Book Report: Car Trouble

Another Cargo Largo bargain bin find: Car Trouble by Jeanne DuPrau.

"Recent high-school grad and computer-whiz Duff Pringle is on a cross-country road trip, headed from home in Richmond, Virginia, to a California job designing the next-generation something or other for a company that modestly calls itself "Incredibility, Inc." Alas, real life doesn't run as smoothly as a computer program, and, in short order, Duff's battered old Ford breaks down, he meets a fast-talking hitchhiker in a wild shirt, loses his wallet in a scary biker restaurant, finds himself stranded in St. Louis, and, well, that's just the tip of an iceberg of troubles."


I picked this up because it promised of interesting characters, and I wasn't disappointed. This was an easy read, and at times thought-provoking, with simple imagery and a predictable plot. But it was fun, fast, wrapped up nicely. Nothing outstanding, but still a good time.
Three out of five stars.

Book Report: The Bang Devils

Found this novel by Patrick Foss in good old Cargo Largo--the cheapskate's bargin bin--and picked it up based on my old rule of three: Interesting Title, Interesting Cover, Interesting Plot. Oh, and I think I actually read the first sentence, too.

I was hesitant because the book is set in Japan, and I know nothing of other countries or time periods, but curiosity won out and I started reading it the very next day. Three days later, I was cursing the ending. (But in the way I cursed the end of the first Lord of the Rings movie. You know, when you get invested in something and you want more.)

Book Description

If you commit a crime and nobody catches you -- is it really wrong?

For Chris Ryan and Jessica Romano, two Americans living in Japan, life is like a movie. Money comes easy when you're an "exotic" Westerner. Sex comes even easier. With every need instantly satisfied, the greatest worry is growing restless. Because when your life is a movie, it doesn't take long before you decide you need to do something ... cinematic.

So when a wealthy Japanese businessman, overcome with too much whiskey -- and too much Jessica -- boasts that he secretly keeps a fortune in cash in his home, Jessica enlists Chris and her boyfriend, Taro, to help her execute the perfect kidnapping. But they soon learn that the money might not be the only secret the businessman is keeping.

As the stakes start to rise, the three friends begin to question their motives -- and one another. It doesn't take long for them to realize that while the surest way to survive is sticking together, the surest way to get rich is betrayal.

The front-page praise for this book was another selling point for me: When I read about the 'graphic pop violence', I knew I was taking it home. And graphic it was, not nearly the worst I've ever read, but indeed graphic and messy. This story drives ahead and never stops to breathe, least not for more than a few pages at a time, but the action alternates between mental and physical in a way that ensures no one gets lost or drops out. I appreciated the very 'movie-like' style of storytelling, the flashy action and predictable scenes and cookie-cutter characters, with just a hint of sneaky plot twists. This story was very easy to visualize, and it makes me think it is targeted toward a younger audience, although not labeled as such.

However it seems as though all of Floss's creativity went into the scenery. I got a feel for Japan, especially the night life and the richer, sexier side of it all. But his characters were lacking. Chris could easily be played by the 'Sexiest Male Actor of the Minute', as he was all about cunning and flashiness. Jessica was over-feminized to the point of annoying--the classic blubbering blonde in any given slasher movie. And the third guy? Well, the fact that I've forgotten his name should be enough evidence.

Great idea, great twist on a tired-but-true plot, and 'Bang Devils' certainly had its moments and one-liners. But overall, the title impressed me more than the characters.
Three out of five stars.

Book Report: When I Was Five I Killed Myself

This novel by Howard Buten is one of the most complex and emotionally charged stories I've read.

"Burton Rembrandt is placed in the Children's Trust Residence Center, an institution for disturbed, psychopathic or autistic children, following an inappropriate amorous encounter with female classmate Jessica. Told in Burt's precocious voice, the story is supposedly written by the boy in pencil on the walls of the Quiet Room. It is a compelling study of the tragedy that can result when literal-minded children and literal-minded adults fail to understand each other. The adults (parents and psychiatrists alike) take little responsibility for the misinformation they spout while they narrowly interpret as sociopathology Burt's innocent comments, normal for any child, about his "hate" or his desire to "kill" something. Wrongly incarcerated with autistic and truly sociopathic children, it is not until Burt encounters a sympathetic psychiatric resident that hope begins to grow, both in Burt and the reader, that the boy will finally be seen for what he is: a child who has a right to an ordinary life."

Despite the front jacket's claim that Burt is misunderstood, I still found myself unsettled by this character. I don't remember having such violent thoughts when I was little, and I'm sure that any child who did even today would be placed in a facility as Burt was. Much of Burt's mannerisms were adopted from those around him: his older brother, his parents, his friends. He often uses words he doesn't understand. His imagination is hyper-active. Buten captured a child's voice with uncanny grace, but I felt like something is lurking on the pages, just beneath my understanding. I feel like I need to be told the answer, like I should talk with other people who have read the book so they can explain it to me. I enjoyed it, I really did, but I think it warrants a second read-through to unlock those deeper layers.
A trademark of a great story? I think so.
Five out of five stars

Book Report: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

I had walked past this book by Mark Haddon several times, and every time it caught my eye.
So I bought it.

This novel starts with a simple plot: 15 year-old autistic Christopher Boone discovers his neighbor's dog, a standard poodle named Wellington, has been murdered. So he sets out to discover who did it.

Christopher quickly becomes one of the most unique and fascinating characters you will meet. Haddon writes him with a rawness and matter-of-factness that could only come from years of working with autistic children. Christopher is complex but views the world in black and white, does not pity himself and does not elicit sympathy from the audience, either. Christopher knows he's different from most people but that's just the way it is. He's developed coping mechanisms and had reached a point in his life where he can be pretty comfortable. But as the story progresses, bigger problems unfold. In fact, we learn who killed Wellington half-way through the story, but at that point, it is far from over.

Haddon lets Christopher drench the story with an extremely personal first person POV (the book reads as if it is Christopher's journal) and includes tons of visual clues. There are heaps of run on sentences, footnotes, and nearly every paragraph begins with 'And'. At one point, Christopher is having a conversation at the train station that stretches over two pages in length, and each line beings with alternating 'And I said:/And he said:'. This was a bold choice by Haddon, and a noticeable one, but it seemed to fit with Christopher's character and only lended to the rhythm. Several lines are laugh-out-loud funny:

"And another good thing was that I helped Mother paint her room White With A Hint Of Wheat, except I got paint in my hair and she wanted to wash it out by rubbing shampoo on my head when I was in the bath, but I wouldn't let her, so there was paint in my hair for 5 days and then I cut it out with a pair of scissors."

This book seems to break almost all the grammatical rules I know, but Haddon is not a new writer and the story seemed to call for it. Very well handled novel, especially once you realize how badly it could have gone.
Five out of five stars and a tip of the hat to Mark Haddon.

Book Report: Almost Home

'Almost Home' by Jessica Blank took me only two days to read, because I couldn't put it down.

"Why would anyone choose to live on the streets? There is Eeyore, just twelve years old when she runs away from her privileged home, harboring a secret she's too ashamed to tell anyone. Rusty is a sensitive gay teen who winds up alone when his older boyfriend ditches him in Hollywood. Squid has gone through too many foster homes to count. There's Scabius, a delusional punk from Utah who takes the "me against the world" motto to dangerous extremes. And Critter is a heroin dealer with movie star looks and a vulnerable heart. Laura should be home studying, but she can't face another one of her mom's boyfriends. And then there's Tracy, the damaged thread that ties them all together, irrevocably changing each person's life she touches. This unlikely band of characters form their own dysfunctional family, complete with love and belonging, abuse and betrayal. Each will make their way home, wherever it may be."

