Straight and Fast: Looking For Alaska

Yes, it's been a while, but I have a damned good excuse. Adam and I moved to New York, so things have been a bit psychotic (in the best way, of course). After the move was done and my beloved book collection was unpacked and stowed safely back on its shelves, I picked up this weighty meal: Looking for Alaska, by John Green. I was waiting to read this one for probably about a year now, after having bought it in Roanoke last summer, when it was mentioned by a Hollins Creative Writing professor. All I knew going in was that it was a YA book that successfully dealt with the tricky topic of suicide. Needless to say, I wasn't quick to pick it up during a rough spot in my life...so I skillfully decided to read it directly after moving to New York City and being totally and completely by myself.

Ok, so I'm not brilliant. Deal.

Anyway, aside from being a total bummer at parts (obviously), this book was absolutely stunning. The kids in the book-- all high-schoolers at an Alabama boarding school-- are foul-mouthed, literary and hilarious, a combination that is completely unique in my experience. The main character, a skinny, self-conscious teen who they call "Pudge," is obsessed with people's last words. It's a symbolic, but very believable motif that is cunningly threaded throughout the book. It is about youth, books, death, survival, and some well-organized pranks.

One man's last words--Simon Bolivar--are particularly highlighted. "Damn it," he said, "How will I ever get out of this labyrinth?" The book asks, what is the labyrinth? Is it life? Death? Suffering? It is a mammoth of a book, and the fact that it was written for teens is a testament to the growing respect children's literature is receiving from the world.

Here is a tidbit, from the end of the book, for your reading pleasure. It is my most favorite part. Enjoy.

When adults say, "Teenagers think they are invincible" with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.

Tastiness: Food for thought.
Special Sauce: Heady, philosophical questions right next to teenage debauchery.
Recommend? It's a modern classic.

The Fourth Bear: Out of the Nursery and Into the Fire

OK, so despite the fact that it's been a month since my last blog (I feel like I should be saying 20 'Hail Shakespeare's'), I actually have been reading incessantly like the little paper-consuming wiggler that I am. But being that I am also a little state-moving and graduate-course-finishing wiggler, the blog, alas, is the first to suffer from neglect.

One of the little finger-licking delights that I've just put away is the next installment in Jasper Fford's Nursery Crime series, The Fourth Bear. If you've never heard of him before, Jasper Fford is a Welsh author who deals out literary crack in the form of crime novels involving literary humor that only goofy gonzos like me will appreciate. I lapped up his first series--starring literary detective Thursday Next--so fast that the silverware and the tablecloth went down with it. I *heart* Jasper Fford. And yes, I am a dork.

Although I must say I don't unabashedly adore the Nursery Crime series as much as the Thursday Next series, there's no way that I wouldn't give it a positive review. No matter how you slice him, Fford is a culinary genius. But although the jokes are somewhat limited to beanstalks and people living in shoes (as opposed to the comparable high-brow humor of the other series), Fford still manages to be clever and wacky enough to keep me knife-and-forking it.

What can I say about the storyline for this book...Goldilocks is there, a bunch of bears, a lot of explosions, an alien or two and a couple really huge cucumbers. No, really.

Oh, and a homicidal Gingerbreadman. How could I forget.

Tastiness: Like a bunch of blackbirds in a pie...or a peck of pickled peppers...
Special Sauce: Oh Jasper, you clever lad.
Recommend? Yes!

Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret: The 4 B's, Blood, Bibles, Bubbies and Boobs

My copy of this book is so old that I couldn't find a picture of it on Google Images. Anyway, I thought this one was more appropriate. I always saw Margaret as a brunette, not a blonde, anyway. I did think she had better taste than that Bill Cosby sweater, though. Euugh.

Let me amend that statement. My sister's copy of this book is that old. I never actually read it until now. Perhaps this is a testament to my ungirlish childhood. While other girls were dressing Barbie's and doing Princess Dress-Ups, I was building Lego pirate ships and cracking the passcode to Leisure Suit Larry 3 on my neighbors IBM computer.

