About a week ago, Tucker Carlson, waste-of-oxygen Fox News commentator, proclaimed that immigration "...makes our own country poor and dirtier and morAbout a week ago, Tucker Carlson, waste-of-oxygen Fox News commentator, proclaimed that immigration "...makes our own country poor and dirtier and more divided." Putting aside the obvious racism in the statement, implicit in the moron's diatribe is a blinding ignorance of human history.
Humans have always been migratory. We'd still be living in Africa if our prehistoric forebearers hadn't set out for Asia, Europe and beyond. A desire for greener pastures and tasty mastodons sent Stone Age people across the Bering Land Bridge and into the Americas.
Not that all immigration has been viewed as good. Especially if the immigrants were "discovering," a la Columbus, somebody else's land. Native Americans, watching the westward expansion of white setters, probably would have agreed with Fucker Carlson. But when the going gets bad, people get moving.
Midnight at the Electric is, at face value, a sweet and quiet story of several generations of women. In the "present," the year 2065, we have Adri, a young woman who is about to embark on a one-way journey to the planet Mars. While staying with her elderly cousin, and only living relative, Lily, she finds a small cache of letters. The letters were written in the 1930s by Lenore, a young woman in England, to her friend Beth. Beth has moved to America, married and lives in the farmhouse which will be occupied in the future by Lily. The narrative also follows Beth's daughter, Catherine, as she too discovers the letters, and tries to unravel the relationship between her mother and Lenore, all while coping with the devastation of a Dust Bowl climate on her farm and family.
What follows is a lovely exploration of love, loss, and bravery. At its core are the questions of how do you let go, how do you cut the threads that tie you to home, and move into the vast unknown?
There is nothing political about Midnight at the Electric, but I found it especially timely given the ongoing controversies surrounding immigration. No one, no sensible person, anyway, is making a case for open borders. But novels like Midnight at the Electric explore the fact that immigration is a feature, not a bug, of human consciousness, and that picking up and moving is an act of bravery, not villainy.
No character, not even a beloved family pet is immune from relocation in the novel. So I'll close with a passage that made me cry, a goodbye....
"I told her, 'You'll realize how to be free if you just give it a little while. It can hurt a little bit, but that doesn't mean it isn't right. I'll be praying for you. I love you.'" Lily sniffed. "'You're my best friend.'"
So....Henry (Monty) Montague is definitely a Too-Stupid-to-Live character. And...wonders upon wonders, I loved him anyway.
Not as much as I adored PerSo....Henry (Monty) Montague is definitely a Too-Stupid-to-Live character. And...wonders upon wonders, I loved him anyway.
Not as much as I adored Percy. And Monty's sister, Felicity. But, yes. Despite suffering from the inability to stop babbling, or stumbling, or drinking-himself-stupid into life-threatening situations (and dragging his best pal Percy and Felicity along) Monty remains, inexplicably, sympathetic.
Kuddos to the book for that.
Henry (Monty) Montague is the quintessential poor-little-rich-boy. The scion of a wealthy family, his life in 1700s England has been one of privilege and comfort. Except his dad is an abusive asshole, and Monty has just been expelled from Eton after getting caught with his hand up another boy's knickers.
It's the eighteenth century, back when "gay" meant happy, sodomy was a crime, and women's rights consisted of the right to get hitched and die in childbirth. No doubt acting out against his brutal father, Henry chases the ladies and the gents, the latter being the problem. Because it's always been "boys will be boys," unless boys were being boys with boys.
Monty's best pal and true wuv is Percy. Percy is biracial, the result of a wealthy young (white) woman's dalliance with some dark-hued fellow in the West Indies or someplace there about. Fortunately for Percy, his rich uncle was willing to take him in and provide a comfortable upbringing.
The story centers on Monty's Grand Tour, i.e., his poor-little-rich-boy's summer of feckless adventure in Paris, Venice, etc. Accompanying Monty is Percy, and Felicity, who is bound, unhappily, for finishing school. Along the way, Monty, being Monty, gets loaded and makes a fool of himself repeatedly.
What drives the story, however, is Percy's chronic illness, which has no cure and will dooms him to life in an insane asylum. When Monty steals a mysterious box belonging to an alchemist, the race is on to locate an amazing panacea, which can cure-all, including Percy.
What really drives the plot is Monty's chronic need to blurt out something stupid, or to drink himself into inanity, and blurt out something stupid. What keeps Monty from being loathsome, however, is his indefatigable good cheer and sense of humor. It's just impossible to hate the guy.
And all that stoopid leaves loads of room for character growth.
The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue is not tightly plotted; it's heavy in contrivance; but makes up for flaws by being so earnestly good-natured and hopeful. Monty's relationships, with his sister and Percy, are filled with perfect mixture of angst and love.
And the love story is just perfect. Friends to lovers, my favorite trope, done to perfection.
Also, it's refreshing to read a novel that acknowledges the existence of bisexual people. More of that, please....more
A Madness So Discreet covers many of the same themes as The Female of the Species, but with none of the emotional impact or narrative taut2.5 stars...
A Madness So Discreet covers many of the same themes as The Female of the Species, but with none of the emotional impact or narrative tautness. Frankly, it's a muddled mess.
It begins well, introducing Grace Mae, who is incarcerated in the sort of mental institution where the staff makes Nurse Ratched look like Florence Nightingale and treatment protocols include beatings, starvation and near drowning in freezing water. Grace's "mental illness" is pregnancy, inflicted on her by her pedophile, rapist father. Basically, she's being warehoused there until she delivers the child and will then be returned to society.
This section is a riveting vision of what horrors once constituted mental health care--abuse of power, cruelty and the powerlessness of women in the nineteenth century.
