Sex! Drugs! Rock and roll!
A quick read for the punk-loving bookworm, this dual-authored book tells the story of one night in the lives of two bridge-and-tunnel punk fans, who meet cute (in a hardcore way) and go on to kiss, talk, fight, question, talk, kiss, and talk some more.
Nick is the musician: he was dumped by the gorgeous but evil Tris "three weeks, two days, and twenty-three hours ago" and is still, of course, fixated on her. He plays very loud bass in a queercore band, though he's straight himself.
Norah is the (mostly) responsible daughter of a pop record executive, who knows all the clubs, the whole scene, and Tris, and is trying to get over her mind-f**king boyfriend Tal, for whom she unnecessarily threw over her chance to go to Brown.
I probably would have connected more to the novel if I were a music snob, or at least someone who listens to bootleg CDs more than NPR. But the emotions and voice capture a kind of teenage angst (cliche! cliche!) that's both brutally honest and just a smidge adorable. (In the same way that I always want to give Holden Caulfield a big fat noogie.)
Quibble? Despite the copious swearing and frequent sexual/quasi-sexual encounters, these two are really just good, clean kids. Everyone around them is tripped out on something - but our heroes don't drink or do drugs, thanks. They kiss and grope and touch and play - but just when something "real" is about to happen, they're interrupted by an old couple looking for the ice machine. Layered realism, or convenient passes in case of challenges from the Uptight Citizens Brigade?
Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan. Knopf, 2006, 183 pages. Cybils 2006 YA Fiction Winner.
6.27.2006
To Hell with All That
I like Caitlin Flanagan. I don't agree with her on everything, but she's one of the most visible writers I can think of who writes about hot-button cultural issues without wielding an inescapable Ax to Grind.
This book surprised me, though. I had seen Flanagan plug it on The Colbert Report - which, admittedly, lends its own spin to the topic - and thought I was in for more of a right-leaning discussion than she presents.
Honestly, it's a pretty toothless book. Flanagan lays out the various slings and arrows facing modern mothers and wives: to work or not to work, what counts as a clean house, who's raising the children, and don't we all really want wives? But she doesn't commit strongly to either side of any question; she just presents her understanding of reality, and leaves it at that.
At times she creates her own contradictions: Proudly stating that she stayed home with her twin boys for the first several years of their lives, she conveniently ignores the fact that she had a full-time nanny at the time - a nanny whom she spends an entire chapter discussing and praising, not 100 pages prior. I don't begrudge Flanagan any of her choices, but to me (and here's my own bias: part-time SAHM, part-time WOHM, couldn't do either full-time without going nuts), if you've got more than an occasional babysitter for the odd movie night or evening meeting, you're not a full-time SAHM.
The end of the book is a suckerpunch - as it must've felt for Flanagan, too - when the author has a cancer scare. Suddenly the choices and questions and worries of the previous 200 pages seem pretty stupid, and the only question worth asking is, "How do I stick around for my kids?" It's a poignant ending to a breezier read than I expected.
To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan. Little, Brown, 2006, 239 pages.
This book surprised me, though. I had seen Flanagan plug it on The Colbert Report - which, admittedly, lends its own spin to the topic - and thought I was in for more of a right-leaning discussion than she presents.
Honestly, it's a pretty toothless book. Flanagan lays out the various slings and arrows facing modern mothers and wives: to work or not to work, what counts as a clean house, who's raising the children, and don't we all really want wives? But she doesn't commit strongly to either side of any question; she just presents her understanding of reality, and leaves it at that.
At times she creates her own contradictions: Proudly stating that she stayed home with her twin boys for the first several years of their lives, she conveniently ignores the fact that she had a full-time nanny at the time - a nanny whom she spends an entire chapter discussing and praising, not 100 pages prior. I don't begrudge Flanagan any of her choices, but to me (and here's my own bias: part-time SAHM, part-time WOHM, couldn't do either full-time without going nuts), if you've got more than an occasional babysitter for the odd movie night or evening meeting, you're not a full-time SAHM.
