When I took Shakespeare in college, I wrote my research paper on Edmund. I argued that he had little chance Reviewed by: Rabid Reads
I love KING LEAR.
When I took Shakespeare in college, I wrote my research paper on Edmund. I argued that he had little chance to be anything but a villain given the thoughtless mistreatment of bastards at that time. He wore his illegitimacy like a scarlet letter, and even more than Hester Prynn’s, his crime was not a crime.
So of course when I heard that Tessa Gratton’s THE QUEENS OF INNIS LEAR was a fantastical retelling of KING LEAR, I leapt at the opportunity to read it for review. And when I started reading it, and the Edmund-like character, now called Ban the Fox, appeared to be less villainous and more heroic, of course I was ecstatic.
BUT.
I was 2% into it, and I should know better than to make assumptions, especially about a retelling of anything by Shakespeare.
Tackling Shakespeare is a challenging endeavor. It’s freaking Shakespeare. How do you retell a story written a master? The master?
To attempt it requires more courage than the average writer can muster. But to attempt it AND rewrite it to suit your purposes, to imagine your version of events superior?
That, friends, would be HUBRIS. #shameonme
I’ve seen several reviews where the reader has said things like, after the first couple chapters, they just couldn’t get into it, and that, to me, is baffling.
TQOIL has one of the best prologues I’ve ever read.
First line:
It begins when a wizard cleaves an island from the mainland, in response to the king destroying her temple.
What begins?
Just that easily, I was hooked.
The spectacular prologue was immediately followed by an introduction to a character and an island that were so vivid, so magical, that I wanted to jump up and down shrieking, “I want to talk to trees! I want to see a bird’s dreams! I want the wind to be my messenger!”
I want to live in this world!
Characters that I’d thought I knew and knew well became infinitely more complex. More damaged. More covetous. Anger became fury. Thoughtless remained thoughtful but became loyal and well-intentioned as well. Good became naive, became heartbroken, became a strong and worthy queen.
And a story I already loved became something so much more.
Did it hurt?
Absolutely.
Tragedy is tragedy, and Shakespearen tragedy . . . WHUH.
But Gratton so expertly crafted this expanded version that despite the respect she clearly has for this tale and its creator, she was able to give us a less bleak future. Those left standing are worthy of their survival. They’ve learned from Lear’s mistakes and don’t repeat them. They are poised to let their island heal their wounds, healing their island in return.
THE QUEENS OF INNIS LEAR more than a tragedy. It’s life lessons. How shutting yourself off from the ones who love you can be the root of your own destruction. It’s about recognizing when someone can be saved and when they can’t. It’s hard choices and unbridled hope.
When I took Shakespeare in college, I wrote my research paper on Edmund. I argued that he had little chance to be anything but a villain given the thoughtless mistreatment of bastards at that time. He wore his illegitimacy like a scarlet letter, and even more than Hester Prynn’s, his crime was not a crime.
So of course when I heard that Tessa Gratton’s THE QUEENS OF INNIS LEAR was a fantastical retelling of KING LEAR, I leapt at the opportunity to read it for review. And when I started reading it, and the Edmund-like character, now called Ban the Fox, appeared to be less villainous and more heroic, of course I was ecstatic.
BUT.
I was 2% into it, and I should know better than to make assumptions, especially about a retelling of anything by Shakespeare.
Tackling Shakespeare is a challenging endeavor. It’s freaking Shakespeare. How do you retell a story written a master? The master?
To attempt it requires more courage than the average writer can muster. But to attempt it AND rewrite it to suit your purposes, to imagine your version of events superior?
That, friends, would be HUBRIS. #shameonme
I’ve seen several reviews where the reader has said things like, after the first couple chapters, they just couldn’t get into it, and that, to me, is baffling.
TQOIL has one of the best prologues I’ve ever read.
First line:
It begins when a wizard cleaves an island from the mainland, in response to the king destroying her temple.
What begins?
Just that easily, I was hooked.
The spectacular prologue was immediately followed by an introduction to a character and an island that were so vivid, so magical, that I wanted to jump up and down shrieking, “I want to talk to trees! I want to see a bird’s dreams! I want the wind to be my messenger!”
I want to live in this world!
Characters that I’d thought I knew and knew well became infinitely more complex. More damaged. More covetous. Anger became fury. Thoughtless remained thoughtful but became loyal and well-intentioned as well. Good became naive, became heartbroken, became a strong and worthy queen.
And a story I already loved became something so much more.
Did it hurt?
Absolutely.
Tragedy is tragedy, and Shakespearen tragedy . . . WHUH.
But Gratton so expertly crafted this expanded version that despite the respect she clearly has for this tale and its creator, she was able to give us a less bleak future. Those left standing are worthy of their survival. They’ve learned from Lear’s mistakes and don’t repeat them. They are poised to let their island heal their wounds, healing their island in return.
