Fire by Kristin Cashore

Sit down.  Buckle up.  Brace yourself.  Full Disclosure: what you are about to read is decidedly chauvinist, sexist, racist (concerning monsters and humans) bigoted and--worst of all--occasionally whiny.  Gale force winds and hurricane strength destructive powers BEHOLD!  I bring the fucking rain; thunder storms and floods; no scattered showers here! 

Sit down. 

Buckle up.

Brace yourself.

I have no idea what this book is about.  I read all of it.  I even took notes, only I'm not sure anything actually happened with enough regularity to be collectively put together and called a plot.  The novel's title character lives in The Dells a continent east of the seven kingdoms setting seen in Graceling, Cashore's exceptional first novel, and--rather inexplicably--there are humans but no gracelings in The Dells.  Additionally there are monsters.  There is a monster counterpart to every part of animal life, even humans.  Monster birds of prey, fish, insects and Fire herself--the last known human monster--are marked by color.  Whereas a regular ass falcon may be brown a monstrous one would be bright yellow or mauve.  Fire is marked by her hair which is blood red; not regular ass red, ginger, auburn or orange, but straight up monstrous fire-engine red with an occasional streak of pink and some other unnatural coloration.

Other than color what makes monsters different is the allure they have to all other life.  They are beautiful to look at and an unwary mind would yearn to view a monstrous lion for its color and attraction completely ignorant to the fact that said lion is about to tear them a new asshole.  Monsters, to varying degrees of mental capacity, have the power of mind control over anyone weaker than them.  Human monsters are extremely dangerous.  This monster power was a bit of a let down for me as it so closely mirror powers that had already been developed in Graceling, furthermore, as the novel progresses we see that one doesn't even have to be a monster to possess this power; almost as if regular ass people can train for it.

The story consist of the three primary powers in The Dells and their attempts to gain complete control of the land.  There are lots of armies, horses with terrible names, (Big, Small, and Horse; and no I'm not making those up) and some nearly insufferable to read politicking for power and assassination attempts that would make the Corleone and Soprano families laugh themselves to death.  Military fiction and intrigue aren't particular strengths; that said they weren't dwelt on too much.  There is gonna be a throw down by these three powers but my saying that is about as tense as matters ever get.  Fire, with her ability to read peoples minds, is wanted for the war effort to influence the enemies choices and extract information that could prove valuable.  That's it for the story.

There is nothing wrong with novels that work with little to no material, the author elevates the level of difficulty in doing so, but it's certainly been done many times before.  (Earlier this year I read and loved John Fowles Daniel Martin, and I'm not sure it had any plot at all.)  If current events are stagnant then the characters need to be super interesting, in conflict with each other and make me care about them as the setting in Fire is as interesting as a railroad tie.  Setting being what it is the characters have a lot of weight to pull: they scored a -1.6 with a bellyflop from the platform diving board of fail.

Fire's casual sexmate--she would never have you believe him a boyfriend--is a whore; I don't say this as a bad thing, Cashore doesn't belittle him in his lifestyle choices either.  His name is Archer.  For the sake of nomenclature alone I was very pleased he didn't own a horse...  Fire doesn't mind that Archer gets around and apparently can knock up anyone with one shot.  She is a ho too but isn't worried about pregnancy because as we saw in Graceling there is a morning after milkshake in this world to take care of that.  Later we see there is also a 'Oh shit I'm into my first trimester pill' as well as the ultimate SHABOOM the 'take-once-by-mouth-in-the-course-of-your-life-infertility-drug.'  Pretty hardcore for secondary world medieval-ish fantasy.  Considering all the contraceptives it's a bit funny the frequency that people get pregnant and are genuinely surprised.  In short there are no consequences of any sort for having sex; at any age (Fire is sixteen or seventeen or somewhere around there); with anyone.  If you've read both Fire and Graceling we can begin to piece together some of what are probably views of the author concerning marriage, relationships, and pregnancy.  All of which make me scratch my head and hope my supposition is wrong. 

While the landscape is potentially set for epic sexual exploits there is no romantic intrigue either: it's easy to tell who will hook up with who and that if Archer stares at a woman too long she'll sneeze and on the next page there will be twins. 

