ikuo1000's reviews
467 reviews

I saw the movie about 1/3 of the way through the book, and even by then I knew that the movie doesn't even come close to portraying the extent of shock and scandal that makes up this true story. The movie is like the tip of the iceberg that is this book, which tells of how Congressman Charlie Wilson miraculously funded a secret CIA war in Afghanistan.

It's a jaw-dropping page-turner, though I have to admit it took me a long time to read because of its huge cast of characters. At first I tried to keep track of who was who, and some of it wasn't easy, as the book assumes you know a thing or two about various domestic and international politicians going back to the 1980's, not to mention a bit about foreign relations at the time. (I didn't know enough and kept having to infer from the book or ask Ken questions.) Once I decided not to get caught up in the details, the book went much faster.

I don't think I'm naive when it comes to politics, but this book really opened my eyes as to how business can be conducted in Washington. Every few pages I would look up and say to Ken, "I can't believe this!" and read him an excerpt. Knowing what we know now about how the very mujahideen we funded, trained, and armed became the same ones to attack us on 9/11, the whole series of events just seems all that much more unbelievable. I kept wondering if anyone involved in the Afghan war would feel in any way responsible for the unintended consequences of their actions, and that question is briefly addressed in the epilogue, aptly titled, "Unintended Consequences."

I bought this book many years ago, after reading Jonathan Livingston Seagull and Illusions. I tried several times to read the book, but never got past a few pages. Finally, I vowed to read it: If I liked it, it would stay on my shelf; if I didn't like it, I'd donate it.

I'll be donating this book to the library tomorrow.

If I were a teenager, with most of life's major choices ahead of me, this book would probably offer some lessons worth learning. If I were not a thinking, self-aware person, the ideas in this book might be eye-opening. Both cases not being true, I found this book more like science-fiction masquerading as philosophy.

I imagine the author re-living all his late-night dorm-room conversations and early adult cocktail/dinner parties, and never having been able to get a word in edgewise, he constructs this venue through which to express all his varied philosophies. His ideas are not without merit, but the presentation is lacking.

The writing style leaves a lot to be desired. It is completely devoid of wit or subtlety. It is black-and-white reading, laying out the characters and scenes like a young adult fiction. Reading the dialogue is like watching over-actors struggling with a poor script. Occasionally, reading the book was downright painful; several times, I actually put down the book, rolling my eyes, unable to continue.

I plan to re-read Illusions and Jonathan Livingston Seagull, just to be sure. :P

If half-stars were allowed, I'd have given this book 2 1/2 stars. The fact that it held my interest makes it more than "ok", but I wouldn't exactly say I "liked" it.

To be fair, I don't think I'm the target audience for this book. The back cover has glowing praise from authors I don't know. (I assume they write novels in the same genre.) It's historical fiction, which I have nothing against, but I'm just usually not interested in such books (or movies). If I'm going to read about history, I prefer non-fiction.

At the end of the book, there's a two-page Author's Note that explains the historical context of the book, including the fact that some of the characters were real people. I wish I had read the Author's Note first, before reading the book; knowing that some of the characters were real might have made the book more interesting to me. Indeed, during my reading, I did not give enough credit to one character, Julian, because I kept thinking that she wasn't entirely believable; come to find, she was an actual person!

Overall, I did not find the book's characters very compelling. I liked Kathryn, a main character, but didn't get enough of my two favorites - Agnes, the cook, and Magda, the girl she took in, both secondary characters. Finn, the "illuminator" (illustrator) for whom the book is named, was wholly uninteresting to me. Also, the three younger-generations characters were all too one-dimensional: a beautiful and pure daughter, a gentle and devout son, and a spirited and hot-headed son.

The story progressed like a soap opera, except everything is predictable. Just when I would think that there was an opportunity for a twist, or at least some suspense, the author would, without delay, tell me what happened next, which was usually exactly what I thought would happen.

