So that's it; that's the year in books for me. It was a good one, though I think I worried a bit more than I should have about the accomplishment of reading, rather than the enjoyment of it; I got a little wrapped up in reading as many books as possible, writing stellar reviews for all of them, and keeping careful count of how many books I read and when I read them. I blame the Amazon reviewer ratings for most of that. Or my own obsessions and competitive mania. Either way.
Best Book of the Year: There wasn't a single book that stood out above the rest, really, but I'm most glad about getting to read the Anita Blake series. So pick any book out of those.
Worst Book That I Finished: You know, thanks to Jaime and her book review books, and my own curiosity about crap piles like Venti Jesus and Stubby Amberchuk, I read a lot of bad books this year. A lot. But I'm giving the prize to Breaking Dawn and fucking Renesmee: that book wasn't just bad, it actually ruined three good books because it made the whole series bad.
Worst Book That I Didn't Finish: Probably Eldest, because the author is so clearly arrogant and condescending in the book that it isn't only unpleasant, but also offensively bad.
Book That Was the Most Fun to Make Fun of: Happy Hour of the Damned
Most Surprisingly Enjoyable Book: Either Heloise and Abelard or The BFG.
Most Inspiring Book: As a writer, Tree and Leaf. As a person, Fifty Acres and a Poodle.
Most Demoralizing Book: Twinkie Deconstructed
Book That Made Me Laugh the Most: Why We Suck
Saddest Book: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.
On to 2009! Woo hoo!
Book List 2008:
1. The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace 1/2/08
2. Magic Bites by Ilona Andrews 1/4/08
3. Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman 1/6/08
4. Through Wolf's Eyes by Jane Lindskold 1/12/08
5. Sandman I: Preludes and Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman 1/13/08
6. You Suck by Christopher Moore 1/15/08
7. Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood 1/20/08
8. Kitty Goes to Washington by Carrie Vaughn 1/21/08
9. Empire by Orson Scott Card 1/30/08
10. Hairstyles of the Damned by Joe Meno 2/1/08
11. Twilight by Stephanie Meyer 2/5/08
12. The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett 2/7/08
13. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne 2/9/08
14. Lamb by Christopher Moore 2/16/08 (?)
15. Sandman II: The Doll's House by Neil Gaiman 2/23/08 (?)
16. Hex and the City by Simon R. Green 3/2/08
17. Ricochet River by Robin Cody 3/6/08 (?)
18. Greywalker by Kat Richardson 3/11/08
19. Mimi and Toutou Go Forth by Giles Foden 3/16/08
20. New Moon by Stephanie Meyer 3/22/08
21. The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger by Stephen King 3/24
22. The Codex Alera Book I: The Furies of Calderon by Jim Butcher 3/28
23. Twinkie, Deconstructed by Steve Ettlinger 4/2
24. Eclipse by Stephanie Meyer 4/7
25. Venti Jesus, Please by Greg Stier 4/7
26. Parrot in the Oven: Mi Vida by Victor Martinez 4/11
27. Ink Exchange by Melissa Marr 4/15
28. White Knight by Jim Butcher 4/19
29. Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson 4/23
30. The Outlaw Demon Wails by Kim Harrison 5/2
31. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey 5/10
32. The House of the Scorpion by Nancy Farmer 5/11
33. Resistance by Owen Sheers 5/16
34. Achilles' Choice by Larry Niven and Steven Barnes 5/17
35. The Drawing of the Three by Stephen King 5/20
36. Sunrise over Fallujah by Walter Dean Myers 5/24
37. Kitty Takes a Holiday by Carrie Vaughn 5/26
38. Heloise and Abelard: A New Biography by James Burge 6/1
39. Definitely Dead by Charlaine Harris 6/3
40. The Life and Crimes of Bernetta Wallflower by Lisa Graff 6/7
41. All Together Dead by Charlaine Harris 6/10
42. Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat 6/14
43. From Dead to Worse by Charlaine Harris 6/15
44. The Iron Ring by Lloyd Alexander 6/17
45. Goblin Quest by Jim C. Hines 6/20
46. Small Favor by Jim Butcher 6/22
47. The Wastelands by Stephen King 6/29
48. Happy Hour of the Damned by Mark Henry 7/2
49. Utopia by Thomas More 7/6
50. Guilty Pleasures by Laurell Hamilton 7/7
51. Batman: The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller 7/8
52. The Laughing Corpse by Laurell K. Hamilton 7/13
53. Conquistador by S.M. Stirling 7/18
54. Circus of the Damned by Laurell K. Hamilton 7/21
55. Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson 7/29
56. The Lunatic Cafe by Laurell K. Hamilton 7/30
57. His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik 7/31
58. Bloody Bones by Laurell K. Hamilton 8/1 Woo! Four in a row!
59. The Traveler by John Twelve Hawks 8/4
60. The Killing Dance by Laurell K. Hamilton 8/6
61. Goblin Hero by Jim C. Hines 8/8
62. Breaking Dawn by Stephanie Meyer 8/11
63. Burnt Offerings by Laurell K. Hamilton 8/13
64. Stubby Amberchuk and the Holy Grail by Anne Cameron 8/16
65. Blue Moon by Laurell K. Hamilton 8/18
66. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown 8/21
67. Obsidian Butterfly by Laurell K. Hamilton 8/27
68. Throne of Jade by Naomi Novik 8/29
69. Narcissus in Chains by Laurell K. Hamilton 9/2
70. The Drunkard's Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives by Leonard Mlodinow 9/5
71. Cerulean Sins by Laurell K. Hamilton 9/8
72. Black Powder War by Naomi Novik 9/11
73. Incubus Dreams by Laurell K. Hamilton 9/16 (?)
74. I, robot by Isaac Asimov starring Will Smith by Howard S. Smith 9/21
75. Micah by Laurell K. Hamilton 9/21
76. Tree and Leaf by J.R.R. Tolkien 9/22
77. Descartes' Bones by Russell Shorto 9/27
78. Danse Macabre by Laurell K. Hamilton 10/1
79. The Sea of Trolls by Nancy Farmer 10/6
80. The Harlequin by Laurell K. Hamilton 10/8
81. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe 10/10
82. Eon: Dragoneye Reborn by Allison Goodman 10/12
83. Sandman III: Dream Country by Neil Gaiman 10/13
84. Fifty Acres and a Poodle by Jeanne Marie Laskas 10/16
85. Blood Noir by Laurell K. Hamilton 10/22
86. Possession by Chris Humphreys 10/25
87. Blood Bound by Patricia Briggs 10/28
88. Iron Kissed by Patricia Briggs 10/31
89. Wizard and Glass by Stephen King 11/8
90. The BFG by Roald Dahl 11/9
91. Academ's Fury by Jim Butcher 11/13
92. Fer-de-Lance by Rex Stout 11/17
93. A Kiss of Shadows by Laurell K. Hamilton 11/21
94. Walking in Circles Before Lying Down by Merrill Markoe 11/22
95. Fool's Errand by Robin Hobb 11/29
96. Will the Vampire People Please Leave the Lobby? by Allyson Beatrice 12/2
97. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksander Solzhenitsyn 12/4
98. Dope Sick by Walter Dean Myers 12/5
99. Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris 12/9
100. A Universal History of the Destruction of Books by Fernando Baez 12/13
101. Dave Barry Is Not Making This Up by Dave Barry 12/15
102. In The Best Families by Rex Stout 12/16
103. A Caress of Twilight by Laurell K. Hamilton 12/19
104. Dog Days by John Levitt 12/23
105. King's Property by Morgan Howell 12/26
106. Why We Suck by Dr. Denis Leary 12/27
107. Goblin War by Jim C. Hines 12/30
108. The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason 12/31
**Tried and Rejected:
Be Sweet: A Memoir of Conditional Love by Roy Blount, Jr.
Crossroads of Twilight (Put off temporarily)
The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson (Put off temporarily -- twice)
The Tyranny of the Night by Glen Cook
The Man Who Ate the 747 by Ben Sherwood
Perdido Street Station by China Mieville
Shadow Play by Charles Baxter
Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart by Jane Lindskold
Eldest by Christopher Paolini
V for Vendetta: The Novelization of the Film by Steve Moore
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Book #108
The Rule of Four
by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason
I rushed this one, trying to get it in before the year was ended; I managed to read it in about 24 hours, and so here we are with the 108th and final book of 2008.
It was okay: the writing was excellent, the characters were nice, but the plot was a little bland. The setting didn't help, either, as it did not lend itself to either interesting stories or characterizations and descriptions that I could relate to -- though I'm sure Princeton alumni loved every second of it. The basic story begins with four friends, all seniors at Princeton, who are heading into their last month at the school. Charlie is moving on to become a doctor, though he hasn't picked a med school yet; Gil has no apparent plans, but also little need of them owing to his family's wealth and his own general competence and winning personality; Tom, the narrator, has to make a decision whether he wants to pursue a PhD in Literature, or take a job offer from an internet startup with more money than mission in its business model. The last of the four, Paul is still working on his senior thesis, and time is running out. But Paul's thesis is not simple: he is looking to solve a 500-year-old riddle, in the form of a mysterious and puzzling book from the 15th century.
The good part about this book was definitely in the character interactions. The authors did an excellent job of making these friends seem both realistic, and special in their abilities and their bond with each other; they also wrote an outstanding romance, between Tom and his girlfriend, Katie, who forces Tom to choose between his own share in Paul's obsession with the ancient book -- a book that Tom's own father spent his life trying to decipher, a pastime that influenced Tom in more ways than he knows -- and his ever-growing love for her. Although the romance ends well, it is not a simple, happily-ever-after story, which was both refreshing and annoying, as such endings are. The villains in this book, though they do not dominate the storyline -- the focus is as much on the friendships as anything else -- are outstanding: mysterious, vile, infuriating, and also realistic and very much complex human beings, just like the heroes.
My complaint about this book relates to the mysterious book. The mystery was not terribly interesting, nor was the solution; the Rule of Four is nothing deserving of a title reference, despite a weak attempt to make it more meaningful than it was. And while I was pleased to get the answer, it was far too obscure to have any real meaning for me personally; this is a mystery, a solution, and a set of implications that really only matter for Renaissance scholars, which I ain't. So while I liked reading about these people -- apart from the unconscious elitism, such as when the narrator castigates himself for leaving Katie in the lurch when she needs him: when she is dealing with the pressure of applying for membership in one of the exclusive Princeton dining clubs. Yeah. That's rough. -- I didn't really care for the events they were going through, which made me want the book to move on from its own plot. This is not the way a thriller should read.
All in all, I'd like to read another book by these authors, as long as it isn't set in an Ivy league school and it doesn't center around a five-hundred-year-old diary.
by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason
I rushed this one, trying to get it in before the year was ended; I managed to read it in about 24 hours, and so here we are with the 108th and final book of 2008.
It was okay: the writing was excellent, the characters were nice, but the plot was a little bland. The setting didn't help, either, as it did not lend itself to either interesting stories or characterizations and descriptions that I could relate to -- though I'm sure Princeton alumni loved every second of it. The basic story begins with four friends, all seniors at Princeton, who are heading into their last month at the school. Charlie is moving on to become a doctor, though he hasn't picked a med school yet; Gil has no apparent plans, but also little need of them owing to his family's wealth and his own general competence and winning personality; Tom, the narrator, has to make a decision whether he wants to pursue a PhD in Literature, or take a job offer from an internet startup with more money than mission in its business model. The last of the four, Paul is still working on his senior thesis, and time is running out. But Paul's thesis is not simple: he is looking to solve a 500-year-old riddle, in the form of a mysterious and puzzling book from the 15th century.
The good part about this book was definitely in the character interactions. The authors did an excellent job of making these friends seem both realistic, and special in their abilities and their bond with each other; they also wrote an outstanding romance, between Tom and his girlfriend, Katie, who forces Tom to choose between his own share in Paul's obsession with the ancient book -- a book that Tom's own father spent his life trying to decipher, a pastime that influenced Tom in more ways than he knows -- and his ever-growing love for her. Although the romance ends well, it is not a simple, happily-ever-after story, which was both refreshing and annoying, as such endings are. The villains in this book, though they do not dominate the storyline -- the focus is as much on the friendships as anything else -- are outstanding: mysterious, vile, infuriating, and also realistic and very much complex human beings, just like the heroes.
My complaint about this book relates to the mysterious book. The mystery was not terribly interesting, nor was the solution; the Rule of Four is nothing deserving of a title reference, despite a weak attempt to make it more meaningful than it was. And while I was pleased to get the answer, it was far too obscure to have any real meaning for me personally; this is a mystery, a solution, and a set of implications that really only matter for Renaissance scholars, which I ain't. So while I liked reading about these people -- apart from the unconscious elitism, such as when the narrator castigates himself for leaving Katie in the lurch when she needs him: when she is dealing with the pressure of applying for membership in one of the exclusive Princeton dining clubs. Yeah. That's rough. -- I didn't really care for the events they were going through, which made me want the book to move on from its own plot. This is not the way a thriller should read.
All in all, I'd like to read another book by these authors, as long as it isn't set in an Ivy league school and it doesn't center around a five-hundred-year-old diary.
Book #107
Goblin War
by Jim C. Hines
I made a bit of a mistake in picking this one, I think; I love the goblin books, and it seemed like the right genre choice after reading Leary's caustic non-fiction memoir/social commentary, but I wasn't really in the mood for this book right at this time. It made me shy away from reading it, so it took longer than it should have, and I didn't really pay as much attention to this one as I did to the first two.
That being said, this was a great book, especially the ending. This one wrapped up Jig's story beautifully; since most of the fantasy and paranormal series I read don't actually have an ending, getting to the finish line here was a very nice change, particularly since I liked the finish line. I liked everything leading up to it, as well, of course, just as I have with all three of Hines's books about Jig's adventures.
This one starts off with the goblins leaving the lair because their mountain, sealed off in the first book and then unsealed in the second, is under attack by humans. The goblins lose, of course, since that is what goblins do, and a few dozen are taken as slaves to work on shoring up the defenses of a nearby human town -- a town that is soon to come under assault from a massive army of monsters, everything from goblins to kobolds to orcs, led by an orc named Billa the Bloody. Jig and two of his companions escape, and go to seek out this monster who has managed to unite such disparate and troublesome races into a single group; when they find that the rumors are true, and all of these monsters are really working together to fight off the humans, Jig and his friends eagerly sign up -- at last, Jig thinks, there is a chance for the goblins to be free of the humans, to escape the neverending flow of adventurers and treasure seekers who keep troming into the lair and killing as many goblins as they can find. Maybe if Billa can win this war, all of the goblins can live in peace.
We also get to hear the backstory of Tymalous Shadowstar, Jig's patron deity; scenes from his downfall are woven into Jig's story, and make for excellent little vignettes all by themselves as well as showing more about the god of peace who became the patron of goblins. The two stories come together when it turns out that Billa the Bloody is, like Jig, the champion of one of the Forgotten Gods, but this god has different plans for the monsters, and Jig and Tymalous have to decide whether they are with Billa and her master, or against them.
As I said, it all works out in the end -- though like the previous books, because these characters are goblins and their ilk, no character is safe here; all of them are expendable, and some of them are expended. But the book was great fun to read, and I look forward to Jim Hines's next series.
by Jim C. Hines
I made a bit of a mistake in picking this one, I think; I love the goblin books, and it seemed like the right genre choice after reading Leary's caustic non-fiction memoir/social commentary, but I wasn't really in the mood for this book right at this time. It made me shy away from reading it, so it took longer than it should have, and I didn't really pay as much attention to this one as I did to the first two.
That being said, this was a great book, especially the ending. This one wrapped up Jig's story beautifully; since most of the fantasy and paranormal series I read don't actually have an ending, getting to the finish line here was a very nice change, particularly since I liked the finish line. I liked everything leading up to it, as well, of course, just as I have with all three of Hines's books about Jig's adventures.
This one starts off with the goblins leaving the lair because their mountain, sealed off in the first book and then unsealed in the second, is under attack by humans. The goblins lose, of course, since that is what goblins do, and a few dozen are taken as slaves to work on shoring up the defenses of a nearby human town -- a town that is soon to come under assault from a massive army of monsters, everything from goblins to kobolds to orcs, led by an orc named Billa the Bloody. Jig and two of his companions escape, and go to seek out this monster who has managed to unite such disparate and troublesome races into a single group; when they find that the rumors are true, and all of these monsters are really working together to fight off the humans, Jig and his friends eagerly sign up -- at last, Jig thinks, there is a chance for the goblins to be free of the humans, to escape the neverending flow of adventurers and treasure seekers who keep troming into the lair and killing as many goblins as they can find. Maybe if Billa can win this war, all of the goblins can live in peace.
We also get to hear the backstory of Tymalous Shadowstar, Jig's patron deity; scenes from his downfall are woven into Jig's story, and make for excellent little vignettes all by themselves as well as showing more about the god of peace who became the patron of goblins. The two stories come together when it turns out that Billa the Bloody is, like Jig, the champion of one of the Forgotten Gods, but this god has different plans for the monsters, and Jig and Tymalous have to decide whether they are with Billa and her master, or against them.
As I said, it all works out in the end -- though like the previous books, because these characters are goblins and their ilk, no character is safe here; all of them are expendable, and some of them are expended. But the book was great fun to read, and I look forward to Jim Hines's next series.
Book #106
Why We Suck
by Dr. Denis Leary
That's right -- Dr. Denis Leary, proud alumnus of Emerson College in Boston, has received an honorary doctorate in humanities and letters. He's a Doctor. So now you have to do what he says, just like Dr. Phil. Unlike Dr. Phil, however, Dr. Denis is hilarious, insightful, and in almost every instance, absolutely correct, if a wee bit brutal.
Because we do suck. We suck a lot, and Dr. Leary has a hundred reasons why. The most prominent are: Americans are fat, lazy, loud, and stupid, and getting worse all the time; our celebrities are all of these things and a bag of chips on the side, and our worship of them is not only inane and depressingly pathetic, but also harmful; and lastly, because we have no idea how to raise our children. Because of these things, not only has America lost its way, but the rest of the world knows it, and hates us when we stick out big stupid rhinoplastied noses into their business, and laughs at us when said foreshortened nose is crammed up our own backsides.
The book is hilarious, as all of Leary's comedy is. The nice thing about a book is he gets to go a little bit more in depth in his ranting than he does in his stand up routine, and the deeper Denis goes, the funnier he is. This book actually made me laugh out loud, something that almost never happens; even when it wasn't doing that, I was usually either giggling, chuckling, or nodding as I read.
