The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine

The Two Princesses of Bamarre
by Gail Carson Levine

I picked up this one mostly because I enjoyed Ella Enchanted and I wondered what Levine's other stuff was like. This one was more of the same (which isn't a bad thing).

It's a fantasy, and YA, and it has everything you would expect a YA fantasy novel with a female lead to have: a bit of magic, of romance, adventure, monsters (even a dragon), enchanted objects, and none of this hero-rescuing-maiden nonsense—heavens, no. She manages just fine by herself, thank you.

I have to say that I preferred Ella, but this one is nice, too. I can't say that it is an extraordinarily deep, life-changing experience to read or anything, but it's nice.

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close
by Jonathan Safran Foer

Wow.

When I first picked it up and read the description on the dust jacket, I wasn't so sure. Post-9/11 story? Do I really want to read this? Is it a bit soon, even seven years later?

But I picked it up, and am glad I did. The main character is a 9-year-old boy who is precocious, obnoxious, inventive, and vulnerable. Of course I loved him. But it turns out it's not just his story—it's the story of his family and what he finds as he searches for the father that he lost. And like any story about family, this one begins to span more than just one tragic incident, and the relationships of just one boy with his father.

Now that I wrote that, it may seem stupid, but I promise, it's a beautiful book.

It's a little on the experimental side, but not in any way that detracts from the story, and definitely not in a way that's obnoxious (I HATE Pynchon. There, I said it). This book is perfectly natural.

The only thing that irks me about the story at all is that it is so brilliant, and it's written by a kid who's younger than me. (I may be a little jealous.) This is one I think I might be buying sometime soon (and for me, that means I really, really liked it).

The Only Alien on the Planet by Kristine D. Randle

The Only Alien on the Planet
by Kristine D. Randle

I really, really liked this book. At first it didn't seem like anything all that special—just another well-written young adult book about life and times in high school. And then you meet Smitty, who, at first, I assumed was going to be a Boo Radley or something similar.

Nah.

So cool. I won't talk any more about plot, or what happens, but I can say that by the ending, I really, really liked this one. I love books that give characters a chance for redemption, for hope, for healing past impossible things. They make me feel like I can fly.

The Tales of Alvin Maker by Orson Scott Card

Seventh Son
Red Prophet
Prentice Alvin
Alvin Journeyman
by Orson Scott Card

(additional books in the series that I haven't read yet or are still forthcoming:)
Heartfire
The Crystal City
Master Alvin

What I like best about Card is his ability to create suspense. He's very good at it. He writes a story that, once I start, it is nearly impossible to put the book down because I need to know what happens to the characters.

This particular series is an alternate reality-type thing—in this case, what would colonial America have been like if folk magic actually worked, and altered some important events in history? (Normally, I get pretty annoyed with alternate reality books, books where a story is set in the world we know, but not... how do I explain this? A novel that is based in fact and history, and yet changes history and the world we live in...I can't put my finger on it, exactly, and I don't want to try because it will detract me from the review I'm trying to do. All I can say is that sometimes an alternate-reality fiction can irritate me to death, e.g., anything by Piers Anthony. I can also try and describe it like this: One person I know says she hated The Last Unicorn for precisely the reason I'm trying to describe: that Beagle warped the rules—not of the real world, but those of the fantastic, canonical world of fantasy—by whimsically mentioning tacos, and it irked her to no end. Anyway. These books didn't bother me like that. Enough digression.)

This series has Card's usual amount of tension, so I couldn't put the books down. And he does so well writing about people—about their motivations, their fears, the hidden things that make them a menace or a blessing to those around them. He's very good at that.

In this series particularly, Card's Mormonism leaks out. (How can it not? He's writing a story about a young boy in a young America who has a strange and wonderful gift...how can he resist putting in all sorts of parallels and tributes to Joseph Smith?) Sometimes that sort of thing bothers me. Sometimes when an author does something like that, they end up getting sidetracked from their story and can lose momentum and all of a sudden they're no longer telling a story, they're preaching. Yick. Card, fortunately, doesn't do this. Good for him.

The books each explore vital themes that are historically appropriate: the second book has a great deal to do with the fate of the Native American in the hands of the white man. The third book has an awful lot to do with the evils of slavery. And none of this is done in (at least, what I consider to be) a heavy-handed manner. Card handles ideas with grace and truth. They were a pleasure to read.

At least they were, right up to the last bit of the third book. There was a scene that just smacked me in the face with the overt symbolism. Of COURSE there were going to be parallels, allegories, symbolism, whatever with the Gospel and Joseph Smith—but I wasn't looking for them. I was reading for the story (and he does do suspense well) but when I got to a particular scene—the climax of the third book—what happened was so obviously a BAPTISM, that I...I don't know. (One main character was trying to save another character from having to return to slavery, and in order to save him, he had to change him just the tiniest bit so that the...well, trackers (for the sake of abbreviated descriptions) wouldn't be able to find him. And as he changes him, he immerses himself and the other in the water of the river and his hands are described as being just so... I mean, C'MON! Was that really necessary? I felt like I had been smacked in the face with a dead fish. I felt so disappointed.

And after that, I've sort of lost interest in Alvin Smith (for heaven's sake! SMITH!) and his annoyingly good-humored character. And then, other things that were slightly annoying—but that I was willing to overlook as long as I cared so deeply for what happened next—suddenly were too obnoxious to ignore: his entirely STUPID romance with Peggy, other symbolic parallels, the golden plow (sigh)...

I guess what happened is that the story lost its credibility for me, just in that one scene. I no longer trusted what the storyteller had to say. And suddenly—poof!—the magic was gone, and I had lost interest. Too bad. I almost would've liked to see what happened next. I only read the fourth book because I had checked it out with the third, but I don't think I'll be continuing with the rest of the series.

I still really like Card, and I still think he's a great storyteller, but...oof. That stupid scene just killed me!

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Picture of Dorian Gray
by Oscar Wilde

I think that I am...er, moved too much by things. I get too much inside a book, and so, when I read one like this, the ick in it clings to me and transforms the way I see the world...eh. Oh well.

It was an interesting read, and the ideas in it are very different. (Meaning, very different from the ones I hold, and therefore, pretty interesting to read.)

The story of the moral degradation of a man; the hypocrisy of people and society; the stress and importance that is put on appearance, and the way we are led to trust people only by appearance; the havoc a little bit of selfishness can do; how the
ideal of the age (the Victorian age, anyway: the ideal of a true gentleman) was embodied by a hypocritical, devious, evil, debauched angel of light who was all about deception, and completely, utterly soulless...

A main theme of Wilde's was beauty, and beauty worship. Is beauty a blessing? A curse? How does it affect people and what does it lead them to do? To feel? (And I think he's got that part absolutely right: people are led with their eyes, and fooled by appearances.)

Anyhoo, the more I read of Wilde, the more I am intrigued by his brain. (But when it comes time to re-read his works, I think I'll choose The Importance of Being Earnest over this one!)