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EARMARKED | MESSAGES | SUBSCRIPTIONS
 
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An entertaining enough read about 30's circus life that seems destined for the big screen. Nothing too surprising or deep.
 
- shelved by cheyne
 
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    Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen
    Number of Reviews: ( 2 ) [see all reviews]
    Average rating: 85%
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    review by cheyne
    Reader of classic lit and tech textbooks!
    overall book rating: 80%
     

    She: "What are you reading?" Me: "Water For Elephants - and I am nearing the end." "Oh! Have you cried yet?" "No, but I haven't finished. The ending is sad?" "You should have cried by now! My god, you must be heartless." And so ended last night's conversation. This book has evoked some strong feelings, it seems.

    Water For Elephants is a novel set in the 1930's depression and follows the trials and tribulations of a young, virginal Jacob Jankowski. Jacobs winds up on a circus as a veterinarian. (Mostly heartbreaking) Drama ensues.

    Now, I'm not afraid of a good cry, but I never got too emotionally invested in this story. For one thing, I felt the attempted tugs-at-heartstrings were a little too calculated. Let's make an inventory of verbal tear gas: [reveal spoiler]  Did I miss any? Granted, some stories are just sad. Fair enough. I would be more forgiving if it weren't for the prologue. I'm on to you, Gruen!

    Let it be understood: This is a well-written and well-crafted story. Gruen's descriptions make her colorful characters and their sepia hued surroundings easy to imagine, which is probably why I assume this will hit the big screen imminently. Circus life makes for fascinating fiction: the wackiest characters and situations seem entirely believeable. The plot is pretty tight and the characters make suitable choices. When it comes to the descriptions, I have one complaint: The bullhook. This tool (of torture) is nearly as prominant as a main character, but I never really knew what it looked like or exactly how it inflicted pain.

    Overall, this was an entertaining read with a splash of interesting circus history. I think your response to this read will really depend on what you look for in a book. This is not a work of classic literature that will endure for generations. If you want to pass the morning commute with a page-turner, Water For Elephants is great.

    Ratings (100 pt scale)
    Overall Rating - 80

    review rating: 
      -- not rated --

    This review has (3) responses 

     
    • response from sbarranca
    • okay, I didn't cry either. Was I supposed to? When?

      Nice Review, you should write them more often.
    •  
    • response from BLNicholas
    • Don't feel bad, Cheyne; I didn't cry either. I agree that many of the tug-at-heartstrings were too contrived. My biggest issue was why he doesn't mention (or think about) his parents until half way through the text, and then it was only a passing thought. But like you, I see this on the big screen, Queenie and all.
    •  
    • response from cheyne
    • I forgot to mention my adoration for Gruen's use of the phrase "get purchase" when Jacob mounts a railcar. She has a solid arsenal of descriptive terms.
    •  
    Excerpts
    Water for Elephants, by Sara Gruen
    Thunderous applause exploded from the big top, and the band slid seamlessly into the Gounod waltz. I turned instinctively toward the menagerie because this was the cue for the elephant act. Marlena was either preparing to mount or was already sitting on Rosie’s head.

    “I’ve got to go,” I said. “Sit,” said Grady. “Eat. If you’re thinking of clearing out, it may be a while before you see food again.”

    That moment, the music screeched to a halt. There was an ungodly collision of brass, reed, and percussion—trombones and piccolos skidded into cacophony, a tuba farted, and the hollow clang of a cymbal wavered out of the big top, over our heads and into oblivion. Grady froze, crouched over his burger with his pinkies extended and lips spread wide. I looked from side to side. No one moved a muscle—all eyes were directed at the big top. A few wisps of hay swirled lazily across the hard dirt.

    “What is it? What’s going on?” I said.

    “Shh,” Grady hissed.

    The band started up again, playing “Stars and Stripes Forever.”

    “Oh Christ. Oh shit!” Grady tossed his food onto the table and leapt up, knocking over the bench.

    “What? What is it?” I yelled, because he was already running away from me.

    “The Disaster March!” he screamed over his shoulder.

    I jerked around to the fry cook, who was ripping off his apron. “What the hell’s he talking about?”

    “The Disaster March,” he said, wrestling the apron over his head. “Means something’s gone bad — real bad.”