Anyway, I never got around to reading the oft-banned preteen classic Are You There God? It's Me Margaret, and it has weighed on my soul for years. A testament to the unending chutzpah of Judy Blume--who went on to write freely about teenage sexuality, masturbation, divorce and racism--this book was one of the first to faithfully and unreservedly broach the subjects on every 12 year old girl's mind: 1) When will I get my period? 2) What will it feel like? and 3) Where are my boobs???

And if the menstrual extravaganza wasn't enough for you, Blume decides to pull out all the stops and talk about religion, too. Awesomely enough, Margaret has interfaith parents (Jewish dad and Christian mom). The downside of this, however, is that because the Mom's parents pretty much disowned her for marrying a Jew, Margaret is brought up without much religion in her life. Where her friends are either this or that, Margaret feels that she is "nothing," despite her parent's hope that she will "choose for herself when she's old enough."

This really hit home for me, and made me think about how my husband and I (he's the Christian one, and I'm Jewish) will handle this with our kids. What a great book, huh? So thought-provoking.

Anyhow, Margaret spends a lot of time experiencing different relgions; she goes to synagogue with her Jewish Bubbie, she attends church services with a friend, and even *almost* experiences confession in a Catholic church. At the end of it all, though, Margaret (who speaks to God on a daily basis, through her own inner conversation) asks Him: "I couldn't hear you in the temple, and I couldn't hear you in the church. Why do I only feel you when I'm alone?"

After being harassed by her grandparents (on both sides) to adopt one or the other religion, Margaret comes to the conclusion that she can't make a decision about her faith this way, and simply goes back to speaking to God herself, in her own way. This pervasive message, promoting a personal relationship with God over an involvement in organized religion, is probably part and parcel to why this book remains in the list of top 100 banned books. Conversely, it's also the reason that this book is now on my list of top awesome books, coz dang, Blume's got balls.

Meanwhile, I've gotta go and do my daily boob-expanding exercises...

We must, we must, we must increase our bust!

Tastiness: Italian Wedding or Matzo Ball? How about both?
Special Sauce: Serious Moxie. You go girl.
Recommend? For every girl (and boy!)

Timequake: It's All About Farting Around

When I was in middle school and high school, I simply adored Kurt Vonnegut. I read at least half a dozen of his works, probably multiple times. This list included Slaughterhouse-Five, Breakfast of Champions, Mother Night and others. I ate them up like apple sauce.

Now, at 26 years old, I think I was either a brilliant child or a deranged one.

Missing my old flame, I returned to Vonnegut's deliciously morose literary arms with his final novel length piece, Timequake. It's been so many years since I heard his voice, I really didn't know what to expect. Could we love now, as we loved then?

Now, at the end of the affair, I feel a deep sense of nostalgia, amongst other things. Timequake had to be the most nonsensical, bizarre, cynical, hilarious, beautiful and sad thing I have ever read. It's like ten thousand symphonies that, through an overabundance of dissonant insanity, achieve something more lovely than harmony. It is a million voices shouting and one person standing silent. It is impossible to describe.

Vonnegut himself is the voice of the tale, leading us through an amalgamated world of the real and the fictitious and and the sub-fictitious (who are the fictitious creations of fictitious characters) and the sorta both until we really don't know who's who or what's what or where we left our hat. Vonnegut, in his 70's at the time, tours his own life in moments, from paragraph to paragraph, some of them real, some not.

Which is which? Does it matter?

There is the little matter of a plotline where the universe decides to shrink and make everyone live the past 10 years over again (from 1991 to 2001) exactly as they did the first time, like programmed robots. The funny thing is, once free will kicks in, there's utter chaos. People have spent so long just going through their predetermined actions that they are clueless and frightened when confronted with freedom and choice.

