[image copyright Henry Holt and Co.]

Robin Williams once said, “If women ran the world, there’d be no wars—just every 28 days, some severe negotiations.” That’s one many of us seem to think: that a world run by women would be filled with comfy shoes, an absence of fashion magazines, and eating bonbons on the La-Z-Boy in front of our favorite rom-coms. But what if that world was instead an a tiny oasis where rules are impossibly strict, beatings are a part of everyday life, and everything outside of your community is crawling with people misshapen by the aftereffects of a nuclear fall-out? Author Lesley Hauge dares to imagine such a dystopia in her book, Nomansland.

In an unknown point in the future, after what’s referred to as the Tribulation, there exists a colony of women alone on an island known as Foundland. Post-nuclear war, they live with a level of technology compatible with the Old West under an austere code of behavior that makes St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians seem reasonable. Protecting this island is a group of teenage archers on horseback known as Trackers. They are taught from the day they get their assigned occupation that they are to track down, hunt, and kill the enemy if they get too close to their civilization—that enemy is men.

Statistically, I’m sure at least a couple of people would hear this rough description and think, “Gee whiz, this Dianic romp sounds like a cavalcade of fun! How do I sign up?” Hang on a sec—there’s a lot more to Foundland than archery and a curious absence of high-heeled shoes. Food is scarce, physical comfort is a luxury few can afford, and friendship itself is forbidden. Ornamentation of any kind is forbidden, information is on a need-to-know basis, and amongst these women is a pathological fear of contamination (both nuclear and the touch of men). Oh, and did I mention the beatings?

The protagonist of Nomansland is Keller, a Tracker who gives little description of her physical appearance—but honestly, how much can she really tell you in a place with no mirrors? She seems to enjoy her work, but to a point, and prefers to spend whatever time she can reading in the library. Laing, one of the other Trackers, has made a discovery that she decides to share with the rest of the patrol: a hidden dwelling from the Time Before where they find make-up, feminine clothing, and magazines. Gradually, their perception of the world they know begins to change, and the rediscovery of concepts of individuality, beauty, and longing brings devastating consequences.

The society that Hauge has created in this novel is rich in detail and chilling in its realism. Access to knowledge of the Old People (as they’ve come to call us in our time) is highly restricted—and as any sociologist can tell you, one of the best ways to suppress people is to limit their intake of information. When they uncover the hidden dwelling, the Trackers find magazines and puzzle over what ‘hot guys’ are when they’ve never even seen a man. Women can’t have their hair more than a certain length, and having a name that ends with a Y or an I is strictly forbidden. Instead, the girls and women have masculine or gender-neutral names: Keller, Laing, Smith, Ryan, Amos, and the like. The society seems to be atheistic, but a lot of their regulations and mores seem to be based out of the Bible. For example, instead of the Seven Deadly Sins, they have the Seven Pitfalls: Reflection, Decoration, Coquetry, Triviality, Vivacity, Compliance, and Sensuality. These little touches make the world more vivid, but most disturbing (at least to me) was the way the women in this society reproduce in a world without men. I won’t go into details, but I was torn between curling into a little ball or throwing the book across the room—usually I reserve that for Ann Coulter’s books.

There’s no overarcing romance in this book—normally, I’m a sucker for that sort of thing, but it would have felt really out of place here. Instead, Keller is often longing for a friend, someone she can talk to freely without fear of being judged or punished. There’s so much detail in here dedicated to fleshing out the world and showing just how detached it is from what our world is now that after a while, it becomes detrimental to the plot. The supplemental conflict of Keller being chosen to be groomed to be the successor to the leader of Foundland feels like it was added almost as an afterthought. Ms. Windsor, the island’s leader, is at times charming, but clearly out of her mind due to her love of a mysterious white powder. While menacing in her worst moments, she feels a little underdeveloped. I liked Keller a lot, and there are some great supporting characters, but the lack of strong interpersonal relationships leaves me out in the cold.

It’s no surprise that Keller becomes increasingly uneasy with her life in the community, and has expressed a desire to run away. I didn’t get a sense that she grew a whole lot, as much as she realizes that many of the things she suspected to be wrong are. It’s kind of heartbreaking seeing her wrestle with the most difficult decision of her life, and her fear that she is the spitting image of what Ms. Windsor proclaims her to be. The book ends with enough of an ambiguous ending to where there could be a sequel in the works, but it might be a better story if the reader doesn’t get the satisfaction of knowing what will happen next. It puts us on the same level as Keller, in a calm trepidation of what comes after everything she knows fading away.

In the meantime, I’ll just be glad that I’m in the century I’m in now, where there is chocolate, Internet access, and reality TV shows that make me weep for humanity in an entirely different way. 

Genre: Fiction, Young Adult
Length: 256 pages
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.
ISBN-10: 0805090649

[image copyright Feiwel and Friends]

Everyone knows the story of Cinderella: pretty girl who busts her butt for a horrible family, goes to the ball, meets the prince, loses the slipper, yada yada. How can you really embellish on a tale as old as time? By adding cyborgs, robots, international conflict, people on the moon, and a terrible plague, of course.

Released in January of this year, Cinder is the first book in a four-book series called The Lunar Chronicles. It’s the first book of Marissa Meyer, who is both an anime geek and a Browncoat—sounds like someone I’d love to grab a burger with.

In the future bustling metropolis of New Beijing, Linh Cinder is the best mechanic around. However, being a cyborg, she gets little appreciation for the work she does. Life takes an interesting turn when Kaito, the crown prince of New Beijing, brings his beloved android tutor to her shop to be fixed. It’s apparent that he needs this android fixed for more than just sentimental reasons, and the information stored within her isn’t even the beginning of Cinder’s problems.

In this bright and wondrous/scary as hell future, cars hover, people have identity chips implanted in their wrists, and there’s a horrible, virulent plague for which there is no cure. Relations are tense between Earth and Luna, the kingdom on the moon. The Lunar are both ethereally beautiful and incredibly vicious, using psychic powers to pull people in under their control. The queen of Luna supposedly killed her young niece to gain the throne, and anyone who’s not in awe of her beauty is usually terrified of her.

Between the usual fare of YA drama mixed with dry wit and shiny toys of the future, one can see the parallels of the original faerie tale. Instead being surrounded by singing mice and birds, Cinder has an android companion named Iko, who acts as much like a teenage girl as she’s able to. Instead of a glass slipper, Cinder has a cybernetic foot that she’s had to fix and replace. She also has a good relationship with Peony, one of her stepsisters, while the other, Pearl, treats her with contempt. This familial relationship reminded me of the sisterly dynamic from the movie Ever After. 

Life takes an ugly turn when Peony gets infected with the plague, and Cinder is sold to science in the hopes that experimenting on her will help find a cure. It’s kind of alarming how cyborgs are treated as subhuman—it’s reminiscent of other horrible medical experiments from history. Without giving too much away, it turns out there’s something about Cinder’s cells that make her extraordinary. It can not only potentially cure the plague, but it changes her life forever.

Because the vast majority of readers will know the original story, it might make Cinder a little predictable at times. Still, this didn’t sap the enjoyment out of the story for me, because it was told in such a bold and unique way. Cinder is a teenaged cyborg bad-ass, but she still feels believable to me, and at her heart, human. It was very difficult for me to put the book down, even when it came to things like eating…sleeping…bathing.

[Ha! Now that’s the way to do it!]

