Nik Kroushl
The massive conclusion to this series was fitting, I believe. I spent the last six or seven hours straight in bed, reading it. At this point I've become so invested in the characters that I'm not even sure I'm fit to give a review based on the book's quality. But I guess that in itself is an indicator, isn't it? I was more or less satisfied with the endings that each of them received. I am a sucker for happy endings, and I appreciated the fact that Clare lingered on this book's ending in order to give everyone the closure I felt they deserved.
As far as how the book is written itself: still simple and yet managing to yank the emotion out of me. As always, the dialogue and characters are what keep me in this series. The prose is mostly unremarkable, the plot devices somewhat cliche or verging on deus ex machina, but after six books–three and a half of which focus on fighting the same villain–there's only so much new material to come up with. The romantic scenes are, as always, steamy and compelling, which is half of why I suspect this series is so popular. As Clare experiments more with multiple perspectives later on in the series, I find myself appreciative of getting new views from different characters, especially those who have grown in importance from the beginning of the series.
I will say that the POV from Emma Carstairs annoyed me. It was a really obvious ploy to segue more easily into Clare's next planned series/cash cow in the Shadowhunter universe, and I found myself wanting to skip Emma's parts because I was reading this book to find out what happened to the Lightwoods, Jace, Clary, Simon, &etc., not about these new children being introduced.
In the end, despite how skeptical this review ends up sounding, I loved this book and this series, period. And I'll probably reread them again some day soon.
As usual for TMI, the novel's prose is unremarkable except for a few profound moments, and the clich??s of YA fiction abound, but also as usual I find myself drawn in by the dialogue and the characters, who resurrect what might otherwise be a tiring series. I kind of hate to love these books, but I love them all the same.
(mild spoilers following): I'm getting pretty sick of the “Jace is not himself” plotlines, but I found that this didn't bother me as much because Clare spent a good deal of time on the character arcs of others: Magnus and Alec, Izzy and Simon, Jordan and Maia, and even Sebastian. This is the main reason for 4 stars. It was also nice to see some actual mature (?) development in Jace and Clary's relationship, although I am somewhat fearful that they'll be back where they started (headstrong and terrible at communicating and selfishly self-sacrificing to a fault) in the next book. We shall see.
Ah, yes. Another Neil Gaiman book that fucks me up in an entirely welcome way by the end of it. I am left with a strange sort of pleasant emptiness that is the signature Neil Gaiman post-epilogue feeling.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane is a wonderful stand-alone, genre-defying novel. I would call it an adult book and a children's book; literary fiction and genre fiction; horror and fantasy and slice-of-life. It is a book about a seven-year-old boy who gets mixed up in a bunch of otherwordly things, including a housekeeper from hell, the most terrifying soul-sucking vultures I've ever read about, and an odd but heartwarming magical family, but it is full of shatteringly astute insights on childhood, adulthood, and magic and meaning in our lives. Mr. Gaiman continues to baffle me with how it is possible for a person to write so simply and so compellingly at the same time, and continues to be one of my greatest writing role models.
The only reason that this book doesn't get five stars is because there is a lot of ambiguity surrounding aforementioned magical family. I still have no idea what the heck is going on with them. I know that this is intentional, but as someone who likes to get mentally involved with the smallest details of speculative fiction, that was as frustrating to me as it seemed to be to the book's narrator.
If you're looking for a book that will break your heart and stick with you and remind you to stop worrying so much about being a grown-up, The Ocean at the End of the Lane does not disappoint. Even if you're not looking for any of those things, pick it up.
I reread this book recently for the Simon and Izzy involved. It is cheesy, predictable, cliche, and at times lacks great writing; but it's funny as hell, has a pretty great cast, and manages to punch me in the feels despite all its downfalls. No great work of literature, but a fun place to get lost for a while.
Erin Bow is my favorite author, and THE SCORPION RULES is another bullet point on the list of reasons why. Erin can write prose like no other YA author I know. I consistently must stop to sit here and think “holy shit, what a beautiful line” after a particularly compelling piece of it.
As always, Ms. Bow's world building is extensive and fascinating. Her other books have been based on existing cultures, but in this futuristic novel, Bow builds an entirely new and rich culture to explore. I loved every detail, every anecdote, every moment of hilarity and gravity in this brave new world.
I believe, however, that Erin Bow's greatest strength lies in her ability to construct and develop wonderful characters. I adore and feel for them all. Talis, especially, is a gem. The struggles that Greta and her friends face are more serious than those faced by protagonists in most adult books, and they make and break themselves in rising to meet the challenges. My heart broke and knitted itself back together multiple times over the course of this book, each time more acutely than the last. The feeling that THE SCORPION RULES left in my chest is the reason that I read.
