BSC Redux

I've brought my sister-in-law over to the dark side--I bought her a Baby-Sitters Club book at the library book sale last weekend.

I've written before about the relationship I have with the BSC, and how I have to reread their stuff occasionally. Lately, though, it's been about searching out new ones. I've noticed that, later in the series, they (I don't say "she" in reference to the author, because even Ann M. Martin couldn't have written the literally HUNDREDS of BSC books, BSC mysteries, Baby-Sitter's Little Sister, BSC Super-Specials, etc. that she cranked out, not even in the 20 years she's been running) -- sorry, where was I? Oh, yes, they started teasing stories from book to book, and having longer story arcs.

So I've been tracking Stacey's rift with the BSC, which begins, appropriately, in Stacey vs. the BSC. At the end of that book, Stacey quits the club! And my oh my, I was not ready for that to be it. I had to know more! So I went through the $.25 rack at the library book sale and picked out what I thought was the right set of books. I got Stacey's Big Crush, and though I couldn't pick it up there, I made a note that Claudia's Freind Friend was the next one to check out. Because certainly that's where she re-friends Stacey, right?

But no, gentle readers! Alas, I was on the wrong trail. That was about Claudia befriending a kid with a learning disability. No, I wanted Stacey and the Bad Girls. And I finally found it, and read it (took about 2 hours, but I was also feeding the baby). And boy, were those girls bad! They stole and drank and weren't real friends at all. And I hope it's not a spoiler to say that it all ended up okay and Stacey is back in the BSC. So not to worry.

As BSC books go, this was really pretty good. It had a good amount of tension, and some realistically not-great teenaged girls. I can truly say I enjoyed it.

Though I have to say, whoever illustrates the covers better get the memo that Stacey is supposed to be glamorous, not just cute. That's a "mane" of blond hair, not just light brown drab, my dear.

Now, I just need to keep Stephanie on a steady diet of BSC, until she's caught up with me. Turn to the dark side!

Trying Something New

As Linden pointed out, I don't always need to buy a book to read it again. That's usually my threshold, but this time, I went to the library and picked up Robin McKinley's Chalice to reread it. And I loved it again, and read it in one day this time--it's not a long book. That worked out really well. I guess I'm kind of surprised at how surprising that is.

I might try that with Ursula Leguin's Lavinia as well. It doesn't haunt me quite as much, but it has a very similar feel, of a high fantasy story told through the small, mundane tasks of gathering honey and drawing water. They are books that are almost as much about becoming familiar with the small lives of their characters--outer lives, not just inner ones--as they are about the high events of the plot.

I really loved rereading Chalice. It was not unpredictable or startling, just very satisfying.

I wonder if I'll be able to say something similar about the Baby-Sitters Club book that's waiting for me on reserve!

That's Where The Name Comes From

"It should be observed here that men should either be caressed or crushed; because they can avenge slight injuries, but not those that are very severe. Hence, any injury done to a man must be such that there is no need to fear his revenge."

Would it surprise you to learn that Niccolo Machiavelli wrote that? No, I didn't think so. Seriously, I would never have thought that you could surprise me with how Machiavellian Machiavelli was, but here you have it.

Slow reading, but full of choice, practical, amoral tidbits like this. Really, it makes sense; if you're going to run a city-state singlehandedly, ruthlessness is not optional.

Jaded

I don't know how to say this without sounding horrible, so I'll just come out and say it: the Holocaust can be boring.

Ugh, I know, I know, right? But you know what I mean, Dear Reader--you know how many novels take wartime Europe as their setting, how many times the story has been told, each time with its own details, its own texture on the fine scale, but each time with the same bitter arc, each time with the same tragic point: Nazi-occupied Poland/France/Germany was a really, really awful place to be.

The True Story of Hansel and Gretel, by Louise Murphy, is subtitled "A novel of war and survival." Well, yes, that's what it's about. It's pretty straightforwardly about that: a Jewish family, on the run from the Nazis, sends two little children to hide in the woods while the parents draw their pursuers away. They're told to call themselves Hansel and Gretel, and never to tell their Jewish names. They're taken in by an old woman known as the local witch. It has the shape of the fairy tale--she hangs bread on the walls of her house to show generosity to the birds--but turns a lot of stereotypes on their ears--the stepmother makes enormous sacrifices for the children's safety. It's well written; there's nothing wrong with it.

