Lime(y)s for Everyone

Hey All,

The Englishman's Boy is, in my opinion, a good book.  Not great, but good.  For a while there, while reading it, I thought it was great.  And parts of it - most of it, actually - is great.  I told Chaz (Sullivan, who recommended it to me) that I loved it, when I was about half way through.  That wasn't a lie, Chaz, I was loving it.  But then it ended.  And the end just isn't for me.

The book is about two things, really: the struggle for one character, Harry Vincent to make his way in Hollywood during the 1920s.   The real story, however, revolves around Shorty McAdoo, and his involvement in the Cypress Hills Massacre (I won't testify to the veracity of that link, but offer it merely as a synopsis of what some people offer up as the history of that event).  Guy Vanderhaeghe is a glorious storyteller, and he weaves those two stories together in amazing fashion.  As one of my friends put it earlier this week, it's as if you aren't even reading, the words, paragraphs, and sections of the book flow together so seamlessly.  I did not ever want to put the book down and, magically, it is one of those books that has great depth of meaning, and great length to it; it never seemed to end.

Ah, the end.  My problem with the book lies in it's beginning, really, but I didn't know it until the end.  I don't want to spoil anything for anyone who might end up reading the book.  For those who have, I'll say this: while the beginning and end are tied, and while they anchor the entire story, I feel that they are too disparate from the rest of the novel to really work.  Throughout the entire time I was reading the book, I expected to the plot to eventually come back to those two Assiniboine, to relate that beginning part of the story to the overall narrative.  Vanderhaege does, but not until the very end, and not very well.  I hate myself for saying this, but if he had woven the beginning of the book back into Shorty McAdoo's tale, I would be much happier.  Instead, I feel as though I am being told a fable, one that I really don't get, and one that has nothing at all to do with the other nearly 300 pages I read.


If you've read this blog all along, you might know that I cherish an ending.  I was sad that this novel ended the way it did.  I really did enjoy it otherwise.  The characters are rich, the plot compelling.  Vanderhaege's writing is exactly the style that I tend to enjoy right now (great recommendation, Chaz).  Which brings me to one of my next two novels, The Cave, by Jose Saramago.


One of my favourite books ever is Blindness, by Saramago.  My friend, Ines Ortiz, recommended The Cave to me, knowing this.  I've started it, but already I am bothered by his writing style.  He does not use quotations when his characters speak, and paragraphs can go on for pages at a time.  This technique really worked in Blindness, as I think it helped put the reader in the mindset of the characters.  In The Cave, however, I just find it irritating.  I'll push through it, though, Ines.

I'm doing something new for this project again: reading two books at a time.  I said that I was going to start Anna Karenina after The Englishman's Boy, and I have.  I just don't want to carry it on the subway with me.  So my plan right now is to read The Cave throughout the day, and Anna Karenina in the evenings.  Obviously, this latter book will likely take me some time to read, and will carry over into other books besides The Cave.  Which is fine with me.  Curtis Maloley is a jerk for recommending it, anyway.  I know he had malicious intentions when he did.  But I'm also thankful for the recommendation, as it's a book that I really ought to read and, had I not put myself in this situation (and he not recommended it), there is no chance I would ever have read it on my own.

That's it for now.  Happy New Year.  Nine more months of this to go!

-Bryan