Review: Teen Idol

Teen Idol by Meg Cabot

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



This is one of my favorite Meg Cabot novels, and I'm surprised I don't read it more often. I'm not too proud to admit that, as a teen, the sort of story in this novel would have been immensely appealing. I was the sort of imaginative kid, weaned on teeny bopper magazines, that could imagine what it would be like if a teen celebrity moved to my town. (And, rumor had it, Patrick Swayze almost did move to my town--but the homeowner refused to sell the stable with the house, and the deal fell through. While Swayze was not a teen at the time, all of us just knew that if he moved to our town, other famous people were bound to visit him . . . and so the daydreaming would start.)

Part of the reason I like this novel so much is because it does present that fantasy, but, at the same time, it doesn't buy into it. Jenny Greenley, the protagonist, is far too sensible to crush on a celebrity--even when he comes to visit her school (undercover, of course) and she's assigned as his two-week tour guide. One of Jenny's friends, Trina, once referred to Jenny as "mayonnaise," and that description has stuck with her forever. Jenny knows that she's the glue that keeps her disparate group of friends together, that smooths things out so that they work. However, when Luke Striker comes to Clayton, Indiana, he upsets her vision of her town and herself. Luke, the stranger, can see what Jenny cannot. She's no bland mayonnaise--she's the special sauce. She's the nice person that can get things done and create real change at her school, if only she'll have the confidence to do it.

There are three things that really bother Jenny at Clayton High--the treatment of a classmate known as "Cara Cow," Jenny's role in the show choir (which is like an evil version of Glee), and the kidnapping of Betty Ann--her Latin teacher's doll. Inspired by Luke's faith in her, Jenny sets out to fix what she can at Clayton.

I love this book because this is Jenny's journey. While Luke's comments might inspire her, she's the one that steps forward and takes action. And, to top it off, it's just plain good fun.



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Review: Tell Me Lies

Tell Me Lies by Jennifer Crusie

My rating: 2 of 5 stars



This book wasn't quite what I look for when I Jennifer Crusie's novels. That, in and of itself, could account for the relatively low stars I've given it in comparison to her other works. The dialogue was fun, as it is in every Crusie book, but there wasn't much else to recommend the story.

I'd say this book belongs in a special subset of chick-lit that I like to call "adultery-lit." These are the books wherein a spouse seeks and finds fulfillment outside of marriage. Maddie, our protagonist, has very good reasons for wanting to end her marriage to Brent, but my inner prude doesn't like the timing of her new love interest. Admittedly, part of this book was about Maddie throwing off the chains of expected behavior, so the fact that she engages in an extramarital relationship isn't really all that much of a shocker. It's just not something I enjoy reading too much.

Otherwise, the book was fun and rather entertaining, but it pales in comparison to the better Crusie titles.



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Missing

For the last few days, I’ve been reading a fantastic book: The Girls Who Went Away: The Hidden History of Women Who Surrendered Children for Adoption in the Decades Before Roe v. Wade.  It’s hitting me with a powerful emotional punch, one that seems to knock out my air every time I set the book down.  I’ve cried several times reading it.  I think it’s because I sympathize too much.

I’m not adopted.  My mother was not adopted.  No one in my family has surrendered a child for adoption.  But, still, I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of it.  As a small child, I learned that I was briefly in foster care.  My mom told me about it, but since she’s been gone for 21 years, I can’t verify anything with her.  And I don’t talk to my father.  But after I learned that I was in foster care, I always wondered what the family that had for me for a time thought.  Did they love me?  Were they sad to see me go?  When they took in this baby, were they aware that it was temporary?  From what I understand, this occurred before my parents’ divorce, when they were trying to work on their marriage.  I was two when they divorced.  (Dad was a real winner and left on my older sister’s fifth birthday.)  I was also briefly taken in by my Uncle Jim and Aunt Rita during my first year.  I don’t think that these fosterings were the same event.  Rita and my cousin always felt a close bond with me due to the time I spent with them.  I’ve never known what Jim thought—he was not a nice man.

Always, in the back of my mind, I’ve known that I was taken in by outsiders (as in outside of the nuclear family) for a time.

I’ve already said that I don’t have a relationship with my father.  After the divorce, he remarried three times.  (This last one is a keeper—he’s been with her 20+ years; his next longest marriage was to my mother for seven years.)  In the first three years after the divorce, he was married twice.  I know this because he had children with his third wife, and my brother is five years younger than me.

I found out about my brother shortly after he was born, when I was in kindergarten.  I treasured my baby picture of him.  A year or so later, I had another sister, too.  That year, Dad gave us a family picture of his other kids—my brother, my sister, and their older step sister.  (Side note: their older half sister is their mother’s daughter.  She’s the same age as my older full sister, and they have the same first name.  My brother and sister have two half sisters named Karen.  Creepy.)  For a time, when I was in the third and fourth grades, I was pen pals with their sister Karen, but that ended when my dad and their mother divorced.

In that time, I only ever had those two pictures—the solo pic of my brother and the family pic of him and his siblings.

So, while I wasn’t adopted, all of my life I’ve had this knowledge, in the back of my head, that my siblings were out there.  I fantasized about meeting them, about reading my class roster and seeing that my brother was going to be in my class.  It never happened.  To this day, I still haven’t met them.

I use to browse the internet semi-obsessively, searching for their names and the name of their sister.  I’d go years between searches, but then it would hit me again, that I had a brother and sister I didn’t know.  And the searches would restart.  I specifically left a huge footprint on the internet at that time, so that they could find me if they happened to look.  But they didn’t look.  For a long time, they didn’t know they had more family than what they saw at Christmas.  I did find them, though.  I found my brother on Classmates.com, and since the basic info in his profile seemed like a match, I sent him a letter there.  I can only imagine his emotions on reading it; he’d only known about his older siblings for a few years.  When he replied to my email, I was a basket case.  Certifiable.

We chatted on the phone for hours, and he gave my sister’s info, too.  She and I chatted for hours as well.  It’s been a few years since I found them, and I haven’t met them yet.  Part of the reason for that is the simple fact that they live a two day’s drive away from me.  Also, I’m afraid.  They are a stable family unit, and they spent their lives without me in the picture.  I’m afraid to upset their balance, to ask more of them than they’re willing to give.  (There’s a reason I haven’t used their names here.)  I’m their blood, but I can never be their sister, not in the same way that their half sister Karen is.  She shared a childhood with them, saw them grow, and undoubtedly comforted them when they were in pain.  I don’t have that bond.  All I have is an aching sense of yearning, a dream that we’ll see one another and it’ll be great.

I do have pictures of them now.  If you put us in the same room, it’d be obvious that we’re family.  We have the same chin and overall facial structure.  My brother and I share our laughing eyes.  I look at his picture, and I see my joy in life and outgoing personality.  Our sister is more like my older sister—hesitant, unwilling to reach out in case she’s going to get hurt.  We’re family, and I love them.  Even without having met them, I know they’re out there.  I know they’re real, and a part of my heart is constantly reaching for them.

So, the book.

While I haven’t been adopted, I understand some of the yearning these mothers and their children feel.  My isolation from my siblings (and all of my father’s family) wasn’t my choice.  My mother chose to cut them off, to isolate us from them.  Throughout my childhood, my maternal family kept telling me about the importance of family—yet, they saw only themselves when they thought of my family.  They could never understand my yearning for my sibs—never understand that I’d learned their lesson more deeply than they’d intended.

I don’t think I can be objective about this book.  The aching and yearning these women feel is too real to me.  Often, they, too, had choices made for them.  Their children were taken from them, and no one ever offered them the choice of keeping their babies.  Several of them did reach out and find their children later—usually only if the child was searching for them, too.   Others have had to accept that they will never know their child’s fate.

I’m glad I found my siblings.  I want to meet them, but I don’t push too much.  They didn’t choose to make me part of their lives; when I contacted my brother, I pushed my way in.  Right now, I have to be satisfied with the fact that they’re alive, healthy, and they haven’t rejected me.  For now, it’s enough.

 

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Losses

Where were you? 

That’s the question that so many people ask about 9-11.  We can’t seem to avoid sharing that information ourselves—we always have to tell everyone else where we were when it all happened, when it all changed.

I was teaching at the Scott Park campus of the University of Toledo that day.  I had morning classes, so I used to leave very early to avoid traffic.  At the time, I was living in Adrian, Michigan, so I had a 45 minute commute on a good day.  It’s so long ago, now, that I can’t even remember what time my classes met.  I think the first one may have met at 9:30. 

