I skipped enough stories in this book that I think I barely read it. I'm not entirely sure that I should even mention it here. Thurber is funny, but this just doesn't seem as interesting a collection as "My World and Welcome to It." The humor here just seems a bit too topical to remain funny today. Some funny pieces are scattered within here, but overall it was a little disappointing.

If you're ever inclined to read 70 pages about radio soap operas, however, this then is the book for you.

This was quite a gripping espionage story. This isn't one of my normal genres, but the novel was very entertaining.

My mother read it before me. She liked it too, but she had one complaint. She didn't like what the author Noel Hynd (who I know) said about Vladimir Putin. She didn't think he was necessarily wrong. However, she felt that he shouldn't have said such bad things about Putin, because Putin might come after him. I tried to explain to my mother that Putin probably has many other enemies on his list ahead of Noel Hynd. Personally, I think Noel's quite safe, but she's still worried.

For her sake, I won't say anything bad about Putin here. Such a nice man, that Putin. 

Of course, J.D. Salinger died a few weeks back, and like so many others I decided to reread one of his books. I remember liking "Franny and Zooey" a lot back in my impressionable college years. This time, though, I wasn't so thrilled by it. In fact, I almost didn't finish it.

The book is wildly uneven, which is really the worst thing a book can be. If it had been awful throughout, I would have never bothered finishing it. In this case, it had the occasional moment of greatness amidst all the tedium, just enough that I kept reading.

The first story "Franny" is really quite good, but "Zooey," the much longer story, could be infuriating at times. For example, it took about 80 pages, just for Zooey to make his way out of the bathroom. First, there was a letter from his brother to read in the tub, then a long conversation with his mother, and eventually some shaving.

And if you're ever wondering what was in a typical 1955 medicine cabinet, just turn to pages 75 and 76, where there is a 190-word sentence describing the contents of the Glass family medicine cabinet. (Note to self for Nanowrimo: Describing the contents of a medicine cabinet is a great way to pad your word total.)

At times, Salinger just seemed a little too clever and wordy for his own good. "The Catcher in the Rye" had many of the same problems, but there was also something magnificent about it. This book, though, just wasn't interesting enough for me to overlook the flaws. </speaking ill of the recently dead>

"Frankenstein" turned out to be a great novel, even though I almost bailed on it after the first hour. It doesn't really get going until page 28. Before that, we have a tedious author's introduction on how the story came about. Then, there's a preface. Then, there are a bunch of letters from some character who is definitely not Victor Frankenstein or the monster. And then finally, Frankenstein shows up and tells his tale.

I will say this about the monster: Man, does he have a good vocabulary. He's only been alive a few years when he starts talking to his creator, and he puts me to shame. Some words he used in his tale include: viands, recompense, imprecate, and scourge. He devours copies of Milton and Plutarch that he finds lying around. He may be a monster, but he is a monster of letters!

He's also grotesque, so grotesque that no one can look at him. The monster that we see in movies is ugly, but almost in a comical way. I found myself wishing I didn't have an image of Frankenstein's Monster in my head already when I read this. It felt like when you read a book that has been made into movie, and you can't help picturing the actor whenever reading about the character. (This can happen to me, even if I haven't seen the movie. For example, Freakin' Sean Penn almost ruined the book "All the King's Men," never mind the movie,  just because my copy had him on the cover.)

And so I wish I hadn't seen the monster before reading about him, and I found I envied his intellect more than his brute strength.

This is a very strange book to be reading while you have a head cold. It's about a lawyer who has episodes where he loses control of his legs. His legs will just carry him off on mammoth walks, and he's powerless to stop himself. This can happen at any time -- in the middle of the night, at the office, during a trial. He will walk for miles and miles, and then at the end of the walk he'll collapse wherever he is and sleep outside for hours.

Needless to say, this isn't conducive to a healthy life, a good marriage, a successful career, or pretty much anything else. As the book proceeds, the main character (as well as his wife) becomes a wreck. His body is ravished by the long walks. He suffers frost bite, loses fingers, and almost gets killed. He's also pretty much crazy by the last half.

In general, it was very odd to read this book about a man who can't control his legs from walking, when I really couldn't control my nose from running. The book had a very intense, feverish pace, and, well, I had a fever.

I loved Ferris' first book -- "Then We Came to the End" -- because it was funny. This one, not so funny. It's not exactly an uplifting comedy, but it's very well-written, and I couldn't put it down. I even liked it once I had recovered from the fever.

This is really a very enjoyable book, but I just have little to say about it. It's really just a series of short stories featuring the same character. Great book, relaxing to read, but I don't have much to say about it.