Rating: 
Summary: Why do authors insist on decieving us?
Review: Listen, this is a fun book, one in which I gladly parted with twenty -three bucks to enjoy, but why -oh- why do authors insist on instilling sneaky little paragraphs in about their political ideals that have nothing to do with the story?
Almond shares his love of candy with the reader so effectively that I, a take-it-or-leave-it kind of candy guy, actually got up from the comfort of a warm fire and sought out some of the gourmet treats he described with a freak vigor. I went to a store that sells imported chocalate and bought a Lindt bar. It was ok. I came back home, sated and looking forward to reading more about CANDY, and picked up where I left off and learned that Almond struggles with his consience about eating a candy bar because of the slave wages the big three candy makers pay to their plantation workers.WHAT! Where did that come from? Sorry, Steve, but I don't buy it. Either put down your Whatchmacallit and go protest something or quit your whining because your attempt to rationalize your freakiness comes up short of logic but screams hypocrisy.
Another chapter has Almond learning the candy trade from a broker who stockpiles hard to find items and resells them at a considerable profit. Fine. A paragraph or two later Almond blindsided me because he thought in "horror" that said broker might actually be a greedy capitalist who- and I can barely get this out- voted for GEORGE W. BUSH, who I bet, just bet, is a black licorice lover!
I treasure my books, and this one had been on my list to read for a while. ButI feel somewhat offended that Almond snuck in his political views, which normally would be ok,( misplaced but ok) but his undisguised disdain for those who opose his politics gets in the way of an otherwise enjoyable read.
Rating: 
Summary: Yummiest read you could imagine!
Review: Recently I watched a program on the Food Network that showed how Easter candy is made. There was nothing appetizing about the industrial pipes glurping out brown gunk, cesspool-like vats, and pinched-looking workers in clinical head coverings. And yet Steve Almond describes this same world and it shimmers with exquisite sensual detail. (Does the word "enrober" turn you on? It might after you read Almond's account of luscious sweets being cloaked in chocolate. Industrial? Not on your life.) I delighted in every aspect of this book, from the hilarious delineation of various candy addictions to the affectionate discussions of the confectionary creative process. Wonderfully stimulating to every human sense (including the sense of humor).
Rating:
Summary: witty & sweet.
Review: Review: From Small Spiral NotebookIn Candyfreak, Almond parlays his own obsession with chocolate into a quest to seek out the sources and practices of today's chocolate confection, as well as to learn about the forces that have overwhelmed the artistry and pluck of individual chocalatiers into the mechanized behemoth of American mass culture. Throughout, Almond tempers his political urgencies with his own disarming awe and glee at the industry and its products, and he also deals with unfolding family tragedies. His grandfather is dying, while at the same time Almond realizes his lifelong zeal for chocolate both saved his life and "broke his spirit." If it sounds like too much to cram in, perhaps you've not read Almond's ambitious book of sort stories, My Life in Heavy Metal, a book that will give you faith in Almond's ability to multi-task, regardless of genre. Almond's prose packs a sensory wallop at all times. It is also candid, direct, and muscular- he wastes no space. Because of his economy, his writing is akin to the best candy: all good stuff, no fill or the useless air that puffs up the wretched Three Musketeers bar. When he rattles off the names of regional candybars now gone to mass marketers, he says their names are "incantatory poetry." When he says he doesn't like coconut, he says it's like "chewing on a sweetened cuticle." The writing says it: candy, chocolate in particular, for Almond is a passion, a "freak." And like all freaks, Almond has his rage, and the loss of a particular candybar, the Caravelle, and his subsequent despondency and rampage after any sign of it led him to consider the book. Almond meditates on the sources of his "freak," including its lineage. His father's passion for Junior Mints he sees as a thing to awe: "I loved watching him eat these, patiently, with moist clicks of the tongue. I loved his mouth, the full, pillowy lips, the rakishly crooked teeth-the mouth of a closet sensualist." After some consideration of the roots, however, he's off, interviewing confectioners, visiting factories and tasting candy fresh out of the "enrober" (a device to which he devotes many fine lines), squirreling away samples, and trying to see what did happen to chocolate in America. The short answer is, well, the same thing that happened virtually to every worthwhile thing from beer to sports: mass distribution, mass advertising, mass culture, mass dumbing down. The short answer doesn't do justice to Almond's work because Candyfreak does what the best creative nonfiction does: reports something in unerring detail, educates about a topic we thought we knew a thing or two about, tells a story both about the author and about the subject, and delivers the whole package in style. Almond's fevered style-known to many from his short stories-here finds a subject about which many folks feel feverish, and the result is one of the most entertaining books I've read in a while. Almond's tries to balance political fantasy and the reality of the urge: "In my own pathologically romantic sense of things, I viewed [little] companies as throwbacks to a bygone era of candy, when each town had its individual brands. And the good peoples of this country would gather together, in public squares with lots of trees and perhaps a fellow picking a banjo, and they would partake of the particular candy bar produced in their town and feel a surge of sucrose-fueled civic identity. What I really wanted to do was visit these companies-if nay still existed-and to chronicle their struggles for survival in this wicked age of homogeneity, and, not incidentally, to load up on free candy." While he showcases opinions and can seem hostile at times in his discernment, he is not faddish or uncritical: "The new chocolate specialty products are equally pretentious. I ask you, does the world truly need a bar infused with hot masala? The latest rage, as of this writing, is super-concentrated chocolate, with a cocoa content in the 90 percent range, a trend that will, in due time, allow us to eat Baker's Chocolate at ten bucks a square." Opinionated, deftly and surprisingly written, thoroughly experienced, and surprisingly moving, Steve Almond's Candyfreak will have you wandering into specialty stores hoping they have candy racks. It will have you looking down your nose at M&Ms, for perhaps the first time in your life. It will have you cruising the Internet for the Five Star Bar, hoping the taste lives up to the writing. It will have you thinking about chocolate for weeks afterward, more than you ever have. And it will have you wanting to return to the book, again and again, to find those sentences, those toothsome, goo-on-your-chin, crunchulicious miracles of sentences, and to wish everyone you know the pleasure of experiencing the world, for a little while anyway, mouth first.
