Inverted tree magic, friendships, messiness: what else does a book need?

Uprooted
Naomi Novik
435 pages
Copy: ARC
Read: 4 April 2015
Spoilers: Some
Recommend to: Fans of Robin McKinley, early Neil Gaiman, and Diana Wynne Jones.

I've been trying to think of how to review this book for a while (see read date) and I can't seem to come up with a really great way to communicate my enthusiasm for this book without spoiling some of the best lines or the best parts of the plot. I'm not even going to try to sum it up: go read this wonderful book, and come back to hear what I think of it.

It was the exploration of the Deep Dark Woods idea and the Beautiful Maid in Tower thing that got me hooked in. Novik handles these over-played tropes very well, adding a unique layer of Polish-type fairy tales to it. Her bumbling heroine--who is more often dirty than not--adds a great deal of realism and charm to what could have been a two-dimensional replaying of fairy tale tropes. The differing types of magic--ones that could clash or combine into something greater--was an inspired concept. The whole arc of the story had environmental overtones, making that "evil" forest about the complexities of good and evil in the context of past atrocities. I also appreciated the female friendship that was central to the plot: Agnieszka will do anything for her best friends Kasia, including going into the Deep Dark Woods and hauling her friend back.

So good plot, interesting subtexts, great stories. One objection: the love story, especially the three sexual encounters, felt forced. They were well written, competently erotic, but dumped into the plot without grace or even a great deal of foreshadowing. Perhaps it is the trope of the story--half "instructor and student" and "beast/magician and abductee"--but I have the suspicion that someone read this, noticed it was an adult Fantasy novel, and demanded Novik add in some sex scenes. "Can't have a good fantasy without sex scenes!" I imagine someone saying. "Women don't watch porn! THIS is their sexual outlet!"

Maybe I'm just being judgmental or jaded from years of being a Fantasy reader; probably the conversation didn't go like this. But the sex scenes do feel forced to me. As the sole complaint for a high fantasy, this is comparatively minor. I will be looking forward to finding and reading more by this author.

Feminist books for teens from tumblr

Ombira in Shadow, Patricia A. McKillip: This complicated, layered world story appeals to me not just because it reads like a lucid dream, but because it has women in many roles and with different personalities. Women are at the center of the political machinations of the novel, both as the lowliest and the highest players. 

All These Things I’ve Done, Gabrielle Zevin: Okay, sure there's a love story. But there's also a girl coming to terms with her mob family and her own potential power within it; the voice is frank, simple, but non-condescending. I got the impression that Zevin is one of the rare adults that still understands teens.

The Bone Season/Mime Order, Samantha Shannon: I feel like too few people read these amazing novels. Not only does it feature a complex system of necromatic communication and powers fighting against a trio of enemies--a tyrannic anti-magic government, a group of otherworldly beings who ritualistically kidnap and sadistically train emergent powers to fight other otherworldly beings, and each other, in the form of underground gangs. Too complex for a brief review, but be assured: Paige kicks ass and isn't only thinking about love.

The Sacred Lies of Minnow Bly, Stephanie Oakes: There's a lot of "girl-escapes-from-cult" novels out there, but the protagonists don't often start in JV, with their hands removed. Minnow tells her story with brutal clarity; while it is something of a love story, the main relationship of interest is a (platonic) one with her cell mate. 

The Ruby in the Smoke (and others, not pictured), Phillip Pullman: Victorian woman can do math! and money! and *spoiler* has a baby out of wedlock! and believably does it within the time period! (I'm a Victorian studies major, that last is a huge compliment)

The Golden Compass (and others, not pictured), Phillip Pullman: Lyra Silvertongue was/is everything I aspire to be as a lady. But also! complex villains and interesting ideas about religion.  

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Susanna Clarke: Not directed at teens, but is one of the most complex pieces of world-building and subversive narrative. Doesn't feel feminist--can feel the opposite (and racist!) until you understand the complexities of her 1000 page narrative. (Pro tip: don't get the mass market copy that I have. Spring for the trade paperback because the mass market is hard to hold and the pages are hard to turn. Pro pro tip: the audiobook, read by Simon Prebble, is fantastic.)

Dealing with Dragons (and others, not pictured), Patricia C. Wrede: I still want to write female characters like this; it informed many of my stranger decisions (fencing lessons, taking Latin) and some of my more subtle ones (question authority, do not accept roles just because "that's how it's done", but there's no reason to be rude about your rebellions)

Origin, Jessica Khoury: Question the wisdom of immortality, the failures of science, and slight colonial criticism. Good intro to this kind of book.

Howl’s Moving Castle, Diana Wynne Jones: Okay, so the movie is gorgeous and interesting. Believe me: the book is better. Foremost is that you can fall in love with someone and still notice--and criticize--their imperfections. 

The Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones: There's some definite autobiographical moments in this book (I mean, not truly, totally, see: GHOST): the sisters are named after Diana Wynne Jones's, for example. But what made me think of this book was the way she deals with the reality of abusive relationships. 

Deerskin, Robin McKinley: AND speaking of abusive relationships. This one isn't for the faint of heart. Based on Donkeyskin, the fairy tale about a king trying to marry his own daughter, McKinley takes this one step further into actual incest and the tale of an abuse survivor. Another story that teaches about the right to grow and learn from the past.

Spindle’s End, Robin Mckinley: I didn't like this one when I first read it, but when I returned to it in my late teens, I realized that it has a lot more going on than it first looked like. Foremost: princesses getting to make choices, and friends helping friends. 

Salvage, by Alexandra Duncan: You don't always have to be what you thought you were going to be; you don't always have to be what other people want you to be; the first guy you kiss, and love, doesn't have to be your last; make your own choices: all that PLUS spaceships

Not the most in-depth reviews you're going to get about these books, but the reason I put them on that list.

-Mercutia

Crossposted: tumblr

Salvage, Alexandra Duncan

YA 10 second reviews: If they have to be love triangles, why can't they at least be new ones?

The Sin Eater's Daughter, Melinda Salisbury: In a medieval, low technology world, an intersection of religious traditions and political machinations surrounds a teenage avatar of a goddess who can kill with a single touch. For those who like politics with their love triangles.

Darkest Minds, Alexandra Bracken: Like Children of Men meets X-men, but less well thought-out: if all the kids in the world develop dangerous psychic powers, why isn't anyone worried about the future generations of the world? Endearingly, contains no love triangle; sadly, characters are unfleshed to the point of being mere stand-ins for people.

Rook, Sharon Cameron: In the far future, the past repeats: a re-working of The Scarlet Pimpernel that features a tough and fallible female freedom fighter in the ruins of Paris. Marvelous and daring adventures; Dickensian coincidences and many layers of disguise and connection; unfortunate tendency towards the typical characters (loyal servants, love-lorn compatriots, weak and ailing father).

13 Little Blue Envelopes, Maureen Johnson: One of the best books for teens about to travel. A teenager sent on an adventure with $1000 from her deceased aunt, learning all the things to and not to do when abroad. A satisfying ending that does not depend on a love triangle.

Dove Arising, Karen Bao: Hunger Games or Divergent, but on the moon. Mostly interesting for the multiculturalism and the fast paced adventure; characters tend to be stereotyped and the love triangle between "intriguing new guy" and "long term male friend" is beyond old.

Out of the Easy, Ruta Septys: Set in the 1950's American South, the daughter of a prostitute lives in a New Orleans brothel, but aspires to more. Despite the questionable historical accuracy (can't say for sure, but seems rather far-fetched), this story is both heart-touching and firmly placed in reality.

I Was Here, Gayle Forman: One of the crowd of teen-suicide novels, Forman's stands out with a story about the aftermath of suicide. The best friend of a victim searches to find meaning in the act and, in the process, discovers more about herself and her friend. Particularly useful to teens and comforting to parents afraid of copy-cat behavior is the author's note, which assures teens that they are not alone, and provides accurate information on places to get help. 