Fire's primary personality trait--her defining characteristic--is her period.  Monsters hold an allure over all other life and predatory monsters love nothing more than monster flesh and like a shark detecting blood in the water Fire's period has mountain lions jumping off cliffs to get a piece of her ass.  Raptors dive bomb her routinely and nearly fall out of the sky to risk a piece of her goodies.  Her period, excuse me, the author never says, period, cycle, or "Aunt Flo in town for a visit" Fire's 'bleeding,' for this is the only way it is ever referenced, somewhat heightens her powers of attraction and allure, which--at least to me--was all kinds a creepy.  Added to which, Fire is cursed with the most frequent and epochally awful 'bleeding' that any woman ever has ever been subjected to since the history of ever.  Considering the poor girl is 'bleeding' on damn near every page we have to assume that her period takes up a week out of every month (possible), or that she bleeds once a week for at least three days (this is Cashore's world not mine).  Whatever the case may be I was having headaches, anticipating anxiety, and stomach cramps watching the character--who by the way, I never did care for--near hemorrhage to death every page.

The real problem with Fire's monster powers isn't them being heightened by her incessant bleeding (I've resisted using so many awful, classless metaphors in this sentence that I'm proud of myself) rather it's the fact that her presence can incite a riot and move one to rape her at any time.  Fire can be out taking a walk and if her hair is uncovered--this is apparently the only way one knows she's a monster--people will approach her with strong feelings.  Some just want to touch her in some undefined state of awe, others want to do her harm, for reasons I was never made to understand, others still were moved toward the most heinous acts of sexual assault.  To be blunt, some wanted to say, 'You're beautiful' and nothing more.  Some wanted to stab her in the neck with a cookie.  Some wanted to rape her in broad day light even if their mother was in the room.  Fire is supposed to have to carry the burden of being able to induce the full range of all human emotions with her at all times, but it was more communicated as 'All men are asshats.'  Not to say that's not true but damn...

"Why did hatred so often make men think of rape?  And there was the flaw in her monster power.  As often as the power of her beauty made one man easy to control, it made another man uncontrollable and mad.

A monster drew out all that was vile, especially a female monster, because of the desire, and the endless perverted channels for the expression of malice.  With all weak men, the sight of her was a drug to their minds.  What man could use hate or love well when he was drugged?'  Page 145

What the hell does any of that mean?  If you replace 'monster' with 'super hot chick' does it read the same?  If so can we get a stronger premise for this book?  Sorry for the repetition but again, What does the above mean?   

The status of women being elevated over men was anything but subtle.  We learn about Fire's father, also a monster.  He had depth.  He had expression.  In short he was interesting and in possession of conflict.  But we quickly see that all life--human or monster--is harder for a women because Fire is a woman and her life is hard, and she is the last of her kind, and she's supermodel hot, and has these colossal bleeding sessions and there was so much hollow, vapid testosterone suppression that I wanted to inject the book with HGH, TRT packets, and whatever Lance Armstrong has been doping with.  Strong male influence is the worst idea ever in this book.  Don't get me started on Fire's guard that helps keep the rapist, would-be lovers, and raptors away.  Women, and girls (some as old as fifteen) hold every position that men do.  In politics, professions, military... testosterone doesn't exist in this world.  A military fantasy world.... (it sure as hell did exist in Graceling)  So we've got girls who want to fight, and protect and die for their country and they're fifteen and been trained to handle a weapon.  The enemy has thirty-five year old men who are known as 'Grown-ass Adults' and have received equal or possibly even less training but it's gonna be a totally fair fist fight because Andre the Giant is a wuss and Miley Cyrus could totally take him.  I know I'm complaining as if someone forced me to read this book but is it too much to ask for a little realism in my escapist fantasy?  The only difference in soldiers is that women can get pregnant--if they are ignorant to the fact there are two million and eighteen of ways out of having a child in this world--and that makes them more sympathetic or something.