But I can't say I like it all that much. I've read this before--frigid Polish winter, not enough food, terrorists in the woods, SS officer, hunger, fear. It feels so distasteful to say it, but I know this story. And aside from the shape of the fairy tale, this book isn't really bringing anything new to it for me. It almost feels like nothing's happening, because everything that's happening is exactly what I expect to have happen.

I need to go do something virtuous now, to feel less like someone who doesn't care when little children are starving.

Ah, High School

I'm mostly not into YA that captures the truth about what it is to be a young adult, mostly because, well, I'm not suffering from that particular affliction anymore (hallelujah) and it often runs to depressing. I don't mean to be dismissive, because I think books like that do important work for people going through a really difficult time. But the way I relate to those issues is both distant and excruciating, and I'd just as soon not, thanks.

So Thirteen Reasons Why is not my typical YA read. I already explained how I was sucked in by their marketing, and I'm still enjoying listening to the excerpts from the tapes as I go through the book. But of course, it really has to stand on its own as a novel, and I think it does an okay job of that. Actually, a better job than a lot of YA "issue" books, in my opinion.

It's the story of a guy listening to the tapes that are basically his classmate's suicide note. In the tapes, she explains how it came to this for her. What I find interesting the number of levels on which it looks at the high school social experience.

There's Hannah's explanation of being the subject of gossip, especially when it's wrong. It's interesting to see how she kind of deconstructs the whole experience. She sees through a lot of the bull. But there's another level on which Clay (the listener) has it up on her--he sees through some of her perceptions. Since she killed herself, she obviously ended up at all the worst conclusions about everything she saw, but he sees another level where sometimes, if Hannah had reached out, or even accepted others' reaching out, things could have been different.

At the same time, there's another layer of storytelling in Clay's narrative. Because he's describing how he wanders around and interacts with some of his classmates as he listens to these tapes, and you can see him completely missing their inner lives, skimming over them as background noise where there is clearly depth that he's missing. And you see how this happened to Hannah, and how only because she killed herself does he have the luxury of imagining a different outcome.

The levels of observation that author has embedded in the book are really skillful, and I'm impressed. It's very good for a teen issue novel. But I'll tell you the truth; it doesn't really transcend what it is. If you asked me if I'd recommend it to a teen interested in stories like this--absolutely, yes, I think they'd be enthralled. But would I recommend it to an adult? Sad to say, probably not.

A Team of Advisors Working Around the Clock

I'm sure I've shared with you my love of advice columns. I'm sure that people who know me in person understand how firmly I like to give advice, even when I just barely know what I'm talking about. I've also got the voyeuristic streak of someone who spends too much time with fiction, and I love the condensed form of life's weird and wonderful and awful permutations that is the advice column.

I think my current favorite is Carolyn Hax. I also read Ask Amy, Miss Manners, Savage Love (um, not work safe), The Ethicist, and (God help me because she's awful) Dear Abby. Plus assorted chats and, really, anyone who offers personal advice. Occasionally I'll read a pet advice column, if one crosses my path. Or parenting, work--seriously, I'm a junkie.

And when these columnists compile their work, I generally eat it up. Miss Manners' collective works are a particular favorite. Somehow, though, in spite of this--proclivity? obsession?--I was surprised at how much I liked The Good, the Bad, & the Difference: How to Tell Right from Wrong in Everyday Situations, by Randy Cohen of Ask the Ethicist fame. I liked the book even more than I like the column, which is surprising, since it's really just a collection of columns.

The thing is, advice columns are less about the advice than they are about the problems. And in most advice columns, at least 75% of the time, it's easy to know what the right thing to do it. "Dump him." "Stop nagging." "Drink less." "Lock the door when you're in the bathroom, then, dummy!" I don't blame people--it's always easier to see the answer to someone else's succinctly summarized problems than it is to figure out how to change your own sprawling and messy life.

The neat thing about the Ethicist, though, is that his problems are often more stymieing.* Not always--he gets his share of questions where the answer is "Just don't be such a jerk." But there are so many places where rules (an honor code, a movie theater's no-food policy) conflict with what might seem right or kind (not ratting out a friend, bringing a bottle of water to a movie).

