True confessions: I wrote the last post before I was finished with Just Listen. And while my overall opinion hasn't changed - it's a good read, typical Dessen - I did find myself thinking many times in the last quarter of the novel, "Um, Annabel? Could you maybe, um, SAC UP or something? It's not that hard to say hello to someone."
That is all.
5.31.2006
5.30.2006
Long weekend
We'll try the Kirkus style of reviewing for this batch, read over Memorial Day weekend.
Pieces of Georgia by Jennifer Bryant (Knopf, 2006, 176 pages).
A decent, if unremarkable, middle-grade novel.
Georgia McCoy is an artist. Her mother, recently deceased, was also an artist, so to spare her father's feelings, Georgia keeps her talents hidden. When an anonymous donor sends Georgia a gift membership to the Brandywine museum for her birthday, Georgia is flabbergasted -- and delighted. She sneaks away to the nearby museum after school and finds inspiration in the works of the Wyeth family.
Georgia's a likable character, and this novel-in-verse is perfectly fine. It's nothing spectacular, though, and I felt in many places that I was reading something I'd read many times before. I'd give it to an artsy girl looking for something quick.
Digging to America by Anne Tyler (Knopf, 2006, 288 pages).
You know, it's Anne Tyler. So of course it's good.
Digging to America is the story of two familes, each of whom adopts a baby girl from Korea. Bitsy and Brad Dickinson-Donaldson are the quintessential overachieving Americans, with a big house in the Baltimore suburbs and definite ideas (Bitsy has, anyway) about childrearing and maintaining cultural traditions. Ziba and Sami Yazdan, an Iranian-born couple, are more reserved, less secure (Ziba, anyway), and more sympathetic at the outset. But because this is a Tyler novel, the characterizations are never as easy as one might think. Bitsy is overbearing and rather ridiculous in many ways (her insistence on commemorating Arrival Day for the girls is both endearing and pathetic), but even she has a depth and substance that a lesser novelist would miss. Ultimately, though, this is Maryam's story: Ziba's mother-in-law provides both the moral conscience and the driving force for the novel, as her seeming implacability and judgmental tendencies are challenged by her not-exactly-romance with Bitsy's widowed father.
A quibble, however: who proofread this book? Too many small, noticeable errors for a writer of Tyler's stature. For shame.
Just Listen by Sarah Dessen (Viking, 2006, 384 pages).
Another satisfying pick for bookish teenage girls.
Sarah Dessen is the high priestess of pensive, thought-provoking YA: the kind of writer whose books you give your favorite moody cousin or that smart, quiet girl in your humanities class. Annabel Greene is a model - not a high-class, New York model, but a fairly normal, pretty girl whose face regularly appears in print and TV ads for local stores. This might be glamorous, were it not for three things: 1) Annabel's total social ostracization at the hands of her former best friend, after an incident at a party over the summer involving said friend's skeevy boyfriend; 2) Annabel's sister Whitney, whose own modeling career derailed after she developed a severe eating disorder; and 3) Annabel's own disenchantment with modeling, which she can't bring herself to tell her mother.
Enter Owen, a misfit with a bad reputation whose brutal honesty and apostolic devotion to underground music help crack Annabel's too-nice exterior and force her to confront the issues and people she's been trying to leave behind. Annabel avoids conflict at all costs, including the cost of honesty with herself; it's only after another girl confronts the same situation, with a bravery that Annabel lacks, that Annabel finds the strength to put herself first. Compulsively readable, with only a few bumps.
Happy summer.
Pieces of Georgia by Jennifer Bryant (Knopf, 2006, 176 pages).
A decent, if unremarkable, middle-grade novel.
Georgia McCoy is an artist. Her mother, recently deceased, was also an artist, so to spare her father's feelings, Georgia keeps her talents hidden. When an anonymous donor sends Georgia a gift membership to the Brandywine museum for her birthday, Georgia is flabbergasted -- and delighted. She sneaks away to the nearby museum after school and finds inspiration in the works of the Wyeth family.
Georgia's a likable character, and this novel-in-verse is perfectly fine. It's nothing spectacular, though, and I felt in many places that I was reading something I'd read many times before. I'd give it to an artsy girl looking for something quick.
Digging to America by Anne Tyler (Knopf, 2006, 288 pages).
You know, it's Anne Tyler. So of course it's good.
Digging to America is the story of two familes, each of whom adopts a baby girl from Korea. Bitsy and Brad Dickinson-Donaldson are the quintessential overachieving Americans, with a big house in the Baltimore suburbs and definite ideas (Bitsy has, anyway) about childrearing and maintaining cultural traditions. Ziba and Sami Yazdan, an Iranian-born couple, are more reserved, less secure (Ziba, anyway), and more sympathetic at the outset. But because this is a Tyler novel, the characterizations are never as easy as one might think. Bitsy is overbearing and rather ridiculous in many ways (her insistence on commemorating Arrival Day for the girls is both endearing and pathetic), but even she has a depth and substance that a lesser novelist would miss. Ultimately, though, this is Maryam's story: Ziba's mother-in-law provides both the moral conscience and the driving force for the novel, as her seeming implacability and judgmental tendencies are challenged by her not-exactly-romance with Bitsy's widowed father.
A quibble, however: who proofread this book? Too many small, noticeable errors for a writer of Tyler's stature. For shame.
Just Listen by Sarah Dessen (Viking, 2006, 384 pages).
Another satisfying pick for bookish teenage girls.
Sarah Dessen is the high priestess of pensive, thought-provoking YA: the kind of writer whose books you give your favorite moody cousin or that smart, quiet girl in your humanities class. Annabel Greene is a model - not a high-class, New York model, but a fairly normal, pretty girl whose face regularly appears in print and TV ads for local stores. This might be glamorous, were it not for three things: 1) Annabel's total social ostracization at the hands of her former best friend, after an incident at a party over the summer involving said friend's skeevy boyfriend; 2) Annabel's sister Whitney, whose own modeling career derailed after she developed a severe eating disorder; and 3) Annabel's own disenchantment with modeling, which she can't bring herself to tell her mother.
