Three completely different books

I haven't made it through the entire stack of library books. (I never do: it's one of the great things about libraries, being able to take books out and then not read them. I can always take them out again later. All that choice and no pressure, like the buffet dinners at all-inclusive resorts!) (And this time I was distracted by the arrival of both This Dark Endeavour and Daughter of Smoke and Bone, which I had to read immediately, of course.) But I made some good picks that I ought to share, especially since I think none of them are very well-known.

Wrapped, by Jennifer Bradbury, is a light-hearted historical adventure/romance with Egyptian mummies and spies. It opens with the main character, Agnes, getting fitted for her coming-out dress while reading the latest Jane Austen novel:

"Put the book down, darling," my mother said from her chair beside the mirror.

"The chapter's end is only a short way off," I replied, reaching out with my other hand to flip the page. Despite the ache in my shoulder from holding the book at arm's length so the dressmakers could work on my gown, I didn't want to give it up.

I loved Agnes at once. She longs for adventure at the same time as she is not sure she's ready to come out. She is thoughtless and impulsive but genuinely tries to be good. And she doesn't quite know what to do when the very eligible Lord Showalter begins to court her. But the fun of this book is the amulet she finds at a mummy unwrapping, and the secret message attached to it, and sneaking around--with the entirely unsuitable but good-looking museum assistant--trying to solve the puzzle before the unknown bad guys do. The plot is contrived--it's rather silly the various reasons why she never tells her father about the amulet--but it's all good fun, the conclusion is everything you could have hoped for, and the stage is set for further Agnes adventures. If you liked Sorcery and Cecelia, or if you're a Jane Austen fan, then check this out. I have no idea what syllabub tastes like, but I imagine it's the perfect analogy to this book (they're always having it for dessert in Jane Austen!)


 The Seer and the Sword, by Victoria Hanley, made me wonder why I've never heard of this author before, and made me want to find more of her books. It's traditional fantasy, as the title would suggest, but other than the crystal ball that gives Torina visions, there is little magical that happens. Rather, it is the story of a kingdom and the characters whose choices determine its fate. Torina's father comes home from a war of conquest with the son of the defeated king as a slave for his daughter. Torina immediately frees the boy, and they grow up together, and apart, as plots threaten the stability of the throne and enemies gather from across the sea. It reminded me of Robin McKinley's The Hero and the Crown, or Megan Whalen Turner's Attolia books: it has the sweep of politics and history, but its heart is the coming-of-age of two people who find out what they're made of when everything is taken from them. I cared very much about Torina and Landon and I liked what became of them. Good old-fashioned roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

Questors, by Joan Lennon, looked original, and it was. I can't think of anything to compare it to exept perhaps some of Diana Wynne Jones' work. I'm going to claim Joan Lennon as Canadian, since she was born here, and say this is a Canadian author to watch out for. Three worlds exist in a complex balance, maintained by a mysterious Council in The London House, one of those great places where hallways and doors lead to different realities and Mrs. Macmahonney in the basement kitchen is the one person who knows all its secrets. Three children, one from each world, are brought to The London House and told that the balance is crumbling and they have been designed from birth to be the heroes who will put everything to rights. Except that things are worse than anticipated, and they have to complete their quest ten years before they were supposed to. So they're hardly the heroes they were meant to be. Maddy, Bryn, and Cam each have an ordeal in their own world, in which their choice of which Object to bring back will either save or doom all reality. The characters are convincing in their strengths and vulnerabilities, and in their difficulties getting along with each other. The worlds are imaginative, the ordeals interesting, the mythology mysterious and never completely explained, but not frustratingly confusing. I was intrigued by the concept and carried along by the plot. Fun and different, like chewy ginger cookies.

We moved, and now I can walk to the library!

Has it really been more than a month since my last blog entry? Yikes. And right after I made my highly realistic two-blogs-a-month goal. (I should never set goals; it never turns out well for me.) In my defence, moving makes you put your entire life on hold. I haven't even been reading anything (other than all fourteen Harry Dresden books by Jim Butcher, but that was weeks ago.) We're still not unpacked and organized, because we're getting the place painted, so everything is a complete mess.

But it's a five minute walk to the local public library. Yesterday I escaped the chaos and went to get myself a new library card. I love libraries. Here are the first books I brought home with me:

   

Questors, by Joan Lennon, caught me with "three perfect heroes" who aren't quite perfect; it looks like an original concept

Epic, by Conor Kostick, looks like a cross between The Hunger Games and Omnitopia Dawn

The Minister's Daughter, by Julie Hearn, looks like a retelling of The Crucible

Wrapped, by Jennifer Bradbury, is Egyptology and Regency England; I picked it up because Book Aunt recommended it.