This story opens out of Eeyore's view point, telling about her negligent home life and the older step-brother who molests her at night. School provides no relief--there she is criticized for maturing before the other girls. Cornered and humiliated after school one afternoon, she is picked up by Tracy, who has been hanging around in hopes of earning change. Tracy shows Eeyore what homeless life is like, how liberating it can be, but then disappears one morning leaving Eeyore to fend for herself.

Quickly, Eeyore runs into two older boys and their dog, a pit bull named Germ. She befriends Rusty and Squid and together, a new chapter is formed, this time, switching to Rusty's view point.

I enjoyed the criss-crossing of paths in this story, learning each character's back story and how they came to be in the place they were. Tracy, although the thread that ties them together, is not the main character. She vanishes and resurfaces throughout the story, sometimes to only one of the characters instead of the group.

While the character's stories are distinctly different from each other, the narrative voice remains the same. This disappointed me--I would have changed each teenager's cadence and mannerisms more than what Jessica did, but then again, I'm not as experienced as she is. Long run-on sentences and desolate adjectives compose the entire novel, lending to a sense of pain and longing and honesty. Several times I was surprised at the character's sense of clarity and self-awareness. From Critter's POV:

'It's weird, hearing what I need and knowing that it's just a lie, like wanting to be touched and having someone hit you. It still feels good even though you bleed. It's the best you can do. And sometimes it's enough: sometimes you settle, and you start to look forward to getting hit because at least someone's hand is on your face, at least there's something else touching you besides cold naked air, at least something makes your blood rise, and the tingling in your skin keeps you warm for a while. But then there are times when it turns into an insult, a mean joke that reaches into your ribs where you keep the buried shit, the shit you need, the shit you never say, and pulls it out and holds it up in front of you and everyone like dirty underwear. And everyone laughs but you can't, and you can't cry either, and you also can't stand there but they won't let you run and the hole in your ribs lets the air in and the bubble of it swells and swells until you pop.'

Most of these characters earned my sympathy, except the few who weren't really supposed to, but my favorite was Squid. Taken from a drugged-out mother and an abusive father, he'd been passed from stranger to stranger until he took his dog and left for something better. After years of being alone, Squid has no real hopes or dreams anymore, but instead, a burning desire to protect those who can't protect themselves.

'But Rusty's gone now and he didn't say where he was going. I know he's not used to being out here, and I didn't think he was the type to just leave. I've been wondering what he's gonna eat since this morning. How he'll find his way back here, no bread crumbs. And I keep trying to keep track of everything I did and said, in case I made him go away by accident. I can't stop. I lean over into Germ and listen to him snore, hoping it'll drown out all the other noise. At least Germ's not going anywhere. Nobody's gonna feed him but me.'

Twice, he physically stands up for the others, once for Rusty and once for Eeyore in a heartbreaking display of courage and compassion.

'Rusty slouches back behind my shoulder, chewing on his hand. At first Eeyore does too, and it's like there's two little groups, them on the curb and the three of us standing. I spread out my shoulders so there's room back there for Eeyore and Rusty both.'

Squid could be described as needy, although he never comes across that way to the other characters. But in his head, he talks about needing to keep people close, keeping friends close, so the sound of them downs out everything else and he has something positive to focus on.

'Eeyore's still got snot on her lip, but she doesn't say anything. Germ flops over on his side. No one talks. I lie down next to Germ, my back to them, and listen to him pant. After a second Rusty and Eeyore lie down too, first him, then her. My eyes are closed but I hear them. I keep my eyes shut, slow my breath so they'll think I'm asleep and the whole thing can be over. That noisy itchy feeling starts to creep up inside again, even though I'm not even by myself, not really. The car sounds outside layer on top of each other, building, and I brace myself for another night awake. I must be tired, though: before the noise can take over I pass out.'

There's lots to identify with in this story, and I don't know if that's pathetic on my part--after all, I'm not homeless--or a quality of Jessica's good writing. I'd recommend this book to others, and I'm surprised I found it in the bargain bin--it only printed in October. Very moving story, heartbreaking but fascinating, sure to give you something to think about.
Five out of five stars.

Book Report: A Ghost of a Chance

Not even mid-way through this book, I came up with the perfect description: tedious.

Peter Guttridge earned many high remarks about his British mystery novel: A Ghost of a Chance, one of those comparing him to Terry Prachett and Carl Hiaasen, which was a big influencing factor in buying the book. And indeed, Guttridge has a sharp wit and powerful one-liners, several of which had me chuckling. (First sentence: 'I screamed when my mobile phone rang.')

"Nick Madrid isn't exactly thrilled when his best friend in journalism-OK, his only friend in journalism-the Bitch of the Broadsheets, Bridget Frost, commissions him to spend a night in a haunted place on the Sussex Downs and live to tell the tale. Especially as living to tell the tale isn't made an urgent priority.

But Nick stumbles on a hotter story when he discovers a dead man hanging upside down from an ancient oak. Why was he killed? Is there a connection to the nearby New Age conference centre? Or to The Great Beast, the Hollywood movie about Aleister Crowley, filming down in Brighton?

New Age meets The Old Religion as Nick is bothered, bewildered but not necessarily bewitched by pagans, Satanists and a host of assorted metaphysicians. Seances, sabbats, a horse-ride from Hell and a kick-boxing zebra all come Nick's way as he obstinately tracks a treasure once in the possession of Crowley."

While obviously a master at handling enormously-casted whodunnits, I often felt very lost. Due to the nature of the protag and the plot itself, the scenery changes almost constantly and I'm left without a sense of place. Characters are introduced at a dizzying rate, but thankfully Guttridge seemed to predict that and added in prompts. The short sentences often made the narrative choppy and too simplistic for my tastes, however it worked well for action scenes:

"Going up and over was scary but quite exhilarating. Coming down on the other side was something else again. Cynthia hit the ground about a second before I did. for that second I was in airborne limbo. Then I crashed back down on to the saddle and the pain shot through my body. I never wanted to have children anyway."

I do indeed love Guttridge's humor though, and it was what kept me from giving up on the story. The characters are snarky, the situations beautifully refreshing and original--I've never (and never will again, most likely) read about a modern day chase on horseback. I'm not really one for whodunnits (something I can't and won't fault the author for), but if each story in this series is written as memorably as this one, I may one day be brave enough to have another go.

Four out of Five stars for originality and giggles.

Book Report: Bad Idea: A Novel (With Coyotes)

This is another book I could not put down, though by the end, it was almost too heavy for me--emotionally.

‘Bad Idea’ is a conglomeration between two brothers, one from Kansas City and one from Colorado Springs. This was just one of the ‘signs’ that told me I’d enjoy the story. I loved the hint of humor right in the title: Bad Idea: A novel (with coyotes). I was immediately interested. I read the blurb on the back—read about how the story was about a college-bound son on a road trip with his dad, his dad’s fiancé, and his best friend—and bought the book. It sat on my shelf for a few months because I’d left the spine facing the back and didn’t realize it was there. But once I started reading the music-artist inspired acknowledgments and attributes in the front pages, I knew I’d love it. Jeff and Todd Hafer have flare, clearly love what they do, and aren’t afraid to tell an honest story.

Griffin is the story’s protag, an 18 year old with some heavy emotional issues mostly due to his parent’s recent and ugly divorce. His view of the world is so dark and pessimistic that it rivals my own, and by the end of the first paragraph, I was hooked and loving it. I had no idea how much I would soon be able to identify with him.

The story opens with Key Life Lesson #1: "If you are going to grab an ostensibly dead coyote by the paws and attempt to drag him someplace, you should confirm the death first." While I found the incident hilarious and refreshingly original, by the end of the story I would learn its deeper meaning. Such is the way with all good fiction. Griff backtracks, describing how they head out of Kansas City, Kansas and head toward Topeka, where they will leave little brother Colby with an Aunt. There is a strong bond between the brothers, despite the harsh words Griff has lashed out with on more than one occasion. Reading his regret made me think of how cruel I was to my own brother years ago, and it made me identify that much more with the characters.