Atlantia, Ally Condie: In a departure from her dystopian series, Condie has created an elaborate city-state under the sea. Religion as an opiate for the masses as well as complex sociological themes makes what could have been a dull repeat of teen-with-super-power-dealing-with-family-issues more interesting. Condie chose to consider why such a society would exist, showing great growth from her Matched series. 

The Wrath and the Dawn, Renee Ahdieh: A fairy tale retelling not set in Western Europe at last! However, the excitement dies down when faced with wooden characterizations and unlikely motivations. Shahrzad deserves better than another staid love triangle. 

Salvage, Andrea Duncan: A fantastic imagining of the future, featuring a teen who barely escapes from persecution by her space dwelling, misogynistic family. She lands first in a community existing on the trash island in the Pacific and, with the help of very different female mentors, learns to be strong and self-sufficient, finally able to chose her own path. An inspiring and thoughtful novel.

Crossposted: Life Piled on Life

Feminist Film Series, Part 1: Jane Eyre (2011)

Film: Jane Eyre
Director: Cary Fukunaga
Running Time: 120 minutes
Copy: Netflix
Watched: May 14
Spoilers: Minimal--I mostly discuss the construction of the story, not the plot itself

Two admissions before I embark on this review: I haven't read Jane Eyre since high school (somehow I doubt The Eyre Affair counts as a proper reread), and I have never found Rochester particularly attractive. The latter is particularly important because my reluctance to swoon over Rochester means I am incredibly skeptical of this love story.

My first review of this film was a text to my best friend. I will quote it, only because it will save time:

It's odd, but utterly watchable. They tell the story out of order, which is jarring, but fairly effective. They cut a dramatic amount of the story, but that's to be expected. Excellent costuming, good casting, and beautiful scenery. As a book adaptation, no more than 5/10. As a standalone film, more like 7.5/10

 Mia Wasikowska as Jane is perhaps the finest casting I have ever had the pleasure of seeing. Her ability to simply stare at Rochester is phenomenal. She is the only actress that I've ever seen who can actually convey something with a blank stare. The make-up artists also make her exceptionally plain-looking, which I respected and enjoyed. Too often film adaptations of books refuse to follow descriptions of the characters, but this one actually refused to go the "stunning beautiful" route, and in so doing, made an exceptional Jane. I deeply appreciate the Jane of this film, even if I don't necessarily appreciate the entire film.

Michael Fassbender as Rochester is a little less believable. I never for a moment fear that this particular Rochester would lose control; his temper was never quite convincing and he seems far too smart to have been trapped in a loveless marriage. (The depiction of Bertha was equally dissatisfying, for a variety of reasons. She is hardly in the film, except as a phantom noise, and the one scene that does include her is fairly overwrought and cliche. I think, perhaps, I am influenced here by Wide Sargasso Sea, which drastically changed how I conceive of Bertha.) Fassbender is, naturally, utterly British throughout the film, but he doesn't have an edge. The role requires darkness, which Fassbender doesn't quite have. (Even his android in Prometheus lacked a certain element of threat. David seemed petulant and whiny, not sinister.) I think an actor like Idris Elba or Benedict Cumberbatch (or even Daniel Craig, if we wanted to go a little older) would have worked better. That low-level, seething rage would do more to capture Rochester than any shouted speech.

Finally, I thought Judi Dench was woefully under-utilized. Her Mrs. Fairfax was stuck on the sidelines; she was never given enough time on-screen (no doubt because people thought she might steal the show--which would not have been a problem, in my mind). Honestly, seeing her in this film made me want to watch Pride & Prejudice (2005) (perhaps because the actress who plays Georgianna was in this film as well...); there she was allowed to possess as much of the film as she could, with fantastic results. (I also think that Wasikowska is a strong enough actress to hold her own against Dench--my impression is that the filmmaker was concerned that Dench might steal the whole movie from the younger actress.)

Well, so much for the casting. I'm going to shelve the costuming--honestly it was beyond glorious and in some ways I'd recommend people watch the film just to get a crash course in exquisite 19th century clothing (especially hats!). This leaves the elephant in the room: How is this as an adaptation of a classic novel?

First off, let me acknowledge that I am in no way a snob when it comes to book adaptations. I loved The Count of Monte Cristo (2002); to say that adaptation took liberties with its source material is to indulge in almost sarcastic understatement. Persuasion (1995) remains my favorite Austen adaptation, despite its deviations. I find Romeo + Juliet (1996) deeply amusing and astonishingly true to its roots. And so on. All in all, I do not mind a retelling. I say this because I do not want you to think that I found this film a dissatisfying retelling simply because I don't like change. I have a deep respect for change, and the difference between film and page.

I can't applaud this film as an adaptation of Jane Eyre simply because it does not capture any of the themes that made the book a classic. Gone is the examination of education; gone is the complicated and unusual feminism; gone is the uncomfortableness of the ending. The film concentrates on the love story (sort of? I still didn't find Rochester's affection believable--but that might just be me), and jettisons everything else. Of course, a film can only focus on so much, but I am unhappy that the actual progressive aspects had to be the parts to go. (Hence my double rating--the film only barely captures the novel, but as a love story isn't so bad.)

Overall, I'd recommend this film to anyone who likes period pieces, especially those who liked Vanity Fair (2004). The film is beautiful and the costumes are impeccable. The love story is affecting and well-executed. (Honestly, see it for the costumes, if for no other reason.) Do not watch this expecting a thorough adaptation of the book; watch it as a separate beast entirely.

The New Metal Man

The Mechanical
Ian Tregillis
440pgs
Copy: ARC
Read: 27 April 2015
Spoilers: as few as I could
Recommend to: People who like to think and like sci-fi; fans of Asimov; fans of Susanna Clarke; maybe fans of George R.R. Martin; if you liked "The Dark Tower" series

So Susanna Clarke readers and Asimov readers actually tend to be pretty different. So are "Song of Fire and Ice" and "The Dark Tower". You've got alternate history vs. robotic future and two epic fantasy series (complete with loads of sex) written in completely different styles and settings. What makes The Mechanical so interesting is that it pays homage to all of these disparate themes and styles while still remaining completely individual and distinctive.

Tregillis has created a world that differs from ours in that the Dutch became the great world power, not on the power of trade or sail, but due to their mystic creation of mechanical slaves. Created by the inclusive and terrifying Alchemist Guild, these Clakkers are controlled by the Guild and the royal family and rented out to wealthy families or for production needs. These Clakkers, despite independent thought and an underground language, are unable to rebel against the orders of their owners--indeed, any order creates an imperative pain until that order is carried out. They live hundreds of years, trapped within their own bodies.

Despite these geases, some Clakkers speak to one another of Free Will and others mysteriously develop it. The Alchemists destroy them as soon as they are discovered, throwing them into the great Forge. 

Against this background, the Dutch are increasing their territory in the New World, fighting against the last stronghold of the French court. In New France, the female spymaster (the Tallyrand) Bernice, Vimcomtess is desperate to maintain their foothold in the world and to fight back against the insatiable power of the Clakker backed Dutch, while also fighting against her own court politics. On the other side, the female head of the Clakker police force and head torturer (cleverly called Tuinier--chief gardener), Anastasia Bell begins to wield a terrifying new technology that questions the very existence of any kind of Free Will at all. Jax, a lowly servitor mechanical, is thrown into this complex tangle with about the same effect as throwing in a grenade. 

