The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan Aiken

Snow lay thick, too, upon the roof of Willoughby Chase, the great house that stood on an open eminence in the heart of the wold. But for all that, the Chase looked an inviting home – a warm and welcoming stronghold. Its rosy, herring-bone brick was bright and well-cared-for, its numerous, turrets and battlements stood up sharp against the sky, and the crenellated balconies, corniced with snow, each held a golden square of window. The house was all alight within, and the joyous hubbub of activity contrasted with the sombre sighting of the wind and the hideous howling of the wolves without.

How’s that for atmosphere? I’m going to do something different today: I waited a little too long between finishing this book and writing about it, and so I found myself stuck. To make things easier, I decided to use Dewey’s review questionnaire, which Kailana has also been using in her posts:

Fiction or non-fiction? Genre? Children’s fiction; alternative history with a Gothic atmosphere. The book is set in an alternative 1832: the difference between the world of the The Wolves of Willoughby Chase and ours is that King James II was never deposed, and James III is in the throne. Also, after a series of severe winters, wolves migrated through the Channel Tunnel from mainland Europe to Britain, where they are widespread at the time of the story.

What led you to pick up this book? I was reading through an encyclopaedia of children’s literature, and it mentioned that this was a classic that shouldn’t be missed (it was first published in 1963). It sounded good, so I took note of the author and title and ordered it a few weeks later.

Summarize the plot, but don’t give away the ending! So, as I said, the book is set in 19th century Britain. Bonnie and her parents live at Willoughby Chase, but because Bonnie’s mother has been unwell, her parents are to leave her with a governess and travel to Southern Europe for six months. They ask Bonnie’s orphaned cousin, Sylvia, to come stay with her, and hire a distant relation, Miss Slighcarp, as the girls’ governess. But Miss Slighcarp is not what she appears, and the day Bonnie’s parents leave, the girls realize they’re in trouble.

What did you like most about the book? First of all, I liked the atmosphere. A manor house! With secret passages! And wolves howling outside! And villainous villains within! Secondly, I liked that it was just such fun to read. It reminded me a little of Lemony Snicket, only not so over the top (and yes, I realize the point of Lemony Snicket is being over the top). I liked that it questioned gender and class assumptions. And I loved Bonnie and Sylvia. But I see a question about the main characters, so I’ll save it for that one.

What did you like least? I guess most of what happens in the story is easy to see coming, but this bothers me less if the book is an older one, as in this case. I always think the plot was probably fresher back then. Also, although Bonnie and Sylvia are well-rounded characters, the villains are a bit one-dimensional. And finally, the historical setting isn’t always believable – for example, Bonnie and Sylvia have a lot more freedom than young girls of their social class would have back then. But honestly, I was having too much fun to really care.

Have you read any other books by this author? What did you think of those books? I haven’t yet, but I plan to. This book is actually part of a series, but while they all share the same alternative history setting, they can be read independently.

What did you think of the main character? I loved them! Both Bonnie and Sylvia are smart heroines who know how to look after themselves. Bonnie is quick-tempered, while Sylvia is more sensible, but they were both equally likeable in their own way.

What about the ending? I was satisfied with the ending. It really isn’t a spoiler to say everything turns out okay, because this is a book where you can tell it will from the very start.

They Read it too:
DogEar Diary
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ChainReading

(Did I miss yours?)

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The Night Watch by Sarah Waters

The first part of The Night Watch is set in 1947, and the four main characters we meet are just getting used to life after the war. Kay, who was an ambulance driver, now roams the streets of London dressed in men’ clothes. Helen runs a match-making agency for those who find themselves alone or confused by how much their world has changed with the war. Her partner, Viv, divides her time between work, visiting her brother, and seeing her ex-soldier boyfriend, Reggie. And Viv’s brother, Duncan, who didn’t fight in the war, reconnects with an old friend from his days in prison.

That probably makes the The Night Watch sound a lot less interesting than it actually is. It’s a tough book to summarize, as there are several characters are storylines, all of which are equally complex and interesting. One of my favourite things about this novel (and believe me, it’s hard to pick) was its structure. It moves backwards in time – we go from 1947 to 1944 and 1941. This actually adds to its sadness, to its intensity. We move from the years after the war to its heart; we get to know the characters, and by the time we grow to love them we already know that things didn’t work out all that well for them. And suddenly it all begins to matter, and it breaks our hearts.

The Night Watch made me want to read more novels about women’s lives during World War II, about life in London during the blitz, about what things were like for those who couldn’t or didn’t want to fight. I’ve read quite a few books about the Second World War, but never from this perspective—which is funny, because war’s impact on ordinary lives is actually something that really interests me. Wars ruin lives is more ways than those that are usually recognized.

During the first third or so of the novel, set in 1947, we get the feeling that despite all the fear and danger and death, some of the characters actually miss the war years. This is a very human reaction, I think, though one that is seldom acknowledged. The women in particular went from being essential to being cast aside as redundant, and so they miss the clear direction their lives had back then. This is especially true of Kay. And this isn’t of course about war being necessary or anything silly like that. It’s about being or not being allowed to do things that matter to you. It's about being told you matter, and then being told you don't.

The story that affected me the most was probably Duncan’s. It’s only very near the end of The Night Watch that we find out exactly what happened to him and Alec; exactly why he was arrested. What struck me the most about that scene was how very young they sounded, how very young they were. They were boys, teenage boys, who had always being told they had to fit into a pre-made mould of manhood, or else they were worthless. I won’t tell you what happens, of course, but I will say that I had to put the book aside, I was crying so hard.

Once again, Sarah Waters shows how good she is at creating atmosphere – the bombings, the blackouts, the fear mixed with just a hint of excitement, the small and the big tragedies: it's all so perfect you feel you're there. There’s a scene with Julia and Helen out in the night during a blackout that has to be one of the most intense scenes I’ve read in a very long time.

And then there are the characters, all of whom I grew to love, and there are their feelings and relationships, which are captured so perfectly. She's a master at implying: I don’t know how she does it, but subtle emotional changes, complex feelings, unspoken things, invisible connections, they all come across so perfectly in her work. This is an intense, dark, and heartbreaking novel. Sarah Waters, I love you with all my heart.

A few of my favourite passages:

‘Get over it. What a funny phrase that is! As if one’s grief is a fallen house, and one has to pick one’s way over the rubble to the ground on the other side…I’ve got lost in my rubble, Mickey. I can’t seem to find my way across it. I don’t think I want to cross it, that’s the thing. The rubble has all my life in it still—’

She smoothed Helen’s hair away from her brow, watching for the stilling of her eyelids: feeling the rising of emotion in her own breast; and made almost afraid, for a moment, by the fierceness of it. For she thought of the little bits of bodies she and Cole had had to collect, tonight, from the garden on Sutherland Street, and felt the ghastliness of them, suddenly, as she had not felt it then—the awful softness of human flesh, the vulnerability of bone, the appalling slightness of necks and wrists and finger-joints…it seemed a sort of miracle to her that she should come back, from so much mayhem, to so much that was quick and warm and beautiful and unmarked.

That was all they had done; and yet it seemed to Helen that with those slight encounters the world had been subtly transformed. She felt connected to Julia now, as if by a slender, quivering thread. She could have closed her eyes and, with a fingertip, touched the exact small point on her breast at which the thread ran delicately into her heart and tugged at it.

This last one made me smile, as it’s an image she also uses in both Fingersmith and Affinity. She must like it, and I do, too. It’s such a good way of describing not only the pull of attraction, but also the sudden awareness of the other’s presence, of their every movement, that you develop when you’re falling in love.

They read it too:
books i done read
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A Book a Week
Regular Ruminations

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a cool moonlight by Angela Johnson

two days after i was born, mama put me out in the backyard in the shade so i could get some air. by the time she looked over at me again, the august sun had crept up and burn my leg.
mama says i screamed real bad.
and because a pediatrician at the hospital had seen xeroderma pigmentosum when he was in medical school, he had the test run on me. then everybody found out i had a defect that made me sensitive to the light. the sun. uv rays. some street lights.

