Ash by Malinda Lo

Title: Ash
Author: Malinda Lo
Reviewed Format: hardcover
Release Date: September 1, 2009
Pages: 272

We’re all familiar with the story of Cinderella: a girl, coming of age, breaks free of her unfortunate circumstances and upsets the balance of society to rise above her station and marry not just any Prince, but the Prince; they go on to live Happily Ever After. The fairy tale is part rescue mission, part freedom fight with some political commentary wedged between the two. It’s about choices and desires; dreams and surprises. There’s little initiative on Cinderella’s part--her fairy godmother does all the hard work and saves the day. All Cinderella ever has to do is what she’s told: wear the dress, go to the ball, come back before midnight.

Malinda Lo approaches the fairy tale from a different perspective: what if Cinderella had no desire to secretly compete with her stepsisters for the Prince’s heart? What if there was a different way to escape her circumstances? The solution comes in the form of Sidhean (pronounced SHEEN), a cursed fairy, and Kaisa, the King’s Huntress. Alone in the city after her father’s death, Aisling’s curiosity keeps bringing her back to the woods beyond her stepmother’s home where she meets both Sidhean and Kaisa. Sidhean is a strange fairy man who surprises Ash (Aisling’s nickname) by not kidnapping or killing her like the fairies in her fairy tale book. Devastated over her father’s death and miserable at the thought of having to pay back the debts her father left to his widow, Ash struggles with Sidhean to abandon her world altogether and live in the land of fairies. Instead of helping her cross the boundary between the worlds, he grants her wishes. As many as she desires, but with each comes a price. And so Ash uses her wishes to bring her closer to Kaisa, whom she doesn’t yet realize she’s falling in love with.

Having changed the fairy godmother of the fairy tale into a fairy godfather (and cursed, no less), Lo then turns to the fated ball. Except, in this case, Ash doesn’t fall in love with the Prince. Her eyes are solely for Kaisa. Instead of a glass slipper, it’s a fairy cloak that Kaisa clings to, lost in her confusion and despair over Ash’s mysterious disappearance.

Placing the fairy tale in the same medieval, fairy setting with Kings and Queens makes it inordinately difficult to follow the rules of aristocracy and allow Ash--with a notably different sexual inclination--to fall for, much less marry, a Princess. The Prince remains, moved to the periphery with the audience wondering: how then does she become free? This left me grasping at the idea that Cinderella’s happiness at the end isn’t the pageantry of royalty, but the romance she finds. It’s love that saved her. Keeping this in mind, Ash is a uniquely successful re-telling shaped around the idea that ultimately Cinderella’s savior isn’t a magical pumpkin or glass slippers, nor is it a fairy godmother. All of those things provide her the opportunity to prove her worth, without which she would never have been able to fall in love. But it’s love, in the end, that makes the Prince choose her as his bride, thus saving her from a wretched existence at the mercy of her cruel stepmother.

Ash is no different. In that respect, I really appreciated Lo’s ability to reach into the heart of the fairy tale. That Ash fell in love with a non-royal is as insignificant as her falling in love with another young woman, but the distinctions are what make Ash so beautiful against what always threatens to be the same old tale.

That being said, I think the writing is what saved this book from falling just short of marvelous for me. Ash reminded me stylistically of Robin McKinley and I think fans of her writing would enjoy this book a lot. It’s shorter, but very engaging and accessible. As I read, it was easy to imagine the book being read to me, as some writing lends itself quite effortlessly. It read very much like a fairy tale and not just because that’s what it was. My only problem is in Lo’s execution of the romantic relationship between Kaisa and Ash. As much as I wanted to believe in the innocence of Ash discovering her true feelings, her interest in the huntress came off as curious more in the romance involved in being on a horse, on the hunt, left alone in the woods to do as she pleases, than on Kaisa as a woman--as a person. In other words, I felt Ash falling in love with the freedoms Kaia had than with Kaisa herself. As the narrative progressed, Ash’s feelings narrowed and found in Kaisa a like partner, but I was usually disinterested in their interactions together. I won’t deny there was chemistry, but the romantic chemistry felt forced, added at the end as an afterthought--which I know it was not intended to be. What I missed was the courtship between the pages where Kaisa and Ash undoubtedly connected in a way that went further than initial curiosity. I wanted to see more moments that warranted the embarrassed and shy glances between the two of them that persisted past what could be explained away as involuntary reactions to physical attraction.

I’m still thinking it over and love how beautiful everything about this book was--Malinda Lo is an author to watch out for in the future. And maybe I’m being too critical of the romance, too demanding for a book that doesn’t promise to go past a first kiss or show us if Kaisa and Ash lived happily ever after. Maybe Ash is just about Aisling making that first discovery and deciding to pursue a new relationship rather than be solely about the romance. And I think it speaks to Lo’s ability as a writer, that after finishing I’m still focusing on the beauty of the relationship--isn’t that part of what Cinderella is all about?

Eyes Like Stars: Théâtre Illuminata, Act I

Title: Eyes Like Stars: Théâtre Illuminata, Act I
Author: Lisa Mantchev
Reviewed Format: hardcover
Release Date: July 7, 2009
Pages: 368

If you had the chance to leave the only home you’ve ever known, would you do it? That’s the dilemma Beatrice Shakespeare Smith, or Bertie as she’s known to the denizens of the Théâtre Illuminata, faces. Bertie doesn’t know who her parents are or why she was left at the theater’s doorstep and, as part of a ritual half comfort, half quest she’s constantly writing the script of her own life. To give herself a history, she imagines a bittersweet romance between a famous actress and an ordinary, lovestruck fellow, a magical caravan, and a mysterious Mistress of Revels. The particulars are always foggy, but in the story of How Bertie Came to the Theater, Bertie is always wistful, always searching for the right combination of lines and directions to point her toward the truth: who were her parents? Why did they abandon her? Where did she come from?

Bertie is far from lonely. She’s been living inside the magical Théâtre Illuminata, home to The Book, which holds the complete works of every stage play ever. It also holds the power to summon any stage character or cast imaginable for weekly performances of beloved plays that helps keep the theater thriving. Surrounded by four mischievous fairies and a colorful array of characters, Bertie’s made quite a home for herself. She’s also learned, like any teenager, the fine art of getting into trouble. This time, the theater manager’s finally fed up. Faced with being cast out, Bertie is given an ultimatum: if she can think of a way to make herself indispensable to the theater, she can stay.

