Critical Monkey! The Final Conflict!

Alright, everybody! Huddle up and unclench your bowels, the year-long nightmare is officially kaput!

Final tally:

Acceptance (seven reviews)

Lori L
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
Roses of Glory by Mary Pershall
Spock's World by Diane Duane
A Texan's Honor by Leigh Greenwood
Star Wars: Rebel Dawn by A.C. Crispin
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer *ineligible for contention*
Love Comes Softly by Janette Oke
The Outlaws of Mesquite by Louis L'Amour

Corey Redekop
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
The Justice Riders by Chuck Norris
Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell
Left Behind by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins
The Stainless Steel Rat by Harry Harrison
The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson & Martin Dugard *ineligible for contention*
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews

Jeanne
Empire of Lies by Andrew Klaven
A Merry Heart by Wanda E. Brunsetter
A Washington, D.C. by Robert J. Hensler
It's Not that I'm Bitter by Gina Barreca
Fat Girls in Lawn Chairs by Cheryl Peck
The Possessed by Elif Batuman
What's Wrong With the World by G.K. Chesterton

Scrat
Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
Hold Tight by Harlan Coben
Double Cross by James Patterson
Strangers in Death by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts)
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore
Lisey's Story by Stephen King
The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom

Steve Zipp
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
The Whiteoaks of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
The Navy Times Book of Submarines by Brayton Harris

Depression (six reviews)

Anger (five reviews)

Guilt (four reviews)

Bargaining (three reviews)

Betty
Generation Dead/Generation Dead: Kiss of Life by Daniel Waters
A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

gypsysmom
Waiting for the Barbarians by J.M. Coetzee
Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice
Nostromo by Joseph Conrad

Denial (two reviews)

Shock (one review)

Alison
On the Road by Jack Kerouac

I did not think we'd make it. Good job to everyone who made it, and to the others, well, not everyone is cut out for such extreme levels of self-torture. You are the luckiest of all.

It was truly an inspired event. We saw suffering the likes of which very few escape with scraps of sanity. At the low end, James Patterson, Chuck Norris, Stephanie Meyer, Mitch Albom, Andrew Klaven, Janette Oke, and more took their gloves off (and shoes, in Norris' case), and roundly thrashed us. On the upper tiers, Thomas Pynchon, G.K. Chesterton, Jack Kerouac, Charles Dickens, and Jane Austen tempted us with literary sweetmeats.

But we need a winner: I promised a signed copy of my opus Shelf Monkey to one unlucky individual so filled with loathing for his or herself that they would actually finish this evil little enterprise. So, I'll just place all the completed contestants in a hat, shuffle them up a bit, and the winner is...

Lori!

Congratulations, Lori, you have truly earned this meager prize. I wish I had a medal to contribute, but you'll just have to wear your unabashed pride around to compensate. Well done indeed, my lady, well done. I'll get in touch with you for an address.

Now, the burning question: will there be a Critical Monkey Part 2? At this point, no. This was an experiment to force myself to read the books I make fun of, and I think I made my point. What that point really is, I have no idea, but I certainly made it.

The fact is, I'm a lot busier than usual lately. A new job (more on that later) has eaten up a lot of my energy, and posting has become a bit of a chore as it is. I may resurect the concept in the future, or do something entirely new, but for now, I'm going to hide and lick my wounds for a bit. I heartily recommend you join John Mutford's Canadian Book Challenge, if you're looking for a new challenge, and after all, I stole the concept from him anyway.

And so, I bid all of you adieu. Not really, I mean, I'm still around, technically.

Peace out, y'all.

Critical Monkey! Update the eleventh!

Eleven months? Did I read that right? Is it almost over?

