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The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope by William Kamkwamba
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

**spoiler alert**

Uplifting, inspiring, astounding. They all pale in comparison to the reality, and it is such a rare opportunity to be able to say that. There was so much standing in William’s way. He could have been satisfied with his small successes and not thought about much larger dreams. He might have become discouraged by the ridicule and setbacks, given up on the project when it was only halfway there. There was a huge chance of him simply dying before his idea ever got off the ground. It took an amazing combination of persistence, effort, and assistance from his friends and family to even raise the windmill; it took complete strangers to show his accomplishment to the world. The rate at which his success took off after so many years of painful trial and error was well deserved. Those are the facts of the matter. For the book itself, it reminded me of books of my childhood, with simple language and straightforward recounting of events. Although I don’t think as a child I would have understood all the technology that went into the William’s work, so I can be grateful to my college courses in physics and electrical engineering in that respect. It was funny though, seeing this book surrounded by thick textbooks that were surely much more dense and much less enjoyable. The library sorting system is funny that way on occasion. But back to the book. I especially enjoyed the mention of the TED conferences, whose videos are always extremely interesting as well as technologically innovative. I’m going to have to go find the videos that involved William; seeing him up there in front of a big crowd that fully appreciates his efforts and fully understands the reasons for his presentation difficulties will be a delight.

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Zoo City by Lauren Beukes
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

**spoiler alert**

3.5/5
Well. I won’t deny the fact that I didn’t expect to love it. It may be that the recent trend of reading classics has left me suspicious of anything modern. Unfair, I know. But my reasons for this particular rating are sound enough for me. The writing was pretty typical: caustic wit, descriptive passages, hints at the unknown until they are dragged into the light. You know. But it didn’t help that I had the overwhelming urge to reread ‘The Golden Compass’ during the first half of the book and the fervent desire to rewatch ‘Ghost’ during the second. Because that’s essentially what the main creative sparks were driven with. That and the whole African music scene, which I didn’t understand much of; bit difficult to enjoy pop references when you can’t tell what’s real and what’s fiction. The book would be a plain three star if it wasn’t for the interjections of reality between chapters: spam email, news articles, excerpts from scientific articles, even the webpage of an IMDB style movie article. Those were refreshing, and indicated some real thought into the universe. If only the main framework wasn’t so obviously inspired. And the ending wasn’t the greatest either. I didn’t see any mention of a sequel in the book itself, but I think it could do with one, if only to give the author a chance to expand the universe a bit more with ideas of their own. And avoid having that ending being the end.

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The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book was so much fun. Really, it’s been too long since I’ve been able to say that. And of course it would be Russian. That combination of comical absurdity and grave circumstances is unmatched by any other culture of literature. And what character fits the setting better than Satan himself? Devilishly good fun, no pun intended. Yes, there were people who died, and a an even larger number who survived but suffered unneedlessly due to the activities. Lots of psychological repercussions there. But the ending was heartwarming and the henchmen were the most beautifully random things and Woland was the archetype of the highly menacing yet extremely entrancing Prince of Darkness. Not to mention the fact that Margarita was fantastic. I love it when people know full well that they’re making a deal with the devil, but do it so well that they come out on top. Simply marvelous. If there’s a movie adaptation, I have to watch it, for the cat’s antics if nothing else. I also liked the alternative retelling of Pilate’s story; it was much more logical and thus much more enjoyable than its biblical counterpart, but I suppose that’s a given. Nonetheless, it was good. As was all of the book. Definitely entertaining, and very demonstrative of the madness of corruption. It helped that it explicitly showed how many are chewed up in the wake of the success of a chosen few. A sober lesson delivered in a very entertaining manner. Very nice.

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Island by Aldous Huxley
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I’m on a roll. Or rather I’ve finally figured out how to find lots of books that I’ll love. So many five stars, and it’s only February. Anyways. This book is like a savory meal that is extremely good for you. Or any activity that is rewarding in all the right ways. Hardin’s ‘Tragedy of the Commons’ comes to mind, or more a massive extension on its logic into a world where that fully accepts it. Will brings enough cynicism into the utopia to put up a good fight, but his acceptance and appreciation was inevitable. His main issue was jealousy; from this stems his desire to bring the place down to the level that he has been forced into acclimatizing to for his entire life. You can’t keep that attitude up for long though under these circumstances. At least, I definitely wouldn’t be able to. And Huxley. He took his amazingly keen analysis of human nature and applied it to success, rather than mindless continuous as he did in ‘Brave New World’. ‘Brave New World’ is more inevitable. But oh I wish this story would come to pass. In some way, some form, somehow. Long after I’m dead, that’s for sure. The world is too bogged down by those who don’t see the logic and genius reasoning behind all this. Of course there are probably flaws that I don’t see, ones that inspire contempt and disgust from those who have also read. It’s a shame, really. I can’t see any reason to dim the brilliance of this book in order to acknowledge its imperfections. It’s again like Hardin says. People are so used to rejecting any imperfect reform that comes around, in favor of maintaining the status quo. Perhaps it’s a bit much to apply it to book reviews. But hey, I love this book. And I get to apply recent learning. I love being able to do that.

