Book #90: "This was a Man"

 

It was a wild ride, too, particularly in this last volume. Never have so many plots been introduced and then discarded with wild abandon; all the relationships are tired; attempts to create drama by altering characters completely fall flat; and for several pages I was rooting for one of the villains because at least she was interesting. An ENTIRE CHAPTER was devoted to a cricket game which had no significance whatsoever, while the major conflict on which the series was based was finally resolved, with absolutely no fanfare, 90% of the way through the book. And at long last, two major players are given fatal diseases, which ends with one smothering the other with a pillow. I wish I was kidding.

The final speech, a eulogy, is lovely and moving–Archer does know how to compose stirring oratory–but in the end (literally, in more ways than one), it just made me sad for what might have been.

Author: Jeffrey Archer

Potentially objectionable content: Seventh verse, same as the first; opera style IS the worst. (That's to see if my dad is reading!)

Book #89: "Cometh the Hour"

And the hits just keep on coming! My "Come now, Spud Jr." moment was on page 84, whereon lies the most ridiculous narrative left turn thus far. I was hoping it might get better, but I hoped in vain, as (in agonizingly slow succession) Archer introduces a love interest for a character, has the couple get engaged, then promptly bumps one of them off; has one character be accused of two separate and patently ludicrous crimes; reunites a character with his long-lost love (and absurdly precocious child) without so much as a conversation between the two; has another character fake a pregnancy for money; resolves the Russian writer story line with much more of a whimper than a bang; and oh by the way, Emma's now best friends with MARGARET THATCHER. This does not even get into the "brilliant" concept introduced in the epilogue, which could definitively resolve the whole conundrum of Harry's parentage, yet somehow has occurred to NO ONE prior to this, despite the item belonging to the family business THE ENTIRE TIME.

At this point I'm sorely tempted to give up, but there's only one book left and frankly I'm being driven by morbid curiosity as much as anything. So I'll stick it out, even though I'll probably regret it.

Author: Jeffrey Archer

Potentially objectionable content: language, adult them

Book #88: "Mightier Than the Sword"

 

As chronicled here, at one time I only owned the first two books of this series in material form, and the next two electronically. That remains true, with an addendum, as I have since added volumes five, six and seven to my physical library. 

This presented me with a conundrum, because this undertaking was meant to depict my journey through reading only those volumes printed on paper (which still outnumber my digital titles on a scale of roughly 15 to 1.) However, it's been years since I read the first four books, and despite still holding on to most of the major plot points, I knew my experience of these installments would be enhanced by a re-read of the others. So my decision was to read, but not write up, volumes three and four. (Volume one here if you're interested.)

Having dispensed with the preliminaries: this is...not great. It's engaging enough, I suppose, but frankly I lost interest in these characters about a book and a half ago. Perhaps growing tired of hitting the same old notes, or needing more material to lengthen a story even he's no longer interested in, Archer subjects the long-suffering Clifton-Barrington clan to ever more ludicrous plot twists, aided by a rotating cast of arch-nemeses who could pursue Bond villainy as a viable career path. (Seriously: how many enemies determined to cause their downfall at any price can one family have?) Moreover, the twists and turns demanded by this saga are accomplished by introducing characters and causes we've never met before (Harry's sudden fixation on an imprisoned Russian author comes out of nowhere, as does Sebastian's supervisor at the bank) and using facts and traits that were never mentioned previously (Giles and his wife are estranged? Harry has a photographic memory?) Soap operas have better-scripted surprises (and indeed, as in all good soap operas, several characters have come back from supposed deaths at this point.) And to top it all off, we have completely abandoned the story's original premise: is Harry a Clifton, biologically, or a Barrington? (Because, lest we forget, if the latter, he's married to his half-sister. Something that didn't slow either of them down in the slightest, and hasn't even been mentioned since about two chapters into book three.)

Despite all this, I have been, and remain, a fan of Jeffrey Archer's work. But I would advise him to stick to single volumes, and leave the series to someone–anyone–else. 

Author: Jeffrey Archer

Potentially objectionable content: occasional language, intense scenes

Book #87: "Honor Among Thieves"

I own several of this author's books, and I can't remember where I got this one. My guess would be a library sale, though most library hardcover jackets are wrapped in plastic to protect them, and mine isn't. It's also an older edition, so it seems less likely it was a donation they couldn't use (though possible, if someone donated books they've had for a while.) What I do know for sure is that I've never read it before; I bought it based on the author alone.

