Clockwork Princess by Cassandra Clare

For my thoughts on the first and second books in The Infernal Devices follow the links.


Something a bit different. Instead of my standard commentary I'd like to share an experience I had that relates to the book.
***
It's about 11:30 on a Saturday morning and I'm headed to work. I'm reading on the train as I usually do. At Medial Center station I close the book and laugh to myself about something that has just occurred. There is a family of five that get on the train and they are all sitting rather close to me.

A girl, who I took to be the middle, perhaps eldest child in the family, notices the book in my lap and walks over to sit next to me. Cute kid; this is my general feeling to all people near twenty years my junior. (Younger than that and my feelings turn to 'Cute Baby.') Pretty Caucasian girl voluntarily decides to relocate and sit right next to me on the train. This is the first in a series of very peculiar events that have the potential to alter my life.

"How do you like that?" she said inclining her head toward the book in my hands. "I just finished Clockwork Prince."

I look at her; as objectively as I can. I look; at her. Nothing is different upon further inspection than the glance I gave her and her family upon stepping onto the train: cute kid.

"Did you like Clockwork Prince?"

She shrugs her shoulders in a non-committal yet non-defiant sort of way. "Eh, if you can put up with Cassandra Clare in general it was kinda awesome."

I'm the only person I know who speaks like she has spoken and while I've had many conversations with myself (you'd be amazed at what I've accomplished in these talks) I've never before responded in the voice of a fourteen year old girl. It was rather odd to say the least.

"You mean her pretentious, faux 19th century, affected, English or her seemingly physical impossibility to render even one believable male character?"

"Yeah, that, but I really meant how she writes for a teenage audience and can't come up with a teenage character that I buy into: contemporary or historical. And the overwrought romantic stuff kinda makes me throw up in my mouth a bit."

"Have you punched Will in the face yet?"

"Couple times, but I forgave him when I found out about the curse. She's way better at creating tension then resolving it."

"Don't get me started on that," I said. "I know for fact I just read “The End” of this," I said referencing Clockwork Princess, "and yet it keeps ending. She won't shut up. There's still like another hundred and fifty pages of ending. I don't know why it won't stop but it won't." I'm quiet and look at her again. We've spent five minutes hating on the finer points of Cassandra Clare. She managed to use ‘overwrought’ organically in sentence; you get major style points for that.

Now, I really look at her. I'm a little more than half-way in love.

She's wearing a Braves hat that I don't own any iteration of (which is really, really rare). It's navy and white and at the time I'm guessing it to be a Negro league replica for the Atlanta Black Crackers. The hat alone endears me to her more than anything that has happened or is yet to come.  This is not a hat for the casual Braves, or even baseball, fan.  She's got a Braves tee-shirt on and an off-white Tim Hudson jersey over the top of that. I glance over towards her family. They are all equally decked-out in Braves regalia.

"Y'all going to the game?" From Twain, to Faulkner, to every writer of the present: I hate to see southern American accents phonetically dictated on paper, or the screen if you will. Not only is it an eyesore, but it ain't ever quite right. I don't 'turn it on' as it were, but upon first meeting someone (even should that person be a fourteen year old girl who I have no designs of impressing for any reason whatsoever) I do unconsciously hold it in check.

This child has gotten to the heart of me faster than anyone I've met in years. It's in part the bizarreness of circumstances: Cassandra Clare, my commute to work, and the Braves. I’m always comfortable in my own skin but this is plain old weird.

"Yeah. My Dad dugout seats for my birthday. I've never seen Hudson pitch in person before." I’m learning so much and so fast that I start to feel dizzy.

I didn’t know fourteen year old girls asked for dugout seats to a Braves game for their birthday. I didn’t know that their favorite ‘celebrity’ could be a pitcher from Alabama. I’m still not sure if Cassandra Clare balances these other peculiarities out or only exacerbates the oddity of the moment.

I tell myself I'm not in the Twilight Zone. Saying the words are easy; believing them is anther matter entirely. As if to further impede my understanding of the moment and reinforce the truth that reality is bending all around me we then talk about the Braves sad history of acquiring horrible unrestricted free agents at super high prices. She drops names like Kenshin Kawakami, and Mike Hampton (was she alive then?). I counter with Dan Uggla and Garrett Anderson.

"Oh, don't get me started on Uggla. I can't believe he's paid so much to be that awful." She is visibly agitated upon saying this as opposed to the composure displayed when talking about Clare.

"Well, if it makes you feel better he's not the most overpaid, under-performing dude on the team."

"Wait... You mean BJ Upton makes more?"

Although there’s no mess, my head has just exploded.  I can't qualify how this conversation is happening.

All this happened between Medical Center and North Avenue. My head hurts. I shouldn't be able to talk about Cassandra Clare with fourteen year old girls and yet I did and we talked far past the basics. I also didn't think I would ever talk baseball stats (the nerdiest of nerd things ever; D&D ain't got nothing on baseball) with a child that could not only keep up but impress.

I think I'm in love with this girl and I'm afraid of what that means because it’s inappropriate on so many levels and I have Clare and the Braves to either thank or blame. Happily, I get off at North Avenue and work will help divert my attention from my confusion. (You'll never find a stronger recommendation for Clare or Clockwork Princess than what you've just read.) I say “Happy birthday’ and 'goodbye' and walk over to her parents.

