Death and the Penguin by Andrey Kurkov

Translated by George Bird


11125891Aspiring writer Viktor Zolotaryov leads a down-and-out life in poverty-and-violence-wracked Kiev—he’s out of work and his only friend is a penguin, Misha, that he rescued when the local zoo started getting rid of animals. Even more nerve-wracking: a local mobster has taken a shine to Misha and wants to keep borrowing him for events.

But Viktor thinks he’s finally caught a break when he lands a well-paying job at the Kiev newspaper writing “living obituaries” of local dignitaries—articles to be filed for use when the time comes.

The only thing is, it seems the time always comes as soon as Viktor writes the article. Slowly understanding that his own life may be in jeopardy, Viktor also realizes that the only thing that might be keeping him alive is his penguin.


Viktor is doing alright – his apartment is nothing special but he shares it with Misha, his penguin (long story). He just landed a job writing obits for famous people, so when they die there will be copy waiting and ready. The articles end up sitting in a drawer at the newspaper office but the money keeps Viktor in food and Misha in fish, so it can’t be all bad.

One day, however, an obit subject dies, having plummeted from a sixth story window. Then another, and another. Viktor is left to wonder what he got into, and if it’s even worth trying to find his way out.

I love this book – serious writing that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Along with the “what the…” moments are tidbits that are just absurd enough to be plausible in post-Soviet Kiev. The plot hums along at a steady pace, helped along by short chapters that go down like potato chips, one after the other. There are some nice insights, too:

The cafe was empty and quiet – an ambience suitable for dreaming, or conversely, for recalling the past.

The characters are fleshed out wonderfully and feel like real people, right down to Misha the penguin. I love that there’s another man named Misha that gets referred to as Misha-non-penguin. It’s a little joke that isn’t overplayed, wonderful restraint that applies throughout the novel, even with all the crazy.

George Bird does a wonderful job translating from the Russian. I especially like how he handles the flowery obits, such as this one for an opera singer:

The voice is a sign of life. It may grow in strength, break off, be lost, sink to a barely audible whisper. In the chorus of our lives the individual voice is not easily distinguished, but where, suddenly, it falls silent, there comes an awareness of the finitude of any sound, of any life.

The book ends on a cliffhanger with several plot threads hanging but that’s the only bad thing I can say. I was transported to another world and look forward to seeing what happens.

War Diaries: 1939-1945 by Astrid Lindgren

Translated by Sarah Death
UK title: A World Gone Mad: The Diaries of Astrid Lindgren 1939-1945


29771643Before she became internationally known for her Pippi Longstocking books, Astrid Lindgren was an aspiring author living in Stockholm with her family at the outbreak of the Second World War. The diaries she kept throughout the hostilities offer a civilian’s, a mother’s, and an aspiring writer’s unique account of the devastating conflict. She emerges as a morally courageous critic of violence and war, as well as a deeply sensitive and astute observer of world affairs. We hear her thoughts about rationing, blackouts, the Soviet invasion of Finland, and the nature of evil, as well as of her personal heartbreaks, financial struggles, and trials as a mother and writer.

Illustrated with family photographs, newspaper clippings, and facsimile pages, Lindgren’s diaries provide an intensely personal and vivid account of Europe during the war.


I’m not a World War II buff but when I do read about the period I like learning about everyday people and what it was like to live at the time.  Troop movements, negotiations between allies? Enh. But give me diaries and letters by those on the homefront and I am there.

Lindgren’s account is a very specific and detailed view of the war from neutral Sweden, a fact that helps it transcend narratives I’ve read before. Instead of being stuck in London for the Blitz or tied to a German account of of the fighting we get to peek at all sides from a relatively safe Scandinavian perch.  She pasted in newspaper articles about the war and fills in the spaces with information about Lindgren’s own life – making do with rations, working censoring letters, listing what her children received for Christmas.

The specificity takes us back to that scary time but she still pulls back and looks at things with a wider lens.  These parts stuck with me the most as I write this in November 2016 as global political balance seems to be deteriorating by the day. “One dreads opening the newspaper each day,” Lindgren writes, and I can’t help but agree with her.

As long as you’re only reading about it in the paper you can sort of avoid believing it, but when you read in a letter that ‘both Jacques’s children were killed in the occupation of Luxembourg’ or something like that, it suddenly brings it home, quite terrifyingly. Poor human race: when I read their letters I’m staggered by the amount of sickness and distress, grief, unemployment, poverty and despair that can be fitted into this wretched earth.

