Getting this out right away: Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist is not directed at me. At 29, I am nearly twice the age of this book’s ideal reader. That being said: I found the book to be incredibly mediocre.

The only reason I picked this book up was that when I was reading about the upcoming movie, I saw a review that said it was “High Fidelity for the iPod Generation”. Oh brother, is it ever NOT. On the surface, maybe: they’re both about people trying to cope with breakups and have music at the heart of them. After that, the similarities quickly vanish.

I won’t go into too much detail: after a gig, Nick sees his ex-girlfriend and asks Norah to be his girlfriend for five minutes to avoid her. Which leads to a crazy night of adventures and moping. I had a really hard time with the moping and the “too cool” attitude of the main characters sometimes, but I wrote it off as not being a teenager any more so I tried not to let it bother me. What I couldn’t get past, though, was the writing. Authors David Levithan and Rachel Cohn traded off for each chapter; Levithan writing Nick’s chapters and Cohn writing Norah’s. That was actually a really interesting idea, and it made for interesting reading when you tried to analyze how they fit together. I liked Cohn’s style, and might even consider tracking down some of her other work, but Levithan’s writing just kept grating on me, so much so that I tried just skipping Nick’s chapters for a while (which didn’t work).

Overall, this wasn’t a terrible book, so it wasn’t an ordeal to finish, but I really didn’t like it either. A reader ten or fifteen years younger would probably dig it, though.

I’d wanted to read this book since I watched the movie Smoke Signals when I was a teenager, but kept putting it off. And in some ways, that was a good thing. I don’t know if I would have appreciated these stories as much if I’d read when I was a teenager. There are a lot of similar themes running through them, for obvious reasons: relationships between fathers and sons, Indians and alcohol, modernity versus tradition. These similarities might have turned me off when I was younger, but now I see them as common threads instead of repetitiveness. Some of the stories left me flat, but a few of them (“Because My Father Always Said He Was the Only Indian Who Saw Jimi Hendrix Play ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ at Woodstock”, “Jesus Christ’s Half-Brother is Alive and Well on the Spokane Indian Reservation”, the title story) were absolutely astonishing. I want to read more of Alexie’s work now and see how he’s developed as a writer, because these stories are a great first start.

I don’t think I’ll really be done consuming this for another year or so, but I just wanted to get it off my list. It’s got a lot of great tips and projects for beginning knitters, and I’ve found it an acceptable substitute for a real life knitting teacher. I’ve made tons of little swatches of patterns, and I think I’ve gotten to the point where I can get on to making a couple of sizeable projects now. Definitely recommended for someone who’s looking to pick up the basics.

I read this book on a whim; my wife was taking a little longer in the library than me, so I wandered up & down the aisle looking for something to jump out at me. And this title certainly did. “98 Reasons For Being.” It sounds like a self-help book, but it’s actually an historical novel about race and psychiatry in mid-19th Century Germany. But wait, it’s much more enjoyable than it sounds.

Dr. Heinrich Hoffman, the superintendant of the asylum in Frankfurt and author of the famous children’s book Struwwelpeter, is in charge of 98 patients, and his most recent charge is Hannah Meyer, a troubled Jewish girl who does not speak. His varied attempts at curing her form the backbone of the piece, which also delves into the lives of many of the asylum’s other patients and employees. And as Hoffman’s treatment become less medical and more “moral”, we get closer to the root of her problem.

Author Claire Dudman certainly creates a compelling mood; with each well-chosen word she convincingly presents the moods, attitudes, and medical practices of 1850s. And overall, the story is compelling; you empathize with the doctor’s problems, you react with shock and surprise at the other characters’ actions, and above all you wonder what could have happened to this girl to make her this way. But when it’s finally revealed, the book runs out of steam a little. The other characters’ fates are still important, but without the mysteries of Hoffman and Meyer it seems a little flat. I still liked it, but felt that it lost its urgency towards the end. A good historical-biographical novel, of particular interest to readers who enjoy psychology and how the human spirit struggles through adversity. (Whoah, heavy-handed much? Maybe, but I stand by it.)

Although lately I think Steve Martin has made some rather questionable artistic endeavours, I’ll always be a big fan of his output from the late-70s to mid-90s. His stand-up comedy was some of the most astounding stuff I’d ever heard, and I only wish I’d heard it when I was younger and could have really twisted my brain. This book, a memoir of his childhood through his start in the entertainment business to the explosion of his standup comedy is well-written and clever, basically exactly what you’d expect from Steve Martin. It’s a quick read, but it doesn’t leave you unfulfilled; rather, you’re happy to have had the opportunity to learn a little more about the man and his work. Definitely worth a read if you like stand-up comedy in general or Steve Martin in particular.