Next comes a somewhat confusing but spectacular moment on the side of the highway. Upon seeing what looks like a man having car troubles (a flat tire), the family pulls over and Griff and his best friend Cole head over to lend a hand. But a single description, ‘he was holding the tire iron like a baseball bat’ sends all alerts into hyper-drive. Cole notices but before the boys can move away, a second man jumps from behind the car and a short brawl ensues. But while Griff stands mostly stunned, Cole, with the efficiency of a Hollywood stunt man, takes out both older men. Nothing is ever made of this event, as the editor warns up front some scenes might not.

As the group travels on, Cole parts ways and eventually, Griff makes it to his own college and says goodbye to his dad and soon-to-be stepmother. He feels alone, like an outcast, with no desire to be popular or to even make friends. But a popular, older roommate prevents him from picking up old habits: vodka and pills and self-mutilation with a lighter. And here I thought this was a funny story.

I found myself wondering, close to the end, what’s the point to this story now that Griff’s at college? Wasn’t that the goal in the beginning? But I was entranced, caught in this character’s life-journey and feeling just a little spooked at how many times I could understand his pain. And I loved every word.

This story has no formal plot, nothing that could be measured through outside events or physical journeys. This is a story about healing. The climax comes in the form of a phone call from a girl Griff has loved for four years but never had the nerve to approach in a romantic way. The climax hurts, deeply, because Griff finally realizes that someone cares for him and worries for him. It stings as does alcohol in a wound—a critical part of healing.

This story does not end with sunshine and rainbows, but it ends with something even stronger: hope. After I finished, I had to put it aside and think (luckily I was some thousand feet in the air, looking down on a layer of cottony clouds—lemme tell you, there is no better place for thinking.).

This is another book I love enough to read again, and I will be just as moved then as I am now.
6 out of 5 stars

Book Report: Coiled in the Heart

'Coiled in the Heart' by Scott Elliot is a darkly quiet story that looms overhead and makes you shiver.

"Tobias Caldwell lives in a world balanced by the scales of grandeur and decay. The southern plantation he calls home has been the pride of the Caldwells since their settling there in the nineteenth century. As a boy, Tobias knew every crevice of the landscape, but he favored the creek to be his very own. By the time Tobias reached the age of seven, his father had begun to parcel off the land to new housing subdivisions, and the magical creek no longer belonged to Tobias alone. Soon they had neighbors, and Tobias was dispatched to meet a boy who was just his age. What Tobias encountered was an unruly, mean-spirited boy named Ben Wilson and his twin sister, Merritt. Ben's relentless cruelty brings malice into Tobias' good-natured heart, and he leads Ben to the creek, where the tree roots snarl and the cottonmouth snake coils itself for camouflage. Elliot's debut builds a magnetic love story between Tobias and Merritt that is heady with yearning and laden with guilt for the truths left untold."

The remainder of the story, chronicling Tobia's movement into adulthood and his developing affection for Merritt, bounces between present time and past. Lots of subtleties lend to a subconscious feeling of danger and evil, and the theme of the serpent remains strong throughout. Without purple prose, Elliot deftly portrays southern scenery that leaves lasting images in the reader's mind--a rare and conspicuous talent.

This story starts with an interesting, promising set-up but quickly becomes about human relationships and emotion. It is the quietness of this story that kept me reading, the details so fine they were simply there and real:

"I walk across the back porch, let the screen door clap clap clap shut behind me, and move out across the grass toward one of the houses Bank and his crew are in the process of dismantling. It stands before me, an enemy soldier, its wounds strangely enhanced by the moonlight and the cool air.
Inside this demi-house I take up a sledgehammer one of the workmen has left behind. I feel its weight in my hand and carry it upstairs and let it throw me into a blind spin. I spin counterclockwise. Sledgehammer extended, I let the weight spin me through the house until the sledgehammer finds a wall or a window or until I'm too tired to continue.
Glass shatters. Sledgehammer on brick makes a dull thud. Bricks chip, dent, crack. Tiny white sparks appear to enjoy their split seconds of life in the cool air. Drywall explodes chalky white. Boards splinter, break, or hold fast to stop my spinning."

Place and character have come together in 'Coiled in the Heart', creating a haunting story that will speak in whispers for a long time to come.

Four out of five stars.

Book Report: Anatomy of Fear

Seems I've hit a run of great books, and 'Anatomy of Fear' by Jonathan Santlofer is no exception.

This is another book I picked because first, the title and cover grabbed me, and second, the plot grabbed me. I never even opened this book, which is a shame, because I would have read it months ago. 'Anatomy of Fear' is not a regular old novel, you see. It's got pictures.

Santlofer has created an experience I've never seen before: what he dubs 'A Novel of Visual Suspense'. This is not a graphic novel, mind you, but more simply a great crime story sprinkled with illustrations that compliment his unique character, Nate Rodriguez, a highly talented (and somewhat physic) police sketch artist. About half-way through this book I learned it was a series, but that only left me excited to read more. Nate is a likeable guy: honest, single, a racial minority, still bows to his grandmother and joins her every week for dinner. He's got a scared past and still carries a great deal of pain from his father's murder. He's smart, having graduated at the top of his classes and earned a double major in psychology. Plus, he's got the incredible gift of being able to pull images from victims--details they don't think they even remember seeing--and creating sketches so life-like, one out of every two leads to an arrest. He calls it transference , the ability to pull an image from someone else's head into his own. That's where the visual concept of this book comes in: as Nate draws, the reader can see his progress, see the stunning quality Nate can produce from an Ebony pencil and some paper.

In this story, Nate joins detective Terri Russo on a case in which the killer, a white supremacist who takes his deadly orders directly from God, leaves his own drawings at the crime scenes (also printed in the book). Nate turns to his Puerto Rican grandmother, a santera ("a sort of neighborhood priestess"), for help. Together, they come up with drawings that point to a suspect closer to home than any of them have imagined. Plot devices include a trail of red herring clues that threaten to implicate Nate, overbearing FBI agents and a female-in-peril chase scene at the end, while the romantic relationship that develops between Nate and Terri leaves room for more to come.

The writing style is not fancy, but is the dialogue that moves this story. My eyes tumbled over the pages, able to hear the voices with exceptional clarity. Being able to see the pictures made me feel like a part of the story, able to react to the images right along with the characters. This story has a massive ensemble, particularly when the FBI merges with the local police teams, but Santlofer handled them well and paid attention to all the major players. He is clearly a passive voice in his own story, giving the characters the spotlight they deserve. He's also done his homework, giving Nate the ability to read people's faces and know the names of all the facial muscles and what each movement means. I look forward to reading more.

5 out of 5 stars!

Book Report: Being Dead

Being Dead, written by British novelist Jim Crace, reads like the low rumbling of thunder under a cloud-darkened sky. Quite simply, the story is about being dead: It begins with a murder. Celice and Joseph, are found dead in the sand dunes, left that way when they are set upon by the murderer who beats them to death with a rock. From that moment forward, this remarkably written book by Jim Crace becomes less about murder and more about death. Alternating chapters move back in time from the murder in hourly and two-hourly increments. As the narrative moves backward, we see Celice and Joseph make the small decisions about their day that will lead them inexorably towards their own deaths. Eventually we learn about their first meeting, and that this is not the first time tragedy has struck them in this idyllic setting.