Rating: 
Summary: Sweet, Rich and Fun
Review: Steve Almond admits he has an addiction. Rather than this admission being the first step to recovery, though, it's the first step on a delightful journey through the exploration of the history, social impact, family importance, and just plain deliciousness of American candy. Almond covers it all from the dubiousness fruit of jujubees to the most sublime chocolate. His visits (and attempted visits) to candy manufacturers are revealing, and he plays them for maximum comic effect while simultaneously providing an important business lesson in competitive intelligence and marketing. Too bad all lessons don't come in this sweet a package! Along the way we meet a variety of folks just as invested in candy is Almond, if in differing ways. The manager of a newly defunct candy factory will tug at your heart with his tale of globalization and the commodification of a product he came to love, while the author of a diffinitive guide to candy puzzles with his seeming non-engagement in his subject that is at odds with his knowledge. Almond's writing is crisp and amusing, with lots of sidebar sarcastic comments thrown in for comic value. He makes one critical mistake in the text, though, which should be addressed in future printings - purple necco wafers do NOT suck. They rock. Any candy freak should know that!
Rating: 
Summary: Too much freak, not enough candy
Review: The book begins with the author claiming that he has "eaten a piece of candy every single day of his entire life" and that he "thinks about candy at least once an hour." Neither of those claims seems very credible (though his parents did let him suck his thumb until he was 10, so who knows?), but in any case the book goes downhill from there. Unfortunately, I didn't know until I read it on the jacket cover that Almond is also the author of "My Life in Heavy Metal" and "The Best American Erotica", because that information might have tipped me off that I wouldn't enjoy his . . . "style" (for lack of a better word). I enjoyed Marathon Bars but didn't remember that there was a ruler on the back of the package and it never occurred to me (despite the author's claims of its universal usage in this manner) to use it to measure my . . . well, let's just say that the author provided more information than I wanted about creative uses he has found for candy packaging. A few more pages later, he rants about how he finds "most of American culture greedy and heedless, most especially our blithe and relentless pigging of the world's resources." And all of this was before I even finished the book's prologue. In my opinion, too much of the book is devoted to the author's political views, personal history, and things otherwise completely uninteresting and unrelated to candy. Then there's the language and content that (to put it in context) couldn't even be shown on network television, which is saying quite a bit these days. I tried to overlook those things and enjoy the other aspects of the book, but it just isn't worth the effort and I didn't finish it. After buying books from Amazon for years, this will be the first time I've ever taken advantage of their return policy. Save yourself the hassle and expense and don't buy it in the first place.
Rating:
Summary: such sweet sorrow
Review: The writer Steve Almond once toiled, many years ago, at a small newspaper on the literal edge of empire -- the dusty Texas-Mexico border. That is where I first met him. And that is where I first noticed his strange obssession with candy. Drifts of Hershey's foil wrappers and yellow Milk Dud boxes invariably smothered his already none-too-tidy work station. Deadline comforts, I presumed. But with the publication of his excellent new book "Candyfreak", a deeper truth is revealed: For Steve, candy is one of our last assured paths to authentic feeling. In a culture drowning in useless information, awash in cheap entertainment, and numbed by ersatz joy and grief, what could be a more important message? Almond writes that ". . . (candy) would allow me to reconnect to the single, untarnished pleasure of my childhood. But, of course, there are no untarnished pleasures." He's wrong, of course. There is the untarnished pleasure of his fine book. Read it.
Rating:
Summary: Sweet and scrumptious, but still full of air..
Review: This book was entertaining, short and basically pretty addictive. Much like chocolate itself.
