Are books doomed: the rise of the Kindle

There's something about books, isn't there? The unforgettable crackling of the turn of a page, the feeling of a finger tracing the spine, that smell of must and epiphany which still haunts a novel years after publication (in the words of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's Rupert Giles, "learning should be smelly"). We've always known that there's more to the experience of reading than mere words; the book itself has power to conjure feelings beyond even those held by the text inside. And yet, figures released today suggest that sales of e-books will outweigh those of printed text by the year 2018 as we turn to our iPads and Kindles for our reading. This is a startling idea; the page has forever been our source for reading; so is it really possible that book readers will eventually become a minority?

Despite my book-loving nature, I don't find it difficult to understand why people are attracted to the e-book. Certainly, from a practical perspective they outclass physical books by some distance, as thousands of virtual pages can be transported without any increase in weight. But surely not everyone buys e-books to travel, so why else has the switch to the screen been so dramatic? Perhaps in our tech-dominated society, "newer" has simply become synonymous with "better, encouraging us to invest more the concept. The superb marketing of the products must also be a factor; TV viewing figures would suggest that people are more impacted by advertising than they've ever been before. Then there's the wonderful idea that only you have to know what you're reading, as no one can scoff at you for starting the Harry Potter series now or for reading 50 Shades of Grey (perhaps the novel which can take the most blame for the rise of e-books) if the cover is replaced by a plastic casing.

But, as I mentioned before, there's something about books. The first time I wanted to read The Lord of the Rings, my dad, with a stately reverence worthy of the crown jewels, handed me a dusty collected volume his father had gifted him as a boy. The book demanded respect; Gandalf stared defiantly out of the cover; the pages were yellowing and dog-eared with use and it smelled like the sixties were still swinging on unabated. I'm looking that that book now, and it holds memories not only of the discovery of the beautiful land of Middle Earth, but also of other events in my life which occurred while I was reading it. Now, I ask you, can an iPad capture feelings in the same way? Can a Kindle harbour such nostalgia? I hardly think so.

As I've already stated, reading isn't just about the words, and e-book buyers only receive half the experience. Books, for all their practical imperfections, will remain as essential as the act of reading itself, and the page will never truly be replaced, because we and they simply have too much history together. After all, who could trade the subtle happiness of the feeling of pages and the smell of books for the cold plastic of a Kindle? Not I.

The Fault In Our Stars review: Believe the hype

Disappointment is an unfortunate by-product of anticipation. Over the years, countless books and movies have failed to live up to their lofty aspirations and perished, forgotten, in musty second hand booksellers  or charity shop DVD sections. And after the remarkable successes of author John Green's short teenage novels and with a film deal in the works even before the book's publication, anticipation could not have been higher for The Fault In Our Stars. But is the book powerful enough to survive the hailstorm of hype which sent it straight to the top of The New York Times bestseller list, or is it just another predictable lesson in how best to patronise young people?

Glancing at a plot synopsis, you'd be inclined to suggest the later option. Green employs the tried and tested formula for teen drama of combining Romeo and Juliet with a serious and current issue, be that teenage pregnancy, racial prejudice or eighteen-year-old vampires with supple skin and impressively toned muscles. The Fault In Our Stars breaks no moulds by using cancer as its villain; it's social impacts having being explored across numerous novels in the medium; albeit usually without narrating from the perspective of a cancer patient. Sixteen year old Hazel Grace Lancaster is that patient, a girl apparently on the mend after surviving a seemingly deadly tumour. After reluctantly agreeing to join a support group, Hazel meets the charismatic and inevitably attractive Augustus Waters, who's now cancer free after having his leg amputated, and the pair begin a relationship which comes to dominate the book's plot. Again, the plot appears formulaic and almost dull, you might even see the only mildly interesting thing John Green has to offer as a character who unfortunately shares his first name with the morbidly obese and chocolate infused child in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. And of course, these immediate pre-perceptions collapse into nothingness the very moment you open the book.