Eight-year-old Lila doesn’t remember the sun. Because of her rare allergy to sunlight, she only ever leaves the house after dark. Almost every night, she plays in the garden with Elizabeth and Alyssa, two girls in tutus and fairy wings. Lila believes that, with her friends’ help, she will be able to become both a sun goddess and a moon girl before she turns nine. But her birthday is two months away, and a lot can change in that time.

I read the lovely a cool moonlight in a single sitting – not only because it’s short, but because it’s the kind of book you don’t want to put down. Lila is a fabulous narrator, and Angela Johnson did a fantastic job giving us the limited perspective of an eight-year-old but still allowing us to read between the lines and guess at what she’s not telling us.

a cool moonlight reminded me a little of Ben Rice’s Pobby and Dingan. It’s not just the theme of imaginary friends (this is not a spoiler, as readers can tell right away that this is what Alyssa and Elizabeth are), but also the bittersweet and gentle tone; the fact that both are such lovely books about childhood and loss and growing up.

My favourite thing about a cool moonlight was seeing Lila grow more and more comfortable in her own skin. By the end of the book, she has stopped daydreaming of becoming “normal” and is beginning to learn to accept herself. She knows she'll never play in the sunlight, but she realizes there's still a lot to enjoy about her life. I also loved Lila’s family. There were so many moments of quiet tenderness in this book.

It took me under two hours to read a cool moonlight, but it’s been a few days now and I’m still thinking about it. If you’re looking for a quick but rewarding read, this is the book for you.

Bits I liked:

i like my neighborhood when it’s dark. the secrets in people come out. but i’d never tell on them. that would be cheating.

i’ve always wanted to be nine. always wanted to be nine and a superhero. always wanted too be nine, a superhero, and able to go out in the sun in a swimsuit on a bright hot day.
now I am nine.
i might be a superhero.
but being out in the sun doesn’t really matter anymore ‘cause it’s here and i’m here. that’s just how it is.

Other Opinions:
Out of the Blue
Color Online

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Palimpsest by Catherynne M. Valente

How do I even begin to describe this book? Let me start by telling you what Palimpsest is: it is a sexually transmitted city. Those who have visited it will always carry the mark – tattooed somewhere on their body is a map of part of the city. And whoever they sleep with will also see the wonders and horrors of Palimpsest.

Palimpsest follows four main characters: Oleg, a Russian locksmith who lives in New York in the company of the ghost of his long dead sister; November, a lonely beekeeper; Ludovico, an Italian bookbinder who has built a sheltered world for himself and his wife Lucia; and Sei, a young Japanese woman who loves trains. All of them have lost something. And all have been initiated into the mysteries of Palimpsest, and dream of a way of emigrating to the city for good.

Does this sound strange? Well, it is, but wonderfully so. Palimpsests has one of the most unique premises I've come across, and it uses some of the most unique imagery I have seen in a long time. The city itself is absolutely fascinating – exotic, sensual, gritty, and haunting. Reading it I was a bit reminded of the world of Dave McKean and Neil Gaiman’s Mirrormask. Not that there are any similarities, but Palimpsest evoked similar images in my mind. Of course, this is just my Palimpsest. You are more than welcome to imagine your own.


Mirrormask

But as much as I loved the world of this novel, it was the characters that sucked me in: their loneliness, their humanity, how much their stories made me feel. Theirs are stories of addiction, of longing and desire, of intimacy, of displacement, and of the sad and very human belief that something or somebody will save our lives, will give us back what we once lost. Their stories jolted something inside me, something I can’t quite put into words.

And then there’s of course the writing – Catherynne M. Valente is known for her unique use of language, and with good reason. The writing in Palimpsest is rich, lush and vibrant. It demands to be read slowly, but it never ceases to be enjoyable. It never feels like work. I forced myself to pick only three passages to share at the end of this post; otherwise I’d be here all day typing up half the book.

As you can probably tell by the fact that Palimpsest is sexually transmitted, there are several sexual encounters in this book. Most of them are described only briefly – we are only given the details of the lovers’ first moments together before the curtain falls. I suspect writing good sex scenes to be quite difficult, but Catherynne M. Valente does it perfectly. Most of all, I loved how well she captures the different emotional tone of each encounter: some are lonely, others passionate, others tender, desperate, intimate, sad. And each of them, just like each relationship in the real world, is unique.

A detail that made me love Palimpsest even more: the narrator seems to be an ordinary third person narrator, except it addresses the reader occasionally. Towards the end of the book, we find out just who is telling the story, and this adds a whole new dimension to everything. I’d tell you, but I don’t want to ruin your fun. Because you will read this book, right?

I love books that expand the limits of what can be done in fantasy, and this is one of them. You might be wondering, are there limits? You wouldn’t think so, would you? But as much as I love fantasy, I’ll be the first to admit that a lot of what’s published is a bit samey. And unlike some, I really don't think this is a necessary consequence of it being fantasy. Books like Palimpsest – and like Little, Big or The Love We Share Without Knowing, two books I was reminded of reading this – show us that this doesn’t have to be the case. And most importantly, they show us that fantasy can shed light on what it means to be human in unique ways.

Some of my favourite passages:

“To touch a person…to sleep with a person…is to become a pioneer,” she whispered then, “a frontiersman at the edge of their private world, the strange, incomprehensible world of their interior, filled with customs you could never imitate, a language which sounds like your own but is really totally foreign, knowable only to them.”

“Living alone,” November whispered, “is a skill, like running long distance or programming old computers. You have to know parameters, protocols. You have to learn them so well that they become like a language: to have music always so that the silence doesn’t overwhelm you, to perform your work exquisitely well so that your time is filled. You have to allow yourself to open up until you are the exact size of the place you live, no more, or else you get restless. No less, or else you drown. There are rules; there are ways of being and not being. This sort of thing,” she gestured imprecisely at the room, the bed, him, “is forbidden. It expands or contracts me, I’m not sure which, beyond the…set limits. I’m not good at that, either. Expanding, contracting.”

Gabriel’s broken eyes welled up. “Oh, Oleg,” he said, “you don’t understand. Here, nothing means anything. It’s all just…random. Men and women and buildings and holidays and dinners and streets. It’s all flat. It’s like it’s missing a dimension deeper than depth. The dimension of ritual. There, everything means something. Even dinner. Even a time clock”. He laughed, and then coughed harshly, as if hacking back a sob.

Other Opinions
Scooter Chronicles
Stage and Canvas
Jenny's Books
BSC Review
Reading the Leaves

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Interview with Catherynne M. Valente at Fantasy Book Critic
The Big Idea at John Scalzi’s Blog

Also, I don’t normally post book trailers, but I think this one captures the mood of the book quite well. So here it goes:

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The Sunday Salon - Liar Cover Fiasco and Looking for a Book

There isn't much I can say at this point that hasn't already been said, but I still wanted to add my voice to those protesting Bloomsbury's decision to use a white cover model for a book about a black teen girl. If you missed the controversy, start by reading Justine Larbalastier's original post. Make sure you also read the link round-up at Chasing Ray, Tarie's letter to Bloomsbury, and Renay's very wise post explaining why calling people out for racist behaviour is not the same as saying they're horrible human beings. And just so we don't forget that what we're talking about here is making real human beings feel like they don't matter because they're not white, I wanted to highlight Tarie's comment:

When I first heard about a publisher using a White girl on the cover of a book with a Black main character, for a minute I felt small, very small, because I am not White.

This matters. We're not talking about some abstract decision with no real impact; we're talking about telling non-white teens (and adults) they're not good enough to be on the cover of a book. I have always believed that books are important, and this goes hand in hand with believing that publishing decisions should be socially responsible. Stories have consequences, and so do book covers. Heather, Vasilly, me, and a couple of other bloggers were campaigning on Twitter to get The Book Depository to order the Australian edition of Liar; hopefully they will and we'll all be able to protest the cover and still support the author and read what sounds like an amazing book.

