Ruth Rendell, The Copper Peacock and Other Stories; Well–written and includes an Inspector Wexford short story called An Unwanted Woman about a young girl leaving home because she hates her step-father. With so many novels under Ms. Rendell’s belt, one might not expect her to be a master of the difficult short format. Ms. Rendell, if we didn’t adore you already, you have won us over with your fantastic grasp of the short story. Copper Peacock is written in the vein of the Inspector Wexford mystery style of writing. Thoroughly enjoyable. 3/4/10

Diane Ackerman, The Zookeeper’s Wife: A War Story; Remarkably shabbily-written and boring. The writing is amateur in parts, long-winded in others, and fragmented throughout. The purpose of the book is unclear. There appears to be a powerful story here and yet it is told in such a way as to underplay it. The bibliography is the best part of the book. 3/4/10

Alice Sebold, The Almost Moon: A Novel; Unreadable prose. An uninspiring tale of a mean-spirited mother riddled with Alzheimers who is killed by her dutiful daughter. Usually, I am able to read anything and will make it to the end no matter the complaint. I simply couldn’t slog through the rest of the book after the first six chapters. 3/4/10

Anne Perry, Execution Dock: A Novel; This type of writing is what separates amateurs from professionals. Perry might have umpteen books under her belt but she is no real writer. Repetitive writing is one of the worst sins a writer can make. It shows that the writer has not actually edited the work or ever worse has no idea of what editing it is. The good thing about books like this is that it reminds writers what not to do. 3/4/10

Ruth Rendell, A New Lease of Death (also known as Sins of the Father); I’m not sure if this is Ms. Rendell’s first Inspector Wexford mystery or not but it is certainly an early one published in 1967. It’s a wonderfully clever read where the mystery truly isn’t revealed until the end. It’s a great way to see Wexford – through the eyes of a visiting cleric who trammels hallowed ground by revisiting Wexford’s first-ever case. Intricate emotional work from characters you would never suspect could show so much. I’ve read it twice now and it only gets better with time. 3/18/10

Muriel Barbery, Gourmet Rhapsody; As I haven’t read the Elegance of the Hedgehog, Ms. Barbery’s previous acclaimed novel, I cannot compare the two. I can only say that I assume Hedgehog was better than this awful book that sent me running away from food. The deathbed of a revered but despised French food critic has him reminisce about his favorite gourmet memories. Interspersed are chapters from the perspective of those who have known this great but awful man. One or two chapters score higher marks but for the most part a real bore. 3/18/10

Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns; This type of sensational popular writing is not my favorite by any means. However, Hosseini’s first book The Kite Runner was memorable. It was a unique tale albeit an awful one. This book has the awful factor but not the uniqueness. Brutality alone does not make an interesting or well-written book. If you enjoy reading about violence against women in third world cultures for the sake of reading about violence against women in third world cultures, then this book is for you.

Aravind Adiga, The White Tiger; I visit bookstores every so often to find out what are the “hot” new titles being pushed and this one was there on the table. I love tales about India. I really wanted to like this book. I was rooting for it. The main character, “The White Tiger,” should be an interesting one – a poor chauffeur who moves up in society by killing his “master” and stealing a large sum of money. It smacks of Crime and Punishment and is, I imagine, supposed to jog our conscience as to what constitutes just in an unjust society. The redundant writing and the lack of tension in the storytelling made this a forgettable experience. The most interesting part of the book is the look at the brutal class system in India. 3/18/10

Ruth Rendell, Speaker of Mandarin: Written in 1983, this Inspector Wexford mystery takes place partly in China. Although, it smacks of Ms. Rendell having taken a tour to the recently opened China it is a well-done travelogue. Never having been to Guilin, Ms. Rendell’s writing inspires a deep desire to visit the very places she describes. Our well-worn Inspector finds himself the recipient of a trip to China during which time he meets a group of British travelers, all of who figure into a murder upon their home return. A wife is killed, a husband suspected, and, false avenues, including the smuggling of ancient artifacts, pursued. There are a few too many “inscrutable” Chinese faces but the mystery is worth the typically trite heavy-handed infraction. 3/18/10

Sophie Kinsella, Twenties Girl; I’m a total fan of Ms. Kinsella’s work. I thought her Shopaholic series was very well done. It had a unique voice, one with empathy and tenderness and a pluckiness that is akin to the heroines of the movies of the 30’s and 40’s. Ms. Kinsella has a capacity for comic writing to which I respond. However, she has not found her “narrative feet” since the Shopaholic series. “Twenties Girl” has quite a nice premise but lacks the tight writing and vision of Shopaholic. Like “Can You Keep a Secret?”, Twenties Girl suffers from being a shadow of Shopaholic. These female characters all have something in common, they all stem from the same place of hapless but strong-willed sense of self to carry them through. The writing around these women tends to be the problem. “Twenties Girl” could be about 100 pages shorter. There’s a redundancy issue and a lack of focus that screams of lack of editing. 3/24/10