Despite the not-so-subtle manipulations of Ariel (from The Tempest), Bertie isn’t eager to leave, even if it provides the opportunity she needs to find her parents. She’s determined to stay--as if lost and doing what every child is told to do when they don’t know where they are: stay put and eventually you’ll be found. With the help of her fairy friends, Nate (a dashing pirate from The Little Mermaid and my favorite character, aside from Peaseblossom), and the production managers, Bertie’s devised a plan that she’s sure will change the theater and stage manager’s minds.

Eyes Like Stars is whimsical mix of script and novel, juxtaposing imaginative backdrops and familiar characters against Bertie’s reality. The result is an explosion of coffee, pastries, glitter, beautiful costumes, and clashing personalities. Characters from different plays (albeit, Shakespeare’s are favored) meet and interact in unexpected, humorous ways. The stage is a personality itself, almost stealing the show with multiple and quick scene and prop changes reminiscent of a magical Tim Burton fantasy.

There is a lot going on in this book. With so much distraction outside of the main plot, it’s no wonder Bertie’s plan went tangentially into a dance with Ariel that led to The Book disappearing, changing the direction of the novel. What started out as a quest to help Bertie stay at the theater became a hunt for The Book, but don’t be discouraged. Mantchev manages to entwine the chaos into a reasonable assembly of working cogs all moving toward the same end: the clock is ticking and just when Bertie thinks her goals are insurmountable and hopeless, she remembers the Théâtre Illuminata has one advantage that works in her favor: magic.

If the disparate elements of the narrative struggle to make sense to you, be patient! Like all good authors, Mantchev proves she has command of her story, answering most of our questions and leaving the more burning ones for the sequel.

I have to admit, I’m not a huge fan of Ariel The Romantic Interest as much as Ariel The Manipulative And Scheming Sprite. The chemistry between him and Bertie seemed born of his machinations and desires to be set free (typical Ariel!) and I can’t help wanting to disbelieve his disposition at the end. My heart goes to Nate, whom I desperately hope isn’t related to Bertie in any familial way. The two of them were adorable together, even if Mantchev held back in what I can only hope is out of respectful consideration and not foreshadowing. I’m still suspicious of Ariel, but will have to wait until next year for any answers. This was an overall cute and easy read I’d recommend to anyone who wants something fun and light.

Fire by Kristin Cashore

Title: Fire
Author: Kristin Cashore
Reviewed Format: hardcover
Release Date: October 5, 2009
Pages: 408

Fire is, like the cover says, a companion book to Graceling (don't pay attention to this graphic, my book says quite clearly "companion"). Chronologically it’s a prequel, but in setting inhabits a mysterious world separated by mountains from Katsa’s and populated with Monsters instead of Gracelings. Monsters are no less captivating or powerful than Gracelings, but they’re considerably more deadly; Dellians fear Monsters as much as they inexplicably love them. Lucky for Fire--the protagonist--she’s the only human Monster left in the Dells. The rest are animals: brightly colored with poisonous malice and a thirst for blood, especially Monster blood. What attracts normal people to Monsters is their beauty. As Clara eloquently put it, “Everyone wants a bit of something beautiful.” (p. 204) The danger with that sentiment is not everyone responds by fawning or showing devotion and adoration. Some people are driven to do mad, horrible, violent things. It’s because of the degree of reaction (overwhelming unless a person has learned to control themselves, which can be done), Fire has learned to grudgingly defend herself by making use of the hypnotic, controlling power she has as a Monster. Exerting her will onto others while distasteful and utterly disagreeable to Fire’s inclinations, helps keep her safe, but it also reminds her of her father.

Cansrel was a lustful man who abused his Monster abilities and enslaved people to do terrible things for him. Worst of all, he enslaved the Dellian King, drove him mad enough to kill himself and ran the kingdom into ruins. As Fire is constantly reminding herself: she is not Cansrel. That doesn’t stop other people from sending harsh, critical stares in her direction or judging her objectively before they’ve ever met her. But Fire is nothing else if not brave. For as much as Fire’s Monsterhood ostracizes and objectifies her to other people, it saved her from her father, Cansrel. In his beautiful little girl, Cansrel found a bit of himself, a person of like abilities to share a bond with, someone whom he could never harm, but train--in secret--to hone her abilities and harness her will for selfish and bad deeds. Before his sudden death, Fire learned everything she needed to know about her power: how not to be like Cansrel.

And so Fire, the novel, opens onto an eerie scene with a man and his Graceling son, a wicked boy who uses his Grace for cruel exploitation and perverse motivations. Immiker, who is also known as Lek, is creepy. He’s so creepy, I was glad the book moved onto the first part and chapter, leaving him far behind in favor of Fire. Fire, who is not creepy. Fire, who is determined to find the poacher who shot her on accident and the archer who shot him and continues to kill throughout the Dells. But to do that, she has to contend with a king who can’t resist her, vicious raptors, her own misgivings, and a prince who doesn’t hide his distrust and dislike of Fire.

Those of you familiar with Graceling will appreciate Fire. Kristin Cashore writes amazingly strong, complicated female protagonists. In Fire, it’s not just the protagonist who’s strong, it’s every woman, even those on the fringes. Women are in the military, they’re used as guards, spies; they’re mothers, grandmothers, daughters, sisters; they’re powerful no matter what role they play. Women are everywhere and everywhere productive, indispensable. That the women on the fringes are even noteworthy speaks to their phenomenal contributions side-by-side their male counterparts; they’re equals and for that, I thank Cashore tremendously.

Fire’s an interesting character. She’s both a metaphor for the archetypal woman and the one that breaks the mold. Fire is desirous and desired; because of this she’s seen--and recognizes herself as--dangerous. As a result she’s become self-conscious and weary, quick to dread the presence of men. Male Monsters don’t illicit the same response in women as Fire does to men. It’s inexplicable to me why males are automatically put into the weak-minded category and constantly have to wrestle with reality when Fire’s around, but were she a man, women wouldn’t be fawning all over her. It’s a double standard I had a lot of trouble with (maybe someone can explain it for me?), but for all that, Fire was still interesting. In addition to being dangerous, she’s also powerful and is keenly aware of this. With her power (to attract others, to change the will of most people) comes those who want to use her as a tool, a possession, a thing to be stolen, an object. In this way, she’s reduced to a feminist nightmare. But, when in the course of the book, she is actually kidnapped, Fire does everything but sit helplessly at the mercy of her kidnappers. She’s resourceful, willful, determined, brave, and smart. She also has the capacity for love of every kind. In her whirlwind life, she even finds the time for romance.

