Not quite back yet, but....

...please allow me to pick your brains, my bookish friends. What's the happiest, most charming or most delightful book you know?

The reason for my absence this past week was a pet-related emergency. I was cautiously hopeful when I wrote that post on Wednesday, but shortly afterwards I got the worst news. I lost one of my beloved dogs, and to make things worse, I spent the rest of the week thinking I might lose one of my cats too. My cat, Calvin, is safe and sound, fortunately, but... well, I'll spare you the details about my dog, both because they're tragic enough that I don't want to make anyone else sad, and because I can't talk about it yet without drowning the keyboard. I'll just say that this was one of the most sudden and devastating animal losses I suffered in almost twenty years as a pet owner.

...which is why I'm in need of comforting books. I've barely read a page all week, but I'm getting to that stage where I need to be distracted from what happened, and nothing does the job better than books. A friend suggested I re-read old favourites, which is a great idea, but I also figured that being in extreme need of comfort is as good a reason to break a book buying ban as they come. So if you can think of anything that would charm me or make me smile, let me know and I'll get it. If you were feeling particularly generous with your time, you could go through my tbr pile and let me know if any of the books I already own would fit the bill.

As for blogging: I've been too sad and unmotivated to return to it just yet, but as I said I'm also in need of something that will distract me, so I'll probably be back either late this week or the next. I really want to make an effort to finish Orlando and join the discussion at Nonsuch Book on Friday, which I've really been looking forward to. We'll see if I can manage. Also, I haven't opened Google Reader since last Monday, and the thought of struggling to catch up is stressful enough that I might just click the dreaded "mark all as read" button. Apologies in advance! I promise I haven't forgotten any of you, thought, and I very much appreciated all the comments, tweets and e-mails I got.

On that note, if you've written a post you really think I shouldn't miss, or saw one in someone else's blog, please feel free to leave me the link in the comments. I mean it. I don't feel up to braving Google Reader just yet, but I'd love something that would entertain me or distract me. So don't be shy about leaving me a link if you've reviewed something you think I'd love this past week.

Read More......

Blogging Break

Hey all,

Just a quick note to let you know I'm going to have to take some time off blogging due to an unexpected personal situation that will require my full attention over the next few days. No need to worry - I'm fine and in good health. I just thought I'd let you know I won't be online because I know some of you are used to seeing me blabbing over here, on Twitter, or in comments pretty much on a daily basis, and I didn't want to leave anyone wondering why I'd suddenly gone missing in action.

Read More......

The Unwritten Vol 1 by Mike Carey and Peter Goss

My thoughts upon finishing The Unwritten: Oh no – I got myself hooked on yet another series. It’s not a bad thing, not exactly, but those long Vertigo graphic novels series tend to be heavy on my wallet. But on the other hand, O! the happiness they bring me. My life would be so much poorer without Fables or The Sandman. This is only volume one, and I almost don’t want to say it lest I jinx it, but *whispers* I suspect that The Unwritten might be up there with those two.

Mike Carey and Peter Goss (of Lucifer fame) open The Unwritten with a scene from a book within the book: the final scene from the last Tommy Taylor book, an extremely popular series about a boy wizard and his two best friends. The series ends somewhat ambiguously, and its author, Wilson Taylor, mysteriously disappeared shortly after finishing the last book. Behind he left a son, Tom Taylor, who has to deal with the pressure of being seen as a “real life” Tommy Taylor by millions of fans. He takes advantage of this by going to conventions and signing books on his father’s behalf, but one day—

Well, I don’t really want to tell you more about the plot. I’ll just say that it challenges the boundaries between fiction and reality, and also that it’s so awesome that my head very nearly exploded. You’re probably thinking that the Tommy Taylor books sound suspiciously like a certain very popular series about a certain boy wizard—which yes, yes they do. But fear not, there’s no ridiculing. The story is written with true respect for Harry Potter fandom, as well as for the fact that stories matter enough to people to inspire such passion.

The literary references don’t stop at Harry Potter either: we also have Frankenstein, Sherlock Holmes, Shakespeare, Dickens, William Blake, and cameos by Kipling, Mark Twain and Oscar Wilde. Honestly, I thought I’d died and gone to metafictional heaven. And the thing is, The Unwritten is clever and literary, but not in a too-clever-for-its-own-good sort of way. It’s also an exciting, satisfying, good old-fashioned piece of storytelling. This is because all those references aren’t there to make the writers seem clever, or to make readers who get them feel sophisticated and well-read. They’re there because they make sense in the story – because The Unwritten is a story about stories, about the way they shape how we view the world, about why they’re such a fundamental part of what makes us human.

