STACKED

books

Forest Born, by Shannon Hale

|

I was lucky enough to score a pre-published copy of Shannon Hale’s newest Bayern book at the Texas Library Association annual conference this year. I really loved The Goose Girl and enjoyed the sequel, Enna Burning, but I hadn’t gotten around to reading River Secrets yet (which is too bad, because Razo is one of my favorite characters). I knew Forest Born would be fun, and I wasn’t disappointed.

Forest Born focuses upon Rinna, Razo’s younger sister. For many years, Rin has felt like something is wrong with her. She senses some power within her that simultaneously thrills her and repulses her. When she lets her defenses down and uses this power, she is ashamed of herself and vows to never let it happen again. In order to keep this promise, Rin refuses to show her own self to the world and instead mimicks those around her that she finds more admirable than herself. She does it so well that no one in her large and loving family really knows who Rin is on the inside; they call her Ma’s shadow. Unsurprisingly, Rin feels trapped at home, and when her brother Razo returns for a visit, she leaves with him to go to the city. She meets up with the “Fire Sisters,” – Isi, Enna, and Dasha – and adventure ensues. The main thrust of the book concerns Rin learning who she is and how to be comfortable in her own skin. It’s a worthwhile lesson that many adults never learn, and it will resonate with young readers.

The story, which involves Rin setting out with her new companions to prevent a war and face an evil foe, was fun but predictable, which is not necessarily a bad thing. It is Hale’s writing that really elevates the book and makes it something special. As I read the first chapter, I was conscious of her skill as a writer. Take this excerpt:

“She listened harder, trembling with a desire to hear. A space inside her opened. Not a sound, not a smell, not even a feeling. If it had been a color, it might have been green. If it had touched her ears, it might have sounded rhythmic, like the creak of a rocking chair or the drone of a bee. If it had a scent, it might have been sweet and drowsy, like fresh pine on the fire. The place in her chest that had ached with panic now felt warbley and sweet, drowsy and green.”

The first chapter of Forest Born is one of the best first chapters I’ve read in any book, and it sets a good pace and tone for the rest of the adventure. I was immediately pulled into Rin’s mind and view of the world. After I had set the book down, I found myself unable to recall if Hale had written it in first or third person. I had to check to make sure – third person. A good measure of the depth of the main character, I think, is whether the author can fool you into believing a third person narrative is actually written in first person. So, while I was able to predict most of the events, it didn’t erode my enjoyment. The villain – a people speaker – was chillingly evil and reminded me a great deal of the villain in Kristin Cashore’s Graceling (a good thing).

In contrast to the previous Books of Bayern that I have read, a large focus of the book is not a love story. In fact, the idea of a beau for Rin doesn’t crop up until the very end of the book, and Rin rejects it when it’s mentioned. It makes sense – she can’t consider entering in to such a union until she has become her own person, comfortable with her power and able to embrace it rather than simply mimicking everyone else. I was pleased by Hale’s slight departure from her normal routine in this manner. It brought some freshness to the story, and it lets young girls who live in our world know that it’s okay to decide not to date someone. Figuring out who you are needs to come first.

I saw Hale speak at the Texas Book Festival last year, and the many readers in attendance (children and adults!) were so enthusiastic about the Books of Bayern, it was hard not to get caught up in their excitement. (Okay, so I was one of the very excited adults.) I wasn’t let down by Forest Born, and I don’t think young adults will be either. For fans of Bayern, this book is a treat. Many characters from past books make an appearance, and the world in which Bayern exists is further fleshed out. At the same time, I don’t think I was at any disadvantage for not reading River Secrets, so readers new to Bayern shouldn’t have a problem. This wasn’t my favorite book by Hale, or even my second favorite, but she’s just such a good writer that even if it were my least favorite, it would be worth a read.

Forest Born is due out on September 15.

