No Need For Corporal Punishment Here: Spanking Shakespeare

I apologize profusely for missing my post last week everyone. I was having sort of an unemployment mishap--and by that I mean the nice cushy temporary reception job I had ended and I was frantically searching for new employment (or pretty much any kind of scheme to acquire income). It was definitely a busy week, but I'm happy to say that I've come out at the other end once again employed, with my bank account taking a decent hit, but not quite reaching zero.

Anyway, I did actually have time on Sunday to sit down and blow through an entire book for you guys. I picked a nice thin Young Adult novel, thinking that although it might not be my favorite, at least I'd finish it on time and be able to put something up for today. And lo and behold, after so many high hopes and disappointments from my YA reading material, when I was least expecting it I was actually pleasantly surprised.

This book, called Spanking Shakespeare, by Jake Wizner, was certainly $8 well spent. It's been sitting on my shelf for quite a while (obviously--I can hardly remember the last time I picked up a new, physical book at the store for only $8), but it's really one of those unassuming books that you don't necessarily need to read right now. You picked it up because it had a nice quirky title and you thought some day it might be worth reading--sadly, sort of an "always the bridesmaid, never a bride" book. But as I said, when I was fishing for something quick this weekend, it finally caught my eye. And I'm really glad it did.

This book follows the main character, the unfortunately named Shakespeare Shapiro, through his senior year at Hemingway High School--a high school boasting one of the finest writing programs in NY State, where the students are required to complete a major year-long writing project about their lives to graduate (and a school that, while reading, I more than once wished I could have gone to). Anyway, Shakespeare's name betrays his talent--though he personally feels that his name is more trouble than it's worth, he actually is a good writer. The book follows him as he grows as an adolescent boy, and as a writer.

The regular writing in this book is just about average, perhaps a little above average when you consider the other books that inhabit the YA realm. The story is relatively simple, realistic, and funny. Shakespeare's life, though mostly average despite his name (and by average I mean he's not a werewolf, vampire, or boy wizard or anything), is certainly not boring. Wizner spends just the right amount of time on the right events and subjects, not wasting too much time with many of the boring frivolity that runs rampant in the genre--especially with female main characters. Though Shakespeare's own views of women--mostly his reducing them to depthless dating candidates at best, and sex objects at worst--can sometimes make a girl cringe with feminist indignation, they are nothing more or less than a reader would expect from a teenage boy.

Where this book really stands out in terms of writing though is not in the narration, but in Shakespeare's own "writing" instead, which he frequently shares with the reader. Certainly Shakespeare the narrator is often a humorously biting teller of events, but in his "writing" his voice really shines. He shares the most embarrassing and personally frustrating of events in a way that both masks and betrays the significance he places on them. He is at once downplaying these events with humor, while also showing how much of an impact they had on his life simply by including them in his memoir.

In addition, his narration in relation to the writing, brings the story to the next level because it reveals a very realistic element--one that is both relevant to Shakespeare's own story, and relevant to any reader who's ever felt like the world was conspiring against him: Shakespeare is aware of his own self-indulgence, but is still rather unwilling to change it. Yes, he's telling the story like the world is against him, but he still admits his own culpability in many of his downfalls--he has faults, he knows about them, he knows that if he really wants things to change he himself must change--but, for the time being, he would rather just stay as he is, complain, and blame the world. At one point he even states that the reason he doesn't want to see a therapist is that a professional would reveal to him only what he already knows, but doesn't want to admit--that most of his problems are of his own making.

To me, this particular element of the story is what makes it great and worth reading--especially by the young adults it's intended for. Certainly the humor draws you in, and the writing doesn't dumb-down the reader, but this message--that everyone thinks their own problems are the biggest, and that this feeling is natural, but something we need to be aware of--is one that I found not only striking and relatable, but also worth discussing. I myself am a shameless complainer. Not all, but many of us are. Sometimes I just want to unload my problems on others and on the world and pretend that they're not my fault and/or there's nothing I can do to change them. Is this immature? Yes. Is it productive? Most of the time, no. But its something that we, as human beings (and especially in our young adult years) do. Sometimes we just want to whine and complain. Perhaps because we're inherently selfish, perhaps because this unloading of complaints is somehow therapeutic, who knows--I think there are a variety of reasons. What it comes down to is that sometimes we're just not ready to admit that there is a solution in our grasp if we're willing to work for it. We need some time to wallow. I think the strongest part of this book is that it critiques and accepts this.

Wizner does not allow Shakespeare to idolize his problems, as maybe Shakespeare would like to, but nor does he throw those problems out as completely whiny and irrelevant. We witness, instead, a couple of things: Shakespeare's problems are put into perspective, both for himself and the reader, by the problems of other characters. He comes to the realization that sometimes his issues are not as bad as other people's. He also comes to terms with the fact that he cannot blame everything on other people and on his odd name. Yet, in the face of this growth, Wizner maintains realism is in the fact that Shakespeare is not easily cured, as though by some biblical miracle. The essential character growth is there, but he doesn't turn this into some utterly unbelievable, forcedly inspiring crap. Shakespeare is still a teenage boy. Though he does mature slightly, he's still a young adult with a long way to go--just as we all reach realizations throughout our lives, but not all of them lead to our turning over a completely new leaf.

This, I think is something essential for all readers, but especially YA readers to know and I was very glad to see Wizner putting the idea forward. It's not productive to always beat yourself up over your faults and spend every second of your whole life working to better yourself. Certainly we should all be trying to be better, but sometimes you have to give yourself a break and say "Look, I know sometimes I'm a brat. And I'm working on being better in time, but for now I'm okay with the fact that I'm a brat." Change doesn't happen overnight, especially when you're trying to change big character flaws. But the fact that you're working on it is sometimes enough--everyone has their own faults. And, while you should strive to be aware of those thoughts and not indulge them forever, sometimes it's okay to wallow a little.