The end of the book is a suckerpunch - as it must've felt for Flanagan, too - when the author has a cancer scare. Suddenly the choices and questions and worries of the previous 200 pages seem pretty stupid, and the only question worth asking is, "How do I stick around for my kids?" It's a poignant ending to a breezier read than I expected.
To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan. Little, Brown, 2006, 239 pages.
Fun Home
Book Two in my accidental grouping of Stories of Rageaholic Fathers. Though Dad here isn't really angry: just depressed, hyperintellectual, and occasionally criminally sexual toward adolescent boys.
The intellectual musings and references left me feeling a trifle stupid: no, I've never read Proust, and though I did read my share of high-falutin' high thinkers in my day, I've never had the experience of a H.F.H.T. influencing the way I live my life in any profound way.
What surprised me about this book (beyond my priggish shock at cartoon renderings of lesbian cunnilingus - hello, Google searchers!) was its generally positive tone. The subject matter is largely bleak: depression, suicide, lost opportunities, sexual struggle. And yet Bechdel keeps despair mostly at bay. Is it simply the format that made me feel this way? Perhaps. But the subtitle promises "A Family Tragicomic," and both sides of that oxymoron came through.
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. HMCo, 2006, 232 pages.
The intellectual musings and references left me feeling a trifle stupid: no, I've never read Proust, and though I did read my share of high-falutin' high thinkers in my day, I've never had the experience of a H.F.H.T. influencing the way I live my life in any profound way.
What surprised me about this book (beyond my priggish shock at cartoon renderings of lesbian cunnilingus - hello, Google searchers!) was its generally positive tone. The subject matter is largely bleak: depression, suicide, lost opportunities, sexual struggle. And yet Bechdel keeps despair mostly at bay. Is it simply the format that made me feel this way? Perhaps. But the subtitle promises "A Family Tragicomic," and both sides of that oxymoron came through.
Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel. HMCo, 2006, 232 pages.
The Man of My Dreams
Dear Curtis Sittenfeld,
Why oh why do you persist in creating pathologically unlikable characters? Whiny, self-absorbed, wrapped in their own little balls of woe-is-me negativity . . . bleah. And then, to tack on Princess Sighs-a-Lot's great epiphany at the very end, in a lame-o letter to her former therapist? Two hundred forty-four pages of annoying claptrap, and the only - oh, I don't know, let's call it Character Growth - comes second-hand in the last 20 pages? Gaak. That's what that whole "narrative arc" thing is supposed to be for.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Reader
The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld. Random House, 2006, 272 pages.
Why oh why do you persist in creating pathologically unlikable characters? Whiny, self-absorbed, wrapped in their own little balls of woe-is-me negativity . . . bleah. And then, to tack on Princess Sighs-a-Lot's great epiphany at the very end, in a lame-o letter to her former therapist? Two hundred forty-four pages of annoying claptrap, and the only - oh, I don't know, let's call it Character Growth - comes second-hand in the last 20 pages? Gaak. That's what that whole "narrative arc" thing is supposed to be for.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Reader
The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld. Random House, 2006, 272 pages.
6.22.2006
Twelve Sharp
Typo on page 16! Gaak.
Stephanie Plum is back, in all her brassy, blowsy glory. You won't read this for the plot, so I won't bother rehashing it. The sex is sparse, in comparison to other Plum tales, but the loonies (Grandma Mazur, Lula, Joyce Barnhardt) are still loony and Steph's still got a heart.
Take it for an afternoon at the beach.
Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich (St. Martin's, 2006, 310 pages).
Stephanie Plum is back, in all her brassy, blowsy glory. You won't read this for the plot, so I won't bother rehashing it. The sex is sparse, in comparison to other Plum tales, but the loonies (Grandma Mazur, Lula, Joyce Barnhardt) are still loony and Steph's still got a heart.
Take it for an afternoon at the beach.
Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich (St. Martin's, 2006, 310 pages).
6.18.2006
Dairy Queen
At last! A book everybody else likes that I like, too (unlike, say, King Dork).