The Seer and the Sword, by Victoria Hanley, I picked up because of the cover by Trina Schart Hyman; love that artist.

City of Ships, by Mary Hoffman, is the latest in her Stravaganza series, which I've been enjoying.

Miles From Ordinary, by Carol Lynch Williams: this one actually didn't make it home from the library. I started reading the first few pages and I had to sit down and finish the whole thing right there. It's a deceptively simple story--it all takes place on one day, and not very much actually happens--but the emotional tension is ratcheted up tight all the way through. Brilliant writing, a brilliant voice. You are right inside this girl's head, and what a terrifying, heartbreaking place it is to be. Very impressive book.

Hex Hall and Demon Glass, by Rachel Hawkins. I needed something light and mindless after Miles From Ordinary, and this series fits the bill. Very typical plot: Sophie has never fit in because she is a . . . (which strange paranormal creature will it be this time?) a witch. She screws up and gets sent to a reform school for witches, vampires, werewolves etc., where she meets a guy who is wrong for her in every possible way, where the popular witches try to get her to join their dark magic coven, where people start getting attacked and the wrong people are accused of it . . . you get the picture. Not much original, but it's well-written, I like the characters, and it doesn't take itself too seriously. No brooding, lots of snarky comments. In the same vein as Paranormalcy.

Juan de Fuca Trail, and what I'm reading now

I've been out of internet range briefly (not for the whole blogless period, but I'm going to use it as my excuse anyway!). I hiked part of the Juan de Fuca Trail with my siblings, my son, and my father. It was quite the adventure. This is not a trail for the faint-of-heart, but it's gorgeous. My brother takes awesome photos, so I'm going to steal a few to show you what it was like:

Beautiful beaches? Check.

Incredible ocean views? Check.

Rugged cliffs? Check.

Hidden waterfalls? Check.

Serene vistas? Check.

But to access all this beauty, you have to follow a trail that follows every contour of the water-carved coast, and that means going up every ridge and down every gully. Straight up, and then straight down. Over and over again. Thirteen times in twelve km on one day (someone going the other way told us that, and so I counted. He was right.) No sissy switchbacks, either. These pictures give some idea of the steepness:

No, the trail doesn't go over that log my crazy sister is standing on, but there were some sections that were nearly as perilous. We were planning to hike the whole 47 km trail, but on Day 2 my dad took a head-over-heels tumble down about 8 feet of nearly vertical trail and injured his rib. We managed to get him to camp (my 11-year-old son carried his grandpa's backpack for 3 km while my brother carried his own plus my son's. Lots of heroism that day!) but we decided we'd better leave the trail the next day. In the end it was just as well, because the people coming the other direction warned us about knee-deep mud in the next section! (And we were already pretty tired of dodging mud while clambering down ridiculous slopes.) So another year we'll have to come back (later in the season, maybe) and finish the trail. In the meantime, my knees are still recovering!

What did I have on my iPod to read while I was hiking? Fly By Night and its just-released sequel, Twilight Robbery, by Frances Hardinge. (Okay, I'm on a bit of a Hardinge kick. But she's worth it!)

I've also just tried out Jim Butcher, and found Storm Front, the first Harry Dresden novel, to be quite entertaining (not particularly appropriate for younger audiences however: no graphic sex, but adult situations and a fair amount of scary (and gross) violence). 

The Grimm Legacy  by Polly Shulman is worth a post of its own, so I'll just say I recommend it and add it to the list of posts-to-come. I should be able to start making a dent in that list, since I'm spending a couple of days at our new house on the Sunshine Coast, and there's not that much to do here. So stay tuned!

I could have been there . . . and more Frances Hardinge

Last weekend our tango teacher hosted a tango festival that we bought tickets for, but when Saturday night came around and it was time to go to the Gala (which starts at 10pm--past our bedtime), my husband and I looked across the couch at each other and decided we were too tired to go. This is what we missed:

For those of you who are serious tango fans, (and in case my video embedding didn't work) you'll want to see the rest of the videos from the evening: here they are. I am still kicking myself for not managing to drag my sorry behind out of the house!

