This year, I kept track of the number of books I read.
It was... an astonishing number.
111. One Hundred Eleven Books.
I'm very pleased with this. I'm pleased with myself for the big number. Pleased with the fact that I kept track and reviewed most of them. Though, going over the list... I noticed a few times I wrote "review coming soon." Oops.
Keeping that list makes me think I should have an easier time coming up with a Best Books of 2010. Though putting lists of favorite things in order is never my strong suit.
Heading into the new year, I want to read even more books. I want to review more of them here. Even if the reviews I write are short paragraphs, or even reposts from Twitter.
And... I am going to use the number of books to make a donation to the NYPL. $1 per book. More of that in an upcoming post.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Nine books to make the season bright (Christmas round-up)
Nine books to make the season bright
Reviewed by Elizabeth Willse
for the Newark Star-Ledger 12/19/2010
Whether you decide to put these seasonal books under the tree for your favorite reader, or curl up with one yourself, the following celebrate the spirit of the holiday season.
With secret spy messages in a plum pudding and a bantering romance that verges on screwball comedy, The Mischief of the Mistletoe (Dutton, 352 pp., $19.95), by Lauren Willig, is a terrific romp, even for newcomers to Willig’s Pink Carnation series of smart historical romances. The central pair isn’t the typical romantic couple. But that’s what makes acerbic and level-headed Arabella Dempsey and earnestly blustering Reginald “Turnip” Fitzhugh so much fun.
The Christmas Cookie Club (Simon and Schuster, 274 pp., $15), by Ann Pearlman, will make you feel like you know Marnie and her friends, who meet to exchange homemade holiday cookies every year. During the cookie exchange they catch up, share memories and deal with some tough midlife issues with candor and humor. Best of all, there are recipes that might inspire you to start a tradition of exchanging holiday treats with your own friends.
Christmas With Tucker (Doubleday, 192 pp., $15.99), by Greg Kincaid, is a warmly nostalgic story about a boy growing up on a farm and the dog who loved him. Twelve-year-old George, still mourning the death of his father, arrives at his grandparents’ farm just before Christmas and one of the worst blizzards anyone can remember. Trying to help keep the farm running and the roads plowed, George is too busy and too cold to think of Christmas spirit. Tucker is a lonely and neglected Irish setter, instantly devoted to George, just when they both most need a friend.
For history buffs, there are two excellent perspectives on Christmas during World War II.
In the Dark Streets Shineth: A 1941 Christmas Story (Shadow Mountain, 56 pp., $19.99), by David McCullough, captures the events of Christmas 1941, days after Pearl Harbor. Richly illustrated with archival photographs, McCullough tells the story of the meeting between Winston Churchill and President Franklin Roosevelt, as well as tracing the origins of now-classic Christmas songs such as “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
Christmas 1945: The Greatest Celebration in American History (History Publishing, 220 pp., $24.95), by New Jersey author Matthew Litt, gives detail and context to the story of Christmas 1945, when the troops were starting to come home and people felt like celebrating for the first time since the war began. Litt does a beautiful job of evoking wartime Christmases, with shortages and sacrifices, and adults putting on brave, celebratory faces for the children.
It’s hard to write about a change of heart at Christmas without coming across as overly sentimental. An Amish Christmas, by Cynthia Keller (Ballantine Books, 256 pp., $16), finds a perfect balance between a good story and a good message.
When her husband loses his job and squanders their savings, Meg Hobart and her family have to pack up and leave their gorgeous house and wealthy life behind. Meg’s teen kids are being brats about having to give up their gadgets when a car wreck on a snowy road strands the family on an Amish family farm. The honesty of all the characters, even the whining kids, makes this story work, as the Hobarts adjust to the hard work of a simpler life.
Anyone who was expecting holiday cheer from Augusten Burroughs hasn’t read his earlier essay collection, “Running With Scissors.” You Better Not Cry (Picador, 224 pp., $14) is grouchy, sarcastic and sometimes demented (a drunken one-night stand with a pervy French Santa Claus; you’ve been warned). In spite of Burroughs’ raunchy exploits, some of his stories are awkwardly sweet, even tender. Mystery lovers can choose between a short story anthology and a hilarious satire this season.
Christmas at the Mysterious Bookshop (Vanguard Press, 256 pp., $24.95), edited by Otto Penzler, collects the mystery stories he’s commissioned for his holiday greeting from such bestselling writers as Ed McBain and Lawrence Block.
Each story celebrates New York and the holiday, while telling a thrilling tale.
The Fat Man: A Tale of North Pole Noir (Dutton. 288 pp., $19.95), by Ken Harmon, is a goofy send-up of Christmas lore and hard-boiled detective stories. After Gumdrop the elf gets fired, having been charged with stuffing bad kids’ stockings with lumps of coal, he wants revenge.
But when the parent of a naughty kid winds up dead, Gumdrop knows he was framed. You’ll have as much fun catching references to Yuletide pop culture as you will following Gumdrop’s adventures as he races to unravel the mystery.
Elizabeth Willse is a freelance writer from Manhattan.
Reviewed by Elizabeth Willse
for the Newark Star-Ledger 12/19/2010
Whether you decide to put these seasonal books under the tree for your favorite reader, or curl up with one yourself, the following celebrate the spirit of the holiday season.
With secret spy messages in a plum pudding and a bantering romance that verges on screwball comedy, The Mischief of the Mistletoe (Dutton, 352 pp., $19.95), by Lauren Willig, is a terrific romp, even for newcomers to Willig’s Pink Carnation series of smart historical romances. The central pair isn’t the typical romantic couple. But that’s what makes acerbic and level-headed Arabella Dempsey and earnestly blustering Reginald “Turnip” Fitzhugh so much fun.
The Christmas Cookie Club (Simon and Schuster, 274 pp., $15), by Ann Pearlman, will make you feel like you know Marnie and her friends, who meet to exchange homemade holiday cookies every year. During the cookie exchange they catch up, share memories and deal with some tough midlife issues with candor and humor. Best of all, there are recipes that might inspire you to start a tradition of exchanging holiday treats with your own friends.
Christmas With Tucker (Doubleday, 192 pp., $15.99), by Greg Kincaid, is a warmly nostalgic story about a boy growing up on a farm and the dog who loved him. Twelve-year-old George, still mourning the death of his father, arrives at his grandparents’ farm just before Christmas and one of the worst blizzards anyone can remember. Trying to help keep the farm running and the roads plowed, George is too busy and too cold to think of Christmas spirit. Tucker is a lonely and neglected Irish setter, instantly devoted to George, just when they both most need a friend.
For history buffs, there are two excellent perspectives on Christmas during World War II.
In the Dark Streets Shineth: A 1941 Christmas Story (Shadow Mountain, 56 pp., $19.99), by David McCullough, captures the events of Christmas 1941, days after Pearl Harbor. Richly illustrated with archival photographs, McCullough tells the story of the meeting between Winston Churchill and President Franklin Roosevelt, as well as tracing the origins of now-classic Christmas songs such as “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
Christmas 1945: The Greatest Celebration in American History (History Publishing, 220 pp., $24.95), by New Jersey author Matthew Litt, gives detail and context to the story of Christmas 1945, when the troops were starting to come home and people felt like celebrating for the first time since the war began. Litt does a beautiful job of evoking wartime Christmases, with shortages and sacrifices, and adults putting on brave, celebratory faces for the children.
It’s hard to write about a change of heart at Christmas without coming across as overly sentimental. An Amish Christmas, by Cynthia Keller (Ballantine Books, 256 pp., $16), finds a perfect balance between a good story and a good message.
When her husband loses his job and squanders their savings, Meg Hobart and her family have to pack up and leave their gorgeous house and wealthy life behind. Meg’s teen kids are being brats about having to give up their gadgets when a car wreck on a snowy road strands the family on an Amish family farm. The honesty of all the characters, even the whining kids, makes this story work, as the Hobarts adjust to the hard work of a simpler life.
Anyone who was expecting holiday cheer from Augusten Burroughs hasn’t read his earlier essay collection, “Running With Scissors.” You Better Not Cry (Picador, 224 pp., $14) is grouchy, sarcastic and sometimes demented (a drunken one-night stand with a pervy French Santa Claus; you’ve been warned). In spite of Burroughs’ raunchy exploits, some of his stories are awkwardly sweet, even tender. Mystery lovers can choose between a short story anthology and a hilarious satire this season.
Christmas at the Mysterious Bookshop (Vanguard Press, 256 pp., $24.95), edited by Otto Penzler, collects the mystery stories he’s commissioned for his holiday greeting from such bestselling writers as Ed McBain and Lawrence Block.
Each story celebrates New York and the holiday, while telling a thrilling tale.
The Fat Man: A Tale of North Pole Noir (Dutton. 288 pp., $19.95), by Ken Harmon, is a goofy send-up of Christmas lore and hard-boiled detective stories. After Gumdrop the elf gets fired, having been charged with stuffing bad kids’ stockings with lumps of coal, he wants revenge.
But when the parent of a naughty kid winds up dead, Gumdrop knows he was framed. You’ll have as much fun catching references to Yuletide pop culture as you will following Gumdrop’s adventures as he races to unravel the mystery.
Elizabeth Willse is a freelance writer from Manhattan.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
All Clear
I'm not quite halfway into All Clear, Connie Willis's follow up to Blackout. It's not a sequel, it's a continuation, of a book the author realized was so large in scope that it extended across two lengthy novels. Time traveling historians study the daily life and social history of World War II, while hoping that their presence as people from the future doesn't alter history so much so that they endanger themselves. These are historians who could know so much, and feel so insulated and detached by their studies. And yet, the dual perils of avoiding paradox and just navigating wartime's unpredictable life are sources of constant tension and danger.
In both stories, Willis manages a density of detail that makes me forgive a few moments of confusion jumping between members of the ensemble cast. (I think I definitely lost track of Polly's backstory in between novels.) Willis's descriptions of the ordinary facts of wartime life are so meticulous that I can practically feel the texture of a prized pair of nylon stockings, or hear the boom of planes dropping bombs mercifully somewhere else.
I've read both these books in a way that doesn't do them justice. I put them on my waiting list at the library, so I didn't read them as a continuous whole, but had about 2 months in between. All Clear picks up immediately where Blackout breaks off, and I could have done with a little bit more grounding, a few more references to the contexts and past events for each character.
Clearly, I have to go back and reread the books without a gap, as they were meant to be.
Only then, after being so deeply drawn into their World War II story, I am sure I will feel like a time traveler myself.
In both stories, Willis manages a density of detail that makes me forgive a few moments of confusion jumping between members of the ensemble cast. (I think I definitely lost track of Polly's backstory in between novels.) Willis's descriptions of the ordinary facts of wartime life are so meticulous that I can practically feel the texture of a prized pair of nylon stockings, or hear the boom of planes dropping bombs mercifully somewhere else.
I've read both these books in a way that doesn't do them justice. I put them on my waiting list at the library, so I didn't read them as a continuous whole, but had about 2 months in between. All Clear picks up immediately where Blackout breaks off, and I could have done with a little bit more grounding, a few more references to the contexts and past events for each character.
Clearly, I have to go back and reread the books without a gap, as they were meant to be.
Only then, after being so deeply drawn into their World War II story, I am sure I will feel like a time traveler myself.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Last Sherlock Holmes Story
The Last Sherlock Holmes Story
Michael Dibdin
Oxford University Press
Paperback $6.95 72 pages
I read this book, and wrote a review of it, longhand on notepaper, about a week before I saw the new BBC Sherlock Holmes, where Benedict Cumberbach turns Holmes into a modern genius. I was enthralled from his first supercilious text message, and am rethinking my usual stuffy stance on Holmes adaptations, including what I wrote in this review.
A good reimagining of Sherlock Holmes works with the spirit of the original, the atmosphere and language as well as the characters. Call me a purist, but I want to see Holmes and Watson obeying the cadences of Conan Doyle's original language, behaving in ways that extend from the patterns Conan Doyle set up in A Study In Scarlet and Hound of the Baskervilles. To tell a completely new story while honoring its origins takes a fine, balanced hand.
Michael Dibdin honors the Holmes legend while pushing its boundaries. Dibdin restlessly prowls the foggy world of 19th century London, invoking Holmes' keen intellect, Watson's loyalty sometimes tempered with exasperation, incorporating the real-life events of Jack The Ripper.
Best of all, Dibdin doesn't head for the facile conclusion a Holmes vs. Ripper showdown could have had. It could have been an ordinary pure dichotomy: good versus evil, clues, chase, crime solved.
What Dibdin builds is a much more thoughtful exploration of the Holmes character, and even the Ripper's psyche. It raises probing questions about Holmes' character for both Watson telling the tale, and the reader, putting it into the context of the larger Holmes narrative.
Other Holmes adaptations I like:
Sherlock- the BBC series. I started watching the DVDs on Monday and was floored. Sherlock! Texting! Taking nicotine patches instead of cocaine! But still being his arrogant self! Watson! An Afghanistan vet! God, it's perfect!
The Italian Secretary- Caleb Carr. No surprise that the author of The Alienist has a terrific ear for recreating Conan Doyle's language, while telling a new, almost whimsical story. (Anything involving a parrot is at least somewhat whimsical. Blame Monty Python.)
Sherlock Holmes and the Ice Palace Murders-Larry Millett. It took a while to get used to the idea of Sherlock Holmes visiting America, or in the sparse, somewhat frontier setting of Minnesota. I picked this up at the library by chance. (And had the entirely unworthy thought of comparing it to the Book of Mormon, in that it took literary figures far from their accepted setting, to construct a wholly new mythology.) The mystery and characterization grabbed me, though. I had no idea there were others. I might read them.
The Art of Detection- Laurie R. King. Detective Kate Martinelli investigates a murder within a community of Sherlock Holmes-obsessed enthusiasts. I wish Laurie R. King would write more Kate Martinelli books. I know she's done extensive volumes of her own Holmes adaptation, starring Mary Russell, but I find the idea of Married!Holmes decidedly creepy.
Michael Dibdin
Oxford University Press
Paperback $6.95 72 pages
I read this book, and wrote a review of it, longhand on notepaper, about a week before I saw the new BBC Sherlock Holmes, where Benedict Cumberbach turns Holmes into a modern genius. I was enthralled from his first supercilious text message, and am rethinking my usual stuffy stance on Holmes adaptations, including what I wrote in this review.
A good reimagining of Sherlock Holmes works with the spirit of the original, the atmosphere and language as well as the characters. Call me a purist, but I want to see Holmes and Watson obeying the cadences of Conan Doyle's original language, behaving in ways that extend from the patterns Conan Doyle set up in A Study In Scarlet and Hound of the Baskervilles. To tell a completely new story while honoring its origins takes a fine, balanced hand.
Michael Dibdin honors the Holmes legend while pushing its boundaries. Dibdin restlessly prowls the foggy world of 19th century London, invoking Holmes' keen intellect, Watson's loyalty sometimes tempered with exasperation, incorporating the real-life events of Jack The Ripper.
Best of all, Dibdin doesn't head for the facile conclusion a Holmes vs. Ripper showdown could have had. It could have been an ordinary pure dichotomy: good versus evil, clues, chase, crime solved.
What Dibdin builds is a much more thoughtful exploration of the Holmes character, and even the Ripper's psyche. It raises probing questions about Holmes' character for both Watson telling the tale, and the reader, putting it into the context of the larger Holmes narrative.
Other Holmes adaptations I like:
Sherlock- the BBC series. I started watching the DVDs on Monday and was floored. Sherlock! Texting! Taking nicotine patches instead of cocaine! But still being his arrogant self! Watson! An Afghanistan vet! God, it's perfect!
The Italian Secretary- Caleb Carr. No surprise that the author of The Alienist has a terrific ear for recreating Conan Doyle's language, while telling a new, almost whimsical story. (Anything involving a parrot is at least somewhat whimsical. Blame Monty Python.)
Sherlock Holmes and the Ice Palace Murders-Larry Millett. It took a while to get used to the idea of Sherlock Holmes visiting America, or in the sparse, somewhat frontier setting of Minnesota. I picked this up at the library by chance. (And had the entirely unworthy thought of comparing it to the Book of Mormon, in that it took literary figures far from their accepted setting, to construct a wholly new mythology.) The mystery and characterization grabbed me, though. I had no idea there were others. I might read them.
The Art of Detection- Laurie R. King. Detective Kate Martinelli investigates a murder within a community of Sherlock Holmes-obsessed enthusiasts. I wish Laurie R. King would write more Kate Martinelli books. I know she's done extensive volumes of her own Holmes adaptation, starring Mary Russell, but I find the idea of Married!Holmes decidedly creepy.
Arthur: At the Crossing Places
Arthur: At The Crossing Places
Kevin Crossley Holland
This was a lovely, lyrical follow-up to Arthur: The Seeing Stone. Arthur of Caldicot's life is still mysteriously intwined with the life and legend of King Arthur. Young Arthur sees visions of the famed king in his obsidian seeing stone. These images and departures from his own life give the story a sometimes dreamlike quality which is gorgeous, even though it can get confusing. How are Arthur and King Arthur connected? What about Merlin, appearing in both vision and reality? What do you call narrator-Arthur when writing a book review?
Young Arthur (as opposed to King Arthur) is growing up, wanting to be betrothed and to join the Crusades. His visions show him King Arthur, and some familiar Round Table knights like Percival, Gawain, and Lancelot, as well as Guinivere and Morgana.
Each story, Boy-Arthur and King Arthur, is gorgeously told, with imagery and poetry I wanted to savor, rather than read fast. The Round Table is described as a giant, crystalline, polished stone, with sparkles of light and shadow floating in its depths. Guinevere and Lancelot's inevitable tragedy (at least I think it's inevitable, from what I know) seems almost hopeful, it's so beautiful.