I’m stoked that this book is part of a four-part series. Unfortunately, it was a cliffhanger ending, and the next book in the series, Scarlet, doesn’t come out until next year. q.q

[image copyright Gallery Books]

All hope of being a stand-up comic was dashed out of me at a young age, presumably so I wouldn’t answer to the call of the open road, cheap motels, and stale Pabst Blue Ribbon. I still enjoy telling jokes and watching stand-up, so when a comic writes a book, for me, it’s usually the best of both worlds.

Chelsea Handler is a comic with quite a colorful past. She was one of six children, and she began doing stand-up after retelling the story of her first DUI to other amused offenders. Well, she certainly fits the stereotype that comics come from a dysfunctional beginning. She’s written four books, including one that’s a collection of stories about her one-night stands. The one I chose to read was Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea. For those not in the know, the title of her book is a parody of the title of a popular Judy Blume novel Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret.

By my understanding, the stories contained therein are mostly true, but because she’s a comedian, they need to be embellished for effect. Honestly, I get the feeling that not much of the stories contained therein were exaggerated. The stories don’t occur in any particular order, but she tells tales about things like re-gifting a board game to someone she barely knows, who turns out to be, well, kind of a raisin cake. Or, how she tricks her classmates in elementary school into believing that she’s going to star opposite Goldie Hawn in the sequel to Private Benjamin. Or how she meets a little person who looks and acts just like her, and she jumps on the opportunity to have this woman be on her show.

Handler’s sense of humor is dry, sarcastic, and completely unabashed of content. Overall her stories are quite funny, but because it’s a book and not a performance on stage, I feel like something got lost in translation. Some of the jokes she told I suppose I could see the humor in them, but I don’t think they were written for people like me. For instance, when she tells her tale of her DUI that ended with her spending a few days in lockup, her biggest complaint when she’s making her one phone call is that she has to sleep in a bunkbed. Or, when she’s in a relationship with a man with red hair, she can’t get over the fact that he has red hair—she beats the reader like a dead horse with this joke. She’s also rather startling candid about the fact that she pees her pants when she laughs really hard. Most women would keep that secret deep, deep in the closet behind the knot of Christmas tree lights. Not Chelsea. My guess is that in doing so, she’s reaching people with a legit medical problem that they couldn’t really talk about with anyone, and find solidarity in humor. (But if she’s telling them jokes just to make them pee their pants, then that’s some damn fine bastardry.)

It doesn’t bother me that not every quip was an LOL moment, but some of the language she used made me really uncomfortable. She unapologetically makes racist and—I don’t know what you would call calling someone a midget. Size-ist, perhaps? (Yes, she seemed to adore her Mini-Me, but still.) She doesn’t drop the N-word or anything like that, but calling an Asian masseusse—even a bad one—Dim Sum just seems a little puerile and unwarranted. It’s difficult to tell if she’s trying to evoke the PC hissing noise people make when they find something funny and it ought to offend them. Or maybe she genuinely doesn’t give a shit what you think—she has a story to tell, and she’s going to tell it her way. One could argue that words only have the power we give them—perhaps that’s the stance she’s taken. It blurs between admirable and abrasive.

Overall, it’s a good read if you need a light distraction that will give you a few good chuckles. It will also make you glad you don’t have a father who’s so cheap he pretends that you’re his new wife so you can get bumped up to first class tickets.

Genre: Humor, Nonfiction(?)
Publisher: Gallery Books
Length: 264 pgs.
ISBN-10: 1416954120

As a college librarian, I come across books for children. These are often for aspiring teachers to read, though I imagine some students check books out for their kids. Let’s be honest—a lot of children’s literature has a strong moral lesson that has all the subtlety of a pillowcase with a brick in it. Sometimes, books are more striking for the things that they don’t say, which brings me to today’s story.
 
Isabell Monk’s book, Family, is the narrative of a young girl named Hope. The story itself is rather simple: a lively and enjoyable dinner with her parents, grandparents, and extended cousins. There’s games, music, and lots of running around. The one element of drama—if it can be called that—is a young cousin’s incredulity at what Hope has brought for dessert: pickles stuffed with peppermint sticks. I would be incredulous, too. To me, that kind of snack screams, “pregnancy craving,” and the fact that the pickles were big hit left me pondering the notion that every post-pubescent family member was pregnant. Even the men, because humans have so much in common with seahorses.

The story ends with everyone basking in the joy of each other’s company and the afterglow of a home-cooked meal. At the end is a collection of recipes for the dishes served in the books—including peppermint pickles, in case you wanted to try them on a dare. I think the intention is to get children interested in cooking, and to make something with their parents. Having good memories of working in the kitchen with my own parents, I thought this was an especially nice touch. For such a short book, there’s a significant word count per page—Monk doesn’t oversimplify for her audience, which is a common complaint I have about kids’ books. The author writes as though she believes that her readers will have no trouble paying attention and grasping what she has to say. Illustrator Janice Lee Porter’s pictures are simple in design—there’s not a lot of shadow and depth, but they have a strong use of color and facial expressions to convey mood.
 
And now we come to the wonderful pink elephant in the book. Take a look at the cover—what do you notice about the family?

 
[image copyright Janice Lee Porter and Scholastic Books]

Just in case the image isn’t loading, or I have to take it down due to copyright policy, I’ll go ahead and spell it out for you: Hope’s family is predominately African-American, but her father is white. I’m not a sociologist, but you don’t often see interracial couples featuring a white man and a black woman, except in instances of really terrible Ashton Kutcher movies. Often in stories featuring interracial lovers or families, the matches between people are portrayed as star-crossed. The central conflict in the story is that one or both families is initially off-put by their offspring “branching out” and finding a potential life-mate who doesn’t fit the monochromatic mold. This is usually followed by a series of wacky adventures and socially awkward situations that come to a head, and all parties form a grudging acceptance of one another that could turn into love.
 
What I loved about this book wasn’t just that it featured an interracial family, but NOBODY SAID ANYTHING ABOUT IT. It was full of hugs and “hi, how are you, so nice to see you again.” There was no bitterness or dysfunction whatsoever, and I don’t think it’s because this was a children’s book—there is no shortage of children’s books featuring racism or familial conflict. The human race is making leaps and bounds—or crawling, in some cases—with progressive thinking. Society is realizing that for many, many people, the skin color of their beloved is incidental. We need more stories showing these families as normal—no racially-motivated obstacles or expectations that need to be defied. There will always be a small but extremely noisy minority telling people what to think and how to feel in regards to race. But there will always be people who are not only willing, but eager to challenge that.

Though I can’t speak from personal experience, my outsider’s impression of many biracial or interracial children is that they grow up with an identity crisis created for them by our society. If your skin happens to be a certain color, you’re “supposed” to act a certain way and like certain things. If you don’t, then you may experience backlash for not being easily pigeonholed. I feel that Family is laying the groundwork for teaching children real lessons about race: that there is more to us than the color of our skin. We do not choose how we’re born, and we seldom choose how we die, but it’s how we choose to live that really matters. The rest is just pickles and peppermints.
 
Genre: Children’s fiction
Length: 30 pgs.
Publisher: Scholastic Books, 2001
ISBN-10: 0-439-39884-3
 
 

Hello, all! It’s good to be back. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, so here goes…

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m often one of those hipster tools who says the book was better than the movie, but that’s usually because it is. There are several movies out there that didn’t translate the subtleties of the book very well—Dune and The Golden Compass come foremost to mind. And then there are movies that utterly bastardize the stories they were based on—look at what Hollywood did to I, Robot.

