What's In My Library Book Bag?: Reviews of Four Books

So it's a relatively nice day in Brooklyn, NY, if you don't mind the remains of yesterday's snow on the streets (I do), enjoy having your hair whipped into your eyes and mouth (I don't), and take grim pleasure in seeing how much more apocalyptic neighborhoods like Sunset Park look when dusted with grimy snow (I sort of do). But regardless of what I feel about today, it is The Day to Return My Books to the Library, because I've run out of excuses (i.e. holidays, snow, bag is too heavy already, day off from work, etc.) and also I need to suck it up and pay what I owe.

I'm also going to take this opportunity to do a quick review of these books before I lug them over to Central Library and beg to be able to renew the one I haven't finished (and which I therefore can't review yet). I get a lot of questions from friends about book recommendations, and find it hard to give them off the top of my head, especially when people are so non-specific about genre. Additionally, I am tired of people thinking either I've read everything ever written or I only read novels. So if you want to know what I've been reading lately, this is it (photos from my Instagram):

The Monk Downstairs by Tim Farrington

Rating: PG-13 (some language, sex, mention of drug use)

Score: 5/5

Synopsis: Rebecca is a single mom and graphic designer, reconciling herself to the failure of her marriage and her dreams of being an artist. Mike is a former monk, trying to get back into the world he left behind for a monastery twenty years ago. Unused to trusting others, Rebecca takes a risk and rents out her basement apartment to Mike, despite his lack of a job and credit history. As their tentative friendship grows, they find that though they've both gotten off the path they'd planned for themselves the world has a lot more to offer. Told from Rebecca's close third-person POV and Mike's letters to an old monastery friend, the story tackles questions of faith in God, people, and in oneself.

Review: This book is not only one of the most beautifully written books I've ever read, but also one of the most surprising. I picked it up on a whim at the library because I liked the title and cover, and upon skimming through the first few pages, I liked its practical but thoughtful style. I figured it'd be a romance, and was interested to read a romance between two people in their late thirties/early forties who aren't traditionally "sexy." This book is a romance, and it's a lovely one that had me catching my breath and giggling, but it's even more than that. It's a story of changed ideals and dreams, and hints at the Great Question of Life--the answer of which, it shows, is not "42"* but caring for others, even when it makes you vulnerable. Religion is woven into the story seamlessly and respectfully in a way that I appreciated as a Christian, but which would be meaningful even to a non-believer. Something else I loved was that Farrington (the author) actually writes a woman so well that I kept forgetting a man wrote this book. I still have a hard time accepting Farrington is a man--he gets it so unfailingly right.

Honestly, I could go on and on about this book, but I won't.

God's Samurai: Lead Pilot at Pearl Harbor by Gordon W. Prange

Rating: PG-13 (violence)

Score: 5/5

Synopsis: This is a biography of Mitsuo Fuchida, the man who lead the attack on Pearl Harbor, fought in World War II for Japan, and later became a passionate evangelist for all nations. The story is taken from interviews Prange had with Fuchida, whom he formed a friendship with, and supported by information and details from Fuchida's friends and family. Descended from samurai and obsessed with flying from an early age, Fuchida grew up a Japanese nationalist, and though to Americans the attack on Pearl Harbor seemed an act of cruelty, Fuchida saw it as an act of glorious destiny. During WWII, Fuchida nearly died countless times and became an honored military strategist and leader. After the surrender, he sank into depression until several run-ins with street evangelists led to his conversion to Christianity. Subsequently, he became a major promoter of world peace, believing all war evil and all peoples equal.

Review: Why isn't this a movie? That's my question. But let's be real--Hollywood won't do it because it would require a mainly Japanese cast, and the only Japanese used by Hollywood is Ken Watanabe, who has been in almost every major film that a Japanese man is needed for (The Last Samurai, Letters from Iwo Jima, Godzilla). They'd have to multiply Watanabe for every single role and there just aren't enough white people in most of the story to plant in Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt. Unsurprisingly, the only film about Fuchida is Tora! Tora! Tora!, a 1970s Japanese movie about the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Fuchida lived an incredible life and I'm sorry that most people don't know of it. The book excellently portrays him as a flawed man, with a prideful streak and having made many mistakes, but he was a brave and honorable man with a great sense of humor. As much as I love war history, especially WWII, anyone who knows me well should know my distaste for war, and to read that a soldier like Fuchida rejected war later in life was wonderful to me. It isn't a religious book, promoting Christianity above other religions, even Shintoism or Buddhism (the religions Fuchida turned away from). Instead it shows how Christianity impacted this one man's life and how he learned to forgive those who had killed Japanese at Tokyo, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, and was forgiven by relatives of those whose had died at Pearl Harbor. Definitely one of my favorite biographies of all time. It also breaks down nationalism, which gains points from me, and gives a fair and unwavering coverage of the realities of war without taking any side.

