Jim Locke
12 books read for LibriVox
- “We” non-fictionYou get the Atlantic crossing from inside the cockpit, with Lindbergh weighing fuel, weather, exhaustion, and the awful uncertainty of flying alone toward Paris. The writing is plain and technical rather than polished, but that restraint makes the danger feel startlingly immediate.
- You spend time with Theodore Gumbril drifting through postwar London, where dinner-table talk, sexual jealousy, and his absurdly padded “comfort trousers” all receive the same dry scrutiny. It’s clever, brittle, and more interested in exposing fashionable ideas than making you care about its people, so you’ll enjoy it most if sharp conversation is enough.
- You get a sharply funny, deliberately outrageous satire in Max Disher, who turns white overnight and watches racism reorganize itself around money, politics, and appearances. Schuyler’s caricatures can be blunt, but the book’s cool anger still lands, especially when every supposed solution becomes another business opportunity.
- Half poems, half story fragments, all of it humming: you drift from Georgia dusk and cane fields to Washington streets, meeting women like Karintha and Fern who stay with you longer than most full novels. Read it slow, out loud even, more like music than plot.
- You get a wonderfully sharp weekend of theatrical selfishness as the Bliss family invites guests, then promptly ignores them for their own dramas. The play is knowingly artificial and very funny, though its elegant, brittle chatter may leave you cold if you need sympathetic characters.
- You read it for the feverish, maze-like storytelling, as Melmoth turns up in Stanton’s tale and in the strange histories of Immalee and Monçada. It’s long-winded, grim, and often wonderfully excessive, best suited to a patient reader who enjoys gothic dread more than tidy plotting.
- You settle into the Gullah speech and the humid, hard-edged world of Mary, whose appetite for love and refusal to behave quietly make her both vivid and troublesome. It’s episodic and sometimes harsh, but you remember her because Peterkin lets her remain complicated rather than respectable.
- It's short and quiet and it will wreck you a little: five strangers die when a rope bridge falls in Peru, and a monk tries to prove God meant it. The Marquesa's letters to her daughter alone are worth the afternoon it takes.
- The English Constitution non-fictionYou get a sharp, surprisingly readable tour of Parliament, the cabinet, and the monarchy, with Bagehot distinguishing the “dignified” parts that command loyalty from the “efficient” parts that actually govern. It’s opinionated and dated in places, but his eye for political theater still makes the machinery feel human.
- An old Welsh fisherman narrates, salty and self-serving, the story of a little girl washed ashore from a wreck and who she might be. Blackmore preferred this to Lorna Doone; it moves slower, but Davy's voice carries the whole book.
- Freddie Brent gets raised by the flinty, dutiful Hester Prime and pushed toward a pulpit he never asked for, and watching him wrestle free of other people's plans for his soul still stings. It's quiet and earnest, worth it if small-town moral pressure interests you.
- You settle into Stein’s deliberately repetitive prose and start hearing how each sentence shifts, especially in Melanctha’s restless conversations and Anna’s blunt, practical judgments. It’s strange, patient reading, sometimes frustrating, but rewarding if you like language turning ordinary lives into something formally new.