I stare her dad down for a moment trying to gauge as much of his personality as I can with a look. He is oblivious to me, his family, and anything else on the planet that isn’t on his iphone’s screen. "Sir," I said. He looks up to me rather expectantly. "I'd like to declare my intentions for marriage in regards to your daughter."

He laughed his ass off and I got off the train.

The one that got away...

Random Thoughts on The Hunger Games Trilogy

Let me start off by saying if you haven't read this series--and you should--you don't want to read the rest of this post.  I'm usually not one for spoilers but this isn't exactly one of my usual commentaries so; you've been warned.  

I read The Hunger Games last fall and really liked it.  I read Catching Fire and Mockingjay this past week: awesome and 'blah' respectively.  I also saw the movie last weekend and I think I only enjoyed it because of my familiariy with the book.  

Linda, a co-worker of mine, read all three books in the past ten days or so and we've been talking.  She would define herself as a grandmother first, followed by parent and wife.  We're best friends, I see her for forty hours a week and we have the same taste in everything (except that I've never had a girlfriend she's approved of, but that's a different story).  So Linda calls me last week as she's starting Mockingjay and I'm about half way through Catching Fire.  It was 10:30 at night which is an odd time for her to be up as I know she's an early riser.

"She's a damn Whorebeast and I hate her."  This isn't exactly an odd way for either of us to start a conversation but I was still a little bit confused.

"Who?"

"Katpiss!  I can see the multiple layers of Whore-dirt under her nails."

"Mmm, Whore-dirt."

That will be my defining memory of these books. 

The conflicted love interest aspect of the books never worked: Gale's prescence in the first two was so small that it wasn't believable that Katniss would ever consider him.  

Prim came out-of-nowhere in Mockingjay to be an assertive character.  It wasn't bad just odd, she developed a voice and backbone and personality a bit too easily, especially considering the circumstances.  The word "Mockingjay" was annoyingly overused.  Speaking of repetition…

In Catching Fire I couldn't believe there was another Game.  I kept thinking, "Surely we're not doing this again."  But we did.  And then a third time in Mockingjay.  

Oh, and Mockingjay could have been a hundred pages short and no worse for wear.  

Did anyone else feel like Godzilla was unleashed in Mockingjay when EVERYONE starting dying?  And boy oh boy was that ending rushed (perhaps the book wasn't too long, rather the right material didn't have enough time dedicated to it).

Where else can you get amazing commentary like this?  Surely you can tell how much I enjoyed reading these books.  (You have to love it to get this worked up.)  

It's easy to tear these books to shreds if a reader feels inclined to do so, but it's easier to get caught up in the characters lives and start guessing who will die next.  These are must read books and they only take five or six minutes each to read should you happen to be one of the six people who have yet to pick them up.    

Whips and Chains, Red Hot Pokers, and the Limit of my Fantasy Indulgence

Kushiel's Dart is not Cupid's arrow.  There is no winged, Renaissance, adolescent, cherub shooting a bow with the power of Nerf's foam.  Oh no,  Kushiel is Jacqueline Carey's god of pain and pleasure; he who can make is hurt so good, The God of Boning and he takes to his task like an over zealous nineteen year old at a keg party.  

This will be a very long post…  

I think plot is the most important part of a book; if the story has nothing going for it no matter what the themes or their development, I'm not gonna keep reading.  Kushiel's Dart has plot and a very strong one.  It is however familiar.  What I'm going to be talking about is what I saw as plot head scratchers that, if I'm to be honest, kept me reading.

I have to start by saying I thoroughly enjoyed Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey.  I'm not saying that because Maria gave it to me as a birthday gift.  (Thanks again.)  I liked it.  I do wish the book started on page three hundred and fifty-six, but still, I enjoyed it.  The story is about Phedre; her life growing up as a whore's unwanted child, her training as a high-end courtesan meant to pleasure royalty, and of getting caught up in a political game in which she and her ethnically ragtag group of friends get to save the kingdom.  (For those who need clarification on the latter, I stopped reading this book around page three hundred and fifty.  When I picked it back up, I struggled to remember who Joscelin was, when I remembered it came to me as 'Oh yeah, The White Ninja.'  That's how I prefer to remember him.  He's basically a standard white knight who can win a fight unless the odds are higher than eight on one or if there is a demigod involved.  Phedre's other friend is an Indian Gypsy.  Of which there seemed to be a lot of 'Indians' in an otherwise re-envisioned Europe.)

Phedre is 'cursed' by Kushiel, a secondary deity in a hierarchy that I never fully grasped, to experience pleasure in pain as well as humiliation, shame and nearly all things 'regular people' would find degrading.  Kushiel's Dart, a scarlet mote in her left eye, and how it compels her to act is the backbone of nearly all of her actions.  Her thoughts are sculpted by her owner.  Phedre is a pseudo-slave until she can save up enough to finish an elaborate tattoo that will earn her freedom, and at least to my mind, considering it's size would greatly mar her beauty.  She is trained to observe: look, listen, think and understand.  She is a hooker-spy to use far less beautiful words than Ms Carey.  

Hooker-spies are awesome.  Phedre's pimp owner--who bore the unofficial title of 'Whoremaster of Spies' I kid you not--was so lucky as to have two; though only Phedre was marked with Kushiel's Dart.  The other hooker spy ( I swear I'd use another term if I knew it) is a boy named Alcuin.  They are both trained as courtesans for damn near all their life up to that point in time.  When they get to the really good stuff, their owner Delaunay strictly forbids them to 'practice' what they have learned with each other.  Marinate on that for a moment….

