I wish the book was a little more clear about when these stories were written. The first ones felt a little rough. I found them a little cloying, until I tried reading them in Miranda July's voice in my head. That helped a lot, but it wasn't until "Making Love in 2003" that one of the stories really stood on its own for me. The insertion of Madeleine L'Engle into the story is a little odd, but that story was probably the one that worked the best for me.

This was my third attempt at reading this book, but I finally made it through this time. Usually, I make it through to the detailed description of dog dismemberment (which is a pretty reasonable place to lose momentum in a book), but I pushed through and found that it got pretty interesting. At least for the first third. The second section lost my interest a little bit. The adventures of Jack Shaftoe didn't really interest me too much. It felt a little bit like Stephenson just needed to add some action. The (very) lengthy chase scene with the witches felt gratuitous.

The last section regained my interest a bit, but I'm not sure I'm as interested in the development of our modern thinking about economy as I am in the development of our modern thinking about science. Also, I find Eliza to be a fairly horrible character. I'd sort of forgotten that Stephenson is not particularly good at writing female characters (Nell from The Diamond Age is perhaps the exception, since Stephenson basically writes her as gender-neutral as possible). I'm kind of dreading the rest of the series, if she's going to remain a main character.

I think the best way to deal with this book is to divide it into three chunks. The first chunk is probably the most engrossing, and the one in which Stephenson combines the Long Now Foundation ethos with a world in which the Socratic tradition has created a very long-lived monastic order. The book's a little cagey about what, exactly, the purpose of this order is or why they've got the clout they do to be left alone from the secular world. It's a pretty appealing view of life, and certainly seems to be the bit most reviewers focus on (I kind of suspect a lot of them stop about 200 pages in). If there's a problem with the first bit, it's that Stephenson establishes a pretty deliberate pace in this section. It sets up the reader to believe we're getting a slow-burning mystery set inside this monastic setting.

When the slow-burning mystery suddenly resolves about a third of the way through the book, it's a little jarring. The middle chunk of the book is probably the flimsiest bit. While it's pretty clear what inspires the rest of the book, but here it seems like the only inspiration is Project Orion, which I figure everyone's already heard about at this point.

The final third is a little more interesting. We start to get some resolution of the cagier bits of the first act, but it's also where things kind of fall apart for me a bit. The basic premise of the plot is that there are a series of parallel worlds that have similar, but not identical, fundamental rules of physics. Stephenson ties this to the Platonic theory of forms (with the idea that each parallel world would be closer to the Platonic ideal). I'm fine with all that. But then Stephenson brings in the more usual Many Worlds theory, which posits that there are many constantly created worlds. Certain characters can make use of the quantum computing ability of the brain to select which world their consciousness follows, which is a very interesting idea, but I'm not sure both interpretations of the Many Worlds theories are really supportable at the same time. Maybe I'm just overthinking this, but it seems odd to simultaneously assert that reality splits into parallel universes once at the Big Bang, then constantly going forward. Or I guess that part's fine, but then to assert that travel is technologically possible between the worlds created in the former case, but not the latter, seems wrong. That said, I'm sure Stephenson has spent a lot more time thinking about this than I have, so I shouldn't question it.

Also, I never really thought about the Platonic theory of forms as being a more multi-tiered model. It makes the transition from Platonism to theurgy to Kabbalah make more sense. The book's assertion that you can make changes up-wick to adjust reality down-wick ends up being a fairly coherent explanation of the more mystic aspects of emanation-based magic.

Like just about everyone who's read this book in the last year, I was kind of curious to learn more about John Edwards' mistress. I would like to think that John Edwards did not read this book before embarking on the affair, as Alison Poole does not come across as a particularly sane, balanced individual. All that aside, I enjoyed the book a fair bit. It's been a while since I read anything by any of the Brat Pack authors (Lunar Park being the last one, I think), and it's sort of comforting to read some bleak, postmodernist urban fiction.

It's kind of odd to realize that a seven year old book on antigravity can already feel so out of date. Sites like American Antigravity have really promoted a lot of the lifter technology that Cook treats like a total secret, and various debunking sites have done a good job explaining how it works and how it's not really a scalable technology. Other aspects of the book (like the theory that the B-2 uses antigravity technology) don't seem particularly well supported, but where it really does well is with the research into Nazi antigravity research. I've read a fair bit of bizarre books on Nazi flying saucers, but Cook's research skills are significantly better than most for the subject.

