Top Ten Tuesday: Books I Read In 2015

"Top Ten Tuesday is an original feature/weekly meme created here at The Broke and the Bookish. This feature was created because we are particularly fond of lists here at The Broke and the Bookish. We'd love to share our lists with other bookish folks and would LOVE to see your top ten lists!

Each week we will post a new Top Ten list  that one of our bloggers here at The Broke and the Bookish will answer. Everyone is welcome to join. All we ask is that you link back to The Broke and the Bookish on your own Top Ten Tuesday post AND add your name to the Linky widget so that everyone can check out other bloggers lists! If you don't have a blog, just post your answers as a comment. Have fun with it! It's a fun way to get to know your fellow bloggers."

I decided to join in the Top Ten Tuesday blog feature because 1) I need more blogging in my life again, 2) I love lists, and 3) my friend Hannah has been doing it for a while and it looked like a lot of fun! There's a new Top Ten topic at The Broke and the Bookish every week – except this week, the topic was free! As I was so dreadfully lazy reviewing all the great books I read last year, my topic this week will be...

Top Ten Books I Read in 2015

1. The Unknown Soldier (Finnish title Tuntematon sotilas) by Väinö Linna
Look look look, there's a Finnish novel in my blog post! See, I do read literature from my home country about once in a decade! Alright, the point is – I very rarely enjoy Finnish literary classics and non-classics even less, but reading a book such as The Unknown Soldier and writing about it on my blog makes me a very happy Finn. This is one of the few re-reads I included on this list. The Unknown Soldier is considered such a prime example of how the presentation of soldiers and war evolved in the Finnish literary landscape as well as a truthful description of the conditions in the Continuation War, that it is a compulsory read for every single Finnish secondary school student. Back in my school days, it completely surprised me by being the only "Finnish classic must-read" that I enjoyed. Now I'm glad I read it again, because the novel certainly is weighty and thought-provoking enough to endure a re-visit. The plot, essentially, is the Continuation War (1941-1944) between Finland and the Soviet Union from an ordinary soldier's point of view. Instead of one central character, the narrative follows a machine gun company that quite brilliantly works as a microcosm of the entire country, in terms of regional variety as well as political views. These men scorn their self-important superior officers, have absolutely no idea of the wider perspective or even the overall purpose of the war they are made to fight, grow bitter and fed up with the meagre food rations and generally present the Finnish soldier as the opposite of a shiny, national-minded hero. Critics disliked this approach when the book was published (1954), but nowadays the general opinion is that Väinö Linna achieved the most realistic, honest,  unpretentious depiction of the Finnish war front that there ever has been, and probably ever will be. I agree with this sentiment with all my heart – if anyone asks me what is the one Finnish novel that they should try, I say go find The Unknown Soldier. I heard that there was a new English translation out last year and that it's much better than the old one, though the title has been pluralized to The Unknown Soldiers.


2. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell
This book is an absolute marvel, a masterpiece built out of genius, a unique tour de force of what tremendous delivery can be achieved in no other art form than the novel. The structure is just one of Mitchell's many triumphs in this book: there are six different narrators in different time periods ranging from the Gold Rush years to a post-apocalyptic future, each of them is interrupted at a crucial moment and then completed in the reverse order in which they were begun. The different narrative voices and styles come through so brilliantly that you have to wonder how they all came from one writer, not six. Thematically, Cloud Atlas delves deep into issues of colonialism, ownership, morality, and how a single individual finds their place in the world – all this in six different levels!


3. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
I read this one for last year's Banned Books Week. The story begins in Kabul, Afghanistan where the Talebans soon take over. The main character, Amir, manages to escape to the United States with his father, and they manage to build a new life in the newly formed community of other Afghan emigrants. However, something terrible happened to Amir's childhood friend just before the Taleban movement, and having witnessed it, Amir is haunted by the memory and the lie he has lived since then, and has to return to Afghanistan – now a strange and terrifying place for him – to make amends and set right what he feels he did wrong. The Kite Runner is often challenged for its violent content, and it's true that it describes man's cruelty in atrociously hideous ways – but it would be a great pity if this novel were discouraged based on that, because all of this works towards the theme of redemption which Amir seeks. With Amir, we readers have to sink deep down in despair in order to really feel the elation of rising up again. The Kite Runner will most definitely rip out your heart strings... But it's also one of the most beautiful books I have ever read, and will hold a place in my list of all-time favorites when I get round to writing it down.


4. Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian
The year is 1800, the British Navy is fighting Napoleon, and Captain Aubrey meets Doctor Maturin. Here begins a series of naval adventures set in the Napoleonic Wars, presented with meticulous detail concerning the navy and the politics of the age and seasoned with an epic Aubrey-Maturin friendship where one is a jolly, straightforward navy commander who is victorious at sea but a walking catastrophe on land; the other, an Irish-Catalonian doctor, naturalist and all-round intellectual who has many regrets about his secretive past and ends up working as Aubrey's ship surgeon with absolutely no knowledge of life (or jargon) on a fighting ship. The period setting alone would be a real treat as the Napoleonic Wars provide great opportunities for exciting navy action and political debates, but the very best thing about this series is the friendship between Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin.


5. Post Captain by Patrick O'Brian
Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin are off to fight the French again... until the Treaty of Amiens comes into effect a couple of paragraphs in. So now Captain Aubrey and his crew have to figure out what British Navy employees do when they're out of work. Fortunately, there is country life and bright young women's company to be enjoyed. With period-accurate dialogue and focus on social interaction, the first part of Post Captain is very much like a Jane Austen novel from the mens' point of view. It's quite a fun experiment really. All in all, I liked this one even better than Master and Commander. The first book, of course, laid the groundwork for Aubrey and Maturin's friendship; now, life on land sets up a series of conflicts between the two and it looks like we'll see Doctor Maturin's epic dueling skills in action. Even as the war recommences and the fellows have a ship again, the poor reader has to endure a roller-coster ride of tensions rising and falling between the two. Ladies, debts, a dodgy ship – times are hard. Still, there is humour aplenty as well, just like in the first book. Actually, I laughed my head off so badly on more than one occasion that people around me had to check if I was really reading about the Napoleonic Wars.


6. The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater
I asked this book for Christmas on a complete whim simply because someone mentioned it on Facebook and a gang of rich private school boys getting wrapped up in the supernatural while trying to find a Welsh king's grave sounded like an intriguing premise. It turned out, intriguing was a gross understatement – I finished the book in more or less 24 hours because I had to know what would happen to Gansey, Adam, Ronan and Noah. See, that's what happens to a reader when a writer decides, "Alright, my main characters are all going to be 17-year-olds, but instead of giving them the usual flat-and-angsty teenage treatment, I'm going to write them into such believably human, complex characters with actual flaws and problems that the readers are going to go insane trying to figure them out. Then I'll end the book while all the plot threads are still hanging in the air and say, Nope, this was just the first book in a four-part series, you have no life until you read the rest of it!" I love how the two settings of a privileged boys' school and a household full of psychic (in some cases psychedelic) women are presented side by side as Blue Sargent, a psychic's non-gifted daughter, becomes involved in the Raven Boys' quest. Blue Sargent is really the only slight complaint I have about this book. The boys she hangs out with are fleshed out to such an extent I want to cry my eyes out for all their individual hardships, while the main thing we get out of Blue is that she puts a lot of thought into appearing as non-mainstream as possible. Look, effortlessly individual and original people are great – people who work really hard to seem that way are just annoying. But I'm not condemning Blue just yet, I expect the rest of the series might add more dimensions to her. Besides, I need to get my life back soon.


7. Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
I have kind of a divided opinion about my most recent Dickens read. It took me forever to finish because some parts of it were so slow and secondary to the actual plot that I left the book lying around for weeks at a time. Then, when I got to the good bits, I would always wonder How the heck was I ever able to stop reading this?! This is one of Dickens' "social problem" novels; in this case he delivers an astonishingly powerful commentary on the effects of institutionalization. It affects William Dorrit, a long-time resident at the Marshalsea debtors' prison; more tragically, it affects his daughter Amy, the eponymous "Little Dorrit", who can't escape her father's social stigma and his absolute dependence on her. Enter Arthur Clennam, quite an unusual literary hero for Dickens or in fact any writer: he's approaching middle-age, despairing over the unfulfilling life he has led so far, and constantly brooding on whether he will ever be any good to anyone. Dickens is criticized for writing characters who are either caricaturishly wicked or angelically innocent and this criticism is not at all unfounded (Little Dorrit herself is quite a frustrating little saint most of the time, though I'll have more to say about her once I get a proper review out) but stuff with Clennam is Deep. So even though I wanted to skip most of the indulgently satirical bits about Victorian British bureaucracy and the superficial life of the Merdles, overall Little Dorrit won me over with its earnest depiction of human despair and beautiful bits of dialogue. Charles Dickens continues to rock in my books.