And in other news, I just finished my third Frances Hardinge book, and I went to her website to confirm that I have now read all of her books, and it turns out she's just published a new one! Much excitement! It's a sequel to Fly By Night, which I shall now reread to get up to speed.

The one I just finished is Verdigris Deep (also titled Well Wished, which is more literal but way boringer). I won't do a whole review, but I highly recommend it. Very different from The Lost Conspiracy but equally well-plotted, well-charactered, well-written. This one's British urban fantasy, the kind where unwitting kids unleash ancient magic on their everyday town. Here's a great scene: "A shrill, laughing conversation upstairs, a television-crowd roar in the living room, and nobody with enough attention spare to notice as two children scrambled past, struggling to prevent a god escaping from a bucket." (They flush it down the toilet.) And did you know shopping carts were so creepy?

You know who would make the most excellent panel at a writers' festival? Frances Hardinge, Laini Taylor, and Neil Gaiman! (Round it out with Frannie Billingsley.) Oh, oh, and Neil Gaiman could collaborate on a novel with Frances Hardinge. You'd have to leave the lights on all night after reading it!

I have to leave you with another quotation from Verdigris Deep. She is just so amazing, the way she uses words to come up with concepts you hadn't ever thought of that way but know immediately are true:

People's personalities took up space, he sometimes thought. When they were trapped in a house or a job or a school together they rubbed up against each other, squeaked like balloons and made sparks. Ryan's parents both had large, gleaming, hot-air-balloon personalities. Sometimes it was hard to fit them into the same house, and Ryan had learned the art of suddenly making himself take up less space, demand less, so that his parents were not chafing against each other as much.

And here's a psyche-shaking one from the end of the book (no spoiler 'cause it won't make any sense until you read the whole thing):

The image that would not leave Ryan's imagination was of Josh walking with a mask-like countenance towards the woman who had tried to kill him, and giving her the child he could not be. 

As Kiersten White said in her blog post about author crushes (and she was referring to Laini Taylor!): "Oh my gosh. I want that brain. I will keep it for my own and love it and take care of it and decorate it for all major holidays."

Paranormalcy, by Kiersten White

I've revised my blogging goal: now I aim to blog twice a month. Clearly this is a more realistic goal that I might be able to achieve! I know it will disappoint all of you who hang on my every word, but you'll just have to appreciate me in fewer doses. And if I manage to write more than two blogs a month, it will be a happy surprise for all of us!

I have a number of books in my to-be-recommended queue. I'll start with Paranormalcy because it's a particularly fun one.

I've already sent you to Kiersten White's blog, so you know she's an extremely funny writer with a great imagination, and her debut novel doesn't disappoint. I think the best way to sum up Paranormalcy is to say it's Artemis Fowl for teenage girls. (Maybe a bit of X-Men thrown in for good measure.) It has the same humorous juxtaposition of the paranormal (in this case everything from fairies to vampires and werewolves)(mermaids, too) with an Organization.  So there are rules, procedures, protocols; yes there are monsters, but they're safely regulated. It's humorous because the otherworldly aren't supposed to follow rules (hence, "para-normal"). The opening scene, where Evie encounters a vampire being all menacing and she tasers him, slaps a cuff on him and reads him his rights, introduces the slightly flippant tone of the book. "I sighed. I hate the vamp jobs. They think they're so suave."

I interrupt this book recommendation to squee excitedly (as opposed to laconic squeeing, which rather defeats the point) about something I just found out while catching up on Kiersten White's blog: Laini Taylor has a new book coming out!!!!! It's not a Fairies of Dreamdark book; it's called Daughter of Smoke and Bone (awesome title) and you have to read the description in Amazon, because I'm pretty sure Laini Taylor wrote it herself. No one else says things like "Around the world, black handprints are appearing on doorways, scorched there by winged strangers who have crept through a slit in the sky." Aieeeee! And I don't know when it's coming out so I don't know how long I have to wait! If you don't believe my posts about Laini Taylor, believe Kiersten White: this is an author you simply must read. 


Okay, back to the review of Paranormalcy (sorry about that!):


Main character Evie has grown up in the International Paranormal Containment Agency: she was an orphan with the previously unheard-of ability to see past glamours, and the IPCA took her in because this invaluable skill allows Evie to "bag and tag" paranormals who are a threat to humans. (To give them credit, the IPCA also offers refuge to paranormals who are threatened by humans). Evie wishes she could live a normal life, like the kids she sees on TV, but she doesn't question her place as the IPCA's most valuable operative.