The problem I usually have with the column is Randy Cohen's hokey sense of humor. His jokes read like Great Uncle Horace's attempts to jolly up Thanksgiving dinner. Just corny. In the column, it often grates on me, and makes him feel less than sharp. But looking at his answers in volume, as with the book, the thought that he puts into some of these answers, and the insight that they reflect cumulatively, become more noticeable. This relegates the corny humor to something more tolerable--a charming quirk, rather than a lack of comedic insight.

A quick read, and definitely right up there on my list of "advice column collections I've enjoyed." At the very least, you'll get a few conversation starters out of it.

*Seriously, the word spell check claims I'm not making up are often startling.

YA Sprawl

Sometimes when I go on a long stretch of really light reading, I can't seem to get my head together to blog about it. It's all from the gut around here. Anyway, I've been reading up a storm, and had some good hits.

The big thrill has been The Merry Misogynist, by Colin Cotterill. It's the most recent Dr. Siri mystery, and I think it's the best one since the first, maybe even the best one period. There's a supernatural thread that runs through the series, and in some books it's a little overwhelming--extended dream sequences, drug trips, and spirit world adventures generally make for a bit of a slog in my opinion. Dr. Siri's are more fun than most, but eventually I want to get back to corrupt bureaucrats and cranky villagers.

This most recent book is great. It's got a dash of the supernatural, but it by no means dominates the story. It's clear which threads of the plot are major and which are minor, and it's an all-around satisfying (if light) mystery. Oodles of fun.

I've also been reading Betsy-Tacy and Tib, which is the second of the Betsy-Tacy books. It's very sweet, though really a little kid book. I suspect I'll read it to Adam when he's bigger--though the characters are all girls, none of their adventures are particularly girlie. I'm interested in reading how the series evolves--it follows the girls as they grow up, and matures with them. I've heard that, after the little kid ones, the high school one, Betsy was a Junior, is the best. I'm not sure if I'll skip ahead or try to read on through.

Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli, is another one I've just finished. It's a very standard-seeming book about a free-thinking high school girl who's in touch with herself and not susceptible to whe whims of the crowd, and the boy who loves her but can't handle her individuality. It's a little on the after-school-special side--a story for another generation, where the quirky girl is startling. If it was a period piece, something more from the '70s, I'd get it more, but it's more modern, and so feels clunky. What I will grant it, though, is that it leaves me seriously wanting to send anonymous cards to my neighbors and strangers I pass in the grocery store, just to cheer them up.

The Dream Maker's Magic had all the usual Sharon Shinn magic, the telling of small details of life, the person transformations. Loved it. Also Caroline Cooney's They Never Came Back, which is a small, personally told story about the mystery of a girl whose parents fled fraud charges and left her behind. It felt slight, but I enjoyed it; one of those books that doesn't really transcend the fact that it's intended for young adults, but does its job.

That's what I was doing while I wasn't blogging last week. Let's see what happens during this next period of slacking!

Marketing Push

This is the story of how I was sucked in by a book commercial.

I was pottering around Goodreads, which is what I do with myself in my spare time. An ad popped up in the margin, as they often do. Since at least 40% of books that pass in front of my eyes sound at least marginally interesting for at least a minute, I look at the ads.

I'd heard of this book--Thirteen Reasons Why--though I can't remember where. It sounds grim--in the wake of a girl's suicide, her classmates and acquaintances receive tapes that explain why she did it. Intriguing, but not really my style. But the image was good, and gave the impression of something suspenseful. I clicked.

But the website, kids, the website! It's got a ton of material on it, and it's very slick. What sold me, though, were the tapes, which you can listen to. I listened to the beginning of the first one, and I wanted to listen to more. But what's the tape without the story?

So I got the book. At the library, of course--sadly, no one made any money on the transaction. Still, someone was doing her job in the marketing department. I'll let you know if the book was worth it.

Mary Sue Got Married

Okay, after reading several essays on the subject, I might be taking slight liberties with the term Mary Sue. But my personal understanding has always been that this character is someone who is obviously the author's idealized self and stand-in in a story, and whose role is to allow the author to live out their fantasy of interacting with the awesome characters they're writing about. The term is usually used in fan fic, where you can imagine the temptation to write a story in which "you" basically get to have your way with your favorite hunky TV heroes.

