The Glass Room by Simon Mawer

Generally speaking I don't read books that deal with World War II in any but the most cursory capacities and it's extremely difficult to be cursory about so weighty a topic.  There is quality to be found in the setting and tension a plenty.  It's a personal quark of mine rather than a feeling that it's not possible to tell a good story within the confines of World War II.  In every story of that time there are people living their lives in every walk of life with happiness and drama and then the bad things start to happen that we all already know: war, soldiers, crimes against humanity and always at some point, 'The Nazis are coming!'  

The Spanish Bow by Andromeda Romano-Lax was the last book set at the time of WWII that I read, and it was excellent; it's been at least five years or so since then.  I've no recollection how The Glass Room came to be on my list or what put the author's name on my radar.  I'm profoundly happy I didn't know the first thing about this book when I started reading because missing out of this wouldn't have been like missing so many good books set in the time but truly missing out on something special.  

I'll contradict myself in a moment but for now bear with me.  There is a bit of deceit at the beginning of The Glass Room.  The book isn't about WWII (that truly never is the focus), like all good books it's about people.  Newly weds Viktor and Liesel Landauer, of the very successful Landauer automotive cooperation, set out to build their dream home and trust their vision to Rainer von Abt, an architect or rare inventiveness and contemporary foresight.  Their home is suspended from the ceiling and the crowning jewel of von Abt's architecture to date.  The Glass Room: a large space with three huge wall of glass, an over abundance of natural light, and solid onyx wall in the back is the most prominent feature in the house that sets the standard for new contemporary living.  The effect of the room stuns all who see it, no matter how often they visit the space, and indeed, such is Mawer's writing that the glass room continually has an effect on the reader as well.  The author's ability to describe the mundane, let alone extraordinary, is profound.  He captures the minutia of life in concise vibrant ways as if what is being done is interesting as opposed to commonplace.     

We see Viktor and Liesel, the family they start and the friends they make and how the house plays a role in the lives of so many, and then as the threat of war becomes more and more tangible we slowly come to see that the book, while about people, isn't necessarily about the Landauer's no matter how much we have come like them.  Nor is it about Hana, Liesel's promiscuous best friend and one of the most believably strong female characters I've come across, nor even is it about Nazis.  Big surprise, the book is about the glass room.  People come and go, develop, grow and some pass away, but the only constant in the novel is the house and how it affects people.  

The glass room represents transparency, exposure, and incongruously, sustainability to all who know it.  It isn't so much a mirror rather a place that allows people to be at their most natural state.  Not merely that all is exposed but rather when one is there there is no need to hide or obscure what is real.  Purity and universal contentment are what is most commonly seen when people are in the glass room.    

There is a very blatant sexuality to the book: from Viktor and Liesel, to Viktor and his mistress (and even between the mistress and Liesel), Liesel to Hana, and Hana and everyone…  Writers of whatever literary fiction is can't seem to merely say 'they made love' but have to carry on with the most absurd metaphors and imagery.  Mawer turned me off as a reader a few times (if ever you're writing and find yourself rambling in what you think is beautiful figurative language for genitalia, just stop) but then again, I never would have thought that sex could have been a metaphor for all of the unknown that preceded WWII, or that such a metaphor could be done so well to such a strong affect.  

There was one particular lovely comparison to sex and plums that made me close the book and think for a moment.  (I can be naive at times...)  I love those moments, especially when I figured everything out and made sense of it.  Then the next paragraph it was all spelled out in detail and I felt stupid--robbed--as if my intelligence as a reader were being undermined.    There weren't many, but there were more than one of those moments.  

Eventually, the Nazis do come and it is at that point the book's themes really come to the forefront: contrast, change, adaptability.  It is odd when a little past halfway the Germans come and do all the things Germans of the times did and all the characters we have known go away and yet the story keep going with new characters, popping up by the handful and at every new page, because, again, the book is about the people who inhabit the house and not necessary the Landauners.  The family is more of a starting and ending point than the focus of the story.  

