Summary: Miranda is an ordinary sixteen-year-old until one day a meteor headed for the moon--supposed to just be a freak astrological sight--knocks the moon off orbit, forcing it closer to earth. As a result, natural disasters appear all over the world; coastal cities are flooded, tsunamis wreak havoc, and volcano eruptions cloud the sky with ash. Electricity and food supplies are cut off, and Miranda, her mother, and her two brothers are left to try to fend for themselves.
Musings: Life As We Knew It is somewhat different than most of the post-apocalyptic literature I've read. Rather than just detailing life after the apocalypse, Life As We Knew It concerns the events before, during, and after the catastrophe. The reader sees our perfectly ordinary world disintegrate and ordinary citizens struggle to survive. Now I know little about the science and the moon's affect on Earth, but regardless, what is most appealing about the novel is how plausible it all sounds. Miranda and her family don't face killer zombies or a government run by all-seeing dictators; they try to eat, keep warm, and stay together when the outside world is no longer a source of support.
Pfeffer uses diary entries to tell the story as Miranda keeps a daily record of what happens. I'm not crazy about that format (really? You're writing when the world has just erupted into chaos? You really took the time to meticulously recreate dialogue from earlier in the day?), but it's not too much of a distraction.
Miranda and her mother are fully detailed characters. They want to live and they want to support their family, but they both experience doubt, anger, resignation, and hope. The brothers, Jonny and Matt, are a little more one-dimensional. I had also hoped for more from Megan, Miranda's fervently religious friend. I can certainly see how people might turn to religion in this time, but Miranda is so condescending and fanatical that Megan just comes off as crazy. I think it would have been more interesting to see two very different--but balanced--reactions to what happened.
Some parts of the book don't quite come together. Would Jonny's baseball camp really still be running during all of this? And if the baseball camp has food, why doesn't the whole starving family enroll in camp? The family is just lucky enough to have made a huge run on food and all necessary supplies and have a well and have a wood burning stove? Despite the widespread death and starvation, there are no violent encounters with other families?
The deus ex machina which ends the book also felt a bit false, but in a story in which things almost always get worse, it's good to have a ray of sunshine.
I'm not particularly eager to read the next in the series although I may get around to it eventually. The bleak tone may wear on some readers despite the positive emphasis on the strength of family bonds. However, Life As We Knew It does do a good job of forcing the reader to wonder, "What would I do?"
I've always loved books, but "adult" life seemed to get in the way. Now I'm making time to read and falling in love all over again.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
"Bloodchild" by Octavia Butler
Summary: A collection of five short stories, primarily science fiction, and two essays.
Musings: I was intrigued by Butler's Kindred and was interested in more of her heavier science fiction, so I picked up Bloodchild. It's an interesting collection of works: three traditional high science fiction stories, one story in the "real world," one story that falls in between, an autobiographical essay, and an essay on writing. I prefer books of short stories that are intended as a cohesive unit, so although some parts of Bloodchild were interesting, I felt less affected by the book as a whole.
I did like that Butler includes a short afterword following each story explaining some of her thought processes behind the story. It's was interesting to read about Butler's mindset when she wrote and compare my reactions to the story to her intentions.
My favorite story was probably "Speech Sounds," set in a post-apocalyptic world where disease has made people unable to communicate (i.e. unable to speak/understand language or read/write). In this world, a friendship develops between a woman named Rye and a man named Obsidian. "Speech Sounds," like most of the stories in the collection, focus on relationships between people. These relationships are often strained by secrets and things unsaid. But the relationships in Butler's stories are also made of people willing to accommodate, adjust, and accept in order to find some peace.
Another story, "Bloodchild," was very traditionally science fiction, which is not a genre that particularly appeals to me, so I had a difficult time getting in to the story. Butler's essays had some interesting information but felt like they were lacking much life or enthusiasm.
I admire Butler's work and the issues she addresses, so I'm sure I'll try something else by her, but perhaps I'll look more carefully for one within my genre tastes.
