Kait

He's no Mick Foley, but Chris Jericho can definitely write (and wrestle, I suppose). A wide-ranging biography — from a geographic and emotional perspective — you get a front-row seat to the rise, rise, rise, plateau (WCW) and rise of Jericho up until the time he his the WWF(E).

He's lead an interesting life, and though a bit over-fond of poop jokes and the like, knows how to tell his story in a compelling way. It's not exactly one of those “so good you'll like it regardless of your background” bios, but if you're into (or were into) wrestling at all, this is definitely worth a read.

For me, the best mark of a fantasy book is whether I'd want to live in the world.

It began with Narnia, as it almost always does. Who wouldn't want to adventure in a world where nothing ever seems to go super wrong, and even if you're responsible for the death of the creator of the world you still win the consolation prize of being the freaking King.

It's a bit easy, though, isn't it? That's why with books that were clear descendants of Narnia but had more bits of realism stuck in the way (to a point), like The Phantom Tollbooth or, more recently, The Magicians. Obviously Tollbooth isn't quite realism, but the consequences seemed much more logical and directly resulting from the character's actions more than the “Well, you tried your best” aesthetic employed by Aslan.

This is all by way of explaining my ambivalence toward The Other Normals. It's a nice idea but I feel like it's been much better and to better effect elsewhere. It's a pretty standard postmodern fantasy draw-in: Boy obsessed with a particular media series (in this case, a D&D stand-in) gets magically whisked away to the world that media was based on, goes on quests, etc. Only this one involves a lot more “intentional indecent exposure at a high school dance” than the Pevensies ever dealt with.

I had troubles with the narrator. On the one hand you can say he was more realistic because of his many flaws, but his actions seemed more random and spastic than indications of character facets to be overcome. The mystical connection between the worlds, which serves to alter events and realities, only seemed to work when absolutely necessary and seemed woefully inadequate to explain what actually happened.

I don't want to seem too negative — it's a nice introduction to fantasy, particularly the kind of fantasy that seems more real because kids like you can get drawn into it, and probably would serve as a good bridge for the tween/teen who's familiar with Narnia but not really ready for Lev Grossman's The Magicians Trilogy. For the rest of us, though, there are better places to get the same fix.

There comes a clichèd point in most stories that deal with insanity where the nutjob asks the sane one who determines what sanity is, and maybe we've got the whole thing inside-out. I can say without hesitation that The Hike is batshit insane, but there's nonetheless a steadfast internal logic and heart that undergirds the craziness and connects all of the terrifying parts into a cohesive (if hallucinatory) whole.

It's rare to find a “grounded” fantasy that doesn't traffic overtly in “magic” with laws and rules (think Harrys Potter and Dresden), especially when combined with a rollicking adventure plot. Think of The Hike as a modern-day Odysseus, only with lot more LSD involved (in execution if not authorship). Eminently relatable main character, highly entertaining and endearing sidekicks, thoroughly enjoyable to read (unlike trying to slash your way through the thickets of this review), this is a fun book.

When I say I'm a couch potato, I mean it in the sense that you might describe someone as a “confirmed bachelor”: Is, was and always will be, by willful unceasing choice. So I can see you looking askance at my picking up a book about the men who were vying to run the first sub-4-minute mile. To which I say, I also read a book about a bunch of nerds running a student newspaper, and oh wait where was I going with this?

Anyway, Neal Bascomb writes one hell of a thriller. All around the same time, three very different men from three continents independently decided they wanted to be the first to break what was thought by some to be an unimpeachable barrier of human achievement: Running one mile in under four minutes.

Bascomb does an excellent job of pacing the story perfectly, though he was greatly helped by actual historical events unfolding in a pretty perfect ready-for-Hollywood fashion. There's the hardscrabble American running out of poverty to the University of Kansas, or two British Empireans (a budding English doctor and an aspiring Australian scientist) ran - before the professionalization of track and field - like no person ever had.

It's engaging throughout, and my only quibble is one you frequently find in historical books: Make sure you skip the pictures until you reach the end of the book, or the captions will spoil the story. That aside, picking up this book will get you as dialed in as the runners: It never really drags, and it'll keep you going until you finally reach the end.