43, NG15, F17, E41 / WG28, M24, MF2, D2, B1, C0, NA1

Jodi Picoult, Change of Heart

Anfangs tat ich mich zugegebenermaßen etwas schwer in das Buch einzusteigen, aber nach ca. einem Drittel hatte mich die einmalige Story gepackt. Witzigerweise ging es hier auch um Transplantation, aber natürlich unter völlig anderen Gesichtspunkten - das einzige, was in beiden Geschichten am Rande angesprochen wird, sind vielleicht die Bedenken der Organempfänger einen Teil von einem fremden Menschen in sich zu haben. Picoult geht - wie immer - noch ein paar Schritte weiter, bis die Story wieder diese typische Intensität und fast unerträgliche Problematik erreicht. Das ist auch der Hauptgrund, warum ich ihre Bücher nur in längeren Abständen lesen kann, jedes für sich nimmt mich einfach zu sehr mit, so dass ich danach immer erst eine Pause brauche.
Wie fast immer bei Picoult gibt es jede Menge zitierenswerter Sätze. Vor allem wenn es um Religion geht, fühlte ich mich immer wieder angesprochen.
.
.
I knew exactly how she felt. When you're different, sometimes you don't see the millions of people who accept you for what you are. All you notice is the one person who doesn't.
.
Here's my take on it: I don't think religions are based on lies, but I don't think they're based on truths, either. I think they come about because of what people need at the time that they need them. Like the World Series player who won't take off his lucky socks, or the mother of the sick child who believes that her baby can sleep only if she's sitting by the crib - believers need, by definition, something to believe in.
.
Religion gave hope to people who knew the end wasn't going to be pretty. It was why inmates started praying in prison and why patients started praying when the doctors said terminal. Religion was supposed to be a blanket drawn up to your chin to keep you warm, a promise that when it came to the end, you wouldn't die alone - but it could just as easily leave you shivering out in the cold, if what you believed became more important than the fact that you believed.
.
Why would God choose to inhabit any of us?
What if it was the other way around ... if we were the ones who inhabited God?
.
The rabbi laughed. "And you were around the first time to know this for sure?"
"I know what it says in the scripture."
"I never understood people - Jewish or Christian - who read the Bible as if it were hard evidence. Gospel means good news. It's a way to update the story, to fit the audience you're telling it to."
.
Some once told me that when you give birth to a daughter, you've just met the person whose hand you'll be holding the day you die.
.
Out of the blue I remembered the Latin words that had been combined to create religion: re + ligere. I had always assumed they translated to reconnect. It was only when I was at seminary that I learned the correct translation was to bind.
Back then, I hadn't seen a difference.
.
"You know why I think we still execute people? Because, even if we don't want to say it out loud - for the really heinous crimes, we want to know that there's a really heinous punishment. Simple as that. We want to bring society closer together - huddle and circle our wagons - and that means getting rid of people we think are incapable of learning a moral lesson. I guess the question is: Who gets to identify those people? Who decides what crime is so awful that the only answer is death? And what if, God forbid, they get it wrong?"
.
(Jodi Picoult, Change of Heart, 2008)

40, NG12, M22, E38 / WG28, F16, MF2, D2, B1, C0, NA1

Peter James, Not Dead Enough

Eigentlich wollte ich mir schon längst einen kürzlich geladenen Jodi Picoult-Band zu Gemüte geführt haben, aber irgendwie komme ich von der Roy-Grace-Serie noch nicht los. Zumal James hier einen Kurztrip nach München einbaut, sogar mit einem überzeugendem Hintergrund und vernünftig charakterisiertem deutschen Kollegen von Grace. Sogar der Name passt zu dem Alter. Das kriegen wirklich nicht viele britische oder amerikanische Autoren hin.
.
.
9/11 had happened on a beautiful day. It was one of the things that had most struck her about all the images, that the impact of those planes striking the towers might not have had quite the strength of emotional resonance if the sky had been grey and drizzly. You kind of expected shit to happen on grey days.