Unreliable Narrators

|

I started listening to the next Amelia Peabody book – The Hippopotamus Pool – a few days ago. It started out a little differently than the previous books. Instead of Amelia diving right in to the narrative without much preamble, the “editor” of Mrs. Amelia Peabody Emerson’s personal diaries sprinkled her own commentary via footnotes throughout a rather lengthy introduction by Mrs. Emerson herself that recounted the major events of the previous books. It served a dual purpose: catch the reader (or listener, as in my case) up to speed on the pertinent events of the previous books that would impact the events of the current one, and make us laugh. Take this passage:

Text: “The date of my birth is irrelevant. I did not truly exist until 1884, when I was in my late twenties.”

Footnote: “This is not consistent with other sources. However, the editors were of the opinion it would be discourteous to question a lady’s word.”

The “other source” the editor refers to is in fact the first novel in the series, when Miss Peabody tells her readers that she is thirty-two years old in 1884. The editor points out other inconsistencies throughout the introduction, and they all made me grin. While I love Amelia all the more for it, it also made me wonder…exactly how much should I take her at her word? Is her dashing husband really all that dashing, or is he only dashing when seen through her eyes? (Isn’t the latter much more romantic anyway?) It helps that the editor is voiced by Davina Porter, who is one of my top five favorite audiobook narrators.

A few other famous unreliable narrators include Dr. Sheppard from Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and Briony Tallis from Ian McEwan’s Atonement. I have varying levels of tolerance and appreciation for stories with unreliable – or outright dishonest – narrators, and it depends on the purpose of the character being written in such a way. With Amelia, it’s done for comedic effect, and I love it. In Atonement, it seems as if Ian McEwan did it to make me cry (it worked). Oh, and to bring up all those fancy meta-fiction issues while he’s at it. I thought it was brilliant, and it helped lessen my antagonistic feelings toward Briony. (I also thought the movie adaptation was just as good as the book, a quality that is very rare.) I can just imagine Dame Agatha patting herself on the back and grinning slyly when she first devised the events of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. I’m still undecided on whether I believe what she did was a genius move or a dirty cheat. Then again, it can be argued that fiction needs to be related by a less than honest narrator in order for the fiction to be honest at all, another one of those true oxymorons.

If you’re interested in reading books with a narrator who may not be entirely trustworthy, check out the three I’ve mentioned above and the few below:

Odd Thomas, by Dean Koontz
Odd Thomas (not short for Todd) is a twenty year old fry cook who sees dead people. It’s much better and much less creepy than the Sixth Sense, and Odd as a narrator is engaging, likable, and honest – usually. In the first installment (it became so popular it blossomed into a series), Odd must stop some very bad men from perpetrating something horrible upon his small California town. Unless you have a cold cold heart, the ending will make you cry.

The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, by Jon Scieszka
I outgrew picture books very early on in my reading life, but this is one that I returned to many times. Scieszka is just so clever with everything he writes. Here, Alexander T. Wolf sets the record straight – he was not an evildoer who huffed and puffed, he simply had a very bad cold. And the pigs were rude anyway. Telling classic stories from the point of view of the “bad guy” has always been popular, but no one has done it better than Scieszka.

The Banned and the Banished, by James Clemens
You probably haven’t heard of this series. I don’t blame you if you haven’t – it’s a fantasy that is typical of its genre, with a lot of magic, black-hearted villains, and young good-looking heroes. It’s the kind of stuff that I just eat up. The editor prefaces each book with a notice that everything you will be reading is false, the author of the book is a traitor, and in order to even be allowed to read his/her lies, you must be an advanced scholar, put your thumbprint on the page, and swear to tell no one what you have read. It’s up to you to determine which person – the editor or the author – is the unreliable one. This aspect of the series is what hooked me, although it tells a very entertaining story too.

While searching Goodreads and Librarything for books tagged as unreliable narrators, I came across James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces. Two Librarything users had tagged this nonfiction book, now notorious for its falseness, as having an unreliable narrator. I suppose in the strictest meaning of the phrase, it’s true. But there’s a sense with fiction that it’s okay for the writer to deceive us – it’s not the writer who’s doing the deceiving anyway, is it? The deceitful one is the narrator, who we all learn in grade school English classes is a separate entity from the author. So perhaps I should give Christie a free pass after all – Dr. Sheppard is the one who pulled the wool over my eyes.