Another interesting bit is the chapter on Eugene Podkletnov. I assume his work on a gravity shielding disk is what the characters in Primer were trying to build.

Yet another in a long line of Cory Doctorow-recommended sci-fi. Unlike most of his recommendations, I actually liked this one quite a bit (which, in the long run, is probably a bad thing since it means I'll be more inclined to read the next recommendation of his, even if his batting average with me is still around .185). The book's not perfect; Lola's descent into poverty and gang life is a little forced, but I suppose it gives the book a bit of Dickensian feel (in which an endless series of bad things happen to the protagonist to push him/her into more dire circumstances). The most interesting aspect to me was the gradual integration of slang, which was enough to get me to recommend the book to my dad (who tends to like that sort of thing).

I wish I could remember what inspired me to get this book from the library, if only so I could properly give credit and see what else they recommend. I fully intend to read more from Bolano, but what I really liked was the Borges-esque faux biography format. It inspired me to try to write my own, but that didn't go very well at all. It's clearly harder than it looks.

I had a pretty odd experience while reading this book. I was sitting in a nice outdoor area at OHSU, while waiting for Eleanor to get out of her doctor appointment. The patio was empty, so I lay down on a bench and started reading. The unnamed protagonist had returned to Tokyo, and had gone to see the film about the high school teacher for the Nth time, and, since school was not in session, found that the theatre was packed with high school students, which lessened his ability to enjoy the movie. I looked up, and noticed a half dozen or so high school aged Japanese girls heading toward me. Moments later, another twenty or so Japanese high school students filled in behind them and completely filled up the patio. I have no idea what they were doing there, but they stood around, talking quite loudly for quite a while. I guess perhaps they were a tourist group, but I'm not sure what kind of tour involves visiting a hospital. I suppose they might have taken the tram, but I'm not sure why this patio was also included.

Anyway, enjoyable book, though his recurrent plot points are starting to get a little old.

This was a fascinating, if somewhat overwhelming, book. Basically, the book breaks down into three parts. The first bit is a pretty aggressive attack on the Abrahamic religions, arguing that they are comparable to an abusive relationship in which the victims are made into willing participants. He makes some assertions that he presents as fact that I need to check up on (mostly on the Zaddikite branch of Judaism (which he associates with the Dead Sea Scrolls) existing in opposition to the Mystery-based Pagan religions, which he associates with Gnosticism (as presented in the Nag Hammadi library)). I forgot to check his sources on the Zaddikites (which he goes on to claim ended up co-opting Christianity to spread their Messianic/Apocalyptic worldview).

The second bit lost me a bit. Much of it is devoted to presenting the Gnostic creation story, which I have previously only encountered in the books of Philip K. Dick, which is interesting, but he makes a lot of attempts to tie it to modern views of our galactic geography. I suspect that this is his attempt to tie his vision of Gnosticism to Gaia Theory, so I figure that this might all be more essential if I was already a firm believer in Gaia Theory. As I'm not really sure I buy into that, this section just felt a little odd.

The third bit is actually a pretty well-argued refutation of the basics of Christian morality. It ends up coming off as a little Dawkins-y, but he makes some good arguments on the weakness of many arguments against Christianity (which tend to leave alone the generally accepted sayings of Jesus). I'm not sure I entirely buy his arguments, but at least he's willing to take on everything.

Anyway, lots of notes on this one.

p. 64-65. Quite a bit on Melchizedek, who apparently negotiated the covenant with Abraham and anointed him, despite predating Levi and the Jewish priests. Also some interesting bits on the etymology of his name. "Melki" meaning prince and "zedek" being a variant on tzaddik, which means righteous one (and, though it's not mentioned here, the story goes that the twelve tzaddik in existence at any given time are the reason God doesn't destroy the Earth). Lash associated Melchizedek with the Zaddikite cult (referred to as the Zadok priesthood in 1 Kings 1:34,39).

p. 73. According to Lash, the Dead Sea Scrolls are written by Zaddikites, not Essenes as I've always been lead to believe. He asserts that the documents outline traditional roles that occur in the Zaddikite Messianic storyline that play out, cyclically, over generations. The roles are referred to as the Teacher of Righteousness, the Messiah, the Wicked Priest, the Sons of Zadok, the Kittim, and the Man of Lies.

