Category: Book Report

I bought this book this year at the Carondolet Y Book Fair, I think. It’s back when I thought I might write for Damn Interesting, so I purposefully sought out compendia like this that would give me inspiration for stories I could write. I never got the gig, but I do have a number of interesting books to read.

It’s only after I cracked this book open that the brevity coupled with the large print size indicated that this might be a juvenile book. That’s okay, though, as I am often juvenile.

The book contains a number of short chapters on famous spies through history, including Mata Hari, Nathaniel Hale, Gary Powers, and Rudolf Abel. Aside from these well-known figures, the book also covers Major William Martin (see, it is Damn Interesting sort of material); Velvalee Dickinson, spy for Japan in World War II; Peter Ortiz, Marine reserve and leader of the French resistance in WWII; and others. The brief chapters and simple language make it a very quick read and serves as trivia fodder or a source for further investigation.

So it was worth my time, even if I’m three times the age of its target audience. Plus, it’s the 76th book I read this year. So there.

Books mentioned in this review:

I know, what’s next, book reports on Dell mini mags? But I read this book and it’s 96 pages, so it’s thicker than some of the tracts I’ve covered here. It’s a tiny little octo or whatever you would call it with a number of crime-related puzzles. You’re supposed to figure them out and look up the answer in the back to see if you’re right. The book’s stories are split between logic puzzles, the kind you’re supposed to draw grids for and mark off the inferences from a finite number of statements of fact such as “One of the suspects is a liar,” and the more Encyclopedia Brownish spot-the-inconsistencies. I prefered the latter, mainly because I read this in bed often and didn’t have pen and paper to do the logic puzzles.

I paid a quarter for it at a book fair (Carondolet 2006? Oh, it’s so hard to tell). It’s worth it if you can get a cheap copy if you remember Encyclopedia Brown fondly.

Books mentioned in this review:

This is the new Spenser novel, released this week. I read it. Atypically for me, I read it over the course of two nights. Normally, it only takes one, but I completed The Night Crew, so I didn’t get a good run at it.

This book is another one featuring April Kyle, also of Ceremony and Taming a Seahorse. Like the Paul Giacomin cycle, these are trilogies of sorts. This time, April Kyle is back in Boston and is running a franchise brothel for Patricia Utley. When some men come along and want to take the business away from her, she turns to Spenser.

He has to investigate to find out who the men are and why they’re after April’s business. He finds that everyone’s lying to him, including April, and has to hang in there to find out the real story.

It’s a pretty good book, I guess, but after 20 years, it’s very familiar; the Sandford book was different in that I didn’t know what to expect. With this one, I knew pretty much how it would go and realized the storyline pretty early. Still, I shall always be loyal and serve Robert B. Parker as my master.

Books mentioned in this review:

As you know, I have discovered that I like John Sandford’s novels; I’ve reviewed a couple of Kidd novels and a couple of the Lucas Davenport novels. Last week, I assembled a couple more book cases so I could spread out my to-read shelves (now comprising more thn three complete bookshelves), and this book emerged.

Within, a freelance news crew in LA works at night to find and film news. After one excursion in which they film an animal rights raid on a university lab and a jumper, someone starts shooting members of the crew. Someone seems obsessed with Anna, the leader of the group, and is killing the potential rivals in his sick pursuit of her.

Wow, you can sum books up pretty simply if you just tell the plot. Fortunately, this book has more to it; the main character has depth, the auxilliary characters have depth and individual agenda. I was interested in it and the book flowed nicely. It probably could even have done without the “eye of the mad criminal” inserts that Sandford threw in like eveyone does these days.

However, the climax was kinda tacked on and didn’t build any sort of excitement that made it worthwhile. A climactic shootout at a farmhouse. Ho hum. I actually put the book down in the middle of the drama and picked it up the next night. So the payoff could have been improved, but the denouement satisfied me.

So Sandford continues to prove worthy of the bucks I spend on his books. If I ever catch up with him, I might have to buy his books new, and that’s the best compliment I can give an author.

Books mentioned in this review:

Well, it’s been a year and a half since I read a Robert Crais novel (The Forgotten Man). I’d even forgotten this book existed, since it was behind a wall of unread books on my to read shelves. Now that I have a couple extra book cases, I have spread these books out, and it appeared.

