The key word here is “reader”, which means don’t expect a sumptuous coffee table book replete with lush full page illustrations. This is, instead, a collection of articles written over the years about the character Disney referred to colloquially as “The Mouse”, and also some about Disney himself.
The first third or so of the book is somewhat monotonous, because several articles are printed that essentially give the same information. They talk about the first cartoons that played as short films in movie houses during the era of silent films, and the consequence adaptation in which Mickey was given his voice, which was Walt Disney speaking in falsetto. The company was founded on a shoestring by Disney and a partner with whom he fell out when the man swindled him; consequently, Walt’s brother Roy came on board with a significant cash infusion and a willingness to join in. It was Walt Disney’s wife Lillian who prevented him from naming Mickey “Mortimer Mouse”. The character’s humor was modeled largely on the self-effacing humor of Charlie Chaplin, though Disney said that the two did not share political perspectives.
Those who have the attention span and the interest level will find more diverse material in the remaining portion of the book, and everything is fastidiously documented; articles published in a language other than English are reprinted in their entirety in the original language at the back of the book.
Mickey is analyzed up one side and down another by such diverse individuals as Carl Jung, Maurice Sendak, and Stephen Jay Gould; in relation to the last of these, there is an achingly tedious article giving all the cranial dimensions of the various incarnations of Mickey’s head. Who knows? Maybe that will be your favorite part. It didn’t do anything for me. Many others commented on Mickey and his role socially, internationally, and even politically. Some claims that seemed gob-smackingly over the top to this reviewer dampened my enthusiasm a little bit. For example, one commentator said that Mickey is the greatest contribution ever made to world culture by the USA because he is so instantly recognizable and has a different name in every language. The reasoning is specious, because it takes a trademark image and equates it with culture. Given that jazz music was originally hatched on US soil, it’s a little hard to swallow that Mickey is America’s greatest contribution, almost a damning by faint praise. But you can decide for yourself, and this book will throw plenty of claims and historical information in your direction.
In 1937, as world politics became tense, the New York Times pointed out that the only two internationalists left in the world were Mickey Mouse and Leon Trotsky.
The longstanding rumor that Disney was sympathetic toward German fascism before World War II is never addressed. As Mickey has been kept carefully squeaky clean, so is his and Walt’s biography. Instead, it is mentioned that the sight of the Mickey Mouse button worn by children throughout the developed world infuriated Hitler, who wanted German youth to display only the swastika. It is also mentioned that the name “Mickey Mouse” was used as a code during that war. And one of the book’s few illustrations is a political cartoon in which Mickey represents the USA, perched on the nose of , Charles de Gaulle, whom the Allies backed when France was split between the two sides.
Disney’s genius was not only geared toward animation; he had a good head for business. The Disney fortune compounded itself with merchandising. Initially, Mickey’s success bankrolled the expensive production of Snow White, Dumbo, Bambi, and the other early, magnificent animated full length films that followed. Tee shirts and wristwatches were everywhere in the 1960’s and 1970’s; Disney took the 50,000th watch that came off the assembly line and put it on his desk, which had once been graced with studio mice (actual rodents) which he had lovingly caged, observed, and set free in fields earlier in his career.
Brief mention is made of the cartoons made in an earlier era that caricatured African-Americans, and I confess I myself had wondered why those dreadful things were not pulled out of circulation, or limited to those studying animation history as opposed to popular entertainment. Brief mention was also made of the NAACP boycott instigated by the release of “Song of the South”, one of Disney’s few flops.
What does the future hold for Mickey, Apgar wonders. Disney himself had pointed out that there were limitations to what one could do with “The Mouse”. After all, Mickey is eternally young and eternally good; unlike Donald Duck, Disney’s more rounded character, Mickey could never have a sexual thought, lose his temper, or take a controversial stand. Because of this, and the fact that he had already been in some 70 short films as well as the acclaimed Fantasia and The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, he more or less hit a dead end (my phrase, not Disney’s).
Cartoonist Art Spiegelman, creator of the graphic novel Maus, commented that if Mickey were to be updated, the obvious thing would be to make him gay. “After all, he’s already halfway there!” This gave me my first real laugh during the time I read this historical collection.
For the general audience, I rate this three stars due to the repetitive nature of a large amount of material and its dearth of artwork. For a niche audience including those researching the history of animation, the history of Disney , or that of Mickey Mouse, my sole concern is what is left out or glossed over: Walt Disney and pre-Hitler fascism; issues with the NAACP; and the reprehensible exclusion of the king of pop, Michael Jackson, who doesn’t even get a mention. For these reasons, five stars are not possible, so four stars for a niche audience. The collection is comprehensive in all that is glorious, and almost entirely devoid of rockier, more controversial moments.