Acceptance (seven reviews)

Lori L
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
Roses of Glory by Mary Pershall
Spock's World by Diane Duane
A Texan's Honor by Leigh Greenwood
Star Wars: Rebel Dawn by A.C. Crispin
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer *ineligible for contention*
Love Comes Softly by Janette Oke
The Outlaws of Mesquite by Louis L'Amour

Corey Redekop
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
The Justice Riders by Chuck Norris
Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell
Left Behind by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins
The Stainless Steel Rat by Harry Harrison
The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson & Martin Dugard *ineligible for contention*
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews

Scrat
Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
Hold Tight by Harlan Coben
Double Cross by James Patterson
Strangers in Death by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts)
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore
Lisey's Story by Stephen King
The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom

Steve Zipp
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
The Whiteoaks of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
The Navy Times Book of Submarines by Brayton Harris

Depression (six reviews)

Jeanne
Empire of Lies by Andrew Klaven
A Merry Heart by Wanda E. Brunsetter
A Washington, D.C. by Robert J. Hensler
It's Not that I'm Bitter by Gina Barreca
Fat Girls in Lawn Chairs by Cheryl Peck
The Possessed by Elif Batuman

Anger (five reviews)

Guilt (four reviews)

Bargaining (three reviews)

Betty
Generation Dead/Generation Dead: Kiss of Life by Daniel Waters
A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

gypsysmom
Waiting for the Barbarians by J.M. Coetzee
Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice
Nostromo by Joseph Conrad

Denial (two reviews)

Shock (one review)

Alison
On the Road by Jack Kerouac

Man, what a ride. I finished up my last of seven (all over but the night terrors), and Jeanne pulls up within shouting distance of the finish line. Go, baby, go! And with a little perseverance, I truly believe everyone else could make it. Suck it up, buttercup, and go for the tarnished gold!

So, now, one month to go, and the question is: will there be a second? I am . . . undecided. My life has taken a turn for the busy lately, and I think I may have to cut back on posting for awhile. So, if there is a Critical Monkey II, it'll be less of an event. But we'll see.

But back to the main point here, one month to go! Don't let yourself down, finish this damnable thing.

Critical Monkey, entry seven! Flowers in the Attic - There won't be any trips to the dentist until your grandfather dies.

So, here we are. My very last (thank the various imaginary deities) Critical Monkey challenge.

Number seven. Acceptance.

Wonderful.

Not so wonderful, actually. My choice as capper to this tournament of evil is a staple of WalMart bookshelves, Safeway impulse racks, and pre-teen girl bedside tables. The Twilight of its time. A novel of potentially limitless awfulness, especially given its refusal to die a natural death.

I give you, Flowers in the Attic!

WHY I MIGHT HATE IT: C'mon, seriously? You can't not be familiar with this book, at least in passing. Written in 1979, V.C. Andrew's debut opus - a lurid blend of budding sexuality, gothic psycho-religious overtones, abandonment issues, confinement, incest, etc. - was an instant bestseller. Andrews went on to write a new novel every year or so, all covering the same basic themes, until her death in 1986, whereupon her name was implemented as a brand, and the series continues to this day. The covers all look the same, and let's be honest, I am obviously not the target demographic.

WHY I MIGHT LIKE IT: Can't think of reason one. If I could think of a reason I might like it, it probably wouldn't make the cut for this contest.

THE VERDICT: Well, it's marginally better than Twilight, anyway, but that's more to do its propulsive narrative than its overall quality.

I've been trying to determine exactly why none of the dialogue in Flowers works. And I mean none of it. Certainly, realistic dialogue is not necessary to enjoyment, and all literature requires at least a minor suspension of disbelief. Most novels contain passages no one would ever say; the novel I'm currently reading, Tom Robbins' Another Roadside Attraction, is positively overflowing with brilliantly ridiculous dialogue impossible to accept as possible. Maybe it comes from desire; while no one would ever speak like a character in a Tom Robbins novel, I wish people could. The world would be a better place for it.

Contrast that with Flowers, with its pseudo-Victorian speech patterns that do nothing but annoy and never once approach believability. Here's a sample, a dialogue between the narrator Cathy (aged 14ish) and her brother Chris (17?):

"My God! You've made me look like a blond Prince Valiant! At first I didn't like it, but now I see you changed his style just a bit, so it isn't squared off. You've curved it, and layered it to flatter my face like a loving cup. Thank you, Catherine Doll. I had no idea you were so skilled at cutting hair."
"I have many skills you don't know about."
"I am beginning to suspect that."
"And Prince Valiant should be so lucky as to look like my handsome, manly, blond brother."