Love Among the Ruins by Robert Clark

Rating: R (graphic sex, strong language, some drug use, thematic elements)

Score: 3/5

Synopsis: It's the summer of 1968, what begins as a simple summer romance between teenagers Bill Lowry and Emily Byrne becomes something much more complicated. Bill, raised by a free-spirited single mother, finally acts on his crush on Emily by sending her a letter detailing his feelings. Emily is an innocent Catholic girl who shares everything about her life with her loving and semi-boring parents. But as their perfect summer draws to an end, Bill and Emily are afraid of losing what they have in the humdrum of normal life and so run away to camp out in the wilderness, an act which sends their parents into spirals of their own.

Review: Clark is a brilliant writer and the details of each scene in this book are full of the symbols and metaphors that a literary nerd loves to analyze. In fact, Clark errs on overdoing the detail, but it works--the description of every bit of furniture and decor in a room makes the story real. That being said, the sex scenes are so graphic that they were actually a little nauseating even to skim through. There were also some slight weaknesses in the plot--Emily has a sister who is so irrelevant to the story that the Byrnes run like a one-child family and makes a reader question the purpose of the sister's occasional appearances. The characters, while believable are not very likable, and I didn't strongly sympathize with any of them by the end. It's a love story, but the romantic love of the story is very selfish, and seems not intertwined with lust, but interchangeable for it. The parents of the story truly love their children, and it's that love that really has the most power, especially when the focus is on the parents' POV.

All in all, an enjoyable read, even when skipping the cringe-worthy sex scenes, and the ending took me by surprise, but I wouldn't re-read or highly recommend it.

Bloodtide by Melvin Burgess

Rating: R (sex, graphic violence, strong language, absolutely terrifying situations)

Score: 4.5/5

Synopsis: Based on the Icelandic Volsunga Saga, this is the story, of Signy and Siggy, twins raised on wealth, privilege, and violence, who are closer than close, and when they lose everything they must conspire for revenge. Their story is set in a post-apocalyptic London, cut off from the rest of the world by monsters made of machines and animals and separated by two rival gang leaders--Volson and Conor. In an effort to make peace and an alliance, Volson gives his teenage daughter Signy to Conor as wife. But the god Odin has different ideas, and gives Siggy a magic knife that creates a rift between Siggy and Conor, and thus between Siggy and his twin Signy. What follows is betrayal and the destruction of the Volson clan, leaving Siggy and Signy, bound by blood and bitterness.

Review: I first read this book when I was about fifteen, almost ten years ago, and it's stuck with me ever since, even though I can never recall its title. It impacted me hugely--physically, because the violence literally made me nauseated (if the idea of a pig eating a live human freaks you out too much, do not attempt this book), emotionally, because the conflicts make it hard to know who you support, and creatively, because my writing would not be what it is without this book. Burgess depicts the brutalities of war and violence unflinchingly, and though its entirely fictitious, the depths of evil that are plumbed are one of the most believable aspects of the story. It raises questions of humanity, which Burgess cleverly brings to light with half-animal characters who are more "human" than many of the full-blood humans.

Like Herbert's Dune, Burgess doesn't waste time explaining his world, he just dumps the reader into it, and he does it almost as successfully. It's a fascinating world, where science and magic are synonymous, and it blends sci-fi and fantasy well, but it leaves a lot of logical questions, and because it IS a retelling of the middle of the Volsunga Saga, it feels like it's missing a prequel, and the ending is awfully sudden. Sadly, the sequel, which I haven't yet read, begins years afterwards with other characters, so the sudden ending is not redeemed.

I genuinely love this book. If you read Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, I say go for this one, because it has some similar elements and issues, and you can definitely handle its intensity. But it's not for the weak of heart or stomach.

And so I'm off to the library pictured above to return these (plus some DVDs I forgot to watch) and beg to renew the one I haven't finished. I'll probably also be picking up some more books, like perhaps the sequel to The Monk Downstairs, and passing the time before I go tutor SAT prep to some poor young soul.

I'm going to be trying to review what I read more regularly, so feel free to recommend books for me to read/review! I try to take in one non-fiction, one realistic fiction, and one fantasy or sci-fi novel on each trip, so I'm open to ideas.

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*If you've never read/watched The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, please stop reading this post and go do so.

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Yes, My Favorite Novel is War and Peace. Because It's Fun, That's Why.