The only part that was unpredictable was the ending, and not necessarily in a good way. I was disappointed in the way the book ended for almost all the characters, save a couple. For some, it seemed like the author chose to easily tie up a loose end just before it might actually develop into something interesting. Still, I have to admit, I have to give credit to the author for writing the unexpected.

I was not too keen on the author's penchant for using questions, posed either by the third-person narrator or by a character, as an internal thought. For example, instead of saying, "This blanket is red," she might say, "Is this blanket not red?"

Finally, I must say that I did appreciate the discussion of religion for the masses that served as part of the backdrop. Being set just before the Reformation, fear of the Church or of the King hid behind almost everything that occurred. And, it was a gentle reminder that we should not take our 21st century freedoms for granted.

Overall, a diverting read, if not engaging.

After reading about this book in The Boston Globe, I was thrilled to be able to pick up a copy while visiting the Boston Museum of Fine Arts (MFA). It's not exactly a page-turner, but it certainly shed light on the painting, the artist, and the subjects.

As titled, the book is a biography of the painting, not the artist, and so we learn only as much about Sargent himself as is necessary to describe the context of the painting. The book includes many quotes from contemporary art critics, both positive and negative in response to this specific painting, and I was left wondering what Sargent might have thought of the mixed reactions.

I did learn quite a bit about the Paris Salon, the differences among French versus English versus American tastes in art, and the evolution of art appreciation. The book provides a thorough biography of the Boit family (whose daughters are portrayed in the painting), and I found it quaint that much of the personal information was gleaned from diary entries written by Bob Boit, the four girls' uncle. While the artistic analysis of the painting was educational, I most enjoyed the "Afterlife" chapters, which told the stories of what became of Ned and Isa Boit (the girls' parents), each of the girls, and the painting itself, whose provenance is thoroughly traced.

I was, however, sorely disappointed that the full provenance of the two large vases (that appear in the painting and which are displayed alongside the painting at the MFA) was not provided. The book describes their home in Edward Boit's Brookline (MA) house in 1903, and states that the vases stayed there until they were moved to the MFA in 1986. But if Edward Boit put his house on the market in 1911, and returned to Europe, then who owned the vases for the greater part of the century? And who decided to donate them to the MFA?

My only other complaint is that I wish all paintings that were referenced in the book were reprinted for reference, but I suppose there are copyright issues, and I guess it's not too much effort to look up paintings on the internet.

The final conclusion was beautifully written. The author suggests that "as with all masterpieces, the facts behind it can add to its allure" - and it's true. After reading Sargent's Daughters, I can't wait to visit the MFA again and view the painting in light of what I've read in this book.

I was torn between rating this book 4 1/2 stars or 5 stars. Had the book ended after Part Three, I would have had no qualms giving it 5 stars. Unfortunately, there followed an afterward, and I wasn't crazy about the content; when I put down the book, I didn't have that final sense of satisfaction that I would expect from a 5-star book. That said, I can appreciate the inventiveness of the ending, and as a piece of writing - as opposed to entertainment - I can see its value.

In my opinion, Ian McEwan is easily one of the most talented modern writers of fiction I have read. He writes beautifully. His prose is clever, at times humorous, always full of imagery. Sentences are well-constructed around carefully chosen words, and I frequently found myself re-reading excerpts just to appreciate the full effect of his writing.

McEwan creates interesting, well-developed, complex characters. I was impressed with his convincing ability to get inside the head of his characters, and his keen insight into the different perspectives of a young girl, a middle-aged mother, or a grown man, even as they all experienced the same events.

Early on, I thought I would certainly not give the book 5 stars because of the constant anxiety I felt for an impending doom. While a bit of "Oh! I wonder what will happen next!" type of suspense is desirable in a good read, this book instead gave me a "Oh, no! Something terrible is going to happen! I can't stand it!" feeling of dread. Ultimately, when unfortunate events finally did unfold, I forgave the author the uneasy tension he caused in me - after all, the fact that he could elicit such strong emotion, pleasant or not, while keeping me thoroughly enthralled in the story is surely a sign of good writing.

