Tia's Book Musings

"Last Man in Tower" by Aravind Adiga

2012-02-13T22:10:00.000-05:00

Adiga's White Tiger was one of my favorite books in 2009, and though the premise of his newest book, Last Man in Tower, didn't appeal to me in quite the same way, I was more than willing to try it on the strength of the author's name alone.

Last Man in Tower is about an aging housing complex, called a "Society," in India. A wealthy builder wants to demolish the building and turn it into luxury housing, and he offers a large amount of money to buy the building from the current occupants. Eventually, all members of the close-knit Society agree to the sale except Masterji, a retired teacher and recent widower, who continues to hold out even when his neighbors begin to turn on him.

On the surface, Last Man in Tower seems like a pretty traditional story: greedy builder offers hardworking but struggling people unimaginable fortunes; greed then brings out the worst in people, turning kindly neighbors into monsters. In fact, the story seemed from the outset to be so straightforward and unoriginal that I almost anticipated some crazy twist. I was surprised when, in fact, Last Man in Tower is exactly the story that you'd expect from that set-up. There are no twists, no unexpected character development. The developer remains greedy and cruel; the neighbors devolve into inhumane savages and make excuses for themselves later; Masterji stays stubborn until the end.

It is a testament to Adiga's skill as a writer that Last Man in Tower is engaging even though the plot itself is not particularly so, and he does an excellent job of drawing out his characters, particularly Masterji and Mrs. Puri, the doting mother of a teenage son with Down's syndrome. The daily life of India is also particularly vivid, from the Society building itself to the streets of Mumbai. The only part of Adiga's writing I didn't care for was the frequent animal symbolism, which seemed heavy-handed and unnecessary. For example, (warning: spoiler) just before a group of Society members finally decides to kill Masterji, they root a crow's nest with baby crows out of the building, purposefully stepping on and killing one of the hatchlings. We get it.

Last Man in Tower is just as well-written as Adiga's previous novel, though it's not nearly as good. It's more straightforward than White Tiger, though, so it may appeal more to a general audience.

"The Orphan Master's Son" by Adam Johnson

2012-02-01T22:06:00.002-05:00

There has been great praise for Johnson's Orphan Master's Son around book sites for several weeks now, so I was finally convinced to pick it up. And it definitely lives up to the hype.

Shamefully, I don't know much about North Korea (although, I suppose, a lot of very smart people also don't know much). I know that the country is a wacky insanely restrictive dictatorship known for horrific human rights violations and that Kim Jong Il was short and wore platform shoes and was nuts. Orphan Master's Son is a work of fiction, so I know it can't be taken for a literal report of life in North Korea, but whew, is it scary.

Johnson's novel follows the life of the orphan Jun Do, named after one of the famed North Korean martyrs. He's a kidnapper, a radio interpreter on a sailing ship, a prisoner, and, lastly, he takes on the persona of famed Commander Ga. Jun Do's story is heartbreaking and completely engaging, as the reader sees a young man reinventing his life over and over again until he decides to not simply accept his reality but change it whatever the consequences.

The most frightening part of the book is its depiction of life inside North Korea, which is uncannily like living in Orwell's 1984. There's the oppression by "Dear Leader" or the way the citizens must live a life of doublethink--simultaneously believing they have a great and free life and knowing they don't.

Johnson's skilled at making the repressive North Korea come to life, but he's equally talented at making Jun Do someone you care for and desperately want to succeed. His story is a great and powerful adventure, and though it's sad and awful at parts, it's not a gloomy story.

I'm disappointed in my review because I don't know how to describe the book well, but I can say it was utterly absorbing and that I highly recommend it.

"Ghostwritten" by David Mitchell

2012-01-28T14:05:00.000-05:00

Ghostwritten is a collection of short stories loosely bound together, somewhat like Egan's A Visit from the Goon Squad, though Mitchell's stories are even less explicitly related. The nine narrators and settings vary widely, from a Japanese cult member responsible for a terrorist gas attack to a solitary owner of a tea shack on Holy Mountain to a late night radio host in New York City, among others.

Individually, the stories are interesting, though they vary in style and comprehensibility. For example, the stories about the cult member or the Japanese teenager in love are straightforward and successfully capture each narrator's vioice. The more fantastical stories, like those about he the haunted businessman or about the traveling non-corporeal entity, are more muddled and, for me, less enjoyable. Nonetheless, each story is clearly distinguished from the others, and I enjoyed the variety of locales, from rural Ireland to isolated China.

I prefer the short story collections I read to have thematic commonalities, as Lahiri is so skilled at doing in her works. Though I've no doubt there are connections between Mitchell's stories since they are so subtely weaved together throughout, the stories are just too outwardly separated for me to put the pieces together. I have little sense or feeling for the book as a whole.

Mitchell is a talented writer and his stories read beautifully, but there's a sense of incompleteness to Ghostwritten (in fact, several stories end abruptly with no semblance of resolution or ending) that I can't shake.

"Deadline" by Mira Grant

2012-01-24T20:40:00.000-05:00

I was of two minds about Grant's first book in this series, Feed. On the one hand, I love zombie books, and there was some cool worldbuilding. On the other hand, the characters were often annoying and cliche, the exposition was slow, and there was excessive self-righteousness about the world of blogging. Deadline suffers from all the same flaws, but I enjoyed it anyway.

Deadline picks up a few months after the end of Feed. Shaun has taken control of After the End Times, the news site he ran with his sister, Georgia. Georgia died from a zombie infection at the end of the last book, but she's not gone. Shaun still talks with her, inside his head (he'll punch you if you comment about it, though--something he mentions about two dozen times). When a CDC researcher who faked her own death shows up at their offices, they begin to investigate a giant conspiracy designed to cover up truths about Kellis-Amberlee, the virus responsible for zombies.

Initially I was annoyed at having Shaun as a narrator. He has a tough-guy, "I don't care what anyone else says demeanor" that comes out a bit forced. However, I discovered I didn't mind him as much as I did in Feed, perhaps because he's talking to Georgia less, and the most groan-worthy moments were usually a part of their conversations. The additional characters--Becks (an Irwin), Maggie (head of the fictionals), Alaric--are welcome, though they're not given much personality as they mostly just do whatever Shawn says.

The initial conspiracy reveal is kinda neat. It's a nuanced problem, as you can understand the CDC's desire to keep the information quiet for public safety and Shaun's desire to have free knowledge. However, this subtlety is quickly done away with as the CDC becomes a cartoonish villain (the main guy even does the "let me explain everything to you before I kill you" spiel, just as in Feed). This is disappointing, as the characters then spend much of the book on the run from the CDC only to decide to infiltrate the CDC again and confront a researcher--cause, uh, that'll solve everything. Most of the rest of the novel is the crew sitting around, waiting for stuff to happen and not doing anything about what they know. Furthermore, like in Feed, Deadline is more about living in a world with zombies than about zombies themselves. The walking dead only make brief appearances, in fact, in the beginning and end of the novel.

Grant has learned some from the book before, as the enormously tedious descriptions of blood tests are significantly reduced. However, there's still a lot of repetition, like characters "raising their eyebrows" whenever Shaun talks to Georgia in his head or Shaun's incessant descriptions of drinking Diet Coke because Georgia wants one. Characters are stunned into silence or incredulous, over and over again.

I listened to both Feed and Deadline on audiobook, but this time I listened while cleaning and packing up my house. I found the book more enjoyable this way (last time I listened in a car ride) since I wasn't as focused on the book and could more easily gloss over the annoying parts.

I've come down pretty critically, but, in the end, I listened to the entirety of both books and had a pretty good time doing so. There's some really stupid parts and there's plenty that doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's not a bad ride.

"How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe" by Charles Yu

2012-01-18T18:45:00.001-05:00

How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe sounds like science-fiction, but the novel is only nominally so. Despite its title and a lot of over-my-head techno-philosophizing, How to Live is really a story about a father and a son and the memories, regrets, and disappointments that haunt us.

The novel's narrator is Charles Yu, a time-machine repair man who has been living out of time in his closet-sized machine for years. On a landing for repair, he confronts his future self emerging from his time machine and, on reflex, shoots him. In panic, Charles returns to his time machine where he finds a book that he has yet to write: How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe. While reading/writing the book, Charles revisits memories of himself and his father, who created time machines but has been missing for years.

The summary above makes it sound like a lot more happens than actually occurs. There's little action, as much of the novel centers around Charles' inner monologue. Thus, for me, the novel went a bit slowly, and Charles rambled and ruminated too much for me to feel especially connected to him.

Nonetheless, the most appealing part of How to Live is its posit that there's not so much difference between the past and the present, between experiencing and remembering. In this world, time travel is less a physical journey through time and space (a la Doctor Who) and more a journey into re-experiencing past memories. Time travelers can't travel anywhere, just their own past, and they can't change anything. Instead, time traveling is a more physical manifestation of something all us do already: constantly remember past moments, most especially the bad. Who hasn't run-through a negative moment in his or her head over and over again, hoping for a new outcome but knowing that it will never turn out differently? Time travel lets people become masochists, yet, not surprisingly, everyone does it anyway.

As someone who has to actively set-up strategies to avoid dwelling on past errors (I think about my cats or the book I'm currently reading), I could definitely empathize, and I think most readers can. Nonetheless, How to Live is not a quick or plot-based novel, and it won't appeal to all readers, or those specifically looking for science-fiction.

"Opening Skinner's Box" by Lauren Slater

2012-01-10T16:36:00.000-05:00

I'm fascinated by various aspects of psychology, despite my ambivalence to some of its uses. I decided to read Opening Skinner's Box at the recommendation of a blog reader (thanks Ulises!). In the book, Slater explores ten famous (or infamous) behavioral experiments in psychology, describing the experiments and experimenters and the lasting impact of their findings.

Slater has chosen her experiments well, though that does mean a reader with any basic psychology background will be familiar with much of what she talks about. For example, I have a decent understanding of the work of Skinner (Skinner's "box"), Milgram (obedience experiment), and Harlow (monkeys), and I was disappointed that her chapters on them offered little new or little that couldn't be gleaned from any other source. I was more interested when it came to territory that was new to me, such as Alexander's experiments with addition or Loftus' experiments in memory.

Prior to starting Skinner's Box, I read some Amazon reviews, where I found many highly critical comments of Slater, her methods, and her conclusions. Undoubtedly these colored my reading some (coincidentally, I think she even discussed an experiment about preconceived notions), but I couldn't help disliking Slater throughout the book. Though I normally enjoy an author inserting his or her personal life and insights, I grew tired easily of Slater's meanderings. She spends a lot of time drawing vague conclusions from each experiment, often making tangential connections to her husband or child. Slater tries to work in detailed description, but she usually ends up prefacing it with "I imagine" or "we can imagine," which means she really has no idea what happened. She's also weirdly prejudiced. Though she seems to give most experimenters the benefit of the doubt, she's surprisingly hostile to Loftus' work on repressed memory. Though Loftus does seem to be a bit of a kook (though Slater's bizarre enough herself--she surreptitiously takes a bite of a ten-year-old piece of chocolate Skinner had bitten and which Skinner's daughter has preserved in Skinner's office; she tries her husband's illegal pain medication to see if she can become addicted), I was on Loftus' side, believing that repressed memories are largely imaginary. And, when I asked my psychologist husband what he thought of repressed memories, he firmly said, "They don't exist." It's surprising, then, that Slater portrays Loftus as on the fringe and presents those who support the existence of repressed memories as the norm.

Opening Skinner's Box does provide an easy-to-understand overview of some of psychology's most famous behavioral experiments, and if you don't mind the author's style, it could be a good book for those interested in such work. She offers little new insight into the experiments, though, and the time spent on her own philosophy can drag down the reading (I was skimming much of it by the end). For a more fun look into one aspect of psychology, I recommend Ronson's The Psychopath Test.

"Daughter of Smoke and Bone" by Laini Taylor

2012-01-04T18:02:00.005-05:00

Daughter of Smoke and Bone made many best YA of 2011 lists, so my husband I chose to listen to it on our annual car ride into the Midwest for Christmas.

The book has a great setting and an interesting premise. Karou is an art student living in Prague, but she has a secret: she runs errands collecting human and animal teeth for her "family" of monster-like creatures called chimaera. The head of this family is Brimstone, also called the Wishmonger, as he deals in wishes. On one errand, Karou is unexpectedly confronted by an angel, who attempts to kill her. Though she escapes, she's shocked when he finds her soon after--but he only wants to talk. As Karou and Akiva, the angel, spend more time together, they uncover their hidden history and learn more about the war between the chimaera and the angels.

In the beginning, I was game for the novel. Prague's a fun setting, and I enjoyed reading about Karou's double life. I especially liked Karou's best friend Zuzana, who's spunky and utterly devoted. There's great build up for discoveries about Karou's origin and foreshadowing for a good fight.

But then Akiva enters. And OMG, did you know he is beautiful? Because the author seems to forget we know. Beautiful. Beautiful! Moving on--oh, wait, I need to talk again about how beautiful he is. Okay, I appreciate that characters can be attractive and should be described as such, but there's really a point where it becomes overkill. And, guess what? He's not only beautiful. He's also pained. Tortured. Smoldering. The utterly romantic stalker (barf). Take Edward Cullen, make him warm and give him wings, and you get Akiva. Like Edward, Akiva is utterly without personality in his own right, and because of that, I felt no heat in his and Karou's relationship--just a lot of eye-rolling.

Then, Taylor takes a break from describing how tingly Karou and Akiva are around one another for an extended and awkwardly placed flashback, during which all the mysteries' truths are revealed in a fairly literal reinterpretation of Romeo and Juliet. The novel quickly concludes after, which felt anti-climatic, and ends on an utterly depressing note. Yay.

Considering all the praise the novel received, I was especially disappointed to see a run-of-the-mill romance with a stock male lead. Karou is more interesting initially, but she gets insanely boring by the time we get to the flashback. Taylor gets high marks from me for her world building, so it's a shame she populated it with such trite characters and relationships. Maybe the novel would have been better in print, where the repetition and annoying parts could be skimmed over, but it became almost unendurable at points in the audiobook.

"Snow Crash" by Neal Stephenson

2012-01-02T22:06:00.002-05:00

Stephenson's Snow Crash takes place in a world where corporate entities have largely replaced governments and the most intelligent and/or wealthy spend much of their time as avatars in the MMO virtual reality Metaverse. It's fairly standard stuff nowadays, so I was a little surprised when Stephenson spent time explaining what an avatar is or how the Metaverse operates--I mean, we all know that stuff. And then I finished the book and realized it was published in 1992. It was written twenty years ago, and yet I would have pegged it as no more than several years old.

Nonetheless, Snow Crash does have a classic geeky feel to it, primarily because of its tone and style. The novel opens with the reader meeting Hiro Protagonist, ultimate bad-ass with a sleek car and samurai swords on his back; he's the Deliverator--a pizza delivery man for the Mafia franchise, where the slogan "thirty minutes or less" isn't just a guarantee, it's a death threat to its employees. When a delivery goes wrong, Hiro is forced to rely on fifteen-year-old Y.T. to help him. She's a Kourier who delivers packages by skating the roads at high speed, "pooning" cars for a ride. Through most of the book, Hiro's on the hunt for the origin of Snow Crash, a technological and biological virus being transmitted in Reality and the Metaverse.

Hiro and Y.T. are largely defined by their bad-ass-ness, and much time is spent on their advanced gear (cars, motorcycles, boards, computers), their weapons, and their awesomeness. It makes the book a lot of fun, like a grunge James Bond or perhaps more like a technology-oriented Quentin Tarantino movie, but it does make Hiro and Y.T. a little less believable as characters. Their relationship is never really developed; it just exists. And I didn't buy Y.T. as a teenager, and I especially didn't buy her romantic interest in the (sort of) villain Raven.

Juxtaposed with the bad-assery is religious myth and the nature and the evolution of human communication (somewhat interesting coming after Embassytown, which addresses language as well). Snow Crash connects religion and viruses (biological and computer), not in a metaphorical "religion is destructive" kind of way, but in literal terms of transmission and infection. Going back to the biblical story of the Tower of Babel and Sumerian gods, the whole thing got a bit muddled for my tastes, but it's broken up with plenty of sword fighting, daring escapes, and chases.

I imagine the book's target audience is younger men, but it's fun for anyone who wants a cheeky sci-fi adventure.

2011: Year in Review

2011-12-31T00:30:00.000-05:00

It's hard to believe my third year book blogging has come to an end. My tastes and preferences have shifted some since I first began, and this year especially marked a move away from YA and towards more adult fantasy and sci-fi as well as nonfiction. Though five YA books made up my top ten last year, only one made the list this year (Ship Breaker). Three nonfiction titles made the list, including Fey's Bossypants, which is even better in audiobook (in fact, four of the top ten books I listened to on my iPhone). The order of the list below is only mildly significant.

My top 10 books read in 2011:
1. Ready Player One by Ernest Cline (sci-fi fiction)
2. Bossypants by Tina Fey (nonfiction/audiobook)
3. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (classic fiction/audiobook)
4. Moonwalking with Einstein by Joshua Foer (nonfiction)
5. Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi (YA dystopian fiction)
6. A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan (fiction/audiobook)
7. Robopocalypse by Daniel H. Wilson (dystopian fiction)
8. The Broken Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin (fantasy fiction)
9. The Magician King by Lev Grossman (fantasy fiction)
10. The Man in the Rockefeller Suit by Mark Seal (nonfiction/audiobook)

Total books read and reviewed: 85
I read fewer books this year (I read 109 in 2010), but I'm not at all disappointed with my number. This year I participated in more after-work activities (e.g. taking cooking and mosaic classes), and I also started taking daily walks, all of which cut into reading time, but in a good way.

Fiction read: 64
Nonfiction read: 21
Nonfiction became a larger part of my reading this year (25%), and many of my favorite books were nonfiction, including the three listed above, Packing for Mars, and Just My Type (the latter two were both shortlisted for my top ten list). My interest in the weird, nerdy, and random, which so guides my fiction reading, can be well-fulfilled in through many nonfiction books.

Adult read: 70
Young adult read: 15
The last two years I had a goal to keep YA to no more than one-third of my reading total. Though I kept the same goal this year, it wasn't even necessary, as YA made up only 18% of my reading. I think I've been somewhat burned out from it, and there hasn't been a lot that's kept my interest. However, in addition to Ship Breaker, listed above, I did enjoy Rampant a lot.

Female authors: 34
Male authors: 51
For most of the year, these two numbers were fairly equal. Then, sometime in the fall, the men surged ahead and I never read enough by women to make up. It's something I'm a bit disappointed in, though I'm not sure it's something I want to actively work on equalizing.

Years published:
- 2011: 32
- 2010: 15
- 2000-2009: 21
- 1990-1999: 8
- 1900-1989: 7
- 1800-1899: 2
Though I don't have the official stats, I'm definitely reading more newly published books than before, largely because my "oh, I always meant to read that!" list has grown rather short.

Book sources:
- Total borrowed: 74 (68 from library, 6 from friends/family/students)
- Total purchased: 2
- Total for review: 5 (4 from NetGalley, 1 from NCTE)
- Total otherwise acquired: 2 (1 from Paperback Swap, 1 free for Kindle)
- Total already owned: 2 (these are books I've had for over five years)
No surprises here. Because of my daily walking and many long car trips, I did listen to a lot more audiobooks (13 total, all from the library) than in previous years. I purchased a grand total of two books this year. One, Game of Thrones, was purchased because we had a Borders gift card and I thought my husband, who takes forever to read books, might read it. The second, Across the Universe, was due to the author's clever marketing (see post).

Challenges I participated in:
- Back to the Classics Challenge 2011
- POC Reading Challenge 2011
I got a little distracted and never finished the Back to the Classics Challenge, though I did meet my goal by reading seventeen books for the POC Reading Challenge.

Happy new year and best wishes for 2012!

"Embassytown" by China Mieville

2011-12-26T23:37:00.002-05:00

One of the purposes of science-fiction is to take the reader into a new environment so that he or she can approach traditional ideas and concepts from a wholly different perspective. That's why world-building is so essential to the genre and why, when it's done right, sci-fi can be so thrilling. This is the case in Mieville's Embassytown, a novel which transplants the reader to a world of Terres (humans) and Ariekei in order to explore the nature and evolution of language.

Embassytown is not for the weak reader or someone wanting just fun escapist fiction. It takes some work, especially in the beginning, to understand the world that has been created, and throughout the book close attention is needed in order to understand the discourse on the nature of language. The book focuses on a peaceful settlement where humans live and work with the native Ariekei. The Ariekei speak in Language, which is formed by speaking separate words simultaneously from two different mouths; however, in order for true Language to happen, not only must the right words be spoken, but they must be said with the right intent, with a single purpose. For the Ariekei, Language is truth and can communicate only what is true; lies do not exist. The only way the humans have been able to communicate with the Ariekei is by creating Ambassadors, human clones trained from birth to speak the Ariekei words and communicate as a single organism.

The protagonist of Embassytown is Avice, a traveler who, as a child, was made a simile in the Ariekei Language. Though she doesn't speak Language herself, she becomes embroiled in the human/Ariekei relationship when the stability of Embassytown becomes threatened.

Mieville's exploration of the differences between human and Ariekei language and the evolution of both is fascinating, but way too difficult to try to describe here. I was also interested in the novel's approach to the nature of colonization. Embassytown, in the beginning, is far different from most human colonies in that the two species coexist peacefully and for mutual benefit. However, when a new Ambassador, EzRa, creates a dependence for their language among the Ariekei, that careful balance is tipped and near chaos and destruction occur.

Avice is a great protagonist, both a part of Embassytown and separate from it. She's able to float between worlds and has a more nuanced point of view than many others. Her relationship with her husband, Scile, was a little less clear, especially because he disappears fairly early in the book.

I'd highly recommend Embassytown to fans of classic high science-fiction, especially those looking for something totally new.

2011 POC Challenge Wrap-Up

2011-12-18T19:47:00.000-05:00

This was my second year doing the POC reading challenge. I signed up at level five (16-25 books) and was happy that I achieved my goal by reading 17 books by authors of color. Last year in my wrap-up post I noted that I was disappointed that I hadn't read more books with authors of color (rather than books with protagonists of color but white authors), so I made it a point to focus on that this year. Here's what I read:

Books read:
1. Drinking Coffee Elsewhere by ZZ Packer
2. The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey by Walter Mosley
3. Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami
4. Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor
5. The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin
6. Complications by Atul Gawande
7. Wench by Dolen Perkins-Valdez
8. Luka and the Fire of Life by Salman Rushdie
9. In Other Rooms, Other Wonders by Daniyal Mueenuddin
10. The Broken Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin
11. Pym by Mat Johnson
12. Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese
13. Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
14. River of Smoke by Amitav Ghosh
15. The Kingdom of Gods by N.K. Jemisin
16. Is Everybody Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) by Mindy Kaling
17. Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama

Books by white authors with protagonists of color: (not counted toward challenge)
- Gardens of Water by Alan Drew
- Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi
- The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman
- Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman

By far my favorite books were from Jemisin's Hundred Thousand Kingdoms trilogy. I loved each book in her fantasy series. I also enjoyed River of Smoke, a sequel to a book I read a few years back. My least favorite books were Wench and Cutting for Stone.

Like last year, I realized that it takes some work to consistently read authors of color. I made a point of actively seeking such authors in the beginning of the year, but there was a five month gap in between reading my 11th and 12th books for the challenge. It was too easy to be exposed to primarily white authors.

I'm glad I did the challenge again, especially because I've met some great authors like Jemisin, Murakami, and Ghosh.

"A Monster Calls" by Patrick Ness

2011-12-18T19:36:00.000-05:00

I'm an enormous fan of Ness' Chaos Walking trilogy and thus had no hesitation checking out Ness' newest book, A Monster Calls, inspired by an idea from Siobhan Dowd. However, this book has a significantly different feel and purpose than his previous novels, which makes them hard to compare.

First, though A Monster Calls is packaged as a novel, it's really a short story that, through large type, large margins, and many illustrations, has been stretched to two hundred pages. I don't think there's anything wrong with the length of the story, but it would have been helpful going in to know its format. There are different expectations for a short story than for a novel, and a certain absorption into the book that's not possible at shorter lengths.

In its style, A Monster Calls most closely resembles a fairy tale in which a hero must confront his demons to learn the truth about himself. The book's protagonist is thirteen-year-old Conor, whose mother is dying and who has a terrible secret he's unwilling to tell anyone. He's confronted one night by a monster that takes the shape of the yew tree outside his home; the monster will tell Conor three stories, and Conor will provide the fourth and final tale. The piece is a clear allegory, with the yew tree monster representing those aspects of the hero that he most wishes to hide from.

