I’ll never forget the cold winter day I stood in a museum walking past rooms with piles of hair, shoes, and bifocals, each reaching the ceiling. The human hair, shoes, and bifocals all once belonged to Jews who had long since been murdered in giant gas chambers.  It was 1997 and I was at the very location many people think of when they think of the epitome of evil on earth – Auschwitz concentration camp.   Since that day, I continue to educate myself in regards to the horrors of the WWII holocaust.

Having now read several books on the events surrounding the Nazi’s ‘final solution’ for the Jews, I can confidently say that if a person is going to only read one account of the tragedy, they should read Elie Wiesel’s first hand account entitled Night.

Wiesel retells the story of him and his family being taken from their home in Hungary to the concentration camp in Poland.  Like most in his community, Elie was a devout Jew… While in Auschwitz however, Elie abandoned his faith in a God that would let such atrocities happen.

These words are perhaps some of the most poignant words ever written regarding the holocaust:

“Never shall I forget that night, that first night in the camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the faces of the children, whose bodies I  saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.

Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever.

Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of  the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget those things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never.”

As I read this book, I kept thinking to myself, if I did not believe in a bloody cross in history, in which God’s own son suffered the greatest injustice at the hands of man the world has ever seen, to take on himself the justified wrath of God that I deserve, I too would have to come to the same conclusions about God as Elie did.

PS – I mistakenly purchased this book twice, so if anyone would like my other copy, let me know.

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Recently, my wife picked up a couple free copies of David Baldacci books.  I noticed on the inside cover of this book that is was signed by the author.  I wondered why someone would give away autographed copy of a book – I now know the reason; this was not a very good book.

Normally I like David Badacci’s creative thriller novels… I did not like this one…  The storyline seemed too contrived and convoluted.  There were too many themes that were poorly and vaguely developed. With 200 pages left to go in the story, I was wishing I could give up – but I needed the book for my52books.com!

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This is one of the finest books I have ever had the pleasure to read.  Indeed, I loved the entire series.  For people who are hung up on the story as it has been passed down this book will not suffice, but for anyone who is interested in a vast, and sweeping story that sucks the reader in from word one this is the book.

The characters are deep and you can feel what they are feelings. They are complicated and live in the grey messiness that is our world between the black and the white that we would like for it to be.

The story is well crafted and the plot is compelling.  Gemmell shows you what is happening to the point where you feel as if you are standing on the ship with the characters. When they are crying, you are feeling their pain. You can see the sun reflecting off the golden rooftops of Troy. The heroes are normal, flawed people. They make good choices and bad choices.

This book is well worth your time and money. Be warned, you will want to buy the rest of the trilogy immediately.

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Recently I read a blog about how to become a better writer.  The one point I remember from the blog was that a good writer needed to have some good life experiences in order to have some material to work with.  As Travels demonstrates, it’s clear that Michael Crichton has had plenty of experiences from which to draw from.

I think Michael Crichton is a great writer – perhaps my favorite fiction author.  I have read almost all of Crichton’s books (including Pirates Latitudes earlier this year).   I was looking forward to reading this semi-autobiography.

The book started out great. In the first 100 pages, Crichton shares stories from his days as a medical student at Harvard.  From these experiences, it’s obvious where he is able to draw on his scientific/medical background to write science fiction thrillers.  After graduating Harvard, he quit medicine to become a full time writer and director.

The rest of the book was supposed to be short accounts of his adventures around the world.  In short, the stories reveal a man on a desperate search for meaning and purpose in his life.  Here is a man who made millions as an author and director.  A man who had all the time and resources to go on any adventure he desired – which he did.  Along the way, however, he continued to burn through relationships and marriages.  He acheived the world’s definition of success, but I did not get the sense that he was happy with his life.

As the world tour adventures began to lose their appeal, Crichton turned his attention increasingly to the world of psychics, mediums, and New-Age gurus. Crichton obviously had a different worldview than mine (he died a couple years ago from cancer), and so it was interesting at first to hear about these forays into this realm.   But again, it seemed like he went from one metaphysical experience to another without finding what he was looking for.  Towards the end of the book, the chapters increasingly dealt with these topics – such as the time he spent a couple weeks in the desert of Arizona at some kind of New-Age retreat talking to a cactus for guidance… or the time he went to a spoon-bending party… or the time he went to the ‘Astral Plane’ and talked with his dead father…

Frankly, I got bored with all this… When I saw the last 25 pages were dealing with more of this stuff, rather than climbing a mountain or scuba-diving,  I gave up… I put the book down and thought – “That was kind of sad.”

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I read this story to my daughters.

