I realize that I am a chaotic person. My college papers were often well-written, but chaotic and haphazard. My book reviews in this blog are haphazardly written, and often are not structured at all, but free-flowing thoughts. My desk at school is a disaster zone of papers, folders, binders, books, teacher's editions, student papers, post-it notes, and pencils, markers, and smart board pens. My classroom has no reason or rhyme to it (decoratively that is), and my students have gotten used to my compelling yet "messy" teaching style - often interrupting the intro to new material with discussions and checks for understandings that go deeper than perhaps they should. I'm proud of my crazy ways - my acting was done much the same way. I never felt that I really ever hit my all-star performances until I was actually on stage in front of an audience. I fed off their energy, whereas in rehearsal it was more difficult for me to invest myself.
The reason I am describing my string of consciousness writing style and personality is because I want people to understand me. Doesn't everyone at one point wish for the world to understand why they are the way they are? I have no idea why I am this way, but I do know that it works for me, and hopefully this blog and its reviews have been working for you (and by you, I mean whoever might be reading this). My writing "voice" resembles a kid jumping around in puddles excitedly, passionately, and that's how I feel about books. I tell my kids to write about things that excite them, and often urge them to read books that they will soon find they can't put down. I encourage organized chaos in my kids. To be so excited and interested in something that they will soon become excited and insist on telling me about it. When one of my students is really eager about something they've read or done, they often can't wait to describe it to me. The way a child describes something very important to an adult is often like my writing style - a kid jumping around from puddle to puddle.
I only have a few more days with my fifth graders, and then they leave me to go on to bigger and hopefully better things. I've grown quite attached to them, and I've relished our moments in class together. I will miss hearing them analyze, critique, and ask questions about books and stories. I will miss their excitement during debates, and their passion for writing about something that they care about. I will miss that ecstatic joy a student gets when they finally understand a math problem, or spell a difficult word.
That being said, while I will miss every one of my students, I am excited for the summer. I anticipate much reading will be done by me. I have stacks of books on the glass desk by my bedside just waiting to be read. I relish the feeling of opening a book for the first time and smelling the clean, fresh pages, touching the words which will soon fill my mind with images and adventure. I am over 500 pages into the 805 page book I'm reading now. I look forward to writing about it.
So soon the summer book marathon begins. Keep reading, friends! And let me know if you have any new suggestions of books I should add to my pile.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
...Almost forgot!
Another reason to read Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is if you loved Roald Dahl's book The Witches as a child. They have similar things - monsters hiding in plain sight. Again very very good. Give it a shot!
A Peculiar Day For A Peculiar Book
It took me three days to read Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, by Ransom Riggs. A book that I bought skeptically. It looked horrifying, it looked like some strange children's version of a horror movie, Silent Hill or some such other-worldly story. Then it sat on top of the other books hanging on my wall, and I never truly had a desire to open it up and read. I didn't really understand what it was about - it was vague. Then one day, Scott said "Read it." And so I did.
This book is truly magnificent. It's a wondrous tale, and I very much hope it has a sequel. It is NOT a "children's book" per se, but would be appropriate for teenagers. Here lies an eccentric story accompanied by strange and sometimes disturbing vintage photographs that accompany the story. As I started reading the book started out with the narrator, Jacob, talking about his before and after. "I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock, and like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After." After experiencing a strange and tragic event that catapults his life into an adventurous search for answers, Jacob discovers that there is more to our world than most people will ever understand, unless you are 'peculiar.'
Jacob was born to a rich mother, and a father who studies birds. His father starts various manuscripts about birds, until eventually something despairing happens and he abandons them, much like his own father abandoned him as a child. Jacob's father's father, Abe, was peculiar, that much was obvious to those around him, and in his old age many thought that he was experiencing an onslaught of dementia. In reality, the horrors that surrounded Abe were very much real, and the monsters he fought in WWII were much more terrifying than ordinary Nazis. Jacob takes after his grandfather in many ways, and when his grandfather utters a last secret to Jacob, it sets Jacob on journey to the truth.
