Wow -- four months in before the first post. I suck.

Elevenses: My Reading in 2011

1. The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. Completed 3 January.

I got this book for Christmas, and had to read it as soon as I could -- partly because I wanted to use it for a class project, and partly because, c'mon, Richard Dawkins, atheism, great title -- who could resist that? And also because you want to appreciate your presents, you know?

I loved it. It was brilliant and easy to read, gave me new insights, gave me new arguments, gave me -- this was hardest of all, and thus most impressive -- new pride in being an atheist and new reasons to argue for atheism and against religion. Religion is not just something I don't believe in, it is scary and dangerous and antiquated and divisive and, really, nonsensical. And his strongest point was his first: out of all the things we are willing to talk about, and to say to each other -- why is it that religion, and basically only religion, has this privileged position of not being acceptable discussion material? Totally absurd. And wrong, as it gives religion an air of power and glory that it simply doesn't deserve. This is a matter of personal choice, and some people choose one way and some choose another; why is that, then, something we can't criticize? I can call people fools for making bad choices concerning drugs and alcohol, or having sex or dropping out of school or what have you; why can't I criticize them for believing in a bearded white guy who made the universe and cares about my ingrown toenail?

I can. Now I will. Good book, and will read it again.


2. Tyger, Tyger by Kersten Hamilton. Completed approx. 9 January.

I decided to read this because I was in the mood for a nice paranormal teenage book. This was, honestly, a darn fine example of the genre. The Faerie elements were meticulously researched and extremely well-presented; the villains were villainous without being overly cartoonish, and the heroes were heroic without being one-dimensional. It took a surprising turn within the first few chapters, going from a silly-seeming teenage girly book into a much more serious and somber story, which worked very well with the concepts. There were some nice conflicts between good and evil, both between characters and within the main characters themselves, which gave it a depth I'm not used to seeing in similar young adult books. There was a sense of history, here, both because the author brought in ancient Irish mythology and brought it to life, and because the origins of the Faerie creatures were very well-thought out and multi-layered. There were surprising links between the past and the present, and surprising connections between characters, which was great. I do wish that the main villain, the Faerie King, had been more developed or handled differently; I felt he was played up to be too powerful for the rest of the story, though his actual role in the story fit well -- but that just meant it didn't mesh with his reputation. But I was surprised just how scary this author can make cats seem -- and shadows, too. Excellent atmosphere. It ended well, and promises to bring good sequels. Definitely recommended.


3. Gentleman Captain by J.D. Davies. Completed 16 January.

I wanted to read something nautical and hopefully piratey. While this was much more about being a courtier and man of honor, it was a fascinating historical character study nonetheless. The main character is representative of a certain historical type: after the restoration of the British monarchy in 1660, after Oliver Cromwell's Puritan government fell out of power following the Lord Protector's death, Charles II had a conundrum: his navy ships were commanded, very successfully, by his former enemies. The "tarpaulins," men who had come up through the ranks and thus knew everything about sailing, but had no experience or ability in a courtly society, were pitted against his Cavaliers -- the scions of noble families who had supported their king, followed him into exile, and had every possible noble grace, but utterly no knowledge of ships and sailing. So who to give command of his vessels? The loyal, noble incompetents? Or the formerly traitorous commoners, who could give England power over the waves?

This novel tells the story of one attempt to answer that: Matthew Quinton is most certainly a member of the first group, the noblemen who are placed into positions of authority for which they are grossly unprepared. In Matthew's case, he is given this charge twice -- the second time after he ran his first ship aground in a hard wind, drowning nearly every hand, because his inexperience made him indecisive at a critical moment. He is given this second command, of the HMS Jupiter, because he is to be subordinate to the captain of the HMS Royal Martyr -- commanded by a tarpaulin with the magnificent name of Godsgift Judge. Since Judge will provide the seamanship, Matthew is to provide the loyalty and courtly acumen that the mission will likely need to succeed.

But the story turns out to be far more complicated than that, and by the end, everything is very far away from what was expected: not least so are Matthew's own successes, and his failures, as a King's Captain.

The book starts slow, but the ending is rip-roaring, with excellent intrigue, a good femme fatale, betrayal and justice and vengeance and a fantastic sea battle. Definitely worth the reading.


4. Broke by Glenn Beck and Kevin Balfe. Completed 24 January

Yep, I read another Glenn Beck book. I have a student who is rabidly anti-Fox News, but whose grandparents are Tea Partiers; his grandfather gave him not only Sarah Palin's autobiography, "Going Rogue," but also this remarkable chunk of verbiage from the Beckster. (Beckinator? I sort of like The Beckoner; it catches that cultish feel of Beck's work with his audience. But it also doesn't sound negative enough. Maybe that's accurate at this point.) Anyway, the kid wanted to read my Dawkins book, and he offered to trade me the Beck book, so sure, I went for it.

This was interesting. I am honestly proud of my open mind after reading this. I know my mind is open because I could feel myself cringing away from accepting some of Beck's ideas and suggestions, but alas, he is right, several times. But for the sake of my sanity, let's start with where he's wrong.

Number one: progressives, Mr. Beck, do not actually want to consolidate power and force the American people into apathetic subjugation. Progressives have a different view of the way the country should work than you do; you think they're wrong, and that's fine, but as a group, they aren't actually evil. Just as conservatives or even Tea Partiers are not inherently, collectively evil. Just you. Number two: this country was not founded by Christians, and while dropping the aside that Benjamin Franklin was a Deist may hint to your average reader that he was in fact a Christian, you and I know perfectly well that Deism was the philosophy that we now would identify as agnosticism, or even weak atheism: the concept was that there was likely a Creator responsible for the universe, but that it had nothing to do with the lives of men, not watching nor judging nor controlling. That ain't your God, Glenn, it's a pre-scientific version of mine. More importantly, whether the Founding Fathers were Christian or not, they were not themselves God: they might, just maybe, have gotten some things wrong. This country was founded on principles, not on a specific document that sets out very specific parameters that in many cases are no longer appropriate. As long as our new interpretation maintains the same principles, it hasn't even gone away from the Founders' ideals -- and hey, maybe some of those ideals were wrong. Capitalism, my friend, has changed. And if there was nothing else that convinced me that your concept of America was dangerous and wrong, your idea that the only way to make capitalism work is by insisting that all people have faith in God and a morality that, you claim, can only come from God -- you really don't understand the freedoms the Founders set out for us, or at least one of them. You also don't understand morality, or the majority of people. Even those who consider themselves nominal Christians, I would wager, do not consider the wrath of God in deciding what to do with themselves. Capitalism hasn't failed because of a lack of faith, capitalism has failed because it is inherently flawed as a guiding principle: you're right that there must be a moral principle behind it, the "invisible hand" of Adam Smith as I understand that concept, but the fact is that there is no invisible hand strong enough to prevent greedy men from abusing the system and destroying the rest of us. The only hope of having any capitalist system at all is to have a government with a very visible hand; one might even say an iron fist shaking under the noses of the capitalists. Then we can start talking about the free market. 'Kay?