Additional props for a strong, well-developed, totally heartrending queer romance of the kind that every YA novel attempts to achieve but rarely does. Seriously, holy shit.
Basically, Erin Bow has outdone herself and I am so glad that this book is the first in a series because I cannot wait to read more.
This was the best book by far that we've read for my Gothic Literature class. (Considering that some of the others we read included Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket and Edgar Huntly: Memoirs of a Sleepwalker, however, that is not terribly hard to accomplish.)
For only the second time among all the novels we read for the class, a female took on a narrative role–a refreshing change for which I was very appreciative, although the novel should not necessarily be categorized as a feminist work. Stoker's prose is haunting and entertaining, and although many people dislike epistolary novels, I found the format engaging and, considering all of the perspectives that Stoker chose to include, appropriate. Stoker's best scenes are those charged with gristle and sexuality–most often both at the same time–and this is the first book in a long time that has made me look over my shoulder as I walk back to my dorm room from the library at night.
Stoker channels the issues of his time–specifically a fear among the British white male upper-class of the invasion of “foreigners” and the empowerment and sexuality of women–fears that upper-class white conservative men in most developed countries seem to still have today, unfortunately. Dracula is the realization of the possible consequences (as Stoker sees it) of these issues coming to fruition. The foreigner will come to your lands, seduce your women, infiltrate your populace and become one of you! Your women will find themselves in a position of autonomy and turn on you, leaving you helpless to combat their immoral and wanton charms! Ah, yes. How current, no?
Unfortunately for the liberal reader, there is no redemption for the empowered women or the foreigner: they are evils that are vanquished. After the assembly of an Avengers-like team of heroes who band together to overcome evil, Dracula is killed (although ambiguously) and Mina returns to the servile, pure state she occupied before vampiric/evil tendencies took hold, and balance is restored to the main characters' homelands. It is still a satisfying story, in the most basic sense: the ending is complete, the loose ends tied, the protagonists have triumphed after many trials, overcoming a clear-cut evil. The home team wins.
One thing I was interested by was the use of religion in the text. In most Gothic texts, religion is at best a vehicle of corruption and at worst a direct cause of it. (The Monk, anyone?) In Dracula, religion–specifically the oft-maligned-at-the-time-in-Protestant-England Catholicism–is the vehicle for vanquishing evil. It is a return to traditional Christianity that allows the dream team to vanquish their new and foreign enemy. And while as a Catholic I resent the alignment of Catholicism with the goals of destroying foreigners and suppressing women, it was refreshing to see it used as a weapon of good in a Gothic text. (See? I am all confused about it. Damn Gothic texts.)
Anyway, Dracula is a classic, and unlike many books, it is just as easily enjoyed as a casual or a close reader. Read it because you want to be cool enough to have read Dracula, but also read it because it is a wildly entertaining and thought-provoking read. I guarantee that it will be nothing like you thought it would be.
I'm a writer, but like most writers, inspiration is often difficult to come by. I can often find inspiration in books–books that I wish I had written, books that I fall madly in love with. This is both a blessing and a curse: one one hand, the inspiration is awesome and the book is awesome. On the other, these books are very difficult to find.
Unmade (as well as the other Lynburn Legacy books) is one of these books. And what's even more surprising about that is that it's been so long since I read the first books that I barely remember them, and Unmade took my heart by force regardless.
I love young adult and I love fantasy, so SRB had the advantage there. But there was so much else to love in this book that had nothing to do with my M.O. I loved the ancient family dynasty, the magic, the small-town names and feel. I loved each character and the way even the most minor characters managed to be unique and memorable and heart-stealing. I loved the humor, the way any character could spout at intervals a one-liner that would have me literally laughing out loud. (We type “lol” so flippantly now while giving faint smirks at our screens... this book made me emit embarrassing, snortlike noises of laughter regularly.) I love the love in this book most of all–not just the romantic love (and that one steamy scene in the beginning–WOW SRB, go you), but all of the other types of love that SRB has strewn, unabashedly and endearingly, throughout the book. The love the families have for each other, the love the people have for their town, the love the friends have for each other.
If I can write a book someday that makes me feel the way that this book has, I will consider myself wildly successful. Until then, I'll keep Kami Glass and all her friends with me, as both inspiration and as one of my favorite stories.
I read this book the first time for fun and the second time for AP Lit, and the second read was one of few instances where analyzing symbolism in a book made me love it more instead of less. P&P definitely isn't something to pick if you're in the mood for action and a breakneck pace; but if you enjoy drama, history, and most of all, humor, it's practically insurpassable.