Anyway, The Housewife and the Bachelor, by Shannon Hale, is a book about a very pregnant Mormon housewife with a very sharp wit who, on a brief trip to LA to sell a screenplay she wrote, happens to run into, charm, and have dinner with a vaguely Hugh Grantish Hollywood heartthrob whose movies she's drooled over for ages. In the first 30 pages, she's proven to the jaded actor that pregnant Mormon housewives who've never had a drink can be every bit as scintillating with their anecdotes about the neighbor's wiener dog as can the most jaded movie starlet.

Let me tell you what it really reminds me of--once I was browsing through the YA section and I found a book targeted at seventh grade girls, containing four stories that were basically the fantasies these girls have anyway, of meeting and being wooed by movie stars. The one I remember is a girl who goes with a friend to her rich cousin's party at her Malibu beach house. Our Heroine wanders away from the wild party where she doesn't belong and goes for a lonely nighttime walk on the beach, where she sees another figure walking toward her. Lo and behold, it's Leonardo DiCaprio, also going for a solitary stroll, and they walk together and really bond and he kisses her before they part ways.

That is what this book reminds me of.

But as I got further into it, I started to realize that the author buys way too much into the "wholesome" thing, and into the idea that all those sad Hollywood stars need is a healthy dose of good middle-American fun and they'll be happier. I started to suspect that the upshot of this story is that men and women can't be friends, because it will get in the way of their marriages. I don't trust the author enough to read the rest of the book and see if I'm wrong.

Also, a funny book should be shorter than this.

Surrender.

Vacation Work

I spent the weekend with friends, and poor Emily made the mistake of putting me in a room that had bookshelves. I can only thank God that she is an academic, and the vast majority of her books are about advanced statistical analysis and health policy in the media age.

As it is, I have a stack here. I took Machiavelli's The Prince, which I've been meaning to read forever. (Between him and Sun Tzu, I'm planning to take over the world.) I've got something called The Probable Future by Alice Hoffman, whose work I've found hit or miss, but I liked the premise of this book. Plus The Wisdom of Crowds, because I love pop social science, and The Bomber, which is a Swedish political mystery/thriller that Emily herself actually recommended. It sounds like the plot is not bad, but the main character has a lot of practical working-mother life issues that are well drawn and interesting. Also, being all Girl With the Dragon Tattooed up, I'm all about the Swedish thrillers.

Though I have to say, I'm having a harder time getting into The Girl Who Played With Fire. I think I needed it to jump right into something, and the mystery of what Salandar is thinking when she runs off on her mystery vacation isn't quite enough. Let's get to the meat, kids, I've been listening for almost half an hour now, chop chop!

I'm supposed to hit the BPL on Wednesday with my buddy Sheila, so I need to get some serious reading in. I might have some time during Adam's nap tomorrow--I'm going to throw myself hard at Conspiracy of Kings, which I'm enjoying, and see how that goes.

Speaking of which, Em, I'm going to mail you The Thief. Watch the post!

Not Surrendering

Mike asked me the other day why I was working so hard to finish The Dead-Tossed Waves. The answer goes in three directions. None of them is particularly compelling.

First, I appear to have gone to school with the author. But no, wait, I think she actually just went to the same college I did. I'm pretty sure she was far enough behind me that we would never have overlapped. Not compelling.

Second, it's in a series and I read the first one. By that logic, I should read New Moon, and I never never never never never never never never will. So that one's out.

Third--and really, the only one that means much of anything--is it SEEMS like I should like it. If you gave me a synopsis, I'd jump all over it. If you gave me a one sentence teaser, I'd jump all over it. But God, I just don't like the book.

Now, I had dreamed up a couple of clever ways to blog about not liking this book. I think my favorite was going to be a matching quiz, in which four passages lifted from the book all describe the main character's hear throbbing in her ears/nearly pounding out of her chest/pumping the blood through her veins, and/or her breath stopping suddenly/coming raggedly/exploding outward, and/or her head swimming/her stomach heaving/her skin prickling in the damp summer air. And then these would need to be matched to the scene that they occurred in: a) a good looking boy accidentally brushes her hand, b) she tells her mother a fib, or c) she is chased up a deserted beach by a pack of flesh-eating zombies.

Also, a huge percentage of sentences in this book were actually sentence fragments. Incomplete. As though she were trying to find the right words to make her point, but couldn't. So she'd rephrase and repeat. Reiterate. Until you got it.

