Quarantine Reading: Book Reviews

Like so many others, I've been stuck inside with no homework, no job, and a whole lot of time on my hands. Recently, I've taken a break from social media to clear my head and have spent my days querying for my novel, playing far too many online geography quizzes, learning new songs on the piano, and, of course, reading. Books have always been—and will always be—the greatest escape from reality, and, unless you pick up a copy of The End of October, I recommend devoting yourself to a good book right now more than ever. Without further ado, here is what I have read (so far) since my online classes have ended.

1. Don't Burn This Book (Dave Rubin, 2020)

Rating: 7/10

While Dave Rubin himself may be a somewhat controversial figure—as any political podcaster is wont to be—his book is rather tame. It is a mix of biographical anecdotes and opining on contemporary political issues, the former serving as the strong foundation upon which the latter sits somewhat lazily. I listened to Rubin's podcast much more regularly two ago than I do now; his talking points started to feel a bit repetitive and monotonous. The biographical portions of his book are the strongest because they are so much more unique.

However, he still has some important ideas to share, and the last chapter in particular stood out to me. He details his annual news and social media hiatus—the entire month of August—and argues that while politics is important to understand and debate, our entire lives should not revolve around it. After all, he says, the reason why were become so invested in politics in the first place is to better our everyday lives. The toxicity of our current political environment is incredibly taxing on our mental health, and I think this argument was a poignant way to close a book that is about politics.

I'd recommend this book to anyone, but particularly to those who consider themselves firmly on the right or on the left, as you will find something disagreeable among Rubin's moderate libertarian opinions, and whether or not you find your mind changed, you will find it more open.

2. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown, 2003)

Rating: 7/10

I remember my mom reading this book nearly twenty years ago (when I was a preschooler), and I'm glad I finally dusted it off and cracked it open myself. After spending two semesters studying ancient and medieval history, literature, philosophy, and theology—thanks, Providence College—this story proved quite enjoyable. It's a fun, light read with an exciting plot.

However, the writing fell shy of my expectations. The chapters written from the main character's perspective are strong, but there are too many in-between chapters depicting the "bad guys" at work that are unnecessary and lend to the story's predictability. The word count probably could've been halved if these, along with other repetitive explanations of concepts that tend to dumb the writing down, had been scrapped.

Still, I enjoyed this novel and devoured it within a few sittings. Sometimes you're not looking for prize-winning literature, just a fictional world to invest yourself in for a day or two, and it is certainly immersive.

3. One of Us is Next (Karen M. McManus, 2020)

Rating: 9/10

This works well as a sequel to One of Us is Lying and as a standalone. Though I don't read much YA anymore, I have enjoyed McManus' previous work—she's a standout YA author, doing something remarkably different from all the others—and her third novel is just as strong as the first two. While the sheer amount of characters causes a bit of confusion toward the beginning, each develops a unique voice, and they all grow on you in their own ways. Overall, while it feels a little young for my taste, it is an addictive, well-paced mystery with a chilling conclusion.

4. Prisoners of Geography (Tim Marshall, 2015)

Rating: 9/10

Marshall presents an intriguing argument about geography—that the physical world shapes the political to a much greater degree than we might assume—and supports his claims with compelling evidence. This book also serves as a great basic overview of the entire geopolitical world that can be understood by anyone while at the same time providing unique insights that can be appreciated by serious geography and international relations nerds (trust me, I am one). I’d recommend Marshall’s writing to anyone who’s interested in gaining a better understanding of why our geopolitical world functions the way it does, and I’m definitely looking forward to reading more of his books.

5. The Secret History (Donna Tartt, 1992)

Rating: 10/10

This book has definitely made it into my top five all-time favorites. While the pacing was a little slow in the second half, I was invested enough the story from the first half that I still devoured it quickly. Tartt perfectly combined unreliable narration, descent into evil, and classical literature/philosophy, three of my favorite things in literature. This is certainly a book I’ll be recommending for years to come to anyone who wants to become entirely engrossed in the mind of a character teetering on the edge of madness.