The only place where Dr. Leary and I disagree is on gender issues. He is of the opinion that men are the grunting, meat-eating, sports-obsessed thoughtless clods that so many comics make them out to be; he does take the next step and point out that men are also strong, brave, and hardworking along with these things, which I appreciated. But Denis's experience of maleness is not mine; it might relate to the respective collar colors of our upbringings, or simply a difference in our basic structure. His understanding of what makes women tick also does not coincide with my experience of women, most particularly my wife -- but again, simply a difference in our experiences. For the men and women who parallel the roles Dr. Leary ascribes to them, he's got it down, so even if my life is different, it was still fun to read. I loved it, and I would highly recommend it.
by Dr. Denis Leary
That's right -- Dr. Denis Leary, proud alumnus of Emerson College in Boston, has received an honorary doctorate in humanities and letters. He's a Doctor. So now you have to do what he says, just like Dr. Phil. Unlike Dr. Phil, however, Dr. Denis is hilarious, insightful, and in almost every instance, absolutely correct, if a wee bit brutal.
Because we do suck. We suck a lot, and Dr. Leary has a hundred reasons why. The most prominent are: Americans are fat, lazy, loud, and stupid, and getting worse all the time; our celebrities are all of these things and a bag of chips on the side, and our worship of them is not only inane and depressingly pathetic, but also harmful; and lastly, because we have no idea how to raise our children. Because of these things, not only has America lost its way, but the rest of the world knows it, and hates us when we stick out big stupid rhinoplastied noses into their business, and laughs at us when said foreshortened nose is crammed up our own backsides.
The book is hilarious, as all of Leary's comedy is. The nice thing about a book is he gets to go a little bit more in depth in his ranting than he does in his stand up routine, and the deeper Denis goes, the funnier he is. This book actually made me laugh out loud, something that almost never happens; even when it wasn't doing that, I was usually either giggling, chuckling, or nodding as I read.
The only place where Dr. Leary and I disagree is on gender issues. He is of the opinion that men are the grunting, meat-eating, sports-obsessed thoughtless clods that so many comics make them out to be; he does take the next step and point out that men are also strong, brave, and hardworking along with these things, which I appreciated. But Denis's experience of maleness is not mine; it might relate to the respective collar colors of our upbringings, or simply a difference in our basic structure. His understanding of what makes women tick also does not coincide with my experience of women, most particularly my wife -- but again, simply a difference in our experiences. For the men and women who parallel the roles Dr. Leary ascribes to them, he's got it down, so even if my life is different, it was still fun to read. I loved it, and I would highly recommend it.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Book #105
King's Property
by Morgan Howell
I figured, what the heck, I'm only in the middle of, what, nine or ten fantasy series? Let's see, there's Jim Hines's goblin books, the Temeraire novels, the Tawny Man trilogy, the Furies of Calderon, the Mistborn series -- and of course the Wheel of Time. That't not counting the paranormal series I'm into, including both Anita Blake and Merry Gentry, plus Rachel Morgan, Harry Dresden, Sookie Stackhouse, and Kitty Norville. Yeah, one more new series can't hurt, can it?
Of course not. So I picked up the first in the Queen of the Orcs trilogy, King's Property, by Morgan Howell. I was intrigued because I'm always intrigued by attempts to tell the other side of the classic fantasy schism; I've read several attempts to depict the world of goblins and orcs over the years, and I liked the way this one pitched it: this slave girl, Dar, becomes the Queen of the Orcs. Interesting concept, and I want to know how she'll pull it off.
So far, this one is off to a great start. This first book tells the story of Dar's kidnapping and enslavement by the army of her king; it seems the king uses orcs as shock troops, and the orcs have an odd compunction: they will only allow women to serve them food, never men. This means that the army needs to find women to serve in the orc regiments, and they do what any ruthless and amoral army would do; they steal them, brand them, and use them until they are destroyed, when they go out and find new ones.
This is a pretty brutal book, especially considering it is fantasy, and I even found it shelved in the YA section -- where it probably shouldn't be. Then again, it is simple and easy to follow, and far be it from me to say which themes are too adult for young people to read about; my book does include a bit of matricide and child abuse, after all, not to mention something about murder? Anyway, Dar at first resents the orcs and hates them for being the reason for her enslavement. Soon, though, she realizes the orcs are being used up and cast away just as much as the women are; the orcs, it turns out, are not brutal and mindless savages, but simply a different race with a different culture and different values -- ones which don't often coincide with human values. And, most important to Dar, they are willing to protect her from what she fears most; Dar, having been sexually abused by her father, absolutely refuses to do what every other slave woman does, and whore herself out to a human soldier for protection. Instead, she befriends the orcs.
It's a very interesting book, though I almost wish more time had been spent with the orcs than with the humans; the humans in the book are almost universally craptacular, whereas the orcs are very cool. But the way it was done was reasonable, too, as the orcs are not fond of humans and Dar's acceptance into their midst is -- well, let's just say, "grudging." I loved the author's creation of the orcs' culture, and I really liked how Dar learned about it and explored it -- very realistic and interesting. I even liked the language, and I, like most lifetime fantasy fans, am hard to please. But this one was nicely done, and also felt very orcy.
I enjoyed the book, and I'll finish the trilogy. Once I get through all the other series, that is.
by Morgan Howell
I figured, what the heck, I'm only in the middle of, what, nine or ten fantasy series? Let's see, there's Jim Hines's goblin books, the Temeraire novels, the Tawny Man trilogy, the Furies of Calderon, the Mistborn series -- and of course the Wheel of Time. That't not counting the paranormal series I'm into, including both Anita Blake and Merry Gentry, plus Rachel Morgan, Harry Dresden, Sookie Stackhouse, and Kitty Norville. Yeah, one more new series can't hurt, can it?
Of course not. So I picked up the first in the Queen of the Orcs trilogy, King's Property, by Morgan Howell. I was intrigued because I'm always intrigued by attempts to tell the other side of the classic fantasy schism; I've read several attempts to depict the world of goblins and orcs over the years, and I liked the way this one pitched it: this slave girl, Dar, becomes the Queen of the Orcs. Interesting concept, and I want to know how she'll pull it off.
So far, this one is off to a great start. This first book tells the story of Dar's kidnapping and enslavement by the army of her king; it seems the king uses orcs as shock troops, and the orcs have an odd compunction: they will only allow women to serve them food, never men. This means that the army needs to find women to serve in the orc regiments, and they do what any ruthless and amoral army would do; they steal them, brand them, and use them until they are destroyed, when they go out and find new ones.
This is a pretty brutal book, especially considering it is fantasy, and I even found it shelved in the YA section -- where it probably shouldn't be. Then again, it is simple and easy to follow, and far be it from me to say which themes are too adult for young people to read about; my book does include a bit of matricide and child abuse, after all, not to mention something about murder? Anyway, Dar at first resents the orcs and hates them for being the reason for her enslavement. Soon, though, she realizes the orcs are being used up and cast away just as much as the women are; the orcs, it turns out, are not brutal and mindless savages, but simply a different race with a different culture and different values -- ones which don't often coincide with human values. And, most important to Dar, they are willing to protect her from what she fears most; Dar, having been sexually abused by her father, absolutely refuses to do what every other slave woman does, and whore herself out to a human soldier for protection. Instead, she befriends the orcs.
It's a very interesting book, though I almost wish more time had been spent with the orcs than with the humans; the humans in the book are almost universally craptacular, whereas the orcs are very cool. But the way it was done was reasonable, too, as the orcs are not fond of humans and Dar's acceptance into their midst is -- well, let's just say, "grudging." I loved the author's creation of the orcs' culture, and I really liked how Dar learned about it and explored it -- very realistic and interesting. I even liked the language, and I, like most lifetime fantasy fans, am hard to please. But this one was nicely done, and also felt very orcy.
I enjoyed the book, and I'll finish the trilogy. Once I get through all the other series, that is.
Book #104
Dog Days
by John Levitt
Since this is a milestone book -- the ones that marks two books a week for the year -- I wanted it to be the Emerson collection I started and didn't finish, so I got back into that. Unfortunately for my geekery, I still can't read Emerson for more than half an hour or so without my brain getting twisted into a nice pretzel shape. Though I liked what I read this time as much as the other three times I've tried to finish that book; I read four more essays, including really great ones on art and being a poet, and once I wait a month or so -- not eight months like this last hiatus between essays -- I should be able to finish the book. However, I have also realized that a single reading is not going to enable me to really grasp these things, and so I plan to read them again, a second time, and maybe again after that -- though I may look for some of his other writings after the second time through. I did read a very nice thing in the introduction to this collection, when the scholar introducing Emerson said that he doesn't try to study his work, just enjoy it, and also that Emerson's essays are not logical step-by-step constructions of arguments, but more explorations of themes, and as such are not really meant to be grasped as a single totality. Emerson is best at the level of the sentence, he said, and that's what I've found to be true. I loved some of the sentences I found this time through, and I look forward to reading them again after I have a basic initial grasp of his topic.
But after three or four days of slogging through that -- while we were snowed in and school was being cancelled prior to Christmas Break -- I gave it up and went for something nice and light, and stopped worrying about which book appears where in this list, which is a stupid consideration in the first place. So I read Dog Days, by John Levitt.
It's a good story, nicely written without being overly complex. The main character is a part-time musician and part-time magician, and too unambitious (okay, lazy) to really focus on either one and make it work. Much is made in this book of his undeveloped potential, and in some ways, I can relate to that. My own laziness and lack of focused ambition has held me back in both my writing career and my teaching, erm, career -- inasmuch as I would be better at either if I could focus on one. Not that I would ever focus on teaching, or that my unrealized potential means a whole lot to me; I'd be an excellent janitor if I focused on that, too, along with probably a hundred other jobs. But Mason, the narrator of this book, is only bothered when it is pointed out to him that he could be, but is not, a truly great jazz guitarist; I feel that way about my writing, sometimes. But then again, my real ambition is for a happy life, and today, on Boxing Day, when I'm about to start reading my new Denis Leary book after playing my new God of War video game, I have no complaints and no regrets.
Mason's closest companion in his relaxed, unmotivated life is his "dog," Louie, who is actually an Ifrit -- a semi-magical creature who will choose a practitioner of magic for a companion and stick with them, usually for life. Nobody knows why Ifrits choose the ones they do, or where they come from, or even what they really are; Louie is basically a dog, but also much more. Louie is extremely well-written, and is a very sweet and interesting character. The way the plot ties into the Ifrits was excellent, and it made the bad guy really a bad guy.
Other strengths of this book were the magic, which is very nicely imagined but could be explained more, and the magical action scenes, which were brilliant. Mason is attacked repeatedly in this book, and it isn't clear why until the end; what is clear is that the person attacking him is both powerful and clever, using mundane and magical distractions to great advantage, as well as having good ideas for ways to get rid of Mason. It is also clear that Mason's greatest strength, his ability to improvise -- and it's a clever strength, nicely done, and the tie to his jazz is very cool -- is what saves his butt from these attacks, along with Louie. I really liked the way Mason's creativity was compared to the strengths of other practitioners, to Eli's education and brilliance, to Victor's raw power and mastery, to Sherwood's subtlety and empathy, to Campbell's specific talent, which sort of is magic and sort of isn't -- and that's a realm that has never been explored enough, and really should be. But I would like to know more about the basic theory of magic here: what is it? Where does it come from? Why do these people have it, and not others? How can Mason "pull" the aspects of his surroundings into his spells? Why isn't he more powerful, and why is Victor? How is it that words are nothing more than rhythm to Mason, but they are the main aspect of the summoning for Harry Keller, and others?
So in the next book, which we just bought but haven't read yet, I want to hear more about how magic works, and Mason's place in the magical world -- why he is the way he is, and what exactly he's going to become. At least some hints about that. I'd also like to meet a female character who doesn't have a masculine sounding last name for a first name, though that's less important, I admit.
by John Levitt
Since this is a milestone book -- the ones that marks two books a week for the year -- I wanted it to be the Emerson collection I started and didn't finish, so I got back into that. Unfortunately for my geekery, I still can't read Emerson for more than half an hour or so without my brain getting twisted into a nice pretzel shape. Though I liked what I read this time as much as the other three times I've tried to finish that book; I read four more essays, including really great ones on art and being a poet, and once I wait a month or so -- not eight months like this last hiatus between essays -- I should be able to finish the book. However, I have also realized that a single reading is not going to enable me to really grasp these things, and so I plan to read them again, a second time, and maybe again after that -- though I may look for some of his other writings after the second time through. I did read a very nice thing in the introduction to this collection, when the scholar introducing Emerson said that he doesn't try to study his work, just enjoy it, and also that Emerson's essays are not logical step-by-step constructions of arguments, but more explorations of themes, and as such are not really meant to be grasped as a single totality. Emerson is best at the level of the sentence, he said, and that's what I've found to be true. I loved some of the sentences I found this time through, and I look forward to reading them again after I have a basic initial grasp of his topic.
But after three or four days of slogging through that -- while we were snowed in and school was being cancelled prior to Christmas Break -- I gave it up and went for something nice and light, and stopped worrying about which book appears where in this list, which is a stupid consideration in the first place. So I read Dog Days, by John Levitt.
It's a good story, nicely written without being overly complex. The main character is a part-time musician and part-time magician, and too unambitious (okay, lazy) to really focus on either one and make it work. Much is made in this book of his undeveloped potential, and in some ways, I can relate to that. My own laziness and lack of focused ambition has held me back in both my writing career and my teaching, erm, career -- inasmuch as I would be better at either if I could focus on one. Not that I would ever focus on teaching, or that my unrealized potential means a whole lot to me; I'd be an excellent janitor if I focused on that, too, along with probably a hundred other jobs. But Mason, the narrator of this book, is only bothered when it is pointed out to him that he could be, but is not, a truly great jazz guitarist; I feel that way about my writing, sometimes. But then again, my real ambition is for a happy life, and today, on Boxing Day, when I'm about to start reading my new Denis Leary book after playing my new God of War video game, I have no complaints and no regrets.
Mason's closest companion in his relaxed, unmotivated life is his "dog," Louie, who is actually an Ifrit -- a semi-magical creature who will choose a practitioner of magic for a companion and stick with them, usually for life. Nobody knows why Ifrits choose the ones they do, or where they come from, or even what they really are; Louie is basically a dog, but also much more. Louie is extremely well-written, and is a very sweet and interesting character. The way the plot ties into the Ifrits was excellent, and it made the bad guy really a bad guy.
Other strengths of this book were the magic, which is very nicely imagined but could be explained more, and the magical action scenes, which were brilliant. Mason is attacked repeatedly in this book, and it isn't clear why until the end; what is clear is that the person attacking him is both powerful and clever, using mundane and magical distractions to great advantage, as well as having good ideas for ways to get rid of Mason. It is also clear that Mason's greatest strength, his ability to improvise -- and it's a clever strength, nicely done, and the tie to his jazz is very cool -- is what saves his butt from these attacks, along with Louie. I really liked the way Mason's creativity was compared to the strengths of other practitioners, to Eli's education and brilliance, to Victor's raw power and mastery, to Sherwood's subtlety and empathy, to Campbell's specific talent, which sort of is magic and sort of isn't -- and that's a realm that has never been explored enough, and really should be. But I would like to know more about the basic theory of magic here: what is it? Where does it come from? Why do these people have it, and not others? How can Mason "pull" the aspects of his surroundings into his spells? Why isn't he more powerful, and why is Victor? How is it that words are nothing more than rhythm to Mason, but they are the main aspect of the summoning for Harry Keller, and others?
So in the next book, which we just bought but haven't read yet, I want to hear more about how magic works, and Mason's place in the magical world -- why he is the way he is, and what exactly he's going to become. At least some hints about that. I'd also like to meet a female character who doesn't have a masculine sounding last name for a first name, though that's less important, I admit.
Book #103
A Caress of Twilight
by Laurell K. Hamilton
So far, I have been less impressed with the Meredith Gentry series, as compared to the Anita Blake series. Not particularly because the Merry books are bad, because they're not -- I just think the Anita books are excellent, and the bar was set a leetle too high for these books in my mind.
This second installment picks up where the first left off: Meredith is living in LA, still working for the detective agency, and surrounded by the Queen's Guards, who are her lovers as she tries to win the Great Pregnancy Race. This time the case revolves around a Fae of the Seelie court, the pretty ones, who was exiled long ago; this Seelie moved into the human world and became an actress, an immortal and inhumanly beautiful ingenue. Makes sense. And now she needs Merry's help, because Merry is a member of the Fae courts, just as the actress, Maeve Reed, was.
This is the first problem. The detective agency thing is stupid. Private detectives have always struck me as a weak version of the police, when it comes to mystery and crime fiction; it is more reasonable for the police to be handling the juicy cases, but if you write about a cop, you have a very specific set of rules to follow, and a whole culture to deal with; making your character a PI frees you from that rigid structure, but it means you need to dream up some way that your guy can handle the big cases instead of the police. Sometimes it's well done: I think Sue Grafton has made a good setup with her detective in the alphabet books -- A Is for Alibi, and so on -- and Dennis Lehane did well with his pair of Boston detectives whose names I can't remember. But otherwise, it feels lame to me. Since Anita works with the actual police, and Hamilton writes that well, anything that Merry does as an investigator seems weak by comparison. In the first book, her "undercover" assignment seemed very rushed and contrived, and in this one, the case does not involve any detecting whatsoever. That's fine, I prefer that the complications in these books arise as this one did, but it would be so much more interesting to me if Merry worked for, oh I don't know, an ad agency. Or maybe dealt blackjack. Or did social work or something. So many good possibilities, and I don't like this choice. I really didn't like it when Merry was called out to consult on a mysterious death scene, as it felt far too derivative of the other series, and that was a mistake. Though the detail of the lipstick was brilliant; I wonder if they actually have that color.
But anyhoo, the story with Maeve is reasonably interesting; another take on immortality and one of its greatest flaws -- the fact that you have to watch mortals grow old and die while you stay young and perfect. It complicated the issue of Merry's pregnancy, which hasn't arrived yet, and which I hope has a reasonable explanation; personally, I think it would be interesting to have her get pregnant and become queen, and see what she does with the job, rather than have the race to conceive stretch out for nine or ten books. Just an opinion.
The interactions between Merry and her guards were good; I like that Merry's taking charge and becoming a leader, and I really appreciated that Hamilton ended the sexual tension subplots, both of them: Galen was healed, and Doyle finally gave in to his desires. Those were fine scenes; I like the way Hamilton is writing the sexual parts of these books, a little better even than the Blake series.
The climactic fight scene was very cool; the monster was excellent, both in conception and in description, and I like the aftermath of its defeat. But I hated the last few pages of the book, when Hamilton ran the wrap-up she usually does at the end of the Anita Blake books, where she pulls back and has Anita or Merry summarize how the events of the book affect her over the next several days, weeks, or months. I hated this one because the wrap-up came too soon and was too long; as the fight with the Nameless was still winding down, suddenly Merry is talking about the next several months and how they're going to go, and how everything is working out with the guards and with Kitto. I wanted more of the straight story before we got the conclusion. I also don't really care for Kitto's character, though I think the goblins are an excellent subplot. But I do want to read on, and I am growing fond of the characters, expecially Rhys, who got a whole heck of a lot more interesting in this book. And the most important part is these books do play to Hamilton's strengths: she is an excellent world-builder, and a great writer of horribly nasty crazy bad guys. Welcome to the Unseelie Court.
by Laurell K. Hamilton
So far, I have been less impressed with the Meredith Gentry series, as compared to the Anita Blake series. Not particularly because the Merry books are bad, because they're not -- I just think the Anita books are excellent, and the bar was set a leetle too high for these books in my mind.
