A loving meditation on the differences between knowledge gained through solitary scholarliness, and understanding gained through worldliness and devotion to artistry. The titular Narcissus is an austere monk; Goldmund, his former pupil and fellow monk who leaves the monastery to travel the world and follow his passions. I am much more of a Goldmund than a Narcissus; though I have done a number of things in my life that must surely be coded as scholarly, my motivation to undertake those things has stemmed from personal interest and passion in various subjects. I recommend this book to anyone who considers himself an artist.
If you haven't read Heinlein before, I wouldn't start here -- try The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, then maybe Starship Troopers -- but if you're a diehard fan, you can't go wrong with the extra dose of R.A.H. which this book provides.
The short stories in this collection are classic Heinlein: expect a lot of tight, dialogue-heavy prose between competent, confident (but not two-dimensional) characters. There are also non-fiction essays on several topics, including an amusing and cynical diatribe against public education standards organized around a disheartening exploration of just how little some students actually learn while supposedly "earning" a bachelor's degree at UC Santa Cruz. (Having attended there as a master's student through the end of last year, I can tell you that at least from what I saw, the situation hasn't changed much in 2024.)
It's set in 16th-century Italy. O'Farrell clearly did her research into the material conditions of everyday life, the politics of dynasty and inheritance, and, most importantly, the mindsets that nobles, courtiers, artists, and servants would have possessed. Depth of detail does not make a novel good on its own, but O'Farrell marries her deep knowledge of the past with rich, carefully crafted prose that subtly adds or reinforces detail about the book's setting, and skillfully conveys the psychology of Lucrezia, the willful protagonist who struggles against what is expected of her before and after being married off to produce an heir for Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara.
A police thriller where the protagonist, a forensics cop with a CIA background, works to figure out who's trying to frame him for the work of a psycho that loves building murder tunnels. The intrigue is competent, but there are no twists whatsoever, and the writing quality ranges ranging from serviceable to quite poor. Gets a 2.5 instead of a 2 because, for all that, I was sufficiently drawn in to read most of it straight through.
I won't give this book a score because I didn't really give it a fair shake -- but after 30-40 pages, I still didn't give a shit about the characters or what was happening to them. I'm also deadly allergic to the technique of using Capital Letters to make otherwise ordinary Nouns seem Portentous.
I love me some Paul Theroux travel writing, but even his skill with the pen can't save this book about walking England's coastline from coming off dull. By deliberately avoiding the monuments, castles, and other sights that one would ordinarily include when writing about England, Theroux sets himself the challenge of writing only about everyday things like hotels, travelers, trains, cliffs, roadside amusements, and shabby little towns.
