I bought this book for two reasons: the New York Times highly recommended it, and I have always had a fascination with Anne Boleyn and one of the stories was said to feature her. And now you get a story by story commentary on how very much a mistake that decision was.
Let’s Play Dead: Right off the bat we have the Anne Boleyn story, and right off the bat I loathe this book. Henry VIII has Anne Boleyn’s head chopped off and the next day she’s back. So he kills her again. And again. And again. My first reaction upon finishing it was “What the eff did I just read?” It’s set in a Tudor England/Modern Day AU, where everyone apparently dresses like Tudors yet there is Brylcreem and paparazzi. And then for no reason, there are film crews and set decorators, and I just loathed everyone. This is apparently a Henry that never fathered Mary, and apparently cut off Anne’s head before Elizabeth was born (but that’s okay, because Anne getting her own revenge is better than Elizabeth getting it for her according to the author.) I suppose it could be called feminist at a stretch, if you think a woman passively-aggressively not staying dead just to annoy her husband is feminist. Read if you want your Anne Boleyn in a toxic relationship that’s a combination of Looney Tunes, Death Becomes Her, Kathleen Turner’s War of the Roses, and the scene in Goldfinger where he says, “No, 007, I expect you to die”. maybe 1/2 a star, maybe 1/4
The Napoleons Are Multiplying: This one was even worse than the one before, if that’s possible. It had no discernible point, other than maybe “self-hatred is inevitable”. There are time changes that occur in here, for no apparent reason than the fact the author probably thinks it’s a stylistic choice. It’s set in England; why? Because. Should I care? Probably. Do I? Not in the slightest. The plot (such as there is) is that Napoleon Bonaparte keeps multiplying at age 23 with no memories of his previous life, naming himself some new thing (Moon God Napoleon, Dueling Napoleon I & II, Napoleon of the Pub) and they all live together and pretty much never get along. The villagers hate them (I don’t blame them), they hate each other (again, I don’t blame them), and the villagers will probably set fire to the house and kill them all (again; no blame). can I get away with no stars?
The Wolves: Woman who survived Genghis Khan’s hordes tells her grandson about them, and how the blood looked like real blood, not the kind in the movies. So we’re continuing with the loosey-goosey handle on time here. (Oh joy, oh rapture.) This was the least egregious story as yet, in the fact that it didn’t outright suck; it was just meh. Moral was “men are the biggest monsters of them all, revisionist history is a thing, and everything sucks.” 3/4 of a star? probably more 1/2
Our Lady of Resplendent Misfortune: 1926 runaway housewife is possessed by the spirit of Joan of Arc and must do the bidding of the “Saints” that have tagged along. This involves animal murder. Saints are creepy and petulant. End times are insinuated. Book probably “too deep” for me. Fighting urge to yeet in garbage. Refrain because I (stupidly) don’t give up on books. This one is testing me. 1/2-ish stars, and that’ stretching it
Inside the House of the Historian: Nope, not too deep; just too pretentious. Character called “The Historian” brings his friend “The Professor” and several people out of time (Marilyn Monroe, Queen Victoria, John Adams, Ibn Battuta, Blackbeard, Nefertiti) to his house (which apparently is a sentient dollhouse within a dollhouse that hates everyone), where he is promptly murdered. Everyone tries to figure out who did it, and if they care. Neither is answered. Don’t know what is going on, don’t care. This is the story where I realized that this entire book is a slapdash combination of The Emperor’s New Clothes and a feeling evoked from a line in the play Seminar: “the interiority matches the exteriority”. Also: “The Historian”? “The Professor?” When are “The Doctor”, “The Master”, and “The Rani” going to show up? no stars. everything sucks.
It Was Probably A Very Nice Day– We actually hit a story I didn’t mind reading, even if it was depressing. Alexandra Romanov and mysterious man (may be the Tsar, may be Rasputin) take Alexei, run away, and leave his sisters to their fate. Ghosts result. Haunting commences. Ocean liners become cruise ships become space ships becomes forest become Winter Palaces. Most likable characters are the Romanov children. Alexandra is apparently a total boy mom (and a real piece of work.) 4 stars
Not Everything Is Ancient History: Nellie Bly and Julius Caesar split their time between New York in 1897 and Gaul (in I guess also 1897), with her being a reporter and him trying to lead the Roman Empire into conquering the world. This was a story that had the potential to be a whole lot better than it turned out to be; there is a good premise here, it’s just smothered by this author’s writing. 2 stars
The Houseguest: Schlocky horror movie trilogy about Lizzie Borden has lead actor (potentially) haunted by ghost of Lizzie Borden (maybe real, maybe movie version; who knows?) Nazis are also involved in the plot (of the movie, not the story). Lesbianism happens. Either this book was worn me down, or this is the other good story along with It Was Probably A Very Nice Day. I don’t know. 4 stars
Choose Your Own Apocalypse: And we just couldn’t end on a high note, could we? Research assistant at the Manhattan Project gets caught in a time loop/universe splinter/hack author’s story anthology and lives out alternate paths/lives that always lead to death. Don’t know, don’t care. Desert is sentient and resentful due to bomb. Or has always been sentient and resentful. Research assistant is not even narrator; unknown person is, talking to research assistant like they’re the ones reading the book. Took too long to realize that “Doctor O” was Oppenheimer. This was hands down the most pretentious of them all. thank Providence this is the end because I hit my limits. Jail, jail for author for one thousand years. No jazz hands, no stars.
Final thoughts: On the whole I regret buying this book. There were two stories I didn’t regret reading, with at a stretch another one that I didn’t hate as much. I went in honestly wanting to like it and I really tried to; but I just don’t see what the New York Times and others saw in it. They said it was “haunting”, “zany”, “brilliant”, and “thought-provoking”; I found it pretentious, self-important, and like I had someone’s mental mast self-pleasure forced on me; at the end I was merely numb and bored. All I want is the time, energy, and money that I wasted on this back so I could expend it on a better book. I gave it two stars solely on The Houseguest and It Was Probably A Very Nice Day; on everything else alone I’d’ve given it one, if any.
So if you like books that remind you of Everything Everywhere All At Once, be my guest. As for me? I’m Godzilla.