This second installment picks up where the first left off: Meredith is living in LA, still working for the detective agency, and surrounded by the Queen's Guards, who are her lovers as she tries to win the Great Pregnancy Race. This time the case revolves around a Fae of the Seelie court, the pretty ones, who was exiled long ago; this Seelie moved into the human world and became an actress, an immortal and inhumanly beautiful ingenue. Makes sense. And now she needs Merry's help, because Merry is a member of the Fae courts, just as the actress, Maeve Reed, was.
This is the first problem. The detective agency thing is stupid. Private detectives have always struck me as a weak version of the police, when it comes to mystery and crime fiction; it is more reasonable for the police to be handling the juicy cases, but if you write about a cop, you have a very specific set of rules to follow, and a whole culture to deal with; making your character a PI frees you from that rigid structure, but it means you need to dream up some way that your guy can handle the big cases instead of the police. Sometimes it's well done: I think Sue Grafton has made a good setup with her detective in the alphabet books -- A Is for Alibi, and so on -- and Dennis Lehane did well with his pair of Boston detectives whose names I can't remember. But otherwise, it feels lame to me. Since Anita works with the actual police, and Hamilton writes that well, anything that Merry does as an investigator seems weak by comparison. In the first book, her "undercover" assignment seemed very rushed and contrived, and in this one, the case does not involve any detecting whatsoever. That's fine, I prefer that the complications in these books arise as this one did, but it would be so much more interesting to me if Merry worked for, oh I don't know, an ad agency. Or maybe dealt blackjack. Or did social work or something. So many good possibilities, and I don't like this choice. I really didn't like it when Merry was called out to consult on a mysterious death scene, as it felt far too derivative of the other series, and that was a mistake. Though the detail of the lipstick was brilliant; I wonder if they actually have that color.
But anyhoo, the story with Maeve is reasonably interesting; another take on immortality and one of its greatest flaws -- the fact that you have to watch mortals grow old and die while you stay young and perfect. It complicated the issue of Merry's pregnancy, which hasn't arrived yet, and which I hope has a reasonable explanation; personally, I think it would be interesting to have her get pregnant and become queen, and see what she does with the job, rather than have the race to conceive stretch out for nine or ten books. Just an opinion.
The interactions between Merry and her guards were good; I like that Merry's taking charge and becoming a leader, and I really appreciated that Hamilton ended the sexual tension subplots, both of them: Galen was healed, and Doyle finally gave in to his desires. Those were fine scenes; I like the way Hamilton is writing the sexual parts of these books, a little better even than the Blake series.
The climactic fight scene was very cool; the monster was excellent, both in conception and in description, and I like the aftermath of its defeat. But I hated the last few pages of the book, when Hamilton ran the wrap-up she usually does at the end of the Anita Blake books, where she pulls back and has Anita or Merry summarize how the events of the book affect her over the next several days, weeks, or months. I hated this one because the wrap-up came too soon and was too long; as the fight with the Nameless was still winding down, suddenly Merry is talking about the next several months and how they're going to go, and how everything is working out with the guards and with Kitto. I wanted more of the straight story before we got the conclusion. I also don't really care for Kitto's character, though I think the goblins are an excellent subplot. But I do want to read on, and I am growing fond of the characters, expecially Rhys, who got a whole heck of a lot more interesting in this book. And the most important part is these books do play to Hamilton's strengths: she is an excellent world-builder, and a great writer of horribly nasty crazy bad guys. Welcome to the Unseelie Court.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Book #102
In the Best Families
by Rex Stout
I liked this one far, far better than the first Nero Wolfe book; I realized with this one that these books are not mysteries so much as legal thrillers of a kind. You're not really expected to work out the murder, though if ever you happen to know what happened before Wolfe reveals it in the last five pages, you should be proud of yourself; most of the book is taken up with the search for evidence, for proof, and, of course, in the description of the day-to-day life of the main characters. This one broke the mold a bit because the household is broken up by circumstances, so I'm still not sure if I'll like the majority of the books when so much of them will be spent watching Archie fume as Wolfe goes off to the plant rooms, or watching Wolfe fume when a client has to come over, but I think I'm willing to keep going through the series, at least one last time. I did enjoy this one quite a lot -- Archie got me to laugh out loud at least once, and smile half a dozen times. Not too bad, really.
by Rex Stout
I liked this one far, far better than the first Nero Wolfe book; I realized with this one that these books are not mysteries so much as legal thrillers of a kind. You're not really expected to work out the murder, though if ever you happen to know what happened before Wolfe reveals it in the last five pages, you should be proud of yourself; most of the book is taken up with the search for evidence, for proof, and, of course, in the description of the day-to-day life of the main characters. This one broke the mold a bit because the household is broken up by circumstances, so I'm still not sure if I'll like the majority of the books when so much of them will be spent watching Archie fume as Wolfe goes off to the plant rooms, or watching Wolfe fume when a client has to come over, but I think I'm willing to keep going through the series, at least one last time. I did enjoy this one quite a lot -- Archie got me to laugh out loud at least once, and smile half a dozen times. Not too bad, really.
Book #101
Dave Barry is Not Making This Up by -- guess.
A collection of Dave Barry's columns, both hilarious and very well-written, and I'm going to buy more of his books. Hah, see? I can be brief and to the point. My favorite was the one on censorship, which he fought by writing about circumcision. Hilarious, and also strong and noble. Which is even funnier, considering the subject. My respect for Dave Barry -- already high thanks to his columns and especially thanks to his propagation of Talk Like a Pirate Day -- just went up.
A collection of Dave Barry's columns, both hilarious and very well-written, and I'm going to buy more of his books. Hah, see? I can be brief and to the point. My favorite was the one on censorship, which he fought by writing about circumcision. Hilarious, and also strong and noble. Which is even funnier, considering the subject. My respect for Dave Barry -- already high thanks to his columns and especially thanks to his propagation of Talk Like a Pirate Day -- just went up.
Century!
A Universal History of the Destruction of Books
by Fernando Baez
I'm very happy that this one became the 100th book on my list for this year, but I'm not too happy that I read it. It was, as it says, a history of the destruction of books, from the burning of the Library of Alexandria and the flooding of ancient Sumerian temples full of clay tablets, to the recent looting and burning of the national archives in Iraq, performed by angry Iraqis as American soldiers looked on and did nothing. It was not, however, insightful or interesting -- more of a simple list of bibliocausts, as the author terms them. It was depressing, sure, and it told me something of the respective scales of assaults on knowledge, but it didn't really tell me anything new other than several facts. And I know enough of those. Lots of people have burned lots of books, generally because they were trying to wipe out an idea, or a cultural heritage. But beneath this mask is an idea, and ideas, Mr. Creevy, are bulletproof.
by Fernando Baez
I'm very happy that this one became the 100th book on my list for this year, but I'm not too happy that I read it. It was, as it says, a history of the destruction of books, from the burning of the Library of Alexandria and the flooding of ancient Sumerian temples full of clay tablets, to the recent looting and burning of the national archives in Iraq, performed by angry Iraqis as American soldiers looked on and did nothing. It was not, however, insightful or interesting -- more of a simple list of bibliocausts, as the author terms them. It was depressing, sure, and it told me something of the respective scales of assaults on knowledge, but it didn't really tell me anything new other than several facts. And I know enough of those. Lots of people have burned lots of books, generally because they were trying to wipe out an idea, or a cultural heritage. But beneath this mask is an idea, and ideas, Mr. Creevy, are bulletproof.
Book #99
Then We Came to the End
by Joshua Ferris
Found this one at the Safeway book sale; the cover claims it is both hilarious and moving, brilliant and contemporary. I guess it is.
The book is set in an advertising firm in Chicago right around 2000-2001, and it starts off funny enough; the employees of the firm spend all of their time gossiping and talking about everything imaginable, and there are some excellent wacky moments -- good e-mails, good eccentricities, a fantastic story about stolen office chairs. The most interesting thing about the book from a writer's standpoint was the choice of narrator: it is in the first person plural throughout, except for one interlude in the middle when it goes to third person, but there is never a singular voice; the narrator is the group of office workers, whenever they gather, and it was interesting to hear the "we" talk about the different people who made up the "we" as separate entities -- all of them, at different times. I've never read a book that did that before, and it was well done and intriguing -- quite thought-provoking.
The story was less interesting to me. After the wackiness settles down, overwhelmed by the rather grim circumstances the characters find themselves in -- the firm is downsizing in the face of the growing recession after the dot-com bubble burst, and one by one, the employees are being laid off, or, as the author put it in my favorite single line from this book, they are each being "walked Spanish" down the hall, a pirate reference and an utterly beautiful phrase -- the book becomes, well, depressing. The central interlude is about a woman in serious denial about being diagnosed with breast cancer, and it is brutal; going back from that to the post-wacky office workers was a bit of a let down as they and their lives became unbearably shallow. They stayed that way until the end, when a last piece of particularly insane wackiness pushed the whole thing over the cliff, in my opinion. It was too ridiculous, too extreme, to be funny, and because it was, it made all the opening parts unfunny, as well, as they are just as sad and just as maddening, simply to a lesser extent.
I suppose, in retrospect, that that was the point; the characters are redeemed or not at the end by their respective ability to move on from the gossiping chattering group of nabobs that they were at the beginning. I suppose the problem is that I just didn't think about this book enough -- I should have pondered the characters' growth, and looked back at the beginning through the lens of the end.
But really -- who wants to work that hard on a casual reading book?
by Joshua Ferris
Found this one at the Safeway book sale; the cover claims it is both hilarious and moving, brilliant and contemporary. I guess it is.
The book is set in an advertising firm in Chicago right around 2000-2001, and it starts off funny enough; the employees of the firm spend all of their time gossiping and talking about everything imaginable, and there are some excellent wacky moments -- good e-mails, good eccentricities, a fantastic story about stolen office chairs. The most interesting thing about the book from a writer's standpoint was the choice of narrator: it is in the first person plural throughout, except for one interlude in the middle when it goes to third person, but there is never a singular voice; the narrator is the group of office workers, whenever they gather, and it was interesting to hear the "we" talk about the different people who made up the "we" as separate entities -- all of them, at different times. I've never read a book that did that before, and it was well done and intriguing -- quite thought-provoking.
The story was less interesting to me. After the wackiness settles down, overwhelmed by the rather grim circumstances the characters find themselves in -- the firm is downsizing in the face of the growing recession after the dot-com bubble burst, and one by one, the employees are being laid off, or, as the author put it in my favorite single line from this book, they are each being "walked Spanish" down the hall, a pirate reference and an utterly beautiful phrase -- the book becomes, well, depressing. The central interlude is about a woman in serious denial about being diagnosed with breast cancer, and it is brutal; going back from that to the post-wacky office workers was a bit of a let down as they and their lives became unbearably shallow. They stayed that way until the end, when a last piece of particularly insane wackiness pushed the whole thing over the cliff, in my opinion. It was too ridiculous, too extreme, to be funny, and because it was, it made all the opening parts unfunny, as well, as they are just as sad and just as maddening, simply to a lesser extent.
I suppose, in retrospect, that that was the point; the characters are redeemed or not at the end by their respective ability to move on from the gossiping chattering group of nabobs that they were at the beginning. I suppose the problem is that I just didn't think about this book enough -- I should have pondered the characters' growth, and looked back at the beginning through the lens of the end.
But really -- who wants to work that hard on a casual reading book?
Book #98
Dope Sick
by Walter Dean Myers
This is my second Walter Dean Myers book; the first one, Sunrise Over Fallujah, was not a book I enjoyed, and it made me question, a little bit, whether this author should have gotten all the accolades he has received over his writing career or if he, like many authors I don't like but the critics do, has managed to write popular fiction but not good fiction. But now that I have read Dope Sick, I can see that I was wrong to doubt Mr. Myers's writing ability or whether he deserves his awards; he is an excellent writer, and he does. I may even owe him an apology, though it feels arrogant to think Mr. Myers cares one whit what I think. But I will tender the apology anyway. On the other hand, my opinion of Sunrise was also confirmed: that book was a clunker, even if it came from a good author.
This was a good book: it was perfect for its audience, well-written, intriguing and thought-provoking without being too preachy or overly complex. It had a science fiction flair in a realistic story, and I love when authors do that well. One of my largest complaints about Sunrise was that the characters and the dialogue seemed contrived and false; this book does just the opposite. The main character, Lil J, was perfectly rendered, and the narration in his voice seemed spot on to me, though I admit some ignorance as to popular street slang of today -- I live in a small town in Oregon, which is not exactly the 'hood. I know that it sounded genuine, and I think it would seem the same to young men who read the book, so I will be recommending this book to them.
The story was interesting, though I know the ending will not satisfy many readers -- the lady or the tiger? I thought it was great, as the book's theme is about how hard it is to pinpoint the moment when things start to go wrong in one's life. The story picks up as Lil J is running from the police, having been involved in a drug deal that went bad and ended up with the shooting of an undercover cop; J (whose full name is Jeremy Dance, and after reading a book by an author who can't think up good character names [Robin Hobb], that name almost gave me goosebumps, it was so good) runs into a building that seems abandoned but isn't. On an upper story, J finds a mysterious figure named Kelly, watching TV. This TV can show J's life, past, present, and possible future, and Kelly shows J exactly where he is headed and what awaits him there -- and J doesn't like what he sees.
The rest of the book is a series of flashbacks, laced into J's conversation with Kelly, which (very nicely) never loses sight of J's current situation and its seriousness, as the police are searching for J and he is already being tried and convicted by the popular media. Through the flashbacks, we see what has happened to J to make him the way he is, as Kelly keeps asking him what he would like to change about his life, what single event or single day he would like to change in order to get out of the situation he finds himself in now. And several possibilities occur to J, and are described as he and Kelly watch them on the strange TV; most of them seem reasonable choices for the turning point, the watershed moment when everything started to go wrong, and the overall impression is sadness, because a lot in this young man's life has gone wrong. But the climax of the book comes, I think, when J tells Kelly, "Everything that's me ain't all my fault," and Kelly responds, "That's the deal. You got to find a way to make your life all your fault." That, I thought, was a brilliant line, and a brilliant message very well realized in this book.
by Walter Dean Myers
This is my second Walter Dean Myers book; the first one, Sunrise Over Fallujah, was not a book I enjoyed, and it made me question, a little bit, whether this author should have gotten all the accolades he has received over his writing career or if he, like many authors I don't like but the critics do, has managed to write popular fiction but not good fiction. But now that I have read Dope Sick, I can see that I was wrong to doubt Mr. Myers's writing ability or whether he deserves his awards; he is an excellent writer, and he does. I may even owe him an apology, though it feels arrogant to think Mr. Myers cares one whit what I think. But I will tender the apology anyway. On the other hand, my opinion of Sunrise was also confirmed: that book was a clunker, even if it came from a good author.
This was a good book: it was perfect for its audience, well-written, intriguing and thought-provoking without being too preachy or overly complex. It had a science fiction flair in a realistic story, and I love when authors do that well. One of my largest complaints about Sunrise was that the characters and the dialogue seemed contrived and false; this book does just the opposite. The main character, Lil J, was perfectly rendered, and the narration in his voice seemed spot on to me, though I admit some ignorance as to popular street slang of today -- I live in a small town in Oregon, which is not exactly the 'hood. I know that it sounded genuine, and I think it would seem the same to young men who read the book, so I will be recommending this book to them.
The story was interesting, though I know the ending will not satisfy many readers -- the lady or the tiger? I thought it was great, as the book's theme is about how hard it is to pinpoint the moment when things start to go wrong in one's life. The story picks up as Lil J is running from the police, having been involved in a drug deal that went bad and ended up with the shooting of an undercover cop; J (whose full name is Jeremy Dance, and after reading a book by an author who can't think up good character names [Robin Hobb], that name almost gave me goosebumps, it was so good) runs into a building that seems abandoned but isn't. On an upper story, J finds a mysterious figure named Kelly, watching TV. This TV can show J's life, past, present, and possible future, and Kelly shows J exactly where he is headed and what awaits him there -- and J doesn't like what he sees.
The rest of the book is a series of flashbacks, laced into J's conversation with Kelly, which (very nicely) never loses sight of J's current situation and its seriousness, as the police are searching for J and he is already being tried and convicted by the popular media. Through the flashbacks, we see what has happened to J to make him the way he is, as Kelly keeps asking him what he would like to change about his life, what single event or single day he would like to change in order to get out of the situation he finds himself in now. And several possibilities occur to J, and are described as he and Kelly watch them on the strange TV; most of them seem reasonable choices for the turning point, the watershed moment when everything started to go wrong, and the overall impression is sadness, because a lot in this young man's life has gone wrong. But the climax of the book comes, I think, when J tells Kelly, "Everything that's me ain't all my fault," and Kelly responds, "That's the deal. You got to find a way to make your life all your fault." That, I thought, was a brilliant line, and a brilliant message very well realized in this book.
Book #97
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
by Aleksander Solzhenitsyn
Yup, read this one for school. Amazing description, great little jabs at Communism and Stalin and censorship, and I will be using it for my students. But the main impression of the whole thing was a single thought: Well, I may be annoyed by my job or the weather or what have you -- but at least I'm not in a Soviet work camp. I thought that a lot. It's a good thought.
by Aleksander Solzhenitsyn
Yup, read this one for school. Amazing description, great little jabs at Communism and Stalin and censorship, and I will be using it for my students. But the main impression of the whole thing was a single thought: Well, I may be annoyed by my job or the weather or what have you -- but at least I'm not in a Soviet work camp. I thought that a lot. It's a good thought.
Book #96
Will the Vampire People Please Leave the Lobby? True Adventures in Cult Fandom
by Allyson Beatrice
I read this book, after Toni's tepid recommendation, as a light-hearted switch from the heaviness of Robin Hobb, and in that respect, it worked fine. Sadly, Toni's lukewarm reaction was entirely accurate: this is, at best, a mediocre book by a mediocre writer. But at least she has a five-star ego.
The book is supposedly about being a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which I am, and being overinvolved in online forums, which I am as well. But it isn't. It is about how cool it is to be part of the in crowd, and how self-righteous it can make you after a lifetime of being ostracized by the cool folks. The title was chosen because it was a comment made by an exasperated hotel clerk who was annoyed by the internet Buffy fans who were hanging out in the hotel lobby and talking and laughing and making a loud nuisance of themselves; they loved being referred to as the vampire people, especially being seen as troublemakers, because it gives them some validation as well as some cool kid street cred, so to speak. The author herself tries very hard to give herself more street cred; she goes on at length about her persona in online forums: she is the bitchy one who has to get into arguments with every troll and every dismissive or angry or irritated person who ruins the sweet loving conversations between all these wonderful friends. She says that everyone who knows her online knows her to be reliable and trustworthy and brutally honest; this is the persona she has tried very hard to create for herself, and it is one she tries hard to re-create in these "essays," as she refers to the rambling, often pointless chapters in this rambling, often pointless book.