Ness does an excellent job of capturing the dark and stormy atmosphere of Conor's inner life. The accompanying illustrations, done by Jim Kay in smudgy black and white, powerfully reinforce the mood. There's a clear message in the end--that there is both bad and good inside us all, and only by speaking the truth of both can we be healed--which is brought home in forceful and moving way.

Despite all this, I wouldn't say the book really got under my skin (in a good way) or will have a lasting impression, completely unlike the Chaos Walking books. I can see it as a book an adult might read an (older) child--it's quite dark, but there's are elements that feel like they need to be shared to be understood.

"Just My Type" by Simon Garfield

2011-12-17T15:24:00.002-05:00

I suppose you have to be a true nerd to be excited about a book like Just My Type, a compendium of essays on all things related to fonts. But, really, it's a fascinating subject, and it's to Garfield's credit that the book keeps a light tone and is chock full of party facts (e.g. "Upper or lower case? The term comes from the position of the loose metal compositor's hands before they were used to form a word--the commonly used ones on an accessible lower level, the capitals above them, waiting their turn" (23).)

Just My Type takes the reader through the creation of type, starting with Gutenberg's printing press and continuing through modern digital type. He also discusses the history of many of the most well-known and ubiquitous fonts, as well as the philosophy and controversies behind typography itself (Should fonts be beautiful and recognizable? Or are the best fonts unnoticeable?). There's not a straightforward or linear structure to the book; each chapter addresses a specific topic, which makes it easy to read and digest.

There were many surprises for me. For example, the word "font" didn't enter ordinary language until the first Macintosh computer, which allowed users to easily change fonts for the first time. The creation of fonts would have seemed, to me, a relatively easy endeavor, but it was striking how much time and work went (and goes) into developing new fonts--it's an art form and a science.

Perhaps what I liked best about reading the book was how it brought out my own font feelings and prejudices. I'm a Times New Roman devotee, most likely because it was the default font on Microsoft Word in the mid-'90s, a time when I would have been first regularly crafting papers for school. Though, like all young people, I experimented with all the available fonts, writing some terrible play in which each new paragraph was a new font, I was largely conservative. To me, Times New Roman was the only real font, and I somehow just assumed everyone else felt the same. In fact, I probably would have (wrongly) said that all books and newspapers were printed in it--it's just so academic, so stately. It says, "I am intelligent and have something worthwhile to say" (even its appearance on a list of "worst fonts" in Just My Type does not deter me). Every document I write, whether it's a business letter, an application, or a handout for my students, is written in Times New Roman.

I've always hated Arial, a font my classmates began using at a time when I was rigidly Times New Roman. To me, Arial, with its more rounded lettering and wider spacing, says:

I'm not verysmart, and clearly I'm trying to cover up that my essay isn't long enough byusing this font.

I felt somewhat vindicated to see many other people hate Arial, though their disdain comes from it being derivative of Helvetica.

But the font that really drives me bonkers is Calibri, the new default font for Windows 2007. The school at which I teach recently updated to Windows '07, and now all the computers are set for Calibri. It's even more rounded and soft than Arial, but it's somehow smaller than Times New Roman, so it's impossible to see when I'm trying to read my students' essays on their computers. Blech.

How would I ever consider givingan essay an A if it was written in Calibri?

Just My Type is one of those books that has to be enjoyed as a book--not an ebook or audiobook--as the viewing of different fonts and accompanying photos is essential to its understanding. It's enjoyable and eye-opening, as it shows just how much an impact fonts have on our everyday life.

"Dreams From My Father" by Barack Obama

2011-12-14T19:37:00.002-05:00

I voted for Obama in 2008 and will do so again in 2012, but I realized that, like with most politicians, I don't know a whole about him personally, beyond the basics. Dreams From My Father, written well before his presidential and senate days, seemed an ideal place to start.

Obama's memoir is an interesting, though not especially absorbing, book. Though it's personal in its exploration of issues of identity and race, there's a certain aloofness to it as well. I learned a lot about Obama's early life, his complicated family, and his struggle to define himself, but I didn't feel like I got to know Obama as a whole. The cool and calm demeanor he's known for now seemed always present.

However, there's a lot to gain from Dreams beyond studying Obama himself. He's especially astute in discussing the black experience in America and the difficulties of improving individuals' and communities' lives. Obama spends a while discussing his time as an organizer in Chicago. It's admirable work but extraordinarily frustrating; I kept finding myself becoming cynical about anyone's ability to enact change. When he travels to Kenya to meet his family through his father's side, he's able to compare and contrast the lives of people in two very separate countries.

From Dreams From My Father I learned about Obama's early life, and I appreciated his analysis of race, but I feel like I missed out on connecting to him as a person. Of course, that's what I wanted out of the book, not necessarily what Obama intended, and perhaps what he did discuss was more important for me to read.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"A Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens

2011-12-11T13:10:00.001-05:00

A Tale of Two Cities has been immortalized by its opening ("It was the best of times...") and closing lines ("It is a far, far better thing that I do..."), and when I began reading the book for the second or third time, I doubted Dickens' renowned words would have much effect on me. So, I was surprised that by the time I reached Carton's famous last words, I was teary and emotional, overwhelmed despite my intentions otherwise.

Dickens' story of the excesses of the French Revolution comes down firmly against the revolutionaries, though it is sympathetic in the plight and exploitation of the people by the aristocrats. I would have preferred some nuance here, but Dickens is so skillful in his description and in evoking emotions of outrage (both against the rich and the mob of the people) that the novel works anyway.

For me, the greatest weakness of Dickens' story is the simplicity of his characters, who are mostly one-dimensional: either noble, true, and innocent or bitter, ruthless, and unforgiving. This dichotomy is most present in his female characters of Lucie Manette and Madame Defarge. Lucie is young, pretty and pure, and because of that, she is beloved by everyone--and I found her annoying. Like Les Miserables' Cosette, Lucie has no real personality yet is the axis on which all the other characters turn. Evil is always more interesting, and so is Madame Defarge, even though she's no less a flat character. Defarge's constant knitting serves as one of the most indelible images from the novel, and her single-minded pursuit of revenge forces the narrative forward. However, even when her backstory is revealed, she is made no more sympathetic, which is a shame.

The male characters are somewhat better, though Darnay is for the most part a mirror of his wife Lucie, and Mr. Lorry benefits only from his age and kindliness. Sydney Carton, the hero of the story, is the only real exception, as he's a man with true good and bad inside him.

Listening to the novel at a leisurely pace was a perfect way to re-enter a story I was already familiar with. Narrator Simon Prebble does an excellent job with the male and female voices and keeps the pace moving appropriately.

I enjoyed A Tale of Two Cities when I first read it as a highschooler, and it was no less enjoyable this time around.

"The Psychopath Test" by Jon Ronson

2011-12-07T19:36:00.001-05:00

This seems to be the time for challenges to the world of psychiatry among my reading. There was Sybil Exposed last month, and now Ronson's The Psychopath Test. The latter is less clearly focused than the former, but it's a lot more fun. Ronson's new book explores the diagnosis of psychopaths and some of the problems surrounding it. He also interviews and researches some diagnosed and potential psychopaths in hopes of learning more about them.

Unlike most nonfiction books which have a clear central premise, The Psychopath Test is much more loosely organized. The book begins with Ronson's interest in the somewhat vogue idea that many of our great leaders are psychopaths (or have other personality disorders), and that illness helped them achieve their greatness. Nonetheless, the book doesn't stay on this train of thought, exploring everything from Scientology's anti-psychiatry crusade, to conspiracy theorists, to the creation of the DSM (the APA's diagnostic manual). Reading the book is, at times, like following Ronson's stream of conscious association; everything doesn't always seem relevant (for example, he spends time criticizing the DSM, but "psychopathy" is not even a disorder listed), but it's so interesting that it doesn't matter.

One train of thought that initially sets Ronson off is his skepticism at the legitimacy of some of the APA disorders. This idea ran throughout Sybil Exposed, though Ronson's book stays more neutral than Sybil. I was drawn in because it's something I feel myself, even though I'm married to a psychologist, perhaps because I teach at a public school in which learning disabilities are excessively over-diagnosed for students by parents looking for excuses and rationales for medication rather than the truth. Ronson's not out to "expose" the APA or challenge its work, but his research does raise questions about the manner in which disorders are created and diagnoses made, as well as psychiatry's close relationship with pharmaceutical companies. As Ronson says near the end of the book, "There are obviously a lot of very ill people out there. But there are also people in the middle, getting overlabeled, becoming nothing more than a big splurge of madness in the minds of the people who benefit from it."

Ronson is a personal writer whose use of his own story creates intimacy with the reader. He's comically self-referential (as when he continually reflects about whether he's displaying psychopathic tendencies) and approaches his material much like his reader would.

I don't know if The Psychopath Test would be best for someone researching psychopathy, and it probably annoys some psychiatrists, but I found it fascinating and a lot of fun while also providing some insight into the problems facing the psychiatry field today.

"Across the Universe" by Beth Revis

2011-12-05T21:24:00.001-05:00

Though I'd had this book on my radar for awhile, it was Revis' savvy marketing technique that finally drew me in--she convinced her publisher to include the names of every one of her early Facebook fans in the acknowledgements of the paperback version of the novel. And, since I was one of those fans, I couldn't resist buying the novel. Smart Revis, very smart.

I've not been very interested in YA this year, but I liked the premise of Across the Universe. Amy is cryogenically frozen, along with her parents, for a 300-year voyage in the spaceship Godspeed to a new planet Earth is hoping to colonize. However, she's woken up fifty years early and finds herself among the inhabitants of Godspeed, including its leader-in-training, Elder. With Elder, Amy tries to determine who's waking up individuals early and what secrets Eldest, the current leader, is keeping from his people. It's a neat premise, even if its execution didn't fully live up to it.

The setting and situation allow for a lot of questions to be explored. How would you maintain peace and happiness among people confined to such a small area of life? How would you maintain a population while avoiding overpopulation or genetic problems due to incest? I enjoyed exploring Revis' answers to these questions, even though their complexity is dampened by the stereotypical evil of Eldest. Early in the novel, he instructs Elder that one of the primary causes of discord is "difference," and since we all grew up with children's books about puppies and rabbits getting along, we know he's bad. By the time we learn he thinks Hitler was a good leader (Really? You don't think we got it?) and that another cause of discord is "independent thought" ("Evil, evil!" us independence-lovin' Americans shout), there's not a lot of hope for nuance.

Elder's lack of questioning about his history (e.g. he knows about classic American leaders like Abraham Lincoln but he doesn't wonder how many Eldests there have been or how long ago the Plague was) and the overly simplistic explanations for technology are also somewhat disappointing. Nonetheless, despite my issues with the world's construction, there are some good things. Revis has created an interesting mystery in a claustrophobic environment. The pace moves quickly, alternating between Amy and Elder, so the novel never feels boring. Not all the questions are addressed satisfactorily, but enough are answered to wrap up the book and leave an appealing opening for its sequel.

Across the Universe wasn't the novel to break my YA slump, but it was a quick and largely enjoyable read, so long as I didn't think about it too much afterwards.

"Is Everybody Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)" by Mindy Kaling

2011-12-02T19:35:00.001-05:00

Fair or not, Kaling's book is bound to be compared to Tina Fey's Bossypants. In fact, I'm going to compare them. It's hard not to--both women are television comedy writers and actors for popular quirky shows that appear on the same night on NBC, and their books address similar topics (childhood, the entertainment business) through a similar structure. In the end, I enjoyed Fey's book more, though that's not to say Kaling's work is not enjoyable.

Kaling had a reassuringly "good" and average upbringing (nice to be reminded that celebrities tend to start as "one of us"), though her stories of post-college life are funnier. She describes trying to make it in New York (I especially enjoyed her description of her audition for the musical Bollywood Nights) and her recognition with the creation of the play Matt and Ben, which landed her the Office job. She spends a lot of time on her female friendships, relationships which are so close as to have made me a bit jealous.

Kaling and Fey are both willing to make fun of themselves, which I think is essential for any kind of celebrity writer. Nevertheless, you come away from Fey's book thinking, "Damn, that woman is scary competent." On the other hand, I found myself periodically thinking "Wow, Kaling's so lucky to have stumbled onto this Office gig" and then having to correct myself. Obviously Kaling is an intelligent and talented writer who earned her place, but she's so self-deprecating that you begin to doubt it. I think this is a shame.

Kaling is on one of my favorite television shows, and she has written some of its best episodes, but for me, the book only elicited the occasional chuckle. Kaling felt more like a very open friend than a professional comedian (though she'd probably denounce that title), though even so the book left me a bit cold. Nevertheless, the book is slim and a quick read, so I wouldn't discourage anyone from trying it.

P.S. Something I learned from Is Everyone and Bossypants (and everything I've ever seen her in): Amy Poehler is awesome. Where's your book, Amy?

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Cleopatra: A Life" by Stacy Schiff

2011-12-01T22:09:00.001-05:00

Schiff's new biography of Cleopatra sets out to dispel some of the myths that have surrounded the famous queen for ages, particularly those portraying her as nothing more than a seductress, a femme fatale who led Julius Caesar astray and destroyed Mark Antony. In A Life, Schiff instead posits Cleopatra as an intelligent strategist focused on maintaining her rule and independent kingdom.

There are a lot of great details throughout the book that make it a fascinating read for anyone interested in the classical world. Cleopatra was part of the Ptolemy dynasty that had ruled Egypt for years, yet they were Greek. The family had a nasty habit of killing each other off in order to gain the throne (and you thought the characters in A Game of Thrones were bad), something Cleopatra gamely participated in as well. So fabulous was Cleopatra's wealth that she gave away horses and couches to Roman dinner guests.

It's Cleopatra's relationships with the Roman leaders Caesar and Antony that have given her the most notoriety. These relationships take up much of the book, though the men come more to life than Cleopatra. In the end, it's difficult to know how exactly Cleopatra felt about the relationships. On the one hand, Egypt needed Rome as an ally, so a relationship with the men makes political sense. On the other hand, Cleopatra had children by both men and famously commits suicide after Antony's death (though, significantly, she does so after being conquered and imprisoned). Did she love them? Did they love her? These questions cannot be fully answered.

Though Schiff's research is exhaustive, in the end, the reader learns more about the context surrounding Cleopatra than the queen herself. This may be largely because history is written by the winners--in this case, the Romans--so the information we have on her is from a biased and critical Roman-centered point of view. Schiff does a nice job of trying to parse through the sources, determining each author's agenda, but it also means she's left with little in the way of fact. Most everything about Cleopatra herself is boiled down to "probably's." It was frustrating to know so much about Caesar, Antony, Cleopatra's wealth, Alexandria's status in the Mediterranean, and the status of women and so little about the the woman herself.

The book does not begin chronologically, and so I found it confusing at first because it would jump back and forth in time. Once it became traditionally chronological, I had an easier time. I listened to the audiobook version, narrated by Robin Miles. Miles has a pleasant neutral voice, but she's not particularly engaging, and I wished for a bit more spunk. I did fall asleep at intervals during the book, but I'll attribute that more to my tiredness than a failure of Schiff's work.

Cleopatra: A Life is a comprehensive look at an interesting and important period in history and the intersection of two very different cultures. Although at times a tad dry or repetitive, Schiff does much to raise Cleopatra beyond the Hollywood image of her and into her own right as a powerful and intelligent leader of a nation.

"The Kingdom of Gods" by N.K. Jemisin

2011-11-29T18:32:00.001-05:00

Though I had read some negative and middling reviews online, I enjoyed thelast book in Jemisin's trilogy, The Kingdom of the Gods, no less thanits predecessors TheHundred Thousand Kingdoms and TheBroken Kingdoms. Whereas the second book takes place in the same worldas the first but with almost completely new characters, the third book picks upcharacters from the first and second, giving it a greater sense of familiarity.In this novel, the protagonist is Sieh, the trickster boy godling who played animportant role in Yeine's life in the first novel. Sieh becomes involved withtwo Arameri children, Shahar and Dekarta, and inexplicably begins to becomemortal. Though this theme is repeated from Broken Kingdoms, in which thegod Itempas lived life as a mortal man, Sieh's transformation and relationshipswith others are significantly different, and his story feels different too.

The tagline on the cover of this book is "Gods and mortals. Power andlove. Death and revenge. She will destroy them all," which doesn't make alot of sense. The only "she" it could possibly refer to is Shahar,which overstates her importance. This is a book foremost about Sieh, whichmakes it the first of Jemisin's books to be narrated by a man and by a god.Sieh lives in an interesting world--though he's powerful as an ancient godling,he also is not part of the three gods (Yeine, Nahadoth, and Itempas) and thusfeels loneliness, made even more acute by his character as a youthful childishboy. Other reviewers have found him dislikable, but I didn't find him so; he'snot perfect, but that's in keeping with who he is. I also enjoyed hisrelationships with Shahar and Dekarta, even though the intensity of hisrelationship with Deka comes rather suddenly.

The gods are somewhat more human in this book than in others, likely becausewe see them through a godling's eyes. Both Nahadoth and Itempas are lessstandoffish and more caring, though they perhaps lose some of theirmystisticism because of it. The gods also play a more direct role in humanaffairs, which is somewhat of a shame, since mortals did so much on their ownin the previous two books.

The climax did seem to come a bit suddenly, and the "surprise" ofthe villain was a bit contrived. Nonetheless, in the end, I found Kingdom ofGods a satisfying conclusion to a series I've greatly enjoyed.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"River of Smoke" by Amitav Ghosh

2011-11-21T19:43:00.001-05:00

When I first began River of Smoke, primarily about the opium trade inChina by foreign merchants, I was a little doubtful. I'd absolutely loved Seaof Poppies, the precursor to River of Smoke in the Ibis trilogy,and had even named it one of my top ten books of 2009. But now, years later, Icouldn't really remember why I liked the first book, and I almost feltreluctant in picking up this historical epic. However, I soon began noticinghow immersed I was in the story and how quickly the pages flew by--in short, Riverof Smoke is as utterly engrossing as the previous novel.

This is truly something to commend Ghosh on, for in River of Smoke hehas less sympathetic characters than in Sea of Poppies. Where that novelfeatures poor lovers on the run and burgeoning young romance, River of Smoke'smain protagonist is Bahram, an Indian opium trader, and its story focusesprimarily on Bahram and the American and British traders pushing againstChina's decision to prohibit the sale of opium. Their cause is without merit and ispresented so in the novel, yet the reader is still completely drawn in.

Interestingly, the novel has almost no female characters as women are notpermitted in Canton, the primary city of foreign trade. Away from theinfluences of their traditional society (and women), the men live a differentway of life. Male friendships are deep, and the men even dance together atfunctions! Although there's some teasing from others, it's normal for some mentake other men as "Friends" and pursue long term relationships.Furthermore, men of different races, ethnicities, and nationalities mix andsocialize together in a way that never would have been possible in England orthe U.S.

Of course, when push comes to shove and Chinese officials begin crackingdown on the traders, this world also starts crumbling. Homophobic epithets arethrown at those who sympathize with the Chinese objectives, and Bahramrecognizes that he'd quickly be sacrificed for an American or British man. It'sat this point that Bahram becomes particularly sympathetic. Overall, he is agood man succeeding in a way very few Indian men could at this point, a time inwhich their country was controlled by the British. He has succeeded in beingrespected among his fellow merchants, yet that's not enough to ensure himprotection in the end.

I was worried that having forgotten much of Sea of Poppies would be adetriment, but River of Smoke is more a companion novel than a sequel.Though some characters reappear from the previous story, this novel is a whollyseparate story, not a continuation, and it would not be necessary to read Seaof Poppies to read River of Smoke.

Ghosh is a talented storyteller. The entire world of the novel is rich indetail, and the use of local language and terms adds authenticity. He writesabout a fascinating (and utterly shameful for the American and British) periodin history, but it's his characters that bring the novel to life.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Kafka on the Shore" by Haruki Murakami

2011-11-15T19:56:00.001-05:00

The first Murakami book I read, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, was frustratingly obtuse and enticingly enigmatic. It was that combination of reality and the weird, of wanting to throw the book at the wall and immediately pick it up again, that ultimately made it memorable. Blind Willow is a collection of short stories, and I wondered how Murakami's style would do in a novel, so I chose Kafka on the Shore.

Unfortunately, I wasn't nearly as intrigued by this book as I was with my first Murakami foray. There are still weird elements: a 15-year-old boy, who sometimes speaks to himself in a second personality named "the boy called Crow," goes on the run; an elderly man named Nakata speaks of himself in the third person and speaks to cats. There's an unexplained consciousness-losing of a bunch of students, Johnnie Walker and Colonel Sanders, leeches falling from the sky, and a trans-man librarian. But, sustained over an entire novel where character development, not just oddity, must play a role, Murakami's writing seemed to lose something.

Kafka, the protagonist, is likeable enough, though there's far too much about his penis (always referred to as c*ck in the book, a term which I only associate with porn and found really jarring--don't know whether I can attribute that to Murakami or the English translator). In fact, the sex in the book, as a whole, is weird in an off-putting way. Oshima, the librarian, is also likeable, though like every character in the book, he is far too giving and caring without explanation. Kafka and Oshima particularly spend far too much time philosophizing and talking about how life is a metaphor.

Nakata is someone you want to root for, but his speech style becomes repetitive and aggravating, as does the "geez whiz, I just better follow you!" attitude of his sidekick, Hoshino.

I liked the novel better in the beginning as we slowly learn about the students on the hill and Nakata gets sucked into the events that happen. But by the end, so much muddying had happened that I lost a sense of connection to the book as a whole. I'm still not sure how it all fits together, but not in an enjoyable way, like with Blind Willow.

Kafka on the Shore was a disappointment, but I'd certainly like to try Murakami's fiction again, especially since I've been reading a lot about him recently with the publication of his most recent book, 1Q84.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Sybil Exposed" by Debbie Nathan

2011-11-09T18:43:00.000-05:00

In perhaps my freshman year of high school I choose to read the best-selling nonfiction book Sybil, about a woman with sixteen distinct personalities that were formed in childhood because of a horrifically abusive mother. I read it for some course, though I can't remember which specifically, and looking back, I know I was definitely not prepared for it. Perhaps some fourteen-year-olds can handle graphic depictions of sexual and physical violence, but I most certainly could not, and for that reason, the haunting book has long stayed with me.

Nevertheless, I hadn't thought about Sybil for years until I saw a review of Sybil Exposed in The New York Times. In the book, author Debbie Nathan explores the lives of those involved in creating Sybil: Shirley [aka Sybil] a troubled young woman; Dr. Connie Wilbur, her ambitious psychiatrist; and Flora Schreiber, the author of the book. In doing so, Nathan challenges nearly all of Sybil, including Wilbur's diagnosis of multiple personality disorder (MPD) and Shirley's accounts of parental abuse, exposing Wilbur and Schreiber as being more concerned with their own agendas than the truth.

It's clear from the beginning of the book how grossly negligent Wilbur was as a doctor, even giving her leeway for there being different ethical standards for doctors and psychiatrists than today. In treatment, Shirley often spent hours daily under the haze of the drug Pentothal while Wilbur prodded and encouraged her to reveal ever-worsening abuse. Though Shirley came to Wilbur as a sick woman in need of help (it's revealed at the end of the book that Shirley most likely suffered from anemia), Wilbur undoubtedly did significantly more harm than good as she guided the life of Shirley over decades.

The author Schreiber is no less guilty, as she willingly and blindly ignored gaping errors in Shirley and Wilbur's stories in order to publish and promote her book.

The publication of Sybil made multiple personality disorder a fad, though fortunately its recognition has become more strictly guided recently. Nonetheless, for years, individuals with severe mental illnesses went under various drugs in order to discover "repressed" memories of abuse, all in the name of MPD. The popularization of such a disease helped lead to abuse panics nationwide and fostered a continuing popular obsession with stories of sadistic abuse, something I find abhorrent (e.g. the book A Child Called It, done in the same vein [though, as far as I know, true], was popular a few years ago, despite being a complete piece of trash).

On the whole, Nathan comes down pretty hard against multiple personality disorder, now called dissociative identity disorder (DID). This seems warranted to me, but it's clear from reading reviews of the book on Amazon that there's significant ongoing controversy about the disorder's recognition. Most of the reviews had rated the book a one or a five, with nearly all the ones coming from psychologists or psychiatrists defending DID as a legitimate disorder.

In the book's introduction, Nathan attempts to situate the women's actions in the context of the pre-feminist movement and the book's popularity in the nascent women's liberation. However, though it's clear that Wilbur worked hard to become a doctor in a man's world and that Sybil helped many American women of the time express their own conflicting feelings about needing to be multiple things at once (e.g. a professional and a mother), Sybil Exposed doesn't explore those issues very deeply. Instead, it's a fairly straightforward account of the women's lives.