Cashore is determined to, once again, show young girls everywhere that they can have everything they want out of life, it’s just a matter of balance. Fire’s choice not to have children is a difficult one that haunts her throughout the book. She also struggles with her Monster-ness even as she successfully completes the work she tasks for herself using her abilities. Through Fire we see that finding a moment of peace with who we are isn’t always, or ever, easy, but it is doable if we want to work for it.

For everything I admired and loved about Fire, it did have some drawbacks. I was confused why the revelation about Cansrel’s death was presented in such a way that led me to believe I, as a reader, was supposed to be more shocked. I wasn’t. For all the attention and guilt associated with it, there should have been more suspense. As it is now, the narrative doesn’t warrant the outcome. If I had more clues to pick out the truth on my own, and why the truth was so consequential, I’d be more involved in the emotion of that revelation. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. It was more of a shock when two women became pregnant, and by whom. Maybe I’m just dense.

The major problem I had with Graceling was the plot. With two major events taking place, and the first so easily trumped by the second (which seemed to me to be less consequential), I found myself lost and unable to be caught up in either one with any real conviction. Cashore fixed this in Fire. At first, it appears that the mysterious assassin that sends Fire to King City in the first place is completely forgotten about in favor of the jobs Fire takes while there to help out Nash. As we find out, that’s not the case, not entirely, and both threads were wrapped up rather nicely, if with a bit of an afterthought when Leck is thrown in quickly at the end. After letting the end simmer, I came to appreciate it a lot better and actually think Cashore did a great job tying everything together.

I kept getting distracted, though, with Fire’s Jedi-like ability to read other people’s minds and project her thoughts and feelings onto other people. Especially in the gala scene, her inner dialogue and manipulations ruined the suspense from an extremely suspenseful situation. Her ability in this case, seemed like an easy excuse for Cashore to use the dreaded “tell” instead of showing us what was happening. To be fair, this scene was the worst offender and Cashore did a good job otherwise. I just hope there isn’t anything like that in Bitterblue. While it’s unfair to criticize that because it’s who Fire is as a character and that technique is to help us understand her ability and what she’s experiencing, I still thought it detracted from the book. If my expectations were so high, it’s only because Cashore raised them considerably herself!

I love how Kristin Cashore’s characters are so complicated and realistic. Her multi-layered approach to their needs and desires is mirrored in their surroundings and the thematic issues raised in both books. Her writing and the issues she raises are so much more eloquent and sophisticated than I’ve ever expected. I can’t recommend Fire or Graceling enough. I winded up liking Fire better, but only because some of the kinks in Cashore’s writing were smoothed out. It doesn’t matter which you read first; both are worth reading; Graceling is about independence; Fire is about desire and control (and has a girl with wicked red hair, and bows and arrows. BOWS AND ARROWS). Your only dilemma is deciding which to read first!

Star Wars 501st: An Imperial Commando Novel

Title: Star Wars 501st: An Imperial Commando Novel
Author: Karen Traviss
Reviewed Format: mass market paperback
Release Date: October 27, 2009
Pages: 474

I won’t even pretend I remember everything that happened in the last Republic Commando book. Big events (Dar has a baby, Fi was brain dead, Sev’s MIA), points of suspense (clones have accelerated aging)--those are easy to recall, but tiny details that set up larger, looming, and very far off in the future plot lines fall away pretty easily: the significance of Death Watch, Arla Fett, Gilamar, etc… The problem with these books is the amount of intricate information and the large cast crammed into 400 some odd pages that beg for sequels and long, satisfying arcs. These are books I definitely need a Dramatis Personae to help jog my memory.

501st did not have a Dramatis Personae.

In a lot of ways, these books remind me of Timothy Zahn’s on the scale of character and growth Traviss writes into her cordoned off area of the Expanded Universe. It makes her books fascinating, but that depth comes at the cost of my attention span between releases which have been teased out too far apart for my tastes. Then again, with more time to write, Traviss has always delivered books I can’t get enough of.

In 501st, there’s so much set-up and introduction of new characters and potential plot lines that it makes me even more upset most of them probably won’t be explored, if at all, by Karen Traviss or anyone. With only one more Imperial Commando book left, I can only guess what gets left behind (Death Watch?? Melusar??). The end of Order 66 was, predictably, with the order to execute all Jedi on command. Etain is dead; Niner and Darman are part of Vader’s new Imperial 501st legion of elite stormtroopers; Skirata’s running a rogue clone daycare; Uthan must tackle the tricky and problematic accelerated aging process; Jango Fett’s sister is under the watchful eye of the Skirata clan and may or may not be legitimately insane. Suffice to say: there’s a lot going on before we even get into this latest book.

To put it bluntly: all of this is still a problem in 501st. This does not detract from the book at all. Let me tell you why.

501st is ultimately a rescue mission. Skirata’s gone uber protective of his boys and can’t stand having Darman and Niner separated from their family, especially because Darman has yet to see Kad with the knowledge that he’s the baby’s father. Jaing’s figured out how to remotely get Dar and Niner’s attention and an extraction plan is set up. This fuels the steady backdrop of the story, it’s the heartbeat that keeps the plot in suspense because it’s Traviss writing and the chances of something going wrong or our--and the character’s--hope of getting out, getting out alive, getting out alive and making it home, getting out and making it home in one piece are slim; if bad stuff’s going to happen, it will happen. The only question is what; when is always at the most crucial, poignant moment.