The truth is, the author's persona, like most online personas (including my own) is contrived. She dismisses the claims that the Internet creates shallow, superficial human connections which are then used as a lesser surrogate for actual human contact by introverted and socially inept people; she uses herself as an example, describing the wonderful relationships she has with the people she has met online. And while I have no doubt that the friendships she has made which are depicted in the book are true and lasting, there is another side to this: her connections to the celebrities of Buffy the Vampire Slayer -- mostly the writers, as these are the people who interact most with the internet fans -- are tenuous at best, and yet she namedrops constantly, describing in detail all of the ways she has "worked" together with them to accomplish great things. Yet Joss Whedon doesn't know her name, a circumstance that understandably annoys her to no end (I was reminded of Homer Simpson's problem with C.M. Burns), but one that is never explored as the indicator it is. There is a chapter dedicated to a member of a forum who made up complex and poignant stories about her life, a sort of e-Munchausen's Syndrome, and how the fans (led by the intrepid and tenacious Allyson Beatrice, of course) investigated and confronted her with the truth, and yet this is dismissed as a fluke, an unusual event, when it is not: the Internet is filled with exaggerated and invented claims, and the most suspect people are those who are proudest of their reputations as honest and upfront people. Like the author.
However: the book was worth reading, despite its lack of a clear premise beyond the author's aggrandizement, for one simple reason: it named for me Imposter's Syndrome. This is the name for the fear that any day now, people will recognize you for the fraud that you are, and strip away all of your accomplishments and rewards, none of which you earned with anything but trickery and blind, dumb luck. I share this fear, and the chapter describing it was the high point of the book -- though I also enjoyed the story of Thanksgiving with a group of forum friends renting a house together on Catalina Island and sitting around on wireless laptops all day; as another introvert who uses the internet as a way to connect to people without actually having to meet them face to face (A character flaw that I, at least, am honest about), I thought that sounded great. The rest of the book, I could have done without.
by Allyson Beatrice
I read this book, after Toni's tepid recommendation, as a light-hearted switch from the heaviness of Robin Hobb, and in that respect, it worked fine. Sadly, Toni's lukewarm reaction was entirely accurate: this is, at best, a mediocre book by a mediocre writer. But at least she has a five-star ego.
The book is supposedly about being a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which I am, and being overinvolved in online forums, which I am as well. But it isn't. It is about how cool it is to be part of the in crowd, and how self-righteous it can make you after a lifetime of being ostracized by the cool folks. The title was chosen because it was a comment made by an exasperated hotel clerk who was annoyed by the internet Buffy fans who were hanging out in the hotel lobby and talking and laughing and making a loud nuisance of themselves; they loved being referred to as the vampire people, especially being seen as troublemakers, because it gives them some validation as well as some cool kid street cred, so to speak. The author herself tries very hard to give herself more street cred; she goes on at length about her persona in online forums: she is the bitchy one who has to get into arguments with every troll and every dismissive or angry or irritated person who ruins the sweet loving conversations between all these wonderful friends. She says that everyone who knows her online knows her to be reliable and trustworthy and brutally honest; this is the persona she has tried very hard to create for herself, and it is one she tries hard to re-create in these "essays," as she refers to the rambling, often pointless chapters in this rambling, often pointless book.
The truth is, the author's persona, like most online personas (including my own) is contrived. She dismisses the claims that the Internet creates shallow, superficial human connections which are then used as a lesser surrogate for actual human contact by introverted and socially inept people; she uses herself as an example, describing the wonderful relationships she has with the people she has met online. And while I have no doubt that the friendships she has made which are depicted in the book are true and lasting, there is another side to this: her connections to the celebrities of Buffy the Vampire Slayer -- mostly the writers, as these are the people who interact most with the internet fans -- are tenuous at best, and yet she namedrops constantly, describing in detail all of the ways she has "worked" together with them to accomplish great things. Yet Joss Whedon doesn't know her name, a circumstance that understandably annoys her to no end (I was reminded of Homer Simpson's problem with C.M. Burns), but one that is never explored as the indicator it is. There is a chapter dedicated to a member of a forum who made up complex and poignant stories about her life, a sort of e-Munchausen's Syndrome, and how the fans (led by the intrepid and tenacious Allyson Beatrice, of course) investigated and confronted her with the truth, and yet this is dismissed as a fluke, an unusual event, when it is not: the Internet is filled with exaggerated and invented claims, and the most suspect people are those who are proudest of their reputations as honest and upfront people. Like the author.
However: the book was worth reading, despite its lack of a clear premise beyond the author's aggrandizement, for one simple reason: it named for me Imposter's Syndrome. This is the name for the fear that any day now, people will recognize you for the fraud that you are, and strip away all of your accomplishments and rewards, none of which you earned with anything but trickery and blind, dumb luck. I share this fear, and the chapter describing it was the high point of the book -- though I also enjoyed the story of Thanksgiving with a group of forum friends renting a house together on Catalina Island and sitting around on wireless laptops all day; as another introvert who uses the internet as a way to connect to people without actually having to meet them face to face (A character flaw that I, at least, am honest about), I thought that sounded great. The rest of the book, I could have done without.
Book #95
Fool's Errand
by Robin Hobb
So I've finally slouched back around toward Bethlehem to read a Robin Hobb series again. Last year, intending it as preparation for reading this series, I re-read the Farseer trilogy, about FitzChivalry Farseer, royal bastard, assassin, and twice-over psychic; and then after a false start on this book, I read the Liveship Traders series, about the dragons that once were and could be again and all of the people around them -- including the wonderfully sociopathic pirate Kennit, the tortured ship Paragon and the irritating Vivacia and her equally irritating family. But by the time I got through 6 epic fantasy tomes of 600 - 800 pages each, I was a little tired of Robin Hobb, so I never got around to reading the series I meant to read: The Tawny Man, the conclusion of FitzChivalry's story, which has now become the Fool's story just as much as Fitz's.
I'm glad to say the writing hasn't diminished any. Hobb is a brilliant novelist, with a great ability to render realistic characters and setting; she has built a world here that is as true to life as any history. One of my favorite things about these books is Hobb's use of unintended consequences: almost everything that occurs to challenge these characters is the result of a prior action -- though not always theirs -- and what comes now is an effect they never expected and never meant to cause. It works extremely well with the character of the White Prophet, the Fool from the first trilogy who became Amber in the Liveship stories, and is now Lord Golden -- but always the Fool to Fitz, and to me. The White Prophet is supposed to move the wheel of time out of its rut before it digs itself down too deep -- a nice depth added to Jordan's metaphor -- by using an unsuspecting and unobtrusive person, the Catalyst, as his tool. Fitz is the Fool's Catalyst, and the Fool is using him to change the path of time. He can only do it in small ways, with small alterations to the futures he sees, but those small alterations, like the butterfly effect, lead to great sweeping changes in the fullness of time.
This first book, Fool's Errand, picks up Fitz's story fifteen years after the end of the Royal Assassin series -- just enough time for the Fool to go to Bingtown and gain some experience of dragons, some color, and a whole lot of money, and for Fitz's two children to grow up. Fitz has spent this time hiding, living simply with his wolf, Nighteyes. I expected Nighteyes to be dead when I opened this book, and I was ready to mourn him, but it was nice to see that Hobb included what I bet is a common ignorance about the lifespan of wild timber wolves; I have no idea how long Nighteyes would normally live, and once you include the fact that sharing a bond with Fitz has affected him mentally and physically, it becomes impossible to predict. He is old in this book, though, and it is sad to read -- it makes Fitz seem a lot older than he is, but he's only my age or so. And I'm not old, my students' comments notwithstanding.
The Fool returns to Fitz's life, in a wonderfully emotional reunion that showed Hobb's flair for dramatic irony: I know the Fool, still completely androgynous (though as he is perceived through Fitz's eyes, he takes on a more masculine aspect in this book), has been in love with Fitz from the beginning, but Fitz has no idea, and so when Fitz opens his arms wide to greet his friend and the Fool leaps into his embrace, it was very sweet to read. It was the same when Fitz asks what he should call the Fool now that the Fool is no longer a court jester, and the Fool says his true name is Beloved, and Fitz should call him either that, or Fool -- but he will call Fitz Beloved. I truly hope these two work it out before the end of the series; at this point, my main motivation for finishing these books is to find out the end of the romance.
The story in this one was fine, though a little thin compared to some of the others; it was a bit too much of a chase book, as the crown prince of the Six Duchies, Prince Dutiful, has vanished and Fitz spends the last three-quarters of the book tracking him down and trying to free him from the clutches of the villains. But the villains were excellent, and I like the overall situation in the kingdom, with the persecution of the Witted ones -- people who, like Fitz, can bond with animals. I'm less intrigued by Fitz's new role, by the end of the book, as the Skillmaster, as I've never been as interested in the Skill as in the Wit, but I like that he will be teaching both to Dutiful -- and, I hope, to Nettle.
I will be reading the next book shortly, and the prospect is exciting.
by Robin Hobb
So I've finally slouched back around toward Bethlehem to read a Robin Hobb series again. Last year, intending it as preparation for reading this series, I re-read the Farseer trilogy, about FitzChivalry Farseer, royal bastard, assassin, and twice-over psychic; and then after a false start on this book, I read the Liveship Traders series, about the dragons that once were and could be again and all of the people around them -- including the wonderfully sociopathic pirate Kennit, the tortured ship Paragon and the irritating Vivacia and her equally irritating family. But by the time I got through 6 epic fantasy tomes of 600 - 800 pages each, I was a little tired of Robin Hobb, so I never got around to reading the series I meant to read: The Tawny Man, the conclusion of FitzChivalry's story, which has now become the Fool's story just as much as Fitz's.
I'm glad to say the writing hasn't diminished any. Hobb is a brilliant novelist, with a great ability to render realistic characters and setting; she has built a world here that is as true to life as any history. One of my favorite things about these books is Hobb's use of unintended consequences: almost everything that occurs to challenge these characters is the result of a prior action -- though not always theirs -- and what comes now is an effect they never expected and never meant to cause. It works extremely well with the character of the White Prophet, the Fool from the first trilogy who became Amber in the Liveship stories, and is now Lord Golden -- but always the Fool to Fitz, and to me. The White Prophet is supposed to move the wheel of time out of its rut before it digs itself down too deep -- a nice depth added to Jordan's metaphor -- by using an unsuspecting and unobtrusive person, the Catalyst, as his tool. Fitz is the Fool's Catalyst, and the Fool is using him to change the path of time. He can only do it in small ways, with small alterations to the futures he sees, but those small alterations, like the butterfly effect, lead to great sweeping changes in the fullness of time.
This first book, Fool's Errand, picks up Fitz's story fifteen years after the end of the Royal Assassin series -- just enough time for the Fool to go to Bingtown and gain some experience of dragons, some color, and a whole lot of money, and for Fitz's two children to grow up. Fitz has spent this time hiding, living simply with his wolf, Nighteyes. I expected Nighteyes to be dead when I opened this book, and I was ready to mourn him, but it was nice to see that Hobb included what I bet is a common ignorance about the lifespan of wild timber wolves; I have no idea how long Nighteyes would normally live, and once you include the fact that sharing a bond with Fitz has affected him mentally and physically, it becomes impossible to predict. He is old in this book, though, and it is sad to read -- it makes Fitz seem a lot older than he is, but he's only my age or so. And I'm not old, my students' comments notwithstanding.
The Fool returns to Fitz's life, in a wonderfully emotional reunion that showed Hobb's flair for dramatic irony: I know the Fool, still completely androgynous (though as he is perceived through Fitz's eyes, he takes on a more masculine aspect in this book), has been in love with Fitz from the beginning, but Fitz has no idea, and so when Fitz opens his arms wide to greet his friend and the Fool leaps into his embrace, it was very sweet to read. It was the same when Fitz asks what he should call the Fool now that the Fool is no longer a court jester, and the Fool says his true name is Beloved, and Fitz should call him either that, or Fool -- but he will call Fitz Beloved. I truly hope these two work it out before the end of the series; at this point, my main motivation for finishing these books is to find out the end of the romance.
The story in this one was fine, though a little thin compared to some of the others; it was a bit too much of a chase book, as the crown prince of the Six Duchies, Prince Dutiful, has vanished and Fitz spends the last three-quarters of the book tracking him down and trying to free him from the clutches of the villains. But the villains were excellent, and I like the overall situation in the kingdom, with the persecution of the Witted ones -- people who, like Fitz, can bond with animals. I'm less intrigued by Fitz's new role, by the end of the book, as the Skillmaster, as I've never been as interested in the Skill as in the Wit, but I like that he will be teaching both to Dutiful -- and, I hope, to Nettle.
I will be reading the next book shortly, and the prospect is exciting.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Book #94
Walking in Circles Before Lying Down
by Merrill Markoe
This one I read after Toni's insistent recommendation. She read it and loved it, mainly because it's about a woman who starts hearing her dogs talk to her, and Toni and I have been doing the talking for our dog -- and our other pets -- all of his life. And after reading this, I wish Charlie would just drop the act and talk to me himself. I'd like to hear what he has to say about those squirrels in our yard. And his explanation for trying to eat cat poop, as he was doing this morning. Nasty little dog.
This was a wonderful book. The writing was good, the characters were outstanding, and I enjoyed the plot. The main character, Dawn, is terrible at romance. She's been through two marriages and divorces, both because she jumped in too deep, too fast; her only lasting and positive relationship is with her dogs, first an adopted Newfoundland named Swentzle and then a pit bull puppy named Chuck. She has a psychotic family, between her father the rockabilly guitarist who is trying to be a player in his 60's, her mother the egotist with her newest invention of the Every Holiday Tree (I loved that Dawn's mother took credit for being the first to describe coffee in wine terms -- bold, nutty, exciting, that sort of crap), and her sister the up-and-coming Life Coach, and Dawn herself has no particular career goals. She is trying to write a book, and in the meantime is just trying to get her life in order. Which is when, in the middle of another emotional crisis -- when her newest boyfriend, Paxton, dumps her -- her dog Chuck starts talking to her.
The dogs -- since every other dog Dawn meets starts talking to her after Chuck does -- are depicted perfectly. They have the instinctive wisdom of animals, and the total inability to understand human society that anyone who owns a dog knows they all share. One of the best parts of the book is when Chuck decides to use his instincts to find Dawn a suitable mate, since Chuck and Paxton don't get along. Chuck takes her to the dog park and starts sniffing men, muttering "Asshole . . . moron . . . asshole . . . asshole" as he passes by each one, and recommending men to her regardless of human morals: first a five-year-old (since Chuck himself has had pleasant romantic encounters with one-year-olds, and so doesn't see Dawn's problem with this kid), then a married man there with his family, then an 80-year-old before he finally settles on a gourmet butcher who . . . poses a whole new problem for Dawn once she gets to know him a little bit better. It was hilarious, and felt very true to life; I think dogs would have the same issues with the reasons people find for accepting and rejecting love.
The story ends well, with the right reconciliations and the right alienations, and with a good resolution to a very scary part when Chuck runs away. It was a fun book to read, very well written, and clearly written by someone who shares my love of and respect for animals, which was just icing on the cake.
by Merrill Markoe
This one I read after Toni's insistent recommendation. She read it and loved it, mainly because it's about a woman who starts hearing her dogs talk to her, and Toni and I have been doing the talking for our dog -- and our other pets -- all of his life. And after reading this, I wish Charlie would just drop the act and talk to me himself. I'd like to hear what he has to say about those squirrels in our yard. And his explanation for trying to eat cat poop, as he was doing this morning. Nasty little dog.
This was a wonderful book. The writing was good, the characters were outstanding, and I enjoyed the plot. The main character, Dawn, is terrible at romance. She's been through two marriages and divorces, both because she jumped in too deep, too fast; her only lasting and positive relationship is with her dogs, first an adopted Newfoundland named Swentzle and then a pit bull puppy named Chuck. She has a psychotic family, between her father the rockabilly guitarist who is trying to be a player in his 60's, her mother the egotist with her newest invention of the Every Holiday Tree (I loved that Dawn's mother took credit for being the first to describe coffee in wine terms -- bold, nutty, exciting, that sort of crap), and her sister the up-and-coming Life Coach, and Dawn herself has no particular career goals. She is trying to write a book, and in the meantime is just trying to get her life in order. Which is when, in the middle of another emotional crisis -- when her newest boyfriend, Paxton, dumps her -- her dog Chuck starts talking to her.
The dogs -- since every other dog Dawn meets starts talking to her after Chuck does -- are depicted perfectly. They have the instinctive wisdom of animals, and the total inability to understand human society that anyone who owns a dog knows they all share. One of the best parts of the book is when Chuck decides to use his instincts to find Dawn a suitable mate, since Chuck and Paxton don't get along. Chuck takes her to the dog park and starts sniffing men, muttering "Asshole . . . moron . . . asshole . . . asshole" as he passes by each one, and recommending men to her regardless of human morals: first a five-year-old (since Chuck himself has had pleasant romantic encounters with one-year-olds, and so doesn't see Dawn's problem with this kid), then a married man there with his family, then an 80-year-old before he finally settles on a gourmet butcher who . . . poses a whole new problem for Dawn once she gets to know him a little bit better. It was hilarious, and felt very true to life; I think dogs would have the same issues with the reasons people find for accepting and rejecting love.
The story ends well, with the right reconciliations and the right alienations, and with a good resolution to a very scary part when Chuck runs away. It was a fun book to read, very well written, and clearly written by someone who shares my love of and respect for animals, which was just icing on the cake.
Book #93
A Kiss of Shadows
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Now that I've read all the Anita Blake books -- and gotten into some amusing arguments about their literary merits and dangerous influence on impressionable youth -- I figured it was time to move on to Merry Gentry.
The final grade for this first book would be somewhere in the B- range, I think. I liked it, overall; I like the fey and the Courts and the way they are depicted. I like the fey society (as a concept, not as something I'd personally like to be a part of -- what a bunch of nutballs) and their morals and values. I don't think a whole hell of a lot of Merry herself, as of yet, but I don't think there has been enough development of her character.
That was probably the biggest problem I had with the book. It starts out too fast, with only the briefest of expositions before it goes into the action. And since the action is a sex scene, it felt too much like the book deserved all the disapprobation and criticism of Hamilton's plotting that I have been hearing in my little debates. The book doesn't deserve the rage it gets, any more than the Anita Blake books do -- but I think it was a serious mistake to fall into the cliche so soon in the series, like Hamilton was living down to all of her detractors' expectations. It also bothered me that the main character wasn't better developed, because it left me with little to contradict the accusations that Merry is just Anita with redder hair: they are physically similar, and Merry wears the same sorts of things and does the same sorts of things, using sex as a weapon. Of course, the characters have totally different personalities and motivations and reasons for doing what they do, as became clear over the course of the book -- but she should have made that clear from the get-go, and she didn't. It meant that I was annoyed by the first scene, rather than intrigued.