So this is a book that I feel belongs firmly on the shelf. Not only will it make you laugh, but it sort of sneakily asks you to think about your own faults, how you indulge them, and how they're holding you back--AND, on top of that, it doesn't beat you over the head for with moral indignation about why you're not perfect yet. It lets you, the reader, know that you're allowed to be who you are, faults and all, but if you're willing to work for it and stop denying your responsibility and ignoring your faults, you are able to reach for and be something better.

A Feel Good Book About a Cat: Dewey

Hey there boys and girls. So I'm sorry about ditching you last week. As many of you know, since most of my readers, I'm assuming, are from New England, we got hit by a blizzard last weekend. And when I say blizzard, I mean snow all the way up to my waist. Yeah.We lost power, we lost heat, I may have even lost a little of my dignity while trying to heat soup with a tiny decorative votive candle. Needless to say I was a little busy, and though I certainly didn't forget about you on Monday, I did decide I had other matters less exciting, but certainly a little more pressing than Box or Bookshelf--like shoveling myself out (literally, we were almost trapped in the house by snow).

Anyway, though we did get more snow this weekend (talk about adding insult to injury), I am back. And this week, though I'm keeping it short, I promise it'll be sweet. I've chosen sort of an old favorite, Dewey, by Vicki Myron this week, because it's a nice uplifting story. Since I finished my temp job this week and am now unemployed (hopefully not for long) I just kind of needed one of those, and I though maybe some of you guys might too.

So, Dewey  is the nonfiction story of a library cat and the woman who "owns" him, though I use the term loosely because he is a living breathing cat, and a library cat at that--he belongs, not just to Myron, but also to all the people who's lives he touches, including, even, the reader. As a library cat, Dewey (a cat and the title character), works his way into the hearts of many and revives not only just the library he is a part of, but also the lifts the spirits of the people he comes into contact with while stalking through the bookshelves there. Since I myself am a cat lover, and proud "owner" (though you can't really own cats in my opinion, simply live with and love them) of two of my own cats, this book immediately caught my eye--there's a gorgeous orange tabby, Dewey Readmore Books, looking regally out at you from the cover and his golden gaze just kind of makes you want to know his story.

His story, by the way, is this--he's found by the library director, Vicki Myron, of the Spencer Public Library in Iowa, abandoned in the book return slot. After Myron and the staff nurse the tiny, cold kitten back to health, he becomes a mascot of sort, slinking, jumping, prowling, around the library, climbing into laps, perching on shelves, and just generally doing the quirky and endearing things that cats do. Meanwhile, amidst Dewey's amusing antics, frolicking, and unassuming affection,  Myron shares her own story as she deals with both the triumphs and heartbreaks of life.

What can I say, I'm just a sap for the cute and cuddly. Inspirational animal stories turn me into a puddle of "Awwww!." I love all those cheesy movies too--Air Bud, Black Beauty, Milo and Otis. Pretty much you put an adorable animal in it I'll watch it and I'll probably cry like the little girl that I am. And don't even get me started on how much I adore cats--I'm sure, readers, you already find me crazy enough without letting me start ranting about cats like the crazy cat lady I will probably one day be. I loved this book--it tugged at my heartstrings. It's the nonfiction book that finally convinced me that I do like nonfiction and that it can be interesting, not the completely and utterly boring babble I was convinced that it was for most of my young life. I'm personally grateful to this book for helping me grow up a little by introducing me, gently and endearingly, to the world of nonfiction that I was missing.

Really, in all seriousness, if you hate cats or nonfiction, you'll hate this book, because it most definitely involves both of those things. Otherwise it's a pretty good read. I mean, it's not some riveting, controversial exposé, or the most shocking and mysterious of conspiracy theories. It's just a heartwarming story about a cat. Sometimes that's not enough for a reader, but sometimes that's all you need.

I will caution you, you shouldn't ask too much of this book--the writing is nothing that will win awards really, but it is honest, relatable, and readable. The story is not a major innovation or anything that will eventually be considered a classic by literary critics across the globe. But if you're just looking for nice book to read some snowy weekend while you're stuck at home and feeling a little down, then I'd say this is the one for you. I personally kept it on my shelf for just such occasions and I'm glad I did. It will make you laugh, it will make you cry (or at least tear up) and it might leave you with a nice warm fuzzy feelings. So if those aren't things you want--and, I'll admit, sometimes that's not what I'm looking for in a book--then this might be a book for a
nother time. Otherwise it's worth giving a spot on your shelf, and perhaps in your heart.

Just the Tale I Was Looking For: The Thirteenth Tale

Why is it that it's always when you have a great book that life gets in the way of reading it? I don't know that this is the case for you, or whether it's even always the case for me, but it was certainly the case for me this past week. For once I actually had work to do at work! Imagine that. Anyway, sorry for the delay in posting, readers. Trust me when I say that no one could be more frustrated than I was by my lack of time to read. I will say, however, that I took solace (and you should too) in the fact that this book is absolutely immaculate and worth the wait.