Listen: Vonnegut's alter-ego/hero-figure Kilgore Trout (the long-out-of-print science fiction writer) says something to each person after the "timequake" ends, in order to break them out of their spell of fear.

This is it: "You were sick, but now you're well, and there's work to do."

This is a beautiful thing.

Vonnegut says something else later. He says to a pregnant woman who writes him a letter, asking if it's right to bring a child into such a terrible world as this. He says:

"What made being alive almost worthwhile for me was the saints I met, people behaving unselfishly and capably. They turned up in the most unexpected places. Perhaps you, dear reader, are or can become a saint for her sweet child to meet. I believe in original sin. I also believe in original virtue. Look around!"

Ting-a-ling, Mr. Vonnegut. I'll miss you terribly when you're gone.

ETA: You left us on April 11, 2007. How strange that it was so soon after I wrote this post, so soon after I rediscovered my love and respect for you. Now you're gone, and I was right, I miss you terribly. R.I.P, 1922-2007.

Tastiness: Bittersweet, like dark chocolate.
Special Sauce: Vonnegut is incomparable. Wit, satire, a high-level of raunch, the works.
Recommend? Like I recommend breathing.

Childhood's End: Out of the Mouths of Babes...World Annihilation. Aww!

Picture this: It's 1952, and you're Arthur C. Clarke, the Science Fiction writer. You're an f-ing genius. But you're also like, totally cool about it, which makes you even more awesome.

Pretty much everything's a mess at home. The US and Korea are bombing and killing the heck out of each other, people are getting nuke-happy with the newfangled hydrogen bomb, and worst of all, Guiding Light just began its harrowing journey to become the longest running waste of time ever to drain the collective intellect of American society. Sucks. Totally.

Now, if you were a normal 1950s lad, you'd probably be depressed about all this and drown your sorrows in a chocolate milkshake or a slice of Wonder Bread or something. But you're not normal, you're Arthur C. Clarke. Instead, you write a book called Childhood's End and scare the leftover bejezus out of everybody. Whatever. You don't care. They deserve it. You're an f-ing genius.

People found Childhood's End scary mostly because of how possible it seemed (and still does). We're shown a vision of the future not so different from our own, where just when we're on the verge on discovering something useful about outer space, a whole fleet of giant spaceships come gliding down on top of every major city on the planet (Clarke was the first one to do this, keep in mind...*ahem*IndependenceDay) and broadcasts a message in perfect English to every radio transmitter on Earth (*ahem*Hitchiker'sGuidetoTheGalaxy) to say "Be cool, my babies" and proceed to fix, throughout a generation, all the awful crap that humans have done to the world.

War? Gone.
Poverty? Fini.
Crime? Pretty much non-existent.
Cold toilet seats in the morning? Still around, but hey, you can't have it all.

Anyway, after a while things get really good and everyone's happy. 20 hour work weeks, self-driving cars, free higher education, the works. Naturally, people become boring. They watch an average of 3 hours a day watching television (unimaginable in 1952, but sadly the reality of today) and generally no one comes up with anything new and awesome to add to society (salad shooters have gone the way of the dodo).

But hey! No biggie right? Things are way cool. But somehow, there are those who get the feeling of forboding...like something bad is about to happen...

Could they be right?

If you want to know, keep reading.* If you want to find out for yourself, stop now.

Tastiness: Clever and surprising, like those peppers in Chinese take-out that make your mouth on fire.
Special Sauce: The master of SF shall not be questioned.
Recommend? The aliens told me to.


* All the children under 10 years old in the world suddenly become highly evolved, super-intelligent zombie beings that all get together and look all weird and freaky until all the older people die or kill themselves in a fit of laziness and then the super-intelligent zombie kids decide they're kinda hungry and eat the world before going off into the universe to join some god-mind thing and party. The end.