All We Had: A Novel, by Annie Weatherwax*****
This quirky, funny, poignant story had me from hello. How often have you read a really strong mother-daughter novel? The legendary Marge Piercy brought some our way, and of course Amy Tan. Does Annie Weatherwax deserve a place in such auspicious company? I think she does.
Ruth and her mother have nobody and nothing, apart from each other and whatever they can throw in the car, and most of that stuff might not actually belong to them. They sleep together on whatever flat surface is available, sometimes a nasty mattress in an unfinished basement, but they call no place home.
Sometimes it seems more that Ruth is raising her mother than the other way ‘round, and so the fur flies when her mother suddenly decides to exert authority.
Does this sound like anyone you have known? It rings true to me. I’ve known people like this, both professionally and in my personal life. A friend in social work once told me that this “type” of kid keeps it together until she is in her mid-20s and then falls apart, because she didn’t get to scream and act out as an adolescent. At least in developed Western societies, the adolescent stage is necessary to development; if a kid can’t do it at the socially acceptable time of life that most people do, she’ll do it later.
And the fact that I found myself thinking such things, making such predictions for a fictional character, proves exactly how real Ruthie and her mother became to me as I gorged on the literary feast Weatherwax has cooked up. I was notified by Net Galley that since the book was coming out August 5, it would be nice to have my review run in early August, just before its release, and so I set the galley aside when I hit 60 percent. Later, I told myself. You can read it later.
I couldn’t stand it. I have over 100 unread books, most of them used, some of them galleys with a sell-by date on them, but I dove back in mid-July, like a dieter on a chocolate binge. I’ll run this review on my blog in July and then run it again in August, because All We Had is not just any story. It’s the story that couldn’t wait.
Rejoining mother and daughter, then, we head westward. Mom is determined that come what may, Ruthie will go to college, and she has her eye on the Ivy League schools. No matter how many boyfriends she takes up with, moves Ruthie and herself in with, and then books it (sometimes with the guy’s car and almost always with some of his money), their journey continues toward New England.
That is, until they come to Fat River, Ohio, a place that proves exceptional. It is here that Ruthie becomes fast friends with Peter Pam, the transvestite waitress at the local diner. People are different here in Fat River. Nobody has a lot of money, but there is such character here, a sense of community surpassing anything they had ever believed was possible for people like themselves, and the cynical, wise-cracking, foul-mouthed Ruthie and her mom find their defenses breaking down, a bit at a time, as the town takes its hold on their hearts.
What happens from there you will have to learn by yourself. I couldn’t tear myself away. I don’t know whether this book will be a best seller, but I do know that I would have been the poorer for not having read it.
Highly recommended!
Beware Beware, by Steph Cha *****
Steph Cha’s new thriller, Beware Beware, starts out like a sassy beach read and ends with muscle and authority. It’s gritty, urban,edgy, and ultimately deals with a burning real life issue in a way that is not preachy, but instead is integral to the plot. Her character development and pacing are handled as expertly as a champion driver at the Indy 500. Buckle up and be ready!
Daphne Freamon, a renowned painter, contacts PI Juniper Song, the first Korean-American to join the formidable array of female sleuths marketed in contemporary detective fiction, for what appears to be a routine domestic investigation case. In the end, it is far more. There are more twists and turns than you can possibly imagine, and the pages turn so rapidly that by the end of the weekend, I was done, yet still thinking about what I had read, which for me is significant; usually I mow through one book, reflect long enough to spin a review, and then move on.
Freamon hires Song, a hard-drinking, hard-working PI with a past that haunts her daily, to follow her boyfriend around. Is he having an affair? Is he back on drugs?
The answer is obviously “yes” to at least one of these, and yet Freamon still wants Song on the case. Two weeks have gone by and she’s still doing this work after she has more than enough information; something feels off about it, but hey, it’s Daphne’s dime. Daphne Freamon wants her to continue, and Song follows through. Oh boy, does she follow through!
A distraction that becomes urgent, then menacing, is the ugly man who has taken an unmistakable yet unwelcome interest in Song’s roommate, whom she considers her little sister. Why can’t Lori lose this guy? When Lori’s boyfriend, the one she loves, is beaten so badly that he requires hospitalization, the facts come out, and they aren’t pretty. Now Song has two problems instead of one. How can she protect Lori from this thug, a man with a thousand tentacles that reach everywhere?