p. 149. Lash places a lot of blame on Zoroastrianism, framing it in a wildly unsupported narrative about a schism between pre-Gnostic "Magians." Basically, he argues that some of them became involved in the management of the state (based largely on the ties between Zoroaster and the development of agriculture), driving the rest of them underground to form what is thought of as Gnosticism. Interesting to note that he claims that the one who became managers of the state used tools like entrainment, platforming, and command behavior/posthypnotic suggestion to maintain their rule. Again, no support for it, but the idea that that sort of control mechanism has been used for thousands of years is interesting from a dramatic perspective if nothing else.

p. 154. Richard Rudgley's The Lost Civilizations of the Stone Age sounds like an interesting book to track down, as does Plutarch's writing on the Osiris mysteries (of which Lash claims Plutarch was a dean). This is also where Lash ties together the Mediterranean Mystery Schools with the greater pagan religious structures of Old Europe (giving him a starting date of 6000 BCE for the tradition).

p. 158-160. Lash breaks down the Gnostic creation story into nine segments, my somewhat confused summary of which follows:

1. Within the Godhead (or Pleroma), a singularity arises called the Anthropos. Lash goes on at some length elsewhere about how this doesn't indicate a split within the Godhead, but I'm not entirely sure I follow the distinction.


2. Sophia and Christos, two Aeons (of which there are many in the Godhead) prepare to inject the Anthropos into the galactic arms.


3. The singularity emerges into the chaos of the galactic arms and prepares to unfold into worlds. It apparently lives in the Orion Nebula while it figures it out.


4. Sophia becomes absorbed in the idea of what the Anthropos can turn into, which pulls her away from the Godhead and into the galactic arms.


5. As Sophia enters the realm of chaos, this creates the Archons, inorganic beings who are led by the Demiurge (who thinks he is the creator). The Demiurge, also known as Yaldaboath, creates the Sun, Earth, and Moon (though, Archons can't actually create, since they have no power of intention, but they can imitate).


6. This part's a little odd. The Anthropos creates a star, which becomes the sun (even though the Demiurge created that in the last step). Sophia berates the Demiurge, telling him that the Anthropos, which isn't even born yet, is greater than he is, and that humanity is born from the Godhead. The Demiurge doesn't care, but the sun is moved by the arguments, so allies itself with Sophia. Sophia produces a daughter (Zoe), who unites with the son.


7. Sophia turns into a planet (again, odd, since the Demiurge already created the Earth), which should be sentient and aware, but gets pulled into the Demiurge's realm of celestial mechanics


8. Sophia freaks out about having turned into a planet, which creates the biosphere, but it goes wild. The gods in the Pleroma send Christos down to bring order to her offspring, which leaves a radiant afterimage (which, later, is what Lash attributes sightings of Jesus to). Once he gets Sophia to stop producing offspring wildly, he leaves and returns to the Godhead.


9. Sophia is now used to the life that is growing on her, including the unfolding of the template created by Anthropos, humanity (though, elsewhere, this may apply to all lifeforms).

I'm pretty sure I've butchered at least some of that, but I need to go read the original sources to get a better sense of things. Lash makes some jumps to try to give the whole story a hard astronomical structure, which I think confuses things somewhat (though I understand it's necessary in order for him to make the ties to Gaia theory that he wants to make). I am also perhaps a little mudddled since this is close to, but not quite, the version of Gnostic metaphysics I picked up from reading Philip K. Dick, as well as being close to, but not quite, the creation story in the Kabbalah (which, as far as I can tell, is very heavily derived from Levantine theurgy).

p. 175. Lash makes a lot reference to Organic Light, a visible substance the he repeatedly refers to as "soft, luminous nougat." I've certainly read a lot of accounts of the milky light he's talking about in regards to the Mysteries, so his assertion that this is the substance of Sophia and the source for the Mystery teachings is welcome.

p. 180-181. I should look up a translation of the test "Hypostasis of the Archons" which might make some of the whole Archon thing make a little sense. This is one of the aspects of the Gnostic metaphysics that doesn't entirely make sense to me. They're described as inorganic life - an imitation of a biological entity - and resembling a premature fetus (though also described as insectoid). The Apocryphon of John sounds like it might help somewhat.