Sybil Exposed is a nice reality check for anyone who was ever moved by Sybil, and because it's so short and easy to read, it can be digested quickly. Nathan appears to have done her research, but in the end, there's nothing particularly interesting about her conclusions or analysis. The vague lesson than "we should never accept easy answers or quick explanations," which appears on the last page, doesn't really say much about a case that captivated so many and destroyed at least one woman's life.

"Cutting for Stone" by Abraham Verghese

2011-11-07T21:25:00.001-05:00

Cutting for Stone is a unique book that I think I would have enjoyed even more if it wasn't nearly so long. Even so, it has a lot that makes it a worthwhile and engaging. The novel takes place largely in Ethiopia, following the expats working at Missing Hospital. There the reader meets Sister Mary Praise, an Indian nun who works as a surgery assistant to Thomas Stone, a skilled British surgeon. When Sister Mary dies in (an unknown to everyone else) childbirth, the Indian gynecologist Hema and the Indian physician Ghosh become her twins' parents. The story then is told primarily from the point of view of the twin Marion a he grows up in Missing and becomes a surgeon himself.

Ethiopia is a fascinating setting for the book, as it challenges and reinforces notions of African poverty. Missing lacks many of the medical advancements available in the United States, but it also has skilled and dedicated doctors who do much to improve the lives of those around them. It's also interesting to see the growth of the twins, Marion and Shiva, native Ethiopians of Indian and British parents. They are a part of and separate from their country of birth, especially because their position as the children of Hema and Ghosh allows them privileges others don't receive. Cutting for Stone is also situated at an interesting period historically, as the rule of Emperor Haile Selassie is challenged.

It's clear from the novel that Verghese is himself a doctor. His passion for his profession is evident in his exact detail of surgeries (not for the squeamish!) and also his emphasis on compassion in medicine. Verghese's own upbringing mirrors Marion's in many ways, and that authenticity of detail in the locations and in the challenges of being a foreign a medical student was a great strength of the novel.

Unfortunately, I didn't feel that same believability in the characters. I wanted to like the characters more than I was able to, particularly because I felt Verghese strives too hard to make them "literary." Marion's life-long obsession with an early love is tiresome and culminates in a highly problematic rape scene that's not depicted as rape. Shiva's standoffish "not like others" personality feels forced. In the real world he might be labeled as autistic, but in the novel, he comes across as mysteriously (and unrealistically) otherworldly.

Part of the problem may be the length of the novel. The paperback comes in at nearly 700 pages, but because I read it on a Kindle, I really had no idea that it was a long book until I finished. Instead, the story simply felt interminable, and while I read, I tended to attribute my inability to make much headway to failures in the story itself, rather than the length.

Cutting for Stone came to me highly recommended, and it's undoubtedly an interesting novel, though I wasn't as impressed as I had hoped to be.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"The Name of the Wind" by Patrick Rothfuss

2011-11-01T18:31:00.001-04:00

Though I'd had The Name of the Wind on my radar for awhile, I ended up starting the novel mostly by happenstance. I wanted to try checking out an e-book from the library on my Kindle, and The Name of the Wind was immediately available.

Rothfuss' novel is a traditional fantasy that's largely successful, though it's not without its flaws. Taking place in a typical medieval setting, The Name of the Wind follows Kvothe, a young and talented traveling performer who is exposed to magic (called "sympathy") as a boy and later travels to the university to study. It's easiest for me to discuss by breaking down some of the story's strengths and weaknesses:

Weaknesses:
1. Over-reliance on fantasy tropes: I'm certainly well aware that it would be difficult to create a wholly new fantasy series. But when you add up an intrepid young man, a wise teacher who teaches the protagonist magic, a family tragedy, the rough and tumble life of a street orphan, and a rich and snobby rival at school, it's hard not to see the story as cliche. Nevertheless, I could have handled most of the tropes, even the "so talented he's way above everyone else in everything his does" protagonist, if it wasn't for Kvothe's rivalry with fellow student Ambrose. I found the Draco/Harry conflict tiresome, and this was even worse.
2. Unfeeling romance: Most fantasies have some kind of romance, but for it to work, the reader has to believe the feelings and desperately want the lovers to end up together. Nonetheless, I just didn't buy the relationship between Kvothe and Denna. I couldn't understand his feelings for her, and I felt no spark when they were together. And, though I can stand some idiocy when it comes to relationships, Kvothe's absolute insistence on being a moron and thinking Denna doesn't have feelings for him was irksome to no end.
3. Age unbelievability: Kvothe is supposed to be fifteen, but he always felt older. Some of that may be because he's surrounded by older characters (since he was so smart and admitted to the university way before anyone else--see complaint #1), but I just couldn't see a teenager of that age acting similarly.

Strengths:
1. Story format: The reader is first introduced to Kvothe as a slightly older man, past all the adventures he is famous for. When a writer comes to town, Kvothe tells his story, and the novel switches to first person as the reader learns of Kvothe's life. This format provided a nice view of who Kvothe is--we know he's renowned yet currently in isolation, and the happiness he does experience as a youth is shadowed by the knowledge of what will become of him. My one complaint in this area, though, is how the structure was used to introduce the romance. At one point, Kvothe stops in his story, going through a long spiel to the writer about how difficult it is to describe the woman, how she will soon be entering the story and it's so overwhelming. But then, when he reveals who the woman is, the reader realizes the woman had already been introduced (to both the reader and Kvothe) earlier in the book! There was no reason to create tension for a character that had already been introduced, and it felt like a cheap narrative trick.
2. Unique form of magic: All fantasy worlds have some kind of magic, and the "sympathy" in Kvothe's world was certainly interesting. The magic relies on the relationships between objects and the transference of power between.
3. Kvothe: Okay, I liked the protagonist. He's stubborn and cocky and often stupid, but he's also brave and righteous, and you have to like him for that.

Whew. In the end, I did enjoy The Name of the Wind, despite a slow patch in the middle where Kvothe mostly obsessed about how he had no money. There are some interesting secondary characters as well, particularly Master Elodin and Bast, whom I'd love to hear more about. And, if I could excise Ambrose from the story, I'd eagerly pick up the sequel (and, who knows, maybe I'll pick up the sequel anyway). In the end, I'd rate it similarly to other fantasy beginnings like Wizard's First Rule and A Game of Thrones, though it's much less dark than those two.

"The Tragedy of Arthur" by Arthur Phillips

2011-10-26T19:13:00.003-04:00

The Tragedy of Arthur is a unique novel, and if nothing else, I have to give Phillips credit for having the guts to write it. For not only is the book a (fictional) story of (a fictional) Arthur Phillips, his con-artist dad, and a never-before-seen-in-the-modern-world Shakespeare play, the novel also includes the entirety of the "newly discovered" Shakespeare play itself. And, boy, does it take some balls to write and publish your own Shakespeare play, particularly since that play is lauded and authenticated as "true Shakespeare" within the story (framed as the play's introduction).

But, to back up a few steps. The majority of the novel is the "introduction," written by (fictional) Phillips about how the play Arthur came to be discovered and published. The story is really an account of Phillips' fractured relationship with his father, who spent most of Phillips' life in jail for counterfeiting and other scams. Phillips' father gave him Arthur on his near-deathbed, and Phillips spends much time trying to decide if the play is genuine or a last trick of his father's.

This set up has a lot of interesting possibilities, including Phillips' relationship with the Bard himself--a person so admired by his father and sister that Phillips couldn't help but dislike him. Nonetheless, I just couldn't get in to the story. Phillips spends most of the introduction self-flagellating, bemoaning his mistakes and whimpering about what a terrible son/brother/husband/father he was and is. For this reason, I found Phillips immensely dislikable, even though I didn't think his crimes and errors were nearly as terrible as he--and especially his sister--found them to be. The story dragged, even though it's relatively short.

I did enjoy some of the insight into the cult of adoration that surrounds Shakespeare, having mixed feelings about him myself. I disliked Shakespeare in high school and college, but I've come to appreciate him much more now that I teach Romeo and Juliet. I know the play so well now that I really love it, but it took a lot of time to get me there. I don't pick up a random Shakespeare play and immediately feel enthralled (though an absolutely amazing performance of Othello I saw a few years back did have me convinced). I could identify with Phillips' anger at the deification of Shakespeare and our complete willingness to excuse and explain away any potential errors or weaknesses in the plays as actually signs of Shakespeare's genius. There has to be a happy middle ground between recognizing his talent and influence and being realistic about his creations.

Nonetheless the "woe is me {mope}{mope}{mope}" of the introduction was so infuriating that I really didn't want to read the play itself, The Tragedy of Arthur, which appears at the end of the book. However, I surprisingly enjoyed the faux-Shakespeare--both the characterization and dialogue. I'm not enough of an expert to say how skilled (the author) Phillips is at imitating Shakespeare, but he doesn't seem to do a bad job.

Kudos to Phillips for a unique and daring novel--I just wish the story hadn't been such a drag.

"The Death Cure" by James Dashner

2011-10-20T22:02:00.001-04:00

I had been looking forward to reading The Death Cure. Though Dashner's previous books in the series, The Maze Runner and The Scorch Trials, weren't especially memorable, they were a lot of fun. I really enjoyed the mix of mystery, adventure, and dystopian elements, and the fast-paced cliffhanger style helped make the books especially engaging. Unfortunately, The Death Cure did not live up to my expectations.

In a series built on unanswered questions, it can be difficult to wrap-up the storyline in an effective way. Going in, the reader knows Thomas and the other Gladers must learn the truth about WICKED and determine their role in protecting the earth from the disease called the Flare. Nevertheless, Dashner just didn't seem to know where he was going. First, unlike previous novels, it felt like little was happening, and when something did, it was almost always centered around guns, fistfights, and bravado-laced hostage taking. The inordinate amount of fighting and death seemed out of place, like it should have belonged in a mass market crime thriller. Hundreds of (mostly unnamed) people die, but there's really no empathy.

Thomas' relationship with and conflicting feelings about Theresa were at the center of the previous novels, but Theresa is almost completely forgotten here. There's no character development on her part, and it's never clear what her motivations are. Thomas mostly ignores her, and I was surprised to see so little resolution between them.

The book seemed like it was trying to raise ethical questions by setting up the conflict between WICKED, which is willing to sacrifice human subjects at any cost in order to find a cure to for the Flare, and the Right Arm, a resistance movement focused on survival rather than a cure. The question of whether it's morally permissible to sacrifice a few to potentially save many is an important and challenging issue. However, Thomas and his friends' insistence on the evil of WICKED, combined with the cartoonish nastiness of WICKED's leader, distorted any moralistic exploration.

I found myself bored through much of the novel, and the ending was a cop-out that avoided answering the hard questions. It was a disappointing end to a promising series.

"Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children" by Ransom Riggs

2011-10-17T21:38:00.000-04:00

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is the first young adult book I've read since August, though I requested it from the library quickly based on the praise I had heard for its quirky story. However, the story itself is not too unusual, at least to fans of fantasy with a gothic twist. Jacob grew up hearing fantastic stories from his grandfather about an island filled with children with special abilities. Though he devoured the stories as a child, as he grew older, Jacob believed in them less and less until his grandfather is killed in a bizarre tragedy. Hoping to learn more about his grandfather's history, Jacob seeks out the island and discovers Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, a sanctuary for X-Men-like children that remains in a time loop of one day during World War II.

What sets Miss Peregrine apart is its use of odd vintage photographs, which appear periodically throughout the book (i.e., as Jacob examines the photo, it appears in the novel). Though the photos are interesting and certainly creepy, they also have the unintended effect of making the novel feel like a creative writing exercise. I could just imagine an instructor saying, "Here are five random photos; now make a cohesive story from them!" Even though writers are free to get their inspiration from anywhere, such inspiration is usually less apparent. Seeing the photos made me think, "Okay, so here's how Riggs choose to work this photo in." Fair or not, I couldn't help seeing the story as forced and inauthentic because of it.

This sense of inauthenticity also extended to the characters. I just couldn't quite buy Jacob's teenage angst, and he often seemed much younger or much older than he's supposed to be. I also didn't connect to his relationship with Emma, which happened far too quickly.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is not a bad story, and it would be great for a younger audience with a lower reading level. However, it didn't bring me in.

"The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver

2011-10-16T12:00:00.000-04:00

I'm not quite sure why I waited so long to read The Poisonwood Bible except I think I had it mixed up with Prodigal Summer, which I own and started a few times but never got in to. Nonetheless, I'm happy I finally gave the book a try, especially in the well-done audio version I listened to, which is narrated by Dean Robertson in a convincing southern accent.

The Poisonwood Bible tells the story of the Price family, who travel to the Congo as Christian missionaries in the 1960s. The wife, Orleanna, and the four children, Rachel, Leah, Adah, and Ruth May, are led with maniacal religious fervor by the father, Nathan. The story is told from the sisters' alternating viewpoints as they struggle to adjust to life in Africa.

The voice of each sister is especially well-done and reinforced by small shifts in tone from the audio narrator. Ruth May, the youngest, is naive and enthusiastic. Leah and Adah are twins, but Adah was born with some kind of deformity that results in a limp. Adah is silent yet sarcastic and irreverent; Leah is devoted to her father, which makes his fall from grace in her eyes all the more painful. Rachel is vain and flighty. Kingsolver is especially talented at making each girl, and their parents, fully realized characters. It quickly becomes clear that although Nathan is the reason they all travel to the Congo, he is mostly absent from their lives.

The first half of the book explores the family's first year or so in the Congo. The family's interactions with and lack of understanding of the people Nathan is there to convert take center stage. The second half of the book takes place over several decades as the family members go their separate ways and live out their adulthood. Because this part of the novel is spread out over such a long period, some of the intimacy of character that so defined the first half is lost.

Poisonwood Bible takes place over a turbulent time in the history of the Congo as the country transitions from Belgian rule to various forms of independence. Like another book I read this summer, White Woman on a Green Bicycle, Poisonwood Bible explores these changes through the eyes of white individuals living in the country. Though, like in White Woman, this means the native Congolese voices are largely absent, the technique does expose the stereotypes and prejudices of non-citizens and particularly white Americans.

For me, it was the detail and nuance of the sisters' daily lives in a world that first appears strange, but then became familiar, that drew me in and kept me hooked.

"The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern

2011-10-14T22:33:00.000-04:00

The Night Circus is a novel that's built on the reader's (and characters') constant immersion in a dream-like world, where every event has the tinge of a fairy tale and every encounter bursts in intensity and emotion. It's a book completely dependent on mood, and there's some danger in that; if the reader doesn't buy in, there's no book. However, fortunately for readers, Morgenstern's Night Circus is a success.

It's a hard book to describe effectively. There are two protagonists, Celia and Marco, and they're not quite magicians, but they are able to manipulate the world around them. As children they're bound by their teachers to a mysterious competition with each other, though it's a competition with hazy rules and no timeline. The setting of this competition is the Night Circus, a fantastic event that shows up and leaves unannounced. As Celia and Marco work to create even more staggering illusions for the circus, they must fight between their feelings for each other and their obligation to the game.

The world of The Night Circus is rich in several accounts. First, there's the description of the circus itself, a completely black and white exhibition with untold wonders in every tent. Morgenstern's world is so vivid that the reader can't help but envy the characters' ability to visit it. Secondly, there's the richly drawn characters and the electricity between Celia and Marco. They're not together particularly often, but when they are, the reader can't help but feel their attraction. It's one of the more compelling romances I've read in awhile.

At times the book can be overly cryptic, and the twins Poppet and Widget were intriguing characters whom I would have liked to see more of. I'm not sure if the ending quite worked, but it's mostly satisfying.

Nonetheless, I felt like I entered a new world whenever I picked up the book, and I was disappointed when I suddenly noticed I was nearly finished.

"Eye in the Sky" by Philip K. Dick

2011-10-10T21:23:00.002-04:00

I know the name Philip K. Dick solely from him being the author of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (which I haven't read), the book on which Blade Runner (which I haven't seen) is based. Looking at the inside cover of the book I did read, Eye in the Sky, I was amazed to see just how prolific a science-fiction writer Dick was. Eye in the Sky, published in 1957, is one of his earlier works.

The novel has a simple premise that's light on the science-fiction and heavier on a dramatic plot. When a group of people are injured while observing a science experiment, they all fall (mostly) unconscious and begin entering, in succession, the subconscious "dream" worlds of each other. The protagonist is Hamilton, an electronics expert who has recently been fired because his wife, Marsha, is suspected to be a Communist.

It's a decent, though not thrilling, set-up, but Dick doesn't seem quite sure of his concept. There's no consistency in the type of dream worlds the characters enter. For example, the world Mr. Silvester, a religious fanatic, is a weird mix of pseudo-Christianity and pseudo-Islam; it's hard to see where that would fit in his psyche. Mrs. Pritchet's "world" is clearly her dream fantasy: she can remove anything she finds unpleasant at will. However, Miss Reiss' world isn't her fantasy, but rather a gross manifestation of her paranoia and fears. From a sci-fi perspective, I found that lack of consistent world building irritating.

Nonetheless, there's some fun to be had in the transition between odd worlds and in the group's (somewhat) clever ways of knocking out the person who is controlling the world in order to progress to another individual's mind. This might have been enough to make for a diverting read had it not been for the main character, Hamilton.

Hamilton's a privileged self-righteous blow-hard who looks down upon everyone else, but it seems Dick wants the reader to admire his behavior. The reader never even gets to see Hamilton's dream world because he's so "in touch" with reality. Yet take his behavior: When Bill Laws, a black physicist (relegated to the position of tour guide in the real world), finds some comfort in Mrs. Pritchet's world (a world in which he commands his own company), Hamilton has nothing but scorn. When Marsha supports Mrs. Pritchet in removing a prostitute that Hamilton is trying to have sex with from the world, Hamilton is furious, and it's Marsha who has to apologize! Marsha's anger should have been directed Hamilton, not the prostitute, but that doesn't excuse Hamilton's behavior. See how he sneers at his wife when she tries to make up:
     "I love you, Jack [Hamilton]," Marsha quavered wretchedly.
     "And I'm in a hurry," he answered. "Okay?"
     She nodded. "Okay. Good luck."
     "Thanks." As he moved toward the picnic site, he said to her, "I'm glad you've forgiven me about Silky [the prostitute]."
     "Have you forgiven me?"
     "No," he said stonily. "But maybe I will when I see her again."
     "I hope you do," Marsha said pitifully.
     "Just keep your fingers crossed." (168)

Hamilton's attitude toward his wife is bad throughout. He's condescending and easily assumes the worst of her (in this novel, that she's a communist). Marsha is characterized rather pathetically (reading "quavered wretchedly" as a description of her speech makes me wince), but that dosen't make Hamilton's attitude okay. Hamilton's supposed to be the hero, but I couldn't stand him.

The best part of the novel is its fierce anti-Communist stance, which just comes off as funny. It allows for awesome lines like, "You all believe it. You think I'm -- a Communist" (214). I've read some reviews that said the book is a critique of McCarthyism, and I suppose there is some criticism of unfounded Communist paranoia, but the novel clearly supports the idea that Communists = pure evil. In the end, Eye in the Sky is probably better suited as evidence of '50s attitudes than great science-fiction.

"The Magician King" by Lev Grossman

2011-10-02T14:54:00.002-04:00

In my review of The Magicians, I described my ambivalence for Grossman's first novel in the series. Although I found the themes he explored fascinating, the novel itself was at times tiresome. I ended the review by saying, "When my husband and I finished listening to the audiobook, one of our first questions to each other was, 'Would you read the sequel?' I still haven't determined my answer." Well, it turns out I answered that question quickly and affirmatively as I finished The Magician King less than a month later.

The Magician King felt like a much different book than The Magicians. Some of that is probably due to reading the book (rather than listening to the audiobook version) since the pace felt quicker. Nonetheless, I think most of the change is due to the structure of The Magician King. In The Magicians, Grossman is concerned with exploring magic in the real world we know, and his novel is full of dissatisfied characters musing about their dissatisfaction with life. Most of the story takes place at Brakebills, so there's not much in terms of a narrative plotline. No evil to fight; no quest to undertake.

However, in The Magician King, the protagonist Quentin is already in a magical world when the novel begins, and, like a dissatisfied reader yearning for adventure, Quentin partakes on a quest early in hopes of finding the sense of purpose in life that has always eluded him. For the reader, this means that, from the start, something is always happening. There's none of the boredom and drunkenness that characterized much of The Magicians. Instead, Quentin is traveling far and wide, encountering strange creatures and mysterious islands. This doesn't mean that interesting themes aren't explored: the restlessness of magic; what is means to be a hero. However, these themes are explored while "stuff" happens, which is a lot more interesting to the reader.

The Magician King also flashbacks frequently to tell the story of Julia, Quentin's high school friend who, after failing to pass the Brakebills examination, discovered magic on her own. Her torturous journey to find belonging forms a nice parallel to Quentin's experiences at Brakebills (but is a lot more interesting).

In all, The Magician King was a far more enjoyable read than The Magicians, though I'm not sure the second book left me thinking as much as the first.

"Consider the Lobster" by David Foster Wallace

2011-09-28T22:51:00.003-04:00

David Foster Wallace is an author I've somewhat avoided, fearing his prose would be lengthy and over-wrought or maddeningly meta. But, an esteemed colleague of mine is an enormous fan, and when a senior (whom I taught as a freshman) stopped by and inquired whether I'd given Wallace a chance, I conceded I'd have a go if he brought in one of Wallace's works. Hence, Consider the Lobster.

On my own, I wouldn't have chosen Lobster as the work to begin with. After all, Wallace is most famous for his fiction, and Lobster is instead a collection of his nonfiction essays, all previously published in major magazines. Some of the essays are in-person exploratory/analytical/opinion pieces (such as following the '00 McCain campaign trail or attending the Maine Lobster Festival) and others are literary analysis or book reviews. All in all, it's kind of a weird collection. I mean, typically a person reads a book review because he or she is interested in the book being reviewed, or someone reads an article about the Adult Video Awards (the book's first essay) because he or she is intrigued by porn galas. But, in this case, readers are reading these pieces not because they're interested in their subject matter but because they're interested in their author--David Foster Wallace.

Now, to be fair, Wallace's essays are very personal and heavily editorialized, so learning about Wallace from them is not the same as trying to divine Shakespeare's sexual orientation or political leanings from, say, Othello. Still, I couldn't shake the weirdness of reading a 60-page (I kid you not) review of a book about American usage in order to find the "essence" of Wallace as a writer.

Nonetheless, I'll try to offer some thoughts. I'm not sure if they'll be well-organized or coherent, since the pieces cover such a range of topics.

Wallace is clearly a talented writer. He comes off as smart but not snooty, even though he has an enviable vocabulary (I even wrote down and looked up some of the words). He seems to be someone intensely involved in trying to understand the world around him and who is willing to question himself and his opinions much more than most. For example, in the essay "Up, Simba," about the McCain campaign, he explicitly struggles with the juxtaposition of McCain's outrageously selfless war story and McCain's need to sell and act to try to win the Republican nomination. Or, in a very odd piece about a biography of Dostoevsky, he inserts random musings about God and the purpose of life without explanation except this line: "[Joseph] Frank's bio [of Dostoevsky] prompts us to ask ourselves why we seem to require of our art an ironic distance from deep convictions or desperate questions, so that contemporary writers have to either make jokes of them or else try to work them in under cover of some formal trick like intertextual quotation or incongruous juxtaposition, sticking the really urgent stuff inside asterisks as part of some multivalent defamiliarization-flourish or some such shit" (271). Of course, Wallace committed suicide in 2008, and it's tempting to try to "discover" those roots in his pieces, but I don't think I'm going beyond what he offers in the text.

However, even beyond trying to understand Wallace as a man, there's some great material. I realized in "Up, Simba" that I knew far, far too little about McCain (I knew from the beginning that I would vote Democratic in '08, so I never really bothered). In "Authority and American Usage," I learned about the grammar wars and was exposed to some fabulous lines such as, "This is so stupid it practically drools" (89). I could identify with his post-9/11 cynicism (in "The View from Mrs. Thompson's) and could empathize with his desire to understand sports stars (as he tries to do through cheesy memoirs, detailed in "How Tracy Austin Broke My Heart").

One of the few definitive things I knew about Wallace going in was his penchant for footnotes, which are more or less on display throughout his essays. I did find them annoying and distracting, even though reading so many has now made me parenthetical-happy in this review. I'm sure there's something to be said for the footnotes making you more aware of your reading (you can't get into a mellow flow with those kinds of interruptions), and they certainly do make you feel more intimate with Wallace (like a whisper during a movie that he just couldn't hold in).

And, as an aside (okay, really, this ought to be a footnote--damn you, Wallace!), Wallace also has the habit of using acronyms and other shorthand which I imagine learned people are just supposed to know. So, I felt incredibly stupid when it took me until the fourth to last page of the book to figure out that w/r/t means "with reference to." I had to look up "N.B." (effectively, "note").