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The Kindly Ones by Jonathan Littell
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

**spoiler alert**

Madness. Despicably disgustingly amazingly crafted madness. The ability of authors to write out these scenarios, diving into and drowning in the minds of the most horrific human beings imaginable, without completely losing their minds astounds me sometimes. Maximilian Aue is just a byproduct of this whole history, if you can believe it. He starts out with horrific tendencies, to be sure: incest from an extremely young age, coprophilia, murderous inclinations. And then comes the war and its horrible mesh of insane procedures combined with genocide in the name of a logic that only exists in minds blinded by ‘the bigger picture’. The motto of the war? It’s someone else’s responsibility. Every bit of it. And the sheer idiocy of it: setting out to wipe out entire races while simultaneously saving them for an efficient work force? The entire war effort of the Germans degenerated into a paradox along these lines; at the end it became nothing more than an atrocious mess of confusion and futile attempts at maintaining order, and above all rampant killing. You look at Dr. Aue, and you look at a microcosm that contains a good deal of the horrors. The thing is, even he wasn’t enough of a monster to fully appreciate them; the war machine around him combined with his bullet to the brain tormented his conscience into complete insanity. One of the more completely fucked up characters of literature. You have to appreciate the detail of the book; it’s so easy to sink into the world described from every aspect of cultural/political/societal context. Of course the sick taste of madness never fully leaves the pages; the aim of the book is not to leave you comfortable. Yes, quite a bit of this book will turn your stomach. But if you condemn it solely because of that, you’re missing the entire point that Germany in WWII was not a nice place. It would sicken you then, so there’s no point if it doesn’t sicken you now.

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If Not Now, When? by Primo Levi
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This was in many ways a breath of fresh air in Holocaust literature; reflective of the horrors yet focusing more on WWII itself and all the other things that were happening to the Jews outside of the camps. It was nice learning about the partisans and the underground survivors, and how Italy drew all the Jews from everywhere in preparation for a new life. In a way, it was a period that I already knew a lot about from previous literature, but delivered in a different way, focusing on a different perspective. It was also surprisingly balanced for a book by a Holocaust survivor; Levi didn’t sink too deeply into despair, or condemn everything for the rest of time for what happened. His style of writing is very straightforward, and spends just as much time on the good as on the bad. Surprisingly pleasant, as well as informative.

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Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

**spoiler alert*

Sucker punch. Just. You start off with recollections of this school, and it takes on this tone of Harry Potter. No magic of course, just a lot of kids with varying teachers and no real parental presence. Classes. Games. Sales. It clears up later, the lack of parents. But in the beginning pages it’s like growing up again in that kind of educational environment, the shifting friendships, the fads, the rumors, the topics all either avoid or joke about because it’s what you’re supposed to do. Not to mention the silent fury at those who break the rules invisible to all the teachers but plain as blood on the wall to the students. I remember those times. But all throughout you can sense this idyllic bubble being stretched, squeezed, as more and more facts pin slip through the membrane, every additional one coming close to bursting it. And the bursting. It’s not that mind blowing, taken out of context, really. Clones are a reality this day and age. I’ve been hearing about them and all the ethical quandaries that could result out of advancements in the field for as long as I can remember. I suppose I can thank my bioengineering major for that. But it’s so different, being immersed in the world and taking only bits and pieces of the entire picture granted, and suddenly it’s thrust upon you. The reality of what Kathy and Tommy and Ruth and all those others who were Hailsham students. And that shadowy presence of so many years of these arrangements of donations and carers, and knowing that that was the best that it was ever going to be. Knowing that the arrangements will probably not last much longer. And the weight of it. The unspoken tales of those beings considered soulless, beings frightening to those who were not bred for a single, augmentative purpose. Safe to say, this book sucks you in and crafts you this world, this world so normal to us and such a facade in the end. I have to say, I prefer this type of science fiction to others. I mean, you have to classify it as SF, with the clones and what not. But this shows a possible future not filled with overextended technology and aliens and all those ridiculous outer space tropes. This is a warning. I should be thankful for my ethics class; the alternatives caused by the lack of it are so easily slipped into, and there’s no telling how horrific it would have to get for something to change.