6. Mrs. Everything (Jennifer Weiner, 2019)

Rating: 3/10

The concept of this novel is interesting in theory—two sisters, contrasting in personality, growing up side-by-side and evolving into exactly the opposite women they imagined they’d be—but the execution falls flat. Weiner’s writing is basic, unnecessarily descriptive in some sections and lacking in others, and honestly reads like a poorly-written alternative universe Little Women fan fiction. Every scene felt either unrealistic or preachy. Obviously younger characters are going to make mistakes, but they don’t seem to learn and grow from them, and some of these decisions are so incredibly stupid that I could not even sympathize with Jo and Beth. The pacing is also strange and choppy; it jumps so quickly from decade to decade that none of the side characters have any time to become memorable. I think there are some poignant moments in this story, purely plot-wise, but they are so poorly written that I felt myself skimming over them to avoid cringing. Overall, Weiner spends too much time telling a story as if she’s writing a Wikipedia page instead of showing us what her characters think and feel and why they make the decisions they do. She relies too heavily on overdone tropes and stereotypes and tries too hard to construct tragic moment after tragic moment.

7. Me (Elton John, 2019)

Rating: 10/10

This biography is an incredibly personal, honest, hysterical, and insightful look into the life of one of my favorite music artists and personal heroes. I don’t have much to say other than that I found myself in tears both from laughing at Elton’s outrageous anecdotes and overwhelming awe at how much he overcame and accomplished. These two aspects of his story are interwoven so flawlessly—sometimes you’re reading about how he showed up onstage at a Wham! concert in a Ronald McDonald costume, and a few chapters later, you’re reading about how he tried and failed to help George Michael before it was too late. Journalist Alexis Petridis, Elton’s ghostwriter, does a fantastic job at capturing Elton’s voice and writing in a way that feels (and is) authentic. One of the most important takeaways from this book for me was Elton’s self-deprecating but also appreciative nature—basically, even the greatest music icons of all time shouldn’t take themselves too seriously and should understand the help they have received and the lessons they have learned.

8. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (Suzanne Collins, 2020)

Rating: 5/10

While I was extremely hesitant to read this prequel, I opened the cover with hope that it would at least be entertaining. And it was—in the latter third, at least. The first three hundred pages are oddly paced, unnecessarily detail-heavy, and failed to conjure any real sympathy in me for any of the characters. Coriolanus is contradictory, Lucy Gray is confusing and inhuman, and Sejanus is unrealistically Boyd (and faces no consequences for his actions). The pacing does pick up once the actual Hunger Games begin; writing action is definitely Collins’ strong point, and I wish she spent more time on this as opposed to attempting to force a romance in the first couple of chapters. The last section (post-games), while slightly weaker, is decent enough that I finished the book.

Characters and pacing aside, my main criticism lies in the fact that Collins and her editors thought, for some reason, that it was very necessary to include complete lyrics to half a dozen (or more?) songs in addition to Genius-style commentary of Coriolanus in between every line, during which he provides riveting insights on the level of “she said we should meet at midnight by the hanging tree, so maybe she wants me to meet her at midnight by the hanging tree.”

9. A Good Girl's Guide to Murder (Holly Jackson, 2019)

Rating: 9/10

Fans of Karen McManus will definitely enjoy this book. In fact, I found it to be even more well-paced and well-written. The plot, while leaning toward predictable at times, is so enticing that I devoured it in two sittings. Jackson has presented one of the strongest YA debuts I've read in a while.

A Bit of Poetry II

Here's another collection of poetry for you, most of which was inspired by the experience of my freshman year of college, which obviously had a bit of a rocky end. I find, though, that putting thoughts, frustrations, hopes, and observations into writing and drawing symbolic meaning from them can be a helpful coping mechanism in difficult times like these. Without further ado, enjoy.