There were no other classes in the room before mine, and since I didn’t have an office at that campus, I used to arrive early and sit in the room until the start of class.  I’d often read a book or plan my class.  Either way, I was early, and I was cut off from the rest of the world.  This was the era before smart phones, before all of the classrooms were equipped with wifi and computer stations.

When my first student walked into the room, he asked me if I’d heard what had happened.  No, I told him.  A plane flew into the World Trade Center, he said.  Another student confirmed this and said that a second plane had also hit the other tower.

With no way to monitor events from in our classroom, and no real understanding of what this event would mean for my life, I went ahead and taught class that day.

It seems silly to say that.  I was teaching a freshman comp class, holding onto the last vestiges of normal, as the rest of the country was glued to a TV set, crying.

My next class started five minutes after the first, and in a different room.  It also started much the same way.  Have you heard what happened , a male student asked me.  Something about a plane crashing into the World Trade Center, I replied.  And then the tower fell, he added.  Another student mentioned the Pentagon.

Clearly, my students were more aware of the horror than I was.  I still didn’t know what to think, but now I knew that it was real.

A few minutes later, one of the building secretaries went to all of the classes and dismissed them.  The University was closed for the day, she told us.  I kept her in my room after the students left.  What happened, I asked.  She told me, and it was only as I listened to her—to another adult—that the horror of the situation started to sink in.

I went to my car and tried to leave the campus in order to go home.  Scott Park campus is miniscule compared to the main campus at UT, but since all of the students were dismissed at once, the parking lot was jammed with cars trying to leave.  I can’t recall how long it took me to even exit the parking lot.  I was listening to 92.5, Kiss FM, as I sat in the parking lot in my blue Topaz.  The excitement and horror of the DJs told me that this was, indeed, a major event.  Still, I had to laugh when I heard that Mayor Carty Finkbeiner had evacuated the government offices in Toledo.  Like Toledo would ever be a target.  Thinking that this was the Pearl Harbor of my lifetime, I called my grandpa on my cell phone.  (This was many years after he’d hurt me, and I’d forgiven him, and a few years before he hurt someone else, for which I could not forgive him.)  It was terrible, he said, what one human could do to another.  Terrible.

It was hours later by the time I got to Adrian.  My husband, upon seeing what was going on, had immediately left our apartment and gone to his mother’s house.  We met up there and began our long saga of watching CNN.  George had to work that night—he was on second shift at the time.  His factory refused to shut down, and his boss told him that they’d deploy anti-aircraft missiles to keep the factory safe if necessary.

I missed all of the TV coverage of the events as they happened.  All I’ve seen is replays.  This means that, unlike George, I never saw the Jumpers fall from the buildings.  I never saw the buildings themselves fall in real time.

When I went back to teaching on Thursday, my students and I were still in shock.  Instead of holding anything resembling a normal class, we spent the hours talking about the Towers, about our response to what happened.  In my memory, this went on for weeks.  I know that I was teaching at Jackson Community College at the same time—my schedule there was probably Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  For some reason, I can’t recall much of what those classes were like afterward—just glimpses of students sharing their connections to the horror.

As it became clear that the Taliban was somehow involved in what happened, I couldn’t help but remember some news from March of that year.  I was (and am) a news junkie, and I read online how the Taliban government chose to destroy the ancient Buddhas of Bamiyan despite international condemnation.  I told my students about the event that day, I was horrified to learn that they didn’t know about the Taliban or what was going on in Afghanistan.   I gave them a short lecture, and I wondered what they wound up thinking on 9-11.  Did they remember what I’d told them about the Taliban?  Did it somehow help them to have some sort of context?  Even back in March, I’d seen the destruction of the Buddhas as a dangerous thing—it seemed like the Taliban was deliberately thumbing their noses at world opinion.  I had no idea how deeply their hatred ran—that it would be so deep that they would shelter a world-renowned terrorist organization like al Qaeda.  But, as the demolition of the statues made clear, they didn’t care about world opinion.

Just as I managed to get my head in order again after 9-11, my friend Jean Flath died on September 25, 2001.  Jean was abroad, living in Italy for a month while her sister was a runway model in Milan.  I got the call telling me of Jean’s death that night.  Kavita, a mutual friend, was the one that let me know.  At the time she called, I was on another call with a mutual friend, but I could hear the tears in Kavita’s voice, and I knew this was an emergency.

Kavita asked me to call our mutual friend, Carrie.  Well, Carrie was a mutual friend of Jean & I—she and Kavita had had a falling out.  I’ll always regret that call.  When Carrie answered, I asked her if she were sitting down.  No, she said.  You need to sit down, I told her.  You have bad news, she asked.  Yes, I replied.  Is it Wayne, she asked.  Wayne was her husband at the time.  No, I said.  Are you sitting down?  Yes, I am, she answered.  Jeanie won’t be coming home from Italy, I told her.  What do you mean, Nancy, what do you mean, Carrie cried.  Jeanie passed away.  We cried together, until the end of our phone conversation. 

Jean was 28, and died of an enlarged heart.  I remember telling my grandpa (yes, that same grandpa) about her death.  Was she on drugs, he asked.  No, Grandpa, I told him.  Jeanie was a good girl.  A Catholic.  She was even in her church’s choir.  Ah, it’s always them, he replied. 

And he was right.  It was always them.  Jeanie, as I learned, was a classic example of a good person taken too soon.  Would we still be friends, today, if she were still alive?  I don’t know.  I do know that I’ve glorified her a bit in my memory.  I learned at her funeral service how little of her life that I was actually a part of—and I mourned both the woman I knew and the woman I didn’t know.

Because Jean died overseas, the timing of her funeral was greatly delayed.  Her family was unable to hold a visitation until Friday, October 5th, ten days after her death.  The casket was open at the funeral home.  I’ll never forget how she looked there—the funeral home had applied too much makeup in an attempt to make her look like something other than a corpse.  Lipstick was cracking on her lips.  Her hands were visible, holding a rosary, and her skin was collapsing.  I went to the funeral home alone—George  had to work that night.  While there, I was completely dysfunctional.  I tried to speak to Jean’s sisters to tell them that I was sorry, but I couldn’t talk for the tears dripping down my face.  I think they understood.  Kavita, Amy, and I went out to eat at one point—going to Jean’s favorite Japanese restaurant.  While I was eating—and even managing to laugh with Jean’s friends—Carrie and Wayne arrived.  They left before I returned, and I was once again unable to comfort my friend.

George was with me at the funeral service the next day.  We stood in the church’s vestibule together with my friends.  Jean was a friend from school—we’d done our Master’s work together—and our fellow classmates surrounded me.  George looked around, a little lost.  Just then, they brought in Jean’s casket, and he started crying.  I’d had ten days to get used to the fact that Jean was gone.  However, since I’d been calling her Jeannie, George hadn’t realized that Jean and Jeannie were the same woman.  He told me later that he’d been about to ask me where Jean was when they brought in the casket, and he made the connection.  It was horrible for him.

I was months in recovering from Jean’s death.  The horrors of 9-11 and the horror of losing Jean became one in my mind, and I was unable to deal with it.  I can never remember 9-11 without remembering Jean.  Her loss was completely unrelated to any sort of terrorist attack.  She died because her heart was too large.  It was, sadly, the most ironic sort of death imaginable, because she had a metaphorically large heart as well.  Losing Jean took something precious and irreplaceable out of the world for me, just as we all lost our complacency from the pre-9-11 days.

So, on this tenth anniversary of 9-11, what I’m posting is not just a story of where I was that day.  Instead, I wanted to tell you all about loss.  I don’t think this rambling blog entry was fully capable to saying what I needed to say, but it’s all that I’ve got.

I miss you, Jean Louise Flath.

Review: Wolf Hall

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



I received this book through the Goodreads First Reads program.

As I'm sure you can understand, I was thrilled to receive a free book. However, upon it's arrival, I saw how thick it was (608 pages). I was entirely unfamiliar with the historical period outside of high school history class. (I haven't even watched The Tudors despite a long-standing crush on Jonathan Rhys-Meyers.) Those facts, combined, caused me to shelve the book for a year.

I deeply regret that I waited so long to read it.