** Okay look, I don't understand it completely either. Read it for yourself.

Oliver Twist: The Nauseatingly Good, The Abominably Bad, and the Just Plain Ugly

Warranted or no, it was a subject of some embarrassment to me that I had never, not once in my life, read Dickens. Not in high school, not in college, not ever. The following was the summation of all of my knowledge of Charles Dickens' wide corpus:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
"Please Sir, I want some more."

That, sadly, was all. Both of which have probably appeared in dozens of credit card and/or soup commercials which really eradicates, in full, any possible modicum of respect I might derive from knowing those two lines. Now at least I can say that I've read one novel in its entirety, modest an accomplishment as that may be. Oliver Twist is much more than an overdone scene about an absence of slop, it's a surprisingly biting comment on British society in the 19th century. The characters sway from the cavity-inducing saintliness of Rose Maylie and Oliver himself, to the out-and-out vicious stylings of Sikes and Co., who all help to convince the reader that there was something seriously wrong in the city of London in the late 1830's. Perhaps this is obvious to all of you Dickensian experts, but hey, I thought it was going to be boring. 500 pages later, I see the error of my ways.

I think what I loved most about Dickensian style is his underwriting. He says one thing, but his cleverly crafted diction says another. It's that current of sarcasm, flowing just under the surface of his ever-polite and respectable voice, that really kept me in this novel. Without that, it merely would have been another Cinderella story.

So yes, I can finally understand all the references to the Artful Dodger; finally, I can offer up my own opinions of the queer Mr. Bumble and the dastardly murderer Bill Sikes. Thank goodness. However, I do have one point of contention with this hearty literary dish. As noted in an article by Norman Lebrecht, the villain Fagin is referred to as "the Jew" over 250 times in the first 38 chapters of the book. He is properly conniving, money-grubbing, and back-stabbing, as anti-Semitic characters are wont to be. This only bothered me on the surface as I was reading, like a bug crawling across my arm every hundred pages or so. Mostly, I ignored it. It wasn't until after I had finished that it began to bug me. After doing a bit of research, I discovered that some people do consider Dickens to have been an anti-Semite because of this novel, but most people just think that he was either commenting on religion in general or simply made a bad satirical decision. Apparently when confronted with the accusation of being a Jew-hater, Dickens said something like, "What? I thought all boy-thief gang leaders were Jewish." Huh. So, a jewess named Eliza Davies wrote to Dickens and scolded him for this affront. I mean, jeez. Kick a people while they're down why don't you. Dickens' response was this:

"I must take leave to say that if there be any general feeling on the part of the intelligent Jewish people that I have done to them what you describe as a great wrong, they are a far less sensible, a far less just and a far less good tempered people than I have always supposed them to be."

To which the Jewish people responded, "Um....thanks....I guess." Oh Dickens, what a smooth talker you are.

Tastiness: Hearty! Like a mug of ale and a shepherd's pie. Followed by a nap.
Special Sauce: A hint of sarcasm. Spicy.
Recommend? Indeed, my dear chap! Indeed!