While the basic premise of the novel is impressive in and of itself, Tregillis handles questions of religion and freedom with ease and grace. He is thought provoking without being distracting from the excitement of the story. Tregillis also creates powerful, yet dissimilar female characters: Bernice and Anastasia are both powerful women without having their femininity stripped away. Bernice, with her mind in the gutter and mouth like sailor, understands and uses sex as a means to an end; she also makes believable mistakes that aren't "punishments" for her sexual behavior. Although Anastasia Bell is harder to read, since we are never granted a 3rd person limited view into her thoughts, she clearly uses her delicate femininity as a kind of intimidating opposition to her job. She looks like a lady: she authorizes acts that devils would find a bit much. Tregillis has joined a unique club among sci-fi/fantasy writers: authors (male and female) that are able to create believable and human characters of both genders. Lets cross our fingers he can keep it up for the sequels.

Crossposted: Life Piled on Life, Librarything 

Plants!

The Triumph of Seeds
Thor Hanson
215 pages
Copy: ARC
Read: late April (finished April 30)
Spoilers: there are seeds...and they sprout and they occasionally get eaten by animals

I read this book over the course of approximately two weeks, as I wrapped up my Masters' Thesis. I would snatch a few minutes of reading here and there (mostly at breakfast), but rarely got the chance to read large chunks all at once. I think it is a testament to the author's skill that I never became confused, never lost track of where I was, and never even contemplated putting the book down permanently. (I always find it much easier to abandon non-fiction during times of great stress than fiction. I also think this tendency contributes to my exaggerated enjoyment of essays. It's so much easier to take non-fiction in digestible pieces, rather than entire books, when the world weighs a little heavy.)

At any rate, I very much enjoyed this book. It is in the same school of science-writing as Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything (which I have read several times with great enthusiasm). However, I know this type of science-writing is not for everyone--Hanson is chatty, and relies on personal anecdotes, but his science is not always top-notch. That being said, he has done an excellent job of making botany approachable. Botany is a fascinating, albeit alien, world; it is a smart and rare author who can translate that foreignness into something tangible and understandable.

The book is divided into fourteen chapters; each one pays special attention to a different seed, or set of related seeds. Hanson chooses his seeds wisely and makes good use of each seed's unique characteristics. The downside of this organization is the sheer amount left out. I would love to have heard more about flowers; I don't think he spent nearly enough time on trees; I wish there had been some practical advice. However, for a short book, Hanson does an admirable job of summarizing the basics. Had he tried to include more information, I am sure the book would have become long, tedious, and utterly unmarketable.

Now, I will declare myself a gardener (a very, very, very amateurish one, however), which means I no doubt have a biased opinion of this book. I don't quite know what non-gardeners would think of it. I have the feeling that farmers, in particular, will find it rather light reading--if not utterly anathema to their way of life. Hanson is a dilettante (and I say that knowing full well that he received his PhD after conducting research on seeds). However, it is clear that writing is his primary concentration; science comes second; gardening (both productive and non-productive) comes a distant third. I don't say this to disparage Hanson. I say this as a way to caution you; handing this book to your botanist friend will not garner you brownie points. Handing it to your farmer friend will probably result in a fight.

So who would I recommend handing this to? Home gardeners--men and women who have little vegetable patches, and flowering window boxes, and back patios covered in well-tended green things. I don't think this book is going to convert anyone, necessarily; Hanson is preaching to a fairly well-established choir. The Triumph of Seeds would make an excellent Mothers' Day or Fathers' Day present; it'd make a good birthday present. Come wintertime, it will make an exceptional palliative for those gardeners slowly being driven insane by nasty weather. (Hand it to them along with several seed catalogs, and perhaps a new trowel, and I promise you will make a new friend.) Don't hand it to someone who hates the outdoors and refuses to garden; it will only gather dust.

Boys apparently suffer under cults too? No way

Eden West

Pete Hautman

310 pages

Copy: Publisher review copy

Read: April 2015?

Spoilers: not many

Recommend to: Conundrum, really. I think teen boys would like it, but not sure I could convince them to buy it. Adults who like novels about cults, perhaps?

There's a surprising number of books about teenagers dealing with cults. The first I read was The Rapture of Cannan, the intended audience being somewhat of a mystery to me (I read it when I was fifteen and it worked out; reading it as an adult, it feels simply written, and about a teenager, so perhaps it was YA before YA was a thing?). Then there's tell-all memoirs about escaping cults; new semi-dystopias like Vivian Apple at the End of the World and the upcoming The Sacred Lies of Minnow Bly (reviews to come). But the shared glaring similarity: they're always told from the point of view of an oppressed female narrator, the cult standing in for a less subtle and more brutal version of the patriarchy at large. Men, especially the younger ones, tend to be weaker than the women.

Eden West breaks this mold with panache and grace. Set in the depths of Montana, a large and self-sufficient cult controls an equally large tract of land. Reaching their rumored end-times, the cult has begun to follow their religion with greater stringency, while being approached on all sides by potential threats to their mode of life. Hautman balances the warring halves of a young man's soul: the firm believer who wishes to follow his family and his community into never-ending paradise and an intelligent and curious mind provoked into deeper questioning by changes in his community and in his surroundings. While the nagging trope of a manic pixie dream girl variant is one of the catalysts that pushes him forward, Jacob, the narrator, is still a well-rounded character. He makes mistakes, makes poor choices, makes good ones, and suffers under the pull of hormones. Interlaced within the story are moments of true poetic and mystic prose: the encounters with a large wolf are particularly well written. 

It is a novel worth reading, which is why it is a shame that it is not one that can be easily recommended. I believe the adults who might like it would be turned off by the YA label, while the young men who might also enjoy it would be taken-aback by the subject matter. Hautman has written an interesting and mold-breaking novel; it's a pity that it may fail to gain the attention it deserves.

-Mercutia

Crossposted: Life Piled on Life, Librarything

People should remember teen readers aren't stupid

Seeker
Arwen Elys Dayton
448 pgs
Copy: ARC
Read: Ides of March. Ish.
Spoilers: Lots: it is hard to criticize in loose terms.
Recommend to: People who liked Matched and Divergent

I didn't hate this book. In fact, I found it a decent read: entertaining, if not thought provoking; interesting, if not entrancing. Set in a vaguely futuristic world, with vaguely mystical elements, Seeker features Quin Kincaid as the intrepid, yet suffering heroine. Quin has been raised by her family in an isolated estate in Scotland, trained to become a Seeker. What Seekers seek and why is purposefully shrouded in confusion at the beginning of the novel. Unfortunately, even after her lover John's dismissal from the training program, a grim truth has been revealed to Quin and her (second) cousin Shinobu, "after [which] there is no going back" (back matter). Acting as a watcher and occasional interference for the young people is an unaging figure called Young Dread; named Maud she is plotting the downfall of the abusive Middle Dread and causing mischief while awaiting the return of Old Dread.

The adventure is good, propped up by the well-written and interesting sections featuring Maud. However, the world-building, character-building, and, indeed, set-building, fall down at the slightest hint of a breeze. The story is told in alternating third-person points of view; the world, close to our own, features weapons which open doorways to different places, which are owned by families of Seekers. (A major issue in the novel: it is never made clear what exactly they are supposed to be Seeking)

Let the spoilers begin.

Firstly: Quin. Her character development relies mainly on a forced, wooden kind of passion (portrayed by a repetition of fact, rather than sentiment, without any backing of emotional cues). Upon escaping--barely--from an attack upon the estate (instigated by John, her love-interest) Quin chooses to forget all that she has done and her past. While I am not against amnesia as a plot point, Dayton treats the issue with the same cookie cutter attitude as the evolution of Quin's romances ("I love him!" "I love him, but he attacked my family!" "I kinda remember who he is, even though I have amnesia!" "I love him now that I kinda remember him!" "I love my (second) cousin, I have all along!"). 