When Ken Netflixed this movie, I had zero interest in it, so Ken watched it on his own. Recently, when I told Ken I was in the mood for some light reading, he picked this book up from the library for me. Well, I liked it so much, I will certainly be re-Netflixing the movie for myself.

The book's plot is centered on mysterious particles called Dust and their relation to humans. As the book progresses, the reader begins to understand that characters in the book believe Dust is a physical representation of sin; adults attract Dust, but children do not. It becomes clear at the end of the book that while Mrs. Coulter - with the support of the Church - is researching a way to prevent children from ever attracting Dust, Lord Asriel - without anyone's support - is concerned with finding a way to eliminate Dust entirely. I know there is quite a bit of controversy surrounding this trilogy in regards to its position on Christianity, but so far - keeping in mind that this book is set in a fantasy world - there isn't anything that offends me. (It may or may not be worth noting at this point that the author is an atheist and Humanist.)

What I really enjoyed most about this book was the fantasy aspects. Each person has a daemon, a physical representation of his/her soul. The daemon takes the form of an animal, one that reflects the person's character, and stays by the human's side at all times, never being more than a few yards away. They can speak and they have their own thoughts, and they can also act on behalf of their humans. They are constant companions, confidants, sounding boards, and even protectors. Who wouldn't want one of their own!? I very much enjoyed imagining this world in which daemons were as much a part of human life as humans themselves.

I also really enjoyed the existence of armored bears. These massive animals were bears in every way, but they also talked and were skilled metal-workers. At first I thought talking bears might be too silly to take seriously, but they really grew on me, and Iorek Byrnison became one of my favorite characters.

While I liked the author's style of prose, I was bothered by the way he minimally introduced characters and ideas, not fully explaining them until later. Of course he was droppings hints as a way of foreshadowing, but in addition to having my interest piqued, I also just got plain annoyed. And, sometimes coincidences seemed to propel events forward in a too-convenient type of way.

I also felt like the book left me with unanswered questions. Why did Lyra take the spy-fly from Farder Coram in the first place, instead of just letting him keep it? Of course it turned out to be useful that she had it, but she couldn't have known that in advance. Why is it, exactly, that Lyra can read the alethiometer without any training? And as Lyra was captured multiple times by other groups, it was clear why she didn't feel safe giving her real name to the Tartars, but why did she give her real name to the armored bears? What is the author getting at when he says that even though Lyra frequently tells complex and fantastical lies, she actually has no imagination? And finally, why did Lyra even bring Roger to Lord Asriel in the end? Why didn't she just leave him to rest comfortably in Svalbard?

The ending was not entirely satisfying, but I think that can be forgiven because this book is only the first in a trilogy. I was, however, especially confused about the way Mrs. Coulter was portrayed at the end. The entire book painted a certain portrait of her character, and then seemed to introduce a whole other side to her just in the last few pages. Still, I definitely look forward to reading the rest of the trilogy, and maybe a few of my questions might even be answered. I have, however, been forewarned by other reviews that the author's atheism takes a more prominent role in the sequels.

The author's anti-religous themes become more apparent in this sequel to The Golden Compass. Keeping in mind that Philip Pullman himself says that his books "are about killing God" and that he was "trying to undermine the basis of Christian belief", I'm still trying to approach the series with an open mind. Pullman is a good writer and a gifted storyteller, so despite my apprehension about how he depicts religion, I can't help but be entertained by the story and its characters.

Interestingly, the science-fiction in this book (references to physics, elementary particles, and parallel universes) gradually shifted to what I can only think to call religion-fiction (references to angels and God). As with science-fiction, the fiction part of religion-fiction should be emphasized: Pullman takes familiar concepts of religion and makes up new ways to incorporate them. By using this perspective, I find that for me, the book loses some of its ability to offend.

Leaving behind Lyra's fantastical world, I was afraid this book wouldn't match up to The Golden Compass because much of it is set in our own (dull) world. But Pullman was able to keep the sense of fantasty alive by instilling in Lyra a sense of wonder about all that was unknown to her in our world. He also introduces a third world that I actually found to be the least interesting, but which plays a large part in bringing together the different threads of the story.