Right. Now for where the Beckoner is right. We are too deep in debt. Politicians have handled our money badly, and continue to do so, though I would be more complimentary to President Obama in my overview of his policies so far. As much as I hate the Democrats for taking out the public option, they did it for the sake of the economy, not because it was the right thing to do or even that it was the will of the people -- it wasn't. It might have been the will of the morons who baa after Beck, but they don't actually speak for the rest of us, no matter how loud they bleat "Four legs gooood, two legs baaaaaad!" But at any rate, the budget must be balanced, the national debt must be paid down. I agree with that. I agree that all things must take some kind of cut or restructuring, including Medicare and Social Security. I really do. I don't think privatizing social security is the right way to go, but I can see minimizing the required contributions and expecting people to supplement with their own pensions, or creating some form of government 401K. Or maybe raising the retirement age and putting some kind of limits on who can collect and for how long -- particularly some of the widow and children type benefits. I don't know that my dad deserves SS money, though he'd be in the gray area, since he ain't rich even with his pension, etc. I think Medicare should be done away with and replaced with universal health care, that's what I think. That would be cheaper and more sustainable in the long run, though I know Becky wouldn't think so. But then, his claim that the ability to shop around for medical procedures would reduce costs is completely full of shit: the ones that we can shop around for, we do, and the others are too vital for anyone to haggle over. Nobody cheaps out when it comes to their survival, and that means that the "free market" would not be. Doctors would charge whatever the fuck they feel like, and we'd pay it, and when we couldn't pay it, we'd die, and the doctors would go ahead and fix somebody else who will cough up the dough. No: the way to manage health care costs is to control them. People should go into medicine out of the goodness of their hearts, not out of greed; greed makes plastic surgeons, and more power to them. The desire to help makes good doctors. And if the doctoring profession is no longer the hope of incredible wealth, maybe medical schools will become less expensive and more people will be able to pursue the career without having to worry about a quarter-mil in student loans. We could handle that system, honestly, and it would work out much better.

But I was talking about when Beck was right, wasn't I? Right. There are plenty of programs that could be cut. Taxes should be lowered, and I actually like the idea of a flat income tax; I don't really see the problems with it. I understand that it would create a new burden on the poor, but it would decrease the burden on the middle class and the wealthy, and I see that as a fairly positive trade-off; I can understand the desire to incentivize moving off of welfare, rather than encouraging laziness. I think the bottom tax bracket could survive on less, honestly. I think a lot of their troubles are generally due to other factors than "too little government assistance" or "too much paid in income taxes." Besides, the truly poor would be exempt, as government assistance would not count as income. I think it would behoove us to eliminate loopholes much more than it would harm us to tax the poorer folk.

In addition, I can see the advantages of local control of some things, such as education. I can buy that the Department of Education is a waste of money for almost no value, and should probably be dropped. And of course Beck is lying when he claims that federal housing assistance was responsible for the housing bubble and the collapse into recession, but it was certainly part of it, and the bailout of the large banks was, quite simply, obscene. But that's why we had regulation, not an argument for allowing those banks to collapse. We screwed ourselves by deregulating banking; the bailout was just when the debt was called due.

At any rate, Beck made some good points, and his rhetoric, while it was universally wrong when he used it, was generally absent, and pleasantly so. This wasn't a bad book, though it would have been better if written objectively and without an agenda, and about a third shorter therefore. If nothing else, I think it will inspire me to become a bit more active politically, so for that, Mr. Beck, thank you. Well done.


5. Percy Jackson Book III: The Titan's Curse by Rick Riordan. Completed 30 Jan.

This was a lot of fun, which made it probably the wrong book to read right at this moment, because I had to spend almost all of my leisure time grading, rather than reading, which was frustrating. But it was definitely worth the wait, as I got to finish the last two-thirds this weekend, after finishing up my grades. (The book ended better than the class did for most of the students. Alas.)

Honestly, this one wasn't as good as the first two; it felt more like a placeholder, like Riordan didn't have that great an idea for it and just used this one to maneuver other pieces into the spot where he wanted them. I'm not sure why; I suppose because the bad guys had such a small part in this, and yet the things that were talked out amongst the good guys weren't all that useful, in the end. There was certainly as much action as any of the books, and that was great, but, well, the characters just got on my nerves. So it didn't feel like Percy made any progress. We got to disambiguate (I've been looking for a chance to use that word) who the Prophecy is about, which is handy, and Aphrodite was fun -- though I'm not sure whose side she's on. But yeah, my biggest complaint was about how the characters ended up: the new Titan didn't really join the bad side, and the new half-blood didn't join either side; none of the real main characters left or changed or anything. I liked the plot twist about Nico de Angelis, but not the ending. That went totally the wrong way.

Meh. Hopefully the next one will be better.

**After going back to write up the second book, more than a month overdue, I realized what else was missing from this book: the clever modern versions of mythic elements. The big new thing introduced here was Artemis and the Hunters, who were, well, archaic. Same with the Mountain of Despair, which I liked, but was one of those mythic things that was simply transplanted from Ancient Greece to modern America, not part of our world. It was all old stuff, and that's good stuff, but the new ideas are the best part of these books, and this one didn't really have any. Too bad.


6. Plucker by Brom. Completed 30 Jan.

Toni picked this off the shelf and decided to read it, finally -- we've had it for a while, now. Then she told me I had to read it, and I was looking to spend a weekend reading, so sure, I'm in.

Man, that's one creepy book.

It starts out a bit sad, with the Jack in the Box being relegated to the old toys' home of under-the-bed; but Jack doesn't give up, and he makes a new friend, which makes things better.

Until the Plucker comes.

The kid's father brings him back toys and souvenirs from around the world (He's a sea captain, arrrr), and apparently he's also insane, because he brings back a six-armed, big hollow eyed doll from Africa that has freaking NAILS pounded into its forehead. I mean, who thinks that's a good present for a kid? My description can't do it justice, since the book was written and illustrated by one of the more talented and disturbing artists around today; you've got to see the image. Of course, the doll is not nearly as upsetting as what's inside it: that, my friends, would be the Plucker.

The Plucker is an African earth spirit that has been trapped in this doll for two hundred years. He was placed there by a shaman of some sort because he has the unfortunate habit of eating children's souls. And where did it get its name? Why, from its other habit: ripping out eyeballs with its long, wickedly strong fingers. The Plucker is not a nice thing. It's about as horrifying a wee beastie as I've seen or read about, right up there with the Other Mother in Coraline (which this book strongly reminds me of) or the nasty alien slugs from Dreamcatcher.

Jack tries to fight the Plucker, to defend his home and the boy who loved him from its evil demonic ways, but he has trouble: the Plucker can reproduce. And it's stronger than he is. He does have allies, and a true determination, and so what follows is a classic good vs. evil tale, played out between dolls and demons, and all illustrated by Brom.

Great book.


7. Trapped by Michael Northrop. Completed 1 February.

How prophetic that this novel should be published now, when the entire United States west of the Rocky Mountains is buried in unbelievable quantities of snow. Any other year, I might have said this novel's description of a Nor'Easter that stalls over New England and dumps more than fifteen feet of snow on one small town, snow that falls without stopping for days on end, snow that falls so fast that it turns the world into a blank canvas, without light, without feature; a storm so severe that men freeze in minutes once they leave shelter -- I might have called that unrealistic.

