Lizbee versus Reality

I wasn't going to read this, but all the sparkly text and crazy fangirl hystrionics on OhNoTheyDidn't piqued my curiosity.  It took a couple of goes to get into it, but once the story hooked me, I found it difficult to put the book down -- except for those moments when I had to stop and shriek at my flatmate, "SPARKLY VAMPIRES!" or "VAMPIRE BASEBALL!" or "WHY IS BELLA SO STUPID?"  These moments came increasingly often as I reached the climactic chapters, until I simply reached the point where I had to stop and flail around laughing. 

The plot -- Twilight seems to be one of those publishing phenomenons where somehow the plot itself isn't common knowledge -- revolves around Bella Swan, a classic Sue whose primary skills seem to be having a martyr complex, attracting trouble, and falling down.  She moves to the rain town of Forks to live with her father after some banal shenanigans make it impossible to live with her mother.  Actually, that's not strictly true, but like I said, one of Bella's superpowers is Being a Martyr.  At her new school, Bella is instantly feted as the queen of the social scene -- everyone likes her except (shock!) the impossibly beautiful Edward Cullen.  Who is a vampire.

(Particularly grating is Bella's OUTRAGE that the normal boys of Forks like her and want to spend time with her, and express this by being friendly and openly indicating that they have a romantic interest in her.  I mean, sure, it's awkward being the subject of unwanted romantic attention -- or so I've heard -- but at least they're not playing creepy mind games and breaking into her house to watch her sleeping, because that would be -- oh, hang on...)

Edward doesn't actually hate Bella, he simply lusts after her.  I mean, wants to suck her blood.  I mean, sniff after her creepily.  Bella apparently poses a threat to the entire non-evil vampiric subculture, so of course Edward asks her to go steady with him.  But not until they've spent many, many, many chapters engaged in tedious 'banter' that is possibly intended to remind the reader of Pride and Prejudice, or at least, remind the reader of some fanfic based on a loose film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. 

Then they hook up, and Edward glitters in the sun a bit.

Then some evil vampires turn up, one of whom is obsessed with Bella.  Why?  Beats me -- by the end, I was of the opinion that she's too stupid to live.  Apparently there are sequels -- well, there's no "apparently" about it, I can see the sequels from where I'm sitting -- but unless they involve Bella Swan and the entire town of Forks being obliterated in a nuclear devastation, I don't plan to read them.

(Wait, I lie -- apparently one of the sequels features Edward demonstrating his love for Bella by cutting her brakes, and that's the kind of hilarity I enjoy.)

Twilight should be taken as mindless fun, but it has a lot of subtextual ugliness that makes its popularity disquieting.  Bella is one of the most useless, insipid heroines I've encountered in a long time -- and I genuinely love Fanny Price, btw -- while Edward is like a textbook example of a creepy stalker boyfriend.  There's a strong element of wish fulfillment -- average girl attracts bad boy who's willing to change for her -- but I cannot be comfortable with a text that portrays abuse as love.  Apparently, the series is popular for its abstinence subtext -- Edward and Bella can't be together until their relationship has taken the proper form, that is, Bella's a vampire -- but possibly parents should be wondering if it's really a good idea to conflate "marriage" with "death". 

Or, possibly, I'm overthinking.  When a series has become this massive, and when you're paying $29.99 for a paperback -- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by comparison, is a measly $22.99 -- thinking becomes almost mandatory.

This one turned up at work last year with the mother of all promotional images -- a giant skeleton decal stuck to our store window -- and I have to admit that it took me a shamefully long time to actually read it.  When I did finally overcome my promo-snobbery, I found it was brilliant -- a fun, well-constructed ride.

The eponymous hero is ... well, he's a skeleton.  A walking, driving, wise-cracking skeleton.  He's old -- he fought and died in an ancient war between good and evil, and then he just went on fighting.  Now there's a truce, but he's cynical about the other side -- or does he just want to go back to the world and lifestyle he knows best?

The hero is Stephanie, a twelve-year-old girl whose uncle (deceased at the beginning of the book) was Skulduggery's friend.  Stephanie is the sort of female character I wish we had more of -- curious, persistent, clever and not at all given to hystrionics.  Her uncle has left her a legacy, the forces of evil want it, and Skulduggery is determined not to let her get involved -- but Stephanie is even more determined to learn about the magical community she's discovered, and to be part of the adventures that follow.

Reading this, I had the same sort of reaction that I had to Harry Potter, back in the day: This Is Fun, I Want More.  And I shall have more, just as soon as I get my hands on the sequel.

I recommend this book to customers a lot, so you'd think I loved it.  Well, I did -- but I'm ambivalent, as well.

People of the Book traces the fictionalised history of a real Jewish prayerbook, the Sarajevo Haggadah.  It goes backwards through the chronology of the book, from its concealment from the Nazis by a Muslem scholar back to the period of its creation.  It also traces the journey of the book after its rediscovery, and the parallel personal journey taken by Hannah, the specialist called in to preserve the book.

Hannah represents the book's big weak spot.  She's not a bad character, but she's Very Australian Indeed, and one gets the impression that Brooks -- an Australian author, writing her first contemporary novel -- is trying very, very hard to make her appeal to the overseas audience.  So Hannah uses a lot of slightly outdated slang, and goes to great trouble to explain Australianisms for the benefit of the reader.

The book's other weakness is Hannah's mother, who is -- we are told -- hugely intelligent and hugely racist.  She mostly comes across as a slightly stupid snob, an easy character to dislike -- and we're meant to dislike her -- but not a well-drawn figure at all.