Mantel has done a wonderful job here creating the mind of a very influential man. By the end of the novel, I felt that I understood Thomas Cromwell, and at the same time, that his motives were more a mystery to me than ever. The cover copy hints at the relationship between Cromwell and his king, asking what will be the price of Cromwell's victory in helping Henry to marry his second wife. In many ways, I don't think that's the ultimate question of the novel. Instead, I think this is more a meditation on the one man that no one saw coming. Born of peasant stock, educated by his own hard work and through his relationship with his patron, Cardinal Wolsey, Thomas Cromwell rose to prominence so quickly and in such a way that the nobility and power brokers were utterly unable to anticipate him. A number of narratives emerge throughout this book. It could be read as: 1. The relationship between Cromwell and Thomas More--Cromwell knew More as a child, and one could read this as the story of their relationship. 2. Cromwell's revenge on those that harmed Wolsey. Throughout Cromwell's rise, he was able to bring down, or rejoice in the fall, of those that had attacked his patron. 3. The story of a nation in flux, as education and literacy combine to cast doubt on faith.

No matter how you read this book, I think it is a delicate and precise story, written by a master. Mantel does not overload the book with detail, but at the same time, the setting of the book is truly present. One doesn't need to have a great knowledge of the Tudor period in order to enjoy this book. All you need is interest.

(After having read the book, I did look up Henry VIII on Wikipedia. I was shocked to learn that scholars no longer think that Henry had syphilis--I guess that may go down as a lie my teacher taught me.)



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NPR's SF/F List

I originally posted this list on my LiveJoural blog, but I thought it could use a cross posting.

How many have you read?

Bold for read
Italics for intending to read
Underline for partial read series/books
Strikethrough for never ever reading

1. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, by J.R.R. Tolkien

2. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams - read it on a dare from a childhood friend in January. Liked it.

3. Ender's Game, by Orson Scott Card

4. The Dune Chronicles, by Frank Herbert

5. A Song of Ice and Fire Series, by George R. R. Martin I read the first book in the series and liked it, but I never had the gumption to reread it so that I could read book two. And, as time went on, I started actively hating it and Martin's obsession with breasts.

6. 1984, by George Orwell

7. Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury .

8. The Foundation Trilogy, by Isaac Asimov

9. Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley

10. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

11. The Princess Bride, by William Goldman - :)

12. The Wheel Of Time Series, by Robert Jordan -  I stopped reading them a few books back.  I'll finish the series once it's complete and I'm done with my diss.

13. Animal Farm, by George Orwell

14. Neuromancer, by William Gibson

15. Watchmen, by Alan Moore

16. I, Robot, by Isaac Asimov

17. Stranger In A Strange Land, by Robert Heinlein

18. The Kingkiller Chronicles, by Patrick Rothfuss Some of the best new fantasy I've ever read.

19. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut

20. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley

22. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, by Philip K. Dick

23. The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood  I was too young for this when I tried it.  It deserves another chance.

24. The Dark Tower Series, by Stephen King

25. 2001: A Space Odyssey, by Arthur C. Clarke

26. The Stand, by Stephen King

27. Snow Crash, by Neal Stephenson .

28. The Martian Chronicles, by Ray Bradbury

29. Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut

30. The Sandman Series, by Neil Gaiman

31. A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess

32. Watership Down, by Richard Adams I hate books with animals as the primary protagonists.

32. Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein

33. Dragonflight, by Anne McCaffrey

34. The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein

35. A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller

36. The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells

37. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne

38. Flowers for Algernon, by Daniel Keys

39. The War of the Worlds, by H.G. Wells

40. The Chronicles of Amber, by Roger Zelazny

41. The Belgariad, by David Eddings

42. The Mists of Avalon, by Marion Zimmer Bradley  I hated this book violently and gave up midway.

43. The Mistborn Series, by Brandon Sanderson

44. Ringworld, by Larry Niven

45. The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula K. LeGuin

46. The Silmarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien

47. The Once and Future King, by T.H. White I read this while in middle school. Yes I was a nerd.

48. Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman not my favorite.

49. Childhood's End, by Arthur C. Clarke

50. Contact, by Carl Sagan

51. The Hyperion Cantos, by Dan Simmons

52. Stardust, by Neil Gaiman

53. Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson

54. World War Z, by Max Brooks

55. The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle

56. The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman

57. Small Gods, by Terry Pratchett - I will get to this one. I've got almost all of the Discworld books.

58. The Chronicles Of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeliever, by Stephen R. Donaldson

59. The Vorkosigan Saga, by Lois McMaster Bujold

60. Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett

61. The Mote in God's Eye, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle

62. The Sword of Truth, by Terry Goodkind Sorry. Not interested.

63. The Road, by Cormac McCarthy

64. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, by Susanna Clarke

65. I Am Legend, by Richard Matheson

66. The Riftwar Saga, by Raymond E. Feist

67. The Shannara Trilogy, by Terry Brooks

68. The Conan the Barbarian Series, by R.E. Howard

69. The Farseer Trilogy, by Robin Hobb

70. The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger

71. The Way of Kings, by Brandon Sanderson

72. A Journey to the Center of the Earth, by Jules Verne

73. The Legend of Drizzt Series, by R.A. Salvatore

74. Old Man's War, by John Scalzi

75. The Diamond Age, by Neil Stephenson

76. Rendezvous With Rama, by Arthur C. Clarke

77. The Kushiel's Legacy Series, by Jacqueline Carey I'm two books away from finishing the whole thing.

78. The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. LeGuin

79.Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury

80. Wicked, by Gregory Maguire - I love Maguire. Haven't read the Wicked Years books yet, though.

81. The Malazan Book of the Fallen Series, by Steven Erikson

82. The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde. Love Fforde.

83. The Culture Series, by Iain M. Banks

84. The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart

85. Anathem, by Neal Stephenson

86. The Codex Alera Series, by Jim Butcher

87. The Book of the New Sun, by Gene Wolfe

88. The Thrawn Trilogy, by Timothy Zahn

89. The Outlander Series, by Diana Gabaldon I've read half of it. That was enough.

90. The Elric Saga, by Michael Moorcock

91. The Illustrated Man, by Ray Bradbury

92. Sunshine, by Robin McKinley  One of her last good books.  What happened that created Pegasus?

93. A Fire Upon the Deep, by Vernor Vinge

94. The Caves of Steel, by Isaac Asimov

95. The Mars Trilogy, by Kim Stanley Robinson

96. Lucifer's Hammer, by Larry Niven & Jerry Pournelle

97. Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis

98. Perdido Street Station, by China Mieville

99. The Xanth Series, by Piers Anthony - I gave up on this long ago.

100. The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis I hate C.S. Lewis.

Review: Kiss an Angel

Kiss an Angel by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

My rating: 1 of 5 stars



I bought this book for $1.99 yesterday from Barnes & Noble. I want my money back. Or at least the hours I spent reading it.

When I bought the book, I couldn't see the summary of the text, as BN was displaying information about a book by Eloisa James. However, having worked in a bookstore, I know how popular Phillips is, and I decided to give her a chance even though I had no idea what the book was about. Big mistake.

Daisy Deveraux is the spoiled (and illegitimate) daughter of a former model and an ambassador. After her mother's death last year, Daisy went on a completely insane spending spree; she didn't know how to handle her grief or the perplexing notion that she was finally free of her mother. However, her finances, even with her inheritance, couldn't keep up with the money she spent, and Daisy passed a bad check. Facing jail time, she turned to her father for help. However, the only way he'd help her is if she'd marry someone he picked out for her.

Already, this isn't my cup of tea.

Daisy marries Alexander, and she even has to be reminded of his name during the ceremony. Alexander very quickly moves to establish his dominance of her, quickly taking Daisy away from the wedding and on a flight to South Carolina. We learn in the elevator of her building that Daisy is afraid of dogs and most animals. This is amusing to Alex because he works for a circus.

Alex threatens Daisy that she'll learn her place, and he doesn't really explain either what her place is or how he plans to enforce it. When she arrives at his trailer, she's horrified by the terrible conditions he lives in, and even more horrified by the sight of a whip on his bed. Don't worry, though--Alex isn't that much of a jerk. It turns out that the whip is a prop in his circus performance. However, he does understand that she fears the whip and continues to use it a vaguely threatening manner.

