Drie verschrikkelijke dagen is a 1976 novel by Dutch author Guus Kuijer, who is mostly known for his books for younger readers. Nowadays, we would perhaps lump this book on the Young Adult pile: there’s this fifteen year old boy, who tries to impress this seventeen year old girl. So he steals his father’s car, which is the beginning of three terrible days, in which he learns a lot about growing up, his parents, relationships, and all that.
I first read this book years ago, when I was in secondary school, but that was over twenty years ago. Since then, I read some of Kuijers’ non-fiction (taking down Luther a notch or two, and about how the little gods of religious extremists have killed capital-G god), and his excellent Het boek van alle dingen, a children’s book that’s delightfully irreverent of religion.
This book is nothing like that. It’s clearly written for at teenagers, with A Big Message, and I daresay that it has aged quite well. Thematically, at least. Probably because Kuijers’ style remains a joy to read.
If you want to talk about Joe Hill’s The Fireman, you’ll eventually have to acknowledge the elephant in the room: talking about The Fireman while not discussing his father’s work seems nearly impossible. As Hill said in an interview with Wired:
So the deaf/mute boy gets called Nick, the pregnant leading lady’s second name is Francis (“May I call you Frannie?”), the off-brand cola is called Nozz-A-La, hell, he event admits in the dedications: “for my father, from whom I stole all the rest.” (the title was Ray Bradbury’s working title for Fahrenheit 451). He even mimics his end-of-chapter “… but if only they knew what would happen next …” cliffhangers.
“But,” you ask, “Does it matter?”
“No,” I say. “No, it does not matter a bit.”
Well, apart from that cliffhanger thing, because that just drives nuts. But that’s about the only thing I can hold against it, as The Fireman is delightful: the world is going to hell in a flaming hand basket on behalf of some spore that causes people to spontaneously self-combust (Draco Incendia Trichophyton, but just Dragonscale to it’s friends), and Nurse Harper (late twenties, pregnant, slight Mary Poppins fixation) is having none of the gloom. After getting rid of her jackass husband, she joins a group of infectees hiding away at disused summer camp, where she falls in love with the titular fireman (British accent, bit of a potty-mouth, not really a fireman). And of course there are bad guys hunting everybody with the ‘Scale.
So getting back to the elephant: I didn’t mind it. The Fireman is not The Stand, it’s its own thing, with a bit of common ground. And, it doesn’t get in the way of the story. If you’re not a Constant Reader, you might not pick up on all those little links. And if you do, it’s like, “Hey, we’re in this together,” an inside joke. Also, as with NOS4R2, it’s just Hill having fun, not an attempt to merge fictional universes. But I guess I wouldn’t mind if it eventually come to that.
Bottom line: I liked this book. A lot. And if you’d ask me, I’d say you should totally read it. Highly recommended.
Joe Hill — The Fireman
Harper Grayson had seen lots of people burn on TV, everyone had, but the first person she saw burn for real was in the playground behind the school.
End of Watch is the final volume in Stephen King’s Bill Hodges-trilogy. Unlike Finders Keepers it directly links back to the events set out in Mr. Mercedes. In fact, the opening of this book gives us another angle on the Mercedes Killer’s rampage. Fast forward six years, where our favorite Ret. Det. Hodges, now diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, gets pulled into an investigation into a series of suicides. Along with Holly Gibney, his partner in their private eye agency Finders Keepers, they unveil the link: Brady Hartsfield, Mr. Mercedes himself. Despite being socked in the head with a sockful of ball-bearings, he still manages to manage mischief. Of course, in typical Stephen King fashion, in the end it sort of mostly ends well.
Where the first two parts of the trilogy were pretty straight-forward detective novels read like King was having fun with a genre piece. End of Watch throws in some supernatural twists and feels more like King doing what he does best. All in all, this was highly enjoyable.
Ever since his 7th birthday, whenever there’s a full moon, little Dolfje turns into a werewolf. Dolfje Weerwolfje is the first in an ongoing series of children’s novels by Paul van Loon, which in Dolfje finds out that he is a werewolf, and gets to worry about a lot of things? What would happen his Father and Mother find out? What would happen if his neighbor, whose chickens he snatches when he gets very, very hungry, catches him? And how did he get to be a werewolf in the first place?
In the second book, Volle maan, Dolfje has an overnight trip with his class. What he didn’t realize — gasp! — is that it’s a full moon. While trying to prevent the truth from being discovered, Dolfje also has to deal with a hunter and a mysterious boy living in the woods. Luckily, Father and the rest of his family come to save the day.
The Dolfje Weerwolfje books are a lot of fun. With their short, staccato sentences, they’re clearly aimed at children, but who cares? They’re a hoot-and-a-half, and for my nighttime reading, I require little else. Once the next few installments return from their loan, I’ll put them on the top of the reading pile.
Where Pirate Cinema — the first of Cory Doctorow’s books I read — was part novel, part copyright-reform-manifesto, Little Brother, is part novel, part (online) privacy primer.
It’s the story of a teenage boy who takes on the Department of Homeland Security (who have turned his hometown, and perhaps the entire nation into a complete police state), and, ultimately, wins. Meanwhile, it covers surveillance, why there’s a need for privacy even if you have nothing to hide, a lot of internet security and hacking, punk rock rebellion, and a pretty damn good story: make no mistake, Little Brother is delightfully nerdy — my inner geek rejoiced — but it manages to remain solid story.
Cory Doctorow — Little Brother
I’m a senior at Cesar Chavez high in San Francisco’s sunny Mission district, and that makes me one of the most surveilled people in the world.