Ordinary Jacob has a father who eventually becomes a drunk as they embark on an adventure to a distant Welsh island where Jacob is given the opportunity to find out about his grandfather's past, and where his father attempts yet another manuscript on the local bird population there. Jacob seems glad to be rid of his mother, who in turn seemed glad to be rid of her "crazy" son Jacob and his father, whom she treats as another child. "My two men ... off on a big adventure!" She yelled as their trip loomed closer, and then Jacob overheard her state to a friend "how relieved she'd be to 'have her life back' for three weeks and not have 'two needy children to worry about'." Jacob states he loves his mother, but only because it's mandatory. If he saw her on the street, she wouldn't be someone he liked much.
Once they get to the island the book takes on a darker tone, even darker than the beginning of the book where tragedy struck, and psychotic episodes ensued.
I won't lie. I found the start of the book intriguing, sometimes frightening (like goosebumps on your arms, frightening), but I found it hokey. The pictures which I believed were meant to enhance and make the text more realistic, actually turned me off, and the story seemed forced. And then boom! There is a moment, where Jacob's own peculiarities are revealed and everything makes sense, everything snaps into place, and suddenly there is more at stake than anyone reading this book could have realized - more at stake than Jacob could have realized. The book is startling, eccentric, and marvelous - simply, simply marvelous. This electric fairy-tale horror story comes together in a sense of urgency and magical wonder, and indeed we come to realize that Jacob's "before" was very much muted compared to his "after."
I really hope there is a sequel to this book, and I highly recommend it to anyone of any age who loves a good adventure. This book is heartwarming, it's touching, and it's terrifying in the most pleasant of ways. It's hopeful and despairing all at the same time, and you'll find yourself wondering why peculiar people DON'T rule the world (because being different, unique and special really makes the world luminous), and it shows you that greed will really turn someone into an all-consuming monster. It's a mixture of X-Men and Grimm's Fairy Tales, of WWII stories giving it a sense of reality, and of the horror stories that make us check the closet and look under the bed before going to sleep. Please read this book.
All this being said, today is a peculiar day. It's peculiar because I am not working, and it's peculiar because Oklahoma has been tainted with tragedy. I have been sick now for about three weeks, and yesterday I finally went to get medicine. I am feeling slightly better already, after being prescribed four different medications, but at the same time these meds are making me woozy and there are more unpleasant side effects. I stayed home today to get myself back together, and thus finished this book, turning every page with a frenzy. The idea of extraordinary events causing someone to have a before and after made me think, also, of those who lost loved ones, homes, and memories in Oklahoma this week after a disastrous tornado tore through the lives of many. Their "after" will be a lot less spectacular than their "before," at least for a while as they work to put the pieces back together. If you're reading this post, please keep the people of Oklahoma in your thoughts.
This book is truly magnificent. It's a wondrous tale, and I very much hope it has a sequel. It is NOT a "children's book" per se, but would be appropriate for teenagers. Here lies an eccentric story accompanied by strange and sometimes disturbing vintage photographs that accompany the story. As I started reading the book started out with the narrator, Jacob, talking about his before and after. "I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock, and like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After." After experiencing a strange and tragic event that catapults his life into an adventurous search for answers, Jacob discovers that there is more to our world than most people will ever understand, unless you are 'peculiar.'
Jacob was born to a rich mother, and a father who studies birds. His father starts various manuscripts about birds, until eventually something despairing happens and he abandons them, much like his own father abandoned him as a child. Jacob's father's father, Abe, was peculiar, that much was obvious to those around him, and in his old age many thought that he was experiencing an onslaught of dementia. In reality, the horrors that surrounded Abe were very much real, and the monsters he fought in WWII were much more terrifying than ordinary Nazis. Jacob takes after his grandfather in many ways, and when his grandfather utters a last secret to Jacob, it sets Jacob on journey to the truth.
Ordinary Jacob has a father who eventually becomes a drunk as they embark on an adventure to a distant Welsh island where Jacob is given the opportunity to find out about his grandfather's past, and where his father attempts yet another manuscript on the local bird population there. Jacob seems glad to be rid of his mother, who in turn seemed glad to be rid of her "crazy" son Jacob and his father, whom she treats as another child. "My two men ... off on a big adventure!" She yelled as their trip loomed closer, and then Jacob overheard her state to a friend "how relieved she'd be to 'have her life back' for three weeks and not have 'two needy children to worry about'." Jacob states he loves his mother, but only because it's mandatory. If he saw her on the street, she wouldn't be someone he liked much.
