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).

You Don’t Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem seems like a sad combination of sexual themes from a Nicholson Baker novel with the enigmatic Los Angeles vibe often produced by Steve Erickson. Lethem simply misses the mark completely, filling the page with dead on arrival dialog, characters with no real substance or motivation and largely unnecessary sexual scenes.

You Don’t Love Me Yet is, to put it bluntly, bad.

It’s tough for me to say this since I like so much of Lethem’s work. I believe we’re seeing the growing pains of an author working toward a new genre. Most of Lethem’s prior work was based in science fiction or surrealism. Gun with Occasional Music, Amnesia Moon, Girl In Landscape and As She Climbed Across the Table are all very good reads.

Lethem then made a successful jump to more traditional literature with Motherless Brooklyn. But even Motherless Brooklyn borrowed from his detective genre past. Then came The Fortress of Solitude, a clear attempt at straight up literary fiction, which might have been good if an editor had made it about half as long. You Don’t Love Me Yet extends Lethem’s reach for literary fiction.

Even in his short story work, Lethem seems to hit the mark when dealing with surreal or other-worldly environments. No doubt he’s a talented writer, but he’s yet to take his talent and successfully apply it in a traditional literary fiction context.

You Don’t Love Me Yet follows the travails of an aspiring rock band in Los Angeles. The main character is Lucinda Hoekke, the bassist, who is painted as a flighty, mercurial woman with little idea of her own motivations. Perhaps she’s an alcoholic since nearly every scene seems to include drinking. I don’t know and, frankly, I didn’t care.

As a sterotypical musician, Lucinda needs some money and winds up working for an ex who is running a performance art piece about cataloging complaints via telephone. It’s here she conjures up a relationship with one of the callers, The Complainer, who turns her life and that of the band upside down. I won’t go into it because it’s all rather dreary and pointless.

Did I mention the sub-plot about the lead singer (on and off again boyfriend) who also works at the zoo and kidnaps a kangaroo that he feels is being mistreated? Yeah, it’s strange. I like strange but this just doesn’t go anywhere and the plot convergence is wholly unsatisfying.

You Don’t Love Me Yet reaches for what DeLillo or Erickson accomplish, turning ordinary oddities into meaningful insight. Avoid Lethem’s You Don’t Love Me Yet and pick up any of his early work instead.

Software by Rudy Rucker is a gritty, gripping science-fiction novel that explores cyberpunk themes in a retro (Pulp or early Golden Age) format. Software feel like reading an old Amazing Stories or Astounding Science Fiction magazine. The slim volume and direct prose make Software feel slightly and deliciously subversive.

Winner of the inaugural Philip K. Dick award in 1982, Software is a clear influence on many other science fiction writers, most notably Richard K. Morgan and his Takeshi Kovacs trilogy.

Rucker creates a world in which robots have broken Asimov’s laws of robotics and become self-aware and free, taking up residence on the moon. Cobb Anderson, the scientist who set this rebellion in motion, is now an aging ‘pheezer’ in Florida, slowly drinking himself to death.

The story begins almost immediately as Anderson is approached by a representative of the robots, known as boppers, with the offer of immortality. What follows is a terse, action-packed adventure that presents interesting science-fiction concepts beside bits of lurid imagery and unsubtle social commentary.

A central theme of Software is the division of a person into software and hardware. If the software - the mind and memories - survive, does the hardware - human body or robot - matter? Could switching hardware be likened to the regular molting of skin? If the software is part of a greater program - a collection of software - are you no longer an individual? How does the soul fit into the software and hardware division?

Rucker takes all of these issues on, but does so without preaching and, refreshingly, doesn’t seem to take a side. Even his characters are confused and conflicted about their stand on things. And the characters are memorable, though not particularly deep.

Software is populated by two to four main characters; the previously described Cobb Anderson; Sta-Hi an aimless drug addled surfer type; Ralph Numbers, the first bopper to be free; and Mr. Frostee, a ‘big bopper’ who wants to collect the brain tapes of humans and boppers alike, a forerunner of Star Trek’s Borg.

Don’t expect to just sit back and muse about Software. There’s no time with the short chapters, quick dialog and visceral action. After the fact you might feel like a shower and, once in the shower, can begin to evaluate the higher meaning in Software.

I highly recommend Software by Rudy Rucker for anyone who enjoys Philip K. Dick, Richard K. Morgan or Neil Gaiman. However, you may want to avoid Software if you’re not into science fiction, or like your science fiction to be neat and tidy. These robots have no relation to the cute beeping R2D2.

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.

Fiskadoro by Denis Johnson is a jumbled, frustrating post-apocalyptic novel. Don’t expect a paint-by-numbers approach to revealing how things went wrong, nor what happened between that fateful day and the present. There is no omniscient character to provide the necessary background. There is no guide. Instead Johnson’s characters inhabit the world as it is, without the explanation that might bring clarity to the reader.

I admire what Denis Johnson is trying to do in Fiskadoro. He immerses the reader in what it might really be like to be a survivor. History is lost or, worse, is a warped collection of things heard or imagined. The connection to the past is limited, receding away until it vanishes like a sunset never to return. What remains isn’t well understood or is taken for granted as part of daily life.