This is probably the most mature movie Tim Burton has ever made. And when I say mature, I don’t mean it in the opposite of “juvenile” or “youthful”, because there are plenty of those moments in the movie. But for a fantastical movie that features giants, witches, and impossibly large fish, it definitely has a solid, thoughtful center: the father-son dynamic. A son feels alienated and isolated from his father because of his immature “fish tales”, he has to come to terms with his father’s life and his stories if he ever wants to really grow up. Ewan MacGregor and Albert Finney are a pair of show-stealers, Jessica Lange does a lot with a very small part, and Tim Burton finally uses his tics and trademarks to tell a story that is obviously his and still stands head and shoulders above most of them. This is probably my favourite of his films after Edward Scissorhands, and I think it would probably benefit from repeated viewings: there’s so much there, visually, I don’t think you could catch it all the first time.

When I read this book it reminded me of some of my other favourite modern American novels like The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay or The Brothers K, but it always came up a little short. That’s not necessarily condemnation, as those two books are simply brilliant, but I think Jonathan Lethem allows himself to be a little more self-indulgent than those other authors, and so the book kind of settles in places you might want it to soar in. The story of Dylan Ebdis’s journey, from his beginnings as a young white boy in a predominantly black neighborhood to his self-imposed exile and return later in life, is interesting and full of characters you understand and pop culture references you either get or don’t, and Lethem doesn’t really care which: he gets them, and they’re important to his story. Personally, I liked the book: I thought it was well-written, heartfelt, and successful in hitting a lot of difficult thematic notes. I just felt that there was a little too much weighing it down; with a little less baggage it could have really soared, kind of like Ebdis himself.

The Phantom Of The Opera is often regarded as a film classic, but unless you’re a big fan of horror genre or interested the history of filmmaking, you might wonder why. Most of the performances are cringingly melodramatic and the original print is understandably faded, making most of the movie feel blurry and out of focus. So I wouldn’t say I particularly enjoyed it. But there are quite a few things to like about it. First of all, the sets are GORGEOUS, and even though the passage of time has made it often more quaint than spectacular, you do get a sense of awe from some of the larger scenes that are packed full of extras and beautiful décor. And Lon Chaney, Sr. is magnificent. In a silent movie with most of his face covered, he just gives you a wave of his hand or a shrug of his shoulders and you don’t need anything else. His performance here shows why he was one of the most well-remembered actors from the silent era. (And the horrific makeup doesn’t hurt either.) So despite the problems I found in it as a modern viewer, it was definitely worth it. This is a classic more in the reminiscing than in the watching, but still worth a watch for film nerds like me.

Confessions of an Economic Hit Man is the memoir/manifesto of John Perkins, who claims that as an economist for the firm Chas. T. Main, he was responsible for convincing underdeveloped countries to take out huge international loans that they would be unable to pay back, which would leave them open to political, economic, and military pressure from the United States. I found that there are two ways to read this book. The first, and most satisfying way, is as a sort of cloak-and-dagger spy thriller. Perkins gives much of the book this kind of slant, and his descriptions are very cinematic; I found myself trying to construct a shooting script and framing scenes in almost every chapter. The other, less satisfying way to read it is as an economic call to arms: Perkins belabours his point through repetitive statements, making the problems he’s addressing seem less and less urgent the more he talks about it. That could be due to my own faults as a reader, but by the end of the book I was less likely to recommend the book than I was at the beginning. (There is also quite a bit of controversy around the book, not unexpectedly, and it is hard to know who’s telling the truth, who’s making a smokescreen, and who’s unknowingly parroting false information.) Most of it is well-written and exciting, and my overall impression was favourable. I just wish the case Perkins had made for economic and political reforms was stronger and less overworked.

I was impressed by Robert A. Heinlein’s sci-fi war novella from the opening paragraph; by the end of the first page I was hooked. The book gets a little shaky in the middle, but it had enough character and style to keep me going. I’ve heard that some people think the movie is “better”, but the movie’s very different: it’s the book’s lobotomized, slightly handsome younger brother, dressed up in the other’s clothes but acting almost nothing alike. (Director and screenwriter Paul Verhoven apparently never even finished the book.)

Before reading Starship Troopers I checked out the controversy surrounding it, and I found some of it to be accurate: the book definitely has points where characters spout off what appear to be Heinlein’s personal opinions on war, socialism, and the human condition. But for the most part, that wasn’t a concern; it was just part of the book’s charm. I didn’t have to agree with all of it, or even any of it, but some of his points were thought provoking. Another supposed fault was that there was very little character development; the main character Johnny Rico stayed static from beginning to end. I didn’t see a problem with that, either. Rico’s a fairly unremarkable guy aside from the fact he’s a really good soldier: he sees the world in one particular way and that colours the rest of the book. It’s this non-intrusive personality that really brings this society and the action to life. Starship Troopers isn’t just Rico’s story. It’s Heinlein’s version of the future for the human race.

I’d definitely recommend Starship Troopers to even the most casual of sci-fi fans, if they haven’t read it already. It’s full of quasi-hard sci-fi, rollicking action, and it’ll make you think: can’t argue with that.