I'm not going to do any ten-second, vaguely academic internet research, but lets just suppose that teenagers are having sex at a younger age than the past generation, and the generation past that.  Carey tells us that both Alcuin and Phedre are gorgeous and very well skilled at their art (they even had secondary education from an older, legendary now retired hooker) and I'm to believe they didn't do anything?  Really?  Because I didn't believe that, though I did come to see a very interesting possible explanation as to why.

I kept reading.

Phedre, due to Kushiel's Dart, was usually sold through a pre-arranged contract and being into the S&M scene she and Delaunay knew there were those who might get carried away.  There was a 'signale' written into the contract; a safe word that she could speak aloud and everything would stop.  No patron would risk carrying on past the signale as the financial and political recourse was seriously not worth the headache.  I equated the 'signale' to coitus interruptus, or withdrawal, pulling out.  Understand Carey is a very skilled writer and fully made me believe in what it meant to bear Kushiel's Dart: the bearer felt pain and pleasure when, whipped, slapped, embarrassed, or was neatly torn to ribbons by a straight razor, but the person inflicting the pain also felt equal amounts of pleasure.  Remember this is torture-porn; not just torture.  (Actually, it's not pornographic at all.)  I don't understand that concept, but Carey's writing is clear enough that I could go with the narrative.  The person inflicting the, I'll suffice it to say, 'bruises' is enjoying this.  The person holding the whip or 'bruise inflicting instrument' as it were, is quite literary getting off on whatever action is taking place; so again I bring up withdrawal.  I won't regale you with my sex life covering thirty-one years, but with no superficial research in my favor, let me state as a universal absolute: withdrawal, 'signale'… That doesn't work.

I kept reading.

Much like Carey's prose, I loved the world she created.  One of the more intriguing facets was a sexual ambiguity that was wholly embraced by at least the D'Angelines--they are the super arrogant, uber-haughty ethnicity of nearly all the main characters.  It is a radically foreign concept to imagine in our world and maybe one that I didn't fully wrap my head around.  There is a minor 'free love' philosophy in Kushiel's Dart.  Carey's characters state it as 'love as thou wilt' or something to that affect.  Alcuin, the male hooker-spy, was only contracted out to men.  That said his career as a courtesan is very short and Delaunay was possibly using Alcuin to his own best advantage and perhaps not catering to any perceived sexual preference of Alcuin's.  However there is certainly a love interest between Dalaunay and Alcuin.  (Age ain't nothing but a number; 'Love as thou wilt…')  Phedre is more often than not directed to men as well, but there are women.  In so far as I could follow the authors description, as beautiful as Phedre is, Alcuin was the choice pick of the two; at least physically speaking.  If you wanted to beat someone you had to wait your turn with Phedre because Alcuin didn't play that game.  I wasn't bothered by the free love, pick a gender attitude of the D'Angelines, it just left me uncomfortably wondering, wanting to read more.  Which may have been exactly Carey's ploy.  That said, my questions were never answered with anything strong enough to call a cultural definitive.  

I kept reading.

Phedre is marked by Kushiel's Dart.  We are not allowed to forget this.  She is the first such person to be marked in three hundred years i.e. Well out of living memory, that said every D'Angeline noble has a 'pleasure chamber.'  A pleasure chamber is what you think it is: the S&M dungeon replete with every possible implement of 'pleasure' sans the leather with a decor from the wealthiest homes on HGTV.  There hasn't been one like Phedre in three hundred years but everyone is well prepared.  Everyone has a pleasure chamber… just in case.  This is the equivalent of parents today giving their children shields just in case they get in a sword fight at recess.  The D'Angelines are boy scouts if I ever knew one!

I kept reading and was rewarded with the biggest head scratcher of all.  This book is fantasy, so just as there has to be a male badass with a sword, some poor woman has to get raped; right?   There was a moment when rape became a real possibility and little more than a paragraph was dedicated to how one marked with Kushiel's Dart viewed sex without consent: "Love as thou wilt."  Phedre can't help who she is and many times, against her will, she finds pleasure in what other people put her through; 'the body betraying the mind's desires' or something like that.  Rape isn't a comfortable topic for me and I'm not going to go into psychology of a rapist, but if you've been paying attention thus far, or even better, if you've read the book, you'd think Phedre would be near chomping at the bit, as horrible as that sounds in this situation.  When that situation came up in the book Phedre was scared.  She wasn't excited mentally nor physically, and I as a reader was glad of it.  I did think that the reasons given were impossibly weak and undermined all the precepts Carey set down in the nine-hundred page novel about one who is marked with Kushiel's Dart.  No matter my enjoyment of the book or Carey's prose, on principle I should have put the book down after this passage.        

I like Carey's voice.  It sounded like it was being read aloud to me and is very comforting.  I'd be very curious to see where this series goes though I'd need some serious assurances up front concerning certain things, and some time to put between reading Carey's massive works.  I'm not sure this cast has been assembled to save the kingdom before: Hooker-spies, White Ninja's, and fortune telling gypsies.  If you have a reading group and you want to start some lively discussions I don't think it's possible to run out of things to say about Kushiel's Dart.  As for me, I could keep going, but I'm choosing to stop.  