Inspired by the 186th anniversary of Tolstoy's birth on Sept. 9th, this was going to be a post about the many wonderful things about Tolstoy as a writer and thinker, despite his failures as husband and father. But there is too much to say on that, so I focused instead on answering the question I've received many times--why is War and Peace my favorite novel?

Natasha on the balcony, as envisioned by Google guest doodler, Roman Muradov. For more about the creative process behind Muradov's Tolstoy tribute, read this. (1)

Yesterday I had coffee with some nice folks, and one I had just met asked my favorite book. I could feel one of my friends look at me, waiting for an answer she knew all too well after eight years of friendship. I chuckled and said a little awkwardly, "Well, it's War and Peace."

The raised eyebrows and the "wow" were expected, and I did my best to look totally casual and not snotty about saying my favorite book was this grand epic known colloquially as being so long that nobody actually reads it.

Saying War and Peace is my favorite novel has it benefits--it helps me get away with heartily enjoying some really low-brow literature and consuming some of the corniest shows on television. But the downside is that while it may make me look smart, it can make me look a little pompous. I have a terror that I am actually pompous, and so even if it might ruin my excuse for enjoying trashy literature and TV, I insist on telling people that War and Peace is actually this fun romp about people just like you and me, who goof off, have good times, screw up, and live life. As my favorite English professor said, "War and Peace has EVERYTHING, except boats."

And I'm totally sure it would have boats, if the nearest ocean wasn't the Arctic. The "war" in the title is the war with Napoleon and the French (which should be a band name), so no arctic voyages are undertaken. :/ (2)

I don't remember how or when I first heard of Tolstoy, but I know it was in reference to him being the author of War and Peace, a massive dull novel that seemed to be only invoked as an impossible read. I assumed the book was exactly what the title sounded like, a lengthy treatise on war and peace, until I was fourteen. My sister Melissa was a college freshman, and in typical freshman style, had gotten the wrong edition of the novel, one that didn't include the essay she was supposed to read. Because I liked to poke through her textbooks, I picked the book up and started reading, surprised to find dialogue in the tiny print.

It should come as no surprise that my social life at the time wasn't exactly poppin', if I actually read other people's assigned readings. Large parties made me nervous and I'd already sworn off personal birthday parties because those were even worse (I still think this). Realizing that the novel opened with a party, those most loathsome social events that filled me to the brim with anxiety, I was surprised to find an assortment of characters who were simply trying too hard. They didn't flow with the grace and elegance so common in 19th-century English classics. Princess Bolkonsky is pretty, but her upper lip is "darkened with down" and she has buckteeth that she tries to hide. Pierre Bezukhov is an educated well-traveled bastard son of a great nobleman, "afraid at every moment of missing some intellectual conversation which he might have heard," and "waiting for an opportunity of expressing his own ideas." The gossip passed between the party-goers is vicious and tinged with a knowledge of vulgarity that is only ever implied in Austen or Dickens. It was strikingly real, and as the story shifted to another party, this time a wild drunken one that involves dancing with a chained bear and downing an entire bottle of rum while standing on the sill of an open window, I was enthralled.

The book is that long because it introduces readers to a group of young people that are every bit as relatable as Holden Caulfield and shows them living, growing up, marrying, having kids, and being old. Pierre is awkward and insecure, but just wants to be loved. Natasha is impulsive and dreamy, and thinks everything's going to work out just as she likes it. Andrei is apathetic and depressed, and wallows in self-loathing. Marya is lonely and sheltered, convinced she is stupid and ugly. Nikolai is easily enraptured by cool confidence and readily conforms to whoever he's friends with. Sonya is trusting and loyal, but embarrassingly pathetic. With times of war and of peacetime as the historical backdrop, the characters stumble along, trying to be happy, trying to be popular, and trying oh-so-very hard that it's as painful to watch as if you were living it with them.

And this guy wrote this by hand. All that. And kept track of the little details. How even??? (3)

Like many Russian novels, depression is depicted vividly, but unlike Dostoevsky, Tolstoy writes with tenderness and without concern of seeming petty. As Andrei ruminates on business and his constant depression while riding in a coach, he sees a group of girls running past him, and notices one "very slender, strangely slender" girl laughing with her hair coming loose.

"The day was so lovely, the sun so bright, everything around him so gay, and that slim and pretty girl knew nothing of his existence, and cared to know nothing, and was content and happy in her own life--foolish doubtless--but gay and happy and remote from him. What was she so glad about? What was she thinking of? Not of army regulations; not of the organization of the Ryazan rent-paying peasants. 'What is she thinking about, and why is she so happy?' Prince Andrei could not help wondering with interest." (4)

Andrei's wonder continues through the chapter, to the point of silliness, which was relatable to me at fourteen and even now at twenty-four--that feeling of looking through the haze of depression and realizing that somehow, somewhere, someone is happy, and the whole world is not some plot to keep you down. Suddenly, everything seems like signs that he should be happy. The moon is bright late that night and the happy girl is talking about flying into it, and Andrei is filled with "youthful hopes and ideas" and gets so excited he goes to bed so he doesn't have to think. The old tree he associated with the collapse of his whole life is leafy and alive, and he realizes that his life isn't over, and he desperately needs the whole world to know him and be a part of him.