(Peter James, Not Dead Enough, 2007)

39, NG11, M21, E37 / WG28, F16, MF2, D2, B1, C0, NA1

Peter James, Looking Good Dead

Der zweite Band gefiel mir fast noch besser als der erste und es sieht ganz so aus, als hätte ich einen neuen Süchtigmacher gefunden. Die Spannung, obwohl genauso gut aufgebaut wie im ersten Band, war hier leichter zu ertragen - vielleicht mag ich einfach keine Stories um Charaktere in der Falle.
Interessant fand ich, dass die Handlung praktisch unmittelbar an den ersten Band anschloss, obwohl das Buch ein Jahr später veröffentlicht wurde. Ein guter Trick um die Seriencharaktere nicht vorschnell altern zu lassen, aber ein bisschen mehr Luft zwischen zwei so rasanten Fällen hätte James dem guten Grace schon lassen können.
.
.
Grace remembered an expression his mother used to use: Time will tell. Fate. She had been a great believer in fate but he had never totally shared that belief. It had helped her through her days dying from cancer. If you believed that some greater power was at work who had it all mapped out for you, then in some ways you were lucky. People who had a deep religious faith were fortunate; they could abdicate all their responsibilities to God. Despite his fascination with the supernatural, Grace had never been able to believe in a God who had a plan for him.

(Peter James, Looking Good Dead, 2006)

29, WG20, MF2, E27 / NG8, F14, M13, D2, B1, NA0, C0

Steven Brust & Skyler White, The Skill of our Hands

Von der Fortsetzung von 'The Incrementalists' hatte ich fast noch mehr vergessen als vom ersten und war umso faszinierter wie dramatisch und actiongeladen es ist, und wie witzig und zugleich nervig Oskars ständige Kommentare sind - bzw. auch oft genug bitter. Die Erzählweise überzeugt hier noch mehr als im ersten, besonders wenn es um Rens Verkraftung des Verlustes von Phil geht.

Here's what I was thinking in the moment: I was thinking I should write a self-help book. It would be the most useful and the shortest self-help book ever written. It'd go like this: "Every self-improvement program makes you concentrate on yourself, an dthe more you do that, the more self-involved you get, the more you need improvement. So get out of your god damned head for once, and look around. Read a newspaper. Learn what's happening in the world. Get involved in it. Stop wasting your time with self-improvement."
.
(Steven Brust & Skyler White, The Skill of our Hands, 2017)

28, WG19, MF1, E26 / NG8, F14, M13, D2, B1, NA0, C0

Steven Brust & Skyler White, The Incrementalists

Nach vier Jahren und ausreichend Zeit soviel von dem Buch zu vergessen, dass es beim wiederlesen spannend blieb, wurde es wieder Zeit für ein Wiederlesen. Und ja, es war wieder richtig schön, und der zweite Teil wird natürlich auch drangehängt.
.
.
"Are you suggesting," Irina was saying, "that the words we use have no effect on how we think?"
"No, I'm saying they have less of an effect than a lot of people believe. That other things have a much more profound effect."
"That doesn't mean -"
"Things like unequal pay. Like effective servitude in marriage. Like forced prostitution. Deal with the real problems, and language will take care of itself."
.
"Couldn't you do more good if you were rich and powerful?"
I grunted. "You'd think so. But most of the time, money and power make you spend all of your time dealing with money and power. If you don't, you tend to turn into an asshole."
.
(Steven Brust & Skyler White, The Incrementalists, 2013)