Quick aside about name recognition: when I was in eighth grade, I had a speech teacher tell me that books are usually published with the title at the top and the author at the bottom. But once an author gets famous enough (and I'm not sure what formula they would use to calculate "famous enough"-total copies sold, maybe?) they would switch the author and the title, on the assumption that the author's name would be a better way to attract attention and thereby sales. This makes sense, although it's not universally true; the Harry Potter books spring to mind as an exception. It's also supported by evidence from other mediums: movie posters, covers and even opening credits all use this to some degree. (That wasn't as quick as I intended it to be.)

Back to the book: It feels like it's from earlier in his career (indeed, a quick internet search reveals that it was his eighth published novel) and doesn't have any of the plot devices that show up so often in his later work. And because of the summary, I wondered for a while if the idea for this movie originated here. There are some parallels; the stealing of the Declaration of Independence is really only the beginning of the adventure, rather than the climax; decoys are used in both stories; someone who is an academic becomes more of an action hero; etc. (Since I'm making this comparison, I'll just say it: Disney did it better. I was more invested in both the outcome and the characters in their story, and if there's one thing Jeffrey Archer really lacks in his books, it's a sense of humor.) I also thought it had some problems with pacing (something he also struggles with) and both character and plot could have used better development. 

Despite being the "Cars" of his novels, it's a decent one; I always like a good caper, especially one tied to American history, and this delivers on that aspect of it at least. We'll see how I feel about it if I ever make it back around. 

Author: Jeffrey Archer

Potentially objectionable content: It's REALLY violent; at least 20 people end up dead, and some of them are described in a bit more detail than anyone needs. There's also a fair amount of language and some sexual references (though nothing graphic)

Book #86: "Home Work"

 

I mentioned, lo these many years ago, that I was sad her previous memoir ended before discussing Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music. Happily for me then, this volume picks up exactly where the last book ended (with a sort of "Previously in Julie Andrews' Life" recap at the beginning in case you'd either missed it or forgotten. Thoughtful) and therefore covers both films early on. This installment ends in 1986, so I will hold out hope that someday there will be a third volume that brings us closer to the present.

Reading about her experiences making Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music was as delightful as I had hoped it would be (The Sound of Music being a particular favorite of mine), though her memories of Christopher Plummer are tinged with sadness for me since his recent passing. What I was most struck by was the sense of struggle: to develop as an actor, singer, and author; to make her various relationships work; even to pay her bills! You would think, once you got to that level of fame, that money would never be a concern for you again.

She attributes some of that last effort to the spending habits of her late second husband, director Blake Edwards, whom she speaks of with both great affection and immense frustration, in about equal measure; it was hard to tell at points whether she even liked him. This is particularly interesting as they were married for 40 years, and Edwards passed away in 2010. This book came out in 2019; after nearly a decade, you would think whatever resentment still lingered would have been processed by then.

That remarkable candor is present in all of her stories, particularly about her family; faults, frailties and failings are laid out with no sense of apology or attempt to sugar-coat. Yet somehow, even when expressing annoyance or irritation, she is extraordinarily kind; some good quality, some humorous incident, some act of generosity is found in every person she names. It's as though she sees them for exactly who they are and makes a conscience effort to love their virtues more. And while I have always admired her (on my "Famous People I'd Love to Meet" list, only she is higher than Hugh Jackman) that trait is one I would truly wish to emulate.

Authors: Julie Andrews and Emma Walton Hamilton

Potentially objectionable content: language and thematic elements again

Book #85: "Posted"

It's taken me quite a while to write about this book, because I've been struggling for the words. I can't even put into words why I've been struggling so much.

Junior high, as most people who go through it know, is BRUTAL, even if you don't experience anything as traumatic as what is depicted here. You're at a time in your life where you're still trying to figure out who you are, and the world is not kind to people who don't know who they are. (It's not kind to people who do, either, which is illustrated pretty vividly here.) Every emotion is dialed up to 11, so there are no happy mediums; everything that happens is either the worst or the best thing EVER.

I was not bullied in junior high (or ever; that has not been a trial of mine.) But I was a very imaginative and sensitive child who was on the younger end of my grade, and I took myself EXTREMELY seriously. And while I had friends, I was introverted enough that social situations were (and are still) a challenge for me. Add to that four brothers who delighted in pushing my buttons, and the end of the equation is that I don't have a lot of fond memories of junior high. 