This clunky character development extends to John and, to a slightly lesser extent, Shinobu. John spends most of his life thinking a set series of thoughts, all boiling down too: "I'm not doing anything too bad, not if it is for the sake of good." Shinobu is given a few more interesting plot/character developments. I appreciated his drug addiction phase--he actively chooses drug use as means of forgetting (while Quin passively forgets everything in the middle of being mystically healed: a pattern of male vs. female agency that repeats throughout the novel).

The book is redeemed by the aforementioned Young Dread, whose well-written and almost lyrical passages make the other chapters fail in comparison. Maud is patient, clever, complex, and driven; she easily steals the stage from the flighty Quin. One can believe Maud has been trained over centuries to become the killer and victim that she is; picturing Quin with her "whip-sword" (a device which changes into different weapons on command) is almost impossible.

The ending of the novel leaves it open for a sequel (because God forbid we have a stand-alone YA SF story). It is a book that some teens will like, while others will feel cheated by the shallow characters and the bare-bones world-building. Since the movie rights have been sold, and the publisher (Penguin Random House) has spent a great deal of time and money promoting this book, one can only wonder if today's teen readers are nonintellectual and incurious or if writers, publishers, and movie executives merely think they are.

Crossposted: Life Piled on Life, Librarything

Two or Three Things I Know for Sure
Dorothy Allison
94 pages
Copy: mine (used)
Read: April 13, 2015 (for school)
Spoilers: vague details, but nothing specific

I read this book this morning, in one sitting. It was homework for my Feminist Rhetoric Pedagogy class (wow, that sounds elitist, doesn't it), and I'm very pleased it was assigned. I'll admit I've struggled with this class a bit. I'm a feminist in practice, but not so much in theory (more on that soon--I'm planning to write about my feminism in the near future). This class has, obviously, been heavy on feminist theory (and feminist rhetorical theory...). At any rate, I appreciate Allison's book, and I'm glad that I had this chance to read it.

This slim volume is not for the faint of heart. Allison details her traumas, her sex life, and her mental health, all of which is heart-wrenching. Understand that when you read this book you will encounter rape, sex, and rage. I'd be careful about recommending (or assigning) this book--this is not an easy book to read.

That being said, Allison does a glorious job. The book is expertly crafted. It loops in circles--or perhaps squiggles. We don't quite get the same scenes over and over; rather we move through time, looping between different eras in Allison's life. These loops always make sense and it was only at the very beginning, when I was still meeting people, that I was at all confused.

I think my only complaint about the book is its brevity. I finished it still wanting more. That being said, I would never want to force Allison to dwell on her life events for longer than she wants. I just wish she had taken the opportunity to talk about her mom and her aunts more--and her sisters. The inclusion of pictures definitely helps, but overall I put down the book with very little sense of the other women in Allison's life. I might understand her better, but I'm not sure I know anything substantial about the other women in her life.

I am not entirely sure who I would recommend this book too. It is intense and it is painful. It is also shockingly well-written. Certainly anyone interested in Allison ought to read it. Perhaps people who have suffered from trauma (especially sexual trauma) might find Allison's example helpful. She struggled with her experiences, which might be of help to anyone struggling with their own experiences. Honestly, I'd take this book on a case-by-case basis. I would talk to the person, explain what the book is about, and let them decide.

The Perfect Garden

Italian Villas and Their Gardens
Edith Wharton
250 pages
Copy: mine; a super ugly used copy from the '70s that I bought off the internet
Read: April 3-10, 2015
Spoilers: there is literally nothing to spoil (unless "hates English gardens" is a spoiler?)

My only problem with this book is that I have absolutely no idea to whom this book is aimed. It isn't detailed enough to help you construct your own Italian villa and garden. There are no detailed garden plans. There isn't enough advice about gardening--so this isn't a manual.

It also isn't really a tour guide. Wharton is obviously interested in how gardens complement villas, but that interest does not necessarily translate to a logical and clear guide around Italy. (The book is divided into sections according to region, but her movement through a region isn't necessarily logical, nor is her movement between regions particularly clear.) She points out some history, describes some bits and pieces (too much for a tour guide, honestly--the details seem too thorough to be for people who are looking at the gardens currently), and then moves on.

So here's what I think--this book is for people making long term plans. Thinking about redesigning your garden? Here's a book that will tell you exactly which places to visit in Italy to go see gardens that might function as proper models. When you return home, this book has enough detail to remind you about what you saw so you might be able to recreate certain aspects of the gardens.

This book may also be for stir crazy gardeners who are slowly being driven nuts by winter weather.

At any rate, I really enjoyed this book. Wharton's complete dislike of English gardens is deeply amusing. Her all-consuming love of Italian architecture and gardening (and even, to some extent, Italian culture) is almost equally amusing. (She also really hates French gardens, which made me giggle a bit, considering her later love affair with France.) I also vaguely feel that her book is a time capsule. She first published this in 1903--I can't imagine many of the villas or their gardens survive today. Hers may have been the last recording of some of these buildings.

Her nascent environmental argument also intrigued me. The perfect garden harmonizes not just with the building it surrounds (indeed, some of Wharton's favorite gardens had little to do with their villas), but also with the nature it usurps. The best gardens incorporate natural features (especially hills and gorges), rather than altering them or eliminating them. She seems to reserve a special degree of scorn for those who work against nature, or think they can do better than nature (ahem, English gardens). Also, she hates lawns, something I appreciated in particular (I have a deep hatred of lawns, personally).

So who ought to read this book? Primarily people who are interested in the history of gardens, honestly. (I'm reading this because I am starting to draw up my comps lists and because I'll be writing my dissertation on 19th century garden-writing.) I'm not sure I'd even recommend this to Wharton fans--maybe only if you're a completist. Certainly her wit shines through in places, but overall this is a pretty straightforward text, without her trademark descriptions, diction choices, or even attention to detail. (If you want to try out some Wharton nonfiction, I'd recommend France, from Dunkerque to Belfort, her book on France during the early days of World War I. It is a truly glorious piece of war reporting, and deeply under-appreciated.)

Non Timetus Messor

On March 12th, 2015, in the early afternoon, I learned that Terry Pratchett had died. The news hit me right in the chest—for a moment or two, all I could do was sit and stare at the headline. In some ways, I’d been bracing myself for this (he’d been declining for quite some time), but seeing it, actually seeing the word “dead,” was so unexpected and so final that I couldn’t quite accept it. There’s no way, I thought to myself, but the evidence was overwhelming.

I never met Terry Pratchett—and now, obviously, I never will. This means that I don’t necessarily have the right to mourn him, as his family and friends do. But Terry Pratchett was a rebel, and he wrote about rebels, so I think I’ll follow his example and ignore societal expectations. He is a man worth mourning, after all. (He used to wear a shirt to fantasy conventions that read, “Tolkien dead. J K Rowling said no. Philip Pullman couldn’t make it. Hi. I’m Terry Pratchett.” The world needs more men like this.)Thus, after I had told the people who needed to be told, I turned my attention to mourning.

Mourning authors, in some ways, is easier than mourning close family members and friends because a) often the only connection you have to an author is their books, so what you’re really mourning is the fact that you will never have a new book by Terry Pratchett or Maya Angelou or P.D. James (or whichever literary light you’re most attracted to) and b) you still have their books. It’s a big decision, of course, which book you’ll read right after an author’s passing. Did I want to read Going Postal, a book I tend to read when I’m stressed and overwhelmed? Did I want to read Guards, Guards, which I tend to read when I’m happy and relaxed? Perhaps I ought to do the obvious thing and read one of his books about Death, the only character who appears in every Pratchett book. Eventually I stumbled onto the proper book, with a little help from my best friend (who, by the way, choose to read Reaper Man in the wake of Terry Pratchett’s death). I am currently reading the first Terry Pratchett book I ever read: Good Omens.

