Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Sunday, May 22, 2016

"Anne of Windy Poplars," by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Protagonist: Anne Shirley. While Gilbert's away at medical school, she'll be starting as Summerside's newest school principal.
The Rub: Summerside's got some nice folks, but also a nasty "royal" family and a horde of Evil Old People to contend with.

The Secondary Characters:

Aunt Kate and Aunt Chatty: Two sweet but diametrically opposed elderly spinsters with whom Anne boards.

Rebecca Dew: Kate and Chatty's cantankerous servant.

Elizabeth: An emotionally-starved orphan raised by two unloving crones, whom Anne befriends.

Angst Checklist:

  • Old Ladies Be Trippin'
  • Rampant Emotional Abuse
  • Family politics
  • Being unmarried at 28 is worse than death, for reals
  • Crazy couples who really shouldn't get married
  • Cats You Love to Hate
  • Houses Full of Dead People

Anne of Green Gables is a beloved classic - it's certainly one of my favourite books - but not as many people read the later books in the series (such as Anne of Avonlea and Anne of the Island). It's easy to see why. Anne has far fewer flaws (most of her "scrapes" in this book are by accident), the drama is far milder, the storytelling rambling and unfocused.

For me, though, the Anne books remain my jam - the ultimate comfort read. With church socials and sponge cakes, saucy gossip, and lovingly-described scenery, it's a lilac-scented meandering walk down a summer lane with the occasional incisive scrap of social commentary.

Windy Poplars is mostly comprised of Anne's letters to her fiancĂ© Gilbert during the three years they are separated (Anne to teach in Summerside as a school principal, Gilbert to finish medical school).

Anne has a tough go of it at first. Summerside's prolific and close-knit ruling family, the Pringles, had their own candidate for principal, and they are determined to topple Anne from her perch by any polite means necessary.

On top of that, Summerside has a surfeit of Emotionally Abusive Old People. Anne spends a chunk of the book rescuing girls and young women from their manipulative, grasping crone relatives who are determined to suck all the happiness out of them like Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus. It happens so often I wondered if all these old biddies and coots had some sort of club to Ruin Young People's Lives.

Anne also saves a couple of Bitter Spinsters (both unhappily unmarried by 28! Gasp!) from future crone-hood.

Through it all, Anne maintains her sunny optimism - life is happier when one turns the other cheek, to admire the flowers or the sea or some other deliciously-described aspect of Prince Edward Island scenery. While she's much tamer than she was in her slate-bashing days, Anne has her spirited moments (in one chapter, she harbours delightfully violent fantasies against one of the worst Summerside crones).

And yes, as mentioned before, the drama is milder, but if there is any theme in Windy Poplars it is that people are often their own worst enemy. Yes, the Crones and the Pringles are nasty, but a lot of the characters Anne encounters perpetuate their own unhappiness - either through inaction or indecision, or because they've entrenched themselves in their own bitter outlook on life and need an outsider's perspective to adjust their attitude.

While I have yet to visit Prince Edward Island myself, I so love visiting the P.E.I. of Montgomery's novels.

A very sentimental, rose-coloured A+

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

"After You," by Jojo Moyes

*Warning* This review containers spoilers for Me Before You. I highly recommend you read Me Before You first before reading this review. It's a great book. Trust me.

I really enjoyed After You - but I kind of wish it didn't exist.

Let me explain. After You is the sequel to Me Before You, a novel that emotionally capsized me when I first read it and will likely do so again when I see the movie version (can Mr. Bates from Downton Abbey just play everyone's dad forever?).

However, one of the things I loved the most about Me Before You was the ending, where Louisa finds the courage to embark upon an adventurous life thanks to her relationship with Will. It was hopeful yet bittersweet, the narrative unravelling into uncertainty instead of a neatly hemmed conclusion. I kind of thought it as the perfect ending.

After You ruins it. Louisa did go on that adventure, but before long her grief caught up with her and forced her home. Estranged from her family and hometown thanks to her involvement in Will's death, Louisa lives in London while working at a tacky Irish-themed pub at an airport. She knows she's not living the life Will wanted for her, and she almost loses that life when she drunkenly falls off her apartment building.

It's a little disappointing to know that Louisa's picture-perfect Paris ending didn't last, but After You does explore the very real consequences of grief and depression. Louisa wants to change her future but feels her new opportunities were bought with Will's life. Just when it looks like she might undo everything Will helped her accomplish - his sullen, impulsive long-lost daughter shows up.

The product of a college relationship that ended badly, Lily's home life is a mess and she's desperate to learn about the family she's never met. Louisa sees an opportunity to honour Will's memory and decides to take Lily in, not really understanding how teenagers work.

While it initially seems like her grief has knocked her back to square one, Louisa's so easy to relate to. In Me Before You, Will guided Louisa as she fought to overcome her limitations and bad habits and grab the life she wanted. Now, Louisa finds herself in a mentor position - to a prickly, unstable teenage girl who seems determined to destroy her own life.

There are a lot of good aspects to this book - the characterization is as strong as ever (especially with Louisa's adorable family), and Moyes has a flair for humorous situations (such as when Louisa is forced to conduct a job interview by Skype in a public bathroom), but throughout the book I couldn't help but feel - this story isn't necessary. Maybe I'm a little too attached to that "perfect ending" of Me Before You, but nothing about this story felt like it had to be told.

To be honest, it felt a bit like an emotional band-aid, as if Moyes regretted the last novel's open ending that left a few characters (Will's parents, for example) in pretty bad places, so she wrote in a Troubled Secret Daughter to give everyone a second chance at happiness before hammering down an unambiguously happy, triumphant ending.

After You wasn't a bad book, per se. It just wasn't a necessary one. It wasn't a sequel that celebrated and built on the first book - it felt almost like a correction for the first one. I enjoyed reading it, and it had some good things to say, but it doesn't outshine Me Before You.
B

Sunday, June 15, 2014

"Emily of New Moon," Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Protagonist: Emily Starr. A precocious aspiring writer who has to go and live with her mother's family, whom she's never met, after her journalist father dies.
Her Angst: Her new family is very concerned with preserving the "Murray pride" - even if it looks likes Emily cannot possibly live up to the family name.

Secondary Cast:

Aunt Elizabeth: Emily's hard and loveless aunt who insists on running New Moon Farm according to the traditions of a hundred years ago - including candles instead of lamps. Marilla Cuthbert, she ain't.

Ilse: Emily's wild and tempestuous BFF known for her sudden rages and impressive vocabulary.

Teddy: An impoverished neighbour who lives alone with his (quite possibly insane) single mother. Wants to go to college to study art. Also wants to marry Emily.

Perry: The Murrays' impulsive but brilliant hired boy - who aspires to be premier one day. Also nurses a hardcore crush on Emily.

The Word: I've been a huge Anne of Green Gables fangirl since the first time I read it as a child. While I've been working my way through the Anne sequels, I never actually read anything else of Montgomery's. Shame on me, right? So when the Forever Young Adult book club made Emily of New Moon its pick for June, I leapt at the opportunity.

The novel starts with young Emily Starr living in blissful, oblivious poverty with her dying father. When he finally kicks the bucket, Emily learns she is to live with her mother's family - the Murrays of New Moon, the wealthy and prideful clan who disowned Emily's mother when she eloped with an impoverished journalist. The "Murray pride" prevents them from dumping Emily off at an orphanage, but they have to draw names out of a hat to decide who has to keep her. Ouch.

Emily winds up living at New Moon farm with Aunt Elizabeth (a stone hearted tyrant), Aunt Laura (kind but utterly ineffectual) and Cousin Jimmy (a gentle, artistic soul who's been mentally handicapped since he fell down a well as a child - after Elizabeth pushed him!). Despite Aunt Elizabeth's rigid rules, Emily thrives in this new environment and learns to develop her burgeoning writing talent.

In a lot of ways, Emily of New Moon is quite a bit darker and sadder than Anne of Green Gables.
Almost all the adults in this novel are kind of terrible. Emily's Aunt Elizabeth is a selfish, joyless stick with Daddy Issues. Ilse, Emily's BFF who is both a tomboy (gasp!) and an atheist (DOUBLE GASP!) has been utterly neglected by her misogynist father ever since her mother's scandalous disappearance when she was a baby.

Meanwhile, Emily's friend Teddy is afraid to own pets because his psychotic single mother will poison them if she suspects he loves them more than her. All I have to say about poor Teddy and his deranged mother is - watch out if she decides to run a motel.

