Karl Delossantos

The Book of Joe is an often hilarious and sometimes sweet take on the life of a man of a certain age.

I think nailing comedy in a book is a lot harder than a lot of people think. It is difficult to get a joke to land properly when you can’t control its pacing or timing. However, Jonathan Tropper has a way with words that it doesn’t need to be a set-up and punchline set-up to be funny. He’s just a damn funny writer. That’s why the clear plot issues in his debut Plan B are easy to look over when you’re laughing at the fact that three grown adults are arguing over how to knock someone out properly.

The Book of Joe, his second novel, takes that biting humor and puts into that “return to hometown” plot. However, although those types of books and movies get tedious and cloying, Tropper’s overall wittiness and brutal humor make it a refreshing read. The novel tells the story of Joe Goffman, a bestselling offer who did what any great writer does — write from experience. In his case, he writes about his hometown Bush Falls, the people, and his experiences. His book becomes a hit and is turned into a popular movie. He never thought he would have to return to Bush Falls again. That is until his father falls into a coma.

His return to the Falls is obviously not received. It seems that everybody in the town hates him. Well, almost everybody. His old best friend Wayne still accepts him, who ends up being the source for much of his growth in the book, and his nephew, who seems to always be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the hatred in the town is palpable. As evidenced by the milkshake thrown in his face shortly after he arrives and an assault by the town’s book club with copies of Bush Falls. Needless to say, the town isn’t happy with Joe’s “exposé,” which he even admits is fair considering he was brutal in his literary assault on the citizens of Bush Falls.

Some of the plot devices aren’t too inspired — sick father who was never loving, a dead mother, a popular older brother, an awkward return to a hometown. However, Tropper tames them by adequately giving a reason behind their existence. What plot lines do work are the ones involving his high school best friends Wayne and Sammy, and his high school girlfriend Carly.

The first half of the novel alternates between present day and the fictional Bush Falls novel that Joe wrote. Giving backstory while the action takes place is a huge reason why the first half is so successful. Sometimes, the passages from Bush Falls even surpass the present because of its pure quality in writing. Though characters get mopped up into stereotypes like the best friend’s hot mom or the closeted star athlete, Tropper makes up for it with depth in others.

Tropper tends to write about 30-somethings going through radical changes in life. However, you don’t have to be a 30-something to enjoy this book. A vein of regret, loneliness, and redemption run through the novel. There are surprising moments of genius in his writing:

“Loneliness doesn’t exist on any single plane of consciousness. It’s generally a low throb, barely audible, like the hum of a Mercedes engine in park, but every so often the demands of the highway call for a burst of acceleration, and the hum becomes a thunderous, elemental roar, and once again you’re reminded of what this baby’s carrying under the hood.”

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It’s what Tropper does best, he caters to the everyday person — the person that may not be looking for the next Crime and Punishment, but for an easy and entertaining read that has enough depth to keep it engaging. The language he uses will appeal to the highly visual reader who plays a movie in their head while they read. He has surprising passages of genius that still use his witty and hilarious style.

“To err, as they say, is human. To forgive is divine. To err by withholding your forgiveness until it’s too late is to become divinely fucked up.”

He made some missteps in the second half. Mainly, the lack of flashbacks bogs down the story a bit (which it usually does the opposite), and the main character’s growth becomes a bit stunted. However, the character of Wayne is able to drive and protect the second half from

The Book of Joe doesn’t come close to reaching the heights of This Is Where I Leave You, though I’m afraid he may never, but it does make for unexpected read. With surprising themes of regret, forgiveness, loneliness, and redemption, The Book of Joe will thoroughly entertain you, tug at your heart, and, eventually give you hope that life can be put back onto track. 7.5/10

The Art of Fielding is one of the most entertaining and enthralling character studies in recent years

I know next to nothing about baseball. Home runs, fouls, and bases loaded are pretty much the extent of my baseball knowledge. And, to be blunt, I pretty much think watching it is as entertaining as watching paint dry (please don’t hate me baseball fans). However, The Art of Fielding is probably one of the most entertaining and enthralling character studies released within the last couple years, especially since it’s a “book about baseball.” But it isn’t really. Yes, baseball is pretty much the main vein down the center of the novel’s various plot points, but it’s merely treated as a plot device to set the intense character study into motion.




The novel surrounds the Wettish Harpooners, a Division III baseball team in Wisconsin. A small, but passionate, school just off of Lake Michigan. Although the book focuses on five characters, the main character (in terms of plot) is Henry Skrimshander. (SIDE NOTE: Harbach has a knack for naming characters.) He is the first introduced and probably the one that has to change the most. That’s apparent from the first page. When we meet him, he’s a scrawny, somewhat dull, and naive shortstop, who is, in all intensive purposes, a savant at the position. He has potential, and Mike Schwartz sees that potential. So is born the complicated love/hate relationship between the players. He is the saving grace of the Harpooners. He makes them work harder, play better, and most importantly, win. By his junior year, he becomes the foundation of the team and even begins to perk the interest of scouts looking to bring him into the majors. However, like all great novels, the good times never last. Soon, the player that was once the key to success becomes the straw that may break the team’s back. All of which unfolds in a gorgeous, sharp prose that makes the action of the game more entertaining than in reality.