Boy-Arthur's adventures are fascinating as well, a window into the historical life of the time, the daily routines of training to be a page, while also nurturing the education of a scholar. The castle's rhythms of feast days and the divisions between lords and the people. Each scene has such rich detail, it's easy to imagine, and tremendous fun to read.
I don't remember whether I mentioned this while reading the first book, but this trilogy seems like spiritual and thematic kin to Mary Stewart's Merlin books. The language and imagery work in similar ways.
Will have to put volume three on my library list.
Kevin Crossley Holland
This was a lovely, lyrical follow-up to Arthur: The Seeing Stone. Arthur of Caldicot's life is still mysteriously intwined with the life and legend of King Arthur. Young Arthur sees visions of the famed king in his obsidian seeing stone. These images and departures from his own life give the story a sometimes dreamlike quality which is gorgeous, even though it can get confusing. How are Arthur and King Arthur connected? What about Merlin, appearing in both vision and reality? What do you call narrator-Arthur when writing a book review?
Young Arthur (as opposed to King Arthur) is growing up, wanting to be betrothed and to join the Crusades. His visions show him King Arthur, and some familiar Round Table knights like Percival, Gawain, and Lancelot, as well as Guinivere and Morgana.
Each story, Boy-Arthur and King Arthur, is gorgeously told, with imagery and poetry I wanted to savor, rather than read fast. The Round Table is described as a giant, crystalline, polished stone, with sparkles of light and shadow floating in its depths. Guinevere and Lancelot's inevitable tragedy (at least I think it's inevitable, from what I know) seems almost hopeful, it's so beautiful.
Boy-Arthur's adventures are fascinating as well, a window into the historical life of the time, the daily routines of training to be a page, while also nurturing the education of a scholar. The castle's rhythms of feast days and the divisions between lords and the people. Each scene has such rich detail, it's easy to imagine, and tremendous fun to read.
I don't remember whether I mentioned this while reading the first book, but this trilogy seems like spiritual and thematic kin to Mary Stewart's Merlin books. The language and imagery work in similar ways.
Will have to put volume three on my library list.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Picture Books: What To Get Your Kids- part 1
Picture books to get your kids, based on the roundups I've been writing for the Star-Ledger since 2008. I've had a few friends ask me for advice, and there are few things I like better than recommending good books.
If you can, buy these books from independent bookstores, like Books of Wonder here in NYC.
Stay tuned, I'm not done digging through past columns yet. And I've got another gift roundup coming out in a week or two for the Ledger!
One of this year's best: Art and Max by David Wiesner. I think I actually didn't do a writeup of this one for the Ledger. Which was dumb of me because the illustrations are gorgeous. So put that on your list.
Wendy Ulmer's "A Isn't For Fox: An Isn't Alphabet" (Sleeping Bear Press, $16.95), illustrated by Laura Knorr, offers a whimsical poem, teaching the alphabet by describing what each letter isn't for. Lively animals balance um brellas, wear striped socks, have pillow fights and cavort through pages of read-aloud fun for ages 4 and up.
Anna Dewdney has written and charmingly illustrated "No bunny's Perfect" (Viking, 32 pp., $12.99), a sweet poem about good and bad bunny behavior, perfect for reading aloud to young children and preschoolers just learning to share their toys, show kindness to others and not spit out their carrots.
Written by Laura Bush and her daughter, Jenna, with bright, playful illustrations by Denise Brunkus, "Read All About It" (HarperCollins Children's Books, $17.99) turns the First Lady's commitment to literacy into a fun, imaginative romp, great for a young child's story time. Tyrone thinks reading is boring, until the characters in his classroom's books leap from the pages and come to life.
Each of the cats in Jessie Lynch Frees' "Jackie Winquackey and Her 43 Cats Go to Hollywood" (Tisbit, 32 pp., $14.99), il lustrated by Jaroslav Gebr, seems to have its own mischie vous personality, vibrantly painted and ready to leap from the page. When Jackie takes all 43 cats to Hollywood to be in a movie, they create giddy chaos wherever they turn. Fun for 5 and up.
Lovers of fairy tales ages 4 and up will adore Kate Bernheimer's lyrically written "The Girl in the Castle Inside the Museum" (Schwartz & Wade, 40 pp., $16.99), dreamily illustrated by Nicoletta Ceccoli. This modern fairy tale will enchant children and their parents, although very young children may find the surreal illustrations a little spooky.
INDEPENDENT READERS 8-11
Set in Central Park, Peter Howe's "Waggit's Tale" (Harper Collins, 288 pp., $16.99) is a richly imagined story of a puppy, aban doned by his owner, who must learn to trust the misfit band of feral dogs who adopt him. The adventures of Waggit, who also learns bravery, independence and confidence, will delight readers 10 and up, and younger children are likely to enjoy it read aloud.
Marilyn Nelson’s “Sweethearts of Rhythm: The Story of the Greatest All-Girl Swing Band in the World” (Dial, 80 pages, $14.95, 2010) will interest older children, but its appeal spans all ages. Nelson uses poems to tell the story of an interracial, all-female swing band that played during World War II, and the book is lavishly illustrated by Caldecott Honor-winner Jerry Pinkney.
If you can, buy these books from independent bookstores, like Books of Wonder here in NYC.
Stay tuned, I'm not done digging through past columns yet. And I've got another gift roundup coming out in a week or two for the Ledger!
One of this year's best: Art and Max by David Wiesner. I think I actually didn't do a writeup of this one for the Ledger. Which was dumb of me because the illustrations are gorgeous. So put that on your list.
Wendy Ulmer's "A Isn't For Fox: An Isn't Alphabet" (Sleeping Bear Press, $16.95), illustrated by Laura Knorr, offers a whimsical poem, teaching the alphabet by describing what each letter isn't for. Lively animals balance um brellas, wear striped socks, have pillow fights and cavort through pages of read-aloud fun for ages 4 and up.
Anna Dewdney has written and charmingly illustrated "No bunny's Perfect" (Viking, 32 pp., $12.99), a sweet poem about good and bad bunny behavior, perfect for reading aloud to young children and preschoolers just learning to share their toys, show kindness to others and not spit out their carrots.
Written by Laura Bush and her daughter, Jenna, with bright, playful illustrations by Denise Brunkus, "Read All About It" (HarperCollins Children's Books, $17.99) turns the First Lady's commitment to literacy into a fun, imaginative romp, great for a young child's story time. Tyrone thinks reading is boring, until the characters in his classroom's books leap from the pages and come to life.
Each of the cats in Jessie Lynch Frees' "Jackie Winquackey and Her 43 Cats Go to Hollywood" (Tisbit, 32 pp., $14.99), il lustrated by Jaroslav Gebr, seems to have its own mischie vous personality, vibrantly painted and ready to leap from the page. When Jackie takes all 43 cats to Hollywood to be in a movie, they create giddy chaos wherever they turn. Fun for 5 and up.
Lovers of fairy tales ages 4 and up will adore Kate Bernheimer's lyrically written "The Girl in the Castle Inside the Museum" (Schwartz & Wade, 40 pp., $16.99), dreamily illustrated by Nicoletta Ceccoli. This modern fairy tale will enchant children and their parents, although very young children may find the surreal illustrations a little spooky.
INDEPENDENT READERS 8-11
Set in Central Park, Peter Howe's "Waggit's Tale" (Harper Collins, 288 pp., $16.99) is a richly imagined story of a puppy, aban doned by his owner, who must learn to trust the misfit band of feral dogs who adopt him. The adventures of Waggit, who also learns bravery, independence and confidence, will delight readers 10 and up, and younger children are likely to enjoy it read aloud.
Marilyn Nelson’s “Sweethearts of Rhythm: The Story of the Greatest All-Girl Swing Band in the World” (Dial, 80 pages, $14.95, 2010) will interest older children, but its appeal spans all ages. Nelson uses poems to tell the story of an interracial, all-female swing band that played during World War II, and the book is lavishly illustrated by Caldecott Honor-winner Jerry Pinkney.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Don't Shoot The Dog!
Don't Shoot The Dog! The New Art of Teaching and Training
Karen Pryor
$16.00 202 pages.
Behavioral scientist and animal trainer Karen Pryor explains positive reinforcement, in the context of teaching, and training and shaping behavior. Her background is in animal training, dogs, horses and dolphins. Her anecdotes of using training techniques made for a fun read that will have me looking more closely at any trained animal performance. Even the ones on TV with animal actors.
Talking about training techniques, Pryor makes it clear that a good trainer needs to have a coherent behavior shaping plan in place, and that a lot of "bad" or "stubborn" behavior comes about because an animal isn't clear what behavior is being rewarded, or is picking up on mixed signals from the trainer. A lot rests on the self-discipline and structure of the teacher. I was especially impressed with the number of well-trained cats she referenced. Because of the conventional wisdom that "herding cats" is impossible. And because of the cats I've known.
I was most interested in reading this because of the applications and explanations of using conditioning and reward training techniques to shape people's behavior. Although I felt Machiavellian, even thinking about doing that. But what else am I going to do... I don't have animals or kids to train! There were a few interesting examples-- how to deal with noisy or whining kids by not reacting at all to the behavior, but acknowledging a better tone of voice immediately. Again... not sure how it applies to dealing with adults. One thing she noted, which made me laugh was: absolutely don't tell friends or colleagues you're using training techniques on them!
I may need to go back and reread. She did a decent job of explaining and giving examples, but I don't feel like I have the level of understanding that would let me apply these principles if I wanted. To cats! I promise!
Karen Pryor
$16.00 202 pages.
Behavioral scientist and animal trainer Karen Pryor explains positive reinforcement, in the context of teaching, and training and shaping behavior. Her background is in animal training, dogs, horses and dolphins. Her anecdotes of using training techniques made for a fun read that will have me looking more closely at any trained animal performance. Even the ones on TV with animal actors.
Talking about training techniques, Pryor makes it clear that a good trainer needs to have a coherent behavior shaping plan in place, and that a lot of "bad" or "stubborn" behavior comes about because an animal isn't clear what behavior is being rewarded, or is picking up on mixed signals from the trainer. A lot rests on the self-discipline and structure of the teacher. I was especially impressed with the number of well-trained cats she referenced. Because of the conventional wisdom that "herding cats" is impossible. And because of the cats I've known.
I was most interested in reading this because of the applications and explanations of using conditioning and reward training techniques to shape people's behavior. Although I felt Machiavellian, even thinking about doing that. But what else am I going to do... I don't have animals or kids to train! There were a few interesting examples-- how to deal with noisy or whining kids by not reacting at all to the behavior, but acknowledging a better tone of voice immediately. Again... not sure how it applies to dealing with adults. One thing she noted, which made me laugh was: absolutely don't tell friends or colleagues you're using training techniques on them!
I may need to go back and reread. She did a decent job of explaining and giving examples, but I don't feel like I have the level of understanding that would let me apply these principles if I wanted. To cats! I promise!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Book Reviews, the B Sides
For a while, I've been meaning to take a second look at the book reviews I write for the Star-Ledger, and do a little added commentary, just to add a little about the thinking I did while reading and writing.
Writing a blog post about a book, I feel like I have a lot more freedom to think out loud. I don't like to snark a book too often or too much, because, believe me, I know, writing is hard. And it takes a lot of work of imagination or research. So, I don't want to be too much of a mean jerk. Even if I'm an eloquent mean jerk.
That said- right now I'm reading Christmas books, and doing a gift guide for kids' literature. Reading the Christmas books started before Halloween, which was really weird. &(You thought Christmas decorations went up early in stores? I was reading about Yuletide before there was a scrap of tinsel in any aisle anywhere!) But at least now the weather is cooperating. A good, icy blustery wind makes it much easier to read about Christmas cookies, as opposed to jean jacket weather.
And reading kids books makes me want to buy most of the picture books in bulk, to give to friends' babies and cousins' kids. Or have entire pages of the illustrations blown up to be posters for my walls.
Writing a blog post about a book, I feel like I have a lot more freedom to think out loud. I don't like to snark a book too often or too much, because, believe me, I know, writing is hard. And it takes a lot of work of imagination or research. So, I don't want to be too much of a mean jerk. Even if I'm an eloquent mean jerk.
That said- right now I'm reading Christmas books, and doing a gift guide for kids' literature. Reading the Christmas books started before Halloween, which was really weird. &(You thought Christmas decorations went up early in stores? I was reading about Yuletide before there was a scrap of tinsel in any aisle anywhere!) But at least now the weather is cooperating. A good, icy blustery wind makes it much easier to read about Christmas cookies, as opposed to jean jacket weather.
And reading kids books makes me want to buy most of the picture books in bulk, to give to friends' babies and cousins' kids. Or have entire pages of the illustrations blown up to be posters for my walls.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Spooky Halloween Reads
Some treats for your Halloween weekend
By Elizabeth Willse for the Star-Ledger 10/31/2010
Haunted Legends
Edited by Ellen Datlow and Nick Mamatas
Tor, 352 pp., $25.99
The spectral hitchhiker. A portentous black dog. Drafty haunted houses.
Reinventing frights you thought you knew, and drawing from other cultures, this is a first-rate anthology.
“That Girl” by Kaaron Warren and Pat Cadigan’s “Highway To Hull” take freshly foreboding looks at the hitchhiking ghost. Kit Reed’s “Akbar” traps a suffocating marriage in a haunted town. Bizarrely, “For Those in Peril on the Sea,” by Stephen Dedman, sets a reality show aboard a haunted ship. “The Foxes,” a gruesome tale by Lily Hoang, draws on Vietnamese legends.
The nuances make the chills more potent. Both John Mantooth’s “Shoebox Train Wreck” and “La Llorona,” by Carolyn Turgeon, evoke a survivor’s grief. A creepy tale becomes an incisive modern allegory in “Following Double-Face Woman,” by Erzebet YellowBoy.
Curl up with this collection of treats for what promises to be a deliciously spooky night.
Dracula in Love
Karen Essex
Doubleday, 384 pp., $25.95
Using the familiar characters and places of “Bram Stoker’s Dracula,” Karen Essex creates an intensely erotic story of romance and obsession. Mina is the uptight governess of a proper girls’ school, rigidly guarding a secret of sleepwalking and terrifyingly sensual dreams. The dreams and obsessions that plague Mina and Lucy make the men in their lives fear for the women’s sanity. Essex adds depth to Stoker’s original by fleshing out Lucy and Mina attentively, letting them have desires and histories. Dracula looks more like a star-crossed lover than a monster, promising Mina eternal love and luxury if she leaves behind Harker and her ordinary life. Descriptions of the asylum treatments intended to save her are far scarier than Dracula at his most shadowy.
Essex may be working with a larger agenda, using Dracula’s characters to comment on Victorian and modern women. But the writing is so vivid — lusciously sexy and outrageously chilling by turns — that the excellent story comes into its own.
Petty Magic: Being the Memoirs and Confessions of Miss Evelyn Harbinger, Temptress and Troublemaker
Camille DeAngelis
Crown, 336 pp., $24
Camille DeAngelis blends historical fiction, romance, delightful whimsy and biting humor into a fantastically fun read. Evelyn Harbinger isn’t ready to act her age. Fortunately, a witch of 149 years has other options. With a little oomph of magic, she can become her younger self and have a flirtatious night out. When she meets Justin, he reminds her so much of a former lover and fellow spy from World War II that her deceptions to woo him in her younger disguise get increasingly elaborate.
Past and present romance story lines are outstanding. The witches’ world has engaging whimsical touches — ancestors giving meddling advice through puppets, a cake that automatically becomes your favorite flavor when you take a bite. Although the arc of Evelyn’s romance feels too complete to need a sequel, it would be terrific to see DeAngelis write more in this setting, because the adventure and magic are such fun.
Frankenstein’s Monster
Susan Heyboer O’Keefe
Three Rivers Press, 352 pages, $15 paperback
Picking up at the end of “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” “Frankenstein’s Monster” continues the story of the monster after his creator’s death. A lonely sea captain, purely by the accident of hearing Victor Frankenstein’s deathbed vow, takes on the mission to destroy the misshapen creation.
The sea captain and the monster pursue one another through Venice, across frozen wastelands, the desolate Orkney islands and a Northumbrian coal mine. Telling the story largely in letters and the monster’s diary entries, Heyboer O’Keefe captures the language and Gothic atmosphere of Shelley’s original, even against new backgrounds like opulently decaying Venice. Read this if “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein” is one of your favorites; on its own, it may owe too much to its origins. While Heyboer O’Keefe adds some insight to the monster’s rage and desire to understand itself, the plot is a little too meandering to justify standing alone.
The Season of Risks
Susan Hubbard
Simon & Schuster, 290 pp., $14 paperback
If you haven’t read the previous volumes (“The Society of S” and “The Year of Disappearances”), Susan Hubbard gives you enough background to get accustomed to her take on vampires and enjoy this story.
Drinking synthetic blood, eating normal food and able to withstand sunlight for short periods, vampires are part — if an uneasy part — of everyday society. Ariella Montero attends college and navigates ordinary teen questions. Vampire politics add complications, menacing characters and mystery. Hubbard’s take on vampires is well-executed and has several unusual elements sure to appeal to fans of Sookie Stackhouse from “Dead Until Dark” (or its TV adaptation, “True Blood”).
While vampire caste feuds aren’t a new idea, grounding them in more everyday politics and technology works well. The story line about Ari’s love interest, Neil Cameron, running for political office openly as a vampire works particularly well.
By Elizabeth Willse for the Star-Ledger 10/31/2010
Haunted Legends
Edited by Ellen Datlow and Nick Mamatas
Tor, 352 pp., $25.99
The spectral hitchhiker. A portentous black dog. Drafty haunted houses.
Reinventing frights you thought you knew, and drawing from other cultures, this is a first-rate anthology.
“That Girl” by Kaaron Warren and Pat Cadigan’s “Highway To Hull” take freshly foreboding looks at the hitchhiking ghost. Kit Reed’s “Akbar” traps a suffocating marriage in a haunted town. Bizarrely, “For Those in Peril on the Sea,” by Stephen Dedman, sets a reality show aboard a haunted ship. “The Foxes,” a gruesome tale by Lily Hoang, draws on Vietnamese legends.