"What book?" you might ask, leaning forward in your seat, despite yourself. You were going to try to play it cool--try to give me a little bit of the cold shoulder for making you wait. But, unused to such a fervent claim from me about a book, with no negative backpedaling, you find yourself no longer willing to indulge that desire for petty revenge. "Just get to the point, lady!" And get to the point I will:

My book for this week is Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale, and it is perhaps the best book I've ever read in my adult life. In case you couldn't tell from recent posts, my reading, as of late, has been rather less than satisfactory. It's been downright awful compared to the enthusiastic and voracious reading I did as a child--every book I pick up has been a disappointment. Not that the books themselves have been awful--again, as you can tell from my posts, there's nothing inherently terrible about the books I've been reading. In fact some (not all of which I've reviewed yet) really captured and kept my interest. But all of my favorite books are old favorites--books I've read so many times that, despite the care I take to preserve any book in my possession, they're creased, dog-eared, even falling apart, and they often fall open to certain beloved pages. It's been a very long time since I've come across a book where I immediately felt, "This is my new favorite. I would read this 100 million times over until I could recite it by heart." My reading, though still a joy for me since it is reading at least, sometimes leaves me saddened by a nagging feeling that something is missing.

Setterfield describes it perfectly in this book, as the main character, Margaret, says:
"I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are, for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is a not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled." 
And yet, just as the stories of Vida Winter fulfill that yearning in Margaret, so too did Setterfield fulfill my own yearning for a book that would restore that essential love of books.

So, in less sentimental terms, what's so great about this book? Well for starters, did you read the passage above? I mean, Setterfield basically had me at hello with stuff like that. It's not the only passage that immediately struck me either. Not only does Setterfield have a wonderful command of the English language, but she also knows how to get right to the heart of a reader and writer. She puts into words things that seem to have come from my very soul but that I've never been able to put into words. I may not have even known that's how I felt until I read Setterfield's expert explanations and got that "You hit the nail right on the head!" feeling. If you're an avid reader, and even a writer, like me, Setterfield will reintroduce you to yourself--you'll read the words and know that's how you've felt all along.

Even without those passages though, the book would still be excellent. Why? For one thing, the story is wrought with just the right amount of mystery. Not mystery in the sense that it's trying to be a prime time crime show, or even a Holmes-ian narrative, like The September Society. No, this is the mystery that comes from telling a story right. From building suspense and leaving out just the right details while keeping just enough of them in there, so that when the reader comes to the twist at the end she's all at once completely surprised, and simultaneously kicking herself for not figuring it out on her own. 

Meanwhile, within the events of the story itself there's a wonderful balance of darkness and shock value without that forced, vulgar, "I'm going to shock you" feeling I get from a lot of contemporary literature. In a world where everyone's either trying to please the masses or trying to outdo each other in terms of finding the best way to appall the reader, Setterfield  is able to walk the tightrope between the two. We begin the story following Margaret, a quiet bookworm who works in a bookstore with her father. She receives a letter from a famous author, Vida Winter, inviting her to write the woman's biography. She is both intrigued by Winter's talent and daunted by the fact that Winter is notorious for twisting of the truth, especially the truth about her own life, into a story. When she decides to accept, Margaret is pulled into the strange world of siblings and of Angelfield, where Vida Winter grew up. All of this is punctuated by Margaret's own mysterious past, and her present interactions with Vida Winter. The events themselves are told tastefully and/or hinted at in a way that's utterly appropriate for the mysterious, gossip ridden setting. And it's all told with the perfect flourish, framed as it is by the fact that it's a story being told within a story.

As if that wasn't enough to make it worthy of the shelf, Setterfield also knows how to write interesting characters. Yes she draws from the oldies-but-goodies, like Jane Eyre, but honestly I found her characters quite original. Since there are characters of all shapes and sizes in fiction and nonfiction alike, that's saying something. It was the details that brought the characters together. Yes there have been bookish, quiet, intelligent women like Margaret before, and yes there have been self-assured, successful but, on rare occassions vulnerable, powerhouses like Vida Winter. But not the subtly twin obsessed, or the ghost children that Setterfield creates for you. Not to mention, she doesn't neglect minor characters (a pet peeve of mine) and they are even so tidily wrapped up at the end that I can find absolutely no complaint with them, which is rare.

Finally, it is the change in narrators that really showcases Setterfield's talents. I actually didn't notice this so much until I reached a part of the story where Setterfield take on Mrs. Love's voice (one previously unused) to recount one particular event. Then another, more obvious narrator switch occurs later with Hester's diary. So natural and seamless is her switch between narrators and her command of each of their voices individually, that you almost don't notice it. Once I did, however, I was incredibly impressed. As a writer, it's hard enough for me not to meld character voices from separate stories I'm working on, much less switching between characters so different all in the same text. I mean, I'll go back into my old stories and realize how many of the main characters sound exactly the same, how many of them share the same quirks, character flaws, and turns of phrase. It's almost as much work for me fixing this after the fact as it was to write the character in the first place. Whether or not Setterfield had a lot of going back and fixing before it was perfect, I don't know. What I do know is that what she gives her reader is not some half-assed attempt at multiple narrators. When she decided to do it, she did it right. Yes, Margaret is the overarching narrator, and she admits to letting her own narration influence what was told to her by others, but we, the readers, are given extensive looks into the lives and voices of different characters--Vida Winter, Aurelias, Mrs. Love, Hester--often told by the people themselves. And no two are completely alike.