The novel tries to redeem Alex's initial bad treatment of Daisy, and tries to kill of any interesting aspects of Daisy's character. The slightly befuddled Daisy of the wedding is interesting; she rebels against the solemnity of the marriage by wearing a short gold dress and gladiator sandals. However, upon arrival at the circus, she quickly learns the value of hard work and bonds with the animals. (Including a bizarre and stupid telepathic link to the tiger SinJin.) The sweeter and more accommodating Daisy gets, the more I want to gag.

Also: the circus? That was a odd and lifeless group of carnies if I ever saw one.

Alex & Daisy's sexual encounters are interesting for a very little while. Of course, he doesn't realize she's a virgin and all that fun stuff that's so typical of a cheap romance. Suddenly, they're spicing up their love life with dominance games, as when he tells her in the restaurant to go into the bathroom and remove her undergarments. Of course, the sheath dress she's wearing is suddenly see through. Bleck.

I kept reading only because this was a quick book and because I wanted to see if it was possible for it to redeem itself. It failed to do so on every level.

When my husband and I find that we've wasted time watching a truly wretched movie, we'll say to each other, "Let us never speak of this again." That's how I feel about this book.



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Review: Unnatural Issue: An Elemental Masters Novel

Unnatural Issue: An Elemental Masters Novel by Mercedes Lackey

My rating: 3 of 5 stars



Another lightweight entry in the Elemental Masters series. This one tries to follow the "Donkeyskin" story by Charles Perrault. As the book opens, it would seem that Lackey does a good job of staying close to the tale, but by the end of the book, it's very much another one in her series. That's not necessarily a bad thing--the final confrontation is as good as anything that Lackey has written. However, despite her willingness to include extreme violence, Lackey's books are never all that horrifying. As readers, we know precisely what Susanne's father wants to do to her (heck, even the cover copy gives that away!), but Lackey's writing lacks the necessary punch for it to really sink in and disturb. I don't want to say that Lackey dodges the hard questions or fails to explore the darker side of this tale. That's simply not true. The sad fact is that Lackey is just not a good enough writer to make readers invest in the characters in such a way as to be horrified. She used to be able to that; her Last Herald-Mage series is one of the most disturbing litanies of character torture that I've ever read. But this book doesn't have that emotional force.

For a very dark, very emotional version of this tale, I recommend Robin McKinley's Deerskin. Be warned: it is dark, and if you read Lackey for her lightweight nature, you might not like Deerskin. But more than anything else, Deerskin is a novel about healing, and it is good.

Perhaps that's part of my problem with this book. Despite the horrific events Lackey writes about, only one character is deeply wounded mentally and still in recovery at the end of the book. If our protagonists can walk away from such things without psychic bruises, is it any wonder when I, as a reader, feel next to nothing of their pain?



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Review: Blood Magic

Blood Magic by Tessa Gratton

My rating: 5 of 5 stars



If a book were likely to give me nightmares, this one would be it. (Sadly, books don't give me nightmares at all, so I miss that little thrill.) I stayed up to 1:30 in the morning just to finish it.

I loved this book, but I'm hesitant to recommend it too much. If I were still working in a bookstore, I'd call it "dark" and say that it was for a "mature teen audience." What that translates to is simple: while not loaded with sexual content, this book is violent. Our main characters occasionally make bad decisions, and those decisions have devastating consequences.

This book is the story of Silla and Nick. Silla is in her senior year, and she's recovering from the recent death of her parents. She found their bodies together in the home--her mother shot in the chest, her father in the head. Murder/suicide. Except that Silla still trusts that her father was not capable of that sort of violence. She still loves him. Now she lives with Gramma Judy (just Judy, thank you) and her slightly older brother, Reese. When a package arrives in the mail for Silla, containing a book in her father's handwriting and a short letter from someone named "Deacon," Silla's world shifts again. The book is a collection of blood magic spells--fueled by the caster's own blood. Curious, wanting to believe that this might provide some sort of explanation for her parents' deaths, she tries a spell. And it works.

Nick is the new guy in town, and he saw Silla work her first blood magic spell in the graveyard that night. He knows blood magic, too--his mother was a practitioner, and he doesn't have good memories of what she did.

Nick and Silla are drawn to one another, and Silla is, in turn, drawn to the magic. But even as they explore the book, and each other, another force is waiting for a chance to attack.

I enjoyed this book from beginning to end. It was dark, which is appropriate for a book with this subject matter. I do think it's a bit much for some teens, but others will find it a welcome relief from the YA paranormals out there that duck the hard questions. Too often, YA magic is shown as something without a significant price, as something that is as bland as a suburban life. In this book, Gratton explodes those conventions and reminds readers that, no matter how young a teen may be, he or she is playing for real-life stakes. Decisions do matter, even if they're made by teenagers.

I do recommend this book highly, but only to a limited audience. It is not recommended for those that dislike dark and violent teen reads.



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Review: The Secret History of the Pink Carnation

The Secret History of the Pink Carnation by Lauren Willig

My rating: 2 of 5 stars



This is a genre romance novel with pretensions of grandeur.

I was intrigued by this book because of it's duel format. It features a Harvard Ph.D. candidate in history researching the famous (in her world at least!) Pink Carnation, a British spy during the Napoleonic Wars. Eloise, the student, travels to London after a bad break up and decides to research primary sources on the Pink Carnation. The novel opens with her in a slight jam--she's crushed in an overcrowded Tube ride, has spilled coffee on herself, and discovers that it's raining and she doesn't have an umbrella. All of this makes her a truly hapless sight when so goes to interview a descendant of the Purple Gentian (a spy that inspired our Carnation).

Her host is a nice old woman and immediately gives Eloise access to private family papers.

And that's where the book goes downhill.

Eloise is apparently reading journals and letters, but that's not what readers see. Instead, we are simply taken into the story of Amy Balcourt and Richard Selwick (who happens to be the Purple Gentian). Their story is a very typical romance novel. Amy is returning to France for the first time since she left it during the Terror. She's been living with her English relatives for the last 15 years, plotting and planning how she could help the famous British spies--the Scarlet Pimpernel and the Purple Gentian--restore the monarchy in France. Or at least expel the Republicans. Or Napoleon. In any event, she wants to help. Her father was killed by the guillotine, and she has a powerful hatred of the current French government. Richard has posing as a French sympathizer, working as their head of antiquities, all the while spying for his native England. Amy, of course, doesn't know this, and is repelled to learn that such an attractive young man could work for the side of the devil. Richard, in turn, is drawn to Amy. He knows her brother is involved in something underhanded, and in his attempt to investigate, he stumbles into Amy late at night. She doesn't know who he is due to the mask, but her hero worship of the Gentian leads to a slightly compromising situation. Cue the rest of a standard romance novel involving mistaken identity.

This novel would have worked so much better if readers had been able to read the same letters and journals Eloise was reading. We could have learned the story as she did. Instead, Eloise has access to different information than the reader. For a novel that's based around the idea of historical research, it doesn't read as being very authentic. Amy and her friends are unrealistic, and the graphic sexual encounters do not read as anything that would appear in a young lady's journal. Considering Richard's dangerous occupation, he would have been unlikely to keep a journal of his encounters with her either.

Further, I would have liked to see more of Eloise. I didn't like her as a character--she was too much the cliched chick lit heroine--but with only roughly four chapters to her credit, she was never able to properly establish her identity as a character or as a researcher. Sadly, the framing device of Eloise's narrative seemed like a pathetic attempt to elevate the book out of it's genre--the historical romance. Both the size of the book--a trade paperback--and the period artwork cover would seem to imply that it is more than a genre romance, but that's simply not the case.

I will admit that I enjoyed Amy & Richard's story. It was fun and trashy, and there were actually a few surprises. Other than the mustache-twirling villain, the supporting characters were delightfully madcap. Unfortunately, all of the characters were smarter than Amy, which didn't work well. They were able to see through Richard's subterfuges before Amy, allowing her to make an ass of herself repeatedly while they looked on knowingly. Gwen the chaperone was perhaps the most inspired character--but she was also almost a caricature.

If you're looking for a fun romance without pretensions, pass this book by. If you just want a trashy book set in the Napoleonic Wars, and you're willing to overlook the Eloise sections, have at it. I picked up the second book in the bookswap at the same time as I grabbed this one. I will probably continue with the series through that book alone. Unless the modern storyline develops further, I simply don't see enough her to elevate it above the usual genre romances and into a permanent place in my library.



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Review: Pawn of Prophecy

Pawn of Prophecy by David Eddings

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


While I was cleaning off my shelves yesterday, this series caught my eye. It had been almost 20 years since I'd read them, and I wanted to decide whether I should keep them on the shelf, box them, or give them away. In order to make up my mind, I started reading.