Pullman did a great job with Lyra's character development, from a fearless leader in The Golden Compass to a self-doubting and frightened follower in this book. We are led to believe that some of her new-found restraint comes from the nature of maturing and growing up. Could Dust be involved?

Surprisingly, Lee Scoresby was given a greater role in this book, and I grew to like his character quite a bit.

The Subtle Knife answers some of the questions posed in The Golden Compass, but as might be expected, new questions arise, on all levels. What exactly are Specters? If the alethiometer charges Lyra with the task of bringing Will to his father, why wouldn't Lyra simply ask the alethiometer to find out more about Will's father, as Pan suggests at one point? We learn that John Parry became a shaman - but what does that really mean? How does "becoming a shaman" suddenly give him so much power and so much knowledge about so many things, including things in other universes? And why does he choose to support Lord Asriel in the coming war?

If the war has two sides, clearly one side is God, and Lord Asriel supports the other side. It's unclear what the other side is, but it sounds like it is Knowledge, and not Satan, as one might expect. The book depicts God not as good or loving or in any way supportive of mankind, but controlling and merciless: "Every church is the same: control, destroy, obliterate every good feeling." (pg. 50) And if Knowledge is indeed the other side, that implies that knowledge is not a part of God or religion. The book seems to be saying that religion and knowledge can not peacefully coexist, so one must be destroyed.

Even as Pullman sets the stage for a war against God, the book itself doesn't really explain why. God is clearly portrayed as evil, but no real reason is given. We know the Church is an all-powerful institution in Lyra's world, but we don't know what exactly they do that's so bad. (Their research into daemon-cutting was secret, so the hatred of the Church pre-existed that development.) And if John Parry's world is our own world, why is he so against God as well? A reader can imagine what atheists might say to explain why a world without God would be desirable, but the book so far has not provided any such explanations to the reader.

So even as God and religion are lined up as Evil, and Knowledge is portrayed as Good, I am trying not to take that perspective. To limit the offense I might otherwise take, I am trying to think of one side being "an organized institution that doesn't allow people to think for themselves" (NOT my definition of modern religion) and the other side being "knowledge that helps to advance the human race." Additional questions related to the war include: Why do angels, commonly thought of as God's helpers, support Lord Asriel, too? How can a physical war be waged against God? Will Pullman manifest God in some physical way?

Despite the religious controversy, and all the questions, Pullman has created a compelling story of interesting characters. I'll definitely finish the series to find out what happens next.

If Philip Pullman himself hadn't said that he was trying to kill God with this trilogy, I really don't think it would have been so controversial. I'm not sure about the exact dates in history, but the "Church" described in this book reminds me of the oppressive Roman Catholic Church at the end of the Middle Ages / beginning of the Reformation - an authority that dominates every facet of society and tries to limit the general population's ability to think for themselves, e.g., by way of the Roman Inquisition (which denounced Galileo's scientific findings about the Earth revolving around the sun because they were deemed contrary to Scripture). I deny that such a description applies to modern Christianity, and so I approached this book as pure fiction (which it is), set in some other time and place, with some other "Church".

I think the book's ultimate message is a good one, and I don't think it is contrary to Christianity: The particles of consciousness called Dust that give the world beauty and balance can be replenished by "helping [others] to learn and understand about themselves and each other and the way everything works, and by showing them how to be kind instead of cruel." (pg. 492)

So, putting aside any controversy, what about the actual book? As with The Subtle Knife, I was left with too many questions. Why was intercision necessary to power the bomb when the President of the Consistorial Court said that a generating station would produce the power? When Metatron was fighting Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter in hand-to-hand combat, why didn't he make himself radiate light, thereby blinding his opponents and giving him an advantage? How does one kill a Specter? Why were the Specters afraid of Mary? When Mary talked of why she left the convent, she talks of how she wanted to experience life in ways a nun couldn't, but how does that lead to there being no God? What exactly stopped the flow of Dust in the mulefa's world? If it was simply Lyra and Will's love for each other, why was that enough? Why their love, and not anyone else's? Will presumably re-integrates into society when he returns to his world, but since he was wanted for murder at the time he left, how does he avoid getting caught upon his return?