---

Have you ever wanted to find a book that conveyed a particular feeling? Finding books with certain settings, either historical or geographical, is easy enough. If you're in the mood for fantasy, realistic fiction, children's literature, you name it, you can easily decide what to read too. But what if you're in the mood for nostalgic? Bittersweet? This makes me want to get a few bloggers together and organize an Emotional Reading Index. Of course, what's bittersweet for some won't necessarily be so for others, which makes the whole thing difficult.

Anyway, the reason why I'm bringing this up is that reading Slow Storm recently put me in the mood to read more books full of quiet intimacy and longing and loss; books about meaningful but not exactly romantic relationships. If you haven't read Slow Storm you probably don't quite know what I'm talking about, but think of the movie Lost in Translation, for example. Or What I Was by Meg Rosoff. Can you think of any books like that, about two people who, while not necessarily being in love, change each other in crucial ways? If so, I would love to hear about them.

Also, do you ever feel like reading books that conveys certain feelings or I am all alone in my weirdness?

I leave you with two links: First, a fantastic post about why rape "jokes" are not funny in the least. And secondly, I wrote a guest post for Jo's Sex in Teen Lit month about why I'm perfectly okay with teens reading about sex. Not everyone will agree, of course, but know you're welcome to join the conversation anyway. Have a great Sunday, everyone.

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Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson

I know my head isn’t screwed on straight. I wan to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dumb the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closet is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.

Melinda Sordino has just started highschool. Because at the end of the summer she called the police during a party, none of her old friends will speak to her, and even people she doesn’t know treat her with hostility. As an outsider, Melinda watches and comments on all the highschool social rites from afar. But her loneliness isn’t the only problem. Melinda barely ever speaks, and the reason is something that happened at that party, something she’s doing her best to forget.

What can I say about Speak that hasn’t been said before? Probably nothing, I’m afraid. Yes, it is as good as you’ve all been telling me for years. Also: I know that even when I feel like I’m the last person on the planet to read a book, that's never really actually the case. So, a warning - I knew what had happened to Melinda all along, and until I read Shanra’s review, I wasn’t even aware that it was only revealed late in the book. I think it’s pretty easy to figure out from the moment Melinda mentions being terrified of “IT”, and I don’t think knowing all along ruins the reading experience. But of course there's a difference between guessing and knowing for sure, so consider this a spoilers warning just in case.

I knew Speak was dark, and that it dealt with a difficult topic. What I wasn’t expecting was that it managed to be so funny regardless. I absolutely loved Melinda’s sarcasm. Actually, I just loved her, period. Even though she remains detached from herself for most of the book, I felt really close to her.

What saddened me the most about Melinda’s story is that I can understand why she chose to remain silent about what happened to her. Not that I think she should have remained silent, of course. But her fear that she would be blamed, that no one would believe her, is not ungrounded. It’s what happens to countless girls who are sexually abused.

The main reason why she’s so afraid, why she’s even unsure if what happened to her “qualifies” as rape, is because her story doesn’t match the stranger-jumping-from-behind-the-bushes scenario our culture likes to disseminate, and which so many people believe to be the only “real” form of rape. But rape is rape, period. There are several studies that show that in most cases, the victim knows the aggressor, and yet this myth is still around. It doesn’t matter if the victim voluntarily goes somewhere with the aggressor. It doesn’t matter if they were making out. It is rape. You’d think this would go without saying, but it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.

Fortunately, Melinda realizes this over time. It takes her almost a year, but she stops feeling dirty and ashamed, she stops blaming herself, and she finds her own voice again. The ending was absolutely perfect: it ends with Melinda talking with her art teacher, and…well, I don’t want to tell you everything, but it reinforces another one of the book’s main themes: how art helps us cope even with the most dreadful things.

I’m glad Speak is so popular, and I hope it continues to be for many decades. It’s an important book.

Other Opinions:
Libri Touches
Katrina’s Reads
Bermudaonion’s Weblog
The Bluestocking Society
Book Nut
Rhinoa’s Ramblings
Mari Reads
the hidden side of a leaf
Leafing Through Life
Gimme More Books!
Book Addiction
Maw Books
Stephanie’s Confessions of a Book-a-holic
Becky’s Book Reviews
DogEar Diary
Blogging ‘bout Books
At Home With Books
The Zen Leaf
My Year of Reading Seriously
All About {n}
It's All About Books
The Joy of Reading
The Sleepy Reader
Books.Lists.Life

(I’m sure I must have missed a ton…please let me know if yours is one of them!)

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Slow Storm by Danica Novgorodoff

Set in Kentucky, Slow Storm tells the story of Ursa Crain, a fire-fighter, and Rafi, a young Mexican immigrant. Rafi is lonely and homesick. He works as a stable boy and spends his nights sleeping among the horses. Ursa meets him when the stable burns down during a storm and she comes to fight the fire. Because Rafi is illegal, he panics when Ursa offers to take him to the hospital. So instead she takes him home, and the two end up staying up late talking about their lives.

I suppose it could be said that the story told in Slow Storm doesn’t go anywhere much, but this wasn’t at all a problem for me. The point isn’t really for it to go anywhere, but to show a moment of connection between two people. And I’m a sucker for stories like this: stories about connections that however brief leave a mark.

I found Slow Storm very moving. There’s a panel in particular I wish I could show you, but I couldn’t find it online, and plus I guess you need to see it in context for it to really make an impact. But if you decide to read this book, I think you’ll know which one I mean.

Both Rafi and Ursa are disappointed with how their lives have turned out, and the mood of the book is heavy and melancholy. Still, it’s far from being completely bleak. There’s no big revelation at the end, no drastic change in the characters’ lives, but we still get to see how a moment of kindness, of empathy and connection, can make a difference. This is a quiet and subtle story, and that is something I really appreciate.

Another thing I loved was the art. The fact that I’m a big fan of watercolours helps, but I also love how great Danica Novgorodoff is at capturing moods and facial expressions. There are several wordless panels that convey emotions better than words could (in fact, the favourite I mentioned before is one of them).


This is something I love about comics: that both the words and the art do their thing, neither making the other redundant. Of course, not all comics success in this, but Slow Storm absolutely does. A few more panels:





You can see more of the art here.

Other Opinions:
Page 247
Fantasy Book Critic
Bart's Bookshelf
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The Illusionist by Jennifer Johnston

Set in London and Dublin, both in the 1970’s and in the present day, The Illusionist is the story of a writer, Stella, and of her marriage to a strange man named Martyn. They meet when Martyn interrupts her reading on a train, and Stella is quickly charmed by this mysterious man and the illusions he performs. Shortly after they get married, Stella begins to realize she doesn’t really know the man she’s sharing her life with. Bluebeard-like, Martyn keeps a locked room in the house that he requests her not to open. The story of their marriage is intermingled with a present-day story, when their daughter Robin visits Stella in Dublin after Martyn’s funeral.

This is probably not a book I would have picked up on my own. It was lent to me by one of my professors, and since I have so many books of my own to read as it is, I decide to give it a fifty pages test. Before I even reached page twenty, I was hooked. I can’t quite explain why, but this novel’s quiet, sombre mood completely sucked me in. Though this is a slow and reflective story, it’s also quite a page-turner, possibly because it has an element of mystery. Who is Martyn? What is he hiding? Just where do the illusions stop?

I really loved Stella’s voice, which is subtle and lyrical and precise. The writing is very beautiful, and I regret that I had to return the book before I had time to type my favourite passages. I also loved that Stella was a writer (I almost wrote “was a diver”—which will only make sense to Interpol fans, I’m afraid). She doesn’t begin as one, but watching her grow confident and find her voice was one of my favourite things about this novel.

The Illusionist is a story about trust, about silences, about art—and above all, about the importance of having some space in your life, however small, that is solely yours. For Stella, this is her writing. The ever-secretive Martyn does his best to crush it, though, and often tells her just how much he resents her written words and private thoughts.

