BOOKS 2011: January
Because I promised, my inarticulate thoughts on all the books I've finished this month!
1. Why Evolution is True - Jerry Coyne
(336 pages)
This is an excellent book. Clear and concise, you need only the vaguest appreciation of biology to be able to follow its arguments. Each chapter deals with a different type of evidence for evolution, of which the presence of fossils is a mere icing on a multi-layered and very filling cake. My only criticism is that I did not enjoy it as much as Dawkins' The Greatest Show on Earth, which I loved and which dealt with the same subject. I think this one failed for me simply due to my tastes; Coyne has a much cooler (though not clinical) style of writing than Dawkins, and while many people will prefer that I liked the infectious enthusiasm and occasional rage of the other book. Also I found The Greatest Show more robust, with greater attention on current research into evolution, including the Lenski's experiments on E. coli, and the adaptions of spots on guppies. Plus it has better pictures. That said, what I most appreciated about this book was the final chapter, in which time was taken to put forward that the reason evolution is disputed in the way that the scientific theories of gravity or black holes is not is because of the emotional impact it has on us. Gravity and black holes do not make us re-assess the way we think of ourselves and where we came from, but evolution is much more personal. He then goes on to explain why evolution should not have to shake our ideas of self; why it does not excuse us to be base, amoral creatures; why indeed cooperation and altruism might be as much a part of our evolutionary heritage as our upright posture, or vestigial appendix. I doubt that many creationists will be convinced by this book, not because it is lacking in any way but because people have a habit of turning a willingly blind eye towards anything that makes them question themselves, or that they simply don't like the idea of, but I recommend it for the rest of you nevertheless.
2. Crow Country - Mark Cocker
(224 pages)
This is not a book about crows, but rooks, their inelegant and less-gothy cousins; and even then it is not really about rooks either. It is as much about the landscape as it is about the birds, and our (the British's) relationship to it and them. I loved some aspects of this book - the beautiful luminance of the language, and the fervid obsession of an oft-ignored, "ordinary" corvid -, but at other points it dragged, becoming rather submerged in the author's musings on his own self. The chapter on the perception of people passionate about a single creature is lovely, but sometimes I rather wished Cocker had taken his own advice and written a little more rigourously about his chosen subject. I didn't feel like I learned very much. That said, I shall probably pay more attention to rooks and rookeries when I spot them now and that, at least, is something.
3. The Dice Man - Luke Rhinehart
(560 pages)
I had this recommended to me, but it left me cold. Boring, turgid, and far too pleased with itself, was I the sort of person that didn't finish books I would not have finished this one. As it was after a slow start I galloped through the latter half just so that it was done and I could move on to one of the other twenty-three books I have waiting in the wings. The characters were bland, the pro(an?)tagonist conceited (in itself not be a problem, but this is the alter-ego of the author. Seriously, pretending it's an autobiography by your character makes you look like a tosser) and self-consciously "edgy" in that way teenagers love but I've become disinclined to. Pathetic wank fantasy for those scared of talking to girls. Seriously, that's all he ever uses the dice for, fucking. All those options and it's all fucking. The commentary on sixties/seventies approach to psychiatry was occasionally amusing but that's about all I can say for it. No thank you.
4. The Single Helix - Steve Jones
(336 pages)
I like Steve Jones' books. He has an expert in his subject but has a talent for being able to explain to the layman complicated ideas in a clear and precise manner but without ever being condescending. Moreover he does it all with a sense of humour. In this book he (mostly) removes himself from his own area of expertise and gives us short articles on other subjects. It's a very easy book to pick up and put down, each chapter being just 2 1/2 to 3 pages long. I mostly liked it but due to the varying subject matters occasionally found my mind wandering: at the end of the day, I read Steve Jones because I like genetics and biology. It was rather like reading someone's blog - often dull with the odd gem, and more subjective than objective (for a so-called "science" book), but enjoyable enough.