It’s a wonderful, intensely readable look at World War II from a unique perspective.  A hearty recommend, especially for fans of diaries and homefront history.

Thanks to Yale University Press and NetGalley for providing a review copy.

The Dare and the Doctor by Kate Noble (Winner Takes All #3)


30103788Dr. Rhys Gray and Miss Margaret Babcock are friends—strictly friends. But over the course of the year, as they exchange dozens of letters, they share personal details that put them on the path to something more. When Dr. Gray helps Margaret realize her dearest dream and she comes to his defense in the uproar that follows, it seems that their connection cannot be denied. But will their relationship stand the scruples of society and jealous intendeds, or are they destined to be only friends, and nothing more?


It should have been the perfect time for me to read this novel – I just finished a spate of heavy non-fiction and dearly needed some romance in my reading life.  But try as I might, I kept getting pulled out of the story.

First, the good:

  • The plot has some nice twists and turns to it.
  • The book starts off with letters, yea!  Not enough to call it epistolary, but I like it all the same.
  • The heroine is unconventional (super tall, not super pretty) but the hero loves her just the way she is.
  • The pose on the cover is from a scene in the book and is fitting.  Even the fact that she’s not wearing a corset is explained, woah.

And now, the not-so-good:

  • I never felt like I was in the Regency.  The language is a little too modern, societal customs and expectations are bent a little too much, and I found a medical tidbit that, while not wrong, is unlikely.  It felt like a wallpaper romance when I prefer something more of the period.  (For more about wallpaper romances check out this article at Smart Bitches Trashy Books, where I totally agree with Candy.)
  • Noble made her chops as a TV writer and it shows.  There were a ton of scenes that are meant to be seen, not read.  We meet Rhys’ large extended family in a whirlwind, with each person passing through the foyer of the home.  It would be perfect on TV – you could see the trouble making 12-year old bounding up the stairs, the sister too engrossed in her book to noticed Rhys has arrived, and so on. But on the page it’s a tangled lump of spaghetti, with no means or end.  Here’s another example: Margaret’s friend is with her on the second floor, telling her about the suitors that are being turned away at the door.

“Oh!  There’s one!” Sylvia cried.  “He’s wearing a gray coat and hat.  And . . . he’s knocking . . . and the butler is telling him you are not receiving today.”  She pushed closer to the window, her nose almost touching.  “He’s taking off the hat . . . decently good looking, although his chin in a little weak.”

If I make a rectangle with my fingers all director-like I can see it – how the shot would be framed, how good it would look.  But it wasn’t satisfying on the page.

  • Because of the above I started skimming parts, and I didn’t feel like I missed anything.  Eep.
  • While there were seeds of conflict it didn’t drive the story until the very very end.

So despite having the outward appearance of being just what I needed, The Dare and the Doctor… wasn’t.

Thanks to Pocket Books and NetGalley for providing a review copy.

You may also enjoy:

8150083  What Happens in London by Julia Quinn

Palimpsest by Catherynne M. Valente


3973532Between life and death, dreaming and waking, at the train stop beyond the end of the world is the city of Palimpsest. To get there is a miracle, a mystery, a gift, and a curse—a voyage permitted only to those who’ve always believed there’s another world than the one that meets the eye. Those fated to make the passage are marked forever by a map of that wondrous city tattooed on their flesh after a single orgasmic night. To this kingdom of ghost trains, lion-priests, living kanji, and cream-filled canals come four travelers: Oleg, a New York locksmith; the beekeeper November; Ludovico, a binder of rare books; and a young Japanese woman named Sei. They’ve each lost something important—a wife, a lover, a sister, a direction in life—and what they will find in Palimpsest is more than they could ever imagine.


I love setting-driven novels. It sounds absurd – a place providing the thrust for a book? – but think The Night Circus. That was my first love, Palimpsest is my second.

The titular place is kind of like an STD and is passed from one person to another in just the way you’d expect, and you visit in your dreams.

“The frog pushes them out of her shop like a mother urging her children toward the coach on their first day of school: Never fear, my darlings! All these horrors are yours to survive!”

Images are placed before us: places I’d love to visit, places I’d rather never see, normal moments made beautiful for being what they are.

“She often felt that she chased the ideal cup of coffee in her mind from table to table… Every morning she pulled a delicate cup from its brass hook and filled it, hoping that it would be dark and deep and secret as a forest, and each morning it cooled too fast, had too much milk, stained the cup, made her nervous.”

