So Yesterday by Scott Westerfeld

So Yesterday
by Scott Westerfeld

I've really enjoyed plenty of Westerfeld's books, and I like this one, too. Can't say it was my absolute favorite of his, but it's still a decent read. His books are always adventurous, quick-paced, and suspenseful, fun YA books.

This one deals with what is "cool" and how it gets that way, and how the whole thing is a scam to get you to spend money. Interesting idea, and maybe not too far from the truth (except the truth isn't nearly so cool as the story he spins here).

The French Lieutenant's Woman by John Fowles

The French Lieutenant's Woman
by John Fowles

I've never read anything by Fowles. I have to admit until I saw this book on a friend's page at goodreads, I'm not even sure that I'd heard of it. But I picked it up and read it.

It is unusual: a book set in the Victorian era, but written in our time; a book that proposes to be about that time, and yet is more about our own than anything: it is about religion (or more accurately, agnosticism), madness, evolution, society, self, and sex. (A great deal about sex.) Part historical commentary, a great deal of well-written narrative, and some surprising abandonment on the part of the author of the "suspension of disbelief" (he abandons the traditional narrative voice in several places to tell the reader what he thinks as an author of writing, of the story itself, of what is about to happen to the characters. He even writes himself into the story in two places). Um—it's about a lot of stuff, but mainly a fellow named Charles Smithson. And I really ought to read it again before I attempt any real analysis of it—after all, quite a bit of it, especially the intellectual bits and theories in it went quite over my head (for example, there is a quote from Marx on the first page, as a kind of prelude to what is to follow:

Every emancipation is a restoration of the human world and of human relationships to man himself.

I've turned it over and over in my head, and I still can't decide what I think it means, and what it means in relationship to the book, and as I read it again now, almost all meaning seems to fly away from it, and I am left with nothing but some strange-sounding syllables with no meaning attached. Perfect word disassociation).

The only thing that I can really think about this first reading of this incredible book is what I learned about the anima and animus in college*, and how Charles' infatuation with the namesake of the novel, Sarah Woodruff, or the "French Lieutenant's Woman" is actually a story about Charles (or possibly the narrator) falling for his anima, his true inner self embodied in a woman. By the time I was finished with the story, I was pretty well convinced that Sarah wasn't an actual woman at all, but Charles' (or the author's) anima: how he wanted, above all, to break free of the constraints of society, to be honest, to be true to himself, just as she was, regardless of the consequences.

I have to sit back, though, and wonder if the author thinks the same, or if he really thinks of her as a real character? It must be subconscious...

Anyway, I really need to re-read this one again and see what I can get from it the next time through.

*I am not about to go into all that I learned about the anima and animus and what really is going on when we fall in love—not here. But I find the theory that Jung suggests about the anima to coincide with my own views about romantic love—that when we fall in love with a person without really knowing them at all, it is really in response to love for self and seeing ourselves reflected in them; and that true love is about loving another, not being infatuated with oneself. Yeah. Not going to go into it here. But there are more things to read if you're interested in that idea, such as We: Understanding the Psychology of Romantic Love by Robert A. Johnson, or Human Intimacy by Victor Brown or what was that article on Romance Addiction? Sheesh. I've looked for it, but I can't find it or the woman who wrote it...oh well. Another post, maybe.

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!)

Twilight/New Moon/Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer

Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse
by Stephenie Meyer

As I've said on a post on my main blog, once I read Eclipse, I had to go back through and read the others again, and then re-read Eclipse again, too. And this last re-reading of the whole series brought new perspective for me—on the whole series.

There is a lot to be said about these books, and right now, all over the Internet, people are saying it. I have read complaints about inaccuracy (Forks isn't really like that, in New Moon Alice gave a guard a thousand dollar bill, and those don't exist, etc.), that the books aren't written very well, people debating about the characters: who they like, who they dislike, and why (and of course, "like" and "dislike" are completely mild—love passionately and loathe fit the bill a little better), some who claim that Stephenie is "dangerous" because the books depict an abusive relationship—there have been some really strange things coming out of the woodwork from these books.

