The Mischief of the Mistletoe

Mischief of the Mistletoe is the latest adventure in the Secret History of the Pink Carnation series and this time, it's a Christmas romance! For those looking for the usual Lauren Willig fare, you'll find that this installment comes up a bit short, though it's still an amusing holiday read. Normally, Willig bounces between the historical love story that occupies a single book and the modern storyline that ties all the books together, but this time we simply have the love story without cuts to modern counterparts. Perhaps to make up for that, we have an intense reliance upon characters featured from previous books (and if you're like me, you might need a cheat sheet to remember who is who) coupled with a return to events from previous books to get another perspective on events that have already unfolded and match up some secondary characters.

Arabella Dempsey is used to being a wallflower... she's used to being passed over and ignored, though it still hurts when the young man who had previously been flirting with her shows his true colors and marries her much-older, wealthy aunt. As Arabella had served as her aunt's companion for years, it was always assumed that the aunt might eventually adopt Arabella and so leave the girl her money -- and while Arabella isn't exactly a London debutante, it would certainly help, given her father's poor health and three younger sisters to care for. With financial and romantic dreams crushed, Arabella makes a hard decision -- she is going to teach. She gets herself a position at Miss Climpson's institution for young ladies and accepts that her social position is getting even lower for it, but whatever helps feed the family, right? Of course, what she doesn't count on is running into Reginald (aka "Turnip") Fitzhugh, a young man whose sister attends Miss Climpson's and who literally knocks into her and drops a Christmas pudding on her foot. He doesn't remember that he's already met (and danced with) Miss Dempsey, and probably wouldn't remember this encounter either, except that she chases after him with the forgotten Christmas pudding... and then she nearly has it stolen from her by some ruffian. Turnip helps Arabella to her feet yet again and when they discover that the muslin wrapping has a secret rendezvous time written in French, well... let's just say that Turnip won't be forgetting Arabella's name now as they make plans to figure out what plan is afoot. While Arabella assumes it's a young lady making plans to meet a lover, Turnip thinks there might be secret spy goings-on (after all, he may not be allowed to spy for the Pink Carnation, but he certainly tries to deflect attention with his outrageous wardrobe). They may not think they're getting any closer to solving the mystery, though they themselves seem to develop a certain closeness... but can social circles be overcome by the magic of Christmas puddings?

It's a cute little romance, but quite honestly, the main storyline doesn't touch on the weird part. The thing is, Arabella's best friend is... Jane Austen. Um... yeah. I understand that Mischief of the Mistletoe is influenced by Austen's unfinished manuscript, The Watsons, but it's a little distracting to have Jane Austen as an actual character. I know, I know, fiction can do all kinds of things, but there's something about using Austen that just isn't cricket. It's one thing to attempt to finish an manuscript, it's another to involve the lady herself. Willig is quite delicate in her treatment of Austen, though, and doesn't really do anything out of character. Most of her meatier dialogue is modeled from her letters, and otherwise she's simply being a good friend to Arabella, engaged more in observation than any direct intervention.

Fans of Willig will be amused at this small diversion and I will give Willig immense credit for the fact that her next real novel will be published in January 2011. So if this felt thin, we don't need to wait long for another new read. Quite impressive, really, considering that while this is certainly shorter than the usual book, it's much more than just a silly side story! So Happy Christmas and enjoy the pudding (or don't, as descriptions of it here hardly make it seem like a truly appealing treat).

Tears of Pearl

Let me say that the main reason I keep reading Tasha Alexander's books is that I feel she takes particular care with her main character's ability to have complicated emotions. What keeps me coming back for more, quite frankly, is not the mystery part of her plot (which is often a bit coincidental and is always quite complicated -- though that's not always a bad thing). It's only sometimes the historical setting (oddly, I preferred her ability to convey a sense of time and place in her earlier works, whereas here I kept having The Aviary Gate flashbacks with this one). The best part of her novels, as far as I'm concerned, is Lady Emily's ability to struggle with feelings that make her a unique heroine for this particular mystery/romance/historical fiction genre. (Okay, and sure, there's a bit of her hunky love interest, Colin, tossed in there, too.)

The first book in the series, And Only to Deceive, opened on a young widow, Lady Emily Ashton, who barely knew her husband and came to fall in love with him only after his death and her investigation into the circumstances surrounding it. Not only did we have the fact that she was coming to care for him when they could no longer have a real romance, but she became aware of just how much he loved her and yet had never really expressed it. Alexander doesn't shy away from exploring the tangled (and often bittersweet) side of things in Emily's personal life. Thankfully, even though Emily has finally married Colin Hargreaves, things don't simply fade into happily ever after, though Colin himself does fade a bit into the background in this book, which is a bit of a disappointment. Sure, they're completely smitten with each other as they take off for their honeymoon and they repeatedly tumble in to bed, but there's also the fact that in a time without contraception, Emily's independence is somewhat in jeopardy should she become pregnant. Books don't often explore the potentially negative sides of this "blessed" event when it's in a stable and good relationship, but Alexander is aware that things are a bit more complicated than that in real life.

Tears of Pearl is set in lush Constantinople, at the beginning of Emily and Colin's nice, long honeymoon... but the reader shouldn't be all that surprised when they're embroiled in a mystery right off the bat. The storyline is dumped into their laps on the train (a surprisingly abrupt and graceless introduction, which is rather uncharacteristic of Alexander, I thought) and involves a British diplomat with a tragic past and an even more tragic immediate future. He traveled the world with his family in tow until one horrific night when his Turkish wife was murdered and his young daughter kidnapped. He managed to protect his son, Benjamin, but then spent the rest of his life seeking leads in hopes that his daughter, Ceyden, might still be alive (as she was likely sold into slavery). This story comes out in a rush when Colin and Emily sit next to this man, Sir Richard, on the train to Constantinople... only to then have him collapse from an apparent overdose of medication. Unsurprisingly, Colin and Emily (especially Emily) take interest in his situation. He repays their kind attention by getting them invited to an opera performed at the sultan's palace and even though the ending of the opera itself is altered to create a happy ending, the event ends with the murder of a young woman from the harem. Have you guessed who she is? Yep. It's Ceyden, the long-lost daughter, and with harem politics the way they are, it's anybody's guess who did this.

Emily, meanwhile, has actually gotten semi-official approval to work with Colin in situations when a feminine hand is required for his missions... like, say, when someone needs to do some interviews of harem-members. Emily gets wrapped up with several interesting characters (including the mother of the sultan, the sort-of-step-mother of the sultan, a young converted Christian desperate to escape the life of sin in the harem, and a very shifty eunuch) while Colin is off investigating other things that seem more official (read: boring), and so Emily wanders a lot of Constantinople on her own (though she's often accompanied by her honeymoon-crashing friend). During all this wandering, Emily notices that she's particularly prone to nausea while taking boats across the Bosporus. Hmm. Whatever could cause nausea in a woman who's been married a few months?

Emily's lengthy and difficult musings on the possibility of having a child were fascinating, because she was willing to admit that she might not be ready for this. She already enjoys a remarkable amount of freedom for any woman of the time -- but with a baby on the way, surely life would change. It would start with being coddled as a pregnant lady by her friends, family and even her loving husband -- and then she'd most likely have to stay close to home to be with a child. So much for rambling all over the world and assisting Colin on investigations. It's not like Colin is putting this pressure on her (though she sees his suspicious and hopeful glances), but Emily starts panicking about what a baby would change. In short, even if she might eventually want a baby, she doesn't feel ready yet and while this depth might not be uncommon in other genres, it's a unique and humanizing detail here, for a heroine whose life has not been full of easy emotions. In the usual historical mystery series, women always seem so ready for that inevitable child and somehow he/she is integrated into her life and the life of her adventuring husband with ease... or a series ends. Hm.

So even if every bit of the novel wasn't a delight for me, I am at least delighted that Tasha Alexander is one of the few writers these days who is staying true to her characters and allowing them the luxury of exploring complicated emotions. It means that I'll keep marking the paperback release of each of her books and I'll eagerly read to see how Emily grows as a character and tackles interesting issues (and mysteries, too).

Keturah and Lord Death

My stumbled-upon discovery of Keturah and Lord Death is a prime example of why I appreciate online sites like Goodreads and LibraryThing. Without the suggestion that somehow worked its way into my line of sight, I might never have heard of this gem... and given its title, I certainly wouldn't have picked it up. The first thing you need to do is get over the title, which is dreadful, but once you get to the story itself, you'll be enchanted. Keturah and Lord Death is, essentially, a fairy tale. Written by Martine Leavitt, it opens with a narrator being begged to tell a fireside story that meets all manner of requirements... and so she tells them this, the truest story she's ever told.