But I didn't write those clever posts, because it felt too mean.

And now I feel like a jerk. I'm going to go crawl into a hole now. Hide. Not come out till morning.

Philosophy

Wise words from Editorial Anonymous.

Update in the pipeline on zombie book. I'm trying to write a review without being a jerk, which should tell you something.

Land of the Lost

There is a page in my Goodreads account that makes me very sad.

In structuring my collection and the lists I keep, I have things mostly divided into to-read, currently-reading, and read, the default shelves. But I've added some others--"like to think I will read," which are books that sound interesting or improving, but that--who are we kidding?--I'll probably never get around to. It's sort of a catch-all for books that I've heard of and don't want to forget exist, but doubt I'll ever get to. Interesting-sounding books about political topics that are no longer immediately relevant (What's the Matter With Kansas?), classics that intimidate me with their heft (Vanity Fair), books that got high recommendations from people I usually agree with but seem to be the opposite of my style (Shogun), books I want to like but just can't seem to (The Book of Night Women).

For the most part, these books don't make me sad. They represent hope, and the fact that anything is possible--even me reading The Life and Selected Writings of Thomas Jefferson.

The list that makes me sad is the one that represents surrender. The shelf of books I gave up on. It's a shelf without hope. "Did not finish."

This shelf has a sub-category of "never tried," which pretty much means I really thought I wanted to read it, picked it up and got through three pages before I put it down. Or, I really, really wanted to read it, because I love the author, or the premise, or I have huge, high hopes for some other reason, but even before touching the book, I know I just can't.

Flash Forward, which has a great premise, also has the absolute worst sample on Audible. It's got to be pages of how this computer programmer's girlfriend dresses him, and what about his outfit is comfortable vs. casual vs. fashionable, and how he really doesn't care. Just pages. Just...ugh. There's The Zookeeper's Wife, which by all accounts is excellent, but was the book in which I realized that number of Polish street names in the first five pages of a book pretty much makes or breaks the thing for me.

But "never tried" doesn't hurt nearly as much as the rest of "did not finish." I was so excited about 3 Willows: The Sisterhood Grows, which was supposed to be a companion book to the Traveling Pants, but which just fell flat. How much hope did I have for Brides of Eden, about a religious revival in Oregon at the beginning of the twentieth century? How great an idea did The Explosionist sound like? I mean, I was tingling at the thought of reading The Explosionist. Who wouldn't be--what a great title! Alternate history, domestic terrorism in Great Britain in the '30s, a girls' boarding school for crying out loud! And then somehow that was also a ghost story? With very obvious romantic complications right on page 5. God, what a let-down.

And now--now I'm about to stop reading The Illuminator. I just have too many other commitments--Sharon Shinn and I are involved in a kind of exclusive thing, but I'm trying to juggle the new Megan Whalen Turner on the side (oh, God, Eugenides is right there in the pile and I'm sitting here typing to you people?), plus the other, what is it, 25? Books I have checked out right now. I'm not kidding, I think it's 27. Minus books for the baby, that's like 23. God in heaven, I need to go read.

I don't think The Illuminator is going on "did not finish" yet. I think it's going back in to-read. Because I'm all about the power of hope.

Author Crush

I'm in love with Sharon Shinn. Love love love. We have the same name--squee! Seriously, I can't stop reading Archangel. I wish the cover weren't so damned ugly.

I'm not going to go any further into it, because for right now I just need to bask in it.

I'm sorry this update isn't more significant, but I need to go read.

In Over My Head

I've never understood people who enjoy shopping, because I really don't. Even shopping for books doesn't really thrill me. But lordamercy, do I understand acquisition.

I went to the Cambridge Public Library today. It's a big, shiny new building with vast, sprawling shelves of shining new books. I swear somebody bought all those books in the children's room just last week. I was dumbstruck, and then I checked out about six books, to add to the 20 I already had.

I'm about to start on The Dead-Tossed Waves, which is a "companion book"--not exactly a sequel--to The Forest of Hands and Teeth. I was very excited about this book--'cause hey, zombies--but even just reading the first page, I'm remembering why I actually didn't love Hands and Teeth as much as I expected to. It was a really fantastic premise and world, but the actual story it was telling was somehow unfocused. It sprawled along, didn't wound back on itself, didn't really seem to know where it was going.