The book likes to present the reader with suspenseful foreshadowing, but the events themselves don't live up to the expectations that were set. For example, in The Subtle Knife, Mary is told that she must "play the role of the serpent" for Lyra as she (Lyra) makes a big decision. In the end, I'm not even sure what that big decision was. If it was her and Will's decision to live separately, well that hardly fell on Lyra's shoulders alone, as Will was equally part of the decision. And all Mary did was introduce Lyra and Will to romantic love, something they eventually would realize on their own, not at all comparable to an evil-minded snake who persuades Eve to do something that was strictly forbidden.

Finally, there were so many different characters and story lines to follow that it all got quite jumbled every so often. I kept asking myself, "Who knows what, and why are they doing that?!"

With all these shortcomings, I still give this book 3 stars because it is entertaining, and Pullman continued to introduce fascinating new species and worlds, e.g., the Gallivespians and the mulefa. In fact, I think his books would have been a lot better if he had just come up with some other reason for Lyra and Will to travel through different worlds without weighing down the story with convoluted religious controversy.

The problem I have with historical fiction is that I always figure there must be plenty of amazing true stories from the same time period, so why not read about those? Jackdaws brings attention to the Special Operations Executive, the British military division responsible for secret operatives sent behind enemy lines. According to a note in the book, fifty women really were sent into France as spies during World War II. So what are their stories? I'm sure they're as fascinating, or even more so, than anything anyone could make up.

Well, putting my own prejudices aside, the book was good. It held my interest enough that I looked forward to reading it each night, but not so much that it kept me up later than I wanted. It's the kind of book that does well as a TV substitute. It reads like a movie, it's entertaining, and it's a bit suspenseful.

Just like a movie, though, there was what I would consider superfluous romance that distracted from the action and actual plot.

Frequently when a book includes foreign words or references to political or military organizations, I'm annoyed that the reader is assumed to have sufficient knowledge of the references; I appreciate it when additional context is given, or when a foreign phrase is subtly translated. However, I dare say that Ken Follett goes overboard: Is it really necessary to explicitly define the word "suffragette"?

Finally, near the end, I think the main character Flick made two uncharacteristic moves - she made a decision against her better judgment, and she didn't react quickly enough given the circumstances. I wonder why Follett weakened her character after spending so much time before and after developing her character. Maybe just to show that she's human and makes mistakes, too.

Anyway, I wasn't blown away by the book, but it's easy reading and the kind of book that's good for passing the time. Since Ken Follett is such a prolific writer, I'll probably pick up more of his books from the library from time to time.

I dare say I may need to amend my rating, in case this book's relative worth changes in light of reading Emma and Persuasion, which are next on my to-read list.

There is much to enjoy in this book. As usual, Jane Austen timelessly depicts the subtleties of human nature, including the agonies of heartbreak. Her usual talent for dialogue is evident, and her storytelling leaves no detail unexplained. I had feared I might not appreciate the book's ending, but by the time I finished the final page, I couldn't help but feel satisfied with the outcomes.

All that being said, I wasn't as totally engrossed in this book as I was with Pride and Prejudice. Sense and Sensibility starts slowly and with the introduction of characters I found unlikeable. It wasn't until Chapter 8 that I encountered the engaging dialogue I was expecting. For much of the book I couldn't understand what was so great about Edward, and Margaret was so seldom referenced that I rather wondered why she was included at all. When Willoughby comes to Elinor and makes his excuses, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to take away from his defense of his indefensible actions; thankfully, after the extensive monologue, Austen made her customary summary of facts that provided some clarification.

Now, I look forward to watching a few screen adaptations!