***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.
Musings: I was intrigued by Butler's Kindred and was interested in more of her heavier science fiction, so I picked up Bloodchild. It's an interesting collection of works: three traditional high science fiction stories, one story in the "real world," one story that falls in between, an autobiographical essay, and an essay on writing. I prefer books of short stories that are intended as a cohesive unit, so although some parts of Bloodchild were interesting, I felt less affected by the book as a whole.
I did like that Butler includes a short afterword following each story explaining some of her thought processes behind the story. It's was interesting to read about Butler's mindset when she wrote and compare my reactions to the story to her intentions.
My favorite story was probably "Speech Sounds," set in a post-apocalyptic world where disease has made people unable to communicate (i.e. unable to speak/understand language or read/write). In this world, a friendship develops between a woman named Rye and a man named Obsidian. "Speech Sounds," like most of the stories in the collection, focus on relationships between people. These relationships are often strained by secrets and things unsaid. But the relationships in Butler's stories are also made of people willing to accommodate, adjust, and accept in order to find some peace.
Another story, "Bloodchild," was very traditionally science fiction, which is not a genre that particularly appeals to me, so I had a difficult time getting in to the story. Butler's essays had some interesting information but felt like they were lacking much life or enthusiasm.
I admire Butler's work and the issues she addresses, so I'm sure I'll try something else by her, but perhaps I'll look more carefully for one within my genre tastes.
***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge.
Labels:
fiction,
POC Reading Challenge,
science fiction,
short stories
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
"The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks" by E. Lockhart
Summary: Frankie, a sophomore a Alabaster Prep, a prestigious boarding school, is surprised when the hot and popular senior Matthew takes an interest in her. But Frankie soon realizes that she doesn't just want to be Matthew's girlfriend; she wants to be a part of his group of friends and their all-male secret society. However, in their eyes, no matter how smart or interesting she is, Frankie is just a girl who can never be one of the guys. Frankie's awareness leads to infiltration of the society and social protest as she aims to prove she should not be underestimated.
Musings: I think I'm typically wary of prep school fiction, but I loved Disreputable History. And I'll even admit I have a bit of a literary crush on Frankie. Frankie is a feminist hero who actively rebels against the unwritten codes of behavior, specifically those that govern men and women's actions, and more broadly those that govern how people act within society. Not that Frankie doesn't experience moments of doubt along the way--after all, she likes Matthew and wants to be his girlfriend--but that won't stop her from doing all she can to prove she's more than others expect her to be.
Frankie's great at breaking down gendered standards that guide relationships. She has an awesome rebuttal to an ex-boyfriend's paternalistic attempt to warn her against Matthew, and she has a similarly independent response to her sister when her sister says she is a toy of Matthew for wearing a shirt he gave her. Lockhart does an excellent job capturing the dynamics of boys' and girls' relationships in high schools that I thought was very true to life.
Disreputable History also spends a considerable time on the panopticon (idea comes from a prison design): the concept that people feel as if they are being watched and judged at all times, thus causing people to obey standards of behavior even when alone. In this way Lockhart explores how many of our behaviors and interactions are guided by fear of societal reprisal. It's heavy stuff for a young adult book, but it doesn't feel heavy at all in the novel.
Lockhart keeps an active and conspiratorial tone in the book which, although told in third person, conveys Frankie's attitude and voice perfectly. The social commentary is worked into snappy dialogue and the genius mechanism of Frankie's mind, so the book never feels dogmatic.
There's perhaps a bit too much time spent on imaginary neglected positives (INPs). For example, "Impetuous means hotheaded, unthinking, impulsive. The positive of it doesn't exist, so you can make a new, illegitimate word. Petuous, meaning careful" (111). It's cute and funny and something I've pondered before, but the joke drags on some.
Otherwise, I loved the book. Frankie is the awesome girl everyone wishes he/she knew, and the ending is satisfying and realistic. I think it would be an excellent way to jump-start discussions on gendered expectations within the classroom.
P.S. I rarely have anything to say about covers, but the paperback cover is terrible. I read a hardback version (cover pictured above), which I think effectively conveys the book's content. The paperback cover looks cheesy. It's disappointing because I know I wouldn't ever pick up a book with that cover at the store, and I think it could keep people from buying it.