While there are plenty of other characters in the book none of them come to center stage.  Not Archer, not Brigan, Fire's other man (told you she was a ho) not Nash, Brigan's brother who is hardcore wanting to hit that monster-ho, not even the memory of Fire's father.  Leck--Mad King Leck from Graceling is in this book--can't get fifteen minutes of shine.  LECK!  The most obscenely awesome bad guy I've ever come across and he never gets a moment.  He feels tacked on and forced; as if the editors said, 'Work Leck into this so we can say the book is related to Graceling in our advertising.'  A quick few pages in the beginning and a blah mention in the end: done.  I'm actually glad Leck was relegated to 'nobody' statues.  I think it's awesome the author didn't want to tell the same story twice.  I'm even more excited to read Bitterblue knowing that the title implies it won't be about a graceling, or a monster, rather just a regular ass person, but no matter the nature of your character they have to have some strong sense of conflict.  Katsa wasn't awesome because she was graced and could whup ass; she was interesting because she had problems, flaws and real conflicts people could identify with; not to mention Po to play off of.  Daniel Martin was a douchebag for more pages than I can remember.  That's why I had to know what happened next!  Fire is... she's... she's about as insubstantial as air stapled to dirt and only twice as interesting; which is to say she don't have much going for her.  She doesn't only need someone else to play off of (ah... let's see... Leck would have been too perfect of a choice...) she needs more to her person to capture and hold reader interest.
 
So we've got this super hot monster who can read minds and influence people's decision and a three way war brewing that seems to be about as intense as that middle school hand-slapping game and the only thing Fire can bring herself to do with her powers is ease the mental suffering, and to some degree the physical suffering, of wounded soldiers.  This is all very useful and noble but in storytelling terms kinda felt like a missed opportunity.  Her version of easing the dyeing's suffering is a lot more boring than Jack Kevorkian's story.

A bunch of people have sex, there's a playground scuffle masquerading as a war, and by the book's end a lot of people are dead and everyone else is crying.  Only it's very difficult to get wrapped up in any of these matters as there was never an infrastructure in place to support my getting attached to story events let alone attachment strong enough to merit anything but tears of frustration.  I was so hopelessly lost in the middle of this book in trying to figure out what was going on and why I was supposed to care that I started hoping that Beetlejuice would pop out of nowhere, start cracking bad jokes, and curb-stomping people into dust because at that specific moment Beetlejuice's wrath was the only thing that would have made sense to me.
 
If I had to guess Graceling, felt like it were written by the author and for the author and it was awesome then she shared it with a bunch of people who told her she was awesome and in writing Fire that awareness of how awesome she is changed the nature of her writing.  While I only wish I could be that fortunate in this case the different state of mind did nothing to enhance Fire.  Fire was a hot mess: a wet, bleeding morass; an uncomfortable quagmire of what's going on here and why is it happening to me.  In reading the book I felt a conscious effort on the author's part perhaps not to impress but to come across as more sophisticated or somehow more polished since her first novel.  The best example of inflicting pain while trying to impress came early in the novel and set the tone for everything to come after.  "She stretched onto her toes to kiss his cheek, but he intercepted her and began to kiss her mouth, gently.  She let him, for just a moment.  Then she extricated herself and left the room."  Page 60  I winced at 'intercepted' and closed the book at 'extricated.'  Pull away; break away; stop kissing the guy.  Anything, but please don't extricate yourself from a kiss.

Cashore is a bit of hottie and I can admit after reading Graceling and liking it as much as I did that I'm more than a bit in love with her.  Don't let the proceeding alter how you perceive my feelings for Graceling: it's just that good.  With my biases feelings in mind apply ardent weight to my thoughts on Fire: Pass on this one.  Sorry for being so long winded but I couldn't just say I was angry when reading this book because 'horse' was used as a name for a horse and the word extricate almost brought about a seizure.  As far as my therapy goes, I feel better in getting all this out of my system.  Wait for it...

'Horse.'

'Extricate.'

All better. 

Kindling the Fire

Don't worry; I haven't given up books for an e-reader.  I really wanted to post a book commentary this weekend, but I needed to better organize my thoughts before doing so.    Graceling by Kristin Cashore is phenomenal.  Fire, by the same author and set in the same world, is awful.

The overwhelming amount of what I initially wrote concerning this book was bad and it's not that I have an aversion to posting something negative only I feel such comments need to be put into perspective and supported to be valid in any way.  So since I'm not trying to pass this informal post off as commentary I can be as horrible as the book, right?  

Hmmm… Where to start?

Fire is about a woman's period.  Or more specifically a woman's bleeding.  (The author would have us believe that to say 'period' or a host of other phrases would somehow allow the reader to forget the whole 'bleeding' part.  Fire, the character bleeds a lot.  It's not a subtle bit of imagery.)    

I could stop here.  No, seriously; there really isn't much more to the story.  

