The Double by Fyodor Dostoevsky

What makes Goliadkin, protagonist of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Double, such a fascinating protagonist is the way it is left murkily ambiguous whether he is as awful as the rest of the characters perceive him. We are given evidence of him being a hypocritical snob in the endless social facades he crafts, but the novella opens with his complete and devastating ostracization already well in progress (the opening set piece involves him being rejected from the daughter of his former guardian’s birthday party)

Over the course of the novella Goliadkin becomes such an abject figure of pity as his isolation is compounded by his double’s universal acceptance. It is impossible to imagine the actions he could have committed to justify the endless stream of indignities he suffers.

The story creates the impression that Goliadkin is an anti-hero of the same type as Crime and Punishment‘s Raskolnikov, but Goliadkin is ultimately too cowardly and consumed by social etiquette to be able to embrace his baser instincts in the way of Raskolnikov. And it is this fatal humanity that makes his downfall so deeply tragic in spite of his manipulative nature.

The Russian Debutante’s Handbook by Gary Shteyngart


The Russian Debutante’s Handbook is an ambitious, over-indulgent, clever, and repetitive debut novel. Brimming with style and energy, Shteyngart grabs you with his comedic rambunctiousness right from the beginning. He has a gift for crafting fascinatingly eccentric characters, and equally outrageous scenarios to throw them in. But as the plot hijinks are continually kicked into overdrive the book starts to feel like a mature pre-teen who wants to feel adult but still can’t quite control their desperate-for-attention manic energy. This is a greedy gripe at a writer trying to do too much and doing it well most of the time.

Vladimir Girshkin is twenty-five-years old. He is working a low-paying job helping Eastern European immigrants gain American citizenship. He cares about his job about as much as he cares about his roommate/girlfriend Challah who works as a dominatrix and with whom he has punctual weekly sex. His only friend is Baobab, an enthusiastic loser and professional scammer. Vladimir is contentedly wasting his life much to the dismay of his business magnate mother who refers to him as her “Little Failure” and to the affectionate disinterest of his lazily successful doctor father. But this happy malaise is disrupted when Vladimir begins an affair with Francesca, a graduate student from a wealthy intellectual family.

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The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares, and The Houseguest & Other Stories by Amparo Dávila


The Invention of Morel is a classic of Latin American literature written by one of its premier writers of the 20th century. These are facts, yet I only heard of it for the first time within the past year, and indirectly while reading about Jorge Luis Borges. Its author, Adolfo Bioy Casares, was an equal to his lifelong friend and collaborator during their respective lifetimes, but while Borges’ influence has spread with fittingly labyrinthian pervasiveness over all of literature since his death, Casares’ has faded – at least in regard to English speaking audiences. I make this judgement after looking for other books by the very prolific Casares in print/translation, and the only titles other than Morel I am able to find are another short fantastical novel, Asleep in the Sun, a collection of stories, A Russian Doll & Other Stories, and an experimental murder mystery he co-wrote with Sylvina Ocampo (another widely respected writer in her lifetime whose work remains almost entirely untranslated into English), Where There’s Love, There’s Hate. Even his collaborations with Borges appear to have faded out of print.

Morel is an eerie, hypnotic, and wildly inventive novella that deserves to be read and discussed alongside the best of Borges’ stories. The New York Review Books edition even comes with a prologue by Borges expressing his admiration for the novella with absolutely no restraint. And that is the last time I will mention Casares’ legendary friend.

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Nazi Literature in the Americas by Roberto Bolaño


Taking nearly a year to read a new Roberto Bolaño is an unforgivable sin. Bolaño is the kind of writer who, once discovered, should be returned to every six months at the least. The cause of this shameful delay on my part is because for the past year I have been intending on reading his 900-page posthumously published finale, 2666. The past couple years I have been working hard to get better at reading more 500-plus-page books, but I definitely haven’t reached the point where I can pick up an 900-pager without months of deliberation. Last year I read Edith Grossman’s translation of Don Quixote (it’s amazing, read it), clocking in at a satisfying 1,000 pages. By the end of this year, my goal is to finally read 2666.

Diversion aside, while I didn’t read Bolaño’s magnum opus, I did read a book that nonetheless reveals his genius. Nazi Literature in the Americas is structured as an encyclopedia of writers who were either born or based in Latin America and North America, and, as the title implies, whose work and private life were politically and/or morally dubious. But as a master craftsman, Bolaño takes this idea and explores it with eloquent subtlety.

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The Answers by Catherine Lacey


A lesser writer would have taken the concept behind The Answers and used its strangeness as a vehicle for quirk and comedy. But in Catherine Lacey’s hands, the story is explored with complete seriousness and a mournful melancholy that manages to make even the most exaggerated moments deeply touching.

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Amazon Broke The Sale Embargo on the new Handmaid’s Tale Sequel, and I’m Never Buying A Book From Them Again

Long title, I know, but each word is necessary. This is my first ever post on here that isn’t essentially a book review, but I need to say this.

Fuck Amazon.

