All the books all the books!!

10. Books in Black or Red by Edmund Lester Pearson. Ok so this book was not what I was expecting. It’s more of a hodgepodge of essays on bookish matters than a cohesive narrative and well…I am warned straight up in the author’s note of such. So really it is my own issue that I was a bit caught off guard with how random this book is. But there are some gems here, for sure! If you like books and/or reading and want to read about attitudes towards books in the early twentieth century, well then – you may like this! It is very random though, be warned. Some of the chapters are great, particularly the chapter on the Cary Girls and the Book Shop chapters. Other than that, I think this book is of value primarily for its historical value – we peek from a window into early 1920s America (specifically New York City) and smile as we see the author’s thoughts on dime novels, nonsense tales, literary personae and modern trends. We see sly asides here and there (Prohibition has begun!) and we get a flavor of this author’s very firmly cynical attitudes toward modern ideas of progress. I enjoyed this less than I thought I would, simply because there is much in this book that sailed over my head, as so many of the books and tales he references are…much less known now. Maybe this book hit harder back in the 1920s, I know not. Still though, grateful to have read this and contrary to all the eye-rolling the author would send my way for doing this, I’m likely to keep this book on my shelf purely because of its 1923 print date. Hey, at least I don’t organize my books by colour.

11. The Narrow Road Between Desires by Patrick Rothfuss. I just don’t know anymore, Mr. Rothfuss. I really was excited to read this one – it has been far too long since I’ve read any new material from your pen and I recently discovered this on the shelves of a bookstore in Paris. What! New Rothfuss?!? I must read. Clearly I have been out of the loop and didn’t realize this had dropped. Everything Rothfuss has written, I’ve loved. Slow Regard of Silent Things – purely fantastic and delightful and fully of whimsy and joy and melancholy all. I really must revisit it, now that I think so fondly of my memory of it. And of course the first two books of the Kingkiller Chronicle are superb. Not without flaws, no. But fantastic books in their own right and even if the third book never comes out, I’m ok with just those two on my shelf and I shall re-read every now and again. But…what is up with this Bast novella? Where is the magic, where is the joy? I found the prose strangely wooden and affected. It didn’t have the wonder and joy I remember from the previous works from Rothfuss’ pen. Maybe I have just changed? Maybe if I re-read Name of the Wind I’ll find myself similarly left cold? I think not, but now I shudder at the small possibility. But this book did not do it for me. Honestly as much as I complain about the lacking prose (compared to what I know Rothfuss can do), I think the real problem here is the protagonist. I don’t like Bast. I didn’t realize how much his character irked me until now, but this book did him no favours. I suppose Rothfuss intends to show the wild fae nature of Bast in all his sly glory, yet…honestly? Bast is a creeper. The majority of this book is him hanging around with small children and setting up a situation to spy on a young woman in her bath. Um ok, cool. And maybe this is just me being hyper sensitive and modern in my sensibilities but…I didn’t enjoy witnessing Bast in all his prancing, prying and creepy ways. Not sure if the author entirely realizes it or not. I feel a bit bad because I really do appreciate Rothfuss’ other works. And writing these harsh words feels a bit of a betrayal. But…something is off about this one. And reading his author’s note at the end didn’t help much. Instead of smiling at him providing a touchingly intimate tale about his children and his desire to write a “good” story for them, I just noticed the way he compared the themes in this one to the inferior themes in books such as Narnia, Lord of the Rings, etc. I’m sorry but…no? The truth and beauty in those books are so far above anything this novella could hope to dream of.