The nuances make the chills more potent. Both John Mantooth’s “Shoebox Train Wreck” and “La Llorona,” by Carolyn Turgeon, evoke a survivor’s grief. A creepy tale becomes an incisive modern allegory in “Following Double-Face Woman,” by Erzebet YellowBoy.
Curl up with this collection of treats for what promises to be a deliciously spooky night.
Dracula in Love
Karen Essex
Doubleday, 384 pp., $25.95
Using the familiar characters and places of “Bram Stoker’s Dracula,” Karen Essex creates an intensely erotic story of romance and obsession. Mina is the uptight governess of a proper girls’ school, rigidly guarding a secret of sleepwalking and terrifyingly sensual dreams. The dreams and obsessions that plague Mina and Lucy make the men in their lives fear for the women’s sanity. Essex adds depth to Stoker’s original by fleshing out Lucy and Mina attentively, letting them have desires and histories. Dracula looks more like a star-crossed lover than a monster, promising Mina eternal love and luxury if she leaves behind Harker and her ordinary life. Descriptions of the asylum treatments intended to save her are far scarier than Dracula at his most shadowy.
Essex may be working with a larger agenda, using Dracula’s characters to comment on Victorian and modern women. But the writing is so vivid — lusciously sexy and outrageously chilling by turns — that the excellent story comes into its own.
Petty Magic: Being the Memoirs and Confessions of Miss Evelyn Harbinger, Temptress and Troublemaker
Camille DeAngelis
Crown, 336 pp., $24
Camille DeAngelis blends historical fiction, romance, delightful whimsy and biting humor into a fantastically fun read. Evelyn Harbinger isn’t ready to act her age. Fortunately, a witch of 149 years has other options. With a little oomph of magic, she can become her younger self and have a flirtatious night out. When she meets Justin, he reminds her so much of a former lover and fellow spy from World War II that her deceptions to woo him in her younger disguise get increasingly elaborate.
Past and present romance story lines are outstanding. The witches’ world has engaging whimsical touches — ancestors giving meddling advice through puppets, a cake that automatically becomes your favorite flavor when you take a bite. Although the arc of Evelyn’s romance feels too complete to need a sequel, it would be terrific to see DeAngelis write more in this setting, because the adventure and magic are such fun.
Frankenstein’s Monster
Susan Heyboer O’Keefe
Three Rivers Press, 352 pages, $15 paperback
Picking up at the end of “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” “Frankenstein’s Monster” continues the story of the monster after his creator’s death. A lonely sea captain, purely by the accident of hearing Victor Frankenstein’s deathbed vow, takes on the mission to destroy the misshapen creation.
The sea captain and the monster pursue one another through Venice, across frozen wastelands, the desolate Orkney islands and a Northumbrian coal mine. Telling the story largely in letters and the monster’s diary entries, Heyboer O’Keefe captures the language and Gothic atmosphere of Shelley’s original, even against new backgrounds like opulently decaying Venice. Read this if “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein” is one of your favorites; on its own, it may owe too much to its origins. While Heyboer O’Keefe adds some insight to the monster’s rage and desire to understand itself, the plot is a little too meandering to justify standing alone.
The Season of Risks
Susan Hubbard
Simon & Schuster, 290 pp., $14 paperback
If you haven’t read the previous volumes (“The Society of S” and “The Year of Disappearances”), Susan Hubbard gives you enough background to get accustomed to her take on vampires and enjoy this story.
Drinking synthetic blood, eating normal food and able to withstand sunlight for short periods, vampires are part — if an uneasy part — of everyday society. Ariella Montero attends college and navigates ordinary teen questions. Vampire politics add complications, menacing characters and mystery. Hubbard’s take on vampires is well-executed and has several unusual elements sure to appeal to fans of Sookie Stackhouse from “Dead Until Dark” (or its TV adaptation, “True Blood”).
While vampire caste feuds aren’t a new idea, grounding them in more everyday politics and technology works well. The story line about Ari’s love interest, Neil Cameron, running for political office openly as a vampire works particularly well.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Buffalo Gal- Book Review
Buffalo Gal
Laura Pedersen
Fulcrum Publishing 2008 $15.00 307 pages
thanks to Nicole Bruce of AuthorsOnTheWeb for sending this.
Laura Pedersen's memoir opens with her, at 14 years old, stepping onto the floor of the American Stock Exchange in downtown Manhattan. Stocks make sense to the teenage Laura, their systems, their puzzles, and the manic pace of the fast-moving, signaling traders all around her, cramming sandwiches with one hand, while gesturing with the other.
My first thought, reading this, was that I was reading Turtle Wexler's autobiography. Pedersen's gawky preteen self, smartassy, fascinated by numbers and intrigued by games of chance, has plenty in common with my favorite character in Ellen Raskin's The Westing Game. Though Pedersen, master of wry self-deprecation, would have said she wasn't coordinated enough to kick shins.
Pedersen's account of her childhood also has clear outlines of what would become Hallie, in Beginner's Luck and its sequels. Hyperkinetic and curious, growing up before anyone had ever heard of ADHD, Laura Pedersen tells very funny stories of having a sharp business sense as a kid. (I see more Turtle Wexler here, of course.) She likens a teenage enterprise of working as a short order cook to the wonderful rush of playing several hands of blackjack at once. At a school without candy bars in vending machines, she bought candy in bulk and sold it on campus at a markup close to 7-Eleven's. Working at a bakery where she stored the day's cash in a paper bag, and was encouraged to toss the day's receipts, and the day's unsold bread, she took the surplus bread to families whose houses were on her way home.
Especially in the first few riffs in this book, Pedersen works to create a sense of Buffalo, and a clear sense of growing up in the seventies and early eighties. The level of detail in her descriptions of life and slang in the sixties, or of trying to save heat on a cold Buffalo night, are exactly the kind of social history I love best. But--- because the particular personal details of Laura Pedersen's family and childhood are so goofy and eccentric, the general background passages really do fade into the background. Although I love the attention she pays to language, down to how parents would call kids in for dinner, or Catholics saying "god willing," more times than a conversation demanded, it was even more fun to read about Pedersen's Scandinavian grandmother playing the stock market like a pro, or her grandfather working as a waiter.
Being an only child myself, I gave Pedersen and her parents a closer read. They seemed to move around each other like parallel adults, most of the time. At one point, young Laura railed at her mother because she didn't have a bedtime or a curfew. Her mother said something sensible along the lines of "go to bed when you're tired," leaving Hallie, I mean, Laura, (read Beginner's Luck, trust me!) to figure it out for herself. Laura's mother became a nurse, and was the kind of woman who could intimidate anyone, or diagnose pneumonia from across the street. Her father was a court reporter, wreathed in a perpetual cloud of smoke.
I like Pedersen's style for memoir as much as I liked it in her fiction: cheerfully self-deprecating, punctuated with wry asides. This would make a good audiobook, because the language is like a series of riffing vignettes, loosely holding together a larger narrative. I think, though, that I would want Laura Pedersen to read it herself.
Laura Pedersen
Fulcrum Publishing 2008 $15.00 307 pages
thanks to Nicole Bruce of AuthorsOnTheWeb for sending this.
Laura Pedersen's memoir opens with her, at 14 years old, stepping onto the floor of the American Stock Exchange in downtown Manhattan. Stocks make sense to the teenage Laura, their systems, their puzzles, and the manic pace of the fast-moving, signaling traders all around her, cramming sandwiches with one hand, while gesturing with the other.
My first thought, reading this, was that I was reading Turtle Wexler's autobiography. Pedersen's gawky preteen self, smartassy, fascinated by numbers and intrigued by games of chance, has plenty in common with my favorite character in Ellen Raskin's The Westing Game. Though Pedersen, master of wry self-deprecation, would have said she wasn't coordinated enough to kick shins.
Pedersen's account of her childhood also has clear outlines of what would become Hallie, in Beginner's Luck and its sequels. Hyperkinetic and curious, growing up before anyone had ever heard of ADHD, Laura Pedersen tells very funny stories of having a sharp business sense as a kid. (I see more Turtle Wexler here, of course.) She likens a teenage enterprise of working as a short order cook to the wonderful rush of playing several hands of blackjack at once. At a school without candy bars in vending machines, she bought candy in bulk and sold it on campus at a markup close to 7-Eleven's. Working at a bakery where she stored the day's cash in a paper bag, and was encouraged to toss the day's receipts, and the day's unsold bread, she took the surplus bread to families whose houses were on her way home.
Especially in the first few riffs in this book, Pedersen works to create a sense of Buffalo, and a clear sense of growing up in the seventies and early eighties. The level of detail in her descriptions of life and slang in the sixties, or of trying to save heat on a cold Buffalo night, are exactly the kind of social history I love best. But--- because the particular personal details of Laura Pedersen's family and childhood are so goofy and eccentric, the general background passages really do fade into the background. Although I love the attention she pays to language, down to how parents would call kids in for dinner, or Catholics saying "god willing," more times than a conversation demanded, it was even more fun to read about Pedersen's Scandinavian grandmother playing the stock market like a pro, or her grandfather working as a waiter.
Being an only child myself, I gave Pedersen and her parents a closer read. They seemed to move around each other like parallel adults, most of the time. At one point, young Laura railed at her mother because she didn't have a bedtime or a curfew. Her mother said something sensible along the lines of "go to bed when you're tired," leaving Hallie, I mean, Laura, (read Beginner's Luck, trust me!) to figure it out for herself. Laura's mother became a nurse, and was the kind of woman who could intimidate anyone, or diagnose pneumonia from across the street. Her father was a court reporter, wreathed in a perpetual cloud of smoke.
I like Pedersen's style for memoir as much as I liked it in her fiction: cheerfully self-deprecating, punctuated with wry asides. This would make a good audiobook, because the language is like a series of riffing vignettes, loosely holding together a larger narrative. I think, though, that I would want Laura Pedersen to read it herself.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
The Dead Path: Great Halloween Read
The Dead Path
Stephen M. Irwin
Doubleday October 2010 $26.00
Many thanks to Kristin Gastler at Random House for sending this my way.
Don't read The Dead Path if you are already scared of spiders. Really.
Irwin's prose combines exacting physical detail and a certain musicality of language. If you're already scared of spiders, that combination of immediacy and phantasm will make certain passages unbearable to read. You have been warned.
But spiders are only one scary tool in Irwin's arsenal. It seems that he's drawing on a legacy of every ghost story that ever made a breathless reader decide to sleep with the lights on, to create a tale of modern menace with mythic heft. In other words, an excellent Halloween read.
Mourning the accidental death of his wife, Nicholas Close returns to his boyhood home a haunted man. In all senses of the word. Everywhere he goes, he has begun to see ghosts, anchored to their place and moment of death in an endless, macabre, feedback loop. The ordinary things Nicholas tries to do, work, take an airplane flight, even move back into his boyhood home, make these intrusions of ghosts even scarier. Especially with the keenness of Irwin's details- the deaths are at once grisly and ephemeral. Nicholas sees his wife Cate in their flat, falling from a ladder over and over again, even the marking the detail of plaster dust falling on her frozen-open sightless eyes. Brrr!
But homecoming is no refuge. The ordinary, sunny suburban town fairly thrums with menace. Impenetrably dark woods lurk alongside Carmichael road. Mothers caution their children not to walk that road. Young children have been kidnapped and murdered along that road. Among them, Nicholas's boyhood friend, Tristram.
Author Stephen M. Irwin does an excellent job crafting a menacing atmosphere. His impenetrable and spooky woods have a particularly ravenous scariness. Reports of kidnapping and murder send a small town into outraged uproar, quieting as the murderer is named, caught, and takes his own life. Because of the physicality of Irwin's writing, readers have no trouble feeling what Nicholas does, every cold sweat, every dread-induced twist of the stomach.
Irwin also adapts mythic elements into signposts to guide his particular story. Runes, dream imagery, even the legend of the Green Man, retain the heft of their mythic legacy, while being placed in the dark mystery surrounding Nicholas and stretching into his past and his hometown's.
If I had to quibble about anything in this well balanced, frightening tale, it would be the instances where other members of the Close family point to Nicholas as having been somewhat fey all his life, with hunches and ESP-like pronouncements.
Because the pacing and description work so scarily well to position scary moments against ordinary ones, I would have liked to have Nicholas be perfectly, randomly, ordinary, not chosen because he was somehow born special. The best and most vivid scares in this story came from the idea that tragedy, and deeply chilling haunting, could happen to anyone, anywhere, ripping them right out of any kind of commonplace life. Brrr! There's enough in the flashbacks of Nicholas's childhood, and the book's overall symbolism, to have pointed the way, without Nicholas being somehow keyed for it.
Stephen M. Irwin
Doubleday October 2010 $26.00
Many thanks to Kristin Gastler at Random House for sending this my way.
Don't read The Dead Path if you are already scared of spiders. Really.
Irwin's prose combines exacting physical detail and a certain musicality of language. If you're already scared of spiders, that combination of immediacy and phantasm will make certain passages unbearable to read. You have been warned.
But spiders are only one scary tool in Irwin's arsenal. It seems that he's drawing on a legacy of every ghost story that ever made a breathless reader decide to sleep with the lights on, to create a tale of modern menace with mythic heft. In other words, an excellent Halloween read.
Mourning the accidental death of his wife, Nicholas Close returns to his boyhood home a haunted man. In all senses of the word. Everywhere he goes, he has begun to see ghosts, anchored to their place and moment of death in an endless, macabre, feedback loop. The ordinary things Nicholas tries to do, work, take an airplane flight, even move back into his boyhood home, make these intrusions of ghosts even scarier. Especially with the keenness of Irwin's details- the deaths are at once grisly and ephemeral. Nicholas sees his wife Cate in their flat, falling from a ladder over and over again, even the marking the detail of plaster dust falling on her frozen-open sightless eyes. Brrr!
But homecoming is no refuge. The ordinary, sunny suburban town fairly thrums with menace. Impenetrably dark woods lurk alongside Carmichael road. Mothers caution their children not to walk that road. Young children have been kidnapped and murdered along that road. Among them, Nicholas's boyhood friend, Tristram.
Author Stephen M. Irwin does an excellent job crafting a menacing atmosphere. His impenetrable and spooky woods have a particularly ravenous scariness. Reports of kidnapping and murder send a small town into outraged uproar, quieting as the murderer is named, caught, and takes his own life. Because of the physicality of Irwin's writing, readers have no trouble feeling what Nicholas does, every cold sweat, every dread-induced twist of the stomach.
Irwin also adapts mythic elements into signposts to guide his particular story. Runes, dream imagery, even the legend of the Green Man, retain the heft of their mythic legacy, while being placed in the dark mystery surrounding Nicholas and stretching into his past and his hometown's.
If I had to quibble about anything in this well balanced, frightening tale, it would be the instances where other members of the Close family point to Nicholas as having been somewhat fey all his life, with hunches and ESP-like pronouncements.
Because the pacing and description work so scarily well to position scary moments against ordinary ones, I would have liked to have Nicholas be perfectly, randomly, ordinary, not chosen because he was somehow born special. The best and most vivid scares in this story came from the idea that tragedy, and deeply chilling haunting, could happen to anyone, anywhere, ripping them right out of any kind of commonplace life. Brrr! There's enough in the flashbacks of Nicholas's childhood, and the book's overall symbolism, to have pointed the way, without Nicholas being somehow keyed for it.
Monday, October 11, 2010
An Open Letter to Alexander McCall Smith
Dear Mr. Smith,
I am sorry. I have been a jerk.
For years, I have thought of you as an Author I Don't Like. (You may take heart in being in august company, as I can't stand Hemingway either.) It began with The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, which my mother loved, and handed off to me. I don't remember why I gave up a few chapters in. I remember Precious Ramatswe drinking red bush tea. I like red bush tea. I usually like mysteries. Maybe I found the pace of your first novel a little too meandering. Maybe I was in finals week at college, which made me mean. Maybe I was hungry.
I must have tried one of your other series. A glance at the inner jacket of The Charming Quirks of Others reveals that you haven't let my disdain give you writer's block. Good for you! You've been busy, in Africa, in England, in Scotland. And I always read your titles a little regretfully, even, thinking "It's a pity I don't like Alexander McCall Smith, because "At The Villa of Reduced Circumstances" or "Tea Time for the Traditionally Built" or "The Unbearable Lightness of Scones" sound like such good titles. Oh well."
I should have tried the Scotland series, starring Isabel Dalhousie, sooner. They're set in Edinburgh. I love Edinburgh. So, even though I'm finding my introduction to the series a tad slow to get going on the mystery bits, I don't mind. I like wandering around Edinburgh. I've been there. I wish I could go back.
Isabel is a philosopher who edits a journal and occasionally gets asked to look into things, or help with things. Not to investigate, really, and not to meddle, which is what her partner, Jamie, thinks she is doing. I'm picking up Isabel's life with Jamie quite nicely. They're sweet together. And the investigation, though meandering, makes a certain amount of sense, if not much suspense just yet. (I've fallen into a habit of reviewing books while I'm not all the way through them. Shame on me.)
It occurs to me I don't actually know what philosophers do. There's either a joke, or some kind of academic and logical crux to that statement, I'm sure. I never took a philosophy class in college. I have a very very smart cousin who has written philosophy. And as much as I can gather from the book so far, and from Billy's article, it's about constructing arguments and language, and about ethics. Which strikes me as an interesting perspective for someone who's solving a mystery. Isabel seems a bit fanciful, prone to spout odd facts or make connections those around her sometimes have trouble catching. So, things are proceeding at a far less linear pace than I'm used to from a less-philosophical mystery.
But still, it's set in Edinburgh. How bad can it be?
Anyway, Mr. McCall Smith, I'm sorry I've been prejudiced against your books all these years. When you're in New York promoting The Charming Quirks of Others, drop me a line, and I'll buy you a beer.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth
I am sorry. I have been a jerk.