Emily of New Moon has much more melodrama than Anne (scandalous dead wives, love triangles, elopements!), but a far less cohesive storyline. Neither novel has a plot, per se, and instead both follow their respective heroines from episodic adventure to episodic adventure, developing the characters as they do so. Emily felt less focused, her episodes trivial and often tedious - especially her interminable letters to her dead father. But this could also be because I didn't find Emily nearly as interesting as Anne.

I thought I would like Emily because, as previous reviewers have pointed out, she's more explicitly an artist and a writer than Anne Shirley. She's always imagining and experiencing "flashes" of inspiration, and takes comfort in secretly writing down her angst and frustration with her emotionally barren guardians.

But, well, she's also a huge Mary Sue. Anne Shirley is an imaginative oddball surrounded by (relatively) normal people whose perspectives are changed by interacting with her. Emily, conversely, is a blandly angelic artist surrounded by angsty, damaged, and far more interesting secondary characters. She's not really affected by her environment (remaining obliviously well-adjusted despite a loveless upbringing) and she doesn't affect it in turn (Aunt Elizabeth remains as high-handed as ever, despite years of Emily's puppy-dog eyes).

I had little patience for Emily's extremely mild acts of rebellion. I would much rather have read a story from Ilse's perspective - or Teddy's. Or Perry's! I loved Anne because it was just as much about Anne's flaws (her temper, her vanity, her self-absorption) as her strengths. Emily's little ticks really can't compare to Ilse's rages, or Teddy's mama drama, or even Aunt Elizabeth's repressed paternal memories.

I'll always love Anne of Green Gables, but I found Emily of New Moon utterly forgettable. She was just too precious, with none of Anne's spice or defiance. While the novel wasn't unpleasant, I couldn't really connect with Emily or invest in her storyline, and thus it wound up being a bit of a slog ending with a measles-induced psychic vision that solves a decades-long mystery. For reals!
C+

Thursday, May 22, 2014

"The Girl You Left Behind," by Jojo Moyes

The Protagonist: Sophie Bessette. The owner of a little hotel called Le Coq Rouge in a small French town under German occupation in WWI.
Her Angst: Her artist husband's away at the front, and the only reminder of him is his portrait of her - a painting the local German  Kommandant covets.

The Other Protagonist: Liv Halston. A widow in 2006 still living in a grieving fog four years after the death of her husband.
Her Angst: The only reminder of him is a portrait he bought for her in Europe - a portrait she's being ordered to return for being looted in WWI.

The Word: How much is a painting really worth? Jojo Moyes, who blew me away with Me Before You, examines this in The Girl You Left Behind.

The title refers to the name of a portrait painted by Edouard Bessette, a minor student of Matisse who is away fighting during the Great War. His wife, Sophie, has not seen her husband for two years - two miserable years spent in a French village occupied by the Germans. Her only solace is The Girl You Left Behind, one of Edouard's portraits of her. Both the portrait and Sophie catch the attention of the Kommandant of her village. When Sophie learns that her husband has been sent to a horrific war camp, she decides to make the Kommandant a trade in exchange for her husband's safety.

Almost a hundred years later, in 2006, Liv Halston is living a similarly sad and narrow life. Mired in grief, drowning in debt, her life is devoted to preserving her deceased husband's house, even though she can no longer afford to live in it. She, like Sophie, takes comfort from The Girl You Left Behind, a beautiful painting of uncertain provenance that her husband bought for her during their honeymoon.

She manages to break from her comfort zone long enough to meet and fall for Paul, a shy but righteous ex-cop who works for a company that rescues looted works of art - until he sees The Girl You Left Behind on her bedroom wall and recognizes it as a painting thought to have been stolen by the Germans during WWI. Awkward. Now the artist's descendants are demanding the painting be returned, but Liv refuses. In order to save the only joyous thing she has left from her marriage, she sets out to discover what really happened to Sophie Bessette during the war.

The novel reminded me a bit of the film The Monuments Men, which argued that great works of art transcend war and time and the paltry label of "just paint on canvas." They are more then mere objects, mere possessions. Liv holds onto a lot of things in her life, to her social and emotional detriment. She still lives in her dead husband's enormous, empty, cold house. She still lives in her grief. She doesn't socialize and has few friends. Her attachment to her painting, however, is different, because it's not a cold object. It's a connection to life, and not just hers - Sophie's, too. Her search for evidence, any evidence, that the painting's transfer of ownership was legal draws her out of her own isolation and and into the mystery of Sophie's life, and the myriad things they have in common.

For Paul, he has to learn the hard way that morality rarely comes in black and white. He used to be proud of his work, returning stolen portraits to war victims and their descendants, and at first he cannot understand why Liv refuses to part with The Girl You Left Behind. What about the Bessettes and what they suffered? Shouldn't the situation be cut and dry? However, lately all the people he meets at his job are disaffected grandchildren eager to recover their family's paintings in order to sell them for the millions they're now worth.

Okay, I'll admit, this aspect of the novel bothered me. It's not like a few restitution-seekers (like the ones claiming The Girl You Left Behind) wind up being soulless philistines who only want a quick cash grab. Every restitution-seeker depicted in the book is depicted that way, to the point where I wondered if the author was trying to send a message condemning restitution in general.

The rest of the book is lovely. While not quite as heart-wrenching as Me Before You, the novel is filled with small, startlingly beautiful details - like when, in Sophie's time, the villagers bury their valuables to hide them from the Germans but are foiled when the clock beneath the rutabagas begins the chime the hour. Moyes has a deft hand with description and throw-away details of human absurdity.

The Girl You Left Behind tells a lovely story about how two women in different centuries can share the same experience thanks to a single piece of art. It's also a telling examination of when holding onto something is an act of bravery, and when it's an unhealthy act of desperation.
B

Sunday, April 13, 2014

"Nowhere But Home," by Liza Palmer

The Protagonist: Queen Elizabeth "Queenie" Wake. A shiftless chef whose temper has gotten her fired from more jobs than she can count
Her Angst: When her latest termination leaves her with no job or home, she's forced to return to the insular, gossipy Texas small town of her childhood to regroup. The same town that was happy to tar her and her sister with the same slutty brush.

Secondary Cast:

Merry Carole: Queenie's sister, who remained in North Star after getting knocked up and abandoned at 17 by Wes, one of North Star's privileged sons. She runs a hair salon, and her son is quarterback of the football team.

Cal: Merry Carole's adorable and big-hearted 15-year-old son. He's earned the town's approval for his football skills, but struggles with how his loving mother is still slandered as the town whore.

Everett: Son of one of the ruling families of North Star, and the love of Queenie's life. However, he never acknowledged their relationship in public and chose to marry a girl from a "suitable" family instead. He still loves Queenie, but his oh-so-important "responsibilities" prevent him from making it public.

Laurel: North Star's resident Mean Girl and the woman Everett married (then divorced!) instead of Queenie. Has an understandable dislike of Queenie.

Whitney: Another Mean Girl who wound up marrying Wes. She has never stopped tormenting Merry Carole - for a secretly painful and personal reason.

Wes: A member of one of North Star's better families, he and Whitney seem like the perfect couple - although their mutual dark secret prevents them from being truly happy.

Piggy Peggy: A vicious and obsequious bully who runs the North Star gossip mill at the behest of Laurel and Whitney.

The Word: Reading Nowhere But Home was like eating a donut. Maybe a whole box of donuts - I scarfed my way through the warm, delicious sweetness, even though I knew while I was reading it that it wasn't very good. Even then, I couldn't quit until I licked the last trace of glaze off my fingers.

Queen Elizabeth Wake ("Queenie" for short) has spent the last ten years living out of a suitcase, moving from town to town, cooking at restaurant after restaurant, until her smart mouth gets her fired and she has to move on. She loses her latest job because she yelled at a customer who put ketchup on his eggs. A frustrated and defeated Queenie moves back in with her sister Merry Carole in their hometown of North Star, Texas, to get her bearings and rethink her future.

North Star holds nothing but bad memories for Queenie - as the daughters of the town slut, she and Merry Carole were labelled as little better than trash. For Queenie, the last straw came when the love of her life, North Star royalty Everett Coburn, chose to marry the girl his parents picked out rather than acknowledge their secret affair. Everett is still there when she returns - good news? He's divorced and still loves her. Bad news? He still wants to keep it on the down-low.

Nowhere But Home works, I think, because of a potent (if imperfectly-mixed) combination of past scandal, present drama, and climatic build-up. For instance, Queenie's sister Merry Carole finds herself in an awkward position when the illegitimate son the town shunned her for becomes North Star's star quarterback. Will the Church of Texas Football force townsfolk to accept Merry Carole again?