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The Waves by Virginia Woolf
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

What is that quote, that one that says that you cannot read some books, you can only reread them. Here is one. Rampant poetry that you ride, crest in and crest out of the waves of words that flow in such a way that one sentence is one of many, a social construct like the bees and the birds flocking in the sky. Fluidity does little justice to this book. One word does not exist without all the rest, and it is better to float through the sentences rather than tear them down and open into some semblance of meaning. Reread to your pleasure until the meanings flow through without excessive force on your part, otherwise they’ll drip through your fingers as fast as thought. Oh Bernard, you and your phrases, ones that at the end did not show your friends to the world in the way that they have melded together and to you. They cannot convey Neville’s love, Susan’s hate, Louis’ past lives, Jinny’s aesthetics, Rhoda’s water, your story. Virginia herself may not have accomplished it, for who can say they have compared and contrasted between these pages and her mind. We do get a small insight though. And that is worth everything.

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The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A trifecta of absolute favorites? Well, not favorites. Existence definers, then. I’ll have to say though, this self discovery wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as it was with Of Human Bondage or The Magic Mountain. I’d turn a page, and there was one of my innermost thoughts, laid out on the page in all its proud solitude. Solitude. It takes one intimate with this word and all its facets of life to appreciate this book. The author created an entire world of characters in himself, seeing no journey more important than that of the one into oneself. I have not created my own host of fellow souls, but I am intimately familiar with the ever present malaise, the hesitance toward human interaction, the constant worry over ones reputation with others (strangers on the streets to valued friends to all levels of knowing). Ever present dreaming, ever present distraction, ever present evaluation alongside analysis of the self. Proclaiming the useless of all, yet never making the final step. Dreaming of the novel yet knowing that the novel will never happen so long as the familiar remains itself. Playing mental games to deal with the thinking, the feeling, the hopes and desires suffocated in a soul with myriad reasons for not chasing them. What is the cause of this? What chemical pattern of brain influenced by the combination of genes sinks the self down into introversion, into deep safe waters, always craving yet disdaining yet loving yet loathing the concept and existence of the sun. Who knows. I have not gone as deep as Fernando Pessoa though, and I would have to say that this is better. I don’t envy his existence. I see what he has written and can claim multitudes of passages as original thoughts, made by myself upon analysis of our similar existences. There is a quote that says loneliness conveys the sorrow of being alone, while solitude expresses the joy. I look at this book, twenty years of solitude, and I see no solution beyond that of a mindset that I am unwilling to embrace. Falling back on religion is not something I plan on doing anytime soon. Nor will I turn the pain of loneliness into pleasure. I am not so vindictive against humanity as of yet. This book defines a patch of my soul, but I will not let that patch define me; reading this is just another milestone in my path of figuring out my self, and how to allow myself to live as I desire. A wake up call, of sorts. It will be worth rereading if I ever start sinking into this train of thought; it’ll definitely be a sign that I need a change, a vacation of such. I haven’t yet lost the appreciation of the novel, and I’ll be using this book as a reminder of what can happen if I ever do so. A resource against calamity indeed.

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Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

**spoiler alert**

I have quite a few Margaret Atwood books on my TBR shelf. This is the first that I’ve read, and as such this is the reading that will determine what I will expect from her writing. My overall impression: deceptive. First hundred pages or so, a nice little historical fiction with dashes of brutality and psychology, along with the faintest tinge of madness. Nothing unexpected from past viewpoints in that era. Halfway through, things start to shift. Don’t look at Grace for the telltale signs though; she doesn’t give up her secrets till the very end, if you can’t already gather what’s happening from her memory gaps and her strong connection to her childhood friend. Dr. Simon Jordan on the other hand. What a piece of work. Fondling the maids, savaging the landlady, not to mention having his daydreams that so easily slip into fantasies of sexual violence. I would have to say that he speeds up the pace of the novel dramatically; the future of this psychological journey is no longer certain, as who can say how the doctor will react to the patient’s revealings? Nothing happens, but the thoughts of what could have happened are undeniably intriguing. And Grace. Her viewpoint really isn’t all that telling. Who knows how much of Mary Whitney’s has bled into her own by the time Dr. Jordan is the latest to want her story. The very definition of an unreliable narrator, when there’s another soul twisting the words down to suit its covert needs. Overall, I can say that I wasn’t disappointed, and need not worry that adding other books by the author was a waste. I’ll definitely have to pay attention while reading; I was startled at how I nearly skimmed over some particularly brutal passages of a character’s point of view. Tricky tricky. This should be fun.

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