and early 1940s. The reader joins Ruth Gilmartin as she discovers the mysterious and heretofore unknown past of her mother - Eva Delectorskaya.

The chapters that chronicle Eva’s indoctrination and participation in the BSC are absorbing and suspenseful. Unfortunately, the chapters that follow Ruth’s daily life wind up a disappointment. Her world is populated with a number of characters and plot lines that never connect to the rest of the story. At the end of the novel I simply regarded these passages as unwanted filler. Instead, I wanted three more detailed chapters on Eva and her relationship with Lucas Romer, her BSC mentor.

The activities of BSC agents, the cat and mouse tactics, are what drive Restless. The concept behind the BSC was to use the media to actively bring the US into WWII. The BSC did this by surreptitiously planting fake stories that pointed at Nazi aggression or expansion past Europe. The BSC was an extensive spy network dedicated to information and spin!

Information wasn’t neutral … if it was believed or even half believed, then everything began subtly to change as a result - the ripple effect could have consequences no one could foresee.

In today’s information rich society, particularly in an election year, this theme resonates strongly. The fact that it was taking place 60 years ago is both interesting and frightening given what could be accomplished today.

The other downfall of Restless is Boyd’s seeming need to make the novel about more than just the personal stories that reveal the BSC. Does anyone really know another person? Are we all waiting for the proverbial other shoe (aka death) to drop? These themes and metaphors are a stretch and, frankly, detracted from my enjoyment of the taut spy thriller that was at the core of Restless.

Last but not least, there was no acknowledgment or afterword that told me what parts of the novel were based on fact. Instead I had to search the Internet to find … a fantastic piece Boyd did in The Guardian titled The Secret Persuaders. If only Boyd had used more of this material in Restless!

I’m being hard on Boyd because Restless was good but had the potential to be great. Ladies, don’t be scared away by the idea that this is a nuts and bolts spy story. It isn’t. The main characters are strong women embroiled in a great and sometimes romantic intrigue. Both my wife and I enjoyed Restless by William Boyd, with reservations, and recommend it as good summer reading.

The Long Rain by Peter Gadol is a great suspense novel that explores relationships, morals and guilt. Jason Dark is putting the pieces of his life back together. He’s moved to a family vineyard, opened up a small law practice in the rural town and is renewing relationships with his estranged wife and troubled son. But then things go awry. On a rainy night on a country road he accidentally runs over and kills a teenager. No one is around for miles and miles.

What would you do?

Maybe the answer is easy for you and you do the right thing, but Peter Gadol explores the sinister side - the weak side - that might try to cover it up. Dark convinces himself that nothing good can come of his admission. The boy is dead and will stay dead. As a lawyer, Dark sees jail or a civil suit that takes away all he’s just reclaimed. He must accept the burden of guilt to protect his family and new life.

The Long Rain is a great suspense novel. Don’t mistake it for a mystery novel. This isn’t a whodunit because you know who committed the crime. It’s not quite a thriller either. You won’t find gory descriptions of a serial killer, no chases with gun waving thugs and nothing blows up in a fiery orange ball. You will be treated to a fascinating internal, psychological drama.

Gadol puts you right smack in the middle of this queasy situation. Good people sometimes make bad decisions. Once Dark lies, he can’t seem to go back and reveal the truth. It’s like that friend you were supposed to call and the longer you wait the worse you feel and the tougher it is to call and explain why you flaked. The beauty of The Long Rain is that you get to live this nightmare vicariously. Guilt and anxiety eat at Dark, threatening to consume his new life. And like Dark, I often found myself sitting, shoulders near my ears, with knots twisting my stomach, thinking ‘will he get caught?’

Vivid descriptions of the vineyard and the detailed process of making wine provide needed breaks from the treacherous plot. Some may find the explanations of the crush, fermentation and cultured bacteria to be too detailed. But if you’re even a little interested in wine, these sections should be interesting. Either way, they are welcome spots of relaxation in an otherwise tense novel. There are also a few overly coincidental plot points, but they weren’t glaring enough to derail my enjoyment of the story.