p. 191-192. A little clarification on the difference between Zoraostrian duality and Gnostic duality. Zoroastrian duality (which eventually became incorporated into the Abrahamic religions), assumes a split in the divine realm, in that good and evil have the same origin. Gnosticism doesn't really address "evil," only "error" which comes about as a result of the influence of Archons in our world. Evil is a result of a the working of error.

p. 254. Lash spends quite a while trying to tear down some of the generally unassailed statements of Jesus (even setting aside the issue of whether he said them or not). He argues that "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" is not only not original to Jesus, but also is not an rational or useful moral code. Hillel's version of the same concept ("Do not do unto others that which is hateful to you") is much more reasonable (and doesn't lead to the same sort of glorification of suffering).

p. 263. Track down Marcus Aurelius' Meditations.

p. 270. Various arguments that the scrolls found in the Dead Sea and Nag Hammadi were written not only by theologically opposed groups, but by groups engaged in an active war. He cites lines in the War Scroll that indicate a specific hostility to the children of Seth (as Gnostic groups of the area referred to themselves), as well as lines in the Nag Hammadi writings that state that "Jerusalem is the dwelling-place of many Archons." Lash speculates that the Gnostics view the Archons as "an alien intrapsychic species" that would have been involved in the ordination of Abraham by Melchizedek. Lash also notes that his does seem a little anti-Semitic, but argues that it's more an attack on the religion than on the people. Lash actually ends up calling against tolerance (though it seems he can never quite phrase it that way) on the grounds that religious tolerance allows for the growth of wholly intolerant religion. At times, he sounds quite a bit like Richard Dawkins in his assertions that allowing moderate Christian beliefs to exist encourages radical and violent Christian beliefs to flourish.

p. 276. More on his calls against tolerance. Part of the issue here is that the Gnostics were not prepared to encounter a religion that was willing to kill people who didn't agree with them, so the religious tolerance the Gnostics had practiced in the past led directly to them being killed off.

p. 278. Interesting side note on thhe attempts in the Near East to provide a more public-oriented Gnosticism, leading to the creation of Hermas. The idea was to create a more readily conceivable presentation of the Anthropos, so they took the existing local deity Tammuz (Ishtar's lover, the Divine Shepherd) and made him into Hermas, a young man with a lamb across his shoulders. This was supposed to be competition for Jesus, but seems to have been swallowed into Christianity (and the associated Gnostic ideas becoming integrated - poorly - into church doctrine as the Holy Spirit).

p. 290. I know it's just because it's been reprinted recently, but I feel I can't go two days without running into a mention of Jacques Vallee's Messengers of Deception. Anyway, Lash ties in the UFO stories (particularly John Keel's hostile interactions with Trickster-like aliens) with the Archons (which ties in nicely with Vallee's assertion that UFO contact is likely to become the future source of many massive religions).

p. 296. Find Walter Burkett's Ancient Mystery Cults.

p. 314. First off, "The Paraphrase of Shem" is the most absurd religious text name I've ever encountered. Interesting note tying the Gnostic instruction received from the Divine Light with reading the Akashic Record. He makes this connection while simultaneously distancing himself from most modern telestic investigation, but it's an interesting connection.

p. 329. Lash notes that the Messianic religions took off around the beginning of the Piscean Age (around 120 BCE) and that the Messianic figure tied in nicely with the increased level of self concern. I need to read Jaynes at some point, but doesn't he argue that's about the time when external voices from the Gods became our internal dialogue?

As I mentioned, we went to see Goldfinger at our local cheap theatre a while back, which inspired me to re-read the book. I was a pretty serious James Bond fan as a kid and read all the novels, despite not really liking them much. I was sort of interested to see how they read as an adult, and, since I still have them all lying around the house, I figured I might as well start with Goldfinger.

I think I'll also be stopping with Goldfinger, since it's a pretty horrible book. It took me weeks to finish it, as I couldn't make it more than a chapter before being too overwhelmed by the casual racism, misogyny, and homophobia to proceed further. It opens well enough, but, by the time Oddjob shows up and Bond starts referring to him as an ape (and to the Korean language as barking and growls), it's pretty hard to take. By the end, we've not only got the constant anti-Korean sentiment, but also the evil lesbian who is turned good by Bond's manliness (since she was only a lesbian because of a childhood incestuous rape - a common occurrence in the American South, the book informs us).