For years, I have thought of you as an Author I Don't Like. (You may take heart in being in august company, as I can't stand Hemingway either.) It began with The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, which my mother loved, and handed off to me. I don't remember why I gave up a few chapters in. I remember Precious Ramatswe drinking red bush tea. I like red bush tea. I usually like mysteries. Maybe I found the pace of your first novel a little too meandering. Maybe I was in finals week at college, which made me mean. Maybe I was hungry.
I must have tried one of your other series. A glance at the inner jacket of The Charming Quirks of Others reveals that you haven't let my disdain give you writer's block. Good for you! You've been busy, in Africa, in England, in Scotland. And I always read your titles a little regretfully, even, thinking "It's a pity I don't like Alexander McCall Smith, because "At The Villa of Reduced Circumstances" or "Tea Time for the Traditionally Built" or "The Unbearable Lightness of Scones" sound like such good titles. Oh well."
I should have tried the Scotland series, starring Isabel Dalhousie, sooner. They're set in Edinburgh. I love Edinburgh. So, even though I'm finding my introduction to the series a tad slow to get going on the mystery bits, I don't mind. I like wandering around Edinburgh. I've been there. I wish I could go back.
Isabel is a philosopher who edits a journal and occasionally gets asked to look into things, or help with things. Not to investigate, really, and not to meddle, which is what her partner, Jamie, thinks she is doing. I'm picking up Isabel's life with Jamie quite nicely. They're sweet together. And the investigation, though meandering, makes a certain amount of sense, if not much suspense just yet. (I've fallen into a habit of reviewing books while I'm not all the way through them. Shame on me.)
It occurs to me I don't actually know what philosophers do. There's either a joke, or some kind of academic and logical crux to that statement, I'm sure. I never took a philosophy class in college. I have a very very smart cousin who has written philosophy. And as much as I can gather from the book so far, and from Billy's article, it's about constructing arguments and language, and about ethics. Which strikes me as an interesting perspective for someone who's solving a mystery. Isabel seems a bit fanciful, prone to spout odd facts or make connections those around her sometimes have trouble catching. So, things are proceeding at a far less linear pace than I'm used to from a less-philosophical mystery.
But still, it's set in Edinburgh. How bad can it be?
Anyway, Mr. McCall Smith, I'm sorry I've been prejudiced against your books all these years. When you're in New York promoting The Charming Quirks of Others, drop me a line, and I'll buy you a beer.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth
Friday, October 8, 2010
Trudi Canavan does wizards well
A joint review of The Novice, and The High Lord, by Trudi Canavan.
Both books are continuations of The Magician's Guild, which I read earlier this summer.
So much of the time, the books I wind up loving the most are the books that took a while to win me over. I am pretty sure I tried The Magician's Guild, once or twice, before I got into it. But once I was in... I was basically engulfed. The kind of good, smart fantasy, where the characters and the social politics strengthened the sense of adventure. Where I'd read for chapters at a stretch, and then look up, kind of confused that nobody around me was wearing wizard's robes. (Yes, that would look strange on the subway.)
Canavan carried that same attention to supporting characters and cultural nuances through the next two volumes in the series, weaving together parallel stories for different aspects of a fascinating whole. I wish more fantasy writing were like this. Characters whose emotions feel human- nuanced, sometimes petty, sometimes pragmatic. So much fantasy writing gets into Ye Olde Overblown Life Or Death, Black Or White, Prophecy-Style stuff. I like that Canavan gave her characters room to change and shift, to learn gradually. And I feel that the ones who did shift, did so in mostly believable ways.
I like that the gay character was mostly just himself, and not very often A Gay Character in any political agenda sort of way. I like that he was neither completely shunned nor completely accepted, but it varied based on who he was dealing with, what their attitudes toward him and their cultures were. I like the way love stories and attractions played out, for any character. Also, loyalties and distrust. Canavan has an excellent sense of believably natural human progress and motivation. That's hugely important in selling a fantasy adventure.
After three books in her world, I'm willing to forgive her my initial source of grumpiness- excessive made-up-language without enough structure or explanation. I still think things could have been described and introduced better, for grounding, but it might have gotten in the way of what was a beautifully balanced, well characterized adventure.
Because I enjoyed the characters so much, I'm torn between wishing the series had gone on past three, and being impressed at how well resolved things were.
Damn. Now what do I read? I want more wizards, but I'm wary of reading any fantasy I won't enjoy this much. Canavan absolutely raised the bar on fantasy characters. I'll have to see what else she's written, or read nonfiction for a while, to get the wizards out of my head properly.
Both books are continuations of The Magician's Guild, which I read earlier this summer.
So much of the time, the books I wind up loving the most are the books that took a while to win me over. I am pretty sure I tried The Magician's Guild, once or twice, before I got into it. But once I was in... I was basically engulfed. The kind of good, smart fantasy, where the characters and the social politics strengthened the sense of adventure. Where I'd read for chapters at a stretch, and then look up, kind of confused that nobody around me was wearing wizard's robes. (Yes, that would look strange on the subway.)
Canavan carried that same attention to supporting characters and cultural nuances through the next two volumes in the series, weaving together parallel stories for different aspects of a fascinating whole. I wish more fantasy writing were like this. Characters whose emotions feel human- nuanced, sometimes petty, sometimes pragmatic. So much fantasy writing gets into Ye Olde Overblown Life Or Death, Black Or White, Prophecy-Style stuff. I like that Canavan gave her characters room to change and shift, to learn gradually. And I feel that the ones who did shift, did so in mostly believable ways.
I like that the gay character was mostly just himself, and not very often A Gay Character in any political agenda sort of way. I like that he was neither completely shunned nor completely accepted, but it varied based on who he was dealing with, what their attitudes toward him and their cultures were. I like the way love stories and attractions played out, for any character. Also, loyalties and distrust. Canavan has an excellent sense of believably natural human progress and motivation. That's hugely important in selling a fantasy adventure.
After three books in her world, I'm willing to forgive her my initial source of grumpiness- excessive made-up-language without enough structure or explanation. I still think things could have been described and introduced better, for grounding, but it might have gotten in the way of what was a beautifully balanced, well characterized adventure.
Because I enjoyed the characters so much, I'm torn between wishing the series had gone on past three, and being impressed at how well resolved things were.
Damn. Now what do I read? I want more wizards, but I'm wary of reading any fantasy I won't enjoy this much. Canavan absolutely raised the bar on fantasy characters. I'll have to see what else she's written, or read nonfiction for a while, to get the wizards out of my head properly.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Blackout- Connie Willis
Blackout
Connie Willis
Ballantine/Spectra 512 pages
I love the way Willis uses time traveling historians, sending them back in time to blend in with daily life, giving them deep cover, proper costumes, even new accents. Even with all that planning, things go awry. They can't change history, and are wary of paradoxes, but there's also slippage- they may not wind up exactly in the right place and time, so they have to improvise and panic. There's suspense, sometimes scarily so. (Doomsday Book is set during the Black Plague. harrowing!) Of course I love these books. The historians are social historians, studying how ordinary people's lives were shaped by daily events and patterns of culture. Anthropology. Science fiction. Social media. Cultural zeitgeists. Pretty much everything I love to think about generally, is what drives this approach to history.
I don't know how or why I got out of the habit of reading Connie Willis. Her time travel books are especially good. To Say Nothing of the Dog is goofy, but a good intro to the way her time travel system works, and Doomsday Book was scary and immersive and made me cry. In a good way.
Blackout... this is just... I am blown away. Okay, bad choice of words for a book about World War II England, mostly during the Blitz. Willis is juggling chapters with an ensemble cast, invariably cutting off the action for one just at a really tense spot, jumping in and out of storylines and leaving me anxious to get to the next Mike chapter or Polly chapter, or Eileen, while pulling me into another set of action. With World War II, she's got a lot of great, well-researched material, that the historians are studying. Dunkirk. Evacuated children. London during the Blitz itself, with train stations becoming bomb shelters.
Another thing Willis is doing here is that she's really threatening the historians' sense of safety. The time and place slipperiness is especially dangerous at a time of so much bombing. Historians are realizing that the newspapers they've been using as archives didn't always publish accurate information. Some of what they're trying to study is getting in their way- everything from measles to obstinate contemporary people. And some of them are having trouble getting out of the past as cleanly as they'd planned.
But... before you go get yourself a copy of this... be warned. There's a sequel! I did not know this when I started reading and got hooked. And now I am stalling on finishing it because it's a cliffhanger. All Clear isn't even out yet. Two more weeks. I can wait two more weeks. I'm going to try for a review copy, to see if I can get it any faster!
Connie Willis
Ballantine/Spectra 512 pages
I love the way Willis uses time traveling historians, sending them back in time to blend in with daily life, giving them deep cover, proper costumes, even new accents. Even with all that planning, things go awry. They can't change history, and are wary of paradoxes, but there's also slippage- they may not wind up exactly in the right place and time, so they have to improvise and panic. There's suspense, sometimes scarily so. (Doomsday Book is set during the Black Plague. harrowing!) Of course I love these books. The historians are social historians, studying how ordinary people's lives were shaped by daily events and patterns of culture. Anthropology. Science fiction. Social media. Cultural zeitgeists. Pretty much everything I love to think about generally, is what drives this approach to history.
I don't know how or why I got out of the habit of reading Connie Willis. Her time travel books are especially good. To Say Nothing of the Dog is goofy, but a good intro to the way her time travel system works, and Doomsday Book was scary and immersive and made me cry. In a good way.
Blackout... this is just... I am blown away. Okay, bad choice of words for a book about World War II England, mostly during the Blitz. Willis is juggling chapters with an ensemble cast, invariably cutting off the action for one just at a really tense spot, jumping in and out of storylines and leaving me anxious to get to the next Mike chapter or Polly chapter, or Eileen, while pulling me into another set of action. With World War II, she's got a lot of great, well-researched material, that the historians are studying. Dunkirk. Evacuated children. London during the Blitz itself, with train stations becoming bomb shelters.
Another thing Willis is doing here is that she's really threatening the historians' sense of safety. The time and place slipperiness is especially dangerous at a time of so much bombing. Historians are realizing that the newspapers they've been using as archives didn't always publish accurate information. Some of what they're trying to study is getting in their way- everything from measles to obstinate contemporary people. And some of them are having trouble getting out of the past as cleanly as they'd planned.
But... before you go get yourself a copy of this... be warned. There's a sequel! I did not know this when I started reading and got hooked. And now I am stalling on finishing it because it's a cliffhanger. All Clear isn't even out yet. Two more weeks. I can wait two more weeks. I'm going to try for a review copy, to see if I can get it any faster!
Friday, October 1, 2010
White Cat- Holly Black
White Cat
Holly Black
Margaret K. McElderry, May 2010 320 pages $17.99
I spotted Karen Healey's review of this and ordered it from the library. Loved it. I haven't read as much Holly Black as I probably should, given that she tends to write straight for my sweet spot: urban fantasy. Or a specific subset where magic is well-incorporated into the fabric and customs of an otherwise normal world. Charms and hexes and spells and rituals are both background noise and social architecture. Maybe a little feared, maybe revered, maybe both depending on politics or the media spin. Another book that did this extraordinarily well was Sunshine, by Robin McKinley. (Sunshine gets an added plus for the descriptions of baked goods. Food lit and folk magic! It doesn't get any better than that! Also vampires.)
In the world of White Cat, people wear gloves because magic is transmitted by skin-to-skin contact. People who can do magic are called curse workers, or just workers. And the magic they can do exacts a price on them. It's called blowback. If you do luck magic, you get lots of good luck. If you do memory magic, your own decays. I like the specificity of this, building on already pretty common ideas of magic's costs (the pagan construct of three-times-three.) Given those structures, it makes perfect sense that some of the most powerful working families have a crime-family mob dynasty hierarchy. Which plays into the book's architecture.
Cassel is the only non-worker in a family of pretty powerful workers. A brother who can do luck, a mother who uses emotional manipulation to work cons. Cassel doesn't do work, but he's a troubled kid-- he killed his best friend years ago, and his family helped him cover it up. But... things are going strange for him, he's sleepwalking and clearly on the verge of a dangerous adventure that tips the balance.
I really loved the way the magic of this society was laid out, the way it happened around Cassel, and made him feel like an outsider as a way to come to grips with his family history. I love the cultural architecture of worker magic, set against normal things like teenagers at a boarding school, or family history, or even normal mystery plots involving shady dealings. The details are done really well. And the writing itself, of scene descriptions, both ordinary teenage awkwardness and distinctly freaky dream sequences. Dream sequences, especially in speculative fiction, impress me when they're done well. It's so rare that they're subtle and actually evocative rather than screaming out plot device.
It's a mixed blessing that this is the start of a series. What will I do til the next one comes out? Now I have two series continuations to pine for! Argh! I keep reading rumors that Robin McKinley will set another book in the Sunshine world. Write faster ladies! (And while I"m waiting for next volumes in series, could Laurie R. King get on with the Kate Martinelli series? Please!?)
Holly Black
Margaret K. McElderry, May 2010 320 pages $17.99
I spotted Karen Healey's review of this and ordered it from the library. Loved it. I haven't read as much Holly Black as I probably should, given that she tends to write straight for my sweet spot: urban fantasy. Or a specific subset where magic is well-incorporated into the fabric and customs of an otherwise normal world. Charms and hexes and spells and rituals are both background noise and social architecture. Maybe a little feared, maybe revered, maybe both depending on politics or the media spin. Another book that did this extraordinarily well was Sunshine, by Robin McKinley. (Sunshine gets an added plus for the descriptions of baked goods. Food lit and folk magic! It doesn't get any better than that! Also vampires.)
In the world of White Cat, people wear gloves because magic is transmitted by skin-to-skin contact. People who can do magic are called curse workers, or just workers. And the magic they can do exacts a price on them. It's called blowback. If you do luck magic, you get lots of good luck. If you do memory magic, your own decays. I like the specificity of this, building on already pretty common ideas of magic's costs (the pagan construct of three-times-three.) Given those structures, it makes perfect sense that some of the most powerful working families have a crime-family mob dynasty hierarchy. Which plays into the book's architecture.
Cassel is the only non-worker in a family of pretty powerful workers. A brother who can do luck, a mother who uses emotional manipulation to work cons. Cassel doesn't do work, but he's a troubled kid-- he killed his best friend years ago, and his family helped him cover it up. But... things are going strange for him, he's sleepwalking and clearly on the verge of a dangerous adventure that tips the balance.
I really loved the way the magic of this society was laid out, the way it happened around Cassel, and made him feel like an outsider as a way to come to grips with his family history. I love the cultural architecture of worker magic, set against normal things like teenagers at a boarding school, or family history, or even normal mystery plots involving shady dealings. The details are done really well. And the writing itself, of scene descriptions, both ordinary teenage awkwardness and distinctly freaky dream sequences. Dream sequences, especially in speculative fiction, impress me when they're done well. It's so rare that they're subtle and actually evocative rather than screaming out plot device.
It's a mixed blessing that this is the start of a series. What will I do til the next one comes out? Now I have two series continuations to pine for! Argh! I keep reading rumors that Robin McKinley will set another book in the Sunshine world. Write faster ladies! (And while I"m waiting for next volumes in series, could Laurie R. King get on with the Kate Martinelli series? Please!?)
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Pat Benatar review for WVFC
I reviewed Pat Benatar's memoir for WVFC.
And now I can confess... I'm pretty sure I had Pat Benatar and Joan Jett confused for the first third of the book.
Whoops.
Still, a good book. A woman rocker of substance and ethics, balancing family and music. Impressive!
And now I can confess... I'm pretty sure I had Pat Benatar and Joan Jett confused for the first third of the book.
Whoops.
Still, a good book. A woman rocker of substance and ethics, balancing family and music. Impressive!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
How Did You Get This Number-- A book that has my number!
How Did You Get This Number
Sloane Crosley
Riverhead Books July 2010
I'm absolutely sheepish about how long it's taken me to read and review this. I got a copy from a very nice publicist, Katie Grinch, who also sent me Crosley's first book. And then my plan was to read the second... with a few books in between. Surely, by mid-August?
Oops!
And double oops... because the second essay in this collection was so resonantly right on target, I wanted to hug the book. "Lost in Space" felt like something I could have written. Having miserable trouble keeping the SAT answer sheets straight with those bubble answers and the booklet. Getting off at the wrong side of a familiar looking subway entrance every single time. Utter helplessness with maps and schedule grids. Yes. Me too, Sloane. Me! TOO! Though I haven't found a funny way to write about it, or the courage. Yet?
Beyond my wanting to scan "Lost in Space" into my computer and send it to just about everyone in my family, and a few friends, too... the rest of the essay collection is good, solid writing. Crosley's at her best, her funniest, writing about New York. I should do a bit of Googling to read reviewers who don't share a city with the author. It would be interesting to see how her rants about apartment hunting, or even the oddities of teen girlhood and movies, play out to a reader who can't smile and laugh knowingly. Sometimes it's awkward, mostly it's funny. An excellent book to read and pass to friends you love for a shared sense of humor.
"Lost in Place," though... that made the book for me.
Sloane Crosley
Riverhead Books July 2010
I'm absolutely sheepish about how long it's taken me to read and review this. I got a copy from a very nice publicist, Katie Grinch, who also sent me Crosley's first book. And then my plan was to read the second... with a few books in between. Surely, by mid-August?
Oops!
And double oops... because the second essay in this collection was so resonantly right on target, I wanted to hug the book. "Lost in Space" felt like something I could have written. Having miserable trouble keeping the SAT answer sheets straight with those bubble answers and the booklet. Getting off at the wrong side of a familiar looking subway entrance every single time. Utter helplessness with maps and schedule grids. Yes. Me too, Sloane. Me! TOO! Though I haven't found a funny way to write about it, or the courage. Yet?