I will spare the plot summary and focus simply on what I liked: namely, DJ herself. Forthright, smart (in her own way), and funny (in her own way), she could write her grocery list for 200 pages and I'd still want to read it. I'm shocked that the author doesn't seem to have any firsthand experience in the upper Midwest, because the setting rang very true to me. (Granted, I did not grow up in farm country per se, but the whole concept of long-standing/suffocating families and ambitions of limited scope, for good or ill, were familiar and nicely presented.)
Murdock touches on heavy topics -- anger, repression, sexuality -- without losing sight of DJ or ever taking us out of her purview. On the last topic, I was impressed with the way Amber's sexuality was handled: perhaps not as full-on positively as some might like, but quite realistically, I thought, and with no malice on DJ's part.
A great girl, great story, great book. Would like to see this on the Printz list.
Dairy Queen by Catherine Gilbert Murdock (HMCo, 2006, 275 pages).
I will spare the plot summary and focus simply on what I liked: namely, DJ herself. Forthright, smart (in her own way), and funny (in her own way), she could write her grocery list for 200 pages and I'd still want to read it. I'm shocked that the author doesn't seem to have any firsthand experience in the upper Midwest, because the setting rang very true to me. (Granted, I did not grow up in farm country per se, but the whole concept of long-standing/suffocating families and ambitions of limited scope, for good or ill, were familiar and nicely presented.)
Murdock touches on heavy topics -- anger, repression, sexuality -- without losing sight of DJ or ever taking us out of her purview. On the last topic, I was impressed with the way Amber's sexuality was handled: perhaps not as full-on positively as some might like, but quite realistically, I thought, and with no malice on DJ's part.
A great girl, great story, great book. Would like to see this on the Printz list.
Dairy Queen by Catherine Gilbert Murdock (HMCo, 2006, 275 pages).
6.13.2006
Quickies part deux
I have discovered that if I don't post right after I finish a book, I don't remember what I wanted to say. Bad puppy! Whack whack puppy!
Nothing But the Truth (and a Few White Lies) by Justina Chen Headley (Little Brown, 2006, 224 pages).
Patty Ho -- half-Chinese, half-white, all-confused -- is an insecure underachiever. Her mother is a force of nature, her father is nowhere to be found, and her brother, having secured admission to Harvard, can seemingly do no wrong. Against her own wishes and better judgment, Patty enrolls in math camp at Stanford for the summer (SUMaC, for the uninitiated), and there starts to figure out who she is and what's important to her.
Nothing But the Truth is your basic bildungsroman, but Patty's status as a hapa (a word she's never heard until her wild-child SUMaC roommate explains it to her) gives the novel a little extra resonance. That said, I found some of the racism Patty encounters in her small-town Pacific Northwest high school a little hard to swallow. Perhaps I am simply naive, but do people really walk around randomly calling out "chink" anymore? The blissful ignorance Patty's hometown friends display ("is that some weird Chinese-y thing?") rang truer for me.
Patty is worth rooting for, and though her internal monologue sometimes goes in circles, her journey is a fun one to take. Give this to the smart girls.
Physical by James McManus (FSG, 2006, 272 pages).
An adult nonfiction title about the state of American healthcare and the state of one middle-aged man's personal health.
Jim McManus is given a plum assignment: go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, get one of their $8000 "executive physicals" (paid for by his employer), and write about it. And that's what he does -- for about the first third of the book. He gives the reader background on the Mayo, on each test he is given, on his own health (or lack thereof), and on the state of the US healthcare system in general.
But once the physical is done, McManus veers off into political territory, pontificating on the future of stem-cell research and the short-sighted idiocy of the current administration with regard to SCNT (somatic cell nuclear transfer, or embryonic cloning). Whether I agree with McManus's views or not (and I happen to agree with him), the sudden shift from straightforward, sometimes breezy tales from the exam room to a heavy-handed dissertation on bioethics was jarring, to say the least. Later on McManus intimates that the stem cell chapters were originally separate pieces for a magazine (Esquire, I think), so it seems he just decided to throw them into this book to fill a few more pages.
Overall, a decent read, but not something I'd recommend too heartily.
Fly on the Wall by E. Lockhart (Delacorte, 2006, 192 pages).