John Irving, Last Night In Twisted River; I used to think that if you didn’t have something nice to say as a reviewer than you should say nothing at all. Hence, my short-lived but glamorous reviewing career. In other words, if I felt a book wasn’t worth the words than I just wouldn’t review it. Unfortunately, editors didn’t feel the same way. Now, I can see their point. However, I love John Irving. I think he’s a terrific writer. He’s one of my heroes and one of the icons of 20th century writing. I say 20th century because his 21st century endeavors have been much more hit or miss. I hate to say it but I was not even able to finish this book. I started it. I could see it was not my cup of tea. I read the inside flap which told me the plot. So I jumped ahead 100 pages to where the story actually begins thinking that maybe this would help me get into the book. This is another book in which someone is chasing someone else. You’d think after the clunker of “Until I Find You,” that Mr. Irving would dispense with this device. I was one of the people who really liked “A Widow For A Year.” I didn’t find it difficult or misogynist. I thought it was a powerful story with powerful writing. But these last two books are snoozers. Writing so uninspired, so bogged down that it reminds me of Jane Smiley’s “Horse Heaven” and “Ten Days in The Hills.” This dense style of writing that leaves out the fun and charm of its authors is just torturous for readers who want to follow an author’s oeuvre. 3/24/10

Robert Hellenga, The Sixteen Pleasures: Again, what is with the lazy writer? I totally understand if all the repetition is a result of unconscious writing. Of just plain lack of understanding of the craft. Fine. But for a writer to receive so much praise and still have the nerve to write so repetitiously. I can not put it down to high-brow literary methods, either. What the hell? If I read one more time about the major plot point in this novel – the book of pornographic poems and illustrations – and the reason for it coming into being, I think I would have tossed the book across the room. First time, great. You’re explaining it to me. Second time, okay, for emphasis. But by the fourth time I’m beginning to think maybe you think I’m either a dumb-shit or I’m just a bad reader. I can’t synthesize complicated material or ideas. I start to get pissed. Alright, enough on that front. Mr. Hellenga has a lovely premise here, and he comes off with some wonderful small passages about small experiences. But the entirety of this book is rife with loud pronouncements that ring cliché, and the structure of the novel is so screeching that it is just shocking to me that the critics loved this novel. I get that it hits all the right notes for the literary set: art, Italy, love affairs with married cowardly men, a woman recreating the past of her mother. But, come on, guys. Are we so lacking good literature that we have to immediately jump on every bandwagon just because they ring our chimes. I just don’t think so. 4/7/10

James Hilton, Goodbye, Mr. Chips; I loved Lost Horizon. I didn’t realize Mr. Hilton wrote this as well. I tried to give it a read. Too treacly. Sorry. I’ll give it a go another round. 4/7/10

Peter DeVries, The Tunnel of Love; Couldn’t understand a word of this book but I still loved it. Talk about reading with your dictionary in one hand (which of course I never do because it’s totally annoying to do) but DeVries is just as clever as they come. Today, he’d be a television writer. Then, he wrote for The New Yorker. This is a great parody of his day and age (1954) when conformity, living in the suburbs, being an artist, open marriage, the desire for and acquisition of children were the stuff of New Yorker cartoons. Cheever was already exploring the same material but not in quite the same farcical vein. The Rabbit series by Updike was still to come but all these authors touch on the male provider of the day’s compromises and dashed dreams and hopes. The only truly bad thing in this novel is the one terrible gaff that Mr. DeVries makes with a comic device that fails miserably. He telegraphs the joke so quickly and so decisively that it is unbelievable he really goes through with the gag. 4/7/10

Dashiell Hammett, The Glass Key; This is the second time I read this book. I decided to re-read it after I’d read The Big Knockout short stories collection. I thought I had to be wrong about this book. I didn’t like it the first time I read it. I didn’t get it, and I found it brusque and without charm. The Big Knockout won me over so completely that I thought I must try again. Still, I don’t get it. I’d like to. But I don’t like it. I don’t understand the characters. I don’t like all the description of every character’s facial expressions. They take up almost a quarter of the book. I just don’t understand it. 4/7/10

Ruth Rendell, The Crocodile Bird; I was really taken with the beginning of the book. Ms. Rendell has you gripping the edge of your chosen seating material with the way she jumps right into the strange mother-daughter relationship and their parting. But after that she loses some steam. She really ambles along through the description of the idyllic but bizarre childhood of the narrator Liza. Putting on the breaks between the first and second murders makes you almost forget why you’re reading the book. Then, there are the explicit descriptions of Liza and Sean’s sexual exploits. Ms. Rendell doesn’t usually delve into these waters and she does a good job without resorting to the usual. By the time the third murder is being described you are begging for it, just like Liza and Sean. The ending gets you back where you started, white knuckles and waiting for the axe to fall. 4/7/10