(In some ways, this is a terrible choice, since Pratchett only co-wrote it, but it is still the book that introduced me to Pratchett-land and it holds a very special place in my reading world.)

Of course, there is another way to mourn. An event like this always sends people out to stores to amass more of an author’s work—and I am no different. The day after, I got myself to my local used bookstore—and discovered a blank shelf where the Pratchett books would have been. This actually pleased me more than if I had been able to buy myself some more Terry Pratchett books. I would have been sadder if I had been able to buy Pratchett books, because that would have meant that no one cared he was dead.

One of Terry Pratchett’s characters has the family motto “Non Timetus Messor,” which translates roughly into “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” A lot of people have referenced this motto in the wake of his death as a particularly appropriate one. I certainly think it is. But, just as with his books, it is impossible to simply have one favorite Terry Pratchett quote. So I’ll leave you with another, one that I think clearly demonstrates Terry Pratchett’s wisdom and humor. “Getting an education,” he writes in Hogfather, “was a bit like a communicable sexual disease. It made you unsuitable for a lot of jobs and then you had the urge to pass it on.”

Good-bye, Sir Terry Pratchett. You’ll be fervently missed.

-Benvolia

Crossposted on: Readers' Books Facebook

Over-scheduled girls are the new bored boys

The Lost Track of Time
Paige Britt
320 page
Copy: ARC, publication date: 31 March 2015
Read: not sure; probably back in January
Spoilers: A fair bit, including ones for The Phantom Tollbooth
Crossposted: Life Piled on Life, Librarything

I adored this book. Scholastic has really hit it out of the park for the 2015 (more on this in later reviews), but this one has the making of a classic. Remember The Phantom Tollbooth? Or, at any rate, hopefully you remember it? (When I finished reading this book, and gushed about it to my best friend, she informed me that she hadn't actually read Tollbooth, and if she were living near me, I would have thrown copies at her. As it was, I just mailed one)

Most of the point of Phantom Tollbooth, aside from the word-play--complete with vocabulary: that's how I learned words like dodecahedron and din and doldrum and a lots of words starting with letters other than d--and the sheer adventure of the story, was that one needs to use one's mind. It was aimed at teaching young readers that boredom is laziness and that intelligence creates the best kind of adventure. It is, in short, truly inspiring.

But in multiple re-readings over time, I came up with a few quibbles. Firstly, the main character Milo is a boy. Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with being a boy. I suppose we need a few of those hanging around, and, frankly, at this point in children's literature, it is actually becoming more and more difficult to find books for intelligent boys who don't like spaceships or Greek gods. However, Tollbooth was published in 1961, and the only female characters are the Princesses of Rhyme and Reason, who have disappeared and are waiting to be rescued up in their Castle in the Air. Although I love the book, we don't need more princesses-in-need-of-rescue and, to be perfectly frank, why the fuck didn't a pair of sisters named Rhyme and Reason rescue themselves? (In more sympathetic moments, I suspect that they were taking a nice vacation and Milo's rescue was something of a nuisance). So: feminism is quibble one.

Quibble two: from what I can see, as neither child nor parent, kids don't seem to have any time to be bored. Sports, and lessons, and enforced hobbies; camps, clubs, classes; the horror that is smart phones: I don't actually think that middle class kids with well meaning parents actually have time to get bored. Getting bored is really important--as long as one doesn't get too bored, of course. Getting bored is what makes one's imagination kick into gear, it's what makes us go on adventures. No one goes on a true adventure because it would look good on a college transcript.

The Lost Track of Time addresses both of these quibbles. To be honest, my beef with Tollbooth was mostly subconscious until I came across this book. Penelope, the intrepid adventurer, suffers under a well-meaning organizational development type mother who runs her daughter's life like Penelope is another event to plan. Their various schedules--during which every fifteen minutes is accounted for--might be humorous to the target audience (8-12), but was verging on tear-jerking for me. To never have any free time! It is bad enough as an adult(ish), but for a child! Heartbreaking and all too much a part of reality.

Penelope, like Milo, escapes her predicament into an allegorical world of word-play and adventure, complete with anthropomorphized puns (my favorite was the Wild Bore), and a mythic figure to be rescued (The Great Moodler, moodling being day-dreaming). Her journey teaches the reader that schedules, just like boredom, can always go overboard.

Recommended for over-scheduled girls (if they can sneak away from their mothers to read it); for grandmothers to give to over-scheduled girls; and for anyone who has been an over-scheduled girl (warning: in that case, there could be tears.)

-Mercutia

The Book of Lost Things

The Book of Lost Things
John Connolly
469 pages
Copy: Mine, birthday present from my sister's boyfriend
Read: 10/10/12
Spoilers: nothing that I could avoid
Crossposted: Librarything

I read this book for a bookclub a few months ago and was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked it. It's right up my alley, but much more serious than most scifi/fantasy fairy tale rewrites. For example, one doesn't have to feel embarrassed reading it around a bunch of English majors, who aren't necessarily the most fantasy friendly people in the world. Connolly does a lovely job combining a literary mentality with a strong background in fairy tales and the art of adaptations. He even uses fairy tales I have never heard of, which was humbling and exciting. ("The Three Army-Surgeons" for anyone who's counting). Luckily for us, the copy I own (trade paperback, Washington Square Press, 2006) contains a detailed appendix, titled "Of Fairy Tales, Dark Towers, and Other Such Matters: Some Notes on The Book of Lost Things", which is a treasure trove of fairy tales, complete with Connolly's reason for working with each story, details of the themes as they relate to The Book of Lost Things and a complete extract of each fairy tale. It is possibly the best notes section I've read and definitely my favorite.

As for a plot summary, I'm loath to ruin any of the story. It is far too much of a journey to even begin to summarize. But, for the sake of provoking interest, I will mention that it is a bildungsroman centered around a young boy in Britain during WWII. After losing his mother, David begins to lose himself in books, leading to an adventure in a world that may or may not exist outside of his head. It is, of course, so much more complicated than that, encompassing themes as small as a child's slightest fears and as large as the embodiment of evil. It is a story about growing up and a story about how to live one's life as bravely as possible. 

Honestly, I'd recommend this for anyone, at any age, who has ever been afraid of facing the meaning of life. But it is especially powerful for those who love fairy tales, who will rejoice in this powerful novel.

-Mercutia  

Coping with Books: "The End of Your Life Book Club"

Book: The End of Your Life Book Club
Author: Will Schwalbe
Pages: 336
Copy: library book
Read: I finished this book on December 26
Spoilers: the mother dies at the end--but you know that from page one

I still can't figure out why I don't love this book. I mean, I read it quickly and enjoyed it well enough. But something about it is off. This partly may be because I've read few memoirs--I may just not know quality when I see it. But I don't think that's it. It could be the writing style--though I usually abandon books that aren't written in a way I like. It's not death--I've read about that before. It might be the cancer--my mom went through breast cancer--but I don't really think that would bother me. Something about this book niggles at me, like a vaguely sore tooth.

The premise is engaging--a man starts a two-person book club with his dying mother. They read a wide variety of books, and he writes about each book and his mother's reaction. These stories are intertwined with stories from his life and his mother's life. At times the organization is a little unwieldy--I think Schwalbe is trying to accomplish an awful lot--but it's always pleasant to read.

In many ways, Schwalbe has provided an engaging guide to caring for a dying parent. He is so careful and so thoughtful, it is clear that he loves his mother and wants the best for her. I don't know that this book would help anyone who's had a parent recently die cope, but I think this book would help some who is going through the final stages of a parent's life--or even just preparing for the day when that comes.