Though it doesn’t quite seem like it at first, the story turns out to be a bit dark. Martyn is just such an unpleasant man, and I really felt for Stella when she was at her most lonely. Also, Martyn does tricks with doves, and Stella has ornithophobia (which I completely sympathize with. Those beaks! Those beady eyes!). He dismisses her fear completely, saying things like “I thought you were a rational, intelligent woman.” The scenes in which he forces her to be near the birds really got to me.

There's also Stella's complicated relationship with Robin, who adores her father, and with her own mother. There's her friend Bill, who encourages her writing. And to make the story even more interesting, we have the often complicated relationship between Ireland and England playing in the background. Though the ending of The Illusionist leaves some questions unanswered, it wasn’t at all unsatisfying. This was a lovely book—a very pleasant surprise.

Other Opinions:
BooksPlease

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Cheek by Jowl by Ursula K. Le Guin

Cheek by Jowl: talks and essay on how and why fantasy matters —I almost want to end the sentence right here. Because really, what else do I need to say? A book by Ursula K. Le Guin about how and why fantasy matters!!@1 Don’t you want to read it right now? Okay, I realize that not everyone will find the title alone as exciting as I did, so I’m going to do my best to explain in detail why this is a brilliant book.

Cheek by Jowl collects eight of Le Guin’s essays. Most of them are short, and all of them are wise, accessible, and to the point. Seven of these essays, while brilliant, mostly introduced ideas I’m already familiar with. This is undoubtedly because so much of what I know about fantasy I learned from Ursula K. Le Guin. She is, after all, one of the writers who helped shape the way I think.

For example, in “A Message about Messages” she argues with the idea that children’s literature is all about The Message or The Point. This isn’t to say that fiction doesn’t have social or ethical implications—it does, but children, like adults, respond to language, to metaphor, to story. They respond to a lot more than just A Message. In “The Critics, the Monsters, and the Fantasists”, she addresses the good old prejudice against imaginative literature in critical circles. “Assumptions about Fantasy” is about—well, you guessed it. All these essays were a pleasure to read. They make points I wholeheartedly agree with, and I just loved seeing her word them more elegantly than I ever could.

But my favourite was the long essay that gives the book its title. It was my favourite because it introduced me to an idea about fantasy than I hadn't considered before, but which I think makes a lot of sense. I would love to hear your thoughts on it also, so feel free to tell me if you agree or disagree in the comments. “Cheek by Jowl” is about animals in children’s literature, and Ursula Le Guin writes about several animal fantasies in some detail (which resulted in several books being added to my wishlist). But what interested me the most was the point she made in the conclusion. You might remember that a few weeks ago, when I posted about why I read fantasy, I said that unlike what many of its detractors say, fantasy is about human things. Ursula Le Guin suggests that one of the reasons why it’s so appealing is that it doesn’t always have to be.

Fantasy is often accused of being nostalgic and anti-progressive; of offering escape from contemporary problems by constructing pseudo-medieval societies or focusing on things altogether non-human: animals both real and imaginary, forests, the wilderness. But focusing on something other than contemporary society doesn’t mean avoiding human concerns. It just means remembering that we are not alone on the planet, that there are things beyond us, there were things before us, and there will probably be things after us.

Animals fantasies do this very well. As Le Guin puts it,

We go crazy in solitude. We are social primates. Human beings need to belong. To belong to one another first, of course; but because we can see so far and think so cleverly and imagine so much, we aren’t satisfied by membership in a family, a tribe, people just like us. Fearful and suspicious as it is, the human mind yet yearns for a greater belonging, a vaster identification. Wilderness scares us because it us unknown, indifferent, dangerous, yet it is an absolute need to us; it is that animal otherness, that strangeness, older and greater than ourselves, that we must join, or rejoin, if we want to stay sane and stay alive.

What do you think? Do you agree that fantasy’s ability to go beyond human matters is part of what makes it appealing?

Some of my favourite passages from the other essays:

The purposive, utilitarian approach to fantasy and folktale of a Bettelheim or Bly, and in general the “psychological” approach to fantasy, explaining each element of the story in terms of its archetype or unconscious source or educative use, is deeply regressive; it perceives literature as magic, as verbomancy. To such interpreters the spell is only a spell if it works immediately to heal or reveal.

The literature of imagination, even when tragic, is reassuring, not necessarily in the sense of offering nostalgic comfort, but because it offers a world large enough to contain alternatives and therefore offers hope.

The notion that a story “has a message” assumes it can be reduced to a few abstract words, neatly summarized in a school or college examination paper or a brisk critical review. If that were true, why would writers go to the trouble of making up characters and relationships and scenery and plots and all that? Why not just deliver the message? Is a story a box to hide an idea in, a fancy dress to make an idea look pretty, a candy coating to make a bitter idea easy to swallow?

I’m not saying people don’t read fantasy; a whole lot of us people do; but our scholars and critics for the most part don’t read it and don’t know how to read it. I feel shame for them. Sometimes I feel rage. I want to say to the literature teacher who remains wilfully, even boastfully ignorant of a major element of contemporary fiction: you are incompetent to teach or judge your subject. Readers and students who do know the field, meanwhile, have every right to challenge your ignorant prejudice. Rise, undergraduates of the English Department! You have nothing to lose but your A on the midterm!

Oh Ursula—I should have. I’m a coward, but I really should have. Especially when atrocities were said in your name: that you couldn’t possibly be a science fiction and fantasy writer because you’re intelligent and have a background in anthropology. Because yes, as everyone knows, only the ignorant, dim, and uneducated write and read genre fiction. Instead of coming home fuming, I should have spoken up. I promise to be a coward no longer - which is easier now that I've graduated, but the thought counts, right?

(Have you posted about this book too? Let me know and I’ll add your link here.)

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84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff

As most of you probably know, 84 Charing Cross Road documents twenty years of correspondence between Helene Hanff, a writer and booklover from New York, and the staff at Marks & Co, a second-hand bookshop in London. Her main correspondent is Frank Doel, but over the years she also makes friends with the other booksellers, with Frank’s wife, and even with an elderly neighbour of theirs.

The letters go from 1949 to 1969, so they cover the post-war food shortages in Britain. Helene Hanff regularly sends her friends parcels with meat and eggs and things to eat that weren’t widely available, and she does so for no other reason other than that she’s nice. Something I managed to completely miss even though I’ve heard a lot about this book is that it’s non-fiction. The letters are real, all the random acts of kindness are real, and that just makes everything even better.

There’s so much to love about this little book. The whole thing is so friendly, so funny and warm and full of kindness. Both Helene and Frank Doel have a lovely sense of humour, and made laugh out loud several times. Plus her love of books is something I’m sure almost everyone reading this will be able to relate to. But it’s not just the humour and the bookishness of it all. It’s also the fact that this is a book I will read when I need to be reminded, as we all do sometimes, that yes, people can in fact be very kind to one another. It’s not that I want to ignore the fact that they can be awful too, but sometimes I just need a book that will make me smile all the way through.

84 Charing Cross Road is happy and tender and, yes, heartwarming, but it has a kind of charm and spontaneity that stories that deliberately try to be uplifting or inspirational or whatever often lack. Helene Hanff is never loud or self-congratulatory about how nice she is. She just does the things she does because she genuinely cares about people.

This book also reminded me of all you lovely people, you who are my friends even though we’re in different countries or continents, who mail me books and cards and bookmarks for no reason other than that you’re kind, who share your enthusiasm for stories with me. And if this sounds sappy, I don’t care – this is the kind of book that makes you want to hug a stranger and tell your friends you love them (in a completely non-creepy sort of way, of course).

My edition of the book is actually an omnibus that also contains her book The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street. And let me tell you, the second book is just as lovely as the first, if not more. If you’re read one but not the other, do yourself a favour and get it right now.