One of Jane Austen's greatest virtues is her talent for, and propensity towards, poking fun of those who might be considered “her people.” She really did stick to the dogma of “write what you know” in writing about middle and upper class society in late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth century Britain, only straying so far as to write of people significantly wealthier than she was. Half of her characters, in P&P as well as in Emma, are living parodies, existing as caricatures of facets of English culture to be satirized. Mr. Collins is a warning against self-absorption, Lydia one against rashness and empty-headedness, Mrs. Bennet against dramatics and ridiculousness, among others; yet in being so they are more hilarious than ever. I actually, physically said “ooh, BURN” aloud more than once while reading Austen's fantastic dialogue.
The other thing Austen's novels are really great for is examining social issues in the England she knew. Women's independence, as well as their comparative dependence on either marriage or relatives for lifestyle, classism, duty to family versus freedom of person, the importance of society's opinion, and, in P&P, the existence of pride and prejudice as both flaws and virtues–all these are only a sampling. This stuff may be just what I'm noticing after reading specifically to analyze, but even to the casual reader they're thought-provoking philosophies. Every Austen novel is full of quotes that deserve to be highlighted, retyped, printed, and hung up on walls.
Austen isn't for everyone, but if complex syntax and a comparative lack of action aren't total turnoffs for you–and even if they are–the humor, dialogue, characterizations, and little dramatic intrigues of an older England are more than enough to keep you entertained (and even thoughtful). I'm not even going to mention Elizabeth and Darcy's love story, because we all know we know it and love it, but it's certainly no detractor from Pride & Prejudice's charm. :)
This book is clearly intended for a non-fiction audience, but it's well-written and its advice is sound. It's got some special blurbs for fiction writers as well. Mr. Sambuchino's success in platform-building can be seen on his Twitter and Facebook pages, and his words are definitely something to keep in mind, even for those of us (fiction writers) who have less need of a platform in today's literary market.
This book was summer reading for my AP Lit Class. I am a little bit closer to understanding literary symbolism (this book is 100% about literary symbolism), but not nearly as proficient as Mr. Foster demonstrates himself to be. That's a little disappointing, but then again, I'm not an actual English professor, so I still have time.
Mr. Foster's narrative voice is funny and frank, but even so, this book nearly put me to sleep a couple of times. Mostly because each chapter, based on one idea in symbolism (the Christ-like figure, or the symbolism of seasons). He goes on for pages and pages listing where these symbols can be found in literature and what they mean in that context. This is very helpful, but also very repetitive. There's probably a SparkNotes outline that can clarify Mr. Foster's ideas for you without all of the bulk, and while you will lose some of the background info or concrete examples, that might not be such a loss. Honestly, you can get a pretty high percentage of the book's ideas from the chapter titles alone.
I wouldn't tell you to read this book for fun, but if you've got a good reason to be seeking information on literary symbolism, How To Read Literature Like A Professor is probably one of your better choices. And it's probably going to be a really good reference text for AP Lit this fall.
This book was on a list I saw on tumblr of books on writing that every writer should read. When I saw it on sale for five bucks at a secondhand book shop at the airport, I figured, “why not?” I can only recall having read one Stephen King book (The Green Mile), and I thought it was alright. But even if you're not a rabid King fan, the guy knows what he's doing. After finishing this book, I have to agree with that blogger that every writer should read it at some point in their career.
The book is half memoir and half how-to guide, and both facets are equally engaging. For some reason I've always had an impression of King, despite knowing little of him, as some aloof, stern and sort of creepy dude who pumps out novels from a dark room in a hermit's mansion. But this book reads like a conversation, and after the conversation I've found that I like Mr. King a lot more than I thought I would.
Mr. King writes casually. He's funny but honest, in accordance with one of several writer's dogmas he introduces: “Tell the truth in your stories.” He offers a lot of solid advice: kill your darlings, cut the adverbs, trust the story and your gut. King dissects what a novel is, figuratively and mechanically. Some of his opinions I liked; for example, the thought that a novel's first draft should be done with “the door closed,” for the writer alone, before opening the piece to critique. Others I did not, such as the assertion that plotting creates “wooden” stories. But the nice thing with King is that he makes sure you know that these opinions are his, they are what works for him, and you are totally free to discard them.
Mr. King's most important piece of advice from this book is simple but often overlooked: read a lot and write a lot. That's all that you need to be a better writer. I've found myself agreeing with him, and I'm hoping I'll be able to stick to the resolutions this book has inspired me to make.