I wasn’t that pleased with Crais’s later offerings leading up to this book, but I was very happy with this book. It centers on a convicted bank robber getting out and integrating into society. However, on the day before he gets out, his estranged son, an LAPD officer, is gunned down. The official story doesn’t make sense, and the ex-con turns to the FBI agent who put him away, now retired, for help.

Together, they try to find out why four police officers allowed someone to come up to them in a secluded riverbed without suspicion. They determine that the officers were looking for sixteen million dollars in unrecovered bank heist loot. Once they found it, a fifth man eliminated his partners. Someone in the police force wants the ex-con to be re-con to protect himself and his retirement.

The pace moves along well, the characters are interesting, and I rather liked the book. I got it as a gift from my beautiful wife, and it’s probably worth the money if you want to click the link below.

And based on this book, maybe I’ll even read any new Elvis Cole novels.

Books mentioned in this review:

 

This is my second Alistair MacLean of the year (the first, as you remember, was The Golden Gate in August. Both stem from the 1970s, which based upon the evidence of these two texts might represent the phoning-it-in period for MacLean.

The book starts out with an race car crash in the European Grand Prix circuit. The reigning champion apparently has lost his nerve and become an alcoholic. However, he seems to have some hidden agenda, for while he’s putting on the show, he’s sneaking around and investigating something. MacLean doesn’t really draw us into his investigations or quickly identify the real meat of the story–Harrow has gone underground or underdog to find out who’s gambling on the races and fixing them by sabotauging cars while selling heroin.

The reader goes along mainly because it’s an Alistair MacLean book and something’s going to happen. It does, and then the book ends abruptly.

Not MacLean’s best effort, and not even as good as Floodgate, which draws the user into the plot if not the characters. The Way to Dusty Death does neither, really.

Books mentioned in this review:

As you know, gentle reader, I am something of an Anglophile as long as it doesn’t require actually traveling to Britain or liking, really, anyone or anything currently British. I was an English major, though, and as much as I tilted the degree toward American writers, I couldn’t escape the constraints of my collegiate upbringing. Plus, I think it’s interesting the progression of the English monarches throughout much of the relevant history of the Western world.

Consider this book to be a more detailed version than Britain’s Kings and Queens: 63 Reigns in 1100 Years, which I reviewed three years ago. That pamphlet, from the same time period as the edition of this book that I read, summed up the leaders and the effects their rules had upon England and Europe at large; this book, though, offers more verbosity in the leaders’ lifetimes and occasional sections into the time periods. Of course, this book is worth more than the pamphlet I reviewed in 2003, but it’s an expansion on the themes and rules therein.

Both books I’ve reviewed come from the early 1970s, so there’s not been much change in the lineage aside from the marriage of Charles III (projected) and the divorce of Charles III (projected) and his issue. Still, in the 1970s, the chroniclers had a certain (as sports fans now call it) homer sentiment; that is, the introduction of this book admits that the early rulers were barbaric, but the early times were barbaric, but that the home team (Britain) eventually turned out okay and that its influence on the world was good. As an American conservative, I respect that (and apply it to my own country).

This edition (ca 1975) offered me enough trivia and Britainnia to be worthwhile; I cannot speak to the late editions, but I don’t think they’ll be any less interesting.

On a side note, I’ll let you know, gentle reader, that I was a little ashamed of recovering the same territory that I mentioned in my review of the Bellews book. Until such time as I discovered when I covered that book, that is. I thought I’d read that book this year, or perhaps late last year. When the beauty that is this blog revealed that I read that earlier pamphlet 3 years ago, I was stunned. What a different world that was, for me at least. What were you doing then, and was it as immediate for you as the 9th century was for me?

Books mentioned in this review:

This book is part of the Quest for the Unknown set, and I guess its schtick is that it’s supposed to center around the past. It does have chapters on ley lines, old temples and sacred places, and whatnot, but it also lumps in lesser past things like mediums and some recent disappearances. It’s not exhaustive nor even detailed in the subjects it covers, preferring a very browsable format with small articles and lots of photographs and sidebars.

Still, if you’re jonesing for a Reader’s Digest compendium of paranormal and other things that make you go hmmmm, you’re better off with Mysteries of the Unexplained, which relies more on copy, is longer, and includes source notes.

