An apology and a dud

Hello dear readers. It's been a long time since we last chatted and I apologize; a lot of changes and revelations have come my way recently, a few of which were rather unexpected and undesired. I've been a little more than down in the dumps and think "post-grad depression" should be officially added to the DSM-IV. Times are a changin' for me and I'm struggling to balance the day to day of it all. But as old things end, new ones must arise and, in the mean time, books remain a constant comfort. Well, most books that is.

A few months ago my brother, Taylor, recommended I read The Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte. Taylor described a mystery novel brimming with demon lore, murderous bibliophiles, rare books, devil worshipers, and literary references galore. He had me at "demon lore". You see, Taylor and I share of love for Religious Studies, the good, bad, and ugly of it all; years of education from eccentric Southern Baptists, crazy Catholics, and middle of the road Presbyterians could hardly render us to be anything but curious.  

The Club Dumas revolves around an antiquarian book dealer, Lucas Corso. Corso is a greedy, chain smoking master-manipulator, who happens to be an exceptional finder and investigator of rare books. At the beginning of the novel, Corso is hired by millionaire and rare book collector, Varo Borja, to investigate Borja's copy of The Nine Doors. There are only 3 known copies of The Nine Doors and Borja wants Corso to compare his copy to the other 2 in order to determine which, if any, are forgeries. Here's the catch: The Nine Doors is said to contain clues and a formula for summoning the Devil.

Corso's quest to examine the 3 copies is plagued by deadly assassins and strange, unexplained occurrences. In Paris, he meets a girl who not only claims her name is Irene Adler (Sherlock Holmes' infamous love interest), but also alludes that she is a fallen angel. Much of the novel revolves around the mystery surrounding the girl and her and Corso's flirtation, which is only slightly intriguing at best. Corso also discovers a secret society, "The Dumas Club", to which a number of the major characters belong. The purpose of this literary society is never clearly determined, except to underline Corso's belief that Alexander Dumas (the author of The Three Musketeers) was obsessed with the occult and a closet Devil worshiper. This too is never clearly resolved. Eventually Corso's investigation reveals that all 3 copies of The Nine Doors are real and, more importantly, necessary to summon the Devil.

The film adaptation . . . kinda crappy, but it comes with eye candy.

The ending of the novel is ambiguous and unsatisfying, not to mention a tad confusing and even underwhelming. Call me crazy but when I read a novel that involves summoning the Devil, I expect a conclusion as satisfying as the lure of the plot. The story was so weighed down with miscellaneous facts that the already convoluted narrative became even more painstaking to navigate. I also just didn't like Corso. He had all the character flaws of a leading man, but none of the redeemable qualities that make him relatable or even likable. Even in the film adaptation, "The Ninth Gate",  Johnny Depp couldn't finesse Perez-Reverte's creation and that's pretty bad, right? Now, to be fair, there is some fantastic artwork and its obvious the author did an impressive amount of research, but it just wasn't enough. So even with all the promise of a good, pseudo-historical thriller, The Club Dumas fails to impress.

Thanks, J.K.

Hello readers. I have missed you dearly and must apologize profusely for my prolonged absence. You see readers, I have been a bit preoccupied studying for my new job. Yes, studying. I am now officially a server at this fancy, froufrou Greensboro restaurant. I recite specials, fill water glasses, serve from the left, clear from the right, and can recite all 78 wines by the glass; so readers, if you ever need any advice of what type of wine to pair with your meal of choice, do ask.

But to business: the final Harry Potter movie. You see, I am a bit of a Potterhead; I have never been as devoted to a book series as I am to J.K. Rowling's saga of the boy who lived. I was not only the Potterhead who pre-ordered all the Harry Potter books 6 months in advance, but the same Potterhead that would devour each freshly printed copy in a single day. Not only have I traversed to Platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station in London (3 times), but I have also visited "The Elephant House" (the infamous cafe in Edinburgh where the rags to riches author penned the first of the Harry Potter books). It goes without saying then that I felt compelled to devote a special post to a fellow reader and writer, J.K. Rowling.

Platform 9 3/4 at Kings Cross Station, London.