Fire breathing lizards, A man named George, and... soup

Wings of Fire edited by Jonathan Strahan and Marianne S. Jablon is a dragon themed anthology published in 2010.  There is a very strong mix of traditional fantasy, science fiction and fantasy blended together, and contemporary stories; the latter two being more to my preference much to my surprise.

While the collection is altogether solid I found very few standout stories that would make me put the book in someone else's hands or say, "You have to buy this right now!"  Big names like Orson Scott Card, George R R Martin, and Naomi Novik don't fail to deliver in any way, merely left me with a feeling of a solid piece of fiction that I could have walked away from at any point in time.

There was nearly enough material in this five-hundred page beast for two anthologies: one with the traditional fantasy dragon stories, and a second--more unique in my opinion--with the oddball stories full of things your didn't expect.  While not feasible in today's publishing world, the current anthology philosophy seems to be 'cram as much of the theme's stories in as possible' makes for a very uneven (uneven in approach not quality of writing) collection.  This opinion may also be a reflection of my change in interest concerning the types of fantasy works I enjoy. 

I've got no patience for traditional epic fantasy these days, so it makes sense that the non-traditional dragon stories would appeal to me more.  Additionally, there were a lot of 'new to me' authors in this anthology who wrote pieces I really enjoyed.  The new discoveries are always the best part of a good collection. 

James P Blaylock, Robert Reed and Charles de Lint all offered something different.  Michael Swanwick always offers something different but I do feel that King Dragon is in every single fantasy themed anthology ever (to no fault of the author or editors).  Fairy tale stories by Gordon R Dickson, a brilliant title St. Dragon and The George, and Roger Zelazny, who delivered satire and humor into the dragon equation with, The George Business, had enough familiar material mixed with new elements to still feel fresh.  The one true standout for me was S P Somtow's Dragon's Fin Soup.  It was the one story I read and on completion said to myself, "How have I not heard of this guy before?"  There was a dragon involved so I guess that makes the story fantasy, but the quality here makes me think there are many literary publications who wouldn't mind printing Somtow's work. 

I don't think Wings of Fire is the kind of book you want to sit down and read straight through.  But if you keep it in your line of sight in your reading area, a story here and there makes for a good time.  Dragons breath fire, rampage and pillage, but for the most part Wings of Fire is pretty harmless.  

Some thoughts on Unsound Variation by George R R Martin From Dreamsongs Volume II

If ever there were a story that exposed my deficiencies as a reader this would be it.  After completing this story, and ultimately being wrong about every warning sign I interpreted as impending fail, I think I will have to re-evaluate how I read which is simultaneously a refreshing and scary thought.

Four friends from a decade past chess team, the B team at that, at the University of Northwestern reunite under absolutely no pretense at all.  They haven't kept in touch over the years nor were they particularly close back in the day.  An invitation is extended and they all inexplicably decide to attend.  ( And we are all aware of the horror of these kinds of reunions…)  The host, Bunnish, is the only one of the four to be met with any kind of success in life and has become exorbitantly wealthy dealing in electronics.  Delmario, has had brilliant ideas, but always beaten to the punch by Bunnish and now has only alcohol to keep him company.  E.C. Stuart has had every sound business decision he has ever made work against him and now revels in a life of mediocrity.  And Peter has suffered a life of failure in every creative endeavor he has ever pursued.

At the heart of Bunnish's success and everyone else's failure is a chess game.  In particular a game that Bunnish lost in what would have been a colossal upset of the University of Chicago's "A" team.  Bunnish has played beautifully and to all eyes in the tournament has the game won.  Nonetheless, he finds a way to lose.  Then he, logically,  becomes a psychopath….     

Using a time travel machine of his own device (roll your eyes here) Bunnish has successfully ruined the lives of his three teammate and the person at UC who beat him.  Apparently, he never once has considered going back to alter the game so that he might win.

It starts with what I thought an inane character and host of repetitious backstory.  Oh the tedium.  Peter's wife is the nagging harridan who by way of the author's skill in depicting her annoyed the hell out of me.  We watch Peter set himself up for her verbal abuse while they drive up to Bunnish's mansion.  He sets 'em up; she knocks 'em down.  Peter: open mouth, insert foot.  It goes on and on.  Through this tedium we get backstory and a slightly manic desire to choke a fictional character.  I had written her off to the point that, when she later suggest the only reasonable course of action, and what was to me the redeeming point of the story, in accepting this future it came as a great surprise.  I didn't expect, nor can I imagine other readers would, the bitch of time to be the voice of reason and wisdom.  

The time travel (I feel like it is always a horrible story mechanic), repetition, and the slightly esoteric nature of chess all paled once Bunnish unleashed his devious plan: he wants to play famous game of chess against each of his teammates from the point it was deemed he had the game won to show that there was no way to win.  I almost skipped the remainder of the story when Delmario was the first to play, and his game with Bunnish got serious attention to detail, lots of chess explanation, and intimate emotional content.  I said to myself, "I've got to go through this two more times!"  Thinking that those two more times had to be even more intense than Delmario's experience to resonate with readers.  Boy was I wrong.  Martin knows what he is doing.  Stuart's game was super short and Peter declined to play--and in doing so, 'won.'  Each of their experiences in play against Bunnish was shorter than the previous player's.  

