Need book recommendations for my boyfriend
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- Eline
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My boyfriend does not like reading, while I love it. I have been reading everything in sight since age four, and could spend the whole weekend in the library now that they sell food.
But, I am slowly starting to get him to read, and to enjoy it. Yay!
But now I don't know what to give him next, so I'd like some recommendations from you guys. The book has to be easy to read. I was thinking of Philip Pullman (? the golden compass etc) but am not sure.
So far, he has read and liked the following:
- the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
- dragonlance chronicles
- robin hobb's trilogies (assassin, ship of magic)
- big books about AI in computer games
But, I am slowly starting to get him to read, and to enjoy it. Yay!
But now I don't know what to give him next, so I'd like some recommendations from you guys. The book has to be easy to read. I was thinking of Philip Pullman (? the golden compass etc) but am not sure.
So far, he has read and liked the following:
- the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
- dragonlance chronicles
- robin hobb's trilogies (assassin, ship of magic)
- big books about AI in computer games
-
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- Metal Vendetta
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Pretty much what everyone else has said - maybe some William Gibson to keep up the techie/AI stuff as well.
Spidey, I found the start of Northern Lights to be slow-going, but trust me by the time you get to the end of the first book you'll be looking at the page-count of the next two and despairing that they won't be long enough.
Spidey, I found the start of Northern Lights to be slow-going, but trust me by the time you get to the end of the first book you'll be looking at the page-count of the next two and despairing that they won't be long enough.
I would have waited a ******* eternity for this!!!!
Impactor returns 2.0, 28th January 2010
Impactor returns 2.0, 28th January 2010
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Good to know. I'm past the half way mark and it's definitely picked up.Metal Vendetta wrote:
Spidey, I found the start of Northern Lights to be slow-going, but trust me by the time you get to the end of the first book you'll be looking at the page-count of the next two and despairing that they won't be long enough.
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I definitely thought The Subtle Knife was an improvement over Lights/Compass. (Curiously, I read it as Compass but bought an edition of Lights.) Things got a lot more dangerous from the first page.
The only bad thing to say about His Dark Materials is that, occasionally in a Narnia mode, his polemic shows through. He's trying to write the anti-Narnia but I thought it had the same flaws as Narnia with the allegorical stuff.
The only bad thing to say about His Dark Materials is that, occasionally in a Narnia mode, his polemic shows through. He's trying to write the anti-Narnia but I thought it had the same flaws as Narnia with the allegorical stuff.
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Fair point - it is a little overdone in places, but that only showed through for me on the second or third read. The first time I was too swept up in it all to really notice.sprunkner wrote:The only bad thing to say about His Dark Materials is that, occasionally in a Narnia mode, his polemic shows through. He's trying to write the anti-Narnia but I thought it had the same flaws as Narnia with the allegorical stuff.
Incidentally, there's a line in The Amber Spyglass that Pullman wrote as a direct reference to my housemate. Something about screaming marsupials...
I would have waited a ******* eternity for this!!!!
Impactor returns 2.0, 28th January 2010
Impactor returns 2.0, 28th January 2010
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The Road, by Cormack McCarthy.
A charming epic about a boy, his father, and the end of life as we know it.
If your boyfriend has a dad, or enjoys post apocalyptic dystopias, or just thought the movie Mad Max was cool, he'll like this book.
In fact, ALL of you will like this book. If Poetry and Prose had a baby, and that baby was raised by Ernest Hemmingway and George Romero, this would be it.
If you'll indulge me, here's an excerpt:
When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world. His hand rose and fell softly with each precious breath. He pushed away the plastic tarpaulin and raised himself in the stinking robes and blankets and looked toward the east for any light but there was none. In the dream from which he'd wakened he had wandered in a cave where the child led him by the hand. Their light playing over the wet flowstone walls. Like pilgrims in a fable swallowed up and lost among the inward parts of some granitic beast. Deep stone flues where the water dripped and sang. Tolling in the silence the minutes of the earth and the hours and the days of it and the years without cease. Until they stood in a great stone room where lay a black and ancient lake. And on the far shore a creature that raised its dripping mouth from the rimstone pool and stared into the light with eyes dead white and sightless as the eggs of spiders. It swung its head low over the water as if to take the scent of what it could not see. Crouching there pale and naked and translucent, its alabaster bones cast up in shadow on the rocks behind it. Its bowels, its beating heart. The brain that pulsed in a dull glass bell. It swung its head from side to side and then gave out a low moan and turned and lurched away and loped soundlessly into the dark.