Still, I'm not sure why this book resonated with me so deeply. It's a compelling story; I read snippets of it over and over again, and the primary conceit is both charmingly nostalgic and scathing social commentary, which is a tough needle to thread. And the end, like life, doesn't tie things up neatly; though wounds heal, the scars remain. I will say that I grew to dislike the repeated foreshadowing; after a while it stops building tension and just becomes tedious. It works, but probably not as well as the author wanted it to. But for the messages about inclusion and friendship alone, I'm glad I spent the time.

Author: John David Anderson

Potentially objectionable content: Some mild language, allusions to homosexuality, intense bullying scenes

Book #84: "Camp Foxtrot"

When I can, I have endeavored to relate where I acquired the book I am currently writing about. Sometimes I can't remember, or have only a guess. In this case, however, I am just about certain of this title's provenance, and it's a good one. 

I lived in Utah for five years in my twenties, and the first place I lived was a condo, chosen for me by my sister due mostly to a room with built-in bookshelves. The majority of the living space was on one floor, but there was a long staircase down to a hallway, which led to a door, which opened into the parking for the complex. Also downstairs was the aforementioned bookshelf room, which was fortunate because it was also the only space big enough for the library (which was not half the size it is now.) So every time I started a new book I'd have to trek up and down the stairs, and it was COLD down there (colder still because I moved there in January and my roommates thought the heat was too expensive. Young adults are dumb.)

Anyway, one day in the summer when we'd all mostly defrosted, my roommates discovered a cupboard under the stairs and rummaged through it. It transpired that previous tenants had left a box containing several books, and with no way to locate the birth parents, I adopted the poor little orphaned waifs. (Providing shelter to the abandoned will become something of a recurring theme in this series. I may be in danger of overextending the metaphor.) 

One of the forsaken foundlings (yeah, I did it and I don't care) was this one. At times when I have regular access to a newspaper, I enjoy comics, and Foxtrot is one of my favorites; it's always felt familiar to me, like a friend from elementary school that moved across town and then years later runs into you at a high school dance. (That wasn't a simile; that happened to me once.) It's clever and situational and feels true, as humor should.

Author: Bill Amend

Potentially objectionable content: I can't think of any

Book #83: "Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak"

I really want this title to start with "A", as in "A Brief Chronicle" and it doesn't and it annoys me that it doesn't and I find the omission discombobulating. I find it hard enough to stay combobulated on my own, book title! (Let's just pause for a moment here to acknowledge that either the internet or my phone–don't know for sure–doesn't care for "discombobulating" which actually IS a real word, but has no issue whatever with "combobulated" which isn't. Spell check. Pffft.)

My unreasonable demand for indefinite articles aside, I loved this book wholeheartedly. I'm sure part of that was the drastic tonal shift from my previous read; I finished that and started this in the Chicago airport on my way home. But mostly I fell in love with the writing, the characters, the teenage angst. At this point in my life, twenty-something years after graduating high school, I remember that everything turned up to 11 mentality vividly, but with enough perspective on it to feel some impatience with the protagonist's inability to face what was in front of her the whole time. Especially with a college scholarship to NYU and a real actual writing job hanging in the balance! I'm certainly no paragon of getting things done by a deadline, even now, but seeing opportunities I would have killed for at that age (and this one!) being treated so cavalierly made me itchy.

Still, it's a lovely, lyrical, lilting little story that made me a trifle wistful for a time when all I could see was how much was ahead of me. To have those heart-stopping seconds of realizing first love; to feel the anguish of a dream shattered and a future reorganized; to be in the summer after high school when your child self was finished and your adult self was endless possibilities. I try not to live with regrets–even my worst choices have given me valuable experiences, and I'm happy with who I am because of them–but occasionally, with the right inspiration, I wander into a fantasy of all the Mes I could have been. 

Author: Adi Alsaid

Potentially objectionable content: Some language and sexual references (nothing graphic or overt)

Book #82: "Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man"

 

For some reason, I had it in my head that the cover of this book was red; it definitely isn't. Maybe I was thinking of this one still? 

I took this with me to Florida and read it entirely on the plane/in the airport. It's a good type of book for that; there's no narrative thread to lose, so it's easy to stop and start again in a way that travel makes necessary. 