Flowers for Algernon: Charly Talk Pretty One Day

last wek i ate a buk caled flowers for algernon and it was not hard too reed becus the man in the buk talked wit smal wurds lik i do. i red it reely fast and it was very intresting the tings they did to charly to make him smart. at furst charly was not even as smart as the mous algernon and the mous cud do tings fastr then charly cud lik run in a mayz to find the chees at the end. and charly had frends at the bakery who laffed and made joks with him. but aftr they did the operashun to charly to his brane he started to get smarter and smarter. furst they tauwt him to spel rite by looking at a dikshunary. pretty soon he started to write better and not misspell too many wurds. after that, he began to understand puncuation. Capitalizing words came quickly to him. He realized he was getting smarter. The sad thing was that he also began to realize that the people around him who he thought were his friends were actually just making fun of him and his retardation, and this hurt him. He started feeling emotions he couldn't understand. He began consuming books and information (like me!) and after only a short while, he went from being someone with average intelligence to a genius, and then a super-genius, with intellectual capabilities beyond any normal human being. Il a appris comment parler beaucoup de langues. Realmente, ha imparato parlare tutti. Er war ein ernsthaft intelligenter Mann. But as he surpassed all those around him, he was alone again, different, as he was before the operation. The only one who truly understood him was Algernon, the white mouse who endured the same brilliance as he. And suddenly, as he was contemplating the secrets of existence, he realized that there was a flaw in the science that had made him a genius. A serious flaw. Algernon died, so Charley buried him in his backyard. He wouldn't let the scientists keep him. And he knew that it was just a matter of time before his enlightenment would ebb, and pull away from him like the ocean from the shore. Leaving him with only remnants; scatterings of broken shells that once held cosmic perfection. And somehow he made peace with this, and all his past wounds that went unhealed for so long, and all he held on to were the books, the words that he wished would not leave him. But inevitably, understanding began to draw away, the words became muddled in his mind. He would walk down the streets of new york city and watch the people around him who paid him no attention and looked at the bright lights. he got lost once, but a kind policeman led him home. and sometimes he would forget about the opershun and wonder why things were so different now. but then he rememberd and thought how nice it was too be so smart and got his job at the bakery back and his frends were there and hapy to see him. so it was all OK and evry nite at home charly would lay sum flowers on algernons grave to remembur his frend the mous who was the smartist mous ther evr was. i reely likd the buk very much and i think evryboddy shud reed it too.

Tastiness: tastes lik beootifull
Special Sauce: An ever-changing voice, brilliant insight and character development.
Recommend? charly says yes.

The House of the Scorpion: It's Not Easy Being A Clone

Science fiction novels are a little like bats; elusive, somewhat grotesque, and often misunderstood. Bats aren't vampires. They won't suck your blood and turn into hedonistic bourgeoisie after dark. They're just little sight-challenged mice with wings, a whimsical combination of mammal and bird. What's not to love? It's the same with science fiction books. They're not über technical. They won't turn you into a Trekkie with bad acne and no social life. Most of the time, they're stories that take an idea, whether it be scientific, social or economic, and asks "What if?" In 2001: A Space Odyssey, Clark starts with the question, "What if the human race only evolved because of the influence of an alien race?" and goes on from there. In 1984, Orwell asks "What if communism got so out of hand that we were eventually ruled over by a complete dictatorship?" And of course, in The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams asks, "WTF is wrong with everyone?"

In Nancy Farmer's young-adult, sci-fi powerhouse The House of the Scorpion, she asks, "What would it be like to be a human clone?" But it isn't this question--asked by many other writers--that makes her book so unique. I've had the pleasure to consume two of Farmer's other books, The Ear, the Eye and the Arm, and A Girl Named Disaster (both of which, like Scorpion are Newbery Honor Books) and all of her work shares a remarkable characteristic. Farmer has the ability to combine foreign, ultra-traditional locales with a distinctly futuristic timeframe and setting. In The Ear, Farmer transports the reader to Zimbabwe, 2194, where she elegantly combines sleek, technological innovation with traditional African symbolism and ritual.

In Scorpion, we follow the life of Matteo Alacrán, the only clone given the gift (or curse) of a perfectly working brain. Matt lives in a country called Opium, a thin strip of land stretching across the United States/Mexican border. Opium was created when the US and Mexican government agreed to give the land to the powerful drug lords in exchange for their protection of the borderlands from illegal immigrants. (Hey, it's possible.) The most famous of all the drug lords, known as El Patrón, paid heaps of money to develop the technology to create clones of himself...among other things. Matt is that clone.

So yeah, it's a pretty complex story. But as you can see, amazingly ambitious for a young adult novel. It has enough social, political and psychological significance to keep any adult reader invested, and plenty of action, mystery and intrigue for the younger reader. Unfortunately for me, there really isn't anything funny about it. It's just good. Really, really good.