People don't talk like this, and I don't want people to talk like this. People who talk like a V.C. Andrews novel get beaten up an awful lot, I suspect. It's more entertaining than the deadly flat dialogue of Twilight, but equally bad all the same. Overwriting is Andrews' curse.

The plot, really a wonder of a soap opera, concerns the Dollanganger children. There's Cathy, the narrator; Christopher, the older brother; and Carrie and Cory, the twin babies. They exist in ridiculous happiness with their loving parents until ten pages in, when their father is killed in a car accident. High marks to Andrews for jumping right in to the action.

In a plot that challenges the definition of the word 'convoluted,' the mother must keep her children hidden from view of their grandfather. If he gets a whiff of their existence, she will be unable to claim any inheritance. She squirrels them away in an abandoned wing of his by all accounts massive mansion, where they spend years away from the outside world, tended to by a maniacal grandmother and an increasingly absent mother.

I'll give Flowers this; it does keep you reading. Andrews layers on so much ludicrous plot that, like an episode of One Life to Live, you can't help but wonder what could possibly happen next. This should not be read as a recommendation, but a warning; this is the worst sort of junk food for the mind, a soulless machine that keeps feeding you as much sugar as you crave. Oh, you'll eat, but you'll feel sick afterwards for stuffing your face. As the years (!) pass, and the children still haven't summoned up the courage to, I don't know, open the door and leave, Andrews piles on tragedy upon tragedy until the reader, along with the children, is left gasping for the pain to end.

The pain, that is, of reading it. Because Flowers is really, really bad. It gives the word 'loopy' a bad name. It's utterly stupid.

Which is why it sells, of course. It's a fantasy where children survive by their own wits against nefarious adults, set out in bleak tones readily identifiable to any morose teenage girl. And it never stops for breath, and never once does it appear that the phrase 'over-the-top' might have given Andrews pause.

But lord, is it bad. I read it, I can't unread it. The damage is done.

Still, again, better than Twilight.

VERDICT: MONKEY WEEPS AT THE THOUGHT OF 18 MORE SERIES LIKE THIS. SERIOUSLY. 18. ONE EIGHT.

And that's it. I complete my challenge. I'm, uh, going to go lie under the desk for awhile.

Monkey droppings - Tell-All by Chuck Palahniuk

The Monkey sits down to read a spanking new novel by an old favourite.

One hundred seventy-plus pages later, the Monkey finishes the novel and is crushed by overwhelming despair.

Tell-All
by Chuck Palahniuk (2010)

NOTE: Before the actual review begins, I'd like to take a moment and discuss something I've been struggling with for some days. As you'll read, I well and truly (spoiler alert!) loathe this novel. But I admit to internal conflict in this. How is Tell-All, to my mind, as poor a novel as The Murder of King Tut or Left Behind or The Justice Riders; novels that can't even summon up the gumption to be interesting. Palahniuk is undeniably a better author than the people behind those masses of tripe, a far more talented craftsman with a unique voice and (usually) singular energy. Yet Tell-All reeks of tedium. I read it, and I cannot find a reason for it to exist. If it weren't for the force of Palahniuk's name, I find it impossible to believe that it would ever have been published. Is it the unproven cynicism behind the novel that goads me, the thrusting of any of Palahniuk's half-baked ideas into the marketplace with the assumption that his fans will lap up anything? That is something I well and truly believe James Patterson does on a daily basis, but I never before would have lumped Chuck in the same pile. As I said, conflict roils in my belly, and I feel sick. Nevertheless, I have to stand by my criticism; Tell-All is execrable.

And now, preamble over, let's get to the review...

A respected author with his best days behind him is a sad, depressing prospect. And with his eleventh novel, American author Chuck Palahniuk has become very sad indeed. Palahniuk used to be a satirical darling with both critics and audiences. His novel Fight Club is a deservedly praised debut of verve and strength, and subsequent novels such as Rant and Choke justly earned him comparisons to J.G. Ballard and Kurt Vonnegut.