8. And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie.
This was another re-read. There's one thing I've noticed about detective fiction: It can be brilliant, but only in small doses. As a genre, I think it is one of the most reliant in certain conventions and patterns, and it takes a very skilled writer to avoid falling into repetition. Well, Agatha Christie is obviously one of the best in her class and she manages to break quite a few rules with And Then There Were None. The biggest one: there's no detective. There's no-one to keep a cool head when the bodies start piling up, no-one to reassure everybody that they will find the murderer. Tension climbs sky-high as people get claustrophobic and paranoid, everyone's darkest secrets are spilling out... It's utterly amazing. Even if I do get round to reading more Christie novels in the future, I doubt that any of them will be able to top this.


9. Looking for Alaska by John Green
Everyone knows John Green since he wrote The Fault In Our Stars. I started reading him from his first published work, Looking for Alaska, not knowing what to expect. My first thought? I'm clearly too old to read about teenagers being stupid. The main character is Miles Halter, a teen outsider who decides to move into a boarding school in order to experience something new. Apparently, in order to have a life he has to do stupid teenager stuff and get hopelessly infatuated with a most annoying girl named Alaska. This is the first half of the book. Then, there's A Huge Event, after which... comes all the stuff that had me thinking all sorts of deep things about life, loss and young peoples' mental capacities for weeks on end. I can't really say any more about that without spoiling everything. Just... apparently, there are writers out there who think that books aimed at teen readers can and should provoke discussion about the most difficult things in life. Bravo to them all.


10. Contes du jour et de la nuit by Guy de Maupassant
I couldn't find an English title for this one online and I read it in French myself. It's one of the short story collections by Guy de Maupassant, a notable French practitioner in that genre. It goes a little bit against the title of this post to include this one here because I haven't quite finished it yet, but my love for Maupassant's writing already runs so deep that I'm certain Contes will keep its place in the list even after I'm finished with it. Tales of day and night sounds like a collection of fairy tale treasures – but Maupassant's "fairy tales" are about real people in a very real, mostly provincial France and, like most fairy tales in their original form, it's not all bliss and sunshine. The beauty of Maupassant's stories is how earnestly they depict the most basic emotions and impulses that direct human lives.

Library treasures

Hi everyone! The local library was holding an outlet book sale, meaning they were selling out their old library books for just TWO EUROS each, so of course I went. Good thing too, because I found some pretty amazing books. 

First, something you never see on the shelves of Finnish bookstores: ALL of Charles Dickens' Christmas stories! 

Christmas Books contains all of the novellas, of which I've only read A Christmas Carol so far.

Christmas Stories compiles all the short stories, and I don't remember reading any of these. What a happy Christmas I'm going to have, getting through all of this!

Then there's this one little book that I picked up just because it was pretty and French. 

And finally, indulging my habit of collecting sheet music from musicals. 

Le Fantôme de l'Opéra – quel ennui!

Most people are aware of the existence of an Andrew Lloyd Webber-composed musical phenomenon called The Phantom of the Opera, and will even recognize the first five notes of the overture. However, few will know that this famous spectacle is based on a little French novel written by Gaston Leroux, published in 1910. I had been familiar with the musical version for quite some time before I took up the novel – the original French edition, to keep up my skills – so naturally, I had some expectations and was interested to see how the stage adaptation compared to its original source.

I hate to say this, but I was incredibly bored most of the time with this book. The 300+ pages seemed to never come to an end, and that wasn't just because French is a little harder for me to read than English or Finnish. I think part of the problem was that, knowing the musical, I knew most of what was going to happen beforehand and so the narration lost part of its suspense.

The setting is, naturally, an opera house in late 19th century Paris, and among the workers and performers the rumours of a mysterious and terrifying "Phantom" figure persist, despite the new managers' efforts to wave it all off as a somewhat annoying product of the collective imagination. Meanwhile, the young and gifted soprano Christine Daaé believes she is taking singing lessons from an "angel of music" sent by her deceased father. However, she finds out that her angel is actually a man, Erik, who suffers from a hideous facial disfigurement and a desperate love for Christine, both of which the ingénue finds quite alarming. Raoul de Chagny, a childhood friend who now wants her love, tries to rescue poor Christine from the frightening mess Erik has made.

It's really a shame that Erik, although he is the titular "Phantom", doesn't get a proper appearance till about halfway through the book – the other two main characters we are given are terribly annoying in my humble opinion. Alright, Christine is very naïve in the musical adaptation too – even the most faithful fans find it more than a bit amusing how easily she follows a mask-wearing mystery man who suddenly appears through her dressing-room mirror – but in this book, she exasperated me more than ever. It seems that she is always pale and trembling and speaks almost exclusively in frightened whispers. Then she thwarts Raoul when he for once does some actual, rational thinking and suggests that they run the heck out of Erik's reach as soon as possible. This is a remarkable effort from Raoul, who isn't much in the habit of being rational in general. When he is not pining after Christine with every brain cell he possesses, he is being fiercely jealous of her and Erik. If he isn't by some chance doing either of these, he is probably bursting into tears for one reason or another.