I think I've figured out why, though, just from the first page of Dead-Tossed. It's because the point of the book--it's driving force--is young lust. It's not a zombie story, or an adventure story or a survival story. It's about a girl who loves and wants a boy who for various (vague, hard to understand) reasons, she can't have. However much they're learning the secrets of their world and running for their lives, that's not why you're reading this story. The story was written because of lust.

And that's a valid, compelling reason to write a book. Look at Twilight, for crying out loud, with barely the pretense of a plot (all of which takes place in the last fifth of the book), just lots of gazing and longing and aching. Look at Harlequin, but also look at a lot of great literature about lust (I understand Proust addresses the subject). It's not even romance, it's just desire, and it's a perfectly valid thing to structure your book around.

But it's not really my kind of book. I think that Hands and Teeth makes more sense to me now that I think of it as a coming of age emotional story with a zombie setting, but it doesn't make me like it any more. Which is a shame, because the world building is really so great.

Ah, well. The great thing about literature today is that there's always another zombie book to be read. And the great thing about libraries is that they're free!

Best. Audiobook. Ever.

Warning: I'm going to use every cliched hyperbole of enthusiasm I can cram into one post here, because this book was a roller coaster ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat!

Beat the Reaper, by Josh Bazell, and it's embarrassing that I can't think of anything to say that actually tells you about the book without sounding like all the back cover blurbs and reviewers and what am I even here for? The book is funny and smart and FAST--it moves like the wind, and you can almost get whiplash only it never quite pushes you too far. It's about a resident at a miserable mess of a hospital, whose night is being complicated by bizarre illnesses, incompetent coworkers, an insane work schedule--and, oh yeah, one of his former mafia colleagues who threatens to tell everyone from his old life where he's keeping his Witness Protected self unless he (said former mafia colleague) is kept alive by our hero in the face of a terminal illness.

In between scenes from this one really, really bad day, we get flashbacks from our hero's life, which, as you can probably imagine, is full of adventures. It's not for everyone--it's violent, by a lot--but it's absolutely hilarious, and absolutely relentless. There's a scene at the end where I stopped the audiobook, called my husband (who read the book last week) and said, "Is he seriously going to do what I think he's doing?" And the answer is, "Hell yeah, he's doing that." I can't tell you any more without spoiling, but seriously, read the book and call me 20 pages from the end with that same question.

Now, I think I need to especially sell you on the audiobook. The narrator was awesome. I have never heard such a good performance, with such a pitch-perfect character. I know that part of the reason this worked is that the book was written in the first person with such a true voice, but man, this guy just hit every note. So if you're looking for an audiobook, this is the first one you should pick up.

And memo to Josh Bazell: I'm waiting for whatever you publish next. Any time now...

Ed Norton Has a Widow's Peak?

Ed Norton starred in the movie The 25th Hour, which I enjoyed. What I really enjoyed, though, was City of Thieves, the second novel by David Benioff, whose first novel was The 25th Hour. So it seemed like I ought to read the book.
The people in the book are so well drawn that I was not even picturing the actors. They're sad and clear and strong and pathetic and exactly who they are. And the stories--the anecdotes--and the plot of the book were well-explored; it's a sad goodbye, which is explored on every level.

But. This is a book for a lover of writing, and of New York. It's the kind of book that contains all the neat little New York stories that a guy has been saving up--the monologues about death and loyalty, the loving descriptions of looking out across the river at Queens in the pre-dawn light, the strange characters you see on the street or meet in a nightclub or on a subway platform.

What that makes it is not my kind of book. I can appreciate the execution, and I can enjoy the characters and the story, such as it is. But the foundation of this book is about texture and observation--and New York--and, as such, is really not meant for me.

Benioff has a book of short stories, too, which has some nice blurbs. I wish I liked short stories more. Brenda, you should read it. (Or hey, somebody else--this is a public blog.) It's called When the Nines Roll Over. Somebody let me know how it is. I absolutely loved City of Thieves.

This One's For You, Melissa

A million years ago, in another life, a friend and coworker of mine moved away. In one of those random bouts of purging that I never seem to go through, she gave me a little pile of books by Garth Nix and said I'd love them. And she moved away and I haven't seen her in ages, which makes me sad.