"Whatever natural inability I had to orient myself, I had doused with a self-made need to cover it up. People get lost and invert numbers. They make plans for Tuesday the 16th when the 16th is a Wednesday. Most people would claim that they are 'terrible with' something. Names, dates, places. Even make-believe characters on TV had these problems. But did they feel the need to lie about them afterward?"
Beyond my wanting to scan "Lost in Space" into my computer and send it to just about everyone in my family, and a few friends, too... the rest of the essay collection is good, solid writing. Crosley's at her best, her funniest, writing about New York. I should do a bit of Googling to read reviewers who don't share a city with the author. It would be interesting to see how her rants about apartment hunting, or even the oddities of teen girlhood and movies, play out to a reader who can't smile and laugh knowingly. Sometimes it's awkward, mostly it's funny. An excellent book to read and pass to friends you love for a shared sense of humor.
"Lost in Place," though... that made the book for me.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Short Reviews Round-Up
This was Sassymonkey's idea.
Put a bunch of small reviews in one post, so as not to get bogged down in writing a whole long post. Hopefully, this will limber up my brains for the reviews I actually have due to the Ledger.
It amazes me that I'm still keeping a list of the books I've read this year, and it's getting into the 80s!
A sampling:
Prime- Poppy Z. Brite. Picks up where Liquor left off, with G-Man and Rickey running a restaurant in New Orleans. I really like Rickey and G-Man, I like their relationship, and the way they play off each other. Mouth-watering descriptions of food, this time steak as well as fusion cuisine. Oh, and good, sordid murder mystery. Finding a mystery this well done is rare.
I Still Dream About You- Fannie Flagg. (will be released Nov 9.) Tremendous fun- eccentric midlife ladies running a real estate agency. Cozily improbable plot twists. A fun, fast read that made me smile.
Buffy Season 8. Joss Whedon, and many talented artists. Technically, this is a series of books, or of comics bound into issues. I only realized a few weeks ago that I could get these from the library, and so I'm chugging my way through. I love what they can do with improbable plot twists, freed from the limits of television. And, although the dialogue is as fantastic as ever (one of the things Joss does especially well) I wish I could hear the voices. Not just because of Giles' accent.
Put a bunch of small reviews in one post, so as not to get bogged down in writing a whole long post. Hopefully, this will limber up my brains for the reviews I actually have due to the Ledger.
It amazes me that I'm still keeping a list of the books I've read this year, and it's getting into the 80s!
A sampling:
Prime- Poppy Z. Brite. Picks up where Liquor left off, with G-Man and Rickey running a restaurant in New Orleans. I really like Rickey and G-Man, I like their relationship, and the way they play off each other. Mouth-watering descriptions of food, this time steak as well as fusion cuisine. Oh, and good, sordid murder mystery. Finding a mystery this well done is rare.
I Still Dream About You- Fannie Flagg. (will be released Nov 9.) Tremendous fun- eccentric midlife ladies running a real estate agency. Cozily improbable plot twists. A fun, fast read that made me smile.
Buffy Season 8. Joss Whedon, and many talented artists. Technically, this is a series of books, or of comics bound into issues. I only realized a few weeks ago that I could get these from the library, and so I'm chugging my way through. I love what they can do with improbable plot twists, freed from the limits of television. And, although the dialogue is as fantastic as ever (one of the things Joss does especially well) I wish I could hear the voices. Not just because of Giles' accent.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Purity Myth
The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession With Virginity is Hurting Young Women
by Jessica Valenti
Seal Press
2009 $24.99 263 pages
Valenti takes a thoughtful look at the idea of virginity, how it's symbolized, fetishized, how it can't be measured, and how it sets up a dichotomy for women between pure-passive-ideal, and problematic sullied-sexual. Reading this right after both a book exploring Christian pop culture and a book about rock stars as dads made for a fascinating juxtaposition. The last chapters of Radosh's book address the purity balls that begin Valenti's discourse, making for a really interesting bridge between the two.
And forcing me to think about the disturbing, gruesome idea of purity balls, or of fathers taking their daughters out on "dates," to reinforce the idea of fathers as the guardians' of daughters chastity, til the daughters are handed off to husbands in marriage. Yikes!
I spent most of Valenti's book cringing, or angry. Where Radosh, exploring purity balls in a pop Christian context, is anthropologically bemused at weird customs, Valenti is angry and often incisively sarcastic. And she brings the reader along for the whole troubling ride. I spent most of reading this book alternately cringing and being outraged, being glad I grew up in New York, and even in a Catholic school, had decent, sane sex-ed. Thank God! How did abstinence ed ever get to be federally funded, anyway? But New York doesn't make me immune... This is the kind of book that stays with you, makes you more alert to questioning media and news.
Timely, then, for the media coverage about Ines Sainz being harassed by the Jets to show up on the news. And make me mad on a whole other level. What does it matter how she was dressed? As a football fan and a media consumer, this makes me very angry. Bad enough that Jets players were being disrespectful jerks, but every time I read about news coverage that questions how she was dressed, I want to scream.
It's right there- in rhetoric about sexuality and ownership and purity, in Valenti's book. As I was reading this, reading about Girls Gone Wild, conservative moral panic about girls being powerless... I started to wonder about other people choosing to read Valenti's book. I like the idea of high school and college classes discussing it- high school teens would be fine with Valenti's pithy humor and conversational prose. I wonder, though, if the people reading it are the ones who, like I did, will have their beliefs confirmed and echoed. Women should own their bodies and decide about their sexuality. Sex isn't bad. It's a good idea to be informed about it. What you say, "no," or "yes please" decides whether you want sex, no matter what you wear. Being reminded that not everybody takes these assumptions for granted, and being reminded of media constructions that pervasively don't... just makes me angry.
I'd kind of like to mail a copy to Elisabeth Hasselbeck. (Again, the football connection for me. Mrs Conservative Whackjob on the View is the wife of a football player who used to be my fantasy QB. Didn't drop him cause she's awful, but because he wasn't giving me yardage.)
But I think-- that this is the kind of book that won't necessarily change someone's beliefs, but provide an array of sources for evidence and well structured arguments, for someone getting into this kind of discussion, or paying keener attention to media messages.
Fortunately for this kind of book making me fume-- Valenti does conclude with a few chapters and resources on further taking action. Blogs and books for further reading and understanding. Acknowledgments that it's hard to enact a vision of "a post virgin world" where virginity is irrelevant and a sexual double standard is atrocious-- yes, absolutely. But she provides a convincingly inspired map to further reading, even ways to inspire legal and social activism and greater discussion.
Don't know what I'm going to read next... I'm working my way through Buffy Season 8, which might be a very good follow up here.
by Jessica Valenti
Seal Press
2009 $24.99 263 pages
Valenti takes a thoughtful look at the idea of virginity, how it's symbolized, fetishized, how it can't be measured, and how it sets up a dichotomy for women between pure-passive-ideal, and problematic sullied-sexual. Reading this right after both a book exploring Christian pop culture and a book about rock stars as dads made for a fascinating juxtaposition. The last chapters of Radosh's book address the purity balls that begin Valenti's discourse, making for a really interesting bridge between the two.
And forcing me to think about the disturbing, gruesome idea of purity balls, or of fathers taking their daughters out on "dates," to reinforce the idea of fathers as the guardians' of daughters chastity, til the daughters are handed off to husbands in marriage. Yikes!
I spent most of Valenti's book cringing, or angry. Where Radosh, exploring purity balls in a pop Christian context, is anthropologically bemused at weird customs, Valenti is angry and often incisively sarcastic. And she brings the reader along for the whole troubling ride. I spent most of reading this book alternately cringing and being outraged, being glad I grew up in New York, and even in a Catholic school, had decent, sane sex-ed. Thank God! How did abstinence ed ever get to be federally funded, anyway? But New York doesn't make me immune... This is the kind of book that stays with you, makes you more alert to questioning media and news.
Timely, then, for the media coverage about Ines Sainz being harassed by the Jets to show up on the news. And make me mad on a whole other level. What does it matter how she was dressed? As a football fan and a media consumer, this makes me very angry. Bad enough that Jets players were being disrespectful jerks, but every time I read about news coverage that questions how she was dressed, I want to scream.
It's right there- in rhetoric about sexuality and ownership and purity, in Valenti's book. As I was reading this, reading about Girls Gone Wild, conservative moral panic about girls being powerless... I started to wonder about other people choosing to read Valenti's book. I like the idea of high school and college classes discussing it- high school teens would be fine with Valenti's pithy humor and conversational prose. I wonder, though, if the people reading it are the ones who, like I did, will have their beliefs confirmed and echoed. Women should own their bodies and decide about their sexuality. Sex isn't bad. It's a good idea to be informed about it. What you say, "no," or "yes please" decides whether you want sex, no matter what you wear. Being reminded that not everybody takes these assumptions for granted, and being reminded of media constructions that pervasively don't... just makes me angry.
I'd kind of like to mail a copy to Elisabeth Hasselbeck. (Again, the football connection for me. Mrs Conservative Whackjob on the View is the wife of a football player who used to be my fantasy QB. Didn't drop him cause she's awful, but because he wasn't giving me yardage.)
But I think-- that this is the kind of book that won't necessarily change someone's beliefs, but provide an array of sources for evidence and well structured arguments, for someone getting into this kind of discussion, or paying keener attention to media messages.
Fortunately for this kind of book making me fume-- Valenti does conclude with a few chapters and resources on further taking action. Blogs and books for further reading and understanding. Acknowledgments that it's hard to enact a vision of "a post virgin world" where virginity is irrelevant and a sexual double standard is atrocious-- yes, absolutely. But she provides a convincingly inspired map to further reading, even ways to inspire legal and social activism and greater discussion.
Don't know what I'm going to read next... I'm working my way through Buffy Season 8, which might be a very good follow up here.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
How's Your Dad?- Book Review
How's Your Dad? Living in the Shadow of a Rock Star Parent
Zoe Street Howe
Omnibus Press Sept 2010, $24.95, 272 pages
Chatty, and loaded with stories about debauched dads and devoted ones, this was a great fun read. Even when name-checking rockers I only vaguely knew. (For example, I couldn't have told you any of the names of members of Yes, before reading this.) Some of the characterizations were about what I expected. Ozzy Osborne, Frank Zappa, and Brian Wilson are legendarily weird. Yoko Ono is beyond strange, with John a huge presence in both his son's lives. Reading this, I really felt for Julian. Of course living in their houses would be strange. I knew Paul McCartney gave his kids a cozy and supportive home life.
Some stories of sweet moments made me grin. I love the Rolling Stones. So seeing Keith Richards be a proud and caring dad made me say "aww" out loud (and earned me a couple odd looks on the subway.) Ringo telling inept bedtime stories made me giggle.
The book was well organized, with chapters devoted to the kinds of things fans and readers would most want to know. What's teenage embarrassment like, when your father is famous, and sometimes badly behaved? What are tour buses like when you're a toddler? The answer- apparently great fun. Unsurprising. Of particular interest in discussions of children who went for the music business- not every father helped launch a musical kid. Though some later played together, some talented dads seemed to shrug and let their kids figure it out. Drugs- for father rockers who used with their kids, and the dads who impressed me more, by steering their children away from drugs. Discussions of absent fathers, whether standoffish or touring, were well constructed, affecting without being mawkish.
On the whole- a fantastic book. There were a few bits that lost me, because the book is definitely British. So I was missing a little bit of the context on some of the rockers and their kids, as well as some of the events. But, keeping it mostly a British perspective makes sense. As the author quotes Bob Geldof, "London doesn't have a Hollywood," so rockers are the reigning and most interestingly lionized celebrities.
Thanks to Beth Brody for sending me this to review.
Zoe Street Howe
Omnibus Press Sept 2010, $24.95, 272 pages
Chatty, and loaded with stories about debauched dads and devoted ones, this was a great fun read. Even when name-checking rockers I only vaguely knew. (For example, I couldn't have told you any of the names of members of Yes, before reading this.) Some of the characterizations were about what I expected. Ozzy Osborne, Frank Zappa, and Brian Wilson are legendarily weird. Yoko Ono is beyond strange, with John a huge presence in both his son's lives. Reading this, I really felt for Julian. Of course living in their houses would be strange. I knew Paul McCartney gave his kids a cozy and supportive home life.
Some stories of sweet moments made me grin. I love the Rolling Stones. So seeing Keith Richards be a proud and caring dad made me say "aww" out loud (and earned me a couple odd looks on the subway.) Ringo telling inept bedtime stories made me giggle.
The book was well organized, with chapters devoted to the kinds of things fans and readers would most want to know. What's teenage embarrassment like, when your father is famous, and sometimes badly behaved? What are tour buses like when you're a toddler? The answer- apparently great fun. Unsurprising. Of particular interest in discussions of children who went for the music business- not every father helped launch a musical kid. Though some later played together, some talented dads seemed to shrug and let their kids figure it out. Drugs- for father rockers who used with their kids, and the dads who impressed me more, by steering their children away from drugs. Discussions of absent fathers, whether standoffish or touring, were well constructed, affecting without being mawkish.
On the whole- a fantastic book. There were a few bits that lost me, because the book is definitely British. So I was missing a little bit of the context on some of the rockers and their kids, as well as some of the events. But, keeping it mostly a British perspective makes sense. As the author quotes Bob Geldof, "London doesn't have a Hollywood," so rockers are the reigning and most interestingly lionized celebrities.
Thanks to Beth Brody for sending me this to review.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Starting From Scratch- book review
Starting From Scratch
Susan Gilbert-Collins
Touchstone, August 2010 $16.00 336 pages
Introducing the Tschetter sisters as they mourn the death of their mother, Vivian, provides an immediate, and intimate view of their relationship to each other and to their father, as they attempt to piece their lives back together. One sister's a successful local meteorologist. One sister's balancing the demands of a husband and children with her own health puzzle. Their brother is attempting to find love with such perplexity that it becomes a family joke.
And one sister, Olivia, appears to be frozen in place. She's spent months living at home, cooking elaborate meals from her mother's cookbooks, not finishing her doctorate. Her aimlessness and grieving are just as obvious to her family as to the reader. I feel mean addressing Olivia's food-as-grieving psychology as plausible, but contrived. Her sisters are just as frustrated with her aimlessness as I was. I don't understand why she doesn't tell them she's already defended her thesis, or why brooding over that revelation occupies her to that extent.
Olivia's family gives her a kick in the butt, to start doing work at Meals on Wheels, and finish her mother's last issue of the newsletter, Cooking With Vivian. Despite her determination to stay standoffish, she finds herself relaxing, even reaching out to someone connected to her mother's past, and re-engaging in family life, with its ordinary, life-goes-on dramas. (I love the big Tschetter clan, eating, fighting, talking, laughing. Reminds me of Thanksgiving.)
Reading about Olivia's deliberate aloofness confused me, even annoyed me in spots. Again, I feel mean for judging even a fictional character's grieving process, but I found Olivia's interior life hard to read. Is it shyness? Anguish? Her sisters seem like such good sisters, ready to reach out and help her, if she'd let them, even though life without their mother is just as hard on them. Olivia's aunts are ready to share the work of cooking, if Olivia would only reach out. Once Olivia begins to emerge from isolated brooding and reconnect, the book gets much more interesting. And to my delight, there are recipes at the back of the book. Haven't tried them yet, but definitely curious about the pink dessert.
(thanks to Shida Carr at Touchstone/Simon and Schuster, for sending me this to review.)
Susan Gilbert-Collins
Touchstone, August 2010 $16.00 336 pages
Introducing the Tschetter sisters as they mourn the death of their mother, Vivian, provides an immediate, and intimate view of their relationship to each other and to their father, as they attempt to piece their lives back together. One sister's a successful local meteorologist. One sister's balancing the demands of a husband and children with her own health puzzle. Their brother is attempting to find love with such perplexity that it becomes a family joke.
And one sister, Olivia, appears to be frozen in place. She's spent months living at home, cooking elaborate meals from her mother's cookbooks, not finishing her doctorate. Her aimlessness and grieving are just as obvious to her family as to the reader. I feel mean addressing Olivia's food-as-grieving psychology as plausible, but contrived. Her sisters are just as frustrated with her aimlessness as I was. I don't understand why she doesn't tell them she's already defended her thesis, or why brooding over that revelation occupies her to that extent.
Olivia's family gives her a kick in the butt, to start doing work at Meals on Wheels, and finish her mother's last issue of the newsletter, Cooking With Vivian. Despite her determination to stay standoffish, she finds herself relaxing, even reaching out to someone connected to her mother's past, and re-engaging in family life, with its ordinary, life-goes-on dramas. (I love the big Tschetter clan, eating, fighting, talking, laughing. Reminds me of Thanksgiving.)
Reading about Olivia's deliberate aloofness confused me, even annoyed me in spots. Again, I feel mean for judging even a fictional character's grieving process, but I found Olivia's interior life hard to read. Is it shyness? Anguish? Her sisters seem like such good sisters, ready to reach out and help her, if she'd let them, even though life without their mother is just as hard on them. Olivia's aunts are ready to share the work of cooking, if Olivia would only reach out. Once Olivia begins to emerge from isolated brooding and reconnect, the book gets much more interesting. And to my delight, there are recipes at the back of the book. Haven't tried them yet, but definitely curious about the pink dessert.
(thanks to Shida Carr at Touchstone/Simon and Schuster, for sending me this to review.)
Friday, September 10, 2010
Jesus Junk and Thoughtful Prose
Rapture Ready! Adventures in the Parallel Universe of Christian Pop Culture
Daniel Radosh
Scribner, 2008. Hardcover $25.00 310 pages
I picked this up at the book swap. I don't really know much about Christian pop culture or evangelical Christian life, beyond a news article here and there or a commercial for mail order CDs of bands with people swaying. So I came to it with more of a sense of voyeurism than I really wanted to admit.