Apart from the ease of reading, I wouldn't really recommend it, though. It' amusing enough in places, but it's also fairly crude and not as funny as I thought it would be. It felt like he couldn't make up his mind whether he was writing a memoir or his next set at the Comedy Castle. It's also somewhat disjointed, and not just in the "this is a book full of bits and random funny thoughts" way that humor books often are, but in a "I'm just putting words on a page with no idea where the next sentence will lead" way that makes it hard to ever really settle in. Even for a book you read in fits and starts during travel, you need some definite pit stops: moments where it's clear the author is saying, "Okay, that was fun, and now something different." Such moments in this book are not nearly frequent or apparent enough.

Overall, I prefer his more family-friendly fare, and after reading this, as an actor rather than as a writer. I'm not sorry I read it but I doubt I'll read it, or anything else by him, again.

Author: Tim Allen

Potentially objectionable content: Language, crude humor, etc.

Book #81: "Knitting for Dummies"

Growing up, my mom almost always had either a sewing or cross-stitch project going on. There were often little bits of embroidery floss on the arm of the couch where she sat (something my brothers used for evil during a memorable late-night viewing of "Arachnophobia".) When I was probably 8 or 9, I decided I wanted to learn to cross-stitch, and the first thing I ever did was a bookmark that said, "I ♡ Dad" for a Father's Day gift.

I have dabbled in this hobby all my life, though I do it pretty much exclusively for gifts rather than for the joy of the task. I like being able to give something handmade and unique, but I find some aspects of cross-stitching frustrating enough that I don't make anything for myself. This was made especially clear to me in 2019, when I made Christmas gifts for my coworkers and spent WEEKS on an incredibly detailed and dense "Game of Thrones" project for one of them. (He loved it, so I suppose it was worth it.)

Anyway, cross-stitch requires a lot of focus and attention, so it's a hard thing to do while watching TV, for instance. (I usually have something on, but it must be something I know well, as I end up listening more than watching.) So several years ago I told my mom that I wanted to learn how to knit, and she got me this book for Christmas. At the time, I read enough to grasp knitting and purling (more or less) and then I promptly put it down and forgot about it; I haven't picked up my needles since. 

This time I did read the whole thing, and found it interesting enough that I might pick it up again and really put some effort into it. Like cross-stitch, it would be a nice way to make unique gifts for people; unlike cross-stitch, I may learn to look away from my hands, and probably won't jab myself with the needle a lot. (Though it IS me and I am just stupidly clumsy, so if there's a way, I will definitely find it.) 

Author(s): Pam Allen, Tracy L. Barr and Shannon Okey

Potentially objectionable content: You...might be insulted by the title?

A Non-Book Interlude

I've been neglecting this for a few weeks, partly because the next book on the list took me a while to read; partly because shortly after I finished reading it I went on vacation with my family.

Family vacations are always a learning experience for me. You'd think after all this time, I'd know these people pretty well, and I do, but there are usually a few surprises nonetheless. This time we set our sights especially high, particularly considering the state of the world, and went to Disney World. I've been to Disneyland several times before, including twice as an adult, one of which was also a family vacation. But none of us had ever been to Disney World before and so my sister The Planner (the other one that I don't live with, mother to five of my seven niblings) organized it all.

First of all, it is SO MUCH BIGGER than Disneyland, with twice as many parks. Epcot alone occupies THREE TIMES more space than Disneyland does; a person gets exhausted just looking at it. Secondly, they're spaced far enough apart that you have to drive to them separately, so park-hopping isn't really a thing. We opted to spend a day in each, in this order:

• Hollywood Studios: The closest equivalent to California Adventure, this is basically the home of the Star Wars part, Galaxy's Edge, as well as the Tower of Terror and a few other things. The most popular ride right now is Rise of the Resistance, which I enjoyed. The only other ride I went on was a Mickey and Minnie train thing, which was fun. And I watched a Muppet movie; I like Muppets. We also had lunch at a 50s diner that we really liked.

• Animal Kingdom: The best part of this was the safari, which was really amazing, even for someone like me who is largely indifferent to animals. There's a whole area devoted to Avatar, about which I cared not at all, but it was neat-looking. (Expedition Everest I took one look at and said NOPE.) Lunch was at a place I can't remember the name of, where I had ahi and demonstrated my chopstick skills to my father, and dinner was at Sanaa, an Indian/African fusion place which was my favorite of the whole trip. Seriously, if you go down there, you must try it; the food was incredible.

• Magic Kingdom: Basically Disneyland with some differences; for one, there's a lake in front of it that you have to cross by either ferry or monorail, which is kind of nifty and helps with the magic. It felt the most familiar to me, and both Peter Pan's Flight and the Haunted Mansion are better than Disneyland. Sadly, the train was closed, which is one of my favorite things in Disneyland (not least because it cuts down on the walking.) Lunch was at an Italian place that was aggressively fine.

