“Middlemarch” is deservedly considered a classic, and an exemplar of the art of the novel. Eliot takes on an immense amount thematically, does much of it justice and somehow manages to balance broad issues with in-depth, affecting and authentic portrayals of a captivating array of characters. While the central and some peripheral characters serve to further Eliot’s interest in social, political, gender, scientific and religious issues, all figures throughout the novel are etched as believable human beings, not just as one-dimensional symbols serving some more general purpose. There are no black-and-white heroes/heroines or villains, but all are presented as well-rounded individuals with strengths, weaknesses and foibles.

The chapter describing how incendiary gossip about two prominent figures spreads through the community and evolves into fact is a tour de force of plot momentum – acerbic, brilliant and exhilarating to read. In other words, Eliot’s mastery of theme and character do not at all mean that she gives plot short shrift.

While the ending sews up the fates of the main characters, there are surprises and debatable resolutions right to the very end. This book satisfies on so many levels, and sends the reader off with much about which to ponder.

“People glorify all sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest neighbours.”

Lethem’s Pynchonesque fever dream bombards the reader with rapid fire wordplay, much of involving the inventive juggling of cliches. But what does it all mean? The Falstaffian protagonist is travelling through a large body a la The Fantastic Voyage. At one point, he glimpses out through the body’s eye and sees the Statue of Liberty. At another point, it’s possible the body is actually a Trojan horse. So, ummm … “This Shape We’re In” is short and sufficiently fast paced that it can be visited numerous times. Will repeated visits be worth it in terms of further understanding what this allegory is all about?

VS Naipaul’s classic and much-lauded novel about social upheaval in an unnamed African nation in the 1970s is simultaneously engrossing and chilling. Told from the point of view of an ethnic Indian man who was raised and lives in Africa, the story deals with many layers of dispossession and alienation amongst its individual characters and ethnic and social groups as they struggle amidst the tides of and enticements of modernity and the countering tides of history and tradition. Characters deal with these conflicting tides in varying states of paralysis, weariness and wariness. Even those who embark hopefully on personal or business relationships to try to further themselves and thrive in shifting social milieus all seem to be stymied and even crushed in rapid succession. All optimism seems to wane or is more violently extinguished as everyone either flees, goes into hiding or at very least “accepts new encumbrances”. Naipaul’s book is pointed and instructive, but not uplifting.

“Brooklyn” is essentially a sweet tale simply told, but with much emotional depth. Just because it is a fairly simple story and the protagonist is somewhat laconic doesn’t mean that there isn’t much going on or that it was an easy knock-off for Toibin. Much authorial craft has made it so simple yet so profound, melding Eilis’ personal journey from Ireland to the U.S. and as a young woman to social changes that were just starting to gain momentum in the 1950s. Snippets of tart dialogue spice up the mix along the way.

The atmosphere of real and imagined menace (but, as it turns out, justifiably imagined), and the verging on gothic harshness of rural and aboriginal life during the Second World War makes parts of The Cure for Death by Lightning almost unbearable to read in the opening chapters. But then the spirit and resilience of 15-year-old Beth Weeks, and her eye for hopeful and redemptive signs in the people, the animals and the world around her win you over, and have you turning the pages with no fear, and much optimism that she will forge a life, thrive and be loved in the hardscrabble setting in which she chooses to remain. Populated with original and captivating characters and an undercurrent of mystery and mysticism that never veers into the utterly unbelievable, this is an unforgettable book.

Cute … I would say it is more chuckle-worthy than laugh-out-loud funny, though.

I really wanted to like this book. The idea has promise, that of taking a fairly commonplace central story – guy with dead end job in what he feels is a town that stymies his creativity aspires to be a writer – and blowing out the walls by approaching it from conventional text, graphic novel, workshopped screenplay and multiple perspectives. But the reality is that it’s a thin story with no really interesting characters or fresh insights, especially on the encroachment of big box corporate concerns, which we all know suck the life out of small towns – but didn’t the author already think his town sucked?. The different stylistic renderings just feel like gratuitous padding and short attention span noodling. But I feel a bit insulted as a reader, because *I* don’t have a short attention span if he wants to try to stick with his story and explore it in more depth.

The well-illustrated graphic novel portions feel especially wasted because they look great, but add nothing to the story. Is the workshopped bit with the clueless handwritten edits supposed to draw the reader in on the joke, whatever that is? Yeah, I get it, but again it doesn’t add anything new to the central story.

Fiorentino can at least be commended, I suppose, for writing what he apparently knows. I’m not sure if I’m interested in checking back when/if he tries to legitimately stretch himself as a writer.

The initial flat affect and vaguely disorienting first person plural narrative voice of “Then We Came to the End” might be off-putting at first. (“We were fractious and overpaid. Our mornings lacked promise. At least those of us who smoked had something to look forward to at ten-fifteen.”) The reader who sticks with it, though, will be richly rewarded with a surprisingly warm and very human look at the dehumanizing aspects, of which there are many, of the modern office/workplace.

Set in a Chicago marketing agency with its wagon hitched to the rise and fall of the dotcom era, “we” are the art directors, copywriters, managers, assistants, accounting and payroll clerks and security guards who battle deadlines and boredom and harbour passions for and against the work and each other … but truly know very little about each other outside of the offices, cubicles, elevator lobbies, print stations, stairwells and cafeterias where they seemingly spend most of their waking hours. Gradually, three-dimensional people emerge from the caricatures and sardonic one-liners, and real emotions surface as those real people struggle to maintain their identities and sanity and forge genuine relationships as the world around them shifts, jolts and changes. This novel takes a fresh approach to the perhaps overdone workplace setting and cast of characters.

Boyko’s first collection of short stories is consistently well-crafted and ranges over an interesting array of characters, situations, settings and time periods. With one exception, though, the stories are chilling, slightly surreal and vaguely off-putting. That exception is “OZY”, a warm, wry, bittersweet reflection on life and the infinite from the perspective of a pre-teen boy, inspired by his and his friends’ obsession with the scoreboard of an arcade game.