I was happy to discover that Eddings was a much better writer than I realized. I'd remembered his humor and the witty back-and-forth dialogue among the characters. I'd remembered the running gags (such as Barak's horses and their dislike for carrying the giant Cherek). But I'd forgotten that Eddings was actually good. The first real hint of that shows up in the prologue, where he masters the voice of a nineteenth century text. Some of his phrases were especially strong, as when he talked about the "eternal summer" of Garion's youth. All of this left me thrilled. The Belgariad had been one of my first entries into high fantasy, and I was happy to see that it wasn't crap.



That said, I noticed more features about the book that got on my nerves this time around. Eddings had a very subtle sort of misogyny in the book. Polgara was held up as this paragon of womanhood, yet she spends most of the book scolding men. The men all seem to accept this and tell Garion that he'll have to get used to soothing a woman's scolding.



The other big problem I had was the racism. I understand that this was high fantasy, written during the Cold War. I understand what Eddings was doing by having each nation affiliate itself so strongly with its chosen god. However, the result of that affiliation is that each nation wound up with a character--and the divisions between nations take on a strong sense of racism. As a Cold War text, the primary divisions are between East and West--although one of those apparently "Eastern" countries is due south. The map of the world is suspiciously European, down to having the Viking-like Chereks live in what would appear to be Scandinavia. And the best place of all? Riva--a suspiciously England-ish island to the north. The enemies (Nadraks, Thulls, Malloreans, Murgos, and Grolim) seem to be analogues of Iron Curtain nations--with the Malloreans perhaps as China. Torak, the enemy god, seems to be both Marx and Hitler.



I did enjoy this book, as Eddings's writing is really quite good. But I can't read it with the same carefree joy as I did when I was 12. Despite having enjoyed the book, I chose not to reread the rest of the series. Once Ce'Nedra shows up, the misogyny is even harder to avoid, and I had no desire to read about her stomping her tiny feet as she threw a tantrum. I did decide the box the series, though. The books are good, and they're a fundamental part of my development as a reader.



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Review: The Apothecary's Daughter

The Apothecary's Daughter by Julie Klassen

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


This is the first book I've read that was marketed as "Christian fiction" in some time.



To give that remark some context, I should explain that I don't consider myself a Christian as I don't practice any faith. I tend to avoid Christian fiction because I'm not that fond of the evangelical movement; the best label for me is <a href+"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agnosticism">agnostic</a>, and most evangelicals I've met dislike my ideas almost as much they dislike atheists. I don't consider myself hostile to Christianity, however.



That said, I often have a hard time reading books marketed as "Christian fiction." The ones I've come across in the past are often poorly written or serve as some kind of allegory for how one should believe.



The Apothecary's Daughter does not do that. Instead, it tells a story about a young woman with a deep sense of faith. She attends church regularly, and when she falls out of attendance, she feels ill at ease with herself. When she's distressed, she seeks solace in prayer. Her faith is not the only aspect of the story or the defining aspect of her character. Instead, it serves as a center for her in a turbulent world. Her faith, as represented in the book, is historically accurate for Regency England.



As the novel opens, we readers learn that Lilly's mother recently abandoned the family. Lilly imagines her mother off having adventures, but the rest of her small village understands what is more likely the truth: Lilly's mother has abandoned the family for another man. Three years after her mother leaves, her mother's brother arrives and expresses interest in fostering Lilly--taking her into his household as an adopted daughter. Lilly leaves for London, and enjoys two seasons, but her aunt and uncle are unable to arrange an advantageous match. The scandal of Lilly's mother, and the fact that Lilly's father is an apothecary (aka, "in trade"), make her a less than desirable connection for most gentlemen. She does have a few serious suitors, including a young gentleman and a young doctor.



A family emergency forces Lilly to return to her village, and it's here that the major action of the novel takes place. Lilly must choose which future she wants--the London life of her uncle, the village life she's known, or even the sinful life of her mother. The paths are all open before her, and Lilly struggles to choose the right one. Most of the paths she sees involve choosing a spouse, and she understands that making the wrong choice and marrying for something other than love can lead to a life of sin.



I liked this book and found it rather entertaining. Lilly's character is three dimensional, as are the characters of a couple of her suitors. Happily, the novel itself is not particularly judgmental. Several characters commit grave sins, but rather than turning from them, Lilly continues to love them. The problems I had with the book probably have more to do with it as a genre work than with the writing or the characters. Even after having been exposed to opportunities outside her class, Lilly feels compelled to stay within the station of her birth. This conservative aspect of the book--reinforcing the status quo of class relationships--bothers me. I would have liked to see Lilly reach farther, even though that may have been unrealistic at the time.



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Review: Perfect Timing

Perfect Timing by Jill Mansell

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


For a long time, I've been confused. I thought Jill Mansell was another pseudonym for the woman that writes as Sophie Kinsella, and I could not understand why I liked the Mansell books so much and wanted to throw the Shopaholic book across the room.



Turns out I was wrong. They are not the same person.



That's good to know. All I can say about this one is that it was sweetly romantic and fun. The characters, for all their absurd behavior at times, were frightfully real. They struggled with the inability to speak up about their feelings, struggled with understanding their own hearts, and finally had to speak up. Poppy starts the book with the act of speaking up--she realizes the night before the wedding that she's about to marry the wrong guy. That act of boldness propels her forward and into a new, more assertive life in London. People around her struggle to be like her. They, too, would like to be bold, but they each have obstacles to overcome. And they don't realize that sometimes boldness masks an inability to face other decisions.



Overall, I enjoyed this book immensely and will read more of Mansell's catalog. I'm so glad that she's not Sophie Kinsella. I can go on liking her without the guilt.



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Review: The Murder Of Bindy Mackenzie

The Murder Of Bindy Mackenzie by Jaclyn Moriarty

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I have to admit that I found the first half of this book very difficult to read. I've read one other book by Moriarty, The Year of Secret Assignments,. That book was unique and compelling, especially because of the wonderful way Moriarty was able to portray her characters so convincingly through the letters they wrote one another. I liked the way the story unfolded in that one; it was easy to see that something was wrong, but the reader doesn't learn what, precisely, for some time.



The Murder of Bindy Mackenzie works in many of the same ways. Instead of being an epistolary novel, it's Bindy's diary (which she types as transcripts of conversations around her). Bindy is a side character in that earlier book, one that rates only an occasional mention. Now she's the protagonist, and it's initially quite difficult to deal with her.



Bindy is not a nice person. All her life, she's been forcing herself to be number one in her class, and the stress has worn on her. Her father encourages her to think of herself as above her classmates, and she has no real friends. She doesn't know how to communicate with people her own age, partly because she doesn't consider herself a teenager. She is not like "them."



As the novel opens, Bindy is stressed about starting Year 11. She's eager, and she's also worried that she won't be able to maintain her status. She's also truly frustrated by the idea of a Friendship and Development course she's been enrolled in. Her classmates are a bunch of people that she doesn't like, and on the very first day, she learns that they don't really like her, either. She decides to call them the "Venomous Seven" and expose their true personalities. For her, this means identifying the animal that best represents their personality.



Like the previous book, it becomes evident pretty quickly that something is not right in Bindy's world. Her family situation seems odd. Her anger with her classmates seems unjustified and extreme. For a smart girl, she's falling behind on her assignments and her thoughts are becoming increasingly incoherent.



As Bindy's world falls apart, the novel gets better and better. Moriarty has a deep understanding of psychology and teenage behavior. Bindy, in all her not-very-nice glory, lives on the page. I cannot wait to read more books in this series and by this author.



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Review: A Spy in the House

A Spy in the House by Y.S. Lee

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This book has been on my radar for some time, but it wasn't until I saw it offered for $1.99 at BN that I decided to go ahead and buy it. My only regret is that I waited so long.



I skimmed through a couple of reviews of this book, and they irritated me. A number of reviewers were annoyed by its lack of realism; apparently they missed the note at the end wherein Y.S. Lee stated, "The Agency is a totally unrealistic, completely fictitious antidote to the fate that would otherwise swallow a girl like Mary Quinn." Who is Mary Quinn? First, that's not her name. She can't live under her real name because she is technically a fugitive, wanted for housebreaking and sentenced to death by hanging. Instead of the rope, she found herself offered a chance at escape and education. Being a smart girl, she took the chance.