Romance is not the focus of the novel, but it weaves through it, with love triangles and love quadrilaterals and betrayals and passion and longing. Once again, Tolstoy's readiness to capture the utter silliness of human thoughts without any shame or mockery is seen in his romances. Watching Natasha flit about at a party, Andrei tells himself that if she talks to her cousin next, she will totally be his wife. By chance, she does and Andrei is simultaneously embarrassed and excited. Pierre falls fast for the prettiest and richest girl, and finds that his shallow choice resulted in a shallow wife. Sonya yearns for Nikolai, her cousin, and tells herself she doesn't quite deserve him, but of course he will be hers, because he promised, and will keep his promise even as he leaves her to go out in the world.

Additionally, the book doesn't end with weddings, like an Austen novel, but skips ahead to years later, which is so very satisfying and ultimately what I secretly wish all books would do. There is a picture of married life, the wife and husband talking, thinking how much they love each other, occasionally being annoyed at one another, and gossiping lightly about their relatives. Tolstoy doesn't see a need to either idealize or be a cynic about love and marriage. It's not perfect, but it can be good. The book has a happy ending, but you don't come away feeling like everyone will be happy all the time. The characters grow and most improve, but they're still flawed. One of my favorite lines is Natasha talking to her husband about how wonderful her sister-in-law is and how much of a better person she is than Natasha herself, while expecting him to "prefer her to Marie and all other women, and now...to tell her so anew." It's not a fine thought, it's silly and a bit narcissistic, but Tolstoy includes it and doesn't criticize it.

It's little details like that which are so hard to capture on film. I've only ever watched King Vidor's 1956 adaptation of the novel, starring Audrey Hepburn, Mel Ferrer, and Henry Fonda, and that only last year after much hesitation because I was sure that it would be all wrong. I mean, if something as simple to adapt as Harry Potter was a mess on film, how could a novel as complex as War and Peace be decently adapted? I'd just watched Joe Wright's Anna Karenina (2012) and that was an insult to literature, history, and my evening. But I was on an Audrey Hepburn kick, so I gave the film a try.

Fonda (Pierre), Hepburn (Natasha), Ferrer (Andrei). Costuming is actually fairly accurate, though maybe not quite Russian enough. (5)

No doubt my expectations were ridiculously low, which probably helped. The movie is utterly beautiful, and surprisingly accurate. The casting was dictated more by star power than suitability, and Henry Fonda, while a great actor, is simply too handsome for the awkward Pierre. Hepburn and Ferrer are both more suited to their roles, and they have excellent chemistry, being that they were a couple in real life at the time. Many supporting characters and minor sub-plots are cut to keep the film at 208 minutes, and the focus is tightened to the three main characters, but watching it I felt something very close to my feelings while reading it for the first time. It was like a beautifully-illustrated abridged book--a wonderful way to experience the story, but only a taste of the real thing. That's about all I hope for in an adaptation, and for those who won't read the book, I'd recommend it, though I'd warn you that with little special effects, the war scenes are far-away and dull, so the ending drags a bit.

There are other versions as well that I haven't yet seen--a 1966/1967 Soviet Russia 7-hour version, which is thought to be the best; a 1972 BBC 15-hour version starring Anthony Hopkins; a 2007 394-minute version starring a cast made up of actors from all over Europe, including Clémence Poésy of France; the upcoming 2015 six-part BBC reboot. There's also a silent one, which I can't find anywhere, but wasn't planning to watch anyway because silent films creep me out to no end.

This all goes to say that I think most people don't realize how genuinely fun the right translation of War and Peace is, because of misconceptions from people who have either never read it or have read some shoddy translations. I don't remember what the translation I originally read was, but I currently have one by Constance Garnett, and I've been enjoying re-reading it. If you have that pretty sky blue copy translated by Pevear and Volokhonsky, please toss it, because it's horrible and leaves the French untranslated, which results in the opening paragraph being entirely in French--a major turn-off for most. When reading foreign books, it is important to know what a difference the translator can make.