I'm not sure why this one is proving so difficult for me to talk about.  It's a very simple, straightforward story, Mawer's voice and language are beautiful and there is tension on every page.  There really aren't individual moments that I would highlight or parts of prose I would quote that may sway one to read the book, rather the summation is greater than the parts that comprise the novel.  Nonetheless, it's an excellent book that will stay with you long after reading.

The Absurdity of my Anger

So I've moved.  It happens.  Not particularly happy about it but I'm over it.  New county; new library; so I need a new library card.  I stop in today at the local branch, which is part of the Atlanta-Fulton County system, which is phenomenal all things considered, only to be told that they are making-over their check out system and they can't issue any new library cards for at least a week.

"It will be at least a week.  Perhaps ten days.  Call before you come back."

"Okay.  So what can we do right now; as a temporary fix?" I ask with my stack of books on the counter between us.  She gives me a hopeless stare but can't hold my gaze.  I don't get angry and I don't act a fool (I was tempted).  I just left.  That was all I could do.

It's irrational that I should be angry in this situation only because of how many unread books I have (that was the first box unpacked in the new place).  But I don't own what I want to read right now.  

I'm a bit frustrated to say the least.  I don't know what I'll sit down and crack open in a few moments; I'm sure it will be good and I'll enjoy it (optimism is so foreign to me).  But I still want those books I had to leave at the library.

Now.  

Unrelated to anything, did anyone else see the article in the Saturday/Sunday edition of the Wall Street Journal in the review section called 'My 6,128 Favorite Books' ?  Because that was awesome.

Firebirds edited by Sharyn November

Last year I was remiss (too lazy) to properly cover Firebrids Soaring, the third and hopefully not final original anthology from the Firebird imprint.  I can't make the same mistake again with Firebirds because I love it as much as Firebirds Soaring.

I'll start with my favorites.  Flotsam by Nina Kiriki Hoffman left me wanting more, both in terms of pages worth of story and content from what was presented.  Becky finds a young, seemingly homeless boy, and decides to take him home, get him cleaned up and fed.  She quickly finds out that Poppy, the boy, has lost his home, parents, family; everything.  I kept waiting for a poignant connection between Becky's broken family life--her parents separated after the death of their eldest child--and Poppy's but it wasn't meant to be.  What was given, was an exceptional story about strangers (extraterrestrial strange in Poppy's case) and treating people as we should, and not merely acting in accordance with propriety.  Flotsam was also one of the most powerful and best uses of title in a short story in all that I've come across.  

The Baby in the Night Deposit Box by Megan Whalen Turner is not only a phenomenal title but an equally wonderful story.  The story is as bizarre as you would imagine: a family owned local bank starts renting safety deposit boxes to its customers saying, 'Your treasure will be safe with us.'  Well one family decides it's most valuable treasure is a baby... and they'll be back to pick it up in eighteen years.  This one is both hilarious in it's realism and absurdity and a joy to read from start to finish.

The anthology's most odd inclusion may also have been its best in addition to one of my favorites.  Max Mondrosch by Lloyd Alexander is really only pseudo-fantasy.  It deals with the nightmare of unemployment and all one must go through to land a successful job: the exaggeration, outright lies, areas of interest covered.  This one hit a bit close to home and it was written in 2003 added to which the story itself is historical fiction.  (Perhaps phantasmagoric nightmare fiction is a better qualifier.)  I'll say this: it was good enough to make me dig up other works by the author.  There is a comparison to a master of short fiction here that is on the tip of my tongue, but I need a bit more before making such bold claims.  (Think big and awesome and you'll be really close.)

Beauty by Sherwood Smith, Mariposa by Nancy Springer, and, to a lesser extent, Medusa by Michael Cadnum all deal with similar themes of attraction and what it means to have self-confidence in one's looks and the disparity in what we see when we look at ourselves and what other people see when they look at us.  The variety among such similar stories worked really well: the first is standard secondary world fantasy, the second is contemporary if not slightly futuristic in that Michael Swanwick 'is this fantasy or sci-fi?' kinda way that I love and the third is based off the myth, only part of the story most readers won't be familiar with.