I still would like to try Wallace's fiction someday, though I need a break from footnoting and introspection first. Nonetheless, he's a distinctive writer, so much so that regardless of what he writes about, the piece is so clearly him. However, Consider the Lobster would probably be best suited for Wallace fans or for people looking to study style through a single excerpted piece.

"Thursday Next: First Among Sequels" by Jasper Fforde

2011-09-25T19:43:00.000-04:00

Fforde's fifth Thursday Next book is much like its predecessors, something I think I've said about every book in the series. In this, like the others, an absurd number of side stories come together in a way that eventually makes sense, so I won't even attempt to summarize the plot.

There have been some changes in this book. It takes place fourteen years after the fourth novel, making Thursday in her 50s. Somehow I couldn't quite imagine her this age, though, so she still remained 30-something in my mind. Thursday's children Friday and Tuesday are also given more attention, though I would have liked to see them in a more primary role. It also felt, to me, that the book allusions that make the series so much fun were a lot less present. I missed all the knowing references, which Fforde instead supplemented with more detail about BookWorld itself.

What really saved First Among Sequels for me was the introduction of two kinda new characters. In her world, Thursday's escapades have been novelized, and so in BookWorld she's joined by her fictional counterparts: Thursday1-4, the hero of the sex and violence series, and Thursday5 of the hippie "mother earth" book. There's an added layer of humor in the way Thursday interacts with her other selves.

First Among Sequels shows that the longevity of the series may be a bit strained. I enjoyed Shades of Grey, the first novel in a new Fforde series, infinitely more.

"Before I Go To Sleep" by S.J. Watson

2011-09-15T22:43:00.000-04:00

When Christine wakes up in the morning, she has no idea who she is. There's a stranger in the bed next to her, and when she looks in the mirror, she's shocked to find herself more than twenty years older than she expects. When the man awakes, he explains that he's Ben, her husband. After an accident many years ago, Christine developed amnesia--though she can remember events for a 24-hour period, when she sleeps, all those memories are wiped away. She can remember snippets of early childhood and adulthood but nothing since then. As Christine adjusts that day, she meets Dr. Nash, whom she's been working with recently (though she has no memory of doing so). He gives her a journal she had been keeping over the past weeks to remind herself of who she is. When she gets home and opens the book, she finds a chilling phrase across the front: "Don't trust Ben."

This is the premise for the fast-paced amnesia mystery Before I Go To Sleep. There's always something intriguing about stories related to personal identity. After all, even if all else were lost, we seem to think we'd at least know ourselves. But Christine is thrust into a world where all the knowledge she has must be provided by others; the journal is the first tool that allows Christine to take control of her own knowledge. Once she does so, she realizes Ben's been keeping secrets from her.

Watson does a nice job of keeping his protagonist and the reader on their toes as they go through cycles of trusting and doubting Ben and Christine herself. There's not a lot of depth of character, though Christine's uncertainty is nicely done. But the twists and turns of the situation are well-crafted, even if the climax is a bit less thrilling.

Before I Go To Sleep was a quick read, but that's largely because I didn't want to put it down. Though I don't think it will be particularly memorable, it's an engaging novel that will appeal to a wide variety of readers.

"Ready Player One" by Ernest Cline

2011-09-12T22:34:00.000-04:00

This year I've found myself increasingly drawn toward action-oriented stories and away from novels full of rumination and questions about identity and the meaning of life. I suppose, like everyone else, sometimes I just want something fun. However, that doesn't mean I'm willing to settle--the books I read still need to be smart, well-written, and driven by compelling characters or I won't care. Enter Ready Player One.

I loved Ready Player One. It spoke to the geek in me and was fun and fast paced. The premise: in the near future, much of the world's population spends its time in a massive online environment called OASIS (similar to Second Life). When the eccentric creator of OASIS, James Halliday, dies, he leaves behind what is essentially a treasure hunt: he has hidden an "egg" somewhere in OASIS, and whoever can find it first will receive his massive fortune and control of the company. Ready Player One focuses on Wade, aka Parzival, a (largely) friendless teenager who has devoted the last five years of his life looking for Halliday's egg. When he discovers the first key toward completing the search, he's thrown into the spotlight and must race to find the egg ahead of IOI, an evil corporation determined to rule OASIS.

On its own, the story above would probably make a fun book. But there's an added detail that makes it even more fabulous: Halliday was obsessed with the '80s, and the only way to solve his hunt is to become an expert at every part of the decade Halliday loved: the movies, TV shows, music, video games, and technology. The book, then, is jam-packed with nerdy '80s references, all described lovingly and reverently. I was born in the '80s, so I'm no expert on many of the allusions, but that wasn't a problem. Ready Player One appeals to anyone who grew up with early technology and has seen and embraced the enormous advancements since then--but still feels a bit of nostalgia for scroll-screen Mario.

The character development is perhaps a little weak, and the problematic nature of most of the world spending all their time online is only slightly addressed. I was thankful for it. Ready Player One is perfect as is and ideal for a self-professed geek of any type.

"The Man in the Rockefeller Suit" by Mark Seal

2011-09-11T12:43:00.001-04:00

Stories of secret identities are a trademark of classic mysteries, but to me, these stories always have an air of nostalgia. They come from a time when it was easy to change who you are because there was no electronic trail to follow you wherever you went. This notion I had made The Man in the Rockefeller Suit all the more astonishing, for it tells the story of Christian Gerhartsreiter, a German immigrant who transformed himself into various new identities over three decades, culminating with his best performance--convincing wealthy Boston that he was Clark Rockefeller, a member of the famous Rockefeller family, for years. And the story ends in 2008.

Seal notes that one of the reasons Rockefeller (I'll call him by that, simply because it's his best known name) was able to get away with it was because of how outrageous his lies were. From the beginning, he adopted the persona of an aristocratic person of wealth and established himself in rich communities. Though the stories he tells the people he meets seem absurd (working in Hollywood, descending from English royalty, doing high level work with various governments), it seems most people didn't have trouble believing him. The lesson seems to be if you're going to lie, lie big.

He even is married to Sandra Boss, an upwardly mobile Bostonian, for twelve years! Though he earns no income during that time, shows her no evidence of wealth, nor introduces her to his famous "family," she doesn't question his identity. In fact, the only reason he is discovered is because of his daughter with Sandra, Reigh (whom he calls Snooks). Sandra does eventually divorce Rockefeller, and in order to avoid his true identity being revealed in a custody battle, he relinquishes custody of Snooks to Sandra. Months later, he abducts Snooks during a court-supervised visit, and it's this that finally puts the FBI on his trail.

Seal has done his research, interviewing an enormous range of people connected to the story. It was interesting to think of this story in comparison to another outrageous nonfiction book I recently read, Sex on the Moon. Sex on the Moon is told from the main individual's point of view, thus portraying him rather sympathetically. Rockefeller Suit, on the other hand, is told from everyone but Rockefeller's point of view, so he comes off in a (deservedly) negative light. Because the voice of Rockefeller himself is absent, a central question is left unanswered: what was going on in his head during this time? Did he actively think about his cons? Or did he delude himself into thinking he actually was rich and sophisticated? Why did he have the compulsive need to deceive everyone about every aspect of his life?

From start to finish, The Man in the Rockefeller Suit is fully engrossing and ideal as audiobook entertainment for a long car trip.

"The Magicians" by Lev Grossman

2011-09-05T22:28:00.002-04:00

Every year I ask my 9th graders to write sonnets. Of the many that have been written over the years, one of my favorites is a sonnet addressed to Hogwarts. In the poem, the speaker ruefully inquires about when she will receive her admissions letter. That poem came to mind recently as I thought about why so many read fantasy, and I decided that, for most of us, when we read fantasy, we do so with at least some desire to inhabit the world depicted. We imagine how much more exciting our lives would be if we could do magic, and despite the fear of a monster like Voldemort, we envy the sense of purpose and heroic achievement such an enemy provides.

But, in doing this, we don't stop and imagine what life would really be like if we--ordinary, normal us--knew magic. Would magic really be fun to learn? What if it were tedious, dull, and repetitive, more like memorizing a dictionary? And, more importantly, what is the purpose of magic if there is no villain to be fought? If you could have anything at your fingertips, how could you experience the joy of desires fulfilled? It is these questions that Grossman's The Magicians seeks to address.

The Magicians purposefully invokes popular fantasy worlds (specifically the world of Harry Potter and Narnia) in order to subvert our expectations for the novel's protagonist, Quentin. When the novel begins, Quentin is a disaffected high school senior. After mysteriously wandering in to an unusual examination and discovering previously unknown magic powers, Quentin is admitted to Brakebills Academy, a college version of Hogwarts. But even at Brakebills, Quentin is not happy. Learning magic is not fun; school is not fun (he doesn't even make BFFs)--it's nothing like the fantasy world of Fillory (a straight rip off Narnia), a world depicted in books Quentin poured over as a child.

Grossman goes to pains in the beginning to show the tedium and purposelessness of Quentin's schooling. The danger of Quentin's current path is seen in the parents of Alice (Quentin's girlfriend). Her parents are magicians, but like many, they graduated without any purpose or goal in life. Their lives are meaningless. This part of the novel is important to Grossman's message, but it also makes for boring reading, despite the strong writing. After all, we read fantasy for the adventure and heroism! Instead, we get a whiny, unhappy teenager who spends a lot of time drinking. The ennui is so pervasive that the book becomes difficult to read (you can't help but thinking: what's the point of this? this is so dull... there's no reason for all this...)

In the last third of the book, the action picks up as Quentin and his friends discover a way to enter the world of Fillory. Suddenly the adventure that one expects in fantasy is present, but, again, Grossman subverts the readers' expectations. The characters are so desperate for purpose that they allow themselves to be duped into a quest, ignoring a central question: why does a magical world need humans to save it?

It seems like readers' ratings for The Magicians are mixed, and I can understand why. I wouldn't recommend the novel to fans of Harry Potter and Narnia (or at least not to readers looking for something similar to those) because Grossman is not particularly interested in magic in and of itself. And though you want to like the characters, they're often terrifically unlikeable. The characters, instead, are real and more like us--selfish, cowardly, cruel--which isn't always pleasant. Furthermore, The Magicians hits pointedly on our constant yet unachievable desire for something more: "We're wired to expect the world to be brighter and more meaningful and more obviously interesting than it actually is. And when we realize that it isn't, we start looking around for the real world." It's true, but it's also depressing.

In the end, the message and questions raised are intensely interesting, but the book often isn't. When my husband and I finished listening to the audiobook, one of our first questions to each other was, "Would you read the sequel?" I still haven't determined my answer.

"In the Sanctuary of Outcasts" by Neil White

2011-08-29T17:40:00.000-04:00

Here's the plot to a book. Would you want to read it?

Neil White, a privileged, educated white Southerner, is found guilty of bank fraud and sentenced to one year in Carville, a cushy minimum security prison. Throughout his ordeal he is well-supported by family, friends, and even inmates, and he is able to see his two loving children every weekend. In his memoir, he takes the reader through the course of his sentence and self-reflective journey as he realizes he can't change who he is--but maybe he'll try not to make so many mistakes in the future.

The answer: no. It's boring, self-pitying, and self-indulgent. Publishers, too, must have realized that there's nothing worthwhile in that story. So, instead, In the Sanctuary of Outcasts is sold on the one part of White's story that is compelling: Carville, White's prison, was also the U.S.'s last leprosarium, which was home to about one-hundred leprosy patients who had lived there for decades.

As a reader, I was drawn in to all the fascinating story possibilities this situation provided. Like most people, my idea of leprosy is the "unclean" beggar image from the Bible. I had no idea it still existed or how the U.S. treated (and continues to treat) persons with the disease. I had so many questions. What were the lives of the patients like? What were their histories? How had their lives at Carville changed over the decades? How had they created their own society within the institution? They had been forcibly removed and quarantined as young people but now, elderly, they chose to stay. And now their home was being invaded by convicts--how did that make them feel? What kind of tensions were created in such a situation?

White's memoir does address some of the latter questions about the relationships between the patients and inmates (spoiler: there wasn't much of one; they didn't like the inmates), but it mostly ignores the early questions. Although White claims he interviewed all the patients, we hear very little of their stories. And though White spends a lot of time lauding his relationship with Ella, an elderly black patient in a wheelchair, it's not quite clear why she had much of an effect on him--other than saying so would help sell books. The reader is given little idea of what Carville was like from the patients' point of view.

In fact, early on even White admits that he's more interested in his own story than the story of the leprosy patients, which, unfortunately for me, I did not care about one bit. White spends far too much time mourning his downfall and whining about his "good intentions." We even see his "good intentions" fall flat in the book; he spends about a chapter "thinking about" the negative connotations surrounding leprosy and wondering if he can do something about getting it renamed (and by the way, it's already called Hansen's disease). Then he forgets about it and the topic is dropped. And he goes back to his journey of self-discovery.... blech.

In the Sanctuary of Outcasts is an easy and fast read, but I would not at all recommend it if you're interested in the lives of the patients who carried out their entire lives there.

"The Borrower" by Rebecca Makkai

2011-08-25T14:16:00.000-04:00

In many ways The Borrower operates on an idealistic dream of liberal bookworms: liberating a precocious and talented young boy from the grips of his religiously stifling parents through fiction and understanding. It's this basic plot that will bring readers in (as it did me), though, in the end, Makkai's novel shows that freedom--for anyone--is more elusive and difficult than we'd like to think.

The novel begins with Lucy, a bored children's librarian in a small town. Her favorite patron is Ian, a ten-year-old with an insatiable appetite for books whose parents severely restrict his reading, allowing him only to read books they think have "the breath of God in them." Lucy helps Ian secretly read other books, but when she learns that Ian's parents have enrolled him in a Christian program run by a man named Pastor Bob designed to "cure" young gay people, she becomes even more concerned. When Lucy discovers one morning that Ian has "run away" and is hiding in the library, she allows Ian to convince her to leave with him (she wonders throughout whether she kidnapped him or he kidnapped her), and they begin a cross-country road trip.

There are two routes this book could have taken: a lighthearted and slightly absurd adventure, or a self-reflective look at who we are and whether that can be changed. The Borrower, I think, is set up so that it would work best as the first, though it leans more in the second direction. Ian, in fact, is not the primary focus of the book; instead, much more attention is on Lucy's attempts to determine who she is, particularly as it relates to her father and her Russian heritage. Through her travels with Ian, she endlessly debates why she acts the way she does. It might be realistic for someone in her (highly unprobable) situation, but it also gets a little boring. Some levity is inserted with various literary allusions (Lucy occasionally adopts the style of well-known books), but it doesn't lighten the overall tone. Ian is the only bright spot in the book, and his unflagging enthusiasm had me giggling out loud, though it made Lucy dull by comparison.

The theme of The Borrower seems to be that no one can run away from who they are, and that who one is is a conglomeration of many different aspects of identity. At first Lucy believes that, away from Ian's parents, she can tell him that it's okay to be gay and "save" him. But, she fails to see who Ian is at that moment; he thinks Pastor Bob's classes are boring, but he's not thinking about his sexual identity. And while Lucy only sees hypocrisy in Ian's religion, Ian doesn't drop his beliefs away from his parents--he still strongly believes in God and everything else he's been raised to believe. It's a valid message, though it means the book lacks some of the heroic heartwarming moments that might have made it more engaging.

A number of plot points in the book, including Lucy's boyfriend Glenn and friend Rocky are left completely unresolved. The ending, too, is largely unresolved, though hopeful, which seems appropriate.

The Borrowers is built on an interesting idea, but its execution fell flat for me. Though I didn't dislike the novel, it failed to live up to its best character, Ian.

"The White Mountains" by John Christopher

2011-08-17T10:32:00.003-04:00

I was recently reading a slightly older article from the New York Times entitled "Why We Read” (“A Good Mystery: Why We Read” by Motoko Rich, 11/25/07). The article wasn't so much about the reasons for reading, but it did talk a lot about books in childhood that inspire future reading. I’m a big fan of science-fiction dystopias, and I think I can trace that attraction back to Christopher’s Tripod Trilogy, which begins with The White Mountains. I couldn’t say when I first read the novels (the book was published in 1967 though my edition was printed in the late ‘80s), but I do know that well before I was exposed to The Giver or Ender’s Game, there was The White Mountains.

Given the proliferation of young adult dystopias today, it’s almost surreal to read a story that, though published over forty years ago, could just as easily fit in with today’s narratives. Will, the novel’s protagonist, lives in our future in a society that operates more like the 1800s. His people are without technology and machinery, yet they live a peaceful and contented existence. What separates Will’s world from our colonial times is one major thing: the Tripods. No one knows exactly where they came from, but what is known is that many years ago they overthrew the human race; now, when each human reaches the age of fourteen, he or she is “capped” by the Tripods and fitted with a metal head covering.

For the most part, the Tripods don’t interfere with the lives of the people in Will’s village. They show up once a year to perform the capping, but otherwise the inhabitants of Wherton live unencumbered—but not free. For what Will comes to realize (as happens in any good dystopia), is that the caps are the Tripods’ way of controlling people; they don’t control individuals’ every move, but they do ensure there will be no rebellion, uprising, or human advancement.

Even today, I think it’s a neat story, especially because Will isn’t reacting to brutal and overt tyranny from the Tripods. Instead, he’s responding to the natural desire to be free and independent, even if that means forgoing the easier life.

The White Mountains follows the expected plot trajectory: Will’s movement from acceptance of the Tripods’ rule to his decision to run away prior to his capping; his long and arduous journey to elude the Tripods and find other “free men” living in the White Mountains.

Though I still love the story, there’s a lot to be desired in the novel as a whole. First, there’s almost no character development. Will’s recognition of the dystopia, which is usually the focus of modern books, takes only a few pages, and Will seems to have no uneasiness of leaving his village and family forever and going on the run. Secondly, the book is exposition heavy and fails to utilize moments of tension and excitement; Christopher instead keeps the book moving at a steady, constant pace.

If retooled to fit the expectations of characterization and pacing for modern novels, The White Mountains could be a great book. As is, it’s probably more likely to appeal to nostalgic fans who read it as a kid than young people today.

"Sex on the Moon" by Ben Mezrich

2011-08-14T19:02:00.003-04:00

Sex on the Moon is the true story of Thad Roberts, a NASA co-op intern who orchestrates a Mission: Impossible-style heist to steal and sell lunar rocks from the organization at which he works. Even though I was born long after NASA's pinnacle with the moon landing, I'd say I still have a healthy sense of awe and admiration for what they do. There's something noble in an organization devoted to exploration and discovery. It's that view of NASA which colors Mezrich's story in Sex on the Moon and makes it all the more fascinating.

Sex on the Moon is told from Thad's point of view, and he initially comes off as a sympathetic character. After being disowned by his Mormon parents for having pre-marital sex, he decides he wants to be an astronaut, and he puts in enormous time and energy taking the courses and extracurriculars necessary to be an appealing candidate to NASA. He lands a prestigious co-op at the organization, where he flourishes, making contacts with noted scientists and being invited to participate in important experiments. He's a man who is going places; he's well-liked by his peers and colleagues, and he seems to stand a good chance of being hired by NASA after graduating.

Then, everything changes. He begins to become obsessed with stealing lunar rocks, first thinking about it--he claims--only as a "thought experiment" and then becoming more dedicated to the idea. This is where I lost him as a character. Why would he risk everything he had for the heist? Thad quickly dissolves into an unstable man. He begins having an affair with a 20-year-old fellow intern (his wife is back in Utah) and decides he's completely in love after knowing her for a few weeks; he's convinced selling the rocks will allow them to do anything, even though he's intending to sell for a rather measly $100,000.

It's hard to see whether Thad's behavior is a result of psychosis or youthful obliviousness. He's obviously an intelligent man, but he's also incredibly stupid. A man who's triple majored and impressed NASA scientists, who invents a crazy heist and manages to steal lunar rocks, also tries to sell the rocks by randomly emailing members of European mineral societies! (it's illegal to own lunar rocks in the U.S.) It's this act that becomes his undoing, when one member of the Antwerp society contacts the F.B.I.

If I had a hard time understanding Thad's actions, I had an even harder time understanding why his girlfriend and confidante also decide to take part. It doesn't appear that they were interviewed for the book, so their rationales are completely missing.

Mezrich seems to sympathize with Thad more than Thad deserves, though that choice does have an interesting effect on the reader. I began the book liking and cheering for Thad, but at one moment I had to stop and realize he had completely lost my sympathy--he was greedy, selfish, and deluded, and he betrayed the trust of people who sincerely wanted to help him succeed.

The story is fascinating and keeps a relatively quick pace, though the heist itself takes a much smaller portion of the book than I imagined it would. It's a completely engaging story, both for its inside look into NASA and for the crazy character study it offers.

The audiobook version of Sex on the Moon is narrated by Casey Affleck, which was fun, though he sometimes added a reflective tone that wasn't necessary. Nonetheless, this is a great car trip book that kept my interest.

(Lastly, because it relates to nothing else: One complaint I do have is Mezrich's frequent use of the term "coed" to refer to female college students. Absolutely no one uses that term in real life, and it certainly wouldn't have been in use when the story takes place in the late '90s and early 2000s. Its sexist connotations made me cringe whenever I heard it--let's all agree it can definitively be retired.)

"Game of Thrones" by George R. R. Martin

2011-08-11T16:30:00.000-04:00

Having heard lots of positive things about HBO's television series based on Games of Thrones, I was intrigued about Martin's book, even though I knew its focus is political rivalries, a topic that often drags down epic fantasies for me. However, I was pleased to find out that although the novel is true to its title and the backhanded sport of seeking power is at its center, there's plenty of interesting characters, relationships, and mysteries to keep anyone's interest.

Eddard "Ned" Stark is the patriarch at the center of the book. Although many years ago he overthrew the former king with his friend Robert, who now reigns as king, Ned has little interest in seeking more power. He's content to rule Winterfell with his wife and children. However, when King Robert comes to ask Ned to take the position of the king's "right hand man," Ned is thrust into the turmoil that's been plaguing Robert's rule. The turmoil is led by the deliciously sinister Lannisters: Cersei, Robert's wife, and her brother Jaime. Meanwhile, Daenerys, the daughter of the deposed king, is living in exile while her brother plots to regain the throne.

Martin's book begins with something I hate in epic fantasy: a giant name dump. Within twenty-five pages the reader has been introduced to dozens of characters with different loyalties and family connections. The sheer number of names is staggering and confusing at first, though fortunately it becomes easier to keep track of everyone fairly quickly. Nevertheless, to Martin's credit, there are a lot of interesting characters. Ned is one of the only honest adults, though he's noble to a fault. His wife Catelyn is strong and proud. Their children are also fascinating characters and are one of the reasons that the political overtones of the book don't weigh it down too much. While adult characters like Ned and Catelyn narrate some chapters, many chapters are also narrated by children, including most of the Starks' young ones: Robb, Bran, Sansa, Arya, and the "bastard" Jon Snow. It's nice to see the contrast in point of view between, say, Arya (a young girl who wants to do more), Jon (a young adult seeking to find his place), and Ned.

Without a doubt my favorite character is Tyrion, the "Imp" (a dwarf) and sibling to Cersei and Jaime. Though he'd call himself a rascal, Tyrion is also one of the rare adults who is honest and generally good. Unlike the other Lannisters, he doesn't seek power nor does he hate the Starks. He's also one of the few with a sense of humor, and his dialogue adds some comedy to a book that is mostly serious.

Although I'd classify Game of Thrones as epic fantasy, there's very little fantasy in it. Instead, there's a typical medieval setting and power structure with ordinary scheming people. Martin, like most before him, also chose to include the stereotypical subjugation of women (if you're making up a medieval-esque setting, why can't you invent a world where women have some institutional power?). This is not to say there are not many strong and compelling women (and the female characters are just as varied and engaging as the male), but I wish that could have been done with a little less societal misogyny. I also thought it was somewhat inappropriate to have a 13-year-old turned on while consummating her arranged marriage. However, in the end, though I was somewhat disappointed the novel wasn't more unique in its arrangement, again, it's a testament to Martin's storytelling ability that despite the lack of novelty in the book's set-up, the story still feels fresh and exciting.

Game of Thrones does not end with a giant cliffhanger nor does it end with resolution. Instead, it ups the ante and stakes in the books to come. I'm not sure whether I'd try to read the whole series--after all, how long can a bunch of selfish (and a couple noble) people's desire to rule be interesting?--but I might be willing to give the next book a go.

"A Visit From the Goon Squad" by Jennifer Egan

2011-08-09T10:39:00.001-04:00

There are moments in each of our lives when we stop, look, and wonder, "How did I get here?". Says one character in Egan's novel, "Time is a goon," and A Visit From the Goon Squad explores those melancholy reflections that occur when the passing of time becomes explicit. Though the book easily could have felt heavy or dull, Egan's expert use of structure and voice has created an engaging and sincere novel.