Green's writing has a certain drug-like quality: he knows exactly how to draw a reader in. This is partially due to the superb pacing and focus of the plot, which features literally zero throwaway scenes as each page outdoes the last in developing the novel's characters and relationships. Then there's his sly confidence in writing from the perspective of others; every line of dialogue and moment of thought is believable to the letter. Mostly however, Green's addictive style stems from his grasp of the importance of character. Hazel and Augustus are two of the most memorable figures in recent literature, Augustus in particular is a strikingly charismatic individual. Rather than filling the book with endless unnecessary minor characters, Green chooses to include only a handful of people, which allows him to create deeper and more believable relationships between them in addition to morphing their personas as he chooses. While Hazel and Augustus's relationship is the main focus of the story, the friendship they share with fellow support group attendee Isaac creates a number of situations both cautiously funny and downright shocking, which lead to him being almost as fully fleshed out as the others by the conclusion. It's the relationship that Hazel shares with her mother however which is the second key theme, as the fear and difficulty of raising a child affected by a life threatening disease receives exceptionally rare attention. The plot itself is almost secondary to characterization, and Green deliberately increases the predictability of events in an effort to show that characters can still be well-crafted and intelligent within the confines of a simple storyline.

One of the wonderful things about Green's novel is that it is only a teenage story in that its central characters are teenagers; the author carries such respect for the intelligence of the intellectually maligned demographic that The Fault In Our Stars reads like it was written for adults and deals with deliberately emotionally intense themes. Despite its dark subject matter, Green's strength is in drawing almost every emotion possible from the reader in a short space of time. There's tragedy of course, and the feelings of loss, desperation and anger that stem from it, but in places the story takes truly beautiful turns, dealing explicitly with love, hope and simple, impossible happiness. It's even funny at times. In a market crowded with one dimensional stories, burying so much emotion within the pages of a book aimed at teenagers is a startling and welcome achievement.

With intense themes and genuinely unforgettable characters, The Fault In Our Stars is a rare example of anticipation being justified and even exceeded. Forget teen book of the year, this is one of the most intelligent and emotionally powerful novels we've seen past the turn of the millennium.

10/10

Salem's Lot review: Flawed ambition with added vampires

After the unprecedented success of his terrifying and tightly-woven first novel Carrie, you'd have forgiven the young writer Stephen King for knocking out a carbon copy for his next effort. But King shocked every critic with Salem's Lot, a far longer and more complex work, albeit equally thematically black hearted and full of gore. It was a stunningly ambitious book for such an inexperienced author, and while Salem's Lot isn't always successful it remains a tense and enjoyable read almost forty years on.

Ben Mears, a moderately successful writer, returns to his childhood home of the small Maine town Salem's Lot to begin a new novel. Of course, this calm and tranquil setting is far to good to be true, as Ben realises that the town is gradually being infiltrated by vampires.
While Carrie was remarkably and arrestingly original for a debut novel, Salem's Lot treads very familiar ground indeed. Clear influence is taken from stories such as the classic Dracula, with even direct references being regularly made. It's key themes too have been well explored in the past, with its principle vision of life in an American small town having inspired countless authors before King. It even makes no attempt to distort the classic cliché of the vampires themselves; King's bloodsuckers are as ancient as Dracula or Count Oarlock; susceptible to the usual suspects of crosses, holy water and a good stake through the heart.

So what makes Salem's Lot special, more than just another Nosferatu rehash or Dracula copycat? Primarily, it's the characters. King wields an impressive grasp over a cast of dozens, and while the sheer number of people is at times to vast to keep up with, the development of the principle characters is strong enough to forgive the inevitable cut-out minors. King gives up seemingly endless pages to creating connections between the reader and characters through developing an understanding of their psychologies and histories, leading to some of the most memorable figures of King's career, particularly the tragic and unstable Mears. However, as the author's first attempt at a long novel the character development becomes too prominent, making the book extremely slow and almost tedious during the early stages. It's inconsistently paced too, with relatively little rising action before an explosive crescendo of violence in the final hundred pages or so. While King's descriptions of small town life; the playground fight; the never-ending gossip and prejudice; are superb and undoubtedly drawn from personal experience, the story simply lacks enough real action to sustain interest until the end.

