STACKED

books

What I’m Reading Now

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Lethal White by Robert Galbraith

I had been waiting for this book for many months, ever since I finished Galbraith’s (J. K. Rowling’s) third novel in the Cormoran Strike series last year. I’ve listened to all of them on audio, and I was really looking forward to diving into this one in the same format. Unfortunately, it’s not gripping me as much as the other three. It’s slow to start, with a mystery that goes nowhere for nearly half the novel. Galbraith focuses a lot on Robin and Cormoran’s romantic lives, and I find that topic to be both irritating and uninteresting. Robin’s now-husband Matthew is still around being the most awful person in the world. Cormoran tries for nearly a year for a no-strings-attached casual relationship with a woman named Lorelei, a relationship neither Strike nor I as a reader care much about at all. To compound my annoyance, Galbraith brings back Charlotte for a cameo (or perhaps more, I’ve still got nine hours of the book left). Robert Glenister is a talented reader as always, I just find most of the book lacking. I’ve got a little less than half the book to finish in the two days remaining of my loan; I’m not sure I’m going to make it.

 

Heart of Iron by Ashley Poston

This is a retelling of the legend of Anastasia Romanov set in space. Because readers will know this going in, one of the biggest “surprises” of the story, which is revealed about a third of the way in, is not a surprise at all. Other parts of the story feel familiar, too, particularly for readers who read a lot of space opera. Ana (the lost princess who remembers none of her past) is part of a ragtag crew of space pirates, which includes a Metal (android) named D09 whom she’s in love with, despite the fact that he claims he cannot feel human emotions. The lost princess in space reminds me strongly of Empress of a Thousand Skies by Rhoda Belleza, and the android who may or may not be “human” enough for its life to matter is reminiscent of Defy the Stars by Claudia Gray, both of which I liked a bit better. (These tropes were not new when Belleza and Gray wrote about them, either.) Still, Poston infuses her story with her own ideas, too: a humanoid alien race derogatorily referred to as “star kissers,” a bit of interesting political intrigue, the idea of “ironblood” and an iron artifact that rusts when it’s touched. It’s clear she’s put a lot of thought into the world she’s created, including its complicated history, and readers who enjoy SF world-building will be rewarded. The book is also casually LGBTQ, and its characters don’t fit neatly into our own established gender roles (the captain of the ship is a woman and many other leaders within the world are as well).

 

Borrowed But Not Returned

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I rarely borrow books from friends. Part of it is that I’m happy to pick up a copy of a title recommended to me at the library. The other part is knowing that, given the fact I regularly rack up sizable fines at the library for overdue books, I’ll likely not return books lent to me from others in any sort of timely manner, either.

When I moved in January and packed up eight years’ worth of living in the same place, one of my priorities was weeding my book collection. I managed to clean out quite a bit. Most went to a local shelter that gives books to young people who often enter the shelter with nothing but the clothing on their backs. A few went to the recycling bin because they weren’t in any worthwhile condition or they simply weren’t the kind of thing that might interest a younger reader. I didn’t think a whole lot about the books in my possession which weren’t mine. They ended up in the flat bags I moved books in and made their journey across state borders to settle into their new homes.

And yet, the books we borrow — whether we’re habitual borrowers or rare borrowers — tell us something, don’t they?

I know there are two books on my shelf which are borrowed from others. One is a massive literary tome and the other a slight book of comics.IQ84 by Haruki Murakami came to me in the fall a few years ago, while I was spending a long weekend with my friend in Houston. She was a fan of the book and knew I was a fan of Murakami’s weird fiction. I knew I wouldn’t get to read it in any reasonable time frame because it’s just so big, but she insisted I borrow it without worrying about getting it back to her in any reasonable time frame.

The book sits on my shelves still. I haven’t cracked it. I’m still intimidated by size, despite knowing I’d probably enjoy it. In the interim years, my friend left Houston, moved to Vermont, then moved to Ottawa and became a Canadian citizen.

Even though I haven’t read it and, quite frankly, don’t see myself reading it any time in the near future, each time I see it on my shelves I think of her and remember that weekend. I think, too, about how many great conversations she and I have had about books and reading, about recommendations we’ve passed back and forth. About the times she’s texted me from the airport to ask for a good airport bookstore title she could read while traveling around the word.

The other book still sitting on my shelf, unreturned, is one I’ve read. Then read. Then read again. It’s a book that I know I’ve had the chance to return numerous times, but I think back to how much I enjoy the book and it never seems top priority to return it when given the chance.

Early in the librarian career, I wanted to up my knowledge of comics and graphic novels, and a friend who loved comics (and at the time, was married to a fellow comic lover) brought a stack over for me to read. This included some superheroes, but it also included a lot of non-franchise, non-serialized titles to peruse. Peanutbutter and Jeremy’s Best Book Ever never seemed to return home with them.