The tale shifts gears when Grace miscarries, and is rescued by a fellow inmate (who has a penchant for strange meat, heh) and is delivered into the care of Doctor Thornhollow and his innovative compassionate institution. It's understood that Grace isn't mentally ill, but must pretend be, nevertheless, in order to escape her politically powerful father's clutches. Thornhollow is impressed with Grace's eidetic memory and takes her along as he, a la Sherlock Holmes, assists the local police in murder investigations.
Again, this starts off strong. Tonally, it is a shift from the beginning, but who doesn't love a good murder mystery? Except when it isn't. Good, that is. Just as things seem to be warming up, Grace stumbles on the culprit, goes all Too Stupid to Live, somehow lives anyway, and the whole matter is resolved.
Screech! That would be the sound of tires screeching as the story takes another crazy turn. Graces' father enters the picture again, and suddenly we have a revenge story. This was by far the weakest aspect of the novel. Especially, because the serving of justice was rather distasteful. (view spoiler)[I definitely have no sympathy for rapists and pedophiles, but blaming the women's murders on Grace's father, even though he had no part in those crimes, reads like lazy storytelling. (hide spoiler)] Maybe, in real life, it would be the only way to get justice. But this is fiction, and I'd hope for something clever and more just.
The female friendships in this story are lovely, though. And the absence of insta-lust or any unnecessary romance is refreshing. At times, the writing has the power that McGinnis displayed in The Female of the Species. But it reads like a warm-up exercise, like the author trying out the ideas that would be explored with much more depth and emotional power in The Female of the Species....more
In which Vlad Dracul is a wimp, but his daughter is a total bad-ass.
The novel takes an alternative history approach, following Vlad's two ch3.6 stars.
In which Vlad Dracul is a wimp, but his daughter is a total bad-ass.
The novel takes an alternative history approach, following Vlad's two children, Lada and her younger brother, Radu. Vlad starts out as the character one would expect, cold and demanding, but he morphs into a glorified politician, devoid of any real bad-assery or impaling. His daughter, however, is an amusing little sociopath. Even as a toddler, she asserts her unwillingness to be demure and ladylike and whatnot. Her brother, Radu, is the sensitive child. He's also the pretty boy, which helps offset his "weakness." The story follows the two as they find themselves pawned off, ransomed actually, to the sultan of the Ottoman Empire. There they meet Mehmed, the sultan's son and eventual heir to, uh, sultan-y, sultanage? Whatever. Politics and some teen angst doth ensue.
What did I like? The characterization is brilliant and original, especially for a YA novel. First there's Lada, who is un-apologetically bellicose. Typically, so-called strong girls in YA (and adult fiction) have to go through the motions of being somewhat kind and intuitive, and fond of kittens, and, blah-blah-blah nurturing cakes. Lada, however, is consumed with the idea of eventually returning to her homeland. She's single minded in her quest, and while she lets herself get slightly detoured by the lurve, she refuses to let any attachment get in her way. I love this.
When it comes to character arcs, however, Radu has the strongest. Lada, while believably strong, is pretty much one note throughout the story. It's Radu, who begins the story as a cry baby clinging to his nurse and matures into a skilled politician, who experiences the most growth on page. Both, however, possess a high degree of flaws and strength that is rare in YA. Especially YA which involves a love triangle. In this case, a triangle where both Lada and Radu fall in love with Mehmed.
But...for all the characterization's strengths, And I Darken didn't latch onto my teeny attention span. I attribute this to two factors. First, while the plot is filled with intrigue, there is little sense of actual danger. I can't think of anyone of consequence who dies until the later part of the story, and even then, I didn't care. The plot is dominated by court intrigue and politics. It's accessible, the world building is solid, but it takes for-ever for anything to happen.
Second, and this is a common gripe in my reviews, both Lada and Radu are humorless. The depth of their characterization creates a sense of real authentic people, but their lack of wit bores me. I'm not a fan of people who take everything, including themselves, too seriously. Once again, this is story where "strong" female means humorless grump. Meh.
Four stars for the superb characterization, but I have no desire to read the subsequent book(s)....more
At the end of the novel there's a point where Val, the hero, does something that is technically bad (view spoiler)[disembowels another man (hide spoilAt the end of the novel there's a point where Val, the hero, does something that is technically bad (view spoiler)[disembowels another man (hide spoiler)], and I was like, "Yes!" And then he sort of cringes, as much as Val is capable of cringing, expecting Bridget to be upset with him. And, much to my delight, she basically shrugs and says the equivalent of "That's cool." Because, it was.
See, I'm all about situational ethics. Consequently, there's nothing I hate more than a heroine (or hero, but it's usually the heroine) who is such a goody-goody that she gets all weepy when someone--Finally!--kills the puppy-eating, pedophile, rapist, talks-during-movies asshole. "Oh, no, but he might have had a family. Someone might have loved him...Now I must mourn him because that makes me the better person."
No, it doesn't. It makes you a moron.
Among the many things that I loved about Duke of Sin is that the story doesn't pair Val, who is clearly a narcissist and a sociopath (albeit, like Sherlock Holmes, a high-functioning one), with a woman who was a total saint. Because...ugh, no. Three-hundred pages of him being his joyfully bad self and her scolding and being holier-than-thou would have been "book meet wall."
Bridget does have a strong moral center, but it's tempered by practicality. And ultimately, since Val isn't redeemed (and thank dog for that) at the novel's end, that's exactly the kind of personality that pairs best with this kind of hero.
Val...he's so awful, he's delicious. Pretty much Marvel movie universe's Loki, but blond and playing at being an English duke. (Apparently, back in the day, the U.K. has a shit-ton of dukes.) There's a reason he's twisted and heartless, which one learns in his backstory, but the marvelous thing is that he's rather angst free. (Yes, he has Daddy issues. Honestly, if it weren't for bad parenting, there'd be no fairy tales/stories/novels/ at all.) His mission in life seems to be making mischief and being a thorn in the paw of England's well-to-do. He's not as funny as I'd like, but there's enough sly wit there to keep him from being simply wicked.