Somehow, I never read the books, either. I think it was partly the lack of information: I had the recommendation and three very long paperbacks with less-than-informative back cover blurbs, and that was it. Even the titles were character names--no information there. I had no idea what I was getting into, and (as we all know) a hugely long list of things to read. Aside from the fact that they were clearly fantasy and that Melissa Montgomery liked them, I had nothing to go on.

As part of my Personal Library Renaissance--now more like a Personal Library Outreach Program--I picked up Sabriel, the first the series. The prologue was interesting, shading perhaps a hair toward the melodramatic. High fantasy, solemn fantasy. Okay. Chapter one appeared to take place in a version of the modern world that included magic and--promising--the undead. Promising. Our main character is a boarding school girl whose father has also been privately training her to become a necromancer.

Okay, I'm totally marking the kind of geek I am by saying this, but KA-CHING!

I'm loving this book. Still near the beginning, but it's a very strong story--characters, telling, everything. So thank you, Melissa Montgomery, wherever you are.

My Newest Library

Well, since the Chinatown Storefront Library project ended, I found myself with some free time on my hands--or at least, free energy. Fortunately, at the farewell party I met a teacher who works at the high school that was accepting a large batch of donations from our YA collection.

The Josiah Quincy Upper School is a new-ish charter high school in Boston, tucked into a corner of Back Bay and Chinatown. They're currently working on building a serious library, as part of their goal of International Baccalaureate accreditation. This all sounds very impressive--and it is--but Peter Chan is the teacher who's there in the weeds--moving furniture, making plans, running committees. I just go in once a week and enter books into the catalog. My small part!

Just today, though, I ran into a teacher from the McGlynn school, here in Medford. I used to volunteer there before the baby was born. When the new year started after Adam was a few months old, I found out that the librarian and the aide who had worked there when I did had both left. I never ended up going back. It turns out, though, that their positions have not been filled; the school doesn't have a librarian, just a few teachers managing to keep the doors open for classes to come get books as necessary.

Part of me thinks, "They need me!" Another part thinks, "This is what they get for not funding the library." And a third part is saying, "Um, how many volunteer gigs can you do at once?"

I don't know. I'm feeling kind of introverted lately--note the rare blog postings. But then again, I always have a hard time passing up opportunities to do things. So--what would you do?

Catching Up With Bill Willingham

The title makes it sound like I know the guy and we're going to have an intimate conversation in this blog post, but no. I'm referring to the fact that I'm very close to having read all of the issues of Fables that have been published so far, and I'm going to have to start (gasp!) waiting for new collections to be published.

Given the nature of public libraries and comics, this makes it equally likely that I'll have to start buying collections, since I have no idea how long I'll have to wait to get my hands on collections when they come out. It's nice, though, that I caught up just as the major story arc that took up the first 10 volumes that came out is finishing up just as I catch up. Is it possible that I'll become a serial comic reader? Perish the thought; I'm far too cheap.

I was discussing Fables with some friends the other night, though, and I wanted to give some advice to anyone who's thought of giving it a try: the first two volumes don't do the series justice, by any means. Volume 1, Legends in Exile, has one of the most let-down endings I could have imagined for it. I was really enjoying it, and then there was an ending that was very nearly as lame as "and it was all a dream." (Though for the record, it wasn't all a dream. It was just that lame.) I gave the second volume a shot, and it was even more intense. But the ending, though better, was proportionally just as bad. (Vol. 1: story = 7, ending = 2; Vol. 2: story = 9, ending = 4; it's like an SAT question.) This one wasn't actually bad, it was just sort of nothing. "And then the adventure was over and everything went back to normal."

But volume 3 is where the ongoing story sort of picks up, and the backstory that has been hinted at and filled in gradually steps to the forefront. The stakes get high, the stories get meaningful, the resolutions get satisfying. And it all builds to volume 10, War and Pieces, which is about having a solid plan and executing it with skill. So satisfying, I'm almost afraid to move into volume 11.

By the way, I'm sorry about the long silence here. The past few weeks have been very busy on the home front, and not very busy on the literary one. I've been reading the same book (Children of God) for well over a month now, because I keep being afraid something upsetting will happen and putting it down. I often read only two or three pages a day, which can fail to add up.

But I'm kicking back into gear; expect more library exploits and literary outings in the next few days.