I feel I was predisposed to dislike this story even though everything I thought to be a pitfall turned out to be a strength.  It's not my favorite story in the collection, to be as objective as I can I think it's the weakest inclusion I've coming across thus far, that said, it was solid, only not for me.  If nothing else it showed me that it may not hurt to turn off my analytical side while reading and simply enjoy what is given.  

Easier said than done, but I'll work on it.      

Saturday Musings

I'm done.  I finished The Beast.  Jonathan Franzen's 568 page wonder, The Corrections and it only took me twenty-one days to get here.  I had decided to not leave commentary for this book before I started reading it.  Having made Oprah's book club and many best of the decade list, there isn't much I can say that hasn't already been said.  It comes close to my 'no speaking of dead authors of the classics' rule, but happily Franzen is alive and (I hope) in good health, and able to provide us with many more ridiculous awesome offerings.

That said, I'm in no hurry to get to Freedom.  In order for Franzen to 'get better,' at least by my definition, he is going to have to do something substantially different.  As in, write about African's and the war in Sudan type different to really make an impression on me.  Perhaps Freedom is such a book, but with knowing nothing about the book and only a little about the badass writer, I don't think it is.  The summation of my 'not a commentary' is this: go read The Corrections, if you've yet to do so.

A few words about my journey through this behemoth, because that is what it was: a journey.  I mentioned that I was reading it to the only co-worker I have at either job that I think is capable of reading and, naturally, she had year it years ago.  "How far in are you?" she asked.  "Just started it.  About a hundred pages or so."  The strongest part of the book, that which stuck with her for nearly ten years after reading was, "There was a part about a chaise lounge chair, and a scent and a stain..."  I had passed that part and all I could do was laugh.  More than anything else, that is what The Corrections is to her.

She is the only flesh and blood person I know (interweb people are something different, though not lesser) who reads more than me.  She knows what she likes and doesn't like.  She knows what's good and what's bad and she can explain why.  "That book was amazing, but the whole chair, stain, scent thing really bothered me."  That comment says more about her than Franzen.

At the other job, the one where it is okay if I read, a superior said, "I've read that!  This is the book with that crazy ass dysfunctional family."  I replied something to the affect that the family was normal as hell, only more honest than most, and that all families probably have similar problems and issues and that 'normal' probably doesn't exist.  She agreed with me.  Moments later a patron saw the book and my book mark and asked, "Are you really that far into that book?"  I told her yes.  She was in a state akin to awe.  She got about a third of the way through and then put it down due to the "mundaneness."  I was not in a spot where I could comment freely, but thought to myself, if the actions in this book are mundane to you than your family must all be histrionic or worse.

My 'boss,' only commented, "That book was fucked up."  I asked, "Have you read Freedom yet?" "No.  The other one was too fucked up for me to read Freedom."  I'm not sure what all he meant but I understood, implicitly.

I accidentally went to a bookstore today.  I didn't plan this trip; it really was an accident.  I was going to the East Atlanta Beer Festival and happened to park directly across from Bound to be Read Books.  I heard of it before, but never really get to this part of town.  Small, well lit, too many damned cats; those seem to be the traits of a used book store.  Worse than going to a book store, I bought books: sorry...

I've wanted Shogun in hard back since forever and now I have it in a two volume set marked 'Atheneum." I've no clue what that means... I also bought two novels by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Autumn of the Patriarch and Love in the Time of Cholera.  My gut tells me neither will be as good as his short fiction but what is?

As to the beer fest.  I officially don't like IPA's but Flying Dog Raging Bitch ain't bad, and neither is Dogfish Head, 90 or 120 minute.  As to the good stuff, more on that later.    

What should I write about?

One of my unofficial new year's resolutions concerning my reading was that I wanted to post comments for at least two books a month.  Not to have covered twelve by the year's end, but to establish a habit of at least two book commentaries a month.  It's not asking much of myself and it's a very manageable goal.

I've yet to post a commentary this month despite having read a few books.  I was thinking on why I comment on certain books why I don't on others.  I am by no means an expert essayist when it comes to commentary, but I humor myself in thinking that when I do leave comments they are slightly more than, "I liked this book;  The characters made me happy" and other such inane remarks that litter many review sites and amazon ratings.  (Remember I claimed my arrogance up front.)  For me to leave comments, a book needs to have made a substantial impression on me; good or bad.  Actually some of what I think has been my 'best' commentary has been for books that left me feeling 'powerfully indifferent' if such a feeling exist.

Sometimes I'm lazy.  Sometimes I'm just plain ole obstinate and don't do it, but for the most part I've got to feel something to go through with the act of commentary.  I recently finished Summerland by The Amazing Michael Chabon.  I don't feel I know enough about children's literature to offer my two-cents or at least that is my excuse I'm using for being underwhelmed by one of my favorite writers.  "Meh..." rarely qualifies as a strong enough feeling for me to write about though if I had to I'm sure I could at length. 

Apropos of nothing, I had a perfect Manhattan this weekend.  Well, actually I had three.  Rye is necessary--and not the smoothed out mellow 'new-aged-vodka' type rye--but the spicy, in your face, prohibition-era, SHAZAAM variety.  That may be an eye opener for some however, it's the vermouth that is is key ingredient.  The same could probably be said for a Martini, but why would anyone drink a Martini?  