100 cupboards is the story of twelve-year-old Henry York.  Henry has been shipped off from New York to the middle of Henry, Kansas to live with his Aunt, Uncle, and three girl cousins. One night, while sleeping in his room (which is the attic), Henry discovers a series of 99 cupboards – which, as it turns out, each lead to another world.

I was intrigued by the premise of this book and wanted to read it to my daughters because they love the Narnia tales of traveling to other worlds.  The story is well written with an unraveling mystery and many strange twists and adventures.  My daughters all loved the book and are eager for me to purchase the next book in the series.

Since N.D. Wilson is a Christian, I thought this book would have more of a clear theological connection like the Narnia books… I couldn’t find it though.  I also must warn the parents out there that much of the book seems dark and a bit too creepy.  At times I had to change the story a bit as well as the dialogue as to not freak out my daughters too much (I was freaked out though)

The series is recommended for older kids, and I think I would agree… but I’ll have a hard time convincing my five-year-old that she can’t listen to the next book.

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I bought this book for my wife. I wasn’t sure if I would read it or not. I’m glad that I did. Ed Dobson is on the short list of preachers who’s sermon’s I’ll listen to over and over again.  When he talks, or writes I want to listen.

This book has taken some serious criticism, from people who don’t like the style to the more vapid, aggressive fundamentalist. Of course, the criticisms are also leveled at the author
He’s criticized for being in an airport, for praying the rosary, and for listening to an iPod. He’s called a heretic and a cretin. Spawn of Satan was probably thrown out somewhere I’m sure.  He voted for Obama!

God forbid a man trying to live like Jesus wrestles with his conscience and votes accordingly. It’s not important if I agree with Ed that voting for Obama is what Jesus would do.  What matters is that it is evident in this book that Ed loves God and wants to serve Him. Ed wants to continue to love Jesus in the midst of a disease that would have caused most of us to shrivel up like a prune left on the dashboard of a locked car in the middle of August. Most of us would have quit and died.

Not Ed. He delved deeper into his faith. He pushed himself to explore what he believes and how it impacts his life.

This book is full of fantastic applications that Ed either learned or was reminded of through his journey over the course of this year. In one chapter Ed reminds the reader “Whenever I think that what I am doing qualifies me to be in a closer relationship with God, I am arrogant.”

In a world that seems to be divided along the very lines of who qualifies to be in a closer relationship with God, Ed has the guts to put it out there for everyone to see how he wrestles with his own relationship with God. I don’t really know Ed. He preachers at our church now and again and we had a stretch where he preached regularly. I wish that I did. I have the feeling that he’d be a fun guy to have a beer with and ponder the Scriptures with. I’m sure that I wouldn’t agree with him on everything but I’m also pretty sure that would be all right with him.
I’m sick of the battle between, “The way it always was, is the way it must be” and “What if we’ve gotten it wrong for the last 2,000 years.”  What makes Ed’s book and teachings to poignant is his ability to value our heritage and to look at with a fresh perspective.
Buy this book, read it, you’ll enjoy it.

5 Stars

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I fell into possession of this book quite by accident.  A colleague was leaving her position at the Mental Hospital where I work and it was one of two books that she owned. She told me I could have them.

I read this in piece meal fashion. It’s a fascinating read, not just for the content but for the messages that the author sends. For instance, she takes a lot of criticism for seeming to blame men throughout the book. I think this criticism is justified. She seems to act as if drinking is only a female problem and all men are predators who use this truth to pounce on the poor drunken sods of women.

She comes across as extremely angry. It’s hard to understand what she is so angry about though. Is it her idyllic childhood? Is it her doting parents? Is her fortune to be born to a well to do family?  She never really explores that aspect of her drunkenness. She is more than willing to help you understand how the rest of society directed her to drinking though.
She even ruined what I thought was a beautiful rant against the word, “whatever.” You know how that word gets thrown around when someone is forced to see the cognitive dissonance their living inside with? I was actually shaking my head in agreement, then she ruined it buy claiming it for womankind as if men don’t say it.
Throughout the book, one could almost get the idea that the only reason poor miss Zailckas drank was because society pushed her that way.

There is also some very poignant statements in this book.  In one chapter she states, “A rare truth falls over me like the glare from streetlights. I know that as long as I keep drinking, I will drive back everyone who is good-natured. Only people who are as drunk and as damaged as I am will stay.”

It is moments of refreshing honesty such as this one that make this book one that sticks with the reader. She is strait up and she writes with a style that is very engaging, almost as if she is a friend whispering to you sordid details of her life. This is the genius and the greatest failure of the book, because as a friend that might be whispering the short-comings of her life, the author seems to fail to see her own responsibility in the situation.