THE QUEENS OF INNIS LEAR more than a tragedy. It’s life lessons. How shutting yourself off from the ones who love you can be the root of your own destruction. It’s about recognizing when someone can be saved and when they can’t. It’s hard choices and unbridled hope.
Gunmetal Magic takes place in the Kate Daniels universe, but it is told from Kate’s best friend Andrea Nash’s POV.
Andrea is enlisted by the Pack to iGunmetal Magic takes place in the Kate Daniels universe, but it is told from Kate’s best friend Andrea Nash’s POV.
Andrea is enlisted by the Pack to investigate the brutal deaths of four Pack members (flying solo b/c Kate is busy doing something else with Curran). When she arrives at the crime scene, she discovers that all four victims died of snake poisoning, venom being one of the few things Shapeshifters aren’t naturally immune to.
Weird thing, though . . . Based on the width of the bite marks, the snakes are people-sized.
All of this is made more fun by the fact that the victims are employed by Raphael, necessitating their first interaction after months of avoidance.
Do they immediately fall into each other’s loving arms, you ask?
N O P E.
Is it worth the painful journey?
Absolutely.
Also, as always, the mythology is super cool. This time it’s primarily Egyptian.
Magic Gifts
Magic Gifts is the story of what is happening with Kate while Andrea is running around solving crime by herself in Gunmetal Magic.
Kate and Curran are just trying to enjoy a nice evening out when a magic necklace chokes the life out of a Journeyman of the People, causing two vampires to attempt a killing spree.
Good times.
The same magic necklace finds itself around the neck of a seven year old child, which causes Kate and Curran to claim the child, in order to save him, and the People to claim the child, b/c the necklace killed an investment and must be investigated.
Guess who wins?
Also, the People suck.
Julie is enlisted to help determine what kind of magic the necklace has, and discovers some indecipherable runes that lead everyone on a merry chase through Norse mythology.
This story was presumably written to appease rabid Kate fans when instead of a new Kate book, a book from Andrea’s POV was published.
I'd like to say that in the wake of agony caused by the last two extras, THE WAY HOME was fresh and bright start . . . and I guess it was, in part. It was lovely to see a sixteen-year-old Alice, so reminiscent of her mother, BUT . . . any relief I felt on being reintroduced to a healthy, happy, fearless Alice was nullified by scared, bitter man Jonathan had become in Fran's absence.
Retellings have been coming out of the woodwork these last several years, with SNOW WHITE being a crowd favorite, butReviewed by: Rabid Reads
4.5 stars
Retellings have been coming out of the woodwork these last several years, with SNOW WHITE being a crowd favorite, but as much as I love fairytales (and I really, really do), there are only so many ways a story can be retold in a short period of time before it gets tired.
Which is why if I'd more carefully read the blurb, I probably wouldn't have requested GIRLS MADE OF SNOW AND GLASS by Melissa Bashardoust . . . And that would have been a mistake.
SEE?? Sometimes my habitual neglect works in my favor.
You: What's so different about this retelling?
Me: So. Many. Things.
I hesitate to call it feminist in nature, b/c I'm a literal person, and feminism--BY DEFINITION--is the opposite of chauvinism. *googles feminism* At least it used to be. The definition appears to have shifted into a more egalitarian meaning, so I guess I do call it feminist in nature.
But not in the heavy-handed way that made me reluctant to brand this lovely story as FEMINIST. *men cower everywhere*
It's about a woman married to a man who doesn't love her the way she deserves to be loved finding her own happiness. It's about a girl refusing to be stifled by expectations.
Lynet smiled and nodded and thanked them until the Pigeons were finished. Perhaps it was flattering to be fussed over, but she knew their fondness wasn’t for her own sake. They loved her mother, and Lynet looked like her mother, so they thought that they loved her, too.
It's about two women, traditionally at odds with each other, finding a way to coexist . . . More than coexist.
And it's so natural, so elegant, it makes you wonder: how am I only hearing this version now?
GIRLS MADE OF SNOW AND GLASS from debut author Melissa Bashardoust is a retelling apart from others. You may think you know this story, of Snow White and her Evil Stepmother, but you would be mistaken. Bashardoust manages to retain the integrity of the original tale, keeping it easily recognizable, while simultaneously turning this often told story on its head. The end result is nothing short of remarkable. Highly recommended.
2016 was the year of the graphic novel for me--between Fables and Monstress, I was well and truly hooked, butReviewed by: Rabid Reads
4.5 stars
2016 was the year of the graphic novel for me--between Fables and Monstress, I was well and truly hooked, but it was Brian K. Vaughan's SAGA that blew my mind and showed me that, similar to (good) poetry, graphic novels could pack all the insights and feelings of a first person POV full-length novel into a third of the pages and an even smaller fraction of the words.