Keturah is sixteen years old when she wanders into the woods near her town, following the white hart that the lord of the manor has hunted for many years. It was only curiosity the drove her on, until she realized she was hopelessly lost. After three days without food, water, or sleep, Keturah waits for Lord Death to come to her. He offers her the chance to trade another's life for her own, but she refuses, even when he insists it will hardly matter, as plague will soon decimate her town. Knowing she must somehow save her people, Keturah tells Lord Death a story... a story of a love so pure that it conquers even death. She refuses to tell him the ending unless he lets her live for another day. He agrees and goes one step further -- if during the course of the following day she can discover her true love, a love like that in the story, then he will not claim her life.

The story feels as though it was conjured directly from Grimm's Fairy Tales, where everything has a slightly spooky and yet fascinating air. The added romance element tugs at your heart-strings, yet Leavitt still manages to make this a story about true love where there is still an element of choice. There's also the acknowledgment that one person's happy ending might leave some very broken hearts in its wake. Keturah is a strong heroine, struggling to learn her own desires and help decipher the wishes of those around her while she still has time to help them with their own futures and dreams. Her focus might be on saving the town from the potential plague, but she occasionally trips up in her desire to save herself... terribly human qualities that show she is not some infallible creature, but only one who means well and perhaps has a greater perception of what it means to have life.

The thing that keeps me from giving this book five stars is the fact that I wish Keturah had been able to do a little more on her own when it came to dealing with Lord Death, whether that was manifested in wit beyond her one trick of delaying a story's end, or determining a way to trick Death out of giving up one more thing through a bet or chance. Keturah relied heavily on asking Death for things to add in to their bargains and it would have been nice for there to be a bit more agency on her behalf. She managed to speak up and revitalize the town, but in the end, everything had to bow to Death. The story was suffused with a light eerie quality (so those who dislike spooky stories need not fear this one) and I appreciated the ending, which doesn't tie things with a neat ribbon and yet still leaves one quite satisfied. Keturah and Lord Death is an incredibly fast read, and yet I am immensely grateful that this lovely tale crossed my path.

Firelight

In this fresh and sensual take on being who you are and following your heart, Firelight is the first YA novel from romance novelist Sophie Jordan. Jacinda is a draki -- descended from dragons and capable of manifesting into human form, but her draki within longs for more flight and freedom than her pride allows. Those Hunters who track dragons do not know about their true nature and ability to shift into human form, which is their race's greatest secret and protection, and yet their way of life is constantly threatened. (Jacinda's own father was likely killed by Hunters, having disappeared years before.) Jacinda is under close watch because she is the first fire-breather in generations and her life has practically been mapped out for her. Slated to mate with the pride leader's son and hopefully breed more fire-breathers, Jacinda is already chafing from the restrictions of pride life when her ability to have any say is threatened after a close-call with hunters nearly has her captured. And she would have been captured, too, if the young hunter who ultimately caught up with her would have given her away, but for some reason he lied and let her go free. The pride will not be so forgiving, though, that she broke the rules and put herself in jeopardy... and Jacinda's mother decides that they should flee rather than let the pride dictate Jacinda's life.

The thing is, it's easier for Jacinda's mother and twin sister to give up life in the pride, even if Jacinda is the one whose life and liberty is most threatened. Her sister, Tamra, never manifested and her mother let her own draki die so Tamra wouldn't feel alone. (Evidently by refusing to manifest or by being in a dry location, one's draki can die and one becomes totally human.) When their mom decides they should settle in a desert, she does so with the knowledge that the climate will help Jacinda's own draki die, but Jacinda is unwilling to let go of what she believes defines her true self. Integrating with human society comes easily to Tamra (and when Jacinda can stop moping, she does notice how she hasn't seen her sister this happy in years), but Jacinda is having trouble enough with the draining climate when she sees him -- Will Rutledge, the boy all the girls in school want who happens to be the young Hunter who let her go free. Immediately her draki stirs and she practically manifests right next to her locker. I don't think it takes deep thought here to realize just how attracted to Will Jacinda is, and Will appears to feel the same, as he is drawn to her like a moth to a flame (no fire-breathing dragon jokes intended).

Naturally, as in all situations where the hunter and the hunted fall for each other, there are complications, but things certainly sizzle between Jacinda and Will. Jacinda is complex (though a bit whiny) and Will is a fairly standard example of the blank-canvas leading man. Thankfully, he gains a little complexity as we go along and the ending of the novel will likely improve upon this, too, as the storyline takes a twist. Jacinda does not wish to betray the secret of her race to Will, even if she's convinced he's different from his family of Hunters, though she isn't the only one with secrets to hold onto. Meanwhile, his cousin suspects Jacinda isn't all she claims... and we can hardly forget the pride who would obviously want the only fire-breathing draki back in their protection. Many folks have noted that there are obvious points that this world set-up shares with werewolf stories (shape-shifting, pack dynamics, etc.) and yet I still enjoyed Jordan's telling.

What I mean is that this may not be the most original storyline (doomed lovers from rival groups, etc.), but a romance novelist would be the first to tell you that as long as you have compelling characters, your readers will be carried along with you. It's certainly the chemistry between Jacinda and Will that keeps you going in Firelight, but the ending leaves readers with a real curiosity to find out if the lovers will be able to overcome the many obstacles to be together. It isn't great literature, but it's great fun. I devoured Firelight in a single day and I imagine any other reader would feel the same compulsion to gobble this down. Jordan's romance instincts will serve her well in the YA genre and this is definitely one of the most sensual (without being explicit) YA novels that I've read in a while.

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk

Normally, I'm a big fan of David Sedaris's work, but I'm growing more and more worried that he's tapped out his abundance of ridiculous family-related stories and, thus, has lost some of his ability to make me laugh out loud while simply retaining small chuckle inducing capabilities. Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is his latest endeavor, which veers completely away from his habit of producing semi-personal anecdotes and instead focuses on his keen observational skills. This interesting little collection of short stories feature talking animals, interacting just like humans who seem beastly in light of such a comparison, but I wasn't really all that delighted with the whole.

I had heard of David Sedaris for a little while before I actually read any of his writing. He came to read at my college (which was an incredibly well-attended event) and when he signed my book, he wrote, "so nice to finally meet you!" It's pretty easy to gobble up his stories, but I tried to go slowly. I think my favorite piece (which still has me gasping for breath each time I read it, I'm laughing so hard) is "Six to Eight Black Men" about various Christmas traditions across the world, though a close runner-up is "Repeat After Me," which is incredibly touching as well as funny. There are so many stories, though, that stick in my mind, and so I'm usually one to chat up just how wonderful a writer Sedaris can be. I was a little disappointed by When You Are Engulfed In Flames, but chalked it up to the fact that Sedaris has practically settled down into a quieter life -- which makes for less funny antics even if his keen insight is as sharp as ever. So now we have Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk and I'm fairly certain that this is his attempt at producing something that has nothing to do with any vaguely personal story... and I find myself wishing I had just spent the time re-reading one of his earlier works.

The general idea is that Sedaris took animals and put them in very human situations that seem to highlight just how dreadful human actions can be by assigning them to animals. The first story was my favorite, I think -- a cat and a baboon at a hair salon, the baboon grooming the vain cat and them gossiping about others. Irritatingly, though, I read this story in the bookstore and so started to look forward to everything, and then wound up a bit disappointed. Other stories tackle single observations or issues. There's a couple of birds recounting a not-very-funny experience from their travels which paints them in a rather racist light. A squirrel and a chipmunk date until they run out of things to say, but when the unsuitable relationship is forcibly ended by the chipmunk's family, she always thinks rather fondly of that romance. An Irish Setter discusses his marital problems and infidelities, wishing that he might seek out another mate but ultimately returning to his mixed-breed wife. A healthy rat blames a sick rat for his own illness by suggesting he's not being positive enough, then gets injected with AIDS. A self-righteous stork rants to her baby (because your kids are always an appropriate audience for your adult issues) about another stork's parenting skills, which only emphasizes how the self-righteous stork is neglecting her own baby.

The observations on the terrible things that humans do in every-day interactions are clever, but I just suppose I didn't need this to be an entire book. It felt like it dragged on and yes, Sedaris is smart in linking things together, but it means things are somewhat one-note. The concept is a bit strange to start with and things continue to be strange. In a usual Sedaris story, there's some progression and often some kind of conclusion... but here, I feel as though a single, somewhat sad observation was made on humanity each time and simply left there. It's not that I need my humor to be light and fluffy, but I would prefer some variation in tone. This is probably my least favorite Sedaris book. Had it been written by someone else, I might not be so harsh on it, but I expect great things from David Sedaris and this just feels like a let-down.

Book Lust To Go

If you are someone who is acutely aware that one's time on earth is limited and, as such, you cannot possibly read everything... well, then Nancy Pearl's wonderful Book Lust series of books might not be for you, unless you're also capable of being ruthlessly selective in the face of multiple fascinating options. If you are, however, like me and constantly add books to your fantasy "to read" list, daydreaming about the many hours spent in delight with a variety of books that might have no bearing on your greater purpose in life (save for the enlightened joy of one's soul), then I'll bet that you've already gotten your greedy hands on at least one Nancy Pearl book and this is just more fuel for the fire.