In other chapters the narrative moves forward. Celice and Joseph are on vacation and nobody misses them until they do not return. Thus, it is six days before their bodies are found. Crace describes in minute detail their gradual return to the land with the help of crabs, birds, and the numerous insects that attack the body and gently and not so gently prepare it for the dust-to-dust phase of death. Celice and Joseph would have been delighted with the description: she was a zoologist and he was an oceanographer, and they spent their lives with their eyes to the microscope, observing the phenomena of life and death. Some readers might find this gruesome, but the facts of death are told in such glorious prose that these descriptions in no way detract from the enjoyment of the book.

This story is very much passive, even when set in 'current' time, but that (while noticeable) did not bother me. The quietness of the story leeches through the pages and into your chest. I felt sorrow, I felt wronged, I felt disgust for my own fellow humans that we live in a world where such cruelty is not an exception but an everyday occurrence. Joesph and Celice's story it bittersweet and poetic, a story about love as much as death. Bold sentences ("It would be comforting, of course, to believe that humans are more durable than other animals, to think that by some miracle his hand and her lower leg remained unspoiled, enfolding and enclosed, that his one fingertip was still amongst her baby hairs, that her ankle skin was firm and pastel-grained, and that her toenails were still berry-red and manicured. But death does not discriminate. All flesh is flesh.") provoke introspection and debate with one's self.

This story is heavy with geological descriptions, and as I am not familiar with beaches and dunes, some of the meaning was lost on me. But I enjoyed the story and read till the end, curious and needed to know what the revelation was, what I should learn and take away from this story. I think the lessons are sprinkled throughout, and it is the entire experience that resonates its values.

Good read, but don't expect to feel good afterward.
4 out of 5 stars.

Book Report: The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint

Quite simply, this is the best book you've never heard of.

This book, a first novel by Brady Udall, is everything the critics praise it to be. The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint is exactly that: a heartbreaking, breathtaking life-journey told through half-Apache boy, Edgar. His story starts like this:

"If I could tell you one thing about my life it would be this: when I was seven years old the mailman ran over my head. As far as formative events go, nothing else comes close."

Don't let the easy-tone fool you, this is no humorous story. Through the grace of God, orphaned Edgar survives the skull-shattering accident and after months in a coma, awakes in a run-down nursing home with three other crippled old men in all stages of lucidity. The hospital turns uproarious; no one thought the boy with the lumpy head would ever wake up, let alone be able to function. Despite being plagued by seizures, Edgar learns to talk and walk and read and though he never masters the art of writing, he earns quite a reputation as the miracle boy. Trapped in a government-funded, dilapidated excuse for a nursing home, Edgar knows no better life. He develops a routine, builds less-than-friendly relationships with his roommates and the nurses, and in his view, is treated like a king.

But good things don't last forever. A distant relative, an uncle, is located and informed of Edgar's situation. Despite having never even known of Edgar's existence, the arthritic old man, who is a janitor at a boarding school for Native Americans, agrees to take Edgar so that he may attempt to have a normal life.

Uprooted from the only home he's ever known, Edgar is tossed into the hell hole that is Willie Sherman. Upon arrival, he is beaten by both male and female classmates before being doused with lice powder. Each day is progressively worse as he finds himself the target of Nelson, the school's overweight bully, who's creativity for suffering is endless. The only way Edgar can cope is to make himself invisible, never talking in class and always skirting the perimeter of the play-yard at recess. Soon Nelson puts Edgar to use, having him steal and spy and do dirty work that none of the teachers would ever believe Edgar even capable of. Eventually Edgar befriends another boy, Cecil, who is steady and calming in his near-silent presence. Still, Nelson and his gang dish out beatings at every free moment. The abuse is so bad that Cecil vows to kill Nelson. The following summer, a series of events lands Cecil in juvie and Edgar on the path to religious righteousness under the supervision of a pair of Mormons-- and ultimately, to a dysfunctional foster home in Utah.

But the story is only half done.

Udall is a master of words and emotions, always supplying the right word in the right place to give this novel a kinetic, unstoppable feel. Most of the story is internal, told through thoughts and actions, and Edgar's presence haunts the pages and seeps into your heart as he suffers and grows. The descriptions are beautiful and provide 3-D images, scents and sounds.
Some examples:

"Now that I have pulled down all the shades and switched off the furnace, the house is dim and cool and quiet as a tomb. Outside it's a clear day, a bleached winter sun glittering on the hard crust of snow and burning inside each icicle like a flame."

"That afternoon it began to snow. It was late February and we'd had a week of warm, blustery weather. Today, though, the sky had gone gray and flat and by the time I snuck out of the house that night there was nearly a foot of powdery snow on the ground. It continued to come down, the black, deadened air filled with tiny crystals of ice that fell with such a delicate slowness that the houses and humped forms of cars and shrubs and the glittering, skeletal trees seemed to rise up gently into the night sky.
I practically skied down the hill, shooshing through the powder, which swirled up in curtains of sparkling dust. "

This story is drenched in such visual, lyrical descriptions.

While some reviews claim this is a funny story, I cannot agree. There are delightful moments of reprieve wherein the collection of surrounding characters cause irony and chaos, but Edgar's tale is morose and emotional. Through it all, I did not want it to end. I loved every word, every quiet turn and bump, and the end had me very close to tears. This is the one book I own that I would save from a savage house fire. I recommend 'Edgar Mint' to everyone and give it ten thousand brightly shining stars.

Book Report: Pest Control

Pest Control by Bill Fitzhugh
Two words: LOVED IT.

Poor Bob Dillon can't catch a break. In the opening pages, he quits his job with a professional insect extermination company when the boss tells him to triple the amount of poisonous insecticide. This greatly clashes with Bob's position that humans are polluting the earth and making it unsafe, let alone creating more tolerant bugs. So after shoving the end of his sprayer up the boss's nose to make his point, Bob begins his trek home wondering how he will break the news to his wife.

At the same time, Klaus, a professional assassin for hire, shoots and kills one of Africa's evil tyrants during a celebration parade. But Klaus does not kill just anybody. He only kills those that deserve it. And forcing a population into extreme poverty definately fit the bill.

Bob makes it home, where he himself is in a state of poverty, and takes comfort in his bugs. He keeps them in aquariums and even has an entire room devoted to them. They were rare breeds, mostly killers (appropriately named Assassin bugs) and used in Bob's experiments: he wants to create the ultimate killing machine, an all-natural solution to the pesticide problem. His wife, while loving and wanting to be supportive, is realistic: they have a daughter and bills to pay and cannot spare to have Bob stay at home all day playing with his bugs. She wants him to find another job, still using chemicals, just until he's able to take his dream public.

Meanwhile, Marcel and Jean, two middle men for people who wanted someone dead but didn't want to do it themselves, have a problem. They need to find a killer, and quickly. They contact Klaus, who turns them down in a bout of reoccurring depression as well as the kill doesn't fit his moral code. Desperate, Marcel and Jean take to placing a discrete add in the newspaper. It reads: Professional Exterminator needed ASAP. $50K in a weekend! Major pest difficulty. Send resume to: 251 Kavkastrasse, Zurich 2VA-6P2. Pros only.

Bob, worried about his future and with only a few dollars to his name, lets a friend buy some beer at the local bar. Bob imagines how great his life will become as soon as he breeds the perfect Assassin bug. But he respects Mary's wishes and together with his friend, they scan the wanted ads.

Where, OF COURSE, they find the PERFECT job. Bob pulls on his 'Exterminator' hat and smiles as his friend snaps a picture, then off it goes with his application for the job.

And that, my friends, is just the first 55 pages.

This book is a wild ride. The action is vivid, the characters are real and memorable, the irony perfect and deftly played. I rooted for Bob the entire time, the poor bug-breeder caught in the nasty world of professional assassins and just not able to catch a break. I laughed out loud quite frequently and really LOVED getting lost in this story. The twists are outrageous, the dialogue audible, and the grubby city of New York springs off the pages. A handful of subplots are woven together so tightly I can't imagine this ending any other way. If I ever were to read a book a second time, this would certainly be one of them.