Fire is also about how women are different from men, because they have a period and their period makes them different and this fundamental difference between men and women is women having a period.  Or 'bleeding' as Cashore is fond of saying.  'Bleeding'  That wasn't redundant was it?  If so, imagine the hell I was in reading 460 plus pages… 

Not only do women have periods and bleed which is awful because you see periods and bleeding are unique to women but this period of bleeding time makes their life more difficult and overall more difficult than a mans: much harder and unaccommodating.  In reading Fire we see that women's lives are far more strenuous and limited than men's because they have a period and bleed or so the redundancy department of departmental redundancy has redundantly informed me.  However, women can overcome this difficulty and not have their lives' governed by their period and bleeding and even though their lives are significantly harder than a man's their rewards can be greater than a man's, perhaps due to their biological bleeding plight.  

The novel kinda made me feel like there was some mysterious silver lining to my being a hardcore dyslectic.  Needless to say; FAIL! 

I wish I could say all that was snark and sarcasm but really, it's not.  I knew at the outset of trying to pre-vent all of my forthcoming commentary venom that I would do so uselessly.  I won't have nice things to say about this book no matter how much I try to be professional (which I'm not) or decent (of which I show occasional sparks) toward the novel.  

I'm not sure if Fire is the worst thing I've read this year--I'm still debating who to select for the meager end of the year dubious honor--but if I could go back an unread any one book I've read, not only this year but in my life, it would be this one.  

I almost put this book down; as in every-other-god-damned-page, I almost put this book down.  I did pick up an excellent short story collection to help get me through.  (Every ten pages read meant I could read a new short story i.e. something good.  More to come on that collection later.)  Taking notes on Fire was easy, so much material to work with, getting through it was a Pyrrhic victory to say the least.  Why did I finish the book?  Why did I read it?  

Because...  Because I'm an idiot and I loved her first book so much.    

Kristin Cashore is amazing.  Read Graceling.  Now.  Go!  

Avoid having your eyes bleed until they explode by reading Fire I mean Fire.  More to follow soon.  

Once Was Lost by Sara Zarr

     Now I look around at our monocultural faces which are sort of smiling, but not nearly as happily as the poster faces.  Mine least of all.  It's not that I wouldn't like to share.  It's not like I want to feel like this, live forever in this mood of resistance and suspicion and doubt.  But I've been feeling this way too long to remember how not to.  How would they react if I really did share, the way we're supposed to, and said: My mom is in "court-suggested" rehab and my dad has no clue how to deal with it or even talk about it, and I think I might be depressed?  What if I said that?  Page 20

Sam has lost every facet of permanence in her life.  The resulting instability manifest itself as the thinnest veneer of affected calm and composure; it's fragile and seemingly waiting to fall apart under the strain of life itself.  Sam's mother allowed alcohol to take her out of Sam's life and she doesn't understand how this happened.  Her father is handling the strain even worse than she and she feels the two of them--the only family she has left--growing further apart and that distance is threatening to destroy her.  As if to undermine all the little things she has always taken for granted, Sam and her dad are borderline insolvent due to legal expenses, rehab, and the general cost of living.  Finally, of all the things that are falling apart it's Sam's faith that perhaps leaves her reeling the most.

Once Was Lost deals with faith in a very broad general sense.  It's not a religious book and there is no preaching of Christian virtue but the concept of belief  is integral to the narrative.  I feel a bit odd pointing this out as if there is something wrong with super religious Christian faith books (which this isn't), but I also know that such books are a turn off for me and I would hate for anyone to miss out on Once Was Lost out of fear of reading a sermon.     

"Now I don't know.  This is different than doubt.  This is something I've never felt before, a total absence of whatever it is that's made me who I am, on the inside, all my life." 

The color of Sam's voice is both melancholy and very sad.  More than this it is extremely expressive which balances nicely with all she can't manage to say or express with other people. 

Sam's father is the pastor of a church in a very small California town.  Her mother, who is absent from the book but for the briefest glimpses, perhaps embodies all the difficulties and problems that Sam is going through.  Sam is treated different as the pastor's kid, excluded from many activities of her peers, and her life is generally assumed to be perfect.  Sam has real difficulties in talking to anyone about how she feels and this is complicated by fact that her father has never once made mention of his wife's absence in their life: not at church, not home.  As bad as events begin they proceed to get catastrophically worse.