But it isn't. It makes this book quite a bit scarier than it might be otherwise.

This book is the story of seven high school students who are trapped at school one day by the worst blizzard in New England's history. They are trapped by the simple fact of what they are: teenagers. On a day when school is cut short by the weather and all the students are sent home, three friends decide to hang out and work on a shop project after school, lying to the teachers about why they don't get on the buses, because they are sure that one young man's father will come and get them when they are ready to go. Another young man stays because he went, without thinking about what it meant that school was canceled, to detention, where he normally goes every day after school. And so on: in typical teenaged fashion, the next thing they know, it is getting dark, the road has literally disappeared, and they have no way to leave the school, and, with power out and phone lines down, and cell reception blocked by the storm raging overhead, no way to contact anyone, either.

They hunker down and try to wait out the storm, and over the next four days, as the school grows colder, as supplies start to dwindle, and as their cabin fever worsens, the kids act -- well, like kids. Though I don't believe that adults would handle this any better; to be honest, adults would probably think they could make it home through the storm and would have left the shelter of the school and perished in the cold outside. But staying inside a school without light or heat, with no way out and no hope that anyone outside knows where you are, with a half-dozen high school freshmen and sophomores? That doesn't sound a whole lot better to me. Nor does it strike the fancy of any of the characters in the book, and that discomfort only makes things worse.

To be honest, I wish this book had gone on for another hundred pages or so; the characters were outstanding, some of the most realistic and genuine teenagers I have seen in a novel, and the descriptions of the storm and how these kids would handle it were also spot on. But the draw here was the idea of being trapped in the school, of watching humans degenerate to Lord of the Flies, or something by Stephen King. I understand why the author wanted to bring it to a close when he did, as the novel is intended for young adults who may not have the patience to go on for another five to ten chapters (As they would not be able to wait out the storm until rescue came), but I would have liked to keep reading. Still, it was well done -- and as I said, most timely. Good book.

8. Frankenstein's Monster by Susan Heyboer O'Keefe. Completed 6 February.

Understand that this book is not happy.

Nobody should think otherwise; if you're curious about this novel, it's probably because you've read the original Mary Shelley novel. If you're coming into this from one of the movies, I can't really help you; I'm a book man myself. If you have read the book, and you enjoyed the angst and dark gothic horror of it, then get this book right away.

Following in the grand literary tradition of John Gardner's "Grendel" and John Clinch's "Finn" and every vampire book written since Dracula (Well, maybe not all of them), this book tries to capture the feel of the original story, which it continues from the point of view of the original antagonist: the monster. This book picks up where Shelley left off, just as Victor Frankenstein succumbs to death, leaving his own body on the ship that found him in his relentless pursuit, and his monster alone on the Arctic ice. The captain of the ship, Robert Walton, determines that Victor Frankenstein was the brother he never had, and in honor of his dead would-be soulmate, Walton will carry out Frankenstein's last wish: he will catch and destroy the monster, at last. But the monster escapes, after disfiguring Walton, and returns to Europe.

The main plot of the novel begins ten years later; the monster has spent all of that time running from Walton, whose obsession now overshadows that of Frankenstein himself. The monster, however, has his own burning need: the need to discover, once and for all, the conclusive answer to the question of his being. Is he, in fact, man or monster? His feelings, his actions, waver back and forth between both extremes; the reactions of others to him, as well. Whatever else he may be, though, the monster is hard to kill, and the pursuit, and the monster's decision to fight back, take up the rest of this dense but action-packed story.

Overall, the book is wonderfully well written; I haven't read "Frankenstein" recently enough to tell you if the narrative voice recaptures that of the original, but it certainly has the pathos, and the horror. And the same inescapable conclusion: that whatever the monster may be -- which is never fully resolved, as it shouldn't be -- the people around him, the everyday humans, are, in fact, as monstrous as he if not more so. (In this book's case, I come down squarely on the "more so." But I already thought that going in.) The book's ending surprised me, though it didn't disappoint; if anything, I would have loved to see how this author continued the story from where she left it, though where it was left was just fine. Good book.


9. Percy Jackson IV: The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan. Completed 10 February.

This one definitely stepped back up after Book III. The Labyrinth was beautifully done, great concept, great description. I liked what became of Nico de Angelis in this, and I loved what we saw of Luke and Kronos and the monsters. I liked the Daedalus character, thought that was well done; I dug the new bad guys who appeared -- the telkhines, Kampe and her chaotic beast-head waist thing, Antaeus was excellent, and so on -- but all you really need to say with this book is: Mrs. O'Leary. That big sweetheart of a hellhound would have made this book if nothing else did.

I'm looking forward to the last one, to getting the resolution of the war and the prophecy (Percy or Nico? Percy or Nico? Or will Thalia come out of immortal retirement?) and of Percy and Annabeth's miserably ambivalent romance. Though I cannot BELIEVE that Annabeth is still holding a damn torch for Luke. You know, when the guy not only betrays you, your family and friends, and everything you hold dear, but allies himself -- gives himself in service to -- the most evil being in the universe, maybe it's time to move on. You think? My god. Hey, if Percy's not her type, so be it -- but forget this Luke guy, will you already? I figure, if it doesn't work out, I liked RED just fine (We all caught those initials, right? Rachel Elizabeth Dare? The clear-sighted human with bright red locks? I like that.)

I loved the part with Pan, even though it was sad. Makes me want to write something with animals, to honor the wild that I can connect to. Maybe something with bunnies . . .


9. Dreamfever by Karen Marie Moning. Completed 16 February

The fourth installment in the Fever series gets ugly. Predictable, really, since the third one ended with a gang rape that destroyed the heroine's mind as she was overwhelmed by the empty power of the Unseelie, but this one has her losing still more of her soft, Southern Belle persona as she begins the war in earnest, now that she has learned just how horrible the Fae can be when let loose on the world.

All of humanity learns that in this book: it's a remarkable idea that the Unseelie have broken the walls of their prison and been released, and the entire world is suffering because of it; in every other Fae book I have ever read, they are a secret race, hiding from the conscious attention of humans, even as they may have great power over them. The closest to this is Patricia Briggs's Mercy Thompson series, but even there, the Fae keep themselves hidden for fear of reprisals. But not Moning: oh no, her Fae have wiped out a third of the world's population, and are now the target of groupies and gritty, determined resistance fighters alike.

This book seems to be going one place -- toward a serious fight, when Mac can actually take on the Lord Master and take him down, maybe even with Barrons's help, maybe even with his willing cooperation -- and then it spirals off into something else entirely. I'm glad there's only one book more in the series, because this one very nearly dashed my hopes. It begins with Dani and then Barrons working to save Mac from remaining pri-ya, addicted to Fae sex, following her rape by the Unseelie princes; they pull it off, and Mac becomes a much more interesting and necessarily scary character afterwards -- it did not kill her, so it made her stronger, much stronger. But almost immediately, she and Barrons lose their chance to come to a better place in their relationship, falling back into their cold, aloof distrust. And then almost immediately after that, Mac finds that she may be more powerful, but she isn't nearly powerful enough. And then she discovers that the Lord Master is not so easily eliminated, but even worse, he isn't the most dangerous problem she faces. That may very well be herself.