I’m sure Katherine Heigl is a nice lady in real life, but a lot of the movies she’s been in lately have been saccharine, formulaic crap. (Personally, I would have gone with Zooey Deschanel for this role.) Still, her performance in the trailer for the movie version of Janet Evanovich’s One for the Money piqued my interest. Possibly because I saw an old lady accidentally shoot a roast chicken at Sunday dinner. Evanovich has a whole shelf in the library of books that are just hers, so I decided to give her a try. First published in 1994, One for the Money spent 75 consecutive weeks on USA Today’s list of 150 best-selling books. It’s also been a Notable book on the New York Times list, won a Dilys award, and was named Publisher’s Weekly’s Best Book of 1994.

One for the Money stars protagonist Stephanie Plum, a woman well on her way to hitting rock bottom. When the story begins, she’s divorced her philandering husband, she’s been laid off from her job as a lingerie buyer, and she’s selling her belongings down to the bare walls so she can keep her apartment. On top of that, her parents are breathing down her neck to settle down and get married. (The more I read these books, the more I think I grew up on an alien planet. My parents were more in favor of me settling down with an education and a job than getting married.) At her mother’s behest, Stephanie goes in to take a job as a filing clerk at her cousin Vinnie’s bail bonds shop.

Unfortunately, the job has already been filled, but there’s a temporary job as a bailbondsman open. But Stephanie gets the job, not through defying low expectations set before her as a woman, but through blackmail. Her cousin has quite a colorful collection of deviant sex practices that’s he’s managed to keep from his wife, one of which involves a duck. While it’s never been revealed how Stephanie knows all this information, it’s safe to assume that either 1) his wife’s head is so far in the sand that she’s halfway to China, or 2) Vinnie is less subtle than a horny freshman on dollar beer night.

The transformation from lingerie salesgirl to badass bounty hunter is not instantaneous. Stephanie makes a lot of amateurish mistakes that range from laugh-out-loud funny to facepalming embarrassing. With the help of a true badass bounty hunter known as Ranger, she slowly begins building a sense of competence in her work. The only member of the family who shows real support for Stephanie’s new job is her Grandma Mazer. Like in the trailer for the movie, she plays with her granddaughter’s new gun and accidentally shoots the Plum family’s Sunday dinner.

The “big score” for this book is Joseph Morelli, a cop wanted for shooting and killing an unarmed man and then skipping out on bail. He swears he’s innocent, and the interactions between him and Stephanie are charged with both animosity and sexual tension. It’s the kind of chemistry that can only come from a one-night stand that turned sour in the form of the jerk who never called back getting run over with her car—oh, wait, that really happened between them. Stephanie finds herself flipflopping between wanting to bring him in and wanting to help him prove his innocence, and the conflict of interest feels genuine. While running around trying to get things done, she unwittingly attracts the attention of a boxer named Ramirez, whose sadistic streak left me cringing in my seat.

I’m not going to give a whole lot of spoilers, especially since if anything, most people will opt to see the movie. As of today, I haven’t seen it yet, but I will say this about the book: the funny parts are very funny, but the darker spots of the book, like Ramirez, are very dark indeed. Just thinking about it makes me flinch, and I respect Evanovich for not pulling any punches for my delicate sensibilities. Where most single women in these kinds of stories have a cat, Stephanie has a pet hamster named Rex. I found that charming and unconventional. It’s clear from the descriptions of procedure, actions, and even weapons that Evanovich did extensive research for this project. The relationships between characters feels real. While the arc of this mystery is finished by the end of the book, there is still a good deal of unresolved action and character conflict. Presumably, this is so the story can carry on in the next book, Two for the Dough. I liked the book enough to be willing to give the next one a try, but with so many others in the queue for this blog, I’ll leave that up to your discretion.

Genre: Mystery, Action, Comedy
Length: 352 pgs.
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press
ISBN-10: 0312947437

I am a second-generation, dyed-in-the-wool librarian. (I’d show you a picture of my Master’s degree, but it’s in a box…somewhere.) I love books—reading them, cataloging them, and hunting for them. What I’m looking for is dropped, bagged, and strapped to the hood of my Toyota Camry, usually within a couple of minutes. (And when I find them, this song is usually what pops into my head.) I decided to make a career out of it. Unfortunately, what they failed to bring to my attention in library school is that with budget cuts, lay-offs, and general dickery, there aren’t that many library jobs to go around. However, they’re still cranking out librarians, because what university is going to encourage you to consider going to a technical school and pursue a job in skilled labor? Then they’d miss out on a lucrative opportunity—I mean, crush all your hopes and dreams. Unless of course, you dream of being an entrepreneur, a hairstylist, or a welder-by-day-and-a-dancer-by-night. It’s a shame—I’d be a pretty decent seamstress.

I’d been looking for a job in a library for about 18 months—four years if you want to be technical. First came school, then came graduation, and then came the hunt for the pot of gold. In between my hundred-plus interviews, I worked thankless, low-paying jobs that gave me marginal amounts of joy one day, and made me want to kill myself the next. In addition, I was dealing with what seemed to be an insurmountable bunch of baggage from friends, ex-friends, and family members. Most of the time, I was exhausted and crabby. It was only when I was with people who weren’t making my life dramatic and when I immersed myself in books that I felt happy at all.

Two of my friends escaped to Washington state from North Carolina, in search of change and adventure. One of them had secured a job as the reference librarian at a small liberal arts college. I envied their ability to just pack up their things and go. I never thought I would be that brave. But as luck would have it, a job came open in their library. My librarian friend encouraged me to apply. Why the hell not, I thought. It’s not like I have anything to lose. After four years of trying, the universe threw me a bone.

Packing up and moving have been extremely stressful. Leaving the people I love behind has also been stressful. Even leaving behind the restaurants I like has been stressful. But the job itself is awesome. In light of my new surroundings, and out of a desire to get myself to keep writing, I’m going to continue Bookwyrm and Bandersnatch. In addition, however, I’m going to start a sister blog (dubbed The Frumious Librarian) of all my grand adventures in the Pacific Northwest. I’ve been here a week and a half, and I’ve already had several. The first one I’ll share with you for our mutual dismay and amusement is one I like to call The Day the TSA Stole My Belt.

we’re watching the Chamber of Secrets, and my little sister says “i know why voldemort is bald now. its so people can’t use his hair for polyjuice potion”

cinderdrilla:

Currently in the middle of a move from the East Coast to the Pacific Northwest. I’m bloody exhausted. I’ll return to the bleak world of the Internet soon.

(via sardonicsaudade)

[cover image copyright MIRA Publishing]

I like audiobooks because I never outgrew my love of hearing a good story. But then a friend of mine told me that if I listened to this book, I put myself at great risk due to psychological torment that could carry me to mortal extremes.

Challenge accepted.

Debbie Macomber has over 60 million books in print, a Knitters’ Club, and a collection of recipes on her web site. One of her collections of books is the Blossom Street series—Summer on Blossom Street is the fifth book in the line-up. When I first picked it up, I had no idea, of course, because there was no mentioning of it on the cover or a preface. Fortunately, poor labeling didn’t get the best of me, though supposedly, the narrator might have.

Delilah, our narrator, is an internationally-recognized radio personality whose show appears nightly on many soft rock/adult contemporary radio stations. Chewie (mentioned in a previous post) believes that the sound of her gentle, somnambulent voice hides post-hypnotic suggestions that will drive anyone who hears it to commit suicide. Having an alphabet soup of mental quirks, I don’t exactly have an iron fortitude. But listening to the unnaturally young-looking nice lady who wants to feed the children and give people the warm fuzzies didn’t shatter my psyche. I watch the news to do that.