To me, though, it's all the discussion about the books that is intriguing: why is a silly romantic YA fantasy getting so much attention? Stirring so much feeling? When you look at the plain fact that it's a teenage romance in which there is NO SEX—really, what's the big deal? A YA romance novel—eliciting controversy!

I have a theory about this kind of thing, but was having trouble articulating it. Then I happened to read the preface of the next book on my list, and found Oscar Wilde already described it perfectly:

"All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not like, that are really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless."
—from the Preface of A Picture of Dorian Gray

When people read a book, the thing that reaches them, moves them, makes them think is the thing in the book that reflects themselves: their fears, their hopes, their ideologies... I think that, generally, people see the world as a reflection of themselves. And so, the reviews of these books have been revealing much more about the reviewers than they do the art or the artist. (Thank you, Oscar Wilde.)

Yet, the question remains—are these, then, "good" books?

What makes a good book? How do you define it?

Is it flawless writing? The communication of new ideas? Or of old ideas in a new way? Something that stands the test of time (whatever that means)—a work with enough universal truth in it that it captures public attention for decades, centuries? Or is it a work that touches, moves, and causes you to feel? Or is it one that merely stimulates your intellect? A work that is moral, or educational, or that exists simply for its own sake? How is it defined?

I've struggled with this question forever, and have pestered countless literature teachers and professors to share their views on the subject, and then debated it with them. because, as far as I could see, there is no easy way to define a "good" work or a "great" work. For all of the above criteria, I can think of several books that defy part (if not all) of them, and yet are still considered "classics." What is good? What is great?

If I take one of Wilde's statements again, and apply it to these books:

"Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital."

...well, by this measurement, Meyer has been extremely successful.

Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer

Eclipse
by Stephenie Meyer

I already reviewed Twilight, the first book in the series, and I mentioned in that review that I had a problem with a character, and a problem with a theme. If you're interested in more of the problems I had with the first book (along with all the things I liked), click here to read the Twilight review. Matter of fact, if any of the following review is going to make sense, you'd better read it, since this review is a continuation of the first. (I never did review New Moon, because I wasn't keeping this blog the first time I read it. Maybe when I re-read it sometime?)

Again, this book was completely suspenseful, completely romantic, and once I picked the dumb thing up, I couldn't put it down again until I was done (and even then, I had to pick it back up and read a few passages again).

I am very pleased that one of the problems I had with Edward in Twilight was starting to resolve itself in this book (hooray!), namely, that he was so overprotective of Bella he wouldn't let her do a thing for herself. It made me want to scream. But he finally backed off a bit when he found that if he really loved her, he was going to have to let her make her own choices. That was really, really nice—that's a characteristic of a more mature love.

(And thank heaven! That really was driving me crazy...)

***SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING***
The other bone I had to pick—about the confusion of love and infatuation—that was addressed, if not resolved. At least, in my head it was. The author had Bella in love with two people by the end of the book—one a love that was more human and healthy, more ordinary (as close as Bella could get, anyway: he was still a werewolf), but not less passionate; and the other, her love for Edward, which really is a bit obsessive (Jacob even tells Bella "he's like a drug for you"), unusual, and otherwordly: the very essence of what pop culture considers love and romance to be...

My most practical and issue-prone part of me was disappointed that she chose the impossible love over the possible; but that's not what fiction is for, is it? Of course she was going to choose Edward in the end. And if she had chosen Jacob, I suppose the more fantastic and unrealistic part of me would be outraged...no way to win, I guess.

I can't help wondering what will happen in the future, though. There were plenty of things left open, questions unanswered (my most pressing was what will it be like for Bella as a vampire? And what will her special ability be, if she has any?). And what will become of Jacob and the rest of the pack? (I rather think that Meyer is going to be writing a novel from Jacob's perspective next, just a hunch.) And I wonder, too, how my perspective and views about this book will change when I read it again?