The suspense of Darman and Niner’s rescue is sustained by the everyday fears and worries of the Skirata clan as everyone attempts to cope with the “end” of the war. Their transition to “peacetime” roles mirrors the Republic’s transition to the Empire: the same, yet different in ways not entirely satisfactory. Skirata has attracted a “colony of the damaged and dispossessed” (p. 346) and the psychology of the characters is a jumbled mess of loss, loneliness, guilt, fear, and uncertainty. Not surprising to me, the dynamics between each of the characters is where Traviss really gets to flex her talent. She’s not just a military writer, she brings an emotional and contrary perspective to each psyche. Traviss even debates the philosophical merits of Jedi vs. Mandalorians with the hypocrisy evident in Skirata’s practices and moral stands. There’s a lot of concessions in this one that I think may attract readers who take arms against the literary “anti-Jedi” stance the Mandalorian culture exudes. I hesitate to claim that with any sort of finality because any concessions made are tempered with the ever-influenced opinion of newcomers finding welcome on Mandalore. Ny muses my point succinctly: “Skirata had spectacular double-standards, and the extraordinary thing was that they convinced her […] But when she stood back, all she could see was how many qualities--and terrible flaws--Mandalorians had in common with Jedi.” (p. 372)

By way of explanation, it isn’t just Ny who begins to notice this but, grudgingly, Skirata himself. Djinn Altis and his ragtag band of hippie, free-loving Jedi make lots of strategic cameos, inserting themselves into the plot and their ideals into the hearts of the entire Skirata clan. With Etain’s death still so fresh, the new perspective is bittersweet, but welcoming all the same.

Really, 501st takes an engaging detour from the action of the Republic Commando trilogy. I found it interesting and necessary: here finally are the psychological exploration we’ve been missing for new characters and relationships flung together over a long, hard war. The actual reprieve of peacetime is reflected in the struggle of each character to deal with the blows dealt them by the Republic and Separatists both. Nothing is answered or resolved; so much is left open for future books. The big disappointment is dreading which threads will have the opportunity to jockey for attention in the next, and last, book: Death Watch, Melusar, Dar and Niner finally coming home, or Djinn Altis.

There’s so much to each of these books I can’t express just how bummed I am that we’re losing the richness of the series. But don’t use that as a reason not to read this one. Knowing there’s got to be plot to forfeit for the next book since it’s now the last does make events a little more bittersweet, but you’re not saying goodbye to everyone just yet. There’s still one more. If I say that enough times, it might make me less sad. Despite that, I can’t wait to see how the series finally wraps up.

Peter and Max: A Fables Novel

Title: Peter & Max: A Fables Novel
Author: Bill Willingham
Reviewed Format: hardcover
Pages: 400
Release Date: October 13, 2009

You don’t need to be a fan of Bill Willingham’s Fables comics to like this book--you don’t even have to know what they are to understand Peter & Max. This is a re-telling of the Pied Piper of Hamelin story from a different perspective, one of those “what really happened” kind of tales. For every other character or event that might confuse the reader, Willingham explains the course of the comics in a few words and lines that, if anything, spoil crucial points of suspense that have navigated and pushed Fables over the years. But don’t let that discourage you at all if you’re a new fan. What I like the most about the comics and this book, is Willingham’s grasp of consequence and reality. To validate these fairy tales with contemporary ideas, Willingham is always examining the life of our favorite heroes and heroines in the unwritten pages after their most famous moments. Away from the storybook and our imaginations is a far removed perspective that pulls gently in our direction--here is more, it says to us; the story continues; life goes on.

For the folks in fairy tales--Fables, they call themselves--reality is about as pragmatic and mundane for them as it is for us. Forced to flee their fairy tale homes and find refuge in an enchanted portion of New York City’s Upper West Side, the Fables remind us that we know of only a tiny period in their lives; in our world they must learn to coexist in very human ways, without magic or magical objects that would draw attention to themselves. Yanked out of context of course it’s easy to imagine all sorts of wonderful, magical settings that make romantic adventures out of very real, scary episodes. Despite still writing in “happily ever after” endings, Willingham’s come a long way to revolutionize what’s been handed down to us for so long and in the same form.

Peter & Max is about the Piper family (a band of traveling minstrels), two brothers (Peter and Max), and the innocent Peep family who gets caught in the middle of fraternal jealousy and revenge. Like all such things, a combination of skewed perspective and hurt feelings tips the scales of envy towards violence. What begins as an ominous and mysterious set of flashbacks and present-day events, the story gradually finds promise in its most haunting thread: who is the true Pied Piper? Peter or Max? Peter is a sweet boy, always managing to do what’s right and do it well; Max is his older, but less talented, brother who snaps at the slightest attempt to undermine his authority and right as the eldest Piper child. It’s almost impossible to imagine the sweet-tempered Peter luring unsuspecting children out of their beds and away from their homes, but too predictable to assume the blame lays somewhere outside, somewhere obvious.

Like always, Willingham goes a bit further, beginning and ending the fairy tale after the part we’re familiar with. The Pied Piper doesn’t just disappear mysteriously, taking all of Hamelin’s children with him. When the past and present storylines meet, so too do Peter and Max. The outcome is part of what makes the Fables comics so legendary: Willingham not only recreates fairy tales, he adds another dimension that turns into a brand new one. This revival serves the longevity of an already perpetual existence for fairy tales.

For all that he’s done and all that Peter & Max accomplishes, that’s not to say the book isn’t without its faults, if you want to look critically enough. I really enjoyed everything about it. His writing is very accessible and at times, reminiscent of the simultaneous epic grandeur of the comics and those sprawling opening illustrations with short explanatory notations. It’s also the type of writing I tried to imagine as oral; you can almost hear Willingham sitting by the fireside, reading the book aloud to you in wide range of hushed, reverential, and dramatic tones. I’ll bet you he even does the voices. Peter & Max and the Fables comics fall into the same category of “adult fairy tales” as China Miéville's King Rat (albeit less gory and graphic), and Gregory Maguire’s Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister and Mirror, Mirror. With Willingham’s version of events beginning after what we already know, it turns his fables into the late night version of the books read to children just before their bedtime. The real stories are filled with divorce, politics, and sex. Turn on your night lights and be ready for something dark and disturbing--what happens to Fables when they have to live side-by-side the rest of us in real life. As for Peter & Max? You’ll have to read that for yourself. Just remember: this is not a comic.