Or how about Queenie's new job? In order to pad her savings as she works things out, she accepts a gig at a local prison cooking last meals for death row inmates. In so doing, she regains her faith in southern comfort food (smoked brisket! Chicken fried steak!), even though she's never comfortable with who she's actually cooking for.

It's all juicy, fizzy drama. So what's the downside? Well, the writing isn't that exceptional - quite the opposite, actually. The writing is simple, workmanlike and often repetitive. You can't turn a page without a character flushing, dabbing at their mascara-black tears with a handkerchief, or collapsing into sobs at the drop of a hat.

As well, for all the deliciously tense build up Palmer develops with the multitude of secret sins bubbling beneath North Star's surface, the novel stumbles with the ultimate pay off. I felt a lot of the conflict resolved itself disappointingly easily. In fact, the majority of those Big Secret Reveals end with, "Oh that? Everyone's known for years!" Thanks, Small Town Hive Mind stereotype. Way to suck the wind out of a dramatic moment.

And finally - I couldn't sympathize very much with Queenie's love interest, Everett - the Poor Little Rich Boy whose family honour is just soooo important that he can't be with her in public. There's a revelation towards the end that sort of explains why he behaved that way towards Queenie as a teen, but it doesn't explain his preference for secrecy as an adult. His "be my secret mistress, boo hoo you don't understand my responsibilities" bit at the novel's start cast him down several pegs in my estimation, pegs he never really makes back. I kept hoping Queenie would toss him over and find someone better.

So the novel doesn't really stick the landing, and the writing (or at least the writing that doesn't involve lovingly-described fried Southern food) isn't anything to shake a stick at, but I suppose this is one of those novels where the addictively enjoyable journey is worth the sub-par destination.
B+

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Re-Read Rollout: "Gentlemen and Players," by Joanne Harris

Principle Cast:

Roy Straightley: An aging professor of Latin who worries the new school reforms will force him into retirement before he completes his 100th term of teaching.

Snyde: A secret intruder who's invaded the hallowed halls of St. Oswald's in order to destroy the institution for its stagnant exclusivity.

Secondary Cast:

Pat Bishop: The genial, compassionate Second Head who's aces at managing students but terrible at managing scandals.

The New Head: The progressive headmaster who's more focused on the school's reputation and cost-cutting measures than the students themselves.

Colin Knight: A resentful school outcast who becomes an unwitting pawn in Snyde's plots against the school.

Marlene: The mother of a former student, she now works as St. Oswald's ultra-competent receptionist.

Mr. Keane: A new teacher to St. Oswald's, he hopes his adventures in teaching will give him plenty of material for a novel he's writing.

Ms. Dare: Another new teacher who displays a remarkable gift for dealing with students, but tries to stay out of the increasingly toxic office politics.

Leon: A student at St. Oswald's 15 years ago whom Snyde befriended while disguised as a fellow student.

The Word: 
I was a little bit afraid to reread Gentleman and Players for my annual Re-Read Rollout. When I first read this way, way back in February 2010, it utterly destroyed me - but I was so determined at the time to be a "romance-only blog" that I didn't review it.

But this book was so good. Almost too good - I was afraid to re-read it because I was worried the experience of reading it a second time wouldn't measure up to the first. That I'd suddenly notice all these flaws and mistakes and ruin my memory of that One Perfect Read.

Because Gentleman and Players was one of those Perfect Reads. I love a lot of books, but Perfect Reads are rare. The type of book I would grab if my house was on fire. The type of book that keeps me voraciously reading through my TBR in order to fine another one like it.

Gentleman and Players takes place at St. Oswald's Grammar School for Boys, a posh private school for the best and brightest of England's young male elite - provided their parents can afford six thousand pounds a year for tuition. It is a school steeped in prestige and tradition.

For Roy Straightley, a Latin professor at St. Oswald's, he could do with a little more tradition. Sixty-five years old and a term away from his Century (his 100th term teaching at St. Oswald's), he continually frustrates St. Oswald's administration by refusing to adapt to their educational reforms. He relies on ancient chalkboards, dusty black robes, and common sense when dealing with his pupils, even though he knows the more progressive Head and his cronies are losing patience with him.

However, for a mysterious figure known simply as Snyde, St. Oswald's relies far too much on tradition.  Snyde's father worked as a porter and groundskeeper for St. Oswald's - a porter whose termination was completely hushed up by the powerful administration. After spending a childhood living in St. Oswald's shadow, longing after the privileged lifestyle of its entitled students, Snyde has returned, disguised as a teacher, to destroy the corrupt and stagnant school from the inside out.

I loved Gentleman and Players because the story is all about conflict - good versus evil, progress versus tradition, hands-on educators versus detached administrators, rich versus poor, parents versus teachers, Straightley versus Snyde. There is so much detail and drama and scandal - and yet very little direct confrontation in the novel.

Rather, most of the conflict involves the points of view of Straightley and Snyde. Straightley is an Old Boy who has dedicated the greater part of his life to the school, and from him we get a highly entertaining, satirical look into the politics of private school administration and the private lives of teachers. While Straightley isn't blind to St. Oswald's imperfections, nor to the emptiness of the parts of his life that don't involve the school, he is fiercely loyal to it and its boys.

However, Straightley is mainly an observer. It is Snyde who sets most of the plot in motion - oftentimes by using St. Oswald's traditions against itself and brewing dissent amidst the envious townies, the dissatisfied parents, and the disgruntled students of St. Oswald's. Snyde exposes and exploits the hidden resentments over class differences, favouritism, money, and privilege that have been weakening the "impervious" foundations of the school for generations. At the same time, we get frequent flashbacks to the last year Snyde's father was porter, the year the teenaged Snyde decided to impersonate a student and experience the St. Oswald's experience firsthand - with disastrous results.

So did it hold up upon re-reading? Yes indeed. Perception plays a very large part in my enjoyment of Gentleman and Players - the characters' points of view and their respective blind spots thanks to their own privileges and prejudices, the way outsiders perceive St. Oswald's versus the way St. Oswald's fights to be perceived, and how a few carefully-revealed secrets can change one's perception of several major characters. Without going into too much detail, there is a delightful twist at the end of the novel that added an extra layer of enjoyment to this particular reread.

Simply put, Gentlemen and Players is a fiendishly clever, insightful, and entertaining novel about education, revenge, and privilege.
A+

Thursday, December 12, 2013

"Someone Else's Love Story," by Joshilyn Jackson (William Morrow, 2013)

The Primary Cast:

Shandi Pierce: A young woman with a 3-year-old son who decides to finally find out the truth behind her son's conception.

William Ashe: A brilliant, autistic chemist who is still is mourning his lost family thanks to a car accident.

The Secondary Cast:

Natty: Shandi's genius-level son, and the love of her life, regardless of how he came into the world.

Walcott: Shandi's childhood best friend who's a little too White Knight for Shandi's liking.

Paula: William's bitchy and AWESOME attorney BFF - who does not like Shandi or the moves she's been putting on William.

Stevie: The hopeless loser who tries to rob a Circle K and winds up holding everyone hostage.

Mimmy: Shandi's protective but exasperating mother.

Bethany: Shandi's awful stepmonster.

Bridget: William's wife. Was planning to become a nun before he wooed her away with his autistic charm.

The Word: In Joshilyn Jackson's engaging and unconventional romantic story, our hero and heroine meet during a robbery at a Circle K. Shandi is a single mother who's spent the last four years repressing the fact that her beloved son Natty was conceived from rape. William is a brilliant chemist with high-functioning autism who's still struggling to recover from the loss of his wife and infant daughter a year after their car accident.

When William ends the hostage crisis by incapacitating the gunman, taking a bullet in the process, Shandi becomes convinced that their meeting is destiny. She insinuates herself into William's life by asking him to help find the man who fathered Natty (with SCIENCE! Just roll with it), all the while taking care of him, getting to know him, and showering him with good ol' southern hospitality. Unfortunately, she faces fierce opposition from William's best friend Paula, her own BFF Walcott, and William's own fixation on his lost wife.

With this novel, expectations are not your friend. Jackson builds the novel on well-written but instantly-recognizable cliches - the jealous best friend, the over-critical mother, the chirpy female protagonist who flutters about in frilly sundresses dispensing home cooked meals to the reclusive male protagonist. However, just when you think the narrative is about to turn left, it veers right. Without giving too much away, the novel is about Shandi, William, and why destiny brought them together - but not in the way you think.

