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The title essay is terrific - funny and erudite. The section on the annual porn awards ("Big Red Son") went on far too long. There's also a touching portrayal of immediate reactions to 9/11.

I have to admit that I listened to an audio recording of some of these essays, and did not listen to/read the entire book (although I would like to). I really enjoyed hearing DFW read his own work.

Touching book about betrayal, justice, rage, respect, and connectedness. What happens to Native American teenager "Zits" as he time-travels and inhabits various bodies feel like a series of short stories laced together by tragedy.

Easy to read, and had a hope-filled ending.

David Grann's story underscores the dangers of Western imperialism and the immense power of nature. The perils (and tribes) of the Amazon jungle have consumed many of those who were filled with wanderlust, confidence, greed, and arrogance enough to explore it.

The story (which centers on the disappearance of explorer Percy Fawcett in the Amazon in the early part of the 20th century) was unavoidably choppy. Like an archaeological dig, the book has various layers: we get Fawcett's story, as well as those of others who attempted to find him (à la Stanley, of "Dr. Livingstone, I presume" fame). The author even inserts himself into the narrative, to good effect. The mystery of what happened to Fawcett and his companions (including his son) will likely never be "solved."

Chickenhearted homebody that I am, I was horrified by the descriptions of voracious stinging insects, piranha, intestinal parasites, swollen limbs, and the like. I've never been camping, and I never intend to.

David Grann's story underscores the dangers of Western imperialism and the immense power of nature. The perils (and tribes) of the Amazon jungle have consumed many of those who were filled with wanderlust, confidence, greed, and arrogance enough to explore it.

The story (which centers on the disappearance of explorer Percy Fawcett in the Amazon in the early part of the 20th century) was unavoidably choppy. Like an archaeological dig, the book has various layers: we get Fawcett's story, as well as those of others who attempted to find him (à la Stanley, of "Dr. Livingstone, I presume" fame). The author even inserts himself into the narrative, to good effect. The mystery of what happened to Fawcett and his companions (including his son) will likely never be "solved."

Chickenhearted homebody that I am, I was horrified by the descriptions of voracious stinging insects, piranha, intestinal parasites, swollen limbs, and the like. I've never been camping, and I never intend to.

What a fun ride this was!

Like every good hard-boiled noir story, this one's got a lengthy cast of characters (and they are characters). From the start, I decided to try to keep track of who's who, and wrote out a list. Good decision! I referred to it often.

Thomas Pynchon obviously has much affection for Southern California. He gets so many little details right (the May Co. parking lot at Hawthorne and Artesia, which did exist circa 1970; taking the freeway to La Cienega, and then the Stocker shortcut over to La Brea). I guess that's why the few factual errors were so glaring. It's Canter's deli, not Cantor's. And there was not yet a freeway eastbound from the beach cities to Gardena.

The book is full of great cultural references too: Gilligan's Island, Let's Make a Deal, the precursor to the Internet (ARPAnet), E-ticket rides, the Charles Manson case. Pynchon adds these details (like putting a beer in the freezer, "hoping it wouldn't explode") almost as though they are throwaway lines, and they added immensely to the pleasure of reading this book.

This book was easy to read, and it quickly pulled me into the tragicomic lives of employees an advertising agency.

Those of us who are alumni of corporate cube-land can relate to what happens in this novel: these people thrive on rumors, they flock to free food in the kitchen, they break up their idle chitchat whenever the boss comes by, they parse everything management says to search for hidden meanings, they go to lunch, they play pratical jokes, they take offense.

"These people will believe anything. They will say anything."

Initially funny, the tone gets darker as employees are let go (or "walked Spanish," a terrific idiom). Unfortunately, having a large cast of characters means our knowledge of them is limited (apart from a poignant interlude that focuses on Lynn Mason, the boss).

This book was a great reflection on where white-collar working class America finds itself after the dot-com collapse and 9/11.

What a fun ride this was!

Like every good hard-boiled noir story, this one's got a lengthy cast of characters (and they are characters). From the start, I decided to try to keep track of who's who, and wrote out a list. Good decision! I referred to it often.

Thomas Pynchon obviously has much affection for Southern California. He gets so many little details right (the May Co. parking lot at Hawthorne and Artesia, which did exist circa 1970; taking the freeway to La Cienega, and then the Stocker shortcut over to La Brea). I guess that's why the few factual errors were so glaring. It's Canter's deli, not Cantor's. And there was not yet a freeway eastbound from the beach cities to Gardena.

The book is full of great cultural references too: Gilligan's Island, Let's Make a Deal, the precursor to the Internet (ARPAnet), E-ticket rides, the Charles Manson case. Pynchon adds these details (like putting a beer in the freezer, "hoping it wouldn't explode") almost as though they are throwaway lines, and they added immensely to the pleasure of reading this book.

This book was easy to read, and it quickly pulled me into the tragicomic lives of employees an advertising agency.

Those of us who are alumni of corporate cube-land can relate to what happens in this novel: these people thrive on rumors, they flock to free food in the kitchen, they break up their idle chitchat whenever the boss comes by, they parse everything management says to search for hidden meanings, they go to lunch, they play pratical jokes, they take offense.

"These people will believe anything. They will say anything."

Initially funny, the tone gets darker as employees are let go (or "walked Spanish," a terrific idiom). Unfortunately, having a large cast of characters means our knowledge of them is limited (apart from a poignant interlude that focuses on Lynn Mason, the boss).

This book was a great reflection on where white-collar working class America finds itself after the dot-com collapse and 9/11.

Sorry, I just can't deal with the anguish of Catholicism in this book. I gave up about halfway through.