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So I've been looking forward to Volume 7 ever since I binge read 1 - 6 last July.
I'm actually pretty proud of myself for waiting for the last six individual installments to be bundled together instead of snacking on the smaller episodes each month. I wasn't sure I could do it, but I'm glad I did, b/c combined they pack one hell of punch.
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And by "one hell of a punch," I mean that Vaughan broke my heart 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, SEVEN times.
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I started taking screenshots after the third time, which, incidentally, was less than halfway through it, to keep track.
It wasn't just a heart-pummeling either. Vaughan likes to do this thing that most people would call foreshadowing, but that's kind of like saying Karen Marie Moning likes to end her books with cliffhangers (a gross understatement).
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If you're familiar with SAGA, I'm sure you remember that bomb Hazel dropped about her parents however many volumes ago it was. This time it wasn't quite that bad--my chest didn't feel like there was a gaping void where my heart used to be--but the sense of impending doom made me feel like that bird that panicked and took flight in BAMBI.
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You know . . . the one that got shot.
There was also a horribly awkward plot thread involving Sir Robot and his amorous feelings for Alana. #grossman
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Now would be a good time to mention the adult nature of this series. There's an ambiguity to SAGA's designation as a "graphic novel" that is not for the faint of heart.
BUT.
I'm fairly vocal about my dislike of being crass or vulgar out of lack of creativity and/or for the shock factor, and I don't feel that's what's happening here. Is it still uncomfortable at times? Definitely. But that's kind of the point. LIFE is uncomfortable, and at its roots, SAGA is about life.
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As for how it ended, well, you'll just have to experience that for yourself, and as is always the case with an ongoing series, there are several big unanswered questions, like:
What the hell was in that box?
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And something about the context surrounding Marko and Petri's argument over who should go after Izabel made me think ze wasn't referring to either hir criminal status or hir transgenderness when Marko voiced his concern about hir being recognized. Or maybe I'm reading into things b/c we know virtually nothing about hir past. *shrugs awkwardly*
Regardless, Volume 7 of SAGA does not disappoint, and it continues to be the very best of what graphic novels have to offer, IMO. Highly recommended to the WHOLE (adult) WORLD.
Okay, seriously . . .? This book was AMAZING. It's so hard to find a fun, clever contemporary romance that doesn't at least occasionally cross over inOkay, seriously . . .? This book was AMAZING. It's so hard to find a fun, clever contemporary romance that doesn't at least occasionally cross over into cornball territory.
Lucy was a tiny little spitfire, Josh was just damaged enough to be interesting without being angsty, and together they alternately hys-freaking-terical and so adorable I literally CANNOT EVEN.
Sally Thorne . . . I've got my eye on you, woman. *tips hat*
Before anything else, it must be said that SAGA is the most beautiful and hideous, the most hopeful and fatalistic, the most gReviewed by: Rabid Reads
Before anything else, it must be said that SAGA is the most beautiful and hideous, the most hopeful and fatalistic, the most graphic, and the most adorable thing I have ever read or seen.
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It is ALL the things.
The very first page of the very first chapter sets the tone for the whole series (thus far):
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You're slapped in the face with the wonder and the ICK of childbirth. Some of you might think the bodily fluids, the wordless, guttural shouts that accompany the pushing, and the million other aspects of child labor are part of the miracle, and you're allowed . . .
In an abstract way, I'm not sure I disagree. But from an impartial bystander perspective . . . all of that is the opposite side of the bringing-a-new-life-that-you-helped-create-into-the-world coin.
It's gross, man.
And if that's a juxtaposition you don't think you can appreciate, then I'm going to go ahead and say goodbye until next time. There is nothing for you here.
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B/c that's what SAGA is: finding the beauty in the ugliness of life.
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It's overcoming a lifetime of ingrained prejudice only to discover your victory was merely the first hurdle in the journey. It's growing apart b/c life is life, then coming back together in the face of shared tragedy.
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It's the determination to remain bitter about past slights opening the door to a new path. It is pain and loss and healing and forgiveness, and it's continuing to put one foot in front of the other, b/c more than anything else, you have to keep moving.
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It's life. With all the accompanying brilliance and horror, and it is masterfully done. I flew through all six collected volumes in an afternoon, and I seriously doubt I'll have the willpower to wait for the next collection before reading the individually released chapters.
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That's a first in the graphic novel arena, by the way. But I see serial releases in my future, and I'm not even going to try to fight it.
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Marko and Alana are two soldiers on opposite sides of a war, who, against all odds, fall in love.
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SAGA is their story, and it's the story of the ripples their love makes in the pond of their universe. There were times I thought my heart would burst with happiness, and there were times that I felt physically ill.