The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street is Helene Hanff’s account of her trip to England, which finally happens in the summer of 1971, after 84 Charing Cross Road is published. The title comes from the fact that everyone was being so kind to her that she felt she got to be a duchess for a few weeks – and this is only proper, because she was so kind to people to begin with. Everyone offers to show her around and invites her to dinner, and she’s especially happy with that because being fed means saving money, and saving money means being able to afford more time in London.

I loved seeing her meet some of the people she had corresponded with for so long. But most of all, I loved the deeply personal connection she has with English history and literature. I loved how she felt when she finally visited placed she'd read about for so long, places where her favourite writers had actually been centuries before. There were several bits that really moved me, and I even cried when she had to go home at the end. The whole thing is happy, but, well, I'm sure you know how it is. There's some bittersweetness in there as well.

The writing is just as charming and funny as it is in her letters, and she’s such a pleasant person to spend time with. If you’re in the mood for a literary tour of England, I can’t think of a better virtual guide than Helene Hanff.

Favourite passages:

I wish you hadn’t been so over-courteous about putting the inscription on a card instead of on the flyleaf. It’s the bookseller coming out in you all, you were afraid you’d decrease its value. You would have increased it for the present owner. (And possibly for the future owner. I love inscriptions on flyleaves and notes in margins, I love the comradely sense of turning pages someone else turned, and reading passages someone long ago has called my attention to.)

The Newman arrived almost a week ago and I’m just beginning to recover. I keep it on the table with me all day, every now and then I stop typing and reach over and touch it. Not because it’s a first edition; I just never saw a book so beautiful. I feel vaguely guilty about owning it. All that gleaming leather and gold stamping and beautiful type belongs in the pine-panelled library of an English country home; it wants to be read by the fire in a gentleman’s leather easy chair – not on a secondhand studio couch in a one-room hovel in a brokendown brownstone front.

And these two bits cracked me up:

I fail to see why you did not understand that groceryman, he did not call it “ground ground nuts,” he called it “ground ground-nuts” which is the only really SENSible thing to call it. Peanuts grow in the GROUND and are therefore GROUND-nuts, and after you take them out of the ground you grind them up and you have ground ground-nuts, which is a much more accurate name than peanut butter, you just don’t understand English.

i am going to bed, i will have hideous nightmares involving huge monsters in academic robes carrying long bloody butcher knives labelled Excerpt, Selection, Passages, and Abridged.

Other Opinions:
At Home With Books
The Literate Housewife Review
Care’s Online Bookclub
Books and Movies
Citizen Reader
Book Nut
The Book Lady’s Blog
The Bluestocking Society
Library Queue
A Comfy Chair and a Good Book
Bart's Bookshelf
Rebecca Reads
Jenny's Books
Serendipity
Subliminal Intervention
The Zen Leaf

(As always, let me know if I missed yours.)

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The Sunday Salon Meets Diversity Roll Call

So, Susan and Ali host a bi-weekly meme whose goal is "to encourage readers to broaden their reading habits". I always mean to participate and never do because... well, I don't have a good reason, really. The current theme is how race is portrayed in science fiction and fantasy, and since this is my favourite genre, I really wanted to participate.

There were several debates online about this recently, debates I watched from the sidelines and tried to learn from. I have to confess that sometimes I'm afraid to talk about race - afraid because I'm privileged and ignorant and don't want to say anything stupid. But I realize that this is both silly and potentially dangerous. There's absolutely nothing to be gained from silence, and we learn by saying stupid things and having others call us on them, right? So, here it goes:

First of all, one of the questions Ali and Susan ask is whether race matters in speculative fiction. I think it does matter. One of the grounds on which fantasy and sci-fi are sometimes dismissed is that they are not real, and so we can't take them too seriously: nothing that happens in an imaginary world can be of any consequence to us. You've heard me go on and on about how much I disagree with this before, so I'll spare you this time. I do take speculative fiction seriously, as seriously as any kind of fiction, and I do think that no matter what you call them, stories have consequences. They don't exist in a vacuum, so even if the author's intention is not to make social commentary of any kind, cultural and social assumptions do come into play.

To give you a concrete example, if a book unquestioningly evokes the old association between dark skin and inferiority, it doesn't matter if what it's talking about is the Necrocats of Jupiter - that association unfortunately exists for a reason, and it inevitably says something about power relationships that exist in our world. So no matter what you're applying it to, it's still racist. This is of course an extreme example, and what happens tends to be more subtle than that. I also know that all this stuff is pretty obvious, but I still see things dismissed on these grounds far more often than I'd like. This upsets me for what it says about how people see fantasy, but it upsets me far more for what it says about how people see (or refuse to see) racism.

As for fantasy or science fiction works with people of colour as protagonists, this is the case with one of my very favourite series, Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea. I absolutely love this piece she wrote when the TV mini-series based on the books completely whitewashed the story:

As an anthropologist's daughter, I am intensely conscious of the risk of cultural or ethnic imperialism—a white writer speaking for nonwhite people, co-opting their voice, an act of extreme arrogance. In a totally invented fantasy world, or in a far-future science fiction setting, in the rainbow world we can imagine, this risk is mitigated. That's the beauty of science fiction and fantasy—freedom of invention.

But with all freedom comes responsibility. Which is something these filmmakers seem not to understand.

As always, she says what I mean better than I ever could. Speculative fiction can give authors more freedom, but that doesn't mean they're not responsible for how they portray race.

Ali and Susan also ask readers to highlight books by authors of colour: I absolutely loved Nalo Hopkinson's The Salt Roads and have been meaning to read more by her ever since. Though I've only read short stories by them so far, both Octavia Butler and Samuel R. Delany are authors I think I'll love. And I also wanted to call your attention to the 50 Books by POC community on livejournal, which is full of reviews and recommendations.

I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this: What do you of the way race is portrayed in science fiction and fantasy? Are there any books you'd recommend?

---

And now I wanted to take the time to tell you about several fun bookish events to enjoy or look forward to in the next few months:

First of all, still on diversity, Susan is challenging bloggers to read and review as many multicultural books as possible between now and August 30th. Here's a great list of reading suggestions she compiled.

Secondly, July 19th-August 15th will be YA Appreciation Month at The Book Smugglers, and they're inviting all bloggers to contribute with posts for a mega YA lovefest on the last day.


Speaking of YA - and I can't believe it took me so long to mention this! - Jo's Sex in Teen Lit Month is well under way, and there are reviews, authors interviews, discussions and guest posts to be enjoyed.


August 24th will mark the beginning of Persephone Reading Week, hosted by Claire at Paperback Reader and Verity at The B Files. Everyone is invited to read along and celebrate these forgotten classics. Though I've yet to read a Persephone book (something that will change during Persephone Week), I just love what they do. I think I've mentioned before that one of my impossible dreams is exactly to open a small publishing house devoted to bringing forgotten classics back into print, though mine would focus on fantasy and children's literature.

And last but certainly not least, Amy's second annual Book Blogger Appreciation Week has been announced. It'll take place between the 14th and the 18th of September and it promises to be even more fun than last year's. The goal is to celebrate all online bookish talk, so even if you're not a blogger yourself, you're invited to join the conversation, enter the many giveaways, and even nominate your favourite blogs for awards. So join the fun. You know you want to.

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The contents of my desk

...let me show you them.

I had pretty a crazy week: by Tuesday at lunchtime it became obvious I wasn't really going to do anything but work and (maybe) sleep for the rest of the week. So I wound up taking a short blogging break. I promise to return to my regularly scheduled book blabber on Monday, but in the meantime, I thought I'd show you the place from which I blab at you. I'm pretty sure this is a meme, and I think a long time ago Rebecca tagged me for it, but it's been so long I no longer remember for sure. Sorry!


Bookish things:

• Three books I've finished but have not yet written about: The Wolves of Willboughby Chase, Slow Storm, and 84 Charing Cross Road (which...I'd yell WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME IT WAS SO GOOD, but to be fair, you did. I should have listened sooner.)
  