Summer on Blossom Street features a cancer-survivor-slash-entrepeneur named Lydia Goetz, who owns a yarn shop called A Good Yarn. She decides to teach a class called Knit to Quit, the purpose of which is to help her students quit a destructive habit. There’s Alix (with an ‘i’), a former wild child turned baker who’s trying to quit smoking so she can have a baby. There’s Hutch, the token male of the class, who takes on knitting to lower his blood pressure when his family’s chocolate company gets spanked with a superfluous lawsuit. And then there’s Phoebe, a physical therapist trying to get over a broken engagement to Clarke, a cocky lawyer with an affinity for hiring prostitutes.

Parts of the story are told from Lydia’s first-person perspective, while others are told from the point of view of her students as they wrestle with their own problems. One thing I noticed after a while was that Alix didn’t get that much time in the spotlight. This annoyed me, because out of all the characters, I thought her backstory was the most interesting. I guess the fight to quit smoking wasn’t nearly as dramatic as some of the other stories, even with her being married to a squeaky-clean youth pastor who she doesn’t always see eye to eye with. One of the characters who gets more time to shine is Anne Marie, who works in a bookstore on Blossom Street. She’s recently finalized the adoption of her daughter, Ellen, and life is peachy-keen until a handsome stranger starts showing up at the shop and asking questions. Lydia is also looking to adopt, and unexpectedly has a 12-year-old foster daughter dropped in her lap.

Chewie may want to thump me on the head for saying this, but Delilah is a pretty good narrator. Her voice is full of expression, and the emotions she’s trying to convey feel real. She even incorporates little sound affects where appropriate: a chuckle here, a sniffle there. But she loses a few points for letting the emotions of the characters bleed into the story itself. Example: a phrase like “she said angrily” at the end of a sentence would be said—well, angrily. I found it distracting. And while Delilah’s voice is full of expression, it’s not always clear which character is talking—except Margaret. Margaret is Lydia’s sister, who crochets, is right about everything, and about as deadpan as Ben Stein. I rather like her.

I like all the protagonists in the story, even if at times, their stories feel a little formulaic, in a TV-movie-of-the-week sort of way. The subplot that left me scratching my head is Phoebe’s. She tells the class that her ex-fiancé is dead to spare herself the humiliation. That’s the difference between her and me, I guess. If our positions were reversed, I’d merrily rage about the bullet I dodged, how the man I would’ve shared my last name with was an unscrupulous prick—seriously, this man, Clarke, has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I realize that he’s supposed to be some kind of antagonist, and that surely there are people like him on the planet, but he’s just so bad that he almost seems like a parody of himself. The fact that Phoebe’s own mother is pushing her to reconcile with Clarke perplexes me. This doesn’t smack of responsible parenting—of course, Clarke comes from an influential family, and there are a lot of perks that come from marrying into one.

But of course, no story is complete without a romance, and there are two in this one. I kind of like the romance between Hutch and Phoebe, but it’s distracting and just a little irritating how many times the author hammers home that HUTCH IS TOTALLY DIFFERENT FROM CLARKE. Yes, we get it—that’s part of why they fell in in love in the first place and were willing to get married after a short-but-undetermined length of time. And Hutch is totally loaded, so Phoebe still gets to marry into an influential family—yay for irresponsible mothers getting what they want, anyway! The other love story is between Anne Marie and the mysterious stranger, Tim, who turns out to be her daughter’s biological father. That one’s a little off—the chemistry between them feels kind of forced. But before those two can be together, there’s the obstacle of Tim’s girlfriend, whose personality is reminiscent of Diana Ross going through airport security.

The “good” characters in this story feel almost too good, too self-righteous, while the “bad” characters don’t have anything likeable about them. You don’t really get a chance to get to know Tim’s girlfriend to find out if she has any redeeming qualities. Hey, one of the best ways to keep a character unlikeable is to keep the personal details to a minimum to allow the reader to fill in the blanks. All the happy endings in the story fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, and everybody seems to get what they want—all the good characters, anyway. It was a little formulaic, but I’m a sucker for happy endings. It makes for a pleasant listen on a long drive, and while it won’t make you suicidal, it may give you diabetes.

Genre: Fiction, Romance, “Chick Lit”
Length: 9 CDs (about 10 hours)
Publisher: Brilliance Audio on CD (May 1, 2009)
ISBN-10: 1423305272

Boooom…boooom…booooom…BOM BOOOOOOM…Cue kettle drum solo. Good morning, readers. You are now becoming operational. Do not attempt to move or speak.

I have vague memories of watching Kubrick’s adaptation with my parents as a wee sprout. Since I identify as a geek girl, I feel that my literary repertoire should include some of the sci-fi classics. First published in 1968, Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey is a striking view of an imagined future that wasn’t, but still has elements that resonate with readers today. 1968 was the year before Neil Armstrong and company landed on the moon. During that time, authors imagined a glorious future in which travel to other planets in our solar system was an exciting reality. I don’t believe they anticipated that some fifty years later, Congress would cut funding for interstellar travel when the population is booming and our oil supply is disappearing like cheap presents on Black Friday. (Good one, you guys! :-p)

The book begins with a small tribe of man-apes living hand to mouth and half-starving because they don’t know how to hunt. The appearance of a strange crystalline monolith changes all that. From its influence, they begin to use basic tools. Although the monolith mysteriously disappears, they never forget what they learned, even though how they learned it is a little hazy. This goes on for several chapters, and then abruptly shifts to the future. (I believe this is the part in the movie where a man-ape throws a bone in the air and it turns into a spaceship.) Clarke’s vision of the future seems to be one of relative peace and prosperity, although with the population being around six billion people, they’re running out of room and resources on the planet. The technology the author envisions in his future sounds like Skype or the iPad, which really didn’t get a chance to shine until around 2005 or so (2010 for the iPad). But it’s eerie how spot-on some of his ideas were in comparison to real life, at least in terms of science, technology, and sociological issues.

 One of the protagonists of 2001 is Dr. Heywood Floyd, on his way to the Moon (with a capital M) for some serious business. A media black-out makes it sound as though the Moon is affected by some terrible space-plague. (Everything sounds cooler with the word “space” thrown in as an adjective.) In actuality, scientists have uncovered a black crystalline structure, known as TMA-1, buried in a crater some three million years ago. This proves the existence of extra-terrestrial life—like I said, serious business. But it’s being kept under wraps until it can be determined what its purpose is and if the aliens will come back. The idea that they could come back seems like a very real possibility, as TMA-1 was solar-powered and designed to raise an alarm when exposed to sunlight. In other words: whoever put it there would want to be alerted to the time when we found it. Ooooooo-WEEEEEEE-ooooooo!

Switching gears somewhat abruptly, it’s not until Chapter 15 that we meet Frank Poole and David Bowman. On board the shuttle Discovery, they’re on a reconnaissance trip to orbit Jupiter, joined by three crew members in hibernation. And then, of course, there’s HAL, the super-intelligent computer that has a personality all his own. When mission control instructs Dave to disconnect HAL to be evaluated for a programming error, the computer mutinies, killing everyone on board except Dave. Incidentally, the immortal line, “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that” doesn’t appear anywhere in the text. I know, I was let down, too. I felt a similar disappointment when I found out the line “He who controls the Spice, controls the universe!” didn’t appear in the book Dune. Disconnecting HAL seems to have been done with sadness and regret, as in doing so, Dave is really and truly alone.