Being intrigued came later. I loved the hand of flesh and how it was used; I love the major conflict and how it was set up and immediately complicated by the Queen's insanity. I didn't like that Galen, the clearest romantic interest, was taken out of contention and left out of contention by what seemed a somewhat lame plot device -- he healed but not in the most important way, and we have no explanation as to why that is -- because it felt like a cheap way to increase the romantic tension. I also hated the name The Abyss of Despair. Wouldn't The Abyss kind of say it all? Do you really need "Despair" in the name? Other than that, I liked everything: I liked the Guards, I loved the goblins even though they horrified me, I liked that Merry's best friend had turned to her enemy out of desperation, I liked the Queen enormously. I'm a little less fond of Merry working as a private detective, but I'll wait to see what cases she gets before I'll pass judgment on that. I absolutely loved the complication of the paparazzi; I thought that was a fantastic idea, and I look forward to watching Merry deal with it.
So I liked it enough to keep going, because other than some stumbles out of the starting block, it showed all of Hamilton's strengths: fantastic imagination, wonderful world-building, excellent descriptive detail.
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Now that I've read all the Anita Blake books -- and gotten into some amusing arguments about their literary merits and dangerous influence on impressionable youth -- I figured it was time to move on to Merry Gentry.
The final grade for this first book would be somewhere in the B- range, I think. I liked it, overall; I like the fey and the Courts and the way they are depicted. I like the fey society (as a concept, not as something I'd personally like to be a part of -- what a bunch of nutballs) and their morals and values. I don't think a whole hell of a lot of Merry herself, as of yet, but I don't think there has been enough development of her character.
That was probably the biggest problem I had with the book. It starts out too fast, with only the briefest of expositions before it goes into the action. And since the action is a sex scene, it felt too much like the book deserved all the disapprobation and criticism of Hamilton's plotting that I have been hearing in my little debates. The book doesn't deserve the rage it gets, any more than the Anita Blake books do -- but I think it was a serious mistake to fall into the cliche so soon in the series, like Hamilton was living down to all of her detractors' expectations. It also bothered me that the main character wasn't better developed, because it left me with little to contradict the accusations that Merry is just Anita with redder hair: they are physically similar, and Merry wears the same sorts of things and does the same sorts of things, using sex as a weapon. Of course, the characters have totally different personalities and motivations and reasons for doing what they do, as became clear over the course of the book -- but she should have made that clear from the get-go, and she didn't. It meant that I was annoyed by the first scene, rather than intrigued.
Being intrigued came later. I loved the hand of flesh and how it was used; I love the major conflict and how it was set up and immediately complicated by the Queen's insanity. I didn't like that Galen, the clearest romantic interest, was taken out of contention and left out of contention by what seemed a somewhat lame plot device -- he healed but not in the most important way, and we have no explanation as to why that is -- because it felt like a cheap way to increase the romantic tension. I also hated the name The Abyss of Despair. Wouldn't The Abyss kind of say it all? Do you really need "Despair" in the name? Other than that, I liked everything: I liked the Guards, I loved the goblins even though they horrified me, I liked that Merry's best friend had turned to her enemy out of desperation, I liked the Queen enormously. I'm a little less fond of Merry working as a private detective, but I'll wait to see what cases she gets before I'll pass judgment on that. I absolutely loved the complication of the paparazzi; I thought that was a fantastic idea, and I look forward to watching Merry deal with it.
So I liked it enough to keep going, because other than some stumbles out of the starting block, it showed all of Hamilton's strengths: fantastic imagination, wonderful world-building, excellent descriptive detail.
Book #92
Fer-de-Lance
by Rex Stout
So we were organizing our books, taking some old favorites that we want to keep but aren't interested in reading right now off the shelves and putting them into storage in boxes. We were also entering them into our computer database, because we're just that nerdy when it comes to our books. And we had to enter in 40 or so Rex Stout books, because the first mystery writer I really liked was Rex Stout (Not counting Arthur Conan Doyle, that is) and because Logo's used to have all these old copies of the books for 50 cents or so. And I realized that, even though I've held onto these for fifteen years, I haven't read them since the first time through, way back when in Santa Cruz. So I decided I should take a look back, make sure they are as fun as I remembered them. And what better place to start than with the very first Nero Wolfe mystery, Fer-de-Lance?
Bad news: it wasn't that good. Nero's laziness and indifference were less amusing than I remembered, and though I liked the other characters involved in the mystery, the witnesses and the suspects and the culprits, the mystery itself wasn't terribly entertaining. Now, the thing I did like about the mystery was that it felt realistic, for the most part; the means of death was a little esoteric, but the reasons for the death were perfectly normal, nothing like pretending to be a ghost so you can work an old gold mine -- and you would have gotten away with it if it weren't for those meddling kids! But while the realism was nice, it didn't make for a whole lot of mystery. And I think that's the usual way with these books, as I recall; they aren't so much about figuring out a dastardly plot as they are about finding evidence and getting people to talk. So they're actually closer to police procedurals, which I'm not terribly interested in any more.
On top of that, the final resolution in this one was a little too deus ex machina; one of the witnesses has all of the necessary evidence in a handy little envelope. The way they got it was amusing, because she had taken a bribe to keep her mouth shut and absolutely refused to change her mind, so they had to fake a robbery, pretending to be the guy who had paid her off originally, saying he was taking his money back because she had talked to Nero Wolfe. She hadn't, so her little tiny brain was outraged -- so she spilled the beans. I liked that, I just didn't like that she had all the beans in a neat little package. And the worst part of all? Archie got on my nerves. I remember him being the best part of these books, but he came off in this one as way too antsy, always impatient for the action to start, always annoyed that Wolfe isn't out there chasing down bad guys. Plus he was racist -- quite definitely racist.
So I think I will try one more of my Wolfe books, and if I don't like that one a whole lot more than I liked this one, then it may be time to give my Rex Stout books away. At least that will give us a whole lot more room in the storage box.
by Rex Stout
So we were organizing our books, taking some old favorites that we want to keep but aren't interested in reading right now off the shelves and putting them into storage in boxes. We were also entering them into our computer database, because we're just that nerdy when it comes to our books. And we had to enter in 40 or so Rex Stout books, because the first mystery writer I really liked was Rex Stout (Not counting Arthur Conan Doyle, that is) and because Logo's used to have all these old copies of the books for 50 cents or so. And I realized that, even though I've held onto these for fifteen years, I haven't read them since the first time through, way back when in Santa Cruz. So I decided I should take a look back, make sure they are as fun as I remembered them. And what better place to start than with the very first Nero Wolfe mystery, Fer-de-Lance?
Bad news: it wasn't that good. Nero's laziness and indifference were less amusing than I remembered, and though I liked the other characters involved in the mystery, the witnesses and the suspects and the culprits, the mystery itself wasn't terribly entertaining. Now, the thing I did like about the mystery was that it felt realistic, for the most part; the means of death was a little esoteric, but the reasons for the death were perfectly normal, nothing like pretending to be a ghost so you can work an old gold mine -- and you would have gotten away with it if it weren't for those meddling kids! But while the realism was nice, it didn't make for a whole lot of mystery. And I think that's the usual way with these books, as I recall; they aren't so much about figuring out a dastardly plot as they are about finding evidence and getting people to talk. So they're actually closer to police procedurals, which I'm not terribly interested in any more.
On top of that, the final resolution in this one was a little too deus ex machina; one of the witnesses has all of the necessary evidence in a handy little envelope. The way they got it was amusing, because she had taken a bribe to keep her mouth shut and absolutely refused to change her mind, so they had to fake a robbery, pretending to be the guy who had paid her off originally, saying he was taking his money back because she had talked to Nero Wolfe. She hadn't, so her little tiny brain was outraged -- so she spilled the beans. I liked that, I just didn't like that she had all the beans in a neat little package. And the worst part of all? Archie got on my nerves. I remember him being the best part of these books, but he came off in this one as way too antsy, always impatient for the action to start, always annoyed that Wolfe isn't out there chasing down bad guys. Plus he was racist -- quite definitely racist.
So I think I will try one more of my Wolfe books, and if I don't like that one a whole lot more than I liked this one, then it may be time to give my Rex Stout books away. At least that will give us a whole lot more room in the storage box.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Book #91
Academ's Fury
by Jim Butcher
The second installment in Jim Butcher's epic fantasy series was, if it is possible, even more exciting and even more complicated -- and thus even more impressive -- than the first. Furies of Calderon set up the world, and spent much of its length doing that; Academ's Fury follows a taut, thrilling storyline all the way through, keeping up the suspense for over 500 pages. But because Jim Butcher is a truly talented and capable writer, it is never tiring or tiresome; I never lost interest in it, and I had as much trouble putting this down as I do with the Dresden books, which are some of my favorites. This series is well on the way to making the Best list, too.
The story picks up largely where the last one left off, though two years have gone by; the two years have taken care of the recovery from the first book's chaos and devastation, and now all of the characters are established in their new roles -- Bernard as the Count Calderon, Isana as the Holder of Bernard's former steadholt, Tavi as a student and secret Cursor candidate in the capital. This book picks up just as the fit hits the shan, as the old joke goes. I particularly liked that this book continues the redefinition of the villains from the first book: just as Furies moved the Marat from evil, bloodthirsty savages to real people with different ways, so this book moves the traitor Cursor Fidelias and the Aquitaines to -- well, not good guys, but they are no longer the arch-nemeses. The book also moves Isana into a less heroic role, but it does it without taking anything away from her character or altering her basic personality, which is just impressive.
That role goes to the Vord, the insectile race that was formerly trapped in the Wax Forest and which Tavi freed unknowingly during his race with Kitai in Furies -- thus continuing a recurrent theme in Butcher's books, the law of unintended consequences (For every action, there is one result that you expect, and two you could never have dreamed of), e.g., Harry picking up the blackened Denarius to save it from Michael's child in the Dresden Files. The vord are nasty things, highly adaptable and extremely dangerous, combining the fighting force of giant scorpion/spider insects with the insidious horror of mind-controlling bugs a la "Night of the Creeps." The best part about the vord is that they are true villains: they are just as smart as the heroes, and for every time the heroes get a step on the vord, the vord get a step on the heroes, and terrible things happen as a result. In addition to the vord, there are political intrigues as several of the nobles of Calderon try to supplant Gaius Sextus as First Lord and Tavi and friends try to stop them; this has something of the feel of a manufactured plot device, as it removes the most powerful of Tavi's allies from the scene and leaves the others vulnerable, but it is done in a perfectly reasonable way, so it isn't bad or silly. There is also a great bully, who is shown to be the genuine threat such a bully would be, rather than the cardboard cutout that so often appears in novels that have young people being bullied at school -- he's closer to Draco Malfoy than Scott Farkas from "A Christmas Story," though I must say I love that movie dearly.
There is also the Canim, the warlike dog people who made brief appearances in the first book; they are not actually the villain of this piece, acting more as allies and fellow victims, but there is a wonderful moment when the Canim ambassador, who has been helping Tavi against a common foe, turns and tells Tavi why he is helping despite still being the enemy of the humans. He says, in essence, that he plans to destroy the entire human race himself, and have fun doing it -- but he'll do it with honor, and without letting his own people be made complicit in underhanded tactics. It's a great speech, the kind of thing I've come to expect and appreciate from Butcher's writing.
The last third of the book is a constant cliffhanger, going back and forth between two very deadly, very well-written and exciting fights; this was when the book was hardest to put down. The first book was much the same, with an enormous and complicated, but still exciting, climactic fight sequence; I'm just hoping that this is part of all of the books, as I can't think of another author that can do huge fights in quite the way Butcher can. I love it, and I loved this book.
by Jim Butcher
The second installment in Jim Butcher's epic fantasy series was, if it is possible, even more exciting and even more complicated -- and thus even more impressive -- than the first. Furies of Calderon set up the world, and spent much of its length doing that; Academ's Fury follows a taut, thrilling storyline all the way through, keeping up the suspense for over 500 pages. But because Jim Butcher is a truly talented and capable writer, it is never tiring or tiresome; I never lost interest in it, and I had as much trouble putting this down as I do with the Dresden books, which are some of my favorites. This series is well on the way to making the Best list, too.
The story picks up largely where the last one left off, though two years have gone by; the two years have taken care of the recovery from the first book's chaos and devastation, and now all of the characters are established in their new roles -- Bernard as the Count Calderon, Isana as the Holder of Bernard's former steadholt, Tavi as a student and secret Cursor candidate in the capital. This book picks up just as the fit hits the shan, as the old joke goes. I particularly liked that this book continues the redefinition of the villains from the first book: just as Furies moved the Marat from evil, bloodthirsty savages to real people with different ways, so this book moves the traitor Cursor Fidelias and the Aquitaines to -- well, not good guys, but they are no longer the arch-nemeses. The book also moves Isana into a less heroic role, but it does it without taking anything away from her character or altering her basic personality, which is just impressive.
That role goes to the Vord, the insectile race that was formerly trapped in the Wax Forest and which Tavi freed unknowingly during his race with Kitai in Furies -- thus continuing a recurrent theme in Butcher's books, the law of unintended consequences (For every action, there is one result that you expect, and two you could never have dreamed of), e.g., Harry picking up the blackened Denarius to save it from Michael's child in the Dresden Files. The vord are nasty things, highly adaptable and extremely dangerous, combining the fighting force of giant scorpion/spider insects with the insidious horror of mind-controlling bugs a la "Night of the Creeps." The best part about the vord is that they are true villains: they are just as smart as the heroes, and for every time the heroes get a step on the vord, the vord get a step on the heroes, and terrible things happen as a result. In addition to the vord, there are political intrigues as several of the nobles of Calderon try to supplant Gaius Sextus as First Lord and Tavi and friends try to stop them; this has something of the feel of a manufactured plot device, as it removes the most powerful of Tavi's allies from the scene and leaves the others vulnerable, but it is done in a perfectly reasonable way, so it isn't bad or silly. There is also a great bully, who is shown to be the genuine threat such a bully would be, rather than the cardboard cutout that so often appears in novels that have young people being bullied at school -- he's closer to Draco Malfoy than Scott Farkas from "A Christmas Story," though I must say I love that movie dearly.
There is also the Canim, the warlike dog people who made brief appearances in the first book; they are not actually the villain of this piece, acting more as allies and fellow victims, but there is a wonderful moment when the Canim ambassador, who has been helping Tavi against a common foe, turns and tells Tavi why he is helping despite still being the enemy of the humans. He says, in essence, that he plans to destroy the entire human race himself, and have fun doing it -- but he'll do it with honor, and without letting his own people be made complicit in underhanded tactics. It's a great speech, the kind of thing I've come to expect and appreciate from Butcher's writing.
The last third of the book is a constant cliffhanger, going back and forth between two very deadly, very well-written and exciting fights; this was when the book was hardest to put down. The first book was much the same, with an enormous and complicated, but still exciting, climactic fight sequence; I'm just hoping that this is part of all of the books, as I can't think of another author that can do huge fights in quite the way Butcher can. I love it, and I loved this book.
Book #90
The BFG
by Roald Dahl
I've never read a Roald Dahl book, though I've admired the man's imagination and storytelling for years. So when I saw this one at a library sale, I grabbed it, and after I spent a full week reading a 650 page Stephen King tome, I thought it would be nice to read something short and fun.
It was: this is a great story, and I read it in a day. I love the way the Big Friendly Giant talks, and the way he and Sophie become friends, and how they conquer the big mean giants, and how they get to eat snozzcumbers forever while the BFG finally gets tasty food. But the best part of this is the idea that dreams are living things, that make sounds -- albeit the sounds are so quiet that only the BFG's enormous ears can detect them -- and that a big friendly giant collects those dreams and brings them to little kids. That was excellent. I'm very happy I read this, and I may need to go looking for more Roald Dahl.
by Roald Dahl
I've never read a Roald Dahl book, though I've admired the man's imagination and storytelling for years. So when I saw this one at a library sale, I grabbed it, and after I spent a full week reading a 650 page Stephen King tome, I thought it would be nice to read something short and fun.
It was: this is a great story, and I read it in a day. I love the way the Big Friendly Giant talks, and the way he and Sophie become friends, and how they conquer the big mean giants, and how they get to eat snozzcumbers forever while the BFG finally gets tasty food. But the best part of this is the idea that dreams are living things, that make sounds -- albeit the sounds are so quiet that only the BFG's enormous ears can detect them -- and that a big friendly giant collects those dreams and brings them to little kids. That was excellent. I'm very happy I read this, and I may need to go looking for more Roald Dahl.
Book #89
Wizard and Glass
by Stephen King
Another reread, as I pursue my goal of going back through the Dark Tower series; unfortunately, as my TBR shelf got so weighted down with books that it actually collapsed while I was reading this, I decided that maybe I should focus on reading new books, instead of re-reads. A resolution that lasted about a week -- now I'm re-reading the first Nero Wolfe mystery. But that's for a good cause. Honest.
Anyway, Wizard and Glass is the slowest book in the series and was the hardest for me to read the first two times through this point in the books; it still was this time around. It just takes far too long to resolve the conflict and get back on the road; I understand the need to show the young Roland so we can understand more of his character, and I absolutely wanted that, but maybe he could have cut the story in Mejis short and gone on to another adventure from Roland's youth. Maybe the one when Cuthbert and/or Alain died, since that is a mystery that gets hinted at, but never resolved in 7 books.
On the other hand, I did enjoy this book much more this time than the other times I have read it. For some reason I was more able to appreciate the romance between Roland and Susan; I'd say I may have become more romantic in the last few years, but I'm not sure that's possible. Maybe I've become old and jaded, and reading about young love makes me reminisce. Nah, it's not that either; I just enjoyed the slower, more reflective elements more this time around because I already know how the story ends, so I'm not quite as desperate to get through the series as before. This makes me look forward to reading the Outlander books and the Wheel of Time once they actually wrap up. And once I have cut my TBR pile down to, say, fifty books or so -- y'know, in 2012 -- I'll come back and finish this series, and enjoy the next three books more, as well.
by Stephen King
Another reread, as I pursue my goal of going back through the Dark Tower series; unfortunately, as my TBR shelf got so weighted down with books that it actually collapsed while I was reading this, I decided that maybe I should focus on reading new books, instead of re-reads. A resolution that lasted about a week -- now I'm re-reading the first Nero Wolfe mystery. But that's for a good cause. Honest.
Anyway, Wizard and Glass is the slowest book in the series and was the hardest for me to read the first two times through this point in the books; it still was this time around. It just takes far too long to resolve the conflict and get back on the road; I understand the need to show the young Roland so we can understand more of his character, and I absolutely wanted that, but maybe he could have cut the story in Mejis short and gone on to another adventure from Roland's youth. Maybe the one when Cuthbert and/or Alain died, since that is a mystery that gets hinted at, but never resolved in 7 books.