I'm impressed with the extent of Radosh's study. He did thoughtful interviews with Christian bookstore owners, authors, media developers, skateboarders(!!!) musicians, pastors, TV personalities, and historians and academics who also studied Christian pop culture from different perspectives. Of course, everywhere he went, he encountered consumers of these various forms of Christian media, from teens at concerts to parents, to church staffers.
What impressed me most was how respectful these encounters were. Mutually respectful, even when discussing charged issues around faith. Some of the evangelical Christians Radosh interviewed came to their respect for him out of an odd misinterpretation. (Variations on "You're Jewish! You're God's Chosen people! Jesus was Jewish!!" left a few nuances to be desired.) Radosh kept his discussion respectful, by acknowledging his own misapprehensions (chiding himself for looking for "miniature Pat Robertsons" and being surprised by thoughtful discussions.)
For the most part, Radosh let people within the Christian community provide their own analysis of trends and beliefs, whether as scholars or as people talking about their own community. That kind of clear description placed commentary properly in context, and made for a great read. Great reporting, too, I think. Including some surprising scenes- Christian stand up comedy, dance club culture, and wrestling! Yes, pro wrestling, as a Christian allegory. Not kidding. Fascinating. Radosh and his sources impressed me by not shying away from some of the tougher issues- like belief versus action, charity versus consumption, and even questions about choice or sexuality.
True to form, I was most interested in the discussions of Christian books and music, what they say, how they're marketed, how they're consumed. There are New Testaments marketed to teens to look like teen magazines with glossy covers about crushes and quizzes! Different people and institutions hold the rights to different translations and interpretations of the Bible, including specialty marketing niches like families, women, even skateboarders. Speaking of skateboarders- Stephen Baldwin, Alec's brother, is heavily involved with an evangelical skateboarding group. Christian musical culture is a lot more complex than "sing love songs to Jesus in whatever genre." Radosh's discussion of the Christian music culture hinges on three main types: separational- characterized by a desire to be out of the mainstream, and sing more overtly about God, integrational- where lyrics aren't exclusively tied to Jesus because the artists see themselves as entertainers and artists primarily, rather than embroiled in their ministry. The third category, transformational, is what Radosh's source describes as more complex musically and lyrically, 'getting people to ask all the right questions," even if that means talking about failure and doubt. Much more nuanced and self aware than, I admit, I was entirely expecting.
But- the entire book works along those lines- challenging my expectations with thoughtfulness and information, and a glimpse into a different, wholly realized perspective.
Will definitely keep this on my shelf for rereading, and possibly handing off to friends who might be similarly intrigued.
Daniel Radosh
Scribner, 2008. Hardcover $25.00 310 pages
I picked this up at the book swap. I don't really know much about Christian pop culture or evangelical Christian life, beyond a news article here and there or a commercial for mail order CDs of bands with people swaying. So I came to it with more of a sense of voyeurism than I really wanted to admit.
I'm impressed with the extent of Radosh's study. He did thoughtful interviews with Christian bookstore owners, authors, media developers, skateboarders(!!!) musicians, pastors, TV personalities, and historians and academics who also studied Christian pop culture from different perspectives. Of course, everywhere he went, he encountered consumers of these various forms of Christian media, from teens at concerts to parents, to church staffers.
What impressed me most was how respectful these encounters were. Mutually respectful, even when discussing charged issues around faith. Some of the evangelical Christians Radosh interviewed came to their respect for him out of an odd misinterpretation. (Variations on "You're Jewish! You're God's Chosen people! Jesus was Jewish!!" left a few nuances to be desired.) Radosh kept his discussion respectful, by acknowledging his own misapprehensions (chiding himself for looking for "miniature Pat Robertsons" and being surprised by thoughtful discussions.)
For the most part, Radosh let people within the Christian community provide their own analysis of trends and beliefs, whether as scholars or as people talking about their own community. That kind of clear description placed commentary properly in context, and made for a great read. Great reporting, too, I think. Including some surprising scenes- Christian stand up comedy, dance club culture, and wrestling! Yes, pro wrestling, as a Christian allegory. Not kidding. Fascinating. Radosh and his sources impressed me by not shying away from some of the tougher issues- like belief versus action, charity versus consumption, and even questions about choice or sexuality.
True to form, I was most interested in the discussions of Christian books and music, what they say, how they're marketed, how they're consumed. There are New Testaments marketed to teens to look like teen magazines with glossy covers about crushes and quizzes! Different people and institutions hold the rights to different translations and interpretations of the Bible, including specialty marketing niches like families, women, even skateboarders. Speaking of skateboarders- Stephen Baldwin, Alec's brother, is heavily involved with an evangelical skateboarding group. Christian musical culture is a lot more complex than "sing love songs to Jesus in whatever genre." Radosh's discussion of the Christian music culture hinges on three main types: separational- characterized by a desire to be out of the mainstream, and sing more overtly about God, integrational- where lyrics aren't exclusively tied to Jesus because the artists see themselves as entertainers and artists primarily, rather than embroiled in their ministry. The third category, transformational, is what Radosh's source describes as more complex musically and lyrically, 'getting people to ask all the right questions," even if that means talking about failure and doubt. Much more nuanced and self aware than, I admit, I was entirely expecting.
But- the entire book works along those lines- challenging my expectations with thoughtfulness and information, and a glimpse into a different, wholly realized perspective.
Will definitely keep this on my shelf for rereading, and possibly handing off to friends who might be similarly intrigued.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Plain Kate (book review)
Plain Kate
Erin Bow
Arthur A. Levine
September 2010 336 pages
I picked this one up at the Book Expo, knowing only that it was "YA fiction with some magic and supernatural." So I knew I was probably going to like it.
But... wow. Just. Wow.
Plain Kate, a girl who's "as plain as a stick," is a talented woodcarver. So talented, that the townsfolk murmur of witchcraft, a rumor that could spell a death sentence, especially as the town suffers famine and looks for someone to blame, or to burn. Fleeing for her life, she strikes a bargain with the mysterious albino, Linay. (Has anyone ever noticed how albinos are almost always bad, or at least dubious, news in literature?) He asks for her shadow, in exchange for helping her to escape. Because magic is always a trade, an exchange. At first, Plain Kate thinks that life without a shadow is no big deal, and that all her problems are solved. But--- the creeping mist that leaves sleeping sickness, famine and destruction in its wake, appears to be following Kate, leaving its menacing mark on those she cares about. It may be that Linay's gift was also a curse, and needs to be undone.
I appreciated the way Bow set up her magic system, and her world in general. There are strong elements of Russian culture and of gypsy culture, reimagined and set against a magic system that relies on gifts, sacrifices and bargains. Bow's apparently won poetry prizes- and you can tell, in the rhythms of her language and her story. The rules and names she sets up for magic and belief underpin her story's culture, making it whole with its own internal logic. It has the wonderful depth of a newborn fairy tale, one with unfamiliar twists and turns, but the heft of tradition behind it.
A densely, dreamily magic tale, well-told, Plain Kate reminded me of several of my favorites. If you're a fan of Robin McKinley, particularly Sunshine
or Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast
. Read this if you like the way Guy Gavriel Kay, or Jacqueline Carey draw on recognizable history and culture to fuel their fantastic stories.
For me, this story unfurled in a similar, excellent way to Karen Healey's Guardian of the Dead. Plain Kate is also grounded in a reinvention of a culture's mythic and symbolic history, towards an inventive and engrossing story.
Erin Bow
Arthur A. Levine
September 2010 336 pages
I picked this one up at the Book Expo, knowing only that it was "YA fiction with some magic and supernatural." So I knew I was probably going to like it.
But... wow. Just. Wow.
Plain Kate, a girl who's "as plain as a stick," is a talented woodcarver. So talented, that the townsfolk murmur of witchcraft, a rumor that could spell a death sentence, especially as the town suffers famine and looks for someone to blame, or to burn. Fleeing for her life, she strikes a bargain with the mysterious albino, Linay. (Has anyone ever noticed how albinos are almost always bad, or at least dubious, news in literature?) He asks for her shadow, in exchange for helping her to escape. Because magic is always a trade, an exchange. At first, Plain Kate thinks that life without a shadow is no big deal, and that all her problems are solved. But--- the creeping mist that leaves sleeping sickness, famine and destruction in its wake, appears to be following Kate, leaving its menacing mark on those she cares about. It may be that Linay's gift was also a curse, and needs to be undone.
I appreciated the way Bow set up her magic system, and her world in general. There are strong elements of Russian culture and of gypsy culture, reimagined and set against a magic system that relies on gifts, sacrifices and bargains. Bow's apparently won poetry prizes- and you can tell, in the rhythms of her language and her story. The rules and names she sets up for magic and belief underpin her story's culture, making it whole with its own internal logic. It has the wonderful depth of a newborn fairy tale, one with unfamiliar twists and turns, but the heft of tradition behind it.
A densely, dreamily magic tale, well-told, Plain Kate reminded me of several of my favorites. If you're a fan of Robin McKinley, particularly Sunshine
or Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast. Read this if you like the way Guy Gavriel Kay, or Jacqueline Carey draw on recognizable history and culture to fuel their fantastic stories. For me, this story unfurled in a similar, excellent way to Karen Healey's Guardian of the Dead. Plain Kate is also grounded in a reinvention of a culture's mythic and symbolic history, towards an inventive and engrossing story.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Arthur: The Seeing Stone
Arthur: The Seeing Stone
Kevin Crossley-Holland
2002 Paperback 342 pages $6.99
I have no idea why I pick a book up, read a few pages, then put it down with a shrug, only to come back a month or so later, and gobble the book down almost without stopping. This happens to me all the time, and I have no idea why. I wind up stalling on a book, then coming back later and wondering what I was waiting for.
The Seeing Stone is organized in a series of vignettes about bookish young Arthur, fascinated by Merlin's teachings, and dreaming of the day that he will be allowed to train as a knight. His older brother is sometimes a bully, especially when Arthur's knightly skills like jousting fall short, and Arthur ends up in the mud. Sound familiar? Comparisons to other retellings of the Arthurian legend are probably inevitable. Merlin plays a role of mystery, guiding Arthur toward glimpses of a magical destiny, or alternate history, of another Arthur living a parallel life.
Because the story was set up as vignettes, full of dreamy and slippery imagery, it was hard to get into the rhythm of the story at the start. Which might be why I picked it up and put it down a bit. But-- purely wallowing in the delights of the scenery and the magic brought me into the story. Although the magic was beautifully described, what appealed to me the most about the story was the ordinariness of most of Arthur's life. He was an ordinary kid, pestered by an older brother, worshiped by a younger sister, listening to his grandmother's fireside stories. I love how bound to his family Arthur is, and the warmth of them as supporting characters. I've never read Malory's original, but have dabbled in other retellings. Arthur always seemed heartbreakingly lonely to me.
How his seeing stone destiny worked got a little murky at times. Visions in the seeing stone built a parallel Arthur universe, more in line with the familiar stories of Arthur, son of Uther. As the story goes on, though, even the Arthur we're following around gets immersed in his visions; to the point where it's hard to tell which Arthur is which, or what the relationship between the two stories really is. Because this is a first book, I have faith that the next two volumes will make that clearer. Also-- I owe myself a reread of Mary Stewart's Merlin series.
Kevin Crossley-Holland
2002 Paperback 342 pages $6.99
I have no idea why I pick a book up, read a few pages, then put it down with a shrug, only to come back a month or so later, and gobble the book down almost without stopping. This happens to me all the time, and I have no idea why. I wind up stalling on a book, then coming back later and wondering what I was waiting for.
The Seeing Stone is organized in a series of vignettes about bookish young Arthur, fascinated by Merlin's teachings, and dreaming of the day that he will be allowed to train as a knight. His older brother is sometimes a bully, especially when Arthur's knightly skills like jousting fall short, and Arthur ends up in the mud. Sound familiar? Comparisons to other retellings of the Arthurian legend are probably inevitable. Merlin plays a role of mystery, guiding Arthur toward glimpses of a magical destiny, or alternate history, of another Arthur living a parallel life.
Because the story was set up as vignettes, full of dreamy and slippery imagery, it was hard to get into the rhythm of the story at the start. Which might be why I picked it up and put it down a bit. But-- purely wallowing in the delights of the scenery and the magic brought me into the story. Although the magic was beautifully described, what appealed to me the most about the story was the ordinariness of most of Arthur's life. He was an ordinary kid, pestered by an older brother, worshiped by a younger sister, listening to his grandmother's fireside stories. I love how bound to his family Arthur is, and the warmth of them as supporting characters. I've never read Malory's original, but have dabbled in other retellings. Arthur always seemed heartbreakingly lonely to me.
How his seeing stone destiny worked got a little murky at times. Visions in the seeing stone built a parallel Arthur universe, more in line with the familiar stories of Arthur, son of Uther. As the story goes on, though, even the Arthur we're following around gets immersed in his visions; to the point where it's hard to tell which Arthur is which, or what the relationship between the two stories really is. Because this is a first book, I have faith that the next two volumes will make that clearer. Also-- I owe myself a reread of Mary Stewart's Merlin series.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Gods Behaving Badly- Review
Gods Behaving Badly
Marie Phillips
Back Bay Books, paperback $13.99 310 pages
The Greek gods are still with us. And crammed into a dilapidated flat in London. They squabble, have sex, have revenge, and have tried to adjust to 21st century life with varying degrees of success. Artemis is a dogwalker. Aphrodite runs a phone sex business. Eros has discovered Christianity and morality, much to his mother's dismay. Demeter works in the garden. Apollo's launching a talk show.
One thing they've all noticed- their powers certainly aren't what they used to be on Olympus. Their powers might be... running out. Which means that they have to resort to the aforementioned squabbling and grudges, just like, well, badly behaved people. An analogy to "Real World: Mount Olympus" wouldn't be misplaced.
Enter the adorable, painfully shy mortals, Neil and Alice, attending Apollo's talk show. A grudge gone wrong and then more wrong, an arrow to the heart, and an unfortunate camera angle means that Apollo's television career is doomed. And Alice has a new gig, cleaning house for the dysfunctional crew of gods.
I loved this book. I started reading it at the book swap, and was giggling (and blushing, did I mention Aphrodite's job!) almost immediately. The idea of Greek gods living in London and giving each other grief is funny enough. But the whole narrative is infused with a wonderfully droll, and, well, British sense of humor. It reminded me of Good Omens in all the best possible ways. Only with more overt raunch. It was terrific, somewhat fluffy, fun. Great stuff!
Marie Phillips
Back Bay Books, paperback $13.99 310 pages
The Greek gods are still with us. And crammed into a dilapidated flat in London. They squabble, have sex, have revenge, and have tried to adjust to 21st century life with varying degrees of success. Artemis is a dogwalker. Aphrodite runs a phone sex business. Eros has discovered Christianity and morality, much to his mother's dismay. Demeter works in the garden. Apollo's launching a talk show.
One thing they've all noticed- their powers certainly aren't what they used to be on Olympus. Their powers might be... running out. Which means that they have to resort to the aforementioned squabbling and grudges, just like, well, badly behaved people. An analogy to "Real World: Mount Olympus" wouldn't be misplaced.
Enter the adorable, painfully shy mortals, Neil and Alice, attending Apollo's talk show. A grudge gone wrong and then more wrong, an arrow to the heart, and an unfortunate camera angle means that Apollo's television career is doomed. And Alice has a new gig, cleaning house for the dysfunctional crew of gods.
I loved this book. I started reading it at the book swap, and was giggling (and blushing, did I mention Aphrodite's job!) almost immediately. The idea of Greek gods living in London and giving each other grief is funny enough. But the whole narrative is infused with a wonderfully droll, and, well, British sense of humor. It reminded me of Good Omens in all the best possible ways. Only with more overt raunch. It was terrific, somewhat fluffy, fun. Great stuff!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Science of Marriage, or Weddings as a Spectator Sport
For Better: The Science of a Good Marriage
Tara Parker-Pope
Dutton Adult May 2010
$25.95 356 pages
I'm at "that age" when lots of my friends and family members in their twenties and thirties are getting married. I love going to weddings. It's a great big party with food, music, and two people promising to be good to each other. Weddings make me grin goofily and cry. (Often both at once, which is one of many reasons I don't wear mascara.)
Over the past few months, I've been reading a lot about marriage and relationship science, as well as smiling and sniffling at a few dear friends' weddings. Right now, weddings are a spectator sport for me, which makes reading about the science of marriage an interesting, if speculative, cultural study.
I love reading Tara Parker-Pope's writing in the New York Times, I think I might have alarmed her a little at BEA when I gleefully requested her autograph. I don't think she was expecting a fangirl. Parker-Pope's writing throughout the book was wonderfully clear and conversational, exactly what I love from popular science writing, and had come to expect from her blog.
As with other books I've read on the subject, Tara Parker-Pope's For Better: The Science of a Good Marriage seemed to have sound relationship advice, backed by a rich selection of interesting scientific studies. It's the kind of good advice that boils down to: be nice and respectful of each other. Whether you're talking about marriage, or any other kind of relationship, even friendship, it's a good idea to take away items like:
Don't roll your eyes. Showing contempt erodes love and trust.
"For every negative interaction you and your spouse have, it takes five positive interactions to build trust back up." There is a trend toward couples being each other's everything, best friend, psychological support, and I don't need a book to tell me that puts huge pressure on a relationship. Being free of conflict in a relationship doesn't mean all is well- it's healthier to fight fair and respectfully, to get conflicts and needs out in the open, and solved or compromised. (Drat! I like not arguing!)
Reading these as someone who's not married (though daydreaming about it someday) I can take this as good advice for all of my relationships, not just the romantic kind. Confession time- I'm not fond of arguing, and I'm an eye-roller. I may smile affectionately when I roll my eyes, and I may mean it as gentle humor, but there keep being studies saying that's bad news! I resolve to do better.
This post is dedicated to Chris and Rachel, who are getting married on Monday. And dedicated to the couples who will be able to plan weddings in California, now that Prop 8 has been repealed!