However, Almond's work was perhaps a little too short and a little too nothing for my tastes. It really lacked coherent intent, apart from the overriding attempt to seek smaller chocolate manufacturers within America. But there was little actually concluded or discovered.
I disagree with other reviewers, I actually quite enjoyed the semi-autobiographic self-indulgence of 'Candyfreak'. This is partly the basis for its appeal. I did tire of Almond's subtle commentary of the exploitative practices of the industry, but his continued support of such practices.
Essentially, there is not much more to say about the work because there is not much more to it. While I would recommend it as the lightest of entertaining reading, it basically doesn't really have a great deal of filling.
Rating:
Summary: addictive!
Review: This is, honestly, the funniest book I have ever read. I nearly fell off the couch laughing while reading about the Cherry Lollipop Debacle of 1976. Steve's recollections of his childhood are vivid, poignant, and gut-busting. I am so hooked on the book that I find myself stealing moments to read it...reading while drying my hair, taking the bus instead of driving, just to have more time with Candyfreak. If laughter is the best medicine, this book will surely cure what ails you...any residual suffering can be alleviated with chocolate.
Rating:
Summary: It's not supposed to be a textbook on candy.
Review: Those one-star reviewers put off by Almond's personal asides and political views clearly didn't read the editorial reviews or the jacket flap copy before buying: "Part candy porn [mostly this refers to the sensual descriptions of candy, of course, but it's a pretty good indication that there might be some--gasp!--four letter words and racy humor], part candy polemic [in other words, the author has an opinion about things, and doesn't hide it], part social history [hence the political views, like 'em or not], part confession [personal details, voice, humor -- in other words, the very soul of the book]." If you're looking for a straight-up, just-the-facts book about candy, clearly this isn't the book for you, nor does Almond intend it to be. If you're looking for vibrant, edgy, witty writing and sharp, sometimes controversial insights, then it is. In other words, if you don't feel like thinking or being challenged a little (ouch! ouch!) don't buy the book!
Rating:
Summary: As Enjoyable As A Candy Bar Without The Calories
Review: When I read some of the first pages of Steve Almond's CANDY FREAK, he mentioned two candy bars that I loved: the Marathon Bar and Caravelle. I had forgotten these candy bars even existed. I thought the marathon bar was great because it was so long. Math was never my subject so I never bothered to look at the weight to see I was not getting all that much more candy than another candy bar. And I could not agree more about his observations of the Caravelle bar. Reading the pages transported me back in time to my teenaged years working at my father's drugstore which had the best selection of candy in my hometown. Well, actually it didn't. Jimmy's, a store which had one side devoted to liquor and the other side devoted to candy had the best selection and at times the Franklin Newsstand had the better selection, but my Dad's store was close second to both stores as far as selection and quality were concerned.
The book mesmerized me. This is not all that surprising. I met Steve Almond just before the book was published. A year ago I was in a writing workshop. He is a friend of a writing instructor and he was a guest at our workshop one evening. I loved the way he got excited when he spoke about developing characters and his passion for writing. His words became more real to me when I read CANDY FREAK. As we meet the not so well known people who supply us with the candy we love, we see them come alive in the way the characters of any good short story or novel would spring to life. We go trotting across the United States visiting regional candy factories and see the stories behind each plant, stories that we probably would not hear when visiting Hershey, M&M Mars, or Nestle, and see a way of life that is in some cases vibrant and in other cases on the verge of becoming extinct. Almond is passionate about the subject, and reveals enough about himself so the reader understands his love of candy, but is a gifted enough writer and that the book is never about him though he is an integral part of it.
This book will have an appeal for candy aficionados, the polite term I use for a candy freak. I can also see people who like Americana stories enjoying the book. As a matter of fact, someone who I know appreciated the book was a friend who spends his vacation traveling to small baseball parks and attends local games. His traveling to remote baseball parks gave him a feel for the small factories, some of which were probably located near the parks. CANDY FREAK will find a sympathetic audience with small business owners.
Almond's warnings about corporate America, in a forceful but not fanatical tone, will make people think about small businesses and local entrepreneurs. Wal-Mart may not fall in love with Almond's words. I'm sure Wal-Mart sold the book, but if anyone at Wal-Mart read it, it would only be sold grudgingly.
For me, what I appreciate most about the book is the writing. The subject was interesting, but Almond's passion is what drives each page and makes it a worthwhile read. My only disappointment: I don't recall the Cho-o-lite bar being mentioned in the book. It was a whipped chocolate bar with crisped rice. It was not the most spectacular example of a candy bar, but I loved it and missed it. I would think that a book that tells of obscure candy bars, at least candy bars that are obscure to an a Massachusetts born and raised person, candy bars such as the Idaho Candy's Idaho Spud or Standard Candy's Goo-Goo Clusters, could have included this favorite, but it did not. However, since the book is enjoyable and I'm giving it five stars, I suppose I can overlook this omission. Of course, if Choc-o-lite is mentioned and I overlooked it, it's due to being engrossed in the pages.
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