As if we all didn't have a long enough list of books to read, Book Lust To Go provides a fascinating collection of titles for the armchair traveler in all of us. Of course, that's just the issue here... folks who are likely to adore recommendations from Nancy Pearl are the exact people who will already have long lists of books (and who are also likely to make comments like, "Oh, but she didn't include __!") and this new abundance of titles only has the merit of at least being tidily centered around one topic (though one of the great benefits of this series is that it is very good at sorting books by subject matter). Nancy Pearl readily admits that she does not like to travel in person, but she's always eager to take off on a literary journey with the safe distance a book provides. There are also those of us who simply cannot afford to be jetting off to every exotic locale that charms us, and so the price of a paperback is a much less costly alternative. We may not get to bring home the photographs, but we also know we'll be coming home in one piece, no matter what adventure we embark upon. Pearl, then, provides us with a whole host of books that we've never even heard of (and allows us moments of joy when we're able to concur, "Oh yes! That book was excellent!" on the rare occasion when our own meager reading has overlapped with her extensive knowledge). Of course, there's always the danger that reading a book about a particular place will stir an even greater desire to visit that location in person... but that's just a risk you'll have to accept.

The book is organized, unsurprisingly, by location -- though my favorite little sections were those which had no specific location in mind, but rather, a mindset or a novel type. Some such charming sections include: Explorers, In the Footsteps of..., It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, So We/I Bought (or Built) a House In..., and Making Tracks by Trains. For those familiar with any reading that focuses on a journey or a new location (and this need not be actual travel literature), these categories are staples and yet I cannot remember coming across a truly good list that endeavored to group many titles together. I was charmed by the fact that Pearl does not steer clear of mysteries and certain romances -- for quite honestly, writers of those genres tend to create incredibly vivid descriptions of places as well as people and as a result, they can make for some of the best venues for armchair travel. The only slightly frustrating bit to Book Lust To Go is that there isn't a really thorough index in the back of the book which lists absolutely everything -- authors, titles, and such. I suppose in a list of books, it might be asking too much for yet another list (though honestly, I would think this would be *particularly* useful in a book that is, essentially, a detailed list), but I would have found it helpful (especially when I wanted a specific location or was paging through and realized she had mentioned an author twice and I wanted an easy way to find out what the first mention had been). It might simply be something that didn't make the ARC, of course... along with an explanation for the world maps in the front of the book, which I assume will be labeled with arrows or something in the final product.

I imagine the most useful way to read this book is sitting in front of your computer so that you can immediately look up every title that catches your fancy and then add it to your queue or cart. The disconnect here is that it's increasingly less useful to have a book like this in actual book form -- online book communities have largely taken the place of such lengthy recommendations and it's pretty easy to find lists of similar titles. I know that whenever I consider buying a book online, I'm almost always going to look on goodreads.com or librarything.com to check and see what other people have said about it or what the average rating might be. Of course, the only thing I can really say here is that those forums are great for the casual kind of word-of-mouth buzz, but there is something comforting in getting a recommendation from a "professional" like Nancy Pearl, someone who has spent spent his/her life reading and reviewing books. Her lists are fabulous and include many modern titles as well as some classics and/or out-of-print titles that deserve a resurgence in popularity. If you're a book lover who takes pleasure in carefully detailed locations in a book and you're looking for some excellent recommendations (or if you're like me and you don't need any, but you can't help but solicit more), then you're sure to find something to delight in Pearl's collection. The next time I'm seized with the desire to visit a particular location, I think it's quite likely that my first impulse (well, after I indulge my imagination and visit Orbitz to check flight prices and see how unrealistic a real trip might be) will be to pull down Book Lust to Go and see what titles Pearl recommends that will at least whisk my imagination away to my desired locale... and all without transferring conditioner into tiny little FAA-approved bottles.

Blameless

Well phooey. I loved Soulless, I really quite liked Changeless, but I just wasn't pleased with Blameless. It was missing some spark that the other two had in spades. Part of it has to do with what I felt was an unnecessary location change and part of it had to do with Alexia herself, who had the opportunity to be a stronger and more interesting character (aka just staying as she was) and Carriger opted not to take the story in an interesting direction for the sake of a tidier ending. If you haven't read the second book in the series, Changeless, then stop reading this review now if you hope to have the ending of book #2 unspoiled.

In Changeless, we learned that a mummified preternatural had a shocking range for the whole nullifying supernaturals thing, thus reducing any supernatural in a certain radius mortal. This provided Alexia etc. with the surprising information that preternatural bodies seemed to keep their soul-sucker/curse-breaker abilities when mummified -- good thing that no one knows how the Egyptians mummified folks. Should word get out, though, surely renewed efforts might be made to relearn this trick and at that point, Alexia becomes worth more dead than alive. Alexia was able to dispose of the preternatural mummy, thus returning her husband's old clan (who were in possession of the offending mummy) back into their usual werewolf selves, but her personal life took a significant hit when what should be a happy event (the discovery of her pregnancy) turned ghastly. Her husband raged, insisting it couldn't be his, as immortals could no longer procreate. He flew off the handle and Alexia was forced to abandon Scotland post haste.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I thought this was a *fantastic* cliffhanger ending. It made me feel that Gail Carriger was really being faithful to the true natures of her characters (and hence, my anger at the end of Blameless). Of *course* Conall Maccon might flip out and overreact when faced with information that suggests his wife was unfaithful if everything he's ever known about supernatural reproductive capabilities is true. What made it truly awesome, though, was that he was so venomous in his denunciation of her. His language towards the woman he is supposed to love was completely horrifying. I loved the dramatic position it put Alexia in at the beginning of Blameless. She has a loyal band who believe she's telling the truth and what they have on their hands is a miracle indeed (even if they know next to nothing as to how this is possible), but Lord Maccon is initially convinced of her infidelity (even if we all know he'll realized the truth soon enough) and his complete and utter overreaction is unforgivable. It's awesome.

Once he's been completely sauced for a few days (quite a feat for a supernatural), Lord Maccon was bound to come around and realize that his Alexia would never cheat on him, but the damage is done and eventually he'll need to figure out how to get her back, if that is, indeed, possible. Alexia, meanwhile, would simply seek refuge in the home of her friend, Lord Akeldama, but apparently Lord Akeldama and his drones have completely disappeared. So Alexia takes off for Italy and we begin to suspect all new things of Floote's capabilities and what services he might have rendered for Alexia's father. Italy turns out to be a colossally bad decision on several levels (sure, the Templars will protect her, but they'll also want to use her and experiment a bit with her) and unsurprisingly, the main action of the book has to deal with escaping their clutches (while still surviving vampire attacks, as a price has been put on Alexia's head by the vamps). Back in London, Professor Lyall is trying to hold the pack together (and fighting off challengers who would see Lord Maccon in a precarious position) while simultaneously attempting to sober up the Alpha and drum some sense into his head. Lyall is also almost entirely alone in trying to figure out what plots are afoot that would drive Lord Akeldama into hiding.

What results from the London intrigues is a wonderful plot twist... but then everything goes wishy washy in Italy. It's spoilers from here on out, folks, so consider yourselves warned.

In London, the storyline about Biffy is actually quite excellent -- Biffy is one of Lord Akeldama's drones who is kidnapped by the potentate. Lord Akeldama flees the city (or at least goes into deep cover hiding) as he's clearly being threatened and yet we assume he's doing something to get Biffy back and not just relying on poor stretched-thin Lyall. Just when it appears that Conall and Lyall have rescued the chap... Biffy gets shot. The only choice is to let him die or try to turn him into a werewolf (though as a drone of Lord Akeldama, clearly he hoped to be a vampire). The twist here is really quite wonderful, and yet this doesn't make up for the inconsistency in Alexia's actions and lack of imagination with regards to that plot ending.

Alexia does manage to achieve one thing with her trip to Italy -- she finds the proof she needs to prove the baby is Conall's. Preternaturals cannot tolerate the presence of other preternaturals to the point that no preternatural female has ever been able to carry a child to term. They inevitably miscarry and the only way preternaturals can pass along their abilities is when males procreate with human females; and preternaturals always seem to "breed true," thus resulting in preternatural babies. The key here is that they can procreate with humans which doesn't quite qualify when Lord Conall Maccon is concerned, even if he is, essentially, human when touching Alexia. But because of his supernatural state, a preternatural and a supernatural procreating would create a child with some soul, so the child is not a preternatural. Alexia finds an account of a preternatural/vampire offspring known as a "soul-stealer" which is apparently even more fearsome than a preternatural. It could be interesting, but it's all terribly convenient. Ah well.