Reasons You Should(n't) Read Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
Gone With the Wind is probably my favorite American classic to date and also one of my favorite books, period. Considering I am usually more enthusiastic for modern fantasy than for historical fiction, this is something of a feat.
I will be honest in admitting that I read this book for school. My AP Lang gave us a list of books to choose from for our final project and I chose Gone With the Wind, a little bit because I thought I'd enjoy it and mostly because I wanted to recreate a Scarlett O'Hara dress as the creative portion of the project. I knew next to nothing of the plot even if I could quote the famous line: “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.”
Here begins the obligatory plot summary. Scarlett O'Hara is a spoiled brat who thinks she loves Ashley Wilkes and throws such a fit when Ashley gets engaged to Melanie Hamilton that she marries Miss Hamilton's brother out of pure spite. She's a widow and a mother in the blink of an eye and finds herself living with Melanie, whom she hates, in Atlanta during the Civil War. Here she gets to know Rhett Butler, the scallawag-turned-hero blockade runner who shows her how to have more fun than is socially acceptable.
The rest of the book revolves around this cast of characters–Scarlett, Melanie, Ashley, and Rhett–and their interactions. Through several marriages and children and endless trials, Scarlett remains convinced that she loves Ashley, who is married to Melanie. Ashley, too, is convinced that he loves Scarlett, but for Melanie's sake never gives in to temptation. Melanie is beautifully oblivious to all of it, and loves everyone she knows with sweet abandon. And Rhett, while continuously reassuring Scarlett that her blackening reputation is nothing to worry about, is falling in love with her, and resents her pining over Ashley. It's not until it's far too late that Scarlett and Ashley discover whom it is they really love, after Melanie and Rhett are out of their reaches.
Don't let that soap-opera description fool you into thinking that Gone With the Wind is on par with the daytime television your middle-aged mom watches in the living room to pass the time while she's crocheting. Though there's plenty of romantic intrigue and turbulent feelings, the novel is primarily about Scarlett's survival after her life is torn apart by the Civil War, and through her actions and mistakes we readers learn about the issues of the period. The book explores so many different topics, including loss, sacrifice, resilience and the American dream, the conflict between inner desires and societal expectations, the expectations/oppression of women in the nineteenth century, the struggles of the South during reconstruction, the consequences of consciencelessness and greed, the conflict between patriotism and conscience, the importance of valuing those who love you, and the idea that love does not always overcome all. Even if thematic prevalence isn't on your list of must-haves, the actions Scarlett takes to explore all of those are brimming with entertainment value. It's one of those books that's not necessarily action-packed, but still refuses to let you put it down.
I fell in love with this book quickly and forcefully and without entirely intending to–much as Scarlett fell in love with Rhett, I like to think, though in my case my feelings did not show themselves too late. Margaret Mitchell has a gorgeous writing style. All of her imagery, be it visual or auditory or even gustatory, is overwhelmingly detailed (in a good way). The characters are unique and fascinating, especially Scarlett and Rhett, both of whom are relatively terrible people, but fantastic sources of entertainment. The prose is funny both in its narration of characters' actions and in their conversations, again, especially with Scarlett and Rhett, the biggest duelists of wit. That special kind of sarcastic humor is rare in premodern novels, and so is the ease with which dialogue progresses. The narrative is rife with literary elements that would make any word-nerd squirm, colloquialisms and metaphors and abundant parallelism and allusions, from the constant juxtaposition of Rhett and Ashley to the symbolism of Tara as a constant source of strength.
That's not to say that Gone With the Wind does not have a few faults. There are points in the book where the narrative pace drops and the reader continues for the sake of exciting scenes to come rather for much thrill in the current moment. And, troublingly, this novel is sprinkled with “Lost Cause” propaganda; much of the narrative is slanted towards sympathy for the Confederacy–as a friend put it to me, this novel “tries to say that slavery wasn't that bad.” Personally I found the point of view more amusing than offensive or persuasive, and I was never bored with any scene (just a little less seat-gripping), so the book remains at five stars.
If you enjoy books with dynamic and compelling characters, well-paced narrative and unique plot, and a writing style built on a talented manipulation of figurative language and dialogue, then definitely pick Gone With the Wind up. Even if you don't like long books, or romances, or historical fiction, pick it up anyway. You'll be glad you did.
I returned this book to the library half finished, not because it was a bad book, but because I already knew most of the myths inside. Also because the due date was looming. It's definitely a great resource for anyone who wants to brush up or learn about well-researched Greek myths in the story format we love so much about them.