Tara Parker-Pope
Dutton Adult May 2010
$25.95 356 pages
I'm at "that age" when lots of my friends and family members in their twenties and thirties are getting married. I love going to weddings. It's a great big party with food, music, and two people promising to be good to each other. Weddings make me grin goofily and cry. (Often both at once, which is one of many reasons I don't wear mascara.)
Over the past few months, I've been reading a lot about marriage and relationship science, as well as smiling and sniffling at a few dear friends' weddings. Right now, weddings are a spectator sport for me, which makes reading about the science of marriage an interesting, if speculative, cultural study.
I love reading Tara Parker-Pope's writing in the New York Times, I think I might have alarmed her a little at BEA when I gleefully requested her autograph. I don't think she was expecting a fangirl. Parker-Pope's writing throughout the book was wonderfully clear and conversational, exactly what I love from popular science writing, and had come to expect from her blog.
As with other books I've read on the subject, Tara Parker-Pope's For Better: The Science of a Good Marriage
seemed to have sound relationship advice, backed by a rich selection of interesting scientific studies. It's the kind of good advice that boils down to: be nice and respectful of each other. Whether you're talking about marriage, or any other kind of relationship, even friendship, it's a good idea to take away items like:Don't roll your eyes. Showing contempt erodes love and trust.
"For every negative interaction you and your spouse have, it takes five positive interactions to build trust back up." There is a trend toward couples being each other's everything, best friend, psychological support, and I don't need a book to tell me that puts huge pressure on a relationship. Being free of conflict in a relationship doesn't mean all is well- it's healthier to fight fair and respectfully, to get conflicts and needs out in the open, and solved or compromised. (Drat! I like not arguing!)
Reading these as someone who's not married (though daydreaming about it someday) I can take this as good advice for all of my relationships, not just the romantic kind. Confession time- I'm not fond of arguing, and I'm an eye-roller. I may smile affectionately when I roll my eyes, and I may mean it as gentle humor, but there keep being studies saying that's bad news! I resolve to do better.
This post is dedicated to Chris and Rachel, who are getting married on Monday. And dedicated to the couples who will be able to plan weddings in California, now that Prop 8 has been repealed!
Saturday, July 31, 2010
I Was Told There'd Be Cake (book review)
I Was Told There'd Be Cake
Sloane Crosley
Riverhead Trade, Paperback, $15.00
April 2008 240 pages
Usually, I have no tolerance for embarrassment humor. Public shame, social ridicule, even someone's private agony over a social gaffe or deception, twists my stomach with dread, and I fight the urge to hide behind the couch. (A defensive position usually reserved for the truly scary episodes of vintage Dr. Who.)
I got a review copy of Sloane Crosley's latest, How Did You Get This Number, and asked for this prior volume too, because I was completely new to Crosley's writing. Full of wry humor and social pratfalls, Crosley's essays celebrate what's funny in her awkwardness and quirks. In confessing her moments of selfishness, cluelessness and hypocrisy she strikes a note that has me giggling, nodding, maybe even admitting that yes, I do that too.
(Side note for readers who don't know me in person.. That admission is huge for me! I'm usually so socially uptight that Glee makes me squirm painfully.)
I want to deconstruct why Crosley's essays are so funny, and yet so comforting in their honesty. But I'm not sure I can, other than to appreciate her craft. From outlining her childhood mental picture of a one-night-stand (jumping on the bed in high heels) to attempting to tame a diabolically awful boss by frosting her likeness onto a cookie, Crosley's essays are perfect snapshots. It's frustrating, because I want to take each essay apart, English class style, and deconstruct the secrets of how to get this candor and humor blended into my own writing. It reminds me of reading Billy Collins' poetry specifically the last few lines of "Taking off Emily Dickinson's Clothes."
No, I can't explain why essays about accidental butterfly theft, boorish dinner guests and chocolate tarts, or being the only Jewish girl enthralled with Jesus camp got me to Billy Collins and his mysterious poem about Emily Dickinson. It's about wanting to root around backstage at a magic show and check the tricks for false bottoms and hidden strings, or getting underfoot in someone's kitchen, while they're making a delicious family recipe. I want to know what the secret ingredients are, so I can steal them for my own writing.
I'm optimistic that I'll feel the same way about Crosley's next collection, because each essay here is so self contained, with moments that can make me laugh, and cringe without wanting to bury myself behind the furniture.
Sloane Crosley
Riverhead Trade, Paperback, $15.00
April 2008 240 pages
Usually, I have no tolerance for embarrassment humor. Public shame, social ridicule, even someone's private agony over a social gaffe or deception, twists my stomach with dread, and I fight the urge to hide behind the couch. (A defensive position usually reserved for the truly scary episodes of vintage Dr. Who.)
I got a review copy of Sloane Crosley's latest, How Did You Get This Number, and asked for this prior volume too, because I was completely new to Crosley's writing. Full of wry humor and social pratfalls, Crosley's essays celebrate what's funny in her awkwardness and quirks. In confessing her moments of selfishness, cluelessness and hypocrisy she strikes a note that has me giggling, nodding, maybe even admitting that yes, I do that too.
(Side note for readers who don't know me in person.. That admission is huge for me! I'm usually so socially uptight that Glee makes me squirm painfully.)
I want to deconstruct why Crosley's essays are so funny, and yet so comforting in their honesty. But I'm not sure I can, other than to appreciate her craft. From outlining her childhood mental picture of a one-night-stand (jumping on the bed in high heels) to attempting to tame a diabolically awful boss by frosting her likeness onto a cookie, Crosley's essays are perfect snapshots. It's frustrating, because I want to take each essay apart, English class style, and deconstruct the secrets of how to get this candor and humor blended into my own writing. It reminds me of reading Billy Collins' poetry specifically the last few lines of "Taking off Emily Dickinson's Clothes."
and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
the way some readers sigh when they realize
that Hope has feathers,
that reason is a plank,
that life is a loaded gun
that looks right at you with a yellow eye.
No, I can't explain why essays about accidental butterfly theft, boorish dinner guests and chocolate tarts, or being the only Jewish girl enthralled with Jesus camp got me to Billy Collins and his mysterious poem about Emily Dickinson. It's about wanting to root around backstage at a magic show and check the tricks for false bottoms and hidden strings, or getting underfoot in someone's kitchen, while they're making a delicious family recipe. I want to know what the secret ingredients are, so I can steal them for my own writing.
I'm optimistic that I'll feel the same way about Crosley's next collection, because each essay here is so self contained, with moments that can make me laugh, and cringe without wanting to bury myself behind the furniture.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
This Book Would've been Better in the Whedonverse
Girl Parts
John M. Cusick
Candlewick Press
August 2010 $16.99 240 pages
YA- Age 14 and up
This was another Book Expo grab. Won't be out for another couple of months... but I'll be curious to see what others think. Especially Joss Whedon. Notions of women's identity, sex, robot-vs-real... it's full of themes that seem to haunt Whedon. Wonder what the creator of Dollhouse, Firefly's Companions, and the BuffyBot would say about this book.
John M. Cusick
Candlewick Press
August 2010 $16.99 240 pages
YA- Age 14 and up
This was another Book Expo grab. Won't be out for another couple of months... but I'll be curious to see what others think. Especially Joss Whedon. Notions of women's identity, sex, robot-vs-real... it's full of themes that seem to haunt Whedon. Wonder what the creator of Dollhouse, Firefly's Companions, and the BuffyBot would say about this book.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Guest Book Review, by Fashion Designer Brandon Graham
Fashion Illustration Exposed. Edited by Julia Stanescu.
It’s great to have a book tailored to the subject of fashion illustration. Hats off to Julia for bringing together a collection of artists who take the time out to do what they do best and are willing to share their knowledge with others. Reading this inspired me to try new techniques and keep pushing my art. Honestly, I’ve never liked painting my fashion illustrations because there’s no Edit > Undo button. Sometimes I say to myself, “It’s so hard to correct mistakes when you paint so why bother.” I know it’s not true, but it gives me an excuse to keep doing what I’ve been doing and not take the chance of ruining a good line illustration.
I was encouraged by the opening tutorial by Maryanne Oliver. She explained how to build your painting in layers so you get the look you want, and easy ways to make adjustments if you don’t get the desired effect. Not only did she break down the type of pens and brushes she uses, she also gave inspirational creative advice like, “Remember, don’t be afraid of making mistakes! There are no mistakes in art!”
Fashion Illustration Exposed. Edited by Julia Stanescu.
It’s great to have a book tailored to the subject of fashion illustration. Hats off to Julia for bringing together a collection of artists who take the time out to do what they do best and are willing to share their knowledge with others. Reading this inspired me to try new techniques and keep pushing my art. Honestly, I’ve never liked painting my fashion illustrations because there’s no Edit > Undo button. Sometimes I say to myself, “It’s so hard to correct mistakes when you paint so why bother.” I know it’s not true, but it gives me an excuse to keep doing what I’ve been doing and not take the chance of ruining a good line illustration.
I was encouraged by the opening tutorial by Maryanne Oliver. She explained how to build your painting in layers so you get the look you want, and easy ways to make adjustments if you don’t get the desired effect. Not only did she break down the type of pens and brushes she uses, she also gave inspirational creative advice like, “Remember, don’t be afraid of making mistakes! There are no mistakes in art!”
Continue reading at PinkyShears.com
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Mennonite in a Little Black Dress
Mennonite in a Little Black Dress
Rebecca Janzen
Holt Paperbacks April 2010 $14.00 272 pages
The disarmingly funny candor of this memoir made it feel much more "little black dress" than Mennonite. Janzen's confessions of her failed marriage to a bipolar atheist who left her for a man via Gay.com are howlingly, sometimes uncomfortably funny. But they seem out of place with a mental image I have of Mennonite. Janzen's appendix chapter is helpful on this front: I may have gotten Mennonites confused with Amish. Janzen's perspective on her family and the traditions of her Mennonite upbringing sees the humor in their warmth and gentle oddity, rather than a hard-line religious seperateness. The way Rhoda and her family relate to each other, they could be any family: laughing and dredging up old family stories, driving across country to help each other out. But the Janzens also have the extended Mennonite community and traditions- singing in harmony, not dancing particularly, and the language and rosy cheeks of extended German heritage.
There's so much of both heartbreak and laughter in these essays, sometimes both woven together in the same one. Janzen details the collapse of her marriage, her husband's caustic barbs, her own health difficulties. And also leaves me snorting and gasping with laughter over her mother's gross-out dinner table conversation, crazily frugal family camping trips, vacation bible school. The Five Mennonite Lunchbox Foods of Shame that made Rhoda and her siblings feel like school outcasts get described in loving, but kind of stomach-turning detail.
Some passages will make you cringe, some will make you rage (why did Rhoda take 15 entire years to leave Nick, who seems useless and mean?) and some of the odder customs of Janzen's extended family will perplex you.
You can't read this book quietly. You will giggle, snort, howl, wheeze, even sigh. Read it.
Rebecca Janzen
Holt Paperbacks April 2010 $14.00 272 pages
The disarmingly funny candor of this memoir made it feel much more "little black dress" than Mennonite. Janzen's confessions of her failed marriage to a bipolar atheist who left her for a man via Gay.com are howlingly, sometimes uncomfortably funny. But they seem out of place with a mental image I have of Mennonite. Janzen's appendix chapter is helpful on this front: I may have gotten Mennonites confused with Amish. Janzen's perspective on her family and the traditions of her Mennonite upbringing sees the humor in their warmth and gentle oddity, rather than a hard-line religious seperateness. The way Rhoda and her family relate to each other, they could be any family: laughing and dredging up old family stories, driving across country to help each other out. But the Janzens also have the extended Mennonite community and traditions- singing in harmony, not dancing particularly, and the language and rosy cheeks of extended German heritage.
There's so much of both heartbreak and laughter in these essays, sometimes both woven together in the same one. Janzen details the collapse of her marriage, her husband's caustic barbs, her own health difficulties. And also leaves me snorting and gasping with laughter over her mother's gross-out dinner table conversation, crazily frugal family camping trips, vacation bible school. The Five Mennonite Lunchbox Foods of Shame that made Rhoda and her siblings feel like school outcasts get described in loving, but kind of stomach-turning detail.
Some passages will make you cringe, some will make you rage (why did Rhoda take 15 entire years to leave Nick, who seems useless and mean?) and some of the odder customs of Janzen's extended family will perplex you.
You can't read this book quietly. You will giggle, snort, howl, wheeze, even sigh. Read it.
Friday, July 23, 2010
History, Mystery and Mold We Take For Granted
A Fierce Radiance
Lauren Belfer
Harper Collins
June 2010 $25.99 544
I picked this one up at BEA, without knowing much about it, except it was historical fiction.
I love it.
Set in the early years of World War II, this is the story of Claire Shipley, who is a photographer and single mother. The first story we see her covering is cutting-edge medicine, using a new medicine to bring a man back from certain death. As she works to set up photographs, she wrestles with memories it dredges up. Her own daughter died from the same infection the new drug is designed to combat.
The new drug?
Penicillin.
The meticulous detail, at the historical, and character level, of this novel blew me away. Claire is one of the focal points of an ensemble cast of characters in this view of early 1940s New York city. Amid the tensions of World War II, she's covering a story that could change everything. Doctors at the Rockefeller Institute have begun to use penicillin to reverse the course of infections that have been certain death up to this point.
I think that was the most startling aspect of this story for me-- just the certainty, the inevitability, of a simple infection exploding into a scary, septic fever, mystifying and challenging doctors. Miscarriages. Cat scratches. Simple sidewalk scrapes. Months in the hospital recovering. If there was any hope of recovery at all. The early attempts at penicillin only offering slight hope, before a loss of life. Diseases like meningitis, pneumonia, polio, killing children. The urgent push of science is tied up in the war effort, and in memories of the fatalities of 1918's Spanish flu as well.
It's one of the things the novel does particularly well: anchoring each character's past in memories without seeming to go off on tangents. That same eye for detail comes across in Claire's character. She's a photographer. Even when she's not working, she notices light and has an eye for framing shots, for seeing things like the angle of sunlight while walking her son to school.
With all that detail and character driven history to read, I didn't entirely need some of the more typical novel plots, of romance and mystery. Both were decently plotted, and, I suppose, good for the linear plot. I was honestly content to wander around historical New York with the characters and the developing medicine. From today's perspective, the way medicine and hospitals were organized is fascinating, even lavish-seeming. But there are seeds of the big drug companies' evolution. (Odd to see Mr. Merck talking about drug patents at a meeting.)
As for New York itself- I enjoyed a glimpse into how it has changed over time. Claire is raising her son in a neighborhood many of her male colleagues find dubious- the west Village. She remembers her mother having Margaret Sanger over for dinner. Her son loves walking to Waverly and Waverly. Claire and Jamie have their first romantic dinner at Grand Ticino. I'm pretty sure my parents have done the same. I had to look up the Rockefeller Institute, the story's central hospital, to fit the scene into my mental map of the city.
A single woman, trying to make her way in a world thrown into tumult by World War II. Photography. Romance. Detailed historical fiction, centered on characters who are earnest, fragile, scared and loving. I noticed a lot of similarities between this novel and Nothing But A Smile, which I read earlier this year and also loved. I wonder if reading them back to back would be an interesting exercise. Book club potential?
Lauren Belfer
Harper Collins
June 2010 $25.99 544
I picked this one up at BEA, without knowing much about it, except it was historical fiction.
I love it.
Set in the early years of World War II, this is the story of Claire Shipley, who is a photographer and single mother. The first story we see her covering is cutting-edge medicine, using a new medicine to bring a man back from certain death. As she works to set up photographs, she wrestles with memories it dredges up. Her own daughter died from the same infection the new drug is designed to combat.
The new drug?
Penicillin.
The meticulous detail, at the historical, and character level, of this novel blew me away. Claire is one of the focal points of an ensemble cast of characters in this view of early 1940s New York city. Amid the tensions of World War II, she's covering a story that could change everything. Doctors at the Rockefeller Institute have begun to use penicillin to reverse the course of infections that have been certain death up to this point.
I think that was the most startling aspect of this story for me-- just the certainty, the inevitability, of a simple infection exploding into a scary, septic fever, mystifying and challenging doctors. Miscarriages. Cat scratches. Simple sidewalk scrapes. Months in the hospital recovering. If there was any hope of recovery at all. The early attempts at penicillin only offering slight hope, before a loss of life. Diseases like meningitis, pneumonia, polio, killing children. The urgent push of science is tied up in the war effort, and in memories of the fatalities of 1918's Spanish flu as well.
It's one of the things the novel does particularly well: anchoring each character's past in memories without seeming to go off on tangents. That same eye for detail comes across in Claire's character. She's a photographer. Even when she's not working, she notices light and has an eye for framing shots, for seeing things like the angle of sunlight while walking her son to school.
With all that detail and character driven history to read, I didn't entirely need some of the more typical novel plots, of romance and mystery. Both were decently plotted, and, I suppose, good for the linear plot. I was honestly content to wander around historical New York with the characters and the developing medicine. From today's perspective, the way medicine and hospitals were organized is fascinating, even lavish-seeming. But there are seeds of the big drug companies' evolution. (Odd to see Mr. Merck talking about drug patents at a meeting.)
As for New York itself- I enjoyed a glimpse into how it has changed over time. Claire is raising her son in a neighborhood many of her male colleagues find dubious- the west Village. She remembers her mother having Margaret Sanger over for dinner. Her son loves walking to Waverly and Waverly. Claire and Jamie have their first romantic dinner at Grand Ticino. I'm pretty sure my parents have done the same. I had to look up the Rockefeller Institute, the story's central hospital, to fit the scene into my mental map of the city.
A single woman, trying to make her way in a world thrown into tumult by World War II. Photography. Romance. Detailed historical fiction, centered on characters who are earnest, fragile, scared and loving. I noticed a lot of similarities between this novel and Nothing But A Smile, which I read earlier this year and also loved. I wonder if reading them back to back would be an interesting exercise. Book club potential?