It's not quite as well written as Carrie, largely due to the increased number of characters to cope with and the unfortunate pacing (particularly noticeable because of how excellent Carrie's was), but King's style is still very much intact. Particularly towards the ending, there's sublime use of tension to keep you literally on the edge of your seat and moments of shocking, almost perverse violence. It's certainly no story for the faint of heart; skulls are cracked and hearts ruptured with a reckless abandon, but this does help to make up for the book's more monotonous sections.

It's unfortunate that such clear ambition is let down by issues which could have been easily averted with a good editor, but Salem's Lot is still brilliantly scary and generally entertaining. It's by no means a game changer, but its strong characters and brutal ultra-violence are a benchmark in the crowded vampire subgenre.

7/10

Carrie book review: Stephen King's terrifying first masterpiece

It's rare for the first novel of a writer who’s been in the business as long as Stephen King to top the majority of the author’s future work, but Carrie is one of those rare debut novels that retains the incredible power it possessed on the day it was published almost 40 years ago. In a way, Carrie encompasses much of King’s early work; it’s dark; disturbing and massively influential. And with a new film just around the corner, what better time to revisit one of the most important works of horror fiction ever written?

Written over a period of just two weeks, the book tells the story of Carrie White, a teenage girl who develops telekinetic powers. But this is no Matilda; Carrie is violently bullied by her classmates and is physically abused by her fundamentalist mother. When Carrie harnesses her power to hurt others, dramatic events are set in motion culminating at her high school prom.

 King himself described Carrie as “raw”, and reading it today it’s obvious why. Compared to the sophistication of much of his later work, the book is often downright unpleasant to read, with grotesque scenes of pain and violence making for excruciating reading. Its clear why Carrie is one of the most commonly banned books in American schools, but if you persevere with the book it’s equally clear that it shouldn’t be.  Like Ian Banks’ The Wasp Factory, for all the novel’s sickening nature it’s truly a gripping read, and for a debut novel King’s writing style is remarkably accomplished, his technique of interspersing storytelling with extracts from books and interviews with the characters being especially effective.

Perhaps more than any of his other books, Carrie's characters generate emotions of the strongest kind. You don't just feel sorry for Carrie, you pity her from the bottom of your heart. You don't just hate her fanatical mother or bullying ringleader Chris, you HATE them. King achieves this not with stereotypes (although he does come dangerously close), but by creating characters that we can all associate with because they exist all around us. In fact, the level of torment taken by Carrie herself is such that by the conclusion we view her prom night actions as being almost justified. Almost.

 At just over 200 pages long, Carrie’s pacing is nauseatingly fast, but rather than making the story feel rushed this actually works wonderfully with King’s brutal, unharnessed writing style. The crescendo leading to the book's shocking climax is superbly orchestrated, with the ending still coming as a surprise despite being heavily hinted at throughout the book.  Because of King’s masterful use of tension, the book is almost impossible to put down and reading Carrie is the work of a few hours, but it leaves behind a disturbing lasting impression. On one level, Carrie is a critique of scapegoating and religious fundamentalism, on another it’s the idea of the huge consequences of a small change. But more than these things, Carrie is a simple yet expertly crafted novel that hooks you in and never let’s go. It’s terrifying, violent and sometimes horrific. And it’s fantastic.

 

10/10

 

 

 

V for Vendetta book review: Moore's Anarchic Masterpiece

Watchmen. From Hell. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Alan Moore has been in the business of comic books for over 35 years, and over the sprawling course of his legendary career he's created some of the greatest and most popular works the medium has ever seen. And then there's V for Vendetta, a terrifying tale of a fascist future England controlled by an Orwellian Totalitarian Government, considered by many to be among the greatest comics, even among the greatest books ever written. And time has taken no shine from this nightmarish story, or the ideas behind its greatness.