Books mentioned in this review:

 

In stark contrast to the long, well thought out and meticulous Gor books I’ve been reading, here’s a short (140ish) paged book that’s the start of a trilogy. Set in the far future in a Utopia where man can bend matter and time to his whims, an indulgent and decadent playboy decides he’s going to court a recent arrival from 19th century England. As he tries to woo her with poorly-remembered and rendered gifts and all the luxuries the id can provide, she tries, as a Christian, to teach him virtue.

Then he goes back in time to retrieve her after one of his contemporary friends sends her back, and he meets his friend there as a judge who sentences him to death in 1896, but he’s spared and returned to the future for some purpose to be revealed in the next book. Good luck with that, protagonist. You’re on your own as far as I’m concerned.

Certainly, there’s some allegory in this remnant of 60s sensibility. I don’t think I’ll bother with it when I can pick up another Gor book instead. Perhaps I could spin some allegory of my own, where I generalize that certain segments of the population envisage a world of self-indulgence, lax moral standards, and whims catered to by forces whose details are so forgotten they might be magic, and that some segments of the population read books where evil exists and sometimes a man has to pick up a sword and chop at evil. But that’s too hasty a generalization for me, and besides that, no one cares thirty four years after these books might have met head-to-head for the soul of science fictiondom.

Man, who would have expected me to read another Moorcock two and a half years after I read The Black Corridor? Well, anyone who knows how books get off of my to-read shelves, I reckon.

And in closing, non sequitir, this is the 67th book I’ve read this year. Boo-ya!

Books mentioned in this review:

 

This is Book IV in the Chronicles of Counter-Earth saga. In this book, Tarl Cabot (formerly of Earth) goes south to the land of the vicious Wagon People to seek the egg of the Priest-Kings. While there, he meets and impresses the Ubar of the Tuchuks (leader of one of the wagon people), participates in the siege of an unconquered city on the Southern plains, and saves a recent arrival from Earth who was destined to become a slave girl.

This book, unlike the preceding one, goes on a bit more about the slave nature of women and takes place over a longer period and amongst mere men, so it went more slowly than the preceding book. These paperbacks clock in at 350 pages of small print, so they’re longer than the average paperback of the era, but as I mentioned in the review of Priest-Kings of Gor, they’re deep, richly-textured books with a lot of expository information to impart. The exposition doesn’t get in the way of the voice too much as it’s an educational, study-like narrative of the events on Gor, but it does make for some long reads.

The voice of these books, by the way, is very satisfying and fitting for the study they provide. Although Cabot is a storied warrior, he spends much of the time watching the natives in action and occasionally participating to slay a dozen men or something. As such, Cabot retains his link to normal men, making the character approachable and contextual to readers that he would lack if we were a native of Gor or if he were quite the centerpiece of the stories. Instead, the centerpieces tend to be the titular characters and the world they know.

I’ve two more Gor books, number V and VIII; I’m going to shelf them for a while and get on with other things.

As an interesting side note, I tend to leave books out on the end table by the sofa where I read most nights. A couple of times I noticed that I had to dig through magazines and other books to get the book I’d laid down atop the stack the night before. I challenged my wife on it, and my suspicions were confirmed: she was actively hiding the Gor books so people in our homes wouldn’t get the wrong idea about us.

Books mentioned in this review:

This book is the third in the series. I haven’t read the first two. Although I have owned a large number of Gor books in my life, I currently have but four. Back near the turn of the century, I was an active eBayer, picking up books and whatnot at garage and estate sales and listing them on eBay. I bought a stack of Gor books at a quarter each and discovered, as they were first printings and second printings, that they were worth far more than a quarter each. I think I sold the 23rd book in the series for almost sixty dollars. So I made my money back on them and kept my eyes open for Gor books in the future. Needless to say, I didn’t sell all of them by the time I was done with the eBay thing. So I have a couple left, later printings.

The Gor books draw a lot of attention because of certain elements within them. Okay, one: women are about chattel in these books. They’re subservient at best and most of the time, they’re slaves. Apparently, some segments of the population like to re-enact this lifestyle according to the books (so much that Gorean sites are banned by some Web hosts). Weird, huh?