This is where I concede that the practical part of my brain (a very small part, minuscule and usually relegated to sensible tasks like washing underwear or brushing teeth), knows that Val probably isn't HEA material. Seriously. He's got the attention span of a rodent, and if Bridget gets the least bit tiresome, he'll probably run off with the sultan's daughter (or son, or maybe the sultan himself). I also acknowledge that Val's sort of personality is pretty much of the same variant as the current Orange Fuhrer in the White House. Except, Val is sexy and smart and sexy, which leads to the next concession. Yeah, romance novel heroes often get a pass on bad behavior simply by being hotter than a tin roof in Phoenix in July.
But...when done just right, as in Duke of Sin, this kind of asshole is swoon-worthy. In fact, in fiction, I usually prefer characters who tread in darkness. As opposed to the hero in Thief of Shadows by the same author, who was stick-up-his-ass noble.
Which leads to a final thought...sometimes it's good to give an author another chance. Glad I did because this was crackalicious....more
One of those books that's difficult to rate. On one hand, I absolutely adored the setting--late 1800s San Francisco, Chinatown--and the kick-ass heroiOne of those books that's difficult to rate. On one hand, I absolutely adored the setting--late 1800s San Francisco, Chinatown--and the kick-ass heroine. The absence of romance was also a plus. On the other, the characterization left me cold.
The story follows Li-lin, young widow, devoted daughter and spirit/monster hunter. She and her father follow the traditions of Moashan Daoism and are committed to keeping malevolent spirits at bay in their community. Li-lin, however, has a secret known only to a few. She can see dead people, ghosts and spirits to be precise. Apparently, even her father, a much more powerful exorcist, is unable to actually see the forces he battles.
Her ability would seem to be a great advantage, but to her honor- and tradition-obsessed father it's a great shame. When she is offered a chance to do a local gang leader a big favor--and bring honor to her family--she jumps rights in, without asking her dad. Which turns out to be a bad idea, since the favor is a ploy by a malevolent spirit, abetted by enemies of the gang leader, to attack her father.
The whole mess spirals into a magical conflagration that threatens to engulf all of Chinatown and possibly the city beyond. With her father grievously injured, it's up to Li-lin to take on a much stronger sorcerer who is intent on destroying everything.
The story is almost non-stop action. Li-lin is the kind of female kick-ass protagonist who not only kicks-ass, but also gets her ass kicked. Important, because too many supposedly tough female protagonists are rescued in the nick of time, before they actually get hurt. (Whereas male heroes often get the living shit kicked out of them.) Li-lin throws down and often gets thrown just as hard.
The setting, as I noted, is unique for urban fantasy, and rich in the cultures of Chinatown. Emphasis on cultures, since rather than painting the immigrant community as homogeneous, the story acknowledges the diversity within the Chinese community. Li-lin's attitudes and viewpoints feel authentic, and not like a modern girl dropped in a historic setting.
But...I never really made much of a connection with Li-lin. She's driven to the point of being joyless. There's no sense that she ever really enjoys much of anything, but is instead consumed by duty. She's extremely rigid, with unyielding definitions of what is good and bad magic. Her views on spirits, the so-called monsters, evolve over the novel's course, but only a little. In short, I found her to be a very unapproachable protagonist.
The story's focus on action comes at the cost of developing secondary characters. And since a protagonist is defined by the company they keep, Li-lin's characterization is rather colorless, almost sterile.
And then there's the peculiar repetitive style of prose. I think it's meant to emulate an Asian form of storytelling, but to this Westerner, it quickly gets tiresome.
The setting, premise and plot are 5-star. Characterization and emotional impact, however, are a tepid 2.5 stars....more
Regency romance meets fairy tale. Sweet but cleaves too hard to Regency romance tropes (read: "uptight mores and customs of the period) and as a conseRegency romance meets fairy tale. Sweet but cleaves too hard to Regency romance tropes (read: "uptight mores and customs of the period) and as a consequence the romance is poorly developed.
Miss Sophia Landon lives in the quaint village of Tilby. It's 1811, and Sophia, just shy of reaching thirty, has pretty much abandoned the idea of ever getting married. Fortunately, Sophia's version of Regency England comes with household brownies (like house elves, but with less slavery) and bridge trolls. Point of fact, one of her best friends is the local troll Balligumph. One day Balligumph takes pity on Sophia and sends her on a brief adventure to the land of fairy. While there, she meets a kind, but horribly disfigured young elf.
For Aubraneal, the elf, it's love at first sight. After Sophia returns to Tilby, he arranges a magical disguise which will allow him, for one short month, to look like a handsome human. Transformed, he visits Tilby and attempts to court Sophia.
Conceptual, the idea is charming, though predictable. Obviously, at some point, the magic will fail, and even if Aubranael is successful in his courting, it will be under false pretenses. Nevertheless, this could potentially be a story full of the "feels."
But as I noted in the first paragraph, instead of taking liberties with the mores and social conventions of the time, the narrative sticks to the tedious Jane Austen mating rituals of the time. This is England with brownies, goblins, and trolls, so why not shake up social convention? But...no. Instead, Aubranael spends several weeks in Tilby trying to find a way to have a simple conversation with Sophia. Because he can't just chat her up without a "formal" introduction. *Yawn.* And then, when a ball is organized and the couple finally meet, Sophia decides that she can't dance with him more than once because...reasons. I think the sum total of interactions between Aubranael (in his handsome human form) and Sophia amount to the dance and a convenient encounter while she's out walking.
