 |
Whoops. I went and read the reviews of Graceling before attempting to write mine. Wow -- so much for that. How about this butt-kicking trailer instead? Fierce! That's the thing about Graceling. I've read my share of tomboy and feisty princess stories, but Katsa's a cut above the stereotype. She's got this striking physical intensity and a temper that's just barely under control. You can actually feel the tension *release* when she fights. This is a girl you will not mess with, much less suggest that she put on a dress or brush her hair. She's darn near feral in some ways, and not without reason, which in turn makes her ineptitude at perceiving emotions both endearing and entirely believable. Loved that complexity. There's adventure, intrigue, and romance galore in this plot, and of course it changes Katsa when all is said and done, but not in a way that sacrifices the keenness of her personality. Kristin Cashore's got way too much respect for her characters to fall into that old trap. I have not done this book justice. At all. Just read it.
|
 |
Kissing the Bee
Oh, that Kathe Koja. She has the most uncanny knack for compacting fully rounded stories of emotional intensity into the space most novels take just to get the plot rolling. One thing Kathe will never do: discount or downplay teenagers' feelings. She knows how it feels when friendships bloom, shift, and break. Plot, excerpt, praise, and all the other requisite goodies here.
|
 |
T4
Gah, I hate it when this happens. T4 is a melding of two topics I'm perpetually interested in (deafness and the holocaust), and in spite of the fact that nearly two dozen Amazon reviewers have given this verse novel four- and five-star ratings, the book did not work for me. Not as poetry, nor as fiction. Bummer.
|
 |
REALLY enjoyed this. You know me: history with a body count, woo! -- and the 1918 influenza pandemic always brings me running. Oddly enough, I couldn't escape the notion that A Time of Angels is rather like Hattie Big Sky. Excepting the fact that Hannah is Russian-Jewish and lives in a Boston tenement instead of a Montana homestead, of course, but stay with me for a second. A Time of Angels has a resourceful, independent protagonist; influenza; a kindly, mistreated German; and a cast of robust characters forming quiet but fierce bonds. It is good stuff -- for my taste, a more engaging, straightforward story than Hesse's latest, Brooklyn Bridge. (About that business with the angels? Honestly, it didn't do much for me, but neither did it distract, so no complaints. Hannah's angel visions are much less obtrusive than Hesse's interludes about the lost children in Brooklyn Bridge, for example.)
|
 |
Pros:
Cons:
How historically accurate is all this? No clue. But I can tell you I only raised my eyebrow once, and that was over the use of "bathrobe" (as opposed to "dressing gown").
|
 |
Madapple
Holy cats, this book is out there. The intrigue is irresistible, but yikes. Botany, fundamentalism, mythology, murder, and...miracles? With slices of court testimony interrupting the narrative and hijacking your perspective, it's virtually impossible to untangle what's really going on. This is one of those stories that has its own palpable atmosphere, and it feels just like the cover looks: murky, stirring, and intense. It's a tough sensation to shake. Meldrum herself says, "My hope is that I have somehow captured that in-between space where religion and science meet." I can't say for certain if she's captured it, but rummaging around in that no-man's-land with this peculiar cast of characters will keep your mind working for a good long time. Try a generous sample of Madapple for yourself here.
|
 |
My One Hundred Adventures
Polly Horvath is a puzzlement to me. Ever since The Canning Season beat Richard Peck's The River Between Us for the National Book Award five years ago I've professed to hate her, which is not entirely true. I've kept reading her books, secretly hoping one would force me to abandon my prejudice. My One Hundred Adventures has come dangerously close to doing just that. But here's the thing about Polly Horvath: although I find her characters painfully real, brought to life by the most assured and graceful writing, there's always an element of the outlandish in her stories that I just can't seem to reconcile. It's almost like magical realism...without the magic. I'm confounded every time I try to wrap my head around it. Nevertheless, I bet I'll keep reading. I'm determined to get it one of these days.
|
 |
Every class has a kid that gets dumped on, and Carlos is Gonna Get It is the kind of book that'll make your own guilt-demon go all squirmy when you think of how YOU treated your class's version of Carlos. In my middle school, that kid was Jason Hills. So I know just how Trina felt about Carlos. Part of me knew back in 6th and 7th grade that Jason was just a gangly, dorky kid who got picked on for no reason, but another part of my primitive pre-teen brain literally recoiled from him because he was, like, God, so annoying. So annoying he deserved it. (This is the part where I cringe.) Even if you are/were such a nice kid that this story doesn't feel like an instant replay of 7th grade, the suspense and the peer pressure vortex should suck you right in. Because, c'mon, Carlos is gonna get it. How can you resist watching?
|
 |
Murkmere
I am feeling inexplicably lazy about discussing this novel. What you need to know: 1. This is a swan maiden story, with themes of religion and power woven in. 2. It's the sort of fantasy that isn't brazen about its magic -- you're eased into it so gradually that you don't realize you're suspending your disbelief. 3. This is a very good book.
|
 |
Child of Dandelions
Apparently I am no longer capable of enjoying a book that tells more than it shows. I stuck with this one because I'm pig-ignorant about Idi Amin's forced migration of Indians from Uganda, but it's the darnedest thing: the characters' emotions simply do not penetrate my psyche when they're plainly stated more often than they're demonstrated. (Read this article to see some concrete examples of what I mean.) No matter how interested I am in the topic, I get downright frustrated, complete with that back-of-throat burn, when I try to read a novel written in this style. Phooey. I settled on a three-leaf rating, though, because I don't necessarily consider this "bad" writing. As troublesome as it is for me, lots of readers don't get consciously hung up about this issue.