A young girl disappears and her loss throws the community into absolute terror and disarray.  In the midst of the panic Sam makes what is perhaps her first real friend; Nick the missing girl's older brother.  The experts on TV and the local police all insist that when a child goes missing it is usually someone local behind the disappearance; someone in the community.  Nick is the prime suspect even as he professes nothing but love and grief about the loss of his sister.  To Sam's absolute amazement, Nick is able to talk about what it's like being taken to the police station and interrogated, talked about endlessly on the news and internet, how his parents treat him differently and no one looks at him the same way they used to, and he does so in a way that comforts Sam as she juxtaposes his expressions for all she is going through.  Their tragedies overlap and they find a depraved sort of comfort in being miserable together.

"That makes him smile.  I can make Nick Shaw smile, even so soon after him having to look at the building-size face of his missing sister.  It's the happiest I've felt in a long time."

The depiction of the relationship between Sam and her father was beautifully done.  She desperately wants her dad to be active in her life and more than anything to talk to her about all the meaningful things they need to address: her mother's alcoholism and the factors that lead to it and her treatment and eventual reincorporation into their lives, the fact that they are broke and Sam won't be returning to the private school she previously attended, and that neither one of them are doing a good job taking care of themselves let alone as a family.  Her dad is riding the knife's edge in potentially neglecting his daughter, but his church responsibilities particularly in light of girl's disappearance and, organizing vigils, searches, and spending time with the family, overwhelm him.  He has the right words for everyone else and is perfect for the world but has no clue how to address his daughter.  What Sam can't see is her father isn't being actively negligent rather he is a horribly pitiful combination of innately spineless and--considering the extraordinary circumstances--justifiably scared out of his mind at the realities life is presenting him.  By the time he starts being overbearing and overprotective she's actually grateful for the attention.

What Sam can see is the possibility of her father, 'the perfect Pastor Charlie,' getting comfortable with another woman while is wife is away at rehab.  Zarr is absolutely brutal when it comes to ratcheting up of the tension. 

The narrative voice of Once Was Lost heavily reminded me of Lydia from Miriam Gershow's The Local News.  It is only by way of being mired in Sam's first-person, teen-aged, depression that this novel doesn't literally fly by.  It is a small, but super dense book that for me proved impossible to walk away from.  Don't start this one late at night as the temptation to finish may prove stronger than your common sense telling you to go to bed.  So many things happen at the end and considering all that has been going on readers have to expect some very messy resolutions.  Whether or not Sam finds faith in anything is moot, but she does find some measure of peace.  Despite the plot and intimacy there is a 'hands-off!' distance from events.  I think this is the only way readers can get through without falling apart every ten pages and having multiple breakdowns.  That said, while there is an objective lack of overt sentiment (remember we see everything through Sam's detached depression) don't be surprised upon reading this should you fall apart multiple times and have a few breakdowns...

The crux of all Sam's anxiety is her mother.  In light of the girl's disappearance Sam comes to understand all that is expected of her father and even sees a few of the reasons that drove her mother to drink.  She feels if her mother comes home that she'll also regain her father and the collective family that has been missing and then everything else in life will miraculously fall into place.  She also deals with guilt of not wanting her mother back because Sam has seen first hand an alcoholic at it's worst. 

     "I don't miss coming home from school not sure about whether I'd find the functional or nonfunctional version of her.
     I don't miss making up excuses when people from church would call to make sure Mom was okay after skipping a meeting of the building committee or failing to show up for a scheduled lunch.
     I don't miss the way Dad and I always pretended, even with each other and no one else looking, that everything was fine.
     But I miss, her."

It's a community with no secrets, everyone knows everything: about Sam's mother's drinking, about Nick being a suspect--but no one is willing to talk about anything; this yields a profound feeling that the community's neglect, lack of faith in each other, and inability to support one another makes the pain of a few individuals so visceral.  From start to finish this novel was as gorgeous as it was sad.  Nonetheless, considering the book as a whole I can't help but recall a specific Dr Seuss quote: "Don't cry because it's over.  Smile because it happened." 

I know I'm gushing.  And I know I'm not prone to gush, but Once Was Lost is a rare accomplishment and merits my enthusiasm and your reading time. 

