Book Review Wednesday: The Beckoners by Carrie Mac (Contemporary YA)

The Beckoners by Carrie Mac

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


This is one of those books I've picked up several times at the library, but never opened it because I'd never heard of it. So even though it sounded good, I'd end up reading something else I got at the same time. Silly me.

Here is this undiscovered gem of a book. All I kept thinking as I listened to it was, HOW THE HELL IS THIS BOOK NOT A PRINTZ AWARD WINNER!!!???? It is so good, and exactly like what they always pick. Except way better. I know it doesn't have the best reviews, but THIS BOOK ROCKS!

It was so grungy and grimy and sad and brutal and depressing and just all around...amazing. One of those books that, as I read, I kept thinking, "Man, I wish I'd written this book." Not in the way of, "I could have done it better," but in the way of, "I wish I was Carrie Mac."

I will never understand why this book isn't rated higher. I loved it. I loved the characters, I loved the evilness of children portrayed here. It's like a modern Lord of the Flies, about bullying and bad parenting and reality. And girls. And cruelty. And conformity. People have complained that it's written strangely, but I had the audio and couldn't tell (and sometimes, you can...ahem *sarahdessen*). It sounded great to me. I liked the reader, and the prose flows well. People have also complained that it dealt with too many issues, but I didn't even notice. I was too busy going squee squee squee all the way home.



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YA Wednesday: Graphic Novel Review: Saints by Gene Luen Yang

Last week I posted about the Printz Award Nominatee Boxers. This week, I'm posting about the second book in the series, Saints. I believe they were nominated together as one volume. To see last week's review, click here.

Saints by Gene Luen Yang

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


I've been on a graphic novel kick lately, so I grabbed this in an armload of them from the library. I saw it was nominated for a Printz award, which made me take it out of the stack and read it first.

It was pretty good, but nothing exceptional. For one, the graphics aren't as lovely as many of the graphics I've read. If I'm going to read a graphic novel, I want to be as captivated by the illustrations as the story. Otherwise, why not just read a novel? I didn't feel this was enhanced in any way by being a graphic novel. In fact, I'd rather read a novella about this supposedly based-in-history girl.

I did like the story quite well. Four-Girl was such a sad, confused child. I felt for her and was glad she finally got a name and found a place where she was welcome. It was so sad and amusing when she thinks she's a devil and goes around making ugly faces so everyone will know. It was at once tragic and ridiculous. I'm going to read the companion novel, but I can't say I'm holding my breath waiting for it.



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This is the way that love ends.

"This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."--TS Eliot, The Hollow Men

Though T.S. Eliot had bigger ideas than love, thanks to Valentines Day, that is the topic on many minds today. And though the poem is not a love poem, it aptly describes the end of love. For most of us, this is how love ends. Not with a bang, not with heart-rending wails of loss, but with a quiet fading of affection, with the proverbial whimper. It's not as dramatic as the movies would have us believe. It's more mundane than our romantic hearts want to admit. Although some may point to the end of love as the moment immediately preceded by affairs, betrayals, and other drama, that is usually not the case. Those events cause the heart-rending wails. By the time love is gone, there is no more wailing. That requires an intensity of passion that we no longer possess.

This is the way love ends. With the realization that you no longer care what she's saying. With the realization that you would rather stay at the office a few more hours than go home to him. With the realization that your friends are more interesting than your lover. That you are more interesting.

This is the way love ends. Quietly, so gradually we hardly notice. Bit by bit, day by day, we have lost the will to put in the effort, to expend the energy needed to make a relationship thrive. We have lost the desire to please our partners, and more tellingly, the desire for them to find us pleasing. He no longer wears the sweater she bought him that he never liked but wore to make her smile. He no longer compliments her, not because he no longer appreciates her, but because he no longer notices her. She no longer wears his favorite perfume, no longer dresses up for him. She's given up on being noticed, perhaps no longer wants to be noticed.