Amazon has broken the sale embargo on The Testaments, Margaret Atwood’s sequel to The Handmaid’s Tale and one of the most hugely anticipated  books in recent memory. If you don’t know what a sale embargo is, and I only do because I worked at a bookstore for two years. it is an official restriction on selling a particular book until it’s official release date. Penguin Random House and Hachette are the two publishers that put embargoes on all of their new releases, the rest of the publishers reserve them for their most anticipated releases. The Testaments is published by Penguin Random House, but it would have been embargoed no matter who published it. And Amazon knows this, and in spite of that they have already been sending out copies of the book a week in advance.

Any independent bookstore worth your love and respect respects embargoes. It is a way of levelling the playing field for all bookstores, and, again, any bookstore that is worth your love and respect is trying to help all independent bookstores survive. Amazon does none of this. The way in which Amazon sells books – cutting prices and taking a loss specifically to get you to buy from them and abandon bookstores, opening up trashy boutique bookstores, breaking embargoes, etc. etc. – is designed to run independent bookstores out of business. If you went into a bookstore every day for an entire week it wouldn’t take more than a day or two for you to overhear a customer asking a bookseller why they are selling a book for so much more than it is on Amazon (i.e., selling it for it’s listed price on the book itself) and complaining that having to wait two to three days for a book is unnecessary when they could get it from Amazon the next day. And the way these customers say these things clearly show that they think the store itself is at fault for realities out of the store’s control, and that them buying the book from Amazon is a just punishment for the store’s negligence.

Amazon is making us ungrateful shitheads. We need what we want NOW not LATER. Waiting is a compromise, and this is the 21st century where compromises are faults in reality to be conquered. Let’s just conveniently ignore that our rampant commercialism and needing everything we want immediately is destroying our planet, running independent businesses out of business, and killing service workers such as the delivery drivers that are forced to follow the impossible deadlines in order to get you your themed dildos and pumpkin spice face cream in time for your required next-day delivery.

I wish I could say I was a total Amazon boycotter like multiple of my former bookstore co-workers, but I’m not. I have Prime, I watch their shows and movies and utilize Prime to buy amenities that I probably wouldn’t ever take the time to show for at a store. And I’ve bought books. After beginning to work at Books Inc. in San Francisco I mostly limited myself to buying books from third-party sellers. But of course Amazon’s third-party practices are as godawful as the rest of the company.

So now, after years of complacency and indulgence in lazy convenience, I will finally put my money where my mouth is in an admittedly rather limited capacity, and maybe this will lead to future strength of mind. I hereby vow to never buy a book from Amazon again. I have prompted my friends and will now prompt you as well: if you see or (more likely for you) hear of me purchasing books from Amazon I urge you to terrorize me into buying a plane or bus ticket so you can come to where I live and punch me in the face.

One more time: fuck Amazon.


The New Me by Halle Butler

The New Me by Halle Butler proves that it is possible for a book to simultaneously confirm all our worst fears about the meaninglessness of modern life and to also serve as an argument for why it’s (mostly) worth living.

Millie is a thirty-year-old temp starting yet another low-paying office job as an assistant receptionist at an upscale design studio. She dislikes all of the women she works with and spends her considerable amount of free time overhearing their conversations and basking in how much more vapid and frivolous they are than her. She spends her evenings at the messy apartment her parents pay for, watching Forensic Files on a loop, eating the sad dinners that she can afford on her $12 an hour salary, and getting drunk on booze that she bought with money she could’ve used for food instead. If reading any of this is making you feel like a mirror is being mockingly held in your face, you are part of a gloriously miserable troupe known as Millennials. With infectious mirth Butler hits on the ceaseless anxiety, manic rage, and chronic helplessness that is existing in the 21st century.

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Things We Lost in the Fire by Mariana Enriquez

Things We Lost In The Fire by Mariana Enriquez was a unique reading experience. I distinctly recall being left somewhat disappointed by a number of the stories in this collection, especially the first few. They all would end with an explosion of nightmarish and violent imagery with complex supernatural elements, definitely following the end-with-a-bang mentality. And this endings would be a let down because Enriquez did such a good job building the atmosphere, sending the reader deeper into her characters’ nightmares, and you’d know that something horrifying was looming ever-closer. The endings just didn’t seem to add as much to the story as I had hoped, and took on the quality of a lot of shock and flash lacking substance. But at some point in the collection the complex themes and ideas of the stories started to align fantastically with the deeply disturbing imagery that Enriquez is so gifted at creating in every story.

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Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing and The Look of Silence

There is no overstating the greatness of The Act of Killing, Joshua Oppenheimer’s documentary revolving around a series of the perpetrators of Indonesia’s state sanctioned mass killings of suspected communists in 1965-66. He interviews a number of the killers, many politicians and other prominent figures who were either witnesses or participants. But the central figure is Anwar Congo, an eccentric and disarmingly charming former killer. He is known by all as one of the most prolific killers. The film follows Anwar around during his daily routine of reminiscing with other former killers and attending prominent political events where he is treated like a hero, and during this we get stirringly impromptu moments where Anwar admits to suffering from nightmares stemming from a moral reckoning that seems to be taking a increasing toll on his mental state. Contrasted with this, Oppenheimer devises a scheme to get Anwar and his brood of accomplices and hanger-ons to recreate scenes of torture and violence against suspected communists in the style of popular Hollywood genres.

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