While Steve Leialoha has beautiful illustrations throughout the book--and a mini comic at the end--on the jacket and actual book cover (the first thing you should do if you pick this up, is to remove the jacket and look at the gorgeous cloth cover!), they only serve to tease fans who rely heavily on the colored illustrations that make comics what they are. If you find Willingham’s writing to be less charming and more awkward and grasping in places, try to imagine it as a scene in a comic book and it might help you visualize where he’s coming from. I didn’t read this for the writing and it’s not unpleasant for that, but it’s too easy to critique the book against flat, predictable, and leading descriptions or emotions that are usually better served visually. Read it for the story and you may wind up loving it as much as I did.

The Hollow by Jessica Verday

Title: The Hollow (First in a trilogy)
Author: Jessica Verday
Reviewed Format: paperback
Release Date: October 1, 2009
Pages: 528

Sixteen-year old Abigail Browning’s best friend, Kristen, has just drowned in the river at Sleepy Hollow cemetery. Her death is understandably sudden and unexpected; Abbey is devastated. With her last years of high school looming large and lonely before her, she plunges into a solitary routine of cemetery visits and perfume-making that distracts her from the pitying stares and weak offerings of her classmates. In the back of her mind is Kristen, always Kristen, but Abbey meets a strange boy at her funeral with green eyes, light blonde hair, and a wickedly charming smile. Now he’s warring for Abbey’s attention and it’s all she can do not to think of him.

First off, the UK cover isn’t as flashy as the US cover (which has a girl--presumably Abbey--wearing the necklace featured solely on the former), but neither one makes direct sense. Of the two necklaces featured in the book, neither one is magenta (or any shade of purple). This particular necklace may have greater significance to the last 2 books in the trilogy, but if it does, why not feature it prominently on one of the other covers where it’s more likely to come up, if at all? It’s a pretty cover--both are--but misleading.

The setting was wonderful. Verday put a lot of obvious effort into researching Sleepy Hollow as a town and the rich history having a legend attached would develop. Each chapter has an excerpt of a line from Washington Irving’s story that, while not necessarily directly related the the proceeding events, kept the story in a dark Halloween mood. This isn’t necessarily a good thing since the plot spans October through January, but served as a reminder that for a town like Sleepy Hollow, some legends aren’t just for Halloween.

The Hollow promises to be more of a romance mystery than a contemporary re-telling of the Sleepy Hollow Legend. I’ll confess: I was disappointed. It wasn’t that I wanted a re-telling, but that I wanted something significantly more than what was given. As such a rich depository of haunting creepiness, the legend has the potential to do more than sit in the background until the last few chapters. As the novel stands now, I was confused how the legend was anything other than atmospheric--only influential in the vaguest, perfunctory way. Abbey lives in Sleepy Hollow. There is a legend about Sleepy Hollow. I get it. That’s it for a huge portion of the plot. The Headless Horseman and Ichabod Crane are as historical as they are legendary for as much as the town reveres the figures in shopfront, bridges, and other names. What made this even more confusing for me was my inability to find a solid plot.

There are several threads Verday teases out for us to follow: Jessica mourning the loss of Kristen, Jessica dealing with Caspian, Jessica making friends with a couple of former Sleepy Hollow Cemetery caretakers, Jessica navigating her home life and high school (the normal teenage stuff) while the former three things are happening. Not one of these takes the reigns and pulls the others in one direction. While I can tell that The Hollow was largely set up for the last two books and that Kristen’s death is probably important to the overall consequences that await Abbey in the near future, I wasn’t too sure if the threads couldn’t be tied a bit more tightly together. I can see how Caspian, the caretakers, and Kristen all probably have something to do with each other, but after finding her friend’s journals, Abbey is angry for a few chapters and then forgets about it until she makes her peace at the end. The suspense of a few vague journal entries and what they really mean is done away with as soon as Abbey loses interest in anger and later, in forgiveness. If Kristen’s death is related to the revelations at the end of the novel, shouldn’t Abbey be more interested? Or is that structural set-up for Abbey to be shocked when the journals prove critical in understanding her death?

Abbey bothered me a lot. She was rude and not in the way that someone who’s just experienced a huge loss is rude. At times absent-minded and distracted (understandable), Abbey was also particularly (intentionally) nasty to people she just didn’t want to get along with. She was also inconsiderate to her parents, her mother in particular, but found solace in the strangers she met at the cemetery. It could be her general bad attitude is excusable when I take into consideration the connection her home life has to Kristen; talking or putting up with the regular Sleepy Hollow inhabitants can be draining if everyone wants to offer some kind of token of sympathy to ease her loss; it’s easier to be polite to someone you’re physically and (inexplicably) emotionally attracted to.

If that’s the case, then I’m even more baffled by how quick Abbey is to swoon over Caspian’s polite comments. Her romantic interest came across as desperate and unbelievable. I couldn’t believe how easy she was to “fall in love” and inflate their “relationship” with more than it was worth. The way of the very young and inexperienced is, of course, something along the lines of what happens to Abbey. Everything is saturated with meaning, every moment is analyzed and considered from a thousand different angles, motives are questioned, and nothing is ever taken at face value. I think, though, if Abbey’s inner dialogue wasn’t as extremely conversational and dismissive as it was, then I might unclench and buy into the sweetness of her first crush (it seems like a first to me). Instead, she shoots herself to the moon over a boy wanting her to be safe (parents do this, too) when I would take this to be the consideration of a stranger doing another human being the common courtesy of expressing concern over inadvisable travel plans. Suffice to say, her romantic fantasies aren’t too imaginative, nor is she hard to please; Caspian’s suave dialogue reads rather scripted and contrived. Clearly, it has been proved that I am not the intended audience for this book.

I was interested, if I couldn’t get into the burgeoning romance of the book, to explore what some of the other characters had to offer. Ben, for one, is interesting enough that I looked forward to scenes with him. Kristen proved different. We are supposed to get an idea of who Kristen is through Abbey’s flashbacks as related memories rise to the surface throughout the book. I was let down again: Kristen turned out to be a generic best friend, someone who’s only really special to Abbey without me really understanding why. I never got a solid feel for who she was, but I’m not sure if that was the point. Kristen’s fate seems more important than Kristen since Abbey becomes entangled in some strange circumstances that perhaps Kristen has something to do with as well.