Deceptively pretty design. Stay far away. (5)

I've been going on about the cuteness, because Tolstoy's ability to excel in that is so under-appreciated and unknown, but I also want to convey what an incredibly deep and powerful read it is. Through his wild youth, his middle-aged years as a scholar and family man, and as an elderly philosopher, Tolstoy was fascinated by redemption--not just redemption under God, but the process of self-improvement through repentance or the struggles of obtaining forgiveness from others. He recognizes that some go to their end without redemption, not because it's impossible, but because they refuse it. As a Christian, this is especially moving, because it's much of what we worry about from day to day and read of so often in the Bible. As a human, it's striking to see such a full representation of life, woven over time.

So why is War and Peace my favorite novel of all time? Because it has the beauty and breadth of an ancient epic, but it has all the heartiness and liveliness of a modern novel. It is entirely tangible in its grandeur. It is every bit the novel I want to write.

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Sources

1. "Tolstoy Google Doodle," Sept. 9, 2014. See full tribute here.

2. Map of Russia, 1820. Found image here.
3. Photo - Tolstoy, writing. Found image here.
4. Excerpted from the Constance Garnett translation.
5. On-set photo from War and Peace (1956).
6. Photo of Pevear & Volkohonsky translation from Amazon, which I will not link to.

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In Which I Review an ARC of the "The Madness Underneath" by Maureen Johnson

So I haven't posted in AGES (never posted about my summer in London or anything else) but I've been wanting to write a review of Maureen Johnson's The Madness Underneath (Book 2 of the Shades of London series) ever since I got an ARC of it in October. I read it but of course never got around to writing up the review because not only am I an IDIOT but I have ZERO time what with student teaching and my thesis and two crazy reading-intensive history courses and work to do ANYTHING. However, I just went on Tumblr today and saw that OMG Maureen Johnson responded to me on Tumblr saying she would check it out when I posted it, so I'm gathering my notes and re-reading my favorite parts and writing ASAP.

What follows is a non-spoilery review for Maureen Johnson's The Madness Underneath which is officially coming out in the US February 2013. This is the second book in the brain-burstingly amazing Shades of London series and I was able to score an ARC of it at NYCC.

I do not like this cover AT ALL. Will show the UK cover (which I love more) at the end as a bonus.

While I was living and studying in London for the month of June, I was so careful about money that I hardly bought anything but food, food, and more food (hey, I'm practical). But sometime near the end of the month, I went with a few friends (David, Kayla, and Alexis, if I remember correctly) and we took the Tube to Central to check out the famous Harrods, which is bright and gorgeous and TOTALLY OVERPRICED. We got lost about 50 times and finally came out on a totally different side and shuffled into Waterstones for comfort. Waterstones, for those who don't know, is a a really excellent bookstore chain in the UK that has some pretty ridiculously good sales. I was grabbing up Philippa Gregory books in a devil-may-care way when I found The Name of the Star by Maureen Johnson. I've been a big fan of Maureen Johnson since I was a teenager and first read The Key to the Golden Firebird, but somehow had never gotten around to reading her latest book, so I picked it up.

I DO love MJ, but I will be honest and say this exceptionally gorgeous cover was a huge incentive. The US cover made me always say "next time" but this one just screamed "buy me NOW". Also, JACK THE RIPPER asdfghjkl;'.

I didn't read Name of the Star till I was home and spending my days lying on a bed missing England, which in retrospect was a bad idea (so much heartache!!). To sum up Star before we move on to Madness--teenage American from Louisiana, Rory Deveaux, goes to study at a London boarding school just when Jack-the-Ripper-esque murders begin again. It's clear that MJ has spent a lot of time in London (even if I didn't know that from her blog already) because Rory's exploration and travels throughout London are incredibly detailed. Having spent a lot of time in Whitechapel (Jack the Ripper tours are the best thing ever) where Rory's (fictional) school, Wexford, is located, I could just so easily picture everything, and the descriptions of the Tube stations were perfectly accurate (oh Charing Cross I heart you). As realistic as the setting is, the story itself is a thrillingly creepy supernatural adventure, replete with ghosts and seriously unsettling murders.

Spoiler-free wrap-up to bring you up to speed: After a near-death experience, Rory gains the ability to see the dead coincidentally while a Jack the Ripper wannabe is running rampant. Her best friend Jazza thinks she's seeing crazy things and her crush Jerome is filling her head with Ripper facts--then Rory meets Boo, who is completely kickass and introduces her to a secret police division (it's like Supernatural meets Sherlock, if that makes sense?) of ghost hunters known (though rarely referred to) as the Shades. This is the moment to say that besides Boo, there are only two others in the group: Callum, the stocky and obnoxious ex-footballer, and Stephen, the glasses-wearing and totally posh constable. They all can see ghosts and work in various capacities to get rid of dangerous ghosts, like poltergeists and such, that can cause a train wreck or disturb innocent people. I won't disclose all the plot details, but the book closes with Rory gaining a unique power--the as-of-yet unheard of ability to dispel ghosts permanently with a touch.

