Five Men Who Broke My Heart: A Memoir by Susan Shapiro

I can't believe it took me three weeks to read a 200-page book. I refuse to leave a book unfinished once I've committed, but that doesn't mean I won't passive-aggressively avoid it for as long as I can. I had to read this book for several areasons. One: it's a memoir by a regular person and I like to think I like them. Two: great title. Three: great fodder for a memoir. I very badly want to write a book someday, and since fiction ain't my bag and I don't know anything about anything, memoirs are pretty much my only hope. And I've often thought of excavating my romantic past as a good possibility for my own future tome. It's with this book that I realize that can be a really bad idea. I just couldn't like Susan Shapiro; in truth, I hated her. I can't think of anyone I know who is more unappealing. I suppose it's not reasonable to tell someone writing a memoir to "Get over yourself!" - I mean, geez, what did you think you'd find here? - but I so badly wanted to shake her and do just that. Because I don't think it's just the book. I can't help thinking she really is as self-centered and narcissistic as frustrating and infuriatingly self-obsessed she comes off here. It's one of the dangers of having had Too Much Therapy, which Ms. Shapiro definitely has. This is one striking case where all the therapy in the world won't fix what's wrong, but any amount is too much. Some people just need to be avoided. The person I most identified with in this book, and the person who kept me reading, was her husband Aaron. What must it be like to be Aaron? He's a cipher; we know all about the sperm, but nothing of the man. If anything, he is dismissed for being even-tempered and grown up. I kept reading to find out if we ever get to know him, though I don't think I've ever made so many progress checks and calculations ("I'm 1/3 done!", "I'm 3/8 done!"...) on a 200 page book. I considered jumping ahead to the last 40 pages or so, but in the end I slogged through every last word. Ultimately my problem comes down to her basic disrespect for their marriage, and how inconsiderate it was to write what she writes. My mind kept returning to the horror with which I read William Goldman's original introduction to The Princess Bride in high school, before it dawned on me that the intro was fictional and he wasn't really saying all those humiliating things about his son. How selfish does one have to be not only to methodically excavate old lovers when your marriage hits a bad patch, but then write a book and share it not only with strangers, but with family, casual acquaintances, colleagues, and all the other people who will read the thing? I don't care if the names have been changed; it won't help. Note to anyone who reads this anyway: there are two charts on page 140-141 that should have been placed right up front. They show basic demographics and timelines for all the men referenced, and they put things in valuable context. If I'd seen them in the beginning, maybe I could have kept David and Brad separate in my mind. And who's George, again?

The Hanged Man's Song by John Sandford

Kidd may just be the most unusual hero ever to have his own Mystery / Thriller genre series. He's a watercolor painter and reader of tarot cards who doesn't carry a gun and makes a living as a criminal. Picture John Cusack as Martin Blank, without the violence. Kidd's a computer hacker, but not in the cheesy TV-movie sense; he's really a terrific character. Kidd is teamed with LuEllen, a paranoid coke-snorting burglar who's never told him her last name or address despite many fruitful years of association. Kidd & LuEllen are ciphers who've never been fingerprinted, photographed, or otherwise identified by the good guys. They never even drive over the speed limit for fear of a ticket. They obviously love each other, but to call it such aloud would border on profane. They're pragmatic and sensible and intensely likeable despite their mercenary lives. I always go into Kidd novels - this is the fourth - with low expectations. I have no idea why. I am always, always really pleased with the results. It's too bad that Sandford can't hold the Prey series to the same level of quality. There's an energy and a freshness to every page that is invigorating. This one is a bit strange in that there isn't an external job for Kidd to do - it's all internal. A longtime friend, associate, and guru figure of the hack community is killed and Kidd is looking to catch the killer. But his motives are unclear - sure, he wants justice for a friend he's never met and whose real name he doesn't even know, but he wants just as badly to recover stolen property that leaves him vulnerable to the authorities. It's about self-protection as much as anything. I imagine the lack of new characters and outside forces might make the book inaccessible to readers who haven't read the first few books, but I still enjoyed it even though it's been years since I read the last one. I may even pick up the first three again as a re-read soon. Great stuff.