Musings: I think I'm typically wary of prep school fiction, but I loved Disreputable History. And I'll even admit I have a bit of a literary crush on Frankie. Frankie is a feminist hero who actively rebels against the unwritten codes of behavior, specifically those that govern men and women's actions, and more broadly those that govern how people act within society. Not that Frankie doesn't experience moments of doubt along the way--after all, she likes Matthew and wants to be his girlfriend--but that won't stop her from doing all she can to prove she's more than others expect her to be.
Frankie's great at breaking down gendered standards that guide relationships. She has an awesome rebuttal to an ex-boyfriend's paternalistic attempt to warn her against Matthew, and she has a similarly independent response to her sister when her sister says she is a toy of Matthew for wearing a shirt he gave her. Lockhart does an excellent job capturing the dynamics of boys' and girls' relationships in high schools that I thought was very true to life.
Disreputable History also spends a considerable time on the panopticon (idea comes from a prison design): the concept that people feel as if they are being watched and judged at all times, thus causing people to obey standards of behavior even when alone. In this way Lockhart explores how many of our behaviors and interactions are guided by fear of societal reprisal. It's heavy stuff for a young adult book, but it doesn't feel heavy at all in the novel.
Lockhart keeps an active and conspiratorial tone in the book which, although told in third person, conveys Frankie's attitude and voice perfectly. The social commentary is worked into snappy dialogue and the genius mechanism of Frankie's mind, so the book never feels dogmatic.
There's perhaps a bit too much time spent on imaginary neglected positives (INPs). For example, "Impetuous means hotheaded, unthinking, impulsive. The positive of it doesn't exist, so you can make a new, illegitimate word. Petuous, meaning careful" (111). It's cute and funny and something I've pondered before, but the joke drags on some.
Otherwise, I loved the book. Frankie is the awesome girl everyone wishes he/she knew, and the ending is satisfying and realistic. I think it would be an excellent way to jump-start discussions on gendered expectations within the classroom.
P.S. I rarely have anything to say about covers, but the paperback cover is terrible. I read a hardback version (cover pictured above), which I think effectively conveys the book's content. The paperback cover looks cheesy. It's disappointing because I know I wouldn't ever pick up a book with that cover at the store, and I think it could keep people from buying it.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
"The Book of Lost Things" by John Connolly
Summary: David has always been closest to his books and his mother. When his mother dies after a long fight with illness, David's father remarries, and David resents his new stepmother and stepbrother. He again seeks solace in the stories he grew up with, but now he can also hear the books whispering to him. Strange dreams begin to follow him, and one night, drawn by his mother's voice, he enters a hole in the garden outside his home and reemerges in another world. This world is full of danger and also helpers, and David learns his only chance to return home is to journey to the King and his mysterious Book of Lost Things. But with a pack of man-wolves and a trickster named the Crooked Man after him, finding home again will not be easy.
Musings: Strangely, March seems to be a "books about books" month for me, with The Book of Lost Things following my reading of Fforde's The Well of Lost Plots and North's Libyrinth. Because reading is so important in my life, it's been interesting to read how various authors have imagined other-worldly relationships between books and readers.
Of the three, The Book of Lost Things is my favorite, perhaps because it is able to succeed in combining different aspects of literature together. It incorporates the retelling of fairy tales within a classic fairy tale structure while also seeming contemporary, and it features a young protagonist coming of age within an adult categorization instead of YA.
There is something comforting and reassuring in David's journey, which never feels foreign. Some stories referenced and transformed within The Book of Lost Things are directly from childhood classics (Little Red Riding Hood, Rumpelstiltskin), but even when Connolly is not directly relying on individual stories, the feel of David's journey remains within the fairy tale genre. However, this impression did not make the story seem tired to me, but rather enhanced the book's atmosphere and tone.
Like the original fairy tales, Connolly's book acknowledges that real stories have no "happily ever after." However, the lack of assured happiness does not mean that the relationships forged through selflessness and compassion are worthless. David's relationships with the brave Woodsman and the knight Roland help David overcome fear of real threats and imagined. There is a lesson within the book, but it's more realistic than cautionary.