I give this 6 out of 5 stars. One of my favorites!!

Book Report: The Boy Who Couldn't Die

In a matter of hours, I read William Sleator's 'The Boy Who Couldn't Die'.
I think I'd sort of like my hours back.

The premise is grabbing: Ken is a 16 year old boy in New York who recently survived his best friend's death, a gruesome plane crash resulting in a closed-casket funeral. Ken, deeply disturbed, decides that death is ugly and he does not want to endure anything like what Rodger did. So he goes to see Cheri Buttercup, a sort of witch who claims she can make him invulnerable to pain and death for fifty dollars. She preforms a ritual which nearly kills Ken--a necessary part of the procedure, she explains. Cheri has taken Ken's soul from his body and hidden it, and now his physical body is immortal.
And it is. Ken experiments, eventually winding up on an island in the Caribbean hunting for sharks, hoping to further prove that he cannot die. While there, he meets a young local girl named Sabine, who steals his heart.
But of course, nothing is as it seems. Ken has horrible dreams. He confides in Sabine about his immortality, and she urges him to set things right. Cheri did not simply hide Ken's soul; she has turned him into an 'astral zombie' and is using his soul to do her bidding. When Ken confronts her, she demands fifty thousand dollars to replace his soul- which is hidden in a location known only to her.
With Sabine's help, Ken is able to decode his dreams and locate his soul himself--in an underwater cave near the Adirondack mountains. It is also winter, and a sheet of ice covers the lake. Oh, and Cheri has placed a guardian in front of the cave, which they will have to defeat first. And they are also on a time limit due to the small amount of air available in their scuba diving tanks. AND even if they make it, they will still have to find the hole in the ice that they dove through. *deep breath*

Great idea, poor delivery. Ken was unlikable, snotty and self-absorbed. Sabina was a flat character whose main purpose was to provide answers. Ken's parents were virtually non-existent. Too much thinking, not enough doing. Minimal attention to detail, other than the mechanics of scuba diving. No sub-plots, no other points of view. I was bored, tricked once more by the intriguing title and pretty cover.
But to Sleator's credit, the book is intended for teenagers.
Two stars out of five.

Book Report: To Dance With the White Dog

To Dance With the White Dog by Terry Kay
This short, intense novel took me only two days to read, but I'll remember it forever.

When his beloved wife of fifty-seven years dies, no one knows what will become of elderly Sam Peek. How can he live all alone on his farm with no one to talk to, and no one to look after him? And when Sam begins talking about a pure white dog that only he can see, his children think that age and grief have finally taken their toll on their father's mind. But whether the dog is real or imagined, Sam Peek is about to show everyone how much life he still has in him....

Sprinkled with simple yet clear and artistic descriptions ("The day was bright, the sun had untangled from the trees and was in its stretch across the day, and on the highway nearby, cars rushed into town.") the scenery springs to life. Dialogue is real and imperfect, and great care is given to describe the mysterious white dog ("There was the dog, leaping gracefully in the field beside the road, a white blur, like a burning star falling and rising, falling and rising.") It is no wonder this story was brought to the big screen.

With heartfelt emotion and touching grace, Sam and White Dog will dance from the pages of this bittersweet novel and into your heart, as they share the mysteries of life in a warm and moving final rite of passage.

Very sweet and poignant, with a heartbreaking end that lingers.
Four stars out of five.

Book Report: Intent to Harm

Let me just start this report by saying, "Thank God I'm finished."

Intent to Harm is a monster of a book, weighing in at 32 chapters, 343 pages, and 1.5 pounds (hardcover). Likable and honorable, police officer Toby Parkman narrates this story about his time on a task force dedicated to capturing a notorious and much-feared rapist. An apparent master of concealment and escape, the rapist stalks the intended victims in their own homes for days before raping and beating them. The tension increases for Parkman, his family, and his closest friends as the weeks become months and the rapist moves closer to their homes. The depiction of the tedium and frustration of actual police duty (false leads and long hours on stakeout, punctuated only by moments of hope or real achievement) is interspersed with vignettes that underscore the horror of the rapist's actions and the urgency of the police work. This slice-of-life first novel by a police reservist rings true, up to the anticlimactic ending, which after the lengthy investigation leaves the reader feeling slightly let down but reluctant to leave.

The author, Stan Washburn, served as a police reserve officer in California--and it shows. The story flips between dry, fast-moving action scenes that make me feel like I'm reading a police report, to stunningly intense and frightening scenes as the soon-to-be victims prepare for bed and endure very violent acts of rape. The book starts with one such scene and I got goosebumps immediately. One of the most chilling details is how the rapist enters the home days before hand, scouting his prey without any detection. These women come home to find things slightly out of place--in one place it was described as if everything in the house had been shaken gently. This becomes the rapists signature, and it is handled with respect. I'll be checking my house carefully for a while.

A 'moral' of this book is to highlight our (people as a society) lack of action to possible trouble. At one point, a male college student looks out his window and sees a man looking in his neighbor's house, but goes back to his homework with the attitude that the woman deserved to be spied upon. She was raped that night. At another point, the victim manages to scream once as she was being raped, but the neighbor that heard it figured it was just a nightmare. How many times have I see something suspicious and shrugged it off? I'll certainly think twice before doing so now.

The protag himself comes across as rather robotic, despite an honorable effort to show a range of emotions. Maybe it's because Toby is a cop, or maybe it's because he's a man, but very little thought or feeling is mixed in with his job in times of action. There are plenty of 'down times' where he fears for his wife and family, and even all the victims (fifty four by the end of the book), but nearly all of his thinking is strategic and explanatory. I happened to appreciate most of this, as it's information I can use for my own writing, but when reading to simply enjoy the story, I was sometimes very bored. And a note about chase scenes--I could not have been more confused when Toby and the other officers are trying to tail the suspect in their cars. People are turning every which way, all trying to avoid each other, and all the while they communicate to each other by radio, using badge numbers instead of names. On the same note, the minor characters blended together very badly early in the story--at one point, I had no idea which family member was the daughter or the mother or the neighbor. They had very shallow personalities.

As much as I struggled with this book, I also enjoyed it. The climax drew me in and there was no way I could put it down without finding out if the rapist would be caught. If you've got a LOT of time to kill, and possibly some pain reliever for a headache, this is a great book that will give you the creeps.
Two and a half stars out of five.

Book Report: Younger

I never planned on reading this book. In fact, I read the first few pages and decided I would not continue, as it is exactly the kind of book I thought I hated: Chick lit in all its glory.

But 'Younger' by Pamela Redmond Satran turned out to be a very enjoyable read, one I finished in a record three days. Alice, a 44-year-old divorcee with a daughter, passes for a 20-something and searches for the fountain of youth when she meets a handsome man also in his 20s. The white lie Alice tells Josh gets her thinking that if no one asks her age, she doesn't have to tell. So she applies for a job she had briefly before becoming a full-time mom-and gets it. Meanwhile, Josh is falling head over heels for Alice, who's just way cooler than girls his age. He figures she's about twenty-nine-and for the first time since she was twenty-nine, or possibly ever, Alice feels that life is ripe with possibility. Unfortunately one possibility is that she's gonna get caught.

This handsome man, quickly introduced in the second or third chapter, had me cooing out loud. Josh is perhaps too perfect: always saying the right thing, his image loosely described as having long dark hair and a great body. But he is only a fraction of Alice's journey, and I always yearned to read more about him.

Practically everything—from fashions in pubic hair to telephone technology—has changed since Alice was a single career girl, but a lot remains the same: the office bitch still steals underlings' ideas, and people still desire the contradictory poles of truth and illusion. Satran weaves a sparkly thread of fantasy through her solid social realism, writing precisely what Alice tells her boss readers want: "a book that's going to keep them awake beyond half a page at the end of a long involved day."