• Epcot: I struggle with describing Epcot, because I didn't understand it at all before I went (and still kind of don't.) Plus my experience there was less than optimal, for the following reasons: one, it was REALLY warm, like 85 degrees; two, it's Florida so it was also like 80% humidity and the one thing I handle less well than heat is humidity; three, I was feeling kind of blech when I started the day, and it did not get better (more on that in a minute); four, as mentioned earlier, it's HUGE and I just couldn't cope with all the walking. So I wandered very slowly around the World Showcase, trying various foods (all of which were both delicious and initially blamed by me for what happened later). I met up with my parents, who were wandering in the opposite direction, at the America pavilion, and saw a presentation on American history, narrated by Benjamin Franklin and Mark Twain, which was both surprisingly stirring and deeply surreal. I sat on a lot of benches. I watched a lot of people drinking everywhere (seriously, it seemed like every single human who was not actively a child had some form of alcohol in a cup.) I eventually made it through Canada and slowly back to the entrance, where I gradually realized that the things I was feeling were not the episodes of something in the neighborhood of my gallbladder that I have been experiencing somewhat regularly for a while and which are usually subdued by painkillers, but in fact my digestive system in open revolt. 

Here I will just say this: I can probably count the number of times I have thrown up in my life on both hands. I hate doing it and will avoid it at almost any cost. And avoiding it this time was a LOT of work, because my stomach was bouncing like a kid on a trampoline; there was a lot of very careful breathing involved.

We also went to Universal; the Harry Potter part was great and I got to ride the Hogwarts Express, so I was happy about that (turns out that in addition to being a huge Harry Potter nerd, I also love trains. Who knew?) and I also saw a stunt show that I loved, but Universal remains massively underwhelming for me. (Cowfish was good though.)

Anyway, I thought the stomach thing might be food poisoning, but several other members of my family also developed similar issues, so it was probably some kind of virus, and most of us wrapped up the vacation a little early. I would still call it a success, because:

• My father, world's biggest space geek, got to visit Cape Canaveral and see Atlantis;
• My mother got to hear my youngest nephew say Grandma (he's said Papa for a while but refused to say Grandma because my family is an obstinate bunch and we don't do things until we are darn good and ready);
• We all got to see my niece who lives in Portland and celebrate her birthday;
• We experienced Disney World and spent some good time together.

Me, I prefer Disneyland overall; it's closer, it's more compact and it's just less work all around. Disney World seemed to me like the theme park equivalent of making "The Hobbit" into three movies: too much space and not enough interesting stuff. I also don't really care for rides much and theme parks are not my vacation of choice (anything that requires that much walking is, in my book, more work than relaxation). But I am grateful for the experience anyway, because I learned a lot and ate some good food and had a pleasant time. And really, what more can you ask from a vacation?

Book #80: "Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself"

 

Having really enjoyed his last book, I was looking forward to this one, which I assumed picked up where the previous one left off. I was particularly hoping there would be some anecdotes about The West Wing. 

So in that respect, the book disappointed, because it's not so much a second volume of his autobiography as it is a collection of speeches he's given (graduations, funerals, etc.) and his thoughts thereon. Because I am a storyteller myself, I found it somewhat less engaging to read. But I am also a thinker and even a philosopher at times, in my way, and ultimately it was more thought-provoking than the stories were.

Alan Alda and I do not agree about everything; like a lot of people, he appears to believe science and religion are incompatible, and regards religious people as blind followers of a path that leads nowhere (though it's not stated overtly, the implication is there.) I believe that religion gives us answers science hasn't found yet, and as what we know about our universes grows and changes, principles that seemed to be diametrically opposed foes end up as different methods of expressing the same idea. But his theories are deeply pondered and thoughtfully expressed, and I respect the work even if I don't always care for the product.

As in the previous book, his words are a joy; my favorite phrase was this: "being passionate doesn't make you right." In a book filled with intriguing concepts, that's the one I'll take with me.