This is a moving elegy, a thoughtful tribute. It doesn't take many pages before you are as in love with Mary Anne Schwalbe as Will is. Her death is moving. Schwalbe lets you into his private thoughts and feelings through his mother's illness, and such vulnerability is quite amazing. The reader isn't held at arm's length through this book; the reader is brought into the hospital, into the house, into chemo therapy. I appreciate that. Schwalbe has provided another way to cope with an ill parent, and I'm grateful he is as open as he is.

Perhaps a second reading, some day, will help me figure out what it is that is bothering me about this book. Perhaps this is just a prickly book that needs to grow on me. I will certainly think about this book often. I will certainly try to sell this book at work. I think this book is good for everyone--people with parents still living, people with parents dead, people with ill parents, people with healthy parents. Young people who don't need to worry about their parents; people who do worry about their parents. This book is quite readable and I think people who only read sparingly will still enjoy it. Find a copy and give it a shot--it may change the way you think of fatal illnesses.

--Benvolia

Not As Messy As You'd Think: "In Praise of Messy Lives"

Book: In Praise of Messy Lives
Author: Katie Roiphe
Pages: 261
Copy: library copy
Read: mid-December
Spoilers: back to essays!

I requested this book from the library because I read a review that discussed how controversial Katie Roiphe is. I was excited--a woman essayist who starts fights! This is the woman for me! Naturally, her book was a complete disappointment.

Her writing style isn't that interesting. She may attack Joan Didion in a long essay, but her own style isn't so different. She uses some personal details, but never fleshes them out (she complains that Joan Didion's memoir is described as "'deeply and intensely personal,' and yet what is striking is how impersonal the book actually is." Roiphe's essays may be "deeply and intensely personal," but they're still strikingly impersonal). She has little in the way of style--I didn't linger over any of her sentences, the way I did with Joan Didion and even Anne Fadiman. Her writing style is academic and utilitarian. There is little color and no music in her sentences. This is the style of modern academic essays, but I expect more from personal essays--especially essays sold to the wider public.

Perhaps the most aggravating part of this collection of essays is the banality of Roiphe's insights. It is no compliment to myself when I say I could have made the same observations as Roiphe. She doesn't enlighten--she points out the obvious. There are few interesting criticisms and almost no intriguing social commentary. George Orwell could take a very basic and very boring part of culture and make astonishing claims about what those things said about society as a whole. Roiphe can't do that.

What intrigued me the most is the fact that Roiphe seems secretly conservative. She writes all about her unconventional family--she is raising two children on her own--and writes at great length about all the criticism she gets. But I never got the feeling that she actually accepts her situation. To me, it seems that she actually agrees with all the criticism. But there's also the sense that she loves to be a martyr. "Look at poor me, raising two fatherless children! Give me your pity and your criticism, because I deserve it!" In more capable hands, Roiphe's life story could have been striking. (I couldn't help but think that if Cheryl Strayed had written Roiphe's book, it would have been absolutely the most stunning book of the year. In Roiphe's hands, everything falls utterly flat.)

Only one essay from this collection has stayed with me. In "Making the Incest Scene," Roiphe writes about the way that incest has become the go-to "dark secret" of modern literature and how no one does it believably. While I think her criticism is spot on, I'm not sure incest is as pervasive as she imagines. Still, while I've thought about that essay once or twice since I read this collection, her analysis and observations in that essay are as superficial as all the other essays. The essay has no point but to point out incest. It goes no deeper.

I really can't figure out what is so controversial about Roiphe. Once or twice I caught myself frowning as I read her essays, but I never felt the need to rail against her. Her essay on Joan Didion bothered me a little, but I thought she made fair points. How does this woman start fights? Perhaps it is the way she writes about her family--I could see some "family values" readers becoming irate about that. Still, how she's earned a name as a "bad girl" eludes me. Orwell says more outrageous things, and he's been dead for almost 63 years. Roiphe is going to have to try a lot harder if she wants to make a lasting impression on American letters.

I don't hate this book, exactly, I'm just disappointed. Yet again another essayist has failed. Perhaps the essay form is just too out-of-date; it seems like no one knows how to do it right anymore. How can a collection this light and shallow cause any sort of controversy at all? Is it because a woman is expressing her opinions? I can only hope that isn't the only reason. Surely women are allowed to express their opinions without being labelled a "controversial writer." George Will writes his opinion all the time, and he's been called "the most powerful journalist in America."

This might be a good introduction to essays--I mean, Roiphe is readable, and shallowness of interpretation might help a person get use to reading cultural essays. Still, I'm not sure exactly who the target audience here is. Women? I hope not. Women deserve well-written essays too. I suppose I can only recommend this to people who want to stay abreast of pop literary culture. I really don't care what is written, it has to be written well. Roiphe needs to learn more about craftsmanship before she can become truly enduring.

--Benvolia

Elminating the Mystery: "A Gun for Sale"

Book: A Gun for Sale
Author: Graham Greene
Pages: 184
Copy: Penguin Classic that I stole from my brother years ago
Read: early December (I read this for my noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: nothing extraordinary--I mean, you already know people die

I think it's interesting--and by that, I mean I vaguely regret--that I assigned this book as a noir mystery. First off, there really isn't any mystery. There's suspense, there's uncertainty--but because the book is primarily from the point of view of the murderer, there isn't much mystery. There's a little unraveling that needs to be done, but Greene lays everything out, so it's easy enough to predict what is going to happen. I doubt Greene truly wants to leave people in the dark. Second, there isn't really a central detective the way there is in most noir mysteries. Third, the woman isn't a femme fatale in the usual sense.

I was surprisingly pleased with this book. I tried to read Brighton Rock a couple years ago and got completely bogged down. This book is more snappy, and has a little less of the Catholic moralizing that makes Brighton so gloomy. In the place of Catholicism, there's war. War infects the whole novel, from first page to last. The frenzy, the fear, the release--Greene captures the entire pre-war experience perfectly. He also knows why wars happen now--the book is an indictment of industrial warfare and the effect it has on common people.

What I found particularly interesting was the use of the sole female character. Noir mysteries are almost painfully sexist--women are sex objects, or they're manipulative, or they just want to control men, or they're just there to make phone calls and post letters. Anne is a femme fatale--men are captured and die because of her--but she isn't one in the way, say, Brigid O'Shaughnessy is. She really tries to avoid causing death and mayhem, but she gets trapped and has no choice. She makes morally ambiguous choices, tries to help the criminal, and ultimately makes choices that are in her best interest, not in anyone else's. In many ways, she occupies the space usually held by the detective. It is an interesting move on Greene's part, and it does a lot to upend usual noir tropes.

Greene's use of noir cliches accomplishes that which Chandler was never able to. Green transcends the conventions of genre fiction and manages to make a noir mystery into literature. He does this without the literary flourishes that Chandler attempted. His writing is understated and calm, moving ahead without those cringe-inducing metaphors and similes. His dialogue is stilted, though, and characters tend to monologue in a way that isn't particularly realistic. Additionally, even the criminal speaks like a well-educated, well-off man, which complicates the character. Is Raven as well-educated as he claims? Is he affecting a persona? Or is Greene making all the characters equal by making them all speak in relatively similar ways? There are clear class divisions in this novel, but the divisions aren't marked by the way a character speaks.

Noir mysteries rarely explore political issues. They are usually too wrapped up in the mystery at hand to comment on the wider world. Chandler may mention war a few times, but he doesn't comment on why the war is happening or how it impacts common citizens. Hammett seems to forget any other world exists, other than the world of the novel. Greene uses noir conventions to make a political statement and in doing so, he not only elevates the genre, but he also reveals how pervasive politics can be. Just because a man is a murderer doesn't mean he won't feel the impacts of an impending war. Just because a woman has to make ambiguous moral decisions doesn't mean war won't mean anything to her. The novel barely contains these complexities--if Greene had made his story much longer, it no doubt would have shattered--but that it manages to speaks to its power and its writer's talent.