Admiration and enjoyment don’t always go hand in hand.

Johnson creates a realistic world in which the survivors, and reader, are often fumbling for answers. The survivors crave those answers. They want to know what happened, how it happened and what comes next. And so did I! There are a few sign-posts in Fiskadoro that point to a quarantine and some sort of civilization in Cuba. There is one particular scene late in the book that paints an interesting portrait of the hours or days after the bombs fell. But it’s not enough to quench my thirst for answers. And while I know that’s what Johnson wants me to feel, it leaves me frustrated.

Yes, I enjoy post-apocalyptic novels and Johnson provides one reason I might be drawn to this theme.

Can we help it if sometimes we like to tell stories that want, as their holiest purpose, to excite us with pictures of danger and chaos?

I’ll admit that I see part of myself in that statement. But it’s overwhelmed with the idea of starting again; of battling back from the brink; of stripping down all the old conventions and building anew; of how you might respond should civilization disintegrate. What would you do if …? I am intrigued by this idea.

A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller Jr., Lucifer’s Hammer by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood, The Postman by David Brin and Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell all answer this central question and satisfy in different ways. Fiskadoro doesn’t.

Oddly, the best passages in the book revolve around the past life of a now elderly, nearly mute, woman. The reader is taken back to her harrowing escape from Saigon. This is where the book comes alive and Johnson is certainly drawing some parallels between the two timelines with themes such as the breakdown of society, of leaving the past behind completely and of survival.

I don’t doubt Johnson’s writing ability. He’s talented, with interesting insight …

The sabotage of knowledge by a wealth of facts - they weren’t professors, but guerrillas.

and observations.

The seagulls walked back and forth at the border of the water, all bellies and beaks, throwing out their chests with an air of flat assumption like small professors.

In the end Fiskadoro proves that the post-apocalyptic genre is tough to get right, even for gifted writers. With all the great post-apocalyptic novels out there, I simply can’t recommend Fiskadoro by Denis Johnson.

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 Rider by Tim Krabbe is a bicycling book that will appeal to more than just hardcore cycling fans. In fact, The Rider is the best sports book I’ve ever read. This slim fast-paced novel follows bicycle racer Tim Krabbe on a grueling one-day race in mountainous France. Krabbe chronicles the cat and mouse strategy of cycling; the competitive camaraderie; the blinding physical pain; the superstitions; and the internal stream of consciousness battle that takes place as a rider pushes themselves to the limit.

I know a bit about bicycling because … I ride. Since the age of 13 I’ve been rewarded with great personal victories like riding from Philadelphia to Long Beach Island with my Dad and finishing the Mount Diablo Challenge in 1:25:10. I’ve also fought back from pain and tragedy, pushing through exhaustion and getting back on the road after being hit by a car.

Bicycling gives you perspective and insight that you translate to your life and career. Yes, it all sounds very new age and perhaps you’ve heard other athletes lecture monotonously about the subject. But it is … the truth. When you crest the summit of a mountain or finish a 100 mile century ride there is an immense sense of accomplishment. Not just for the actual deed but for how you overcame your own weaknesses. You think about all the times your body wanted you to stop and how many times the lesser part of your nature shouted persistently and persuasively: “turn around, you can’t do it, just give up, there’s no shame in stopping.”

Tim Krabbe captures this perfectly in The Rider. No other bicycling book I’ve read details that roller coaster of emotions and the ebb and flow of pain, determination and elation that is cycling. Even those not into bicycling will be drawn into this personal battle and will want to know how the race turns out. Does Krabbe win? This can’t fail plot device is executed with precision.

Amid all of this the hardcore cyclist is treated to anecdotes and references to some of the most revered names of cycling such as Merckx, Anquetil and Coppi. One of my favorites comes at the beginning of the novel:

Jacques Anquetil, five-time winner of the Tour de France, used to take his water bottle out of it’s holder before every climb and stick it in the back pocket of his jersey. Ab Geldermans, his Dutch lieutenant, watched him do that for years, until finally he couldn’t stand it any more and asked him why. And Anquetil explained.

A rider, said Anquetil, is made up of two parts, a person and a bike. The bike, of course, is the instrument the person uses to go faster, but its weight also slows him down. That really counts when the going gets tough, and in climbing the thing is to make sure the bike is as light as possible. A good way to do that is: take the bidon out of its holder.

So, at the start of every climb, Anquetil moved his water bottle from its holder to his back pocket. Clear enough.

This is such a perfect way to illustrate the ways in which cyclists deceive themselves in order to succeed. On the face this makes no sense at all, but as a rider, I can absolutely understand the ‘value’ of this behavior.

The style of The Rider also makes it an easy read. The short journal like entries that document the kilometer by kilometer progress throughout the race are tight, visceral and compelling. The prose isn’t detailed or overblown. It matches the dichotomous experience of the rider, mixing an economy of words with free association.

First published in Holland in 1978, it took and obscene 14 years until The Rider was translated into English. Now is your chance to read The Rider by Tim Krabbe. It is entertaining, informative and inspirational to both cyclists and non-cyclists.