I could really go on and on about this book all night, but for the sake of your attention span and my bed time, I'll wrap it up. This might not be for you if you want a read to zip through--yes I read it quickly because i just couldn't put it down, but I did have to pay attention to it to get the full effect. This also might not be for you if you hated stories like Jane Eyre, and I mean hated the story, not the writing--older styles of writing are sometimes hard for the average modern reader to wade through and Setterfield's writing is certainly nothing of the sort where reading it could ever be described as wading. So, no worries there. And finally, this might not be for you if you're looking for a light-hearted romance--the romance you'll find in this book is, at the very least twisted, and perhaps more like obsession than love--the endings aren't exactly neat or totally happy. Otherwise, this book is definitely for you. And honestly, even if all of what I just said applies to you--you're a Jane Eyre hater with no time to read and a hankering for some good old fashioned happily ever after--I'd actually still say, read this book. Because honestly, I'm so smitten with this book that I think everyone should drop what they're doing, put aside what they're reading, and read this right now. The Thirteenth Tale is definitely one for the shelf.

Don't Hold Your Breath: Breathe

Okay readers, well this week I think I got what I deserved. After being so disappointed by Abandon last week I should have learned my lesson and moved on from discounted, Young Adult books for a while--just until my faith was restored, at least. I did not heed my own qualms, however, and as a result I have another underwhelming teen romance to tell you about this week.

Breathe, by Elena Dillon, also showed so much promise. The cover, on my nook, has a mysterious white Jasmine flower on it. It caught my eye and I was immediately intrigued. But, since I know how dangerous it is to trust a book's cover, I made sure to closely read the summary as well. The synopsis pulled me in right away too. Breathe tells the story of a girl, Jasmine, who's family was torn apart by tragedy: her older sister, Daisy, was murdered by a serial killer two years prior and he was never caught. Her family is now moving to a new town, where no one knows their sad story, to pick up the pieces and start fresh. Everything is going swimmingly for Jasmine until she starts getting messages from her sister's killer.

I know, right? Sounds good. I had to have the book immediately--I love books that creep me out. When I read Blue is for Nightmares the suspense had me on the edge of my seat--I could barely read it at night without freaking out. Unfortunately, Breathe just didn't do that for me--I was sitting fully in my seat the whole time. And, I don't know, maybe part of that's because when I read Blue is for Nightmares(another YA thriller) I was, actually a young adult. My expectations were a little lower than they are now. Perhaps now that I'm a grown-up (though that's somewhat debatable), YA fiction just can't entertain me the way it used to. Regardless, I will say that, as of right now, this book just didn't match up to my expectations or my other YA favorites.

One of the biggest problems I have with Breathe (and actually a problem I had with Abandon too) was the main character. I liked Jasmine a lot more than I liked Pierce, I'll give Dillon that much--Jasmine is a character with a lot of potential. Dillon creates a consistent, interesting character, with an interesting thought process and believable flaws. I particularly like Jasmine's penchant for lying, though I think Dillon perhaps reveals it a little too late in the book. Jasmine's talk of compartmentalizing her feelings and the parts of her life is interesting because, I think a lot of girls, and people in general, do that. We take the unpleasant things and box them away to cope, and sometimes we find ourselves lying so convincingly that even we start to believe it. In addition, through Jasmine's own opinion of her lying, and through Easton, her boyfriend's, reaction to it, we see both the positive and negative aspects--lying as both a necessity to keep it all together, and as an unhealthy, manipulative talent that introduces some moral issues.

So, for the most part, it was Jasmine's character that kept me reading. But, she is also the cause of many of the problems I had with this book. For example, throughout the whole story you'll be subjected to her irritating inability to tell that she's beautiful, despite the fact that everyone keeps commenting on how gorgeous she is. Female characters who behave this way are overused, annoying, and sometimes a little boring. In the real world, yes, there are a lot of women who are too insecure to recognize their beauty--young girls especially. But there are also a heck of a lot of girls who know how pretty they are and use it as an excuse to be mean. And there are plenty of individuals who think they're a whole lot more good-looking than they are, too. In my opinion, those characters are a lot more interesting because they haven't been done 100 million times. I mean, come one, aren't you tired of reading about (and watching movies about) these gorgeous girls who think they're plain? It's an insult to those of us who aren't actually gorgeous that all these beautiful people are portrayed as ugly. And if they are considered ugly then what hope is there for the rest of us. So authors, make up your minds! Your character's either ugly or she's not--don't keep giving girls role models with huge insecurity issues. Teach them how to live with either their beauty, or plainess in a strong, healthy way.

In defense of Jasmine, most of her annoying tendencies are brought out by her romantic interest, Easton, aka "Dream Guy," who turns her into a swooning, stereotypical teenage girl, and who's far too possessive for having just met her. I mean, I know he's southern and charming, but people don't really fall into "I'd die for you" love that quickly. Yes he might try to help her out, and yes they might like each other a heck of a lot, but he's supposed to be like 17 or 18 and he's convinced she's "the one" for him. A little unbelievable, even in the polite, southern setting. On top of that, the way he treats her, though it's played off as romantic, seemed a little overbearing to me. He's always getting involved in her business and telling her how to take care of herself. I mean I get that he's her boyfriend, but I found it a little weird--they're in high school, not married. And instead of drawing attention to the fact that Easton and Jasmine's relationship is a little off, it's portrayed as dreamy and perfect. I think my dislike of this just goes back to the role model thing--if we keep teaching young women that they should be treated like possessions, then how will they ever develop self respect? Is Easton an awful, terrible example of a man? No, of course not. He really isn't bad at all--I just happened to notice that Jasmine, while figuring herself out, is actually least sure of herself and her own strength when around Easton, and it was frustrating to see. She keeps calling him her safe place without acknowledging that she's strong enough to take care of herself.