I really enjoyed how the novel establishes a thematic conflict between logic and faith, elements both our protagonists consistently struggle with. For Shandi, this is internal as she relinquishes her irrational belief in Natty's immaculate conception in favour of confronting what really happened. William explores this theme as he reminisces on his marriage to a woman who almost became a nun. William, thanks to his autism, is extremely literal and finds his wife's deep religious faith difficult to reconcile. And yet, despite this, William is just as guilty as Shandi of retreating from painful truths.

Joshilyn Jackson crafts an incredibly empathetic, warm-hearted novel that satisfies on an emotional level without being overtly manipulative (except perhaps at the end). While I'll admit I wasn't entirely happy with the too-sudden swerve at the end, by that time, I'd come to love the characters too much to abandon ship. I'll be keeping this one on my shelf for a while - I suspect it will improve upon repeated readings.
A-

Friday, October 25, 2013

The 167-Page Drop: "The Postmistress," by Sarah Blake

So - why did I pick this book?

Good question. It had an oh-so-fancy literary-ficion title, and that so classy old-fashioned-looking cover, with its crinkled paper and faded, dried rose!

It lured me in with an interesting time period (1941) and a drama-proof setting (small town Massachusetts and London) and the promise of secrets and, presumably, a postmistress who does something interesting.

Ha! Lies.

The 40-year-old postmistress in question (whose name I have already forgotten) starts the book off in fantastically creepy form by going to her gyno to have him check her, uh, PO box and write a doctor's note declaring her virginity. She has a crush on Harry Vale, a regular visitor to the post office in their tiny town of Franklin, MA, and is convinced that all men prefer to have their women's hymen-status notarized.

Her doctor is royally creeped out by this, but her move inexplicably works. Hooray! This is the most original and interesting thing to happen in this whole novel!

In the same town, a young orphaned woman (whose name I've also forgotten!) moves in with her new husband, Will Fitch, who is the town's new doctor (not the virginity-officiating one). Unfortunately, thanks to Daddy Issues, Dr. Fitch has an incurable case of Mangst (Man-Angst) and when a patient dies in his care, he abandons his wife like a selfish asshole to volunteer his services to the victims of the London Blitz. In London. While his friendless, orphaned, pregnant wife is left to wallow in her misery back home. What a prince.

There he meets Frankie Bard, an American journalist in London who works for BBC radio, broadcasting stories of London's suffering across the Atlantic in an effort to galvanize the United States into joining World War II.

And that's about it. Although the historical details are well developed and the writing is gorgeous, there is little to no plot. I found myself halfway through the novel, still somehow convinced that I was reading the introduction, still waiting for the inciting incident to happen. By more than halfway through, all the events still seemed so unconnected, so unimportant, and so boring.

I wouldn't say it was a terrible novel (I did learn some new things about the Blitz, and how legitimately awful it must have been for the people living in London during it), but honestly, historical details and pretty words mean less than nothing if there isn't a solid plot or story to hang them on. Or at least a story that occurs before the 167 page mark.

Return to sender!
DNF

Saturday, October 12, 2013

"In This House of Brede," by Rumer Godden (2005, Loyola Press - originally 1969)

Our Protagonist: Phillipa Talbot, recently Dame Phillipa of Brede.
Her Angst: After forty-two years of being a free-thinking, powerful and successful careerwoman, can she truly fit in with the humble poverty of monastery life?

Secondary Characters:

Abbess Catherine: The newly elected leader of the monastery who discovers that along with inheriting the previous abbess' duties, she's also inheriting the possibly disastrous consequences of the previous abbess' mistakes.

Dame Agnes: A traditional, scholarly sister who distrusts Phillipa's vocation and thinks she won't last as a nun.

Dame Cicely: A recent novice with a gorgeous voice and a surprisingly powerful vocation - but how long can she keep up such perfect devotion?

Dame Veronica: A melodramatic, prideful, spiteful, and all-round terrible nun. Essentially the worst.

The Word: When I announced that I was reading In This House of Brede, one of my followers complimented me on my eclectic reading style. Well, in this instance, don't thank me - thank my mother. This is one of her absolute favourite books and a yearly re-read during Lent, so I finally decided to read it and see what all the fuss was about.

What plot there is centres (mostly) around Dame Phillipa - a woman who discovers her religious vocation at forty-two and leaves behind a brilliant career and an office full of dumbfounded employees to become a humble postulant in Brede, an English monastery. There, she is both welcomed and viewed with suspicion - how well will she be able to adapt when her fellow novices are 18 or 19 years old?

Plot isn't really too important in In This House Of Brede - most of the novel is comprised of loosely-connected episodes that help to illuminate and examine the everyday life of Benedictine nuns - as well as the vocations, doubts, conflicts, and joys involved in their lifestyle. Dame Phillipa is only one of a host of wonderful women whose stories we get to explore.

And honestly? It's surprisingly addictive and enlightening. Most of the conflict is internal, but everyone involved (with maybe one exception) is such a genuinely good person. However, they're nuns, not saints - capable of cattiness, pride, deception, and spite. The novel examines the difficulty of pursuing a vocation despite doubt and family opposition, the stresses of restrictive communal living (which can even result in romantic feelings), and how best to balance worldly needs against spiritual needs. More than anything, In This House of Brede delves into the "use" of monastic life - how "useful" is it, to lock oneself away from the world to pray?

Godden writes with a conversational word-on-the-street style that frequently bundles and compares various opinions at once. It can sometimes get convoluted with the way it jumps back and forth in time and quotes numerous different people (the prologue is particularly tangled), but once you grow accustomed to the writing style, it creates such a detailed and multifaceted view of a lifestyle that is frequently stereotyped but rarely understood.

That being said, if you're not religious, will you still be able to enjoy House of Brede? I'd like to say yes, tentatively - the way learning anything new about a rarely-explored way of life can be enjoyable. However, if you actively dislike religion or religious aspects in fiction then House of Brede will obviously not be the book for you.

However, if you've ever been curious about how cloistered nuns live, I doubt you'll find a better novel than In This House of Brede.
A

Sunday, July 07, 2013

"The Son," by Philipp Meyer (Ecco, 2013)

The Protagonists:

Eli McCullough: A young boy in 1850s Texas who is captured and then adopted by a Comanche tribe.

Peter McCullough: A member of a prominent ranch family who grows increasingly troubled by his town's anti-Mexican sentiment.

Jeannie McCullough: A young heiress who learns to reject the gender conventions of her time to become a successful oil magnate.

The Word: This was a weird book for me to read. It was a gift from my Amazing Roommate Emily from BEA, part of the goodie bag she received from the Harper Collins party. It sounded like a multigenerational Southern story (which intrigued me), and got an A review in Entertainment Weekly.

The most positive thing I can say about The Son is that it was just interesting enough for me to keep reading, and it taught me a bit about Texas and Native American history. For the most part, however, I was only mildly entertained.

The novel's divided between three different members of the same family over three different time periods, as they try three different methods of amassing wealth. Eli, in the 1860s, is adopted by the same Comanche tribe who butchered his family and burned his homestead. He grows into a ruthlessly practical businessman who learns that every thing anyone owns has to be stolen from someone else.

His son, Peter, runs the now-successful family's cattle ranch in 1915, until some missing cattle give his relatives and countrymen the excuse to murder the neighbouring Mexican landowners and acquire their land. Only Peter seems to recognize the hideousness of what they did, and when he winds up falling in love with the one remaining survivor of the massacre, he has to decide between his family and his morals.

Finally, we have Peter's great-niece Jeannie, the remaining McCullough heir who helps bring the Cullough family into the oil age, defying the conventions imposed on her gender to do so - but at great personal cost as well.

Eli's storyline was interesting, but Peter's was highly repetitive - full of constant self-recriminations and angst at the bloodthirstiness of his peers. Jeannie's was yet another example of Sad, Unsatisfied Rich People Fiction. Honestly, all three characters are so cold and detached, it was difficult to feel invested in any of them. I learned a little bit more about oil, cows, Indians, and why Texans hate Mexico - but about the characters themselves, I feel I learned little.

The description of the setting was vivid, and the history of the area was fascinating (especially when filtered through the McCulloughs' cynical points of view), but without relateable characters, I turned the final page without really feeling like I'd acquired anything worthwhile.
C

Sunday, May 12, 2013

"Reconstructing Amelia," by Kimberly McCreight (HarperCollins, 2013)

The Primary Cast:

Kate: A hard-working junior partner at a cut-throat law firm and a single mother who is always struggling to juggle her exciting job and her beloved daughter - until her daughter dies.