Mary is not necessarily a bad girl--she was born and raised in difficult circumstances in 1841. Her father was a sailor and died at sea; her mother was unable to get support from the community and became a prostitute. Mary knows that few choices exist for a girl like her, and she tries to survive in a world that doesn't welcome her. That's why she took to thieving. However, once she is rescued by the school, Mary finds that the education they give her is both helpful and harmful. She is unable to be content in the jobs available to women, and the feminist principles she learned at the school make her dislike the idea of relying upon a man for support either as a wife or mistress.



Educated and unsatisfied, Mary is offered another choice, and this one speaks to her desire for agency within her own life. She is offered the opportunity to investigate for Scotland Yard. The book calls her "a spy in the house," but "spy" isn't really an adequate job title for what Mary Quinn does. She's more of an investigator, seeking evidence to prosecute her supposed employers--the Thorold family where she works as a paid companion for the daughter, Angelica. While she is looking for information for Scotland Yard, they hired her through an intermediary service--the Agency--and are unaware of her identity.



Y.S. Lee clearly knows Victorian England--she has a Ph.D. in Victorian Literature and Culture. Lee's knowledge of the setting helps her to build a believable portrait of London--and the incredibly filthy and foul smelling Thames--but she never creates info dumps. All of the information she provides about London seems an organic part of the plot and serves the purpose of advancing the story. Even Lee's emphasis on the dampness and mildew throughout the city becomes important to a final plot twist.



I know that Mary Quinn's story is unrealistic. I'm OK with that. There are times when a story like this one, wherein a spunky young girl manages to find a fulfilling life actually serve to make readers think even more about the impossibility of the story and the social restrictions placed on women at the time. This book is the first of a trilogy; I will gladly read the remaining two, and I hope that Y.S. Lee continues to write fiction for some time.



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Review: Confessions of the Nun of St. Omer: A tale

Confessions of the Nun of St. Omer: A tale by Charlotte Dacre

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


The Arno Press edition of this book can be quite difficult to read. The book is a facsimile of the original 1805 publication. The font is set in a Caslon typeface, which, just for fun, also includes what's known as a long s. As Wikipedia notes, when a long s is used, the word sinfulness reads as "ſinfulneſs."

Once I adapted to the typeface, the book itself was a quick and easy read. This is the story of Cazire, a young girl whose father abandons her twice over. First, he takes her with him when he abandons her mother and takes up with a mistress. Under the influence of his mistress, he abandons her in a convent (to be educated--not to take the veil). Upon her apparent graduation, he sends her to live with her mother and ignores her. With this poor parental involvement, and with a largely superficial education, young Cazire takes up several shocking notions. She reads Rousseau (always a bad idea in a Dacre novel!) and decides that the most important aspect of life is love. Heavily sentimental, she understands that few men are likely to meet her high demands of a spouse.

Unfortunately for Cazire, the first man to even come close to her dreams is Fribourg--her mother's neighbor. Fribourg is a husband and father, but these facts are not enough to prevent Cazire from loving him. Fribourg encourages Cazire's affections, engaging her in long philosophic debates wherein he questions the role of duty and the sanctity of marriage.

Much of this novel is predictable, but there are also some truly moving passages. While Dacre clearly condemns Fribourg's philosophy, she is also very careful to present his arguments in detail. Cazire's gradual seduction to philosophy is realistic and well-portrayed.

This novel needs to be reprinted and made accessible to a younger generation of scholars.



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Review: Greywalker

Greywalker by Kat Richardson

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I've read this book four times now; this most recent reread was in preparation for reading book five shortly. (I'm rereading the series as a whole.) I've read four of the book in the series so far, and, in going back to the beginning, I'm amazed by how much foreshadowing Richardson really did. The first time I read this book, I was lost. I didn't really understand the Grey. I thought it was a great concept, but it seemed poorly fleshed out.

Now that I've gone back to the book, I can say that my first impressions were wrong. The Grey is not poorly fleshed out--the problem is that Harper doesn't understand it at all. She has friends that advise her, but they can't experience the Grey the same way she can, so it's like she's being taught how to sing by people that are tone deaf (please pardon the disability metaphor--this was the most innocuous one I could think of. As someone that wants to sing, and can't hear pitch all that well, it would fit me, too). They understand the concepts they're talking about, but they are unable to go into the Grey with her and cannot sense it in the same way she can. With each book, Harper's knowledge and instinctual understanding of the Grey grows. Knowing what I now know, it was wonderful to return to the beginning and see Richardson lay the groundwork for a very well-developed paranormal world.

I upped this book from three to four stars based on its relationship to the book that come later. It really is that good--you just have to read the rest to see it.



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Review: What Happened to Goodbye

What Happened to Goodbye by Sarah Dessen

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Sarah Dessen has been blessed over the years with fantastic covers. They call out to me, teasing me and telling me that I'll love what's inside. I rarely listen. Years ago, I did read two of her books, That Summer and Someone Like You, packaged together in the omnibus How to Deal. At the time, I thought they were ok but not deserving of the huge fan following Dessen has built. In the time since then, her covers have continued to call to me. However, I've remembered my prior disappointment and walked away.



This book called my name louder than any of her others. Something about the model's stance on the cover caught my eye. Was she defiant or merely weary? Intrigued, i read the cover copy. What was going on with girl, McLean? Why did she change her name and persona at every school? Why did she travel so much? Was her father doing something illegal? Was she a hostage in a custody battle?



Once I found myself coming up with that many questions, I knew I needed answers. Most of my theories were off-base. McLean's parents did have a messy divorce, but her dad had not stolen her. He was not a con man. Instead, he was a consultant, moving from town to town doing business.



While the plot wasn't as exciting as my fantasy of it, McLean's problems were real. She was deeply unhappy with herself and used each move to create another temporary self. Having seen the breakdown of her parents' marriage, she doubts that true long term relationships exist. Her policy of leaving each town abruptly, without goodbyes, reinforces her worldview. Except now, in Lakeview, McLean doesn't get the chance to create an identity. Instead, she's living as herself for the first time in two years. Taking up her true name and identity forces McLean to confront all of the issues she's been dodging. And it also gives her a real chance to connect with others.



I enjoyed this book, but I still don't see what makes her fans love her so much. McLean was a very real character, and she was someone I could sympathize with. At various points in my own life, I flirted with the idea of creating a new self. My user name at GoodReads, Nan, is an outgrowth of that desire. When I started my freshman year of college in 1994, I dropped my full name, Nancy, and gave myself a nickname. Nan was much more than a persona; freed from the baggage of high school, I was able to be myself (still geeky, just more social and willing to take risks). McLean's personas were much different. They were a way for her to hide.



McLean's new friends--Deb, Riley, Dave, Ellis, Heather, and even Opal--are what made this book. Their steadfast devotion to each other and to McLean proved her wrong. Relationships--friendship and romantic--can be real. Unfortunately, the world doesn't revolve around McLean and the lessons she needed to learn. She's unaware that events are moving around her and may snatch her away from these people that have come to mean so much.



I still can't quite decide if I like Dessen or not. I do think this was a sweet novel about finding oneself, but I'm not too likely to revisit it. Dave and the rest of the supporting cast were superb, but I don't feel a strong connection to them. Overall, I do think think this is a good book, and it's likely to appeal to a wide audience.



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Review: The Libertine

The Libertine by Charlotte Dacre

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This novel was originally published in 1807. The author, Charlotte Dacre, was a recognized author of Gothic fiction and Della Cruscan poetry. This edition is a reprint of the first edition; it is literally a photocopy of those pages rebound and reprinted in the 1970s as a part of the Gothic Novels series by Devendra P. Varma. Despite its strong ties to the Gothic, there is very little in this book that is actually Gothic.

The Libertine opens with the story of Montmorency, who, having lost almost all his fortune in gambling, retreated with his small daughter, Gabrielle, to Switzerland. There, in the remote mountains, he believed he could raise her away from the temptations of society. However, society was destined to find them in the form of Angelo. Welcomed into their home as a lost traveler, Angelo overstays his welcome and seduces Gabrielle. He genuinely adores her, but he decides to return to Naples regardless. Only after he leaves does Gabrielle realize that she's pregnant. In the first of a long series of tragedies resulting from the seduction, Montmorency loses his mind in grief when he realizes that his daughter is pregnant. Gabrielle gives birth to Agnes on the very day that her father dies. Throughout her pregnancy, she had only written one letter to Angelo, and she'd sent it before she realized the truth of her condition. He did not respond, since he was distracted by society, and Gabrielle never wrote him again. However, after her daughter is born, Gabrielle decides that she must journey to Naples in order to find Angelo and inform him of his duty as a father. Having borne a daughter, Gabrielle is all too aware of the fate of a girl raised without the protection of a father or a father's name.