The Blood Knight; The Born Queen by Greg Keyes

The quality of writing continues to be strong in the final two books of The Kingdom of Thorn and Bone; more of the same good stuff, right up until the end...The Sefry, a humanoid race apart from humans that scream of 'Elf', get real interesting as their secret is let out. I was happy to see that while they fit the elf mold they turned out to be something greater, though we never really get to see them in their element; which might have been a great divergence in development from the otherwise standard fair.

All the characters of substantial import have been introduced by now, and I was rather sad to see that dead King William is still the only guy I really cared about. I was more detached from everyone else and had trouble investing myself in their lives and difficulty.

The music is magic thing came into it's own. I rarely knew what Keyes' literary allusions referenced despite my education in music but I know that I approach music in fiction perhaps too seriously. So perhaps the terminology used makes sense to someone from that world--or other readers. I, myself, have no idea what a voice of 'black joy' or 'a doleful grace note' sound like. A non-musical bend what does, 'eyes like green ice' mean? While the prose maybe overwrought in places, at least he's trying, and as I said in my previous 'not a commentary' Keyes' succeeds on making the genre fantasy banalities a bit more interesting than most in my opinion. To substantiate my 'overwrought' claim:

"The first bass line began, a male voice, rising and falling, the roots in the soil, the long slow dreams of trees. Then, after a few measures, a second line entered as deep in pitch but in uneasy harmony with the first: leaves rotting into soil, bones decaying into dust, and in the lowest registers the meandering of rivers and weathering of mountains." The Born Queen page 349.

What the hell does any of that mean (particularly the second half of each sentence)? I'm supposed to know what it sounds like?

The maturity of Anne, the eponymous Born Queen, has been phenomenal. Her 'growing up' is very real, both due to her experiences and Keyes' writing. Her development has been very convincing from book to book. After all that is set up and poised to take place, she has got her work cut out for her in book four and that is really where things start to fall apart.

Anne becomes unstable in many ways, and all the growth a maturity seems to vanish. She becomes a coquettish school girl rather fast--a step back for her--and indecisive where she used to be absolute. With one hundred pages left in book four I couldn't believe there wasn't a book five. There was no way that I felt Keyes' could tie things up (or even explain what the hell had happened!) in so short a remaining page count.

Primary characters start dying with astounding speed in The Born Queen. And our 'bad guys' become so weak that a decent analogy can't be made. The head-scratching, ill-explained plot events were all very interesting and great as far as story telling were concerned, but things happened so fast and were never put into context to a degree for the ending to be satisfying.

The mythical beast that had been plaguing the land are unofficial allies. Stephen, the mild mannered scholar monk, develops a multiple personality disorder. Robert and Cazio becomes irrelevant and personal animosity between Aspar and Fend, ends with the dullest of fizzles. When it was all over, I was a bit upset not because the story wasn't what I wanted, rather I felt if Keyes had developed further he is a strong enough writer to have made things feel much more organic than they did.

What initially seemed like an overwhelming amount of characters--and I still think two or three could be omitted without hurting the core story--all come into their own, and blend together wonderfully. Keyes' mapping out of the story and framework, is extraordinary. However, given the quality of his plotting of events, and the general merits of his writing I can't help but shake the feeling that what should have been a quintet was contractually obligated to stop at four.

The Briar King; The Charnel Prince by Greg Keyes

There isn't much in either of these volumes that could be considered original, but what you will find are all the standard fantasy troupes presented to the reader much better than most genre fair. Not too much to be said for style, but the execution is solid.

There's a knight on a quest, both internal and external. There is royalty in exile plotting to reclaim a stolen throne. And there is the all around handyman badass who has gotten caught in the middle of a plot and fight much bigger than he. Very little is said of the bad guys.

The unifying theme thus far is a liberal definition of, a 'coming of age' story. Princess Anne is an annoying fifteen year old, spoiled, rich girl whom I almost got nauseated merely reading about. The transformation she makes by the end of the second book is phenomenal, and better still convincing. Life outside of her sheltered palace and pampered life isn't as romantic nor fairy tale like as she thought, and her ordeals and revelations help make her character solid, sympathetic, and realistic. I have no doubt that by the end, I'll be cheering for her.

Aspar, a woodsman in the King's employ, has lived a solitary life with a troubling past. He is forced to re-examine his past and current life as an unforeseen love interest overcomes him and alters everything he thought he knew to be true about life. While he's always been handy in a fight and a quick thinker, he has a proven knack at taking out supernatural beast previously thought to only exist in fairy tales; that quality separates him from everyone else who kicks ass. Speaking of ass kicking...

Sir Neil is the knight in shinning armor. He is the most sure and predictable character presented, yet it's the doubt that grows within on his quest that make him interesting. He questions the ideals he was taught to hold true, and their real world value. Above all he questions his own happiness and the nature of selfish acts wondering if he really has to sacrifice his honor and duty to do something for himself and what else there is in his life other than duty.

There is an undercurrent in all three of these characters having to 'grow up' and find their true identity on their own.

Enough of the squeaky clean; the bad guys real odd balls. There is the standard intrigue at court headed up by the Charnel Prince; a character that thus far doesn't seem terribly grounded to me. His primary motive is terribly weak considering his actions and there are times where even he doesn't seem to know what's going on. There is much to be expanded on for Prince Robert in the coming volumes.