Dragonhaven by Robin McKinley

Dragonhaven
by Robin McKinley

I've mentioned it before, but I'm a huge fan of McKinley. She always tells a story with—what? honesty? Is that it? Yeah, a bare-to-the-bone honesty, and I think any writer who is a GREAT writer has to do that—and, boy, did I mention I like her stuff? (I really ought to do a compound review of her stuff when I feel like a re-reading spurt—I really want to tackle things like Sunshine and Deerskin again—whereas The Hero and the Crown is one of my all-time favorite books and I've re-read that one countless times.)

This one, Dragonhaven, came out not too long ago (September?) and it took me this long to get my hands on a copy.

If you like dragons (and I grew up reading Dickinson's A Flight of Dragons, which is a flippin' reference book on dragons with great illustrations and the like—and when I was wee, I remember watching the cheesy cartoon movie of the same title on television, and I sooooo loved it—I wanted to live in that movie because I was five and didn't notice it was cheesy at the time), this is a great read. It's a great read anyway, but if you always wished dragons were real, it won't hurt.

McKinley is as honest with her portrayal of her characters as always, and the lead in this book, Jake, is brutally honest, a compulsive worrier, and—since it is written in first person—sometimes pretty annoying! But I loved the guy anyway, enjoyed the story greatly, etc., etc.

Since McKinley is married to Dickinson nowadays, and since I had Dickinson's book memorized, it was fun to see the influence he'd had on her, and the different turns she took with it, and some of the stuff she came up with that was different from some of the stuff he came up with...but I doubt anyone else would care about that, the theme of How One of My Favorite Authors Influenced Another of My Favorite Authors by Marrying One Another and Doubtlessly Talking of Book Ideas to Each Other. Yeah, only I'm freak enough for that.

The best thing about this particular book (for me, I mean) was the way it accurately captured the feeling of being a mom—especially the claustrophobia, worry, and exhaustion that goes along with it—helped me feel a little more human. (McKinley always does. Thanks, Robin.) I have to get a quote...let's see...*rummaging for several minutes through said book, occasionally getting distracted by re-reading some good passages, until finally, 40 minutes later*...Ah! Here:

"giving up your life to keep someone else alive is kind of hard"

Well, okay, it doesn't seem like much, but the first time I read it the truth of it resonated in me like I was a bell that had just been struck. Kind of a big "duh" moment for wynne. I love it when authors can do that for me. The thing is, the narrator of the story, Jake, had a baby dragon imprint on him, and he became its mother, without having an idea of how to take care of it. And he was like any mom with a newborn: constant feedings, constant care, and like he said, he had to give up his life as he knew it, and he was just a 14-year-old kid.

Here are two more examples of the kind of stuff that she was writing that resonated with me:

"Proud Mom. Obsessed Mom. Silly with relief for even a few feet and a few minutes of semi-freedom Mom."

"But those first few months, the stronger the panicky sense of being trapped by this little live thing that was utterly dependent on me and only me got, the stronger the dreams got..."

(dreams that comforted him, thankfully)

I don't think I made my point very well, but, really, that was the best part of the book for me. But that's only because I have weird personal problems and really bad postpartum depression with my first, only (and very likely, last) child, right? Does everyone feel that way? Jake did, and that helped me. Yeah, I'm so not getting the point across. Oh well—on to the next book!

Hattie Big Sky by Kirby Larson

Hattie Big Sky
by Kirby Larson

I've read a few books about homesteading in America—My Antonia, Our Only May Amelia, Little House in the Big Woods—and most have been pretty good.

This one was excellent.

I didn't start reading it expecting much, not even a few chapters in, but the farther in I got...well. The first thing I began to think was how spoiled I was pressed up against a baseboard heater reading it while it is a mere 39 degrees outside, while Hattie was living through a frozen Montana winter with little else between her and the harsh world was a shack, a cat, and a wood stove. (I so would've died. I'd make a lousy pioneer.)