I've decided that I love Patricia A McKillip's short fiction and not so much her novels.  Odd as it sounds, I feel that way about a lot of great writers.  Byndley is excellent fairy tale; nothing exceptional but all the parts are done well.  Little Dot by Diana Wynne Jones was the one story that I was most surprised at liking: it's about cats...  A lot of cats... And a wizard... and a Sphinx.  It was awesome.

I've tried--with no success--to dig up new or newish information on the Firebird imprint.  It's really sad.  Their mission statement was to publish excellent original fantasy and science fiction.  In my mind they overachieved.
        

I told you not to do that!

No one listens to me... We've already been here before, and here we go again. 

I'm complaining about the misuse of musical terminology in fiction; again.  Writers take heed, for this seems to be the most popular abuse of a word ever: nothing can rise to a crescendo, the crescendo itself is the rise.  A crescendo takes us from one dynamic level over a specific amount of time (i.e. composer's instruction) to a new, louder dynamic that existed before the start of the crescendo.  Something can rise to a new dynamic; a louder volume; higher level of decibels; or escalate to a cluster-fuck of daunting proportion; but, nothing can rise to a crescendo. 

Simply put: a crescendo doesn't rise to a crescendo.  "The drama was intense and events rose to a crescendo."  Authors: insert your own nouns, but stop writing that line.  It Is Wrong.    

For the purposes of fiction, writers are allowed--even implored--to make fanciful figurative analogies to a idea with a very concrete definition.  However, this particular word, crescendo, needs to be called out and placed in check as it has been made abundantly clear that most writers have no clue what it means.   

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

I had initially thought that when I started discussing young adult literature I'd have to alter my approach: not swear so much, embrace idioms the intended audience would find desirable, adjust to a younger reading mind that might not be so quick to call shenanigans or identify what I would perceive as a flaw in other fiction.  I couldn't have been more wrong and Graceling is proof.  Just as I do with every other book I love, I get to rip Graceling to shreds while telling you why it's awesome.  It seems that's just my way. 

Graceling is exactly the kind of secondary world fantasy that I've been trying to get away from for the past two years, but it seems my self-imposed literary masochism has great foresight: before I could walk away from fantasy I had to explore every facet and I had yet to land of young adult fiction.  It's a good thing I did as I found the adventure, fun, and the pure escapism that has eluded me in so much of the fantasy I've put myself through in the past two years. 

Katsa has a Grace.  A Grace is a rare and unique ability very few people possess.  Some are practical such as an exceptional ability to cook.  Other are virtually useless like being able to hold one's breath for an inordinate amount of time.  Katsa's Grace is the ability to fight.  She is The Archangel Michael, Diomedes, and Superman wrapped into a small mass of teenaged insecurity, and identity.  She is used by the King, her uncle, to do his more unpleasant tasks when he feels the need to assert his authority.  She grows up under a cloak of self-pity doing horrible things at the King's bidding until she meets Po, who has a similar Grace as she, and she starts to recognize that she, and not her uncle, is in control of her actions. 

Growth is the primary theme and the focus is given solely to Katsa as Po is worlds more mature.  Development of their respective Grace is also subtly established and initially I was disturbed that no one noticed Katsa's Grace extends far past her ability to fight and that Po, while undeveloped, is just shy of an all knowing God.

While she can issue 'The Hurt' to just about anything under the sun, Katsa's not too bright.  She's so self-absorbed that she doesn't have the slightest sense of awareness to the people around her or her environment.  I think she kicked something on every page for the first half of the book.  She throws her hands up in frustration; a lot.  In the span of two pages Po vomited a ocean's worth of fluid; it never stopped, he never dry heaved, he continued to spew water enough to end a desert drought.  Repetitious issues aside, Katsa is immune to hypothermia; that was the only issue that taxed my belief.  She has the strangest views on marriage--captivity, chains, subjugation--and, what I saw (as a shameless thirty-two year old male of questionable integrity) as an inexplicable angst concerning a possible hook-up/friend with benefits.

It's amazing how subdued the plot is considering how wrapped up in the novel one becomes.  It's really really sparse.  There are political conflicts, a pseudo-ground, home grown network of do gooders, but there never seems to be that one driving force that compels the reader forward yet still the pages fly by.  Over time we do learn of a man with a Grace too easy to not abuse: all those who hear him speak fall under his control.  One does as he commands, it becomes interesting as we see that even Katsa would be useless against such a Grace. 