Once they get to the island the book takes on a darker tone, even darker than the beginning of the book where tragedy struck, and psychotic episodes ensued.
I won't lie. I found the start of the book intriguing, sometimes frightening (like goosebumps on your arms, frightening), but I found it hokey. The pictures which I believed were meant to enhance and make the text more realistic, actually turned me off, and the story seemed forced. And then boom! There is a moment, where Jacob's own peculiarities are revealed and everything makes sense, everything snaps into place, and suddenly there is more at stake than anyone reading this book could have realized - more at stake than Jacob could have realized. The book is startling, eccentric, and marvelous - simply, simply marvelous. This electric fairy-tale horror story comes together in a sense of urgency and magical wonder, and indeed we come to realize that Jacob's "before" was very much muted compared to his "after."
I really hope there is a sequel to this book, and I highly recommend it to anyone of any age who loves a good adventure. This book is heartwarming, it's touching, and it's terrifying in the most pleasant of ways. It's hopeful and despairing all at the same time, and you'll find yourself wondering why peculiar people DON'T rule the world (because being different, unique and special really makes the world luminous), and it shows you that greed will really turn someone into an all-consuming monster. It's a mixture of X-Men and Grimm's Fairy Tales, of WWII stories giving it a sense of reality, and of the horror stories that make us check the closet and look under the bed before going to sleep. Please read this book.
All this being said, today is a peculiar day. It's peculiar because I am not working, and it's peculiar because Oklahoma has been tainted with tragedy. I have been sick now for about three weeks, and yesterday I finally went to get medicine. I am feeling slightly better already, after being prescribed four different medications, but at the same time these meds are making me woozy and there are more unpleasant side effects. I stayed home today to get myself back together, and thus finished this book, turning every page with a frenzy. The idea of extraordinary events causing someone to have a before and after made me think, also, of those who lost loved ones, homes, and memories in Oklahoma this week after a disastrous tornado tore through the lives of many. Their "after" will be a lot less spectacular than their "before," at least for a while as they work to put the pieces back together. If you're reading this post, please keep the people of Oklahoma in your thoughts.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Time for Dinner?
Remember when I mentioned I had purchased The Dinner by Herman Koch over my spring break? Remember I had said it was compared to Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl, another novel I've read?
Remember those feelings you have sometimes when someone sticks their nose in your business? Where someone threatens your kid? Your family? Remember how what you'd like to do is hurt them, but as an adult you recognize what's right from wrong? In this book all those social constructs that keep us from pummeling the jerk across the room disappear and we're dropped into a Dutch world where two couples meet to discuss their children. Just like Gone Girl I couldn't tell who I liked and who I didn't; who I felt sympathy for and who I hoped would get karma thrown at their face ... your sympathy in Flynn's novel switches from the cheating husband to the psycho wife. And in the end they both get what they deserve - each other. In Koch's novel however ..... everyone is disgusting. They are nasty human beings who in order to "save" their children from their own damaging mistakes sacrifice one another like you might sacrifice starving dogs that are thrown in a pen - only one will come out the winner, and the others will be demolished. Demolished, if not physically, then emotionally.
The Dinner is a quick read, and really little of it has to do with that fateful dinner on that fateful night. Serge Lohman and his sniffling and highly irritating wife, Babette, are coming to meet his brother Paul, our narrator, and his wife Claire. In the beginning I viewed Claire as a puppet for Paul to love and use, but in the end when everything escalates in to a "what the hell?!" situation, I realized that without Claire our narrator Paul would be nonexistent. The Lohman couples are meeting to discuss their children. Children who have committed a terrible crime; a crime that throws the book into wayward flashbacks and side conversations on sexism, racism, and class-ism.
The book becomes highly political, and sociologically it's a doozy. Paul's downward spiral starts when he goes rogue as a teacher and states in his history class that not all of the victims of WWII were "innocent" and thus really some of them probably deserved to die. He roughly states something along the lines of "haven't you ever wanted someone to die? And so of all the victims of WWII, someone was probably glad that some of those people died." Thus we start to learn about the "disorder" that Paul has, which is never specified because it is none of our business. Turns out, his dear son Michel is a lot like dad - hence the crime that now brings a family to discuss their sons - cousins - and this discussion sparks the debate of the innocence of victims, and sparks the question of class-ism. If you're homeless do you have rights? Do you ever have the right to interrupt someone's privacy? And if you do interrupt that right then do I have the right hurt YOU? Privacy, innocence, minding your business, and the drivel of everyday life - these are themes of The Dinner.