Enter Owen, a misfit with a bad reputation whose brutal honesty and apostolic devotion to underground music help crack Annabel's too-nice exterior and force her to confront the issues and people she's been trying to leave behind. Annabel avoids conflict at all costs, including the cost of honesty with herself; it's only after another girl confronts the same situation, with a bravery that Annabel lacks, that Annabel finds the strength to put herself first. Compulsively readable, with only a few bumps.
Happy summer.
5.25.2006
Jumping the Scratch
I liked So B. It, the author's most recent middle-grade novel, very much, so I had high hopes for Jumping the Scratch. It's a quick read and a mostly enjoyable one, though I found myself closing the book with a decidedly lackluster "huh."
Jamie has had a rough life: his father skipped town, his cat died, and his mother uprooted him to live with their amnesia-stricken aunt in a trailer park. And there's one more thing -- a secret so shameful to Jamie that he can't even think about it.
Jumping the Scratch tackles a slew of heavy themes: sexual abuse, memory, loss, friendship, and self-esteem. For the most part, it's accessible and carefully paced, never heavy-handed. But I couldn't help feeling that the hard issues were all on the surface, that a certain breeziness permeated the novel and kept me from feeling the weight of Jamie's abuse fully. Jamie is a likable kid, but the secondary characters seemed a bit stock: his horrid, cruel teacher; his overworked, unsympathetic mother; the precocious kid Audrey, whose claims of ESP eventually help Jamie unlock the memories that make him ashamed. Only Sapphy, Jamie's once-vibrant, now brain-damaged aunt, is more richly drawn, and even her eventual recovery felt a bit convenient.
Don't get me wrong: I liked the novel as I was reading it, and I would recommend it to good intermediate readers. But I couldn't help feeling like the author could've done more with the story.
Jumping the Scratch by Sarah Weeks. Geringer/HarperCollins, 2006. 176 pages.
Jamie has had a rough life: his father skipped town, his cat died, and his mother uprooted him to live with their amnesia-stricken aunt in a trailer park. And there's one more thing -- a secret so shameful to Jamie that he can't even think about it.
Jumping the Scratch tackles a slew of heavy themes: sexual abuse, memory, loss, friendship, and self-esteem. For the most part, it's accessible and carefully paced, never heavy-handed. But I couldn't help feeling that the hard issues were all on the surface, that a certain breeziness permeated the novel and kept me from feeling the weight of Jamie's abuse fully. Jamie is a likable kid, but the secondary characters seemed a bit stock: his horrid, cruel teacher; his overworked, unsympathetic mother; the precocious kid Audrey, whose claims of ESP eventually help Jamie unlock the memories that make him ashamed. Only Sapphy, Jamie's once-vibrant, now brain-damaged aunt, is more richly drawn, and even her eventual recovery felt a bit convenient.
Don't get me wrong: I liked the novel as I was reading it, and I would recommend it to good intermediate readers. But I couldn't help feeling like the author could've done more with the story.
Jumping the Scratch by Sarah Weeks. Geringer/HarperCollins, 2006. 176 pages.
5.23.2006
Party Princess
I like Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries books: they're fun and fluffy and don't pretend to be anything more than that, really. Cabot's characters have good moral centers (gaak, cannot believe just wrote that) -- but really, they do. These books are a decent antidote to the soulless Gossip Girls and Clique series: it's the same kind of name-dropping, trend-heavy contemporary setting, but focuses on the dorks and misfits of the high school social scene.
That's not to say the formula can't get a little tired, though, and this (the seventh in the series) is showing some signs of age. Now that Mia has her perfect boyfriend, the tension of feeling like a romantic loser has abated somewhat; now she frets about taking her relationship with Michael to the next level (S-E-X). I did enjoy the intriguing little J.P. subplot in Party Princess: Mia doesn't quite realize she's flirting with (and enjoying being flirted with in return) another great guy, but the reader (and Lilly) sure does. I'll be interested to see if the Michael/Mia pairing survives another book.
A good choice for summer or when you've got two or three hours to kill.
Party Princess by Meg Cabot (The Princess Diaries, Volume VII). Harper, 2006, 304 pages.
That's not to say the formula can't get a little tired, though, and this (the seventh in the series) is showing some signs of age. Now that Mia has her perfect boyfriend, the tension of feeling like a romantic loser has abated somewhat; now she frets about taking her relationship with Michael to the next level (S-E-X). I did enjoy the intriguing little J.P. subplot in Party Princess: Mia doesn't quite realize she's flirting with (and enjoying being flirted with in return) another great guy, but the reader (and Lilly) sure does. I'll be interested to see if the Michael/Mia pairing survives another book.
A good choice for summer or when you've got two or three hours to kill.
Party Princess by Meg Cabot (The Princess Diaries, Volume VII). Harper, 2006, 304 pages.
5.22.2006
May Day
This book was recommended by various book-y blogs, and I'm delighted I picked it up. A breezy, fun mystery set in rural Minnesota, May Day is the first in a planned series of (presumably) twelve "Murder by Month Mysteries."
Twenty-nine-year-old Mira is an assistant librarian at the Battle Lake Library, having fled Minneapolis after an unfortunate breakup. Mira's a rural girl herself, though her childhood in nearby Paynesville was forever marred by her alcoholic father, whose death in a car accident that also killed a mother and baby earned Mira the nickname "Manslaughter Mark's daughter." She's isolated and a bit lonely in Battle Creek, so when dashing Jeff Wilson comes to town to survey some land for possible development, Mira is smitten. When that same Jeff shows up dead in her library just a few days later, the mystery is on. Who killed Jeff, and why? And what does it have to do with the Battle Creek High School Class of 1982, whose members include the highly-lacquered former beauty queen mayor, the pencil-thin-mustache-sporting chief of police, and Mira's absent boss, who may or may not be a cross-dresser?
This is a quick, fun read, a good choice for the beach or a rainy night. My quibbles are minor: the usual "are you KIDDING me, you IDIOT?!" moments in many mysteries, wherein the heroine embarks on some incredibly stupid and risky adventure instead of, oh I don't know, CALLING THE POLICE; and the strange hours and policies of the Battle Creek Library, which seems to have only one staff member present at any one time, and which can apparently close at the drop of a hat or the whim of a would-be crimefighter.
Nonetheless, a satisfying little treat. Can't wait for June Bug, the next in the series.