Lately, however, the quality of Palahniuk’s writings has been slipping. Snuff, about a porn actress trying to beat a sexual record, was a divisive piece of work, and his last novel Pygmy, about a pint-sized terrorist infiltrating an American family, found Palahniuk misfiring on many cylinders.

Yet even with the heartily disappointing Pygmy, Palahniuk was still an author trying out some new moves. But with Tell-All, his fourth novel in as many years, Palahniuk simply gives up, delivering a novel as negligible in size as it is in ambition.

Setting as his centerpiece the antics of a fading oft-married movie star a la Elizabeth Taylor combined with Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond, Tell-All is an excursion into the classic Hollywood of the 1940s and 50s. Written in a style akin to gossip tabloids of the time (complete with boldface font for every name mentioned), the novel promises on its surface to be a devastating dissection of celebrity, classic Palahniuk fare.

Palahniuk’s star is the once-famous Katherine Kenton, an actress now “earning applause, not for any performance, but for simply not dying.” The roles have dried up for Ms. Kenton, the only script on her night table “a horror flick about an aged voodoo priestess creating an army of zombies to take over the world.”

Tell-All is narrated by Kenton’s servant Hazie, who tends to “the endless job of dusting and polishing the not insignificant number of bibelots and gold-plated gimcracks awarded to Miss Katie.” Hazie also guards Kenton from possible suitors with ulterior motives, such as the celebrity biographer Webster Carlton Westward III, “the literary equivalent of a magpie, stealing the brightest and darkest moments from every celebrity he’ll meet.”

It’s hardly a unique setting, but the curse of celebrity has always provided a rich vein for satire. There are mild hints through the pages at what Tell-All could have been, an exposé of starwatchers who crave depictions of the sordid lives of celebrities, seeking “comfort and license in their own tawdry, disordered lives.”

Yet while even lesser efforts such as Invisible Monsters saw Palahniuk still pushing at his limits, Tell-All is the effort of an author who has utterly given up. It is a soggy, misshapen mess of half-baked parody and puddle-shallow inspiration.

Not one narrative element is even remotely interesting in presentation. Calling its characters superficial caricatures is a vast understatement, and not once throughout the thankfully meager length does Palahniuk ever achieve anything approaching actual insight. This would not be fatal if the story was at least somewhat captivating, but his paltry attempts at plot are, in keeping with Tell-All’s overall production, laughably insignificant.

Tell-All is an insulting shrug of indifference from an author who once actually mattered on the literary scene. To misquote Norma Desmond, Chuck may still be big, but his novels have gotten small.

VERDICT: MONKEY FLAT-OUT HATES

Originally published (expurgated version) in the Winnipeg Free Press, May 22, 2010.

Critical Monkey! Update the 10th!

Ten months down, two to go!

Acceptance (seven reviews)

Lori L
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
Roses of Glory by Mary Pershall
Spock's World by Diane Duane
A Texan's Honor by Leigh Greenwood
Star Wars: Rebel Dawn by A.C. Crispin
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer *ineligible for contention*
Love Comes Softly by Janette Oke
The Outlaws of Mesquite by Louis L'Amour

Scrat
Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
Hold Tight by Harlan Coben
Double Cross by James Patterson
Strangers in Death by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts)
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore
Lisey's Story by Stephen King
The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom

Steve Zipp
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
The Whiteoaks of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
The Navy Times Book of Submarines by Brayton Harris

Depression (six reviews)

Corey Redekop
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
The Justice Riders by Chuck Norris
Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell
Left Behind by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins
The Stainless Steel Rat by Harry Harrison
The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson & Martin Dugard *ineligible for contention*
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

Anger (five reviews)

Jeanne
Empire of Lies by Andrew Klaven
A Merry Heart by Wanda E. Brunsetter
A Washington, D.C. by Robert J. Hensler
It's Not that I'm Bitter by Gina Barreca
Fat Girls in Lawn Chairs by Cheryl Peck

Guilt (four reviews)

Bargaining (three reviews)

Betty
Generation Dead/Generation Dead: Kiss of Life by Daniel Waters
A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

gypsysmom
Waiting for the Barbarians by J.M. Coetzee
Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice
Nostromo by Joseph Conrad

Denial (two reviews)

Shock (one review)

Alison
On the Road by Jack Kerouac

As you can see, we now have three triumphant titans of terrific grit. Bravo!