***This book qualifies for the TwentyTen Reading Challenge ("Who Are You?" category).
Musings: Strangely, March seems to be a "books about books" month for me, with The Book of Lost Things following my reading of Fforde's The Well of Lost Plots and North's Libyrinth. Because reading is so important in my life, it's been interesting to read how various authors have imagined other-worldly relationships between books and readers.
Of the three, The Book of Lost Things is my favorite, perhaps because it is able to succeed in combining different aspects of literature together. It incorporates the retelling of fairy tales within a classic fairy tale structure while also seeming contemporary, and it features a young protagonist coming of age within an adult categorization instead of YA.
There is something comforting and reassuring in David's journey, which never feels foreign. Some stories referenced and transformed within The Book of Lost Things are directly from childhood classics (Little Red Riding Hood, Rumpelstiltskin), but even when Connolly is not directly relying on individual stories, the feel of David's journey remains within the fairy tale genre. However, this impression did not make the story seem tired to me, but rather enhanced the book's atmosphere and tone.
Like the original fairy tales, Connolly's book acknowledges that real stories have no "happily ever after." However, the lack of assured happiness does not mean that the relationships forged through selflessness and compassion are worthless. David's relationships with the brave Woodsman and the knight Roland help David overcome fear of real threats and imagined. There is a lesson within the book, but it's more realistic than cautionary.
***This book qualifies for the TwentyTen Reading Challenge ("Who Are You?" category).
Thursday, March 11, 2010
"Monique and the Mango Rains" by Kris Holloway
Summary: A memoir of a woman's experience working with a midwife named Monique as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali from 1989-1991.
Musings: Monique and the Mango Rains, a straightforward and informative nonfiction read, provided a interesting glimpse into the lives of Peace Corps volunteers and the lives of the people of Mali. For both topics Holloway is an even-handed narrator who describes her time with Monique without pity or condescension.
The book celebrates the skills and triumphs within the village while also acknowledging the people's lack of accessibility to medical care and nutrition. Monique, a bright and energetic young midwife, is the star of the story. Her optimism and tireless energy match well with Holloway, who shares her passion. Their close friendship shows how universal relationships can be. Holloway also has an interesting perspective as a Peace Corp volunteer. Unlike other Westerners (doctors, for example) who might come to African countries to help, Holloway has no real expertise to offer--just a willing body and mind. Because of this, she is able to learn and assist while not imposing her beliefs of how things should be done.
One of the issues Holloway especially focuses on is the sexism in the village and the way in which it limits women's options. She works with Monique in these areas, providing regional information on the dangers of female genital mutilation and assisting the village in gaining access to birth control, but in all these instances changes come from Monique's work. The one area Holloway does directly intervene in is ensuring that Monique, not her father-in-law, receives her salary, but clearly Monique benefits from an intervention that, according to social custom, she could not easily do herself.
Holloway writes simply and directly, so I found the book engrossing and quick. I'll admit to knowing very little about many African nations, and although Monique and the Mango Rains provides just one viewpoint of one specific place, I enjoyed its fair depiction of the author's time there.
***This book qualifies for the TwentyTen Reading Challenge (completing the "Up to You!" category) and the POC Reading Challenge.
Musings: Monique and the Mango Rains, a straightforward and informative nonfiction read, provided a interesting glimpse into the lives of Peace Corps volunteers and the lives of the people of Mali. For both topics Holloway is an even-handed narrator who describes her time with Monique without pity or condescension.
The book celebrates the skills and triumphs within the village while also acknowledging the people's lack of accessibility to medical care and nutrition. Monique, a bright and energetic young midwife, is the star of the story. Her optimism and tireless energy match well with Holloway, who shares her passion. Their close friendship shows how universal relationships can be. Holloway also has an interesting perspective as a Peace Corp volunteer. Unlike other Westerners (doctors, for example) who might come to African countries to help, Holloway has no real expertise to offer--just a willing body and mind. Because of this, she is able to learn and assist while not imposing her beliefs of how things should be done.