Also, it seems that most books these days leave religion entirely out of the equation, or dance around it, or if it is put in, it seems so...forced, sappy, and sentimental (not to mention self-conscious). But Hattie, who is a religious person of sorts—her conversations with God were so natural and beautiful, as was her faith. It was refreshing to read that. (And because she was so honest, it was assuming or forceful—just there and peaceful.)

Also, the ending wasn't neat and tidy, wrapped with a bow, as happens in some stories (and of course, there's nothing wrong with that, unless it is a story where the author is really trying for authenticity and reality). There was heartache, and mess, and the story sometimes came to a place I wasn't expecting. More like life, if you know what I mean.

And that's all I'll say about it, because I don't want to spoil it for anyone else. (It's only lousy books that I'll blow parts of the plot out into the open, like that incredibly stupid book I read before this one.)

Pemberly by Emma Tennant

Pemberly
by Emma Tennant

What a load of horse manure. Really. I didn't start reading this book with much in the way of expectations (at least, I didn't think so). Since this is a sequel to a classic novel, I was by no means expecting it to live up to Austen's work, and I was prepared for some stupidity and dishonesty to Austen's characters and themes—after all, that's what happens when someone tries to write a sequel to a work they didn't write. (Hello, Scarlett, anyone?)

And yet, I still picked it up hopefully, since I had had some good experiences with similar Austen-esque material of late (such as this and this). And I was willing to forgive the book's shortcomings. I really WAS! But I must admit, I was unprepared for how bad this novel was. Really and truly, utterly baaaaaad.

So there was no witty dialogue—not too surprising. Who can imitate Austen's dialogue? And there were bits and pieces of lines stolen from the original book, also to be expected (it's like the author thinks this is cute or something to put in a bit of the original book's language—why? To prove that they have indeed read the novel they are attempting a sequel to?) The plot twists and the things that Tennant did with Austen's characters was at first entertaining and amusing—she killed off Mr. Bennett with a flick of the pen; gave Jane a child and another on the way; made it so Elizabeth and Darcy could not conceive a child of their own; and gave Lydia four under the age of four. All reasonable and interesting (except for the last—the math doesn't add up in Lydia's case, unless she had two sets of twins, which she hadn't). And then there was the idea of all the Bennett sisters and their families, widowed mother, Bingley and his sisters, Darcy and his sister, AND his aunt Lady Catherine all under the roof of Pemberly for Christmas. Intriguing...

However, it soon fell apart and proved to be far beyond the author's grasp and skill. For example, more and more logical errors cropped up throughout the text that just didn't make sense (Lydia's too-many children being one of these): a character knowing something they couldn't possibly have known; people carelessly misplaced and showing up where they couldn't possibly have been, etc. Just bad editing.

And yet, more: It is not possible for me to believe that the estate of Pemberly would be entailed should Darcy be unable to produce an heir. Unbelievable AND shows a sad lack of imagination on the part of the author (by borrowing yet another idea from the original novel and applying it nonsensically).

And then she begins to slaughter my favorite characters: some dialougue that is meant to pass off as Elizabeth's wit is actually just rude and crass insults; Elizabeth's independence and spirit is reduced to mere pigheadedness and selfishness; she allows Darcy's reserve and delicacy to lead him, after getting into an argument with his wife, to simply walk out on her without a word, and leave her alone for an entire season; after this episode, Elizabeth does not attempt to communicate with her estranged husband but begins to pursue a life as a governess. Apparently she does not understand the characters she is writing AT ALL.

And the crowning glory of stupidity, the most horrid thing of all, was to solve all the problems in the Darcys' marriage by a crass deux ex machina: it wasn't Darcy who had had a mistress and fathered an illegitimate child off her, oh no! It was Bingley—honest, open, kind, moral BINGLEY—and Jane, fresh from the sickbed from delivering a son for him, was perfectly fine with it—!

It was gross and ridiculous, awkward and preposterous, full of errors as I stated before, and ... and ... heavens, I don't believe in burning books, but if I ever needed to start a fire and was short on kindling, this book would be the first to go in. And I would probably enjoy ripping the pages from the spine and tossing them in. Blech.