Paper Towns by John Green

And all at once I knew how Margo Roth Speigelman felt when she wasn't being Margo Roth Spiegelman: she felt empty.  She felt the unscalable wall surrounding her.  I thought of her asleep on the carpet with only that jagged sliver of sky above her.  Maybe Margo felt comfortable there because Margo the person lived like that all the time: in an abandoned room with blocked-out windows, the only light pouring in through holes in the roof.  Yes.  The fundamental mistake I had always made--and that she had, in fairness, always led me to make--was this: Margo was not a miracle.  She was not an adventure.  She was not a fine and precious thing.  She was a girl.  Page 199

Quentin and Margo have grown up together as best friends since they were two.  Their lives are marked by finding a suicide victim in a park as children.  As they grow older Margo becomes something more than just the most popular girl in school; a transcendental figure who embodies so much that everyone wants to be but so few even attempt aspire to.  They live next door to each other and keep up but aren't exactly close friends by the time high school graduation comes around.  Margo's disappearance--which isn't exactly something new--highlights and questions much of what Quentin thought he liked, and makes him reexamine his friendships and himself.  

Upon learning that her boyfriend is cheating on her and that her best friend has been keeping the secret for a while, Margo--out of the blue--takes Quentin out for a night of vengeance on her enemies (which includes a dangerous eyebrow removal from a school bully, breaking into Sea World, and depositing dead fish in the most choice places to rot).  The two spend more time together that night and talk more than they had previously for years.  Then, Margo leaves.  Just falls off the planet.  

To the chagrin of her parents, who are over it and her, Margo has done this before and it's up to Quentin and his friends to follow her clues and find her.  Quentin is the only one who genuinely wants to find her because he has this idea of who she is in his mind and who he wants her to be and is hopelessly in love.  Reconciling his ideal and the reality of the person is difficult for him, but not anyone else involved in the search.

As the days pass and there is still no sign of her, it's assumed Margo is dead and while everyone is saddened by the prospect to all but Quentin, Margo's death is more like waking up from a really good dream, because the myth that Margo had created for herself was a bit too big to properly fit into anyone's life.  

Quentin is a tone-deaf Duke bound band nerd who wishes he was cool enough and had some musical inclination to actually be in band.  He is the ideal narrator for the story as both his parents are therapist which means that he is 'really goddamned well adjusted.'  Radar is the only person nerdier than Quentin and lives in shame of the fact that his parents own the world's largest collection of black Santas.  Ben, Q's other best friend, is The Consummate band nerd, keg stand champion, un-dateable prom king who is terrified of dying a virgin.  If Margo is to be found it falls to these three to do the deed.  

Green made an ass out of me multiple times as I loudly laughed out loud more than once on the train.  Humor is certainly the most prevalent facet of his writing but almost secretly spread through three-hundred pages is an equal amount poignancy concerning all that Margo would deem 'paper': the two-dimensional paper boys and paper girls she knows and the life she's led with no real substance other than do what you're told and follow this mold to success.  It's a subtle theme but it's there.  At first I interpreted her ideas as 'spoiled-ass, rich, self-entitled suburban white kid complaining about lack of depth in her life as only a spoiled-ass, rich, self-entitled suburban white kid can.'  I wasn't exactly wrong but--while the book never directly makes mention of the fact, we come to see that Margo isn't okay.  She has some serious issues and serious problems that need to be dealt with and probably isn't a good idea (or person) for Quentin or anyone else to be in love with in her present condition, should she still be alive.

She's not just self-destructive and unstable (and boy oh boy was it refreshing to see those traits displayed in a teenager in a book without the kid going through the regular sex, drugs, and alcohol thing) but also wholly undesirable.  As I read, I kept wondering, why are we following or even interested in this girl?  Surely the author wouldn't reward such a character as Margo while making Q go through so much.  As I got to the end, I didn't so much feel a sense of vindication rather an expansion on my part concerning some of the ideas Green was trying to convey: that she didn't have to fit in, be fake or 'paper.'  I wouldn't go so far as to say the book was bitter sweet but there certainly is no happily ever after.  

I'm amazed I've written what I've written thus far, because all I thought I'd write about was how this is the single funniest book I've ever read.  It's organic humor: not a slapstick routine or situational comedy.  While the dialogue is top-notch (and I'm not usually one for chatty books, but it doesn't come across that way) it's in setting that Green prepares most of the humor.