One of the issues Holloway especially focuses on is the sexism in the village and the way in which it limits women's options. She works with Monique in these areas, providing regional information on the dangers of female genital mutilation and assisting the village in gaining access to birth control, but in all these instances changes come from Monique's work. The one area Holloway does directly intervene in is ensuring that Monique, not her father-in-law, receives her salary, but clearly Monique benefits from an intervention that, according to social custom, she could not easily do herself.
Holloway writes simply and directly, so I found the book engrossing and quick. I'll admit to knowing very little about many African nations, and although Monique and the Mango Rains provides just one viewpoint of one specific place, I enjoyed its fair depiction of the author's time there.
***This book qualifies for the TwentyTen Reading Challenge (completing the "Up to You!" category) and the POC Reading Challenge.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
"Libyrinth" by Pearl North
Summary: Haly has been a clerk in the Libyrinth since she was born, but while all the members of the Libyrinth are dedicated to the books within their care, Haly is the only who can hear the books--they speak to her, even without being opened. For years the Libyrinth has been threatened by the Eradicants, a group of people who fear the written word, annually burning books, and rely on singing for all information. Both groups are after the fabled Book of the Night, which will give the holder information of great power. When Haly learns of a plot to steal the book, she sets off from the Libyrinth with her friend Clauda and the Libryarian Selene. However, both Haly and Clauda will be more important to the future than anyone could have imagined.
Musings: Although I found mostly middling reviews on Libyrinth, I was intrigued by North's use of literature throughout the young adult novel. The books speak to Haly, and these are not unknown books, but books we are all familiar with: Anne Frank's Diary of a Young Girl, Lord of the Flies, and Charlotte's Web, just to name a few. I had a hoped for a kind of YA-Thursday Next (albeit without the humor), and I was in that sense somewhat disappointed. Although quotes from novels pepper Libyrinth intermittently and speak apropos to Haly's current situation, they didn't feel like a fully integrated part of the book.
Haly and Clauda were somewhat generic characters for me, and although I wished them success, I didn't feel especially connected to them either. The novel does largely succeed, however, in its commentary on the power and dangers of knowledge, and North was able to take a slightly different approach to censorship. The Libryarian's rightly treasure books and the knowledge they possess, but they also hoard that knowledge, keeping it only for the elite within the Libryrinth. The Eradicants (or Singers) fear literacy and destroy books, but through singing they ensure that all people have equal access to information. Of course, both groups must come together in the end. The reconciliation is perhaps overly optimistic (and, for me, a bit cheesy), but the message is nonetheless valid.
Unexpectedly, this book qualifies for both the POC Reading Challenge and the GLBT Reading Challenge. I had been looking for books in the sci-fi/fantasy realm for those challenges, so it was especially exciting to unknowingly find one that fit both. Haly is part Thesian, a group of dark-skinned people, and numerous Thesian characters are in the novel (the cover also seems to depict Haly well!). Clauda is a lesbian, and although her sexuality is not a large part of the book, same sex relationships are periodically mentioned and are clearly an accepted part of this society.
In the end, Libyrinth wasn't a favorite, but I liked it more than I thought I would after reading a few other reviews.
***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge and the GLBT Reading Challenge 2010.
Musings: Although I found mostly middling reviews on Libyrinth, I was intrigued by North's use of literature throughout the young adult novel. The books speak to Haly, and these are not unknown books, but books we are all familiar with: Anne Frank's Diary of a Young Girl, Lord of the Flies, and Charlotte's Web, just to name a few. I had a hoped for a kind of YA-Thursday Next (albeit without the humor), and I was in that sense somewhat disappointed. Although quotes from novels pepper Libyrinth intermittently and speak apropos to Haly's current situation, they didn't feel like a fully integrated part of the book.
Haly and Clauda were somewhat generic characters for me, and although I wished them success, I didn't feel especially connected to them either. The novel does largely succeed, however, in its commentary on the power and dangers of knowledge, and North was able to take a slightly different approach to censorship. The Libryarian's rightly treasure books and the knowledge they possess, but they also hoard that knowledge, keeping it only for the elite within the Libryrinth. The Eradicants (or Singers) fear literacy and destroy books, but through singing they ensure that all people have equal access to information. Of course, both groups must come together in the end. The reconciliation is perhaps overly optimistic (and, for me, a bit cheesy), but the message is nonetheless valid.