This book was like reading a nightmare version of John Lennon's "Imagine" - no religion, no heaven, and no hell below us - there's no hell below because we're in hell now!

We're in hell with the whisky priest and his unfortunate giggles. We witness creepy interactions between characters: "he gently squeezed the other's polished shoe with his bare toes." We're in the pit of a prison...where I will leave the whisky priest and his search for redemption.

Started: August 16, 2010
Gave up: August 21, 2010

Sorry, I just can't deal with the anguish of Catholicism in this book. I gave up about halfway through.

This book was like reading a nightmare version of John Lennon's "Imagine" - no religion, no heaven, and no hell below us - there's no hell below because we're in hell now!

We're in hell with the whisky priest and his unfortunate giggles. We witness creepy interactions between characters: "he gently squeezed the other's polished shoe with his bare toes." We're in the pit of a prison...where I will leave the whisky priest and his search for redemption.

Started: August 16, 2010
Gave up: August 21, 2010

I guess I expected more out of a Pulitzer Prize winner. It didn't take my breath away (as did [b:Tinkers|8841028|tinkers|Paul Harding|http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg|13715812]); The Stone Diaries wasn't awful, but I didn't find it "distinguished."

One feature of this book is the narrator's voice. The life of Daisy Goodwill Flett is told primarily in the third person, but in a few instances, Daisy sneaks in a first-person comment and we find that it's Daisy herself who is telling the story. One (very good) chapter is told completely in correspondence to Daisy--we never see her letters, only those addressed to her. Oddly, for an autobiographical account, we are left to reconstruct events without hearing from the narrator, and I found the section very compelling.

In keeping with the title, some characters have an affinity for rocks (one is a stonecutter; another builds a miniature pyramid). Other people are interested in plants. The "rock" folks are "dense, heavy" (page 135), but one-dimensional. The "plant" people grow, blossom, and then die. Pretty blunt symbolism. Which is Daisy? Well, her name and interests tag her as a "plant" person but her personality is "rock."

The book includes Daisy's family tree and photographs of various family members. (In an interview, Carol Shields noted that the photos of Daisy's grandchildren are of her own children.) One problem with family trees is that they show only "official" relatives. The family tree format does Daisy a disservice by excluding her virtual sisters, her friends Fraidy and Beans. These chums are Daisy's only peers in the story. Daisy seemed the most "herself" with these two...or perhaps I'm bringing my own friendships into the equation!

I guess I expected more out of a Pulitzer Prize winner. It didn't take my breath away (as did [b:Tinkers|8841028|tinkers|Paul Harding|http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg|13715812]); The Stone Diaries wasn't awful, but I didn't find it "distinguished."

One feature of this book is the narrator's voice. The life of Daisy Goodwill Flett is told primarily in the third person, but in a few instances, Daisy sneaks in a first-person comment and we find that it's Daisy herself who is telling the story. One (very good) chapter is told completely in correspondence to Daisy--we never see her letters, only those addressed to her. Oddly, for an autobiographical account, we are left to reconstruct events without hearing from the narrator, and I found the section very compelling.

In keeping with the title, some characters have an affinity for rocks (one is a stonecutter; another builds a miniature pyramid). Other people are interested in plants. The "rock" folks are "dense, heavy" (page 135), but one-dimensional. The "plant" people grow, blossom, and then die. Pretty blunt symbolism. Which is Daisy? Well, her name and interests tag her as a "plant" person but her personality is "rock."

The book includes Daisy's family tree and photographs of various family members. (In an interview, Carol Shields noted that the photos of Daisy's grandchildren are of her own children.) One problem with family trees is that they show only "official" relatives. The family tree format does Daisy a disservice by excluding her virtual sisters, her friends Fraidy and Beans. These chums are Daisy's only peers in the story. Daisy seemed the most "herself" with these two...or perhaps I'm bringing my own friendships into the equation!

Senhor Jose is employed as a low-level clerk in the bureaucratic Central Registry. By chance, he undertakes a quest: to track down information about a woman whose name he learns by accident.

His world is small (he is "convinced that the rest of the world follows the same deductive path as he does"), and he ventures further and further afield in search of information about the mystery woman. Senhor Jose has difficulties with personal relationships, and is not particularly intent on actually meeting the woman of his quest. He'd rather know about her than know her.

(Spoiler warning: Skip this paragraph if you don't want to learn a key plot point. Senhor Jose's inquiries may have precipitated the woman's suicide, yet he never confronts this possibility.)

To Senhor Jose, a life's value is proven if it is documented. He says, "Anyway, the fact stands recorded," as if recordation is evidence enough of meaning. And yet, at the end, Senhor Jose finds that human beings end up nameless (and numberless), with documentation being meaningless.

My regard for Senhor Jose went from sympathy to amusement to something like dismay. The story turned into a religious allegory (come on, hit us over the head with it…a shepherd, and sheep?).

Saramago's writing style is notable in that he uses run-on paragraphs and comma splices, rather than quotation marks, to identify conversation. While not quite stream of consciousness, we do get a flow of ideas. I didn't find this style difficult to follow, but it did require careful reading.

I really should get credit for reading two separate books. One storyline involved the creation of a whiz-bang virtual reality "Cavern" by a well-funded lab in the Pacific Northwest. The other story focused on the kidnapping of an American in Lebanon.

I found the speechifying by the VR programmers to be unrealistic and rather dull.

The kidnapping saga generally held my interest but towards the end, I found myself skipping sections.

The two storylines do eventually come together, barely, in a science fictiony way that was an unconvincing jolt from the previous 400 realistic pages.