There are some questionable scenarios that arise and considering the book's stubborn linear progression (and in conjunction with the true nature of Po's Grace) I can't help but feel the book should have been written in first person.  Katsa is that strong of a character and unfortunately every single second of everything that happens revolves around her.  Another issue for the cause of first person is that Cashore excels at the intimate moments, or perhaps that's more of what I enjoyed than then broader picture.

Last gripe (I swear!).  The contraceptive plant... that didn't feel right--you know me, I could go on, but I'll leave it at that--but it sure felt convenient as Katsa not only never wants to marry (I loved the ending resolution to this matter) but also doesn't want children.  It was subtle and gently thrown out there; much like Bann, Prince Raffin's bff, and the nature of their relationship.  The book is more socially aware of at least a couple of contemporary issues than I was expecting.    

There's a Jane Eyre moment at the end that made me all kinds of mad until I realized that I got exactly what I wanted Po's grace to truly be.  Sorry, I know that's vague but I don't do spoilers.  Read the book, then report back with your thanks.     

Overthrow the mad king and save the land.  Strong independent female heroine curbstomps everything in sight, justice is restored and de facto but bittersweet 'happily ever after' mind set comes together at the end: the cliches are there if you wanna look for them.  Only they are buried under so much narrative and character development and not feed to the reader by way of exposition as to stand out.  (And yes, strong female heroines are officially as cliched as their male counterparts.  Maybe more so...)

Cashore, and I'm inclined to think all young adult writers of her quality, defy every preconceived expectation that my mind settled on when I think 'Young Adult Fiction.'  It's not light and fluffy, the sun isn't always shinning, nor is it filled with so much angst as to make me want to cut myself.  There is a story and characters.  Reality and drama.  Conflict, suffering, resolution and in the end clarity and understanding.  Isn't that what makes any work of fiction good? 

I didn't so much read this book as I lived it over the course of three days that it took me to finish.  I loved every word and while I'm pretty sure it's not the best book I've read this year it is without doubt my favorite.  Last time I felt this strongly; this good about a book that I wanted to force it in people's hands was after reading The Magicians.  I bought publisher's remainders at Barnes and Noble, and Books-A-Million by the numbers divisible by ten.  Literally.  Birthday gifts, holidays, 'Hey how ya doing presents,' I was pimping out Grossman's book like a... okay I won't finish that thought.  It didn't work.  I lack the ability to make someone read what gets me hot and bothered.  That said, I don't think my past failure will stop me from trying again with Graceling. 

Month in Review

This particular post is almost entirely born of my favorite book of the year.  Even I'm eagerly anticipating my own commentary of Graceling by Kristin Cashore.  If you've ever read any of my commentary before for a book that I really really liked you'll know I do a lot of complaining.  I'm not sure why this is, but I don't plan to buck the trend with Graceling, because it's awesome.

I'm too old to read this book, but I didn't know that until I was half way through and hopelessly committed to reading not just the rest of the book but probably anything else the author sets to paper.  I'm too old; too experienced; and far too jaded and cynical to identify with Graceling as the intended age of the book would.  Somehow these differences are only making the experience more enjoyable for me.  I have to finish this book soon or it will drive me crazier than I already am.

I actually did a fair amount of reading this month and discovered a new absolute joy in young adult fiction.  I think this discovery will help establish a balance from all the stuffy stuff I read and inject some hardcore fun into my reading.  YA fiction seems to be simpler, it doesn't take itself as seriously, it's all about the story (and really isn't that the point?) and I've yet to get a sense of the author trying to impress me with their craft.  In the stuffy adult literary fiction when all of the preceding is done with subtlety and style in conjunction with telling a story they are welcome and readily appreciated.  There is bad fiction in all genres but it seems to me that bad literary fiction is worse than the bad in any other genre and I'd rather spend time with mediocre YA books that at least yield story and shallow connection that slog through pages of self-indulgent, more often than not over-wrought, pretentious, blah that plagues so much of literary fiction.  Whew... I feel better having said that.   