Amelia: A straight-A overachiever whose resume is stuffed with extracurriculars - until she apparently kills herself after getting caught cheating on a paper.

The Secondary Cast:

Jeremy: Kate's boss - kind-hearted, well-meaning, but oblivious.

Dylan: A mysterious girl at Amelia's school, with whom Amelia develops a special bond.

Zadie: A popular but vicious classmate who inexplicably makes Amelia the target of her rage and jealousy.

Ben: A friend Amelia met online, with whom she's been exchanging texts. However, they've never met in person.

Lew: The new detective assigned to Amelia's case after the first detective takes a suspicious absence.

Sylvia: Amelia's best friend, whose life revolves around constant boy troubles.

Phillip Woodhouse: The headmaster of Grace Hall, the exclusive Park Slope prep school.

Angst Checklist:

  • Secret Societies
  • Suicide
  • Bullying
  • Infidelity
  • Best Friendship
  • Working Mothers vs. Stay At Home Mothers
  • Do I Really Have To Tell My Daughter About Her Real Dad?
  • Teenage Sexuality
  • Ineffective School Policies
  • Jealousy

The Word: The worst day of Kate's life begins when she receives a phone call during an important client meeting at her law firm, telling her that her daughter Amelia has been suspended for cheating. Thanks to work issues and traffic, she's an hour late retrieving her daughter from school - one hour too late. By the time Kate arrives, Amelia is dead after plummeting off the school's roof. The brusque detective on the case declares it a suicide.

Kate is devastated. She blames herself, a single mother, for spending too many long hours at her gruelling job and not enough with her daughter. She thought her daughter was a grade-A student - why would she cheat on a paper? How could Kate not have known her daughter was troubled enough to take her own life?

These questions haunt her, until she receives a mysterious text a month later: "Amelia didn't jump."

Flash back two months, and we have Amelia, gearing up for a new school year at Grace Hall Academy. Now's the time that the school's secret clubs start recruiting new members. Although Amelia and her best friend Sylvia promise each other to give these clubs a wide berth, when overachieving, bookish Amelia is inexplicably tapped to join the popular Magpies, she can't resist going along to see what all the fuss is about.

Reconstructing Amelia is an interesting blend of genres. Half the book is a mystery, told in Kate's wavering, emotionally fragile voice as she tries to piece together what happened, discovering a surprising number of pieces that don't fit - missing coroner reports, malicious texts, half-naked pictures, a hostile school faculty, and the recurring question of Amelia's biological father.

The other half is a YA narrative told, in flashbacks, from Amelia's point of view, as she's subjected to the Magpies' humiliating and arbitrary hazing rituals, which she endures in order to further her new, burgeoning relationship with Dylan, a popular classmate. Amelia discovers new things about herself when she's around Dylan, but is it worth the escalating abuse she takes from Zadie, Dylan's best friend?

Impressively, both sides of the novel braid together nicely to tell an interesting story about mothers and daughters - how well do mothers really know their daughters, and vice versa? Kate feels guilty for how much her job kept her away from her daughter, and later blames herself for not seeing the signs that Amelia was in trouble. Yet her investigation into Amelia's classmates reveals that even their wealthy stay-at-home mothers can find ways to screw up and misunderstand their own children.

That being said, the first half of the novel is pretty slow going - while her motivations and emotions are understandable, Kate isn't quite remarkable or competent enough to carry off the mystery aspect of the novel by herself. What I mean is, she doesn't have a lot of narrative agency. Beyond engaging the new detective and her firm's tech wizard to track down clues, she spends most of the novel navel gazing, waiting by the phone for the professionals to give her more information, or else mucking up the case when she ignores their advice in a moment of emotional crisis. The bulk of her thoughts rests on examining herself as much as Amelia - whether her lifestyle, her professional choices, or the methods she used to cover up her own misbegotten past contributed to Amelia's death. All of this is fascinating stuff, but if you were expecting more of a mystery-detective story, you might be disappointed.

The second half of the novel picks up, and it's very satisfying to watch all the narrative chickens come home to roost. Kate, for all that she's not a very good detective by any stretch of the imagination, is an engaging and sympathetic character. Amelia even more so - especially since her development and awakening arrive tarnished with painful dramatic irony. The strength of the secondary cast is a little more hit-and-miss. Some (like Jeremy and Sylvia) are well-drawn and poignant, while others (particularly the other mothers) are painted with a superficial and stereotypical brush of Wealthy Put-Together Perfection that I thought was a little hypocritical to the novel's overall theme.

I find it particularly appropriate that this review is coming out on Mother's Day, since motherhood and its definition are one of the major themes of Reconstructing Amelia. What makes one a good mother? And does being a good mother mean knowing everything about your children, or will they always find some way to keep part of their lives secret and separate?

Reconstructing Amelia is a moderately entertaining and satisfying yarn with some interesting themes. I could have done with less passivity in Kate, a little more of a mystery element, and, honestly, a little more depth to some of the secondary characters. But otherwise, a solid effort.
B

Saturday, May 04, 2013

"Some Kind of Fairy Tale," by Graham Joyce (Gollancz, 2012)


The Primary Characters:

Tara: Before she turned sixteen, she wandered into the woods and vanished without a trace. 20 years later, she's back, seemingly unchanged, with one whopper of a story to tell.

Peter: Tara's brother. Now a hardworking father of four, he's forced to revisit the painful past when his sister turns up out of the blue.

Richie: Tara's boyfriend - and the prime suspect in her disappearance. The experience cost him his best friend and his faith in himself - now that Tara is back and his name has been cleared, can he start to rebuild?

The Secondary Cast:

Jack: Peter's teenage son who befriends the uncanny, elderly Mrs. Larwood after accidentally killing her cat.

Vivian Underwood: Tara's psychiatrist, who examines Tara and questions her about her experiences while trying to find an underlying cause for her apparent delusions.

Mrs. Larwood: An elderly neighbour of Peter's with a mysterious link to Tara.

Hiero: The name of the unearthly gentleman who led Tara away from her family and into another, magical dimension.

The Word: Peter is a middle-aged man content with his life. He works as a farrier in a small English village, he shepherds a boisterous clan of children, he adores his loving but frazzled wife, and he continually fixes his falling-apart cottage. His complacent, uncomplicated life abruptly shatters when he receives an astounding phone call on Christmas Day: his sister, Tara, has returned home - after going missing twenty years ago.

Two decades ago, Peter was eighteen, and losing his sister wounded him to his core and destroyed his relationship with his best friend Richie, whom he and his family blamed for Tara's disappearance (Richie was Tara's boyfriend at the time). He's always wondered and worried about Tara - but now that she's actually back...

Tara doesn't look any older than 16 (the age when she disappeared). She wears dark glasses all the time. Worse - she clings to an inexcusable, unbelievable, impossible excuse for her absence for all these years. She met a man on a white horse in the woods, she says, and was carried away to a strange land. She fought to return for six months - but six months in that world turned out to be twenty in this one.

Peter is furious. Their parents are bewildered. And for Richie - now a down-on-his-luck musician - it's one hell of a wake-up call. After years of sleepwalking through life and writing songs about his first love whose disappearance broke his heart, Richie has to confront that girl and the choices of his past, face to face.

With Some Kind of Fairy Tale, Tara's fairy abduction is part of the story without actually being the story. Rather, Tara's miraculous reappearance serves as a fantasy-tinged catalyst for a poignant, thoughtful exploration of growing up and the inevitable passage of time. Peter, while trying to mend fences with Richie, discovers their friendship will never be quite the same since they're no longer stupid teenagers who can get away with drunken shenanigans (although they still try to). His own children are growing up far too quickly for his liking - his daughter Zoe is now the exact age Tara was when she vanished. Yet the novel also looks at characters for whom time has stopped (magically in Tara's case, emotionally in Richie's) and how isolating and destructive that can be.

While the fantastical set-up is entertaining, the novel shines most in its themes, its character development, and its use of perspective. I love novels with multiple perspectives, and here, we have a whole host of colourful, detailed people from both the present and the past weighing in on Peter, Richie, and Tara's shared history. Joyce aptly conveys each character's struggle to accept Tara's story and reconcile that with how they adapted to her absence.