All that aside, there's also the issue that Bond is a terrible spy. I can't quite tell if that's deliberate, but he pretty much succeeds in this book through no fault of his own. He should have died about halfway through the book (and, incidentally, the scene in which he wakes up, thinking he's dead, is the best thing in the book, by far. His main concern is how to introduce dead ex-girlfriends to each other in heaven, then decides that heaven is probably okay with polyamory and is, in all likelihood, a non-stop orgy), and the big plot is pretty much foiled by other people. He's generally kind of a bumbler and utterly unsuccessful at convincing anyone of his cover story. It really doesn't seem intended, but it's hard to tell.

Sort of an odd format for a book. Horowitz decides he needs to learn more about the interval between the arrival of Columbus and the arrival of the Pilgrims, so sets off on a series of trips. The book reads somewhat like a travelogue and somewhat like a history text, which is a little odd, but makes for a fairly enjoyable light read. I'm not sure I really learned a whole lot, and I occasionally got frustrated by the digressions (is a detailed description of time in a sweat lodge in Newfoundland really pertinent?), but enjoyable enough. Plus it devotes quite a lot of pages to Pedro Menendez de Aviles, who may be an ancestor of mine, so that's always good.

I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I tend to give any book Cory Doctorow recommends a shot. I'm pretty sure I tried something else by Schroeder before, but failed to get into it before the library wanted it back. I made a better effort here, but I'm not really sure it was worth it. Schroeder clearly has a detailed idea of how things are set up in his head, but he has no particular ability to convey any of that. There were some pretty basic issues with just explaining what is going on that Schroeder didn't quite convey.

The protagonist was also ludicrously capable at pretty much anything she tried and things tended to work out to her advantage a little too often. It made the whole thing feel like bad fan-fiction. I will not be reading another one of his books, no matter how much Doctorow raves.

My father suggested I read this after seeing the movie, since he found he enjoyed the movie much less having read the novel. Of course, the problem with that approach is that the Sheriff Bell passages (of which there are many) are now read in Tommy Lee Jones' voice, which just makes me grumpy. It took me about half the book before I came to accept McCarthy's somewhat strained minimalist approach to writing. Once I did, I found myself enjoying the book a fair bit. I don't think it's entirely the work of brilliant modern literature that people seem to be asserting, but it's a pretty decent piece of fiction (and interesting to see how faithfully the movie followed the book).

About 80% of this book (pretty much everything except the bits about snakeheads and the rough economic conditions of Chinese restaurant laborers) could have been a special on the Food Network, and it would not have suffered at all. I don't necessarily mean that as a criticism - if it were on TV and I was feeling as sick as I was when I read this, I'm sure I would have watched it - but it's certainly no piece of investigative journalism.

Am I alone in feeling cheated when a book contains things I've read elsewhere? I know this is a pretty standard practise, so the industry must think it's fine, but I always feel a little miffed when I hit a chapter that I've already read elsewhere. I figure I'd read about 1/4 of Reading Comics in other places, but that's because I go out of my way to read Wolk's writing on comics (usually on Salon), so is it fair for me to hold it against him that his (well-written) pieces weren't as fresh and new as they could have been? Probably not.

What is a fair critique, I think, is the somewhat awkward structure of the book. The first half (or third maybe) is partially an overlong introduction and partially an attempt to establish some ground rules for serious criticism of comics. He spends a while asserting that an auteurist approach to comics isn't as viable as it is in film, which is debatable (I'd argue against it), but then undercuts the approach taken for the latter portion of the book. I'm not sure he ever comes up with a clear ground for how comics should be approached critically; it's certainly not as clear a thesis as Klock's How to Read Superhero Comics and Why, which remains the best book on comics I've read.

All that said, his writing on individual authors and titles is certainly good, and his enthusiasm for the content is contagious. I've since filled up my hold queue at the library with the titles he discusses that I haven't read already (or, in the case of Love and Rockets, that I've failed to get in to). Some of the chapters feel a little thin. I get the sense Wolk could go on for hours discussing The Invisibles, which would be fine with me, but might perhaps make the book a harder sell.