May Day by Jess Lourey. Midnight Ink, 2006, 209 pages.
Twenty-nine-year-old Mira is an assistant librarian at the Battle Lake Library, having fled Minneapolis after an unfortunate breakup. Mira's a rural girl herself, though her childhood in nearby Paynesville was forever marred by her alcoholic father, whose death in a car accident that also killed a mother and baby earned Mira the nickname "Manslaughter Mark's daughter." She's isolated and a bit lonely in Battle Creek, so when dashing Jeff Wilson comes to town to survey some land for possible development, Mira is smitten. When that same Jeff shows up dead in her library just a few days later, the mystery is on. Who killed Jeff, and why? And what does it have to do with the Battle Creek High School Class of 1982, whose members include the highly-lacquered former beauty queen mayor, the pencil-thin-mustache-sporting chief of police, and Mira's absent boss, who may or may not be a cross-dresser?
This is a quick, fun read, a good choice for the beach or a rainy night. My quibbles are minor: the usual "are you KIDDING me, you IDIOT?!" moments in many mysteries, wherein the heroine embarks on some incredibly stupid and risky adventure instead of, oh I don't know, CALLING THE POLICE; and the strange hours and policies of the Battle Creek Library, which seems to have only one staff member present at any one time, and which can apparently close at the drop of a hat or the whim of a would-be crimefighter.
Nonetheless, a satisfying little treat. Can't wait for June Bug, the next in the series.
May Day by Jess Lourey. Midnight Ink, 2006, 209 pages.
5.21.2006
Intuition
Loved it. I have never read Allegra Goodman before, though I've been tempted to many times. I think I feared she was too highbrow, too smart, and the times I thought about picking up Kaaterskill Falls or The Family Markowitz were times when I really needed a quick YA fix or collection of humor columns instead.
But Intuition is a wonderful read: a careful, nuanced portrayal of life and politics in the world of high-stakes scientific laboratories. Cliff, once a golden boy researcher who's since failed to live up to his potential, is on thin ice at the Philpott Institute, a small cancer research lab located near and loosely affiliated with Harvard. He's been experimenting on mice with R-7, a cancer vaccine, for years with no results. Finally, suddenly, a handful of mice in his experimental group show signs of remission. Is R-7 a wonder drug? Is Cliff the new face of hope for cancer patients? Or are his results too good to be true?
Rounding out the characters are Robin, Cliff's quickly-former girlfriend, whose suspicions about the validity of Cliff's data lead to a potentially disastrous NIH inquiry; Sandy and Marion, the lab's directors, whose working relationship threatens to sour under the pressure of the investigation; and Feng, another postdoc whose notions of integrity and diligence provide perhaps the strongest moral compass in the lab. Minor characters such as Sandy's daughter, Robin's neighbors, and Marion's husband give context to the players outside the lab. Sandy's relationships with his three girls, in particular, provide some of the best and most cringe-worthy moments, as his heavy-handed, charisma-laden parenting style keeps him blind to his family's needs.
Goodman is a master of internal monologue, and imbues each character with enough depth that it's impossible to categorize any of them as wholly good or wholly bad. The novel doesn't wrap up neatly, but instead presents a conclusion that feels real: not without consequences for any of the characters, but not without a glimmer of redemption either.
(I particularly enjoyed the shout-out Goodman gives to my college choir and conductor. Not surprising, since her husband is a fellow alum, but delightful nonetheless.)
Intuition by Allegra Goodman. Dial, 2006, 352 pages.
But Intuition is a wonderful read: a careful, nuanced portrayal of life and politics in the world of high-stakes scientific laboratories. Cliff, once a golden boy researcher who's since failed to live up to his potential, is on thin ice at the Philpott Institute, a small cancer research lab located near and loosely affiliated with Harvard. He's been experimenting on mice with R-7, a cancer vaccine, for years with no results. Finally, suddenly, a handful of mice in his experimental group show signs of remission. Is R-7 a wonder drug? Is Cliff the new face of hope for cancer patients? Or are his results too good to be true?
Rounding out the characters are Robin, Cliff's quickly-former girlfriend, whose suspicions about the validity of Cliff's data lead to a potentially disastrous NIH inquiry; Sandy and Marion, the lab's directors, whose working relationship threatens to sour under the pressure of the investigation; and Feng, another postdoc whose notions of integrity and diligence provide perhaps the strongest moral compass in the lab. Minor characters such as Sandy's daughter, Robin's neighbors, and Marion's husband give context to the players outside the lab. Sandy's relationships with his three girls, in particular, provide some of the best and most cringe-worthy moments, as his heavy-handed, charisma-laden parenting style keeps him blind to his family's needs.
Goodman is a master of internal monologue, and imbues each character with enough depth that it's impossible to categorize any of them as wholly good or wholly bad. The novel doesn't wrap up neatly, but instead presents a conclusion that feels real: not without consequences for any of the characters, but not without a glimmer of redemption either.
(I particularly enjoyed the shout-out Goodman gives to my college choir and conductor. Not surprising, since her husband is a fellow alum, but delightful nonetheless.)
Intuition by Allegra Goodman. Dial, 2006, 352 pages.
5.15.2006
Books read on or near a plane
Long travel weekend recently. Here are the book parts of my reading material (not included: three manuscripts and seven magazines, five of which were trashy).
Startled by his Furry Shorts by Louise Rennison (Harper, 2006, 278 pages). Could it be that Georgia Nicolson has become--quel horreur!--boring? It could. Also? HAAAAAAAATE the new cover treatments.
Freshman by Michael Gerber (Hyperion, 2006, 340 pages). Funny in an insane way, with a wholly improbable plot (that "fake Ivy League" problem again), but one that trips along nicely, and the secondary characters were terrific. I am not usually a fan of nebulously-unreal stories (case in point here: the protag's girlfriend is a vampire and he and his buddy are sort of able to raise a mummy from the dead, but everything else is strictly Normal Universe), but this one managed to keep me laughing.
Red and Blue God, Black and Blue Church by Becky Garrison (Jossey-Bass, 2006, 176 pages). The author is a senior contributing editor at The Wittenburg Door, a satirical religious magazine that I want to be funnier than it is. I felt the same about this book. Some funny parts, some thought-provoking parts, but a whole lot of 9/11 references/nostalgia (if I can use the word "nostalgia" without sounding like a heartless creep, as that's not what I mean) and a whole lot of whiny, nonpartisan unfunny. Still might recommend it for my church's library.