5. If Only They Could Talk - James Herriot
(205 pages)
You're to expect a lot of these, because I was bought the entire All Creatures Great and Small set for my birthday and have every intention of getting through the lot by the time March rolls round. I read most of them very many years ago as a small Yorkshire child desperate to become a vet. As such, there is absolutely no use in my attempting to do a proper review of this or any of Herriot's books because they are, like the Harry Potter series, Goodnight Mister Tom and Watership Down, comfort books and therefore above and beyond criticism. They are a hot cup of tea and a plate of Jammie Dodgers; buttery crumpets and bed-socks; Marmite on toast and a feather duvet - simple, wonderful perfection. And I still want to be a vet.
6. Mosquito - Andrew Spielman and Michael D'Antonio
(256 pages)
This is one of those books that is so full of new information you actually feel a little overwhelmed by the end of it. A combination of entomology, biomedicine, public health, sociology and history, I was always going to like this. Its study of the diminutive insect's impact on man in its role as vector in a myriad of largely awful and deadly diseases is nothing short of astounding, really exciting and eye-opening stuff. The science is rigorous enough to please me, but I think even people not especially interested in science would enjoy this book because of the inclusion of the mosquito's massive role in our history, from the inability of the Romans to invade Scotland (a local varient of malaria), to the yellow fever outbreak in Philadelphia in 1793 which killed thousands horribly (black vomit, anyone?), to the appearance of West Nile in New York in 1999. You will look at mosquitos with a lot more fearful respect after reading this book - but a lot more fascination, too.
7. It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet - James Herriot
(229 pages)
More comforting loveliness.
8. Memoirs of a Master Forger - William Heaney
(320 pages)
I didn't get this. The concept of demons was fascinating to me and what made me read the book in the first place, but ultimately I felt like nothing much was ever done with them. I feel he could have written the same story without the fantastical element. I think I just expected it to be more exciting? I also felt that the political commentary was forced, trying to put a bit of cleverness into the book that was never really there. The dialogue too did not feel real. I was also surprised at my reaction to what I presume is the use of real London pubs in the book. I'm a huge fan of a strong sense of place in fiction, it can really sell a book for me, but here felt forced, like a pamphlet advertising pubs where famous poets got their rocks off. Just a little too pretentious. I didn't hate the book, and there were one or two ideas I liked that I just wish he'd gone into more, but at the end of it I just felt nothing.
9. Let Sleeping Vets Lie - James Herriot
(251 pages)
The next installment of the series, five more to go and I'm still enjoying them.
10. Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture - Ariel Levy
(240 pages)
I recently picked up a handful of feminist writings from Amazon, having never read books on the subject before. I've been interested for years, reading web articles and blogs with a feminist slant, but never gone to the effort of picking up an actual, physical book, perhaps swayed by the potential fury it might cause if I found I disagreed with the author (and there is a lot to disagree about.) However, these past few years I have become more aware and more interested in the subject, and found certain questions plagued my mind that might not have a few years ago. Like, if I had a daughter (and here's hoping not any time soon), what would I do? How would I stop her creating a fucked-up ideal of herself, or feeling that she has to behave in certain ways to get attention, ways that likely don't involve charisma, or talent, or intelligence. Questions like why I keep seeing otherwise intelligent women say that they are not feminists, as though it's a dirty word reserved only for - what, exactly? Man haters? I don't understand. Therefore, I've decided I needed to read up on the subject. This is the first of the books I have read. To say I liked it sounds weird; rather, I appreciated it. I'm not an articulate person (you don't say!) and struggle to put my opinions into a coherent argument, and so I sometimes feel I need other people to do it for me. This was written by one of those people. This book answered the question about why I feel uncomfortable/retch when Jordan is cited as a feminist inspiration, whereas previously I could only fumble words as to why it bothered me so much. Moreover what I appreciated about it was that its focus was on the fault of women themselves - that we could change this, if we liked, but we don't. Not to say that Levy allows the men get away with it - certainly not - but that she focuses largely on why women are often their own worst enemy in the way they