The storylines strike me as reminiscient of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Warlord of Mars or maybe John Jakes’ Brak stories. Elements of science fiction coupled with sword and sorcery that was kinda popular for much of the last century. In this book, Tarl Cabot, an Earthman transported to Gor, the planet on the opposite side of the sun from the Earth. Cabot is going to seek the forbidden priest-kings who rule the planet from afar to seek vengeance for their destruction of his city. He goes into Sardor, the mountains encircled by a wooden frontier, armed with only his sword, shield, and wits.

The book is very detailed in the description of Gor, its lifestyles, its species relationships, biology, and so on. Not bad for a third book in the series; Norman gave a lot of thought to what he was doing and what he was going to do.

I liked the book well enough. Enough to read more, but not enough to chain women at the foot of my bed. I’ll read the others I own in the series and maybe pick up a couple more. Because unlike some survivors of collegiate English programs, I can suspend my moral outrage along with my disbelief to enjoy a little hack’n’slashery, although this series probably rises above the most base in the genre in spite of its depictions of women.

Books mentioned in this review:

I picked this book up at a book fair for a quarter because it’s like TV Superstars ’83, and I already shot my credibility as a serious thinker by admitting a weird attraction to the Scholastic books covering television from the era in which these things mattered to me. Man, I remember the little one page tissue-paperesque book order forms from Scholastic, Tab, Arrow, and so on, and how one could buy real books for a buck or two for a paperback. Of course, we didn’t have a buck or two, so I just got to look at the catalogs and imagine (for the most part). And now, some twenty years later, I’m amassing a library which includes the occasional book I was denied in elementary school.

This book, like the other, deals with television shows in the 1983-1984 time frame, so there’s quite a bit of overlap–Mr. T., Tootie Fields, Gary Coleman, and so on. But where TV Superstars ’83 filled out its pages with stars who’ve faded from even my memory, this book delves into the television industry, including chapters on the portrayal of technology on television, cable television, a bit about ratings, adulation for commercials, and musings about the future of interactive television. So this work might be the slightly more serious of the two.

Like you’re going to run out and get it or click the link below to order it from Amazon. Still, I read it because it was a cheap and quick way to get another item on my annual list of what I’ve read and a last ditch Sunday night blog entry. But I read it, and here’s my post on it.

Books mentioned in this review:

As you might remember, gentle reader, I read Bill Pronzini’s Blowback in May. I thought well enough of it that when I found this particular book at the Carondolet YMCA book fair this month, I picked it up for a dollar. I’d already broken through the buy/not buy barrier and the bottom of a stroller makes it easy to forget how much you’ve already selected. Not that there was a baby in the stroller, mind you; babies take up room better left to books.

This book collects fifty short short stories in the mystery genre. These stories run under 2000 words for the most part–three or four book pages. They don’t offer a great deal of character development, layered nuance, or other such hallmarks of immortal literary fiction that won’t survive the decade. They do, however, have plots, crimes, and sometimes a twist of an ending. Sure, they’re obvious sometimes and are fairly simple in structure, but they’re all good short shorts.

And they’re easy and not very intimidating to start reading because they’re so short, but it’s hard to stop because the next one won’t take long, either.

I enjoyed the book, and I’ll have to start watching out for short short collections. Also, this book doesn’t diminish my view of Pronzini; I think I’ll move him a little higher in my unofficial pantheon and start looking for more of his works. For when I start buying books again, which hopefully will be sometime after I’ve run through my backlog of thousands.

Books mentioned in this review:

 

I have been waiting almost a decade to read this book, ever since its excerpt appeared in Harpers when I still read that rag. I remember recognizing that Meyer was a St. Louisian, as was I. I read the hints of his heartbreak of losing his cush executive job and thought the excerpt was interesting enough to warrant further attention. Unfortunately, I waited a decade until I found a used copy at the JCC book fair for a buck (autographed, too!) before I could delve into it.

What a bunch of sour grapes.

The book spans 1991 and 1992 after Meyer is laid off from a vice presidency at J.I. Case as their communications leader. He’d been laid off previously from McDonnell Douglas in St. Louis from a similar position. The book purports to delve into the new uncertainty in the marketplace for super-executives of billion dollar companies and how hard their lives are when they discover that sometimes at-will means at-won’t-anymore.

