Andrew Ross Wynn
Physical comedy is the most immediate way to get a laugh. The first time a Cro-Magnon fell down, I’m sure the other Cro-Magnons watching burst out laughing.
To put it succinctly, Cold Girl left me cold.
For one thing, it has the longest chapters ever! A Mountie who is the foremost expert on a serial killer goes further north to investigate another murder, leaving his wife and child behind for a few weeks, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There’s also a cop up from North Vancouver—never did find out what interested him so much in the case—and another policeman damaged by something in his past, though no one knows that, resulting in him being treated like an idiot. Not all the local cops play nice either.
The victim was a musician, so all the bandmates are the likely suspects, especially the boyfriend. Things are of course never that easy. Halfway through, Dion—the damaged guy—becomes the main character, and manages to liven things up a bit, but despite some parts I liked, most of the didn’t engage. My main problem with it was how the murderer was uncovered; I couldn’t follow it at all. There’s also a point where the author calls a particular character “the killer,” even though it wasn’t. Some of the psychological insights were interesting, and the dialogue wasn’t bad, but I couldn’t help feeling this should have been over a lot faster.
2.5 rounded up to 3/5
This is a book about the making of a TV show from the early 60s, starring two favorites from James Bond: David Hedison, the most famous Felix Leiter; and Luciana Paluzzi, Fiona Volpe from Thunderball (and my all-time fave Bond girl, but I digress).
I thought I knew a lot about this period of television, but I’d never heard of it, possibly because it was cancelled before it reached the half-season mark. . . which begs the question why there would be such a big book about it (never mind, it happened with Firefly). It was a spy thriller before such things were the rage, in fact failing because it was in the same time slot as the two biggest shows of the era, both Westerns.
At first, seeing the length of this book felt rather daunting, but by page 129 there are episode synopses, followed by actor and crew bios, all of which total nearly half the book. At least there was some fun stuff in the first part; I love how the author writes Miss Paluzzi’s accent, as in “Luciana doesn’t agree that she sizzles. She only agrees that she can be ‘saxy’ when the ‘screept’ calls for it.”
But it’s the second half that leaves the biggest impression. After the episodes there’s a paragraph or two on everyone–except the caterers–who received any kind of credit. Following that is a chapter by someone else about the main character, then another article on the movie, and the real-life human, this series was supposedly based on
Having read books on the making of Twin Peaks, Back to the Future, Sherlock, Starship Troopers, Star Wars, etc. I can’t help but feel this one is quite a bit boring in comparison, though maybe that’s because I wasn’t familiar with it coming in. The best way to put this is that it feels more like a recitation of facts than an actual flowing story.
In a small town in the Old West a man returns after two years, having gone to make his fortune in California. Now he’s back for the woman he loves. . . only to find she’s become a whore.
From her side, she’s a woman who made a deal with the devil for her virginity, having given up on her old boyfriend coming back for her. When he does, drama ensues.
There isn’t much setting here: the town is hardly ever mentioned except for a quick trip to a few bars and his mother’s house. Most of the action takes place at her house outside town. Seems like the geographical vagueness was done on purpose, as it has nothing to do with the story, but as a geography major and fan of Westerns I would have liked a little more specificity. My other quibble is some repetitiveness about her situation that annoyed me, constant reminders of what we already know in order to gain more sympathy for her; put the hammer away already.
Toward the end there’s an interesting switch: whereas throughout the story he’s angry at her for not waiting for him and doing what she did, wanting to punish her, suddenly he’s the bad guy for going to a whore when he was in California, whereas she did it to stay alive. No doubt this is the point the author wanted to make, especially when he uses the excuse of “boys will be boys.” While I agree with the sentiment, it seems a bit out of place in this era of the past, but as an allegory it works.
Not that the writing itself was bad in any way, but once the misunderstandings and declarations of love were out of the way it read much better, smoother. The best moments are when they’re together and can almost admit their feelings for each other, which they finally do, as this is still a romance novel despite the premise.
3.5 rounded up to 4/5
Ostensively written by George Dubya Bush himself, this is an account of how he trained his little brother Jeb to be president despite all the personality quirks and family history working against him. It wasn’t till the bios at the end that I found out the actual writer was the guy who invented The Onion; everything fell into place at that moment.
This isn’t a laugh out loud comedy; this humor is insidious, subversive. . . subtle. When I read Dubya saying, “One of my favorite pastimes at as a boy was torturing frogs,” it explained so much. Another gem is “. . . failing at business—and failing big—is a long-standing Bush tradition.”
So if you like this sort of thing, with supposedly self-deprecating jabs—though often Dubya sees them as positives—this is perfect for you. If you think this kind of thing might offend you, just make sure no one sees you reading it, you’ll chuckle anyway.