This might work for fans of Austen, but, honestly, I think it's a wonder the English middle and upper classes didn't go extinct during this time period. My expectations with this novel were for an interesting heroine who broke convention and for a slow unfolding of genuine friends-to-lovers that comes from a boat load of interactions between hero and heroine.
Sophia is pleasant and sweet, but that's the sum total of her personality. Aubranael is similarly lacking in any distinguishing character traits. The most interesting character is a witch who briefly serves as an antagonist. Given the poorly developed relationship between Aubranael and Sophia, the eventual revelation of his mendacity lacks any emotional impact. In short, it doesn't feel like a betrayal, because she hardly knows him.
On the upside, the writing is quite good, with a delightful fairy tale lyricism. The high quality of writing suggests that Miss Landon and Aubranael's flaws are a function of first-book-itis, and that subsequent novels could be much stronger. ...more
In which Jeannie Lin joins Zoe Archer as one of my fave purveyors of romance crack.
I enjoyed two other novels by this author, but this one4.6 stars...
In which Jeannie Lin joins Zoe Archer as one of my fave purveyors of romance crack.
I enjoyed two other novels by this author, but this one is almost purr-fect. As in a nice, slow-burn romance with a strong non-romantic subplot, in an unusual setting--Tang Dynasty China! Did I mention how much I love that this isn't another Regency romance populated by rich white people--the ton (<=that word, ugh, seriously?).
Technically, it's follows the same structure as other historicals or romances in general: Poor girl is rescued by rich, handsome guy from her life of drudgery. But instead of tedious scenes where the H/h have bouts of alternating emo then lusty internal dialogue, stuff actually happens in The Lotus Palace. There's a murder, and then another. Bai Huang and Yue-ying do some sleuthing, which, of course, is a convenient way to get the two together, but it works. Like any decent mystery, it had me sifting through clues, trying to guess the killer's identity.
Speaking of Yue-ying, Her ambivalence toward romance doesn't feel contrived. Her reluctance to immediately run away with Huang and be his concubine is understandable. She knows there are advantages, but she's smart enough to recognize that, at least at the moment, she's sort of free, a situation that relatively rare for a woman in her class. The story takes a realistic look at women's roles and the ways in which they find a measure of influence in a structure that otherwise dismisses them as full members of society. Yue-ying is smart and independent, but not anachronistic.
Bai Huang is likable and cute. As with Yue-ying, he isn't anachronistic, but progressive enough to hold appeal for a modern audience. Secondary characters, like his sister, Mai-mai, and Yue-ying's sister, Mingyu, are also fun. I know Mingyu is the heroine in the next book: I'm hoping Mai-mai gets a book as well.
Fun, romantic escapism with an adorable couple and a solid non-romantic subplot. Recommended....more
LOL. This novel reminds me of an old Eddie Murphy standup routine where he observes that white people in movies like Poltergeist and Amityville HorrorLOL. This novel reminds me of an old Eddie Murphy standup routine where he observes that white people in movies like Poltergeist and Amityville Horror are basically dumb-asses.
"Why don't white people just leave the house when there's a ghost...? In the Amityville Horror, the ghost told them to get out of the house. White people stayed in there. Now that's a hint and a half for your ass. A ghost say get the fuck out, I would just tip the fuck out the door.
"Lou Walker looked in the toilet bowl; there was blood in the toilet, and said, 'That's peculiar.'
"I would have been in the house saying, 'Oh baby, this is beautiful. We got a chandelier handing up here, kids outside playing. It's a beautiful neighborhood. This is really nice.'
[House says in creepy voice]: "GET OUT!"
"Too bad we can't stay, baby!"
Sixteen-year-old Amanda Vernon's family decides to move from the Little House in the Big Woods because the big woods are colder than Jotenheim in December. Pa decides they're moving to the prairie because he heard that there are loads and loads of abandoned cabins up for grabs. See, this is where Ma should have been concerned and said, "But Pa, surely there's a reason they's abandoned. Folk don't just leave good homes layin' around."
But no, Pa's made up his mind. So Pa, Ma, Amanda, her sister/best bud Emily, and younger siblings trek down the mountain where they find the perfect cabin.
Except it reeks of rotting death and the floors and walls are drowned in blood. This is where Eddie Murphy's comic routine came to mind. That cabin is literally Little Slaughterhouse on the Prairie, but Pa is like, "It's fine, it's fine. I'll jess scrape off the blood with mah draw-knife, and install new floorin'."
It's like white people in movies who, on seeing that their new home's wall are dripping blood, decide that the solution is wainscotting.
Daughters Unto Devils is Little House on the Prairie if Laura started seeing demons, and then had hot, premarital sex with Almanzo, and got knocked up. But instead of being honorable and such, Almanzo dumped her like a hot potato, and possibly set up a scenario where the script got hijacked by Stephen King.
It's imperfect, but for YA, it's surprisingly gory and wonderfully dark. Not full-out Stephen King in his youth dark, but dark. I'm going with four stars because that's my rating for anything I burn through in a few days and which doesn't instantly annoy me. ...more
I love Le Guin's Earthsea books, but this was worse than trying to slog through the tar that is Melville in a high school EnglOh, screw it. I give up.
I love Le Guin's Earthsea books, but this was worse than trying to slog through the tar that is Melville in a high school English class. Worse, because, unlike the Melville novels, I was reading Lavinia for pleasure and with the expectation of enjoying it.
Le Guin is still a master wordsmith, but in Lavinia, the "untold" story of an obscure character from the Vergil's Aeneid, her anthropological focus on culture and historical realism sucks all passion from the story. My knowledge of the classics being woefully inadequate, I'm unfamiliar with the source material. More familiarity with the Aeneid might help. Of course, that's still a fail, in that a novel shouldn't rely on supporting materials to make it a good story.