Unfortunately, I let myself down this month. Due to a combination of factors, I have spent far more time on personal exploits than I have this contest. But I have chosen my final challenge: the death-defying exploits of V.C. Andrews in the one that started it all (by all, I mean all those endless, terrible-looking sequels I see dotting the bookshelves and racks at the WalMart checkout line) Flowers in the Attic.

As for the rest of you brave souls: two months left. Sixty-one days. Can you handle it?

Critical Monkey! Update the 9th!

Wow, what a roller coaster of a month! Two completions! Two survivors! Two participants of iron will, joining the ranks of the immortals! So exciting, I can't even form coherent hyperbole to adequately describe it!! Must resort to extra exclamation marks to express pleasure!!!!

Let's go to the stats:

Acceptance (seven reviews)

Lori L
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
Roses of Glory by Mary Pershall
Spock's World by Diane Duane
A Texan's Honor by Leigh Greenwood
Star Wars: Rebel Dawn by A.C. Crispin
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer *ineligible for contention*
Love Comes Softly by Janette Oke
The Outlaws of Mesquite by Louis L'Amour

Steve Zipp
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
The Whiteoaks of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
The Navy Times Book of Submarines by Brayton Harris

Depression (six reviews)

Corey Redekop
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
The Justice Riders by Chuck Norris
Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell
Left Behind by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins
The Stainless Steel Rat by Harry Harrison
The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson & Martin Dugard *ineligible for contention*
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

Anger (five reviews)

Jeanne
Empire of Lies by Andrew Klaven
A Merry Heart by Wanda E. Brunsetter
A Washington, D.C. by Robert J. Hensler
It's Not that I'm Bitter by Gina Barreca
Fat Girls in Lawn Chairs by Cheryl Peck

Scrat
Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
Hold Tight by Harlan Coben
Double Cross by James Patterson
Strangers in Death by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts)
Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore

Guilt (four reviews)

Bargaining (three reviews)

Betty
Generation Dead/Generation Dead: Kiss of Life by Daniel Waters
A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

Denial (two reviews)

gypsysmom
Waiting for the Barbarians by J.M. Coetzee
Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

Shock (one review)

Alison
On the Road by Jack Kerouac

First off, congrats to Steve and Lori, our two fightin' centurions of literary merit. Steve made up for losing Canada Also Reads (and my respect) with a sterling non-fiction look at submarines, and Lori takes on a classic oater. As well, Betty and Scrat both took on books of a biblical bent, Jeanne attempted a little-known (by me, anyway) memoir, and I took to the high seas with a childhood staple.

As promised, I have an ARC of Alan Bradley's The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag available to anyone who wrote a review this month, which gives us a pool of five. And the winner is...

Jeanne! Whoo! Whaa! Wheee! Whuuu! Whiii! Jeanne, I'll contact you for your address.

And three months left to go. Who will be next to finish this horserace of utter futility? I'm betting on me, but I'm lazy, so someone could take third place of the tried.

But I only need one. When I started this, I wanted to force myself to not only read authors I've never read before, but to read the novels I prejudge as being 'awful' based on nothing more than my own unfocused rage. I'm not sure I've done that, not for every selection. Certainly, I always assumed I'd like Harry Harrison. I have violated one of my core principles, and for that, I must be self-punished.

I hereby promise that my next, and final, selection will be something I have been loathing to read. I cannot name it here, because frankly, I do not know the title. I will scour the shelves of my local public library and, rest assured, I will come up with something so potentially damaging it could endanger my very spirit. I am looking for something, in the words of Clive Barker's Pinhead, that will tear my soul apart.