What’s your take? Do you like reading books with unreliable narrators, or would you prefer it if the narrator just told it to you straight? Did you want to strangle Christie after she so blatantly and inexcusably broke one of the primary rules of detective fiction? What are some other books with unreliable narrators that I should check out?

Double Take Part II

|

I don’t really notice a lot of cover art. It took me several Sookie Stackhouse books to realize that the artwork actually gave away plot points. I’m pretty dense at times.

However, I have my first addition to the “Double Take” game, despite my lack of observational skills. When Kelly first added The Zookeeper’s Wife to her Goodreads list, I thought, “Oh, I’ve read that.” Then I skimmed the description and realized, “Um, this has nothing to do with gay Thatcher-ites living in London.”

Yes, I was foiled by the covers. Let’s examine.

Published first, the paperback version of Alan Hollinghurst’s The Line of Beauty.


The book art depicts a view of a white walkway in a wooded garden as seen through a close-up of a wrought-iron fence. For a book about a man who desperately wants to be part of a privileged London world, this is a fitting cover. Private gardens (and keeping people out of them) play a large role in this novel.

Then, the similar-but-not-quite-the-same cover of Diane Ackerman’s The Zookeeper’s Wife.


I haven’t read this one yet, but from what I understand, Ackerman tells the story of Warsaw zookeepers who shelter Jews from the ghetto during the Nazi occupation of Poland. Notice the white walkway; the dark green of forests, the muted light; the curlicues of the iron bars. The photograph was taken from a different angle of a different fence, but the feel (and effect) of the cover bear a resemblance to The Line of Beauty. The superimposition of official documents underneath Diane Ackerman’s name also adds a different element to the cover, giving clues to the plot of the novel.

I prefer the Hollinghurst rendition, but only due to personal taste. I find myself photographing items from uncomfortably close angles, so the assymetry of the Hollinghurst cover appeals to my aesthetic. The Ackerman cover is a little too perfectly composed; I prefer photographs that are not centered. For both, though, I keep thinking back to the many snapshots I’ve taken over the years with the same subject matter. The idea of a gated pathway seems to be an almost ubiquitous allegory for things that we cannot have. It’s not surprising that this type of composition is striking.

Any other comments? We’d love to hear them.

Double Helix by Nancy Werlin

|

Double Helix, by Nancy Werlin, is a mystery-thriller about modern-day scientific advancement and the ethical price humanity pays when trying to play God. While it’s a page-turner with an engaging protagonist, the ground it treads is a bit too familiar.

Eli Samuels is about to graduate from high school. Despite his father’s protestations, he refuses to think about college. It’s not because Eli doesn’t think he’s smart enough (he’s the smartest kid in his year), or because he doesn’t like to learn. His mother has Huntington’s Disease, and caring for her has eaten up all of the family’s money. Eli knows his father can’t afford to send him to college, so why bother with the charade of filling out applications?

On the night that Eli’s father finally realizes his son hasn’t applied anywhere, Eli has a bit too much to drink, sends off an email to none other than Dr. Quincy Wyatt, geneticist and head of Wyatt Transgenics, and asks him for a job. To Eli’s embarrassment, Dr. Wyatt does not simply delete the email, and instead asks to see him. Unbelievably, he hires Eli as a lab assistant, a job that normally goes to someone with a college degree. Eli’s excited to be working with a man who is regarded as a genius in the biogenetic field, a man who seems intent on mentoring him, a man with whom he doesn’t have to hold back when discussing scientific matters. Eli has always felt his brain is a handicap, and it’s refreshing to talk with someone whose intellect not only matches his, but surpasses it. Moreover, the work Dr. Wyatt is doing with DNA – the work Eli himself would be doing – could change the world.

Eli’s father does not share his excitement. Barely on speaking terms with his son, he begs Eli in a letter not to take the job. He can’t tell Eli why, he just asks that Eli trust him. Bit by bit, Eli finds out just why his father is so adamant about avoiding Dr. Wyatt and what Dr. Wyatt’s research has to do with his family. He also discovers something shocking about himself.