In Naples, Gabrielle poses as a male servant, even dying her skin. She works for Angelo, and even helps him to in his affair with another woman. As she sees both his devotion to Oriana and his disregard for the woman, Gabrielle realizes that Angelo will never respect a woman that gave herself to him without a wedding. In despair, Gabrielle finds herself in a position where the only things that matter to her are her daughter's fate and Angelo's happiness.

This is a four volume novel, and that summary doesn't even encompass the first two volumes. In some ways, this novel does read like a Gothic in its condemnation of sin and its extreme violence. However, it is also a novel with close ties to the sensation fiction that would appear in the late nineteenth century. Dacre constantly focuses on the emotion of her characters, on their despair and heartache. Reading this book inspires an emotional response in much the same way that sensation fiction did in later readers. As with that later genre, it details the crimes of present-day characters. Using Dacre's references to philosophers as a guide, it would seem that this novel was written in a contemporary setting, unlike her more traditional Gothics, Zofloya and The Confessions of the Nun of St. Omer. Also, this book is entirely lacking in any supernatural element--explained or otherwise. If it were not written by Dacre, I'm not sure that it would even be considered a Gothic. It might have been considered a late sentimental novel, or even an attempt at realism.

The book itself is occasionally difficult to read. Dacre is well known for her excesses of language, her neologisms like "enhorrored." At times, I was thrilled when characters died, if only because it meant an end to their death scenes.

As with Zofloya, Dacre does try to create a moral for this work. In that other work, she examines the question of nature vs. nurture and whether a mother's example could have saved Victoria from her own dark nature. In this book, Dacre doesn't present questions. Instead, she baldly states that the institution of marriage was created to strengthen society and the bonds between individuals. When marriage is disregarded, and sexual relations occur without that holy bond, chaos results. The sins of the parents will be punished through their children. Here, Angelo and Gabrielle's unhallowed union brings about the deaths of at least three people and results in madness for two others. (Those totals do not include Gabrielle and Angelo, either!)

Dacre's moral is complicated by her biography. It is well established that she had three children prior to her marriage to their father, Nicholas Byrne. Dacre's father was a well known radical named Jacob Rey. He divorced Dacre's mother and married a countess, changing his name to Jonathon King. In addition to the divorce, he was involved in other scandals and was called "the Jew King." Several recent scholars have focused on Dacre's relationship to her father and his faith, which she seems to have rejected. After her marriage, all of her children were baptized into the Church of England. With this history of divorce, of rejected Jewishness, and extramarital childbirth, Dacre's moralizing is suspect. While she may have condemned extramarital sexual relations in her writing, she was also condemning the life she led.

Most of Dacre's work has long been forgotten. Zofloya has enjoyed increased critical attention in recent years. Now that scholars have rediscovered that work, they need to enlarge their focus and discuss her other works as well.



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Review: Kitty Goes to Washington

Kitty Goes to Washington by Carrie Vaughn

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


For the past two days, I've been struggling to contain a migraine. I've turned to the Kitty Norville books to give me something to do that wouldn't make the pain worse. It's been a good decision.



As this second adventure opens, Kitty has taken her radio broadcast on the road. She's got her reasons for leaving Denver, and she'd rather not talk about them, thank you. Especially not with any humans. Her schedule is interrupted by a call from her lawyer, Ben. He's been handling her mail, and she's received a subpoena to testify before a Senate hearing. Dr. Flemming, our friendly researcher from the first book, went public with his findings after Kitty was outed as the first publicly known werewolf. Now the government wants to know what he's been using their money to study. To get a better understanding of the supernatural, they've invited a number of experts, including Kitty.



On her arrival in D.C., Kitty finds herself the guest of the local Master Vampire, Alette. She also finds herself drawn to the were community, a packless society that meets at a local club. Compared to Carl's pack, this D.C. group is a utopia, but as Kitty discovers, their peace comes at a price--nonintervention.



As the Senate hearing moves forward, Kitty quickly learns that everyone involved has an agenda--especially Senator Duke, the Bible quoting chair of the committee. He's especially fond of the verse "thou shall not suffer a witch to live," and seems to think it covers werewolves as well.



Drawn into terrible events against her will, Kitty has to take control of them in the way that only she can. In doing so, she'll discover that she's more of a leader than she's ever let herself believe.



Fans of the book should definitely read the short story, "Kitty Meets the Band," included in the back of the book. It includes some of my favorite call-ins, from the woman sick of the sound of "Muskrat Love" to a guy who'd love to sell his soul if he could play like Hendrix . . . and we haven't even met the band as yet . . .



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Review: Kitty and the Midnight Hour

Kitty and the Midnight Hour by Carrie Vaughn

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


After recommending this book strongly to a friend yesterday, I realized that it had been so long since I had read it that I had forgotten the plot. I still remembered some of my favorite scenes, but I couldn't recall the story arc of this particular book. So I took it down and read it. And, after reading it, I still found myself flipping to the front of the book to remind myself how it started.



While that might sound like a bad thing, I don't perceive it that way. As I read the book, the narrative seems to progress so naturally that it's often difficult for me to remember the steps that led to any specific event. The events seem to occur organically, each one building to the next.



As the novel opens, Kitty Norville is subbing for a coworker and doing the midnight DJ shift at the radio station where she works--KNOB in Denver. Bored with recent music, Kitty decides to talk instead, and she asks her listeners if any of them have ideas about why The Weekly World News (which is now sadly defunct) had been reporting on Bat Boy for 50 years. On caller suggests that it's a cover up for supernatural activity and hints that he may be a vampire; another caller has heard wolves in an area where they're supposedly extinct. One of my favorite callers asks if she believes in vampires. He asks if she thinks that first caller was a vampire, and when she says she didn't know, he explains that

"I go to nightclubs a lot, and sometimes people show up there, and they just don't fit. They're, like, way too cool for the place, you know? Like, scary cool, like they should be in Hollywood or something and what the hell are they doing here--"



"Grocery shopping?"



"Yeah, exactly!"

The next caller asks about salvation and claims to be a vampire.



Kitty's stint hosting late night and her improvised call-in show turn out to be a huge hit. Her manager is thrilled with the ratings, making it a regular show and even taking it into syndication.



However, at least two people are not pleased--Arturo, the local Master Vampire, and Carl, the alpha male of her pack. Arturo approaches Carl to get Kitty to quite the show, but in a rare showing of stubborness, she refuses.



Kitty is the lowest the member of the pack, and Carl would like to keep her that way. She's the newest wolf in the pack, and Carl wants to keep her as a puppy. So long as she's a puppy, she won't have to stand for herself, and he'll protect her. But the human Kitty is an adult, and she can't stay a puppy forever.



Vaughn's portrayal of Carl's pack is troubling. From the outset it is clear that Kitty doesn't accept her role within the pack, but the voice of the Wolf within her explains that this is how things are supposed to be. As alpha, Carl has sexual access to any wolf in the pack (although he seems to be heterosexual, there's never a clear statement that says that male wolves would not also submit to him). When he chastises Kitty for trying to step outside her role, the yelling will turn into a sexual encounter. As much as Kitty can recognize this as abuse, her Wolf loves him. Changing her relationship with Carl means challenging the pack structure, and Kitty doesn't know if she's ready to do that just yet.



In the course of the novel, Kitty is outed as a werewolf while broadcasting, and society must suddenly deal with the fact that supernatural creatures are real. As she's the only "out" werewolf, the local police come to her when they find themselves facing a series of gruesome murders.



The murders--and Kitty's relationship to her pack--form the story arc for the novel. In some ways, though, they're secondary. The true wonder of this book is Kitty's relationship to her callers. They come to her looking for advice, trying to understand the moral implications of their lives. Or looking for the location of the next vampire orgy. In any case, Kitty tries to talk with them and provide some form of guidance. Through Kitty, Vaughn is able to explore the world she has created in a way that's simply not possible for most urban fantasy.



I adore the Kitty novels, and I can't wait for the newest entry in the series this summer.



