John J. Vinacci

For a book that has spent time on the New York Times Bestsellers list, I have to echo the sentiment of one reviewer who wrote on Reddit, “ The Midnight Library reads like what someone who has never suffered from depression imagines it to be, and lacks all the intelligence, profundity, and complex thought you can tell the author feels they are ‘blessing’ the readers with.” Scanning reviews of this book seem to indicate the read was life-changing for some readers which I guess could be possible if you’ve never thought about the meaning of your own life until this book came along.  The story follows the unlikable, wooden-esque Nora, a 30-something English woman whose life is in the drain and decides to kill herself whereupon she finds herself in a library filled with books that tell the story of her other lives, given a multiverse of possibilities had she made different choices or at least choices she didn't regret. Opening those books gives her a chance to live those lives and if ...

Clearly not one of Arthur C. Clarke’s best works. Childhood’s End begins with the presence of aliens Overlords already established, with a human – U.N. Secretary-General Stormgren – as their mouthpiece. The Overlords begin their occupation as a veiled force that thrusts utopia upon humanity at the cost of humanity’s freedom and cultural identities with their human collaborators appearing to be largely trustful of the aliens’ unknown motives. But are the aliens trustworthy; do they have our best interests in mind? Or do they have some other motive for foisting utopia upon humanity? One would think this would be a major theme of the book but it’s actually not. Instead, the book meanders its way to being an occasionally interesting analysis of human purpose. The meandering is the book’s greatest flaw as it reads more like a series of loosely connected, extended vignettes rather than having a univocal message, or at least not an obvious one. For instance, with almost a fifth of the boo...

Starter Villain  by John Scalzi’s is my follow up read to his lighthearted Kaiju Preservation Society . From beginning to end, Starter Villain is packed full of soft (and sometimes sardonic) humor with a side of social commentary as it follows Charlie, a destitute, down-on-his-luck ex-business journalist turned substitute-teacher. Charlie’s only asset is the house of his late father, which really belongs to his siblings as well who want him to move out so they can sell it. Other than his faithful cat, Hera, life sucks for Charlie. After Charlie’s estranged uncle dies and leaves behind his fortune, allegedly attained from his parking garage empire, Charlie’s contacted by his uncle’s assistant who informs him that it was the final wish of his uncle to purchase his house from the family trust and gift it to Charlie outright, but only if he stands for his uncle at the funeral. And that’s when the fun begins. Charlie soon realizes there was more to his uncle’s life than being a parking...

Shortly after my father’s death in 1989, I was happy to leave The States and return to my army unit in Germany since that’s where my guitar was. It was around this time the kindling of a rock band began to smolder after my brother-from-another-mother and I discovered a large, unused room in the attic in the furthest reaches of the barracks. (Actually, I’d already known about it since my girlfriend and I usually held our trysts there, but the prospect of rock stardom outweighed privacy concerns and so I led my friend there to ‘discover’ the room together.) That brother-from-another-mother, Rick (R.I.P.), also played guitar and our ‘styles’ (read: schlocking) meshed well since we grew up on similar rock music. And so, for a while it was just myself and Rick. At some point we’d heard the tall guy in 3 rd platoon, Fred, was a dedicated Rush fan and played drums. Despite the fact our abilities were clearly beneath Fred after we heard him play, we convinced him to join our ensemble without ...

The face, in this picture Looks sort, of familiar The eyes I have seen But the name rather distant When was the time, the immeasurable date My thoughts are blurry and mutated           I’ve forgotten it, don’t remember bliss           Too long ago and too far away (it all slipped away)           If we ever kissed, memory’s a ship           That sailed long ago and so far away (it all slipped away) A lover stranger than fiction Dragged by the winds ‘til barely a whisper The years a mausoleum Ancient and inconsistent When was goodbye? It escapes all my guesses The eternal sunshine of repression         I’ve forgotten it, don’t remember bliss         Too long ago and too far away (it all slipped away)         If we ever kissed, memory’s a sh...

Having only read a short story of two from Murakami which were mundane to say the least, I’m not sure why I undertook the epic length of 1Q84. Yet I did and came to find the book is not without any merit. The prose of the much-ballyhooed novel certainly flows well-enough and I can say that I’ve never come across such an unusual plot before, even having read a good deal of surreal fiction; I love the book’s originality in that regard. I also enjoyed characters that are well-developed. However, I have a number of misgivings preventing me from finding this a satisfying read: For starters, Murakami is a writer for people who like their scenes explained in mind-numbing detail. That’s all well and good for some readers, but for others like myself its entirely frustrating. In 1Q84’s case, it often felt like Murakami was trying to meet a page count, where entire chapters did little – and on occasion – nothing at all to advance the story. There is also a great deal of sex throughout the book ...