The Briar King's is on a quest that seems to mirror Anne's in many way. He's a elder Deity who is angry and near all powerful who may not be truly 'bad' at heart; merely pissed off. I absolutely love him for reasons I can't put a finger on.

The most tangible 'bad guy' the novel present is The Church. A religious organization that has immense power and sway over various nations and is thoroughly corrupt.

The secondary characters have captured my interest thus far more than those I've previously mentioned, and it is with these characters that I think Keyes has really set himself apart. There's a cocky playboy swordsman, who is good but not as good as he thinks (both with women and weapons). A priest, and giant nerd, whose faith in the church is shaken as he witnesses its corruption only to find a new concentration in life in linguistics and it's application in helping his friends. Finally, a composer. Yeah... I never saw that coming. A court musician who unknowingly takes up the mantel of hero and all the good and bad that the title bestows.

The languages are, of course made up, and some of the coincidences to the characters in the books, come off as mere plot conveniences to the reader (though I do hesitate to say deus ex machina). The musical performances and portrayal might be unprecedented and given my background in music I'm not sure I can objectively comment to their effect on most readers. In an awesome effort by Keyes' to make both of these abnormal fantasy conflicts poignant and interesting one could argue some self-indulgence on the authors part in addition to some overwrought narrative. I don't think the presentation was perfect by any means, but I applaud Keyes for trying, and should you read the books, I think you will too (if you're not too busy enjoying what's written.)

Half way through, and I can only imagine things getting better from here on out.

The Month in review and of Things to Come

Productivity; that's the word of the month, and a good word at that. I've learned so much new on guitar my calluses have blisters, I've read more than any other single month out-put, I've taken pen to paper (or fingers to keys, if you will) and gotten more writing done than usual, and I've been beating down doors with such vigor that I'm daring to be optimistic about find a new job.

I didn't buy a single book this month which is a first for me in a long time. My reading out-put test from last month yielded odd, yet expected results: I do in fact read more when I tell myself all I'm going to read in a month as opposed to picking up a book here and there. I was most surprised that I didn't feel any pressure to get through what I had set aside for the month. My to-be-read stack has diminished by six.

Claudius the God by Robert Graves was as good as it's predecessor but without Livia a good deal of the conflict didn't feel as intense. It's still one of the finest historical fiction and first person narratives I've come across. I surprised myself by picking up and putting down The Graveyard Book in all of two days. The powerful adventure and exploration themes are as good as Neil Gaiman can be and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I had a little bit to say about Quin's Shanghai Circus, Ysabel, and The Sun Over Breda. I even added that nifty list in the right hand column so I don't have to point out in my monthly wrap ups what books I've commented on. Isn't that nifty? See how hard I work for my readers? Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgenev, is so good that I'm tempted to rescind my, 'I don't talk about dead authors of the classics' policy. Perhaps I'll start another blog and do precisely that as this is a book I not only want to share, but seems to demand discussion.

In May I'm gonna tackle The Count of Monte Cristo and in doing so polish off my list of books that were Christmas gifts. I never read it in high school. ( I don't think I had to read anything in high school. ) I've gotten a bit of a head start and it seems to read quickly, however it's still a thousand plus pages. I'm being modest in my reading estimation; if I can finish The Count, The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin, and The King's Gold by Arturo Pérez-Reverte I'll feel good about things.

I'm feeling very good about a few other projects that I can't yet mention, but I hope come to full fruition in places other than my blog.

To end things on a bit of a downer, May maybe the last month of my rum reviews. I was able to do them this long as I was sitting on about ten of those reviews before I put the first one up. I may reload and try again in the future but the truth is, I'm very close to exhausting the local variety of rums available. There are a few I'm intentionally staying away from and some others, I plain old can't afford. Nonetheless, I feel good about my contribution to the rum drinking community. I've done my part, and as that segment passes it may give rise to something new.

To tie together Guy Gavriel Kay and rum and I read of his introduction to spiking ginger beer with rum. I'd always used vodka, which only dilutes the ginger beer. He's an intelligent guy and I can see how rum would actually add some character to a drink already over flowing with personality. Plus, it's summer--ginger beer season--so why not?

The Month In Review and of Things to Come

This month has been crowned by illness. I’ve had a two week flu, or something to the effect, caused by the forty plus degrees variance in a twenty-four hour period that we see in the southeast. The “what do I wear for the day” time frame that assists in inducing illness is called, ‘spring.’ Happily, it only last about a month; then we all complain about how ungodly hot it is... Which will be tomorrow.

The bum wine party went well, but then again, I didn’t have to drink Thunderbird. Not that Wild Irish Rose is any better, but fun was had by all. As far as entertainment goes, I saw my first film in the theaters since The Dark Knight, more than two years ago: Avatar. It was fun. It definitely had more of a focus on ‘awesome’ than storytelling. Perhaps the makers of the film assumed viewers had seen Dances with Wolves or Pocahontas before and they crammed the plot into twenty minutes at the beginning. Didn’t love it. Didn’t hate it. A fun way to spend a few hours.

I got a few new guitar slides today. I have thick knuckles and long skinny fingers. I had decided to make my own until I remember that there is a glass working studio beneath where I work. I went in thinking to ask, “How do I make a slide?” Turns out they have a hundred already made. Much to my surprise, it’s a pretty regular request for them. The two I got are really thick glass, and slightly flared for extra awesome on the bottom strings. They have a 'rapture' inducing tone, I must say.