Happily, I haven't read any mediocre YA books (yet). 

Aside from Clockwork Angel, Gracleing, and a handful of Lemony Snicket's offerings, I also read The Glass Room by Simon Mawer which I'll get around to posting comments for soon, (Yeah, I've said that before) and the decidedly not children's book--yet still awesome--My Cross to Bear by Greg Allman.  I can't endorse this past month's reading highly enough.     

I'm sure there is a lot more to talk about but honestly I'm so caught up in Graceling that I can't quite focus on anything else.  It is either definitively the greatest book ever written or something I'm ridiculously obsessed with at the moment.  I don't really care which. 

Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare

Now here's something to talk about.  So we've got these 'Shadowhunters;' The Nephilim; descendant of angels and their job is to keep tabs on 'Downworlders' who are not angelic or human but potentially dangerous enough to justify watchdogs: warlocks, faeries, vampires, and werewolves.  Both of these groups are rather indifferent when it comes to 'mundanes'--regular ass people--and there isn't a lot of party integration.

Tessa has come to London at the behest of her prodigal spendthrift, generally worthless, older brother.  She is abducted and forcibly inducted into much of the secret happenings beyond the world of the mundanes that she used to identify with.  Her life and her family is all not what she thought it to be, and her future is about to get very messy.

The plot progresses without a lot of the background material that I expected: this is a good thing.  The action is immediate if not a bit shallow; it's also a whole lot of fun and soap opera-ish.  Instead of a hospital the setting is "The Institute" a shelter for orphaned Shadowhunters (really you have to contain the eye-rolling, it's awesome I promise).  There are no doctors rather the Shadowhunters themselves, and the 'patients' are the Downworlders who generally don't need treatment but a beat-down.

The conflict lies in Tessa catching up with her brother, who has fallen in with some really bad types, and her identity crisis as she learns she isn't human, or Nephilim, but something else closely resembling warlock status.  She generally complicates her life at every turn, never more so than when others are trying to help her.  Tessa drives the plot forward even if we do wonder at her startling naivety, poor decision making, and general unwillingness to making life easier for herself or those around her.  The story moves quickly and is very entertaining.

Other than Tessa, the rest of the characters make me scratch my head from time to time.  We meet all the inhabitants of the Institute, a surprisingly small number considering the Institute's size.  Charlotte and her husband Henry, both in their early twenties, run the place.  Will and Jem are the resident seventeen year-old badasses and Jessamine, the most well drawn and yet unfulfilled character seems to assume the role of a wallflower but really develops nicely.  The Nephilim are a world wide organization that put teenagers and newly appointed college grads in control of the London Institute.  I got over that as well, but my real problem was with all the male characters as not one of them seems to behave in the manner of one their age.

Will acts like a worldly individual of at least forty, the sexual nuance, drinking innuendo, talk of nightlife and witticism aren't in line with a seventeen year old; Jem and Henry to a lesser degree, have an equal feeling of perfectly well developed characters forced into an inappropriate age as to be tangible love interest for Tessa.  Also the lead bad guy was not only out of NO WHERE but I'm not sure I bought into him being in control considering the hierarchy of things, but much like the ending (which built up to tension and a battle and a lot of awesomeness, then inexplicably choose to go on and fizzle out with a pitiful soft wet 'splat') I have strong reason to believe all will be explained--and bettered--in the the follow up.

I really don't know how to talk about young adult fiction, but I'm working on it.  Do I mention themes and subtitles as if I were writing about John Fowles or just skip to the parts where demons were being chopped apart in spectacular fashion and why I wanted to punch Will in the face for being a jerk?  There was more mention of how pretty Will was and his hair and how his clothes fit than I was prepared for, but it's no worse than George RR Martin writing female characters that can't seem to stop thinking about how great their breast look.  (Clare's writing never gets as bad as the quoted passages by Martin.)

Lots of action?  Check.  Fantasy filled with names I can pronounce?  Check.  A story that held up?  Check?  A background that makes me want to keep reading as opposed to putting the book down a third of the way in?  Check.

What's not to like?