 It turns out that the real mission of the Discovery isn’t going to Jupiter, but Saturn: specifically, one of its moons. Through a transmission, Dr. Floyd tells Dave about TMA-1, and the signal it released. It’s his belief that a similar structure may be located on the moon Japetus. Discovered by Giovanni Domenaco Cassini in 1671, Japetus is unique because one side of its orbit is six times brighter than the other. Thus begins one man’s journey into a world beyond anyone’s imagining.

I thoroughly enjoyed Clarke’s descriptions of different settings: the rocket to the Moon and its friendly flight attendant (called “stewardess” in a pre-PC era). The station on the Moon itself. The awesome majesty of the cosmos. The language is so stunning and vivid that I read the book slower—sometimes reading passages several times—just to take it all in. Look at this passage describing nightfall on Jupiter:

       And yet—the great world below was not wholly dark. It was awash with phosphorescence, which grew brighter minute by minute as their eyes grew accustomed to the scene. Dim rivers of light were flowing from horizon to horizon, like the luminous wakes of ships on some tropical sea. Here and there they gathered into pools of liquid fire, trembling with vast, submarine disturbances welling up from the hidden heart of Jupiter. (110)

This is like porn to an English major. The downside to all this wonderment, however, is that it left some of the drama of the tenser moments to be a bit more subdued—at least in my experience. Maybe there was a little too much build-up, but I didn’t mind so much because there was just so much to drink in. There was also a curious lack of an antagonist. Yes, HAL mutinies against getting turned off and kills four people, but it’s done so in self-defense. No one takes the time to explain to HAL that he can and will be turned back on, so he’s fighting against the uncertainty that comes from his perceived non-existence. Self-preservation is a human instinct, and it’s kind of heart-breaking to see it enacted in a machine.  

Toward the end of the book, I had difficulty telling what was real and what wasn’t, which I guess is understandable considering Dave couldn’t, either. I have a pretty vivid imagination myself—I was able to make sense of the movie The Wall without the use of psychotropes. But the ending still puzzled me. Dave seems to experience death by going through his life in a fast-paced rewind, and is born again as a Starchild, a being of immense power in an infant’s body. Where I’m not terribly clear is if he’s gone back in time to live his life all over again, or if he’s been reincarnated; the story ends with a baby using force of will to destroy an unnamed object in space that displeases him. (How’d you like to deal with that kid’s terrible twos?)

I assume any gaps left in the story would be covered by its sequels, but some diehard fans insist that they’re not as good as the original. Some even go as far to say that they’re flat-out terrible. The same might be said of Dune—how the original is the best of the lot, and that you shouldn’t even touch the books that weren’t written by Frank Herbert. I find this kind of criticism to be discouraging, but maybe my friends are trying to spare me some disappointment. It’s hard to compare to the original. Even Liam Neeson couldn’t save the new Clash of the Titans movie. But 2001 can stand by itself as a breath-taking blend of both science and art—with Messianic space-babies.

Source of Cover Image: Amazon.com, copyright Roc Publishing
Genre: Science Fiction, Space Opera
Length: 236 pgs.
Publisher: Roc Publishing, 1993
ISBN-10: 0-88103-263-8

[cover image copyright Random House]

Reading tales of small, Southern towns has been something of a weakness of mine. Unfortunately, the one-horse town I grew up in isn’t like in the books: with sandwich shops and filling stations, where everyone remembers with fondness the county fair or the Christmas parade or the day that someone climbed the water tower. No, many of the citizens of my hometown wear their pajamas or hunter’s camouflage to go shopping at Wal-Mart. On the weekends, you’ll sometimes see a gentleman standing at a major intersection with a seven-foot-high wooden cross, waving and doing a dance for Jesus that’s reminiscent of the Double Dream Hands guy. But hey, it’s home, and the kinds of quirks that your fellow townspeople end up with is luck of the draw for everybody. For all I know, those same citizens tell stories of a twenty-something woman with her nose stuck in a book and a reproduction of the Venus of Willindorf worn around her neck.

[Unlike Sasquatch, I don’t make images of myself intentionally blurry.]

But I digress. I came across this book purely by accident while shelving, and the title jumped right out at me. It must be my fondness of rainbows that made me pick it up. To give you an idea of the feel of this book, Standing in the Rainbow is written by the same woman who wrote Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle-Stop Café. The latter of the two stories was made into a movie in 1991, so I was curious to see how the two compared. In terms of style and characterization and flow, they’re rather similar. The biggest difference between the two is that there’s no instance of unbeknownst cannibalism in Standing in the Rainbow. (You’re going to run out and find a copy of Fried Green Tomatoes now, aren’t you? Splendid. ^_^)

Standing in the Rainbow is introduced by a supporting character in the story, Tot Whooten, who’s known for being the unluckiest and most inept hairdresser in the town of Elmwood Springs, MO. After the introduction, none of the rest of the story is told from her point of view. Still, there are plenty of interesting and charming characters represented in the third-person omniscient. Like Neighbor Dorothy, the homemaker radio star who hosts her daily broadcast from the comfort of her living room. Or her son, Bobby, who mostly lives in his imagination. There’s Jim, the WWII veteran who runs a diner and feels shy about talking to girls because of his amputated leg. Or Betty Raye, a shy-violet gospel singer who abandons life on tour in favor of quiet and stability. And there’s people like Hamm Sparks, who can charm the socks off of anyone, which serves him well as he tries to work his way up to becoming governor of Missouri.

Starting in the 1940s and ending in 2000, the book touches on the adventures and misadventures of a full cast of people in the charm of small-town living. It’s delightful, and frustrating at times, to see characters grow and change, fall in love and get married. I loved reading about Bobby growing from a mischievous little boy who put worms in his sister’s bed to a college professor. It breaks my heart to read about Betty Raye marrying Hamm Sparks and enduring his tromping from political office to political office, when she just wants to have a steady house and raise their two sons. But it’s truly brilliant to see Betty Raye stand up and assume the governor’s mantle when Hamm disappears after a “hunting trip” and never comes back.

Fannie Flagg, the author, includes several little touches of history to make the story feel more authentic, but some touches seemed more important than others. For example, Neighbor Dorothy talks about the latest thing in home decorating on her radio show: Formica dining sets. I also read about Bobby going off and enlisting in the Army during the Korean War, and everyone’s reaction to the lunar landing. But Flagg doesn’t make mention of things like the JFK assassination, the Civil Rights movement, or the fall of the Berlin Wall. It’s not to say that certain things never happened as much as they might not have been relevant to the story, or affected the characters the way they might have affected other people. While there are highs and lows throughout, the overall feel of the story is light-hearted and happy. It would have been quite a different story if Flagg had tried to give voice to the ignorance, panic, and mistrust that came from the early days of AIDS awareness.

If you’re looking for a book specifically for its historical accuracies, then I’d recommend that you try a different author. (I can guarantee that many of the books about apartheid won’t skimp on the ugly truths.) But real life is depressing enough, and sometimes, you just want a book that might not win a Pulitzer, but is a great way to pass a lazy afternoon. That’s not to say that Standing in the Rainbow is a “fluff” book, though I will certainly cover a few of those in the future. The story encompasses coping with infidelity, figuring out one’s direction in life, and the deaths of loved ones with all the grace and tenderness they deserve. If I had kids, it’s a book that I would happily read to them. And no, I wouldn’t leave out the part about the town’s funeral director who fakes his own death and happily lives out the rest of his life as a feisty transvestite. Some people are like that.