Peanutbutter and Jeremy is a comic about a cat named Peanutbutter who dresses in a fancy hat and tie because she believes she works in an office. Jeremy is the clever crow who lives in the tree outside Peanutbutter’s house. The comic is much like Tom and Jerry but it’s really Peanutbutter and Jeremy — Jeremy spends his days trying to trick Peanutbutter but at the end of the day, they develop a close friendship. Kochalka’s art is delightful to look at, and I think part of why the comic resonated with me so much was that it’s appropriate for young readers and older ones, in a style that reminds me a lot of Sara Varon’s comics (Robot Dreams is my all-time favorite comic).

 

I wonder about returning the book in a different way now than I do with IQ84. The friend who lent it to me got it from the partner she’s no longer with. Would it be awkward to return it to her? I don’t know him well enough to broach the subject and, if I’m being honest, I wonder if it would stir weird things with him, especially if he is unaware I still have it. Maybe he never knew it was in my possession to begin with.

Perhaps I’m overthinking it all together and, after a certain time frame of it not being brought up, it’s now something for me to keep hold of and own as my own. An unexpected gift, given without the intention of it being so.

In my personal library, I can think only of these two books as borrowed. I definitely returned some titles to their rightful owners before moving, but these two hung on. Part of it is my interest in reading them (in the case of the Kochalka comic, rereading numerous times). But perhaps a bigger part is that both come steeped in specific memories and moments with individuals in my life that I hold onto and need to hold onto for just a little longer.

I’m grateful to not owe them late fees, as I’m forever in debt to my local public library.

This Week Around The Web

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This week at Book Riot…

 

  • Tune into the latest episode of “Hey YA,” wherein Eric and I highlight some of the recent releases you may have missed, dig deep into friendship as it’s seen in YA lit, and end the show highlighting a few upcoming 2019 YA books for your TBR.

 

Elsewhere…

 

 

 

A Few Cybils Reads – Part I (Necromancy Edition)

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Give the Dark My Love by Beth Revis

Nedra has been given a scholarship to attend Yugen Academy, where she plans to train as a medicinal alchemist. The northern part of the country, where Nedra lives, has been overrun by a plague that kills almost everyone it touches, and while Nedra’s family has remained safe from it so far, she knows the people who govern the country don’t have much interest in saving the lives of the poor northerners. The rich believe the plague is caused by bad hygiene. Nedra is determined to find a cure, and she finds a mentor in one of the teachers at the school. Even as they get closer to the truth about the plague, Nedra starts experimenting with necromancy, strictly forbidden by the law not only because it’s considered unnatural, but also because of what the practice of it does to the necromancer. But necromancy, Nedra believes, is the key to understanding the plague, which begins as necrosis of the limbs before making its way to the heart, where it kills.

The book alternates between Nedra’s perspective and that of her friend Grey, another student at the school. Grey is the son of a politician, a powerful man who pulls Grey into the city’s political machinations. There are rumblings of revolution: many people on the colony of Lunar Island, where the story takes place, would like to become independent and rule themselves. Grey’s storyline is interesting and eventually intersects with that of the plague, a nice bit of plotting that surprised me a few times before the end of the book. But ultimately, this story Nedra’s.

Revis’ book is a meditation on grief, and it’s heartbreaking and tragic and beautiful. Her writing is gorgeously mournful, telling the story of a good person’s descent into darkness in the midst of almost unbearable pain. Good speculative fiction always functions as a metaphor for things that are real, and Give the Dark My Love is a prime example of this. We as readers follow Nedra’s journey from hardworking girl with a purpose into obsession and finally into a darkness from which she cannot return. All the while, she is propelled by something very real and very human that affects all of us. Revis’ writing is such that we feel everything right alongside Nedra – and alongside Revis herself. Don’t skip reading her acknowledgments at the end.

 

Reign of the Fallen by Sarah Glenn Marsh

Quite the opposite of Revis’ book, in Reign of the Fallen, necromancers (like our protagonist Odessa) are prized. They’re necessary in order to keep the ruling class in power, who are resurrected whenever they die. But the Dead, once resurrected, must forever remain shrouded. If anyone sees any part of a Dead person, the Dead person turns into a zombie-like Shade, mindless and violent. It’s not a terribly appealing “life,” but it does allow certain people to remain in power – perhaps forever.

It’s a situation rife for trouble, and it’s kind of incredible that the society has gone as long as they have without a massive Shade epidemic. There are a few attacks here and there, but nothing that ever gets out of control. Until now. The Shade attacks have been increasing, and it soon becomes clear that someone is deliberately creating them and training them to attack. Odessa and her fellow necromancers are determined to find out who is behind it.

The premise is interesting, but it requires a massive suspension of disbelief for me. I’m perfectly willing to believe the Dead can be raised (I did love Sabriel as a teen), but it’s difficult for me to believe that Dead rulers with such easy weaknesses to exploit could remain in power for centuries. All someone would have to do is tug on the shroud, and the King would be a Shade. End of rule. That issue aside, the mystery itself is intriguing, and Odessa is an engaging character. Like Revis’ novel, Marsh’s novel is also an examination of grief, but it’s not as successful in this respect. I’d hand this to teens already interested in necromancy as a plotline.