Truth be told, my real issue is this: I feel that Carriger did not properly keep to Alexia's character with the ending of this novel. In England, Conall publishes a public statement insisting that Alexia's child is his and in Italy, Alexia ends up inadvertently finding this out (a little unlikely, but fine). She bursts into tears (hormones, whatever) and when he shows up later on, she forgives him with the only "stipulations" of that forgiveness hinging on gifts. Alexia, our proud and strong preternatural, completely forgives her husband for saying horrifying things to her face and completely doubting her word and trust... and she does this so easily, with the gifts being only, really, a bit of humor? I'm sorry, but I was hoping Carriger was a better writer than this and could have seen the possibilities that come with Alexia refusing to forgive Conall (at least for now). To me, this shows that Carriger herself is too in love with Conall and is willing to forgive him anything, but quite frankly, for the way Alexia is established, I would assume that his error was far too extreme to simply be forgiven on the spot. It's not like his agreeing to purchase her requested items are a serious factor here and we know it, so I won't make any irritating comments about her being bought off, as we know it's not true. Alexia simply misses her husband and is willing to forgive him... but I honestly believe her character up to this point would see her as too stubborn to just give in. It's more than the public humiliation, it's the fact that he immediately assumed she'd been unfaithful and didn't even try to entertain the possibility of trusting her before flying off the handle. HIS character held true, but Alexia's yielded as soon as she might get her husband back. I was expecting her to appreciate his apology but refuse to return to him on principle. Clearly, this was a major issue for me and rather ruined the novel on the whole, even if I thought things were a bit dull anyway (at least for Alexia in Rome).

It's all quite unfortunate, as the novel was perfectly passable up to that point -- amusing, even if not quite as great as the first two. This hasn't turned me completely off of the novels, but I really do hope that Carriger returns to something delightful in book four or I'm going to think she's quite lost the fresh sparkle that charmed me so much in Soulless.

Changeless

The second installment of Gail Carriger's Parasol Protectorate series, Changeless, is a fine sequel to an excellent beginning. Lord Maccon has married Alexia Tarabotti (despite her being very headstrong and half-Italian) and the now Lady Maccon is learning just what it is to be the Alpha female of a pack... and still deal with her damned Scottish husband who means well, but is either under her petticoats or nowhere to be found. With her marriage giving her a certain level of propriety (an unmarried lady, apparently, just wouldn't cut it), Alexia was offered a place on Queen Victoria's Shadow Council (as England's preeminent preternatural), which means she argues weekly with the potentate (a rogue werewolf) and the dewan (a rogue vampire) over supernatural matters concerning the crown and greater English populace. It certainly helps that her husband is the head of the BUR when it comes to gathering information, but still, no one really tops her dear friend Lord Akeldama and his host of fashionable drones.

While London has a reasonably tolerant atmosphere towards supernaturals, it doesn't mean that everyone is delighted with them (as evidenced by the last book where scientists with a radical bent were intent on wiping out most supernatural creatures) and so the question of a way to fight/control supernaturals is always buzzing about... most particularly after a period of time in which all of London seems inflicted with some kind of normalizing effect that renders werewolves unable to change and vampires incapable of showing fang. This is highly unsettling, indeed, but perhaps more unsettling for Alexia is the fact that her husband takes off for Scotland to figure out the source of this normalizing (and deal with a few matters pertaining to his old pack) without so much as a by-your-leave! And with a full regiment of werewolves camping on her front lawn, to boot!

Unsurprisingly, Alexia ends up following her husband, though she comes with a large train of hangers-on including her best friend Ivy, her husbands top claviger Tunstell, her annoying sister Felicity, and a French milliner/inventor named Madame Lefoux who appears to be flirting outrageously with Alexia even if we can't quite be sure whose side she's on. Alexia is learning all kinds of new things about her husband, including his past history, what made him leave his old Scottish pack, and his political beliefs... but it won't be politics that ultimately prove the most shocking reveal for this couple. Admittedly, the big reveal of the ending is rather predictable... but the response to it is certainly not and makes for some excellent drama. Thank goodness Blameless has been published already so you can immediately reach for that to see what happens next.

If you liked the first book, you're almost guaranteed to enjoy the second, if only because it provides more Alexia and Lord Maccon, though I'll note that it's not quite as delightful (as it no longer as the new and fresh feel of the first). There's also more Professor Lyall, who might be my favorite character, though Lyall has to hold down the fort while everyone else seems to skip off to Scotland. Madame Lefoux is an interesting character (though I doubt Carriger is risque enough to do anything truly fascinating with her) and I assume we'll see more of her, if only because Lady Maccon will need a somewhat more mobile female sidekick than Ivy, though I feel like Madame Lefoux keeps getting knocked out at inopportune moments. Hm. This is, however, another fun installment of the series and it's well worth the read if you got a kick out of the original.

Soulless

Well, there's certainly no shortage of paranormal literary fun out there these days, and for those of us who haven't abandoned the genre quite yet, I am here to let you know that there are still some creative reads out there. I'm a little late to the game on the "Parasol Protectorate" series, which kicks off with Soulless, but ever since seeing the fun steampunk cover a while ago, it's been on my to-read list... and the contents are far more entertaining than the cover.

Alexia Tarabotti is soulless. It's not that she's cruel or mean or anything... she simply has no soul. This state manifests itself in a complete inability to dress with style (even if she can precisely imitate a fad, there's just no flair), a very methodical and scientific thought process, and the ability to neutralize supernatural creatures upon direct contact. You see, in this alternate 19th-century steampunk world, vampires and werewolves have been integrated with society (or at least they have in certain countries) and while there can be some tensions, Britain enjoys a rather progressive view on the matter of supernatural races. Of course, that doesn't mean that society is any less rigid on the truly important matters -- like a ladies' reputation, the proper apparel for a carriage ride, and a gentleman's assets (including his human versus supernatural state) as they reflect upon his eligibility as a suitor. Alexia is one of the very rare beings known as a preternatural, which earns the epithet "soul-sucker" from vampires and "curse-breaker" from werewolves. Unlike other paranormal hypotheses which would suggest such creatures lose their souls, in this world, it is a person's excess of soul that allows them the ability to survive the change into an immortal creature, should they make such a choice. (Otherwise, it seems that an excess of soul can lead to becoming a ghost upon death, which is not a permanent situation, as ghosts eventually get a bit batty as they fade away.) Alexia's touch would negate the supernatural abilities, rendering the supernatural mortal (no fangs, claws, or special final-death rules apply)... or resulting in an exorcism for a ghost should she touch its corporeal body.

The fact that Alexia is soulless, however, is not what makes her a bit of a societal outcast. That fact can be attributed to the fact that her father was unfortunately Italian (rendering her complexion unfashionably dusky), her nose is too large, she is a total bluestocking, and she doesn't give a fig for the usual feminine obsessions, though she does like more meaningful gossip. Her mother remarried when Alexia was young and so Alexia has two very silly sisters (the Misses Flootwill) to provide her very silly mother with some solace for the fact that her eldest was deemed a spinster at age fifteen. Alexia had long since resigned herself to this fact (and indeed, never minded in the first place) and so when some kissing occurs in the course of this novel, she's completely unprepared and has no idea what should be done about the matter. (More on that later.) Alexia does, at least, have two good friends on her side: Miss Ivy Hisselpenny has an atrocious taste in hats but is Alexia's only real girlfriend, and on the immortal side of things, Alexia has entered into the good graces of Lord Akeldama. Lord Akeldama is the most fashionable vampire in London -- a useful fellow to know should one need to know anything about anyone, as the young men who serve as his drones might appear to be silly, foppish dandies, but they are in actuality a most effective information-gathering network.

When the novel opens, Alexia is quite rudely attacked by a vampire who has no idea what Alexia is (otherwise he should not have tried something as foolish as an attack on a preternatural) and when the situation leads to some grappling and Alexia eliminating said vampire, Lord Maccon shows up to investigate. Lord Conall Maccon is a supremely eligible bachelor, despite being both Scottish and a werewolf; not only is he the Alpha of his pack, but he is the head of a government agency entrusted with supernatural matters. He's boorish, stubborn, gorgeous, a good two hundred years Alexia's senior and constantly at odds with our heroine... such strong emotions unsurprisingly lead to impressive passion (hence the kissing mentioned earlier). Lord Maccon manages to keep her name out of the papers with regards to the vampire incident, but nothing is quite so easy as it seems and before long, Alexia is mixed up in their concerns over randomly appearing and disappearing vampires that has Alexia becoming deeply involved in the supernatural worlds.

Gail Carriger is really quite fresh, witty, and charming -- and one can really only value that after enduring a few instances of writers who simply *try* to be fresh, witty, and charming, but fail. Her sense of whimsy is delightful and she revels in ridiculous situations. Alexia, meanwhile, muddles through them with... well, not grace, exactly, but she does at least retain her humor. While she doesn't have much self-esteem when it comes to her appearance, Alexia Tarabotti has no question about her own capable intelligence and ability to suss out any problems that come her way. Coupled with insatiable curiosity and a refusal to admit that something interesting might not concern her, Alexia is sure to be a fantastic heroine for many books to come. Soulless is one of those books that is rather perfect for my Nook, as I finished the first book and immediately purchased, downloaded, and began to read the second (and the third, for that matter, once I finished the second). I challenge you to resist a similar temptation -- when you finish Soulless, just see if you don't immediately consider how to best get your hands on a copy of Changeless. Do yourself a favor and have it waiting.