On the other hand, I did enjoy this book much more this time than the other times I have read it. For some reason I was more able to appreciate the romance between Roland and Susan; I'd say I may have become more romantic in the last few years, but I'm not sure that's possible. Maybe I've become old and jaded, and reading about young love makes me reminisce. Nah, it's not that either; I just enjoyed the slower, more reflective elements more this time around because I already know how the story ends, so I'm not quite as desperate to get through the series as before. This makes me look forward to reading the Outlander books and the Wheel of Time once they actually wrap up. And once I have cut my TBR pile down to, say, fifty books or so -- y'know, in 2012 -- I'll come back and finish this series, and enjoy the next three books more, as well.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Book #88 -- new record!
Iron Kissed
by Patricia Briggs
And the reason I read Blood Bound, of course, was so that I would remember enough of the prior events when I read Iron Kissed, the "new" one (Actually it's been on the shelf for most of a year). Since these are shortish books -- I love that I see under 300 pages as a shortish book and my students see anything over 10 pages as way too long to read -- I went straight from one to the other, breaking my usual pattern; but that's what patterns are for, isn't it?
This was a good one, better than Blood Bound. Because the key supernaturals in this one live up to their hype, unlike the mostly-likable evil vampires in Blood Bound. The Fae are mostly insular and private, wanting to keep their secrets and using their magic and an inhuman ruthlessness to accomplish that. But since humans now know about Fae, there's no way the Fae can live quietly enough to keep humans from sticking their noses into Fae business, because that's what humans do: when we discover a new animal, we need to observe and record it. When we find a new star, we need to map it, name it, and figure out its composition, color, strength, age, height, weight, and hair color. When we find a new element, we have to mix it up with other things to see if it'll explode. And, because our fascination with newness and our insatiable curiosity are results of our fear of the unknown, we also tend to form hate groups opposing the very things we have discovered. Like people who think of the snowy owl as an enemy, because it represents the conservationist movement. I mean: they actually hate a fluffy little owl. Along with the bleeding-heart liberals who protect it, but still.
So this one focuses on a string of Fae murders. Mercy is brought in to help investigate, because she has both a coyote's powerful nose and a human's mind and memory, and so she is an excellent scent tracker -- which makes sense. I also liked the comment that there are not many Fae who could do the same, because that was a gift mostly given to the beast-like Fae, most of whom are gone. Mercy figures out the culprit, and Zee and Uncle Mike, the two Council members who brought Mercy in, go to take care of the problem -- only to find the problem's already been taken care of, because the murderer's been beheaded. Uncle Mike vanishes, but Zee is left to take the fall for the murder of the murderer, and the Gray Lords, who have that wonderfully pragmatic and evil policy of sacrificing any individual in order to protect the group, want Zee to die in prison just after he confesses: an open-and-shut case.
But Mercy won't let it go. She investigates, and pokes her nose in, and fights for Zee even when Zee doesn't want her fighting for him -- Zee accepts the Gray Lord's absurd policy (Absurd because the line becomes ever more blurry over time: you sacrifice one person to save the lives of many, and then sacrifice two people to save the lives of five -- and then one to save one? Or you sacrifice one to save lives, then one to save homes, then one to save Christmas presents, and then one to save -- what, lawn ornaments? At some point you lose what you're trying to save.) and is willing to die for the Fae. Though I notice he didn't kill himself as the Gray Lords would surely have preferred.
And, of course, Mercy gets to the bottom of it. One of the greatest strengths of these books is in the climactic action sequences: the fight with Littleton and the hunt for Littleton's creator in Blood Bound, and the last few chapters in this one. They are a great strength because Briggs doesn't overdo it; as well as she writes an action scene, the character is not action oriented; she's a mechanic with a kinda screwed-up love life involving her neighbor and her roommate (I was also glad to see that resolve in this one, and now I'm eager to see where it goes from here). Mercy wouldn't be in the thick of things all day every day, and so she isn't; this book starts out with her watching Queen of the Damned with Warren and Kyle. But the final fight in this one was fantastic, both in terms of how Mercy wins, and also how Mercy suffers at the hands of the villain. And, of course, the resolution was fantastic, as well. And we also got to meet some seriously scary Fae, and Zee with his cloak off, which was super-sweet. It was a great book, and I will be reading more of these.
Oh, and as a side note: I have now read more books than I read in all of last year. Woot!
by Patricia Briggs
And the reason I read Blood Bound, of course, was so that I would remember enough of the prior events when I read Iron Kissed, the "new" one (Actually it's been on the shelf for most of a year). Since these are shortish books -- I love that I see under 300 pages as a shortish book and my students see anything over 10 pages as way too long to read -- I went straight from one to the other, breaking my usual pattern; but that's what patterns are for, isn't it?
This was a good one, better than Blood Bound. Because the key supernaturals in this one live up to their hype, unlike the mostly-likable evil vampires in Blood Bound. The Fae are mostly insular and private, wanting to keep their secrets and using their magic and an inhuman ruthlessness to accomplish that. But since humans now know about Fae, there's no way the Fae can live quietly enough to keep humans from sticking their noses into Fae business, because that's what humans do: when we discover a new animal, we need to observe and record it. When we find a new star, we need to map it, name it, and figure out its composition, color, strength, age, height, weight, and hair color. When we find a new element, we have to mix it up with other things to see if it'll explode. And, because our fascination with newness and our insatiable curiosity are results of our fear of the unknown, we also tend to form hate groups opposing the very things we have discovered. Like people who think of the snowy owl as an enemy, because it represents the conservationist movement. I mean: they actually hate a fluffy little owl. Along with the bleeding-heart liberals who protect it, but still.
So this one focuses on a string of Fae murders. Mercy is brought in to help investigate, because she has both a coyote's powerful nose and a human's mind and memory, and so she is an excellent scent tracker -- which makes sense. I also liked the comment that there are not many Fae who could do the same, because that was a gift mostly given to the beast-like Fae, most of whom are gone. Mercy figures out the culprit, and Zee and Uncle Mike, the two Council members who brought Mercy in, go to take care of the problem -- only to find the problem's already been taken care of, because the murderer's been beheaded. Uncle Mike vanishes, but Zee is left to take the fall for the murder of the murderer, and the Gray Lords, who have that wonderfully pragmatic and evil policy of sacrificing any individual in order to protect the group, want Zee to die in prison just after he confesses: an open-and-shut case.
But Mercy won't let it go. She investigates, and pokes her nose in, and fights for Zee even when Zee doesn't want her fighting for him -- Zee accepts the Gray Lord's absurd policy (Absurd because the line becomes ever more blurry over time: you sacrifice one person to save the lives of many, and then sacrifice two people to save the lives of five -- and then one to save one? Or you sacrifice one to save lives, then one to save homes, then one to save Christmas presents, and then one to save -- what, lawn ornaments? At some point you lose what you're trying to save.) and is willing to die for the Fae. Though I notice he didn't kill himself as the Gray Lords would surely have preferred.
And, of course, Mercy gets to the bottom of it. One of the greatest strengths of these books is in the climactic action sequences: the fight with Littleton and the hunt for Littleton's creator in Blood Bound, and the last few chapters in this one. They are a great strength because Briggs doesn't overdo it; as well as she writes an action scene, the character is not action oriented; she's a mechanic with a kinda screwed-up love life involving her neighbor and her roommate (I was also glad to see that resolve in this one, and now I'm eager to see where it goes from here). Mercy wouldn't be in the thick of things all day every day, and so she isn't; this book starts out with her watching Queen of the Damned with Warren and Kyle. But the final fight in this one was fantastic, both in terms of how Mercy wins, and also how Mercy suffers at the hands of the villain. And, of course, the resolution was fantastic, as well. And we also got to meet some seriously scary Fae, and Zee with his cloak off, which was super-sweet. It was a great book, and I will be reading more of these.
Oh, and as a side note: I have now read more books than I read in all of last year. Woot!
Book #87
Blood Bound
by Patricia Briggs
Here comes the shortest review of the year, since this is a re-read of a book I read only last year.
I like the Mercy Thompson books, though I remember liking the first one better than this; Briggs does a wonderful job of world-building here, particularly with the society of the werewolves, and Mercy's a great character -- the underhanded sneaky one in a world of serious power-brokers. I also like that she's a mechanic who lives in a single-wide, and that she has apparently no ability to deal with romance. But in this book, it focuses on the vampires, and in particular on a demon-possessed vampire, and the vampires don't work as well. It's like Briggs wanted to make them evil, but she couldn't help but write them sympathetically; almost as if she chose people she liked as the mental models for some of the vampires. So while the vamps are certainly intimidating and alien, particularly the bad guy, Littleton, they're also pretty okay folks. Stefan painted his van like the Scooby Doo Mystery Wagon. Wulfe, the Wizard, is freaky and all, but he turns out to be a good guy. As nasty as the Mistress can be -- and was, in the first book -- she takes Mercy's side in this one, and comes off as much more human and likable. The whole seethe (and I like "kiss" better) are not the blood-soaked villains they are portrayed as, which is odd since Briggs is the one who portrayed them as the consummate evil.
But I like the chair of truth, and the way Mercy takes advantage of the vampire's weakness to take these guys out, and Littleton, at least, was extremely scary -- I love the part when he's hiding under the floorboards, and Mercy shoots him, and he pushes the bloody bullets back through the holes. That's a great image. And to be sure, part of the problem I had with this book was that I've been spoiled, a bit, in reading the Anita Blake books, which have absolutely the best depiction of vampires that I've ever read, so these end up paling in comparison despite having their own strengths. It was still a good book, and I enjoyed it.
by Patricia Briggs
Here comes the shortest review of the year, since this is a re-read of a book I read only last year.
I like the Mercy Thompson books, though I remember liking the first one better than this; Briggs does a wonderful job of world-building here, particularly with the society of the werewolves, and Mercy's a great character -- the underhanded sneaky one in a world of serious power-brokers. I also like that she's a mechanic who lives in a single-wide, and that she has apparently no ability to deal with romance. But in this book, it focuses on the vampires, and in particular on a demon-possessed vampire, and the vampires don't work as well. It's like Briggs wanted to make them evil, but she couldn't help but write them sympathetically; almost as if she chose people she liked as the mental models for some of the vampires. So while the vamps are certainly intimidating and alien, particularly the bad guy, Littleton, they're also pretty okay folks. Stefan painted his van like the Scooby Doo Mystery Wagon. Wulfe, the Wizard, is freaky and all, but he turns out to be a good guy. As nasty as the Mistress can be -- and was, in the first book -- she takes Mercy's side in this one, and comes off as much more human and likable. The whole seethe (and I like "kiss" better) are not the blood-soaked villains they are portrayed as, which is odd since Briggs is the one who portrayed them as the consummate evil.
But I like the chair of truth, and the way Mercy takes advantage of the vampire's weakness to take these guys out, and Littleton, at least, was extremely scary -- I love the part when he's hiding under the floorboards, and Mercy shoots him, and he pushes the bloody bullets back through the holes. That's a great image. And to be sure, part of the problem I had with this book was that I've been spoiled, a bit, in reading the Anita Blake books, which have absolutely the best depiction of vampires that I've ever read, so these end up paling in comparison despite having their own strengths. It was still a good book, and I enjoyed it.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Book #86
Possession
by Chris Humphreys
I read this one for my librarian friend; normally I would have passed on this, because it's the third book in a trilogy and I haven't read the first two. But I wanted to help her out with her stack of books to be reviewed, and I liked the guy's name (heh), so I picked it up; my friend pointed out that one of the measures of a good book is whether or not you can pick it up without having read the entire series, and understand and enjoy it. Made sense to me, so I went for it.
So according to that standard, this was not a terribly good book. It did not stand alone; too many references were made to the earlier two books. The biggest problem in coming into the series at this point was that the villain's villainy has already been well-established, and so is mostly assumed. There were also apparently a plot twist or two and a serious betrayal of the main character by the villain, and so much of the dramatic tension stems from that; since I didn't read that part, the struggle between the hero and the villain seemed a little bland.
The basic idea of the book is strong: it focuses on a pair of modern teenagers, cousins, who have the ability to use Nordic runes to perform a sort of astral projection -- though again, much of the explanation of the mechanics of this came in earlier books and was only glossed over here; I'm still not sure whether the spirit form in these books, referred to as the Fetch, is material or not -- and can turn themselves into animals, or travel back into the past along their family tree, or even possess another person, which is the major plot device in this book, as evidenced clearly by the title. The best parts of the narrative are the flashbacks to other times; the author has a nice grasp of history, particularly the more mundane, human aspects of it, and has chosen his moments well. The witch in their ancestral tree, for instance, is a woman in the 1600's, who we encounter at the tail end of the siege of York by the Puritans, following the English civil war when Parliament overthrew the king -- the onset of Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate, if my own shaky grasp of history has the right grip. It's an interesting glimpse, made more interesting by the fact that this woman's husband is one of the besieging Puritans, who accuses and convicts her of witchcraft after the city falls. Another flashback is to a Viking invader who fights on the side of the Saxons, whom he just fought with his fellow dragonship raiders, against the Normans during the Battle of Hastings. The explication of the runes, too, including the ways they shift meaning depending on the combinations of different runes, was also quite interesting. Unfortunately, without the buildup of the first two books, the climax in this one was simply -- anticlimactic.
In the end, I would recommend the book as the third in a series, but not by itself.
by Chris Humphreys
I read this one for my librarian friend; normally I would have passed on this, because it's the third book in a trilogy and I haven't read the first two. But I wanted to help her out with her stack of books to be reviewed, and I liked the guy's name (heh), so I picked it up; my friend pointed out that one of the measures of a good book is whether or not you can pick it up without having read the entire series, and understand and enjoy it. Made sense to me, so I went for it.
So according to that standard, this was not a terribly good book. It did not stand alone; too many references were made to the earlier two books. The biggest problem in coming into the series at this point was that the villain's villainy has already been well-established, and so is mostly assumed. There were also apparently a plot twist or two and a serious betrayal of the main character by the villain, and so much of the dramatic tension stems from that; since I didn't read that part, the struggle between the hero and the villain seemed a little bland.
The basic idea of the book is strong: it focuses on a pair of modern teenagers, cousins, who have the ability to use Nordic runes to perform a sort of astral projection -- though again, much of the explanation of the mechanics of this came in earlier books and was only glossed over here; I'm still not sure whether the spirit form in these books, referred to as the Fetch, is material or not -- and can turn themselves into animals, or travel back into the past along their family tree, or even possess another person, which is the major plot device in this book, as evidenced clearly by the title. The best parts of the narrative are the flashbacks to other times; the author has a nice grasp of history, particularly the more mundane, human aspects of it, and has chosen his moments well. The witch in their ancestral tree, for instance, is a woman in the 1600's, who we encounter at the tail end of the siege of York by the Puritans, following the English civil war when Parliament overthrew the king -- the onset of Oliver Cromwell's Protectorate, if my own shaky grasp of history has the right grip. It's an interesting glimpse, made more interesting by the fact that this woman's husband is one of the besieging Puritans, who accuses and convicts her of witchcraft after the city falls. Another flashback is to a Viking invader who fights on the side of the Saxons, whom he just fought with his fellow dragonship raiders, against the Normans during the Battle of Hastings. The explication of the runes, too, including the ways they shift meaning depending on the combinations of different runes, was also quite interesting. Unfortunately, without the buildup of the first two books, the climax in this one was simply -- anticlimactic.
In the end, I would recommend the book as the third in a series, but not by itself.
Book #85
Blood Noir
by Laurell K. Hamilton
So I tried reading Eldest, the sequel to Eragon, because apparently, between Eon and Temeraire, I don't have enough books about dragons in my life. Dragons and vampires; what is it with dragons and vampires? But what I failed to consider is that Naomi Novik and Alison Goodman can write; Christopher Paolini, for all the hype he's gotten -- and all the GINORMOUS ego that has come as a consequence of being hailed as a boy genius -- couldn't write his way out of an anti-writing forcefield. Well, the paper bag thing never made sense to me. It was completely overblown, filled with Paolini's bullshit "languages," none of which are necessary, all of which are ripped from Tolkien, and every word of which obstruct easy reading of the actual story; the book started with a summary of Eragon -- which was great because I didn't remember it very well -- and then the first chapter was a narrative summary of what happened over the last few months. Almost like he doesn't have any respect for his readers. Which, considering how arrogant his author's note and glossary introduction were -- he made quite a deal of comparing his "journey" to Eragon's, though he was quick to point out that Eragon isn't that smart (whereas, of course, his creator is a SUPER GENIUS) -- it's pretty clear that he doesn't. We are the foolish children, gathered wide-eyed at the master's knee as he spins a tale to amuse us. I think deep down inside, he's smart enough to recognize the fact that his books actually are pretty shitty, and so his success is simply evidence that the average reader is a moron compared to him. Which makes him both a whore and a tool, with a serious inferiority-superiority complex, but hey, we all got issues, right?
Anyway, after a few days of plowing through that mound o' crap, I switched to something good: the last (sniff) Anita Blake book we have, Blood Noir. Luckily, it was excellent -- better, in a lot of ways, than most of the books before. The Harlequin was a good one because it had what I thought was a great vampire story; this one was better because it had a good human story, and that was more interesting, after this long reading about these characters. Though the vampire element had its moment, too.
The basic plot follows Jason and Anita as Anita accompanies her friend (and one serious complaint I have about these books is Hamilton's consistent use of the term "fuck buddy" to describe Anita and Jason's relationship. I have no problem with their relationship, any more than they do; neither one of these two should scruple at casual sex. But it's an ugly damn term, and such a simple relationship to describe: friends with benefits seems far more poetic to me, but bed friends, or sex pals, or snugglebuddies -- the possibilities are limitless, and any one would be better.) on a difficult trip: Jason's estranged father is dying, and his mother has asked her only son to come back and see his father before he goes. And, if possible, bring a girlfriend to prove that their dancer-stripper son isn't gay, as his father has always assumed, and hated. So he brings Anita, who realizes as she agrees, and over the course of the trip, that Jason means much more to her than a hump-chum.
The trip is complicated not only by Jason's relationship with his family -- a real batch of sweethearts, they are; it's like Hamilton took every possible aspect of an uncomfortable meeting with your sweetie's family, and stuck them all together into one group -- but by the fact that Jason looks like a twin to the son of the governor, who is about to make a bid for the presidency while Jason's doppelganger marches through a huge wedding, in the same week when Jason, the clone, shows up with another woman. It was quite well done: I liked the explanation for Jason and Keith Summerland's resemblance, as well as the connection to vampires that ends up causing even more trouble for all those involved. The visits with Jason's family were uncomfortable and obnoxious both, which means they were well done; I also enjoyed the scene when Jason goes to a bridal shower filled with women he dated in high school. I didn't like the subsequent scene when the Mother of All Darkness takes over Anita and makes the ardeur sweep her and three men away completely, though I was glad it happened in blackout and we didn't get much description apart from flashbacks, but I'm frankly sick of the MOAD popping in once a book and screwing things up. I am intrigued by the calling of the weretigers, but the MOAD is becoming too much of a deus ex machina, a handy explanation for any plot complication Hamilton wants to throw in the pot. She needs to wake up, or die already.
On the other hand: Richard has the ardeur, and he lost control of himself within seconds after he gained it. That was sheer poetry, and I loved it. That's a complication I can't wait to follow in the next book.
