reviewing book titles

Wildcat File Photo Arizona Daily Wildcat Tony Carnevale

A Tale of Two Cities. A Tale of One Village would have been okay; A Tale of Two Cities just bites off more than it can chew. One city is quite enough, thank you.

Like Water for Chocolate. This makes no sense. Why would chocolate need water, and why would something be like that water? Really weird.

The Satanic Verses. Tries to get all scary by using the word "satanic," but then follows it up with "verses," which is something you'd see on a Mother Goose cover. Mediocre.

Wuthering Heights. Note to author: it's spelled "withering." Get a proofreader.

1984. Rips off Van Halen, of all things. A pathetic excuse for a title.

The Phantom of the Opera. Spooky. We don't expect a phantom to be in an opera. A haunted house, maybe, but not an opera - the juxtaposition of the mundane and the occult makes this title all the more chilling. If the opera in question were Rent, this title would be even scarier.

Le Mort D'Arthur. Ooh, getting all foreign on us, eh? Go back to France, you baguette-eating title, you.

The World According to Garp. Isn't "garp" the mixture of energy-packed food that hikers carry with them? Its thoughts on the world are probably something along the lines of, "Gee, I wish I wasn't about to be eaten." Not an enticing title.

A Christmas Carol. Okay, which is it: a book or a song? Lame.

The Holy Bible. Well, this one certainly has a big opinion of itself, doesn't it?

A Moveable Feast. Food. Motion. Can the psychological link to "bowel movement" be far behind? A bad, bad choice.

Catcher in the Rye. This can mean one of two things: a really bad baseball team or a really bad sandwich.

Moby Dick. A review of this title would be unnecessary.

Around the World in 80 Days. Like that's some kind of big deal or something? We have planes now. We can go around the world in, like, two days. Boring.

Atlas Shrugged. A surprisingly good title. It's a little short, but at least it has a verb.

Anna Karenina. If you want to impress some lit-major chick in a bar on Saturday night, do not mention this book. It's hard enough to say Anna Karenina sober.

Billy Budd. Brings to mind a fat, unshaven, baseball-cap wearing, beer-guzzling couch potato, saying, "Name's Billy. Billy Budd." Unless that's what this book is about, it's a bad title.

The Epic of Gilgamesh. Writing your own name is an epic when your name is "Gilgamesh."

A Clockwork Orange. My clockwork orange tells me that it's half-past Vitamin C o'clock, or something.