Bright Young Things

Anna Godbersen sets her latest series at the end of the roaring twenties, a time of prohibition and loosening morals when everyone who wanted to be anyone flocked to New York City. Cordelia and Letty are no different -- two girls from Ohio convinced that they're bigger than their small town. Cordelia is practically forced into marrying her high school sweetheart after being caught doing things with him that no good girl would do before marriage, spurring her decision that it's time for the girls to leave. They skip the reception to hop on the only train that goes direct to New York City and so begin their epic adventure. Letty (who ditches her last name and re-christens herself "Letty Larkspur") has stage aspirations and while she might be naive, she has the vocal talent that just might make her dreams come true. Cordelia, meanwhile, simply appears to be supportive of Letty's plans and doesn't confide in her friend that she believes she has figured out the identity of her father: the notorious bootlegger Darius Grey.

After a night on the town and a loud fight, the girls get kicked out of their hotel for unmarried women on their very first night and go their separate ways. Letty is taken under the wing of a cigarette girl who invites her to live in a small apartment with her and two others, and even manages to secure Letty a steady job while Letty circles newspaper audition ads that she hasn't the courage to go to. Cordelia shows up at Dogwood, Darius Grey's estate, on the night that he's throwing himself a birthday party... and after tricking her way in, is welcomed with open arms by the father who always missed her (even if her new half-brother isn't exactly thrilled with her appearance). Cordelia befriends Astrid, her new brother's girlfriend, and Astrid proves to be a young woman who has grown up privileged, though the situation has always been somewhat precarious as her mother goes through husbands rather quickly. Bright Young Things entwines the stories of these three young women, destined to play a role in each other's lives, and sure to live quite an adventure before "one would be famous, one would be married, and one would be dead."

I'll admit that since I haven't read The Luxe and its series, I wasn't quite sure what to expect -- yet Bright Young Things exceeded whatever those expectations were. Godbersen's ability to create a historically sound atmosphere makes for a charming read, as what New Yorker hasn't imagined the bygone days of the 1920s? It's full of jazz and illegal liquor, of course we've imagined it (even before Boardwalk Empire helped us with the details.) As a result, it's a great time period for a series, particularly one that doesn't seem fixated on just providing the point-of-view of the wealthy. Letty's storyline is a touch more realistic (including the struggle to make ends meet and naive notions dashed in dramatic ways), whereas Cordelia is whisked off to luxury and a Montague/Capulet family feud, realized a bit too late for her romantic nature. Astrid, meanwhile, deals with the many sides of both wealth and romance -- which makes her come off a bit one-note in the beginning and she develops depth as we go. Astrid's presence is a little surprising at the start -- though one assumes she'll be folded into the main story and come to know Letty and Cordelia. Her position as girlfriend of Cordelia's new half-brother and Cordelia's new best friend is an interesting role, particularly as her friendship with Cordelia seems very situational. As a result, she remains a bit of an outsider, allowed her closeness with the absence of Letty, and so the next books will likely play upon her tenuous bond.

The three girls are all unique in situation and attitude, though I hope we don't lose the perspective that's placed on the less-than-upper-crust scene. The glitz and glamour might be with the high society types, but the peek at how the rest of us might have lived is quite fascinating indeed (and certainly bears a resemblance to young adults of the modern day, just out of college and floundering around in the big city). As the first in a series, Bright Young Things certainly shows promise and while that whole "one would be famous, one would be married, and one would be dead" is ridiculously over-dramatic, it does certainly have the reader guessing as to the fate of each girl.

Beastly

Beauty and the Beast comes to modern Manhattan in Alex Flinn's Beastly. When rich and popular Kyle Kingston chooses to embarrass a werido classmate at a school dance, he realizes that he's tangling with magic just a little too late to save himself. The weird girl is really a witch who curses Kyle to life as a beast unless he can find a girl to love him within two years. His famous (and famously handsome) newscaster father essentially banishes his newly horrifying offspring to Brooklyn and Kyle gives up on any hope of breaking the curse. Instead, he changes his name to Adrian, becomes obsessed with his greenhouse of roses, spends all his time watching the world go by from the top story window or from a magic mirror left by the witch, and lives like a recluse with only his blind tutor and the Colombian maid for company. He's set to live out his days in this pattern, reading books and hiding from the world, until one night when he catches a drugged-up thief in his greenhouse. In exchange for his life, the junkie offers his daughter, Lindy, to the beast. When Adrian looks at the girl through his magic mirror, he recognizes her as a smart scholarship student from his old school and believes she might be his last chance at breaking the spell... plus, anyone would be better off away from a father willing to trade his daughter to some kind of monster. Adrian prepares for Lindy's arrival... and unsurprisingly to everyone except Adrian, she's not exactly thrilled to be there or have anything to do with her new jailer. Don't worry, though. This is paranormal romance. Love will blossom as sure as the roses.

If you know the Beauty and the Beast story, you know the outcome here, but Beastly's appeal rests in the modern setting with updates aplenty. While banished to Brooklyn (and as a Brooklynite, I suppose I could take offense at this, but whatever, it's better here anyway), Kyle/Adrian's world expands through the internet and between chapters, the readers sees a "transcript" of chats that he participates in with other magically afflicted individuals (including a mermaid looking to become human, a frog that needs to get kissed, and so on); unsurprisingly, it reads like many teenage chat room transcripts though perhaps that's what makes it a refreshingly different addition (though they don't go on for ages, at least, unlike most teenage chats). The reader gets to see selfish Kyle become thoughtful Adrian, a kid who devours books and comes to care about those around him, focusing on their needs and ultimately yielding to Lindy's request to return to take care of her father. His transformation is somewhat unbelievably quick, but Flinn does a nice job of capturing Kyle/Adrian's feelings of isolation without wallowing in it. I did like the fact that Kyle recognized New Yorkers will pretty much ignore anything, so he can wander around a little bit without eliciting too much suspicion. I also rather appreciated that Flinn made some follow-up observations post-happy-ending-transformation where Lindy actually was somewhat uncomfortable with her new handsome boyfriend, given that it would spur her own self-esteem issues.

Flinn makes the injecting of the fairy tale into the real world look easy-- and while critics might argue that this requires some extremes of reality (an ultra-wealthy father to provide a brownstone/castle for his beastly son, a junkie father willing to trade his daughter for his own life, etc.), one might also point out that fairy tales themselves are geared towards rewarding those who do deal with extremes. Most of the deserving souls in fairy tales are poor or otherwise downtrodden... or are wealthy folk who need to appreciate what truly makes one rich (and very little is magical in the middle class). One rather uncomfortable detail is the blind tutor, whose handicap is unintentionally likened to a curse that can be lifted... it makes the tutor come off as someone who isn't whole and needs to be fixed. It's hard to make a perfect transition of all fairy tale details into the real world, I suppose. a

All in all, Beastly is a pleasing little volume whose value rests primarily in the idea of it all. It's a quick read -- and anything longer would have certainly been to its detriment -- and it's a sweet little amusement. It's slated to be made into a movie (released March 2011), but the trailer suggests significant alterations were made to the details. In the end, though, no matter how the little things change, it's a tale as old as time... (Sorry. I had to.)

Warriors: Into the Fire

Rusty, a common house cat, decides to abandon his "kittypet" life when he's invited to become an apprentice warrior with Thunderclan, one of several clans of feral cats that hunt for their food and fight for their territory. Yeah, that's right. Clans of fighting cats. I think we have to chalk this one up to "things adults will probably never quite get" and accept it, but if you want more detail, here we go. To describe this book, I'm going to imagine a conversation with a friend of mine who would take a good amount of joy in subtly mocking me about this book while asking more and more questions so he might relish the ridiculousness.

Um... Alana? I notice that you're reading a book with a cat on the cover. Now, it doesn't look like nonfiction, nor does the cat appear to be intended ironically... would you care to comment? Yeah... this is the first book from that insanely lucrative "Warriors" series that's so popular with the kids these days.

Oh really? What's the series about? Well, it's about clans of cats who live by a warrior code and battle for survival in the wilderness. Imagine warrior knights loyal to a king... but with fur... and tails. The first one is from the perspective of a house cat named Rusty who joins up with the Thunderclan and proves himself worthy of becoming a warrior as he protects the clan and his friends.

... Seriously? Yes, seriously.

So all the characters are cats. ... Does Rusty fight along side Fluffy, Rocketship, and Mittens? Actually, once Rusty joins the clan, his name becomes Firepaw. And all the clan cats have these double names like Tigerclaw or Spottedleaf or Bluestar.

... Are you making this up? I promise you, I'm not making this up.

Okaaay. I'll admit, I've heard of the series, but I don't think I really realized everything that it would entail. Get it? En-tail? You're hilarious.

There's a lot of these books, aren't there? There are approximately a zillion books in this series.