Freamon, who has become not only a client but a friend as well, sees the problem too. She has a quick word with Lori at a nightclub. From there, things speed up. You may find yourself leaning forward as you read!
One small thing that twitched at the back of my brain all the way through the book, being a practical-minded gal, was whether Freamon pays up for Song’s sweat and hard work. I keep waiting for Song to send an invoice or cash a check. She spends so much time on this case and does so much for this woman, and I just want to know that Song can pay her bills at the end of the day. It shouldn’t bother me, given the immediacy of the story line, and yet it does.
This picky detail shouldn’t keep you away from fresh, original writing by a new talent who is sure to be a huge hit. Cha writes with confidence and authority, and if you take this book to the beach, you won’t notice the sand or the sea. Carve out some time, because you won’t want to do anything else till you have turned the very last page!
A Spy Among Friends: Kim Philby and the Great Betrayal, by Ben Macintyre *****
This was a real page-turner, which says a lot, given that I already knew how it would end. I read the historical fiction version by another author and was fascinated by it, but also wondered what was fact and what was invented. Macintyre take his job so seriously that 25% of the book is citations. You KNOW he’s not making this up!
A great big thank you goes to Net Galley and Crown Publishers for the free read; that said, yes, this one is worth buying. I haven’t read anything else by Macintyre, but now that I have seen what he can do, he’ll be on my to-read list!
Kim Philby is considered by many to have been the world’s greatest spy. Perhaps the phrase should be “best known spy”, since the best spies are never found out. But that’s a digression. The fact is that this British-born, upper-class man was drawn to the ideas of Bolshevism at exactly the time that Lenin’s legacy became corrupted and Stalin held sway. It didn’t matter to Philby, nor did the purges and the reign of terror that occurred when Stalin went slightly bonkers and began seeing betrayal in every corner, executing lifelong friends over imagined treason. And one has to wonder, given the level of material comfort and exclusive old-boy club pampering that Philby enjoyed on the ground, exactly how much he truly believed in the class struggle, and how much of what he did was done for the sheer joy of deceit and skullduggery.
The most amazing thing to me, in reading this excellent, compelling narrative, was how much he did and how many lives he cost before he was discovered, and even then, that his life was spared. I can well understand that the British government preferred not to endure the public humiliation of having its grievous errors known to the world. Why they didn’t cap the guy behind the ear or arrange for a dreadful tragedy is harder to understand. And it all boils down to class: Elliott, who believed himself to be Philby’s closest friend for decades, from fresh-scrubbed youth to middle age, simply said, when later interviewed, that Philby was “One of us.”
If you are a U.S. citizen and are patting yourself on the back because you live in a ‘meritocracy’ in which antiquated notions like breeding are not factored into one’s fate, think again. How many millionaires, let alone billionaires, do you see on Death Row in the US of A?
Exactly.
The skill of the writer became most apparent to me when I read the ending, including a passage by the famous John le Carre. The passages in which Elliott is quoted verbatim set my teeth on edge. What a detestable individual, so smug! “Stiff upper lip” indeed. A stick stuck somewhere else came to mind.
Yet Mcintyre reinvents him in order for us to have a sympathetic protagonist to offset our villain. His nonfiction narrative reads like a spy thriller; in making his text as readable as well written fiction, he joins the formidable ranks of Barbara Tuchman and Isobel Wilkerson. Not many people are capable of such pacing and plot-spinning when confined by the actual facts.
Highly recommended to general audiences.
Good Morning, Mr. Mandela! by Zelda la Grange *****
Zelda la Grange, an Africaner, grew up in South Africa under apartheid. Her family was steadfastly right-wing, and she was brought up to believe that Africaners were fighting against the “black communists”. She had been taught to fear them. The family servant, Jogabeth, was black, but she fell into a slightly different category, since she had a large role in raising la Grange while her parents, who were low income and struggled financially despite their white privilege, were working. But Jogabeth was not permitted to touch Zelda’s skin. When Zelda needed carrying, she climbed on the woman’s back, but already knew not to touch her hair, her hands.
It might rub off. It might soil her.
When she was finished with school, she got a secretarial position in the government, and it was there that she found herself working for a new president after the death of apartheid. She worked for Nelson Mandela’s personal assistant. White South Africa was in turmoil; some Africaners were progressive and welcomed the change, but her own family was outraged and frightened. La Grange needed her job and assured herself that because she was fairly far down the food chain, she would likely never actually see President Mandela.