I was trying to think of another one when we all three simultaneously saw the human-shaped container of anabolic steroids known as Chuck Parson walking toward us with some intent.  Chuck Parson did not participate in organized sports, because to do so would distract from the larger goal of his life: to one day be convicted homicide.  "Hey, faggots," he called. Page 17

It struck me as somewhat unfair that an asshole like Jason Worthington would get to have sex with both Margo and Becca when perfectly liable individuals such as myself don't get to have sex with either of them--or anyone else, for that matter.  That said, I like to think that I am the type of person who wouldn't hook up with Becca Arrington.  She may be hot, but she is also 1. Aggressively vapid, and 2. An absolute, unadulterated, raging bitch.  Those of us who frequent the band room have long suspected that Becca maintains her lovely figure by eating nothing but the souls of kittens and the dreams of impoverished children.  "Becca does sort of suck," I said, trying to draw Margo back into conversation.  Page 38

In truth the book isn't as 'chatty' as I alluded too before.  The dialogue is frequent but it's as organic as the humor and never comes across as that all too carefully crafted witty chatter that many contemporary writers incorporate that always strikes me too good to be real.  It's all that the characters don't say that make their actual words hilarious.  Except for Ben: everything, said or not, involving Ben is painfully funny.    

It's on a road trip to find Margo (so much of this book takes place in a mini-van, I'm amazed at Green's creativity considering his choice of primary setting) that we discover Paper Towns isn't about Margo.  It's a long drive from Orlando to Agloe, New York and Radar's games to pass the time--meta physical eye spy, and the awesome 'That guy is a Gigolo'--reveal that it is not the particular object of the game that the players become educated about or endowed to as they ask questions and try to learn what is in someone else's mind, rather it is the players that learn so much about themselves through their speculation and guessing.  Quentin has no idea why Dartmouth bound Radar would forgo his high school graduation ceremony and almost assuredly having sex that night to drive cross country in search of one who Quentin deems to be one of the planet's most shallow people.  Despite his best efforts to discern the answer, Quentin also doesn't know why Ben is his friend at all (I loved that guy!)  All he knows is that these are his friends who would support and sacrifice for him, which makes him question the terms of his relationship with Margo and her self centered attention getting.  

There is an air of unbelievability about the book.  This feeling is stomped out by Margo in her night of vengeance: after that one night which happens in the very beginning, everything seemed possible.  Read it because it's funny; because of Radar and Ben; because I didn't even find space to tell you about Quentin being yelled at for 'not being proactive in the battle against the cow.'  The book is too compressed in terms of time to be 'coming of age.'  It is marked 'young adult' which only further confuses me as to what that term means.  Read it because it's fun and it will fly by and if you find other reasons to like as well, which you will, then so be it.  

It's not everyday I finish a book with such a strong sense of satisfaction and completion that I'm hesitant to pick up another.     

Month in Review

I meant to do this post yesterday, but I got distracted.  Work, pretty girl, happy hour... Where does the time go?

So anyway, I've gotten my library card without further hassle and due to the pressure of 'due dates' I think my most recent haul will dictate a good deal of my reading for November.  Expect a lot of young adult reviews.  I plan on finishing Paper Towns by John Green tonight and I'll hope to have my thoughts up tomorrow.  (It's awesome.)  Since I'm a nerd and have nothing better to do on a Friday night I also plan to start Once was Lost by Sara Zarr.  The rest of my picks were Fire by Kristin Cashore, Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys, and Hate List by Jennifer Brown.  I'm still liking the young adult thing but I'm gonna have to work harder at finding male authors of contemporary works in the genre.  It seems like all the male young adult writers I come across are doing fantasy and that is becoming less and less my thing.  Not that it matters as I'm certain everything mentioned above is fabulous.

In addition to a host of Lemony Snicket's books I feel like a read a lot this month, only I'm not sure of all I think I've read but I feel certain it was more than the four books I can actually recall.  Oh well; guess I'm getting old...

In addition to old, I'm also tired: something akin to biblically weary; as in, I feel like Methuselah owes me money.  Looking forward to stretching my old ass out on the couch and reading with only my imagination and a bottle of wine to keep me company.  If nothing else, after a meager two days I can say that thus far November rocks.    

Warbreaker by Brandon Sanderson

My past reading experience with Brandon Sanderson has taught me that his strongest writing ability is in making the idea of magic feasible.  Such a feat take time (perhaps this explains the author's always staggering page count) and he never does so upfront--that is how he keeps you reading--but at some point in Sanderson's tale readers understand the concept of magic as the author has created it and it makes sense to us even though we know such things aren't possible in our boring mundane world.  It is in part that by convincing us that magic seems tangible that readers get caught up in plot events.