A zillion? A zillion books about anthropomorphic fighting cats? Who on earth is reading these? In the eight to twelve age bracket, it's more a question of who isn't reading them. It's a series that actually appeals to both girls and boys and here's why. One: it's about kittehs (which means all girls will read this). Two: they fight (which means lots of boys will read this). Three: have you ever heard of a little thing called Redwall by Brian Jacques? Now all the geeks will read this.

Hey! Don't knock Redwall! I'm not knocking Redwall at all, because Redwall is awesome, but you have to admit... while Redwall fans were not necessarily popular as children, they are voracious readers and if you had run out of books about mice, otters, and voles and you saw this series sitting right in front of your beloved Brian Jacques... well, cats aren't looking so crazy now, are they?

Well played... to the point where I'm wishing I had come up with this idea. I could be making bank. What mastermind conceived of this evil plan? The author is listed as Erin Hunter, but "Erin Hunter" is the pen name used by four women who write/edit this series. The idea was originally suggested to the editor by the publisher, who wanted a series about cats, and it all took off from there. The surname "Hunter" stems from the combined desire to come up with something that fits the series (and "Hunter" works pretty nicely) and the goal to tap into the Redwall market by simple shelf placement. It also means you don't break up the series by an author's last name if they were to all be shelved according to the individual author.

Okay, but really, while the book premise might seem wildly ridiculous to adults, I can totally see the appeal for children. Epic stories, a return to tales rather knightly topics of honor and loyalty, a huge cast of characters... yes, it's talking animals but the plots aren't focused on silly adventures. There's actual fighting and death, which means kids don't feel like this is some pandering story about kitty-cats where everything turns out okay in the end and Miss Whiskers is just sleeping. Young readers learn moral lessons about being dedicated to achieving their goals and rising above taunts and prejudice.

I'll admit that I may have, at times, wanted to insert various lolcats as illustrative aids and shout "Thundercats! Hoooo!" when the Thunderclan went into battle. My significant other refers to this as the "lazer cat" series. And no, there's no way I would be caught on the subway reading this book by another adult but that's the thing... I'm not the intended market; kids are, and as long as they're entertained, I'm totally fine with any epic series that keeps them reading. Sure, "Warriors" doesn't seem quite as literary as Redwall, though it's gotten nominated for various awards, and there's a really large cast of characters, but that only seems to invest kids in learning everything to conquer it all and diving into this new world. It's not another planet; the cats don't wear clothes. A kid could read this and very easily look at the family cat in a whole new light. Yes, the cats seem to have an impressive knowledge of herbal lore at their paw-tips, but to just injure cats in battle and then leave them to fester and die would be far too gruesome. Rusty/Firepaw is a fairly likable hero who certainly grows in skill and logic as the book progresses. His eventual path towards leading Thunderclan (which I'm guessing at right now) seems pretty clear. This is obviously set up for a series, but this has to have surpassed the wildest expectations of the publisher, given the huge fan base and large number of participating members on the fan message boards.

Here's the thing. Unlike some other young reader books, I can't really say that I would recommend this to other adults -- there seems to be an age limit for the obsession. Honestly, I would suspect there's an age limit from any true pleasure taken from these. After a certain age, if you're going to read about anthropomorphic animals, you want a little more from them. However, Warriors could prove to be a key stepping stone from much simpler young reader books to other, more intense fantasy worlds and giant epics. Hey, it might even help to improve the attention span of children if they manage to read all these books and remember the family trees and so on. Clearly Warriors has lots of fans and despite my good-natured teasing, this old-fogy can see how kids today might find this to be a truly captivating series.

Oh, and one last thing. Thundercats! Hooooo!


UPDATE.
Okay. I finished writing this review and then went out to dinner with my significant other. We sat down and almost immediately, my significant other's eyes locked on something beyond my elbow.
"That's yours, right?"
"What?"
"That." With his head, he motioned for me to turn and look. Behind us, an elderly couple sat and beside the older woman, a copy of Warriors sat with a bookmark in it. It was book six of the first series. x"I love it," she insisted when we asked. "I have cats and I'm a big animal lover. I think these books are wonderful." So I yield the point. Evidently adults do read these books for their own enjoyment. She wasn't even reading it to engage in a shared interest with a grandchild (as had been my hypothesis). It takes all kinds, evidently.

Norwegian Wood

So, clearly I'm missing something. The book that made the list for 1001 Books to Read Before You Die and that reviews seem to rave about can't possibly be the book I spent about three years slogging through, can it? I purchased this as an audiobook on Audible in late 2007 and made multiple attempts to listen and be captivated until this year when I finally decided it was not worth the space on my ipod and I just needed to make it happen. So over a series of trips (that always left me feeling disgruntled upon arrival) and afternoons knitting in the park, I finally finished Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood this past week, and for a book that is full of rather passive people, I felt pretty strongly about it. Prior to the last hour of listening, my review could have been summarized by: "Sigh. Really? Fine." After the last hour, I switched entirely to: "What the f--k?" When you can wrap up your entire review with two words and an expletive... well... unless it's "damn, that's awesome," then you have a problem. I'll try to write a non-biased description of the plot (but I make no promises) and I warn you now that I will summarize to the end of the book -- honestly, you're not reading this one for plot, as everything is painfully predictable, so I wouldn't worry if I were you. Then again, I also don't recommend reading this one at all, so it's your call.

Originally published in 1987, Norwegian Wood is told from the perspective of Toru Watanabe, a Japanese man looking back on his early days at university in Tokyo. In high school, Watanabe's best friend Kizuki committed suicide on his seventeenth birthday without giving much indication as to his intentions to either his beloved girlfriend, Naoko, or best friend Watanabe. Some time later, after Watanabe begins school in Tokyo, he and Naoko meet and begin to spend time together, finding some consolation in each other's company for the loss they still feel, and they come to love each other. (Or perhaps in reality, Watanabe wants to protect fragile Naoko as she quietly comes apart at the seams and they call this love.) They sleep together once on her twentieth birthday when Naoko's in a particularly unstable mental and emotional mood, then Naoko leaves Tokyo to commit herself to a sanatorium. (Presumably it wasn't the sex that did it, but the timing does make one wonder.) Meanwhile, Watanabe befriends a charismatic and yet callous fellow student named Nagasawa, who shares a love of literature with Watanabe, yet their ideas of the world are at odds. Nagasawa is older and a diplomacy student, with his future career mapped out, and this suits him just fine. Nagasawa's influence leads Watanabe to be a bit of a cad himself, particularly on nights spent on the town as they sleep with girls (including one incident where they swapped halfway through the night). Watanabe never really approves of Nagasawa's behavior, particularly as it pertains to his beautiful and loyal girlfriend Hatsumi, and yet all Watanabe can eventually do is stop going out on Saturday nights with Nagasawa. Lest you think that Watanabe was at least remaining emotionally faithful to Naoko while she's in the sanatorium, he also develops a friendship with an outgoing and outspoken girl from one of his drama classes named Midori, and though he still believes he's in love with Naoko, he rather leads both himself and Midori along in their "friendship," indulging her cheekily explicit conversations and making a promise to Midori's dying father to take care of her. They go drinking and to seedy theaters to watch really dirty porno flicks, and Midori is constantly talking... which can be annoying, but perhaps more annoying is the fact that Marukami thinks she's an independent and strong young woman all because she can care for aging family members and wear a super-short skirt. Her own feelings of self-worth are questionable and even if she knows that (on paper) she's a worthwhile young woman, she still falls for a man in a doomed relationship with another girl that only has the potential to taint their own relationship. Beyond all of Watanabe's personal issues, there's also a growing sense of revolutionary discontent at the University, which Watanabe largely absents himself from, yet cannot escape completely as he lives in a boys' dormitory for a large part of the novel.

Eventually, Watanabe gets his own place and wallows in his isolation. He does go to visit Naoko twice, meeting her roommate Reiko, a cheerful, middle-aged woman who jokes about how old she is and plays many instruments, including the guitar. At Naoko's request, she frequently plays the Beatles, including Naoko's favorite, "Norwegian Wood." While visiting, Watanabe plays confidante to both women, listening to Naoko talk about her older sister's suicide and listening to Reiko tell her own story of how she lost hold of her sanity twice -- once after buckling under the pressure from being a piano prodigy, and again after a young piano student challenges Reiko's sexual orientation and then spreads rumors that Reiko sexually assaulted her. The book is surprisingly explicit when it comes to sex, whether that be Reiko's account of the young woman performing oral sex on her, Naoko's description of how she could never get wet with Kizuki, or Watanabe talking about what he and Naoko do together (though each time he visits, Naoko brings him to climax without them actually engaging in sexual intercourse and without Naoko experiencing any pleasure). Watanabe pushes Naoko into thinking about leaving the sanatorium to come and live with him, where he can look after her, but Naoko only says she will consider it. After returning to Tokyo, Watanabe and Midori have issues with their friendship (Watanabe is a bit of an idiot when it comes to alerting people to his movements, as he tends to exist in his head a great deal) and eventually recognize that it's more than that. Watanabe now has to deal with the fact that he loves both women, yet understands his relationship with Midori is far more sustainable than that with Naoko, who seems to be getting worse and refuses to suggest another date when he can visit, claiming she wants to be all well when he sees her again. When he writes to seek advice from Reiko, she tells him that if he loves Midori, he should be with her, but he shouldn't yet mention it to Naoko for fear of harming her recovery.