And the very thought of running into Black people in positions of authority terrified her. How much must they hate her and all of the Africaners who had kept them down for so long? Would they hurt her? And when the day finally came that she saw the president, she kept on moving, eyes averted, but he asked one of his staff to bring her in for a conversation.
When she arrived, she burst into tears of mortification and fear. He took her hand, ending her lifelong habit of never touching a black man before she even realized what she was doing, and he made a point of holding that hand until he was ready to give it back to her. And in his kindly, genial manner, he told her, as she stood sobbing in terror before him, that she was overreacting. It would not be the last time he would tell her this.
When I began reading la Grange’s memoir, I was initially disappointed. She spoke of her own life and told the reader that this was not Mandela’s memoir but her own. I didn’t want to read about the daily doings of some Africaner functionary. If I hadn’t received the book in exchange for a review, I’d have abandoned it, and it would have been my loss. Because soon after she found herself working for Madiba, her job became inextricably intertwined with his, and it continued through his retirement. Her life was, in many ways, his life. But because Mandela did not address his presidency when he wrote Long Walk to Freedom, and because he would never brag or dwell upon his own successes unless they were important historically, her story about life with him is different from his own. And because he would never name-drop, she does it for him.
I reflected upon his choice of la Grange when he chose the entourage with which he would travel. He made a point of having a multi-hued staff around him, blacks, browns, golden toned and Africaner. She and a professor were the two Africaners he chose. So initially, he had just wanted her to be the Africaner who would represent her own race and culture on the new presidential staff. And it was a smart move. A man in his position must watch constantly for security risks. When choosing an Africaner for the staff, he needed not only someone who was organized, hard working, and competent—which she was. He also needed the least likely individual to be an assassin! La Grange describes herself as very young (I think she was short of age 20), but also shy and much inclined to blushing. Duplicity was beyond her. She also says she was plain looking and overweight.
Madiba was a really smart guy. He understood that her youth made her more malleable than some, and that she was no part of anyone’s plan for a coup. In time she replaced his private secretary, and over the course of twenty remarkable years, she developed a steel spine as she became the gate-keeper to Mr. Mandela both during his presidency and after his retirement.
La Grange has a lot of stories to tell. She traveled with Madiba to many places, and tells of his friendships with other members of royal families abroad, with celebrities, and with ordinary people. She also speaks of his tireless effort, even after the age of 80, to raise funds for clinics (especially for AIDS patients) and schools in what was still an underdeveloped nation. There was (and probably still is) a tremendous amount of corruption in government, but Madiba was completely clean, as one might expect, and made a point to keep his charity funds separate from those of the government. His travel abroad and frequent appearances sometimes caused political friction with those who succeeded him, who felt he had no right to speak for South Africa anymore; Madiba insisted he spoke for himself alone. And la Grange points out that it was the ANC that chose to make him the icon of anti-apartheid struggle, and thus they had no business complaining when international figures asked for Madiba rather than Mbeki or others who currently held office.
There is a part I skipped through at the beginning that explains what apartheid was, and how it affected the lives of those who lived under it. I didn’t read it because there was nothing there I didn’t know; I was an anti-apartheid activist once myself. But for those who were too young to recall it or whose attention was elsewhere, it may help plug the gaps.
But the vast majority of her story is of her life with Nelson Mandela. For two decades she was on the go, 24/7, and served at such a frenetic pace that she often could not take 20 minutes for a meal. The phone often rang in the middle of the night, and sometimes she worked all night long as well. Her transformation and dedication were complete.
At the very end, a fracture within Mandela’s family formed, and a couple of his daughters decided that she could no longer see him, but she had been there for him right up until he was well into his decline. The memories she shares are ones you will find nowhere else; Madiba had attempted to write a second memoir, but was unable to complete it. And even had he done so, he would not have proudly told the world about the good that he did the way that la Grange does for him.
Highly recommended to everyone.
Bringing Down the House: The Inside Story of Six MIT Students Who Took Vegas for Millions, by Ben Mezrich****
Suspenseful and great fun; nonfiction. My son has a good friend who has been a professional gambler for years. He doesn’t do what these guys do, though, because it’s true, you do become unwelcome once you have won too many times, or if you come in as a team.(It seems credible, too, that it might be illegal to signal someone to come join a card game at the very moment you know the shoe is loaded with face cards and aces).