The characters truly are reprehensible. In the book at one point, Paul recalls a moment where his wife was sick, but with what? Well, that's none of our business. He recalls again this idea of innocence. How people are not innocent, and many of us thirst for the dirty details. He talks about colleagues, friends and family asking "Is it life threatening?" and he responds with, "...you could hear the thirst for sensation right through [their voice]: when people get a chance to come close to death without having it touch them personally, they never miss the opportunity. What I also remember well is the urge I felt to answer that question in the affirmative. 'Yes, it's life threatening.' I wanted to hear the silence that would drop at the other end after an answer like that" (pg. 198). This man who is narrating this whole dinner ordeal for us yearns to make others uncomfortable, to make others hurt. He mentions at one point how that hospital was horrible, but since it was none of our business which hospital she was at, he could not tell people to stay away. "I would only like to urgently advise those who attach any value to life - their own, or that of their family and loved ones - to never let themselves be admitted there. That, by the same token, is my dilemma: it's nobody's business which hospital Claire was in, but at the same time I want to warn everyone to stay as far away from it as possible" (pg. 200). Does he ever give up the hospital name? Do we have learn of what caused Claire to become so ill? Nope.
The problem with the boys committing a crime, the problem with Paul Lohman himself, is that he deeply and dramatically feels at all points in life that he doesn't ever owe anyone an explanation for anything. This leads to violence. He shouldn't have to explain anything to anyone about anything, but when he does it never seems to end well for him. Having a son who suffers from this same ideology or "disorder" (which is never specified) launches the family into turmoil. The difference between Paul and his semi-famous politician brother Serge is simply this - Paul owes no one an explanation, and Serge thinks he owes EVERYONE an explanation.
The Lohman's have a sense of entitlement - not necessarily that they are entitled to anything, but that certain people are inherently better than others, and when certain people act "inappropriately" then they should be punished. The dinner ends explosively, carefully planned out, and eventually what the four adults came to dinner to discuss is not solved, but obliterated.
You will want to read this nasty and underhanded book more than once. You'll want to read it all over again just to make sure you heard it all right the first time. And at the end, you'll either be laughing like a lunatic or you'll close the book very slowly, only to open it back up quickly to see if the ending has changed to make more sane sense.
Remember those feelings you have sometimes when someone sticks their nose in your business? Where someone threatens your kid? Your family? Remember how what you'd like to do is hurt them, but as an adult you recognize what's right from wrong? In this book all those social constructs that keep us from pummeling the jerk across the room disappear and we're dropped into a Dutch world where two couples meet to discuss their children. Just like Gone Girl I couldn't tell who I liked and who I didn't; who I felt sympathy for and who I hoped would get karma thrown at their face ... your sympathy in Flynn's novel switches from the cheating husband to the psycho wife. And in the end they both get what they deserve - each other. In Koch's novel however ..... everyone is disgusting. They are nasty human beings who in order to "save" their children from their own damaging mistakes sacrifice one another like you might sacrifice starving dogs that are thrown in a pen - only one will come out the winner, and the others will be demolished. Demolished, if not physically, then emotionally.
The Dinner is a quick read, and really little of it has to do with that fateful dinner on that fateful night. Serge Lohman and his sniffling and highly irritating wife, Babette, are coming to meet his brother Paul, our narrator, and his wife Claire. In the beginning I viewed Claire as a puppet for Paul to love and use, but in the end when everything escalates in to a "what the hell?!" situation, I realized that without Claire our narrator Paul would be nonexistent. The Lohman couples are meeting to discuss their children. Children who have committed a terrible crime; a crime that throws the book into wayward flashbacks and side conversations on sexism, racism, and class-ism.