Unsurprisingly, Naoko's condition worsens and when she appears to make at least a small recovery, that's only a precursor to her suicide. She hangs herself in the woods near the sanatorium, the same method used by her sister, after agreeing to go to a more intensive hospital for treatment and her only note is to ask that her clothes be given to Reiko. Watanabe attends the funeral and then disappears from Tokyo to live as a vagabond for a few weeks, yet this does nothing to help him heal, and he eventually returns. Reiko leaves the sanatorium and visits Watanabe, posing as his aunt and yet they sleep together before she leaves to take a job teaching music in an isolated place. (We'll also add Hatsumi, the long-suffering girlfriend of Nagasawa and ideal of womanhood, to the list of women too fragile to handle the world, as she also commits suicide a few years after the main events of the novel.) After Naoko's death and Reiko's visit, Watanabe wants to reach out to Midori, whom he's all but ignored following these events (and to whom he said precious little about his whole situation or Naoko's mental issues, save that he was in a complicated relationship), and the novel ends with him finally attempting to call her and Midori giving a somewhat chilly reception. Of course, what's irritating is that she's perfectly justified in her cold tone, yet she's not hanging up on him and persists in listening. There is no resolution here, only the open question of whether they managed to patch things up and my personal hope that Midori told him to piss off.

In general, I found this novel to be slow and dull, easy to put aside and hard to trudge through for the sake of completion. I didn't like any of the characters and I particularly didn't like our narrator, Watanabe. Sure, he might give a perfectly clear account of most things but this colored him as an incredibly detached young man, without real emotions or at least with ridiculously simplistic ones. He seems to have no passions and no personality. He blandly wanders through life, making a mess of things by not doing much of anything or making real choices, and yet we're supposed to identify with him and feel sorry for him? We know from the get-go that Naoko's a lost cause and her death will be a big event, yet we must endure her wilting-lily existence and uncharacteristically open talk about her body's inability to be aroused. Every woman in the novel is held up on a bit of a pedestal... and part of her perfection (despite their small differences) is that they really do need help at all times to stand on their own two feet... preferably strong male help. They seem to be nothing without being defined by male relationships and only Midori has personality (though really, all this "personality" consists of is a constant chatter coupled with an eager interest in discussing sex, though usually it's twisted sex). I like Reiko for the fact that she's pleasant... and indeed, she might seem to be the least stereotypically crazy person, as she only talks about the times she "snapped" and otherwise simply seems frightened of reentering a world that has gone on without her. On the whole, the characters just didn't seem very multifaceted and I know one need not like the narrator of a novel, but he should at least learn something during the course of the novel, right? Something should have happened to him, and yet I'm not sure if anything really did. These all seem to just remain as memories of his youth and since we know practically nothing about the adult Watanabe, the reader is forced to just accept everything as it is, with the knowledge that Watanabe did manage to at least get older.

I just don't get it... or rather, I think I get it, but I just don't want it. Was I supposed to survive on landscape descriptions alone? Was the explicit and detached talk about sex supposed to be revolutionary? Naoko's was awkward, ditto for Reiko, and Midori's seemed unconvincing in the supposed eagerness to go on about it. Was I supposed to swoon for the Beatles being used as a cultural touchstone in Japan? Obviously Murakami was basing the story on bits of the Beatles' song, pulling particular phrases to match so that we have a man remembering a girl, an intimate and yet awkward encounter, and an abrupt departure... but the Beatles have more emotive beauty in a single line of verse than this entire book put together. Sure, it's interesting that Murakami clearly was inspired by a song to write a book, but it didn't work out well. Clearly he spent a lot of time thinking about these characters and certain reviews that I've read suggest that the book isn't exactly autobiographical but Murakami drew heavily from his own past for the character of Watanabe. That fact makes me feel even worse about the book because Watanabe is the single worst part of it... okay, the second worst part; the first worst part is the overall depiction of such simpering women that shows Murakami can't understand a female perspective.

My emotional response tells me to give this book one star, but I'll tack on one more for the sake of the Beatles-inspired idea and certain passages where Murakami describes scenes with detail and care. I'm not sure who recommended this book to me originally, but rest assured, I will be hunting them down and making them pay for inflicting this colossally frustrating experience upon me.

Never Let Me Go

I'd been holding off on reading Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go because I knew it was going to be good and I wanted to wait for the right time (hey, sometimes it's important to time books correctly when you know they're going to be depressing and yet sadly lovely). Well, the right time didn't come along so much as the movie got released and I didn't want to live in fear of something being given away and spoiling it all. So I dove in to this melancholy tale about growing up, surviving friendships, and understanding that the world is not fair... in a far more colossal sense for these characters than we could ever imagine for ourselves.

It's a hard novel to talk about without giving away something, so I feel I was right to read the book when I did (aka before the movie's wide release). As I don't want to ruin the plot for anyone who doesn't wish to know more about what we're dealing with, I'll put some greater detail and some personal thoughts on the big reveal after the asterisks. Up until then, if it all sounds a bit vague, well, then you'll understand.

The novel is told from the perspective of Kathy H., a woman aware that a new chapter of her life is about to begin but who is constantly drawn to thinking of the past... in particular, she remembers her own life in terms of her relationships with Ruth and Tommy. Ruth is Kathy's lifelong frenemy... a best friend capable of deep sympathy and just when Kathy lets down her guard, Ruth will do something cruel... for only a best friend is capable of inflicting certain kinds of cruelty. Of course, then the pattern of love and betrayal repeats itself again and again, until one day it doesn't. Tommy is the only boy that Kath seems to befriend, understanding him better than Ruth, and there's always the question of whether perhaps it should have been Tommy and Kath that should have gotten together. After growing up at Halisham, a rather idyllic-seeming English country school, and embarking upon lives outside of its sheltering walls, Kath reflects on everything that has come to pass between the three of them, from moments of deep camaraderie to times of intense turmoil and sorrow. Their world is not simple and yet perhaps its deep lessons are as simple as those in the lives of the rest of us.

Ishiguro writes of England in a way that seems to make the whole country become incredibly vivid, as though you were experiencing a chilly English fall, with a nip in the air as you walked a long distance in your Wellingtons and a pullover. More than that, the whole mood of the novel seems to reflect this... a feeling of transition tinged with sadness and decay, complete with a steady descent into inevitable and hopeless winter. Let me warn you now that if you're a person who cannot deal with melancholy reveries, then perhaps this book is not for you. It hinges upon the reader's ability to sympathize with the characters, to feel deep sadness and to make up for their lack of fight with the reader's own feelings of anger and indignation at a system that goes unquestioned.

One small issue I might have is that by the time any important information is completely revealed, the reader has long since guessed it. The novel makes expert use of ambiguous and cryptic phrasing. Hints are dropped via innocuous words that something is very wrong, indeed, and yet is known about on a grander level, so the students are left to piece together bits of knowledge to form a coherent picture. Deep undercurrents of tension are everywhere, with the sickening feeling that we're headed towards inevitable anguish. Kath and Tommy worry about being overheard, yet take the chance to meet and decipher odd things that they, themselves, have overheard. Yet just as their curiosity blooms, they either loose interest or find a reason to back away, uncertain if they're ready for the ultimate revelation. The reader, then, has figured things out by the time bald statements of fact are made and so one is left with a sense of, "Yes, and what else?" with a hope for something more... which is perhaps fitting for characters who somewhat know the truth and yet wonder if there isn't something else left unsaid for so much in their lives has been learned by drips of seemingly secret knowledge.

The title comes from a song (fictional) on a tape that Kath owns. While the song probably refers to a lover, Kath thinks of a mother holding a long-hoped for child; yet beyond this, an observer of Kath comes up with an entirely different interpretation as she watches this young girl dance alone to the music. Ishiguro seems here to emphasize the many perspectives of situations, clearly imagined in the book as a whole by telling a story from the perspective of one who is not a large player in the events of the world, and is simply one small being living out her life. The language is lovely and the plight of these three entwined creatures is quite distressing, indeed, and if you're anything like me, there will also be an unease and frustration at the lack of action. So much is accepted as fate... a sad, awful fate, but fate nonetheless that appears as though it cannot be altered. At first, I wondered how Ishiguro could write such a story without any apparent thought of changing their destinies, and yet now I feel that his goal is to inspire the reader with such emotions, to bring the discussion off the page and into the reader's own life as it never was in Kath's or Ruth's or Tommy's. Against a backdrop of larger ideas and scientific discoveries, Kathy's account of her own quiet life creates such heartbreaking poignancy that the reader will not likely forget her story or the questions it raises.