And just for fun, I’m including a link for a recipe for fried green tomatoes. They’re really tasty with just a little ranch dressing. And there’s no soylent green, I promise.

Genre: Southern Fiction
Length: 494 pgs.
Publisher: Random House, 2002
ISBN-10: 0-679-42615-9  

I adore graphic novels. As a librarian, I feel they’re immeasurably valuable to reluctant readers with their use of pictures to convey mood, intent, and the direction of the plot. As a geek, I do a little dance of joy for interesting stories told in such an expressive medium. This latest find made my little geek’s heart squeal with joy, like a hyena finding a kitten playing in an unfenced backyard.

Published under Vertigo Comics, A Flight of Angels is a collaborative effort between a handful of well-known authors in the sci-fi/fantasy community: Holly Black, Bill Willingham, Alisa Kwitney, Louise Hawes, and Todd Mitchell. While they are the weavers of this tale, the true ringleader is Rebecca Guay, who conceptualized and illustrated this story. Guay’s work has also appeared on the covers of books by Bruce Coville, Ursula K. LeGuin, and Jane Yolen. Not only that, but she’s also done the illustrations for 146 cards for the game Magic: The Gathering. (A big thank-you to Chewie, podcaster and host of “The Mana Pool,” for that piece of information.)

The plot for A Flight of Angels is relatively simple. An angel falls to earth in the woods behind a strip mall. Coincidentally, this is one of the few places left in the world where fairies still live. They’re uncertain as to what to do with him—some wish to revive him, others think they should kill him and be done with it. Since they can’t agree, they hold a tribunal, appointing a young fairy boy as judge. The boy resembles a faun with a pair of small, useless wings, and is the property of a wizened old hag with a propensity to eating children’s hearts. (I believe Jonathan Swift has a modest proposal for her.)

Since no one will revive the angel to give his own testimony—as doing so would preclude the need for a trial and thus, the story—one by one, the fairies tell stories they’ve heard about angels. Each story is meant to convey a different image of the angel: a hero, a lover, a killer. Each story is interesting and bittersweet, though some have happier endings than others. While I found all of them to be interesting, the one that piqued my interest was a reimagining of the Christian creation story. Instead of the devil taking the form of the serpent, Eve is visited by the archangel Raziel, although this story’s interpretation of him is much less bone-headed than the one who appears in Moore’s The Stupidest Angel. This story presents eating of the fruit of knowledge to be a blessing, not a damnation, and Adam and Eve leave the Garden of Eden of their own free will to see what’s outside it, even knowing they can never return.

While there were five different authors writing stories for this book, it didn’t feel like piecemeal work. I thought it flowed together seamlessly. The cover was what first grabbed my attention. I mean, look at it:

[image copyright Rebecca Guay and Vertigo Comics]

The book itself is filled with stunning illustrations, reminiscent of the works of Gustav Klimt, Alphonse Mucha, and Picasso (the works of Picasso that didn’t hit the reset button on human anatomy, that is). While the style varies from story to story to give a better sense of time and setting, it is consistent enough to blend together into a rather stunning collection of art. Or, if you’d rather I say it in Magic: the Gathering terminology, it’s a 3/3 with trample. (Good grief, that was esoteric. That may be too nerdy, even for me. :-/)

The flavor text on the cover of A Flight of Angels promised that its surprise ending would leave me breathless. Challenge accepted! I thought. The classics have been around long enough to where their endings are no longer considered to be a surprise, and I am not one to spoil the ending of contemporary books, though I will certainly let you know if I’m about to give something away. I will say this much for the ending of this book: I did not see it coming. At all. And yes, I did hold my breath up to the very last page.

You win this round, Vertigo.

Genre: Graphic Novel, Urban Fantasy
Length: 128 pgs.
Publisher: Vertigo Comics, 2011
ISBN-10: 1401232000

[image copyright Free Press]

I felt strongly enough about the notion that girls can do anything that I decided to minor in Women’s Studies when I was in college. I encountered a fair share of stereotypes—unshaven, man-hating Valkyries with the entire Ani DeFranco discography on their iPods. Still, the majority of these women (and men) were smart, sensitive people who wanted to understand why things are the way they are between the sexes. One of the many books that I had to read (but never quite finished until now) was Ariel Levy’s Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture.

Ariel Levy is a sharp, lovely young woman who writes for New York magazine. Her work has appeared in several publications, including Vogue and The Washington Post. From a composite of interviews from ordinary people to famous feminists to Christie Hefner, daughter of famous Playboy mogul Hugh Hefner, her book Female Chauvinist Pigs discusses the rise of bad-girl behavior.

Levy covers important historical events starting around the time of the sexual revolution: the introduction of the Pill, Roe vs. Wade, and several marches for women’s rights regarding work, pay, and reproductive health. She includes quotes and interviews from important icons in the feminist movement such as Susan Brownmiller, Betty Friedan, and Gloria Steinem. She also discusses the advent of Playboy and its contributions to the feminist movement, such as donations to NARAL Pro-Choice America. All of this important information is written under a chapter titled “The Future that Didn’t Happen.” As a reader, it left me wondering: Hey, what happened to all of this? We had so many good things happening for us—when did things change? Where did we go wrong?

Within the last twenty years or so, America has instilled a sense of hyper-sexuality in women and girls. Because of a certain infomercial that features drunk college girls flashing their breasts on camera in exchange for a T-shirt and a trucker hat, I can no long associate the sound of steel drum bands with trips to the Caribbean. Personally, I’d hold out for a vintage Chanel cloche hat, or better yet, punch the guy who’s asked me to take my clothes off until his voice is as high as mine.

To counter-act this superficial wild-and-crazy party, America has also spent around $1 billion since 1996 to promote abstinence-based sex education. In essence, Levy says, we’re getting mixed messages. From one choir, we’re getting the message that it’s okay to have sexual feelings, but not express them unless we’re married. This is contrary to the billions upon billions of dollars of marketing to make everything sexy—even shampoo. Stories are appearing on the news of scandalous prom dresses and even more scandalous bathing suits. Even more shocking: Levy mentions news articles she found of children as young as eleven getting busted for performing oral sex in public places. Gah! Okay, one: discretion is the higher part of valor. Two: If you’re still carrying around a Jonas Brothers backpack, you have no business performing oral sex on anybody.

Levy discusses what is sexy and liberating according to public opinion. For the most part, it seems to consist of scantily-clad women spinning on a pole or grinding on one another. Surely, she reasons, this is not the only way to seem provocative to men. She also discusses LGBT culture, and even touches on the S and M community. The book is full of thought-provoking quotes, such as:

To me, “sexy” is based on the inexplicable overlap of character and chemicals that happens between people…the odd sense that you have something primal in common with another person whom you may love, or you may barely even like, that can only be expressed through the physical and psychological exchange that is sex. When I’m in the plastic “erotic” world of high, hard tits and long nails and incessant pole dancing…I don’t feel titillated, liberated, or aroused. I feel bored, and kind of tense. (80-81)

The women Levy talked to for FCP often speak disparagingly about feminine behavior—being a “girly-girl” is tantamount to being soft, unimaginative, and easily frightened. These are women who want to be one of the boys: talking about sex in graphic detail, smoking cigars, visiting strip clubs, the whole nine yards. And another thing: who are these mythical men that women are trying to emulate when they say they’re “working like a man,” “demanding respect like a man,” “having sex like a man?” I assume that they must exist somewhere—all myths have some basis in reality. These women all seem to operate under the assumption that all men are this archetype of the charismatic asshole looking for the hottest girl in the harem to tame them. When Levy talked to a high school girl about how embarrassed she would have been to behave like these bad girls, the perplexed young lady replied, “Well, how did you get the guy—charm?”