The ending is excellent, another cliffhanger, which make me very glad we now have all of these books, and Toni assures me the story really comes to an end with the next book. Now that they are all out, I would recommend these to the fans of darker paranormal stories, most definitely.


Unfinished:
The Way of Shadows by Brent Weeks

I got this one from a student, because though I've been intrigued for a while when I've seen these at Powell's, I've also been pretty dubious of ninja-based fantasy. And I was right to be dubious.

This one wasn't actually horrible, but that's about as strong a recommendation as I can make for it. The good part was the origin of the main character, who seems fated to become the main character of the series, the ninja-like assassin on the cover: Azoth is a street urchin, a member of a Guild -- basically a gang -- working hard to protect his friends and avoid his enemies. But Azoth is targeted by Rat, the bullying second-in-command of his gang, and he must find a new way to escape the larger boy's clutches, before Rat takes over the gang entirely and makes an example of Azoth. Azoth manages this by becoming an assassin's apprentice, though he takes the final steps too late to help his friends. It was a brutal but interesting portrait of life on the streets, which I enjoyed in the Jacky Faber books and the Patrick Rothfuss Kingkiller novel, and others.

But the problem, apart from the names, was the cliches. The names were bad: Azoth and Rat were fine, and there were a few others that were acceptable, but the assassins aren't called assassins -- they're wetboys. Like that's intimidating. And the main one, the scariest guy in the world whom this kid apprentices with? Durzo Blint. Durzo Blint the wetboy. Though my favorite name was Vurgmeister Neph Dada. Real nice. And once the kid becomes an apprentice, we find out that wetboys cannot have relationships with anyone, because they have to get to know their victim so well that they fall in love with them -- and that is the moment when they strike. Yet despite this, Durzo Blint fell in love with a woman who was then killed by the evil empire next door, a woman who was the sister of the head courtesan of the city's underworld, who, as luck would have it, has a heart of gold. And when Blint starts training Azoth, he teaches him to fight with weapons while he keeps up a running monologue about how he must keep his heart cold as ice, while he learns the art of poisoning -- you get the picture. It's every bad ninja movie montage, stretched into 700 pages of mediocre fiction with bad names. Forget it.

Durzo Blint? Vurgmeister Neph Dada? Wetboy? Oh, please.


10. Escape from the Land of Snows by Stephan Talty. Completed 20 February.

This is the second book I've read by Stephan Talty, and I was impressed again. I preferred Empire of Blue Waters because I'm fascinated by pirates, but it was remarkable to me how well Mr. Talty could handle two such disparate subjects: his depiction of pirate life, and especially of the exploits of Henry Morgan, was fascinating and enormous fun to read; this story, of the rise of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama and his escape from Tibet after China's invasion, was much more poignant and thus not really "fun" to read, but also fascinating and informative.

Both of these books are impressive in their detail and the depth of research that went into them, and both were made more personal and interesting by Mr. Talty's use of a specific point of view character to narrate large and momentous events, bringing it down to a human level. It's much easier to understand the pirate era when you can see it from the perspective of a single average sailor, as we got from the character of Roderick in "Empire of Blue Water," and it was much easier to understand the terrible ordeal that Tibet suffered when you see it through the people who lived it: government officials involved in the military struggle, a resistance fighter trained by the CIA and the agents who handled him, even the younger brother of the Dalai Lama, who is also a lama, or Buddhist teacher. The author interviewed many of the subjects directly, and found an unpublished autobiography of the Tibetan freedom fighter who became a CIA operative bringing in weapons and supplies for the resistance, and who helped the Dalai Lama get out of Tibet when the Chinese army clamped down on the country.

I didn't know much about the Dalai Lama or Tibet, and this was a good introduction to the subject. Talty does not paint China as a pure villain -- though they certainly weren't the heroes of the piece -- and Tibet was not simply a victim. The book gives a good idea of the complete, complex issue, and also quite a bit of good information -- though not too much -- on the Dalai Lama himself. It was a good read, and I'd recommend it to anyone curious about the issue. My only problem with the book was the fact that seeing the title always made me think of the opening lines of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song," ("I come from the land of the ice and snow"), and so I had the rather incongruous sound of Robert Plant wailing in my head whenever I picked up this book. But that was probably just me.


11. A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Completed 23 February.

A classic! I had to give it a shot! It doesn't hurt that there are ten or fifteen books in this series and they're all cheap at Powell's, but mainly, I've always been curious about the original science fiction, the original pulp authors, and Burroughs is certainly master class in that group, no matter how you slice it.

This was a lot of fun to read. I loved the 1900's version of space travel -- the main character, Captain John Carter of Virginia, Southern gentleman and former Confederate soldier, now itinerant prospector and fighter of savage red injuns, falls asleep in a cave filled with a strange mist, and wakes up naked on Mars. Heh. Reminded me of Bellamy's Looking Back, in which the main character enters into a hypnotic trance and stays there for 100 years, because mesmerism stops all bodily processes so apparently you don't age while hypnotized (Wouldn't that be nice?).

But anyway, John Carter gets to Mars, where he finds that he can jump higher, move faster, and perform feats of strength that would be impossible on Earth, because Martian gravity and air pressure are less than Earth's. He quickly finds himself taken prisoner by a race of Martians, though his battle prowess impresses the warlike savages (who are green on Mars, instead of red. Go figure.) and he is soon somewhat accepted as one of them. He learns their language in a matter of days, since it is apparently much simpler than English, and yet it allows him to say things like this: "I do not need ask your forgiveness now, Dejah Thoris. You must know that my fault was of ignorance of your Barsoomian customs. What I failed to do, through implicit belief that my petition would be presumptuous and unwelcome, I do now, Dejah Thoris; I ask you to be my wife, and by all the Virginian fighting blood that flows in my veins you shall be." By the way: Barsoom is what the Martians call Mars (Alas, they do not have a correspondingly amusing name for Earth, even though they have magic televiewing screens that allow them to watch a single human being's life in complete detail, in full color [Well, not magic, but advanced science. Indistinguishable, you know.]), and Dejah Thoris is the most beautiful woman on Mars, who looks just like an Earth woman except her skin is redder and she's WAY hotter, like smokin' magma with jalapenos on top hot, like as hot as my wife except Dejah Thoris, like all Martians, runs around naked, and we don't cotton to that in my household. Too cold. And we have pets. You understand.

That's right: there are hot women on Mars. And they get kidnapped by the alien looking green Martians, and need to be rescued by strapping extramartial Virginians, using a combination of swords and spears and weird alien mounts, and massive guns that fire explosive radioactive bullets hundreds of miles, accurately (How it manages to keep the target still while it travels hundreds of miles at anything under the speed of light is not made clear, but hey, we just woke up on Mars, yo. Where there are hot women.), and flying space boats and stuff. And there are some rollicking good times in this book, many swashes that get buckled and the like. It really was fun to read, though it ends a bit sadly (and creepily: because Dejah Thoris, as a Martian woman, lays eggs. Eww.). These are definitely books I'll continue on with. Maybe I can find some at the Scappoose Library Sale . . .