Double Helix reminds me a lot of Mary Pearson’s The Adoration of Jenna Fox. However, I thought Adoration was more tightly written with a more surprising plot and a more satisfying payoff. I was never surprised or shocked by the events of Double Helix; I expected the final revelation and was disappointed there wasn’t more to it. The payoff at the end is what makes or breaks these bioethics mystery-thrillers. Double Helix‘s just didn’t pack enough punch.

Werlin has created a very three-dimensional character in Eli. His actions are a mixture of frustrating, disappointing, and laudatory, just as a teenager’s actions generally are. Even when I wanted to shake him for his treatment of those he loved, I could understand. By the end of the book, he had grown considerably. Werlin is able to pull off an authentic teenage male voice, something I’ve seen female young adult authors struggle with sometimes. That said, I still don’t feel the characterization was as strong in Eli as it was in Jenna. In all fairness, this may be because Jenna’s situation demanded more character growth. I loved Adoration so much that it seems unfair to constantly compare Double Helix to it. Werlin’s book was still a great read and I enjoyed every minute of it.

I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend Double Helix to teens interested in reading a good mystery or thriller. It’s quick, exciting, well-written, and the science behind the plot is spelled out in plain English so most teens won’t have a hard time understanding it. The ethical questions it raises are important and timely, even if they have been raised by numerous other authors before. (It’s worth mentioning that Werlin does have firm answers to the questions her book asks, and many readers may not agree with them. But then what is the point of reading if we are only fed what we already believe?) For readers who haven’t read many books about this topic, it’s a great starting place. It might spur them on to finding more of this subgenre. For someone such as myself who devours stories like these, it seemed a bit “been there, done that.” There are more inventive books out there.

Geo-reading

|

Something I think a lot about when I’m reading a novel is place — I love reading the setting details and getting a real sense of where I am. I do not care if it’s real or imagined, as a good setting will resonate long after I close the book. Throughout the blog, something I hope to continually offer our readers is what I like to call geo-reading: a visual map of places and the books set in or near them.

My parameters are quite simple. If a book takes place in or depicts the setting well enough, I’ll map it with a short synopsis. I’ve got a load of plans for future iterations of this type of geo-reading, but for now, here are 6 America-based stories, their reviews, and their mapping.

Click the link below the map to see a full-screen version of the map and review. Or, if you want, you can just click the link to “continue reading” and see the reviews alone.


View Geo-reading #1 in a larger map

North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headley

Tessa was born with a port-wine stain on her cheek, a flaw which she both rejects and embraces. Told through a series of cartographic references, North of Beautiful is a sweet story about friendship, family, romance, and about accepting oneself. The acceptance issues range from relationship acceptance, place acceptance, cultural acceptance, and acceptance of ones self. The bulk of the story is set in and focuses on life in Corville, Washington, though much of the second half of this book takes place in China.

North of Beautiful is an ideal read for those wanting something light, enjoyable, but with a good message and strong writing. Some of the characters and situations are clunky or improbable in the greater context, but the story certainly will appeal to those interested in realistic, sweet fiction.

Though marketed for teens, this book will appeal to those 14 and older, including adults.

Need by Carrie Jones

Although compared over and over to the likes of Twilight and Wicked Lovely, Need stands out among the throngs of new fiction about zombies, fairies, vampires, were creatures, and pixies. Need follows Zara as she is sent from her native Charleston, SC to the middle of no where in Maine to live with her grandmother, following the death of her father (technically, her stepfather and technically, her stepgrandmother).

As she’s on the tarmac in flight, a mysterious man appears to be following her. A series of encounters with the strange man in Maine, as well as a trail of gold dust, convince her that she is being summoned by the pixie.

Where there is ample opportunity for Need to stumble down the path of trite or overworked, Jones does a great job of developing strong and smart characters, as well as beautiful writing and scene setting. The story is clean, with little violence and little coarse language.