Next up: Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (still; I know) and Intuition by Allegra Goodman.
Note to self: Someday I will fix the links on the right and make them no longer placeholders. Really, I will.
Startled by his Furry Shorts by Louise Rennison (Harper, 2006, 278 pages). Could it be that Georgia Nicolson has become--quel horreur!--boring? It could. Also? HAAAAAAAATE the new cover treatments.
Freshman by Michael Gerber (Hyperion, 2006, 340 pages). Funny in an insane way, with a wholly improbable plot (that "fake Ivy League" problem again), but one that trips along nicely, and the secondary characters were terrific. I am not usually a fan of nebulously-unreal stories (case in point here: the protag's girlfriend is a vampire and he and his buddy are sort of able to raise a mummy from the dead, but everything else is strictly Normal Universe), but this one managed to keep me laughing.
Red and Blue God, Black and Blue Church by Becky Garrison (Jossey-Bass, 2006, 176 pages). The author is a senior contributing editor at The Wittenburg Door, a satirical religious magazine that I want to be funnier than it is. I felt the same about this book. Some funny parts, some thought-provoking parts, but a whole lot of 9/11 references/nostalgia (if I can use the word "nostalgia" without sounding like a heartless creep, as that's not what I mean) and a whole lot of whiny, nonpartisan unfunny. Still might recommend it for my church's library.
Next up: Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (still; I know) and Intuition by Allegra Goodman.
Note to self: Someday I will fix the links on the right and make them no longer placeholders. Really, I will.
5.11.2006
Poison Ivy
Amy Goldman Koss has a keen ear for the subtle manipulations and horrors of high school and middle school (The Girls, Gossip Times Three). Her latest concerns Ivy, a social outcast who has borne unceasing misery at the hands of the Anns, a trio of Mean Girls (only one of whom, the Queen Bee, is actually named Ann).
Ivy's well-meaning but socially tone-deaf teacher, Ms. Gold, tries to teach her students the ins and outs of the American justice system by staging an in-class civil trial, with Ivy as the plaintiff and the Anns as defendents. The attorneys and judge are chosen randomly; the jury pool is assembled through a few choice lies and manipulations. Other minor characters fill the roles of court reporter and process server.
The story unfolds through multiple narrators, a device that can be tiresome but here mostly works. I was struck by the casual inattention of some characters: Cameron the process server, who has a wonderful, dopey voice, has no idea who many of his classmates are, and his clumsy not-quite-romance with painfully shy plaintiff's counsel Daria was the best part of the novel, for me.
The ending is, as Lear would say, nasty, brutish, and short. There is no redemption here; no comeuppance, and one only hopes that the throwaway comment about suicide is just another bit of cruel gossip. Despite the unbelievability of the premise (I've taught high school kids, and that kind of roleplay is just asking for trouble), I did find this compelling.
Poison Ivy by Amy Goldman Koss. Roaring Brook, 2006, 176 pages.
Ivy's well-meaning but socially tone-deaf teacher, Ms. Gold, tries to teach her students the ins and outs of the American justice system by staging an in-class civil trial, with Ivy as the plaintiff and the Anns as defendents. The attorneys and judge are chosen randomly; the jury pool is assembled through a few choice lies and manipulations. Other minor characters fill the roles of court reporter and process server.
The story unfolds through multiple narrators, a device that can be tiresome but here mostly works. I was struck by the casual inattention of some characters: Cameron the process server, who has a wonderful, dopey voice, has no idea who many of his classmates are, and his clumsy not-quite-romance with painfully shy plaintiff's counsel Daria was the best part of the novel, for me.
The ending is, as Lear would say, nasty, brutish, and short. There is no redemption here; no comeuppance, and one only hopes that the throwaway comment about suicide is just another bit of cruel gossip. Despite the unbelievability of the premise (I've taught high school kids, and that kind of roleplay is just asking for trouble), I did find this compelling.
Poison Ivy by Amy Goldman Koss. Roaring Brook, 2006, 176 pages.
5.09.2006
Long time, no nothing
I've been flitting about the country for various book- and writing-related conferences and thus have had no time to post. I am also still stuck in a bit of a reading rut, preferring the easily-digestable magazine (not just trash, really) to the more permanent book.
Behold, a shortlist.
Books finished:
Blue Shoes and Happiness by Alexander McCall Smith (Pantheon, 2006, 240 pages). The latest in the #1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, this lives up to expectations: slow, comfortable, delightful.
How to Be Popular by Meg Cabot (Harper, 2006, 200-ish pages). The Princess Diaries' author's latest stand-alone. Fun and fluffy, goes down easy but not likely to stay with you. I did like the very last twist, which put this a cut above other Mean Girls-inspired YAs.
Book returned to the library unread:
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (Knopf, 2006, 512 pages). I know, I know, it's supposed to be fabulous. But when time is short and my shelves are overstuffed, a 500-pager about the Holocaust is just not the most appealing choice.
Book currently reading:
Born to Rock by Gordon Korman (Hyperion, 2006, 272 pages). I like his stuff; this should be good.
Books I can't wait to start:
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (Dial, 2006, 145 pages). A not-exactly-sequel to The Teacher's Funeral.
You Can Never Find A Rickshaw When It Monsoons by Mo Willems (Hyperion, 2006, 396 pages). A compendium of cartoons from Mo's round-the-world journey when he was in his 20s. Complete with really unflattering passport photo.
That's it for now . . . looking forward to having my head above water again soon.
Behold, a shortlist.
Books finished:
Blue Shoes and Happiness by Alexander McCall Smith (Pantheon, 2006, 240 pages). The latest in the #1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, this lives up to expectations: slow, comfortable, delightful.
How to Be Popular by Meg Cabot (Harper, 2006, 200-ish pages). The Princess Diaries' author's latest stand-alone. Fun and fluffy, goes down easy but not likely to stay with you. I did like the very last twist, which put this a cut above other Mean Girls-inspired YAs.
Book returned to the library unread:
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (Knopf, 2006, 512 pages). I know, I know, it's supposed to be fabulous. But when time is short and my shelves are overstuffed, a 500-pager about the Holocaust is just not the most appealing choice.