compete, or state that they hate other women and would rather hang out with men, or judge one another. This is something I've felt strongly for a long time: I'm sick to death of reading Facebook and seeing women state that fat women are disgusting and lazy, or “real women” (whatever that is) have curves, or that so-and-so is a slut, or that so-and-so stole someone's man (as though men can be stolen.) This book is logical, smart, angry and often funny. I was pleased to see lesbians were not excluded: for a moment indeed it seemed that it was actually going to be a much more uplifting chapter, right until the point she discussed the uncomfortable subculture of “bois”, that for some gay women involves a revolting misogyny that seems outright bizarre coming from the particular source, and shows you just how ingrained in our society the perceived inferiority of women is. I also appreciated the emphasis on how sexuality is just one kind of liberation, that just because women are "allowed" to be promiscuous and seeemingly-available does not indicate progress, say, in the workplace. My only complaint about this book was the American-centricism - not an actual fault but a result of my own bias. I found I didn't understand references to certain things (never heard of CAKE parties, and though I have heard Girls Gone Wild referred to before, I've never associated it with something culturally significant as such as what is described in the book. Turns out it's gross.) An eye-opening read that ends with a plea for women to enjoy their sexuality as the complex, fascinating thing it is and not force it in a silicon-titted, consumer-friendly, one-size-fits-all box, and thereby achieve true sexual liberation. You should read this book.
11. The Flood - David Maine
(272 pages)
A funny choice for a commited atheist, you might say. But not so much. I'm fascinated by mythology, after all, and as a child this was one of my favourites because of my love of animals. Of course, even as a seven year old I could see the blatant flaws in the story of Noah's Ark, though terms like "species diaspora" and "genetic bottleneck", or even "genetic bottleneck liek whoa", hadn't yet entered my vocabulary. This same logical fallacy was what made me wrinkle my nose at the story of Adam and Eve - and I liked that one far less because I love snakes. Noah's Ark was far better. Yet, in spite of this very solid foundation to work on, I didn't like this. I was expecting a humourous story that added something to the original myth, but came out of it entirely unamused and with the distinct feeling that the story had told me nothing. Noe was also kind of a dick, something I often enjoy in stories but not so much when I'm not sympathising with any of the characters on account of them all having the depth of a goldfish bowl. This is somewhat at odds with other reviews I've glanced across, which seem to have enjoyed it. According to them, this book is about "faith". I think therein lies my problem. I don't particularly have or believe in "faith". I like evidence and reasons for believing things. Faith has just always seemed a little foolish to me. But what do I know.
12. Vet in Harness - James Herriot
(251 pages)
Of all the series I've read so far, this is the one I remembered the most about, and also my favourite at this point. Along with the usual 1930s veterinary loveliness, there's some magnificent foodporn (I've been craving pork pies and pickled onions and picalilli for the past two days), and the looming threat of the war where the novel finally climaxes adds a little something else.
13. Six Feet Over: Adventures in the Afterlife - Mark Roach
(300 pages)
This is the third of Mary Roach's books I have read in recent months. Stiff I loved, apparently more morbidly curious than I imagined. Bonk I was less interested by, a surprise given the content. I entered this book a little warily, given I do not believe in any afterlife and the thought of spending money on dead-end experiments into it leaves me a little lairy. Indeed, it took me an evening of determined reading to get into this book, but once I did I thoroughly enjoyed it. Roach is an arch and luminous writer, her enthusiasm for a subject she herself admits she knows nothing about rushing through the pages in an informative and hilarious torrent. A non-believer herself, she enters the subject with mind broken right open, and at points where I in her position might be tempted to mock manages to treat her subjects with dignity - though not without the occasional sly comment. I particularly loved the parts about how electromagnetic fields and infrasound might create illusions in the human brain of ghosts. (I've still not had the balls to dig up the clip she mentions of tigers roaring, to discover if you are infrasound-sensitive.) Favourite fact: teeth fillings speaking to you perhaps not entirely an urban myth! Roach's books are a treasure trove of random facts such as that one that you can impress - and annoy! - your friends with, and I can recommend this one. Great fun.