The writer of this book is not anti-man, or for that matter, anti-woman. Levy is happily partnered, staunchly pro-gay and pro-choice, and doesn’t consider herself to be anti-sex or even anti-pornography. She’s merely using this book as a discussion for us to figure out for ourselves what sex and the expression of sexual longing really means. Do I agree with everything she says a hundred percent? No, but she does raise a lot of very valid points, and the one that sticks the most with me is this: the unfortunate reality is that women are trying so hard to be “like a man” instead of their personal vision of how they think a woman can and should be. In doing so, they’re acknowledging their belief that women are the inferior sex—this mindset only proves that women still have a long way to go before we can truly be equal.

Genre: Non-Fiction, Sociology, Feminism, Women’s and Gender Studies
Length: 256 pgs.
Publisher: Free Press, 2006 (division of Simon and Schuster)
ISBN-10: 0-7432-8428-3

[Image copyright Scribner Publishing]

Frankly, I’m embarrassed at how close-minded a lot of my countrymen are, and I do my best to not have an ethnocentric view of world history. Still, being a white woman, when my curiosity drew me to this book, I saw the word apartheid in the description and thought: “This is going to depress me, isn’t it?” 

There are a number of reasons why people might make excuses about why they won’t pick up this book. It’s too old. It has a protagonist they can’t identify with. It’s a “black” book, and they don’t want to feel an enflamed sense of white guilt. Or, for some people, it’s enough of a turn-off that this became part of Oprah’s Book Club in 2003. Maybe they see her as a hellish octo-beast whose philanthropic endeavors are a ruse for world domination, and any book her tentacles touch turns miasmic and vile. I don’t know.

But to hell with all of that. In a global sense, I’m nobody, an educated, suburban white girl who grew up in North Carolina. And I am telling you to give this book a try. It will open your eyes to a world untouched by Jersey Shore or the Kardashians. Having your life touched by the Afrikaner Nationalist Party is bad enough without these assholes adding to your misery.

First published in 1948, Cry, the Beloved Country is the story of an aging Anglican priest of Zulu descent, Stephen Kumalo. He runs a small parish in the village of Ndotsheni, where there are few luxuries, but he has good people and a loving wife. A letter from a colleague shakes his already tenuous sense of peace. He learns his younger sister, Gertrude, is ill. Her last known whereabouts were in Johannesburg, and Kumalo’s son, Absalom, went to the city to look for her and never came back. With the help of his friend, Theophilus Msimangu, Kumalo travels to Johannesburg to find them and put his family back together. Of course, it’s never so simple in stories like this, and the old man must contend with his sister being a prostitute and alcoholic. But that is nothing compared to the wrongdoings of his beloved son, who lost sight of who he was. Absalom has gotten a teenage girl pregnant, been in and out of jail, committed acts of burglary and thievery, and is now incarcerated and on trial for shooting a white man. To turn the knife further, this man was Arthur Jarvis, a white activist for racial justice, and the son of Kumalo’s neighbor. 

The book is primarily written from Kumalo’s point of view, but it also shifts to supporting cast, including James Jarvis, the bereaved father of Arthur. It also digresses from the original story to talk about the state of the country, how some of the Afrikaners are trying to keep themselves separate from the natives. They see them as shiftless and untrustworthy, give them laughable wages and leave them to build shacks out of anything they can find just so they can stay near the major cities. The reader is also treated to pieces of Arthur Jarvis’s speeches to make people aware of the terrible injustices that the natives suffer. There is a brief digression covering a miners’ strike, but the drama of that is somewhat understated compared to the main plotline.

There is no easy resolution to the story, no deus ex machina to make everything better. In terms of realism, it feels tragic and believable. There’s a kind of pained beauty in seeing Kumalo and Jarvis try to put their lives back together in tandem with one another, even as they have lost both their sons. The characters are deep and empathetic, and the good things that continue even in the face of terrible tragedy is nothing short of awe-inspiring. What surprised me was that this book is that it was written by a white man—I honestly had no idea until I read more about the book on Oprah’s web site. The text includes words in Zulu, and the prose itself is absolutely lovely. There are many Biblical allusions in the story, and the story’s flow is reminiscent of stories from the Bible. I can’t say whether or not any non-Christians will find the style of writing to be offensive; I just know that I didn’t. My experience of it was a sad and lyrical tale similar in style to the Greek epics, but it might not be the same for you.

Cry, the Beloved Country never won a Nobel prize. It did, however, inspire several theatrical productions and two movie versions, the first in 1951 featuring a screenplay that Paton wrote himself. The second was released in 1995, with James Earl Jones playing Kumalo. Oprah aside, it also earned high praise from former President of South Africa Nelson Mandela, who called it “a monument to the future.” It deserves that lofty praise. I had my reservations, but I absolutely loved this book, and having read it, I could probably stand to re-evaluate a few things. I leave you now with a quote from the novel itself, in the hopes that maybe you’ll take a chance on it, too.

“Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.”

Genre: Non-Western, Historical Fiction
Length: 316 pages
Publisher: Scribner (September 29, 2003)  
ISBN-10: 0743262174

[image copyright Scribner Publishing]

This book was required reading when I was in 10th grade; however, I never finished it. I was too busy being a self-absorbed teenager who obsessively watched anime and dreamed of going out with the cute boy who worked at the local pet store. I made it about halfway through, and then—I don’t know, maybe I got absorbed in reading some really smutty fanfiction and just forgot. I think I passed the test with a C because I watched the movie and remembered Robert Redford getting shot in a pool, but not so much why. Fast-forward thirteen years where I’m a substitute teacher, and piles of this book were just lying around my classroom. I decided to give it another try.

The Great Gatsby was first published in 1925, and was voted the second-best in Modern Library’s 100 Greatest Books of the 20th Century. (James Joyce’s Ulysses was number one.) During the “Roaring Twenties,” the economy was booming, people were wrestling with Prohibition, and women had finally been given the right to vote thanks to the 19th amendment. However, this book isn’t so much about any of these things, as much as it is about a love story gone terribly awry.

I hadn’t even made it to Chapter Three before I read about consuming bootleg liquor, an extramarital affair, and a woman’s broken nose related to said affair. And I thought to myself, “Holy shit, they’re letting high schoolers read this?! This is so tawdry!” It’s very telling of the people and the times that those two characters continue their affair to the bitter end. Maybe it’s just me, but if I was involved with someone who broke my nose, that would be the end of my relationship with him, and the beginning of his relationship with a catheter bag.

So, let’s break down this beautiful mess, shall we? The narrator is Nick Carraway, a college graduate and veteran of the Great War. He’s the cousin of Daisy Fay Buchanan, the romantic interest of Gatsby, but Daisy is married to Tom Buchanan. Tom, incidentally, is having an affair with Myrtle Wilson, who is married to George, who runs the garage that appears several times in the story. Nick becomes the next-door neighbor of Gatsby, who was in love with Daisy years ago, but she gave up on waiting for him during the war and married Tom. Confused yet?