This is the way love ends. With two people sitting on opposite ends of the couch without speaking. With two people sitting at the dinner table without speaking. With two people shutting off the lights and climbing into bed together and turning to face opposite walls. Not out of anger, but because they have nothing to say to each other, because they can't be bothered to start a conversation. Not because they are avoiding touch but because they have forgotten that the urge to reach for each other was ever present.

This is the way love ends.
This is the way love ends.
This is the way love ends.
Not with an irate lover throwing the contents of the closet out the window,
But with an obligated sigh as we dutifully trudge onwards.

For some, Valentines Day is all about chocolate and roses and sappy Hallmark cards. For others, it has a darker side. This year, some authors invited me to join their blog hop celebrating the grisly, dark side of love. Find a list of their posts by clicking on the link below.
http://afstewartblog.blogspot.ca/?m=1

    The Bloody Valentine Blog Hop

Review Wednesday: The Paris Wife, by Paula McLain

The Paris Wife by Paula McLain
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The Paris Wife made me remember why I love historical fiction so much. McLain not only captures the atmosphere, but she does it with striking prose. I was not surprised to learn she'd published a book of poetry prior to this.

I just finished this book and I'm a little overwhelmed by it, but I'll do my best to form coherent thoughts. First of all, I cannot stress enough what an amazing job the author did of capturing the atmosphere of post-war Paris. Not that I was there to experience it, but after reading this book, I feel like I was. Like I walked the streets, participated in the extravagance, the decadence, the debauchery, the fashions and fads of the time, the whiskey and wine, the cigarettes and smoke, the poverty and claustrophobia. The atmosphere of the book itself is enough to make me love it. And the fact that it's about a writer only made me adore it more. It made me want to be there, to throw myself into their world, to smoke and drink and ski and go fishing and fall in love and write a novel. The only thing it did not make me want to do was go to a bullfight, but that's only because I did not enjoy that experience myself. If I'd never been to one, I certainly would want to after reading McLain's novel.

Aside from the atmosphere, McLain also captures the personalities of her characters so well. I felt like I was Hadley while I read it. Her parts were so alive, so aching and beautiful. Hemingway's few sections were also wonderful, confused and tortured and with a quite distinct voice from his wife's. Even though I knew what was coming, I still held on with Hadley and ached for her, cried for her a few times, loved with her. Because who hasn't loved that man who is so wrong for you, but so swooningly right?

There were a few parts where it went so far I just cringed, too horrified to look but unable to stop. Like the part where the other woman gets in bed with them and Hadley just lies there while her husband makes love to his mistress. Also, the part where Hadley loses Ernest's manuscripts. Being a writer myself, it just knocked the breath out of me. That must be every writer's worst nightmare. I was literally gasping to breathe at how terrible it would be, and McLain does a wonderful job showing that, even through the eyes of the wife instead of the writer himself.

Hemingway is captured well, too. I understood his artist mentality very well. McLain takes an age old story (the struggling artist, a nobody, falls in love with another nobody, they get married, she stays in love while he gets famous and becomes somebody, and suddenly, his nobody wife isn't enough for him) and makes it stand out in all its tragedy and romance. This isn't a romance novel, but possibly the most romantic book I've ever read--not only in Hadley and Ernest's love, but in Paris, and the sweeping scope of the novel, the lavishness, the beauty of language and description and location, of each event, each chapter of their love affair. Even their demise is poignant and heartbreaking and messy, but rings with absolute truth.

In the epilogue, when it goes into the history of Ernest's family, I got a bit of a shock. Of course I knew of Hemingway's death, but when I didn't know about the rest of his family. It was so morbid, and tragic, and sad. I'm glad that Hadley lived a long and full life, despite the wild years of drinking and smoking and cavorting around Paris with her artist husband. And glad to learn that she went on to happiness, even if she couldn't help Ernest. Like so many tragic figures, you find that the ones who need help are the ones who refuse it the most vehemently. This novel does paint Hemingway in a very sympathetic light, despite his flaws and shortcomings.


Recommended for: anyone who's ever been in love, been betrayed, or been to Paris.




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