With the first gray light he rose and left the boy sleeping and walked out to the road and squatted and studied the country to the south. Barren, silent, godless. He thought the month was October but he wasnt sure. He hadnt kept a calendar for years. They were moving south. There'd be no surviving another winter here.
When it was light enough to use the binoculars he glassed the valley below. Everything paling away into the murk. The soft ash blowing in loose swirls over the blacktop. He studied what he could see. The segments of road down there among the dead trees. Looking for anything of color. Any movement. Any trace of standing smoke. He lowered the glasses and pulled down the cotton mask from his face and wiped his nose on the back of his wrist and then glassed the country again. Then he just sat there holding the binoculars and watching the ashen daylight congeal over the land. He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke
A charming epic about a boy, his father, and the end of life as we know it.
If your boyfriend has a dad, or enjoys post apocalyptic dystopias, or just thought the movie Mad Max was cool, he'll like this book.
In fact, ALL of you will like this book. If Poetry and Prose had a baby, and that baby was raised by Ernest Hemmingway and George Romero, this would be it.
If you'll indulge me, here's an excerpt:
When he woke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he'd reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world. His hand rose and fell softly with each precious breath. He pushed away the plastic tarpaulin and raised himself in the stinking robes and blankets and looked toward the east for any light but there was none. In the dream from which he'd wakened he had wandered in a cave where the child led him by the hand. Their light playing over the wet flowstone walls. Like pilgrims in a fable swallowed up and lost among the inward parts of some granitic beast. Deep stone flues where the water dripped and sang. Tolling in the silence the minutes of the earth and the hours and the days of it and the years without cease. Until they stood in a great stone room where lay a black and ancient lake. And on the far shore a creature that raised its dripping mouth from the rimstone pool and stared into the light with eyes dead white and sightless as the eggs of spiders. It swung its head low over the water as if to take the scent of what it could not see. Crouching there pale and naked and translucent, its alabaster bones cast up in shadow on the rocks behind it. Its bowels, its beating heart. The brain that pulsed in a dull glass bell. It swung its head from side to side and then gave out a low moan and turned and lurched away and loped soundlessly into the dark.
With the first gray light he rose and left the boy sleeping and walked out to the road and squatted and studied the country to the south. Barren, silent, godless. He thought the month was October but he wasnt sure. He hadnt kept a calendar for years. They were moving south. There'd be no surviving another winter here.
When it was light enough to use the binoculars he glassed the valley below. Everything paling away into the murk. The soft ash blowing in loose swirls over the blacktop. He studied what he could see. The segments of road down there among the dead trees. Looking for anything of color. Any movement. Any trace of standing smoke. He lowered the glasses and pulled down the cotton mask from his face and wiped his nose on the back of his wrist and then glassed the country again. Then he just sat there holding the binoculars and watching the ashen daylight congeal over the land. He knew only that the child was his warrant. He said: If he is not the word of God God never spoke
Best First wrote:I thought we could just meander between making well thought out points, being needlessly immature, provocative and generalist, then veer into caring about constructive debate and make a few valid points, act civil for a bit, then lower the tone again, then act offended when we get called on it, then dictate what it is and isn't worth debating, reinterpret a few of my own posts through a less offensive lens, then jaunt down whatever other path our seemingly volatile mood took us in.
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I never read the third one of those, Besty, but the first two were real good. Like Redwall with black magic. I'm going to check out Mice Templar on my next trip to the comic shop.
Hello, Cathy Quinn. Always nice to have femaleship around here.
[edit] Whatever happened to our transfans book club? I was all excited to read American Gods together. I've got Chuck Palahniuk's True Stories in my queue for the holidays, if anyone wants to try again.
Hello, Cathy Quinn. Always nice to have femaleship around here.
[edit] Whatever happened to our transfans book club? I was all excited to read American Gods together. I've got Chuck Palahniuk's True Stories in my queue for the holidays, if anyone wants to try again.
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There's some excellent recommendations there (though I doubt he would be interested in car stuff except for Top Gear); I'll have to write them all down for my next library visit.
So far the boyfriend has finished and loved the whole Pullman trilogy (so we'll have to see the movie when it's out) and read a nice post-apocalyptic sci-fi book that I got for myself. Time for the next one!
This also means that we're watching much less tv. Yay!
So far the boyfriend has finished and loved the whole Pullman trilogy (so we'll have to see the movie when it's out) and read a nice post-apocalyptic sci-fi book that I got for myself. Time for the next one!
This also means that we're watching much less tv. Yay!
We can always start it up again?sprunkner wrote:Whatever happened to our transfans book club? I was all excited to read American Gods together. I've got Chuck Palahniuk's True Stories in my queue for the holidays, if anyone wants to try again.
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