Now … off for a ride of my own.

Darwin’s Children by Greg Bear is a satisfying but imperfect follow-up to Darwin’s Radio that reaches too far outside the scientific realm and into politics and religion. Bear is a gifted storyteller with a knack for building great suspense. Bear uses a scientific framework to create interesting characters and places them in situations that compel you to read on to find out what happens next. Darwin’s Children is no different.

Darwin’s Children picks up 11 years after where Darwin’s Radio ended. Bear doesn’t do a whole lot to catch the reader up, so if you haven’t read Darwin’s Radio you might be a bit confused. I definitely recommend reading Darwin’s Radio before Darwin’s Children. (Jeez, how many Darwin’s can you fit into a paragraph!)

The story revolves around the treatment and integration of a new type of human, children born through a retrovirus embedded deep in our DNA. As with all Bear novels, you’re treated to a bit of hard science. I personally enjoyed learning about the differing nature of viruses; a disease but also as a carrier of information. But the story is really about the Rafelson family who were central to Darwin’s Radio.

We follow Kaye Lang, a scientific researcher who essentially discovered the new virus; Mitch Rafelson, a former archaeologist who made a critical discovery in Darwin’s Radio; and Stella Nova, their “virus child” daughter. Stella is the most interesting because we get insight into these new humans.

Virus children have a hyper developed sense of smell that allows them to sniff out emotions. In addition, they can produce scents that can persuade others, a subtle type of mind control. Their faces are freckled and these freckles can be manipulated to produce patterns that allow non-verbal communication. In the verbal arena, they’re able to carry on two streams of conversation at once. Bear does a fine job of exploring the evolving ways in which these new humans will form relationships and develop new social patterns.

Alone, this type of speculative sociology would be interesting but Bear places his characters in tense, explosive situations. Can the Rafelson family evade capture by government agencies bent on placing Stella, and all of her kind, in internment camps? Will Stella survive a new disease that is ravaging this new breed of humans? And that’s just the first act of Darwin’s Children.

In fact, Bear creates three consecutive suspense stories which is both good and bad. The set-up is great but in many cases the climax never came. Instead you’re thrown head long into another set-up. So just when you’re warming up to how the situation would be resolved … the rug is pulled out from under you and you’re back to square one.

Yes, they all did support the final resolution, but I found the final story weak, the novel petering out near the end, ambling into cliche territory. In addition, Bear takes on a bit too much, straying into politics and religion.

On politics he takes very transparent shots at governing by fear and the erosion of freedom. I completely agree with Bear’s clear sentiment, but didn’t need or want them in this context. Yes, it’s easy to create some parallels but inference would have been better than exposition.

Bear also brings religion or God into the mix when it does nothing for the story and doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s simply his own personal observation and, from reading the caveats section, personal experience. My advice is to write up an essay or put this into another novel entirely. It’s distracting here and unnecessary.

Despite these failings Darwin’s Children is a good read as Bear deftly draws you into a new reality. Not his best by any stretch of the imagination, but worthwhile if you’ve read Darwin’s Radio and appropriate for those who enjoy readable hard Sci-Fi.

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.

Foop! by Chris Genoa is an appealing science-fiction farce with healthy doses of amusing social commentary. I liked Foop! but wanted to like it more. All the ingredients were there, and it did taste good, but I couldn’t help but think that a dash more of this and a little less of that would have really made it a great read.

The story follows a rather overwhelmed and juvenile Joe, a time travel tour guide. We join Joe in crisis, having to step in for John Wilkes Booth and assassinate Abraham Lincoln. (I can’t help but think of Sarah Vowell right out of the gate and have to believe she’s read Foop!) It’s in these first few chapters that we’re introduced to how time travel works in Foop! and the ’shaved cat’ principle that ensures that any changes made in the past do not effect the future. Or do they?

The story pinballs, nay, ricochets from character to character and wacky, odd-ball scene to the next. There’s Joe’s macho yet tender boss Burk; Martini, an Eeyore-like needy co-worker; Ba Hubba Tree Bob, a new age religious leader; and Boogedy and Nibbles, a mute alien Laurel and Hardy team that stalk Joe throughout time. Genoa stitches these scenes together artfully, particularly since the plot isn’t exactly the cohesive force it could be in the novel.

The vaudeville like tone to Foop! is enjoyable and you can feel a Christopher Moore vibe going on. And perhaps it’s because Moore is so accomplished, or that Tim Scott was successful in doing something similar, that makes me want more from Foop! It’s like early Neal Stephenson, he knew how to start, but had problems really closing the deal. Because there are some deeper messages buried in Foop!, about how we live, about being connected to those around us, and about the general conduct of humans.

But there was too much of the crude Judd Apatow (Superbad, 40 Year Old Virgin) humor steeped in genitalia and bodily orifice jokes. Once in a while and it can be humorous. Frequent use makes me feel like I’m listening to a 14 year-old trying (and failing) to have adult conversation. In addition, the main character seemed a bit uneven, oscillating from spineless stunted geek to acerbic dominant bully.

So, at the end of the day I liked Foop! but hope that, like many first time authors, Chris Genoa turns out an even better sophomore effort.