The MANIAC

Having read When We Cease to Understand the World first, I am even less sure I like Mr Labatut's writing style. At least when it comes to narrating the life of well-known scientists like John von Neumann. I guess I am torn in two. On the one hand, I am happy that books like The MANIAC exist as they help more readers become aware of people and events that I believe enrich one's knowledge. On the other hand, I do not like how much of the text is based on speculation and, even worse, exaggeration to the point that may be harmful for the academic development of the younger generation. My biggest quarrel with the book lies in the way Mr von Neumann's intelect is exaggerated. By that I do not mean to deny that John von Neumann was a genius, but I do want to make clear that anyone has the potential for greatness—including, of course, academic greatness—and that John von Neumann was not as unique as the book tries really hard to convince the reader that he was. People, especially young people, might be misled into believing that one has to be born a genius, and may be discouraged to put the necessary effort to achieve great scientific discoveries. Furthermore, Mr Labatut's never ending insistence on delivering high praise for John von Neumann gets really tiresome and makes for a difficult read.
  Fortunately, even though the vast majority of the book is dedicated to John von Neumann, the short last part of the book brilliantly pivots to another topic: the boardgame go and AlphaGo. Mr Labatut's writing style is perfect in this last section of the book. Mixing mythology and fact in a way that the line between those two is never blurry, which consequently made me confident that I was learning new things without the need to worry that I might be misled into believing that fictional parts of the book might be real. The last part of the book was so compelling that I read it in just one go, as I was unable to stop reading. That was a refreshing change, especially after the tedious litany on how great John von Neumann's intelect was.

American Pastoral

 What a boring read. The first third of the book was decent, but afterwards it quickly spirals down into a tiresome repetition of a story that could have been told in far fewer pages.

When We Cease to Understand the World

 My heart is really torn. On the one hand, the first three short stories were amazing. I learnt so many interesting things, things that are somewhat related to science, I learnt about the life of interesting mathematicians and their quirks. It was great! But then the second half of the book turns more... imaginative and speculative, in a way that I did not really like. Speculating in crude terms about the sexual behaviour of certain scientists was not in line with the first half of the book, and its contrast was therefore more jarring. What I liked about the first three stories was how non-fictional they were, and you could tell that the second half of the book was so blatantly made up. I was really disappointed. But yes, I would definitely recommend that people read the first half of the book. It is really worth it.

Red Dragon

 An extremely quick read. I read its 455 pages in three days. I know there are people out there who can probably read them in a single day. Very skillfully written, several of its passages perfectly conveyed the extreme cruelty Dolarhyde had to go through in his childhood—successfully scaring me. Also, I never thought a literary equivalent of a film's "jump scare" existed until I read chapter 46 of this book. Ralph Mandy's death really did come out of nowhere and scared me. In that sense, this book made me feel things no other book had ever made me feel, and that was a great new experience.
  This book really left me wishing I could read even better horror stories. I have only read one Stephen King: "Dreamcatcher" but it was not nearly as good as this one. I am open to recommendations. If you feel like you have never read a decent scary novel, I would recommend starting with "Red Dragon".

Lessons

 This was a nicely told story whose style reminded me of the film "Boyhood" (Linklater, 2014). As with many books, the plot has its interesting parts and its not so interesting parts. It comes together nicely at the end, when I found out that I cared for Roland and, consequently, for Lawrence. But I still think several parts in the middle could have been more interestingly written. I found myself thinking much about the sexual relationship between Roland and his piano teacher Miriam Cornell. I kept asking myself why did Ian McEwan feel like he needed to include that relationship in his book. The book would have been essentially the same without it, seeing as the most consequential aspect of Roland's life was his having been abandoned by his wife. Reading the book I thought that relationship was more important to Ian McEwan than it was to Roland himself. I do not find it a good sign when I feel like an author is desperately trying to input their intent or moral code into their stories.

Time's Arrow

 This was quite a unique experience: a story where time is going backwards. I was captivated by that premise. Sadly, that enthusiasm lasted only for the first three chapters. After that, the narrator's perspective started to seem a little disingenuous, seeing that he could analyse and have good observations about certain aspects of Odilo's life but at the same time could not figure out that the "good" things that were happening were actually just the opposite. This was a very short book, and it would have been a mistake to make it longer. Just as it was a mistake to have the last chapter talk about Odilo's childhood. Especially because nothing interesting was said. It was so disconnected from everything else in the book. Such a shame, because I started reading the book with very high hopes and ended up feeling a little disappointed. I do recognise that writing something like this must have been very hard. And I must admit that the good parts in it were really good. The thing Martin Amis did with the dialogue between characters—which had to be read backwards (from bottom to top) to make sense—was truly finely done.