GeekReads

It should be noted that the "bloody" is about the full extent of the bad language in the book (although "eff", "effing" and "effed" appear liberally.

Lynne Truss, the author of Eats, Shoots & Leaves, writes in a way that gets to me on a deep, instinctual level. The nitpicking pedantry, the sense that the world is terribly wrong (and I am right), and the uppity British humour, are all things that resonate with me and my core sensibilities.

Nevermind my enlightenment after David Crystal slammed “Trussians” for being ignorant in their intolerance of incorrect punctuation; as soon as I picked up Talk to the Hand, I was immediately back to my old ways again, nodding vehemently in agreement when Truss writes:

I now can’t abide many, many things, and am actually always on the look-out for more things to find completely unacceptable. Whenever I hear of someone being “gluten intolerant” or “lactose intolerant”, for example, I feel I’ve been missing out. I want to be gluten intolerant too. I mean, how much longer do we have to put up with that gluten crap?

This isn’t a book about etiquette. As Truss says, the time for those has long gone due to the prevalence of moral relativism. Instead, she provides “six good reasons to stay home and bolt the door.”

It’s a funny read if you like this sort of thing. She litters the chapters with many observations and amusing anecdotes from her own life, and selections from some old tomes on etiquette, which really highlight the difference between how the way things are now and how they used to be. There are some very pointed barbs directed at the British, causing me to wonder if Lynne might have an American twin sister who could please kindly write the American version of this book…

Anh Do's not only the happiest refugee, but also a shining example for all Australians

For those who haven’t heard of him, Anh Do is a popular Australian comedian and TV personality. Released prior to the recent political debate, The Happiest Refugee is his memoir, and in it he recounts his life’s story from the time when he was living in Vietnam during the war-torn communist era, his family’s harrowing escape from the country, and then life in Australia as an immigrant.

Do speaks very candidly about a great number of things in his past, including his relationship with his father, who was a pillar of the family until tragic circumstances led to his leaving his wife and kids; he even manages to uncover a family secret that’d been kept by his grandmother for years until asked about it in the researching of the book!

I was inspired by this amazing and touching story, and his enthusiasm, drive and attitude makes you proud to be able to call him a fellow Aussie. Granted, not all refugees are going to be as driven as he and his family were, and many will drown against the adversity of poverty that caused the Do family to flourish. But it gives the reader a deeper insight into the challenges that refugee families face, and how it’s not all  regretting the past and sucking on the teat of welfare handouts.

Along with Go Back To Where You Came From, the recent SBS documentary, The Happiest Refugee should be compulsory reading for anyone who’s interested in gaining insight into the plight of refugees.

Looks like a snake if you squint, dunnit?

You may or may not have noticed the “Currently reading” byline beneath the title of this blog, which because of the nature of its positioning, appears on every page. I started reading Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s The Black Swan at around the same time that interest in the film of (nearly) the same name starring Natalie Portman was peaking in its post-Oscars glow, which amusingly led to a large number of search hits.

It’s this kind of serendipity that Taleb (or NNT as he often refers to himself) champions in this book. The unpredictable occurances which in hindsight seem obvious; so obvious that our minds feel compelled to join the dots retrospectively and think that we could’ve somehow worked it forward if we’d only thought to look.

The author’s writing is very self conscious, often setting out structure, positioning the reader, etc. It gives the impression of a writer who is struggling to contain his idea, but is trying his best to ensure that the reader doesn’t get lost. He succeeds in that much, and I found the text more accessible than if it were a purely intellectual work. At first his laconic, laid-back style seemed pedestrian to the point of being boorish, but his idea was so compelling to me – crystalising many of thoughts that I myself had thought, that I was fully engaged for a good part of the book.

Then the topic of applying the Black Swan idea to reality. Buried right in the middle of the book – like the miserly contents of a cheaply made BBQ pork bun – is a few precious nuggets of practical advice that one might find useful, in the same sense as the 10 commandments against the rest of the Holy Bible. Even then it’s very begrudgingly given, but reasonably so because of the author’s unreserved antagonism towards false frameworks and formulae.

In fact, Taleb gets downright rude. The latter part of the book is almost solely dedicated to the intellectual destruction of his opponents: economists and academics participating in “the Great Intellectual Fraud” of Gaussian bell curve modelling. It’s by far the bitchiest content I’ve ever read in this genre. NNT basically lays the smack down on why virtually every model is wrong, how there’s not much you can do about it, and then proceeds to name names, especially those who have crossed the author in some way. Even the Nobel Prize (specifically the one for Economics) cops a hammering.

