Tortilla Flat – John Steinbeck

I think Grapes of Wrath is one of the 10 greatest novels of the 20^th century. And Of Mice and Men – despite being imposed upon all the young students in the English-speaking world – is not that far off. But man was it great and refreshing to read a Steinbeck book about poor people that are, erm, happy…

Danny and his friends are just wonderful. They make do with what little they have and love each other (and often manifest this love by beating the hell out of each other, which is always great). So many of the stories and anecdotes are delightfully touching (starting with the young coronel, but also the story of the pirate and how this changes everyone else in the group).

And the last few pages are just perfectly fitting. All good things must come to an end, and one might as well go out with a bang, a big party, and a massive tumble. 

Taras Bulba – Nicolaj Gogol

I had to read some Gogol at some point. But seriously, what the hell?

Sure, I’m not Russian so I can’t understand, but I’m normally all up for epic stories of national courage (even Russian courage, in the case of Michael Strogoff…) but isn’t Taras Bulba (not written in italics because I’m referring to the character and not to the novel) a bit much?

Sure, your son has switched sides (a bit too easily also), but killing him in battle without feeling at least a wee bit emotional sounds, well, heartless. At a certain point even his comrades tell Taras that he might want to take it down a notch but he continues to be an almost perfect killing machine.

One would hope that at least while he’s being burned he would stop. But he doesn’t. He keeps on yelling at his Cossacks. A true leader. And possibly an idiot. 

Forest of the Pygmies – Isabel Allende

Having read and loved Paula I thought I would give an absolutely different kind of Allende novel a chance. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.

It probably has to do with how old and boring I already am, but novels for young adults “these days” usually can’t match the quality and intensity of the old ones (Salgari beats Allende, Molnar beats Grossman, etc.). The three-headed monster is hopefully more a reference to Cerberus than to the Trinity, but its mystery is surely not particularly imaginative (anyone who has ever wondered why Clark Kent is never in the same room as Superman is bound to figure out the riddle quite soon).

Sure, Allende is commendable in her constant desire to point out that all cultures have to be not just respected but also appreciated, but in this book she says that crocodiles are amphibians and I just can’t take that!