As far as book acquisitions go, I broke last months oath and bought a few. I finally tracked down all of Edward Whittemore’s work in hardback. Kinda broke the bank with the first two of the Jerusalem Quartet, about $15 each, but the other three of his works were only around five dollars. Here’s to hoping they are as good as the critics say…I needed to hit the free shipping magic number for the one of the Whittemore books and Amazon was having one of there random as hell, twenty-four-hours-only-blue-light-specials on the Graveyard Book. I love/hate Gaiman but for $3.99 in hardback it was hard to say no.

At a Barnes and Noble I’d never been to (after seeing Avatar) absolutely buried under about one hundred pounds of books was GGK Tigana for $1.99 Needless to say, I bought it. As far as forth coming acquisitions go, I’m gonna try to con some one into buy me A History of White People after reading this. Perhaps the non fiction thing is catching. After two books by Arturo Pérez-Reverte I have uncovered why I like him so much, or at least why I like the Alatrise series: each book is complete within it’s covers and there are no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ guys; there's really not much moral ambiguity. All characters are at an equal state of 'wretched' and do what they gotta do. (Perhaps Joe Abercrombie writes like this too, it seems to be what everyone hints at.) This series is a bit of a mash up of James Clavell and David Gemmell's best attributes: action, adventure, a stunning foreign setting, and depraved anti-heroes. I've also pinned down that Pérez-Reverte has an amazing ability to write without a true plot; crazier still, it doesn't bother me.

Also, I WON a book! A sure to be awesome book.

I’ve noticed that I read more when I tell myself (in my blog) what I going to read. I’m testing that theory this month by not doing it. I am gonna sift through my library of unread books and pick out the ones that have never been on the top of the stack. That’s right: I’m bottom feeding on my bookcase… It's a bit like looking for neglected treasure in what I consider to be my treasure trove.

April is looking very sexy right now. There is rum, reading, hopefully a return to full-time employment and to top it all off, bar golf in the Highlands.

I'm ready.

The Month In Review and of Things to Come

The End is Nigh! At least for February. Feb-rue-air-e. Worst word in any language, ever. I thought it would be a slow month for reading, considering the limited days and that I was busy finishing a bookcase--the stacks on my floor finally started to bother me.

I made it through five books this month, which is one more than normal for me.

Guy Gavriel Kay's Finovar Tapestry has helped to restore some of my faith in heroic fantasy, previously my favorite genre. It's a trilogy in which none of the three books felt superfluous and the dialogue wasn't cringe inducing. While it leaned heavily on Tolkien's The Silmarillion (of which Kay was the unofficial ghostwriter) it was fun to read in the familiar, 'comfort zone' of fantasy so to speak. It felt like a great writer's first effort. I don't know how the Arthurian legend got introduced in the second book, and I'm not sure it lent any real strength to the story, but I'm looking forward to checking out more of Kay's offerings.

I can't put together a litany of praise long enough to talk about how much I loved Harlem Redux by Persia Walker.

The last book I read this month was The Somnambulist by Jonathan Barnes. It was weird in a Neverwhere Neil Gaiman kind of way: good weird, though not Gaiman good. Not painful by any means, but underwhelming to the end. I don't say this as a bad thing, but to me, it felt decidedly, "English," if you know what I mean. If the awesomeness of the title triggered your imagination to think something awesome, keep looking. Sadly, the awesome that the title suggested to you is not in between these covers. In consolation of awesome there is, however, a good story.

The Ron Barcelo Imperial Rum along with another I'll be reviewing in March were easily this month's greatest discoveries. And speaking of next month, I'm going to try a little something different; not with the drinking, rather my reading: Non-fiction.

Kinda foreign territory for me. Steven Hawkin's A brief History of Time is of true interest to me because I'm a nerd. It is also the only book with more reprints and hundreds of different editions than the Christian Bible. Nabokov's Speak, Memory is surely more than the greatest title for a memoir ever. And Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks by Ethan Gilsdorf made me laugh out loud just reading the preview. Any one have any crucial non-fiction suggestions for me?

I plan to sneak some fiction in there as well. I have three relatively short volumes that I think I can add to my reading load without cause for worry.

Oh, yeah, I also plan to not buy any books in March as a cost saving venture… we'll see how well that goes.

Harlem Redux by Persia Walker

I had initially planned on writing one of my little commentaries on Harlem Redux by Persia Walker. However, the best of problems arose while reading the book and stopped me from doing so: I enjoyed it too much.

I never took notes on the writing or the affects the book had on me as a reader. This was simply one of the most pleasurable reading experiences I've ever had. Now that I've finished the book and enjoyed it so much any commentary I could offer would be an inane list of superlatives rambling on for pages.

I don't read a lot of historical or crime fiction so perhaps I was merely taken with what a new-ish-to-me genres had to offer. More so than any literary device employed was the social commentary, inherent to the book, that was pertinent at the time of the story's telling and equally so today.

Walker succeeded in giving the reader a lot to think about long after the story is done. I can think of no greater victory as a writer. I haven't re-read a book in years. I plan to do so with this one shortly.

If I were one to do, 'best of' list or rattle off my personal favorites, this would be somewhere in the top five. Harlem Redux has it's share of problems, but it struck a chord with me, and if I have any influence at all in making suggestions to readers; the summation of the commentary I would've written would be: essential reading.