It’s an exciting book to read–and I’ve read it twice–simply because it is so daring, and Vegas seems like such a powerful entity to challenge. I am glad the writer did not include all the casino names and the minutiae that others seemed to crave. For one thing, the urban topography of Vegas changes constantly. The MGM burns to the ground, is rebuilt further up the street. A couple of casinos don’t do well and go under, but then Steve Winn throws up some brand new ones…I think if the writer had become too specific with each and every casino, color scheme, manager’s name, etc., it would have become irrelevant within a year, as employees change, walls are repainted, casinos are razed to put up mega-casinos.
For the rare few, like the fellow I know, who have such brilliant memories and math skill that they always remember what each player at a table has played and how many face cards and aces have shown out of a six-deck shoe (set of cards the casino uses for its patrons), the only way to win consistently, though of course not every time, since luck is a factor, is to go and play at tables with other players, never against the house. Our friend of the family also makes it a point to order one strong drink and nurse it steadily throughout the night, so everybody else is drunk and he is sober.
This reviewer, being a liberal arts type and no kind of math wizard, spent an entire week in Vegas once and did not gamble a single penny. Saw lots of great shows, watched other people bet astonishing amounts of money…and then went out to eat somewhere awesome. I spent a lot of money, but lost none of it. But teachers are generally sensible that way.
Obviously, this book was not published because of the writer’s skill with prose, but with such an interesting story to tell, I am glad it was published. I greatly enjoyed it, and passed my copy on to a couple of friends before I sent it to a charity used-book sale. This is light reading, but also a page-turner. If it sounds like something you might enjoy, read it. Just don’t regard it as an instructional manual that will lead to great riches, unless your skills are similar to those of the folks at MIT.
The Pentagon Papers: The Complete and Unabridged Series as Published by the New York Times, by Neil Sheehan *****
This book is a MEAL. Undertake it for purposes of research, or if, like me, you feel the need to own and read a set of government documents that the US government tried so hard to keep its citizens from seeing. The documents themselves are not written to entertain or to be readable; they were written candidly in most cases, under the assumption they would remain of limited availability.
Parts of these lengthy epistles have been edited down and quoted from by Neil Sheehan, the New York Times journalist who fought to get them and make them accessible to the public. I was just a kid myself when the earthshaking ruling by the U.S. Supreme Court came down saying that the documents should be printed and available, and I used my lunch money to hustle down to the local bookstore as soon as it was out in paperback. I have that copy still.
Some of the scariest moments come in memorandums discussing the possibility of using nuclear weapons on the Vietnamese. The dryly written notes about a policy toward “exfoliation” belies the human and environmental holocaust Washington brought down when it became clear that the Vietnamese people actually did NOT want a Western-style government, and that the only way to force it upon them was to destroy the jungles in which they hid.
One plan considered is to withdraw the bombing raids from Hanoi and Haiphong Harbor. Too many pilots are being killed, and it takes a long time to train a pilot. That’s the actual reason, along with a desire not to ramp up aggression toward the Chinese.
HOWEVER, the plan is to tell the American people (“the public”) that the bombings have been moved from north to south because all the targets that were bombed in the north were destroyed. There is discussion about the fact that this is untrue, but would look better in the press.
Small wonder the US government fought so hard to suppress these damning documents! The loss of credibility and innocent trust toward government in the USA did not start with the Watergate break in; it started during the US war against Vietnam.
There is a point at which it is acknowledged (in a document, not by paraphrasing), that the only reason the US government remains in Vietnam is to prevent US “humiliation”, even though the KIA (“Killed In Action”) figures are projected to be 1,000 US lives lost (and of course innumerable Vietnamese, 80% of whom will be civilians) per month. Even General Westmoreland, the most tireless advocate for more troops, calling up the reserves if necessary, cannot project a date the U.S. can declare a victory, or even gracefully withdraw without a clear and obvious loss of this war.
The risk of staying in: possible war with China, also “world-wide revulsion against us” (Memorandum #96, prepared by John McNaughton for Sec. of Defense McNamara, who would become disillusioned with the whole mess and advocate for withdrawal).
The guerilla fighters in the mountains are at one point compared (Memorandum #101, p.447) to the Irish freedom fighters who were defeated after WWI.
This tome is a treasure trove of primary documents, and the NY Times narrative is carefully written to honor the original meanings of quotations that have been pieced together and make it possible to publish the events and documents in a single volume. Don’t bother with it unless you have a serious interest in the US war against the people of Vietnam, and the deceit regarding same of the American people whose tax money paid for it.