Book currently reading:
Born to Rock by Gordon Korman (Hyperion, 2006, 272 pages). I like his stuff; this should be good.
Books I can't wait to start:
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (Dial, 2006, 145 pages). A not-exactly-sequel to The Teacher's Funeral.
You Can Never Find A Rickshaw When It Monsoons by Mo Willems (Hyperion, 2006, 396 pages). A compendium of cartoons from Mo's round-the-world journey when he was in his 20s. Complete with really unflattering passport photo.
That's it for now . . . looking forward to having my head above water again soon.
4.27.2006
King Dork
I am clearly not one of the cool kids in the literary world.
I, um, kind of. . . hated this.
I couldn't even finish it -- and it bothers me to post about something I couldn't finish, but damn, the fact that I couldn't finish it must mean something. Yes, the protagonist has a unique, realistic voice. Yes, many of the band names were funny. Yes, there are moments of agonizing truth in the author's depiction of high school life (though the inanity of what passes for curriculum troubled me a bit).
But. But. It's -- how do I say this? -- boring. Mind-crushingly BORING. Every moment, every thought, every bit of meaningless minutiae (sp?) in this loser's sorry life - gaaaaaaak. Snore. The Catcher references were kind of funny, but the crazy-ass secret code subplot with his late father's high school library just made no sense. (Too much Chasing Vermeer, with its indefensible reliance on coincidence and randomness above all.) And his relationships with his family, with his friend(s, sort of) -- no substance, just talky talky talky talk blah blah blah.
So despite all of its fabulous reviews, I just can't concur.
Sorry.
King Dork by Frank Portman. Delacorte, 2006. 352 pages.
I, um, kind of. . . hated this.
I couldn't even finish it -- and it bothers me to post about something I couldn't finish, but damn, the fact that I couldn't finish it must mean something. Yes, the protagonist has a unique, realistic voice. Yes, many of the band names were funny. Yes, there are moments of agonizing truth in the author's depiction of high school life (though the inanity of what passes for curriculum troubled me a bit).
But. But. It's -- how do I say this? -- boring. Mind-crushingly BORING. Every moment, every thought, every bit of meaningless minutiae (sp?) in this loser's sorry life - gaaaaaaak. Snore. The Catcher references were kind of funny, but the crazy-ass secret code subplot with his late father's high school library just made no sense. (Too much Chasing Vermeer, with its indefensible reliance on coincidence and randomness above all.) And his relationships with his family, with his friend(s, sort of) -- no substance, just talky talky talky talk blah blah blah.
So despite all of its fabulous reviews, I just can't concur.
Sorry.
King Dork by Frank Portman. Delacorte, 2006. 352 pages.
4.25.2006
Well, then.
Apparently "sorry" isn't good enough for Random House. If the extent of the borrowing/stealing/unintentional similarities between Opal Mehta and Sloppy Firsts is as great as they report, they've made the right move. I do still wonder what will become of the wunderkind: perhaps a year's sabbatical is in order?
PW follows up its article with what may be the dumbest question I have ever read:
Um, YES. Rule of law, people: you breach, you suffer the consequences.
PW follows up its article with what may be the dumbest question I have ever read:
"Does plagiarism hurt an authors career--or should it?"
Um, YES. Rule of law, people: you breach, you suffer the consequences.
How Jessica Darling Got Appropriated
The Boston Globe has a front-page story about the unfolding plagiarism accusations against Kaavya Viswanathan. Apparently the Harvard sophomore has stated that Megan McCafferty's novels (Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings) were favorites of hers in high school, and that she must have internalized some of the language and style in her own book How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life. No word yet on whether McCafferty's publisher will accept the apology, or whether there's more drama ahead.
I'm of two minds on this. On the one hand, appropriating another author's work as your own, regardless of intent (or lack thereof) is never okay. And I would be lying if I claimed I felt no small twinge of schadenfreude, since, as has been demonstrated, I am jealous, petty, and small.
On the other hand, Viswanathan seems, at least on the surface, to be genuinely flummoxed and ashamed. Here's a high school kid who loves to read and write, who's given boatloads of money and shuffled off to a packager to produce a buzzworthy debut while she's still a teenager, all the while trying to negotiate the transition to the pressure cooker environment of a top college. I can't help but feel a little sorry for her.
So what's the lesson here? Was Viswanathan so stressed by the expectations placed upon her that she ripped off one of her favorite books? Did her publisher and the media in general put her on too high of a pedestal? What responsibility do Alloy Entertainment (her packager) and Little Brown (her publisher) bear in the whole affair? Should they have been more rigorous in their fact-checking? Were their production schedules so tight that there wasn't time for a full vetting?
More to come as more information emerges, I suppose.
I'm of two minds on this. On the one hand, appropriating another author's work as your own, regardless of intent (or lack thereof) is never okay. And I would be lying if I claimed I felt no small twinge of schadenfreude, since, as has been demonstrated, I am jealous, petty, and small.
On the other hand, Viswanathan seems, at least on the surface, to be genuinely flummoxed and ashamed. Here's a high school kid who loves to read and write, who's given boatloads of money and shuffled off to a packager to produce a buzzworthy debut while she's still a teenager, all the while trying to negotiate the transition to the pressure cooker environment of a top college. I can't help but feel a little sorry for her.
So what's the lesson here? Was Viswanathan so stressed by the expectations placed upon her that she ripped off one of her favorite books? Did her publisher and the media in general put her on too high of a pedestal? What responsibility do Alloy Entertainment (her packager) and Little Brown (her publisher) bear in the whole affair? Should they have been more rigorous in their fact-checking? Were their production schedules so tight that there wasn't time for a full vetting?
More to come as more information emerges, I suppose.
4.24.2006
Mo Willems, I love you
Those of you who have small children should already know Mo. The two-time Caldecott-Honor winner now has nine (?I think) books to his credit, each a gem. The Munchkin loves her some Pigeon and Bunny. To wit:
Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! (Hyperion, 2003) is Mo's Caldecott Honor debut. The title says it all: this is a brilliantly interactive picture book starring an irrepressible pigeon who reeaaaalllly wants to drive the bus. Won't you let him? Curiously, although Miss Munch knows, loves, and recites this book, she has never let loose with one of those big "NOOOOO!"s that the author and publisher seem to expect from their audience.