I'm going to try some more Greene now. I know part of the reason I hesitated to read him is because George Orwell wrote a rather damning review of The Heart of the Matter for the New Yorker. He writes elsewhere about "Catholic writers" and how much he dislikes their work. I'll perhaps avoid the more Catholic of Greene's work at the beginning, but I'll still give him a shot.

As for recommending this particular novel, I can see it appealing to anyone interested in industrial warfare or anyone who is interested in noir mysteries but not in genre fiction (a small population, to be sure). Like most noir, this book is unlikely to appeal to most women, just because the woman (and there is really only one, though there are a couple supporting female characters) isn't well drawn or particularly believable. Still, any woman who likes noir mysteries will find something to like in these pages. This might be a good way to introduce a person to noir mysteries, but only if they know that few other noir stories are as literary.

--Benvolia

Prettying Up Murder: "The Lady in the Lake"

Book: The Lady in the Lake
Author: Raymond Chandler
Pages: 266
Copy: Vintage Crime paperback I've had for years
Read: November 13-16 (I read this for my Noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: I won't give away who murders who, if that's what you mean

I think there are two kinds of people in this world: people who think Raymond Chandler is a great Noir mystery writer and people who don't. I'm one of the latter. Now, let me explain.

I think two things go into whether or not you like Chandler. The most important factor is who you read first, Dashiell Hammett or Chandler. If you read Hammett first (and enjoy him), then Chandler is an upstart copycat who has no idea what he's writing about. If you read Chandler first, then Hammett is an insane violence junkie.

The second factor is how snobbish you are about genre fiction. Chandler tries hard to make his writing read like literary fiction--using overblown figurative language, obvious allusions, and complex murders that require bizarre coincidences that are only barely plausible, laboring under the impression that complexity equals literary. If you think genre fiction is pointless money-grubbing (read this thoughtful if still painfully elitist piece on the debate between genre and literary fiction--it'll at least give you ammunition, even if it doesn't change your mind), then you can read Chandler happily because he's trying so hard to escape the genre. That being said, he seems to genuinely love Noir mystery, so his desire to escape could really be an attempt to elevate the genre. Unfortunately, to my mind, he reinforces the so-called problems of genre fiction rather than transcending them. Hammett, on the other hand, never tried to escape his genre. He more or less created the genre and then broke the mold. No one--granted I haven't read everything but that's why I'm leading a Noir mystery reading group--no one does Noir better than Hammett. I think that kills Chandler. He wants to be the literary version of Hammett, but that's impossible. Hammett existed happily enough within the confines of genre. Chandler can't stand genre.

The Lady in the Lake is a page turner, I'll give it that. The timescale is off-the-charts unrealistic (almost The Da Vinci Code bad, minus the airplanes), but it's easy to ignore that detail. The case starts out as a simple missing persons, but the body count builds rapidly (interestingly, only one person is shot to death--the rest are killed in a more hands-on way) and the mystery deepens. That the solution requires...well, I don't want to give everything away. But the solution is divisive. Some (probably those pesky Hammett fans) will find the solution absolutely ridiculous. Others (probably those staunch Chandler fans) will find the solution ingenious. I doubt anyone will find it boring.

The violence is mostly off-stage. Sure Marlowe gets beat up a couple times, but all the deaths happen before Marlowe arrives or while he's unconscious. That being said, the first murdered body is described in rather gruesome detail. Eat your lunch after you've read the first 60 pages. But other than that first body, the violence and death is pretty understated. Think Greek tragedy, not Stephen King.

The novel is written in the first person, which is always a difficult move for a writer of mysteries. The author can't give too much away, which means the detective can't think too much. This runs the risk of making the detective seem like a bumbling idiot. Unfortunately, this novel suffers a little from that. It's difficult to tell whether or not Marlowe actually knows what he's doing. He just seems to sort of wander around, getting beat up and finding dead bodies. Then the big pay-off scene comes around and he suddenly knows everything. (For the record, Hammett also uses the first person occasionally, but his detective doesn't seem quite so bumbling to me. Chalk it up to bias, I suppose.)

Two final notes. The diction is awkward. Marlowe tends to use fairly sophisticated diction, which is jarringly out of place in a Noir mystery. He's also a bit of a snob, commenting on the quality of his food and drink, a move that makes him a little dandified.  And then there's the figurative language.

"The minutes went by on tiptoe, with their fingers to their lips."

"One drop of that in the hollow of your throat and the matched pink pearls started falling on you like summer rain." 

The first is the way Marlowe describes the time he spends waiting outside the office of his soon-to-be client, the second describes a perfume. Both sentences occur within the first six pages. Did you wince a little? I winced. That kind of language shows how hard Chandler is trying and how completely he is failing. (Okay, okay--he fails to me. Not everyone agrees.) I can't really see a hard-boiled detective thinking like that. The figurative language reinforces the sense that Marlowe has either slipped down a few pegs socially, or that he has no idea what he's doing--that he's just playing at detective.

Alright, who should read this? I think young people (say 16 or 17+) will love Chandler. He's a little gross and a little violent, just enough to titillate a young reader who hasn't read many mysteries yet. People from LA are likely to love Chandler, just because he celebrates the area. Established mystery readers are going to either be Chandler fans or not, so be careful. Ultimately, the Noir mystery genre is a little more of a man's genre--the women are pretty stock, often deeply sexualized, and often either evil or dumb. Some women won't care--they'll just like the mystery--other women will be offended. That's a deeply personal opinion, so I'd never try to really influence anyone one way or the other. Just keep it in mind.

--Benvolia

Is Marriage Really Worth It?: "Middlemarch"

Book: Middlemarch
Author: George Eliot (or Mary Anne Evans, if you prefer)
Pages: 802, including endnotes
Copy: a Barns and Noble Classics I bought years ago (it's pretty ugly and it has tons of typos--find a better copy to read)
Read: I read this for book group, so I started it the middle of October and finished it November 11th
Spoilers: exceedingly minor ones--don't worry, I don't give away specifics

This book came with such high praise, I should have known I wouldn't love it. Almost without fail, whenever a book comes with recommendations, I dislike it. That being said, I didn't hate this book. I can see myself reading this book again in 20 or 30 years and having it make a huge impact on me. That's not to say that this book is meant for 40 or 50 year-olds. I think it has a lot to say to young people, especially young people who are in a relationship for the wrong reasons.

One of the reasons I didn't overwhelming enjoy this book is because I just ended a relationship I was in for the wrong reasons. This meant I read most of the book cringing and yelling at the various characters who marry exactly the wrong person for exactly the wrong reasons. That being said, I think this book has one of the most important quotes any young person could read:

She was not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good enough for Mr. Casaubon. (Chapter V)

 That is the sort of advice everyone should get quite early in their lives, especially women. I think women spend much of their lives changing themselves to fit whatever they think their men want, and never pause to wonder why their men aren't trying to do the same. That's why I think this quote is so important to many young person, not just women. I don't think many men realize just how much women feel the pressure to change. (I'm sorry to hold up society's emphasis on heterosexual relationships--if anyone wants to chime in about how this dynamic works in relationships I haven't experienced, please do. I'd love to hear if it's different, the same, more complex, less complex...however it works.)

Now to the plot. This is a book about marriage. Unlike Jane Austen, who traces the courtship of her characters but ends the novel at the marriage, George Eliot explores the actual marriage. Courtship is basically skipped, but the marriage part is meticulously detailed. This is both tedious and endlessly fascinating. There are two marriages that are explored in great detail, and one was a great deal more interesting to me than the other, but I think the two different marriages need to be contrasted against one another. No matter how annoying I find Dr. Lydgate and his foul wife, his marriage contrasts sharply with Dorothea's marriage to Mr. Casaubon. If one or the other were missing, the novel would fall apart.