The big reveal at the end was wrapped up too quickly. With the focus on the legend being so loose and at most, tangential, to the rest of the plot, I had a hard time accepting its sudden importance. The inclusion of it, unfortunately, seemed tacked on to me and disingenuous as a result. I really wanted to like this book more than I did. I’ve made my peace with the fact that I am not sixteen anymore and am probably not whom this book was meant to woo. I won’t be picking up the sequels, but would recommend this to people whom I think would enjoy it. Thank you to Simon & Schuster UK for the review copy! I just wish I’d enjoyed this one more.

Basajaun by Rosemary Van Deuren

Title: Basajaun
Author: Rosemary Van Deuren
Reviewed Format: Proof Copy
Release Date: January 29, 2009
Pages: 261

Basajaun (pronounced “bah-sah-jahn”--last part rhymes with “shawn”) is a bunny, he’s also Cora’s best friend. Cora’s a young girl being raised in 1906 by her father after her mother died of consumption years before Cora can remember. Their small town is being overrun by rabbits and a town meeting is called to find a resolution. When Wayne--Cora’s father--prepares a speech for his non-lethal proposal, he doesn’t expect to be brushed aside so easily. Unknown to him, the town’s called in a Pastor from Australia with a desire to get rid of the rabbits that crosses into an obsession.

Proselytizing the moral dangers the rabbits represent, he drags a young pregnant teenager with him wherever he goes, as proof positive that sin has heavy consequences. Connecting her out-of-wedlock pregnancy to a rabbit infestation by a thin, religiously-fueled thread, the Pastor’s solution is to kill the rabbits--all of them. What follows is an adventure of mystery, magic, adolescence, and romance. Cora must figure out how to save Basajaun’s friends, reveal the Pastor’s true evil, and help Nellie escape his prison home.

It’s important to read Basajaun for the story. As a first novel, it reads a bit like one with some awkward transitions, characterizations, and confusing, unexplained events. The magic of Van Deuren’s writing is that it’s still pleasing and drives the story forward. It’s easy to become involved in the mystery and suspense of the plot. Van Deuren is an earnest writer and there are passages that rise above the rest, giving us a peek of the seasoned writer she’ll no doubt become. For example, the scene where Cora walks unexpectedly into a moment of privacy between Nellie and Henry is pulled off very tastefully. Hints and allusions serve the mood while reactions explain what could very easily have turned into a detailed, two-dimensional description. This scene was one of my favorites. It had a lot of emotion without being over the top and captured the awkward age of the trio beautifully. Henry also developed a bit more dimension as a character as we find out some of the difficulties he’s faced and his constant struggle to fit in.

Basajaun is at heart a story about freedom and the trials one has to undergo to get it. There’s also a focus on what it means to be happy and how romance fits into happiness. To really get into the spirit of the tale, you have to let yourself believe in the many charming ideas Van Deuren imagines, such as sentient bunnies and marmots, a necklace with transformative abilities, and, among others, the determination of children to save those in need, even if they don’t--or can’t--speak.

I developed a soft spot for Basajaun. When I read the synopsis, I was reminded of another story with sentient animals at the mercy of human hunters: “The Secret of NIMH.” It was one of my favorite movies (I never read the book) growing up. Already interested, I was surprised when the author was generous enough to send me a proof copy. There are some technical errors that were most likely fixed for the final edition, although some elements of the plot were probably left alone. I do wish Cora had an actual reaction when Basajaun started to talk, but can only imagine the explanation lies somewhere in the power of childhood imagination. Who are children to question when animals satisfy a secret desire by actually talking back? A child may accept it as fact without question, but for the sake of the reader, the moment would have felt less awkward and unimportant, if Cora shared our surprise. After all, Basajaun talking is anything but unimportant.

I also wanted a better ending for Henry, the character I found myself liking the most. Cora’s dismissal of him at the end seemed too cruel without including him in the epilogue to sate my curiosity. But this wasn’t Henry’s story. It belongs to Cora and Basajaun.

With time I’m sure Van Deuren will smooth out the rough edges of her talent and continue to write fantastical stories that become reminiscent of little legends. I enjoyed reading Basajaun and a grateful to Rosemary Van Deuren for the opportunity. :)

The Monstrumologist by Rick Yancey

Title: The Monstrumologist: The Terror Beneath (Book One is a series)
Author: Rick Yancey
Reviewed Format: UK paperback
Release Date: October 1, 2009
Pages: 434

Before I go any further, let me warn you: this book is peppered with gory descriptions not for the faint of heart; in some instances, brimming is the more appropriate word. In this case, the gore is seething and crawling with a life of its own, not the tasteless in-your-face type of blood explosions seen in pop horror movies; Yancey’s gore is every bit ambiance as it is instrumental in understanding the horrors hidden in The Monstrumologist.

William Henry is apprentice to Pellinore Warthrope, a self-declared doctor, educated in the finer art of monstrumology, the study and/or hunting of monsters. Warthrope’s is a profession as much feared as it is misunderstood. The 1888 New England town where he lives turns a blind eye to his work and in the same movement holds its breath in apprehension with the hopes that the Doctor’s services will never be needed. This quiet tension infuses the mystery surrounding the death of William’s parents, in particular his father, whom was Warthrope’s assistant before his son. Now the ward of a man with an obsessive passion for his work and a devotion to science (at the expense of food and sleep at times), William finds himself opening the door in the middle of the night to a strange, desperate man with a horse and cart hauling cargo unknown and dreaded all the same.

The Monstrumologist is categorized as YA. The only explanation I can gather for that is the fact that Henry is twelve. Although told from his perspective, this is a frame story; we are reading through the journals of a much older William looking back on his youth and apprenticeship with Warthrope. The language is sophisticated, elevated, and at times, poetic and dramatic. While Henry is relating a story from his youth, there’s an odd contrast between his twelve-year old naivete and his adult hindsight. The mix makes for a marvelous perspective in time and maturity, nuanced by the wonderful Victorian language Yancey uses.

Juxtaposed against the beauty of the writing is the gruesomely satisfying viscera of William’s reality where the act of washing blood and cranial matter from one’s hair and body can lead to philosophical ruminations rising far above the mundane task of cleansing. This multilayered approach to themes like family, monsters, places of the beyond and unknown, life and death, are what help The Monstrumologist to be so rich, so articulate, so charmingly dark. Pellinore’s name, for example, given to him by his father after the Arthurian legend who chases the uncatchable beast, is both nostalgic and alarming in foresight, “...the passing on of a hereditary malady, the familial curse” (p. 426).