The Mailroom

yellowed posters taped to the chain-link wall

corners curled by air conditioning

black and white depictions of unknown faces

directed toward the future, hair smooth in the back

a circular clock hung in between them

ticking, ticking

class of 2015,

2014,

2013,

2012,

2011—

First Lesson

How do I teach someone something that is beyond my own comprehension?
That is the question I asked myself when I sat down that day
That was the thought pulsing through my head as she placed her small hands down
I shake my head and smile, like it’s a nice joke
I turn away, pulling my double knot taut
I look to the price tags, sometimes tempted for change
Blue hair versus gray buzz cut against the headrests

Not at my usual seat at the keys

But instead in a chair beside them.

How do I explain while it flows like a language, the words are beyond definition?

On the keys she hadn’t yet learned to name

And stared at the book on the shelf.

How do I correct her when she makes a mistake, act infallible despite how I make them?

That was the worry making my fingers twitch as she pressed down each note with her own

From C, then to D, she started to play

A simple melody, yet a comforting one.

The song in front of us is only two lines long, only takes a minute, one note at a time

But it’s a sequence I learned years ago, when I turned the first page the first time.

How do I tell her this is only the beginning, the first sentence in a book we will write?

That is the wonder quieting my nerves as I sit there in silence and listen

Each note rings clear and crisp through the air

True and loud, without hesitation.

How do I talk about something so beautiful it is better left uninterrupted?

That is the issue today still arising when I sit down to teach someone to play

But right then, I simply waited for her to finish

So she could feel that unique satisfaction.

I can’t help the smile that grows on my face as I observe her stern concentration

She pushes down on each key with precision, decision—and hits every one right.

(Printed in The Cowl, vol. 83 no. 15)

Marks on the Sole

I slide my right foot in, it catches

A hole in the lining, my toe’s stuck inside

“Why don’t you just put them in the trash?”

Thirteen years old, I picked them out

Thought they looked cool—black leather, gold eyelets

Sturdy, stiff, snug around both calves

Gave me half an inch, maybe, but it made all the difference

Laced up on the first crisp morning of fall

Carrying my steps ‘til the first flower blooms

Weathered, worn, they don’t stand up straight

On their own anymore, need my ankles’ support

But the rubber soles, nearly flat, unseen

In return, still manage to hold up my feet

“Want to borrow some shoe polish?”

Polish might cover the stains and the scuffs

But only how bandages cover a cut

Laces’ ends frayed like the roots of a tree

Clear plastic coating a distant memory

Socks always get wet, skin wrinkled and cold

Then they sit, stuffed with newspaper, by the front door

“Why don’t you want to buy a new pair?”

But each road, each floor, each path I’ve walked

They’ve held me up, half an inch, double knot, snug

(Printed in The Cowl, vol. 83 no. 4)

Dad’s Playlist

Tell me there is more than the color of our eyes

Because the windows to our souls have closed curtains

“We need dish soap and a bottle brush.”

Of your truck, in the left lane down Route 24

“We’ll check BJ’s and the dollar store.”

The hum of the road tries to fill our silence

In vain—all too familiar for us

Us—a word not used too often, we

Can’t find something in common, something to say

You reach for your phone, I grip the edge of my seat

But the play button on the console is what saves me

Electric guitar—your smile lines crinkle—

“This one—this one’s a classic.”

This is our language—I’d almost forgotten

I tap my fingers and nod to the beat of the drums

During the chorus, you’ll launch into a story

Of your first Journey concert, or your vinyl collection

I’ll make a dumb joke about MP3s or CDs

Mom would say we take the quipping too far

Or maybe the music will spare us the details

And the song by itself is enough

But that’s who we are—we don’t have heart-to-hearts

Brief laughter, lessons learned, as we find a place to park

You turn off the ignition—“What do we need?”

Nothing. “Dish soap and a bottle brush.”

(The first line of this poem was taken from a poem by one of my professors, Prof. Dzvinia Orlowsky, who asked us to write a poem based on any line from her collection entitled Bad Harvest.)

Signed (The Johnson Administration, 1967)

Wouldn’t it be great

To someday be

So famous

You’re signing passport books

And grocery receipts

Gathering a crowd

Outside of the White House?