The world Rowling was able to create from nothing captivated and inspired me. In many ways, I grew up with the characters from the novels, albeit without the constant threat of dark magic lingering overhead, but nevertheless with the familiar uncertainties, fears, apprehensions, and awkward teenage moments found within the novels. True to life though, all good things must end. Although we readers now have no other books to delight in, the original 7 remain on our bookshelves. I think I prefer it that way too, readers. I don't want to be reading the 37th Harry Potter book when I'm 56, and would rather it end as the author designed. The boy grew up, so the story must end.

The book where it all began.

While the tale of Harry's journey to adulthood consistently drew me in, what truly bewitched me (along with millions of other readers) was the additional allure of all the fantastical imaginings, adventures, and characteristics of Rowling's magical wizarding world. The detail and breadth of Rowling's imagination has never ceased to astound me, and it is her skill and craft as a writer that will keep me returning to my bookshelf year after year. So, thanks J.K., from one reader to another, for a wonderful adventure.

Still Reading . . . Only Revolutions by Mark Z. Danielewski

Currently reading: Wanderlust, A History of Walking by Rebecca Solnit

Why kindles can suck it

WARNING: This is a rant, not a review.

'ello readers! My dear friend Sam Flake is in town and he too is a lover of the written word. Yesterday, while we were out traversing the streets of Greensboro, we realized that we had never been to the used bookstore across from our beloved alma mater, Guilford College. Minutes after admitting our shame, we entered Empire Books. Now readers, I have to say used bookstores are my own personal Mecca; the piles of  torn, discolored texts are as alluring as they are dusty. I absolutely gravitate to the aesthetic of a good, quality used bookstore. They are a retreat from the impersonal, sterile atmosphere guaranteed to be found in any chain bookstore, not to mention a haven for my particular brand of readers. Also, let's not forget the prices: cheap, cheaper, and cheapest, which (for this post-graduate English and Religious Studies major) is ideal. But, dear readers, used books are so much more than a good deal; in many ways, they best represent my new mantra: borrow, borrow, borrow. 

BookManBookWoman: My favorite used bookstore in Nashville,TN.

The inside of BookManBookWoman, i.e. heaven.

Books are meant to be shared, discussed, and passed on from one reader to the next. This truth is never more evident than in the form of a used book. The pages are worn with use, dog-eared, and graffitied with names and notes from previous owners. These texts are a living testament to not only to the power of books, but also the human need to share stories, histories, and lessons with one another. It is this borrower's opinion that this constant system of exchange is poetry in its purest form.

Then there came the advent of e-books. Bleh. Don't get me wrong readers, in many ways the roaring popularity of this new fad is beneficial. First of all, people are reading again (thank God) and yes the issue of portability for busy bees on the go is positively solved. E-books are portable, relatively inexpensive, and can arguably be even more easily shared with friends, family, etc. Granted, I am still not a fan, but I can acknowledge the advantages if you are in to "that sort of thing". However, the source of my discontent lies with the Kindle.

The future of reading?

Yes you, Kindle; you are cheap, easy, and technologically savvy and I do not like you. Why would readers even feel the need to pick up a real book when you are by their side? You, Kindle, render the process of leafing through a text or simply lifting a finger to turn the page completely unnecessary. I cannot, nor will I ever be able to, condone you and your sinister ways. People need books; real, physical objects they can hold, scribble in, peruse, and collect. How will used bookstores ever persist in an era where a new, futuristic brand of readers can simply store e-books on their Kindles, Nooks, or what have you? At this rate, libraries will become antiquated within the next 20 years and physical texts a thing of the past. 


So Kindle, this borrower says most respectively and sincerely: suck it.

I'll have what she's having

Hello and welcome readers. So, here's the deal: I have never been a fan of what most people refer to as "beach reads". You know, those books that take about one afternoon to finish that read like a bad episode of an overrated, yet wildly popular TV sitcom; shows like 7th Heaven or Grey's Anatomy, in particular, are shining examples. Days ago I would have easily dubbed Chelsea Handler's Are you there, vodka? It's me, Chelsea a "beach read". Something simple, pedestrian, and perhaps more entertaining than witty. I was wrong; the book snob in me was completely shut down and rightly so.