It’s a book about why stories matter, really. As Tommy Taylor’s mysterious ally Lizzie Hexman says, Nothing matters more than the stories we tell ourselves to explain the world. And this is how Count Ambrosio (or a supposed Count Ambrosio), the villain from the Tommy Taylor books, puts it:

Just a story? Tell that to the Greeks who fought at Troy, Tommy. Tell the women burned as witches, the Rosenbergs, Sacco and Vanzetti. Tell the martyrs of all the religions and the millions who fell in all the wars since time began. Stories are the only thing worth dying for!

I’m not sure what is a good reason to die and what isn’t, but the fact is that he’s right—people have been dying for stories since the beginning of time. And living for them as well. As those of you who’ve been reading this blog for a while know, this is a literary theme I come back to again and again. I really have the feeling this series and I are going to be good friends.


Bill Willingham, who wrote this volume’s introduction, says that literature-based, animal and fairy-tale fantasy is becoming as important and defining a genre in the comics medium as superhero stories once were. (He also says he wishes he’d written this book. Just thought I’d let you know.) The examples he gives are convincing, and they also happen to be some of my all-time favourite comics series. I really think The Unwritten will end up joining that list.

(PS: The real reason why I got The Unwritten: Mike Carey has awesome taste in music.)

Read More......

Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power & A World Without Rape edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti

The world we envision is one in which genuine pleasure is celebrated—not feared, controlled or commodified. Where the only consent that matters is the kind that’s given freely and enthusiastically. Where each person’s body, regardless of gender, is theirs to do with whatever pleases them—and to keep safe from whatever doesn’t.

Yes Means Yes is a collection of essays about sexual violence, cultural perceptions of female sexuality, gender stereotypes, and the ways in which all three are connected to create a culture that legitimises rape and disallows female expressions of desire. It’s a book that expands our understanding of sexual violence to incorporate consequences and scenarios that most people have probably not considered before—and I don’t just mean anything beyond the stranger-in-the-bushes picture, though obviously it goes far beyond that.

I loved the fact that Yes Means Yes included a multiplicity of voices and perspective: cis women and men, transgender people, people of colour, immigrant women, sex workers, etc. They all talk about the varied ways in which Western culture’s attitudes towards sex, violence, and particularly female sexuality affect their lives. I suppose that a lot of people would argue that today’s world is overloaded with sex talk, but the problem is that despite all the sexual imagery and boastful talk that has entered the public realm, honest and frank conversations about sexuality are still rare—especially from a female perspective. Which is why books like this matter so much.

As with any essay collection, some of the essays in “Yes Means Yes” hit me more than others, but I found each and every one of them thoughtful, enriching, and often eye-opening. A few I particularly wanted to highlight:

“The Fantasy of Acceptable ‘Non-Consent’” by Stacey May Fowles surprised me because it dared to open a particularly problematic can of worms. I admire her for it, because I believe that anything that matters to people is worthy of honest discussion. The essay is about Fowles’ preference for a passive role and domination in the bedroom, and the fact that even among like-minded people, she has found that her preference is often pathologised: she’s accused of relinquishing control of her life, of being in an “unhealthy” relationship, and of trying to re-enact abusive sexual dynamics as part of a healing process. None of which, Fowles says, is the case. She says she feels patronised by people who make those assumptions, and carefully explains that a sexual preference is just that—a sexual preference. She also says that the domination/submission dynamics do not extend to how she and her partner interact outside the bedroom; and furthermore, she points out that the thing that makes these encounters possible at all is the fact that consent is always carefully negotiated beforehand.

“Invasion of Space by a Female” by Coco Fusco was one of the most upsetting essays to read, but one of the most enlightening too. It's about sexual abuse on the part of women soldiers in the army and in prisoner camps. Fusco carefully explains how the stereotype of the male sexual predator and the helpless female prey means that when the roles are reversed, sexual abuse is perceived as not quite real, or not quite as serious. The true obviously being that it is, in fact, as real and as serious as when a man abuses a woman.

“An Immodest Proposal” by Heather Corinna tells a story that I heard countless times in my teens: it’s a “nice” virginity loss story, one in which the girl is treated kindly and respectfully; but it’s also one in which she merely goes through the motions without feeling much of anything at all—this because she grew up believing that sex is not something girls do, but something that is done to them. Corinna’s alternative story is one that would make the world a better place in many ways.

Hanne Blank’s “The Process-oriented Virgin” is about the fact that when she was researching her book Virgin: The Untouched History, she met young women who didn’t see virginity loss as an isolated and defined moment in time, but rather as a learning process that could span several years and that was only finished when they felt it was finished—when they felt at ease with their sexuality. Blank tells us that she was initially taken aback, but the more she thought about it, the more sense this approach made.