12. Okay for Now by Gary D. Schmidt. Completed 24 February.

I wish I had either been stingier with my five-star reviews, or that I could, in special cases, give six stars, because I would give them to this book. How about this: I read this book in one day. Is there any better accolade than that?

This was the most captivating book, with the most interesting and sympathetic character, that I have read in a year or more. (And I read a lot.) I had never read Gary D. Schmidt's books before, but I certainly will now; I got this one because I saw that the author had won several awards (and now I know why), and because I loved the image on the cover and the connection to the work of John James Audubon. What I found inside was a remarkable story of growth, an exploration of what it means to be an artist -- especially in a world that does not accept or admire artists -- and what it feels like to become your own man, even when everything is stacked against you.

There was so much here that it is difficult to pick out favorite moments, the best scenes or motifs; for me, the times when Doug, the main character, gets lost in contemplation of art, and the days he spends learning how to make his own art, were the most inspiring, and the moments when his teachers recognize what is hidden behind Doug's facade were the most inspiring, since I am both a teacher and a former problem student -- though certainly not on Doug's level. It was fantastic to watch Doug succeed, in both small ways and large, though it was painful to see his successes get buried once more in the difficulties that smother him.

The writing was outstanding, the narrative voice perfect for the character and the descriptions beautiful. I was perhaps most impressed with the way Schmidt was able to set up expectations of a character, even a character who had not yet appeared in the story, and then break those expectations in such ways that characters were surprising and endearing from the very first moment we see them; that or the way the characters could surprise with their hidden depths, which they all had, and which I loved. If I have any criticism, it was that the ending was maybe a little unlikely, but it certainly wasn't all happy, so I can't complain too much. I can only recommend this book highly to all readers.


13. Shadowfever by Karen Marie Moning. Completed 28 February.

I wanted to finish a series, and now I have. This was a good ending. I was inordinately pleased to see Mac and Barrons finally get past their crap and have a genuine romantic interlude, I loved the reveal about who was really a bad guy and what Mac's origin actually was, and who killed her sister and why. I liked that not everything was resolved, but enough was that the story could end -- and I loved the final fight(s) (Plural because there was one against the Book, the source of evil power that everyone was pursuing throughout the series, and then another against the Fae who tried to take the book after it was defeated) and how Mac won through in the end.

I liked that despite all of the fantasy and horror elements, this was essentially a romance, and overall a good one. I liked these books. Probably not enough to read again -- I'm also terribly jealous of the bookstore, and in some ways of Jericho Barrons, though I definitely would not want his origin story, even with the immortality it brings -- but I certainly liked them, and especially this one for wrapping it up so well.


14. A Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman. Completed 9 March.

I've owned this book for more than ten years now, ever since I took a Composition class at San Jose State. This book and author were held up as a model to emulate, and the writing that came out of that endeavor is still some of my favorite work of mine. But we only read pieces of this book, and it has been one of those books that has sat on my shelf, that makes me think, "Right, I wanted to read that," whenever my eyes caught on it -- but usually, my eyes slide right past it and move on to something more new and exciting.

I'm such a new book fanatic. It's almost a mania, really.

But now, finally, since I'm divesting from Vine books in an attempt to read more off of my own shelf, I decided to read this one. As a symbol of my intent to genuinely attempt to empty my shelf. Also as a way to inspire myself as a writer, as that course that brought this book into my home was unquestionably the best writing instruction I have ever had, and been the single largest influence on my writing other than Stephen King. So even though it was dense, and at times dry and a bit hard to read, I read it. And I'm proud of myself for doing so. Now I'll probably get rid of it.

Don't get me wrong; some of the similes and descriptions were awesome and magical in their imagination and precision; some of the long lists and extended paragraphs were remarkable and inspirational as well. And the subject matter was interesting, too; the quantity of information, both trivial and thought-provoking, was just staggering. But it's hard to read that much about a single sense, how it works, and the myriad ways that it has touched our lives and the foundations of our society. Especially ones that don't mean quite as much to me personally, namely taste and smell -- my sniffer being sub-par and my taster not much better thereby. But I am not a sensualist, so the personal connection with this subject matter was somewhat lacking for me. I'm also jealous as hell of the way this woman has managed to live her life: every chapter features multiple personal adventures, from traveling throughout Europe to visiting Turkey and Africa to sailing to Antarctica. I wish I had been able to do these things, and I intend to be able to do them in future. When I have, I might read this book again.

For now, I'm going to enjoy my time reading about my own ability to interpret the world for my brain -- poor gray matter locked inside my skull, tickled by a thousand electrical impulses but touched by nothing -- and admire the poetry in it; I will read more Diane Ackerman, see if I can't find a subject that is as close to my heart as it is to hers and thereby connect more directly with her remarkably open and clear vision of things; and I will move on to something fun.


Unfinished:
Trolls in the Hamptons by Celia Jerome.

I picked this up because I wanted something cute and light; I had it on the shelf because Toni thought it was passable, though definitely not great, and I like stories that include trolls and illustrators, for my own personal reasons. But about 70 pages in, a second terribly lame thing was added to the first lame thing, and when I told Toni how I felt about these two things, she suggested I put the book down. So I did.

The lame things? The first one was that the troll in the title appears on various rampages in Manhattan, and though the damage is real, apparently nobody can see the troll other than the heroine. Well, maybe they can see the troll, because they keep telling the police that the damage was caused by something that sounds like troll -- a trolley, a train, a troop of truants (no shit). The claim is made that they were trying to say what it really was, but couldn't get it out. That's far too precious, and remarkably lame. The second thing, the backbreaker, was the appearance of the male romantic lead (apparently), with his pat explanation of the entire universe of magical beings, which includes the heroine without her knowledge (She's 34.) because she's a Visualizer. Who has apparently been used by an EG. That's Evil Genius. Whom he opposes as a member of DUE, the Department of Unnatural Events, a British form of secret service created by a magic-sympathetic nobleman with so much money that he created a system to keep track of all people with magical abilities, to help them learn how to deal with them and hide them, and also to promote inbreeding amongst them so that they can keep the powers alive. Such as happened with the heroine's parents, who met at the special academy in England where all the kids from her town go, with a paper-thin cover story about sister cities and scholarships. But the heroine never went, and her parents never said anything about this in her 34 years of life, because that would ruin the surprise when she makes a troll appear out of thin air. And the heroine's response to this deus ex machina-logue is, paraphrasing: "He must be crazy. But I'll keep listening, because his eyes are just so dreamy."

Done.

15. The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan. Completed 17 March.

Ha! Now I've finished another series! Also an excellent ending; after all the guff back and forth in the last three books since Luke went bad, I was glad to see Percy and Annabeth work it out, with both of them making the right choices and Luke coming through in the end. Sort of.