Of course, what story would be complete without a budding romance, a little family drama, and a bunch of high school eclectics? Need will appeal to the Twilight crowd, but it will also appeal to those who have not otherwise been sold on the concept of make-believe built into real world situations. The writing will draw you in, and the characters will leave you needing more.

Honolulu by Alan Brennert

Brennert’s real magic in writing is his ability to carefully follow the life of an individual living through history — the ups, the downs, the exciting, and the mundane. In Honolulu, Brennert depicts the life of Jin, who leaves her life and traditional family structure in Korea to become a picture bride in Hawaii, which she and her fellow picture brides believe is a place covered in golden streets and magic.

Honolulu is a lot like a large flower. You peel away each petal and watch as Jin grows and learns through her choices and her environmental changes (both decided for and decided by her). Beside the historical moments she experiences, we watch as she navigates the terrain of remaining loyal to her heritage and discovering what it means to be American. This is a book of layers.

Brennert did incredible research for the book, and it shows. He captures detail amazingly well and is able to delineate definitive historical moments without making them trite or overwritten. His timing in this novel is a bit off, though, because of this. He wants to move on to new ideas and new issues but sometimes leaves older ones too quickly. Within a couple of lines, years may go by without any in between action. In Moloka’i, his first novel, this was better and the time transitions were smoother and more fluid.

Parts of the book dragged and others I could not read fast enough, and that’s the entire point. It’s a story of a person, through and through.

Fans of Moloka’i would like this one, as would anyone with an interest in American historical fiction in the early 20th century, identity, culture, and those who love good writing. The prose is undeniably solid and beautiful.

Though marketed for adults, this book will appeal to older teens who are interested in historical fiction, Korean or Hawaiian culture, particularly during the World War era.

Out of the Pocket by Bill Konigsberg

Out of the Pocket is targeted at high schoolers but is much farther reaching. Think Geography Club but with a bit of a more accepting attitude of one’s sexuality. A complete review of the book can be read at my personal blog here. This has been one of my favorite reads this year which is surprising, as it covers all of the topics that some how make me nervous when an author touches: football, getting into college, and coming out.

Ten Cents a Dance by Christine Fletcher

In the 1940s in the back of the yards neighborhood, there aren’t a lot of work options for women, particularly the teens who are forced to work to keep their families afloat.

Ten Cents a Dance follows 15-year-old Ruby Jacinski as she quits her job in the stockyards for a job as a taxi dancer. Of course, Ruby doesn’t tell her mother how she’s making all of her extra money nor does her mother have a clue the situations that Ruby puts herself into.

This historical fiction is paced well, with incredible detailing, and a fascinating main character. I think that Fletcher did a great job showing rather than telling what the impending background in history is throughout the book, and rather than drag the story down in the fact this was WWII, she does a brilliant job telling the reader about life in the back of the yards.

Ten Cents a Dance is marketed for the teen audience, but this is a book that has proven appeal to adults, as well. Particularly for those with an interest in history, world war II, Chicago, or the underground world of taxi dancers, this novel will be a hit. It is a quick read but it is also a read that leaves you wanting more, more, more.

My Mother the Cheerleader by Robert Sharenow

The book follows Louise and her mother, who is a cheerleader against desegregation in 9th ward New Orleans during the time of Ruby Bridges. The story moved quick and I think the characters were done relatively well. The historical and place settings were done realistically and with enchantment and with a bit of a dark cloud of impending trouble.

I think, though, Sharenow — who is a writer and producer for A&E — misses an opportunity here. He picked an interesting time, place, and perspective, but he seems to not delve deeply enough. I don’t think we get enough of the story. We get the icing and no cake, when there is prime opportunity to deliver both without getting in any way preachy. I think this’ll just be a missed opportunity, though it is certainly not a lost cause entirely.

I think this could be an interesting companion book to the classic To Kill a Mockingbird. Taught well or read by the right person, it’ll strike a chord and perhaps spur a real interest in Ruby Bridges, the historical south, and issues of segregation — both from the side of the segregee and segregator.