Finally, “Trial by Media” by Samhita Mukhopahyay is about how black women feel particularly limited by the fact that they’re often cast into one of to fixed roles: the “respectable lady”, whose existence is asexual, and the “lascivious black woman”, whose sexuality is seen as excessive, pathological, and even threatening. And of course, these stereotypes mean that rape stories involving black women are treated by the media in ways that seem to imply that you can't “really” rape a women who is oversexual to begin with.

The central idea around which Yes Means Yes is built is one that may seem obvious, but still very much bears repeating: that sexual consent is more than the absence of “no”, and that the fact that we live in a world that doesn’t allow women to acknowledge or express desire, a world that still views sex as something men do to women, is damaging for everyone. If these are things you care about, please read this book. I wish the whole world would.

A few passages I wanted to share:

If women have the ability to fully and freely say yes, and if we established a model of enthusiastic consent instead of just “no means no”, it would be a lot harder for men to get away with rape. It would be a lot harder to argue that there’s a “gray area”. It would be a lot harder to push the idea that “date rape” is less serious than “real” rape, that women who are assaulted by acquaintances were probably teases, that what is now called “date rape” used to just be called “seduction”.

(From “Offensive Feminism” by Jill Filipovic)

Let’s be clear. By “rape”, I mean a sexual encounter without consent. Consent is saying yes. Yes, YES! This is the definition, in my experience, employed by today’s rape crises services. Their models for prevention education, however, fail to teach young people how to really articulate or receive consent. They instead focus on how to say and listen to “no”. “No” is useful, undoubtedly, but it is at best incomplete. How can we hope to provide the tools for ending rape without simultaneously providing the tools for positive sexuality?

(From “A Love Letter from an Anti-Rape Activist to Her Feminist Sex-Toy Store” by Lee Jacobs Riggs)

Survivors of any attack that doesn’t fit the most extreme stranger-in-the-bushes-with-a-knife paradigm are often reluctant to name their experience as rape. When the culture teaches you that lack of consent is measured only in active, physical resistance, when your actions are questioned if your date refuses to respect “no”, you’re going to have a hard time calling rape by its real name. This is one of the reasons why feminists had to (and continue to) battle so hard for date rape to be taken seriously in the first place, and the reason why the title of the first major book examining the phenomenon, published in 1988, is I Never Called It Rape. It’s a vicious cycle: Stigma and fear fuel guilt, shame, and denial, which our culture uses to shore up stigma and guilt.”

(From “An Old Enemy in a New Outfit” by Lisa Jervis)

While the predator stereotype affects men’s interactions with women, it probably has an even greater impact on their interactions with children. When I was male-bodied, I found that if I were to interact enthusiastically with children, women would often give me dirty looks. A trans male acquaintance of mine recently told me that the greatest loss he experienced upon transitioning from female to male was his ability to interact freely and enthusiastically with children. He teaches young children and has found that he has to modify his whole approach—for example, keeping more distance and not being as effusive or affectionate with his students as before—in order to avoid other adults’ viewing him as creepy or suspect.

(From “Why Nice Guys Finish Last” by Julia Serano”)

Reviewed at:
Book Addiction (A very brave post that perfectly illustrates why this book is so important.)

Read More......

The Sunday Salon - The other side of loving books

I've had people ask me in the past if I ever review books I didn't like, and the answer is yes, yes I do. I review 98% of what I read (when I skip a book, it's usually due to lack of time), and I don't like everything. But it's true that these negative reviews are largely outnumbered by ones of books I did like, simply because as someone who reads for pleasure and has limited time in which to do so, I naturally gravitate towards literature I'm likely to enjoy - and over the years I've come to know my own reading taste well enough that the hits are far more common than the misses.

While I usually agree with bloggers who write about the importance of negative reviews, I also sympathise with those who prefer to write about books they liked. Personally I also find it a lot more enjoyable to write enthusiastic reviews than negative ones. Also, as C.B. James' recently reminded us, the paranoidly-inclined among us have another thing to worry about: how do we express our dislike for a book without hurting the feelings of those who love it? I don't worry much about authors - not because I'm not aware that they're people too, but because I think coping with bad reviews is a professional skill most acquire early on. But I do worry about other readers. Possibly you're thinking that we should all just grow thicker skins, and if so, you have a point. But as several commenters pointed out over at C.B. James' blog, the conversational and personal nature of blogging lends itself to these concerns. We tend to feel personally invested in the books we love, as well as in the recommendations we make.