**
This next section includes some spoilers, so if you haven't read the book, I urge you to turn back now.

The reader spends the book gleaning bits of information dropped at strategic moments from Kathy and by the time she comes out and says the big secret of everything, the reader has long since figured it out. When the story finally states that all of the children at Halisham are clones and are destined to be harvested for their organs, the reader is left thinking, "Yes, yes, but what else?" Well, there isn't anything else. This experience of the reader is echoed in the characters themselves, who vaguely understand their fate, and yet there are small bits of hope that there might be something else left for them, a mythical "deferral." The rumor seems real, for multiple people have heard it whispered that people who prove they are in love can receive a deferral from their donations and have a few years together. No one knows whether this is true, but it doesn't stop the rumor from cropping up again and again... the manifestation of creatures who wonder if they cannot change what life has in store... that perhaps they are special and they can be an exception to the rule.

Of course, the big question asked by any reader isn't how can they defer this, it's more how the hell can they get out of it altogether? But not a single character within the book asks this question, human or clone. Not Ruth, not Kathy, not Miss Emily, not even Tommy... but at least Tommy seemed to experience anger over everything, even if he does come to accept things. With movies like The Island or other science fiction tales in my head, it seemed incredibly strange to me that there was no mention of a safe-guard or something that ensured these clones would meet their destined role on the operating table. No "Oh sorry, you are all implanted with a tracking chip, so if you tried to run off and assimilate into society, you'd be found right quick." No "You have no skills to deal with life in the real world... (except if you tried to hole up somewhere academic where your ineptitude for every day things would be fairly standard)." Not a word on the idea as to whether or not they could "pass" as normal human. Nothing about groups lobbying for the rights of clones. Only the fleeting idea, easily extinguished, about a deferral for those in love. Only pain and acceptance. It is mentioned at one time that society in a larger sense could never go back to a world without the harvesting of organs from clones, as this enabled horrible diseases to, essentially, be eradicated.

Within Never Let Me Go is a world that chooses not to look on the face of clones and insists they have no souls, so it's okay that they're raised for this fate, like cattle. Is it idealistic of me to assume that our world would not stand for such things? It's actually quite a frightening thought when you have to put faith in your own world on matters like this when other atrocities go unchecked and people die each day from preventable causes. The clones are sheltered and cared for with the utmost attention to their health. Halisham is revolutionary in its attempts to provide an idyllic life for the clones before they meet their fates, like free-range chickens with art classes. Such emphasis on creativity might be working towards proving the existence of their souls, but when their champions aren't quite sure about it, then how can the clones ever hope to have free choice in their lives? Even Miss Lucy, the outspoken teacher dismissed so quickly, was really only insistent that the children be openly told about their purpose in life... she only thought it was cruel to not be more transparent about the facts, not that the facts were abhorrent. And make no mistake, this is a kind of horror story, even if the reality is couched in vague terminology. The whole system of carers and donors, where one is forced to watch others endure what will soon be their own fate... the phrase "completed" substituted in for "died"... a process where the donor gives one organ at a time until the fourth "donation" when, clearly, all other organs are harvested. (As a side note, I spent a great deal of time musing on what the third organ could be that is taken from a donor where they can still get up and move around. A kidney, part of a liver and what? While musing aloud to my significant other on this topic and the book in general, I inadvertently stumbled into one of his childhood nightmares and was firmly requested to never discuss the idea of clones and organ donation again. So clearly, Ishiguro has at least one person who would file this novel in the "horror" section.) Even the idea of Kath becoming an excellent carer who is allowed to choose some of the donors she cares for has a strangely twisted element of kindness... indulging the fact that she has emotions and cares for people, yet still persisting in the system which will eventually run its course for her, too.

Of course, I put my emphasis on this topic because I've been thinking about this since I finished the book, which means it stuck with me, which means that it presented some really fascinating ideas. Ishiguro creates a science fiction world and yet I imagine few people would think of this as science fiction -- namely because he's not trying to focus on the alternate world realities so much as he's dealing with personal pain and acceptance, relationships that stretch throughout our lives (no matter how short), and the various ways a person deals with impossible circumstances and death... even when it's the knowledge of their own. Overall, I really enjoyed the book... perhaps even more so after reading it and taking time to reflect. For such a slim novel, it speaks volumes about what it means to be human and what matters in our very short lives. I highly recommend it and if you have any insight as to what that third organ could be (and no, it didn't seem to be eyes), let me know.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

There are certain books that make me long for time-travel. When you've been a bookworm from the womb, it's not often that you stumble upon a brilliant YA book that was in print when you were its target demographic and yet it never crossed your path. I realize that it's not possible to read everything (though heaven knows we try), but you'd like to think that you've been thorough in you literary education... and yet there will come a time in your adult years when, for whatever reason, you'll pick up a gem like Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower and you figure you'll give it a whirl. When the moment arrives where you finally start to read this book, your jaw will drop and your mind will scour itself for any possible explanation as to how this wonderful piece slipped through the cracks. You will wish that time travel was an option so that you could slip this book to the front of your sixteen-year-old self's queue so that your younger self could have the pleasure of reading this while still trying to endure high school. I might even correct myself at this point to insist that The Perks of Being a Wallflower isn't really a young adult book, even if it's written from the perspective of a high school freshman. It's a literary work of fiction that a reader of any age should be able to appreciate for its complexities, refreshing voice, and the deep emotional reaction it provokes.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is an epistolary novel, comprised of letters written by high school freshman Charlie to a "friend" in the early 90s -- though this "friend" recipient is unknown, even by Charlie, who assumes the recipient has no knowledge of him and his life. The "dear friend" essentially substitutes in for a more guy-friendly "dear diary" thing. He's got a sports star older brother who just started college and an older sister with self-confidence issues in an abusive relationship. Prior to the start of the novel, Charlie's only friend committed suicide, leaving Charlie to start high school without a crowd of friends or any sympathetic faces. He's been seeing a therapist and that turns out to be a pretty good thing, as Charlie comes off as being slightly autistic. He's awkward and unpopular (often called a freak), though ultimately it is revealed that his issues are much more serious than initially indicated (though the reader starts to suspect from early on). Charlie is also incredibly sympathetic as as character because he's sensitive and painfully honest, totally clueless to social complexities and subtext. Eventually, he's taken under the wing of two seniors in the alternative crowd -- Sam (a girl whom Charlie falls in love with) and her stepbrother Patrick (a gay boy in a secret relationship with a guy from the in-crowd). Charlie gets an introduction to alcohol, drugs, and relationships, though it's important to note that even if these kids can be a bit self-destructive, we're not talking about overdoses or dealing here. They're simply mixed up kids trying to figure things out and at least they're always incredibly kind to Charlie, who they can tell functions on a bit of a different wavelength. At times he's very perceptive and capable of reacting in the perfect way, but at other moments he becomes overwhelmed, resulting in tears or panic-attacks. He cares deeply for his friends, spending a great deal of time selecting Christmas or graduation presents, and recognizes when people are making a great effort with him. He's appreciative of any notice, though not desperate for it, and clearly there's something in his past that he needs to deal with before he can have any hope of settling in to a more "normal" life.

Despite being a bit emotionally confused, Charlie is clearly very intelligent. As the book progresses, Charlie's writing style improves. An English teacher takes an interest in Charlie, assigning him extra reading and reports that make an impact on Charlie's education and personal growth. His friends allow him to be exposed to new music, which Charlie immediately takes to as a way of expressing emotion. One might consider him to be a bit emotionally stunted, but really, Charlie has so many emotions and he just doesn't know what to do with them. Mostly, he wants his friends to be happy -- whether that means the girl he loves is dating somebody else or his gay friend is using him to get over his heartbreak. His own sexuality is not terribly defined, but eventually it's a reaction to actual sexual activity that causes him to have a mental break as he remembers sexual abuse from childhood at the hands of a trusted relative that he had buried within himself.

The book is obviously influenced by Catcher in the Rye, but caters to an MTV crowd where kids are dealing with the same issues in new ways (or, perhaps, the same ways, just with a different set of cultural touchstones). Charlie, though, is not nearly the same jaded kid as Holden... he's just stumbling through high school and enjoying his friends while he can. There might be a lot of worry for the future buried in Charlie's mind, but he's also very good about reminding us to enjoy the moments we have, perfect moments laughing with friends or receiving encouragement from a beloved mentor. As such a vulnerable young man, the reader wishes she could hug him and tell him that everyone must endure high school, but Charlie has been given a lot of things to endure.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is for every kid who felt like they were on the outside looking in, misunderstood, or in some way just not quite fitting in during high school. It's impossible to not fall in love with Charlie. Your heart breaks for him over and over again, but somehow that's perfectly okay because you know that at least he's living and engaging with others. These may not have been episodes from your own high school career, but you'll understand the highs and lows (particularly the lows) endured by each one of these sympathetic characters. I really do wish I could somehow put this in the hands of my younger self, but for those of us who grew up in the 90s, this is a bit of an experiment in time-travel itself as you're transported back to a time not so very long ago when we were all awkward and uncertain, with a wealth of mistakes still ahead of us and a soundtrack of songs that made us feel infinite.