Eliot does have a few side issues she wants to explore, though, which means that several chunks of this novel discuss marriage only indirectly. One of these side issues is medicine in the 1820s and 1830s, a topic that is about as exciting as it sounds. A great deal of medical reform began around this time, but even Eliot can't make it that interesting. Instead, it boils down to petty bickering between the old guard and modern interlopers. Perhaps to those interested in medical history these sections will be funny or more interesting than the marriages, but to me they distracted from the main plot and slowed the novel down. There is also a blackmail plot, which is marginally more interesting than the medical history. However, the bad past doesn't seem that bad and the victim suffers what I thought was an unrealistic punishment. However, I think my reaction may be a modern one; it certainly seems plausible that people of the 1800s would have been horrified. Finally, there is the issue of the Reform Act, a historical event that seems fascinating but Eliot treats the subject unevenly. In several sections, the Act comes to center stage, but Eliot never really looks at the subject in depth. Perhaps the original audience of the novel would have known all the circumstances surrounding the Act, but I think Eliot could have fleshed out the debate more and made it more central. It certainly seems more interesting than the medical subplot.

I noticed a few interesting things about this novel. Eliot seems to have some sort of economic or capitalist critique going on, but it's hard to tease out. It's hard to say if she's actually critiquing industrialism and the other trappings of capitalism, or just noticing their effect on the lives of people. I think it would take a great deal of research to figure out just what she's saying (research that I don't want to engage in, primarily because I find this novel just tedious enough that actually spending that sort of time with it would probably make me want to stop reading altogether). Also interesting is the way Eliot uses babies as a way to characterize marriage. This is so unrealistic that it's endlessly fascinating. One marriage is childless, but the rest of the marriages result in at least two children. Somehow Eliot uses children to reflect on the strength of a marriage, while also using children to reflect on the parents. I don't want to give too much away, but if you read this book, pay attention to the babies. They seem loaded with symbolic importance, the sort of symbolic importance that is absolutely impossible in real life. In an otherwise realistic novel, this symbol is striking.

Eliot's real power lays in her asides and in the voice she gives her narrator. She has some of the finest insults in 19th century literature and some of the strongest observations in literature. The narrator of Middlemarch comes and goes unpredictably, but whenever the narrator is present, you're privy to some of the funniest observations (or drolly accurate summaries) I've ever read. That being said, this book is going to appeal to very specific people. People who like classics could attempt this book, but I'd recommend reading it in a group. Otherwise you might not have the strength to force yourself through it. Because this novel looks particularly at marriage, I'd recommend it to classics readers who are marriage or are in a committed relationship (not because I want to cause problems, but because I think it's always good to think about your relationships and what you're sacrificing). This is also a classic in feminist literature (if it isn't, it should be). Eliot looks directly at the limited choices women have (marry or don't marry, and even if you do marry your choices are incredibly limited) and how those limited choices destroy women. Finally, to any young people who feel ambitious, I'd suggest you read this book. Suffer through some of the dull parts and you'll learn all you need to know about adult relationships--their pitfalls and their joys.

--Benvolia

What Comes Next?: “After”

Book: After: Nineteen Stories of Apocalypse and Dystopia

Editors: Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling

Pages: 359

Copy: advanced reader copy

Read: finished September 2

Spoilers: minor details, but nothing that ruins anything

Upon first seeing this book, I had my usual, aggravated reaction to anyone who lumps apocalyptic and dystopian literature together.  Luckily, the editors anticipated me.  Windling and Datlow admit that “blistering arguments about what should and shouldn’t be labeled dystopian fiction” (which they rather annoyingly refer to as dyslit from throughout the rest of the introduction) “have consumed whole Internet forums, convention panels, and book review columns…As for us…we’ve chosen to take a broader road in the creation of this anthology, including both dystopian and post-disaster tales…”  Fair enough.  While I cling to the classic definition of dystopia, I appreciate anyone who takes a moment to explain the difference and admit they what exactly they are doing.

The collection opens with an interesting, if rather short, story by Genevieve Valentine.  While Valentine’s position isn’t precisely a new one (this story bears some resemblance to Stephen King’s The Running Man, in that both stories deal with reality TV—Valentine’s version is much more YA friendly, though, lacking the goriness of King’s novel), she does a good job introducing teen readers to this subgenre of dystopian literature.  (On second thought, anyone who’s read The Hunger Games will already know the reality TV-dystopia.  Still, Valentine’s story comes from enough of a different angle to be interesting, if slightly derivative.)

The next story, “After the Cure” by Carrie Ryan, is one of the best in the collection.  Having read Ryan’s YA book (The Forest of Hands and Teeth), I find this short story infinitely superior and far from the melodrama that deeply marred her novel.  “After the Cure” is psychologically complex and asks important questions about survivors.  Ryan’s contribution to the collection is one of the few I’ve thought about since, so interesting are the questions it asks and the answers it suggests.

Other standout stories include Matthew Kressel’s “The Great Game at the End of the World,” another deeply complex story with heavy questions; “Reunion” by Susan Beth Pfeffer, which kept me guessing with its complex post-rebellion moodiness; Jeffrey Ford’s painfully relevant “Blood Drive,” which may be a little difficult to read given current events; Steven Gould’s “Rust with Wings;” “Faint Heart” by Sarah Rees Brennan, which does joyful battle with clichéd gender roles; and Nalo Hopkinson’s “The Easthound,” which has as surprising an ending as can be expected.  That there are seven excellent stories in a collection of this sort is nothing short of miraculous.

I found three stories to be absolute failures.  Katharine Langrish’s “Visiting Nelson” has the seed of an excellent story, given that it is a melting pot of A Clockwork Orange, 1984, and other dystopias based in London, but she doesn’t accomplish enough.  She might have better luck if she extends her story, though only if she does so carefully.  Her writing isn’t so engaging that I would put up with it for long.  Gregory Maguire (whom, I will admit, I’ve never really enjoyed) offers a nearly unreadable story (“How Th’irth Wint Rong By Hapless Joey @ Homeskool.guv).  His narrators are nearly illiterate survivors, but they aren’t engaging and his story goes nowhere.  I’ll admit I was disappointed, but not particularly surprised given my track record with this author.  Jane Yolen’s boring, half-hearted contribution (“Gray”), though, is by far the greatest disappointment.  Perhaps because it is the only poem in the collection (and by far the shortest entry), it sticks out the most and fails to satisfy utterly.

Some who have read Garth Nix’s dark Shade’s Children may be interested in his story, “You Won’t Feel a Thing.”  I, though, was left a little cold.  Partly, it’s been a long time since I read Shade’s Children, but perhaps more important is the story’s uselessness to the wider story hinted at in Shade’s Children.  This short story didn’t change anything in Shade’s Children, or even deepen my understanding of that novel.  (It is perhaps a disappointment because he has accomplished what he failed to do in this story elsewhere.  “Over the Wall” explores some of the complexity of the world created in his Abhorsen Trilogy, adding something new and changing the characters just the right amount.)

This collection will be especially good for anyone searching for literature after The Hunger Games.  (Especially helpful is the “About the Contributors” at the back of the book, which makes it easy to find what else an author has written.)  This collection may not be very well-received by adult readers—the stories lack the moral complexity of truly classic dystopia.  That being said, this is a good introduction to the vastness of the genre and is an excellent book for anyone who collects dystopian books (guilty!).  This is also a useful collection for anyone interested in looking academically at the explosion of YA dystopia, because it collects many of the important themes of modern teen dystopias and lacks the annoying romantic melodrama of YA novels.

--Benvolia