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Review: Any Man of Mine

Any Man of Mine by Rachel Gibson

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I picked up this book due to Avon's aggressive marketing campaign. I get emails from the publisher, and they were pushing this title pretty heavily. After reading the summary, I was intrigued, and since I felt like rewarding myself with a fun romance, I bought it.



The cover copy tells the bare bones of the plot. A few years ago, Autumn and Sam had a fling in Vegas which ended badly--and she's hated him for years because of what happened. When they run into each other at a wedding, they find themselves talking and being civil, and Sam volunteers to help Autumn with a situation that brings him back into her life.



The cover copy also obscures several key facts about the story, and I'm not going to spoil them here. I think they make the story richer and complicate the relationship. What I can say is that when Sam and Autumn run into each other, neither one is looking to resume their fling. However, their increased contact leads them to remember just what drew them to each other in the first place, and as they come to know each other better, sparks begin to fly anew.



When I picked up the book, I had no idea that it was in a series, or that the series was based around a fictional Seattle hockey team. Both facts were delightful. I work in Detroit, and I come from a hockey family. Passages like this one just made me smile:

Sam stood in the tunnel of the Joe Louis Arena and waited to hit the ice. He hated playing in Detroit. Hated the stinking octopus.



He stood behind Logan Dumont and in front of Blake Conte. Captain Walker Brooks hit the ice first admist a wall of booing Red Wings fans. Sam had always found jeering crowds amusing. He fed off all that passion, and no one was more passionate about a sport than hockey fans. When it was his turn to step on the ice, he stuck his glove under one arm and skated across the ice, waving like he was a conquering hero. He looked up at the filled seats and laughed. He might hate playing at the Joe Louis, but he loved playing hockey. He'd been on the road for over a week and was exhausted and jet lagged, but the second the puck dropped, that all went away. Adrenaline pounded through his veins and rushed across his skin. He dominated behind the blue line, using his body to agitate and intimidate. He closed firing lanes and spent four minutes in the sin bin for cross-checking and hooking. The latter was complete bullshit. It wasn't his fault that Zetterberg got tangled up in Sam's stick. He should go back to Sweden and learn how to skate like a big boy.



Pansy ass.

I will add that any Red Wings fan wouldn't call the arena "the Joe Louis." We call it "the Joe" and leave it at that. But, since Sam isn't a Red Wing, I'm willing to forgive his lapse. I'm also willing to forgive his hatred of octopus. While I adore the tradition and cheer whenever I see a squid hit the ice, I'm sure it's disgusting to other teams. (Thankfully, we only throw squid, not rats like some fans!)



--back to the review--



Sam and Autumn felt real to me. They each had their reasons for behaving so recklessly in Vegas, and the wounds and regrets they carry from that meeting are lifelike. They are not always likeable, but they're also believably flawed.



The sex was fairly graphic at times, but that's also in character. Neither or these characters does anything by half--once they've mad a decision, they throw all their energy into it. Once they decide to have sex, they aren't tame about it.



Overall, I liked this novel enough to read it in one night. (I finished it after midnight, hence the two-day spread in my dates.) It was fast paced and fun, and exactly what I wanted at the time.



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Review: Shadowfever

Shadowfever by Karen Marie Moning

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Wow, this book was a lot better when I skimmed it!

I originally checked this book out of the library on March 28, and I started reading it almost immediately. However, I stalled out on page 53. For those of you that have read the series, you know what happened at the end of Dreamfever. Mac spent the first 50 some odd pages of this book whining about the choice she'd made at the end of the last. While I do understand the emotional trauma involved, and I would not have liked to see Mac brush off the event, Moning's treatment of it left much to be desired. It felt as if Moning want to convince her readers of Mac's trauma through sheer repetition. It was too much for me, and I had to put the book down.

Today, April 25, I picked up the book again. I wanted to know how this series ends, dammit, and the book was due back to the library today. So I decided to skim. I avoided any long passages of exposition as they uniformly seemed to be of Mac whining. Instead, I looked for scenes with conversation. I was quickly able to skim through the book, getting the jist of the plot while running from Mac's thoughts. With that method, I read this nearly 600 page book in four hours. And I liked it.

Apart from Mac's near-constant whining, the book provided a satisfying ending to the series. I liked the choices Moning made regarding the change in the world. A few of the revelations were moderately surprising, but they did not come from left field. They had been foreshadowed--as pretty much everything in this series was foreshadowed--but Mac hadn't given enough hints to truly lay bare her entire plot.

I'm glad I didn't spend money on this book. Heck, the only one that I ever owned was the first book (originally as a mass market paperback, but I gave that away in the swap when the publisher offered it as a free ebook). I do think this series is inventive and reasonably brave. Not many writers have the courage to torture a character as thoroughly as Mac was tortured. But that's also part of the reason that I don't want to return to this series. Bad things happen in this world--and bad things happen to Mac. I did not enjoy following her on her journey from Mac 1.0 to Mac 5.0. While I do think these books are good, they're not fun in the way I like my books to be fun.



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Review: The What the Dead Know CD

The What the Dead Know CD by Laura Lippman

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Before I get into this review, I need to explain a few things. I don't like to read books about endangered children. Right now, I don't like to read books about missing people. They hit too close to home for me, and I cannot vicariously enjoy the tension created by these situations. My reasons are simple: these situations are too real. When I was a teenager, two girls in my hometown were killed by a serial killer. I did not know Michelle and Melissa Urbin, the sisters he kidnapped and killed from Fenton. I went to a neighboring school. The facts of their disappearance and deaths shaped my personality and reading taste, though. I do not enjoy reading books from the point of view of a rapist or killer. And the tension created by endangered children sickens me. I've only recently begun to avoid books about missing people, and I don't know how long that will last. In December, one of the professors in my department was reported missing. Her disappearance is considered a possible suicide, but without any clear evidence of her fate, the case remains open.



I didn't want to burden this review with this information in order to seek sympathy. Instead, I want you to understand that this book was so amazing that I was able to enjoy it despite the baggage I brought with me.



As the cover copy makes clear, this novel opens with a traffic accident. A woman is involved the accident and drives away; when the police find her walking down the road a few miles away, she is unable to provide identification. In an attempt to distract the police officer from her role in the accident, she tells him that she is one of the "Bethany girls," referring to an unsolved case of missing sisters from 30 years before.



The police immediately suspect that this woman is not telling the full story. She explains that she's been living under an assumed name for years and does not want to endanger her privacy, so she refuses to give them her current name. She does not want publicity. She knows facts of the girls' lives, but most of that information is available to a dedicated internet searcher. The police do not know what to believe, but they do know they have a mess on their hands. Detective Kevin Infante is assigned to investigate the woman and determine the truth--if such a thing exists.



The novel unfolds slowly, moving between multiple narrators to tell the story of the missing girls, their family, and the investigation. From memory, I would say that there may have been as many as eight narrators. The chapters move back and forth between the narrators and back and forth between the present and the past. Thankfully, Lippman is a powerful writer, and the switches between different points of view were rarely jarring. Instead, we as readers get to see the tapestry of lives woven around the missing girls. We see how their loss devastates their parents, Miriam and Frank. We see the relationship between the girls as we learn of their childhood. We see the frustration of the detectives as they seek to discover the threads that tie this unnamed woman to the Bethany girls.



This is not a novel that delights in pain. Despite the emotional pain of the girls' loss, this novel never becomes voyeuristic. This is not a book about what happens to the girls after they disappear from the mall. This is a book about what happens to everyone else. The woman who claims to be a Bethany girl forces the police to reopen the case and reevaluate their investigation. She claims that her captor was a cop, further complicating the matter.



What is the truth? Who is this woman? That's something that, for the time being at least, only the dead know for certain.



It's up to Kevin Infante and the Baltimore PD to discover if there are any answers available.



As the fact that I'm reviewing an audiobook should make clearn, I listened to the audio edition of this novel. Eerily enough, I started this book on March 29, the same day the girls disappear. Linda Emond narrated the book, and she was remarkable. Lippman's writing changed with each shift in point of view, and Emond's voice changed with it. Despite the tricky nature of the narration, I never found myself confused as to which character was the viewpoint character at any time. For those of you that enjoy audibooks, I recommend this edition highly.



Overall, I found this book compelling. I could not wait to drive to work and listen to the next installment. While I was able to anticipate some of the answers, I did not see everything coming.



Lippman is a brilliant writer, and I look forward to exploring the rest of her works.



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