Cassandra Jean does incredible art for Shades of London--some fan art and some commissioned. This is Rory in front of Wexford.

When I went to the New York Comic Convention in October, I waited on line for about 30-45 minutes (talking to some very happy fellow nerds about general nerdyness to make the time go faster) to meet Maureen Johnson at the Penguin booth. I had brought my beautiful copy of The Name of the Star to be signed and I was eyeing those piles of Madness Underneath ARCs hungrily, hoping that they wouldn't run out. The line wrapped around the whole booth and moved like molasses, but the lovely people helping out made it go smoothly. After reading MJ's blog and tweets for years, I was a little disappointed--she was being polite to everyone and totally normal. To those who don't follow MJ, that might seem strange to say, but honestly, this lady is hilarious and has had contests where the prizes were actual random junk from her house as well as offered prizes for "crapfts"--crappy crafts. However, when I was one person away from her, she suddenly straightened in her seat and her eyes went even wider than they are here.

"It's HIM! I knew he'd come back!!" she squealed to the lady helping to hand out books.

I should've snapped a photo, but basically it was one of the bajillion Pyramid Heads who roam Comic Con lumbering by, insanely huge sword (?) in hand.

Minus the blood, gore, and dead child-thing (?), of course.

After he was gone, she turned back to the fans, still in awe of Pyramid Head. (Seriously, Maureen, come again to NYCC, I can promise you so many more Pyramid Heads. SO MANY.) I came up and said, "Hi. Um, I really love your dress" because I'm like a wordmaster, obviously. I explained that this was a UK version, which she was excited about, and we talked about London a bit. I got my book signed in silver Sharpie and the ARC of Madness Underneath and then I moved on. That night when I got home I was like "screw homework" and lay on the couch to read Madness Underneath. My copy contains errors, so for friends who want to borrow, I recommend waiting for the real thing unless you're patient and don't mind that kind of thing.

Madness Underneath picks up just weeks after Star leaves off. Rory is in therapy since what happened at Wexford but is having trouble keeping the truth from her therapist and parents--you can't just get over being hunted down by a ghost. What Rory wants more than anything is to be back in London, where she can hang out with Jazza and Jerome, visit Alistair the punk-rock ghost in the library, and help Boo, Callum, and Stephen hunt renegade ghosts. To her surprise she is sent back to school, but even Wexford isn't the same and Rory has a hard time keeping her secret from her Wexford friends. The Shades are reluctant to involve her in their activities, or rather Boo and Callum want her, but Stephen, the stern leader, won't hear of it and wants her to live her normal safe life. As luck (?) would have it,  the Shades need Rory because all Bedlam breaks loose. I mean, that quite literally, of course (curse you, MJ, for forcing me into puns!!). Because of a fissure made in the ground after Star, crazy ghosts from some old infirmaries of Bedlam Royal Hospital (the insane asylum from whence the origins of the word "bedlam" to mean chaos and general lunacy came from) start bursting forth and terrorizing the neighborhood. Rory being a human ghost-detonator puts her at the front of the conflict, but as much as Rory wants to be part of this, she's dealing with her own problems. 

Not only is she still traumatized from being nearly killed a dozen times, but her new relationship with Jerome isn't the easiest.

Making out in front of ghosts is 75% of their problem....
(More Cassandra Jean art just because.)

But with a new therapist, Rory starts to realize that she can't wait for everyone else and fuss about how they're going to feel...she's got to start figuring things out and standing up for herself. 

Okay, so it may be true that in my rambles here, I haven't said much about the plot and all that beyond describing what it is. The biggest reason for that is that I don't want to spoil anything. But also, to be honest, as much as I love this series, the actual premise doesn't blow me away--it's basically standard ghost-hunting supernatural business. 

The main draw of this series, besides the setting, is Rory herself. 100% Louisianian, Rory's narrative is just a pleasure to read and reminds me of my friends from around there (hey there, Callie!) who have this extraordinary ability to go on with a long detailed story about some people they know or something that happened to them a while ago. Rory's long hilarious deviations from the point are what make her my favorite character and such a thoroughly enjoyable protagonist. (Can Rory and Katniss get together for lunch sometime while I just cry and adore them please?) The other characters hold their own--Boo is Cockney and badass and an altogether strikingly original character with some amazing lines; Callum manages to whine a lot while still being the kind of honest and caring person you just want to hang out with in real life; Stephen is just asdfghjkl a really awesome guy who is a strong leader and ridiculously sexy and underneath all the serious exterior is one fine-looking mofo  really cares about his team and doing the right thing. Even more minor characters like Jazza, Rory's sweet best friend who will do anything for her, Alistair, the 80s ghost who haunts the library and helps Rory with her homework, and Jerome, Rory's patient and totally bizarre boyfriend, can make you laugh and definitely keep you turning pages.