Continuing my rant against Easton (yes, I know, I'm the crazy girl who hates knights in shining armor), Easton stunts Jasmine's development.The whole time we see her becoming a stronger, more confident character, coming into her own and, eventually, developing and executing a plan to take down the monster who took her sister away. She changes from a helpless victim, to a capable, if scared, young woman who refuses to let her sister's murderer hurt her family again. I think Jasmine's encounter with "The Monster" highlights both my favorite and least favorite aspects of Jasmine and the book as a whole. Did she make the right decision to fight him on her own? Maybe not--understand that I definitely do not encourage young women to challenge their stalkers all alone--but for the story it was perfect. Instead of living in fear she calls on her ability to lie, which, though perhaps unhealthy, gives her strength, and she does what she has to do. And then, all of a sudden, Easton comes in and ruins it! Easton is the one who ultimately saves her from the Monster--coming charging out of the forest and besting him in a manly tussle. For all her ingenuity, Jasmine still has to be saved by her big, strong, handsome prince.

Moving on from that, the main characters are not the only problem I have with the story. The other characters are an issue as well, as is the dialogue/dialect. The dialogue issue was pretty straightforward, Dillon doesn't keep up with Easton, or anyone else's accents or southern-specific vocabulary. It's kind of randomly thrown in there in a way I didn't find natural, and because it's not consistent, it just draws thw wrong kind of attention to itself. It would have been better for her to leave it out altogether and let the readers' imagination fill in the accent.

Meanwhile, there are really no minor characters of any interest. They're thrown in there because they have to be, but they're not explored at all--it almost would have been better not to add some of them in the first place. As you read, it seems like Dillon is going to make an interesting character out of Julia, Jasmine's best friend, or Lisa, the girl who resents Jasmine for dating Easton, but nothing comes of either of them. And even Trenton, Easton's little brother, who has a crush on Jasmine big enough that it caused a problem for him and his brother, yet Dillon only dedicates one short conversation to the issue. They're just loose threads leaving the reader with unanswered questions. In addition, this lack of interesting minor characters just puts a spotlight on the issues with Jasmine and Easton's relationship.

And finally, the nail in the coffin: this book still could have been saved, had it delivered the thriller-esque suspense it promised. I wanted to be scared. This was supposed to be a book about a girl with a murdered sister dealing with a psycho, serial killer. And instead it read like a YA romance novel. In other words, don't hold your breath waiting for the appearance of Daisy's killer, we barely see anything from "The Monster" until perhaps the last 150 pages of a 600 page book. Instead we're following Jasmine and Easton around, waiting for something to happen and repeatedly being disappointed. I think, perhaps, Dillon lost sight of what the book was supposed to be about. Yes, we needed to see Jasmine settling into her new hometown, and being lulled into a false sense of security, but then you have to unsettle that! If you don't then it's just a romance novel, and you should have committed to making it only a romance novel, so people like me, who wanted scary, don't pick it up and remain bored until just before the end. By focusing more of the story on the scary aspects, I think a lot of the books other problems would have been resolved. There wouldn't have been so much Easton being polite and "perfect," more time would have been spent on the plot and less on forcing the dialogue, and it would have been less obvious that other characters are left completely undeveloped.

So, I have another one for the box. This book was cheap, so I won't tell you to avoid it altogether. As I said, I was less disappointed with it than Abandon, and it's not bad. It caught and kept my attention for a reason, and I'd like to check out other titles by Dillon to see if she improves. But Breathe just wasn't anything I'd run out and buy--you're not missing anything if you skip it. And next week, I promise, I've learned my lesson and I intend to read something more appropriate for my age.

Left Behind for a Reason: Abandon

So, I don't know if it's only me who's noticed, but I feel like Greek and Roman mythology was the original soap opera/reality TV. Kim and Chloe couldn't hold a candle to the messed up stuff that goes on in some of those stories. I mean, Saturn devoured his son--devoured as in ate him up. Like a happy meal or something. Have you ever seen that Francisco de Goya painting? Yeah. Not pretty.

Anyway, when my life is full of drama--which it all too frequently is--sometimes I like to turn to a nice dramatic book--you know, just to remind myself that no matter how hard life gets, at least I'm not the main character in a Stephen King novel. So, when I saw that Meg Cabot, one of my favorite authors from my preteen and teen years, had written a book, Abandon, based on the Persephone myth and it was only like $3, I purchased it on my nook faster than you can say "Hercules, Hera, and Zeus!" Well, probably a good deal faster than that actually--that's quite a mouthful.

So, whatever, I bought it, I was excited, I settled into reading it, and after holding out, through all 219 pages, I really have to say this is probably the most disappointed I've ever been in a book. Ever. And I tried to give it a chance, I really did, but there was just so much of it that fell below my expectations that I really can't encourage anyone to read it.

Does that mean it was the worst book ever? No. It's only slightly below average actually. I may have actually doomed it even before I started reading it simply because I built it up so much in my mind. I mean, c'mon, the Persephone myth? It gives a writer so much to work with! Hell, pick any story out of Greek mythology and you've basically been handed the blueprints to a crazy messed up story--all you have to do is work on the details and the character development, because mythical individuals do tend to be kind of one-dimensional. But I personally think there's so much you could do with that. Unfortunately, Cabot doesn't even begin to tap into the creative madness that could have been accomplished.

For starters, the pacing of the book is confusing, especially in the beginning. The reader is forced to jump back and forth between the present day, and two separate past events of the main character, Pierce: the "accident" and the "incident." I think Cabot was trying to create a sense of mystery by not revealing too much about Pierce and her accident at the beginning of the book, but all she accomplished, for me anyway, was a sort of baffled, "What the heck, just tell me what happened or stop bringing it up."