And I guess science fiction novels aren't really like bats. Sigh.

Tastiness: Mmm....tastes like cloned deliciousness...the same as regular deliciousness.
Special Sauce: A good ol' enchilada just like Mamacita used to make...except from the future.
Recommend: Si.

The Book of Three: Frodo--er, Taran, Go Back to the Shire!

I am almost embarrassed--as a Children's Literature person who especially enjoys juvenile fantasy--to say that this was the first time I had ever read Lloyd Alexander's The Book of Three, the first in his famous Prydain series. I aim to read the rest, and even watch Disney's sure-to-be-horrifying adaption of the second book The Black Cauldron, when I get a chance.

I think that perhaps some of my reaction to this book is due to the fact that I didn't read it when I was young, and have effectively read many, many other young fantasy books published before and after this one. Because although the book kept my attention, everything that happened in it felt extraordinarily cliche. Tasty, yes, but nothing special. This is not because I have no respect for high-fantasy, mind you, but it seemed to me that this story had all the trappings of great high-fantasy--dramatic, active writing, strong characters, magic and magical realms and creatures, a mighty quest--but without any of the originality. Let me lay it all out on the dinner table for you...

• Main Ingredient: Young Hero, Has A Lot To Learn, But Proves Himself In The End. (Taran, check)
• Side Dishes: Love Interest (The Princess, check), Quirky But Valiant Companions (Fflewddur and Gurgi, check and check), The Obligatory Surly Dwarf (Doli, check), A Couple Weird Animals (Hen Wen the Pig and that flappy thing, check and check)
• Other Servings: A Wise Old Man, Preferably A Wizard (Dhalben, check), A Real Deal Hero (Gwydion, check, remember, this is for Young Fantasy...in Adult Fantasy this guy might be the main ingredient, or an underdog of some ilk) and of course, An Evil Scary Villain With Something Covering His Face (Horned King, check) Preferably on a Black Horse (check)
  
• Preparations: Hero Must Be Thrown In A Dungeon At Some Point (check), Hero Must Visit The "Fairy Folk" or "Dwarves" at Some Point (check), Hero Must Encounter An Enchanted Item (the sword, check), Hero Must Encounter Villain in Utterly One-Sided Final Fight Where Against All Odds Some Magical Thing Happens That Saves Him (check) After Which He Faints And Wakes Up In A Room Filled With Light And Surrounded By All His Friends (check)

So there you have it. Now, this little recipe can be easily applied to many fantasy books, including the best ones. Take Lord of the Rings, for example. Let's take a look.

• Main Ingredient: Young Hero, Has A Lot To Learn, But Proves Himself In The End. (Frodo, poor dear)
• Side Dishes: Love Interest (Sam. Oh, and I guess Arwen...), Quirky But Valiant Companions (Legolas and Gimli), The Obligatory Surly Dwarf (Gimli), A Couple Weird Animals (Merry and Pippin)
• Other Servings: A Wise Old Man, Preferably A Wizard (Gandalf), A Real Deal Hero (Aragorn) and of course, An Evil Scary Villain With Something Covering His Face (Mordor, and he has no face,so yes.) Preferably on a Black Horse (Mordor's big guy does, so yes.)
  
• Preparations: Hero Must Be Thrown In A Dungeon At Some Point (Frodo is, after he's sucked dry by Shelob), Hero Must Visit The "Fairy Folk" or "Dwarves" at Some Point (Yup, meets the elves in Fellowship), Hero Must Encounter An Enchanted Item (Um...the ring?), Hero Must Encounter Villain in Utterly One-Sided Final Fight Where Against All Odds Some Magical Thing Happens That Saves Him (The Fellowship, in the battle right before Frodo drops the ring into Mount Doom) After Which He Faints And Wakes Up In A Room Filled With Light And Surrounded By All His Friends (Who Could Forget, sniff sniff)

Right. So, obviously it's okay if the story follows this pattern. But the difference between the two is, Lord of the Rings (aside from being the first to really DO this) has something else that makes it stand out. It's hard to put my finger on it, but it's there. And I didn't see it in The Book of Three. That isn't to say it wasn't enjoyable, it just wasn't a gem. I'll read the rest anyway; maybe I'll change my mind.