We follow four characters as they make their away around and grapple with the world before them. If you demand a plot and answers as you read you’ll be annoyed and disappointed. But if you’re like me and revel in exploring a magical landscape you’ll love every word.

Valente adds just enough of the real world to ground the entire experience but the sections set in Japan ended up bothering me a lot. She’s obviously going for fact in her descriptions and while some parts are accurate (the Golden Pavilion was really burned down by a monk) others are way off base (the Silver Pavilion never got coated in silver leaf and the monks would never let it tarnish if it were). I could make a huge list but suffice it to say I got cross more than I would have liked.

The writing is worth it, though. My review isn’t doing the book justice so if you like The Night Circus get thee to Palimpsest, stat.

You may also enjoy:

11337018   The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay


22032533“Pink is my favorite color. I used to say my favorite color was black to be cool, but it is pink—all shades of pink. If I have an accessory, it is probably pink. I read Vogue, and I’m not doing it ironically, though it might seem that way. I once live-tweeted the September issue.”

In these funny and insightful essays, Roxane Gay takes us through the journey of her evolution as a woman (Sweet Valley High) of color (The Help) while also taking readers on a ride through culture of the last few years (Girls, Django in Chains) and commenting on the state of feminism today (abortion, Chris Brown). The portrait that emerges is not only one of an incredibly insightful woman continually growing to understand herself and our society, but also one of our culture.

Bad Feminist is a sharp, funny, and spot-on look at the ways in which the culture we consume becomes who we are, and an inspiring call-to-arms of all the ways we still need to do better.


Feminism is made out to be an ideal – there’s one way to do it, and if you deviate you’re bad at it.  Gay does a wonderful job pointing out that we can be less than perfect, dare I say even human?, and still believe and work for equality for all.

I highlighted passage after passage because her writing is full of truth and things I need to remind myself.

If you and your friend(s) are in the same field and you can collaborate or help each other, do this without shame. It’s nor your fault your friends are awesome. Men invented nepotism and practically live by it. Its okay for women to do it too.


I appreciate Gay’s message – no one is perfect, but we can all work to make things better.  Not just for women either, but for people of all colors and economic status and sexual orientations, too.  The informal writing style is easy to connect with

Many essays focus on pop culture and I’m afraid that even though the book is only a couple years old I was lost at times.  This is completely my fault – I’ve been living on the other side of the world for seven years now and I’m out of touch with the movies and music of my homeland.  I worry, though, that this timeliness will make the essays weaken with time as references are forgotten and societal moments pass.

There’s a lot to love here, and people newer to feminist thought will learn a lot of interesting and useful stuff.  While I have quotes that I’ll cherish forever I don’t think I’ll ever reread the book in full. And that’s fine – Gay has another book of essays on the horizon.

Marrying Winterborne by Lisa Kleypas (The Ravenels #2)


26242354Savage ambition has brought common-born Rhys Winterborne vast wealth and success. In business and beyond, Rhys gets exactly what he wants. And from the moment he meets the shy, aristocratic Lady Helen Ravenel, he is determined to possess her. If he must take her virtue to ensure she marries him, so much the better…

Helen has had little contact with the glittering, cynical world of London society. Yet Rhys’s determined seduction awakens an intense mutual passion. Helen’s gentle upbringing belies a stubborn conviction that only she can tame her unruly husband. As Rhys’s enemies conspire against them, Helen must trust him with her darkest secret. The risks are unthinkable… the reward, a lifetime of incomparable bliss. And it all begins with… marrying Mr. Winterborne.


I’ve read and loved Kleypas’ work in the past but this book fell flat for me.  Soggy pancake flat.

First, though, the good:

  • The writing is on par with the rest of her work, and I can’t find any fault with the words themselves.
  • There was enough information to jog my memory about the couple, who had a lot of goings on in the first book of the series.  It could probably even be read alone.
  • Rhys is romantic, the sex scenes are hot, and if you’re into period detail it’s here (“each glove is so delicate, it can be enclosed in the shell of a walnut”).
  • The secondary characters are fleshed out wonderfully, especially the women working for Winterborne.  I want them to get their own books, too.

The not-so-good:

  • The whole plot revolves around a secret Helen has, one she finds out maybe a quarter of the way through the novel.  Everyone says not to tell Rhys – he would never forgive her!  Don’t throw away your chance at marriage!  But the reader knows he will forgive her on the spot.  And he does.  So angst yes, conflict not so much.
  • Likewise there’s a plot twist near the end that was meant to raise the stakes but only raised my hackles instead.
  • Rhys has no faults as far as I can see.  Yes, he’s common born, but that lets him be progressive and alpha and endearing to modern readers.  He’s rich so Helen’s family is happy about the marriage.  Winterborne is also loving and protective, hates the people you would expect him to hate, and takes care of the people he loves.  He’s perfect… and pretty boring.
  • There isn’t anything wrong with Helen, either.  She’s dreadfully shy to start but it’s more of a feature than a bug.