Author: Alan Alda

Potentially objectionable content: Less than the previous book (probably because most of these words were spoken at ceremonial occasions in public forums)

Book #79: "Never Have Your Dog Stuffed and Other Things I've Learned"

 

Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I was of course familiar with M*A*S*H; my parents certainly watched it and I'm sure I have seen quite a few episodes, though I was a very small child when it stopped airing. (I thought I remembered watching the finale; turns out I was way too young for that and my memories are all of reruns. That surprised me and I had to check a couple of times to make sure I wasn't crazy.) I don't remember a lot of specifics; mostly character names and a couple of bits (Frank and Margaret's affair; Klinger's penchant for dressing up as a woman in hopes of getting discharged, etc.) but it has seeped into my consciousness nonetheless, and I became a fan of Alan Alda's sort of accidentally, the way I sometimes do. (I'm sure I'll talk about that in depth at some point.)

Watching (and then becoming mildly obsessed with) The West Wing not long after it went off the air some 30 years later meant I was able to become a fan of his on purpose, but I didn't know much more about him or his body of work (the only other things I can recall seeing offhand are The Aviator, in which he weirded me out, and The Blacklist, in which I wanted to slap him.) As I read the first few chapters and noted his references to the events of his childhood, I guessed that he was about the same age as my maternal grandparents; turns out he was born the year between them and got married about a month before they did, so there was satisfaction in being right. But more than that, I was absorbed by his stories, his candor and his writing. I had to slog through the previous two books and was relieved when I finally finished them; this one I was a little sad to put down.

Author: Alan Alda

Potentially objectionable content: Some language (though it's used pretty sparingly); like the autobiography of Julie Andrews, there are "thematic elements".

Book #78: "Louisa May Alcott: A Personal Biography"

 

This is the third and last Louisa May Alcott biography I own (see the others here and here) and it was also the hardest to write about. It's riddled with errors both factual (e.g. Elizabeth Alcott is referred to at one point as the youngest sister, though like her fictional counterpart she was actually the third of four) and technical (commas occasionally roam away from where they belong and make a home for themselves wherever they land.) 

But irritating as they are, the errors pale in comparison to the author's refusal to focus on her purported subject. Instead, a varied cast of historical figures (Thoreau, Emerson, Walt Whitman, Henry James, Dorothea Dix, John Brown; the list goes on) as well as Alcott's sisters, mother and friends all march onstage to support the real star of the show: Bronson Alcott, whom the author clearly loathes, nevertheless basks in the limelight while poor Louisa is relegated to the wings. And while he was interesting enough in his own right, and books could be and have been written about him and his relationship with his famous daughter, she deserves top billing in a book with her name on the cover.

The focus on Bronson and his theories is particularly odd in a narrative that also spends significant time on the issue of women's rights, both now and in 19th-century New England. What little space Louisa is alloted in the book repeatedly mentions her support of what we'd refer to today as a feminist agenda, though this seems entirely based on her desire to support her family and her choosing not to get married (indeed, it may have been practical and not philosophical concerns that kept her single.)

So to sum up: my primary objection to this book is that, with a subtitle of "A Personal Biography", it is abundantly clear that the only person whose thoughts, ideals and feelings matter to the author is herself.

Author: Susan Cheever

Potentially objectionable content: the author's constant speculation on most characters' sexual orientation

Book #77: "Watership Down"

 

Well. This was a SLOG for me; I'm just gonna come right out with that.

My first time being aware of this book was while reading "Wait Til Helen Comes" as a kid (don't worry; it's coming later. See what I did there? Even if I didn't already own it, I'd have to get it so I could make that joke.)

ANYWAY, at one point the main character, Molly, is reading "Watership Down." Since Molly is I think twelve, I assumed this would be more of a children's book, and it's very much not; it's 475 pages long, and it's...just not very interesting. (It has FOOTNOTES, for crying out loud.) I almost aborted this one as well, since ain't nobody got time for boring books about rabbits, but it's something of a classic and I just this second realized I didn't want to be a literary sissy compared to a fictional twelve-year-old. So...I clearly have some stuff to figure out, but at least I can blame it on Mary Downing Hahn. (Other things too; wait til I get to the Hs. HA. Did it again.)

Author: Richard Adams

Potentially objectionable content: Interestingly, all the references to more adult stuff are made innocuous by being expressed in Lapine, Adams' rabbit language. But it's quite violent in places and those passages are in fairly descriptive English, so animal lovers should probably steer clear. It's also very much a book of its time (1972) so there are characters who speak in dialects that are maybe not explicitly racist (though mostly by virtue of being animals rather than people) but are pretty easy to identify nonetheless.

P.S. If you think I'm joking about either the violence or the not-for-kids bits, take a look at this, from the 1978 movie:

 

DEMON RABBIT NIGHTMARES. Spare yourself.