On top of that, the timing/time setting in general left a little something to be desired. Cabot made the decision to set the book in present day, and though it certainly saved her some research and added some relatability for present day teen readers, I think she may have made the wrong choice. I don't know if it's simply been so long since I read Cabot that I forgot, but I thought she used to be good at teen dialogue and lifestyle depiction. I was a huge fan of both her Mediator and 1-800-Where-R-U series' when I read them in high school. And I don't know if I just remembered her writing wrong, or maybe she lost her touch, but this book just seemed cheesy. The colloquial tone of the narrator/main character, Pierce, just wasn't striking the right cord with me. It felt like she was going on and on in this conversational way, when I just wanted her to shut up and get back to the actual story.

Plus, I don't remember being that stupid and oblivious as a teenager. If I were Pierce it wouldn't have taken so long to figure out I was dead, or for me to understand that John liked me. And I would have understood immediately why my cousin and friend, Alex, was offended when I went to sit with the cool kids instead of him. Like, does Cabot really think teen girls are that dumb?--maybe some of them are, but not most of the ones who immediately recognize a Persephone myth when they see one. I was kind of insulted by Pierce's inability to figure things out.

Plus, Pierce's slow piecing things together, means the story is slow. It really shouldn't have taken so long for the events of this book to play out. I don't know if Cabot was purposely dragging it out so she could get more than one book out of it, but it would have maybe been beneficial for the story to just consolidate. And she does a heck of a lot of what I was told not to do while pursuing my bachelors degree in writing: telling instead of showing. That actually goes back to the time jump thing--instead of just starting from the beginning, we keep having Pierce tell us bits and pieces of what happened to her before she finally has a flashback and shows us. I could have done without all the repeats.

 To top it off main characters are just so blah. The only interesting characters, actually, are Pierce's Uncle Chris, his son/her cousin Alex, and Pierce's new-found friend, Kayla. Yet they barely feature in the book. Meanwhile the characters who take center stage, Pierce and John, are the same as pretty much every other boring teen romance novel main characters ever. Yeah, so John is the lord of the underworld and has some anger problems and an obsession with a mortal girl, Pierce, who died and came back to life. Sounds interesting, right? Wrong. Somehow Cabot failed to make even that interesting. John is simply the tortured, knight in shining armor--almost Edward Cullen-esque, but perhaps with even less of a personality. For cripe's sake he's the Hades character in this book! he could have been so much more. Especially if Cabot had just admitted that his "love" for Pierce is really more like obsession--as soon as he see's her he wants her to stay with him forever. It would have been a very interesting relationship to hash out, had Cabot not played it off as so normal and romantic and instead exploited it for what it was--a young man's desperate attempt to stave off maddening loneliness.

And don't even get me started on Pierce--not only does she not play a convincing Persephone, in my opinion, but in general she's just not a very interesting character. She's an inconsistently portrayed stereotypical teenage girl, who's both afraid of every bump in the night, and also completely unafraid of the fury (demon-like creature escaped from the underworld) that she encounters at the end of the book.

And you would think that an encounter like that, meant to be the climax of the book, I'm guessing, would be interesting too, right? Wrong again! It takes up about two pages and is perhaps one of the most boring scenes in the book. And there are far too few interesting scenes like this even attempted. Cabot has all of mythology to work with and she barely even touches on her main subject, the Persephone/Hades myth.

So over all, I have to say this book had a lot of potential. Greek and Roman mythology would actually be a great next direction for Young Adult literature to head in. As far as I know it hasn't been extensively done for that age group and there are so many myths to work with and explore. I myself, after reading this book, had the great urge to simply rewrite it--I had so many ideas of how the story could go--so many hopes, and they were all dashed. And I really did try to give it a chance. I read it through and I'm honestly considering reading the following books just to see if Cabot redeems herself. Because yes, like I said before, this book is not awful--you will not perish at the sight of it's terribleness like some unfortunate soul struck dead by Medusa's gaze. However, it is a book better left abandoned in the box.

A Good Old Fashioned Mystery: The September Society

So sorry to keep you waiting readers, as I only started this book last Tuesday, I was racing to finish it in time to tell you about it. Thankfully, it was a generally quick read, which was one of its many merits.

So, what did I read this week? The September Society, by the Agatha Award nominated author, Charles Finch. This book hasn’t been on my shelf very long—I got it as a gift for Christmas, in fact—however the cover was simply too intriguing to resist (readers, you know how I am about covers). Anyway, I picked it up as soon as I finished my previous book, and I certainly wasn’t disappointed—though I will say, as with most books I read, I unfortunately do have some complaints. But hey, you guys wouldn’t check in with me if I didn’t tell you both the good and the bad.

But let’s start with the good. First of all, Charles Finch is no writing slouch (though I’d venture to say he’s a tad long winded). The language used in the book was sophisticated enough to be appropriate for the setting, and to teach me a few words, actually, while not, I think, leaving the average reader in the dust. He includes long descriptions of the setting that really give the reader a feel for the atmosphere, which was helpful to me especially because I’ve never been to London or Oxford, where much of the book takes place.

As one of the reviews on the back of the book mentions, Finch also does a good job placing the reader in Victorian England, where the book takes place—yes, I mentioned he puts you in the place, but I also thought he did a particularly good job setting up the time as well. What I most liked about that, actually, was that he didn’t overdo it. Yes, he lets the reader know that they’re not in New York City 2013, however he doesn’t do so to the detriment of relatability. The characters and their situations are still, for the most part, accessible, and he doesn’t purposely confuse the reader with irrelevant time period specific information.