The book becomes highly political, and sociologically it's a doozy. Paul's downward spiral starts when he goes rogue as a teacher and states in his history class that not all of the victims of WWII were "innocent" and thus really some of them probably deserved to die. He roughly states something along the lines of "haven't you ever wanted someone to die? And so of all the victims of WWII, someone was probably glad that some of those people died." Thus we start to learn about the "disorder" that Paul has, which is never specified because it is none of our business. Turns out, his dear son Michel is a lot like dad - hence the crime that now brings a family to discuss their sons - cousins - and this discussion sparks the debate of the innocence of victims, and sparks the question of class-ism. If you're homeless do you have rights? Do you ever have the right to interrupt someone's privacy? And if you do interrupt that right then do I have the right hurt YOU? Privacy, innocence, minding your business, and the drivel of everyday life - these are themes of The Dinner.
The characters truly are reprehensible. In the book at one point, Paul recalls a moment where his wife was sick, but with what? Well, that's none of our business. He recalls again this idea of innocence. How people are not innocent, and many of us thirst for the dirty details. He talks about colleagues, friends and family asking "Is it life threatening?" and he responds with, "...you could hear the thirst for sensation right through [their voice]: when people get a chance to come close to death without having it touch them personally, they never miss the opportunity. What I also remember well is the urge I felt to answer that question in the affirmative. 'Yes, it's life threatening.' I wanted to hear the silence that would drop at the other end after an answer like that" (pg. 198). This man who is narrating this whole dinner ordeal for us yearns to make others uncomfortable, to make others hurt. He mentions at one point how that hospital was horrible, but since it was none of our business which hospital she was at, he could not tell people to stay away. "I would only like to urgently advise those who attach any value to life - their own, or that of their family and loved ones - to never let themselves be admitted there. That, by the same token, is my dilemma: it's nobody's business which hospital Claire was in, but at the same time I want to warn everyone to stay as far away from it as possible" (pg. 200). Does he ever give up the hospital name? Do we have learn of what caused Claire to become so ill? Nope.
The problem with the boys committing a crime, the problem with Paul Lohman himself, is that he deeply and dramatically feels at all points in life that he doesn't ever owe anyone an explanation for anything. This leads to violence. He shouldn't have to explain anything to anyone about anything, but when he does it never seems to end well for him. Having a son who suffers from this same ideology or "disorder" (which is never specified) launches the family into turmoil. The difference between Paul and his semi-famous politician brother Serge is simply this - Paul owes no one an explanation, and Serge thinks he owes EVERYONE an explanation.
The Lohman's have a sense of entitlement - not necessarily that they are entitled to anything, but that certain people are inherently better than others, and when certain people act "inappropriately" then they should be punished. The dinner ends explosively, carefully planned out, and eventually what the four adults came to dinner to discuss is not solved, but obliterated.
 |
| This is one of my favorite books I've read so far this year. Please read it! |
Saturday, May 18, 2013
We Need To Talk About Kevin ... No, really ....
So hello everyone ... or no one ... or whoever enjoys reading what I write. It's been a while since I've written about any books, but believe me, I've been reading. It took me a long time to get through because getting my fifth grade kiddos prepared for state testing was brutal for me (imagine stopping all original learning, and just reviewing for three straight weeks), but finally I finished an amazing book called We Need to Talk About Kevin.
In 2011 I was blessed to have the opportunity to study abroad in Cannes, and in May I was able to be a part of the Cannes Film Festival. One of the first movies that I had the pleasure to attend the premiere of was the film We Need to Talk About Kevin starring Tilda Swinton, who was amazing, John C. Reilly, and Ezra Miller. The film was captivating and terrifying. It chronicled the relationship between a mother and her son, a caustic and poisonous relationship that resulted in a son, tormented by the real world, who massacred his schoolmates with a bow and arrow. The movie was amazing to watch, and the atmosphere in the theater was electrifying - an experience I'll never forget.
The book was also charged, but it felt more like chewing gravel, closing your eyes, relishing the torment, biting the inside of your cheeks until you develop sores, and then continuing to bite because it feels so good. The book is grueling. I felt guilty for feeling sympathy for the mother (Eva), because she struggles to love her son. She sees through his facades and the act he puts on for his overly-doting father, and she knows deep down something is wrong with him, and often blames herself. It isn't until she shows her true self, by throwing him across the room when he's a child, that he starts to respect her a bit more. Mother and son understand each other in a way no one else does. In the end, she's both the one he saves and the one he makes suffer. The book is a series of letters that Eva writes to her husband about their son, often noting how she wishes he was there with her, as well as detailing how much discontent she suffered when she first became a mother - something she never truly was comfortable with in the first place.