Honestly, the "real world" portions of the book are full of such vibrant humanity, depth and warmth that the "fantasy" portions (Tara's recollections of fairyland) seem paler and shallower in comparison. If you are reading this novel looking for a pure fantasy read, you're going to be disappointed. This isn't really a fantasy novel - it's fiction with fantasy elements. The story hinges on Tara's disappearance - but the hows and whys behind her actual absence aren't really that important. The story is compelling all on its own - even if the ending wanders into bittersweet territory.

I must give a shout-out to The Book Smugglers for recommending this novel, because otherwise I might have passed it by, and that would have been a shame. With its diverse points of view, well-developed themes and rich cast of characters, Some Kind of Fairy Tale is an imaginative, satisfying read.
A-

Sunday, March 24, 2013

"Me Before You," by Jojo Moyes

The Protagonist: Louisa Clark. She loses her job as a cafe waitress at the worst possible time - with her father's job in jeopardy and her sister's desire to go back to school, her family needs her income. So she interviews for and miraculously gets a job as a caregiver to a quadriplegic man. Good news, right?
Her Angst: Right - until she finds out her client plans on killing himself in six months and she's been hired to keep him from checking out early. But how she can convince this man not to check out at all?

The Other Protagonist: Will Traynor. He used to be a successful London financier with a penchant for rock climbing, cliff-jumping, and stunt diving - until a motorcycle accident left him unable to move.
His Angst: Now he's trapped in a life he didn't choose, and while he's promised his mother to wait six months before making his decision, he's already made it. Or has he?

Secondary Cast:

Camilla Traynor: Will's wealthy magistrate mother. While outwardly cold and snobbish, she will do anything to improve her son's condition.

Treena Clark: Louisa's younger sister, who was always considered brighter and more successful, until she dropped out of university after getting pregnant. Now hopes to return to school.

Nathan: Will's personal nurse, who sees to Will's more intimate medical needs and helps out Louisa with her plans to save him.

Patrick: Louisa's inattentive, fitness-obsessed longterm boyfriend.

Steven Traymor: Will's philandering father. In love with another woman, but he feels he cannot leave his family while his son is still ill.

The Word: I don't often cry while reading books. I sniffled while reading The Fault In Our Stars and Code Name Verity, but I find I very rarely have extreme emotional reactions while reading books. And yet, I cried while reading Jojo Moyes' novel Me Before You, which I picked up as an ARC at BEA 2012. But the tears were worth it - Me Before You is a stunningly powerful novel packed with warmth, humour, sadness, and light, and one of the best books I've read all year.

The first few chapters of this book seemed so disappointingly predictable. Our protagonist, Louisa Clark, is a feckless 26-year-old screwup with an eccentric taste in clothes who, after losing her job at a cafe, miraculously lands a high-paying six-month contract position as a caregiver to a wealthy quadriplegic man. And of course the quadriplegic man - Will Traynor - is rude and unkempt and Emotionally Walled-Off and Can't See The Good In Life.

While reading this first chapter, I was certain I had this book pegged right up until the very end. Louisa is the Screwball Heroine whose Sweetness and Light will cure Will Traynor of his depression and they'll roll off into the wheelchair-accessible sunset. On top of that, this novel is about a subject that makes me very uncomfortable: assisted suicide. As Louisa discovers early on, Will wants to take his own life but has promised his mother to give it another six months, so Louisa's efforts to work with Will come with a definite deadline.

However, I kept reading, and was rewarded. First of all, the novel does not shy away from the more gruesome details of quadriplegic life. The constant pain and infections, the medical risks, and the innumerable tests and medications and procedures and equipment that are (and will always be) required to maintain the bare minimum standard of life for Will. Will's not just a man in a funk. He is rarely physically comfortable and his entire life as he'd known it is gone forever. The novel does not gloss over his condition and it deals with the issue of whether his life is worth living with respect for both sides of the argument.

Which makes it all the more powerful as Will and Louisa slowly start to connect. Me Before You examines the limitations people have in their lives. For Will, his limitations are physical and immediately obvious. For Louisa, her limitations are mental, emotional, and social. Louisa has low expectations of herself because she comes from an impoverished, lower-class background and believes she's not cut out to enjoy things like classical music, foreign films, or difficult novels, so she's never tried them. Thanks to a traumatic experience in her past, she's also never travelled away from her own village.

Will, formerly an extremely active athlete, world traveller, and businessman, is appalled at how small Louisa's life is. Annoyed by her constant attempts to cheer him up, he challenges her in turn to stray from her comfort zone and try new things. Louisa, very reluctantly, accepts - but only if Will will help her. Watching them both warm up to life again is one of the chief pleasures of this novel.

Moyes' character development is spectacular. Will and Louisa seem so cliched in that first chapter, until the novel examines their environments, their families, their interactions with others. Louisa's family shares this frustrating, loving, cramped, crazy dynamic that feels completely genuine and also explains so much about Louisa's personality. Will could have been a harder character to nail down since the novel is told almost entirely from Louisa's point of view - but he is simply marvellous. He's clever and sarcastic and charming and sexy. He's never turned into a symbol or an object of the plot.

And finally, the writing hits all the right notes in regard to tone. It's clever and cheerful, but not in such a shallow way that it can't convey the novel's more serious periods (and there are quite a few), and it doesn't sacrifice the story's inherent warmth and emotion. This novel kept pulling me along with sharp, insistent tugs - until I found myself finishing the novel at 9:00 pm on a Saturday after spending nearly all day frantically reading it.

Me Before You is a beautifully-written, emotional novel about love, the many forms it comes in, and the unforeseen, circuitous routes it can sometimes take. Read it with a big mug of tea and a box of tissues.
A+

Monday, February 25, 2013

"The Red Garden," by Alice Hoffman

The Word: I'm always a fan of Alice Hoffman, so you should know right now that I leap into every Hoffman novel with an enormous bias towards her.

On that note - of course I really enjoyed her latest story collection, The Red Garden. Like her previous book Blackberry House, The Red Garden is a collection of dreamy, otherworldly and romantic stories arranged in a chronological timeline and all centred around the same location - the small town of Blackwell, Massachusetts. The stories range from the town's founding in the 1700s by Hallie Brady ("The Bear's House") and proceed up until the present day ("The King of Bees").

"The Bear's House" opens the collection in spectacular fashion with the story of Hallie Brady, a woman determined to make her own way in the world. When her con artist husband and a few desperate families follow him into the woods of Massachusetts only to be stranded during a fierce winter, Hallie helps them to survive and build shelter using only her wits, her refusal to die - and the surprising assistance of a black bear. When the bear finally meets its fate, it's buried with reverence in the Bradys' garden, and in each of the following stories, characters remark on the particular redness of the soil and the plants that grow in it.

"Eight Nights of Love" takes place a generation later, as a suicidal widow recovers her love of nature when John Chapman (yes, Johnny Appleseed) wanders through town and helps plant the apple tree that will later come to be known as the Tree of Life.

That tree comes in handy in "The Year There Was No Summer," as it's the only tree that continues to blossom when snow and frost continue to grip the town in the June of 1816. When a local child goes missing, her sister solicits the help of some nomadic horse traders to help find her, and uncovers desires and dreams she never knew she had.

"Owl and Mouse" is a rather brief tale about a girl running away from the life that's expected of her, who meets a world traveller in Blackwell who is slowly going blind due to an illness contracted in the Amazon. Despite his encroaching disability, he plans to return to South America, and our heroine goes to some interesting lengths to try and convince him to stay put.

"The River At Home" takes place after the Civil War, when a young war amputee and a suicidal widow (I'm sensing a trend here) form a bond when they both spot the town's infamous child-ghost at the Eel River.

"The Truth About My Mother" jumps ahead to the 20th century. A young mother takes her daughter and flees from New York after poisoning her abusive husband. In order to find work in Blackwell, she has to leave her daughter in another town and pose as a single schoolteacher. However, her clever daughter finds a way to reunite with her mother and heal their family with the help of a lovelorn farmer.

"The Principles of Devotion" focuses on the much-younger sister of the previous story's protagonist. When her older sister dies, her pet pug is so overcome with grief that it refuses to leave her gravesite and the heroine deals with her own grief and impossible dreams by caring for it.

"The Fisherman's Wife" is easily the most fantastical story of the bunch. A young reporter arrives in Blackwell during the Depression to research the local folklore, and is attracted to the rumours surrounding the mysterious, strange and beautiful new wife of the local curmudgeon. In order to rescue her, he must first believe her story, and as a result his worldview is forever changed.

"Kiss and Tell" deals with a young woman struggling with her sexuality in 1945, when the town's annual Founders Festival hires some casual actors to help with their festivities with so many of the town's men and boys fighting overseas. Through the use of some of Hoffman's trademark magical coincidence, she discovers that sometimes things work out for the best when one least expects it.