Like in any social group, in a community of readers there are interpersonal relationships to be considered. It's only human to worry about whether someone who rejects a book that speaks to us so personally is also rejecting a part of us. (Not necessarily, I don't think. Among other things, there's the fact that most of us tend to be much harsher to ideas or situations when we're exposed to them on the pages of a book than we'd ever be to a real human being. Especially someone we already know.) But anyway, I think that being both honest and not hurtful is perfectly possible, and I don't see why it shouldn't be done. Tact and kindness are everything, and using the right tone can even let you get away with being extremely sarcastic about a book without making readers who disagree with you feel stupid - and I can think of a few bloggers who excel at this.

My question for you today is: which books did you hate with the same kind of intensity usually reserved for your very favourites? Because we're all so passionate about literature, strong negative reactions are bond to happen sometimes. Were any of them recommended by a fellow blogger or book club member, or by a personal friend? If so, did you immediately tell them how you felt, or did you feel tempted to run and hide in the book-hatred closet?

Hate is a strong word, I know, and even books I have a problem with usually have enough going for them that I hesitate to use it. But the following is a list of cases in which I'm willing to make an exception. They're the champions, the worst of the worst - some of my all-time least favourite books. I apologise in advance to any fans. Rest assured that I'd never think any less of you for loving them.


The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton - I just passionately disliked Morton's writing style, to the point that I surprised myself. I reviewed this not too long ago, so I won't repeat what I said then. Apologies to the fans!

The Sorrows of Young Werther by Goethe - This was probably the only time I actually physically flung a book away from me in disgust, and definitely the only time I actively rooted for a character to commit suicide. And yes, I'm properly ashamed of myself for how incredibly mean and insensitive that sounds, but I have to be honest, right? I think I possibly approached this book from the wrong angle - I was told it was very passionate and moving, and so I expected to be moved. Instead I spent the whole book laughing at how ridiculous and overdramatic the whole thing was, as well as at the over the top prose - but then again, what did I expect from a Romantic classic? If I had been in the right kind of mood for unintentionally hilarious Romantic excesses, I might have enjoyed it a lot more.

Eurico, O Presbítero by Alexandre Herculano - This is a Portuguese Romantic classic - a pseudo-medieval novel in the vein of Walter Scott - and much of what I said about Werther goes for this as well. I read them both in my late teens, and it's possible that I just took things too seriously back then. I suspect that this, too, is a book I'd have felt differently about had I approached it with humour, kind of like I did with The Phantom of the Opera recently, or The Castle of Otranto last year. But at the same time, my reaction to both was negative enough that I hesitate to ever try them again.

Brida,The Devil and Mrs Prymm, The Pilgramage, and whatever else I've read by Paulo Coelho (there were four of them, I think): Paulo Coelho is hugely popular, I know, but he's also by far my all-time least favourite author. It actually saddens me that his is the name most widely associated with contemporary Brazilian literature, because it has SO much more to offer. Anyway. I know many people find his work inspirational, and to which their own, but my problem with him is that his plots always strike me as completely hollow; his characters as mere puppets - they are nothing but vehicles for The Message. He's a a self-help author (nothing at all against self-help; it's just usually not for me) posing as a fiction author, and I think that's where my intense dislike for his books come from.

Jonathan Livingstone Seagull by Richard Bach - The way I felt about this book was pretty much the same as the way I feel about Paulo Coelho. Sorry!

The Helmet of Horror by Victor Pelevin - Too conceptual for me, I'm afraid. Probably I missed something, but the book actually irritated me, which doesn't happen often at all.

Blood Canticle by Anne Rice - This one is difficult to write about, because it's by an author I like (she was my favourite when I was in my early teens) and about characters I love(d). But that's probably the very reason why I hated it so much. As a fan of the series (of two series, actually, because this book merges her Vampire Chronicles and her Mayfair Witches series), I had developed my own vision of the characters. And yes, the writer has the right to betray that vision, but fans also have the right to be disappointed when characters they've loved for years suddenly begin to act in ways they hate. I'm not alone here, I know - this book caused an infamous breach of the first rule of Public Relations for Writers 101 on Anne Rice's part, when she started arguing with reviewers on Amazon. Thinking about this actually saddens me, so I'll stop now. Kthxbai.

The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis - Ah, Narnia. How I wish I loved you. But I came to you too late, and can't leave my biases behind when I enter you, though I truly wish I could. This is my least favourite of the Narnia books (though I stopped before The Last Battle). I remember a moment in the creation scene, when Aslan tells the humans present that they own the rest of Nature, which horrified me. (It also troubles me to consider that in Narnia other animals are sentient species too, yet they always regard humans with servitude - why?) The reason why it horrified me is that I tend to associate that sense of superiority/entitlement towards Nature with much of the trouble the world's in nowadays. And yes, this is a purely ideological disconnect of the kind I discussed last week. It's one beyond which can't see, which is my own failing, I know. But sadly I just can't help it.

Feel free to post your own list - I'd love to see it, even if it's made entirely of books I love.

Read More......