The first sequel, The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog! (Hyperion, 2004) is a lesser work, but has its moments of brilliance as well. La Munch frequently asserts, "Dat PIGEON hot dog!"
The second sequel, and Mo's latest, is Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late! (Hyperion, 2006). Following the format of the other two, the reader sees Pigeon (clutching his own Knuffle Bunny, see below) resisting bedtime with all the force and persuasion of a good little toddler. Replacing Pigeon's standard climactic tantrum with a room-filling yawn is a stroke of genius.
Last but not least in the Mo Hall of Fame is one of last year's Caldecott Honors, Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale (Hyperion, 2004). It took the Munchkin a little while to warm up to this one, but once she did, she was hooked. Knuffle Bunny is a slice-of-life tale of one girl, one stuffed bunny, and one ill-fated trip to the laundromat. The language and action is pitch-perfect (find me a better example of "going boneless," I dare you), and the resolution, though predictable, is heart-warming.
A word of caution: These books are not for the shy parent. Mo's background is in animation (he's a former writer for Sesame Street, among others), and one must adopt a certain theatricality to get the most out of these books. But they're worth it.
Mo is also a certified Hot Man of Children's Literature.
Also by Mo:
The Pigeon Loves Things That Go! (Hyperion, 2005, board book)
The Pigeon Has Feelings, Too! (Hyperion, 2005, board book)
Time to Pee! (Hyperion, 2003)
Time to Say Please! (Hyperion, 2005)
Leonardo, the Terrible Monster (Hyperion, 2006)
Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! (Hyperion, 2003) is Mo's Caldecott Honor debut. The title says it all: this is a brilliantly interactive picture book starring an irrepressible pigeon who reeaaaalllly wants to drive the bus. Won't you let him? Curiously, although Miss Munch knows, loves, and recites this book, she has never let loose with one of those big "NOOOOO!"s that the author and publisher seem to expect from their audience.
The first sequel, The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dog! (Hyperion, 2004) is a lesser work, but has its moments of brilliance as well. La Munch frequently asserts, "Dat PIGEON hot dog!"
The second sequel, and Mo's latest, is Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late! (Hyperion, 2006). Following the format of the other two, the reader sees Pigeon (clutching his own Knuffle Bunny, see below) resisting bedtime with all the force and persuasion of a good little toddler. Replacing Pigeon's standard climactic tantrum with a room-filling yawn is a stroke of genius.
Last but not least in the Mo Hall of Fame is one of last year's Caldecott Honors, Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale (Hyperion, 2004). It took the Munchkin a little while to warm up to this one, but once she did, she was hooked. Knuffle Bunny is a slice-of-life tale of one girl, one stuffed bunny, and one ill-fated trip to the laundromat. The language and action is pitch-perfect (find me a better example of "going boneless," I dare you), and the resolution, though predictable, is heart-warming.
A word of caution: These books are not for the shy parent. Mo's background is in animation (he's a former writer for Sesame Street, among others), and one must adopt a certain theatricality to get the most out of these books. But they're worth it.
Mo is also a certified Hot Man of Children's Literature.
Also by Mo:
The Pigeon Loves Things That Go! (Hyperion, 2005, board book)
The Pigeon Has Feelings, Too! (Hyperion, 2005, board book)
Time to Pee! (Hyperion, 2003)
Time to Say Please! (Hyperion, 2005)
Leonardo, the Terrible Monster (Hyperion, 2006)
4.23.2006
How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life
Okay, so I finished it. It was not bad: a decently frothy read, not too much mental energy expended, and the author did a nice job weaving in cultural details (both Indian/Desi and New Jersey high school) without going overboard or devolving into the didactic.
But . . .
I am the wrong person to read this book. Problem #1: It is written by someone who is both younger than I *and* more successful (despite having the same opportunities/education in general). I cannot be an objective reader when I finish every chapter thinking, "Okay, at the time in your life that you were writing this, I was watching Animaniacs and pretending to understand The Fairie Queene."
Problem #2: In a previous post, I mentioned the Fictional Harvard problem; it continues throughout the book, though not quite in the same way. The geography gets better, but the portrayal of Harvard is so relentlessly positive that it felt unreal. Harvard is the perfect place! For nerds! For princesses! For hippies! Come to Harvard and be happy forever! I have my own biases, but this utopian idealization would have bothered me no matter where it was set.
Minor things: Very little was surprising, plot-wise. I was annoyed during the pre-frosh visit section, where Opal was astonished and surprised by things like the dorms, the square, the food, the classes. Someone who has been polishing herself for Harvard for 17 years would've done that kind of research (and hello: the dorms are pictured in the admissions materials). The interactions with the dean of admissions felt contrived and implausible. And the naivete of Opal and her parents about friendships and popularity seemed like a stretch: they're intelligent, driven people, sure -- but they have friends, too, and Mrs. Mehta's keen understanding of the Indian social scene in their neighborhood makes it unlikely that she would be so dense when it came to Opal's popularity and the pitfalls of HOWGAL.
Still, I must admit: I liked Opal. Not all the time, and not always a lot, but I did care enough to want to see her have a happy ending. (Sidenote: I wasn't sure whether to be impressed with my prescience, or just resigned, to discover that Opal does, in fact, drink Scorpion Bowls.)
Bottom line: A good choice for summer reading, but don't expect much more from it.
How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life by Kaavya Viswanathan. Little, Brown, 2006. 320 pages.
UPDATE: The Harvard Crimson published an article suggesting that Viswanathan's novel bears a few striking similarities to Megan McCafferty's 2001 Sloppy Firsts. (AP article, via Boston.com)
But . . .
I am the wrong person to read this book. Problem #1: It is written by someone who is both younger than I *and* more successful (despite having the same opportunities/education in general). I cannot be an objective reader when I finish every chapter thinking, "Okay, at the time in your life that you were writing this, I was watching Animaniacs and pretending to understand The Fairie Queene."