I mean, the guy’s laid off, but he’s shocked at the prospect for starters and lacks any imagination for anything other than landing another equal position at another billion dollar company. Atop that little bit of hubris, he attempts to indict corporate America for being what it is. That is, he resents (he actually uses that word) corporate America for not feeding his addiction to power and a big salary. Which corporate America somehow corrupted him into.

Jeez, the one thing I learned from the excerpt was to always downplay your current/recent positions so you don’t overqualify yourself for lower positions in that time of desperation. I could have stuck with the excerpt and had all I could learn.

On one hand, I come from another generation and another industry, raised in a turbulent world of dot-coms and tech companies where your expertise matters more than your pedigree and where it’s expected or okay to work as a contractor or to bounce around. Also, I’ve not worked for many of the big companies, particularly at the highest echelons, but that makes it easier to project a future that’s no more turbulent than the past. As I work in a “fluff” job myself–QA, like communications, is a nicety and not a necessity when it comes down to struggling for a profit–I accept my tenuous position. But someone of the boomer era in the late 1980s, no doubt this would have been terrifying.

But the resentment and the indictment on every page, interspersed with the longing for the irrationally exuberant perks of that upper echelon, really ground on me so much that I didn’t enjoy the book as much as endure it. Do I recommend it to you, gentle reader? Perhaps, if as a historical document whose advice and situations are anachronisms to study, yes; or perhaps as a moral fable of how not to grow to accustomed to the current gravy train in your life and to have something upon which you can fall back, yes. Maybe even as an indictment of hiring English majors for anything, anytime. But this book is hardly a serious study engendering serious attention. It’s like Nickel and Dimed (by Barbara Ehrenreich, which was also excerpted by Harpers in the same era); it’s an indictment of capitalism by people who purposefully refuse to understand it.

Books mentioned in this review:

I bought this book for like a buck at the Jewish Community Center book fair this year, fully conscious that I risked my life to help fund the organization and to add to my library. Sad, I know, but in this modern world, I did note the dangers of being near a Jewish center. If I hadn’t gone, the terrorists would have won. Also, I would not have gotten a good deal on some books I have been meaning to buy.

This book, though, doesn’t fall into the class of books I’ve been meaning to buy, but I bought it never the less. I’ve been intrigued by Steve Martin’s writing forays, in a “if they fall into my lap” sort of way, for some time. I liked Bowfinger, which Martin wrote. I’ve heard good things about L.A. Story, which Martin also wrote. I dragged my poor wife to see a local community theatre production of Picasso at the Lapin Agile (Crikey, soon to be a major motion picture). I’d heard about Martin’s work for The New Yorker. So I wanted to read something on my own. Okay, I probably had read somewhere about the movie version of this film, too. So I bought it. I spent like a buck, okay?

This novella (130 pages) describes a glove department salesperson and her involvement with an older, rich computer guy and how they define intimacy and how it helps them both along in the long run. To make a short book shorter, there you go.

The story is presented entirely in the present tense but for some future tense foreshadowing. The tense choice isn’t particularly jarring, however, to those of us used to past tense whether in third person or first person. I thought the first portion of the book interesting, as the characters develop in their (purposefully limited) fashion. However, when the relationship progressed, it got a little wearing (but not for long–this ain’t Tolstoy). Finally, the end and the resolution seems a bit forced and chopped. Perhaps this would have made a better short story with less, a better novel with more. Or maybe it’s a good prose screenplay–I’ll have to catch the film version sometime later to compare (probably after Sharky’s Machine).

Still, it’s not a bad work if you can get it cheap. If you cannot and want to see what this wild and crazy guy writes like, click the helpful link below. You, gentle reader, have the ability to put MfBJN over the check-cutting threshold from the Amazon Associates program sometime before never.

Books mentioned in this review:

I bought this book for a quarter at the Bridgeton Trails Branch of the St. Louis County library. Because, I guess, I’m frugal and wanted to save the seventy-five cents extra it would have cost me for a non-former library copy of this book at a book fair somewhere. No, more likely, I saw it and knew that I didn’t have it, and I wanted it now, which was then.

As you know, I’m revisiting my Alistair MacLean fixation from high school (I read Partisans, Caravan to Vaccares, and Floodgate last year, as you remember, gentle reader).