The plot, though plot is a stretch of the word: Lavinia is the daughter of a Latin king. Since trading favors and power in patriarchal societies means selling your daughter to the highest bidder, it's up to her dad, the king, to figure out which Prince Charming is the lucky recipient of Lavinia's maidenhood and baby-making skills. Lavinia's mom, meanwhile, is stark raving mad, having lost her marbles after the death of Lavinia's younger brothers several years before. Mom develops an unhealthy attachment to her nephew, Tyrus (<=wrong spelling?) and decides that he will be Lavinia's husband.
Lavinia, meanwhile, is a pious little pagan. While out on a pilgrimage to her fave holy place, she is visited by the future/present (I really don't know which) ghost/spirit of the poet Vergil. Vergil tells her, blow by blow, how her life will turn out, including the part where she spurns Tyrus' affections and chooses to marry the foreigner, the Trojan, Aeneas instead. Of course, this choice will start a war between all the local Latin princes and the Trojans. Vergil also tells her she'll only be married to Aeneas three years, before he runs off on another adventure and gets killed.
So...basically, she knows exactly how her life will turn out. So do we and the result is B.O.R.I.N.G. One could argue that Lavinia is a strong woman within the patriarchal constraints of her society, that she finds what little power available, and for the reader to ask more is unreasonable.
Maybe, but I'm a modern reader and when a story purports to give life to a forgotten female character in an ancient narrative, I assume said female will do something more than sacrifice cute lambs to her gods and be a docile daughter. I.e., I assume the character will have a pulse. The crux of the story boils down to this: men fight and kill each other; the women clean up the mess afterwards. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lavinia narrates the story in a flat, unemotional voice. She's knows what's coming and yet normal emotions like dread, anticipation, etc., are absent. There's some moping over the dead, but without emotional attachment to the narrator, I couldn't care less.
Le Guin clearly has tremendous respect for the source material. But by not taking a few risks, finding something, dare I say, anachronistic about her protagonist, she leaves Lavinia in much the same state as Vergil did--an uninteresting footnote.
Readers steeped much deeper in the classics and possessing a longer attention span may love this, but it's so not for me. Moving on to plot- and character-driven things....
Well, shit. That's what I get for not checking the word/page count when purchasing.
Not a fan of novellas, and Capturing Wait? What? This is a novella?
Well, shit. That's what I get for not checking the word/page count when purchasing.
Not a fan of novellas, and Capturing the Silken Thief is a good example why. I liked it, what little there was of it.
Jia, the heroine, is smart and keeps her IQ points in the presence of the hero. Luo Cheng is the typical big, brawny romance hero, but he's not an alphahole. He's rather pleasant. But the short format left too much off the page. Their romance had so much potential--the friends-to-lovers trope that I love--but like the characters, didn't have enough time to develop.
The setting, Tang Dynasty China, helped offset some of the story's brevity. If only because--Yay! No rich Brits worrying about the "season." As does Lin's prose, which is descriptive enough to set the scene, but otherwise gets out of the way and tells the story.
For a longer and more satisfying taste of Jeannie Lin's writing, I'd suggest My Fair Concubine. Capturing the Silken Thief is cute, but too insubstantial to be memorable....more
I'm being an asshat with this rating, because as a work of historical fiction, Wakulla Springs is a lovely story and deserving of at least four stars.I'm being an asshat with this rating, because as a work of historical fiction, Wakulla Springs is a lovely story and deserving of at least four stars. Also, I got it free, which means I should cut it some slack.
And yet...there is something sorely vexing about a Hugo nominated, and therefore, by implication, speculative fiction novella, that contains fuck all for SF/F elements. My guess is some might argue that it's a work of magical realism. But if Wakulla Springs is a measure of what is magical realism, then just about any narrative that features a character imagining/hallucinating monsters under the bed or beneath the waters of a lake would qualify as spec fic.
Wakulla Springs, with its pretty prose and storyline that followed several generations of African Americans, was a quick read for me. In part because I kept reading, expecting, at any moment, that something, anything fantasy would arrive in the plot. And being disappointed.*
And this...this is why I avoid "award winning" SF/F like the plague. Especially the short forms. Because the auditors of good speculative fiction are clearly as derisive toward genre fiction as so-called literary folk.
Anyway, it's a nice story. Recommended to readers of historical fiction.
*Edited to note that when I described the plot to my husband, a reader of almost exclusively SF/F, his reaction was, "Sounds boring."...more
3.5 stars. Rounded up because it's a historical that doesn't involve petticoats, the ton, and Mr. Darcy clones.
Fei Long is a nobleman in a bit of a bi3.5 stars. Rounded up because it's a historical that doesn't involve petticoats, the ton, and Mr. Darcy clones.
Fei Long is a nobleman in a bit of a bind. In Tang Dynasty China, it is common practice for emperors to marry their daughters off to foreign potentates to keep the peace. Because what says, "Let's be pals," like the gift of a woman? Except, most emperors don't want to send their actual daughters to distant lands, so instead they send stand-in princesses, the daughters of lesser nobleman, to play the part of princess. And this being long before the Internet and easy background checks for $50, the foreign princes are unaware of their counterfeit princesses.
Fei Long's sister Pearl is supposed to be one of those faux princesses. Except she's run off with her one true love. Fei Long's meeting with Yan Ling, a tea girl at an inn, doesn't go so well -- she chucks a pot of tea at him -- but when she approaches him after being fired, he strikes a deal with her. Basically, room and board for the next few months, during which time he'll teach her how to be a proper lady, capable of pretending to be his sister Pearl. And, once she's mastered the finer points of etiquette, she'll take Pearl's place as the "princess" and journey to far away Khitan to be a warlord's bride.
Yan Ling, an orphan with no family to fall back on, and now probably unemployable because of the tea incident, is initially wary of Fei Long's proposal, but agrees, because the alternative is starvation.