Each character is vibrant and strong, bringing something of their own to the table which usually made life harder for Alice. Scenes are tense and colorful, motives are clear and fresh. The first person narrative ran smoothly and quickly and kept me turning the pages. It provided an insight so deep, I found myself reacting to the story's events right along with Alice, and those events stuck with me after I'd put the book down. Like a truly good story should, it made me think and apply Alice's lessons to myself. Days later, I'm still seeing scenes in my head. Although I wished it had a slightly happier ending, the one it has fits it nicely, and I am honestly glad I read this book.

Challenging the adage that the truth will set you free, 'Younger' is a hilarious and insightful story that proves that you're only as young as you feel.

Book Report: Flinch

I picked up this book and two others by Robert Ferrigno because they passed all three of my tests: all had a snappy title, an intriguing plot, and great first sentences. See Flinch, page 1: "Yeah, and I'm the fucking walrus." Great, I thought as I tossed it in my basket, a male author with a sense of humor. Can't wait.

Jimmy Gage is the protag, a journalist for a raunchy tabloid magazine, whose heart is less than gold. He's got a violent streak in him which he uses to keep justice and fairness where he thinks it is due (and where it usually IS due). Told through backstory (probably in an earlier installment to the series), Jimmy has taken revenge on a physically huge evil-doer named Macklen, leaving the man unable to use his legs due to an ill-fired bullet to the spine. While Jimmy did not actually pull the trigger, he was responsible for the damage but escaped the incident without being seen.

Now, a year or so later, parallel story lines run side by side as Jimmy hunts for the Eggman, a serial killer who, after Jimmy's attention in the magazine, has started writing him boastful letters. When pictures of the Eggman's victims turn up at Jimmy's brother's house, the game is on and boy is it cruel. They live a real-life version of 'flinch', a childhood game they would play where one brother would swing a meat cleaver at the other's head, then they would switch. Whoever flinched first lost the game, and the rule is still the same today. This smart who-dunnit is edgy and feral and I'm still not certain the innocent are truly innocent.

All this is backed by a rollicking subplot in which Rollo, Jimmy's young filmmaker friend, is being hunted for selling a memory chip-which Jimmy stole from Macklen pre-story. Rollo is a good guy and seems to be Jimmy's only true friend, and in turn the storylines merge when Jimmy is forced to protect Rollo. I don't think Rollo lived up to the character he could have been, but when the story is cast so largely, I can see where a sidekick might get overlooked.

This story is wild. The cast is outrageous and glittery: some are 400 pound wrestlers; a woman detective who's addicted to work, alcohol and Jimmy; Jimmy's cosmo-surgeon brother with a heart of ice; even two movie addicts whose appearance in the story last less than five pages. The story is visual if head-spinning and while there is no one thing really wrong with it, I felt that I could put it down at anytime and would not be bothered if I never finished. The climax picked up speed and was cleverly designed and was perhaps my favorite part of the whole book. It seems Robert is a master of shiny packages-designing settings and bodies to fill his pages, but could have spared more time *inside* their heads. See page 301, after a bloody fight with his brother and the killer is revealed: 'Jimmy stood up. He was aware of Holt and Desmond nearby, but didn't need their help anymore. "Game's over, Jonathan."

An epilogue fogs the clean-cut revelation, I guess to leave the door open for the next installment. There were some great lines of dialogue in this story, but overall I was a little let down. Lots of flashbacks, marked by italic font. Good book, not great, but worth the read for it's uniqueness and ability to braid so many ideas together. 3 stars.

Book Report: Lost Echoes

I just finished reading ‘Lost Echoes’ by Joe Lansdale and I couldn’t wait to tell someone how pleased I was with it. The story is about Harry Wilkes, a man who, possibly due to a childhood illness, can now experience visions of brutal deaths upon hearing an auditory trigger. This story explores two fascinating conditions: Synesthesia, the ability to perceive one sense as another (i.e., hear the color blue), and audiochronology, the (now debunked) theory that sound can be trapped in objects such as pottery, or in Harry's case, 'The ability to hear terror and horror in sounds'. For Harry, the entire world becomes a minefield. Slamming doors or the jiggle of a toilet seat lid or even driving over potholes all have the potential to trigger incapacitating, gruesome, and haunting visions. As an adult, he turns to alcohol as a means of coping. He becomes a recluse, keeping only one childhood friend, Joey, who is the type of friend anyone would be better off without. Harry even covers his apartment in egg carton and cardboard, a make-shift insulation against the horrors of his own home.

But Harry’s world begins to change the night he meets Tad, a fellow alcoholic with some impossibly smooth self-defense moves. The two find a likeness in each other; a pained past and a lonely, downward-spiraling path of self-depreciation. They forge a friendship based on honesty that blooms into so much more: Tad becomes Harry’s mentor and in turn, Harry becomes the son Tad lost years ago.

Meanwhile, Harry’s life gets complicated when the town beauty shows an interest in him. They date, and despite Talia’s tendency to treat Harry as a lap dog, he enjoys the sex and the feeling of a pretty girl on his arm. Between lust and Tad’s teachings, Harry begins to lose his state of constant fear. He no longer worries about unfamiliar places and the horrible things that could have happened there. He begins to relax, and even de-insulates his apartment.

But true peace never stays long, and at the midpoint of this book, Harry’s visions return at a most inopportune time. When he thinks he sees (via vision) Talia’s father kill another man, a trip to jail is just the start.

Enter: Kayla, Harry’s childhood sweetheart-cum-policewoman. She believes in his visions (partially due to motives of her own) and when no charges are pressed, she continues to support Harry by investigating the town’s past. Then, when Joey turns up dead in Harry’s apartment, he, Kayla and Tad ban together in an interesting, original pursuit of justice that kept me captivated till the end.

This book was never boring, but the climax had me engrossed and loving every minute. Tad turned out to be a very memorable character who had my sympathy and support the entire time. In true sidekick, underdog fashion, he stole the show and I adored it. The ending of this book truly does pay off for everything preceding it and while I fear giving away too much (because everyone should read this book), I just have to comment that I’ll never forget the image of Winston, a cat shit-eating Great Dane, standing on the roof of Harry’s car, thereby locking poor Tad in the trunk and ruining Operation: Rescue Harry.

This book is amazing, with an eye-catching appearance and plot. It is half literary journey as Harry discovers himself, then it morphs into one of the best action/suspense stories I’ve ever read. Intense, poetic prose (page 244: 'Darkness flapped through his skull, dragging damp wings.') in two to three page chapters makes this a page turner anyone would be challenged to put down. I give Lost Echoes five stars and a standing ovation for its collection of unforgettable, real characters and the hardships they overcome.

Book Review: The Dream Hunter

Just finished reading Sherrilyn Kenyon's The Dream Hunter, the first book in her Dark Hunter series. From her website:

"Sired by the gods of sleep, nightmares and dreams, we are the children of Mist (and at times human mothers).

"Traditionally called the Oneroi, we are what protect the humans, Apollites, and immortals while they slumber. We are the Dream Warriors. The ones who battle the Skoti Daimons who drain the energy, dreams and life from sleepers, as well as provide highly erotic dreams to those who catch their fancy.

"During the light of day, we walk among the humans as either humans or as unknown phantoms. And whenever human eyes happen upon us, they immediately glance away without registering our presence (unless we will it otherwise).

"Most of us are devoid of emotions (except for pain). Those who have been cursed to no emotions can only feel while in a dream state with a human or immortal host. But therein lies the danger--some of us come to crave emotions like a drug.

