Books: Andrew McCall Smith
There's no point in talking about each of these four books separately. When an author has four books - FOUR BOOKS - that contain the phrase "crushed strawberry trousers," what's the point in pretending they're different enough to talk about separately??
Seriously, people. Would you honestly get two different people - one an adult and one a small child, unrelated - in two SEPARATE series, both set in Edinburgh (as the narrators frequently state, a city like a village) who are wearing - multiple times each, much as though they've each only got the one pair - trousers the color of crushed strawberries?
And what color IS that? Is it so different from strawberry-colored?
I'm obsessing, I know. But when one reads four books consecutively and finds that they all contain, oh, enough now. I'll try to get over it and talk about the rest of the books.
Which are also much the same.
Over the last week or so, I read 44 Scotland Street and Espresso Tales (from his XXX series), and The Sunday Philosophy Club and Friends, Lovers, Chocolate (from his Sunday Philosophy Club series). Interestingly, in that latter series, the Club never meets, and nor are we introduced to any members of it, other than the narrator. Come to think of it, I can't remember any lovers or chocolate, either. Nor espresso.
The four books share a few traits: very little action, a singular view of snobbish Edinburgh, and a thinly veiled animosity towards the USA and Americans in general. This latter has nothing to do with the books at all; it seems he just likes to get a few jibes in somehow. If his desired effect was to piss off any Americans reading the books, it worked for me. But maybe I'm too sensitive.
(Why did I read these all, if they irritated me so much, you ask? Because I already own them, since they were gifts from my mother, and I'll finish virtually any book I start, just out of sheer willpower. I say "virtually" because I still haven't finished Diamond Age, no matter how hard I try.)
McCall Smith is undoubtably a gifted writer. I have never been to Edinburgh, but feel I would recognize it if I were dropped there blindfolded (where else would you find people wearing crushed-strawberry trousers?). He has interesting philosophical comments to make... he just makes rather too many of them for my liking. I had to re-read whole pages, as my brain fogged over so frequently.
There are no subplots, minor threads, or outside interests in these books. Over two hundred pages or so, someone dies, someone makes an assumption which is proven wrong, and the real killer is identified. If suspense is bad for your heart, you'll be safe with these books.
It's my opinion that he promises side stories now and again and consistently fails to deliver. I'd get more specific, but if you ARE going to read these, I don't want to ruin it for you, and if you're not, you won't care whether Isabelle ever sleeps with Jamie anyway.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series is far superior (and is the reason I read these other books at all). The love the author has for Botswana and its people and traditions is apparent with every word. Sadly, the hifalutin snobbishness he feels for Edinburgh and its artists, and the animosity he feels for America, is just as transparent in these four books.
I'll talk about The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series another day. I've finished three of them, and might as well read all the rest first. Standing on their own, they're rather unsatisfactory, but put together, I feel like I've gotten a full story. Not necessarily good value for money, since you've got to buy three or four books to get the satisfaction of one, but I'm enjoying them anyway. Probably because I'm not the one who paid for them.
Seriously, people. Would you honestly get two different people - one an adult and one a small child, unrelated - in two SEPARATE series, both set in Edinburgh (as the narrators frequently state, a city like a village) who are wearing - multiple times each, much as though they've each only got the one pair - trousers the color of crushed strawberries?
And what color IS that? Is it so different from strawberry-colored?
I'm obsessing, I know. But when one reads four books consecutively and finds that they all contain, oh, enough now. I'll try to get over it and talk about the rest of the books.
Which are also much the same.
Over the last week or so, I read 44 Scotland Street and Espresso Tales (from his XXX series), and The Sunday Philosophy Club and Friends, Lovers, Chocolate (from his Sunday Philosophy Club series). Interestingly, in that latter series, the Club never meets, and nor are we introduced to any members of it, other than the narrator. Come to think of it, I can't remember any lovers or chocolate, either. Nor espresso.
The four books share a few traits: very little action, a singular view of snobbish Edinburgh, and a thinly veiled animosity towards the USA and Americans in general. This latter has nothing to do with the books at all; it seems he just likes to get a few jibes in somehow. If his desired effect was to piss off any Americans reading the books, it worked for me. But maybe I'm too sensitive.
(Why did I read these all, if they irritated me so much, you ask? Because I already own them, since they were gifts from my mother, and I'll finish virtually any book I start, just out of sheer willpower. I say "virtually" because I still haven't finished Diamond Age, no matter how hard I try.)
McCall Smith is undoubtably a gifted writer. I have never been to Edinburgh, but feel I would recognize it if I were dropped there blindfolded (where else would you find people wearing crushed-strawberry trousers?). He has interesting philosophical comments to make... he just makes rather too many of them for my liking. I had to re-read whole pages, as my brain fogged over so frequently.
There are no subplots, minor threads, or outside interests in these books. Over two hundred pages or so, someone dies, someone makes an assumption which is proven wrong, and the real killer is identified. If suspense is bad for your heart, you'll be safe with these books.
It's my opinion that he promises side stories now and again and consistently fails to deliver. I'd get more specific, but if you ARE going to read these, I don't want to ruin it for you, and if you're not, you won't care whether Isabelle ever sleeps with Jamie anyway.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series is far superior (and is the reason I read these other books at all). The love the author has for Botswana and its people and traditions is apparent with every word. Sadly, the hifalutin snobbishness he feels for Edinburgh and its artists, and the animosity he feels for America, is just as transparent in these four books.
I'll talk about The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series another day. I've finished three of them, and might as well read all the rest first. Standing on their own, they're rather unsatisfactory, but put together, I feel like I've gotten a full story. Not necessarily good value for money, since you've got to buy three or four books to get the satisfaction of one, but I'm enjoying them anyway. Probably because I'm not the one who paid for them.
posted by amy at
11:35 PM