So while the beginning was enjoyable I had to force myself to finish the last half of the book.  Weak conflict, a flawless hero and heroine… not much reason to read.  Le sigh.  I’ll still read the next book at some point, though, because Pandora.

PhDeath by James Carse


9781623160661_1eb3ePhDeath is a fast-paced thriller set in a major university in a major city on a square. The faculty finds itself in deadly intellectual combat with the anonymous Puzzler. Along with teams of US Military Intelligence and the city’s top detective and aided by the Puzzle Master of The New York Times, their collective brains are no match for the Puzzler’s perverse talents. Carse, Emeritus Professor himself at a premier university in a major city on a square shows no mercy in his creation of the seemingly omniscient Puzzler, who through a sequence of atrocities beginning and ending with the academic year, turns up one hidden pocket of moral rot after another: flawed research, unabashed venality, ideological rigidity, pornographic obsessions, undue political and corporate influence, subtle schemes of blackmail, the penetration of national and foreign intelligence agencies, brazen violation of copyrights, even the production and sale of addictive drugs.


The jacket copy calls this a thriller but I’d say it’s a mystery.  There’s been a string of murders at an elite university and the police, Feds, and a committee of professors are on the case.  Each death is preceded by a ten part puzzle from the murderer, hinting at the next victim.

The good:

  • Several of the murders are creative and spectacular in a fun way.
  • Puzzles!  You’ll probably be able to figure out a couple parts as you go, and some are quite interestingly put together.
  • The Puzzle Master of the New York Times does indeed make an appearance, and it’s glorious.
  • The scene where the Puzzler is unmasked is amazing.  I was thrown for a loop – it’s a double reveal and I was blindsided on both counts.  I went “Wait… what?  HOW?” before flipping back to see how I possibly could have missed it.  Well done.
  • Whys and wherefores are fully explained in detail once the criminal is identified.  Only one detail I was curious about wasn’t expounded upon, which is pretty good.

The not-so-good:

  • The number ten is big in this book so each of the ten puzzles has ten parts.  All ten clues have a similar theme, so once you figure out the first few you can almost skip the rest, as the method has become clear.  However each part is painstakingly covered with answers and reasoning given, even for an arithmetic puzzle.  Judicious skimming helped me get through.
  • Looking for a breezy mystery?  This isn’t it.  If you like this sort of thing you’ll call it cerebral, but it veers towards “lecture about dead white guy philosopher” too much for me.  Here and there it’s interesting, but in other places it goes on too long.

Go in to PhDeath knowing it’s a philosophizing mystery.  Enjoy the crazy deaths, skim over clues that don’t interest  you, and watch out for that reveal – it’s a doozy.

The Shelf by Phyllis Rose


18490539Hoping to explore the “real ground of literature,” Phyllis Rose reads her way through a somewhat randomly chosen shelf of fiction, from LEQ to LES.

The shelf has everything Rose could wish for—a classic she has not read, a remarkable variety of authors, and a range of literary styles. The early nineteenth-century Russian classic A Hero of Our Time by Mikhail Lermontov is spine by spine with The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. Stories of French Canadian farmers sit beside those about aristocratic Austrians. California detective novels abut a picaresque novel from the seventeenth century. There are several novels by a wonderful, funny, contemporary novelist who has turned to raising dogs because of the tepid response to her work.

In The Shelf, Rose investigates the books on her shelf with exuberance, candor, and wit while pondering the many questions her experiment raises and measuring her discoveries against her own inner shelf—those texts that accompany us through life. “Fairly sure that no one in the history of the world has read exactly this series of novels,” she sustains a sense of excitement as she creates a refreshingly original and generous portrait of the literary enterprise.


Fear not, this is not a stunt memoir. Rose does read through a shelf at the library but it’s not as extreme as the title suggests as there’s no time limit, no angst when titles on the shelf change, and no diatribe about doing things right or wrong.  The shelf is a device, a way to hang interesting conversations about reading and the literary world together.