The Long Rain taps into basic human flaws and puts them on display. It asks and answers a number of unsettling questions. Page by page the anxiety grows. You can’t help but feel the pressure of the situation. This isn’t an easy paint by numbers portrait. It’s a messy, emotional, visceral drama that exposes how secrets and guilt can damage trust and twist relationships. Enjoy the chaos knowing you can always close the book on the drama.

The Last Juror by John Grisham is awful. Seriously, can I get those hours of my life back? The master of the legal mystery delivers a weak attempt at high-minded Southern literature and ignores all elements of a good suspense novel.

I understand that, after cranking out a number of paint-by-numbers, cookie-cutter like novels, Grisham might want to try his hand at something different. I get that. But don’t tell me it’s going to be one thing and then deliver another. Here’s the final line from the back jacket of The Last Juror:

Because as the ghosts of the South’s past gather around Willie, as tension swirls around Clanton, men and women who served on a jury nine years ago are starting to die one by one - as a killer exacts the ultimate revenge …

Sounds exciting doesn’t it? And if that’s really what The Last Juror was about then it could have been a nice, quick read in between more powerful material. I usually rely on a so-bad-it’s-good Stuart Woods novel, but the Stone Barrington series has gotten so bad it’s … well … bad.

Unfortunately, The Last Juror is boring and has little or no intrigue. I kept reading, thinking to myself, it has to get interesting at some point, doesn’t it? Instead the reader is treated to Grisham’s portrait of the South, of small town America dealing with racism and corruption, coupled with a worn out coming of age story. The vengeful killer is an afterthought and, worse, there is no satisfying payoff at the end of the story.

Make no mistake, Grisham is gifted at telling a certain type of story, one that is strong on plot and revolves around the law. However, he fails when the novel is driven by character development and hinges on description and style.

I recommend you avoid The Last Juror by John Grisham and read your voter’s guide pamphlet instead.

Strong Motion by Jonathan Franzen is a fantastic mix of literary fiction and mystery. Superbly drawn characters, psychological punch and vivid descriptions are mixed with an intriguing mystery that revolves around the cause of a swarm of earthquakes in the Boston area. Strong Motion is the Jonathan Franzen version of Erin Brockovich. In it, he deftly and intelligently deals with issues of abortion and corporate malfeasance, while retaining the introspective flow of his dynamic characters and their intense interactions.

The novel follows Louis Holland as he deals with a dysfunctional family, middling career and conflicting love interests. Earthquakes are what set this story in motion. They kill his grandmother and bring Renee Seitchek, a seismologist, into his orbit. The paths of many characters get tangled up and converge seamlessly as they delve into his grandmother’s inheritance, which is composed of stock in a industrial chemical company.

This type of convergence-plot seems in vogue recently and it doesn’t always work. It often feels forced, and you can imagine the author struggling to find ways to unify the various plot lines and characters. The links are sometimes tenuous and there are instances when you simply must employ a suspension of disbelief to make reading enjoyable. That isn’t a problem with Franzen’s Strong Motion. The intersecting plot lines make complete sense and bring natural order to the story.

I have a habit of turning down the corner of a page that has a particular passage that I found extraordinary. Sometimes I’ll review them later and not quite know what I found so compelling, but it’s easy to understand my many markers in Strong Motion.

The hum of the fan in the window was the sound of unhappiness in its rotary progress, always developing and yet always the same, a sound that marked every second of the minutes and hours in which improvement was failing to occur.

Obviously, no one had been eager to be personally crushed by falling timbers or to see their possessions go up in flames, but for a few days in the spring Nature had toyed with the city’s expectations, and people had rapidly developed covert appetites for televised images of bodies under sheets of polyethylene, for the carnival-ride sensation of being tossed around the living room, for a Californian experience, for major numbers.

If you get your life in balance with your death, you stop panicking. Life stops being just the status quo that you hope won’t end for a long time.

If you haven’t already figured it out, Franzen likes long sentences and has a penchant for beautifully describing discontent and those things that we rarely admit to ourselves. Strong Motion is a more raw, blunt version of Franzen’s acclaimed The Corrections, which makes it different, not better or worse.

The one area where Franzen seems one-dimensional is sex. The sexual interactions between characters are confrontational and often mixed with violence. I don’t doubt that this is part of the broad spectrum of sexuality, but it seems a bit one note and distracting at times. I think it’s a red flag if I’m wondering whether Franzen just has some horrible sexual past he’s trying to work out on the page or if he’s trying to make a point through or about sexual intimacy.