• The bookmark I was using for the last book I finished.
• That's actually all, unless the eraser I use to clear my notes once I've typed all the passages I want to type counts. I could use some book darts!
  

Non-bookish Things

• Empty coffee mug from this morning. I know. It'll be gone soon.
• That Green Man used to be on the wall right above the computer, except one day it fell and my heart seriously missed a beat. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw it was not only not broken, but it hadn't been damaged at all. Random fact: I bought it the day of the very first read-a-thon.
• Cat-shaped wrist support. It's not actually all that useful, but at least it's cute.
  
• Two computer mouses (mice?) I use the big one or the little one depending on how my wrist is doing.
• My wrist brace. A life saviour this week.
  
• A bunch of 80's Disney stickers I found when I moved.
  
• Watermelon gum.
• My ancient cellphone - it's something like six years old. It still has a black and white screen, and I'm fine with that.
• Headphones and a pen drive.
• Ticket stubs from the last three concerts I went to: Antony & The Johnsons, Wilco, and Kaki King (as you can see if you click to enlarge the image, the last one is signed!) They're waiting to be put in my concert ticket stubs folder, which goes back some ten years. Hey, I never said I wasn't a dork.
• A box with CDs inside and a webcam on top, and...
• ...a box of floppy disks! Yes, from the days before pen drives! I was going to throw them away in my move, but then I decided to keep them for, you know, historical reasons.
  

I'm no good at tagging people, so you know how it goes: if you'd like to show us what's on your desk, I'd love to see it. Have a great weekend, everyone. I will do my best to catch up with responding to comments and e-mail and with blog hopping soon.

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Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin

And yet my part of them, the life he gave me in his poem, is so full, except for the one moment when my hair catches fire—so colorless, except when my maiden cheeks blush like ivory stained with crimson dye—so conventional, I can’t bear it any longer. If I must go on existing century after century, then once at least I must break out and speak. He didn’t let me say a word. I have to take the word from him. He gave me along life but a small one. I need room, I need air.

Lavinia is a minor character in Virgil’s The Aeneid. She is the daughter of Latinus, king of the Latins, and she becomes Aeneas’ second wife. In Lavinia, Ursula K. Le Guin gives her a voice of her own. The book tells the story of her childhood and youth before the arrival of the Trojan warriors, of the war that follows their arrival, of the early years of what was to become the Roman empire, and of Lavinia’s life after Aenea’s death.

What I liked the most about Lavinia was how Le Guin took an epic and used its silences and omissions to create a deeply personal story. And when I say deeply personal, I don’t mean it erases the political implications of a war and of the birth of a new nation, nor that the social organization of Bronze Age Italy isn’t explored in detail. It doesn’t, and it is—but unlike what sometimes happens with epics, I never felt distant from the characters or the story. Quite the contrary.

Kailana and I read this book at around the same time, and so we decided to ask each other questions about it. One of Kailana's was, "What did you think of Lavinia as a character? Did you have any problems with her?

I really loved Lavinia, most of all because Ursula Le Guin was able to give her a voice that felt completely authentic. As a young woman of marriageable age, Lavinia is aware of her powerlessness, of the fact that most see her as nothing but a prize. Le Guin doesn’t strain credibility by giving the characters too modern a sensibility, but she does give her narrator the ability to make injustice visible, and the insight to think about its causes.

As for my favourite scene in the novel (which is another one of the question), it was probably a conversation Aeneas has with his eldest son Ascanius about what it means to be a man. Ascanius believes that it is only in war and violence that a man can truly show his glory. His restrictive definition of both masculinity and of “glory” makes him, unsurprisingly, an unwise ruler, and also someone who is deeply suspicious of women and has trouble dealing with his own sexuality. What Aeneas tells him—which I won’t give away, because you really need to read it in context—is both subtle and incisive.

One of the questions I asked Kailana was about Ascanius, because he really intrigued me. She said that in the end she mostly felt sorry for him, and despite everything I agree. The way he was portrayed was very human, and so I felt for him. And not making him unsympathetic in the end worked very well because it called attention to the fact that his sexism and the fact that he idealized violence were part of a system, of a culture, rather than being individual traits. This doesn't excuse him, of course, but it humanizes him and it puts things in context.

Kailana also asked, "What did you think about the use of the spiritual world in this novel? Was it believable or do you think it was just a dream? (ex: The Poet)" I didn't necessarily interpret Virgil's appearance as a manifestation of the spiritual world, though of course that also makes sense. But I really loved all the religious rites that were included in the story. They were - I guess we could call them pagan, though we tend to associate different things with that word these days. I don't always identify with religious worldviews, but I really felt close to Lavinia's, mostly because she sees humankind as being a part of nature and not as being its master. All her rites involved awe and wonder and a deep respect for her land, and I loved that.

"On the same topic as the poet, what did you think about the fact that this was a story within a story to Lavinia? Did it take anything away from the novel knowing what was going to happen?" We find out very early in the novel that Lavinia is aware of her mythical status, and, as Kailana mentioned above, there's even an appearance by Virgil himself. I think making a character aware of her own fictionality without making the story crumble takes tremendous skill, but Ursula Le Guin manages it perfectly. I loved that.

Knowing things in advance really didn't lessen their impact for me. I think this might have to do with how I feel about Le Guin's writing: it's very subtle and contained, and yet the emotions are all there. She often merely suggests them, but to me that only adds to their power. For example, we know all along when Aeneas is going to die, and yet when it happened it still broke my heart. Lavinia doesn’t dwell on her grief, but I was still able to feel it.

Kailana's last question was, "You mentioned on your blog that reading Lavinia inspired you to buy more female-narrated novels (uh, right?). What are some others that you have read and recommend?" Yes, I mentioned it inspired me to pick up The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley, which retells the Trojan War from Cassandra's perspective. I love myths retold, especially when they're told from the perspective of those who remain voiceless in the originals, which is often the case with women. Everyone knows The Mists of Avalon, but it's really one of my favourites. The Penelopiad is another good one, though now that I've read more Atwood I think it sort of pales in comparison to her others. And this question reminded me of a book I read in my early days of blogging: Inside the Walls of Troy by Clemence McLaren. It uses Helen and Cassandra's perspectives, and although it's short, it's a very good book.

What about you? Are there any retellings of myths or other well-known stories from the perspective of women that you recommend?

Some of my favourite passages from Lavinia:

He was a city man, a politician. To him, my mother and I were unimportant persons in tactically important positions. We had to be managed. He saw women as he saw dogs or cattle, members of another species, to be taken into account only as they were useful or dangerous. He considered my mother dangerous, me negligible, except insofar as I might be made use of.

But what am I to do now? I have lost my guide, my Vergil. I must go on by myself through all that is left after the end, all the rest of the immense, pathless, unreadable world.
What is left after a death? Everything else. The sun a man saw rise goes down though he does not see it set. A woman sits down to the weaving another woman left in the room.

I was fated, it seems, to live among people who suffered beyond measure from grief, who were driven mad by it. Though I suffered grief, I was doomed to sanity. This was no doing of the poet’s. I know that he gave me nothing but modest blushes, and no character at all. I know that he said I raved and tore my golden tresses at my mother’s death. He simply was not paying attention: I was silent then, tearless, and only intent on making her poor soiled body decent. And my hair has always been dark. In truth he gave me nothing by a name, and I have filled it with myself. Yet without him would I even have a name? I had never blamed him. Even a poet cannot get everything right.

Other Opinions:
The Written World
What Kate's Reading
It's All About Books
Page 247

(Did I miss yours?)

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The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton

In 1913, a ship arrives in Australia from London with a four-year-old girl travelling alone on board. She carries nothing but a small suitcase with a book of fairy tales inside, and she says she cannot remember her name. All she remembers is that a lady she calls The Authoress told her she would come back for her. In Brisbane, 2005, Cassandra inherits an old cottage in Cornwall from her recently deceased grandmother, a cottage of whose existence she had no idea. Her grandmother, Nell, was once the little girl on that ship. Cassandra follows her footsteps and travels to England to help solve the mystery of her past.