Total books so far: 13
Total pages so far: 3780
1. Why Evolution is True - Jerry Coyne
(336 pages)
This is an excellent book. Clear and concise, you need only the vaguest appreciation of biology to be able to follow its arguments. Each chapter deals with a different type of evidence for evolution, of which the presence of fossils is a mere icing on a multi-layered and very filling cake. My only criticism is that I did not enjoy it as much as Dawkins' The Greatest Show on Earth, which I loved and which dealt with the same subject. I think this one failed for me simply due to my tastes; Coyne has a much cooler (though not clinical) style of writing than Dawkins, and while many people will prefer that I liked the infectious enthusiasm and occasional rage of the other book. Also I found The Greatest Show more robust, with greater attention on current research into evolution, including the Lenski's experiments on E. coli, and the adaptions of spots on guppies. Plus it has better pictures. That said, what I most appreciated about this book was the final chapter, in which time was taken to put forward that the reason evolution is disputed in the way that the scientific theories of gravity or black holes is not is because of the emotional impact it has on us. Gravity and black holes do not make us re-assess the way we think of ourselves and where we came from, but evolution is much more personal. He then goes on to explain why evolution should not have to shake our ideas of self; why it does not excuse us to be base, amoral creatures; why indeed cooperation and altruism might be as much a part of our evolutionary heritage as our upright posture, or vestigial appendix. I doubt that many creationists will be convinced by this book, not because it is lacking in any way but because people have a habit of turning a willingly blind eye towards anything that makes them question themselves, or that they simply don't like the idea of, but I recommend it for the rest of you nevertheless.
2. Crow Country - Mark Cocker
(224 pages)
This is not a book about crows, but rooks, their inelegant and less-gothy cousins; and even then it is not really about rooks either. It is as much about the landscape as it is about the birds, and our (the British's) relationship to it and them. I loved some aspects of this book - the beautiful luminance of the language, and the fervid obsession of an oft-ignored, "ordinary" corvid -, but at other points it dragged, becoming rather submerged in the author's musings on his own self. The chapter on the perception of people passionate about a single creature is lovely, but sometimes I rather wished Cocker had taken his own advice and written a little more rigourously about his chosen subject. I didn't feel like I learned very much. That said, I shall probably pay more attention to rooks and rookeries when I spot them now and that, at least, is something.
3. The Dice Man - Luke Rhinehart
(560 pages)
I had this recommended to me, but it left me cold. Boring, turgid, and far too pleased with itself, was I the sort of person that didn't finish books I would not have finished this one. As it was after a slow start I galloped through the latter half just so that it was done and I could move on to one of the other twenty-three books I have waiting in the wings. The characters were bland, the pro(an?)tagonist conceited (in itself not be a problem, but this is the alter-ego of the author. Seriously, pretending it's an autobiography by your character makes you look like a tosser) and self-consciously "edgy" in that way teenagers love but I've become disinclined to. Pathetic wank fantasy for those scared of talking to girls. Seriously, that's all he ever uses the dice for, fucking. All those options and it's all fucking. The commentary on sixties/seventies approach to psychiatry was occasionally amusing but that's about all I can say for it. No thank you.
4. The Single Helix - Steve Jones
(336 pages)
I like Steve Jones' books. He has an expert in his subject but has a talent for being able to explain to the layman complicated ideas in a clear and precise manner but without ever being condescending. Moreover he does it all with a sense of humour. In this book he (mostly) removes himself from his own area of expertise and gives us short articles on other subjects. It's a very easy book to pick up and put down, each chapter being just 2 1/2 to 3 pages long. I mostly liked it but due to the varying subject matters occasionally found my mind wandering: at the end of the day, I read Steve Jones because I like genetics and biology. It was rather like reading someone's blog - often dull with the odd gem, and more subjective than objective (for a so-called "science" book), but enjoyable enough.