Relationships are particularly important in this book, but most importantly are those between fathers and sons, not necessarily literal titles. Yancey’s efforts are most noted between the self-absorbed doctor and young Will. The story is driven by their relationship as much as it is driven by the gut-churning Anthropophagi, grotesque humanoid monsters with mouths for torsos and eyes for shoulders. I could feel Will’s frustration and feelings of abandonment and obligation, “[r]unning away would have been tacit acknowledgment that [his] father had died in vain” (p. 191), a tangled mess of emotions that war with the futility of his alternative: an orphanage. Though difficult to read (emotionally, not technically), I thought the dynamic between the two was beautifully executed, a tenderness hammered out through their nightmare ordeal.

I was very impressed with Yancey’s ability to write the most incongruous scenes--a beautiful, green and sunny Spring day, the backdrop for a grisly murder scene; the macrabre found its counterpart easily with Yancey’s skill. For as much visual contrast as there was in this book, it made other areas that much more arresting in our inability to draw clear distinctions, and that much more alluring in the challenge. To alleviate my attempt to continue describing how amazing Yancey’s writing is, I found a sample sentence (really, there are so many to choose from) in the hopes that, if you haven’t already felt the urge to read this book, this may prompt you to do so:

”I could hear him muttering variations of the argument couched in the coach, like a composer struggling with a difficult bridge seeking to impose melodic balance to the discordant chords of his recalcitrant remorse.”

p.250

The length of this novel can’t be explained by the amount of things that happen, but to the language that lends itself to go past a surface reading and explore such interesting--albeit not necessarily good--characters. Kearns, for instance, likes his job a little too much for my liking, but in his fanatical devotion to the “morality of the moment” teases out the Doctor’s contrary nature, which in turn reflects upon Will.

There are so many things to enjoy about this novel: the writing, the story, the monsters. Again, I’ll stress that this is marketed as YA, but with words like stentorophoric, meritorious, calumny, and sapor, can (and should) be enjoyed by adults, too. I never like to underestimate the reading ability of children or teens; The Monstrumologist has a little bit of everything for readers of different levels or different literary inclinations. I’ll admit I’m not a fan of gore. I did not know there was so much of it before reading. In fact, reading parts of this book made me pretty queasy, but it was worth every nauseous second. There’s illustrations throughout the UK edition of all sorts of medical supplies, tools, and pieces of anatomy. Punctuated every now and then, in addition to sprawling across the beginning of each folio (there are three), the illustrations are unsettling as clinical diagrams, but make the book that much creepier and real, as if William’s journal were torn from the pages of a medical journal not entirely erased of academia. The Monstrumologist was the perfect book to read before Halloween (a coincidence I’m very glad for), but is a must read for fans of Gothic, horror, or fantastical suspense. What’s even better is it’s the first in a series. I’m already waiting for book two.

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

Title: Catching Fire, Book Two of The Hunger Games
Author: Suzanne Collins
Reviewed Format: hardcover
Releast Date: September 1, 2009
Pages: 400

Things in Panem have definitely caught fire. After Katniss and Peeta’s miraculous double victory, they are taken back to District 12. There’s only a little downtime before the Victory Tour begins and the two are carted away with their retinue of stylists, designers, and Haymitch to visit each of the districts in a prolonged celebration of their survival. If only Collins left it at that; if only the crowds weren’t straining behind happy façades or that Katniss hadn’t just played along in Book One and really loved Peeta in the way we all know he deserves; if only the districts weren’t so poor; if only they hadn’t had to rebel 75 years ago; if only President Snow wasn’t around.

I could not put this book down (That’s happening a lot lately: Boneshaker, Leviathan…). If anything, Catching Fire is darker than The Hunger Games, and ten times more addicting. There are unbelievably more complications and more convoluted, morally-troubling alliances. The consequences are heavier and the relationships are more difficult. In short, Catching Fire has everything The Hunger Games offered plus extra, just for spite. President Snow, in case you ever wanted to know, is one creepy, malicious fellow who really has no business running a country. Except, I kept wondering why it’s President Snow who’s in charge and, what happened 75 years ago exactly? Was he, like the victors of the Games he enforces, just the lucky one, the most ruthless one, who made it out on top? Catching Fire doesn’t answer those questions--it gives us more. A rebellion is growing with Katniss at its center, rumors circulate about District 13, and there’s an even darker pallor coloring this year’s Hunger Games.

Catching Fire is more a study of Panem and the day-to-day fears of District 12 that are, ironically, not at all alleviated by Katniss and Peeta’s victory. President Snow is infuriated with the duo’s subversive tactics that undermine everything he exists to enforce. On a personal visit, he makes barely civilized threats that would flatten anyone other than Katniss. Dozens of new Peacekeepers are brought in to fix the lax in law enforcement. Security is tightened, demonstrations made public, and it’s all Katniss can do not to just grab her loved ones and run away. She can’t leave, not yet anyway. This year marks the 75th anniversary of the districts’ defeat and the third Quarter Quell: a quarter century celebration that compounds the yearly Game into a warped celebration of itself, more ruthless and cutthroat than usual (as if the districts need reminding they are beneath the Capitol’s contempt). This year, the twist is terrifying and white-knuckle-inducing.

Just when I thought Catching Fire couldn’t be any more dramatic or horrific, Collins put in another, if condensed, version of the Games in the last third of the book. Before I could wonder if she was going to risk ruining such an amazing trilogy with the overuse of the same ploy (rendering it a useless plot device), she surprised me. I should have known. There’s a lot of suspicion and fear in this book, but for the most part, it’s political, however, frightening on the scale that survival was for The Hunger Games. The ominous threat of the Capitol and What It’s Going To Do To The Districts that was a constant source of paranoia in the first book, is made real in Catching Fire. We don’t just hear by way of past events or safe assumptions, we see people being punished, things set on fire, food taken away. The districts in their entirety suffer Katniss and Peeta’s victory, but they also internalize the couple’s single act of rebellion, spurned by shared disgust and frustration, united by the love story played out before the cameras.