Most famous place on earth

They’ve travelled so far

To see it

And they happen to catch you

Hold out a pen

Ask for your name

Because they don’t know it yet

Barely twenty

Standing there

Sore feet from stiff new heels

Carrying the mailbag

For the President

(Printed in The Cowl vol. 83 no. 5)

Plymouth, Four Hundred Years Later

Tourists converge from Earth’s every corner to see

The piece of the past stored on this pebbled beach

All paths extending westward from the east

Meet here, the first of our nation’s vertices

It’s so special to so many, apparently

To view—The Rock—which began our history

They’ve never switched it out, supposedly

The first stone tread upon by pilgrim feet

It’s always tempting, every time you meet

Someone of whom it’s always been their dream

To stare down at this thing—a comical scene—

To make up some absurd conspiracy

“Now, I’m not saying it’s a government scheme,

But I think it was replaced in ‘63.”

But then I decided instead to let them be

To let them stare—reverential and naive

We all have Rocks—things we cling to and esteem

And no local lark could break our make-believe.

(Printed in The Cowl, vol. 83 no. 7)

Carolina Pine

The red soil gives them their color

And in return, they give their needles

Painting the ground a ruddy orange.

A nesting place for wrens and chickadees

And dragonflies they provide, and the air

Breathed by coyotes, dingoes, and deer.

Beware the yellow jasmine that twists its way

Up unsuspecting trunks

To cinch them like a snake

Its prey.

On Translating Homer: Emily Wilson Speaks at Providence College

On September 6, 2019, Providence College invited Emily Wilson, the first woman to translate Homer’s Odyssey into English, to speak on campus about her experience as a translator. She began her talk by telling the story of how she was inspired to study Ancient Greek by participating in an elementary school play adaptation of the Odyssey and also by reading Greek myths as a child. She then went on to take Ancient Greek and Latin classes in high school before studying classics in college. During her education, she read many different English translations of the Odyssey alongside the original Ancient Greek version. When she was approached by a publisher to write her own translation, she looked back upon these others and read them closely, searching for gaps, holes, and words choices with which she disagreed. She then began writing, and during the five years that it took her to complete her work, she kept only the Ancient Greek version by her side and avoided reading any others. 

She also described how there have been more translations of the Odyssey recently than ever before, and she went into detail of the specific line lengths, rhyme scheme, and meter used by many of these writers. Homer used dactylic hexameter—six units of rhythm per line—but most contemporary translations, she said, use free verse. She decided to use iambic pentameter in order to pay homage to the rhythmic, musical quality of the source material. She also stuck to the same exact number of lines as the original work, and this kept her writing concise, avoiding unnecessary flowery language and excessive detail. Homer’s work, she claimed, should be thought of as entertaining and fun and have simple syntax—translators should not need to include footnotes in order for their readers to understand it.

Wilson used the Ship of Theseus paradox as a metaphor for translating ancient texts. If Theseus were to replace every element of his ship over the course of his journey, will he come home in the same ship or a different one? If a translator replaces every single word of a piece of literature with a new one in a different language, is it still the same piece of literature? While she did not answer this question, she made it clear that “staying true” to an original work is a difficult task. I was fascinated by the intricacies she described, including the many different ways a single word or phrase could be translated. For example, many previous translations used the words “house girl” or “servant” where Wilson used “slave.” I thought it was daring of her to do so—it makes a powerful statement to write something so radically different from those who came before you. 

I also enjoyed her points about avoiding frilly, labyrinthine language. I agree with her argument that the Odyssey and other ancient texts can and should be made more accessible and enjoyable for students. We should be able to read these works without having to consult a dictionary every five words. I adored Wilson’s translation—I loved how she was able to combine colloquial language with Homer’s famous epithets and also gorgeous similes and metaphors of her own. Though it was clear upon reading the first line—“Tell me about a complicated man”—that this version of the Odyssey is something special, her talk provided even more insight into the artistry she put into this translation.