Gretchen Yee is a loner, an outcast at a school for outcasts. She has one close friend and one ex-boyfriend, but aside from that, she spends her days at her Manhattan high school for artsy types sitting alone, sketching Spiderman comics. After wishing one afternoon that she could be a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room, just to figure out what the heck is up with the boys, Gretchen wakes up just that: a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room.
As a fly, Gretchen is privy to the boys' conversations, conflicts, primping, and of course, naked bodies. Her sudden awakening to lustful thoughts was handled well -- nothing shameful, and nothing too far, but simply a normal response (that, since Gretchen was a "lower" form of life at the time, seemed less controversial than it might've been were she still a girl). She comes to understand the fears and motivations of her fellow Art Rats, especially those of Titus, with whom she is deeply in like.
The body-part slang (gherkins and biscuits, etc.) was a little tiresome, but I probably wouldn't have enjoyed reading "penis penis penis" over and over again, either. Though the story's logic strained a bit at times (it just took a wish? then why didn't Gretchen wish herself back right away?) and some moments felt a bit message-heavy (Titus's "it's okay to be gay" speech, for example), overall it was a fun, if forgettable read.
Nothing But the Truth (and a Few White Lies) by Justina Chen Headley (Little Brown, 2006, 224 pages).
Patty Ho -- half-Chinese, half-white, all-confused -- is an insecure underachiever. Her mother is a force of nature, her father is nowhere to be found, and her brother, having secured admission to Harvard, can seemingly do no wrong. Against her own wishes and better judgment, Patty enrolls in math camp at Stanford for the summer (SUMaC, for the uninitiated), and there starts to figure out who she is and what's important to her.
Nothing But the Truth is your basic bildungsroman, but Patty's status as a hapa (a word she's never heard until her wild-child SUMaC roommate explains it to her) gives the novel a little extra resonance. That said, I found some of the racism Patty encounters in her small-town Pacific Northwest high school a little hard to swallow. Perhaps I am simply naive, but do people really walk around randomly calling out "chink" anymore? The blissful ignorance Patty's hometown friends display ("is that some weird Chinese-y thing?") rang truer for me.
Patty is worth rooting for, and though her internal monologue sometimes goes in circles, her journey is a fun one to take. Give this to the smart girls.
Physical by James McManus (FSG, 2006, 272 pages).
An adult nonfiction title about the state of American healthcare and the state of one middle-aged man's personal health.
Jim McManus is given a plum assignment: go to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, get one of their $8000 "executive physicals" (paid for by his employer), and write about it. And that's what he does -- for about the first third of the book. He gives the reader background on the Mayo, on each test he is given, on his own health (or lack thereof), and on the state of the US healthcare system in general.
But once the physical is done, McManus veers off into political territory, pontificating on the future of stem-cell research and the short-sighted idiocy of the current administration with regard to SCNT (somatic cell nuclear transfer, or embryonic cloning). Whether I agree with McManus's views or not (and I happen to agree with him), the sudden shift from straightforward, sometimes breezy tales from the exam room to a heavy-handed dissertation on bioethics was jarring, to say the least. Later on McManus intimates that the stem cell chapters were originally separate pieces for a magazine (Esquire, I think), so it seems he just decided to throw them into this book to fill a few more pages.
Overall, a decent read, but not something I'd recommend too heartily.
Fly on the Wall by E. Lockhart (Delacorte, 2006, 192 pages).
Gretchen Yee is a loner, an outcast at a school for outcasts. She has one close friend and one ex-boyfriend, but aside from that, she spends her days at her Manhattan high school for artsy types sitting alone, sketching Spiderman comics. After wishing one afternoon that she could be a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room, just to figure out what the heck is up with the boys, Gretchen wakes up just that: a fly on the wall in the boys' locker room.
As a fly, Gretchen is privy to the boys' conversations, conflicts, primping, and of course, naked bodies. Her sudden awakening to lustful thoughts was handled well -- nothing shameful, and nothing too far, but simply a normal response (that, since Gretchen was a "lower" form of life at the time, seemed less controversial than it might've been were she still a girl). She comes to understand the fears and motivations of her fellow Art Rats, especially those of Titus, with whom she is deeply in like.