"The Monster of Blackwell" tells an interesting update of the Beauty and the Beast tale - as a deformed teenager hides out in the woods of Blackwell and befriends the town beauty. Rumours surface of a terrible beast living in the woods - but little do the townsfolk know that real monsters can hide their ugliness far more effectively.

After that, comes my personal favourite story in the collection, "Sin," as a bullied local Blackwell girl befriends an unconventional, beautiful newcomer and her single mother during the summer of 1961. Thanks to a vividly flawed protagonist and a surprising twist at the end, this examination of female friendship and the many ways in which it can go awry stands out from the whole collection.

"Black Rabbit," however, was a little confusing and meandering. Two brothers grow up as two peas in a pod - one the troublemaker, the other the loyal brother who cleans up his messes. When the troublemaker decides to skip town in order to dodge the draft, the loyal brother drives off in a rage and winds up in an accident - and as a result loses all memory of his brother or their lives together.

"The Red Garden," the penultimate story in the collection, concerns a young woman who left Blackwell to pursue her education who is forced to return when her mother becomes ill. She never really connected with the townsfolk during her childhood, but when she finds a mysterious bone in the family garden that has only ever produced red plants, she learns the value of her roots in the community.

The story collection ends with "The King of Bees," in which a boy encounters and escapes death so many times that he gives up on the idea of a future, even as his father grows ever more strict in an effort to protect his future. The resulting feud fractures their relationship, until the boy, as an adult, returns to his father's deathbed and discovers that death means different things to different people.

The use of a singular setting, with each story following in chronological order, is a marvellous and highly effective narrative device in The Red Garden. Most of the protagonists are descended from or otherwise related to the previous protagonists, and the events of one story can ripple through history to impact later tales. For example, the little girl who drowns in "The Year There Was No Summer" morphs over time into the local legend of the Apparition, a child-ghost who appears to later characters and serves as a coveted role in the annual Founders Day play. Or how the place Hallie Brady named Dead Husband's Meadow becomes Husband's Meadow a few generations later - and Band's Meadow a few decades after that.

The most important unifying aspect, however, is the red garden itself, and how even green beens will turn rusty when planted in its soil. Most of the stories feature characters who, for vastly different reasons, dedicate time towards growing and weeding and observing it. I loved how the garden and the town of Blackwell itself functioned as an axis around which all the different stories revolved.

However, I have to say I do prefer Alice Hoffman's longer works. Her stories are beautiful, whimsical snippets, but because of the brevity of the medium, the characterization can seem a bit sudden (and that's a generous adjective, at least in regards to the weaker stories in this collection). Characters and events turn on a dime - and while this sort of thing happens quite a bit in Hoffman's novels as well, there she has enough time to develop the characters and the setting and the themes so that these narrative About-Faces feel like genuine Hasty Decisions Based on Pre-Established Character Traits and less like This Is Literally What They Need To Do For the Plot Of This Story To Work.

That being said, The Red Garden is an entertaining and gorgeously-written short story collection.
B+

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

"Warm Bodies," by Isaac Marion

The Protagonist: R. A zombie who lives in an abandoned airport, he wonders wistfully if this is all he has to look forward to in the undeath - until he has the opportunity to rescue a human girl from being eaten.
His Angst: Um, he's a zombie. Not a lot of positives there. Also, the girl? He totally ate her boyfriend.

The Secondary Cast:

Julie Grigio: The daughter of the General of the local fortress-city of surviving humans, she is rescued by R and finds time to examine just how flawed humanity's survival strategy really is.

Perry: Julie's boyfriend, who is killed and eaten by R - although he continues to live on in R's head as R absorbs his memories.

Nora Greene: Julie's best friend, who helps out Julie and R as they try to convince others of the possibility of a cure for the zombie virus.

General Grigio: Julie's rigid and unstable father who will defend humanity at any cost - even though he ultimately believes humanity is beyond saving.

M: R's zombie friend who also slowly evolves thanks to Julie's influence.

Angst Checklist:
  • Being undead
  • Daddy Issues
  • The meaning of life
  • The difference between surviving and living
  • My Boyfriend Was Suicidal So Eating Him Was Totally Okay
  • Every problem can be solved with the Power of Love
The Word: I decided to pick up this book when I saw the trailer for the upcoming film, which made it sound charming and original. A zombie romance? How droll!

Sadly, while the novel is beautifully written, it is also bleak, dull, poorly-developed, and is - essentially - a retelling of WALL-E, but with zombies.

R is a youngish zombie who's in better shape then most. He shuffles and groans around an abandoned airport, occasionally making raids with his zombie compatriots to catch and eat the living humans foolish enough to venture out of their fortified shelters.

The zombies have even formed a sort of society - with emaciated elders known as Boneys who marry zombies, allocate zombie children to worthy couples, hold primitive religious services, and violently defend the status quo. 

Poor R is slightly different from the other zombies in that he has a brain and is capable of higher reasoning - even if he's almost incapable of expressing it beyond a few groaned syllables. When he and his friends go on a raiding party and he bites into the brain of a young man named Perry, he absorbs the boy's memories, particularly those of his girlfriend, Julie.

When R realizes that Julie is also present at this raid, he protects her by covering her in zombie blood and takes her to his makeshift shelter in a jet at the airport. There, he gets to know her better - not only by communicating with her in his limited way, but also through Perry's memories as he secretly continues to eat the remaining pieces of his brain. 

Through Perry's memories we learn that the human race is not in good shape. Thanks to the zombie curse/plague that took over the world, humanity has shrunk itself to fit small, fortified lives - surviving, but at a high cost as many have felt forced to jettison "needless" activities like art and personal expression in order to serve the greater good of just getting through the day.

But as R and Julie's mysterious connection seems to indicate a natural cure to the zombie plague is indeed possible (although that cure is veeeery vaguely developed), many of the humans have become too hardened and jaded to consider taking the risk to live instead of only survive.

So. This novel.

I could tell it was trying to convey some sort of deep message, but it failed in its execution because it stayed too damn vague to be interesting. Humanity apparently ruined itself and somehow created this plague (curse? Evil spell? NOBODY KNOWS) by becoming too - arrogant? Greedy? Apathetic? The narrative waves its hands around humanity's "badness" in a hipsterish way without really getting into it and giving it an actual reason.

Honestly, Marion does a better job demonstrating how humanity is currently killing itself in the present - buying more time to live by abandoning the very things that make life worth living - than he does with his rather pretentious jabs at humanity's unworthy past.

And then the whole problem is solved with the Power of Love. I'm not even kidding. Just like the Celine Dion song!

Warm Bodies turned out to be the type of novel I really dislike - one that takes a science-fictional or fantasy plot and uses it to tell a greater literary message, but without developing the science fictional/fantasy aspects into consistent elements of the story. It's the same problem I had with Gregory Maguire's Wicked

You cannot make a zombie story, and then base the origins of the zombie curse (and its cure) on a metaphor. THAT MAKES NO SENSE. You don't get cancer by not appreciating life enough, and you can't cure disease with The Power Of Love - unless you clearly develop your fantasy elements to indicate this. But everything else about Warm Bodies is based on a hard type of reality - with heavily described passages about humanity's struggle to survive, the mental toll on the survivors, the intricate and interesting societies that both humans and zombies have built out of the ashes of the apocalypse.

And then the novel indicates these well-depicted, realistic and sympathetic problems would all be solved if we just Loved Life More. What the hell?

It wouldn't have been at all difficult to create a developed fantasy aspect around the novel, with its own internal consistency and logic, that would have achieved the same message without compromising the reality of the narrative. Fantasy authors do it all the time! Just read Left Hand of Darkness - it conveyed a powerful message about gender, while still having a well-realized science fictional world that was interesting and made sense.

That being said, Marion's novel does have some lovely language, and I appreciated where he was trying to go with it. I still might see the movie (although I'm very concerned that they whitewashed a character by casting a white actress as Nora), but for the book? I recommend a single shot - straight to the brain.
C

You can purchase Warm Bodies: A Novel here.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

"Gone Girl," by Gillian Flynn

The Protagonists:

Nick Dunne: A laid-off writer who now owns a bar in Missouri while he cares for his ailing parents. Comes under suspicion when his wife goes missing on their 5-year anniversary.

Amy Dunne: Nick's wealthy, charming wife who hasn't adapted as well to Missouri life as Nick - and then she vanishes without a trace.