MJ is also a brilliant writer--not in the show-off-my-skillz way of Michael Herbert or Orson Scott Card,  but in a wonderfully subtle way that can make you laugh out loud as you curl up on your bed and read her books in one sitting. But her gift of making you feel everything is a double-edged sword--she can also make you CRY. I have a love/hate relationship with books that make me cry--it's the sign of a quality book, but agghhhhh. Even with a premise that is basically familiar, MJ brings in plot twists you don't see coming. This is true of Star but even more so in Madness, which had me literally shouting WHAT and then screaming in terror. When I finished this book, I did actually throw it on the floor and cry. Then I jumped up, picked it up and re-read the last few chapters again because it's just that good.

I think this review is just about as long as the book itself, so I'll shut up now. But hopefully that kind of got across how much I love and enjoy this book and how serious I am about YOU doing the same.

This is the UK version--which I'm going to try to buy next year. SO MUCH PRETTIER.

Will try to blog more often...next year I'm doing MoCCA with Melissa and selling Three of Swords merchandise and actual copies of our books, so much more of my prattle to come this year about that.

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Bad Mythology and Tolerance, but not Tolerance of Bad Mythology

All I ask out of books in general is that they fit loosely in the broad genre of “good”. By good, I don’t mean a morality tale, where all the sinners get gored on horns of bulls or anything necessarily—I mean sometimes there are moral people who deserve a good goring (i.e. Elsie Dinsmore). Good doesn’t have to mean you feel smarter after having read it, like it’s Dostoevsky or C.S. Lewis. Good could mean Meg Cabot, which leaves me giddy and loving life—and 10x more likely to jump for joy, hit a chair, and tumble soundly onto my face (true story). Good isn’t even necessarily extraordinarily well-written—not everyone’s Neil Gaiman or Orson Scott Card, where every sentence is amazingly crafted constructions of genius. Heavens, no. I wouldn’t even WANT every author to be like that…I’d feel more than a little inadequate then. I don’t think Stephenie Meyer is an extraordinary writer. As much as I enjoy her stories, I do sometimes find sentences I’m not fond of, and in general her writing is hardly mind-blowing. But she entertains, she is consistent with her own mythology, obviously took time to work on her mythology and writing, and cares about her story.

I feel like I could head into a treatise on The Art of Writing, but I won’t and by this paragraph break am stopping myself. Good writing can be anything from Gaiman to Austen to Cabot to Card to Tolstoy to Rowling to Dickens to Meyer to Lewis to Tezuka (a somewhat biased list, except that I’m not a particularly huge Dickens fan and Gaiman is so good that when he’s bad he’s hellishly bad). My standards are not wildly high. Not at all. But there are things I will not abide, and they are so easily avoidable, I don’t understand why some people fall into them so eagerly.

Remember what I said about Meyer’s mythology? Sure, it’s out there and quite weird. But it’s consistent with itself. You may not like it, but it is. It’s believable in context. Once I suspend my disbelief in vampires, I can accept that these vampires have a bloodlust stronger than carnal lust. From there, I will accept that vampires do not want people to know of their existence, so they prey secretly. Okay, and some groups chose (on various grounds) to resist temptation and only drink the blood of animals, which is less tasty and satisfying. I also accept that a socially weird human girl might admire these vampires and want to be like them. They’re noble in abstaining from the things they desire. Meyer’s mythology plays into the way people really are at times, and the kinds of things people find admirable. It moves slowly, and it wasn’t until the later books that the “world” of vampires comes into play—by the last book it was a majorly complicated mythology, but it wasn’t confusing because it came piece by piece.

But some people don’t get that. They dump the mythology in chunks in the beginning, then figure that the reader gets it now and shove along with the plot. Disaster occurs.

“Tantalize” by Cynthia Leitich Smith

This book first came out in early 2007, which must have been the time I first came upon it in a public library. I always fall for pretty cover art and titles—more-so than synopses sadly—and the pretty redhead paired with a sexy title was a win for me. That and vampires, being that I’d been into vampires since eighth grade (pre-Twilight AND Underworld and without reading Ann Rice). I have only the vaguest memories of the plot. All I recall is a girl, her bff who was a boy and a werewolf or something, and someone being murdered after only a few pages. I remember turning back several times, looking for explanations for scenes that didn’t make sense, and being too disinterested and confused to plow through dull writing.