I’m being hard on Franzen, but only because there’s nothing else to pick on. Strong Motion is that good. Franzen delivers gripping personal portrayals, frightening human insight as well as a taut and well plotted mystery. I highly recommend Strong Motion, for fans of The Corrections or those new to Franzen’s work.

The Final Solution by Michael Chabon is a slim, but satisfying mystery as well as an insightful examination and extension of a beloved fictional character. The story revolves around Linus Steinman, a nine year old mute, who escaped Nazi Germany with an African gray parrot named Bruno. Bruno’s past associations coupled with his numerical utterances bring the greedy and amoral to his lodging house.

The New York Times Book Review says The Final Solution is “On par with the best, most tightly written sections of Chabon’s last novel, the marvelous The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.” I’m not the NYT, but I’d beg to differ. I’m a huge Kavalier & Clay fan, and while The Final Solution is good, it simply doesn’t bristle with passion and power of the former. And I guess Chabon’s Summerland doesn’t count as a novel?

Instead, The Final Solution is a bit aloof like the unnamed detective who works to solve the mystery. So while the tight plot is enjoyable, the only character that truly jumps off the page is the aged Sherlock Holmes. And even then we’re never told it is that famous detective. So it reads more like a great cover band, or maybe Sammy Hagar as the front man for Van Halen. The ’story’ stands on it’s own, but is certainly given considerably more weight given Chabon’s literary history.

I found some of the P.S. features very interesting. The NPR interview in particular revealed Chabon’s admiration for David Mitchell and Cynthia Ozick. I’m a huge Mitchell fan and immediately picked up an Ozick title. I find the relationships between authors, most often exposed in the acknowledgments, to be a fascinating and valuable tool in finding other great reading.

For example, in Matt Ruff’s Bad Monkeys, he acknowledges Neal Stephenson of Cryptonomicon fame. Similarly, Susanna Clarke acknowledges Neil Gaiman in the fabulous Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell. I’d be extremely interested in a LibraryThing like interface that exposed these connections to readers.

So, pick up The Final Solution by Michael Chabon and then cross your fingers and hope that The Yiddish Policemen’s Union returns Chabon to his Kavalier & Clay form.

Bad Monkeys by Matt Ruff is a condensed, fast-paced, insightful romp that walks the line between gritty literary realism and surreal science-fiction. I’ve been waiting for the next Ruff novel for quite a while and Bad Monkeys will hold me over until I get my next fix.

Bad Monkeys revolves around Jane Charlotte as she converses with a psychologist and explains how and why she’s now arrested for murder. The explanation is, as you’d expect from a Ruff novel, a whopper! Jane details two secret societies locked in a battle of good and evil.

She explains how, as a child rejected by her mother, she found herself in central California on the trail of a serial pedophile and murderer dubbed The Angel of Death. It’s here that she first encounters the ‘organization’ and uses an NC gun to fend off and kill the The Angel of Death. What’s an NC gun? Come now, it’s a gun that kills by Natural Causes. Quintessential, inventive Ruff!

As you may have realized, the topics covered by Ruff aren’t shallow or glitzy in an Elmore Leonard way. Like Set This House In Order, he’s dealing with serious issues that fracture the lives of people. Bad Monkeys covers some of the same ground as Set This House In Order, and nearly feels like a mash-up of that novel and Sewer, Gas & Electric.

But Ruff makes it different enough and keeps you guessing as to whether Jane is just a very troubled woman who’s built a fantastic and bizarre world as a coping mechanism, or if she’s on the level and is on the front lines in the war against evil. Just when you think you know which way it will go, that’s when the plot twist(s) make you doubt yourself.

I read Bad Monkeys in two round-trip BART rides. It’s a rather short novel, particularly for the usually Homeric Ruff. So part of me wishes he’d taken one more year and written another 200 pages to fully explore the fantastic framework he established. Another is happy that the next novel is that much closer.

Bad Monkeys by Matt Ruff is a good read and Fool On The Hill is required reading. Extra credit? The Matt Ruff home page.