Problem #2: In a previous post, I mentioned the Fictional Harvard problem; it continues throughout the book, though not quite in the same way. The geography gets better, but the portrayal of Harvard is so relentlessly positive that it felt unreal. Harvard is the perfect place! For nerds! For princesses! For hippies! Come to Harvard and be happy forever! I have my own biases, but this utopian idealization would have bothered me no matter where it was set.
Minor things: Very little was surprising, plot-wise. I was annoyed during the pre-frosh visit section, where Opal was astonished and surprised by things like the dorms, the square, the food, the classes. Someone who has been polishing herself for Harvard for 17 years would've done that kind of research (and hello: the dorms are pictured in the admissions materials). The interactions with the dean of admissions felt contrived and implausible. And the naivete of Opal and her parents about friendships and popularity seemed like a stretch: they're intelligent, driven people, sure -- but they have friends, too, and Mrs. Mehta's keen understanding of the Indian social scene in their neighborhood makes it unlikely that she would be so dense when it came to Opal's popularity and the pitfalls of HOWGAL.
Still, I must admit: I liked Opal. Not all the time, and not always a lot, but I did care enough to want to see her have a happy ending. (Sidenote: I wasn't sure whether to be impressed with my prescience, or just resigned, to discover that Opal does, in fact, drink Scorpion Bowls.)
Bottom line: A good choice for summer reading, but don't expect much more from it.
How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life by Kaavya Viswanathan. Little, Brown, 2006. 320 pages.
UPDATE: The Harvard Crimson published an article suggesting that Viswanathan's novel bears a few striking similarities to Megan McCafferty's 2001 Sloppy Firsts. (AP article, via Boston.com)
4.19.2006
Blocked
Currently drowning in work and life, I have been unable to commit to a book for the last week. I have filled some of the emptiness with Newsweek and Redbook and the aforementioned trashy magazines, but books are just not doing it for me. Something about the absence of immediate gratification (read it! done! move on!), perhaps.
I have been trying to get into Julia Scheeres's Jesus Land for the past several days, and, Lord help me (really), I cannot. Now I'm trying Kaavya Viswanathan's How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life, and already I am annoyed. It is not enough that the author is a lovely Harvard sophomore currently (perhaps) blowing her six-figure, two-book advance on Scorpion Bowls at the Kong, but she has also fallen victim to the dreaded "fake Harvard" disease, wherein authors are pressured (I assume) by their editors or, more likely, their marketing departments to make their Fictional Harvard read like Imagined Harvard, rather than Real-Life Harvard. Case in point (from the first page, no less):
Okay. If you are walking toward a [mythical] sign that says "Byerly Hall," you are not in Harvard Yard. Byerly Hall is in Radcliffe Yard, a short jaunt up Garden Street, and if you go to Harvard, YOU KNOW THIS. Drives me batshit crazy.
Anyway. No more time for ranting; not even more time for reading, alas. Maybe next week I'll have something more interesting to share.
I have been trying to get into Julia Scheeres's Jesus Land for the past several days, and, Lord help me (really), I cannot. Now I'm trying Kaavya Viswanathan's How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life, and already I am annoyed. It is not enough that the author is a lovely Harvard sophomore currently (perhaps) blowing her six-figure, two-book advance on Scorpion Bowls at the Kong, but she has also fallen victim to the dreaded "fake Harvard" disease, wherein authors are pressured (I assume) by their editors or, more likely, their marketing departments to make their Fictional Harvard read like Imagined Harvard, rather than Real-Life Harvard. Case in point (from the first page, no less):
"By the time we got out of the car and began walking toward the sign that said Byerly Hall: Admissions Office, I was at nineteen. [. . . .] In Harvard Yard, the grass grew a brilliantly bright and fertilized green."
Okay. If you are walking toward a [mythical] sign that says "Byerly Hall," you are not in Harvard Yard. Byerly Hall is in Radcliffe Yard, a short jaunt up Garden Street, and if you go to Harvard, YOU KNOW THIS. Drives me batshit crazy.
Anyway. No more time for ranting; not even more time for reading, alas. Maybe next week I'll have something more interesting to share.
4.17.2006
I killed Princess Diana.
I was not even in Paris in 1997 -- but I do read trashy magazines. My husband, BS, claims that, by buying and reading these magazines that rely on paparazzi shots, I am personally responsible for the culture of celebrity stalking that allegedly led to her death, not to mention the steady decline in moral values and loss of respect for the right to privacy that are hallmarks of our age.
I just like the mindlessness, really. US Weekly, Life & Style, and InTouch are my usual choices. I can't get behind Star: to me it'll always be on the level of National Enquirer. (I am a charter subscriber to Entertainment Weekly, too, but that, of course, is highbrow celebriporn.)
I always buy them at the airport, which prompts BS's constant question: "If the plane goes down, is this what you want to be the last thing you read on Earth?" Forgive me, Lord, but I have a hard time believing that You'll make Your final judgment about me based on my mostly-innocent, slightly-prurient interest in the mating lives of famous people. Besides, when one travels with the Munchkin, one needs to pick reading material that can and will be destroyed.
I think about my trash habit when the major awards are announced (like tonight's Pulitzer for fiction, which went to Geraldine Brooks's March -- a book I tried but failed to read) or whenever I read about "literary" authors making a stink about popular books on bestseller lists. The idea that a person can only read "good" literature, or that a person who reads (or writes) popular books (Freakonomics, Blink, etc.) can never truly be considered erudite, strikes me as utter crap. When Shirley Hazzard raised a big stink a few years back about Stephen King's lifetime achievement award at the NBAs, it made me vow not to read any of Shirley Hazzard's books (especially The Great Fire, with that terrible jacket that makes the title unreadable. Eat Fire? Huh?) This, of course, is a petty and small reaction, but I am a petty and small person.
Don't get me wrong: I'm no literary slouch. I wrote my senior thesis on Shakespeare; I've read most of the big-name poets and scribes from the 15th century on. But I resent the implication that my trashy magazine habit (or my Janet Evanovich habit, or my Louise Rennison habit) makes me a literary lightweight.
Pop culture has a vital role in the larger society, by connecting us to strangers through shared experiences and a shared set of cultural touchstones. When I work at the circ desk and a patron comes up with a Sue Grafton novel or one of Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries books, I can make a connection with that person. To me, it's a community service to keep up with the latest pop culture and pop lit. Trashy magazines are just one part of that equation. Since we don't watch a lot of TV in our house, how else can I keep up with pop culture?