Both times he double-clutched and made a soft, hesitant throw. Instead of rifle shots fired at a target, they felt like doves released from a box.

The rest of the character seemingly fill in around Henry. There’s Owen Dunne, also known as Buddha, his gay roommate, and teammate, who casually wisps through life as casually as he hits a ball. The president of the school, Guert Affenlight, a grown man who is as confused as a college freshman, and his daughter Pella, a girl whose confusion mirrors both her father and Henry’s as she navigates the world after the demise of her marriage, complete the cast of characters. The ensemble is gracefully woven through storylines that concern each other, themselves, and of course, the team. Though the daunting 500-pages almost seem excessive, Harbach doesn’t waste single sentence. Every page helps move the characters forward.




However, the novel never goes out of Harbach’s control. It’s shockingly well thought out for a debut. Harbach knows where he wants the characters go and guides them there with ease, whether it’s 60-year-old Affenlight, whose obsession with Owen begins to affect his effectiveness as president or Pella’s journey to be both independent from her husband and her father. Even though the book covers several threads and decisions that characters make and how they affect their lives, it’s always the relationship between Schwartz and Skrimashander that the book seems to come back to. They affect each other directly and indirectly, and these effects affect the people around them. These effects are carefully noted and defined by Harbach, but he doesn’t give too much away. If you’re a reader that thrives on learning how a character is changing rather than being told, then the dynamism of The Art of Fielding ensemble will be a buffet. It seems that everyone has something to prove an obstacle to tackle. It’s almost as if Harbach is obsessed with time lost and dreams deferred.

The Art of Fielding isn’t going to be a book that everyone loves or, in some cases, even likes. However, I think that’s attributed to that fact that not everyone is built to read a book that doesn’t have a tangible destination. If you had to choose one, it would probably be the maturity of the characters, although choosing one would be unnecessary. We’re not supposed to know the destination, just as the characters don’t know what the future holds.

8.5/10

The Art of Fielding is available on paperback, hardcover, and e-book on Amazon!

By the time we were ready to cross the border, we knew everything…and we knew nothing.

That’s the best way to describe reading Jeff VanderMeer’s psychological thriller and first book of the Southern Reach Trilogy. Everything and nothing is as it seems as a 4-person expedition makes their way into the mysterious Area X, an abandoned stretch of US Coastline that has been reclaimed by nature (or something quite the opposite). The group, which consists of four women — all unnamed, is the twelfth expedition into the fabled area, which is as mysterious as the organization that sent them there.

The Biologist, our narrator, is a stoic, unsuspecting heroine of the journey who is following in the footsteps of her husband, who was in the previous expedition that had returned as shells of their former selves before all suddenly dying of cancer. The book is said to be her journal that all expedition members are expected to maintain. This gives us one of the first points of brilliance from VanderMeer. Her incredulous experience is enhanced by “her” honest writing. However, whether or not it’s honest is up for debate. I mean, it is her account of the entire ordeal. She even contradicts herself in some parts of her journal. The book uses the unreliable narrator trope to perfection.




Our unreliable narrator also makes it seem that she’s the most sane of the group. There’s the group leader, the psychologist, who she paints to be a suspicious observer of the other three. The anthropologist is merely seen as a useless tool, and the surveyor as brute. She makes herself out to be the heroine, but whether or not she is is unknown.

The novel has been marketed as a psychological thriller, or, perhaps, horror would be better suited. But I believe the novel is Loftcraftian in nature. It doesn’t rely on terrible gore, although it’s certainly graphic enough. Instead, VanderMeer uses the fear of the unknown to his advantage. He uses it to build suspense — deafening, aching suspense — that makes you fear what’s around the corner (or the next page).

As the expedition goes from bad to worse, mysteries are uncovered, sometimes solved, but overall, VanderMeer maintains a veil over everything going on in Area X. I will warn you, if you’re a book reader that needs to get answers before the last page, then this isn’t the read for you. Those mysteries are what drive the book. They’re what induce horror into you. However, the book has enough twists and thrills to keep you entertained through out.

One the other hand, if there is a downfall to the novel, it is its leading character. It’s not that the biologist is underdeveloped. Quite the opposite, actually. The action of the story is often halted to give her development through her experiences. Frankly, that development proves that she’s just a boring character and borderline unlikeable. The skilled and spontaneous surveyor ends up being the most intriguing, or simply most human character of the team. VanderMeer’s characterization of the biologist as the typical introvert geek who’d rather be with a tidal pool than with people just feels inherently unrelatable.




The weak main character aside, Annihilation is a quick and entertaining read that keeps you guessing till the very last page. VanderMeer’s writing may be long and, at times, tedious, but it will hook you and never let you go. It’s that dragged out nature that gives you a sense of dread, even when you feel safe. Truly, there’s no refuge in the pages of the novel.

Annihilation is just the first novel of the Southern Reach Trilogy; however, even 200 pages into the entire series as a whole, I have no idea where it could go. As I said, Annihilation created as many mysteries as it solved, but just how many there are in total is yet to be answered.

Get Annihilation in paperback, hardcover, or e-book on Amazon!