|
 |
Alabama Moon
At the risk of being flayed by a certain former bookshop owner... This is a Boy Book if ever I've read one. It's got action, octane, and a sprinkling of what we euphemistically like to call "language," variously set in the wilderness, jail, a clay pit, court, and a firing range. A respectable amount of introspection never bogs down the plot. I had a little trouble swallowing the idea that Moon was just 10 years old. It's not outlandish, but it's a bit of a stretch. Doesn't ruin the story, though.
|
 |
Mama's Bank Account
Every now and then, I like a movie even better than the book -- I do. I know authors aren't supposed to say that, but I can't help it. Maybe if I'd read this book first, but once I'd seen Irene Dunne as Mama, there was no turning back. For me, reading Mama's Bank Account was like watching a DVD extras version of I Remember Mama. I enjoyed the additional stories as I would have enjoyed deleted scenes from the movie, because on the whole the story and characters are remarkably consistent between print and film, and (dare I say it?) perhaps even more vivid on screen. Because Kathryn Forbes is not a very visual writer, the sets, combined with the actors' expressions and mannerisms, add a richness of depth and detail to her stories. In fact, the movie's success probably lies in the way it gently accentuates Forbes's writing without overpowering it. In a show of faithfulness, the key bits of dialogue are lifted straight from the original -- as well they should be. The movie also joins a series of individual anecdotes into a single narrative arc with an impressive sense of continuity. And saving the revelation about the bank account until the very end of the movie instead of spilling the beans in the first ten pages? Brilliant. Really, this is one of the best book-to-movie transfers I've ever seen.
|
 |
Ivy
Upside:
Downside:
|
 |
Ah yes, history with a body count again -- my favorite. I've read a fair chunk of Salem Witch Trials fiction, so I can't say this was tremendously different. BUT. The way Kathleen Kent manages to about-face your perception of Martha Carrier's character is a sight to behold. And now that I think about it, I don't recall a Salem story that so clearly shows the effect of an arrest and accusation upon the family members left at home to cope. There are emotional issues, sure, but trying to support a farm and a family when one of the main hands is carted off to jail is no small burden either. FYI: The book starts roughly a year before the witch-craze breaks out, so hang in there and pay attention because the sharp-eyed reader will pick up on the everyday tensions that fester into accusations before all is said and done. One small puzzlement:
|
 |
Much as I enjoyed the audio edition, I have an inkling that tackling the print version instead might have frustrated me a tad. Cynthia Voigt's writing is so matter-of-fact in places, it likely would have come dangerously close to triggering my show-don't-tell peeve. Delivered by the voice of Barbara Caruso, however, Voigt's style comes off as clean and direct. Or maybe I just loved the way Gram's voice sounded so awfully much like Anne Bancroft's portrayal in the film version of Homecoming. Or perhaps it's because this story deals more with the interactions within the Tillerman family itself, as opposed to the way food and travel dominated the first book in the Tillerman Cycle. Either way, I liked this experience far more than reading Homecoming -- so much so that I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to the Tillermans yet.
|
 |
The Wordy Shipmates
Well, drat. Assassination Vacation seduced me instantly with Sarah Vowell's wit and irreverence, but this time her style didn't do the job for me. Considering I was always the sort of kid who wrote the paper and THEN the outline, and that now I'm the sort of non-fiction reader who tends to prize voice over form, I'm shocked by the complaint I'm about to level at Sarah Vowell: this book has no topic sentence. It begins with what I took for an anecdote (but was apparently the thesis) and from that moment I could not shake the feeling that I'd wandered haplessly into the middle of a conversation about the Puritans and couldn't catch up. I craved some sort of context to frame the chain of events Vowell chose to focus on, but it rarely came. Not that I didn't understand the events themselves, mind you, but I did feel rather like the kid in math class who raises his hand to ask, "When are we ever gonna need to use this?" Longabout page 57, Vowell did begin to explain the modern-day relevance of her fixation with Puritan politics, but by then it was too late for me. I did rally near the end to enjoy the bit about that mouthy broad, Anne Hutchinson, but otherwise? Meh.
|
 |
After the Moment
Crikey, this book has had me flummoxed for a review for the better part of a week. See, I don't want to climb into some sexist pigeon hole, but I have to admit: for a story about a boy in love, After the Moment surprised me with its introspection and sensitivity, and I am dreadfully curious to see how young men react to that. Because the stereotype for male fiction, of course, is Action! Adventure! Thrills! while Leigh is the thoughtful sort of boy you hope is secretly hidden inside every hormonal teenager. Though I suspect Garret Freymann-Weyr would drop her head into her hands if I suggested she'd written this book for anyone in particular. The best authors know it doesn't matter who think you're aiming for -- you never know who's going to embrace the story when all is said and done. Yet it's clear from the acknowledgments that Freymann-Weyr took great care to learn about the male perspective on love. Hence, my curiosity. I'd have to say the characters impressed me most, particularly Maia. With her enigmatic combination of fragility and resilience, her appeal is impossible to dodge. The supporting cast is also nicely complicated and nuanced without being quirky; strengths, weaknesses, and connections play off one another in intriguing combinations. Quibble: As reflective as the rest of the book is, I found myself wishing Leigh's feelings about the war in Iraq were explored with the same delicacy and consistency as his feelings for Maia. Once more for good measure: I'll be keeping a close eye on the reception for this one. (Available in May. Synopsis and other details here.)
|
 |
Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!
That, my friends, is what a good audiobook is all about. The music, the voices, the performances -- all spot-on. And how cool to hear these monologues performed, which is what they were meant for in the first place. I must say, the two dialogues with their twining voices are particularly spiffy. Makes me want to hunt down a copy of Fleischman's Joyful Noise: Poems for Two Voices.
|
 |
The Talented Clementine
What can I possibly say about another Clementine audiobook except that it kicks as much butt as the last one? Jeeze, my parents are Clementine fans because of these recordings...
|
Graceling