(And okay, I do enjoy feeling just a liiiiiittle bit superior to some of the dippier celebrities out there. So sue me.)
I just like the mindlessness, really. US Weekly, Life & Style, and InTouch are my usual choices. I can't get behind Star: to me it'll always be on the level of National Enquirer. (I am a charter subscriber to Entertainment Weekly, too, but that, of course, is highbrow celebriporn.)
I always buy them at the airport, which prompts BS's constant question: "If the plane goes down, is this what you want to be the last thing you read on Earth?" Forgive me, Lord, but I have a hard time believing that You'll make Your final judgment about me based on my mostly-innocent, slightly-prurient interest in the mating lives of famous people. Besides, when one travels with the Munchkin, one needs to pick reading material that can and will be destroyed.
I think about my trash habit when the major awards are announced (like tonight's Pulitzer for fiction, which went to Geraldine Brooks's March -- a book I tried but failed to read) or whenever I read about "literary" authors making a stink about popular books on bestseller lists. The idea that a person can only read "good" literature, or that a person who reads (or writes) popular books (Freakonomics, Blink, etc.) can never truly be considered erudite, strikes me as utter crap. When Shirley Hazzard raised a big stink a few years back about Stephen King's lifetime achievement award at the NBAs, it made me vow not to read any of Shirley Hazzard's books (especially The Great Fire, with that terrible jacket that makes the title unreadable. Eat Fire? Huh?) This, of course, is a petty and small reaction, but I am a petty and small person.
Don't get me wrong: I'm no literary slouch. I wrote my senior thesis on Shakespeare; I've read most of the big-name poets and scribes from the 15th century on. But I resent the implication that my trashy magazine habit (or my Janet Evanovich habit, or my Louise Rennison habit) makes me a literary lightweight.
Pop culture has a vital role in the larger society, by connecting us to strangers through shared experiences and a shared set of cultural touchstones. When I work at the circ desk and a patron comes up with a Sue Grafton novel or one of Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries books, I can make a connection with that person. To me, it's a community service to keep up with the latest pop culture and pop lit. Trashy magazines are just one part of that equation. Since we don't watch a lot of TV in our house, how else can I keep up with pop culture?
(And okay, I do enjoy feeling just a liiiiiittle bit superior to some of the dippier celebrities out there. So sue me.)
4.16.2006
The Hypochondriac's Pocket Guide to Horrible Diseases You Probably Already Have
The title really says it all. This pocket (really, it's about 4.25" x 6.5") guide to horrible diseases would make a great gift for someone with an odd sense of humor. Each entry features a brief description of the disease, a list of symptoms, how it's diagnosed, the prognosis, tips for prevention, treatment options, and in most cases, a short extra fact. Distinctive B&W line art accompanies each entry: the illustrations* look like they sprang from an old-timey medical journal.
A few samples:
"LEPROSY. In which your hands and feet go numb and eventually fall off. [...] Prevention: Cleanliness is key. Always wash your hands thoroughly after shaking a coworker's gangrenous stump. Also, do not incur the wrath of God (just in case)."
"MYIASIS. In which maggots crawl around beneath your skin. [...] Prognosis: If you take nothing else away from this book, take this: Having maggots inside of you, eating away at your soft tissue and squirming around a lot in a disgusting manner, is not good for your body."
It's a reasonably quick read, though ripe for skimming: the kind of book you might, say, leave in your bathroom for guests to peruse at their leisure. I would not, however, suggest giving this to someone who actually is a hypochondriac. You wouldn't want to encourage them.
*Point of Irritation: I couldn't find a credit or source for the illustrations anywhere in the book. Presumably that means either the author drew them (unlikely?) or they were gathered from public-domain or otherwise old medical texts (also unlikely?). Publishers, give your artists and designers credit!
The Hypochondriac's Pocket Guide to Horrible Diseases You Probably Already Have by Dennis DiClaudio. Bloomsbury, 2006. 208 pages (incl. index).
A few samples:
"LEPROSY. In which your hands and feet go numb and eventually fall off. [...] Prevention: Cleanliness is key. Always wash your hands thoroughly after shaking a coworker's gangrenous stump. Also, do not incur the wrath of God (just in case)."
"MYIASIS. In which maggots crawl around beneath your skin. [...] Prognosis: If you take nothing else away from this book, take this: Having maggots inside of you, eating away at your soft tissue and squirming around a lot in a disgusting manner, is not good for your body."
It's a reasonably quick read, though ripe for skimming: the kind of book you might, say, leave in your bathroom for guests to peruse at their leisure. I would not, however, suggest giving this to someone who actually is a hypochondriac. You wouldn't want to encourage them.
*Point of Irritation: I couldn't find a credit or source for the illustrations anywhere in the book. Presumably that means either the author drew them (unlikely?) or they were gathered from public-domain or otherwise old medical texts (also unlikely?). Publishers, give your artists and designers credit!
The Hypochondriac's Pocket Guide to Horrible Diseases You Probably Already Have by Dennis DiClaudio. Bloomsbury, 2006. 208 pages (incl. index).
4.14.2006
Um, hi.
This is a work-in-progress. My goal is to keep a log of what I'm reading at any particular moment, as well as to sharpen my reviewing skills. When you write enough flap copy, you get pretty good at encapsulating a plot, but you don't get to include your own reactions to a book. This is my venue for those reactions.
My intent is to post about once a week. I typically read two or three books a week (in 2005, for example, I read 150 books). I read lots of YA and middle-grade, as well as your garden-variety adult fiction and nonfiction.
Sometimes I am funny.
I'll also keep a list of my daughter's current favorites, for anyone out there who needs something to read over and over and over and over again to a baby or toddler. (Something that doesn't suck, of course.)
Welcome to my bumpy beginning.
My intent is to post about once a week. I typically read two or three books a week (in 2005, for example, I read 150 books). I read lots of YA and middle-grade, as well as your garden-variety adult fiction and nonfiction.
Sometimes I am funny.
I'll also keep a list of my daughter's current favorites, for anyone out there who needs something to read over and over and over and over again to a baby or toddler. (Something that doesn't suck, of course.)
Welcome to my bumpy beginning.
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