Then things begin to go south, because the otherworldly don't actually follow the rules, and the International Paranormal Containment Agency is not as in control as it thinks it is. A shapeshifter arrives at the IPCA at the same time as someone starts killing paranormals in places they were supposed to be safe. While all this is going on, Evie learns she isn't quite who she thought she was. Whose side is she supposed to be on?


You will hate this book or love it depending on how you feel about Evie: I loved her, with her sparkly pink taser and her high heels and her addiction to teen soaps and her complete confidence in her own abilities. I loved that she is believably naive but able to think for herself; I loved her attitude and her vulnerability. I also really appreciated the romance element: not the typical tortured love triangle, and definitely not the I'm-unaccountably-attracted-to-this-mysterious-and-possibly-dangerous-stranger that's par for the course these days.


This is excellent summer reading: light, funny, and fast-paced. Fresh local raspberries brought home and washed and eaten at the kitchen sink right out of the container.


And book 2, Supernaturally, is coming out at the end of July. Just in time for peach season!

Chime, by Franny Billingsley

I bought Chime on the strength of Franny Billingsley's The Folk Keeper, and it didn't disappoint. Chime is gorgeous, lush, creepy, luminous, romantic, terrifying and heartbreaking. Briony, Rose, and Eldric: how could you not want to read their story? (Assuming it's not all fairyland and elves, which it isn't. At all.) Here's the first two lines:

       I've confessed to everything and I'd like to be hanged.

       Now, if you please.

I don't need to say anything else: you must want to read it now. Especially with that cover. And the amazing font in the chapter titles.


Okay, I'll tell you a little more about it. Take equal parts Brothers Grimm (NOT the expurgated versions) and Bronte sisters (mostly Jane Eyre). Throw in a healthy dollop of campfire horror tales. Then wrap in silk and ribbons and take it "into the wild, into the real, into the ooze and muck and the clean, muddy smell of life." Past the Flats, through the Quicks, across the snickleways of the Slough. Hide it in "a tangle of mist and midst" in the middle of the swamp, and then come back and ask, "A person must always keep a secret, mustn't she?"

Oh, and it's a love story.

Briony narrates, Briony who hates herself. Briony who says she deserves to be hanged. Briony who takes care of her twin sister Rose, because Rose can never be left alone, and now that Stepmother is dead there is only Briony, because Father is never home.

Father's silence is not merely the absence of sound. It's a creature with a life of its own. It chokes you. It pinches you small as a grain of rice. it twists in your gut like a worm.

Silence clawed at my throat. It left a taste of burnt matches.

No, our family doesn't talk much. 

The narration is oblique and halting, because Briony's understanding of herself is oblique and halting. Her memories of what happened to Stepmother and to Rose don't match up, but she is certain the terrible things are all her fault, because Briony is a witch. Her anger and jealousy are dangerous because she can call up the Old Ones from the swamp, even if she doesn't intend to. At all costs she must prevent herself from hurting anyone else, particularly Eldric, with his "golden lion's eyes and a great mane of tawny hair," who stirs up more jealousy than ever. And isn't that odd, because Briony is too wicked to be able to love, isn't she?

The swamp is both setting and character, and Billingsley's poetic prose turns delicious every time Briony enters it:

My moonbeam skirts were pale moths, fluttering past the skulls of giant mushrooms. I sank into peat moss and autumn leaves, into the musk-stink of dying cabbage and the splosh of decay.

Voices laughed and ran past me in the shadows. I ran through a tangle of moonlight; I ran into a copper sea. If a body meet a body, comin' thro' the rye.

I was wild, I was wolfgirl. I was light as a moonbeam, my bones were filled with lace. I ran past chiming voices. "Pretty girl love pretty boy."

Chime is a puzzle. You will likely put the pieces together before Briony does, but will you figure it out before Eldric? Rose already knows.

This is a tasty novel, deep and layered, full of secrets: gingerbread with pears poached in red wine topped with cinnamon creme.

Canadian Book Week: Susan Juby

Alas, I am a fickle blogger! I'm not quite sure what has happened to the last three weeks. Perhaps I got caught in a time vortex because the Tardis was in the neighborhood. (Have you been watching the latest Doctor Who season? Crazy weird plot-lines! I loved the Neil Gaiman episode. But I digress.)(I actually know where the last week went, because since I began this review we decided to sell our house and buy a townhouse, and for some reason we decided to do everything this week, just because we weren't busy enough already. Sneaking the time to write this review was a bit therapeutic.)