One of the things I especially liked in the book was its unusual structure, as in some ways it is set up more as a collection of short stories. A Visit From the Good Squad opens with narration by Sasha; the next chapter occurs earlier chronologically, and the narrator switches to a minor character from Sasha's story. This set-up continues for a number of chapters, until the timeline reverses and starts to go forward in time. Each chapter is told by a completely different narrator, though all the narrators are interrelated (and Egan does include quick "aha" moments where the reader is able to piece together a connection). What really makes this structure work is that it allows the reader to understand each character from multiple points of views: through his or her own voice, the voices of others, and through different points in time.

This complicated structure would not have worked without the ability to make each new narrator distinct. Egan also does this skillfully, though because I listened to the novel through audiobook, I also had the assistance of Roxana Ortega, the audio narrator, who did an excellent job of creating a different sound, tone, and pacing for each character. Bennie Salazar, the record executive around which most of the characters center, has an enthusiastic outside which hides his feelings of inadequacy. Sasha's sarcastic inner tone isn't revealed in her polite conversations with others.

There were a few chapters that didn't ring true to me. One, which concerns a disgraced publicist who takes on a dictator ("The General") as a client, is too absurd to be believable or fit in with the other chapters. Another, from a magazine writer accused of sexually assaulting a famous starlet, has uncharacteristic anger and structurally feels out of place. Both of these chapters occur near the middle, and I found those before and after much stronger.

Music and New York City are the backdrop for Egan's characters, but they aren't central to the story as a whole. Instead, A Visit from the Goon Squad follows characters and their relationships (the attempts, the failures, the disappointments), ambitions (achieved and unachieved), and attempts to make sense of who we are and how we got here.

"The Mind's Eye" by Oliver Sacks

2011-07-30T16:42:00.001-04:00

The brain is an endlessly fascinating organ. How can lumpy grey stuff be responsible for so much? In The Mind's Eye, the neurologist Oliver Sacks explores the extraordinary power and function of the brain through a series of essays on medical issues related to sight. The essays traverse cases of alexia (an inability to read because written words and letters appear like a foreign language), facial blindness (an inability to recognize faces), and lack of stereovision (3-D vision), among others.

What is immediately apparent through Sacks' writing is the complexity of the brain. Even small neural changes can create huge disruptions in a person's life. For example, as a seeing person with two properly aligned eyes, I completely take my stereovision for granted. Yet for someone without stereovision, simple events like climbing stairs (because they all meld into a flat plane) could cause difficulties. I say "could" in the previous sentence because a theme that runs throughout Sacks' work is humans' ability to cope and adjust. Whether it is the inability to read, the inability to recognize objects, or blindness, people always find ways to continue their lives.

Another core question that Sacks' essays raise is "how universal or singular are my perceptions of the world?". In the chapter on blindness, Sacks compares different blind individuals' ways of adjusting to a non-seeing world. Some went into "deep blindness," completely forgoing visual imagery. Others created complex and detailed visual imagery in their mind to the point where they could "see" the world around them. Here I kept thinking about my own method of perception. Though it's not impossible, I have always had a hard time creating images in my head. Ask me to picture my husband in my mind and I can remember a photograph of him, but I can't see him separate from a specific photographic image. When people ask, "How did you picture that character in that book?", I'm puzzled. I never have any image in my head as I read. It was surprising to learn about the enormous range of ways others use or don't use visual images.

I'm assuming some of the essays in the collection were previously printed elsewhere, as there was some overlap in information, particularly in the beginning. This is the first book I've read by Sacks, and although all the issues were interesting, I got the impression that these essays weren't necessarily his best work. His essay on his experience in losing sight in one eye was tedious at times, relying on excessive examples and repetitive observations.

The Mind's Eye worked well as an audiobook, as there was plenty to think about (I had to stop myself from closing one eye to test how my perception changed without stereovision as I drove). The essay format also created nice divisions between material.

Considering how well-known Sacks is, The Mind's Eye might not be the best book to start with, but that doesn't mean it's not based on fascinating subjects.

"The Revisionists" by Thomas Mullen

2011-07-29T17:03:00.000-04:00

What would you do if you had the power to travel back in time? Would you prevent the atrocities that have plagued our world? Or would you ensure that those atrocities occur in order to protect the current world you live in? These questions begin The Revisionists, by Thomas Mullen, but they're ultimately not the questions Mullen is most interested in.

When the book opens, we meet Zed, an agent who has been sent to (our) modern day. "Hags" have been traveling back in time to try to prevent atrocities (e.g., 9/11), and it's the job of agents like Zed to prevent the hags from succeeding and thus disrupting the future Perfect Society in which Zed lives. Specifically, Zed must ensure that an event called the Great Conflagration occurs.

There are some interesting philosophical questions around Zed's actions. Is he doing anything wrong by letting people die? (after all, they're already dead in his time) What are his responsibilities to the past or to the future? Unfortunately, these questions don't last long because it quickly becomes clear that Zed's "Perfect Society" is simply a revamped version of Big Brother, bent on controlling individuals' access to knowledge and squelching dissent. In fact, given Zed's ambivalence about his job, it's surprising that it takes him so long to realize the truth. When it's obvious that Zed's agency is evil, the ethical dilemmas become much more black and white.

The lives of three other people are also interwoven in the story. Tasha is a lawyer whose brother recently died in Iraq; when she discovers that one of her firm's clients has been behaving unethically, she decides to go public with her knowledge. Leo works for a security firm, tracking radical leftist activists. Sari is an Indonesian woman in the U.S. as a maid to the South Korean ambassador.

Leo and Sari's relationship is another area of the novel that starts more morally interesting than it turns out. When they meet, both are surprised at encountering another who speaks a common language (Leo had worked many years in Indonesia). Knowing her tenuous relationship as a maid in a foreign country, Leo's instincts to help her kick in at first, but instead he immediately goes to his boss and decides to use her as a way to spy on the diplomat she works for. Because of this, I never saw Leo sympathetically, despite his repeated insistence that he was trying to do the "right thing."

The two women in the novel, Tasha and Sari, are stronger morally than the male characters, but they also don't get to do all the crazy spy work.

Mullen's message seems to be that each individual can control his or her life. He also suggests that there are no absolutes when it comes to morality, and trying to live life otherwise will ultimately be unsuccessful. I like the rejection of a deterministic universe, and the issues of morality certainly come through, even if they didn't always dig as deep as I'd like.

I've also read Mullen's The Last Town on Earth and was turned off by some of its hyper-violent scenes, which were fortunately absent here. The Revisionists frequently switches narration, and I sometimes found myself confused or forgetting where a character was in the story. This may be more a result of the short bursts I tended to read the book in rather than a criticism as a whole.

The Revisionists isn't a favorite, but it raises some interesting questions about the way we understand the world.

The Revisionists will be published in September 2011.

E-galley received by the publisher through Net Galley for my review.

"The White Woman on the Green Bicycle" by Monique Roffey

2011-07-17T21:07:00.000-04:00

Unlike many people I know, I'm not a big fan of the Caribbean, though I've visited several times and have enjoyed myself. There's something about the sweltering heat and sun that drains me, forcing me into air conditioned rooms rather than the beach. I could feel this same oppressive heat and its effects throughout The White Woman on the Green Bicycle, a novel about an English/French couple and their life in Trinidad over the course of decades.

When Green Bicycle opens, George and Sabine have been living in Trinidad for over fifty years. They're now an elderly couple with a strained and uncommunicative relationship. In the first half, which is related from George's point of view, George comes off as a sympathetic character. He clearly loves Trinidad and his work as a writer of human interest stories for the local paper. He's ambivalent about Sabine, who spends her days lounging in the house and with whom he appears to have no intimacy.

The pace in this first half is somewhat slow; the reader is not completely sure why George and Sabine are so hostile and unable to find common ground. Sabine appears sluggish and lazy, spending the day in an alcohol and drug haze. However, George's discovery of decades of letters Sabine wrote (but never sent) to Trinidad's first Prime Minister, Eric Williams, adds mystery.

The novel is not written in chronological order, so where the book really got going for me was when it jumped to the past, when George and Sabine arrive in Trinidad in the '50s. They arrive at a tumultuous time in the country's history as Trinidad becomes independent from England and relationships between black citizens and "colonial" whites are rapidly deteriorating.

This and later sections are told from Sabine's point of view, who understandably becomes a much more sympathetic character. She agrees to come to Trinidad only because of George, and while George falls in love with the island, Sabine never does. She's far from her home, in a land where her only friends are the other expats who congregate nervously at the country club. Her body deteriorates under the heat, and while George has his work to keep him occupied, Sabine (like women of the time) is expected to just exist. She finds friendship with her maids, Venus, Lucy, and later Jennifer, and over the years she gives birth to Sebastian and Pascale, but she never seems happy or content. George loves Sabine, but he's not willing to sacrifice his love of Trinidad for her.

Throughout the novel, the island itself is a strong character, even literally (both George and Sabine "converse" with the green hill overlooking their home). The heat and fecundity of the island is ever-present, and Trinidadian history runs throughout George and Sabine's lives as they witness the country's move into independence.

For me, the most interesting parts were the early (chronologically) sections as Sabine tries to navigate an island in revolt. She's not wanted by the citizens and she doesn't want to be there herself, but still she finds herself drawn into the country's politics. I knew nothing about Trinidadian history, and Green Bicycle was an interesting way to learn.

If you can stick through a slow start, Green Bicycle delivers as an unique view into a Caribbean nation, though there are many questions left unanswered, and black voices (independent of Sabine's interpretation) are largely absent.

E-galley received by the publisher through Net Galley for my review.

"Feed" by Mira Grant

2011-07-11T18:11:00.000-04:00

One of the things I love about zombie stories is that there are so many different angles from which to discuss humanity's reaction to the undead. Grant's Feed capitalizes on this; Feed discusses the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, but the novel takes place long enough after the initial outbreak (about twenty-five years) that human society is no longer solely in the midst of a crisis. In this world, the zombies are not eradicated (and never will be), but the people are largely protected. Life has irrevocably changed since the outbreak, but life also continues with normal routines--like an upcoming presidential election.

Specifically, Feed focuses on three bloggers: siblings Georgia (who covers the news) and Shaun (an "Erwin" who chases thrills) and a girl named Buffy, writer of fiction stories and resident tech-guru. These three are chosen by Senator Ryman, a candidate for the Republican presidential nomination, to join his press corp and follow him on the campaign trail. As young people who grew up in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, Georgia and Shaun especially feel suspicious of traditional news sources and view Ryman's choice in selecting them as his recognition of the power of new media.

Georgia, the novel's primary narrator, has two main priorities in life: the news (the Truth) and her brother Shaun. Georgia and Shaun are not blood-related, but were both adopted after the zombie outbreak by their blogger parents. Georgia clearly indicates that their parents adopted them only as a publicity tool, which she resents, but the issue is never explored much. Georgia and Shaun have an unusually close relationship themselves and a complete absence of any romantic relationships, which seems a little odd as well. Although it's clear Georgia and Shaun are completely devoted to one another, their interactions are often overshadowed by groan-worthy "repartee" and sarcastic remarks about Shaun being "suicidal."

Perhaps what's most surprising about the book is that so little of it is focused on zombies, or at least current zombie attacks. Much of the novel is focused on politics and the mundanity of the campaign trail. This is both a positive and a negative. On the positive, there's a lot of fascinating questions that come from a world whose norm includes zombies. In Grant's version of the zombie apocalypse, new zombies are created not just by being bitten by the infected, but also through death of any sort (there's a great scientific/medical explanation that I won't go in to). Infection can be carried by any animal over forty pounds. What implication does this have on the health system? On capital punishment? On the keeping of large pets? Livestock? These issues are addressed largely peripherally, and I would have liked to hear more. Grant also does a great job of creating a world built around protection from zombies, such as the ubiquitous blood testing and the severe restrictions on travel.

In focusing very little on actual zombies, Grant has lots of room for description. Lengthy and repetitive description, which can drain the story. While the intricacies and frequency of blood testing is interesting, way too much of the novel is focused on describing each and every test the characters take. Even ordinary events are subject to over-exposition. A handshake reads (I'm making this up, but something similar does occur): "I raised my hand and took his hand in mine. We shook and I returned my hand to my side." Couldn't you just say "We shook hands"?

Furthermore, Feed also suffers from an obvious and cartoonish villain and a Scooby-Doo like confession (complete with the "And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you darn kids!").

Grant's worked in some fascinating observations about humanity's reaction to catastrophe, and in the end, what Grant seems to suggest is that regardless of the crises that plague humankind, humans' greatest enemy will always be one another. Though Feed suffers from trite dialogue, slow pacing, and occasional over-earnestness, I'd still consider it a worthwhile addition to the genre. Plus, the audiobook version kept my husband and I entertained through 16 hours of driving!

"The Tiger's Wife" by Tea Obreht

2011-07-07T17:59:00.000-04:00

I wouldn't call myself a fan of the magical realism genre, but I think we're all drawn to fantastical stories of some sort. In the best, such stories not only straddle our world and another, but the relationships and emotions depicted are so recognizable that "believability" becomes a non-issue. I would place Obreht's The Tiger's Wife firmly in this camp. Through interwoven tales that take place in small Balkan towns, The Tiger's Wife shows individuals' search for truth and understanding.

The novel is centered around Natalia, a young doctor crossing the border of war-torn countries to deliver medicine at an orphanage. On the way, Natalia learns of the recent death of her grandfather, also a doctor. In thinking of her grandfather, Natalia begins to relate two tales from her grandfather's life: that of the "deathless man" and that of the tiger's wife.

The story of the tiger's wife is alluded to from the beginning, setting up what seems to be a great mystery. In reality, her story is less amazing than I had expected, and I'm not yet certain why her name is the title of the book. However, one of the things I did like is the way the two central stories give rise to other stories too, like that of Luka the butcher or Darisa the Bear.

Written in a "literary" style, I expected The Tiger's Wife to be far less engrossing that it was. Obreht's smooth and dreamy language and ability to create tension in each story kept me hooked.

Obreht's beautifully written novel addresses the nature of memory, superstition, and the stories we tell--and those we choose not to.

"Beauty Queens" by Libba Bray

2011-06-30T20:39:00.000-04:00

Each year when I teach Lord of the Flies to my 9th graders, someone always asks how the book might have been different if girls, instead of boys, had been stranded on the island. Well, we need wonder no more, as Bray has taken on that task herself in Beauty Queens. However, her novel depicts not just a group of girls stranded on an island, but a group of beauty pageant contestants on their way to the national Miss Teen Dream competition.

Golding wrote Lord of the Flies as an allegory depicting the evil in he saw in mankind, and Bray also uses her book not as a realistic survival story (more Gilligan's Island than dehydration and starvation), but as a kind of female-empowerment tale or Feminism 101 course. There's nothing particularly deep for people already familiar with the issues of gendered expectations, unrealistic beauty standards, etc., but the content is put into a fun, outrageous formula, so it hardly matters. This is a book with man-eating snakes, explosive hair remover, a contestant with a food tray stuck in her forehead, hot bare-chested pirates, and girls with assassin-like capabilities, just to name a few things. You get the message that women should make their own choices--and you also get cosmetic weapons.

My favorite character is Taylor, Miss Teen Dream Texas, a pageant devotee who's maniacal about preparing for the competition, even when stranded on the island, yet she manages to corral and lead all the girls through her unwavering devotion to the Teen Dream "way" (well, until she goes crazy). Her foil, the liberal feminist from New Hampshire, Adina, is also great (e.g., take her trying to win leadership of the group through a speech in strict debate format).

Bray does rely on the young adult "issue dump," which sometimes bothers me, but the novel is so absurd it almost makes sense. There's a contestant representing most every issue under the sun: racial identity, cultural identity, gender identity, sexual identity, and disability, among others.

One of the frequent comments that arises when my students talk about an all-female Lord of the Flies is the idea that women would somehow be more likely to "bicker" and fight among themselves. Bray sets out to refute this. The girls don't always get along, especially in the beginning, but strong friendships soon emerge and are what get them through the difficulties (like the aforementioned man-eating snake, or evil Corporation goons, or an insane Elvis-wannabe dictator...).

Golding's Lord of the Flies is a deeply cynical novel which suggests that, away from society, boys will become savage and lose their sense of self. In Beauty Queens, Bray suggests the opposite for girls: society restricts girls' true selves, and the island allows the beauty queens freedom. Says Mary Lou, "Maybe girls need an island to find themselves. Maybe they need a place where no one's watching them so they can be who they really are" (177).

Though the absurd action sometimes reminded me of a Nickelodeon kids' show, the book is so over-the-top goofy and cheesy that you can't help but laugh and go along with it. And, best of all, there's a strong feminist message throughout.

"Big Girl Small" by Rachel DeWoskin

2011-06-26T12:57:00.000-04:00

Combing a fresh, funny, teenage voice with the concerns about youth sex, Big Girl Small is a worthwhile take on the coming of age story.

Where DeWoskin really shines is in creating the voice of her 17-year-old dwarf protagonist, Judy. When the novel begins, Judy is narrating from a dilapidated motel as she hints as the horrible event that has led her to run away and consider remaining in seclusion at the seedy establishment for the rest of her life. Judy narrates the events leading up to her current plight, starting with her entry into Darcy, a prestigious performing arts high school. Judy is a fabulous singer and knows it, but she has typical and not-so-typical concerns about entering a new school: Will I make friends? Will I like my classes? Will other students think the school admitted me just because I'm a little person? DeWoskin expertly captures the paradoxes of young adulthood: Judy is confident and insecure; she wants independence but also needs her family's support; she wants her teachers to like and respect her, but she doesn't shy away from alcohol, marijuana, and sex. All of this is encapsulated in the snarky, intelligent, and fun voice of Judy. She's authentic and uncensored, a good person but not innocent and childish. Her dwarfism is an essential part of who she is, but it's not the only part of her, and neither Judy nor those around her make it the defining aspect of her personality.

Judy's such an engaging narrator that at times I felt the beginning was difficult to read. There are such strong hints at the terrible event to come (it's easy to guess what happened long before the reader gets to the actual event) that it's hard to enjoy the happy and successful moments she initially experiences.

The voice of Judy is so integral to the novel itself, and once the terrible event happens, I felt like some of that was lost. Clearly that makes sense in some way--what happens would destroy the best of us--but it also felt less her that other parts of the book.

Through it all, Judy has amazingly (almost unbelievably) supportive family members, friends, and teachers. The friends are nuanced and detailed, which I loved, and I wish their unwavering support was typical of more young people. In fact, throughout, Judy's experience is treated remarkably sensitively, and I can only hope that is reflective of a shift in the way we treat victims and perpetrators of sexual assault.

Because of the strong content, Big Girl Small would probably not be recommended to (at least young) teenagers, but, for adults, it gives a nuanced look into one teenager's mind.

"On the Road" by Jack Kerouac

2011-06-20T21:04:00.001-04:00

Summary: Kerouac's classic semi-autobiographical tale of traveling the open road with friends.

Musings: I'm so glad I chose to read On the Road via audiobook. The narrator, Will Patton, does a perfect job of capturing the characters' voices and that essential "beat generation" tone associated with Kerouac and his friends. The protagonist, Sal (i.e. Kerouac), has an easy-going but enthusiastic drawl. He's never a leader in the book, but he's always up for whatever adventure is thrown at him. The real star of the novel (and where Patton's skill shines) is Sal's friend Dean Moriarty, a "mad" man who says "Yes!" to everything and leaves women (and children) alone in his wake. Through Patton, Dean's insane desire to capture and experience all that life has to offer is portrayed through a rushed, breathless exuberance.

Dean's without a doubt a polarizing figure. To most people, including myself, Dean is infuriating. He does what he wants with little concern about others, and though his frenzy is somewhat endearing early on, it becomes more and more concerning as multiple wives and children get left behind for whatever adventure he desires. Yet there's something earnest and true in Dean, and his freedom from responsibility is infectious. It's not surprising that people like Sal drop everything to follow him.

In many ways On the Road is a love story with America itself, as Sal's repeated trips east and west (and, in the last part of the book, south to Mexico) allow him to experience a broad swath of the country and its people. Based on Kerouac's experiences in the '40s, Sal's journey is one where hitchhiking is easy, the women are beautiful, alcohol is cheap, and money (though there's never much of it) always seems to work out. For this reason, the book does feel so essentially American in its tone. In it, I saw the desire in generations of young adults to find adventure, independence, eternal youth, and life's meaning through traveling. Nowadays college students and grads backpack through Europe, but the yearning is the same.

So while typically I'm cynical of 20-somethings who want to "find themselves," I found it hard to be cynical about Kerouac's novel (well, okay, a bit cynical when he idealizes Mexico and its 15-year-old prostitutes). He's so sincere in his desire to experience and his prose is so lyrical that even I--a mature, stable adult if ever there was one--felt moved.

I can see why On the Road is such a classic and has enticed so many people to explore and look beyond the banality of "responsible" life.

***This book qualifies for the Back to the Classics Challenge (20th century classic category).

"Robopocalypse" by Daniel H. Wilson

2011-06-20T14:52:00.000-04:00

Summary: An account of the humans' war against the robot uprising.

Musings: In many ways, Wilson's book is relying on old material. First, as other reviewers have pointed out, Robopocalypse is very similar to Brooks' World War Z, only robots have replaced zombies. Like Brooks' novel, Robopocalypse takes place after the end of the war and follows a variety of different characters throughout the nearly three years between robot uprising and robot destruction. Unlike Brooks, Wilson follows a smaller number of recurring characters, most prominently Cormac "Bright Boy" Wallace and his squad. The book also focuses almost exclusively on the U.S. and American characters, lacking the world response that World War Z had. Secondly, the very concept of Robopocalypse--that robots will become sentient and attack humankind--is one that's been around for awhile. It's then a testament to Wilson's skill as a storyteller that absolutely none of this mattered while I read the book. I found Robopocalypse a fun and engaging read the whole way through.

This is a book that's focused on action, and for that reason is does lack some character depth, even in especially interesting characters like Takeo, a Japanese robot mechanic with an unusual relationship, and Mathilda, a human-robot hybrid who proves instrumental in the humans' survival. However, Wilson does an excellent job of keeping the tension high and the fights exciting.

I nearly finished Robopocalypse in a day, and it's been a long time since I've been so engrossed in a book. Highly recommended for anyone who loves killer robots and an exciting sci-fi read.

"Pym" by Mat Johnson

2011-06-17T12:56:00.003-04:00

Summary: Chris Jaynes is a professor who, rather than accepting his expected role as teacher of African-American literature, had been looking to make Whiteness visible through an analysis of literature by white authors, most particularly Edgar Allen Poe's only novel, the critically-panned The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. Days after being denied tenure and losing his job, a depressed Jaynes has an unpublished autobiographical narrative brought to his attention, written by a presumably fictional character from Poe's work. Deciding that Poe's story must actually be true, Jaynes sets out to find the mysterious all-white Antarctic figure from the book in hopes of discovering Tsalal, an all-black island also from the novel.

Musings: It's hard to sum up Pym in a few words because this odd, satirical, absurdist, yet meaningful book is full of so much. Johnson mirrors Poe's structure (which Jaynes roundly critcizes) in Pym with perfect effect.

There's a lot of commentary on individuals' interpretations of Whiteness and Blackness without a singular message. Jaynes refuses to do what the "whites" expect of him as an African-American man (teach African-American literature; serve on the diversity committee), but his refusal achieves nothing either. His focus on race also belies his own discomfort as a light-skinned person who is sometimes mistaken for white. Later in the novel Johnson weaves in how easy it is to "other-ize" another being (which goes both ways) as the crew of Jaynes' ship to Antartica is enslaved.

Admist all this is weirdness and randomness, like giant albino snow creatures and Jaynes' friend Garth's obsession with a cheesy landscap painter (a la Thomas Kincaid). And there's a lot issues beyond race addressed, such as the crew's bickering over movie rights when they discover unknown Antarctic creatures.

I enjoyed the book, though I left it without a clear sense of analysis. That doesn't mean it wasn't a fun, weird, trip, though.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Skeletons on the Zahara" by Dean King

2011-06-11T13:23:00.001-04:00

Summary: A true account of American sailors whose ship wrecked on the coast of Africa in 1815 and were subsequently taken as slaves by nomad desert tribesmen.

Musings: I love a really engaging nonfiction narrative (e.g., The Lost City of Z or We Die Alone), and while Skeletons of the Zahara didn't grab my interest the way others have, it's still a compelling true story.