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Not finishing a book
I always feel odd when I decide not to finish a book. Mostly, I feel guilty. Maybe a little rebellious.
I've decided not to finish Of Bees and Mist. I feel sheepish about this. Especially because, on the surface, it's exactly the sort of book I often like.
A bit supernatural, a bit spooky, a sense of folklore. Neil Gaiman's written several in this vein, and I devour them. Books infused with a strong sense of cultural identity usually appeal to me too- other reviews of Setiawan's debut mention the author's use of myths from his Indonesian and Chinese background. Honestly, I'm not far enough into the book to see the multicultural pastiche influence... mostly, it seems Gothic, with strange and deliberately whimsical touches. The mood setting seems... off, in a way I'm having trouble articulating. And it's making me think of reading something else.
I would be curious to hear from other readers-- what makes you give up on a book? Do you go back to it? I'm willing to decide this is a right-book-wrong-time scenario, and keep it on my shelf for a bit. Because that's happened before. I tend to read by inexplicable whim.
I've decided not to finish Of Bees and Mist. I feel sheepish about this. Especially because, on the surface, it's exactly the sort of book I often like.
A bit supernatural, a bit spooky, a sense of folklore. Neil Gaiman's written several in this vein, and I devour them. Books infused with a strong sense of cultural identity usually appeal to me too- other reviews of Setiawan's debut mention the author's use of myths from his Indonesian and Chinese background. Honestly, I'm not far enough into the book to see the multicultural pastiche influence... mostly, it seems Gothic, with strange and deliberately whimsical touches. The mood setting seems... off, in a way I'm having trouble articulating. And it's making me think of reading something else.
I would be curious to hear from other readers-- what makes you give up on a book? Do you go back to it? I'm willing to decide this is a right-book-wrong-time scenario, and keep it on my shelf for a bit. Because that's happened before. I tend to read by inexplicable whim.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The naming of characters
The naming of cats is a difficult matter. It isn't just one of your holiday games. -T.S. Eliot, from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.
Nomenclature in fantasy novels is tricky. A fact which has been on my mind recently, thanks to starting to read fantasy again. It must be tough, in addition to juggling the elements of plot and setting, to come up with convincing names for characters. Fantasy and mythic names need to be otherworldly, allegorical, exotic, without alienating the reader.
And, putting syllables together in a way that pleases you might be a difficult task for an author.
That said... I can't believe that the main character in Eric Setiawan's 2009 novel, Of Bees and Mist is named Meridia. Okay... it sounds pretty, it's unconventional, maybe with suggestions of tidal pull and finding a place in the world.
That could be why Meridia is the brand name for a drug. Specifically, Sibutramine Monohydrate HCL. A bit of Googling reveals that the drug, Meridia, has been on the market since at least 2004. So-- I wonder if Setiawan had any awareness of it, or if the name tickled his subconscious from one of those awful "Ask Your Doctor About..." drug commercials that name-check a drug without telling you what it does. It's woefully easy to be inundated with that kind of pharma messaging. Maybe he was, and it got under his skin and he forgot the source?
I wish the main character were named, oh, I don't know, Susan. I wish I didn't know that Meridia was a drug. In any case, it's much more distracting from starting this promising novel, than I want it to be.
I'm not too far in, but it has a lot of what I like. Magic realism, in a folklorically spooky way, a house full of spectrally reflecting mirrors, expanding staircases, and odd mists. Parents who are ciphers- a terrifying father and an absentminded mother (non-pharmaceutically named). Shades, a little bit, of Neil Gaiman's Coraline, in the spooky-parents-and-house dynamic. I can hope its mythology will unify into something equally interesting.
I'm reading other reviews, variously cautious and ambivalent, though appreciative of some aspects. But I'm the only one who noticed the pharma-associated name that I can see. And once I've made the association, I'm having trouble ignoring it and letting the story get on with itself. Drat.
Thanks to Kelly Welsh, of Simon and Schuster, who sent me this to review.
Monday, July 19, 2010
'Fever Pitch' Left Me Lukewarm
Fever Pitch
Nick Hornby
Riverhead Trade $15.00 Paperback 256 pages
Obsessions you share invite a smile of recognition. Obsessions you don't share are bafflingly weird. Hornby's devotion to Arsenal football, lifelong and all-consuming, is very much the latter. Hornby acknowledges that he's taken his Arsenal obsession to a level beyond reason. He admits he doesn't even like being an Arsenal fan, stomach knotted with nerves before every game, shivering in the rain to watch the team lose. Conflating the team's fortunes, superstitiously, with his own. Scheduling his entire life around making sure he can watch games.
This piqued my interest, in the aftermath of the World Cup. I was looking for context and understanding of British football culture. I might have been too female and too American to read this. Being an American, and a woman who only dabbled in soccer (and got most World Cup news off Jezebel.com) I am probably not the book's target audience. I watch football. NFL football. But-- if there's something else fun to do on a Sunday, off I go. (Not during the playoffs, of course.) Can my team win without me? Sometimes, sure! Do I even have a team? Sometimes! Sure!(Go Jets!)
True, lifelong sports fans despair, reading my perspective. As much as I love a good football game, or women's basketball, I watch more indiscriminately, without living or dying over a particular team, without as keen a sense of history as Hornby has built up. watching Arsenal. There's a giant differential of commitment between going to games, and watching from the comfort of a bar or the couch. Hornby's obsession with actual physical presence at the games, starts early in his childhood, as a father-son outing. But, Hornby's presence at the game becomes integral, urgent, far beyond a pleasant outing, closer to religious mania.
Tracing that mania in vignettes of matches that have intertwined and propelled his own life brings the reader along into the particulars of Hornby's obsession. He also does a wonderful job of capturing the atmosphere of each match, including the famously violent and boisterous soccer hooligans. After reading this, I at least have some sense of visual context for English football, on the good side, loyal and boisterous--- on the menacing--- unruly, racist, inebriated, even deadly.
In a barrage of names and game history, Hornby makes a good faith attempt to bring a reader along, of both the wider football world, and his own myopic focus. (His inability to truly cheer for a sweet goal, if scored by the opposing team feels strange.) Maybe if I had a better context for English football, I'd be able to follow along better, really understand what the FA Cup meant, or Luton, or Liverpool, or Chelsea.
There are spots where I'm not only baffled by the sport itself, I have trouble reading about the level of obsession Hornby brings to his Arsenal fandom. The confessional nature of his prose, his own slight embarrassment about the level of his psychic involvement bothered me. Especially when contrasted with the aimlessness of his own college and adult life, the focus on football, and acknowledging that it caused him misery--- kind of sounded like Holden Caulfield. Only with soccer obsession thrown in.
So it was a relief to read about some of his football experiences outside Arsenal. Watching Cambridge football games, even playing games and kicking around the ball with his friends. Digesting his fandom differently. That, even more than the successes of his wandering career, reassured me that there would be evolution, not just obsession in his memoir.
It whets my appetite for other sports reading. And, as if on cue, this morning I got an email from my fantasy football league. Yeah. It's July, it's humid. And it's time to think about my kind of football. The kind with helmets!
Nick Hornby
Riverhead Trade $15.00 Paperback 256 pages
Obsessions you share invite a smile of recognition. Obsessions you don't share are bafflingly weird. Hornby's devotion to Arsenal football, lifelong and all-consuming, is very much the latter. Hornby acknowledges that he's taken his Arsenal obsession to a level beyond reason. He admits he doesn't even like being an Arsenal fan, stomach knotted with nerves before every game, shivering in the rain to watch the team lose. Conflating the team's fortunes, superstitiously, with his own. Scheduling his entire life around making sure he can watch games.
This piqued my interest, in the aftermath of the World Cup. I was looking for context and understanding of British football culture. I might have been too female and too American to read this. Being an American, and a woman who only dabbled in soccer (and got most World Cup news off Jezebel.com) I am probably not the book's target audience. I watch football. NFL football. But-- if there's something else fun to do on a Sunday, off I go. (Not during the playoffs, of course.) Can my team win without me? Sometimes, sure! Do I even have a team? Sometimes! Sure!(Go Jets!)
True, lifelong sports fans despair, reading my perspective. As much as I love a good football game, or women's basketball, I watch more indiscriminately, without living or dying over a particular team, without as keen a sense of history as Hornby has built up. watching Arsenal. There's a giant differential of commitment between going to games, and watching from the comfort of a bar or the couch. Hornby's obsession with actual physical presence at the games, starts early in his childhood, as a father-son outing. But, Hornby's presence at the game becomes integral, urgent, far beyond a pleasant outing, closer to religious mania.
Tracing that mania in vignettes of matches that have intertwined and propelled his own life brings the reader along into the particulars of Hornby's obsession. He also does a wonderful job of capturing the atmosphere of each match, including the famously violent and boisterous soccer hooligans. After reading this, I at least have some sense of visual context for English football, on the good side, loyal and boisterous--- on the menacing--- unruly, racist, inebriated, even deadly.
In a barrage of names and game history, Hornby makes a good faith attempt to bring a reader along, of both the wider football world, and his own myopic focus. (His inability to truly cheer for a sweet goal, if scored by the opposing team feels strange.) Maybe if I had a better context for English football, I'd be able to follow along better, really understand what the FA Cup meant, or Luton, or Liverpool, or Chelsea.
There are spots where I'm not only baffled by the sport itself, I have trouble reading about the level of obsession Hornby brings to his Arsenal fandom. The confessional nature of his prose, his own slight embarrassment about the level of his psychic involvement bothered me. Especially when contrasted with the aimlessness of his own college and adult life, the focus on football, and acknowledging that it caused him misery--- kind of sounded like Holden Caulfield. Only with soccer obsession thrown in.
So it was a relief to read about some of his football experiences outside Arsenal. Watching Cambridge football games, even playing games and kicking around the ball with his friends. Digesting his fandom differently. That, even more than the successes of his wandering career, reassured me that there would be evolution, not just obsession in his memoir.
It whets my appetite for other sports reading. And, as if on cue, this morning I got an email from my fantasy football league. Yeah. It's July, it's humid. And it's time to think about my kind of football. The kind with helmets!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Poet Prince (book review)
The Poet Prince
Kathleen McGowan
Touchstone Hardcover/Simon & Schuster
June 2010 $25.99 407 pages
With historical roots in Italian Renaissance and apocryphal gospels, The Poet Prince offers an interesting take on art and Christianity. The idea of positioning Mary Magdalene as a central female principle in the original Church isn't new, nor is the idea of secret societies dedicated to preserving the beliefs the established Church got wrong. Countless other authors have drawn on the secrets of the Church to fuel suspense and unrest, often to highly famous, but not very well written results. (Dan Brown, I'm looking at you.) By building an interesting take on art history and some emotionally immediate historical fiction into her mythology, McGowan gets the mix right.
Although this is the third in a series, McGowan refers enough to previous escapades to get newcomers grounded. In the 21st century, we have the author Maureen Paschal (whose surname is positively Dickensian with double meaning) who has discovered alternate Gospels, preaching the sacredness of romantic love, soul mates, and art as a conduit of angelic blessing. It also brings Maureen to the realization that her prophetic dreams, and feelings of connection to the past mark her as an Expected One, not only discovering new Christian mythology, but up to her neck in the center of it. Of course, publishing these ideas puts her at the center of a controversy in the Church, including peril to her own life.
The action of The Poet Prince brings Maureen and friends to Florence, Italy, where a parallel story begins, told to her by her spiritual teacher, Destino. The chapters set in Lorenzo de Medici's world of art, political conspiracy, and Christian mysticism are an absolute delight to read. McGowan does a wonderful job describing the compassionate leader Lorenzo, and his devotion to both sound politics and the creation of beautiful art. Lorenzo's beloved boyhood friend, Sandro, grows up to be the talented artist, Botticelli. In keeping with McGowan's worldview, Lorenzo meets his soul mate, the young girl, Colombina, at an early age. They are doomed by political exigencies of marriage, to be apart, though they remain devoted to each other. Some of their passages of tortured spiritual romance got me choked up.
One of the aspects of McGowan's worldview that was particularly interesting was her take on Renaissance art. She characterizes truly gifted artists as "angelics," secretly flouting the Renaissance church by infusing their art with strong emotion, classical themes, and honoring the female principle of the Magdalene rather than the Virgin Mary. Although I haven't seen most of the paintings she references, except in reproductions, she describes them well enough that I'm ready to believe in her symbolic take.
With the strength of the historical sections, and the vividness of her art history writing, it's hard not to notice that much of the 21st century plotting doesn't fare as well, or seem nearly so creative. It may be that Dan Brown ruined this particular sandbox for subsequent authors, but the plot of religious conspiracy/mystic visions/peril doesn't fare so well, or so believably, as the sections McGowan sets in the past. It's easier to believe symbols and visions against a Renaissance backdrop- the immediate urgency and conviction of Maureen's visions make her too much of a superhero character, in a way I have trouble buying. It's telling that I felt so wholly invested in the lives of Lorenzo and his Colombina, in Sandro and the nasty menace Savonarola, and less so in the 21st century cast. Not sure what it's telling me--- that I need to go read McGowan's prequels for proper context, or that I would rather see more of McGowan's excellent historical scene setting than the suspense plot.
I wonder whether readers who weren't raised Catholic will get as much out of McGowan's writing as I did. I was wary, at first, about her Christian secret conspiracies, but the humanist approach won me over. As I said, it's not the first time I've seen, and enjoyed, the perspective of Mary Magdalane coming front and center in a sensual, gnostic belief system. Some aspects of McGowan's take on Mary Magdalene reminded me of a book I read several years ago, and loved, The Wild Girl, by Michele Roberts. The Poet Prince reawakened a curiosity I've had for a long time.
One of these days, I owe it to myself as a lapsed, slightly bruised Catholic, to go back and read some of the historical scholarship about Gnostic or apocryphal Gospels, or alternate views of Jesus's teaching that might have gotten lost in translation.
Thanks to Ashley Hewlett of Touchstone Publicity for sending me a copy.
Kathleen McGowan
Touchstone Hardcover/Simon & Schuster
June 2010 $25.99 407 pages
With historical roots in Italian Renaissance and apocryphal gospels, The Poet Prince offers an interesting take on art and Christianity. The idea of positioning Mary Magdalene as a central female principle in the original Church isn't new, nor is the idea of secret societies dedicated to preserving the beliefs the established Church got wrong. Countless other authors have drawn on the secrets of the Church to fuel suspense and unrest, often to highly famous, but not very well written results. (Dan Brown, I'm looking at you.) By building an interesting take on art history and some emotionally immediate historical fiction into her mythology, McGowan gets the mix right.
Although this is the third in a series, McGowan refers enough to previous escapades to get newcomers grounded. In the 21st century, we have the author Maureen Paschal (whose surname is positively Dickensian with double meaning) who has discovered alternate Gospels, preaching the sacredness of romantic love, soul mates, and art as a conduit of angelic blessing. It also brings Maureen to the realization that her prophetic dreams, and feelings of connection to the past mark her as an Expected One, not only discovering new Christian mythology, but up to her neck in the center of it. Of course, publishing these ideas puts her at the center of a controversy in the Church, including peril to her own life.
The action of The Poet Prince brings Maureen and friends to Florence, Italy, where a parallel story begins, told to her by her spiritual teacher, Destino. The chapters set in Lorenzo de Medici's world of art, political conspiracy, and Christian mysticism are an absolute delight to read. McGowan does a wonderful job describing the compassionate leader Lorenzo, and his devotion to both sound politics and the creation of beautiful art. Lorenzo's beloved boyhood friend, Sandro, grows up to be the talented artist, Botticelli. In keeping with McGowan's worldview, Lorenzo meets his soul mate, the young girl, Colombina, at an early age. They are doomed by political exigencies of marriage, to be apart, though they remain devoted to each other. Some of their passages of tortured spiritual romance got me choked up.
One of the aspects of McGowan's worldview that was particularly interesting was her take on Renaissance art. She characterizes truly gifted artists as "angelics," secretly flouting the Renaissance church by infusing their art with strong emotion, classical themes, and honoring the female principle of the Magdalene rather than the Virgin Mary. Although I haven't seen most of the paintings she references, except in reproductions, she describes them well enough that I'm ready to believe in her symbolic take.
With the strength of the historical sections, and the vividness of her art history writing, it's hard not to notice that much of the 21st century plotting doesn't fare as well, or seem nearly so creative. It may be that Dan Brown ruined this particular sandbox for subsequent authors, but the plot of religious conspiracy/mystic visions/peril doesn't fare so well, or so believably, as the sections McGowan sets in the past. It's easier to believe symbols and visions against a Renaissance backdrop- the immediate urgency and conviction of Maureen's visions make her too much of a superhero character, in a way I have trouble buying. It's telling that I felt so wholly invested in the lives of Lorenzo and his Colombina, in Sandro and the nasty menace Savonarola, and less so in the 21st century cast. Not sure what it's telling me--- that I need to go read McGowan's prequels for proper context, or that I would rather see more of McGowan's excellent historical scene setting than the suspense plot.
I wonder whether readers who weren't raised Catholic will get as much out of McGowan's writing as I did. I was wary, at first, about her Christian secret conspiracies, but the humanist approach won me over. As I said, it's not the first time I've seen, and enjoyed, the perspective of Mary Magdalane coming front and center in a sensual, gnostic belief system. Some aspects of McGowan's take on Mary Magdalene reminded me of a book I read several years ago, and loved, The Wild Girl, by Michele Roberts. The Poet Prince reawakened a curiosity I've had for a long time.
One of these days, I owe it to myself as a lapsed, slightly bruised Catholic, to go back and read some of the historical scholarship about Gnostic or apocryphal Gospels, or alternate views of Jesus's teaching that might have gotten lost in translation.
Thanks to Ashley Hewlett of Touchstone Publicity for sending me a copy.
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