Tastiness: Nice, not thrilling, but nice. A lot like a piece of baked chicken. It's good, but you know, it's chicken.
Special Sauce: Yeah, that's the problem.
Recommend: Eh.

Rendezvous with Rama: It's a Tube! It's an Ark! It's...Oh, that's the last page.

Welcome to Meech Eat Books' premier literary meal! Where we roll up our proverbial sleeves and chow down on some serious fiction goodness. On the menu for today is Arthur C. Clark's Hugo and Nebula Award-Winning Hardcore Sci-Fi Orgy Rendezvous with Rama. Bon Appretit!

Rendezvous with Rama was first published in 1972, to the ecstasy of all the pimple-faced teenagers who had previously blown their intellectual loads reading Clark's famous 2001: A Space Odyssey in 1968. Due to all the fervor with men landing on the moon and such things, science fiction was as hot as Murcury's terrestrial surface. After it's release, Rama became an instant classic, and is still considered a cornerstone of the genre.

In Rama, we join the valiant crew of the spaceship Endeavor in their quest to discover the secrets of Rama, a giant metal phallus that has mysteriously invaded the virgin skies of our solar system. A lot of the allure of this book is the authenticity of the exploration experience; there's very little melodrama involved, so the excitement of the many discoveries is realistic and intense. Just being able to visualize the world within Rama--which is constructed along 360 degrees of an enormous tube, where the "Cylindrical Sea" extends, essentially, up and around the wall onto the ceiling--is kind of an experience within itself. For those who need constant action and intrigue in their novels, this isn't really one for you. One could see the pace as pretty plodding at times, but that isn't really the point. This is a book that poses questions, but doesn't necessarily answer them.

But, Clark does put in some zingers to keep you on your toes. The entire exploration period is on a ticking clock, being that Rama is on a crash-course towards the sun, so Endeavor only has a certain amount of time to discover all they can before jetting it out of there. Also, back on the Moon, the United Planets (an outer space version of the United Nations, complete with the heroic Americans (Earth) and the quirky, homocidal foreigners (Murcury)) are discussing every tidbit that comes back to them from Endeavor, and eventually the Hermians (from Murcury), decide that there's a chance that Rama just might pop an intergalactic cap in their asses so they shoot an big f***-off nuclear warhead at it--just in case. You can find out how that turns out on your own.

Probably the most hair-pulling, frustrating, yet brilliant part of this novel is that by the end, you are left with almost nothing to go on except some three-legged eyeball things and miscellaneous junk from an alien Self-Storage bunker. The puzzled crew of the Endeavor leave Rama pretty much like this:

Captain: So guys, what do you think that was all about?
1st Mate: No flipping clue, Sir.
2nd Mate: Beats the shit out of me, Sir.
3rd Mate: Sir, I think that it was an intergalactic ark, sent from Jesus to take aboard all the saved souls and transport them to his paradise in another galaxy, far, far away.
(pause)
Captain: Really?
3rd Mate: Ah hah ha...no, not really.
Captain: Oh.
(pause)
Doctor: OMFG! Soylent green is PEOPLE!

Okay, so that last part didn't happen, but something similar does. Kind of. Anyway, Rendezvous With Rama is definitely worth the read, not only because it's a sci-fi classic, but it's a thought-provoking book that follows all its own rules.

Tastiness: Mystery meat. Tastes good, but I don't know why...
Special Sauce: Originality, mind-bending visuals, philosophical quandries.
Recommend? Yes.