I promised to do a Canadian book every month, and I'm a little late for May's, but we can pretend it's still May, can't we? Because I really must blog about Susan Juby. I just finished her latest, The Woefield Poultry Collective, and I was laughing so hard I was crying--which made the people in the park look rather strangely at me!

I think humour might be the hardest thing to write well, and Susan Juby is brilliant at it. She began with a young adult trilogy: Alice, I Think; Miss Smithers; and Alice MacLeod, Realist at Last. 

Alice is a teenager in the very small (and quite real) town of Smithers, BC, homeschooled by her vegetarian, pacificist, feminist mother ever since "a series of unfortunate social failures in first grade, connected to my mistaken belief that I was a hobbit." In Alice, I Think, she tries out high school, with mixed results, and "personal expression via fashion experimentation," with even more mixed results. In Miss Smithers, she becomes the Rod and Gun Club representative in the Miss Smithers Pageant, much to her mother's dismay:

My mother has been attempting maternal guidance. Her unsuccessful efforts have revealed the fascist tendencies just below the surface of most New Age practitioners and cemented my commitment to civic participation. If I wasn't already entered in the Miss Smithers contest for personal growth and financial gain, I'd now be in it for spite.

In Alice MacLeod, Realist At Last, her mother goes to jail after an environmental protest, her boyfriend leaves for Scotland after an awkward goodbye ("Our last chance to consummate our love. Ruined by a moose"), and Alice writes a screenplay. "I've channeled some of my anxiety into my art, but I still have quite a bit left over." Exotic fish, leather pants, and knitting play key roles in Alice's adventures, and she's helped through her self-actualization by a therapist nicknamed Death Lord Bob, a best friend ("More accurately, she is my only friend") who "looks sort of like how I used to before I started making an effort," and a younger brother who is "the only genuinely together person in our family. . . We all try to take our cues for how to behave from him." As the highly suspect narrator of her own embarrassing mishaps, Alice forges through all the issues of adolescence with a gawky sense of elan. If you have ever felt like you don't quite fit in, you will love Alice.

The Woefield Poultry Collective is Juby's latest, and her first for an adult audience. Doesn't it have an awesome title? (Be sure you get the Canadian edition: they named it Home to Woefield in the States, which is the lamest alternate title I've ever seen. Is "poultry" too difficult a word for Americans? Or is it "collective" that's the problem, with its scary socialist implications? What were the publishers thinking?)

Woefield has four hilariously unreliable narrators: Prudence, a city girl from New York who inherits her uncle's farm on Vancouver Island and decides to become an organic farmer; Earl, the old farm hand who doesn't know much about farming but plays a mean banjo; Seth, a twenty-something alcoholic recluse who shows up on Prudence's doorstep after his mother kicks him out; and Sara, a twelve-year old girl who raises competition chickens while her family falls apart. As if they didn't have enough problems between them, Juby throws in Bertie the depressed sheep, Eustace the very good-looking vet who disagrees with all of Prudence's environmental beliefs, and a bluegrass festival. Absurd situations abound (there's nothing like sheep for a little absurdity), and the characters' disparate reactions to each new crisis add layers to the humour.

You will find it particularly funny if you, like me, are a city girl with pretensions to sustainability: if you've tried vermiposting, if you've read The Omnivore's Dilemma and think small scale wholistic organic farming sounds wonderful, if you feel guilty every time you grocery shop because everything you buy harms something in some way. I was hooked from the moment Prudence described the death of her worms from being overwatered during a heat wave: "The poor things drowned and cooked, leaving a sort of warmed-over red wriggler soup."

Warning: there is strong language. Normally I would object, but I have to say that this book wouldn't be the same without Earl's colorful voice (several swear words in the following quotation):

I was trying to stay the hell out of the way, but when I saw the first shithouse fall off the truck, I thought, goddamn it, I'm going to have to get involved. No way around it.

That right there sums up the theme of The Woefield Poultry Collective: you deal with sh*t by getting involved.

Juby doesn't shy away from issues (even in her YA writing): alchoholism, divorce, sex, bullying are all treated realistically and with compassion. No easy answers, but perspective. Her humour is never cynical nor mocking (at least, not the bad kind of mocking, only the good kind): we are laughing with her characters, not at them.

If you need a good belly-laugh; if you need to feel that in the chaos of the universe events still might turn out for the best, I recommend Susan Juby. Like popsicles on a hot day, she's just the thing.