But overall, I was very pleased to see Hamilton using her range as an author to offer a different kind of story, without losing the thread of the overall narrative. But I think she and her fans would be best served by ending the MOAD plotline and moving back to smaller, simpler stories; that seems to be her real strength as an author. I think she stretches out the grand plotlines over too many books. Not that I'm doing anything other than waiting on pins and needles for the next one to come out. Sigh. Maybe I'll read Merry Gentry . . .
by Laurell K. Hamilton
So I tried reading Eldest, the sequel to Eragon, because apparently, between Eon and Temeraire, I don't have enough books about dragons in my life. Dragons and vampires; what is it with dragons and vampires? But what I failed to consider is that Naomi Novik and Alison Goodman can write; Christopher Paolini, for all the hype he's gotten -- and all the GINORMOUS ego that has come as a consequence of being hailed as a boy genius -- couldn't write his way out of an anti-writing forcefield. Well, the paper bag thing never made sense to me. It was completely overblown, filled with Paolini's bullshit "languages," none of which are necessary, all of which are ripped from Tolkien, and every word of which obstruct easy reading of the actual story; the book started with a summary of Eragon -- which was great because I didn't remember it very well -- and then the first chapter was a narrative summary of what happened over the last few months. Almost like he doesn't have any respect for his readers. Which, considering how arrogant his author's note and glossary introduction were -- he made quite a deal of comparing his "journey" to Eragon's, though he was quick to point out that Eragon isn't that smart (whereas, of course, his creator is a SUPER GENIUS) -- it's pretty clear that he doesn't. We are the foolish children, gathered wide-eyed at the master's knee as he spins a tale to amuse us. I think deep down inside, he's smart enough to recognize the fact that his books actually are pretty shitty, and so his success is simply evidence that the average reader is a moron compared to him. Which makes him both a whore and a tool, with a serious inferiority-superiority complex, but hey, we all got issues, right?
Anyway, after a few days of plowing through that mound o' crap, I switched to something good: the last (sniff) Anita Blake book we have, Blood Noir. Luckily, it was excellent -- better, in a lot of ways, than most of the books before. The Harlequin was a good one because it had what I thought was a great vampire story; this one was better because it had a good human story, and that was more interesting, after this long reading about these characters. Though the vampire element had its moment, too.
The basic plot follows Jason and Anita as Anita accompanies her friend (and one serious complaint I have about these books is Hamilton's consistent use of the term "fuck buddy" to describe Anita and Jason's relationship. I have no problem with their relationship, any more than they do; neither one of these two should scruple at casual sex. But it's an ugly damn term, and such a simple relationship to describe: friends with benefits seems far more poetic to me, but bed friends, or sex pals, or snugglebuddies -- the possibilities are limitless, and any one would be better.) on a difficult trip: Jason's estranged father is dying, and his mother has asked her only son to come back and see his father before he goes. And, if possible, bring a girlfriend to prove that their dancer-stripper son isn't gay, as his father has always assumed, and hated. So he brings Anita, who realizes as she agrees, and over the course of the trip, that Jason means much more to her than a hump-chum.
The trip is complicated not only by Jason's relationship with his family -- a real batch of sweethearts, they are; it's like Hamilton took every possible aspect of an uncomfortable meeting with your sweetie's family, and stuck them all together into one group -- but by the fact that Jason looks like a twin to the son of the governor, who is about to make a bid for the presidency while Jason's doppelganger marches through a huge wedding, in the same week when Jason, the clone, shows up with another woman. It was quite well done: I liked the explanation for Jason and Keith Summerland's resemblance, as well as the connection to vampires that ends up causing even more trouble for all those involved. The visits with Jason's family were uncomfortable and obnoxious both, which means they were well done; I also enjoyed the scene when Jason goes to a bridal shower filled with women he dated in high school. I didn't like the subsequent scene when the Mother of All Darkness takes over Anita and makes the ardeur sweep her and three men away completely, though I was glad it happened in blackout and we didn't get much description apart from flashbacks, but I'm frankly sick of the MOAD popping in once a book and screwing things up. I am intrigued by the calling of the weretigers, but the MOAD is becoming too much of a deus ex machina, a handy explanation for any plot complication Hamilton wants to throw in the pot. She needs to wake up, or die already.
On the other hand: Richard has the ardeur, and he lost control of himself within seconds after he gained it. That was sheer poetry, and I loved it. That's a complication I can't wait to follow in the next book.
But overall, I was very pleased to see Hamilton using her range as an author to offer a different kind of story, without losing the thread of the overall narrative. But I think she and her fans would be best served by ending the MOAD plotline and moving back to smaller, simpler stories; that seems to be her real strength as an author. I think she stretches out the grand plotlines over too many books. Not that I'm doing anything other than waiting on pins and needles for the next one to come out. Sigh. Maybe I'll read Merry Gentry . . .
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Book #84
Fifty Acres and a Poodle by Jeanne Marie Laskas
This was an extraordinary book. Not only was it beautifully written, but the story it told was both magical and humble, entertaining and realistic. It is the story of a pair of city-dwellers moving onto a farm in rural Pennsylvania, where they are forced to deal with strange neighbors; sexism so ingrained in the social interaction that it begins to affect their educated, enlightened, liberated selves; the realization that their beautiful foliated land is in fact overrun with the strongest weed since El Seed, the mad dandelion king on The Tick (I made a Tick reference! Spooooon!); the tragedy of cancer; and the wonder of a happy marriage, complete with a fairy tale wedding that features the gift of a flower-strewn horse-and-mule team in lavender halters.
But it begins as books about real people should: with doubt. Jeanne Marie Laskas is a columnist and freelance writer who lived in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Pittsburgh; she has what sounds like a beautiful home and wonderful neighbors, a carefully-tended garden and two wonderful pets, a beautiful big-eyed dog named Betty and a tall, orange, prodigiously-tailed cat, named Bob, who has been her constant companion for ten years -- she says they are a unit, she and Bob. She is self-sufficient, capable and satisfied with things the way they are: she is in a happy long-term relationship with a psychologist named Alex (Who owns the poodle mentioned in the title -- a standard poodle, not one of those yappy things.), she has a close group of friends with whom she can chat and have dinner and go to see movies, and she knows her neighbors and her neighborhood. In other words, she is home.
But somehow, it is not enough. Laskas manages to capture the feeling of wanderlust without actually coming out and saying it or saying exactly why she has it or what she is looking for -- which is how it should be described, since wanderlust is never that specific or that easily diagnosed -- but it is enough to know that she isn't happy, not completely. She has a farm dream, as she puts it. There is a part of her that wants to get away from the annoyances of city life, that wants the wide open expanses she remembers from her childhood, that wants the solitude, and the ability to thrive in isolation, that she has read about in Thoreau. So she and Alex occasionally drive out to the countryside and look at farms that are for sale -- never, she says, with the intention of buying. Just to look. But then the inevitable happens: they find the perfect farm, fifty acres on rolling green hills, in true farm country yet only an hour away from Pittsburgh and their offices. So they buy it. Despite doubts, despite misgivings, despite not being totally sure why they are buying it when Laskas loves her home and her life in Pittsburgh; it is their dream, and they do it.
And things work out, over the course of the book. They work out because their neighbors are helpful and friendly -- though not universally so; they find what could only be called a truce with their sheep-farming neighbor who has been known to shoot dogs that get after his flock -- and because the author and her sweetie truly love each other. That has to be the final message of this book: that dreams are difficult, and frightening, and can come on you without warning and without ever being fully realized and analyzed in your head beforehand, but they can be achieved. Despite a never-ending stream of obstacles such as hunters on your property (and you an animal-lover!) and a spring that never seems to come, leaving your beautiful green hills reduced to mere mud-brown, your dreams can be achieved with the help of those who love you, and those who may not know you, but are still willing to lend a hand. It's a fabulous and inspiring story, and I'm very glad I read it.
I still don't want a poodle. But I do want a mule. And my dreams to come true.
This was an extraordinary book. Not only was it beautifully written, but the story it told was both magical and humble, entertaining and realistic. It is the story of a pair of city-dwellers moving onto a farm in rural Pennsylvania, where they are forced to deal with strange neighbors; sexism so ingrained in the social interaction that it begins to affect their educated, enlightened, liberated selves; the realization that their beautiful foliated land is in fact overrun with the strongest weed since El Seed, the mad dandelion king on The Tick (I made a Tick reference! Spooooon!); the tragedy of cancer; and the wonder of a happy marriage, complete with a fairy tale wedding that features the gift of a flower-strewn horse-and-mule team in lavender halters.
But it begins as books about real people should: with doubt. Jeanne Marie Laskas is a columnist and freelance writer who lived in one of the oldest neighborhoods in Pittsburgh; she has what sounds like a beautiful home and wonderful neighbors, a carefully-tended garden and two wonderful pets, a beautiful big-eyed dog named Betty and a tall, orange, prodigiously-tailed cat, named Bob, who has been her constant companion for ten years -- she says they are a unit, she and Bob. She is self-sufficient, capable and satisfied with things the way they are: she is in a happy long-term relationship with a psychologist named Alex (Who owns the poodle mentioned in the title -- a standard poodle, not one of those yappy things.), she has a close group of friends with whom she can chat and have dinner and go to see movies, and she knows her neighbors and her neighborhood. In other words, she is home.
But somehow, it is not enough. Laskas manages to capture the feeling of wanderlust without actually coming out and saying it or saying exactly why she has it or what she is looking for -- which is how it should be described, since wanderlust is never that specific or that easily diagnosed -- but it is enough to know that she isn't happy, not completely. She has a farm dream, as she puts it. There is a part of her that wants to get away from the annoyances of city life, that wants the wide open expanses she remembers from her childhood, that wants the solitude, and the ability to thrive in isolation, that she has read about in Thoreau. So she and Alex occasionally drive out to the countryside and look at farms that are for sale -- never, she says, with the intention of buying. Just to look. But then the inevitable happens: they find the perfect farm, fifty acres on rolling green hills, in true farm country yet only an hour away from Pittsburgh and their offices. So they buy it. Despite doubts, despite misgivings, despite not being totally sure why they are buying it when Laskas loves her home and her life in Pittsburgh; it is their dream, and they do it.
And things work out, over the course of the book. They work out because their neighbors are helpful and friendly -- though not universally so; they find what could only be called a truce with their sheep-farming neighbor who has been known to shoot dogs that get after his flock -- and because the author and her sweetie truly love each other. That has to be the final message of this book: that dreams are difficult, and frightening, and can come on you without warning and without ever being fully realized and analyzed in your head beforehand, but they can be achieved. Despite a never-ending stream of obstacles such as hunters on your property (and you an animal-lover!) and a spring that never seems to come, leaving your beautiful green hills reduced to mere mud-brown, your dreams can be achieved with the help of those who love you, and those who may not know you, but are still willing to lend a hand. It's a fabulous and inspiring story, and I'm very glad I read it.
I still don't want a poodle. But I do want a mule. And my dreams to come true.
Book #83
Sandman III: Dream Country
by Neil Gaiman, et al
I got this for Christmas last year, and never got around to reading it; sometimes I think I've spent almost too much time reading this year, and then I think about all the books I haven't gotten around to reading, and I think I haven't spent enough.
Luckily for me, the Sandman books are fast and easy, though never simple. This one starts with a lovely tale of an author who captured and enslaved one of the original Muses from Greek mythology; he trades her off to another author who is suffering fatal writer's block. The new author rapes the muse and then gets idea after idea, becoming world-renowned almost overnight. Until Morpheus comes, that is: the Sandman asks the author to release his captive, and the author refuses because he says he needs the ideas. So the Sandman gives him ideas: so many he can't stop thinking of them, and he feels compelled to write them down -- and, in a very Gaiman-esque moment, he realizes he doesn't have paper, so he writes in blood on a brick wall, wearing his fingers down to bloody claws. He capitulates and releases the Muse. But the most interesting thing for me was the flow of ideas: I thought immediately, This is what it's like to be in Neil Gaiman's head. I'm sure the Sandman's curse brought the ideas faster, but after all, every one of those ideas came from the author's mind. And some of them are pretty funky: a train full of silent women plowing through the night; a were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon; a rosebush, a nightingale, and a rubber dog collar. I can't decide if I am envious of Gaiman's brain, or thankful for mine.
The second story is the true history of the world as told by cats. In it, cats used to be the top of the food chain, the size of horses and filled with regal splendor; humans served them, and occasionally became their prey. Until one day a human convinced other humans that they could change things if they dreamed of a different world. So a thousand of them did so, and the world changed to what it is now; and in this story, a cat who had her kittens drowned by her human owner has become a prophet and crusader: she travels the world talking to cats, trying to convince a thousand of them to dream the world back to the old way, where cats were in charge. This was a fantastic story -- but again, and I happy that Neil Gaiman had an idea similar to mine, or does it irritate me that his was published, albeit in a totally different form, while mine is not?
The third story was about Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream; Gaiman had the Sandman commission it from Shakespeare as a gift for the Fae, who come back to the Earth one last time to see the premier, presented in a field on the day in question. This one was beautiful and lyrical and so much sweeter than the average Sandman tale, it was nice. The fourth and last story was not as good, focusing on a woman who suffered an odd curse and became hideously deformed, but also immortal. She wishes for Death, and Death shows up and talks to her for a while before granting her request. It has some neat elements, and I love the happy, carefree attitude of the Sandman's sister, but it wasn't as interesting as the others. I did like reading the script they included afterward, but I don't think I would want to do that. So I won't be writing any comic books. No surprises there.
by Neil Gaiman, et al
I got this for Christmas last year, and never got around to reading it; sometimes I think I've spent almost too much time reading this year, and then I think about all the books I haven't gotten around to reading, and I think I haven't spent enough.
Luckily for me, the Sandman books are fast and easy, though never simple. This one starts with a lovely tale of an author who captured and enslaved one of the original Muses from Greek mythology; he trades her off to another author who is suffering fatal writer's block. The new author rapes the muse and then gets idea after idea, becoming world-renowned almost overnight. Until Morpheus comes, that is: the Sandman asks the author to release his captive, and the author refuses because he says he needs the ideas. So the Sandman gives him ideas: so many he can't stop thinking of them, and he feels compelled to write them down -- and, in a very Gaiman-esque moment, he realizes he doesn't have paper, so he writes in blood on a brick wall, wearing his fingers down to bloody claws. He capitulates and releases the Muse. But the most interesting thing for me was the flow of ideas: I thought immediately, This is what it's like to be in Neil Gaiman's head. I'm sure the Sandman's curse brought the ideas faster, but after all, every one of those ideas came from the author's mind. And some of them are pretty funky: a train full of silent women plowing through the night; a were-goldfish who transforms into a wolf at full moon; a rosebush, a nightingale, and a rubber dog collar. I can't decide if I am envious of Gaiman's brain, or thankful for mine.
The second story is the true history of the world as told by cats. In it, cats used to be the top of the food chain, the size of horses and filled with regal splendor; humans served them, and occasionally became their prey. Until one day a human convinced other humans that they could change things if they dreamed of a different world. So a thousand of them did so, and the world changed to what it is now; and in this story, a cat who had her kittens drowned by her human owner has become a prophet and crusader: she travels the world talking to cats, trying to convince a thousand of them to dream the world back to the old way, where cats were in charge. This was a fantastic story -- but again, and I happy that Neil Gaiman had an idea similar to mine, or does it irritate me that his was published, albeit in a totally different form, while mine is not?
The third story was about Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream; Gaiman had the Sandman commission it from Shakespeare as a gift for the Fae, who come back to the Earth one last time to see the premier, presented in a field on the day in question. This one was beautiful and lyrical and so much sweeter than the average Sandman tale, it was nice. The fourth and last story was not as good, focusing on a woman who suffered an odd curse and became hideously deformed, but also immortal. She wishes for Death, and Death shows up and talks to her for a while before granting her request. It has some neat elements, and I love the happy, carefree attitude of the Sandman's sister, but it wasn't as interesting as the others. I did like reading the script they included afterward, but I don't think I would want to do that. So I won't be writing any comic books. No surprises there.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Book #82
Eon: Dragoneye Reborn
by Allison Goodman
There were two times, while I was reading Allison Goodman's new novel, when I didn't like the book. In the very beginning, while the author was trying to introduce the invented world of her dragoncentric fantasy -- based largely on feudal Japan and Mandarin China, but changed into something of the author's own creation -- I got lost; too much information was put forward too quickly, with details that could have been given over a broader span of the narrative. It made me feel a bit annoyed with the whole endeavor. On the other hand, the main character, the girl Eona who masquerades as the boy Eon, was interesting enough and sympathetic enough to keep me reading. From the first scene, Eon is faced with almost insurmountable odds: not only is she female -- a secret that must be kept at all costs, as girls are not allowed to do what Eon is trying to do: become the new Dragoneye apprentice, the one who will learn to link with one of the twelve spirit Dragons whose power protects the kingdom from earthquakes and monsoons -- but she is also a peasant and an indentured servant, bought from a slow death at a salt mine because she is her master's last chance at winning glory as the teacher of a new Dragoneye. And, of course, she is crippled: she has a badly-healed hip injury that gives her a limp and makes her untouchable and unworthy in the eyes of the arrogant nobility of her land. But despite all of these disadvantages, any one of which would have a modern youth (including myself, twenty years ago) throwing up our hands in defeat and returning to the couch for potato chips and another round of Halo, Eon perseveres, and wins. She becomes one of the chosen few, destined to become one of the wealthiest, most revered and most influential people in the kingdom, holding a position second only to the Emperor himself.
Except for one thing: one of her fellow Dragoneyes, Lord Ido, is conspiring with the Emperor's brother to overthrow the lord of the kingdom and usurp his power. Eon finds herself in the middle of the power struggle from her very first day. But luckily, she is not without allies, and the author has built an excellent cast of characters into this story: Ryko, the eunuch guard and secret revolutionary; Lady Dela, the noble woman assigned to teach Lord Eon court etiquette, who has a secret of her own; Rilla and Chart, two other servants of Eon's master who have been her allies during her training and remain so after her ascension; and several others of varying importance. All of them are nicely realized, interesting in their own right, and all help bring the story to vibrant life, without ever taking the focus from where it belongs, on this strong female (though that is, of course, one of the key issues of the book) main character, something that is too rare in fantasy, and a real strength of this book. Eon was what kept me reading, and what made me enjoy it.
Until the second moment when I got irritated in reading the book. In all stories, and most especially in epics such as this, the hero must reach a low point, just before the climax of the action and the long struggle upward to victory. I expected no less from this book. Unfortunately, the descent of Eon reaches depths I haven't seen since I read Kafka: Eon doesn't just hit bottom, she starts digging. She loses so much, so quickly, that I went past sympathetic into angry; it seemed like the author was just being cruel for cruelty's sake. It went too far, and it made it hard to enjoy the book because the reason for Eon's downfall was, well, silly; I knew what the basic problem was from the first major plot point, when Eon became a Lord, and the idea that not only couldn't Eon figure it out, but that something so simple could cause this much suffering, was hard to swallow.