25, WG18, M13, E23 / NG6, F12, D2, B1, NA0, C0

Iain Banks, The Quarry

Nach sieben Jahren wurde es wirklich Zeit, Iain Banks' letztes Buch wiederzulesen. Abgesehen von dem sich ständig aufdrängendem Gedanken, dass dies sein letztes Buch war mit der ewigen Spekulation wieviel aus eigener Erfahrung verwendet wurde, die ich einfach nicht unterdrücken kann, war es wieder ein faszinierendes und vor allem gegen Ende hin, als Kit das Video endlich findet, spannendes Lesen. Und einmal mehr fand ich es erstaunlich, wie sympathisch und liebenswert der Icherzähler hier wirkt, trotz - oder gerade wegen? seines Aspergersyndroms.
.
.
Lastly, it has occurred to me that the person who initiates a random jam probably never knows what chaos they've caused behind them. I've seen six random jams over the last eight years - three in the last eighteen months as I've adjusted the times of my walks to make witnessing them more likely - and it took me a while before I realised that they might stand as a symbol for life in general; trivial actions leading to proliferating consequences that affect hundreds of others, but which we never know about.
.
'Who fucking does want to die?' he says, staring up at me. 'Until something in your life gets so bad you feel it's the only thing that'll stop the fucking awfulness?' He looks away, into the darkness at the far end of the room. 'I'm scared to fucking death, Kit. Not of anything; not of hell or any bollocks like that; just at the thought of not fucking being any more. It shouldn't be frightening - it's just returning to the state you were in before you were born, before you were even conceived - but it is, whether you like it or not, like your brain can't accept it's not the most important thing in the whole fucking world, the whole fucking universe, and it's terrified that when it goes, everything does.'
.
'Everything,' Hol say, '- print, radio, television, computers, digitalisation, the internet - makes a difference, but nothing makes all the difference. We build better lives and a better world slowly, painstakenly, and there are no short cuts, just lots of improvements; most small, a few greater, none ... decisive.'

(Iain Banks, The Quarry, 2013)

19, WG15, M9, E18 / NG4, F10, D1, B1, NA0, C0

Iain Banks, The Crow Road

Eigentlich konnte ich mich bei diesem Buch nur an den Anfang und den Schluß erinnern - die Szene mit dem einzigartigem Morsecode wird wohl immer meine Lieblingsszene bleiben - aber das machte das Wiederlesen noch schöner. Ich fand es erstaunlich, wie liebenswert Prentice trotz all seinem albernen Anspruchsdenken und jugendlicher Unreife durch das Buch bleibt.

'Why?' Kenneth said, trying not to sound angry. 'Just because we feel that way? One wee daft species, on one wee daft planet circling one wee daft star in one wee daft galaxy; us? Barely capable of crawling into space yet; capable of feeding everybody but ... nyaa, can't be bothered? Just because we think there must be something more and a few crazy desert cults infect the world with their cruel ideas; that's what makes the soul a certainty and heaven a must?'
.
God, what did any of it matter, in the end? You lived; you died. You were as indistinguishable from a distance as one of these blades of grass, and who was to say more important? Growing, surrounded by your kin, you out-living some, some out-living you. You didn't have to adjust the scale much, either, to reduce us to the sort of distant irrelevance of this bedraggled field. The grass was lucky if it grew, was shone upon and rained upon, and was not burned, and was not pulled up by the roots, or poisoned, or buried when the ground was turned over, and some bits just happened to be on a line that humans wanted to walk on, and so got trampled, broken, pressed flat, with no malice; just effect.
.
Somehow all her dreams had disappeared. It seemed to her now that all she had ever had had been the dream of having dreams; the goal of having goals one day, once she had made her mind up what it was she wanted.
.
I suppose we all want to pass on our beliefs; they seem even more our own than the genes we transmit ... but maybe they are largely inherited too, even if sometimes what you inherit is the exact opposite - the reversed image of what was intended.
.
There was no such continuation; it just didn't work that way, and there should even be a sort of relief in the comprehension that it didn't. We continue in our children, and in our works and in the memories of others; we continue in our dust and ash. To want more was not just childish, but cowardly, and somehow constipatory, too. Death was change; it led to new chances, new vacancies, new niches and opportunities; it was not all loss.
The belief that we somehow moved on to something else - whether still recognisably ourselves, or quite thoroughly changed - might be a tribute to our evolutionary tenacity and our animal thirst for life, but not to our wisdom. That saw a value beyond itself; in intelligence, knowledge and wit as concepts - wherever and by whoever expressed - not jsut in its own personal manifestation of those qualities, and so could contemplate its own annihilation with equanimity, and suffer it with grace; it was only a sort of sad selfishness that demanded the continuation of the individual spirit in the vanity and frivolity of a heaven.
.
(Iain Banks, The Crow Road, 1992)