Apparently this book is about a girl named Quincie Morris (ugh) who is an orphan and lives with her uncle—together Quincie and Uncle Davidson (UGH) remodel the family restaurant and rename it Sanguini’s, then because they needed a gimmick to make up for some indequacy I assume, they give the place a “vampire theme”. Remember, it’s called SANGUINI’S. If you don’t see the stupid logic, just move on and be happy. The vampire theme is not gross or weird though, because, and I quote from an Amazon review quoting from the novel, “vampires are a fringe population, and Austin [in Texas] is a tolerant place.” Ok first of all, let’s accept this premise as difficult as it may be to do so. Vampires exist. People tolerate that. Got it. So they make a vampire-themed restaurant? What? This is like making a “black person”-themed restaurant because you live in a town with a decent black population and people are tolerant. What does vampire-themed mean? Not like Mexican-themed, where you eat tacos, hang sombreros, and listen to Spanish music? Do they drink blood, wear fangs, and listen to Evanescence? Or is it more of a general theme, with horrible dish titles that I don’t feel corny enough to imagine? (Feel free to suggest a few of your own.)

Moving on—the chef of Sanguini’s is murdered. My initial guess is an offended vampire, who maybe should’ve lynched Uncle Davidson or Quincie instead for CONCIEVING this idea. But NO. The manner of death implies that a WEREWOLF did it. Oh no and guess what? Quincie’s bff, Kieren, is a “hybrid werewolf who traces his lupine heritage to the wolves that roamed Ireland with St. Patrick.” The police look with suspicion upon Kieren’s noble heritage, which makes Quincie sad because she has a crush on Kieren. But Quincie and Uncle D move on from that, hiring a new chef named…Henry Johnson. Yes. Henry Johnson. Not Edin or Aidan or Jace or something COOL. His laast name isn’t even cool, like Kieren’s (which is Morales). His name isn’t totally random like Uncle Davidson’s. I’m going to just ASSUME he is really a VAMPIRE and that is why his name is Henry, because so many vampires are named Henry, and he’s maybe immortal so he’s old, and has a classic name (like Edward). But Henry is WEIRD. One reviewer describes him as “spooky, with red contact lenses, pale hair, and a menu featuring sweetbreads, blood sausage and baby squirrels in honey cream sauce,” while another sums him up as “quirky.” Well if that’s quirky, please don’t even tell me what’s plain old weird.

That about sums up the premise, but apparently there are conflicts, like Kieren’s choice to leave Austin and join up with a pack of werewolves, a lá Call of the Wild. This also makes Quincie sad I presume, and probably makes the police even more suspicious (understandably). BUT Quincie is distracted by Henry, who “prods Quincie into drinking wine, skipping school, and discovering her sensuality.” I don’t know which is funnier, wine-drinking as the height of naughty-ness or the fact that a teenager needs someone to tell them about their sensual side. Apparently there are more murders and everyone acts crazy and Quincie fears for her life. One Amazon reviewer closes with this bit: “Quincie's story hews closer to the campy Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes (e.g., " 'You ate the police?!' I exclaimed") than to the elegant romanticism of Stephenie Meyer's books, but horror fans will be hooked by Kieren's quiet, hirsute hunkiness, and Texans by the premise that nearly everybody in their capitol is a shapeshifter.”

Kieren probably looks a little bit like this.

BUT THIS BOOK WAS DULL. And the Amazon customer reviews call it a “pile of bile” and a waste of time and money. None of the reviewer’s give complete spoilers, but I hear evil wins out. (Also people alternate between calling Henry “Brad/Bradley,” so I’m REALLY confused.) I think I get why I couldn’t bear this book and blocked most of it. One reviewer says it felt like the book was missing pages—which was exactly how I felt. You can’t just dump the premise HEY VAMPIRES ARE NORMAL and roll with it. A lot of books try that--dumping a complicated premise on the reader and then forcing onward with their plot. The book I’m reading now, “Fairy Godmother” by Mercedes Lackey does the same thing. Original mythologies are beautiful things, but if handled wrong, they are HORRIBLE. They have to be believable! I don’t believe for one second that if vampires existed, they’d be “tolerated” like they were of a different skin color. If they are tolerated, you have to explain that. Start WITH that. Don’t assume because you say it is so in your novel, readers will believe you. THEY WON’T. In the real world, people don’t tolerate different skin color so easily. It wasn’t easy for the U.S to reach the place it is now, and acting like blood-drinking cold immortals would be accepted enough to have restaurants based on them like they’re a cute joke is just too ridiculous.

I'm not really sure what this means, but it looks like it belongs in this post.

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