So...Pygmalion/My Fair Lady, the Chinese version. As Fei Long schools Yan Lin in the finer points of being a lady, the lurve happens. This being inconvenient because Yan Lin is supposed to be preparing to marry the Khitan warlord and in the process, save Fei Long's family honor. Also, there's the matter of a huge gambling debt, racked up by Fei Long's late father, and now Fei Long's unfortunate inheritance. Basically, everything he owns is mortgaged to a local thug/bookie. Even if he could find another woman to substitute for Yan Ling, he'd still have the problem of keeping a roof over his and Yan Ling's head.
Confession. For the most part, My Fair Concubine falls into the "unmemorable" category. Fei Long is a nice break from the he-brutes (grunt, grunt, grunt) of romance, and Yan Ling is sensible and forward-thinking without being an anachronism for the time period. But both characters lack the sparkle, the innate charisma required to turn this novel into a keeper. Once again, I'd pin the blame on the absence of humor. In that respect, the stand-out character is Fei Long's actor friend, Bai Shen, who's rather adorable.
But..I've developed such an aversion to A) insta-lust and B) stupid conflicts based on misunderstandings that could be solved with a simple conversation, and C) an "obstacle to romance" that consists of nothing more than the hero/heroine's lame-ass insecurities, that My Fair Concubine was refreshing. As was the evocative and exotic setting.
Recommended for romance readers who think "historical" should mean something more than Regency England. ...more
You chipped away at the lovely, callous armor around my heart, and in the end, delivered a gut-punching blow of sad.
WOkay, The Book Thief, you did it.
You chipped away at the lovely, callous armor around my heart, and in the end, delivered a gut-punching blow of sad.
Weird thing being that I knew it was coming. I mean, your narrator, Death, merrily spoils the ending like, in the second chapter, or so.
And yeah, the whole Death as a narrator thing? At first, I thought it was a little too precious. Not morbid, because I'm all about morbid. Just too cute. What with him/her (Death, what is gender?) pontificating about the different colors of dying, and going into flashback-flashforward mode at the very beginning. It was just too, uh, literary for me.
I was also, initially a bit bored with the whole bit about Liesel's brother dying, right at the beginning, finding it too much of a sad-eyed child-in-peril ploy.
But Liesel, with her subtly feisty and brave demeanor won me over. As did her spiky friendship with her neighbor Rudy. Then there was Rosa, Liesel's foster-mother, she of the wackings and smackings with a wooden spoon, and endless cursing, and ultimately a generous heart. And Hans...sigh, Liesel's adorable, foster-dad, who teaches her to roll cigarettes and whose quiet demonstrations of kindness fly in the face of a nation whose humanity has been swept away by a tide of fascism and bigotry. Then Max, the young Jewish man who comes to hide in Rosa and Hans's basement for a time, and who paints over the pages of Mein Kaumpf in order to write an exquisite fairy tale for Liesel.
And Rudy...
This is the part that broke me. Again, not a spoiler, because the narrative is clear about this outcome early on, but if you are fussy about any taint of spoiler, move along now. ... ... ...
Years ago, when they'd raced on a muddy field, Rudy was a hastily assembled set of bones, with a jagged, rocky smile. In the trees this afternoon, he was a giver of bread and teddy bears. He was a triple Hitler Youth athletics champion. He was her best friend. And he was a month from his death.
"Of course I told him about you," Liesel said.
She was saying goodbye and she didn't even know it.
POW! Tears.
Toward the end, Liesel's words express the angst of every writer:
I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.
For its more than 500 pages, The Book Thief is short on plot. Its power lies in the earnest, and nonjudgemental depiction of the simple lives of the people of a small town in Hitler's Germany. In the end, I think there is no better narrator for this story than Death, the constant and inevitable companion to human existence....more
Lyrical, maybe. But "heart-rending," as the cover blurb suggests? Eh, not so much.
I mean, the situation is sad. Laurel and Hank are outcasts in their Lyrical, maybe. But "heart-rending," as the cover blurb suggests? Eh, not so much.
I mean, the situation is sad. Laurel and Hank are outcasts in their Appalachian community, largely because they have the misfortune of living in The Cove, their family's homestead, a gloomy stretch of land where a large granite outcropping looms over the property, cutting off light and hope. A place that the locals believe is cursed.
Of course, Laurel and Hank's neighbors are the usual Bible-loving, inbred trogs whose primary skill, beside making sweet-cousin lovin', is hating on their neighbors, and doing so blissfully unaware of their hypocrisy. The god-fearin' folk particularly love heaping cruelty on Laurel because of her sizable birthmark, which is a sign of the devil or apocalypse or something Eeeeevil.
But Laurel finds hope in the form of a mute young man who wanders onto the property, and who needs rescuing when he is nearly stung to death by yellow jackets. Walter, the young man, is a talented musician (flute) and somehow got off track on the way to New York.
Walter, of course, has a secret, an identity that won't play well with the jingoistic, World War I bigotry that has infected the small community.
Yeah, things don't end well, so don't go expecting this one to deliver a happily-ever-after.
The thing is, even though the basic ingredients are there -- bigotry, ignorance, hope-lost-found-and lost -- Laurel, Walter and Hank's story didn't resonate for me. As a rumination on the inherent tribalism of humans, our innate desire to define ourselves not only by what we are, but what we aren't, then and kill everything "other," The Cove is effective. But the characters have a sort of stiffness, a lack of emotional exposure that keeps them from being compelling. They feel like actors who had a decent script, but lacked the necessary direction to have a genuine experience on stage, consequently giving the audience little emotionally. The story is relatively short and I think the brevity hurt the storytelling. If the narration had taken the time to pull more of the characters on the page, baring their souls, this would have been genuinely "heart-rending."