Originally published in magazine form between 1982 and 1989, V for Vendetta follows the exploits of the masked revolutionary codenamed V in his efforts to bring down the police state in control of Britain and create and anarchist system in its place. Wearing the now iconic Guy Fawkes mask designed by artist David Lloyd , V's story is told through the eyes of the people he encounters on his quest, each of their lives being irreversibly changed in the process.

Moore and Lloyd spawned a brilliantly compelling and violently psychotic character in V, whose disguise and habit of speaking in quotes and riddles only adds to his eerie mystery (a titanic online debate on who V actually is continues to this day on the internet). Moore's superb writing gives the character his voice, while David Lloyd's shady art style giving V the intense, unforgettable look he commands throughout the book's three parts.

Of course, there's more to V for Vendetta than a character born from genius and stunning art. Like George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four, the book aims high in it's efforts to warn against the dangers of an all controlling government and the power an individual has to make a difference. More than Nineteen Eighty Four however, V spreads the idea of his own political system: anarchy. A system with no leaders certainly taps into Moore's own political psyche, but whether you agree with the idea or not it's hard not to be impressed by the case V makes for it, especially when the alternative is considered.

V for Vendetta is a story about evil and good. About censorship and freedom. About violence and peace, oppression and rebellion and freedom and love. Above all, it's a book with ideas, and as V will tell you: "ideas are bulletproof".

10/10

Misery book review: In attempting to escape writing horror stories Stephen King created one of the most powerful novels the genre has ever seen

He may be the most successful horror author of the last century, but in 1987 Stephen King was desperately trying to escape the genre which had made him famous. His latest novel The Eyes of the Dragon had been shunned by fans due to its lack of the macabre nature that had practically oozed from his earlier books, and his attempts to delve into fantasy in The Dark Tower series had also been heavily criticised. In his frustration, King wrote a short novel called Misery, in which he created an analogy for this situation and also took the opportunity to address the nature of his most hard-core fans, and to examine his mounting addictions to drink and drugs. Remarkably, this dark and angry tale became one of his greatest books to date, and even more surprisingly a classic of the horror genre.

In Misery, Paul Sheldon is the author of the immensely popular Misery romantic novels, but he has grown tired and bored with the series and has killed of the main character, Misery Chastain, in the latest novel. Having just completed a quite different story called Fast Cars, Paul gets drunk and crashes his car, breaking both his legs. Instead of waking up in a hospital, Paul finds himself in the isolated Colorado home of Annie Wilkles, his "number-one fan." But when Annie learns that Paul has murdered Misery she becomes furious, and forces Paul to bring Misery back to life by any means necessary. While it's a classic, dark premise for a King book, it also works perfectly as an analogy for the author's feelings on writing, as Sheldon is unable to escape from the Misery books and King was unable to escape from horror. The story also looks at the idea of fans, with Annie Wilkes providing the ideal model for the near-psychotic obsession that some have with their deepest interests.

For a man trying to avoid writing a horror stories, King crafts a brilliantly chilling one in Misery, with Annie Wilkles being a truly terrifying villain. While a book primarily set in a single setting might have evoked more yawns than cries of shock from readers, King expertly creates a painting of Sheldon's feelings through flashbacks and extended segments of his stream of consciousness. When this psychological melodrama is coupled with several truly terrifying set pieces, including the now notorious hobbling scene, an excruciating tale of hope and horror is born.

King also does a brilliant job of making us feel for Paul Sheldon and genuinely want him to escape his tiny prison by giving us plenty of time to learn about his character and become sympathetic. Added to our fear of the manic Wilkes, the book can truly be described as compelling. While initially one of King's less popular books, a 1990 Oscar winning film adaptation brought Misery the recognition it deserved. He might have been trying to criticise his fans and force them to allow him to move on to other things, but in Misery Stephen King gave them one of his greatest and darkest gifts.

9/10