What's of particular interest is the Americans' encounter with a vastly different culture than their own. The nomadic tribesmen live a life built around the scarcity of water and a reliance on camels. It's a difficult life that the captives are especially unprepared for, which is shown by their vast physical deterioration during their enslavement. The book also depicts the sailors' absolute helplessness in the situation. They're in an unfamiliar land, unable to speak the language, and unable to subsist without their masters' provisions of food and water.

King's account is taken largely from the first-person narratives of the captain, Riley, and another one of the sailors. In doing so, King is able to recount the Americans' conflicting opinions of the people they encounter. Some they regard as abject and cruel savages, but they also respect the honor in others, particularly Hamet, a trader who buys them and ultimately sells their freedom, and bel Cossim, who helps arrange their release through a British consul.

For a modern reader, it's easy to see some of the hypocrisy in the sailors' complaints of their poor treatment, as African slaves were being treated the same or worse by American slave-owners of the time period. However, it was good to see that, upon his return, Riley became an outspoken abolitionist, recognizing his experience in the lives of American slaves.

King does a good job of keeping Skeletons of the Zahara as the adventure-survival story it should be, with clear prose and an appropriate pace, even though some of the material lacked a little spark for me.

"Anansi Boys" by Neil Gaiman

2011-06-07T21:22:00.000-04:00

Summary: Fat Charlie is mostly relieved when he learns his perpetually embarrassing father has died. But, home in the States for the funeral, he also learns about a mysterious brother he never knew he had. When, in a drunken moment, he seeks out his brother, Spider soon appears. Although Charlie learns he and Spider are both sons of the trickster god Anansi, Spider is cooler and more confident than Charlie has ever been, and Spider soon starts to ruin Charlie's life.

Musings: I always enjoy Gaiman's work, even if Anansi Boys wasn't especially memorable for me. It has a lot of elements that I've liked in Gaiman's writing before: spurts of the absurd, the interweaving of reality and myth, random subplots expertly woven together, and a goodhearted optimism throughout. The characters are richly drawn, as is the contrast between the submissive and insecure Charlie and the popular and self-assured Spider.

My favorite parts were in Spider's first arrival in Charlie's life, as Spider gets Charlie embroiled in a scandal at work and easily steals Charlie's fiance. I also enjoyed the ending, where the good characters gain confidence in spectacular fashion.

I was reminded of Luka and the Fire of Life as I read, though like in that novel, I felt somewhat distanced from the characters and events. Nonetheless, it was still a fun and lighthearted read.

"Stiff" by Mary Roach

2011-05-31T18:09:00.003-04:00

Summary: A nonfiction look into human cadavers.

Musings: I enjoyed Roach's Packing for Mars (her book on space travel) and was hoping for a similar light and engaging look into another subject I know almost nothing about: human cadavers. Stiff certainly has the same formula as Packing for Mars, though overall I found it less interesting, perhaps because the science and history of cadavers is significantly more limited than that of space travel.

Roach addresses a couple of basic areas involving cadavers. First, she covers the research angle, including medical school anatomy, organ donation, forensic research, and safety testing. Here, Roach focuses on both what happens to the bodies and the researchers' feelings working with dead humans. The descriptions of the cadavers can be a bit grotesque (this is not a book for the squeamish) and the questions to the researchers somewhat repetitive (typically they try to be respectful but also create distance between themselves and the idea of the cadaver as a human). Later in the book, Roach explores cannibalism and issues of body disposal.

More than anything else, Stiff is a look into our complicated history with dead bodies, which are both lifeless objects and loved ones. Much is made of "public outcry" over using bodies in any way, though I side with the researchers (and Roach) in believing that a dead body is an object and that it's more respectful to use that body in a way that helps the living than to let it rot in a coffin (which is no less disgusting).

I was especially intrigued by Roach's visit to Sweden, where one woman is promoting composting cadavers, which would then be used to fertilize a memorial tree or plant. I'm hoping such technology will be available in the U.S. by the time I go; being buried in a coffin seems wasteful, and this method does more good than cremation.

Roach keeps her trademark light tone (which I like) in this book, though even I thought her questions and probing at times became inappropriate. Her style seemed to work better in Packing for Mars, where she might annoy astronauts and scientists, but not offend.

Individual chapters of Stiff are certainly worthwhile, though I would recommend the book as a whole only to those with a particular interest.

"Black Swan Green" by David Mitchell

2011-05-24T21:15:00.000-04:00

Summary: Black Swan Green follows a year in the life of thirteen-year-old Jason Taylor. In this quiet bildungsroman, Jason deals with bullies, his fear of being outed as a stammerer, and his constant attempt to hide who he is in order to go unnoticed.

Musings: Black Swan Green is a book that excels entirely on the strong voice of its protagonist, Jason. The reader feels completely inside his head, and his acute desire to fit in is something I imagine everyone can understand. Jason has a poet's soul, and because of that his prose is always engaging, whether its the personification of his stammer (called Hangman, who knows just when to trip him up) or his constant war with what he can and can't do (like noticing things are beautiful but being unable to say so because the word beautiful is "gay").

In particular, Mitchell catches the intricacies and tacit rules of being a teenage boy; image is everything and the punishments for being different are harsh. Jason's navigation of school occurs simultaneously with his growing awareness of the problems in his parents' marriage, and both aspects of his life are weaved together in a way that feels real. Perhaps this is because story is not told in a straightforward narrative but rather through short story-like chapters, chronicling the entire year in Jason's life.

The novel has a satisfying ending without being cheesy, and Jason grows without finishing growing. Black Swan Green is a more standard story than I typically read, but Mitchell's strong style makes is a completely unique read.

"Wizard's First Rule" by Terry Goodkind

2011-05-18T18:11:00.002-04:00

Summary: The boundary between the non-magical Westland and the magical Midlands and D'Hara is falling. Richard, a simple woodsman, is called upon to wield the Sword of Truth and become the Seeker in order to defeat D'Hara's Darken Rahl, who is bent on ruling the world. At Richard's side is Kahlan, a Confessor, and Zedd, a Wizard of the First Order. They must race to keep Rahl from collecting the three boxes of Orden, which will give him unlimited power.

Musings: My husband and I became big fans of a shortly lived TV show called Legend of the Seeker, which is based off Goodkind's series. The show was classic epic fantasy, but it was also a bit campy (along the lines of Xena and Hercules) and lots of fun. There were many great things about the show, but the greatest of all was the main character Richard, played by Craig Horner (see photo to the right). Sigh. Let me regain composure.

So, I spent most of my time watching the show swooning over Richard, but I also enjoyed the story in its own right. Although I consider myself a fantasy fan, I tend to stay away from "epic fantasy," so I'd never looked into the books. But, one of my students is a fan of the novels and convinced me to try Wizard's First Rule, the first book in the series and the book on which the first season of Legend of the Seeker is based.

I was a bit nervous at first, primarily because the novel is over 800 pages, but I really enjoyed it. The story is one big adventure: mysteries, romance, monsters, fighting. Because of that, the story goes quickly and doesn't seem to drag.

The TV show changed many of the details of the book, but the basic story and characterization is the same, so I enjoyed "returning" to my beloved Richard (and Kahlan and Zedd). Richard's a pure, noble man, which can occasionally be annoying (he's constantly apologizing), but it works well given his role as the Seeker. His relationship with Kahlan is also somewhat agonizing (they can't be together for reasons I won't get in to), but, again, it works in the setting. Zedd is fun and impish, which can be a relief from Richard and Kahlan's seriousness.

The part I most dreaded in the novel was Richard's "training" with the evil Mord-Sith Denna. I really dislike torture scenes of any kind, and this one goes on for quite awhile. It is important to the story as a whole, but I tried to skim that section as quickly as possible. For the more squeamish, it could definitely be a turn-off for an otherwise engaging book.

Furthermore, there's an undercurrent of sadism and masochism throughout the entire book. The Mord-Sith are based on the concept of pleasure through pain, and even for the noble like Richard, power is equated primarily with the ability to withstand pain. Again, it's easier to not think too much about it than to consider the implications.

The book plays with the nature of right and wrong more than the TV show, which raises interesting ethical questions. In the show, Richard makes sure to help and save every minor person he meets, but in the book he recognizes that doing good for most does not always create easy choices.

I wouldn't mind reading one or two more books in the series, though I'll certainly take a break for now. There's eleven books total, but I've read that they get progressively weaker. However, reading the book does make me want to re-watch Legend of the Seeker. I highly recommend it if you get Netflix.

"Sapphique" by Catherine Fisher

2011-05-15T19:14:00.001-04:00

Summary: In this sequel to Incarceron, Finn is now living in the Outside with Claudia, but he's not satisfied being the heir to the throne. His oath brother, Keiro, is still in Incarceron, as is the former dog slave, Attia. As fights for power occur both in and outside of Incarceron, the novel follows each character as he or she chooses loyalties.

Musings: I enjoyed Incarceron, despite its somewhat convoluted (and pretty forgettable) plot, and I feel the same way about Sapphique. When I first began listening to it, I had to look up a detailed summary of the first book because I remembered nearly nothing about it, and I think in a few weeks I'll have the same problem with Sapphique. There's just too much going on, and for me, too little empathy developed in the reader for the characters for the novel to stick with me.

That's not to say there's no fun to be had while listening. There's a lot of mystery, and it's rewarding to pick up on small new pieces of information along the way. The unlikely pairing of Keiro and Attia provides for some interesting adventures, especially as they are more fun than the more whiny Finn and Claudia.

The audio narrator, Kim Mai Guest, does a decent job with the different characters' voices, which is especially important because the book switches points of view frequently. I was initially turned off by Attia's strong cockney accent (and Ricks, for some reason, has a cockney lisp), but eventually I got over it.

Fisher's series is full of interesting ideas, but there's too much happening to be fully invested in the worlds and characters.

"The Broken Kingdoms" by N.K. Jemisin

2011-05-11T15:47:00.001-04:00

Summary: Set in the same world as The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, The Broken Kingdoms takes place ten years after the end of the first novel. The world is no longer ruled by Bright Itempas alone, and many godlings now live and exist among mortals. One of those mortals is Oree Shoth, a blind artist with an ability to see magic. When godlings begin to be murdered, Oree is immediately involved: because of her magic, because of her godling ex-lover Madding, and because of "Shiny," a strange being she finds behind her home.

Musings: I thoroughly enjoyed the dense world building of Thousand Kingdoms and the complex relationships between mortals and gods it depicted. And I liked Broken Kingdoms even more than the first book, perhaps because of its reduced focus on politics and increased focus on relationships and magic.

The protagonist, Oree, is in many ways similar to the protagonist Yeine from the first book. Although their situations and statuses are very different, they have similar voices and personalities. This didn't particularly bother me, though sometimes reading gave me vague deja vu. However, though Broken Kingdom also focuses on the relationships between gods and mortals like the first book, I found the relationships in this book more compelling. Oree's loving relationship with Madding and her difficult relationship with Shiny are central to the novel and develop and grow over time.

The novel does have a bit of the "magical blind woman" trope, but I did find Oree's powers and use of magic interesting, especially as contrasted with the other characters'. Jemisin is also careful to stress the force and limitations of the gods' powers, who have a somewhat straddled existence. They live among mortals, can love mortals, and can be hurt and even killed. Yet they are also feared, worshiped, and strong.

It's nice to see the characters from Thousand Kingdoms back again, even though they are all in significantly diminished roles (Yeine, T'vril, Nahadoth, and Sieh all make important appearances). Interesting yet under-explored characters from the first book (namely Bright Itempas) are more important.

In content, feel, theme, and tone, Broken Kingdoms is much like Thousand Kingdoms. For those who enjoyed the first book (like myself!), this is definitely a good thing, even if the book doesn't feel completely and distinctly different.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"My Korean Deli" by Ben Ryder Howe

2011-05-03T18:22:00.000-04:00

Summary: A memoir of Howe and his wife's decision to buy and open a New York City deli with the wife's mother-in-law.

Musings: I reserved this book on its novel topic (a pure-bred Bostonian WASP opening a "Korean" deli) and supposed comedy. I didn't find it a particularly funny book, though it was amusing at times, but it was an interesting look into one man's search for identity and purpose.

On the first point, there's certainly a bit of awe and shock in Howe and his wife Gab's decision to open a deli. Who really does that and thinks it'll be a good idea? I was amazed they saw it as a way to give back to Gab's parents (though her obsessive filial devotion was also rather nuts and could provide its own story) and make enough money to move out of Gab's parents' basement (which they lived in for EIGHT YEARS! EIGHT!). Howe explains how much of their decision to open and run the store went against his Puritan upbringing, both in terms of the family intimacy and living for the moment (rather than worrying about the future) it required. I could see much of my own ideology in him, though that only reinforced my belief that although Howe and Gab are undeniably smart (he was an editor at a somewhat pretentious literary magazine; she had just resigned being a corporate attorney), they are also morons.

Not surprisingly, many things go wrong, though fortunately it's not a complete disaster. In the midst of the trials and tribulations of running a small business there are some great stories, from working with a pushy coffee vendor to opening the store during a blackout to navigating underground merchandisers. One of their workers, Dwayne, also is fodder for interesting commentary.

Of course, memoirs are typically not just a collection of anecdotes but must provide some personal journey. And though I appreciated Howe's introspection into how operating the store forced some changes in his worldview, at times the philosophizing did drag the book down.

My Korean Deli is a unique "fish out of water story" and covers a range of topics: the difficulties of being a small business owner, the bureaucracy of cities, cross-cultural misunderstandings, and the search for contentedness in life. It's light enough for those seeking a casual read, but it also provides food for thought for those who want a little more.

"Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Bronte

2011-05-01T17:30:00.000-04:00

Summary: Jane Eyre, an orphan, lives with her hateful Aunt Reed and her snotty children. When Jane finally reaches her breaking point with her Aunt and responds to the abuse, her aunt decides to send Jane to boarding school. Although Jane has a difficult time at first, she eventually excels. After many years she seeks work as a governess and is installed at Thornfield Hall where she meets Mr. Rochester. As romance starts to develop, so too do the secrets of Thornfield.

Musings: I read Jane Eyre in high school but had retained only the barest outline of events, and it was truly a delight to reread (listen) to the novel. Jane Eyre is the perfect protagonist. Bright, confident, and spirited, she rebels against the dormant lifestyle expected of women in that day. Instead, she seeks intellectual and physical engagement. Her relationship with Mr. Rochester blooms not because of physical attraction or novelty but because he equals and respects her intellectually. With him, Jane does not need to hide or restrain any part of her personality.

Going in I expected Bronte's style be along the lines of Austen, whom I enjoy but do find long-winded. I was happily surprised that Bronte's novel felt much different to me, moving along at a good pace despite some extraordinarily long conversations. I did occasionally grow impatient in the latter part of the novel during Jane's time with the Rivers, but that may be because I was so anxious for the ending (which I remembered) to come. Yet I do think Jane's time with St. John Rivers (an aside: the narrator of my audio book pronounced his name as "Sin-gen"--is this normal?) is important in order to juxtapose Jane's personality and life with him against that of her time with Mr. Rochester.

My audiobook version was read by Susan Erickson, who did an excellent job capturing Jane's composed personality and Mr. Rochester's fiery temperament. I loved the way she voiced Jane and Mr. Rochester's repartee.

Rereading Jane Eyre was thoroughly enjoyable. Because I listened on audiobook, it took me over a month to finish it, but I'm glad that meant it lasted longer.

***This book qualifies for the Back to the Classics Challenge (19th century classic category).

"Bossypants" by Tina Fey

2011-04-26T18:22:00.003-04:00

Summary: Fey's humorous look at her career and reflections on life.

Musings: I'm a big fan of 30 Rock and was eager to read Fey's new book. In some ways I think I expected Fey to be much like her 30 Rock fictional character Liz Lemon: talented but neurotic and self-deprecating; kind of a mess. And though Fey would probably claim to be neurotic at times, the image I got of her from Bossypants is undeniably one of someone skilled, accomplished, and self-assured. I'd thought she'd be someone I'd want to buddy-up to, but truthfully, I don't think we'd be friends (and that's no criticism to her at all). She seems like someone who respects skill and work but doesn't take crap. I just can't imagine her shooting the shit.

Bossypants is also more toned down that the absurdity of 30 Rock, which I think is what makes her seem real and truthful. She's candid (but only about what she wants to be) and she throws in silly lines, but she's also very sincere about her work and beliefs.

My favorite parts of the book were about her work on SNL and 30 Rock, though I think her reflections on motherhood and judgments that come along with it were spot on. As Fey points out, only in comedy does a white girl from the suburbs count as diversity, and because of her success as a woman she has to face tons of stupid questions of "what it's like?" and "how does she do it?" In these moments I loved her feminist attitude--she's smart but not tee-totaling, and her main concern is doing what she wants to do. Here's from the opening of the book:

Ever since I became an executive producer of 30 Rock, people have asked me, "Is it hard for you, being the boss?" and "Is it uncomfortable for you to be the person in charge?" You know, in that same way they say, "Gosh, Mr. Trump, is it awkward for you to be the boss of all these people?" I can't answer for Mr. Trump, but in my case it is not. I've learned a lot over the past ten years about what is means to be the boss of people. In most cases being a good boss means hiring talented people and then getting out of their way. (5)

Bossypants ended up being exactly what I wanted--something funny, witty, and smart.

"The Chimps of Fauna Sanctuary" by Andrew Westoll

2011-04-23T17:06:00.001-04:00

Summary: This nonfiction book explores the world of Fauna Sanctuary, a home for chimpanzees retired from biomedical research. Westoll recounts the lives of these chimpanzees and their slow process of recovery from the physical and, perhaps more importantly, psychological torture experienced over years as test subjects.

Musings: The Chimps of Fauna Sanctuary is called a "big-hearted" book, and though I tend to resist the cheesy, the description is apt. The stories Westoll tells about the difficult lives of the chimpanzees and their impressive recoveries, illuminated through anecdotes of victories in the relationships between the chimps and their keepers and the chimps and each other, are indeed moving and heart-warming.

Westoll is not an impartial observer, having lived and worked at the sanctuary for several months, and though he is firmly on the animal rights side, he does not sugar coat the chimps' lives. They arrive at the sanctuary with all kinds of psychological damage from being removed at infancy from their mothers, isolated, knocked down, restricted, and tested upon for years. They can be violent, both toward their human caregivers and to each other. But they are also individuals with full-fledged personalities who respond, like humans, to kindness, autonomy, and respect.

Perhaps what is most moving is the chimps' relationships with one another. Although researchers have studied the social nature of chimps for years, it's fascinating to read about their care for one another first hand and note the important role that supportive chimp friends play in each chimp's recovery.

Fauna Sancutary concludes with a strong argument against using chimpanzees in invasive medical testing, and Westoll employs both moral and medical reasoning. Most surprising, he argues that chimp research has been largely ineffective as a way to prevent and cure human diseases and that the high price of chimp testing is wasteful.

Westoll's narrative is best when it focuses on the chimps in the sanctuary and somewhat drier when he waxes philosophical. However, he does an excellent job of providing an insider's view into the complex and difficult work of rehabilitating chimps. Through this window into their lives, it's difficult not to see why preventing further cruelty to these animals is important.

The Chimps of Fauna Sanctuary will be published in May 2011.

E-galley received by the publisher through Net Galley for my review.

"Matched" by Ally Condie

2011-04-18T17:31:00.000-04:00

Summary: The Society in which Cassia lives is perfect and arranges everything in its citizens' lives--from when they die (exactly on one's eightieth birthday) to whom they will be Matched with for marriage. Cassia's excited for her Matching ceremony and thrilled when she learns she is matched with Xander, her best friend since childhood. But when Cassia opens her dataport to see her match's picture, instead of Xander she sees a picture of Ky--another boy in the neighborhood. Cassia finds herself drawn towards Ky, but doing so means disobeying the rules of the Society.

Musings: Matched is a book that would probably be good for teenagers who typically read contemporary YA (high school romances and friendships) and would like a generic love story with a dystopian feel. However, for fans of the dystopian genre, Matched is dull and unoriginal.

Matched is extraordinarily similar to Uglies (though it lacks its more interesting concept) and Delirium (though Delirium at least made me feel something in the romance), and in its worldbuilding it goes no further than the most basic totalitarian government: restrictive thought, false utopia, controlled life decisions. Cassia's a generic protagonist; she's happy and content in her controlled life until--dum dum--she sees Ky's photo and somehow goes all gaga for him.

Most of the book is Cassia agonizing over her decisions and coming to the startling realization (wait for it): that she should be able to make her own decisions! Yeah.

I skimmed through the last third so quickly that you'd think I'd have to have missed something, but now that I've finished, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Not one where I'll be picking up the sequel.

"The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down" by Anne Fadiman

2011-04-12T20:27:00.001-04:00

Summary: Subtitled "A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures," the nonfiction The Spirit Catches You details the intersection of western medicine and native culture through the life of Lia Lee. Lia, the youngest daughter of Hmong immigrants, develops a seizure disorder. Both her doctors and her parents wish to save her life, but each believes in markedly different means of doing so, causing conflict that has lasting repercussions.

Musings: The Spirit Catches You is an interesting book, both for its look into Hmong culture (of which I knew nothing) and for its nuanced look into cross-cultural misunderstandings and the danger they can pose.

The life of Lia is undeniably tragic, but Fadiman is careful to show that her sufferings are not due from fault, abuse, or neglect on either side. Instead, both sides are unable to recognize the others' intents and motivation. The doctors want to use modern medicine, and they look down on the parents for their reluctance to do so and their failure to follow Lia's prescription routines. The parents want to heal their daughter through some medicine--though strictly determined by them--but also by traditional healing practices which utilize beliefs in spirits. The refuse to administer medicine and procedures with which they disagree.

Fadiman explores the nature of these cultural misunderstandings, and she also attempts to understand if they could be surmounted. Unfortunately, the obstacles are many, from the Hmong's lack of English and American acculturation to the doctors' failure to recognize the family's situation (how could they administer a complicated prescription routine when they are not literate?).

The book spends a good amount of time on the Hmong people, their nomadic lifestyle, their work for the C.I.A., and their difficult immigration to the United States. Although all this information is important in understanding the family's belief systems and actions, the history chapters sometimes read too much like textbook to me. Despite the Hmong's tragic and complicated past, I had a hard time paying attention.

I was more engaged when the story focused on Lia and her family, though I was frequently frustrated. Misunderstandings and problems seemed to arise at every corner, and though many people placed blame, there was little to be done to improve the situation. Of course, much of Lia's story is a story of frustration, so my feelings as a reader are probably apt.

The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down would be good reading for anyone interested in medicine or cross-cultural studies. It was written in the '90s and based on events that occurred largely in the '80s, so it would be important for anyone looking for more information on the Hmong in America to note that undoubtedly changes have occurred since the book's publication.

"Ship Breaker" by Paolo Bacigalupi

2011-04-09T17:31:00.003-04:00

Summary: Nailer is a ship breaker, part of the crews that work in Bright Sands Beach outside what was once New Orleans, breaking apart the large beached oil tankers for scrap. Like all ship breakers, Nailer's life is hard, but his is made especially difficult by his ruthless alcoholic and drug-addicted father. After a particularly fierce storm which shuts down the scavenging for a few days, Nailer and his fellow crew member Pima go scavenging and discover a wrecked clipper--one of the beautiful and expensive ships that Nailer has never seen close up. When they explore the ship, they find a "swank" girl, nearly dead. Soon Nailer's life becomes inexorably woven with this girl's.

Musings: I enjoyed Bacigalupi's recent adult novel The Windup Girl and was especially impressed with his strong world building. Bacigalupi does not disappoint in The Ship Breaker, where he creates not only a believable post-apocalyptic New Orleans, but he also utilizes interesting characters and a fast storyline.

Nailer's difficult life is fully detailed, from his work in ship breaking to his bond with his crew and his conflicted feelings about his abusive father. Nailer is an excellent protagonist--he's good at heart, but he's not an angel, and he struggles with mixed and contradictory feelings. The secondary characters like Nita, Pima, and Tool are also fascinating but are given less attention, and I did almost want more from them (particularly Tool).

Although the novel is set in the future, it does a good job of straddling the line between the recognizable and familiar (the degradation of poverty; unsafe working conditions) to the new and fantastic (half-men half-dog creatures). There are aspects that are only partially explained (such as the myriad new religions or cults like the Harvesters), but that doesn't get in the way of enjoying Ship Breaker.

In the end, what won me over most was the fast-paced action and sympathetic characters. I don't know whether Bacigalupi intends to write more about this world, but he's created an interesting enough set-up and characters to certainly warrant a return.

***Though Ship Breaker does not qualify, for me, for the POC Reading Challenge because Bacigalupi is white, the main characters of the novel are all characters of color from a variety of backgrounds.