Actually, for me, the most evocative part of the book was the Prologue, where a government surveyor, examines the now abandoned cove which is doomed to be flooded by the upcoming TVA project, and finds a skull in the well. Creepy and cool.
Yeah, I totally glommed onto this book even though Maid Marian is at risk for setting off a three-alarm Mary Sue alert. As in, men are ready to go to Yeah, I totally glommed onto this book even though Maid Marian is at risk for setting off a three-alarm Mary Sue alert. As in, men are ready to go to war for her, Helen of Troy-style, within minutes of meeting her. (Amusingly, there's a Helen of Troy reference in the story.)
The scene is medieval England where things are looking grim. Which says a lot, because it's medieval England, before flush toilets, electricity, the Internet and modern hygiene. The kind of place where even a scraped knee might turn septic and the only cure is having your leg chopped off.
Making matters worse, is the absence of King Richard, who, having run off on the fanatical adventure known as the Crusade, has now gotten himself imprisoned in Germany. England, impoverished by his dream of freeing the world of non-Christians, can't afford his ransom.
Back home, in England, his scheming brother John has designs on the throne and is now bankrupting the country for his own nefarious purposes. Enter in the Sheriff of Nottingham and his henchman, Sir Guy of Gisbourne, who are happy to help John onto the throne.
Robert of Locksley, having won his knighthood on Crusade, but sort of lost his marbles in the process (PTSD), returns to England, and despite his mental status, is the most eligible bachelor in the region. He isn't particularly interested in any woman at the moment, having essentially lost a chunk of his humanity to the war. But he needs to have a chat with Lady Marian of Ravenskeep and make sure she received the message her dead father charged him to deliver.
Marian, at the start of the book, is doing her best to keep her estate running, while remaining a proper, respectable woman. Seeing Robert awakens a childhood crush, but she's too busy just trying to keep her holdings together to go into insta-lust with the returning hero.
Robert, similarly, is too fucked up and distracted by conflicts with his controlling father, to start immediately obsessing on a dead comrade's daughter.
So...nice slowish buildup in the romance. No, "He longed to suck her pink nipples" blah-blah-blah, lust-cakes bullshit.
On the other hand, The Sheriff and Sir Guy are blindingly besotted with Marian and their obsession is a driving aspect of the plot. I mean, they're kind of nuts, especially the Sheriff. I kept thinking, "Dude, you're old enough to know that after a couple of babies, provided she survives childbirth at all, she's not going to look anything like the hottie she is now. Get ovah it."
Anyway, things come to a head when Robert, already sympathetic to the plight of the peasants, gets fed up with the other nobles' bullshit, turns his back on his father and title, and goes outlaw, becoming Robin. Some of his rebellion is fueled by his desire to be with Marian, who isn't his father's idea of a good match.
Even though Marian is absurdly popular, driving otherwise intelligent men like the Sheriff of Nottingham to act like a hormonal teenagers, she is given a full character arc. She's strong, but without being an anachronism for the time. Even though the wounded warrior archetype (especially in Romance) can sometimes be annoying (and over-the-top), this PTSD-driven version of Robin Hood strikes a chord with my girly side.
I think a big part of Robin's appeal is that A) he's a tall, lanky fellow and therefore, my type, and B) as with Jamie/Claire in Outlander, the narrative shows Marian and Robin falling in love with the little things about the person: they way they move, the sound of their laugh, the shape of their mouth, etc. I.e., unlike a lot of Romance, the text doesn't go on and on about how hot/sexy the person is. Instead it shows me the attraction.
I remember really enjoying this the first time I read it, like a decade ago. Now I remember why....more
Oops. Seeing this title in my "Currently Reading" shelf, I went looking for it on my Kindle, thinking it was missing, until...I discovered it2.5 stars
Oops. Seeing this title in my "Currently Reading" shelf, I went looking for it on my Kindle, thinking it was missing, until...I discovered it in my "Read" collection. As in, I read it, and forgot soon after.
Pity, because I was totally down with the premise. Being in the heroine's age range, I can see the appeal of a younger man. Ahem. That is, if I weren't happily married.
Trouble is, unique premise notwithstanding, Never Too Late was pretty much your standard romance. As in, too quick to make the h/H fall in love, with an interesting, but disappointingly watered-down subplot, and no substantial exploration of complications of cougar romance in Regency(?) England.
Honoraria Duchamp, a forty-year old widow, runs a bookstore and in her spare time, is a crusader for social justice, focusing on exploited children. Most of her efforts are in the form of printed pamphlets, created in a backroom press at her shop.
Her efforts run a foul of powerful people because, hey, how better to run a sweatshop than to employ children? Cheap, energetic labor. Said nefarious forces sent Alexander Devin to Honoraria's shop to dig up dirt and find some way to discredit her (and run her out of business). These powerful business interests have Alex, aka, Lord Devin, under their thumb because his younger brother has supposedly been engaged in a homosexual affair and Devin's blackmailers have photographic proof.
As you might expect, Alex falls for Honoraria (horrible name) quickly even though, at twenty-seven, he's quite a bit younger. Honoraria takes a little longer to warm up to Alex, but, ultimately, the attentions of a gorgeous younger man are hard to resist.
The story takes the usual romance tack, with the text telling me that Alex is sexy, that Honoraria is beautiful, but never really showing me what's attractive about either. I think this is why YA romance works better for me; because instead of going straight to the sexy, a lot of YA focuses on the subtler aspects of attraction. The shape of someone's hand, the colors of their hair in the sun, the silly curve of their lip when they laugh. "Grownup" romance for all its overt sexy, isn't all the romantic.
You might think, with a relationship as complicated as Honoraria's and Alex's that there'd be more of the slow discovery of love, rather than insta-sex. But no. The love story is tediously formulaic.