The book is certainly full of interesting people, like Jordan Baker, a female golf player and Nick’s romantic interest for most of the story. Or Meyer Wolfshiem, who’s said to have rigged the 1919 World Series. But most interesting to yours truly is Gatsby himself. He started out as a penniless young man who managed to convince her that he was as wealthy as she was, and was determined to make something of himself after the war. He bought a house across the way from hers, and threw his lavish parties in the hopes that she would attend, and fall in love with him all over again.

The connections between characters makes for a fun game of six degrees of separation, but the most clear-cut thing about it is that even though time’s gone by, Gatsby never forgot about his love for Daisy. He pulled himself up from nothing to become as wealthy a man as he thought she deserved, only to get blown off. No, more like blown away. When driving home from a party, Daisy’s driving Tom’s car, and hits and kills a hysterical Myrtle, who’s run out into the road. George, in his grief, take the misinformation that the car that killed his wife is Gatsby’s and performs one final act of bloody revenge. The scene that I recalled of Gatsby being shot in his swimming pool—that was George’s doing. He was the only character in the book who got a shorter end of the stick than Gatsby. He lost the woman he loved, and his whole world crumbled; there was nothing left to do but kill the man who he believed did it, and then himself. The story ends with a surprisingly small funeral and Nick going west to move on with his life.

As John Steinbeck once said, “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” I feel sorry for Gatsby. I can certainly relate to the notion of busting my butt and trying to mold myself into something that the object of my desire would wish for. And while everyone loved his parties and his booze and his charm, it seems almost no one loved him enough to say good-bye to him in a manner of his deserving. What’s infuriating is that not only does Daisy not attend his funeral, but neither she nor Tom suffer any consequences for vehicular manslaughter. They get to go on with their happy lives with narry a care. But that’s sort of the point, I guess. Life isn’t fair—death certainly isn’t, either—and sometimes, the “bad guys” get away with murder. (Sometimes more literally than others.) While I’m sorry that the book ended the way it did, it also gave me a powerful message. Your reality is what you make of it, and while Jay Gatsby’s life was cut tragically short, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps while he was still around. He shaped his life to live it exactly the way he wanted to. If only more people in the world had that kind of courage. 

Genre: Classics, Jazz Age Fiction, Romance
Length: 216 pages
Publisher: Scribner (June 1, 1995)  
ISBN-10: 0684801523

[cover image copyright HarperCollins Press]

Once upon a time, I was a dewy-eyed little girl who adored Christmas. I loved every bit of it, from the cheap chocolate Santas to the savage rending of wrapping paper covering a new doll or book. Then I kept reading stories like this travesty. Or this one. Or this one. Now I feel about as holly and jolly as a bad case of food poisoning. Or, you know, this guy. It would take a Christmas miracle to make me feel anything but dread and trepidation for the hap-happiest season of all. Fortunately, I’ve found someone who came through for me.

Christopher Moore is the author of such jewels as Fluke, The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove, and You Suck!: A Love Story. His clever observations, biting wit, and dark sense of humor have made him one of the darlings of my book collection. His book The Stupidest Angel, published in 2004, is a ghoulishly delightful masterpiece that’s brought joy to my cynical little heart.

In the very beginning, there’s a note from the author that discourages people from buying this book for their children, or their sweet little old grandmas, because it features drug use and people in their 30’s having sex (although not in graphic detail). Having done so, Moore feels he’s able to wash his hands of any responsibility of careless gift-giving. “Don’t blame me,” he says. “I warned you.” I like a writer who knows how to cover his own ass.

Both the setting—Pine Cove, California—and many of the characters have been used in his other stories, but you won’t get lost if this is your first Moore book. There’s people like Theophilus Crowe, former stoner turned sheriff, and Molly Michon, his schizophrenic wife who used to star in B-movies as Kendra, Warrior Babe of the Outback. Or Tucker Case, the womanizing pilot with a pet fruit bat, Mavis, the lecherous old bartender, or Dale Pearson, the meanest guy in town. It’s the week before Christmas, and the citizens of Pine Cove are trying to get their holiday shopping done. Everyone is thriving on the good vibes of peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

That is, until little Joshua Barker sees what appears to be Santa Claus getting murdered with a shovel. In his distress, he prays for a Christmas miracle to bring Santa back from the dead. Never fear, Josh! An angel of the Lord has heard your prayer, and not just any angel—the archangel Raziel! Unfortunately, things don’t go nearly as well as planned, because the angel accidentally raises a cemetery of intelligent, flesh-eating zombies.

The book is written in third-person omniscient, which for non-English majors, means that the point of view shifts between different characters. You get to get into the mind of everyone from Joshua to a dog named Skinner (who refers to his master as “Food Guy”) to the angel Raziel himself. Molly and Theo have a Gift of the Magi-style Christmas. Theo maintains a secret cache of marijuana so he can buy his wife an antique tachi, while Molly stops taking her anti-psychotics so she could buy Theo an expensive glass bong. It’s really interesting to watch Molly as she attempts to keep her grip on reality. Even the dead get their chance in the spotlight before they rise from their graves to turn Pine Cove into an all-you-can-eat buffet. Instead of just being shambling corpses, Moore’s zombies retain all their memories and quirks and are able to work together. They just also happen to have a taste for human brains—and affordable prefabricated furniture. (Instead of the obligatory “Braaaaaaiiiiins,” their chant is, “First we feast, then IKEA!”)

The most curious element of the story to me was the characterization of Raziel. In traditional Judeo-Christian theology, he’s known as the Keeper of Secrets, recording all things discussed between God and the angels. In Moore’s universe, he’s also responsible for smiting sinners and leveling Sodom and Gomorrah—but he also really likes Snickers bars. While certainly a dedicated seraphim, he’s not terribly bright and often finds himself in trouble (uh, before the real trouble begins). Raziel has a demonstrable absence of free will that makes itself known when he tried to buy candy at the grocery store, but doesn’t have the appropriate currency. A little boy shopping with his mother insists that he just take them, which the angel wouldn’t have done unless he’d been specifically told to do so. This is one of the many instances where Raziel appears to be almost child-like himself. It is my belief that he’s been written this way because the author wished to present a plausible explanation to why things can still go terribly wrong even in a universe where angels exist. He just chose to do so in a story with a fruit bat, a schizophrenic warrior babe, and zombies. Oddly enough, this made more sense to me than anything I ever read in my Religion 108 class.

I enjoyed seeing the relationships between characters grow and develop in sympathetic and startling ways. For some, it involves crying over the stupidity of men while making lasagna. For others, it may involve the clever use of electrodes. And when the dead rise, it’s actually rather inspiring to watch the humans work together to combat their equally clever undead counterparts. Yes, it’s a zombie story, and a Christmas zombie story at that. I’m not saying that it will vastly change your views on the divine, or the reason for the season, or the ongoing emotional turmoil between men and women. But it is certainly gruesome, thought-provoking, and cleverly written—you may or may not feel like you’re going to hell for laughing at some of the humor in this story. Still, it was a good enough read to stay on the New York Times Best-sellers’ List for 14 straight weeks. Assuming Hollywood doesn’t screw up the movie adaptation coming later this year, Christopher Moore’s vision will reach even farther and help save Christmas for this generation’s disaffected holiday cynics.

God bless us, everyone.

Genre: Fiction, Black Comedy, Holiday
Hardcover: 320 pgs.
Publisher: William Morrow (enhanced edition published November 1, 2005)
ISBN-10: 0060842350