The Secondary Cast:

Margo "Go" Dunne: Nick's twin sister who helps run his bar. A loyal confidante, even as things start looking grimmer and grimmer for Nick.

Desi Collings: Amy's high school boyfriend who took their breakup extremely badly. Has remained obsessed with her for years.

Marybeth and Rand: Amy's parents - child psychologists who made their fortune off a children's series they based on their daughter, called Amazing Amy.

Rhonda Boney: One of the detectives handling the investigation of Amy's disappearance. Despite the mounting evidence against Nick, she retains an instinctive belief that Nick is innocent.

The Word: I think for the purposes of this review, I will have to divide it into a spoiler-free review and a spoiler-irific review. While I do think I can generally review the book without giving away the twists, I also want to examine my own reaction to this book and I seriously cannot do that without going into a little more detail about how completely, addictively messed-up this book is.

Spoiler-Free Review
One of my friends started reading this book and got bored halfway through. "It's not exciting enough," she said - and true enough, the book's pace is remarkably slow for a mystery.

Except, Gone Girl is not really a mystery, or a thriller, or a horror story. Rather, it's an examination of a marriage and how well two people can know each other - an examination that borrows from mysteries, thrillers, and horror stories to convey just how twisted a couple can be. People going in and reading it like a mystery or a thriller will likely expect a faster pace, more thrills, a dogged investigation, but take it from me, readers, and slow down. You'll thank me.

The novel starts out by alternating between the first-person POV of Nick Dunne and the diary entries of his wife, Amy. Nick is working at the bar he co-owns with his sister in his hometown of North Carthage, Missouri, when he gets a call from one of the regulars informing him that his front door is open and his cat is loose. Strange - since his wife should be home. Returning to check on her, he discovers signs of a struggle in his living room and no signs of Amy at all.

The police are called, they investigate. The only thing she left behind was a little blue envelope, for the romantic treasure hunt she planned for Nick to celebrate their anniversary.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Amy goes missing on their five-year anniversary?

As the investigation proceeds, Nick is asked questions he'd rather not answer - even as evidence starts to build up against him. Was their marriage happy? Were they in a good place? Nick knows the husband is always the prime suspect in a missing-woman case and is unwilling to own up to how estranged he and his wife have become. The author also hints that Nick is lying to and omitting important information from the reader, as well - such as where he was for two hours that morning.

While the frantic pacing at the start of the novel gives the book the air of a mystery, at heart, Gone Girl is an intriguing and horrifying examination of a marriage and how it can go terribly, woefully, violently wrong - especially as we read Amy's diary entries, written throughout their marriage, that paint an entirely different (and quite possibly malevolent) portrait of Nick than the one he shows to the cops and the news cameras.

Cleverly, this is used as a plot device to examine Nick and Amy's souring relationship. Who is the real Nick? Who is the real Amy? And are these the same identities they wore when they first met? Both Amy and Nick, in their respective narratives, express a dissatisfaction when the person they married turned out to be somebody else, as the identities they each constructed for their courtship fell apart after marriage.

HERE THERE BE SPOILERS
The novel, of course, takes a drastically sharp turn at the midway point, where we learn the truth: Amy engineered her own disappearance in order to frame Nick for her own murder and punish him for cheating on her. As we start to read things from her real point of view, we discover she's a far cry from the naive, optimistic identity she's put forward in her diary (which she's conveniently left for the police to find).

Instead, Amy is a phenomenally brilliant sociopath with a monstrously vengeful streak. As Nick looks into people who might have wanted to hurt Amy (a high school stalker, a man accused of date rape), he discovers Amy's past reveals a devious pattern of intricate revenges unleashed upon people who've wronged her (or people Amy's perceived to have wronged her). Nick gradually realizes that in order to lure Amy back and clear his name, he's going to have to play the game by her rules, and from then on, the novel gets even better. And infinitely creepier.
HERE ENDETH THE SPOILERS

This is not a happy sunshine book. I don't think it's even a book I'd want to read again. But it is an incredibly clever and amazingly written novel about identities - the ones people are born with and the ones they construct around their families, their romantic partners, and the media.
A

You can purchase Gone Girl: A Novel here.

Saturday, December 29, 2012

"The Birth House," by Ami McKay

The Protagonist: Dora Rare. When local midwife Miss B asks Dora to help her with her practice, Dora is hesitant to render herself even more of an outcast in her tiny, conservative Nova Scotia town.
Her Angst: Both Miss B's livelihood and the health of the women in Scots Bay are threatened by the arrival of a high-handed, condescending obstetrician who wants to rid the town of midwives for good.

The Secondary Cast:

Marie Babineau, a.k.a. "Miss B.": The elderly local midwife. Despite the fact that she's personally caught most of the babies in town for decades, many of the residents superstitiously avoid her - when they don't currently require her services.

Aunt Fran: Dora's wealthy and narrow-minded aunt - however, Dora learns firsthand that overly righteous Fran doesn't always practice what she preaches.

Dr. Thomas Gilbert: A condescending, malicious, and misogynist doctor on a mission to mansplain the process of childbirth to everyone he possibly can. Most definitely not related to Anne Shirley's Dr. Gilbert.

Bertine, Sadie, Mabel, and Ginny: The four town women who befriend Dora and support her as she takes over Miss B's practice.

Archer Bigelow: Dora's crush and eventual husband. Not a Good Man.

Hart Bigelow: Archer's older brother - shyer and more reserved, he continues to look out for Dora even after she marries Archer.

The Word: I had to read this novel way, way back in university for a Comparative Literature - Women's Studies course, and I enjoyed the novel so much that I held on to it. I always planned to read it again, in a setting where I didn't have a deadline, but I never got around to it - that is, until I read Ami McKay's second book, The Virgin Cure, and was less than thrilled with it.

So, for my ReRead Rollout, I decided to go back and try McKay's debut novel that I'd loved so well to see if it held up as well outside of the classroom. Thankfully, it did!

The Birth House takes place in the early years of the twentieth century, in the tiny little Nova Scotia town of Scots Bay. Our teenaged protagonist, Dora Rare, gets roped into helping the town's midwife, Miss B, who starts teaching her the ways of herb usage and folk medicine as they help the town's expectant mothers. The two are threatened by the arrival of Dr. Thomas Gilbert, a fancy, high-handed obstetrician who opens an expensive maternity home in the area.

Dr. Gilbert is a pretty nasty character who looks down on Miss B's "quackery" and promotes the superiority of male-dominated medicine for childbirth. He markets his services like a product, one that's all the better for being "official" and expensive, and pretty soon many of the oblivious husbands in the area begin to insist their wives have their babies at the maternity home instead of coming to Miss B and Dora for help. Dr. Gilbert's arrival sets off a furious, quiet war between the women and men of Scots Bay.

Part of the reason I enjoyed this novel so much is that it offers powerful, thought-provoking themes along with well-realized characters and human drama. Too many "lit fic" novels let their message take over the story, transforming the characters into passionless ciphers who behave in ways that support the message rather than in recognizable human ways. Here, I felt for all the characters at the same time I was entertained by the novel's central theme.

Dr. Gilbert is very obviously depicted as the novel's villain, and his maternity home is a cold, clinical, impersonal place where babies are "extracted," still wheezing from the chloroform administered to their mothers. This is contrasted sharply with the communal, comforting nature of the homebirths Miss B performs.

Ami McKay takes a risk with this depiction since, in this day and age, hospital births are fairly common. However, she wisely focuses the novel on the gendered aspect of the contrast. It's not so much that obstetricians are worse than midwives - rather, it's about how Dr. Gilbert presumes to enforce how women have children when he clearly has no respect for women, and how that symbolizes the oblivious male attempt to control an event that is innately feminine. Dr. Gilbert repeatedly endangers his patients by mistaking their legitimate fears and concerns for "hysteria" - if he cannot find a scientific explanation on hand for it, then clearly the female is being silly and male science must save the day.

This bleeds over into the general theme of women's reproductive rights as Dora treats a wide spectrum of women - from exhausted women whose husbands want another baby to survivors of repeated sexual abuse. This message is conveyed all the more potently thanks to the vivid characterization and gorgeous writing style told from Dora's point of view as she comes to learn more about the women of Scots Bay.

I enjoyed this novel fully as much as I did the first time. Stellar characterization, excellent historical detail, and pertinent themes wrapped in a rich, evocative writing style. If you're a fan of historical fiction that still maintains a contemporary relevance, look no further than The Birth House.
A

You can purchase The Birth House here.