"Instead of being observers and protectors, they become dream instigators- controllers of the host. Should the evil Skotos continue to drain his victim, madness will descend and threaten us all. Hence the creation of a Dream-Hunter. Certain members of the Oneroi have been chosen to patrol the Skoti and Renegades, and ensure they do not prey upon those who sleep."

In this story, Arik is a Dream Hunter who has fallen for the beautiful Dr. Megeara Kafieri. Driven by the need to honor her father's memory, she hunts for the lost city of Atlantis with a ensemble of miscellaneous minor characters. Arik is drawn to Megeara because of her vivid dreams and pure, unbridled emotions. He becomes addicted to her, so much that he makes a deal with Hades: Arik can live as a mortal human for two weeks (and thereby be closer to the object of his obsession) but in exchange, he must return to Hades with her soul.

I must admit, I bought this book from a grocery store on an impulse- I saw the picture of the hottie on the cover and couldn't resist. But I think I learned my lesson. First page, third sentence: "The hot sun caressed her tanned skin while the fierce breeze whipped her plain white dress against her body."

I don't think I need to comment on that.

It's this soapy, melodramatic feminism that drowns what is otherwise an intriguing, original story. I finished the story because of Arik, because Sherrilyn obviously knows the formula for a compelling hero: a handsome man with a tortured past who will sacrifice himself for love. But the entire story was too formulatic. No surprises, everything was just as you'd expect in a romance. I just wish I'd known it was a romance when I bought it. (Nothing is quite as embarrassing as reading a steamy sex scene while on the elliptical at the gym.)

If this story had been written as the masculine action-adventure story it is begging to be, I would be more willing to overlook the jarring head-hopping, the melodramatic protagonist, and the cookie-cutter plot. There are some great moments in this book (some great fight scenes and a wicked banter session between Arik and his 'brother') that get overshadowed by rest of this Greece-set romance. This is one story that might be better off as a movie- if only for the chance to drool over the actors for a couple of hours. (Viggo Mortensen, anyone?)

As always, my blog is just my opinion. Until next time,

me

Book Review: Panic

This morning I finished 'Panic' by Jeff Abbott. What a ride!

This book stars Evan Casher, a young film maker who journeys home to find his mother murdered and his own life in danger. Alone, without anyone to trust, Evan finds himself on the run- nothing in his life as he thought it was. There are secret files to be found, high-speed chases to be had, cold-blooded killers to fear, bullets to dodge, and government agents to mistrust. Evan crosses both state and country borders, travelling from Austin to New Orleans to Miami and to London. Bombs explode, people die, secret lives are uncovered, and questions are raised. And did I mention the alligators?

Evan is cut off from the world he once knew and thrust into one of danger and misconception within the first seven pages. I could feel the weariness that took hold, the distrust Evan had for everyone that tried to get to him. He was stuck in the middle of a deadly tug-of-war between the government and Jargo, the leader of the Deeps: a group of spies/assassins that cannot be caught. Great detail went into setting up both the story's architecture and the character's backstories. It all tied together very nicely in the end, and several times I had to smile at how I'd been caught by surprise. 'Panic' has some smart twists and turns, truly living up to its name. There are some stunningly visual action sequences- particularly a foot chase through the zoo and a high-speed car chase down a busy highway. Evan, though never shown as weak, comes out of this journey a changed man. He loses his family but gains a new one. He finds himself the star of his own documentary, and I doubt that any projects he pursues after this will live up to his own life story.

I've never been a fan of political stories, as I know little about warring countries and hierarchies of power. Reading the 'big secret' in this story mostly went over my head, but the climax was still very enjoyable (and bloody). All the ends were tied up with satisfaction and I was able to completely lose myself in the story.

I'd love to check out more books by Jeff in the future. His writing is strong and masculine, the style is clear and vivid, and the characters were three-dimensional and enjoyable. Very good book.

Only a week and a half until my vacation!!
me

How Much is Too Much (Or, Falling Out of Fandom)

I think I've officially fallen out of fandom. It kinda hurts, too. A friend sent me a letter of comment for Obsession and as typical per her, she pointed out one thing she liked along with one thing she didn't, which was, and I quote: my developing 'trend' of writing great angst without any comfort. And she's not the only one who was disappointed- two others noticed it too. Apparently I build up really great hurt Winchester but don't follow through, don't have any payoff.

So I tried not to get emotional and figure out *why* I do it. I know it's true. I think one reason is that I'm afraid to turn the Winchesters into crying little girls. I think another reason is my compost has changed. I no longer read fanfiction. I watch movies- and watch with a critical eye for plot. I read books that are heavy on the action. I read books on how to write. All of these things (generally) follow the same rule: as soon as the climax is over, so is the story. Wrap it up quickly, in the next ten minutes or few pages. Tie up your lose ends then you run, *run* off stage! If the action is over, no one cares anymore.

Fanfiction is written with the sole purpose of breaking that rule. In fanfiction, the audience gets to see what is denied them on screen- an emotional bonding between two heterosexual male characters. I was told that I used to be good at that. Maybe I was. But have I been taking writing too seriously now that I've started a novel? Have I been following the so-called rules so closely that I've forgotten what people *really* want? Are there really two separate audiences: one for action and one for emotional development? If so, can they be bridged?

This bit of criticism was needed. It tells me that I need to slow down, not run my story on high-octane rocket fuel all the time. Let the characters breathe, let them have emotions and wrestle with them.

Just as soon as I finish bashing my protag.
me

Dreams, Hope and Trust

First, let me just say something- a disclaimer, if you will.

I like to believe in signs, but because it's fun and more interesting than not. For example, walking into the grocery store the other day, I nearly stepped on a dead bird. Now, that has got to mean something, doesn't it? Seeing a dead bird? Doesn't that hold some sort of influence for the rest of my day? I like to pretend it does- even if I make quite the stretch of the imagination.

So two nights ago, I had a dream that FOR ONCE, was not about the dogs in my kennels escaping. That in itself means something, people. I am unable to escape the responsibilities of my job, not on the weekends, not on the holidays, not in my sleep. At any given moment, I am in charge of any given number of lives; beloved pets left in my care by owners just as neurotic as me. I take that very seriously. Those animals have needs, and I must meet them. Not just keep them fed and watered- but also keep them happy and exercised. Managing a kennel is one of those jobs that can make you very happy, but it will also consume you to the point of complete burnout. How many years can you live, eat, and breathe 'dog'?? Apparently, for me, the answer is 4 and a half. I would love to have a job that ends when I walk out the door.

But anyway, back to my dream. I think I met my 'horse'- the creature that I dreamed up to symbolize my Writing Subconscious. She was a monster of a thing, with a huge broad neck and forehead much like the Chinese Tang Dynasty Horse. Her fur was a soft gray, her mane cut short. Her name was Libby, though I can't say how I know this. She came to me, walked up and lowered her head, pressing her forehead to my chest. I immediately loved her, even though she was most definitely NOT the creature of beauty I had hoped for, and I scratched her cheeks, the sides of her neck, rubbed her forehead and the soft, warm felt of her nose as she lip-nibbled at me.

And that was the entire dream. I woke up and knew that seeing this odd horse meant something- it HAD to- because I just don't have dreams like that. Ever. I think Libby came to me because of my slow progress with my novel, to reward me for hiding in the bathroom at work and writing when I should be cleaning. That day, the day after my dream, I figured out what my story is really about. I know the sequence of events for the first chapter, the motives of my antags, and I have a loose idea of how the universe will run. The details are foggy and slippery and I'm sure things will change (again), but I feel a sense of relief now. I'm thinking about the story nearly all the time, in a proud way. The bug of obsession that has been feeding Caroline has made its way back to me, after many long weeks of inactivity. (And no, there is not just ONE bug, Car. We each have one, and I am going to help you find yours again!)