She can turn a simile like a skilled pitcher dropping a curveball on a 3-2 count with the bases loaded. If this book is any indication she is truly a skilled artist and I will look for more books from her.

4.5 stars

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I do not understand the hype surrounding this book at all! I’m not sure if the book is bad because of the translation or because it’s just bad. The main character is a borderline sex addict sleeping with anything that moves. The author seems to want to make the case that casual sex doesn’t have an effect on people. I guess, he’s just deciding to ignore the science on that one.  The guy has a long time lover who stays married and just sort of floats between Mike and her husband. In the meantime, he’s getting some from the mature and immature alike. In short,  the guy seems to have impulse control problems.

Then there’s the plot. It’s not terribly innovative, or ingenious. It is rather superfluous in it’s structure and wording. In a 600-page book, there is about 200 pages of interesting happenings.

Salender is a sympathetic character caught somewhere on the Autism spectrum but other than that, the characters are rather flat and predictable. The plot is also rather predictable. There were exactly two places where I was caught off guard. One was a big caught off guard; the other was rather minor movement that probably happened because I dropped into hyper skim mode.

I kept thinking to myself how happy I was that I borrowed the book from the library on a whim.

And yet…

…I’ll probably borrow the second book and read it, maybe. I’m not sure what that says about the book or me.

3 Stars because it was good enough for me to want to give the second one a chance, even though it left more than a bitter taste in my mouth.

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I am not qualified to properly review crime fiction novels as I hardly read them. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I read about a gumshoe tracking a murderer. The James Patterson-phase missed me, and I’m grateful for it. However, my good friend Dave has been hounding me about Tom Rob Smith’s Child 44 for over a year now, and I picked it up again last week after a couple of false starts.

This was a fascinating story of a man in search of truth and of redemption from his dark past. Child 44 follows Leo Demidov, a disgraced agent of Stalin’s Soviet State police, in 1953. A boy has been murdered, but the State covers it up as an accident. Soon Leo discovers that children are being ritualistically murdered all over Russia, and he and his wife Raisa try to close in on the killer while on the run from his former subordinate in the MGB, Vasili Nikitin.

My favorite aspect of reading this novel was entering into the oppressive world of Stalin’s Soviet Union. The denouncements, the secrecy, the totalitarian police force, and the removal of basic freedoms made this an especially compelling read. It brought back the anti-Soviet sentiment of my youth, and I’m tempted to watch the final fight against Ivan Drago in Rocky IV just to get it out of my system.

The depictions of the serial killings were more graphic than I thought they needed to be. The children were stripped, raped, and had their stomachs removed. One scene that was especially bothersome was the attack on the stamp-collecting Petya. I felt it verged on fetish literature. I understand that the readers must see the blackness of the killer, but this was a chapter that was more descriptive and lingering than required it to be.

When I read that Child 44 is Smith’s first novel, I felt a mixture of admiration and jealousy. Smith created an interesting character in Leo, and I will probably pick up his next novel The Secret Speech to find out more about Leo and Raisa, and to see how things change under Khrushchev’s rule.

This book inspires me to read a book on the Soviet Union rather than to pick up a James Patterson novel. I’m not sure what this says about Child 44, but I think it is a good thing.

(Good companion piece to this novel: The Lives of Others about the Stasi, the East German equivalent of the Soviet State Police. This excellent movie won the Oscar for Best Foreign film in 2007. It’s currently on sale for $7.99 at Amazon.)

Just for fun:

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It’s not that this book is bad, it’s just isn’t what it could be. It leaves a bitter taste in the mouth through much of the book—and that might be the genius. I resonated with much of what the author had to say early on in the book. I loved how he talked about his former “Catholic phobia.” I stood up and clapped (literally) when he stated, “I’m not persuaded that experiencing God sensually and knowing God compellingly are the same thing.”

But then he went and did it again. He complains about churches that don’t equip their people to “experience God” (whatever that means) and he then complains about the churches that do. As others who have reviewed the book have noted, he seems almost schizophrenic.

But maybe that’s the magic in this book. Or maybe it’s the danger. I love Crabb’s writings. I have almost all of his books. Many are marked up and highlighted but even I have to admit that Crabb has always been writing on the edge of his formed thought. One year, we need counseling, the next we just need to find the safest place on earth (ironically he insinuates in that book that it is the church).

For a while, I put this book down and walked away for a long time. Those issues were my own. This book sat on my shelf like a spurned friend’s advice. Ultimately, when I came back to it chapter 23 was there waiting for me. It has five thoughts that brought it all around for me, along with the postscript.

Crabb’s writing is raw, and honest. Maybe that should be enough.

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