Are you there, vodka? It's me, Chelsea is a collection of personal essays in which Handler's sexual escapades, drunken mistakes, and family drama are recorded. While each essay is as absurd as it is crude, Handler deviates from your run of the mill comedian by keeping it personal; she doesn't take cheap shots at anyone but herself . . . well, most of the time. 

The book spans across Handler's life by first introducing us readers to a 9-year old Handler who, in an effort to no longer be deemed a loser (which she blames on her father's 1967 banana yellow Yugo), informs her 3rd grade class that she and Goldie Hawn are working on Private Benjamin 2 together (which doesn't exist). Tales from her teenage years follow next where babysitting ventures turn awry until Handler neatly leads us to her present day shenanigans. While there are some particularly amusing pieces about Chelsea's overweight, cheapskate dad (whom she affectionately calls "Sugar Tits"), her time in jail after a DUI, and a Japanese massage gone wrong, my own personal favorite was the tale of "Big Red". 

"Along with 97% of women who can see, I have never been a fan of redheaded men," said Handler. That is, until she meets Austin. "I liked his body instantly, but his head was a different story. 'How,' I wanted to ask, 'could you think that a bright orange Afro was acceptable?' It looked like he had gone bobbing for apples in a barrel filled with Fanta orange soda." While Handler's romance with "Big Red" doesn't last long, reading the string of puns, offhand remarks, and sarcastic punches was pure entertainment. In many ways, her essay on "Big Red" and his "Hawaiian punch head"  confirms her knack as a storyteller and a comedian.


It is also worth noting that Handler's book was so popular that NBC is making a sitcom based on the essays set to be released in Fall 2011. Yeah, it's true. All I will say on the subject is that it is this reader's experience that movies/television/miniseries, etc. based on a book are never as good. That's right, never; case in point: the Harry Potter series.

So dear readers, if you enjoy anecdotes on the perils of having your boyfriend dog sit, the necessity of re-gifting, and vacationing in Costa Rica with your dad, this is the perfect fit for you. Handler convinced this reader to re-think the application of that heinous term "beach read", so challenge yourself fellow readers. Curl up with a bottle of Ketel One and enjoy.

Currently reading: 


#1 Only Revolutions by Mark Z. Danielewski  

#2 The  Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte 

Pilot

I'm Abbey and I’m a reader. Now, like many readers I have the nasty habit of sometimes limiting myself to the same genre (fiction, especially Brit lit). This makes me a bad reader, so I have devised a cure: to blog. The Book Borrower will serve as a record of my steady rehabilitation back into all genres of books: fiction, non-fiction, poetry, essays, short stories, and every other manner of text [1] imaginable. All the books I will discuss and review will only be texts that have been recommended to me, borrowed, or have serendipitously crossed my path.

Books are made to be borrowed, shared, and discussed. I want this blog to a be a forum for all readers; a forum to revel in what it means to experience text. So please, criticize, celebrate, or comment. This is my your our blog, and with each new post, book recommendation, hyperlink, etc. the blog evolves. Text is [insert adjective here], so play with it.

To business: I am currently reading 2 books. One is a tortuously dense and convoluted read, while the other is a tad bit lighter in content and form. While I usually don't condone double-dipping, it is for obvious health and wellness purposes. We readers need a light fling on the side every now and again to keep things from becoming too serious. Not to mention, I needed a pool side read. 

Book #1  Only Revolutions by Mark Z. Danielewski

Book #2  Are you there, vodka? It's me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler

I'll leave it up to you, dear readers, to distinguish which book is the slightly less "dense".

The next post will be my first review, so stay tuned folks.
HINT: I will review the more marry merry of the 2 texts.
 
'til next time, to-da-loo readers. 

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[1] late 14c., "wording of anything written," from O.Fr. texte , O.N.Fr. tixte  (12c.), from M.L. textus  "the Scriptures, text, treatise," in L.L. "written account, content, characters used in a document," from L. textus  "style or texture of a work," lit. "thing woven," from pp. stem of texere  "to weave," from PIE base *tek-  "make" (see texture).