5. If Only They Could Talk - James Herriot
(205 pages)
You're to expect a lot of these, because I was bought the entire All Creatures Great and Small set for my birthday and have every intention of getting through the lot by the time March rolls round. I read most of them very many years ago as a small Yorkshire child desperate to become a vet. As such, there is absolutely no use in my attempting to do a proper review of this or any of Herriot's books because they are, like the Harry Potter series, Goodnight Mister Tom and Watership Down, comfort books and therefore above and beyond criticism. They are a hot cup of tea and a plate of Jammie Dodgers; buttery crumpets and bed-socks; Marmite on toast and a feather duvet - simple, wonderful perfection. And I still want to be a vet.
6. Mosquito - Andrew Spielman and Michael D'Antonio
(256 pages)
This is one of those books that is so full of new information you actually feel a little overwhelmed by the end of it. A combination of entomology, biomedicine, public health, sociology and history, I was always going to like this. Its study of the diminutive insect's impact on man in its role as vector in a myriad of largely awful and deadly diseases is nothing short of astounding, really exciting and eye-opening stuff. The science is rigorous enough to please me, but I think even people not especially interested in science would enjoy this book because of the inclusion of the mosquito's massive role in our history, from the inability of the Romans to invade Scotland (a local varient of malaria), to the yellow fever outbreak in Philadelphia in 1793 which killed thousands horribly (black vomit, anyone?), to the appearance of West Nile in New York in 1999. You will look at mosquitos with a lot more fearful respect after reading this book - but a lot more fascination, too.
7. It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet - James Herriot
(229 pages)
More comforting loveliness.
8. Memoirs of a Master Forger - William Heaney
(320 pages)
I didn't get this. The concept of demons was fascinating to me and what made me read the book in the first place, but ultimately I felt like nothing much was ever done with them. I feel he could have written the same story without the fantastical element. I think I just expected it to be more exciting? I also felt that the political commentary was forced, trying to put a bit of cleverness into the book that was never really there. The dialogue too did not feel real. I was also surprised at my reaction to what I presume is the use of real London pubs in the book. I'm a huge fan of a strong sense of place in fiction, it can really sell a book for me, but here felt forced, like a pamphlet advertising pubs where famous poets got their rocks off. Just a little too pretentious. I didn't hate the book, and there were one or two ideas I liked that I just wish he'd gone into more, but at the end of it I just felt nothing.
9. Let Sleeping Vets Lie - James Herriot
(251 pages)
The next installment of the series, five more to go and I'm still enjoying them.
10. Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture - Ariel Levy
(240 pages)
I recently picked up a handful of feminist writings from Amazon, having never read books on the subject before. I've been interested for years, reading web articles and blogs with a feminist slant, but never gone to the effort of picking up an actual, physical book, perhaps swayed by the potential fury it might cause if I found I disagreed with the author (and there is a lot to disagree about.) However, these past few years I have become more aware and more interested in the subject, and found certain questions plagued my mind that might not have a few years ago. Like, if I had a daughter (and here's hoping not any time soon), what would I do? How would I stop her creating a fucked-up ideal of herself, or feeling that she has to behave in certain ways to get attention, ways that likely don't involve charisma, or talent, or intelligence. Questions like why I keep seeing otherwise intelligent women say that they are not feminists, as though it's a dirty word reserved only for - what, exactly? Man haters? I don't understand. Therefore, I've decided I needed to read up on the subject. This is the first of the books I have read. To say I liked it sounds weird; rather, I appreciated it. I'm not an articulate person (you don't say!) and struggle to put my opinions into a coherent argument, and so I sometimes feel I need other people to do it for me. This was written by one of those people. This book answered the question about why I feel uncomfortable/retch when Jordan is cited as a feminist inspiration, whereas previously I could only fumble words as to why it bothered me so much. Moreover what I appreciated about it was that its focus was on the fault of women themselves - that we could change this, if we liked, but we don't. Not to say that Levy allows the men get away with it - certainly not - but that she focuses largely on why women are often their own worst enemy in the way they compete, or state that