The body-part slang (gherkins and biscuits, etc.) was a little tiresome, but I probably wouldn't have enjoyed reading "penis penis penis" over and over again, either. Though the story's logic strained a bit at times (it just took a wish? then why didn't Gretchen wish herself back right away?) and some moments felt a bit message-heavy (Titus's "it's okay to be gay" speech, for example), overall it was a fun, if forgettable read.
6.06.2006
Quickies
In the interest of time and space (read: because I am wicked lazy), here are four short reviews of recently-read books.
Stay With Me by Garrett Freymann-Weyr (HMCo, 2006, 300+ pages).
I like Freymann-Weyr's other stuff, and had high hopes for this one. It didn't grab me, though, and I found myself preparing to abandon it several times along the way. I did finish it, ultimately, and the book has some wise and thought-provoking things to say about suicide, family, and love. Still, my issues:
1) There's a meta-structural thing going on regarding dyslexia: Leila, the main character, is dyslexic, which manifests itself not only in the usual way, but also in her constant quest to find and/or establish order in every corner of her life. On the large scale, she seeks answers -- a pattern, a reason -- for her sister Rebecca's suicide; on the small scale, the first-person narrative goes round and round in circles, with no clear forward push or urgency. This structural free-for-all drove me nuts and kept me from connecting with Leila.
2) Hey, Leila's boyfriend? You're a nice guy and all, and you seem to have pretty honorable intentions. And yet? YOU'RE 31 AND YOU'RE SHTUPPING A 17-YEAR-OLD. *I'm* 31. Color me thoroughly creeped out.
The Dead Beat by Marilyn Johnson (Harper, 2006, 256 pages)
A readable, usually funny but sometimes poignant look at the wacky world of obituaries and obituary writers. Johnson is herself a journalist and sometime obit scribe, and her exploration of the world of dead people is overall a great read. There's an extended section on the New York Times's coverage of the 9/11 dead, "Portraits," and profiles of several of the great obituary writers of the past half-century. My interest did start to flag about two-thirds of the way through, but that may be my fault and not the book's. Pair this with Mary Roach's Stiff for a comparison of the afterlife in body and soul?
A True and Faithful Narrative by Katherine Sturtevant (FSG, 2006, 256 pages).
A sequel to Sturtevant's 2000 At the Sign of the Star, this book continues the story of Meg Moore, daughter and onetime heir to a bookseller in Restoration London. Meg is now 16, and no longer her father's only child: his new wife, Susannah, has born him three more children, which cuts into Meg's position and dowry. Meg has no interest in marrying, not yet, and still hopes to take her place as a bookseller and writer of her own account, despite social prohibitions of the time that would stop her. But she's nonetheless torn between two suitors: her best friend's brother, Edward, whose affections she scorns before he sets sail abroad and is taken captive by pirates; and her father's apprentice, Will, who enjoys matching wits with Meg but whose views on women and wives give her pause.
This is a pretty good read, and girls who like historical fiction would probably enjoy it. Meg is forward-thinking without too much anachronism: she lies and deceives many of the men in her life to get her way, but all the while she knows that her future depends on making a good marriage match. Alas, though: I just didn't like her all that much. She's smart and well-read (hooray), but her interior emotional life left me all confused and annoyed. Meg makes some bad decisions -- thoughtless comments to one suitor, outright lies to another -- and though I can certainly think of examples of great books with unlikable heroines (the Emma archetype), I couldn't muster a lot of sympathy for Meg and her man troubles.
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (Dial, 2006, 208 pages).
Peck once again plumbs the world of turn-of-the-century Midwestern country folk, in his bid to out-Twain Twain. Peewee McGrath, amateur auto mechanic and good-hearted tomboy, knows she's at the age where people will start to talk if she doesn't wear a dress now and then. She and her brother Jake, orphans living on the edge of town and running a makeshift garage, are as flabbergasted as anyone when four learned ladies from the Library School of Butler University come to town with plans to reopen the town's library. Jake is smitten with Grace, daughter of one of the early auto magnates, and Peewee (real name: Eleanor) is taken with Irene, the ringleader. The story culminates in one of the first Indiana auto races, with a twist that may not surprise, but will certainly entertain.