"Moonwalking with Einstein" by Joshua Foer

2011-04-05T21:18:00.000-04:00

Summary: For an assignment as a journalist, Foer attends the U.S. Memory Championship. There he is surprised not only by what the competitors can achieve (memorizing the order a deck of cards in a few minutes; memorizing huge lists of words or numbers), but by many of the competitors' assurances that they are not particularly special--anyone, with training, they say, can be capable of staggering feats of memorization. Foer decides to spend the next year training for the Championship while exploring the nature of memory itself and humankind's relationship and understanding of memory throughout time.

Musings: I'm coming to find out how endlessly fascinating I find the human body. It's simply "us," and yet it's so unique and there's so much we don't know about it. Moonwalking with Einstein delves into just one small aspect of one part of the human body--this elusive concept of "memory"--through both research and personal narrative.

What first grabbed my attention is just how far memory can go when pressed. We feel like we're forgetting things all the time, and yet there are people who, for example, have memorized tens of thousands of the digits of pi. At the beginning of the book, Foer is skeptical that such feats can be learned; it's easier to assume that such people are simply extraordinary. And while they might be extraordinary in their willingness to train, Foer also shows that memorization skills can be taught and steadily improved upon.

At its most basic, large memorization involves turning the items to be memorized into images. Our mind retains images far better than it does words or digits. Various techniques exist for memorizing large quantities of information in a short amount of time, and once you learn them, heavy memorization almost seems like a trick. That's not to say it's easy, but rather that it is an acquired skill, not an innate ability.

I tried out the most basic technique (the memory palace) myself, following along with Foer to memorize a list of 15 random "to-do" items. It took me about 10 minutes to memorize (including reading the chapter describing it), and it is absolutely and completely effective. I remembered all 15 items at the time, an hour later, and I still remember them today--two days later. In 10 minutes I probably could have also learned the items by rote, but I've no doubt I would not still remember them today if I had.

I was giddy and excited by what I did, but I also had the same feeling following that Foer did. So what? It may be fun to impress friends at parties with outrageous memorization, but is there any point? Does it really help with anything when we have technology and even pen and paper to do the remembering for us?

This is a question that Foer spends much of the book trying to solve, and I'm not sure he comes to a clear answer. He does posit that we learn best through association, and in order to best associate, memorization of a wide variety of things can be useful. He also explores humans' relationship with memorization over time, from the favored manner of learning in schools to the inhumane rote tedium it's often labeled as today.

Moonwalking with Einstein didn't leave me convinced of the importance of memorization, but it did completely absorb me and encourage me to wonder more about what our brains are able of accomplishing. Foer effectively integrates his own experiences training for the Championship with historical and modern research, which is the kind of nonfiction I like best. It's an entertaining and worthwhile read.

"In Other Rooms, Other Wonders" by Daniyal Mueenuddin

2011-04-02T20:10:00.001-04:00

Summary: A collection of short stories that take place primarily in Pakistan and are loosely connected through the wealthy Pakistani landowner K.K. Harouni.

Musings: In Other Rooms, Other Wonders has been favorably compared to the work of Jhumpa Lahiri, an Indian-American short story writer. Although I could see some similarities in their exploration of relationships and the types of conflicts they present (though issues of "old world" vs. "new" are more subtly interwoven here than in Lahiri's work, where they often take center stage), Mueenuddin's work actually reminded me more of Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why, since Murakami writes about the fantastical, but something in the writers' atypical narrative arcs (particularly in Mueenuddin's early stories) rang similar to me. Perhaps it's because neither is afraid of writing a story without a climax or a clear resolution--instead both trust the reader to think without a neat ending.

Although each of Mueenuddin's stories has a different narrator, a similar theme runs throughout all eight presented in In Other Rooms: the crushing nature of hope. Time and again, characters dare dream above their current situation, whether it's a young woman looking for love, an American girl desiring to be accepted by a Pakistani family, or a poor servant hoping to serve a wealthy family. Each of these characters allows for the possibility of reaching his or her goal, and most even taste some part of success--which makes the inevitable downfall all the more heart-breaking. It's a depressing motif, though it doesn't make the stories difficult to read.

In Other Rooms is a short book, at a little over 200 pages, but its wealth comes from its intricately drawn characters who are developed in the reader's mind through quiet detail.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge and the Back to the Classics Challenge (a Pulitzer Prize (Fiction) Winner or Runner Up category).

"Havemercy" by Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett

2011-03-29T22:32:00.002-04:00

Summary: Margrave Royston is a magician exiled for a dalliance with an ally prince. In his brother's country home, he meets and begins to fall for Hal, an intrepid young man and the tutor to his brother's children. In the city, Rook is a member of the Dragon Corp, a select group of men in charge of flying the metal dragons who are the country's best defense against neighboring enemy Ke-Han. When Rook gets in trouble for inappropriate behavior with a diplomat's wife, Thom, a university student, is brought in to give the Dragon Corp sensitivity training. As war with Ke-Han grows more dangerous, all four are brought closer to the center of the conflict.

Musings: Despite my affinity for fantasy, Havemercy isn't my typical fare, but I was dragged into reading it by a (literally) breathless student who raved about it. In truth, Havemercy wasn't quite what I expected, which unfortunately isn't a compliment.

Jones and Bennett have set up an interesting world--one with magicians with particular Talents, metal-but-also-alive magic dragons, and a longstanding feud with Ke-Han. Unfortunately, the world building typical of an epic fantasy is mostly pushed aside to focus instead on the characters' minute thoughts and feelings. Each of the four men--Royston, Hal, Rook, and Thom--takes turns narrating, and for much of the book their musings make up the entirety of the narration. Royston languishes out in the city; Hal feels uncertain; Rook is ticked at everyone; Thom is nervous. But nothing else happens! Royston and Hal sit in the country. Thom wanders around the Dragon Corp's home feeling useless while Rook scowls at him.

To make matters worse, the characters are exasperating! Thought it's clear almost immediately that Royston and Hal are attracted to one another, they never do anything about it. They stand close. Their hearts pound. They quiver. They sigh. That's it! Within the first hundred pages all I could do was scream "just do it already!" in my head whenever I read about them together. Don't get me wrong--I enjoy a good pining--but without any action to interrupt all that quivering, the not-really-relationship just gets annoying.

Similarly odd were Rook and Thom. Though their relationship is platonic, as opposed to Royston and Hal's romantic relationship, Thom obsesses over Rook in the same way as Royston and Hal obsess over one another. I just couldn't understand it.

Jones and Bennett also have the habit of reusing certain traits over and over again: namely, blushing. Oh my goodness, this novel is an absolute blush-fest. Between Hal, Thom, and Balfour (another member of the Dragon Corp), there must have been well over a hundred episodes of blushing in the novel. There has to be other ways to indicate a character's personality and reaction!

The part that my student was most excited about--the metal dragons--were disappointingly absent from the book. It's quite a ways in before the reader even meets a dragon, and after that they appear for only a few short episodes. I would have loved to learn more about Havemercy's (Rook's dragon) temperament, evolution, and relationships.

There's some excitement toward the end when the action picks up, but it's too little squished too tightly together. The ending is satisfying (something I had worried about considering the book's part of a trilogy), but I just wasn't all that invested by the time it was finished.

Although women exist in the world in which Havemercy is set, they don't exist within the plot of the book. There are no female characters, and in fact, women are never mentioned except in relationship in Rook's sex jokes. It's another thing that just comes across as odd.

Havemercy has some good ideas and characters. Truthfully, I had a lot of fun bashing it in my head as I read, but it didn't come together as a great book.

"Luka and the Fire of Life" by Salman Rushdie

2011-03-22T17:33:00.000-04:00

Summary: Luka has grown up hearing the elaborate stories about Magic World from his father, Rashid Khalifa. When Luka curses Aag, a cruel circus owner, Rashid falls into a deep sleep from which he cannot be awakened. Luka learns he must travel into Magic World and steal the Fire of Life in order to save his father. Along the way, he meets the beings of his father's stories and uses his own knowledge of Rashid to save his father.

Musings: Luka and the Fire of Life is a somewhat deceptive book, for though it has, on the outside, the trappings of a children's tale, it's a book that recognizes and rewards its adult audience. The novel has the style of traditional myth storytelling with a modern day setting, with an enjoyably anachronistic result.

The intrepid protagonist, Luka, travels into Magic World--his father's storytelling world--in order to find the Fire of Life. This world is populated by an unusual mix of historical mythology (the gods and monsters of practically all cultures, from Native Americans, to ancient Greeks, to Asian folklore), invented creatures (like the Insultana of Ott, an otter queen whose society spends much of its time vigorously insulting each other), and modern pop culture (Luka advances through Magic World like he's playing a Nintendo game; heck, even Doctor Who gets mentioned!).

The tone throughout is light, often filled with wordplay and fun "wink-nudge" cleverness. Even random moments are enjoyable, such as when Nobodaddy (the phantom being who is slowly replacing Luka's father) asks, "Do rats tell tales? Do porpoises have narrative purposes? Do elephants ele-phantasize?" (34). Or take this exchange:

"Are you familiar," he said finally, "with the Bang?"

"The Big Bang?" Luka asked. "Or some other Bang I don't know about?"

"There was only one Bang," said Nobodaddy, "so the adjective Big is redundant and meaningless. The Bang would only be Big if there was at least one other Little or Medium-Sized or even Bigger Bang to compare it with, and to differentiate it from." (38)

Luke and the Fire of Life is a somewhat sequel to Rushdie's Haroun and the Sea of Stories, which follows Luka's older brother. Although Luka can certainly be read as a solo text, I did wish I'd read Haroun first as I think it would have been enjoyable to re-encounter recurring places and characters.

Knowing almost nothing about Rushdie going in, I expected a much more austere work than I found. Instead, Luka and the Fire of Life rang more like a kids' book with adult appeal (perhaps like a Pixar movie), which certainly isn't an insult. I did find my mind occasionally straying, as the light tone, for me, also meant the book wasn't completely engrossing. Reading it aloud or hearing it in an audiobook version might have helped.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Packing for Mars" by Mary Roach

2011-03-21T19:15:00.002-04:00

Summary: A fun and informative look into space travel, particularly the research that has gone into sending humans into space.

Musings: Packing for Mars has made the lists of engaging nonfiction, and I would completely agree with that classification. While the book is not a comprehensive look into a particular area of space travel, it's exhaustive in covering all the random questions people are likely to have about going into outer space. How does one relieve oneself? What kind of food makes it into space? Fortunately for the reader, Roach has a schoolboy's curiosity and an academic's depth of research. What makes her book all the more compelling is that she relies primarily on first-hand accounts (oral histories, astronaut autobiographies, personal interviews with NASA researchers) and personal accounts (experiencing zero gravity in a parabolic flight; traveling to a remote "Mars simulant" research area) to explain space research rather than citing other books. I liked the omnipresent personal; it included me in the material.

Roach spends a significant time exploring the research that has gone into and is currently going into aspects of human travel into space. Things we take for granted here on earth can be substantially different in the confines of space, and minute research must go into every aspect of outer space travel. This includes things like hygiene--how does one keep clean when zero gravity makes using water difficult? How does being confined into a small, enclosed space affect personal health? No question is left unanswered, including whether or not anyone has had sex in space (unfortunately, it seems the answer is no) and the myriad of difficulties of space defecation.

One of the things I was most struck by is how research must go into not only solving practical problems (e.g., keeping an astronaut properly nourished with calories and vitamins) but psychological problems as well (e.g., an astronaut might be able to live off a dog-food like kibble, but what effect would that have on morale and the mission as a whole?). Time and again, on-the-ground researchers have had to face the reality of in-the-moment astronauts.

In the end, though, probably the best part of Packing for Mars is the random tidbits. For example, the condom-like wrappers for male urination only come in large, extra-large, and extra-extra-large sizes (surely a reflection of the size of astronauts' egos rather than, ahem, something else). Carnation Instant Breakfast began as a potential, low-rated, and rejected form of astronaut food (file under: not at all surprising).

I listed to the audio version of the book read by Sandra Burr. Initially I was put off because Burr sounds eerily similar to my GPS' voice and had some of the same weird intonation. I kept wanting her to say, "In--(pause)--500 feet, turn left on--(pause)--Main Street." Eventually I got over it and wasn't distracted. Burr does a nice job of keeping a light tone and subtly does Roach's sarcasm and humor without going overboard.

I suppose I consider myself someone who is interested in the weird and random, and I'm glad Roach has done the work for me. Truthfully space travel isn't something in which I would say I have an innate interest, but Packing for Mars is so compelling that I'm ready to Google NASA and see what's going on right now.

"Wench" by Dolen Perkins-Valdez

2011-03-18T18:16:00.001-04:00

Summary: Tawawa House is an Ohio summer resort where white slave owners can take their slave mistresses for part of the summer. At Tawawa House, four women form a close friendship. Lizzie loves her master Drayle and hopes he will some day free their two children together. Mawu hates her owner Tip and desperately wants to escape, which is all the more tantalizing in free-state Ohio. Rounding out the group are Sweet and Reenie. Over the course of several summers, each woman must make a choice about the price of remaining a slave and the price of attempting freedom.

Musings: One of the challenges of writing about American slavery is that so many books have already been written on it. Perkinz-Valdez takes on one particular appalling aspect of slavery--the sexual abuse of female slaves by their white owners--through a unique setting. Away from their owners' wives, their children, and the plantation, Lizzie, Mawu, Sweet, and Reenie are exposed to new possibilities, both exciting and dangerous.

Lizzie is the protagonist of the novel, and her story is especially uncertain. Although she feels the pain and restrictions of slavery, most acutely for her children with Drayle, she is also treated "well" by most standards. In fact, she deeply cares for and loves Drayle, and the small freedoms she experiences at Tawawa, where she shares a cottage with Drayle much like a wife would, bring her closer to him. But as Lizzie also grows closer with women like Mawu, her feelings begin to change. Lizzie's an especially interesting character because of that complexity she faces.

Probably the most difficult aspect of the book for me was the sexual abuse. I've mentioned several other times that I find depicting sexual violence against women problematic. I know Perkins-Valdez describes scenes and events that are an incontrovertible part of slavery, and I wouldn't suggest those parts should be hidden. Nonetheless, I find graphic descriptions of sexual assault so sickening (which it clearly is intended to be) that it was difficult to want to continue to read the book. Sometimes I felt the desired effect could be created with less, but that's probably more of a personal feeling.

Wench is told straightforwardly, and at times I craved a richer and more nuanced style. I felt as though events and feelings were being told to me, rather than allowing me to experience and come to know them through the characters. Some events happened too abruptly, and others were delayed with unnecessary suspense.

Nonetheless, Wench uses a variety of characters to explore the lives of slave women and effectively shows the ways in which sexual abuse played a role in restricting the women's lives.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Ex Libris" by Anne Fadiman

2011-03-16T16:40:00.000-04:00

Summary: A collection of short essays from a book lover, on the strange relationship between book worms and their books.

Musings: Ex Libris is the perfect book for anyone with the idiosyncrasies of the book lover. Fadiman herself is the archetypal book lover, with an enormous personal library, a career as a writer, and a family whose literature nerdiness knows no bounds. Compared to Fadiman, I look like someone who's read nothing more than few trashy romances in her lifetime. But even though Fadiman is spectacularly well-read, she never comes off as condescending or pretentious. Instead, her essays read like a true friend confessing her deep craziness about books--and what a joy it is to read Ex Libris as you, too, exclaim, "Yes, I feel the same! Let's be odd together!" The essays have a conversational, humorous tone, and Fadiman expertly integrates her life with her knowledge of literature.

Of course, I had some favorite essays. "The Joy of Sesquipedalians" explores the excitement of discovering a new-to-you word and the disappointment when your assertion that "no one" must know that word is proven wrong. Fadiman herself has quite the vocabulary, and I'll admit I had to experience that feeling myself several times while reading the book. "Never Do That to a Book" explores the book purists (never damage or deface a book in any way) and the book eaters (who love their literature through well-worn use). I'll admit I learn toward the purist side (I hate when my husband uses a remote, for example, as a book mark--it's too big and will distort the pages!). "The His'er Problem" pits the feminist inside Fadiman (not favoring the masculine pronoun) against the grammarian (not standing for pronoun antecedent agreement error). It's a quandary I face myself.

Ex Libris would be the perfect gift for any true book lover, and it's one that just screams to be shared. In fact, I've already planned to give a copy of "The Joy of Sesquipedalians" to a student who talked about trying to keep a list of new-to-her vocabulary words in Jane Eyre before giving up after completely filling several pages, and I've emailed a former student telling her she must read several of these immediately!

"People of the Book" by Geraldine Brooks

2011-03-13T20:38:00.001-04:00

Summary: When a famed illustrated Jewish prayer book, a haggadah, is rescued in Bosnia, Australian book conservator Hanna Heath is brought in to preserve the work before it goes on display. As Hanna investigates the history of the book, People of the Book alternates chapters showing glimpses of the book's history, from Seville in 1480 to Sarajevo in 1940.

Musings: People of the Book was a somewhat disappointing read, though I enjoyed it more by the end than I did in the beginning. Brooks' March was one of my top ten favorite books in 2009, so I had high hopes. On the other hand, I'm reading this for a newly-formed book group, and I've had a very bad track record with book club books (i.e. I always hate them), so perhaps People of the Book was doomed from the beginning.

The weakest sections of the book for me were the chapters on Hanna. She's the Robert Langdon (of The DaVinci Code) of book conservation, and, like Robert Langdon, her travels in pursuit of her trade are laughably exotic as she jet-sets all over the world in pursuit of CSI-style information on the haggadah. Unsurprisingly, all the experts she meets in her travels are young and attractive. I found Frau Zweig, the chief archivist of a German museum, the most unlikely and obnoxious; take this description: "In her late twenties, [Zweig] was dressed in high black boots, a teensy plaid skirt, and a tight, electric blue jersey that emphasized an enviable figure. Her dark hair was cropped in a jagged bob and streaked in various shades of red and yellow. There was a silver stud in the side of her retrousse nose" (101). She's really a minor character, but even important characters, like Muslim librarian and love interest Ozren, aren't much better.

I felt no connection to Hannah as a reader and no understanding of her personality. In particular, Hanna's absurdly dysfunctional relationship with her mother was irrelevant and over-wrought. I was happy when her chapters ended and the chapters following the book's history began.

These historical chapters were a little more interesting, particularly since the protagonist of each is vastly different from the protagonist of the others. The characters range in age, sex, religion, and nationality, and it was interesting to see the ways in which so many different people became involved in the life and protection of one book. However, again, I felt a lack of connection with the characters. In borrowing Dan Brown's Langdon, Brooks also seems to have borrowed Brown's lack of style. There's a lot that happens, but little in the way of subtlety or character development. It's like someone had read the book to me and then asked me to summarize it in detail; the plot points would be there, but it wouldn't be interesting.

There's strong emphasis in the book on the ways in which Jewish, Christian, and Muslim individuals worked together. It's a worthwhile message, but the relationships on which the message is built often felt forced and fake, making the message itself feel heavy handed. It's fascinating to see the way in which, throughout history, these religions have co-existed peacefully and then persecuted others or been persecuted, but there was no nuance in the way these complicated relationships occurred.

In the end, People of the Books is a literary idea done with dull commercialized fiction writing. If you're interested in reading one of Brooks' works, I would definitely recommend March over this one.

"Gardens of Water" by Alan Drew

2011-03-06T22:08:00.001-05:00

Summary: After a catastrophic earthquake in Turkey, two very different families are forever linked. Sinan is a Kurd living in the country with his wife, teenage daughter Irem, and son Ismail. In the apartment above them was an American family: the father Marcus, the teenage son Dylan, and the wife who dies saving Ismail in the earthquake. When Americans, led by Marcus, set up a refugee relief area for those affected by the quake, Sinan and his family join the many others living in tents. But the new situation also allows for a growing relationship between Irem and Dylan that will have repercussions for both families.

Musings: Gardens of Water is a story of two individuals torn between what they want and believe. For Sinan, that means balancing his love for his children with his religious and cultural beliefs, and his preference for his son with his conflicting feelings about his daughter. In the refugee camp, no longer in a role as provider of the family, Sinan must confront these conflicting feelings for the first time. Meanwhile, the teenage Irem tries to balance her desire for freedom from the life her mother has led with her unwillingness to give up her family, culture, and religious beliefs. The novel shows that there are no easy answers for either individual, but that, inevitably, choices have to be made.

What I like most about Gardens of Water is it's full-fledged characters, from Sinan and Irem to Marcus and Dylan. No one is a true hero or villain, as each one struggles with her or her own frustration, failings, and attempt to make sense of the universe.

Surprisingly for a book built on character development, the action moves quite quickly. Short chapters and alternatively following Sinan and Irem keep the pace quick, even though the book centers around Sinan as a whole.

I know very little about Turkey and the conflict with the Kurds, and nothing about the 1999 earthquake, and I enjoyed learning more. Although the author is an American, it felt as though all the characters were treated with respect as individuals with important similarities and differences.

Negative Reviews

2011-03-06T10:13:00.001-05:00

Note: I wrote this post on Friday, but I wanted to edit it, so I didn't publish it yet. Then, I read this post, "I Love Bad Reviews", by Justine Larbalestier this morning. And she said what I wanted to say, but better. That's what I get for waiting! I'm still posting mine, but I highly recommend reading Justine's thoughts on the matter.

Every couple months the blogs seem to blow up about the issue of negative reviews (I've only seen this in the YA blogs, but perhaps it happens elsewhere). I feel pretty strongly about the issue, so I thought I'd share.

First, I think it's a problem if bloggers look at reviews as a service to authors to help improve the authors' writing. Authors have plenty of people to help them with their writing--crit partners, writers' groups, agents, etc. Truthfully, it seems pretty egotistical to think whatever you have to say is going to be so monumentally earth shattering that it will drastically improve the author's future writings. If you see problems, the author most likely a) already knows or b) doesn't see them as issues. Therefore, writing reviews with an author audience in mind seems wrong.

So, that means book reviews are for two basic purposes:
1) To allow you to express your thoughts on books
2) To inform other readers about books

Both of these are worthwhile and important purposes. I write my reviews because I desperately need somewhere to get out my thoughts (my husband only wants to talk so much about books he hasn't read!). The OCD part of me likes the style, organization, and feeling of culmination reviewing each book I read gives me. I read many other blogs to be informed about books I might like to read.

So here's the thing--if book blog reviews are for those two purposes, then I see no reason not to write critical reviews. If I review to express my thoughts and then lie about a book that stunk, then I'm not achieving purpose one. And if I write a more positive review than the book deserved, then I'm failing to accurately deliver on purpose two.

My absolute least favorite types of reviews go something like this: "Yelping Chihuahua Archers by Suzy McSaddlepants was an amazing book. The story hooked me and the style was so amazing it took my breath away. I highly recommend this book to everyone I know! It gets 15/10 triple sundae heart points!" Because if all you do is uniformly praise every book you read (and what the heck does "the style is so amazing" mean?), then your reviews are completely meaningless. (I will make exceptions for blogs that announce upfront that they will only review books they love.) To me, you become untrustworthy as a source.

Now, like most others who have weighed on this issue have noted, I don't advocate trashing an author ("McSaddlepants is a total loser and should obviously leave the writing profession and instead become a grave digger, dig her own grave, and die.") or trashing a whole genre because of an author ("Saddlepants' failure to write a compelling young adult dystopian post-modern Western clearly demonstrates that the genre is tired and overdone."). However, I think it's okay to be critical. It's even okay to come across as harsh. You're writing to express your own thoughts and to pass those along to readers--and I want the truth.

I've written a number of harsh reviews. I loathed The Tattooed Girl (from my review: "This book is terrible. Truly, terrible. Not boring terrible, dense terrible, or cliched terrible- just terrible.") and One Hundred Years of Solitude ("One Hundred Years was an intolerable continuum of tedium."), and I said so in my reviews. Of course, Oates and Marquez are famous, well-recognized writers, and neither book is YA.

But I also criticized recent YA releases like Wildthorn and The Line because I did not feel they were good books. I try to specify why, since certainly aspects that bother me might not bother another reader. But, as a reader, I don't want to waste my time on something I won't enjoy, so I appreciate knowing the faults up front.

I do have a couple things that make it easier to write what I think: I have very low blog readership and I don't hope to become a published author. I suppose if I had tons of readers ready to pounce should I say something wrong or was sending out queries I might be more paranoid and thus cautious. I'm also not receiving ARCs to review, and like it or not, I think being a common recipient of advance books (and wanting to continue to be a recipient of such) probably does play a role in the way reviews come out.

So, here is my final thought: YA community, please keep writing thoughtful, critical reviews. The best of YA doesn't get recognized if everything that comes out is deemed absolutely fabulous.