Unexpectedly, this book qualifies for both the POC Reading Challenge and the GLBT Reading Challenge. I had been looking for books in the sci-fi/fantasy realm for those challenges, so it was especially exciting to unknowingly find one that fit both. Haly is part Thesian, a group of dark-skinned people, and numerous Thesian characters are in the novel (the cover also seems to depict Haly well!). Clauda is a lesbian, and although her sexuality is not a large part of the book, same sex relationships are periodically mentioned and are clearly an accepted part of this society.
In the end, Libyrinth wasn't a favorite, but I liked it more than I thought I would after reading a few other reviews.
***This book qualifies for the POC Reading Challenge and the GLBT Reading Challenge 2010.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
"City of Thieves" by David Benioff
Summary: During the German siege of the Russian city of Leningrad during World War II, a young Russian, Lev, is arrested for looting a dead German soldier and finds himself thrown together with Kolya, a young soldier arrested for desertion. Together, they are given a mission by a high-ranking colonel: find a dozen eggs for his daughter's wedding cake, and the boys can go free. Together Lev and Kolya set out on an absurd journey in a tragic time.
Musings: The siege of Leningrad is one part of the history of World War II that I knew little about. However, it's the perfect setting for Benioff's blend of lightness and tragedy in City of Thieves. During the book's setting, citizens are equally in danger from starvation, their own army, and the enemy's army. In times like these, with no chance of peaceful normality, the absurd is the only thing that makes sense. So while Lev and Kolya's mission is inane in a time of war, it also makes perfect sense, and the boys accept it as thus.
Benioff is skilled as creating dramatic juxtaposition so that moments of terror and abject cruelty are interwoven with comic moments such as Kolya's obsession with sex or Lev's attempts to woo a female sniper. Terrible things happen--and Benioff does not brush over them--but he also accepts and celebrates that humankind is inherently hopeful and irreverent. Because of this, the reader is carried along in a book that does not succumb to one overwhelming emotion or another, but rather recognizes the place for many emotions within the human experience.
Although Lev is the protagonist, Kolya is the standout character of the book. His arrogance, confidence, and optimism add humor, and he is the catalyst for Lev's growth. Kolya sets himself up as invincible, and although later events prove that wrong, it's almost impossible to see him as anything but unassailable. I loved the development of the boys' relationship throughout the book.
I am sometimes wary of books based on wars because the immense amount of tragedy can be overpowering. However, Benioff struck the right tone and created such appealing characters that the overarching feeling in City of Thieves is of hope and survival.
Musings: The siege of Leningrad is one part of the history of World War II that I knew little about. However, it's the perfect setting for Benioff's blend of lightness and tragedy in City of Thieves. During the book's setting, citizens are equally in danger from starvation, their own army, and the enemy's army. In times like these, with no chance of peaceful normality, the absurd is the only thing that makes sense. So while Lev and Kolya's mission is inane in a time of war, it also makes perfect sense, and the boys accept it as thus.
Benioff is skilled as creating dramatic juxtaposition so that moments of terror and abject cruelty are interwoven with comic moments such as Kolya's obsession with sex or Lev's attempts to woo a female sniper. Terrible things happen--and Benioff does not brush over them--but he also accepts and celebrates that humankind is inherently hopeful and irreverent. Because of this, the reader is carried along in a book that does not succumb to one overwhelming emotion or another, but rather recognizes the place for many emotions within the human experience.
Although Lev is the protagonist, Kolya is the standout character of the book. His arrogance, confidence, and optimism add humor, and he is the catalyst for Lev's growth. Kolya sets himself up as invincible, and although later events prove that wrong, it's almost impossible to see him as anything but unassailable. I loved the development of the boys' relationship throughout the book.
I am sometimes wary of books based on wars because the immense amount of tragedy can be overpowering. However, Benioff struck the right tone and created such appealing characters that the overarching feeling in City of Thieves is of hope and survival.
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