Critical Monkey! Update the 8th!

Before we begin the 8th Update of Critical Monkey, I would like to send a personal shout-out to our very own Steve Zipp. Steve is the author of Yellowknife, a terrific slice of twisted Canadian absurdity that is currently being argued for in the National Post's counter-programming to Canada Reads, Canada Also Reads. I won't get into a rant on the merits of Canada Read's choices here - too much has been said already, and by smarter people than me. I'll leave it at this: the point of Canada Reads was to get Canadians to read certain books. Books that have been huge best-sellers and/or trend-setting game changers should be ineligible on the face of it, regardless of that book's individual merits. If 'everybody' has already read a book, why push it again?

The Post has put together a wonderful mix of novels to argue over, and Steve's debut work made the list. But Steve has his work cut out for him - check out the list of nominees and defenders:

• Writer and critic Steven Beattie defends My White Planet by Mark Anthony Jarman

• Author Tish Cohen defends The Day The Falls Stood Still by Cathy Marie Buchanan

• Singer/songwriter Andy Maize defends Best Laid Plans by Terry Fallis

• Poet Jacob McArthur Mooney defends The Last Shot by Leon Rooke

• Author Lisa Pasold defends You And The Pirates by Jocelyne Allen

• Author Neil Smith defends Come Thou Tortoise by Jessica Grant

• Author Zoe Whittall defends Fear of Fighting by Stacey May Fowles

Man, that is some harsh competition. Defending Yellowknife is John Mutford, a blogger and well-rounded person with excellent taste in literature. John's heartfelt defense, with nods to Mikhail Bulgakov, can be found here.

I'm sure I'm not alone in wishing Steve good luck, and only my crushing depression at not being nominated myself keeps me from sending him a poke on Facebook.

And now - the leaderboard!

Acceptance (seven reviews)

Depression (six reviews)

Lori L
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen
Roses of Glory by Mary Pershall
Spock's World by Diane Duane
A Texan's Honor by Leigh Greenwood
Star Wars: Rebel Dawn by A.C. Crispin
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer *ineligible for contention*
Love Comes Softly by Janette Oke

Steve Zipp
Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking
The Whiteoaks of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche
The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola
Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

Anger (five reviews)

Corey Redekop
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
The Justice Riders by Chuck Norris
Jake and the Kid by W.O. Mitchell
Left Behind by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins
The Stainless Steel Rat by Harry Harrison
The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson & Martin Dugard *ineligible for contention*

Guilt (four reviews)

Jeanne
Empire of Lies by Andrew Klaven
A Merry Heart by Wanda E. Brunsetter
A Washington, D.C. by Robert J. Hensler
It's Not that I'm Bitter by Gina Barreca

Scrat
Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey
Hold Tight by Harlan Coben
Double Cross by James Patterson
Strangers in Death by J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts)

Bargaining (three reviews)

Denial (two reviews)

Betty
Generation Dead/Generation Dead: Kiss of Life by Daniel Waters
A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Sparks

gypsysmom
Waiting for the Barbarians by J.M. Coetzee
Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

Shock (one review)

Alison
On the Road by Jack Kerouac

Wow, Depression has been achieved by two contestants! The aforementioned Steve breaks through with the high-toned effort of Charles Dickens, and Lori cracks the barrier by reading (and enjoying) a Janette Oke! Coming up fast on the outside is Scrat, suffering through the mild indignities of Nora Robert's alter-ego.

As for myself - a bad month, I fear. I started reading a Richard Marcinko, but had to stop for fear the testosterone that filled the pages would leak out and stain my carpet. I simply could not read past ten pages of the garbage. I lack the strength, The Murder of King Tut really did a number on me. Honestly, I think it may have harmed my soul. I plan to rejuvenate myself with a trip back to childhood to read a classic that escaped my eyes: next up, Treasure Island!

Now, I didn't have a prize for this update, but I'm going to throw in an ARC of Alan Bradley's The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag for the next month. All new entries will be eligible.

Four more months, everyone! Can we all meet the deadline?

Good luck, and god save us all.