And so begins a story that is full of things I love: an old house in Cornwall, Blackhurst Manor, full of family secrets going back to Victorian and Edwardian times; a family mystery and a literary mystery; an appearance by Frances Hodgson Burnett; old tales of Cornish smugglers and cursed ships; and there's even the inclusion of some of Eliza Makepeace’s (the mysterious Authoress) fairy tales in the book. In addition to all this, the book itself is absolutely beautiful: look at this picture Chelle took of the inside cover.

Sounds awesome, right? Sigh, I thought so too. I wanted to love The Forgotten Garden. In fact, I was completely convinced that I would. But I hadn’t been this let down by a book in a long, long while. My main problem was Kate Morton’s writing style, which I passionately disliked. It’s the kind of writing that has me rolling my eyes and making sarcastic remarks to my cats as I read. Not everyone will feel as I do, of course, and because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, I’ll do my best to spare you the sarcasm. But here are some excerpts so you can see what the writing is like for yourselves:

The move back to Australia hadn’t helped, but that was retrospect talking. Nell knew better than to allow exhibits of hindsight in the court of self-blame.

(Um...)

He was a scribble of a man. Frail and fine and stooped from a knot in the centre of his knobbled back. Beige slacks with grease spots clung to the marble of his knees, twig-like ankles rose stoically from oversized shoes, and tufts of white floss sprouted from various fertile spots on an otherwise smooth scalp. He looked like a character from a children’s story. A fairy story.

(Stoically? Fertile?!)

A brass bell tinkled in the doorjamb and the old man turned to look at her. Thick spectacle lenses caught the light, shone like two round mirrors, and impossibly large ears balanced on the sides of his head, white hair colonizing them from within.

(Colonizing?! Okay, okay—I promised.)

She could hear her heart, a sparrow no longer but a raven with large, powerful wings, beating within her chest.

This kind of writing really doesn’t work for me. Another problem was that this book reminded me a lot of Possession—connected storylines set in the present and in the past, a mystery surrounding a writer of fairy tales, the fairy tales themselves included in the book, some letters and journal entries and academic bits…I’m not saying The Forgotten Garden is a rip-off, as it’s definitely different enough to be its own thing. But it’s also similar enough that I was frequently reminded of Possession, of how much this pales in comparison, and of how I’d rather be re-reading it instead.

This is a story with many characters living in different time periods, and it’s told in the third person. And then, like I said, there are letters, journals, bits of books, etc. Which leads me to another problem: all these voices sounded exactly alike. The writing style was always the same, no matter if we were reading a letter, an excerpt from an academic text, a fairy tale, or a piece of the story proper. So I couldn’t bring myself to fully believe those voices from the past. I even—gasp!—disliked the fairy tales. They felt like mere allegories, lifeless and hollow.

On top of everything, I had a lot of trouble connecting with the characters. Most of the time they just irritated me. There’s a romance involving Cassandra, the modern day character, and scenes that are meant to be touching had me rolling my eyes. And as for her grandmother, Nell—this probably sounds horribly unsympathetic of me, but I just couldn’t understand why being told she was adopted ruined her life. Don’t worry, this is not a spoiler; it happens in the first ten pages of the book or so. She is 21 when her father tells her the truth, and from then on she completely withdraws from the family who raised and loved her for seventeen years, all because they’re not her “real” family. I know that adopted kids sometimes have trouble adjusting to the truth, especially if it was hidden from them for so long. But to be so bitter about it for the rest of her life (and she lived a long life) just seemed so melodramatic to me.

The whole book was a huge dramafest, and I’ll be the first to admit that dramafests can be kind of awesome—especially if old Victorian skeletons in the closet are involved. And sometimes it was awesome. But most of the time it was just too much. Also, the solution to mystery is obvious to readers because we are watching events unfold in the present and in the past. So the false clues Cassandra follows are, to us, obviously false, except she can’t possibly know. And okay, it’s not really her fault—but, to me at least, watching characters take forever to figure out what the reader knows all along is just annoying.

Having said that, I did read all 659 pages of it, and it didn’t even take me long. Considering how much I disliked the writing, that’s saying a lot. To be honest, towards the end I must have been getting used to it, because it didn’t bother me as much anymore. But the little voice in my head saying I should be re-reading Possession instead just wouldn’t shut up.

Many people loved this book, and apart from the writing I can see its appeal. If you like stories about old houses and family secrets a la The Thirteenth Tale, you might want to give this a try. And like I said, not everyone will have the problems I did with the writing. Make sure you click the links below to read some different opinions:

Violet Crush
Lesley’s Book Nook
Julie’s Jewels
Mysteries in Paradise

(Did I miss yours?)

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The Sunday Salon - Book Coveting: Victoriana

So, just because I'm not buying any more books in the near future it doesn't mean I can't covet them, right? Today's book coveting post was brought on by the fact that last week I spotted a book called The Victorian Woman Question in Contemporary Feminist Fiction at the library. Since I seem to be obsessed with neo-Victorian novels lately, I went through the index and wrote down the titles of any books I wasn't familiar with. And then looking them up online led to yet more books, and...you know how it is. Before I knew it I had myself a reading list, and I thought I'd share it with you:

• Electricity by Victoria Glendinning: set in the 1880s, at the time of rapid progress of what could be done with electricity, this is the story of Charlotte Mortimer, a young woman who escapes the confinement of her upbringing and leads an unconventional life.
  
  
• The Voyage of the Narwhal by Andrea Barrett: The account of a fictional mission to discover the fate of the missing Franklin Expedition. I love stories about Arctic exploration, so I really think this one will be a winner.

• The Observations by Jane Harris: This one is narrated by Bessy Buckley, a working class woman who recalls her time working as a maid at Castle Haivers in the 1860s. According to some reviews I've seen, what makes this novel stand out is the fact that Bessy's voice is so unique.
  
  
• The Journal of Dora Damage by Belinda Starling: Also set in the 1860's, this is the story of a woman who takes over her husband's book binding business when he falls ill, and ends up entering the world of Victorian pornography.
  
  
• Angelica by Arthur Phillips: This one seems difficult to summarize, so I'll just use the synopsis from Amazon - "Joseph Barton, a London biological researcher, orders his four-year-old daughter, Angelica, who's been sleeping in her parents' bedroom, to her own room. Joseph's wife, Constance, resists this separation from her child and the resumption of a marital intimacy that, given her history of miscarriage, may threaten her life. Soon Constance notices foul odors, furniture cracks and a blue spectre that appears to attack Angelica while she sleeps." I've seen it described as not-quite-a-ghost story, which makes me curious. Also, the story is told from four different points of view, each adding another layer until we get closer to the truth. If used well, this is a technique I really love.
  
  
• The Wet Nurse's Tale by Erica Eisdorfer: I'm blaming Fyrefly and Carrie K for this one. As the title indicates, this is the story of a woman who "ends up wet-nursing after getting unexpectedly and illicitly pregnant, and her alcoholic and abusive father forces her to leave her child and take up the occupation."

Have you read any of these? If so, what did you think? And if not, is there anything else along these lines you'd recommend?

Finally, I wanted to thank everyone who helped me pick a book last week. The winner was The True Story of Hansel and Gretel with 27% of the votes, followed by To Say Nothing of the Dog with 22%. That's not that big a difference, as you can see, which is understandable - they both sound so good! I'll read the winner for the challenge, but I do want to get to the others too at some point.

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New Books! Many, many new books

So, about a week ago I received an unexpected monetary prize, and like any book lover I did the irresponsible thing: I used it to buy books. Okay, I wasn't completely irresponsible. I didn't spend all of it. Less than a third, in fact. But it felt so good to indulge for once. I hadn't gone on a book buying spree since I spent the gift cards I got for Christmas and my birthday over six months ago. That's enough blabbing, though. On to the goodies. Behold! My new books:

• 84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff - Jenny called it "the friendliest Englandiest book ever". How can I not read it?