My only quibble? The title doesn't really have much to do with the story: it just makes for a nice little joke and will surely catch the eyes and hearts of librarians across the country.
Stay With Me by Garrett Freymann-Weyr (HMCo, 2006, 300+ pages).
I like Freymann-Weyr's other stuff, and had high hopes for this one. It didn't grab me, though, and I found myself preparing to abandon it several times along the way. I did finish it, ultimately, and the book has some wise and thought-provoking things to say about suicide, family, and love. Still, my issues:
1) There's a meta-structural thing going on regarding dyslexia: Leila, the main character, is dyslexic, which manifests itself not only in the usual way, but also in her constant quest to find and/or establish order in every corner of her life. On the large scale, she seeks answers -- a pattern, a reason -- for her sister Rebecca's suicide; on the small scale, the first-person narrative goes round and round in circles, with no clear forward push or urgency. This structural free-for-all drove me nuts and kept me from connecting with Leila.
2) Hey, Leila's boyfriend? You're a nice guy and all, and you seem to have pretty honorable intentions. And yet? YOU'RE 31 AND YOU'RE SHTUPPING A 17-YEAR-OLD. *I'm* 31. Color me thoroughly creeped out.
The Dead Beat by Marilyn Johnson (Harper, 2006, 256 pages)
A readable, usually funny but sometimes poignant look at the wacky world of obituaries and obituary writers. Johnson is herself a journalist and sometime obit scribe, and her exploration of the world of dead people is overall a great read. There's an extended section on the New York Times's coverage of the 9/11 dead, "Portraits," and profiles of several of the great obituary writers of the past half-century. My interest did start to flag about two-thirds of the way through, but that may be my fault and not the book's. Pair this with Mary Roach's Stiff for a comparison of the afterlife in body and soul?
A True and Faithful Narrative by Katherine Sturtevant (FSG, 2006, 256 pages).
A sequel to Sturtevant's 2000 At the Sign of the Star, this book continues the story of Meg Moore, daughter and onetime heir to a bookseller in Restoration London. Meg is now 16, and no longer her father's only child: his new wife, Susannah, has born him three more children, which cuts into Meg's position and dowry. Meg has no interest in marrying, not yet, and still hopes to take her place as a bookseller and writer of her own account, despite social prohibitions of the time that would stop her. But she's nonetheless torn between two suitors: her best friend's brother, Edward, whose affections she scorns before he sets sail abroad and is taken captive by pirates; and her father's apprentice, Will, who enjoys matching wits with Meg but whose views on women and wives give her pause.
This is a pretty good read, and girls who like historical fiction would probably enjoy it. Meg is forward-thinking without too much anachronism: she lies and deceives many of the men in her life to get her way, but all the while she knows that her future depends on making a good marriage match. Alas, though: I just didn't like her all that much. She's smart and well-read (hooray), but her interior emotional life left me all confused and annoyed. Meg makes some bad decisions -- thoughtless comments to one suitor, outright lies to another -- and though I can certainly think of examples of great books with unlikable heroines (the Emma archetype), I couldn't muster a lot of sympathy for Meg and her man troubles.
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck (Dial, 2006, 208 pages).
Peck once again plumbs the world of turn-of-the-century Midwestern country folk, in his bid to out-Twain Twain. Peewee McGrath, amateur auto mechanic and good-hearted tomboy, knows she's at the age where people will start to talk if she doesn't wear a dress now and then. She and her brother Jake, orphans living on the edge of town and running a makeshift garage, are as flabbergasted as anyone when four learned ladies from the Library School of Butler University come to town with plans to reopen the town's library. Jake is smitten with Grace, daughter of one of the early auto magnates, and Peewee (real name: Eleanor) is taken with Irene, the ringleader. The story culminates in one of the first Indiana auto races, with a twist that may not surprise, but will certainly entertain.
My only quibble? The title doesn't really have much to do with the story: it just makes for a nice little joke and will surely catch the eyes and hearts of librarians across the country.
5.31.2006
Just Listen: addendum
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.
That is all.
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.
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