In Elantris, his first novel, I was convinced that if I were in that world, and blessed with the gift, and studied hard enough I'd be a badass: scholarly aptitude yields badass magical ability.  Simple.  In the Mistborn trilogy ones body processes certain substances in a way that produces a certain affect: ingest this metal do this with it...  By the time events concerning magic grew complex in both of these stories I was so well versed in the theory (theory of concepts that aren't possible I should point out) that everything seemed logical.  That, is a strong ability as a writer.  In Warbreaker, everyone has a 'Breath' and ones Breath in combination with colors yields something that would pass in our world as magic.

This particular magic system was very very weak; not merely compared to other systems Sanderson has devised but it didn't stand alone very well; hence my difficulty in trying to explain how it worked and further explaining my difficulty in connecting with the heart of the story.

Siri, and her sister, Vivenna come from the monochrome kingdom of Idris where they, ironically, worship the Austre: the god of colors (I never made sense of this).  Vivenna has been groomed all her life to be wife to the Hallandren God King in his lands where ostentation and color abound in terrifying quantity and the people live in decadence, and the glow of a host of living deities.  Despite the impending wedding, war looms between the two nations and it Siri who is sent to marry Hallandren's all-powerful in a political move to buy time.

Sanderson's characters feel solid and tangible if not a little bit stereotypical.  Siri is the younger rebellious sister, Vivenna is the prim and proper one.  Lightsong, a Hallandren God is flippant and carefree and there are a host of devout priest who can't explain their faith but have firm beliefs.

My primary problem with the book isn't the characters or the magic system--which all things considered felt unnecessary to tell the tale Sanderson told, not exactly forced but certainly not needed--is the sense of central conflict.  It's odd as there is tension on every-page, a la John Grisham.  I never once felt like putting the book down yet at the same time I never got a clear impression of what events were building towards.  The resulting feeling was one of reading without direction: this insures surprises and interest but there is no real payoff as the climax happened but I didn't really know it for what it was. Furthermore, while the characters are enjoyable, it's was difficult to grow attached to their dilemmas as I couldn't see how the fragments would affect the whole of the story.  Much of my angst is with the book's political intrigue: Sanderson focuses so much on obscuring the man behind the scenes and the true bad guy that when he arrives both the characters and their motives feel premature. 

War is threatening from the first page and yet the stakes never felt very high.  Surely, that should never happen in a novel.  Warbreaker deals with a lot of character and Sanderson seems to try to give them all equal screen time.  I felt this was a mistake.  Unlike most fantasy I read I wouldn't use my blanket comment of, 'the book needs to be two-hundred pages shorter.'  Nothing is inflated in Warbreaker, but much of what is given sure doesn't seem necessary.  Lightsong developing an interest in being a god and politics could have been conceived much faster.  Vivenna's character turns out to be wholly 'unimportant', never offensive but I certainly wondered why we were made to bother with her at all.  Finally with a primary character called 'God King' and with so much centered around him; man was that guy ever irrelevant.  Without certain story elements I felt greater focus on the events that mattered could have been given.  Some of the tension and central conflict could have been instilled.  Six-hundred pages is a lot of writing just to coast along.

This is easily the book I'm most ambivalent about this year.  It's OK.  Not horrible; not phenomenal; but easily could have been much stronger.  Okay I'll say it, 'The book could have been two-hundred pages shorter' and under an expert editorial eye we may have been left with something special.  Content editing aside, there were a lot of typos here, and I'm not allergic to typos but there were enough to merit me making mention of them.  Also there were some really awkward sentences that may not be real sentences: "Of one thing remained firm."  Some improperly used question marks and an extraordinary overuse of italics rounds out to what I have to admit were minor annoyances.  I liked reading it, only I wanted more of what I liked.  Alas... Should you feel inclined to read Warbreaker, like me, you may enjoy what's given, but it's hard to not wonder about 'what could have been.'      

In lieu of a real post

I give you an awesome entry by someone else!  The link is awesome not so much due to the writer rather the people being interviewed: Michael Chabon and Junot Diaz; two of the best.  Oh and if you're sensitive to the f--- word you may want to get over it.  Fast.