Like Floodgate, this book ventures from MacLean’s strongest topic matter, World War II and early Cold War espionage. In this book, a band of criminals hijack the motorcade of the President and a couple oil sheiks as it crosses the Golden Gate Bridge. There, the criminals hold the hostages for ransom, but they have to deal with an FBI agent in their midst.

The book is written in the typical MacLean potboiler fashion, with characters reminiscient of others in his line. The plot is novel and preposterous, but one expects some of that from MacLean. Some of the scenes and technical descriptions within the book–more the depictions of technical details–let us know that the author has carefully considered and choreographed what he’s talking about, but the prose doesn’t bring it to life. Fortunately, as with Clancy, one kind of skims these to get to the action.

So the book is an acceptable piece of the genre work, but more importantly, it solves a discussing I had with a (foreign national) co-worker (who left Oklahoma City in late 1995) about how easy it would be to damage the Golden Gate bridge in a terrorist attack. I was right that an attack on the road surface or the towers themselves would probably be ineffectual, but we didn’t consider the effectiveness of attacking the suspension cables themselves. Probably because we’re not engineers, we’re not committed terrorists, and we were only killing time with spurious talk while watching the smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the entrance to the building across the street.

Never the less, this anecdote should at least illustrate the depth and the breadth of the Noggle Library. Odds are, I probably have a book about it, no matter what it is.

Books mentioned in this review:

 

 

 

This book provides an interesting amalgamation of some of MacDonald’s earlier work, the business-oriented novels, with some of the maudlin sentimentality found in the Travis McGee novels. As it was released as a heavy hardback, with nice paper, it aims to weightiness instead of brisk paperback sensibility. Unfortunately, it’s unsatisfying.

The story opens on Tucker Loomis after a night with an old flame. He’s brought her out to a romantic rendezvous off of Barrier Island, a, well, barrier island off of Mississippi or Florida. He not only wanted to rekindle a little good lovin’, but he wanted his flame, a real estate agent, to witness a payoff to an assistant federal prosecutor. In case the fed fails to carry out his part of the deal, you see.

The book then explores several of the players as the land scheme for which ol’ Tuck is being prosecuted unravels. An idealistic partner in a real estate firm tries to hold his marriage together while investigating the scheme. It seems that Tuck bought the land, envisioned a tropical paradise for millionaires, and sold its lots before the federal government condemned it and seized it for park land. Loomis wants a big settlement based upon the big profits he would have realized, but the idealist real estate man discovers some of the land sales Tuck had made were fraudulent. In addition to his marriage, the partner has to worry about maintaining his real estate firm with the wheeler-dealer who got involved with Tuck in the first place. Meanwhile, Tuck’s dealing with a wife in a vegatative state and an attractive nurse who imagines herself as the new Mrs. Loomis–after the current Mrs. Loomis dies.

With this set of characters and framework, perhaps MacDonald could have done better. Unfortunately, the book suffers from two flaws:

• The point of view is skewed. We’re introduced to Tucker Loomis in the beginning, so I wanted to root for him. However, he’s not the protagonist. He’s sort of the antagonist. The protagonist, as I can tell, is the idealistic real estate agent. Unfortunately, his voice isn’t very consistent throughout the book. When we get the maudlin asides about the pillaging of the environment by the newcomers to the Gulf Coast, it’s almost expository. It’s acceptable in the McGee novels because it’s a part of the character of Travis McGee; but here, it’s hanging out there on its own.
• The end is abrupt. Tucker Loomis is laid low pretty quickly, and the masterful subplots and characterizations end up wasted.

I think the book mixes, unsuccessfully, elements of his early work, elements of the Travis McGee novels, and elements of his later, longer, hardback work (such as Condominium and One More Sunday). As one of his last works, if not the last, it’s not a capstone of his career. But my copy is a first edition, nyah nyah.

Books mentioned in this review:

After I read How to Break Software (which a quick Google check indicates I have not reviewed, gentle reader, but most of you wouldn’t have read it anyway), I bought the companion volumes. This book, which I bought off of Amazon.com at its retail price, disappointed me where How to Break Software did not.

Both books run off of a quick list of fault-model testing (a term I learned from the first book). I had a ball with the first book, laughing at seeing some of my favorite dirty tricks encapsulated in someone definitive’s book. This book, however, didn’t hold the same glee for me.