And the subplot -- the exploited children -- resolves much too easily, and, again, a la romance-standard, is largely there to temporarily distract the couple from Teh Lurve.
I didn't hate it, but apparently it was so unmemorable that I forgot I'd finished reading it about five minutes after I hit the 100% mark....more
Maybe it's because Outlander's Jamie Fraser has spoiled me for all other virgin heroes. Or maybe it's because this is a book with aMeh. Make that MEH.
Maybe it's because Outlander's Jamie Fraser has spoiled me for all other virgin heroes. Or maybe it's because this is a book with a cool premise that just doesn't deliver.
So...by day the hero of Thief of Shadows is Winter Makepeace, a stoic (read, stick up his arse) headmaster at a school for orphans. By night, he casts aside his uptight persona and becomes The Ghost of St. Giles, a kind of Victorian vigilante. Who, coincidentally, also has a stick up his ass.
The heroine, Isabel Beckinhall, is no masked avenger, but instead some nobleman's widow. One evening, while returning from a social engagement, her carriage almost runs over a corpse in the road. The corpse, however, still has a heartbeat, and turns out to be none other than the infamous Ghost of St. Giles, all decked out in his Harley Quinn-style motley. Well, except without Harley's requisite comic book girl sexy. That's what this book needed: more delicious Harley Quinn and Joker dynamic. Yes, a digression, because I'm as bored writing this review as I was reading the book.
The first few pages did capture my attention, with what seems to be a dry-witted heroine who isn't afraid to do something crazy. I.e., pick up a known criminal, saving him from a mob, and take him home to tend his injuries. The tending part includes undressing him and getting a good look at his man junk. Winter, however, somehow manages to keep Isabel from unmasking his face -- uh, how con-veee-neint -- and slips away before dawn.
Winter hasn't seen the last of Isabel because she's part of a hoity-toity ladies' committee on educating orphans, with their focus on Winter's school. Some of the other lords and ladies, finding Winter's manners crude and boorish, have decided to sack him, and replace him with someone more gentile. It's up to Isabel to go all My Fair Lady on his drab, glum ass and turn him into a proper gentleman.
Meanwhile...a dastardly villain is stealing London's orphans and enslaving them in a Victorian sweatshop. Winter, as the Ghost of St. Giles, has to rearrange his schedule to allow for: caring for the children in his school; being tutored in the finer points of gentlemanly arts by Isabel; attending social functions and kissing London's snootiest asses; and playing caped crusader.
The premise sounds great. What went wrong?
The hero and heroine is what. The problem with writing a dour, uptight character is that those characteristics don't exactly add up to "interesting," or anyone worth spending 250 pages with. I mean, Winter is a guy who's convinced himself that getting some tail will make it impossible to fulfill his sacred mission to the children. Seriously, dude? I mean, how long will a little something-something take? Five minutes?
His driving passion, if you can call it that, is rescuing London's homeless and orphaned children. But his approach to the whole matter is utterly joyless. This, I guess is the point, and a part of his character arc. He learns to loosen up, have some fun, and enjoy life, including the children, thanks to Isabel. Blah-blah-blah-the-power-of-a-woman's-love. Ugh.
I appreciate that Isabel is a sexually confident, uninhibited woman (the kind who'll give a masked man a BJ in a closet), but there isn't much to her beyond the bedroom. Her primary angst has to do with her inability to carry a child to term, but it's screamingly obvious how that problem will be resolved.
The result is a story that could be called Dull People Falling into Even Duller Love in Pretty Period Costumes.
Going with two stars instead of the default pity-fuck three, because this thing has enough five star reviews to offset my rating....more
Ismae, the protagonist in Grave Mercy, is a survivor type. Seventeen years before, when her mother took an herbal remedy to end her pregnancy, fetal IIsmae, the protagonist in Grave Mercy, is a survivor type. Seventeen years before, when her mother took an herbal remedy to end her pregnancy, fetal Ismae clung in the womb like a tick and would not be ejected. The consequence of that desire to live is that she was marked with a vivid scar on her back that identifies her as a child of St. Mortain, Brittany's patron saint of death.
When her father tries to marry her off to a brutal man, she fights back and ultimately, ends up on the road to the convent of St. Mortain, where she will be trained as an assassin. Seeing the opportunity to take control of her life, she eagerly embraces the profession of making people dead. (*Shrugs* Why not? Put in the same position, I'd do it. Beats sitting in an office, tap-tap-tapping away, writing a review at Goodreads, because your boring ass office job is making you homicidal.)
When the time comes, Ismae is sent out to do her lethal thing and completes her tasks easily. It turns out, however, that her killings have run afoul of the plans of Duval, the Duchess of Brittany's brother, who is trying to solidify her [the Duchess's] power and wrestle Brittany from the clutches of France. When Duval complains of the convent's interference, the leadership's response is to send Ismae off with him to play at being his mistress. Of course, her real mission is to determine whether Duval is truly loyal to the Duchess and Brittany. If he isn't, Ismae is to push him off this mortal coil.
Duval isn't instantly attracted to Ismae, finding her too young, but throughout the course of the story, he builds a grudging respect that turns to love. No spoiler there, the novel blurb clearly indicates a romantic subplot. Similarly, Ismae is determined to ignore her attraction and focus on her duty. After all, there's no point in getting starry-eyed over someone you might have to poison.
This is probably why I read a lot of YA. It's heavy on the sexual tension, much more subtle, and for me, ultimately, much sexier.
Anyway, for all the romance-y bits, the narrative holds a strong focus on the intrigue, which in turn strengthens the romance (by keeping it from becoming cloying and the over-arching aspect of the plot).
Four stars because while the overall story elements were strong, I found the protagonists a bit humorless and consequently, I didn't fall in love with either Ismae or Duval....more
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