So I'm signing off on a note of hope. I think that as creatures of imaginiation and creativity, writing truly is something that happens in cycles. If one were to live in a fantasy world all the time, they would find themselves in a straight-jacket among padded walls. Life demands priority. But even when you aren't inching your way towards a word-count goal, you can still be active in the story-telling. You can still examine your ideas, chew on them, twist them up and smooth them out and see if they are truly the best or only way to go. Going back into writing after days of not writing IS like plunging into cold water- but if you don't take a breath and jump, someone will come along and push you in. ;)
me

Book Review: Lord Vishnu

This morning I finished reading 'Lord Vishnu's Love Handles: A Spy Novel (Sort Of)' by Will Clarke. I gotta say, I'm gonna miss it.

This book had it all: an alcoholic, hypochondriac protagonist who is either going crazy or becoming a psychic. When he starts seeing a blue man in an orange sheet, the shit really hits the fan. A secret government project inducts him into their services, where he learns that his 'abilities' are indeed real, and worth money. An insane cast of characters drives this book, including vampire-wannabees and goth-twins Sage and Rat, who have the ability to become one person. But the reason I bought this book was for the back flap, where Will's picture is displayed above the blurb: 'Will Clarke doesn't want you to know where he lives or what he's doing next.' I knew immediately that I would love the story.

And I did. The sheer absurdity of it gripped me and allowed me to lose myself. I laughed out loud every day. The first person POV sucked me in. Travis is 200% masculine and even admits that his motives are usually one of three things: sex, alcohol, or golf. The imagery was strangely clear despite the craziness and I don't think I'll ever forget this book.

And according to Maya Reynolds I wont have to. Seems that 'Vishnu' has been picked up by a production company and movie plans are in the works.

I can't wait. *grin*

Starting Over and my first Meetup

First, I would like to stress that Cornith, Kansas is a black hole. A huge, sucking black hole that will eat you alive no matter how many times you think you're on the right road. Today I came the closest I've ever been to actually being lost, and that's saying something.

But the reason for my journey was worth the headache and blistering sun. I attended my first Writer's Meetup, a gathering of area writers in various stages of their own projects, who gather every other week to read and critique. This particular meeting featured guest speaker Tasha Haas, a creative writing instructor at the Lawrence Art Center. She spoke for nearly 4 hours on how to start writing your novel. I really didn't expect to learn much new information, since I'm already well into my own novel, but I couldn't let the opportunity slip by. So I surrendered my day to it.

I'm glad I went. I was the only new person in the group of 15, but everyone was extremely kind and open. We arranged the desks in a circle so that we could all see each other and just as I feared, we made a round of introductions. Each person stated their name, a bit about their project(s) and what their 'problems' were with the story. Most of the other novels-in-progress were sci-fi, fantasy, or future fics and most everyone had a good head start into the story. My mind raced with how best to describe my story, but alas, as soon as I opened my mouth, I blurt that it is a supernatural detective story and I fumbled with the rest of it. Now, I know damn well what the story is about, but explaining it in one or two sentences?? That was something I actually learned how to do today.

Our first group exercise was to list our five favorite novels. Right off the starting line, I fumble. Troubleshooter takes the first spot, followed by an embarassingly eclectic assembly of the only books I can remember reading: The Last Unicorn, The Light Fantastic, The Husband, and Wonder Boys. Two of these titles are movies, and two I've read within the past two months. I kept my mouth shut when we shared our lists.

The second exercise was to list five ideas for novels. A half-sized piece of paper had never looked so daunting as it did right then. Five ideas?? I only have one truly original idea every six months. So, I cheated:
#1: A world wherein people can see spirits (my current project)
#2: A giant alligator that lives in the sewer (my latest piece of fanfic)
#3: A serial killer clown (the piece of fanfic before that)
#4: A group of people tries to survive an attack of rabid dogs (plot from The Breed)
and #5: A man must overcome his chilhood trauma (reduced plot from 26 Days)

I sank in my chair, covered my paper, and tried to look as uninteresting as I possibly could. So of course, I get nominated to read my ideas.

I cringed and whimpered, but stuck in the spotlight, had no choice but to plunge ahead. I read as fast as I could, feeling myself turning red, and bounced my leg as I waited for the laughter to start. But after a brief pause, the facilitator of our little group said, "I really like the first idea." The others agreed, then added, "The first idea AND the last."

Stunned, I cracked a smile but said nothing as they elaborated. Ideas 2, 3, and 4 are tired and cheap. But numbers 1 and 5 have open endings. They make people think. Had there been more time, I would have been asked to further develop those ideas in front of the group. But the clock kept ticking and we were forced to move ahead.

Tasha quoted that "We do not choose our characters, they chose us." We were asked to think about what that means and share ideas. While I kept silent, I knew the quote was accurate. Leland's character- his role- my not have been my idea, but the person he is today is something he and I have discussed at great length, over the course of many months. It feels wrong to say I 'own' him, because he often times will think for himself and do things or say things that surprise me. It's made us close, made me feel like I know him inside and out, and I think that is a mandatory relationship for any character-driven story.

We were urged to set deadlines and goals. As much as I hate to, it is a good habit to form. I honestly did get more work done when I made myself write a page a day. I'll have to revisit that.

The topic of research came up, and the issue of how much is too much and also, the dangers of not doing enough. Tasha urged us to not get caught up in research. Write from the heart, while the fire is burning inside you, and go back later. Don't use research as a distraction. Think of it as creating a movie set- you only need enough to make things look real during that point in time. Research should do a service to the story, not weigh it down with un-needed details.


Then came the topic of Structure and Focus. Another group exercise. Write your story's Topic, the 'Burning Question', and the Theme (or the potential answer to the question). For example:
Topic: War between good and evil, human potential
Question: Can good triumph over bad? Does personal interest hamper one's sense of honor and duty?
Theme: Yes/But- good does triumph, but not without a price.
The theme, obviously, is withheld until the end of the story. A good novel can be compared to a sports game: we go to watch two similarly talented teams play each other, and we want to see a struggle. We want to see the close call, the overtime, the bloodshed and heated competition. I knew that the antag should be a formidable foe, but this analogy really works for me.

The rest of the workshop was quick and to the point. During a break, I talked a little with the girl next to me who had a similar interest with the concept of a secret society in the modern day world. She said her problem is that after creating scenarios, she can't plot them out, can't create a story. I think this is where character comes in. I was lucky to have found my character first, then developed his story from his essence. They compliment each other and neither is a cardboard cut out of a hero or plot. Which, at times, is the very thing that makes me want to put a gun to my head. I have no road map.

Hence the theme of this blog- a reminder that I will, one day, look back on this and laugh.

I hope.

So the whole experience was worth it. The whole getting lost, sweat dripping down my spine as cruised the busy streets of Prairie Veiw, Kansas blaring Zepplin from my speakers. I never lost that overwhelming sense of stage fright, but I left with nearly everyone's invitations to join the group again. I don't know if I will- I don't think I could handle being critiqued by a group of strangers just yet. I'm still struggling to figure out the story myself. What if my favorite scene was read, and no one liked it? What would I do? Probably burst into tears. I'm writing this story for myself, because it's something *I* want to see. And yes, it *is* a dream of mine to be published and known. Yes, I know it won't happen if I don't ever share the story. But the space between those ledges is deep and dark and I know that hundreds of razor-sharp rocks wait at the bottom. I need someone to hold my hand.

But the thing I loved most is that one of the writers, a woman, was able to discuss her story about the cross-breeding between elves and goblins and her heroine's struggle to fit in amongst them- and not a single soul laughed at her. It takes one to know one, I guess, and there is nothing quite like a room full of writers.

All this almost makes starting my novel over a little more bearable.
I can't wait until MWW.

me