I like what she has to say.  While choosing a shelf she talks about how most of us have our reading chosen for us, be it by teachers and bestseller lists or award panels and librarians.  The fact that only three of the eleven writers on the shelf are women opens my favorite chapter about women and fiction.  She delves into how libraries decide what to keep and what to toss, and how opinions of books change (or not) over time and distance.  If you are a bookish person (I’m going to guess you are) Rose is speaking to you.

Refreshingly she doesn’t put down particular ways of reading.  Physical books are fine, but the text can be too small and the pages can crumble as you turn them, interfering with your enjoyment.

The ideal of translation as a pane of glass becomes embodied when you read on a Kindle or a Nook. Nothing comes between you and the text, certainly no object remind you distressingly of age and decay.

All of us who are unable to read physical books (audiobooks for the win) or have something going on that makes it a painful proposition (like my sad wrists) wholeheartedly agree.

Wide-ranging and packed with insight, The Shelf is a welcome addition to any “books about books” shelf.

The Terranauts by T.C. Boyle


28925208It is 1994, and in the desert near Tillman, Arizona, forty miles from Tucson, a grand experiment involving the future of humanity is underway. As climate change threatens the earth, eight scientists, four men and four women dubbed the “Terranauts,” have been selected to live under glass in E2, a prototype of a possible off-earth colony. Their sealed, three-acre compound comprises five biomes—rainforest, savanna, desert, ocean and marsh—and enough wildlife, water, and vegetation to sustain them.

In addition to their roles as medics, farmers, biologists, and survivalists, the young, strapping Terranauts must impress watchful visitors and a skeptical media curious to see if E2’s environment will somehow be compromised, forcing the Ecosphere’s seal to be broken—and ending the mission in failure. As the Terranauts face increased scrutiny and a host of disasters, both natural and of their own making, their mantra: “Nothing in, nothing out,” becomes a dangerously ferocious rallying cry.


I went into this book knowing nothing about it – great for some novels but not for this one.

The interesting:

  • The novel is about a futuristic thing that’s happening in 1994.  They’ve pushed the technology of the time but it’s more mechanical and biological instead of information age stuff.
  • That’s all I have for interesting.  Let that be a warning to you.

The interesting (to me):

  • Many of the characters, especially the narrators, are unlikable.  No one is a saint, and some people are downright slimy.  I don’t mind this kind of thing but if you don’t, now you know.

The not-so-interesting:

  • This novel is about a futuristic thing that actually happened in the early 90s.  Real events are expanded on, of course, but for the first half of the book Boyle sticks closely to reality.  Here’s the thing – life is rarely paced at novel speed.  After the first exciting intro of characters the action drops off until there’s a Happening, but by then it’s such a wreck I didn’t care what went down.
  • People can get bitchy, I know, but women’s looks come up a LOT.  It feels genuine when (the only) person of color notes that all the chosen ladies have light-colored hair, but the rest of the time it’s just petty.  And not even petty in the way women (in my experience) can be, but petty in the way men think we are. ‘Why did he sleep with her, I’m prettier’, ‘She’s not even pretty’, ‘They picked the pretty girls even though I’m smarter’.  I mean, just look at this part of the extended synopsis:

    Told through three distinct narrators—Dawn Chapman, the mission’s pretty young ecologist; Linda Ryu, her bitter, scheming best friend passed over for E2; and Ramsay Roothorp, E2’s sexually irrepressible Wildman…

  • Continuing with gender stuff, there are four women in this crazy calorie restricted environment and there’s not one joke about it being the best diet ever.  Instead, one woman (already skinny) worries about “losing her figure”.  What.
  • The science, while not insignificant, fails to satisfy. I had a lot of unanswered questions – why aren’t there more fail safes and redundant systems?  How did you expect people to survive on a 1500 calorie/day diet when they’re doing manual labor day in and day out? And why the hell would you put all single people in there?  If someone is married they would have someone to call when things get rough, a built in psychological safety valve.
  • You kinda know why people are doing this experiment, but not really.  A couple of people seem to care about the science.  Another about money and fame.  But everyone else?  Who knows.  Because:
  • Minor characters are underdeveloped.  There are eight people in the biosphere – two main characters, three characters to help with plot points, and three characters I forgot existed.
  • Most of the action reads like an overblown soap opera.  ‘He was sleeping with me but now he’s sleeping with her’, ‘so and so is cheating on that other person and I know because I followed them around all sneaky-like’, ‘you can’t do that for a Halloween costume I already called it how dare you’.  I wanted to yell “who cares?”, “grow up!”, and “move on, already!” in turns.

So yeah, not a fan.

Thanks to Ecco and Edelweiss for providing a review copy.