Fortunately, after some few minutes when I was cursing under my breath and gesticulating violently as I read, the problems work out and Eon eventually saves the day. I was very gratified to see, though, that her success does not come easy, nor cheap, and also that the villain is not cast simply into the fires of Hell from whence he came, but is treated as a more genuine and fully-fleshed character, as he deserved.
Perhaps those two moments of ire helped to increase the savor of the pleasant moments, offering a contrast and a balance to the enjoyment, but even if they were simply detractions from the overall experience, the good parts more than made up for it. This was an excellent book, and I will look forward to the sequel and the conclusion of Eon's tale.
by Allison Goodman
There were two times, while I was reading Allison Goodman's new novel, when I didn't like the book. In the very beginning, while the author was trying to introduce the invented world of her dragoncentric fantasy -- based largely on feudal Japan and Mandarin China, but changed into something of the author's own creation -- I got lost; too much information was put forward too quickly, with details that could have been given over a broader span of the narrative. It made me feel a bit annoyed with the whole endeavor. On the other hand, the main character, the girl Eona who masquerades as the boy Eon, was interesting enough and sympathetic enough to keep me reading. From the first scene, Eon is faced with almost insurmountable odds: not only is she female -- a secret that must be kept at all costs, as girls are not allowed to do what Eon is trying to do: become the new Dragoneye apprentice, the one who will learn to link with one of the twelve spirit Dragons whose power protects the kingdom from earthquakes and monsoons -- but she is also a peasant and an indentured servant, bought from a slow death at a salt mine because she is her master's last chance at winning glory as the teacher of a new Dragoneye. And, of course, she is crippled: she has a badly-healed hip injury that gives her a limp and makes her untouchable and unworthy in the eyes of the arrogant nobility of her land. But despite all of these disadvantages, any one of which would have a modern youth (including myself, twenty years ago) throwing up our hands in defeat and returning to the couch for potato chips and another round of Halo, Eon perseveres, and wins. She becomes one of the chosen few, destined to become one of the wealthiest, most revered and most influential people in the kingdom, holding a position second only to the Emperor himself.
Except for one thing: one of her fellow Dragoneyes, Lord Ido, is conspiring with the Emperor's brother to overthrow the lord of the kingdom and usurp his power. Eon finds herself in the middle of the power struggle from her very first day. But luckily, she is not without allies, and the author has built an excellent cast of characters into this story: Ryko, the eunuch guard and secret revolutionary; Lady Dela, the noble woman assigned to teach Lord Eon court etiquette, who has a secret of her own; Rilla and Chart, two other servants of Eon's master who have been her allies during her training and remain so after her ascension; and several others of varying importance. All of them are nicely realized, interesting in their own right, and all help bring the story to vibrant life, without ever taking the focus from where it belongs, on this strong female (though that is, of course, one of the key issues of the book) main character, something that is too rare in fantasy, and a real strength of this book. Eon was what kept me reading, and what made me enjoy it.
Until the second moment when I got irritated in reading the book. In all stories, and most especially in epics such as this, the hero must reach a low point, just before the climax of the action and the long struggle upward to victory. I expected no less from this book. Unfortunately, the descent of Eon reaches depths I haven't seen since I read Kafka: Eon doesn't just hit bottom, she starts digging. She loses so much, so quickly, that I went past sympathetic into angry; it seemed like the author was just being cruel for cruelty's sake. It went too far, and it made it hard to enjoy the book because the reason for Eon's downfall was, well, silly; I knew what the basic problem was from the first major plot point, when Eon became a Lord, and the idea that not only couldn't Eon figure it out, but that something so simple could cause this much suffering, was hard to swallow.
Fortunately, after some few minutes when I was cursing under my breath and gesticulating violently as I read, the problems work out and Eon eventually saves the day. I was very gratified to see, though, that her success does not come easy, nor cheap, and also that the villain is not cast simply into the fires of Hell from whence he came, but is treated as a more genuine and fully-fleshed character, as he deserved.
Perhaps those two moments of ire helped to increase the savor of the pleasant moments, offering a contrast and a balance to the enjoyment, but even if they were simply detractions from the overall experience, the good parts more than made up for it. This was an excellent book, and I will look forward to the sequel and the conclusion of Eon's tale.
Book #81
Things Fall Apart
by Chinua Achebe
This one was homework, in a way; I'm teaching Senior English for the first time, and since it is supposed to encapsulate World Lit and British Lit -- y'know, pretty much everything that's been written, anywhere, ever -- one of the required novels is Chinua Achebe's book about Africa, which I've never read, even though it was recommended to me several years ago -- umm, I think by a professor at SJSU, but it might have been before that. It also might have come from the book room at San Pasqual, since this was part of the canon there, too.
I won't be teaching this book. Not because it was bad; it wasn't. Achebe is a good writer, and managed to sweep me up into the story; considering the book's beginning, that's pretty impressive. Because apart from some generally interesting parts, the first part of the book is largely given over to yams. A lot of yams. Because not only are yams the staple of the Ibo tribe's diet -- the pro-colonialization Ibo being the focus of the novel -- but also the general determinant of wealth and success, and also manliness: women grow the other foods, like cassava and melons and leafy greens. Yams are a man's crop. And the main character, Okonkwo, is a man's man -- so he grows him a lotta yams. And I didn't particularly care about the world of yams, and I know my students wouldn't, either. Not even the farmers.
No, the reason I won't be teaching this book is because it is, first of all, very clearly against colonialism, particularly the invasion of Africa by Christian missionaries, and secondly, because it is damned depressing. Okonkwo's clan is eventually torn apart not by their own, erm, savage uncivilized behavior, but by the assault on their culture by white men, led by Christians. They have no particular problems with their world when it is run by their ancestral traditional rules, even the weird ones, like the need to mutilate the body of an infant who dies young -- because it may be an evil spirit who will continue to usurp the children of a certain woman, ensuring that child after child will die in infancy, and mutilating the body of one of its changeling victims may convince it to leave the woman alone -- or the abandonment of twins, another evil sign, or the rather silly-seeming superstitions concerning their gods. All of that stuff, though it seems ridiculous to modern ears, it works for the Ibo. Their wars are considered particularly brutal when twelve men are killed on one side, and only two on the other. When Okonkwo accidentally kills a man, he is exiled for seven years, and it would have been forever if he had done it one purpose, because the killing of a clansman is the ultimate crime. But he doesn't give up hope: he goes voluntarily into exile, takes care of his family, lasts out the seven years, and then triumphantly moves back to his home -- only to find that it has changed, because the white men have built a church.
Suffice it to say that the Christians eventually win, and Okonkwo, and the Ibo, lose. And if I read this with my class, I feel quite sure that they would see the Africans as simply weird beyond all comprehension or sympathy, and they'd probably be on the side of the exploiters, the invaders, the Christians. And since I have vocal, devout Christian students, I wouldn't be able to argue the other side -- which is most definitely the side I'm on. So, forget it. I'm glad I read it, because it helped answer some things I've never really understood about the ability of Christianity to conquer so many other cultures, but I won't be teaching it.
by Chinua Achebe
This one was homework, in a way; I'm teaching Senior English for the first time, and since it is supposed to encapsulate World Lit and British Lit -- y'know, pretty much everything that's been written, anywhere, ever -- one of the required novels is Chinua Achebe's book about Africa, which I've never read, even though it was recommended to me several years ago -- umm, I think by a professor at SJSU, but it might have been before that. It also might have come from the book room at San Pasqual, since this was part of the canon there, too.
I won't be teaching this book. Not because it was bad; it wasn't. Achebe is a good writer, and managed to sweep me up into the story; considering the book's beginning, that's pretty impressive. Because apart from some generally interesting parts, the first part of the book is largely given over to yams. A lot of yams. Because not only are yams the staple of the Ibo tribe's diet -- the pro-colonialization Ibo being the focus of the novel -- but also the general determinant of wealth and success, and also manliness: women grow the other foods, like cassava and melons and leafy greens. Yams are a man's crop. And the main character, Okonkwo, is a man's man -- so he grows him a lotta yams. And I didn't particularly care about the world of yams, and I know my students wouldn't, either. Not even the farmers.
No, the reason I won't be teaching this book is because it is, first of all, very clearly against colonialism, particularly the invasion of Africa by Christian missionaries, and secondly, because it is damned depressing. Okonkwo's clan is eventually torn apart not by their own, erm, savage uncivilized behavior, but by the assault on their culture by white men, led by Christians. They have no particular problems with their world when it is run by their ancestral traditional rules, even the weird ones, like the need to mutilate the body of an infant who dies young -- because it may be an evil spirit who will continue to usurp the children of a certain woman, ensuring that child after child will die in infancy, and mutilating the body of one of its changeling victims may convince it to leave the woman alone -- or the abandonment of twins, another evil sign, or the rather silly-seeming superstitions concerning their gods. All of that stuff, though it seems ridiculous to modern ears, it works for the Ibo. Their wars are considered particularly brutal when twelve men are killed on one side, and only two on the other. When Okonkwo accidentally kills a man, he is exiled for seven years, and it would have been forever if he had done it one purpose, because the killing of a clansman is the ultimate crime. But he doesn't give up hope: he goes voluntarily into exile, takes care of his family, lasts out the seven years, and then triumphantly moves back to his home -- only to find that it has changed, because the white men have built a church.
Suffice it to say that the Christians eventually win, and Okonkwo, and the Ibo, lose. And if I read this with my class, I feel quite sure that they would see the Africans as simply weird beyond all comprehension or sympathy, and they'd probably be on the side of the exploiters, the invaders, the Christians. And since I have vocal, devout Christian students, I wouldn't be able to argue the other side -- which is most definitely the side I'm on. So, forget it. I'm glad I read it, because it helped answer some things I've never really understood about the ability of Christianity to conquer so many other cultures, but I won't be teaching it.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Book #80
The Harlequin
by Laurell K. Hamilton
The second to last book we have at present -- though she's still writing more, I'm happy to say, plus I still have that whole Merry Gentry series to read, woot! -- and one of the best so far. The Harlequin starts off like Burnt Offerings, with a harbinger of vampiric doom; this time it isn't the Council itself coming to visit, but rather the long arm of vampire law: the Harlequin. These are the silent assassins of vampiredom -- the Justicars, for those who know White Wolf, and that was immediately how I thought of them -- who enforce the Council's law, observing and eliminating vampires who break the rules. I read another book not long ago that used Harlequins as a name for a group; in that book, the use of the name was, well, lame, because the Harlequins were hardcore killing machines, trained from birth to feel nothing and to kill everything (It wasn't a very good book, as you might surmise) in pursuit of their mission (Though why you'd continue on with a mission when you don't have any feelings and thus no real motivation to do anything is beyond me -- but then, there's that bad writing again), but in this book, the use of Harlequin worked, mainly because the name itself was not supposed to project their badassness: it was more a reflection of the vampire love for melodrama, and for that, the references to Commedia dell'Arte worked just fine. They use masks to communicate -- if you get a white mask they are observing, a red mask means they're going to hurt you, and a black mask means they're going to bake you brownies. No, not really. -- and they wear costumes and use the names of the original characters of the Commedia, Columbine and Pantaleon and so on. And since these vamps come from the founder of the council, the MOAD, it seems very likely that the characters came from these folk, not the other way around, and that makes them much more interesting than a bunch of people who use single names like Cher and live in hiding from the Vast Machine.
Anyway, the Harlequin come to town (and ruin Anita and Nathaniel's anniversary date night, which is too bad because the date has implications for their future relationship, and also too bad because the thread of Nathaniel and Anita's relationship gets lost in the events that follow, which probably has further implications for their relationship) and then immediately start screwing with Jean-Claude's power base, by going after the weak link in the St. Louis vampire world: Malcolm and all of the un-blood-oathed vampires of the Church. Anita is understandably freaked out by these things, and she calls in the big guns: Edward. Who brings not only Olaf, but also his newest back-up: Peter.
So here's the thing with these books. The characters are so real, and so honestly multi-layered, that they do unpredictable things, and they do things that have serious repercussions, repercussions that may very well keep on echoing again and again and again. What's more, since the series is as long as it is, there have come to be many characters who are multi-layered and thus unpredictable but always fascinating. Peter and Olaf are prime examples of that. When Edward brings these two, all Hamilton has to do is write down their names, have Anita see them just once; we immediately understand several things about this. We know that Olaf is going to cause real problems for Anita, since he wants to hunt her and kill her, and we know that Peter's coming is not only dangerous for Peter, but also for Edward, and for Donna, Peter's mother (who we remember as a character in her own right), and we have ideas and opinions on all of these things. We also wonder if this means that Edward has gone soft, since he had to have given in to sentiment in bringing his 16-year-old semi-adopted son, and the old Edward didn't have that sentiment; then we have to wonder if his softening will be a strength, as it is for Anita, or a weakness. Then we just have to wonder what will happen when a 16-year-old assassin-in-training is brought into this world. And then, when Edward reveals a few things about how Peter has been affected by his experiences -- mainly his sexual abuse from two years before, in Obsidian Butterfly -- we have to wonder about the implications of those factors, and how they will affect Anita, and Edward, and Peter, and Donna, and so on, so on.
The complexities just keep multiplying until it's almost dizzying. It was getting hard for me to remember all of the characters I was supposed to remember -- there's a moment at the end of this book when something is revealed about one of the bodyguards, and when it was revealed, I couldn't remember any details about that bodyguard's character in the first place, so I was confused -- but that's been taken care of: two of the bodyguards have died, and one other person, Sampson, the would-be siren, has gone back where he came from. The issue with Malcolm's church has been mostly resolved, and we've seen what stunning badasses Wicked and Truth are -- which was totally sweet -- and Haven, aka Cookie Monster, has returned to take over the lion pride, which will probably be helpful in the long run but will certainly add complications to Anita's life. Along with a new character for us to try to fathom.
And, I was glad to see, Richard may just have broken his last straw. Oh, happy day. But whether this ends the Richard saga or not, there were several threads that got taken care of, either by weaving them solidly into place in the overall story, or just by cutting them off. This book definitely made up for the problems of the last one, which focused a bit too much on the ardeur, to the detriment of the plot; although there are ardeur issues in this one, they offer new insights, not just repetitions, and the final revelation about the ardeur and its uses for Anita and Jean-Claude was truly excellent. Maybe I liked it more than others would because it ends up flipping the bird to Richard, in a way -- but it was cool, no matter what. Great book.
by Laurell K. Hamilton
The second to last book we have at present -- though she's still writing more, I'm happy to say, plus I still have that whole Merry Gentry series to read, woot! -- and one of the best so far. The Harlequin starts off like Burnt Offerings, with a harbinger of vampiric doom; this time it isn't the Council itself coming to visit, but rather the long arm of vampire law: the Harlequin. These are the silent assassins of vampiredom -- the Justicars, for those who know White Wolf, and that was immediately how I thought of them -- who enforce the Council's law, observing and eliminating vampires who break the rules. I read another book not long ago that used Harlequins as a name for a group; in that book, the use of the name was, well, lame, because the Harlequins were hardcore killing machines, trained from birth to feel nothing and to kill everything (It wasn't a very good book, as you might surmise) in pursuit of their mission (Though why you'd continue on with a mission when you don't have any feelings and thus no real motivation to do anything is beyond me -- but then, there's that bad writing again), but in this book, the use of Harlequin worked, mainly because the name itself was not supposed to project their badassness: it was more a reflection of the vampire love for melodrama, and for that, the references to Commedia dell'Arte worked just fine. They use masks to communicate -- if you get a white mask they are observing, a red mask means they're going to hurt you, and a black mask means they're going to bake you brownies. No, not really. -- and they wear costumes and use the names of the original characters of the Commedia, Columbine and Pantaleon and so on. And since these vamps come from the founder of the council, the MOAD, it seems very likely that the characters came from these folk, not the other way around, and that makes them much more interesting than a bunch of people who use single names like Cher and live in hiding from the Vast Machine.
Anyway, the Harlequin come to town (and ruin Anita and Nathaniel's anniversary date night, which is too bad because the date has implications for their future relationship, and also too bad because the thread of Nathaniel and Anita's relationship gets lost in the events that follow, which probably has further implications for their relationship) and then immediately start screwing with Jean-Claude's power base, by going after the weak link in the St. Louis vampire world: Malcolm and all of the un-blood-oathed vampires of the Church. Anita is understandably freaked out by these things, and she calls in the big guns: Edward. Who brings not only Olaf, but also his newest back-up: Peter.
So here's the thing with these books. The characters are so real, and so honestly multi-layered, that they do unpredictable things, and they do things that have serious repercussions, repercussions that may very well keep on echoing again and again and again. What's more, since the series is as long as it is, there have come to be many characters who are multi-layered and thus unpredictable but always fascinating. Peter and Olaf are prime examples of that. When Edward brings these two, all Hamilton has to do is write down their names, have Anita see them just once; we immediately understand several things about this. We know that Olaf is going to cause real problems for Anita, since he wants to hunt her and kill her, and we know that Peter's coming is not only dangerous for Peter, but also for Edward, and for Donna, Peter's mother (who we remember as a character in her own right), and we have ideas and opinions on all of these things. We also wonder if this means that Edward has gone soft, since he had to have given in to sentiment in bringing his 16-year-old semi-adopted son, and the old Edward didn't have that sentiment; then we have to wonder if his softening will be a strength, as it is for Anita, or a weakness. Then we just have to wonder what will happen when a 16-year-old assassin-in-training is brought into this world. And then, when Edward reveals a few things about how Peter has been affected by his experiences -- mainly his sexual abuse from two years before, in Obsidian Butterfly -- we have to wonder about the implications of those factors, and how they will affect Anita, and Edward, and Peter, and Donna, and so on, so on.
The complexities just keep multiplying until it's almost dizzying. It was getting hard for me to remember all of the characters I was supposed to remember -- there's a moment at the end of this book when something is revealed about one of the bodyguards, and when it was revealed, I couldn't remember any details about that bodyguard's character in the first place, so I was confused -- but that's been taken care of: two of the bodyguards have died, and one other person, Sampson, the would-be siren, has gone back where he came from. The issue with Malcolm's church has been mostly resolved, and we've seen what stunning badasses Wicked and Truth are -- which was totally sweet -- and Haven, aka Cookie Monster, has returned to take over the lion pride, which will probably be helpful in the long run but will certainly add complications to Anita's life. Along with a new character for us to try to fathom.
And, I was glad to see, Richard may just have broken his last straw. Oh, happy day. But whether this ends the Richard saga or not, there were several threads that got taken care of, either by weaving them solidly into place in the overall story, or just by cutting them off. This book definitely made up for the problems of the last one, which focused a bit too much on the ardeur, to the detriment of the plot; although there are ardeur issues in this one, they offer new insights, not just repetitions, and the final revelation about the ardeur and its uses for Anita and Jean-Claude was truly excellent. Maybe I liked it more than others would because it ends up flipping the bird to Richard, in a way -- but it was cool, no matter what. Great book.
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