I loved the battle for Olympus: I liked how Percy prepared for it (though I want there to be some consequences for the choice he makes after the battle is over; everyone makes out that he has made a serious decision with a terrible downside, but as far as I can see, all he got was some serious battle prowess.) and I liked how he and Nico de Angelis worked it out; I also liked Hades and his wife and mother-in-law, which was a cute scene. I liked how Percy and the campers handled the army of Kronos, and how humans were kept out of it -- at first. I really liked the number of people who came to the rescue, starting with Percy himself; I enjoyed seeing everyone turn into a hero, one after another; seems like a lot of the fantasy books I read feature a bit too much protagonist hero surrounded by enemies and traitors and helpless dependents. Maybe that's because my most recent fantasy reading includes Karen Marie Moning, who has serious trouble with overpowered heroes saving the day every time (Not that I dislike the character of Jericho Barrons, but come on.) and Captain John Carter of Mars, which is somewhat of the epitome of superhero protagonist. At any rate, I liked seeing the whole team effort thing.

I really liked Percy's final choice, to make the gods more humble. I think when I was a kid I would have taken issue with that choice, but that's because he makes a grown-up choice; one that I believe I have learned to agree with. I like life.

That's a good feeling to walk away from a book with.


16. The Children of Hurin by J.R.R. Tolkien. Completed 20 March.

I find Tolkien daunting. Ironic, I know, but the fact is that the man was a human computer when it came to languages: he could know not only the language, but the older versions of it, and the cultures that made the language and changed it, and how and why those changes were wrought. And then he set out to create a mythology that did exactly the same thing: resulted in a modern version of a language, which he made up, based on older versions of the language, which he made up, and which reflected the cultures and events that brought about those changes in that language -- which, yep, he also made up. That scares me.

But what's worse for me is, it sometimes bores me too. I dearly love The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, but I didn't enjoy the Silmarillion. So when this new book, edited by Tolkien's son and based on Tolkien's unfinished work, was published, it put me on the horns of a dilemma: do I read it in hopes of finding it as enjoyable as The Hobbit? Or do I give it a pass, because I expect it to be like The Silmarillion? I read it, of course, though it took me a few years to get around to it, because I owe Tolkien a chance.

So the answer? Somewhere in the middle. The beginning of the book has the same genealogical problems as the Silmarillion: it traces the heritage of the main character back for a few generations and out along a few branches of the family tree, making reference to other stories that I don't remember (especially the Lay of Luthien, which is in that Silmarillion that gave me so much trouble. And is obviously still haunting me.), and lost me within a page or so. Now this reflects the mythologies that Tolkien studied, which were also oral histories and genealogies of the people who told the tales and listened to them; and the constant repetitions of those genealogies would have been very familiar to that audience, like those recap passages you find in modern fantasy series books, which often use the same phrases or even the same two or three pages to remind the reader of what happened before. An old Middle Earther would have had no trouble with this part, but as a dabbler, I could have done without it.

When the story started, I enjoyed it more; some great swashbuckling and battle, and even better descriptions of a world I admire, one that struggles between desire and necessity, as the Elves try to build homes that please them, while at the same time they have to protect themselves from Morgoth and his Orcs. I like the tension between that, since it feels like real life. I liked the main character, Turin son of Hurin, even though his own pride was his fatal flaw; I liked that despite his pride he had a strong sense of pity and compassion, and those kept him human and mostly good, up until the end.

I hated the end. No, I didn't; it was well done and satisfying, especially Turin's last heroic act. But I hated how incredibly sad it was. Again, I know that fits the mythology that Tolkien lived and breathed and was trying to create anew in his books, but I need a little more joy in my books. Joy is in short enough supply in Tolkien's work, and to have this one end so entirely, irredeemably badly, was a little rough on the old soul. Maybe I need to read something cheery. Something funny! Hey, how about

Unfinished:
Anti-Christ: A Satirical End of Days by Matthew Moses.

Oops. Wrong choice. But how is one to know? Toni bought this for me for our Bookiversary, because people on Amazon recommended it highly, especially for those who enjoyed Lamb -- which is pretty much my favorite book of all time. So even if it's not as good as Christopher Moore, how bad could it be? Surely I'd enjoy the book even if it had flaws.

Surely. Except once you take out the flaws, there was not enough left of the book to enjoy.

It starts with the writing, which is awful. Not only is it overwrought, and badly cliched -- the book opens with "The stars shone like luminous islands in the sea of night. Each triumphantly glimmered as an ethereal jewel out of the reach of man, gems of untold wealth that enriched man's thoughts." -- but it also doesn't make sense much of the time. Pick a damn metaphor, would you? And if those gem/islands are out of man's reach, how do they enrich his thoughts? Don't you have to hold a gem to be enriched by it? Don't worry, though, because he moves on to a new version of the stars: "Humanity once thought those strobing specks were the immortalized memorials of their legendary forebears, heroes who had lived lives of epic proportions and whose images were meant to embolden, guide, and inspire those who came after." So not only do the stars inspire us because they are beautiful and out of reach, but because they represent the lives of heroes who also inspire us. He then goes on to claim that science killed that ability of the stars to inspire, because it made the stars "so numerous as to be worthless." He says, "The stars went from immortal legends to finite gas and fire always on the verge of fading out." Which, first off, is not true, and second, contradicts what he said earlier: if the infinite number of stars isn't inspiring, why was the beauty out of man's reach so inspiring before? If a finite, flawed reality with a hint of immortality or perfection -- even if that hint is only illusory -- is depressing rather than inspiring, then what are the heroes of legend? So before I get through the first page, I am confused about where the book is going. That doesn't get any better, by the way.

Once you get past the writing, you notice the editing. Of which there was none. This man might have had an interesting idea, but he has no idea how to use a comma. Or apostrophes. Or the ellipsis. Or the word "hit." Here, a sample. To set the scene, the main character, Matthew, has led a revolt of overweight people, and has now taken the White House and the President prisoner. He is currently demanding that the President lick his shoe, and has a rotund minion (Note the pleasant and generous term the author uses for said minion, who is, really, supposed to be an object of sympathy in the narrative) leaning on the President to enforce his will. When the President tells Matthew, without thinking, that he can't smoke in the Oval Office:

Matthew tilted his head, a little surprised, not believing this man couldn't realize his current position in life. The fat ass looked to Matthew for permission to give Lucas another hit. Matthew shook his head no much to the fat ass' displeasure. "You're day of giving orders is fast approaching an end," Matthew stated, blowing a plume of smoke. "Congress is right now impeaching you and your entire administration and appointing me as the executive in your stead. Of course, though I am so humble, I will accept the offer."

"Congress would never do that," Lucas replied, his face revealing his utter contempt. "Where do you dream up these fantasies?"

"With the right amount of. . ." Matthew smiled at the fat ass then back at Lucas, "diplomacy, Congress will do anything."

Yep. He used the wrong "your," too. That's not the only time he makes a mistake like that.