The Black Swan is one of those books that offers intellectual emancipation. But like a domesticated animal released into the wild, I found myself not knowing what to do with the newfound freedom, and as a result reverting back to my old ways. It has caused me to think differently about things, and look much more skeptically at certain “facts” presented by the media (although in that regard I needed no help. The media are already under full assualt by blogs like Grog’s Gamut and books such as Lindsay Tanner’s recently released Sideshow).

At least now I know better than to trust Economists.

I'm really curious about the weird abbreviation of the author's name. In other editions I found on the Web, he's given as "William P. Young"

I’ve been burned by Christian fiction before, and tend to steer well clear of it these days. However, this book was recommended to my wife by people in her Master of Counselling course (at a Christian college). These people are as disposed to being intellectually honest with their belief as you’re likely to find amongst any Christians you meet, and it looked to be a short and easy read, so I tentatively picked it up.

The main plot point deals with how the protagonist, Mackenzie “Mack” Allen Phillips, deals with faith issues and what he calls “The Great Sadness” resulting from the kidnap and murder of his youngest daughter. In the process he receives an invitation from God (literally) to revisit The Shack, the site where the murder took place. There, he has an …unusual encounter with The Creator.

The author probably thinks himself very clever, deliberately breaking stereotypes and preconceived notions, challenging Christians to rethink their perception of God. The problem though, is that the very nature of Faith is its dogmatism; its fingers-in-ears approach to anything that doesn’t conform with their very specific beliefs. So in contrast to the broad audience that this book pitches itself to, I fear it might actually have very limited appeal; specifically, a very small group of liberal Christians (particularly white Americans – the narative reeks of white guilt).

As if in acknowledgement of this, to try and broaden its appeal amongst believers, the book contains no fewer than 23 separate quotes from Christians in various positions of importance or influence, with some explicitly spelled out (e.g. “Patrick M. Roddy. Emmy Award-winning producer for ABC News”) and others cryptically not (“Chyril Walker, PhD”).

As to the story itself, it’s pure fantasy. There’s a certain discomfort in using the fictional construct to present (theological) “truths” in this way, because there’s always the tension in the mind of trying to reconcile what’s real with what’s not. In the case of Christian fiction, and especially so with The Shack, the problem is that the author oversteps the boundaries of what a person might be prepared to accept as real, given the empirical observations in daily life – the failures, the disappointments, the unexplainable. As much as the book attempts to address the theological perspective of these things through the metaphors used, it’s no comfort at all that once you finish reading, the wonders presented remain safely tucked away inside the pages, wholly apart from reality.

If you’re looking for an intellectual discourse, this book isn’t for you. Even though the premise of the story ostensibly offers to answer “the difficult questions”, what it actually does is to present the liberal Christians’ views on the character and nature of God, from which they derive a context for understanding. If that all sounds a bit too airy-fairy and not your cup of tea, then I suggest picking up The Spirit-Filled Believer’s Handbook, by Derek Prince, instead. I found that to be much more straightforward and informative.

If you’re an ardent unbeliever, The Shack will just seem like another nauseating piece of televangelist-style Christian propaganda.

"A novel" is totally necessary, otherwise the casual browser flicking through pages might mistake this book for non-fiction.

When a geek and aspiring writer comes across writing this good, he can’t help but hate it: hate how the author actually knows how the world works in the way that he only thinks he knows; hate how realistic and compelling his characters are; hate how he can’t stop turning the pages even though the socio-political commentary is like being forced to watch back-to-back episodes of Question Time; and hate how the author was able to completely obey Elmore Leonard’s third rule, which states “Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.” So it’s mainly through the green eyes of envy that I criticise Freedom, by Jonathan Franzen.

Somehow, “biting social commentary” doesn’t quite cut it – even Wikipedia puts it into the patently ridiculous categories of “hysterical realism” and “post-postmodernism”. After the initial prologue that sets up the story of the Berglund family, Franzen turns on his “shouty old man” mode and unleashes a torrent that might well include every single thought he’s ever had about the woes of modern America: the environment, politics, music, relationships, multiculturalism, parenting and even youth. After reading it you feel like no stone was left unturned in his quest to expose every problem there is with the country.

Every character, as realistic, fully realised and compelling as they all are, felt like platforms for Franzen to preach on his pet topics. Toward the end I became so tired of his cynicism that I wanted to disagree with him even though deep down I’d already accepted everything he’d said as true.

The book does end on a positive note, but against the sheer weight of oppression that preceded it, pales into sentimental inconsequence, satisfying only the emotional need of the reader and providing nothing to quell the misanthropic rage that the rest of the book incites.

Freedom is a scathing portrait of modern day America, but having said that it might be possible for a talented screenplay writer to strip off the veneer of loathing and reveal the interesting character studies that lie beneath. In other words (I never thought I’d say this): wait for the movie.