The book is hard to read, because it transports you to a place of empathy that you don't really want to go to. You don't know who to feel sorry for, who to blame, or mostly what to think about yourself as a person. What would you do if that was your son? And what would you do if, in the end, you realized that you were the only one your son ever really loved or respected, and yet you were the one he tormented the most - because you saw him for what he was, because you understood him. What would you do if your child rejected you, refused to use the toilet just because, even as a child, he enjoyed seeing you squirm as you changed his soiled diapers? If your son chased away every babysitter, and ruined things you loved, just because to him, they were stupid. Tortured you with his intelligence that he kept from his teachers. And finally, took away everything you loved. And in the end, can mother and son finally reach the place of ... content ... that they always sought and never could find when tragedy strikes and reality sets in?
If nothing else, Kevin is right ... by brutally murdering his fellow students and a teacher he became something that American people crave ... the depraved story to invest yourself in. Americans love a good brutal massacre; we prove that everyday by the stories we discuss and the TV shows we watch. Kevin knows something we don't, a TRUE brutal story is much better than a fake. And he delivers. This story is brutal, but fascinating and while you'll struggle to get through it, you won't be able to put it down. READ IT! And only then, watch the movie. The book is filled with more disgusting details - you won't be able to stop yourself from engaging in it, and wondering if something is wrong with you for finding solace in it. A truly great read, written by an author who delivers something I'm not sure anyone else can.
In 2011 I was blessed to have the opportunity to study abroad in Cannes, and in May I was able to be a part of the Cannes Film Festival. One of the first movies that I had the pleasure to attend the premiere of was the film We Need to Talk About Kevin starring Tilda Swinton, who was amazing, John C. Reilly, and Ezra Miller. The film was captivating and terrifying. It chronicled the relationship between a mother and her son, a caustic and poisonous relationship that resulted in a son, tormented by the real world, who massacred his schoolmates with a bow and arrow. The movie was amazing to watch, and the atmosphere in the theater was electrifying - an experience I'll never forget.
The book was also charged, but it felt more like chewing gravel, closing your eyes, relishing the torment, biting the inside of your cheeks until you develop sores, and then continuing to bite because it feels so good. The book is grueling. I felt guilty for feeling sympathy for the mother (Eva), because she struggles to love her son. She sees through his facades and the act he puts on for his overly-doting father, and she knows deep down something is wrong with him, and often blames herself. It isn't until she shows her true self, by throwing him across the room when he's a child, that he starts to respect her a bit more. Mother and son understand each other in a way no one else does. In the end, she's both the one he saves and the one he makes suffer. The book is a series of letters that Eva writes to her husband about their son, often noting how she wishes he was there with her, as well as detailing how much discontent she suffered when she first became a mother - something she never truly was comfortable with in the first place.
The book is hard to read, because it transports you to a place of empathy that you don't really want to go to. You don't know who to feel sorry for, who to blame, or mostly what to think about yourself as a person. What would you do if that was your son? And what would you do if, in the end, you realized that you were the only one your son ever really loved or respected, and yet you were the one he tormented the most - because you saw him for what he was, because you understood him. What would you do if your child rejected you, refused to use the toilet just because, even as a child, he enjoyed seeing you squirm as you changed his soiled diapers? If your son chased away every babysitter, and ruined things you loved, just because to him, they were stupid. Tortured you with his intelligence that he kept from his teachers. And finally, took away everything you loved. And in the end, can mother and son finally reach the place of ... content ... that they always sought and never could find when tragedy strikes and reality sets in?
If nothing else, Kevin is right ... by brutally murdering his fellow students and a teacher he became something that American people crave ... the depraved story to invest yourself in. Americans love a good brutal massacre; we prove that everyday by the stories we discuss and the TV shows we watch. Kevin knows something we don't, a TRUE brutal story is much better than a fake. And he delivers. This story is brutal, but fascinating and while you'll struggle to get through it, you won't be able to put it down. READ IT! And only then, watch the movie. The book is filled with more disgusting details - you won't be able to stop yourself from engaging in it, and wondering if something is wrong with you for finding solace in it. A truly great read, written by an author who delivers something I'm not sure anyone else can.
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