The symbolism of the mockingjay is teased out to the max as is Cinna’s initial genius in the wardrobe department. His designs moved a nation to rethink the way the game has been played for so long; because Collins likes her metaphors, his costumes also contribute to Katniss becoming an idea, not just another winner. Collins has a way with suspense and reality. As a reader, you really feel the emotions her characters experience. As a result, I absolutely loved the scene where Katniss thinks she’s seeing a kiss instead of the obvious (not mentioned here to avoid spoilers). Even though I knew what it was she must really be seeing, I couldn’t help but be drawn in to what she thought she was seeing. In the end, I laughed out loud when she came to her senses.

There’s so much tension in this book; I felt both exhausted and exhilarated by the last page. There isn’t a single character who lacks definition or who isn’t interesting in some way. Everything is just so good! I always feel bad when I write about a book I loved because I can never say exactly what I want to say. Trust me, though, if you’ve read The Hunger Games (and if not, why haven’t you?), Catching Fire is a must read. Don’t listen to anyone who dismisses the series out of some antiquated loyalty to Battle Royale or any other predecessor with similar plot elements or storyline. This series has earned the right to have its own place on your bookshelf.

Thank you to Book Love Affair for the contest prize!

Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld

Title: Leviathan, Book One in a series
Author: Scott Westerfeld
Illustrator: Keith Thompson
Reviewed Format: UK hardcover
Release Date: September 29, 2009
Pages: 448

How do you get a 15-year old boy to do exactly what you want him to do? Ask him if he’s too scared to do it. At least, that’s how two men under his father’s service manage to convince Aleksander Ferdinand--heir to the Austria-Hungarian throne--to leave the safety of his rooms, abandon his mock battle toys, and put his Cyklop Stormwalker lessons to practical use in the middle of the night to drive his fencing and driving instructors, and a handful of other men loyal to the throne as far away from home as possible. Leviathan is Steampunk, you see, and the nature of the genre is providing readers with an alternate history--in this case, it’s the summer of 1914 and Eastern Europe is rife with tension. What Alek doesn’t know is his parents have been assassinated in Serbia, poisoned in an attempt at provocation; someone certainly wants war.

This war, however, won’t be waged with mustard gas or in trenches; Aleksander’s Great War is one split down the middle of two factions: the Clankers and the Darwinists. The Clankers depend on mechanics and steam power, man-made machines with legs that mimic animals and firepower that rivals the creative weaponry and biotechnology of their rivals. The Darwinists are inspired by Charles Darwin and his Theory of Evolution. In Leviathan, the mystery of DNA --brought forward a few decades for the sake of plot--has been discovered and manipulated to create crossbreeds of animals and huge, living dirigibles as part of their military power.

The Leviathan is one of these airships--one of the biggest--in which a young girl, Deryn Sharp, manages to serve aboard after an accident during her practical entrance exams leaves her stranded among its crew. Stranded isn’t the word Deryn--or Dylan as she’s known to her new crew members--would use; blessed is more like it. She’s looked forward to this day for as long as she can remember, but being a girl hasn’t made it easy. Women aren’t allowed to joined the military, but Deryn’s brother--already an airshipman--has helped her study and perfect her disguise as Dylan, the boy. Their ruse has worked so far, but Deryn is in for more than she ever could have expected. Before the Leviathan can return Deryn, Alek’s parents are killed and war declarations start cropping up across Eastern Europe, summoning the huge airship to a highly secretive mission that involves a thylacine, a zookeeper, talking lizards, and a batch of eggs.

Leviathan is funny and creative--Scott Westerfeld has imagined a world out of the depths of evolutionary history. As he writes in the Afterword, “Leviathan is as much about possible futures as alternate pasts. It looks ahead to when machines will look like living creatures and living creatures can be fabricated like machines” (p.439). Not to run away with the possibilities of what seems to be a technologically evolved society, Westerfeld has tempered those advancements with the realities of social politics as they existed at the beginning of the 20th Century: women can’t vote or join the military; the divide between the aristocracy and the general public has never been more clear; distrust runs high for all technology based on ignorance and gross misunderstanding, religious and personal belief. To be fair, technophobia still exists, but in the case of the Darwinists versus the Clankers, personal preference and biased ideals over the dominant technological advancements are strong enough to start one of the most vicious wars in history.

In the middle of it all there is Deryn and Alek, 15-year old vulnerable sweethearts who only want to do what’s right. Both are very new to the ways of the worlds they’ve been thrust into: Deryn, the floating home of the airshipmen; Alek, the politics of being the heir to an empire. In their youthful exuberance, it’s encouraging to see their idealism isn’t jaded by attitudes of those in charge who, in their age and experience, have turned more pragmatic than hopeful. Unfortunately, the innocence of youth keeps getting them into trouble with their more experienced, cautious, and suspicious adult counterparts. The friendship they develop is really quite endearing against the politics surrounding them, determined to drive them apart. It’s touching and very understandable that two children, who represent so much of what each side stands for, are able to set aside their differences and begin to learn from each other. Deryn teases Alek about his irrational fears and disgusts over the conglomeration of living bodies that make up the Leviathan; Alek makes sure Deryn sees the advantage of machines. In between their banter is the truth of the situation: the survival of everything dear to them depends on teamwork; biotechnology is as necessary as gears, metalwork, and engines. Cooperation is the key to success.

My favorite character had to be Dr. Barlow. She’s sharp and intelligent, British, and far removed (in belief) from the petty squabbles that would deny the advances of any science to any country for the sake of political advantage. She’s a true scientist, but also a humanist and becomes a confidant to Alek and Deryn, entrusting them with the secret of her mission. Westerfeld’s writing lends itself more to this type of commentary than anything else. He examines our world from a different perspective, but arrives at an interesting conclusion: does it really matter what advances are made, in any form, for any society, if those advances are greedily kept to a select few countries or people? What are the repercussions of keeping others ignorant on purpose? Does it really matter which group of people have the advantage or is it more a question of how it’s used?

He wrestles with duty against morals, juxtaposing the order of the military against the plight of mercy. As Deryn finds out, doing one’s duty can have its consequences; sometimes it’s up to us to make the hard calls when we start to believe that the rules were sometimes meant to be broken. I like the socio-political commentary that comes with Westerfeld’s book, the engines that drive his SF novels and project them as much into our past as into our near future. His themes reverberate widely and remind us to consider which is most to our advantage: helping just ourselves or helping both ourselves and others?

Thank you to Simon & Schuster UK for sending me a review copy of this book to review! :)