Then there is a most enigmatic character who is simply called "the Persian". He does not appear in the musical version at all, but in the book he is very important. Like Erik, he doesn't make an appearance till halfway through the book, but then he practically takes over the narration almost till the very end. Also, Raoul would have gotten absolutely nowhere in his attempt to rescue Christine from the Phantom's hideaway if the Persian hadn't offered to help. The Persian seems to share the Phantom's knowledge of the Opera house's catacombs as well as a part of his eventful history. Also, it's him who has to find a way out of the trap that Erik sets them; Raoul has a complete mental breakdown and thinks he's in a forest in Congo when Bad Phantom plays a mirror trick on him. The Persian was a welcome addition to the cast of characters because he was smart and not annoying, unlike most of the other main characters, but I couldn't help but feel that he seemed perhaps a little out of place underneath a Parisian opera house. His connection to Erik is mostly explained, but I still questioned his motives in constantly tailing the man!

Brutal as I am about poor Raoul and Christine, I did like some of the characters in this book. Erik and the Persian certainly offer food for thought, especially the former. As I mentioned before, it takes a long time till the reader actually sees the Phantom, but his presence can be felt on almost every page, and he is truly complex and intriguing to read. I had great fun with the two Opera managers as well, called Messieurs Richard and Moncharmin in the book. Madame Giry was simply brilliant, even though it was at first quite a surprise to find out that she works as an usher instead of a ballet instructor. All in all, I thought the comedic bits in this book were its strongest asset, which is a little ironic when it is supposed to be all about horror and suspense...

Another thing that works very well in Le Fantôme is setting the atmosphere of the great opera house. Whether it was about the hustle and bustle backstage during a performance, or the gathering of gossiping chorus girls, or the maze of underground passages and trapdoors, I felt like I was genuinely there. Gaston Leroux chose a great location for his story and describes it exquisitely, but unfortunately it doesn't entirely make up for the one great problem that I had with this book and which made it incredibly heavy to read.

The real Paris Opera house, just to set the mood!

The pacing. That is the problem. As I mentioned before, it takes almost the entire first half of the book to determine that the "Phantom" really is a man called Erik and that he is also Christine's invisible singing teacher. Probably, the slow development of this conclusion wouldn't have bothered so much if all this had been new to me, but as it wasn't, it made for quite a tedious reading experience – having to turn page after page after page of Raoul and Christine's over-dramatic relationship squabbles when I really wanted to see the Phantom. Well, halfway through the book all the dots are finally connected. Then Erik kidnaps Christine in the middle of a performance, which is quite exciting as it indicates that we are getting near to the intense finale of this passion-filled love triangle...

But... hang on, we are still only a couple of pages over the middle of this book! Is Leroux seriously suggesting that the entire second half is going to be about Raoul looking for Christine? Apparently... yes. If the reader is supposed to be greatly interested in how the Persian babysits a mentally declining Raoul through the underground passages and how they bump into a completely random rat catcher before dropping into Erik's psychedelic mirror room where they sit for three chapters – well, it certainly didn't do the trick for me.

For a non-native speaker who wants to try out a novel in French, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra looks relatively non-threatening with its little more than 300 pages and relatively standard use of the language – the only part where I got a little lost was the detailed descriptions of the trapdoor system under the Opera house, which kind of reminded me of Victor Hugo's devotion to Parisian sewers in Les Misérables. However, depending on how much you take issue with pacing and the character of Raoul de Chagny, you might be in for a longer journey of reading than you expected, wishing you had your own random Persian to take you through it.

Books that the world adores but I don't

You finally get your hands on that great, classic book, that masterpiece that has left its mark on the world of literature, and you've decided to read it because a) everyone around you has been urging you to read because it's so amazing, or b) you feel you must acquaint yourself with it in order to respect yourself as a civilized human being. When you turn the first page, you feel so happy, embarking on this great adventure that will surely affect your views of the world...

... but sometimes, it ends with you reaching the last page and then slamming shut the back cover with nothing but... emptiness... on your mind. Then you start to wonder why you feel so empty, and then you get a little (or a little more) annoyed at the book in your hands for not fulfilling its promise of being fantastic. Finally, you try to decide whether the world around you is off its rocker for revering this book so highly, or if it's your brain that's been set wrong. Either way, you simply find yourself feeling completely indifferent, or even downright negative, towards a work of literature that you were "supposed to like".