I should also mention that he does an excellent job of putting down what, exactly, it is about Chris Ware's work that I find impressive and depressing. While Wolk is still willing to overlook the negative aspects of Ware's work to appreciate the craft and I've decided that I am not going to be tricked again, I am glad to have my complaints verbalized so well.

While the subject matter - the growth of massive criminal enterprise globally - is interesting, Glenny's approach starts to get a little repetitive. Each chapter or two is devoted to the growth of crime in a different country, and, while he tends to focus on different crimes in different countries, the trend of "country emerges from totalitarianism, is unable to effective police capitalism, gets overrun by criminals" repeats across at least three quarters of the countries profiled. I mean, it makes a strong case that the burst of globalization in the 90's directly led to the massive criminal underworld being created, but it gets to be a bit of a slog to read.

Still and all, it's a very interesting book, and I now know a lot more about global criminal enterprise than I did before (as well as learning about police "encounters" in Mumbai, in which the police basically just hunt down and kill criminals). Not much in the way of notes, but p. 188-189 describes the South African prison gang, The Number (which actually consists of three gangs: the 26, 27, and 28 ). They "trace their heritage back to the 1890s and the memory of Nongoloza, a Zulu who preyed on itinerant workers ... at the end of a gang called the Ninevites." Apparently, the gang has a manufactured tradition that includes "a prophet, arcane rituals, a sacred text (written half on a bull's hide, half on a stone), their own language, sabela (a mixture of slang Afrikaans and Zulu with regional dialects), and a priestly hierarchy of incomprehensible complexity." I'm always fascinated by the intersection of crime and secret religious orders (like the Holy Garduna), so I am, of course, going to try to learn more about The Number.

I had read elsewhere that there was a pretty strong bias, among traditional students of Classics and Philosophy, against the later writers in the Neo-Platonic movement (particularly Iamblichus), but I wasn't really prepared for the hostile tone this book took toward the 4th Century Neo-Platonists. Wright essentially treats the later Syrian philosophers as usurpers who have staked a claim to the Platonic and/or Aristotelian traditions to further their religious beliefs. All of which may be true, but, given that this book is supposed to be dealing with Emperor Julian, who certainly seemed to be down with these religious beliefs, it seems a little odd to dismiss them out of hand as quackery and to avoid really taking them seriously. Personally, I'm pretty interested in late Neo-Platonic theurgy, as it seems to be the point where Greek mystery religions and Pythagoreanism begin to merge with (or influence?) Middle Eastern mystic traditions.

All that said, the book did convince me that I should probably read some Proclus. Apparently, he "claimed to be the hierophant of all religions" (p.39), which seems like an interesting claim to make.

It's somewhat unfortunate that I didn't write this review half way through the book. The first half of the book (detailing the development of the comics industry, the shift toward crime comics, etc) is excellent. The book falls apart somewhat in the last half, especially with the abrupt ending. If one had only this book to go by, one would think the comics industry was attacked in the fifties and then disappeared forever. Given that a lot of the interview sources continued to have viable and interesting careers throughout the sixties, seventies, and eighties, it's a little odd not to at least have one chapter about the industry's recovery. I guess the issue is that Hajdu is quite good at character study - that's pretty much all Positively 4th Street was - and he does a good job with that (particularly with Bill Gaines), but it doesn't really give the big picture view that this period really deserves.

I can't remember how it came up, but my dad and I were discussing the works of Angela Carter and found that we had the same issue with her: on paper, her writing sounds exactly like the sort of thing we'd like, but, in practice, we find it unreadable. I have never finished anything she's written (even her short stories), but keep trying every year or so. My dad recommend Nicola Barker, who he felt had some of the same British feminist magical realism tendencies as Carter, but is actually readable. I got this short story collection from the library and enjoyed it immensely. I'm not entirely sure my dad is right viewing her as a variant on Carter - I found her writing closer to Roald Dahl's wonderful misanthropic adult works - but I would certainly recommend her to others and will be tracking down more of her books in the near future.

I didn't realize this was connected to earlier Murakami books until I was finished with it, so I'll have to track those down next, but I found this one pretty enjoyable. It's got a lot of plot elements that recur in Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I tend to enjoy authors/directors who are drawn to story elements that they keep incorporating, as it gives everything a weird sense of enhanced importance (even if, in this case, the recurrence was written later).