Another thing I must commend Finch on, and it’s actually something I think is often overlooked but, in my opinion, very important to the busy reader, was his ability to break up the book into appropriately sized chapters. I feel like I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but his chapter lengths were perhaps the most perfect I’ve ever had the pleasure to read. Yup, I know, chapter length—not exactly the most riveting, passionate reason to drop everything and read a book—“do you hear this girl? She’s a lunatic. Rambling on about chapter length or some other boring rubbish! What a loon.”—but I’m telling you, it’s important. It made it so much easier for me to read the book throughout my busy day because I could customize how much I wanted to read based on the time I had, without having to stop in the middle of something important. You know how that is too—don’t deny it just because you already called me a loon—you hate opening up your book to start reading again and realizing “oh crap, I have to read that whole part over again because I don’t remember exactly what was going on and if I don’t reread it I’m going to miss something.” Yup, you’re a loon too. I mean, maybe I’m the only one who has that problem, but I don’t think so.

So anyway, moving on before I really do start to sound crazy—“this girl again. Having conversations with herself and everything…oh wait, I guess I’m doing it again…oops”—what else can I tell you about The September Society? Well to transition from good to bad, let me tell you something that I both liked and disliked about this book. I’m sure I’m not the first to notice, this is a very Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery novel. As only a recent Holmes reader, I don’t really have any particulars to share with you besides the general tone and feeling of the book. It tends toward the practical rather than the fantastic and emotional—though I’m sure Holmes himself would still find it too “romantic”—and at times it can be downright sparse. Now, this does make for a quicker, more practical mystery read—just as Holmes is—however, sometimes I like more of that human element. To be fair, Finch does try to include that, however I just felt he fell short in that department. And where Sherlock Holmes is a peculiar and interesting enough character to liven up the otherwise spare storytelling, unfortunately I found Lenox (the main character here) to be a little too dull and average to make up for the lack of drama in the story itself. Is that to say that The September Society read’s like the most boring of police reports? Certainly not. For one thing Finch has woven quite the complicated web of secret societies and identities and intrigue. However, I personally prefer crazier characters.

Another thing I both liked and disliked was the setting. As I mentioned earlier, Finch includes long descriptions of the places Lenox visits, especially long descriptions of Oxford and its traditions. Notice how many times I’ve said the word “long” when talking about these descriptions. Yeah, because they’re long. So long, in fact, that sometimes I found myself just wanting to skip them. I mean, I’m all for learning new things—especially historical things—but sometimes this stuff just got in the way. I mean, it was definitely not out of character for Lenox to go on and on about his old school and the descriptions were usually well placed where they weren’t really, physically getting in the way. But I just found myself wanting to get back to the mystery rather than learn about each and every hall, common, and alley of Oxford.

In relation to that, though I said that the book was generally quick read, I was again careful with my wording. I put the word “generally” in there for a reason. Because yes, the language of the book made it a breeze to read, and when things were happening, or there was a good deal of dialogue, you cruised right through. Also, back to those chapters again, you were never overwhelmed by the text because it was broken up so nicely. However, there are long stretches where Lenox really isn’t doing much of anything besides mooning over his, slightly out of place, romantic interest, and going over the case again and again in his head, trying to figure it out. As far as Lenox’s solving of the case, this really doesn’t move very quickly. And he spends a lot of that time eating, traveling, talking to people who are irrelevant to this particular case, and just generally not doing his detective duties. I mean, I understand that Finch is trying to set up a character here—I believe, based on the fact that there are approximately three books out featuring him, that Finch intends Lenox to be a recurring figure in mystery fiction. I get that, and I get that he needs to set Lenox up so that there is an overarching narrative for Lenox himself. Unfortunately, I found that set up distracting to this story—especially since the rest was so practical. You have the practical detective work and case solving broken up by Lenox’s daydreams of Lady Jane Gray and the marital problems of his doctor partner, McConnell, and while they should be intriguing bits of character development they are, again, for lack of a better word, more distracting than anything else because these forays into character just seem so out of place with the utilitarian tone of the rest of the book.

And again, that sparse tone caused yet another problem because of the sheer amount of characters involved in this story. As I mentioned above, the case Lenox finds himself working on is complex, however I couldn’t help but wonder if some of that complexity was created simply by the vast number of people involved in this story, some of them perhaps not quite useful. I understand that there has to be a certain level of confusion for a mystery to be a mystery, but at times I found myself completely lost in a sea of names. Now, I will take on part of the responsibility for this confusion because I think it may have been easier to follow had I had previous knowledge of Finch’s regular characters—he does, after all, have another book where he introduces Lenox and his crew of friends and allies. I think I would have had an easier time of it had I not had to be introduced to them as well as the players in this particular case. I will, however, still say that it was a tad annoying to be going back in the book to remember who people were, and constantly wondering who was important and who wasn’t.

Those negatives stated, I still think this was an overall good read. Finch obviously knows his stuff when it comes to Oxford, and did well keeping the reader engaged, with twists and turns along the way, in a case that was quite complicated. That, paired with the, now probably infamous, chapter length that I was so nutty about and you’ve got a solid book worthy of your shelf. As a sidenote though—just as I find Sherlock Holmes, this may not be one you need to keep on the shelf after you read it—once the mystery is solved, the writing itself is simply too practical in tone to read over and over and over again without having the aim of solving the mystery.

How to Make People Pay Attention to Feminism: How to be a Woman

Hey ladies and gents, hope you had a wonderful holiday. I apologize for my absence the past two weeks, but, as we all know from my explanation around Thanksgiving, holidays, for me, are not conducive to great amounts of reading. I did, however, enjoy my holiday—especially the assorted books and the $50 Barnes and Noble gift card that will fund my continued reading and participation with this blog. I hope everyone else was as fortunate present and family time wise, as I was.