As you might have guessed already, I'm now going to share my most prominent experiences of being unsatisfied with world-renowned classics. Warning: there will be, obviously, opinions very much against these great works of literature, expressed with shameless honesty (but with only moderate brutality, I hope), and even (Le Gasp!) a suggestion that the film version might be better than the book. And remember, if you happen to like or even love one of these books, it's completely fine with me. That's the point of opinions, it's okay if they are different.

So, let's get on with it – ladies and gentlemen, my list of books that I was supposed to like... but didn't!


Charlotte Brontë: Jane Eyre

Alright, I'm starting with a really tricky one – by which I mean that this book is bound to have kazillions of defenders who are dreadfully appalled that I'm questioning its position as a much-loved classic. Well, let me explain some things. Firstly, I'm actually not saying that any of the books in this list don't deserve to be named as great classics. I can honestly see how Jane Eyre has affected perceptions of literature, and I understand why it is appealing to so many readers. Which brings me to my second point: I really like some things about this book myself. I like to read how Jane and Rochester's relationship develops, and I like to see Jane overcoming her obstacles and finding her happiness. But I'm the wrong kind of person to enjoy this gothic, melodramatic style. I find myself holding back laughter when Mr Rochester makes his dramatic first appearance and rolling my eyes at his mad wife floating around the house at night. Still, I'm a little tempted to maybe give Jane Eyre another try someday.


Louisa May Alcott: Little Women (including the second volume)

Something curious happened with this book. I can't remember how old I was when I read it for the first time, but anyway, I liked it alright. Then I read it again at high school age – and that seemingly innocent little novel almost suffocated me. So, Jo March is supposed to be running the frontier of independent, free-spirited female characters – so why, each time I read her story, is there always this little, smug know-it-all voice in my ear tutting at how very silly and far-fetched Jo's dream of becoming a great author is? It always seems to me that Meg and Beth, the eventual homebody sisters who spend their days sewing and waving dish towels, are what the book actually wants to push forward as the ideal model of a "little woman"! This is the dreaded part where I say the film version of 1994 is more enjoyable to me than the book, because it focuses more on the relationships between the sisters and their mother, and less on preaching what good little women should and shouldn't do.


Paulo Coelho: The Alchemist

This is not a novel, it's a novel-length string of aphorisms. It's the result of a billion-dollar bet on "how many lofty ideas of the meaning of life can you fit into 175 pages?" (Alright, I made that up because I'm in a particularly witty mood today.) There's an Andalusian shepherd boy who has a dream, and after taking advice from some mysterious characters he ends up crossing North Africa. And three-quarters into the book, it becomes painfully obvious how his journey is going to end... Or maybe that was just me. I am aware that The Alchemist was not written to be a thrilling adventure story, but honestly, all those characters sprouting out metaphysical musings just gets on my nerves.



Mika Waltari: The Egyptian (originally Sinuhe egyptiläinen)

This is a work of literature that I should particularly appreciate as a Finn – and I do, in some ways. The writer, Mika Waltari, lived in the early 1900s and belonged to a society of authors who strove to bring more European influence into the Finnish arts, and while he was an incredibly productive writer, The Egyptian is definitely one of his best-known works – it was even made into a Hollywood film in 1954, how often has that happened to a Finnish novel?! The novel is widely praised for its accurate depiction of Ancient Egypt, and that I can agree to – the reader also gets to see more of the Ancient world as the main character, Sinuhe, goes on a road trip of sorts. That part I actually liked. What I didn't like at all was Sinuhe himself. God, how could he be so dumb and annoying? Also, the ending of this book leaves a kind of horrible, empty feeling in my mind which I hate.


Gustave Flaubert: Madame Bovary

So I thought Sinuhe the Egyptian was the most exhausting main character ever... until I met Emma Bovary. I read this one in high school, when we had to pick one out of a list of books that had been considered scandalous at the time they were published. I can definitely see why Madame Bovary was shocking back in 1856 – you see, Emma Bovary marries a dull doctor, realizes that her married life isn't looking like she imagined in her glittering dreams, and finds excitement by making frequent escapes to the attractions of the city and (Le Gasp!) having two different lovers. I have never, never, never wished so badly that the main character could somehow be... got rid of. If this hadn't been a compulsory read for school, I probably wouldn't have bothered to finish it.


Am I a horrible person for not liking these great classics? Have you ever had similar experiences? Tell me about all the well-known books that disappointed you!