The first book dealt with a broad subject and offered some very concrete things to try to attack software. This second book deals with a similarly broad subject (security testing), but is more abstract. The attacks it discusses aren’t as narrow and easy to recreate; they’re more methods and abstract ideas to try rather than concrete shortcuts to finding issues. I know, there’s something to be said for a broad, ranging methodology, but the first book wasn’t that way, and I didn’t expect this one to be that way. Additionally, the book is sized similarly to the first, which doesn’t allow it to go into a lot of detail for each of the abstract things it talks about.

Finally, I don’t know that the book focuses enough on actual security attacks; rather, it focuses on attacks that could be construed as security breaches. However, in many cases, they’re not specifically security attacks, but rather regular tests that could, if applied to applications needing security, be security attacks.

Maybe that’s all security testing is, but this book wasn’t different enough from the first book to make me wonder if it wasn’t really a sequel given a better title.

On the other hand, it does come with a CD and a tool which looks to be pretty cool, if I could get some professional time to play with it.

So buy the first book, How to Break Software, and apply its attacks to secure software. Buy this book if you’re really into it or if the company is buying it for you.

Books mentioned in this review:

 

I am pretty sure I bought this book as part of a bag of books at the Webster Groves Book Fair. It doesn’t matter, really, but I know you really dote upon my books’ lineage, gentle reader, and I try to recreate it as accurately as I can for you.

The book collects a number of strips from an online comic, RPG World, and presents them, get this, in a hardback book. A graphic novel, if you will, from an online comic. How about that? Of course, I don’t really follow online comics much; I mean, I see the Cox and Forkum and Day by Day like any good conservative blog reader who, you know, reads blogs that have the strips or cartoons printed on them, but I don’t see the sites out. Heck, I don’t even follow Calico Monkey, even though it’s flashed by an acquaintance into whose debt I remain for setting me up with my current sweet gig.

But put it in a book? I am all on it!

The story follows the action of the characters in a video game for the PlayStation as they go about their quest and side quests and deal with the mechanics of the game. It’s an amusing conceit and is full of jokes available to those familiar with the genre. I liked the book and liked that it took me only a couple of hours to read it. Unfortunately, just because I read it doesn’t mean I’ll follow the online version of the comic. Because I’m a luddite enough that I have certain things I don’t tend to do, and follow comics online is one of them. But if I find another book of RPG World somewhere in the wild, I’ll pick it up.

Books mentioned in this review:

I’m not even sure any more where I bought this book. It clocks in at over 700 pages, friends, and it took me almost three weeks to read. As a matter of fact, I had to take a break in the middle of it to read I Ought To Be In Pictures when I was getting depressed from all the stories of murder and mayhem.

First off, I’d like to say that this collection is one of the most poorly edited and produced books I’ve come across in some time. A cheap edition published in Great Britain, this book features gritty paper, a cover that’s close enough to a pizza box in quality to merit the comparison, pages cut by a dull blade, and partially washed out ink in many places. Additionally, the editing job was poor; many sidebar two-paragraph anecdotes inserted to break up sections actually retold the stories of incidents and crimes told elsewhere in the book. In the case of Black Bart, an old West stagecoach robber, he has his own named section in one chapter and, later in the chapter, is recounted as a part of a section about the most notorious Western robbers. By “is recounted,” I mean the same seven or eight paragraphs appear twice in the same chapter, separated by only a handful of pages. This book definitely doesn’t represent an academic or thoughtful work in any sense of the imagination. It’s completely a case of slapping together a large number of pruriently-interesting things and hoping to make as much from them as possible.

Still, it contains quite the compendium of famous, infamous, and trivial crimes of murder, genocide, fraud, theivery, and whatnot. The first couple hundred pages focus on mass murderers and genocidal tyrants, which led to my distaste to which I alluded. It did, however, give me a little historical perspective on the “disproportionate” and violent doings of the Western military, particularly the American and Israeli militaries, in the last 100 years. I mean, come on, the Huns and the Khans and the Ottomans were capable of real genocide, not having small units go nuts or ordnance going errant. When we lose perspective on what animal mankind really is, I guess it’s easy to think that our civilization isn’t better than the worst man has to offer.

Is the book a worthwhile read? Well, if you’re looking for macabre trivia–and who isn’t? But take plenty of breaks to retain your perspective that all of mankind isn’t like this book depicts.

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