I have seldom stayed with a book so difficult for so long when there was no academic requirement involved. I began this book for the second time (didn’t finish it the first time, when I bought it) in Oct. 2012. Because it was so dense and important, and because I didn’t want my mind to wander, I only read a few pages daily till I hit page 500. At that point I picked up a pen and could not put it down. I have no idea why this is so, but I just HAD to finish it. I did that in May 2013, and am glad I followed through.
Calling, by Joe Samuel Starnes *****
Do you know the Four Spiritual Laws? Do you believe that Jesus died for your sins? Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
If so, this is not your book. Move along; scoot! I am serious.
I’ll just wait for you to gather your things…have a nice day.
(pause)
Are they gone?
Good. So, this book is for the rest of us. Well, most of the rest of us. It all depends where your “ick” threshold is. I’ve mentioned this before, in other reviews. Here’s your litmus test: if you can get through at least one Stephen King novel, or if you read The Silence of the Lambs without a sick lump forming in your gut, you’ll be fine here. What Starnes has written is seriously funny, but the humor is really, really dark. It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but those who like it will love it!
Our setting: a commercial bus, riding cross country heading northwest toward Utah. Our protagonist: Timber, a failed disc jockey confronting middle age. He is joined in the back of the bus by a Southern preacher named Zeke, who brings with him a suitcase (oh that suitcase!), a foot-long razor-sharp Bowie knife, a briefcase with a Bible in it, and a bottle of Jim Beam. Timber wants to be left alone, but once Zeke makes it clear that he wants, and intends to have, company, Timber is surprised at how much they have in common. They both grew up in poor but very religious households in the deep South, and both of them had abusive fathers. And that’s just for starters.
Unlike Timber, though, Zeke has been through seminary, where he learned to be a “front man for Jesus…His marketing team”. In ministering to prisoners, “a captive audience”, he gains a somewhat different set of skills, but once you learn to rationalize the things you learn as a seminarian, hell, you can rationalize anything.
Have you ever noticed the similarity between a church and a Vegas casino?
Does it embarrass you when your mama speaks in tongues? Be honest here.
But the most important thing to remember is that “…our God and his son are so gracious as to forgive our sins, whatever they may be…so I shut her in the trunk and drove off.”
Hmmm.
Reader, dear reader, letmetellyathis: I have never, no never in a very long time, to be absolutely, positively candid, laughed so hard. The mattress shook beneath my aging couch potato body, and it was not caused by the Holy Spirit, it was caused by the enormously amusing prose of Joe Samuel Starnes.
For those who are not easily offended and would like to be amused, this book is calling. You’d better listen. You don’t want to miss that bus!
Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady, by Florence King *****
Bear in mind that this review is being written by a Yankee. My mother was born in the south, but I have not even visited since I was five years old, so I can’t claim any real sense of heritage, apart from a few really kick-ass, cholesterol laden recipes. And the one southerner to whom I loaned this book was deeply, deeply offended by it.
Suffice to say, it is edgy humor, graphic in places. King is not particularly afraid of boundaries, and this clearly is what accounts for some of the ‘failure’ that she really isn’t all that upset about. I have labeled my blog “G” for general audiences, and it applies to what I write here at Seattle Book Mama, but not to all of the books I review. Certainly you won’t find erotica or porn here on my blog, but this book is scarcely “G” rated; it’s edgy, bawdy, and also not entirely heterosexual. If you can’t stand the heat, stay away from the book!
Now that all the caveats are out of the way, let me say I have seldom laughed so hard. Not deep inside, as with some really fine humorists. This isn’t subtle humor; it is bawdy and wicked.
Speaking for myself, I’d say Ms. King is welcome in the Pacific Northwest anytime!
Apprehended, by Jan Burke ****
I really enjoy Jan Burke’s writing, have been reading her Irene Kelly series since the get-go. This little collection is different; she writes with a variety of disparate, yet entirely authentic voices and also experiments with different settings than the usual. And all of it is really good.
In fact, the only reason star number five is missing is because a hundred pages isn’t a whole book, as far as I am concerned, it’s part of a book, or maybe a large pamphlet. I felt I was just getting warmed up, ready to go on to the next story, and..oh. It’s over. I guess that’s it.
I am grateful to Net Galley for the free read, but I would not pay cover price for 100 pages, not even for Burke.
It is good to see Ms. Burke back in action. Her work is always skillful and holds my interest till the dead last word on the very last page.