Once you get past the editing -- and that was a struggle, believe me, especially for an English teacher and writer -- you notice the humor, which is appalling: Matthew is at one point taken to Heaven by two cherubs, who are treated as midgets for a number of cheap laughs, most notably for me when one of the cherubs headbutts Matthew in the groin -- because the angels of God resort first to violence -- the narrator refers to him as that "dastardly dwarf of nut-butting brutality." What? Don't think midget violence is funny? Don't worry; there are two other scenes featuring it within the next chapter or two. Once they get to Heaven, the author really hits his stride. Because, you see, Heaven is segregated. All the angels are conspicuously Aryan. Which would make a fine satirical comment about how Christianity is deeply elitist and therefore almost inherently racist, except the same author makes a crack about Mexicans sneaking over the border into Heaven. That's right: Mexicans. Not even the somewhat neutral "illegal aliens." Mexicans. And he turns that joke into a running gag later on, when Matthew encounters a pair of rednecks in Purgatory who act as coyotes for the Mexicans. Not offensive enough? Well, how about this: God is in a wheelchair, brain dead, because he had a stroke when he tried to destroy the world after Christ was crucified, even though Christ, in this story, wasn't really God's son, just an angel with delusions of grandeur. Nothing like referring to the Almighty as "meals on wheels." That's funny shit. I didn't even get to the scene making fun of fat people, but I'm sure you can imagine how good that is. One definite advantage of my decision not to finish this book is that I never had to read what this guy thinks of women. Other than his depiction of the protagonist's mother, as an overweight germ-phobic hysterical shrew who is, of course, overprotective of her 22-year-old loser of a son. I'm amazed that the hero wasn't betrayed by some heartless bitch who was beautiful but materialistic and didn't see the main character's inner worth. I'm sure that will come up later.

Once you get past the humor (What, you thought I was done?) you get to the cliches. My god, man. Do you really think you are the first to hear that one about the philosophy final that only asked "why," and the student who answered "because" and got an A? Seriously? Do you think you are sharing something new and fresh and amusing with your audience? Well, since we go from there to midget jokes and Mexican immigrant humor, apparently he does. Oh yeah: there's also a massive bronze statue of Jesus in Heaven that sounds a hell of a lot like the Buddy Christ from Dogma. As do the angels grumbling in their bar about their lost privileges as God's chosen. (Though honestly, I like the gag about angels drinking holy water in the bar. That's clever.)

And then, of course, there's the plot. The main character is chosen, apparently at random (I thought it was because of his oh-so-clever final exam, but no -- it was because of a short scene in which he chases a ghost out of his house with a baseball bat. Yeah. Explain that one.) to confront Jesus in Heaven; he decides not to suffer being told what to do, and refuses to lose the one thing he has going for him -- his privacy. That moment is probably the only piece of genuine writing in this book, when the loser protagonist defends his right to privacy. But the hero then goes out and becomes a demogogue, an incredibly successful one, turning the entire country against corporations, against politicians, against the Catholic church, with nothing more than a few impassioned words. Somehow he manages to crack open and end debates that have raged for decades if not centuries, simply by putting the most common arguments into his own words. Now that's some powerful charisma. Despite being the pathetic failure of an anti-hero he supposedly represents in this "satire." (Though that is explained -- kinda -- because the Devil possesses Matthew and speaks through him. It still doesn't explain how the Devil's use of the same old song and dance is suddenly so effective.)

The truth about this book is that the author has no idea what he is doing. He has no idea of what is funny, relying instead on the lowest common denominator of humor -- Chihuahuas, poop jokes, fat jokes, midget jokes, and constant pain and humiliation. What this turns into is a tirade against everything the author doesn't like, voiced through this character, who manages to lead a revolution and overthrow the government -- and, though I didn't finish the book, I assume Heaven and Hell, as well -- through the simple expedient of stating very obvious and poorly worded arguments, things that any thinking person has already considered. Admittedly, he's not wrong, but he takes down the Catholic church by revealing that several priests were guilty of various crimes (including, OF COURSE, child abuse and pornography) and calling it the oldest form of organized crime, the original heartless, abusive corporation. Excuse me? Are you somehow the first to point this out? Is that what makes you so effective, Martin Luther -- I mean, Matthew Ford?

This book is not a satire. It is not a good story. It isn't funny. It's simply the fantasy of a bitter and angry guy, who doesn't actually like people very much, but who wants to believe that if only people would listen to him, he could change the world. I think this is a personal fantasy, rather than just a bad idea for a story to tell, because the author's name is Matthew. Isn't that interesting.

Too bad the book wasn't.


17. The Shack by William Paul Young. Completed 25 March.

Mom gave me this one. I decided to read it because . . . well, I'm not sure why; I was fairly confident I could get through it, as I had the curiosity born of two students who read it and did book projects on it in the last two years, and the recommendation from my mother. But both my mother and my students are often wrong in their book choices -- it is amazing to me that no matter how much I mock and denigrate and castigate a book, one of my students inevitably asks to read it. "This 'biography' of 50 Cent is one of the worst things I've ever read." "Can I borrow that?" "Can I borrow it after him?" "Sure. Then we're going to read Fahrenheit 451, one of the finest novels ever written." "But that's so boring! OMG, FML!"

Anyway, I read through it, and since it came right after the Anti-Christ debacle, I can now say with confidence that the number-one criterion that grants a book readability is -- the author's ability to write. This book is just as absurd and in many ways more annoying than Anti-Christ, but where Matthew Moses cannot write, William Paul Young can. So though I couldn't abide the story, or the argument posed, I enjoyed the writing enough to stick with it through the end.

I had trouble with the story because it goes too far. The main character, Mack, is a GOOD MAN. The child of an abusive alcoholic, he suffered terribly at his father's hands, until he finally snapped at 13 and ran away, after poisoning his father's liquor. He wanders until he is of military age, and then he joins up -- and becomes a pacifist who will never speak of his military experience. Y'know, like Rambo at the beginning of First Blood, Part II. He meets the perfect wife and mother, and they have five perfect children. Then, while camping with three of his perfect children one day, there is a crisis: his son gets trapped underwater when his canoe rolls in the lake. And so the father dives into the water and saves his boy's life -- unfortunately, while he's off doing that, his young daughter is kidnapped. By a serial killer.

Absurd enough yet? Of course not.

So quite naturally, Mack learns to hate God. Because who wouldn't? Until God drops him a note, and invites him up to spend the weekend in the same shack where his daughter was raped, tortured, and murdered. He goes, of course, and he meets God -- who looks like a large black woman and goes by the name Papa. He also meets Jesus, who looks like a Semitic carpenter, and the Holy Ghost, a semi-spooky Asian woman who claims the name Sarayu.

Mack then spends the weekend in perfect rapture, simply amazed by how magnificent is the Lord, and how wonderful he feels while he is in the presence of the Lord, and how admirable is the relationship between the three aspects of the Trinity, how comfortable and true and deep is their love for each other, and their love for him, and his love for them which is instantly as true and deep and comfortable as their love for each other and their love for him and their love for everything. There's a lot of love. Oh, Mack gets mad, and he questions Papa about why his daughter had to die, but really, it's a pro forma anger and confrontation, because all God really has to say is, "But I'm God. You love me." And then it's all better. Because of course God has a plan. Of course Mack's daughter is actually happy to be dead, and forgives anyone and everyone. And hey look, Mack -- there's your abusive father's ghost, and he's really sorry and wants forgiveness! And won't you please forgive the man who murdered your daughter? You will? That's swell: now you may see Christ in his glory, as the King of all Creation, because really, as God says, it's all about Jesus. Nothing else matters so much as Jesus. Jesus is love. Love, love, love.