So, on to this week’s book: Caitlin Moran’s How to Be a Woman. This one was recommended to me by a good friend who has excellent taste in books. You should know that I owe my picky taste in romance novels to this girl and her extensive collection—she knows how to pick books that are wonderfully naughty while still maintaining worthwhile characters and plots. Those of you who thought 50 Shades was great you should probably stop by and see her for some much more worthy (and yet still cheaper) reads.

Anyway, she reads a lot more than romance novels, and a few weeks ago she suggested that I pick up How to be a Woman. And, let me tell you, I’m so glad I did. This book is funny with a capital F—and there’s a lot of other F words in there as well. I  earned myself a quite a few weird looks after bursting out laughing on the T with this book a few times. Plus, while being hilarious and expanding your vocabulary of less than polite words, it also brings your attention to a lot of relevant questions and accepted beliefs surrounding women and their role.

Not only does Moran encourage women to take back and wholeheartedly support feminism, she draws our attention to why it has fallen out of favor in the past and which definition of the word we should focus on in the future. One of the keys to improving our world, especially in a societal sense, is recognizing accepted norms and questioning them. Sure, some things that are culturally acceptable or not acceptable might need to stay that way—they might be what’s best for right now. But some things that we take for granted as being okay, or not okay, are actually the opposite. If we’re not constantly seeing and questioning what’s accepted in society, we fall prey to subtle prejudices and stereotypes that can be harmful both to society as a whole, and to people on an individual level.

In this book, Moran draws your attention to and invites you to question the things we learn, both consciously and unconsciously, about how to be a woman. And she does so in such a fun, conversational way, that it almost seems like she’s inviting you to a girls-night-out gripe session where you finally have a chance to speak up about what you find ridiculous when it comes to what’s expected of you as a person of the female sex. You name it, she talks about it—waxing, high heels, fashion, porn, workplace etiquette, art and literature, music, menstruation, revolution—no topic is too big or too small.

One of my favorite parts was actually a small mention of body weight and image and it serves as a good example of what makes this book great. Though she may not devote the whole book to any one issue, she manages to breifly (and not so briefly) touch on many of the things many women are concerned with. In terms of the weight and body image issue, she not only assuages your worries, she also calls both society and you on your bullsh*t. Just to give you a little taste: the fashion industry does not make clothes for the average woman's body. So when we try to find clothes, we're constantly confronted by the fact that our bodys are not "right," instead of realizing it's the clothes that are the problem. In one case in the book, Moran has to do a photo shoot, and goes into it very optimistically, wondering what could possibly go wrong with a team of professionals to make her look good. She then realizes, however, how much work it is to look good in clothes that aren't right. In the same token, Moran calls attention to the fact that you can't just use that as an excuse to be an blob--a health disaster waiting to happen, perpetually unhappy with the way you look and feel. And she doesn't keep herself out of this assessment either--like I said she calls anyone and everyone out on their bull. No matter what you should strive to keep yourself in shape for health reasons and to remain "human shaped."

But the best part of all, in my opinion, is the final takeaway. Yes, Moran speaks up for feminism, but she also understands why it got a bad rap. Not every woman wants to participate in the same fervent, bra burning feminism many of us think of when the word “feminist” is used. Moran though, reminds us of and supports the most basic form of feminism. She simply states that every woman should be in favor of their right to do what they want—that no woman should be restricted because of her gender. Does that mean no woman should ever be a housewife, or wear heels, or stay in shape? No. Moran feels, and she encourages readers to feel, that feminism means doing what makes you happy and deciding to follow an accepted gender role doesn’t necessarily mean you’re betraying yourself and women everywhere. As long as you wear heels, work out, and take care of the house because that’s what you want and it makes you happy, then you should go right ahead.
That, I thought, was a great message for any reader—not only women, though that’s who she focuses on, but men as well. I mean, I’m not saying (nor is she saying) that you should go on a murderous rampage if that’s what would make you happy. Within reason and the general confines of the law (though perhaps not every law if it’s unjust) though, both women and men should be able to do what they want without worrying that it will make them seem unmanly or unwomanly.

Because of this idea, I would not only recommend this book to adult readers—who will certainly get a kick out of it and may even find themselves surprised by the things they’ve simply accepted throughout their lives—but I would also encourage younger women (and men actually) to read it. Yes, it does have some sensitive material—Moran doesn’t censor her swears nor her talk about sex, drugs, giving birth, and a variety of other things. But a reader mature enough to handle that, while still in the young formative years of their lives, would benefit greatly from her universally accepting attitude.

So readers, in case you couldn’t tell already, this is definitely one for the shelf. My only complaints about it actually were #1 She makes a lot of pop culture references that I completely missed—but honestly, that’s more my fault than hers because I’m not up to date at all in that department. #2 although she does break up her theorizing and commentary with amusing anecdotes, this isn’t really a “story” book. So if you’re looking for straight up fiction, just save this one for another day—you’ll appreciate it more if you’re expecting it. #3 This also isn't straight up nonfiction, so don't go into this expecting a thoroughly researched essay on feminine discourse.

And #4, if you're a straight male reader, or even a gay male reader, this may not exactly be your cup of tea. She does a good deal of complaining about bras and periods, which may be a little less relatable if you don't deal with either of those. BUT I still encourage people of any gender to read it if you think you can read it with an open mind. In general women are much more aware of the ways they're discriminated against, but sometimes we can be the biggest culprits when it comes to accepting and perpetuating harmful stereotypes. So we can always use more awareness from both halves of the population.