• Black Juice by Margo Lanagan - it's Margo Lanagan, and plus it'll count for the Printz Project. I've already read the first short story because Eva was urging me to on Twitter, and wow - so brutal and beautiful and sad.

• Fairest by Gail Carson Levine - I loved Ella Enchanted and I want more!

• Just Listen by Sarah Dessen - I've been meaning to read her for ages, and this one is Renay's favourite. On a side note, I had never realized how pretty her UK covers were.

• The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan Aiken - because I'm on a mission to read all the children's classics I missed out on growing up.

• The Ghost of Thomas Kempe by Penelope Lively - same reason. I found out about these two while browsing an encyclopaedia of children's literature at the library, looking for neat books to read. Yes, I am that much of a nerd, and I happen to be proud of it.

• Falling Angels by Tracy Chevalier - I loved Girl with the Pearl Earring, and plus this one is set in the Edwardian era!

• Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons - when I mention how much I loved I Capture the Castle people tend to recommend this book to me, so here it is.

• Myself When Young by Daphne du Maurier - du Maurier's account of her youth up until the publication of her first novel. I've been meaning to read it even since Cath reviewed it.
  


• The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Arnim - both Daphne and Claire recommended this, so I know there's no way I won't enjoy it!

• Slow Storm by Danica Novgorodoff - a neat looking graphic novel.

• Unauthorized Pleasures: Accounts of Victorian Erotic Experiences by Ellen Bayuk Rosenman - I find the Victorian's relationship with sexuality fascinating, so I'm really looking forward to reading this.

• Dramacon by Svetlana Chmakova - Kailana was telling me on Twitter that I had to read this manga series, and then Chelle mentioned a one volume edition...what can I say, I am easily swayed.

Not in the picture: The Bermudez Triangle by Maureen Johnson, which I'm actually a bit worried about, since I ordered it the same day as most of the others and they arrived on Monday and Tuesday; and The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley, coming all the way from New Zealand via Bookmooch. I mooched it because Ursula Le Guin's brilliant Lavinia left me in the mood for more epics from the point of view of women, and this is the Trojan War from Cassandra's perspective.

These should keep me busy for a long while. And do me a favour: if you see me buying more books in the near future, please tell me off.

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Salamander Dream by Hope Larson

Salamander Dream is about Hailey, a young girl who likes to play in a forest with a creek running through it near her house. During her visits to the forest, she befriends Salamander—a magical creature, or possibly an imaginary friend, who tells her wonderful stories. This book chronicles Hailey’s friendship with Salamander over the years. We watch her change, grow up, make other friends, and visit the forest less frequently. But until the day when she comes to say her final goodbye before moving away, she always does come back.

I came across this charming book completely by chance: I was on a quest to find comic books by women to read in July, and I was using this list to guide me. I clicked on the link to this one because I liked the title, and I wound up falling in love. Don’t you love randomly finding something that turns out to be great?

Hope Larson’s style is very unique. Salamander Dream has less text than most of the comics I read, but it’s perfect just like that. Some of the moments Hailey and Salamander spend together reminded me of the silent strips that Calvin & Hobbes sometimes had. Which is a good thing, as my love for Calvin & Hobbes knows no bounds. This book has a very different sort of mood—it’s more whimsical than a humorous, really—and it's possible that nobody other than me will see the connection, but what can I say.


I loved the silences. I loved the art, which is summery and dreamlike. I loved how well the book captures the bittersweetness of growing up—the secret spaces of childhood, which you know you’ll have to leave behind. The story takes place entirely within those spaces. A lot is merely implied, and Hailey grows up outside the pages. But every time she returns to the forest, we see how time has passed, how she has changed.

When I say the story is bittersweet, I don’t mean it romanticizes childhood. Hailey is excited about growing up, meeting new people, seeing new places. But time passing inevitably means there are moments that will never return, and no matter how much you’re looking forward to the future, there’s some sadness in that.



I actually read Salamander Dream twice: the first time it only took me half an hour, but the second time I took my time. I would recommend reading it slowly, as a lot of its charm is in the details. This was Hope Larson’s first graphic novel, and it began as a webcomic. The good news is that it can still be read in its entirety online.

Hope Larson has another two books out, and I can’t wait to get my hands on them. Her newest one, Chiggers, has an enthusiastic blurb by Gene Luen Yang. How can I resist?


And now a question: as exciting as clicking links randomly and finding great books is, it's also good to have a little guidance, and I very much trust your recommendations. So please tell me about any comics/graphic novels by women that you think I should read. Thank you in advance!

(Have you posted about this book too? Leave me your link and I’ll be glad to add it here.)

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Nothing But Ghosts by Beth Kephart

Katie is sixteen, and her mother has recently died. Ever since it happened she has been avoiding her friends. She’s spending her summer dividing the time between keeping her father company and working as one of the summer gardeners at a large estate. The estate belongs to Miss Martine, once a rich heiress and the talk of the town, but who suddenly disappeared from the public eye and hasn't left her house in several decades. Along with her friend Danny and with the help of Ms McDermott, the town librarian, Katie begins to investigate the mystery surrounding the estate. Her secret hope is that finding those answers will also help her answer with the questions she’s dealing with in her own life.

Nothing But Ghosts is such a lovely book. I’m so glad Amy’s book drive brought it to my attention; I might have missed it completely otherwise. Most of all, what I loved was the writing. Katie’s voice was perfect, and I loved how her grief, her puzzlement that someone who mattered so much to her could suddenly simply not be there anymore, was brilliantly suggested. The writing is subtle, and I find that particularly perfect in a story about grief and mourning, which are so difficult to articulate.

But I don’t want to give you the impression that the main focus of Nothing But Ghosts is solely Katie's her grief. There are flashbacks to the time before her mother passed, to their last summer together and the trip they took to Barcelona, to her cancer, but the mystery of Miss Martine’s life also takes central stage. Katie’s father, who restores old paintings, is given one that turns out to have to do with Miss Martine’s past, and everything is tied together very well. This almost makes it sound like the whole thing is forced, but believe me, it's not. And anyway, what really matters about the mystery is how it highlights everything Katie is going through, and that too works really well. It makes the story cleverer, more subtle, and it emphasizes all the strong emotions without making it too dramatic.

I’m not quite sure where Nothing But Ghosts is set—there might have been hints but, not being American, I missed them—but the atmosphere strongly reminded me of Southern Lit: the summer days, a small town, a few quirky characters. Actually, I was reminded of Faulkner’s fabulous story “A Rose for Emily”. Don’t worry, the mystery Katie uncovers is not as macabre as that, but… well, I really can’t say anymore. If you enjoyed that story, though, you are likely to enjoy this too.

The answers Katie eventually finds made me so sad for everyone involved. But it's fitting that it's a story about loss and sorrow and missed chances that prompts Katie and her father to fully return to the world of the living. The ending of Nothing But Ghosts was tender, gentle and bittersweet, and so it perfectly fit the rest of the book.

Bits I particularly liked:

You can’t be as alive as Mom was, and then be dead. You can’t be singing so that your voice fills every room in a hand-me-down house, and then not be heard at all. The math doesn’t work. I went kind of crazy with the wrongness of it for a while, and then Dad and I talked and he said he know no cure, the only thing he knew was the power of staying busy.

Everything looks like caution afterward, everything inside me feels old and used and cracked, and people say, “Oh Katie, you’ve handled your mother’s passing so well,” and I think, Handled. Handled? I’m barely breathing, can’t you tell?

Other Opinions:
My Friend Amy
Presenting Lenore
Em’s Bookshelf
Kid Lit
Charlotte's Library
From My Bookshelf
The Compulsive Reader
Care's Online Bookclub
Wordlily
Life in the Thumb
The Zen Leaf

(Let me know if I missed yours.)

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