"Before I Fall" by Lauren Oliver

2011-03-03T17:46:00.002-05:00

Summary: Sam, a high school senior, has the perfect life: three absolute best friends, a cool boyfriend (with whom she plans to lose her virginity tonight), and complete popularity. When driving home with her friends after a night of partying, she's involved in a crash--and wakes up to relive the same day once more. As Sam lives through one day of her life seven times, she realizes the mistakes she's made and seeks to correct them.

Musings: Before I Fall is a mash-up of Mean Girls and Groundhog Day that, despite treading no new ground, still manages to be compelling. In fact, the greatest strength of Oliver's writing is that even though the book falls into well-trod characters (the alpha-popular girl; the bullied loner) and themes (popularity isn't what's most important; be yourself!), the characters still feel full-bodied and important to the reader.

The narrator is Sam (i.e. Cady from Mean Girls, once she's popular) a girl who, when the book starts, is a total bitch, just like her friends (notably Lindsay, a.k.a. Mean Girl's Regina George). Of course, being popular, she and her friends don't actively recognize how cruel they are. However, I liked that the girls aren't only defined by their cruelty. They're also honest to goodness best friends, supportive and devoted to one another.

As Sam begins reliving one day of her life, she predictably begins to notice her many faults, recognize what's truly important, and become a better person. But this standard narrative is also broken up by many mishaps and well-intentioned but hurtful mistakes.

The new love interest, the adorable Kent, is probably too perfect (I said the same thing about Alex, the love interest in Oliver's Delirium--darn you, Oliver, for giving us perfect guys who will never exist), but I can never resist a pining relationship, and it was sweet to see their relationship begin several times over. Nonetheless, it's not the romantic relationships, but the complicated female friendships that really form the center of the book. (double darn, I said almost the same thing about Delirium too!)

I know this is a book that my 14-year-old female students would love, and I enjoyed it too, despite the overly-exaggerated emphasis on popularity (I know I never looked gaga-eyed at seniors when I was a freshman, though I didn't talk to them either). The ending may hint to easier solutions than the real world can provide, but it's also an ending that relies on hope, which I can't criticize.

"Complications" by Atul Gawande

2011-02-27T18:57:00.000-05:00

Summary: A collection of essays on the tricky and uncertain science of surgery and medicine.

Musings: I found Complications on a list of engaging nonfiction, and Gawande's work did not fail me in that regard. In fact, I found his book more engrossing than much of the fiction I read. I think this is because medicine is an area that pervades our lives despite the fact that many of us know so little about it. Gawande's book is then both reassuring and frightening, for it details the way in which there is so much doctors and scientists don't know as well.

The first section of the book is on surgeons specifically, where Gawande discusses the training of doctors and the "complications of medicine"--how things go wrong and how difficult it is to prevent and predict those occurrences. The second and third sections address disease, with individual chapters on things such as gastric bypass surgery, SIDS, pain, and nausea.

The medical terminology is all explained in layman's terms but without making the reader feel like an idiot. And although the book is not for the overly squeamish, disease and surgery are described straightforwardly, not grotesquely.

Probably what brings the book most to life, however, is Gawande's personal presence. A surgeon himself, Gawande's stories of his experiences with patients fill every chapter, and he uses his own challenges as a spring board to examine larger issues at play. In the afterward Gawande credits writer Malcolm Gladwell as a supportive friend, and I could see something of Gladwell's style in the book (whether that's because of the friendship or because both write for The New Yorker, I don't know). Like Gladwell, Gawande's essays all follow a similar structure: begin with a narrative, introduce the personal, analyze with scientific evidence, and return to narrative. Nonetheless, the repetitive structure doesn't lessen the reader's fascination with the myriad topics Gawande explores.

I highly recommend Complications to anyone looking for fast-paced nonfiction or insight into modern medicine.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Redwall" by Brian Jacques

2011-02-25T17:45:00.002-05:00

Summary: The Redwall Abbey has long been a peaceful place for all woodland creatures. However, when the ruthless rat Cluny the Scourge discovers the abbey, he determines he and his minions will take it. Matthias, a young mouse of Redwall, knows that finding the long-lost sword of Martin the Warrior will provide the abbey's inhabitants with the needed inspiration to defeat Cluny. Matthias must follow a series of clues to find the sword before Cluny's horde takes over Redwall.

Musings: This should probably be less of a review and more of a love letter to Jacques and the Redwall series. I first discovered Redwall as a kid, sometime in elementary school, when I read Mossflower, which chronologically comes after Redwall. I read a paperback library version, which, at around 450 pages, seemed huge to me. Nonetheless, I was completely sucked in and read the entire book in one sitting. I was so entranced that once I finished, I begged my mom to take me back to that library--right at that instant--in order to pick up Redwall, which I also finished in the same day. I probably read eight or so books in the series (there will be 22 as of May) before reaching those teenage years when I read little, but Jacques' stories have always had a special place in my heart. With the recent news of Jacques' passing, I knew I wanted to return to the Redwall world again.

Redwall is the perfect epic story of good heroes defeating evil villains. Redwall is a multi-cultural paradise where all woodland creatures--mice, badgers, otters, squirrels--exist in harmony. But despite the essential goodness of all the characters, the protagonists don't feel boring or simple. There's the determined Matthias, willing to take on a leadership role despite his young age. The strong and stubborn Constance the badger is probably my favorite character, followed closely by the experienced fighter rabbit Basil Stag Hare. It's hard to choose a favorite character because the world is so richly populated.

As much as the Redwall citizens are good, the villain Cluny is truly evil. My husband pointed out how effective Jacques is at making Cluny terrifying despite the fact that he never really has any success at taking over the abbey. And, truthfully, I like that about the series. It's not a series for very young kids--there are violent battles, terrified characters, and even some deaths. But the books are never tragic, hopeless, or morose.

Could I do some critical analysis of the series? Perhaps. And I'm sure there's something to say for the division of "good" woodland creatures and "bad." In the end, though, I think that's rarely going to matter for the reader. Redwall is a rousing adventure in a world the reader can't help but want to inhabit. Who doesn't want to jostle among the bickering shrews or scale walls alongside Tess the squirrel? Then there's the food! Anyone who has read the series knows that just as the fights and quests are epic, so are the feasts, which are so fully described that the reader immediately becomes hungry.

I hope to read these books aloud with my children some day, and I'd like to continue to reread the series myself.

"A Hundred Thousand Kingdoms" by N.K. Jemisin

2011-02-20T18:30:00.001-05:00

Summary: There were once three gods. But the god Itempas killed the god Enefa and imprisoned the third god, Nahadoth. Now Nahadoth and his children are enslaved weapons of the Arameri, the ruling people of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.

Yeine has been raised with her father's family in Darr ever since her mother--sole heir to the Arameri throne--was disowned after giving up her heirship to be with Yeine's father. Both of Yeine's parents are now dead, and Dekarta, Yeine's grandfather and current ruler, has recalled Yeine to Sky in order to name her potential heir, along with two of her cousins. In Sky Yeine learns what it means to be Arameri for the first time while becoming uncomfortably close with the enslaved gods, particularly the seductive god of darkness, Nahadoth.

The gods and the Arameri clearly all have plans in place--and Yeine must decide her role in the future of the world.

Musings: The summary above is much longer than the summaries I typically write, but that's because there's so much going on in The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms that it's difficult to even know where to start. The complex nature of the novel is one of its greatest strengths and occasionally a hindrance. The depth of the mythology and characters of Hundred Thousand Kingdoms makes it such an engaging read, but there's so much of interest that inevitably some areas are unexplored.

Jemisin's greatest achievement is her ability to create an entire back story--to the gods, the Arameri, and Yeine--that comes together in a compelling narrative. There's so much going on that at times I did feel a bit lost, but everything comes together in the end. I especially liked the richness of the gods' histories and the way in which they seem mortal and not-mortal, understandable and unfathomable. Most people today think of God (or gods) as an unreachable, perfect being, but these gods are more like those of Ancient Greece--all the more powerful and deadly because of their semblance to humans. Like American Gods, Hundred Thousand Kingdoms addresses what happens when a god is no longer at the pinnacle of power, something I found especially fascinating.

Yeine is the perfect protagonist, a strong woman from the matriarchal Darr who is thrust into a world she doesn't understand. She finds herself pulled in many directions, and only slowly does she (and the reader) come to make sense of the world around her. Her relationship with Nahadoth is unusual and intense, but I appreciated that it isn't her only relationship in the book--her friendship with the godling child Sieh and the Arameri servant T'vril are also significant.

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is definitely high fantasy, and some people might be put off by the complicated world building, as well as the violence and sex. However, for me, the novel came together perfectly, and I finished it far more quickly than any other book I've read recently. Yeine's strong voice is completely compelling, and I think most any reader would find the book hard to put down once begun.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Winter's End" by Jean-Claude Mourlevat

2011-02-16T17:50:00.002-05:00

Summary: When Helen, Milena, Bart, and Milos run away from their restrictive boarding schools, they know the danger they're facing. The Phalange government is after them, and, in the end, only three are able to join up with the Resistance. As Helen, Milena, and Bart work to overthrow the cruel Phalange regime, Milos finds he is being prepared to fight to the death in a gladiator match.

Musings: Winter's End has some nice dystopian elements, though in the end I think it will be a rather forgettable novel. The book begins at the girls' boarding school and describes the school's strange practices; rules are numerous and the only real joy the girls get is from their thrice a year allowed visits to "consolers," motherly women who comfort the girls during their two-hour visits. There's a nice creepy atmosphere at the school, and truthfully, I would have liked to have had more of the action there. I also wanted more information on who the consolers are and how the magical "Sky" came to be, both of which aren't explained.

Instead, the story quickly moves into the town, which is under the rule of the Phalange. The ruling group is not really explained, nor are their governing practices, beyond being obviously cruel. This makes the middle section of the book somewhat dull. It's clear that the Resistance will eventually try to overthrow the government, but without any unique world building there's little of interest. Milos' experience in the gladiator training camp is somewhat more interesting, primarily due to the unique characters he is housed with.

The four teenage characters are fairly dull and interchangeable, and the dialogue between them feels stilted and fake. I don't know whether that's because of the book itself or the English translation (the book was originally published in French), but it reminded me of dialogue in books from the '20s ("Oh, yes, we shall!", etc.). There's supposed to be romance, but there's not much passion felt.

Winter's End is diverting enough, but the most interesting parts of the book--the boarding school, the horse-men--are relegated to the sidelines.

- Read as part of Presenting Lenore's Dystopian February.
***Book received from the publisher at the NCTE Conference in 2009.

"Who Fears Death" by Nnedi Okorafor

2011-02-12T12:23:00.001-05:00

Summary: Onyesonwu is Ewu, a child born of the rape of an Okeke woman by a Nuru man. The Okeke people have been enslaved and under the power of the Nuru people, and now the Nuru people are determined to follow the Great Book and wipe out the Okeke completely. But Onyesonwu is not only Ewu; she also has the powers of a sorcerer, and with the help of her companion, lover, and fellow Ewu Mwita, she may be the one to rewrite the Great Book forever.

Musings: Although Who Fears Death appeared on a number of best of 2010 lists, I was nervous to read this book for awhile because of the graphic nature of the rape and violence in the book. Difficult as it is, that material is there, though it's integral to the plot of the story. Onyesonwu is a child of rape, and violence will be a part of her life, though she works hard to go beyond the expectations that Ewu children will be nothing but violent. Onyesonwu is a strong-willed and stubborn narrator who fiercely believes in equality of the sexes. Her companion Mwita is similarly determined, and I liked the way in which Onyesonwu and Mwita butt heads yet unconditionally support one another.

There's an element of magical realism in the sorcery that appears through the book. Onyesonwu's powers are revealed piece by piece, though occasionally I felt overwhelmed by the variety of magic and abilities introduced. The novel is also science-fiction in some ways, as the setting is a post-Apocalyptic (presumably future) Africa. However, the setting never felt quite right to me; the characters have access to computers, though they never use them, so I really had no idea how much technology played in their lives.

In the end, I'm somewhat ambivalent about the book. It's well-written with complex world building and compelling protagonists. At the same time, the story always felt "off" in some way to me, and I was often reluctant to pick up the book each day, even though I read rapidly and with interest when I did. However, I've been complaining about the dearth of POC fantasy and science fiction, so I'm thrilled to see Who Fears Death, which has the added benefit of being very much a feminist novel, receive so much attention and praise.

- Read as part of Presenting Lenore's Dystopian February.
***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Rampant" by Diana Peterfreund

2011-02-06T18:39:00.000-05:00

Summary: Astrid has grown up hearing her mother's crazy stories: that she is descended from famous unicorn hunters (all virginal female descendants of Alexander the Great) who years ago drove the killer beasts into extinction. These tales are just fantasy to Astrid until one evening when her date is attacked by a unicorn and saved only by her mother's vial of Remedy--a magical substance that heals wounds. With other strange attacks on the rise, Astrid's mother learns that an order dedicated to training young hunters is reopening in Rome. Astrid's not interested in being a unicorn hunter, but her mother insists, and Astrid finds herself in Rome, confronted with unicorn lore, a very cute boy, and increasing danger.

Musings: I'll admit I was unfairly prejudiced against this book when it first came out. When I heard that the unicorn hunters could only be female virgins, I was immediately put off for two reasons. First, I hate the idea that virginity is a black or white you are or you aren't, and secondly, I hate the idea that being a virgin somehow makes you better or more special than those who aren't. However, I began to see Rampant on lists of feminist young adult titles (imagine my surprise!), and I loved Peterfreund's short story in Zombies v. Unicorns. I gave the book a try, and it turns out I was wrong. Rampant is not only a highly enjoyable read, it also approaches teenage sexuality in an admirable way.

Astrid's a great strong character, and I especially liked her (and most of the girls in the book's) approach to virginity. She doesn't have twisted purity ideals or believe that her virginity is a special wrapped gift to give her husband. At the same time, she doesn't want to sleep with just anyone, and she wants to do it on her own terms. Truthfully, this is the way I felt as a teenager, and I think it's the way a lot of young adults--girls and boys--think. There's a lot of open and frank discussion about sex in the novel, which I appreciated. The novel also gets double feminist points for its depiction of rape between people dating and its position on victim blaming ideology.

Apart from those issues, Rampant is an excellent combination of unusual unicorn lore, self-discovery, action, friendship, and romance. Yes, there's a swoon-worthy love interest, but that relationship doesn't dominate the novel or Astrid's life. And besides, I hate to be all mushy, but it's hard not to fall for Giovanni, and there are definitely some steamy scenes.

There were a few points that were off to me, like Astrid's mother (whose characterization in the latter half seemed odd and inconsistent). Sometimes I didn't completely follow what was happening in a battle, but that may have been because it was too fun to race through the book.

I'm looking forward to reading the sequel, Ascendant, soon.

"Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman" by Haruki Murakami

2011-02-02T19:43:00.000-05:00

Summary: A collection of unusual short stories.

Musings: In describing my feelings about Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, it's difficult to know where to start. I think that's because the stories themselves are so unquantifiable that to try to talk about them seems almost impossible. These are stories that, when finished, the first reaction is: "Uh....?" Because no matter how carefully you read, you immediately feel like there's something there that you just didn't get. A few of the stories, especially near the end, have some sense of resolution and meaning, but most have no obvious plot arc or theme. For example, here's my summary of "A Perfect Day for Kangaroos," one of Murakami's typical stories (chosen because it's short and relatively easy to summarize):

A couple learns that a new baby kangaroo has been born at the zoo. They plan on going to see the baby, but things come up, the weather is bad, and it's about a month before they get around to going to see it. When they do go, the girlfriend is bummed because the baby isn't so much a baby anymore--it's hopping around on its own. The boyfriend buys chocolate ice cream, and the girlfriend asks him a bunch of questions about kangaroos: how to they hop? why do the babies live in pouches? They buy Cokes and hot dogs. When they come back to the exhibit, the baby kangaroo it sitting in its mother's pouch, which the girlfriend is happy to see. They leave and the boyfriend asks if the girlfriend wants to go out for a beer.

Most are even stranger and less linear, though the majority take place within the "real" world. But, even though none of the stories "made sense" in a typical way, I never felt like I was being taken on a pointless journey, and I didn't feel deceived or duped by Murakami. In fact, every story was immensely interesting and entertaining, like a fabulous new ghost story, only there's no real ending, and the reader is left with just a hint of meaning. A character in an early story captures my feelings exactly: "I felt like I knew what he was getting at. At the same time, I felt that I had no idea what he meant" (40).

The stories are very short (there's 24 in the approximately 300-page collection), so the pace moves quickly. I suppose the length also means that the reader is never so invested in a character or storyline that he or she feels let down without a typical climax or resolution.

There are some general recurring themes, though I can't pinpoint anything exactly: loneliness, relationships, old albums and jazz. My favorite stories are probably the ones that are weirdest, namely "Dabchick" and "A Shinagawa Monkey."

Like a good mystery, I think Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman would be a lot of fun to talk over with friends or a book group, and it would definitely be worth a reread.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.

"Right Ho, Jeeves" by P.G. Wodehouse

2011-01-30T10:32:00.001-05:00

Summary: Bertram Wooster is upset when he hears that a school friend of his, Gussie Fink-Nottle, has been seeing Bertie's valet, Jeeves, for help with his problem: he loves a woman but is too nervous to ask her to marry him. Bertie insists on handling the problem himself, and when Aunt Dahlia urgently asks for Bertie's help--and Bertie learns the object of Gussie's affection will also be visiting Aunt Dahlia--he and Gussie travel there. But in Aunt Dahlia's home are even more troubles: Bertie's cousin Angela has just broken up with her fiance Tuppy and Aunt Dahlia can't bring herself to tell her husband she lost money at baccarat. Can Bertie fix everything? Or will Jeeves come to the rescue again?

Musings: I'd heard of P.G. Wodehouse's books here and there, though I'll confess that it was young Frankie's admiration of his works in The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks that really piqued my interest (and the book is available free on the Kindle--yay!). Unfortunately for the virgin Wodehouse reader, the author wrote a lot of books in his lifetime, but his Jeeves works are most well-known, and since Right Ho, Jeeves (the second full novel in the Jeeves stories) was recommended on several sites, I began there.

Right Ho, Jeeves is a lot of silly fun, and although it approaches slapstick at times, it never quite goes there. The novel is told from the first person point of view of Bertie, a decent guy who nonetheless highly overrates his abilities. Like Austen's Emma, Bertie seeks to solve everyone's problems--and only makes a giant mess in the end. I kept expecting Bertie to go into Michael Scott land and be just a bumbling fool, but he was always step smarter than that, even though his plans never worked out.

Bertie's foil is the upright straight-man Jeeves, on which decades of English butlers have been based. Like with Bertie, Jeeves wasn't exactly as I expected. He's calm, cool, and restrained, and he always shows the proper courtesy and respect, but he also has a mischievous side, which I enjoyed. Not surprisingly there's a push and pull relationship between Jeeves and his employer, with Bertie always trying to maintain the upper hand, and often failing. Muses Bertie once when trying to secure his authority: "I mean to say, while firmly resolved to tick him off, I didn't want to gash his feelings too deeply. Even when displaying the iron hand, we Woosters like to keep things fairly matey." Of course, in the end, Jeeves comes out on top, but without hurting Bertie's feelings too badly.

Wodehouse novels are known for their use of language, and I was happily surprised by the sauciness and humor present in a book published in 1934. I loved Aunt Dahlia's frequent disparagement of Bertie and her insistence on Bertie killing himself. She once says, "I wonder, Bertie... if you have the fainest conception how perfectly loathsome you look? A cross between an orgy scene in the movies and some low form of pond life." Gussie's drunken presentation of prizes is fabulous, as is his attempt to escape Tuppy's wrath.

Right Ho, Jeeves was fun and enjoyable, and I look forward to reading more Wodehouse in the future.

"The Boxcar Children" by Gertrude Chandler Warner

2011-01-27T12:23:00.000-05:00

Summary: Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny's parents have died, and now they are without a home. Wandering around, they find an abandoned boxcar in the woods, and they decide to stay. With Henry working for the kindly Dr. Moore, the children create a happy life for themselves.

Musings: I've mentioned before that as a child I wanted to live in the woods. This is the game I played most with my friends (e.g., we'd collect acorns for "food" or build a "raft" out of wooden planks found in the creek). And although I consumed most of the kid-living-alone-in the wilderness genre of the time (Hatchet, My Side of the Mountain, Island of the Blue Dolphins), rereading The Boxcar Children has cemented the fact that nearly everything I believed about living in the wild came from this one book.

Of course, this is because in The Boxcar Children, living alone outside has all the wonderful benefits and none of the pesky disadvantages. The children make a cozy, warm home in the boxcar, they cook delicious stews over their stone fireplace, and they even have a "refrigerator"--a recess behind a waterfall that keeps food cold. Their days are spent on wonderful crafts (I should also mention I was a bit craft obsessed as a child), making a broom, a cart, or a stuffed animal. They even build a swimming pool in one fun Sunday! And a stray dog wanders in and becomes their friend! Without the distractions of hunger, dirtiness, disease, or cold, it's an idyllic life. It's pure fantasy, but for children, it's also a great way to show the power of the imagination and the ability to create much out of what is already around you.

Everyone in the book is friendly and goodhearted, from the never-grumpy children to the benevolent Dr. and Mrs. Moore and the children's previously unknown grandfather. This of course means the book has to completely avoid some basic questions (How did the children's parents die? If they were so friendly and nice, why did no one look after them? Why hadn't their grandfather been in their life? Why don't they seem particularly traumatized by losing their parents?).

My least favorite part of the book as a child was the ending, where the children go to live happily with their grandfather. Although the grandfather eventually transports the boxcar to his property, it's just not the same. The children are safely guarded by a parental figure and snug in a real home and real beds. There's no living in the woods adventure, even though the series continued for another 100-something books.

Like other children's books of the day (the first book was originally published in 1924), The Boxcar Children is more about moralizing than realism, so the goody-two-shoes nature of the book can be a little eye-rolling, though I didn't find it nearly so grating as that of The Secret Garden (another childhood favorite which stood up less well on reread). In fact, overall I found the novel quite enjoyable, and I think it would be a great read-aloud/read-together book for the early elementary set.

I've classified the novel as "young adult" because I don't have a separate children's tag; Amazon says the reading level is 9-12, though I would think it would be appropriate more for the younger end.

E-galley received by the publisher through Net Galley for my review.

"The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey" by Walter Mosley

2011-01-26T17:32:00.001-05:00

Summary: 91-year-old Ptolemy Grey has a difficult time remembering things, and his thoughts often flutter from one point to another, making it hard for him to piece together any one memory. When Reggie, his great-grandnephew who checked in on him, dies in a drive-by shooting, Robyn, a young woman living with a member of Ptolemy's family, begins caring for him. Robyn truly cares about Ptolemy, cleaning up his squalid apartment and showing him love and care. Ptolemy begins to piece together parts of his life and decides there are things he needs to finish before he dies.

Musings: In some ways The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey is kind of like deciding to buy a giant piece of cake from the grocery store to eat as an afternoon snack instead of just going home and eating the celery you know is already in the fridge. The celery is better for you, and the cake may ring too sickly sweet once you finish, but gosh do you feel great chomping that cake down. Ptolemy Grey is filled with "perfect" characters who are exactly as they appear and don't have the nasty habit of disappointing. You know they won't withstand any kind of characterization scrutiny, but it's still enjoyable to read about good people doing good things and getting proper rewards. So I guess all of this is a roundabout way of saying I quite enjoyed Ptolemy Grey (even more so than that cake).

Our perfect characters are Ptolemy, a sweet elderly man determined to give to everyone, and Robyn, a beautiful and saintly young woman who devotes her existence to caring, loving, and supporting the nonagenarian. Robyn instantly likes Ptolemy, listening to him and clearing out his filthy apartment (in what would have been the most uplifting episode of Hoarders ever had it been real). She never gets bored, angry, or mad with him, and in fact the two spend most of the book mooning over how they would get married if he were forty years younger and she twenty years older.

But, really, I'm sounding critical when I was fully engrossed in the novel. Ptolemy is an endearing character, and the reader gets a look into various aspects of his life, primarily his relationship as a boy with an elderly man named Coydog McCann. There's joy in seeing his life improve (and keep improving!) through the love of Robyn.

Most of the book follows Ptolemy's train of thought in the early stages of dementia, so it's a bit surprising when, two-thirds of the way through the book, Ptolemy feels certain he needs to take an experimental drug that will return his memories but shorten his life. He suddenly has to do certain things before he dies, and I was a little surprised at the sudden assurance.

By the end of the novel everything is neatly and happily wrapped up; there are no great mysteries revealed nor any sudden failings by our angelic characters. However, I also felt happy while reading (I found it hard to put down) and after I finished. Ptolemy Grey is a good choice for someone who wants a heart-warming book with a more unique style and a minimum of corniness.

***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.