The book's strengths, on the other hand, considerably outweigh these problems.  Brooks's research must have been considerable, but -- aside from an early digression about book preservation and forgery, which I frankly found fascinating -- she doesn't dump too much of it on the reader.  The early medieval sections were my favourite parts of the book, but everyone I've asked has a different favourite.

After ignoring this blog for over a year, the flailings of irate Libba Bray fans have led me to make a triumphant return.  Stay tuned for book spam!

Deathly Hallows is the final entry in a popular YA series.  You may have heard of it.  I was reading it for the second (legal) time -- YES, I READ THE CARPET BOOK, WHAT OF IT? -- and generally laughing and crying and occasionally putting the book down to sob like a wee child.  Oh, my poor Severus you bastard.  He deserved everything he got better.

Anyway, I liked it as much on this reading as I did the first couple of times, although I still feel like Rowling took too many liberties with the established "rules" of her universe -- or at least introduced too many loopholes too late in the story.  And having the main characters spend a vast proportion of the book sitting in a tent being miserable and cranky was, um, brave.

Oh, and I still like the epilogue.  So there.

The other current contender for Worst Book of 2007.  Washed-up teen pop star Heather Wells has ditched her sleazy boyband ex and gotten herself a day job, but people keep dying.

This is basically chick-lit + death, and carries all the features that really put me off the whole chick-lit Thing.  Specifically the protagonist, the usual bunch of neuroses, contradictions, weight and man obsessions, etc.  Each chapter is preceded by the lyrics to Heather's songs.  The last few chapters have the songs she "wrote" herself, which are ten times worse than the deliberately bad pop songs that otherwise featured.

Hint to the main character: you know how at the end, you're convinced your romantic lead is really into you and it's just a matter of time until he declares his love and you settle down with children and puppies?

You're quite wrong.  He's just not that into you.

Oh, and just so we don't forget -- thin women are evil.  Always.  The only good woman is a fat woman.

The current contender for Worst Book of 2007.  Gemma, a Proper Victorian Miss, has Special Powers, and when her mother dies a Mysterious Death, she is sent to a Gothic Girls Boarding School To Learn To Be A Lady.

Cue all sorts of sapphic subtexts, painful historical inaccuracies, silly plot developments, cliches and facepalming moments.  Terrible writing.  Terrible characters.  Terrible plot.

I once recommended this to a patron, on the grounds that it had a great reputation.  I wish I could go back in time and stop myself.  Or at least apologise to the patron...

About a third of the way through this strange story of mobile, predatory cities, I put the book down and thought, "Municipal Darwinism, crazy mayors, London hunting down pirate suburbs ... this is all a bit Doctor Who to me.  Someone's seen 'The Pirate Planet' a few times too many."

Then I read on.

A few pages later, I reached a description of the hero, a young apprentice-historian, spending his childhood doing ghoulish imitations of the deadly and terrifying Stalkers:

"He held his hands out in front of him and lurched around crying, "EX-TER-MI-NATE!  EX-TER-MI-NATE!"

Only I'm paraphrasing as I sent the book back to the library.  But the point is, I realised at that moment that Reeve knew exactly what he was doing, and I should just sit back and enjoy the ride.

So I did.

It's not exactly hard science fiction.  After a devastating war, cities become mobile predators.  A thousand years later, this state of affairs is regarded as normal -- moral, even -- and only a few dissenters realise it cannot be sustained.  It reminded me a bit of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, in the way it takes a couple of absurd concepts and runs with them as far as they'll go.

But as absurd as it all sounds, the ideas are engaging and the characters are marvellous.  I must get the next in the series...

Set in the same universe as The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie, we have another comedic tale of adolescent woe -- this time in epistolary form.  Bindy was told in a series of memos and diary entries; Celia is told through letters -- although many, such as those from the Society of Teenagers and the Cold Hard Truth Association, are really manifestations of the protagonist's insecurities.

The protagonist is Elizabeth Clarry, a would-be marathon runner (if only she could work up any enthusiasm for training) with a highly dysfunctional family.  (The depth of their dysfunction is revealed partway through the book, in a scene that's both hilarious and awkward.) 

As the book unfolds, Elizabeth deals with her various issues, from the mundane (first crushes) to the intriguing (her best friend, Celia, runs away from home three times, always secure in the knowledge that Elizabeth will come to her rescue).  And she deals with her family, new friends, old friends, assignments, imminent failure as a human being...

Standard YA fare, in other words, but it's lifted by Moriarty's style.  A teen patron recommended Moriarty on the grounds that she rights about real teenagers -- not miniature Paris Hiltons.  And it's true that her characters are grounded, but they're never dull.

Dear Lois,

Thoroughly enjoyed the new book.  Great characters, interesting setting and plot.

There's just one thing.  It doesn't seem to be finished. 

I mean, I know it's supposed to be a romance, but that doesn't mean your characters are allowed to entirely forget about the plot in favour of their love.  Come to that, neither are you.

Maybe I've just smacked headlong into a genre barrier, but it just seems wrong.  The plot is the reason they're together.  It's important.  This business of families and weddings is ... secondary.  At least until the other business is out of the way.

It would be like reading Shards of Honour, only to find it ended with Aral and Cordelia getting together as soon as they were rescued, and leaving that whole invasion of Escobar for another book.

I mean, really, Lois, you can do better than this.

Hugs and kisses,

Liz