So he heads home, happy in every way -- and gets hit by a drunk driver that runs a red light. But wait! He was actually hit on the way TO the shack, because that weekend NEVER REALLY HAPPENED. Dun dun duuuuuuuunnnnn. He forgets most of the details of what he saw, at first, but he knows just how wonderful and happy he feels now, and how much better he feels now that he has forgiven everything and everyone, and loves everyone and everything, and knows that God loves us all and Jesus loves us all and we all love Jesus and all we need to do is rest assured in God's love and our love for Jesus and everything will be fine and beloved in the love that goes beyond all love and fills all Creation with loving loveyness.

There's a lot of love in the book. A whole hell of a lot.

But it never actually explains why we have to suffer in order to experience God's love later on. Sure, it gives us the party line: God wants us to have a choice, and Adam's choice to rebel against God is what made the world into the nasty, brutish place it is; but that doesn't really explain why everything is out of joint. That explains why ADAM doesn't live in paradise, and why Adam has to suffer. Not the rest of us. And not the world. It also seems somewhat unfair to me that people have to make a choice without knowing the truth of both sides. Seems to me that if God loves us and wanted us to love him, he would say so. Y'know, in a way we all could hear. I'm sure if I paid enough attention to the voice deep in my heart I would hear God saying he loves me, but I would think a bigass neon sign would make the point more strongly. And I can't think of a single reason why God wouldn't have a bigass neon sign. Why he relies on a book of dubious origin and a billion people full of faith but without a single logical argument. That's not love: that's a fairy tale, a test of a pea in a stack of mattresses. People that love each other say so, and keep on saying it until the other person hears you. Why isn't God outside my house with a boombox playing Peter Gabriel? Is Lloyd Dobler really a better boyfriend than God?

Anyway. It was interesting, it made me understand the Christian argument a bit better (I have not presented it fairly here), but I remain an atheist.


18. Pale Demon by Kim Harrison. Completed 28 March.

The series continues to improve. Ivy is now fading into the distance, Rachel seems to have gotten her love life in hand -- though there are new storm clouds brewing on the horizon, in the form of attractions to two men she REALLY shouldn't let herself be attracted to -- and Jenks is making his peace with being a widower, an unheard of circumstance for short-lived pixies, which he is no longer. Short-lived, that is; he's still a pixy.

The story line was good, though frustrating (as good story lines often are) because Rachel has to allow herself to be manipulated by Trent, so she can get screwed over by the Witch's Council, and then almost kill herself trying to save the demon world from the newest baddest dude on the block. That was a great bad guy -- though I absolutely love the explanation in this book as to why female demons are more powerful than males, and why, therefore, Rachel is more powerful than other witches: because she's a female demon.

I love this theme in these books, this questioning of not only who you are, but what you are. I think it's something more humans should pursue in their own heads, in their own lives. It's a damn fine question, and if there's an answer, it's an important one. So I like that Rachel is seeking it out, and unwilling to compromise with the answer by lying to herself: rather will she turn everything she knows on its head, in order to live truthfully with herself. I admire that, and I like it in the books. Definitely recommending to those who like paranormal with a bit more normal. Not that these books are short of magic, or action, but that isn't really the main purpose, the building of a magical world and the telling of a thrilling tale; these are very human, very philosophical books, that like all good fantasy, uses magic and mayhem to focus on the real issues.


19. In the Company of Ogres by A. Lee Martinez. Completed 7 April.

This one was fun, but not as fun as it should have been. It was a neat concept: the main character, Never Dead Ned, is MUCH more than he seems -- and yes, those capital letters are called for, even though I never do that because I don't like yelling. The company he leads, Ogre Company in a very Black-Company-like mercenary army (clearly Martinez has read his Glen Cook, and good on him for doing it), is amusing for the most part, and has some good characters, but it has some real clunkers, as well. He got too wrapped up in the love triangle aspect, with the two female officers feuding over Never Dead Ned, and feuding with themselves over the fact that they are fighting for the affections of a man that has nothing whatsoever to recommend him as a lover, apart from the fact that he is entirely indifferent to them. Personally, I hated the whole sexist "Treat 'em like dirt and they'll come crawling" theme, though it was played more for laughs than as a commentary on women.

Still: the real draw here should have been the ogres, the ogres as soldiers. When Martinez focused on the ogres, and the goblins and orcs, the book was much more interesting. So maybe a third to a half of the book was definitely worth reading, and most enjoyable, though never as funny as Jim Hines or Robert Aspirin. I continue to look for a really good orc-themed fantasy series, with Jim Hines's Goblin books the frontrunner at present. Martinez's book did have an incredibly kick-ass fight in the end, and I did like the resolution of Never Dead Ned's conflict. Good ending on a decent book.

20. Doc by Mary Doria Russell. Completed 16 April.

This is a beautiful book. This was the kind of book you hope to find: it was good for savoring and good for leaping into, the kind of book that makes you race from page to page, hoping to reach the end and find out what happens, and also turn back a page, re-read that last passage, in order to stretch it out, make it last longer, hoping the end never comes. This is a fine work of art.

Like all fine works of art, it takes time and effort to absorb, so anyone after a fast-paced Western shootout story should look elsewhere. This is definitely a historical novel, in the best sense of the term: incredibly rich detail; a panoramic, all-encompassing story line; a clear focus on the individual lives of the characters -- the way a historical novel should be written, because that's the only way to understand a specific event, a specific figure, in history: by understanding the world where it happened, where he lived. For those interested in the era, interested in history and the actual people who lived through it (the people for whom it was not history but simply day-to-day life) you could not do better than "Doc."

It's no surprise that a historian would look to John Henry "Doc" Holliday; the man is a near-perfect tragic figure, one of the few in America's short, aristocrat-shy history. Born into a genteel Southern family, extraordinarily well-educated, Mr. Holliday was driven to the West by his tuberculosis, seeking an easier climate than his native Georgia offered during its sultry summers. A dentist by training and a gentleman by nature, he became a professional gambler by necessity, and then a murderer by reputation and association. He died miserable, in obscurity, but was resurrected from history's ash heap by the love of his friends. Come on: who wouldn't want to write that book?

Unfortunately for all those other historical novelists out there, it has now been done. Doc Holliday comes to vivid, remarkable life in this book, which combines biography with sociology with history with mystery with drama with romance, and even with a little good-old gunslingin' action -- though as with all honest depictions of the Old West, there's a whole lot less gunslingin' than the movies show, and a whole lot more drinkin'. But because this novel focuses on an educated man, a man with a good heart -- most importantly, it focuses on a man and not on a legend -- it was an inspiring book to me, and I think it would be to any who read it. Mary Doria Russell shows the humanity of these Wild West legends, and that, I think, is what made them worth remembering, and worth writing about: their humanity. Doc Holliday lived life hard, fought it for every second that he had, and every scrap of joy, and of dignity, that he could wrestle from it -- just as Wyatt Earp fought for every moment of peace he could find, every brief apparition of justice he could tear from the brutal world in which he lived -- and their determination to continue that struggle in the face of impossible odds is what has kept their memory alive to this day. But for us, looking back, we can gain much more from seeing past the legends into the actual lives they lived, and that's what this book does for Doc Holliday. And I thank the author, the artist, for it.