they hate other women and would rather hang out with men, or judge one another. This is something I've felt strongly for a long time: I'm sick to death of reading Facebook and seeing women state that fat women are disgusting and lazy, or “real women” (whatever that is) have curves, or that so-and-so is a slut, or that so-and-so stole someone's man (as though men can be stolen.) This book is logical, smart, angry and often funny. I was pleased to see lesbians were not excluded: for a moment indeed it seemed that it was actually going to be a much more uplifting chapter, right until the point she discussed the uncomfortable subculture of “bois”, that for some gay women involves a revolting misogyny that seems outright bizarre coming from the particular source, and shows you just how ingrained in our society the perceived inferiority of women is. I also appreciated the emphasis on how sexuality is just one kind of liberation, that just because women are "allowed" to be promiscuous and seeemingly-available does not indicate progress, say, in the workplace. My only complaint about this book was the American-centricism - not an actual fault but a result of my own bias. I found I didn't understand references to certain things (never heard of CAKE parties, and though I have heard Girls Gone Wild referred to before, I've never associated it with something culturally significant as such as what is described in the book. Turns out it's gross.) An eye-opening read that ends with a plea for women to enjoy their sexuality as the complex, fascinating thing it is and not force it in a silicon-titted, consumer-friendly, one-size-fits-all box, and thereby achieve true sexual liberation. You should read this book.
11. The Flood - David Maine
(272 pages)
A funny choice for a commited atheist, you might say. But not so much. I'm fascinated by mythology, after all, and as a child this was one of my favourites because of my love of animals. Of course, even as a seven year old I could see the blatant flaws in the story of Noah's Ark, though terms like "species diaspora" and "genetic bottleneck", or even "genetic bottleneck liek whoa", hadn't yet entered my vocabulary. This same logical fallacy was what made me wrinkle my nose at the story of Adam and Eve - and I liked that one far less because I love snakes. Noah's Ark was far better. Yet, in spite of this very solid foundation to work on, I didn't like this. I was expecting a humourous story that added something to the original myth, but came out of it entirely unamused and with the distinct feeling that the story had told me nothing. Noe was also kind of a dick, something I often enjoy in stories but not so much when I'm not sympathising with any of the characters on account of them all having the depth of a goldfish bowl. This is somewhat at odds with other reviews I've glanced across, which seem to have enjoyed it. According to them, this book is about "faith". I think therein lies my problem. I don't particularly have or believe in "faith". I like evidence and reasons for believing things. Faith has just always seemed a little foolish to me. But what do I know.
12. Vet in Harness - James Herriot
(251 pages)
Of all the series I've read so far, this is the one I remembered the most about, and also my favourite at this point. Along with the usual 1930s veterinary loveliness, there's some magnificent foodporn (I've been craving pork pies and pickled onions and picalilli for the past two days), and the looming threat of the war where the novel finally climaxes adds a little something else.
13. Six Feet Over: Adventures in the Afterlife - Mark Roach
(300 pages)
This is the third of Mary Roach's books I have read in recent months. Stiff I loved, apparently more morbidly curious than I imagined. Bonk I was less interested by, a surprise given the content. I entered this book a little warily, given I do not believe in any afterlife and the thought of spending money on dead-end experiments into it leaves me a little lairy. Indeed, it took me an evening of determined reading to get into this book, but once I did I thoroughly enjoyed it. Roach is an arch and luminous writer, her enthusiasm for a subject she herself admits she knows nothing about rushing through the pages in an informative and hilarious torrent. A non-believer herself, she enters the subject with mind broken right open, and at points where I in her position might be tempted to mock manages to treat her subjects with dignity - though not without the occasional sly comment. I particularly loved the parts about how electromagnetic fields and infrasound might create illusions in the human brain of ghosts. (I've still not had the balls to dig up the clip she mentions of tigers roaring, to discover if you are infrasound-sensitive.) Favourite fact: teeth fillings speaking to you perhaps not entirely an urban myth! Roach's books are a treasure trove of random facts such as that one that you can impress - and annoy! - your friends with, and I can recommend this one. Great fun.
Total books so far: 13
Total pages so far: 3780