Free-range booklog
Dec. 21st, 2009 09:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneHours have now passed. Am I still annoyed about Avatar? Yes. Yes, I am.
111. Abandon the Old in Tokyo, Yoshihiro Tatsumi — Psychologically twisted experimental Japanese comics. I can see how Tatsumi’s method of storytelling would have been influential and even revolutionary when they first appeared in the ’70s, but that doesn’t make the stories themselves any less unpleasant or misogynistic. I did not enjoy them.
112. The Lightning Thief, Rick Riordan — Kids these days! They are obsessed with this series, but I mostly just found the opening volume flat and dull. The Harry Potter comparison is the obvious one to make, and as several other reviewers have pointed out: even at J.K. Rowling’s CAPSLOCKY worst, her books are bursting with more imagination and world-building on a single page than Riordan manages in his entire tale. The M.O. of this story seems to be “demigod preteens go somewhere, something mythological shows up.” These cameos aren’t particularly imaginative or revealing—Medusa has a fruit stand/roadside shop with a statue garden! Blah blah—nor are the main characters dynamic enough to make me really care. So it’s not bad—it’s just boring. Okay, fine—I can keep showing kids where we keep the series in the shop; I don’t have to read it.
113. The Demon’s Lexicon, Sarah Rees Brennan — WHY IS TOM WELLING ON THE COVER OF THIS BOOK? I know it's not just me who sees the similarity, because one night while I was perusing these pages,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
turtlespeaks came in from the other room, took one look at me sitting on the couch and said, incredulous, "You're reading a Smallville tie-in?" Dude. This book may contain some twists about its main character's true identity, but the fact that he is Superman is not one of them.
ANYWAY, unfortunate evocations of bad television aside, this isn't a bad book. I'm reading almost anything that reminds me of Supernatural these days (evocations of good television are apparently okay), and this has an interesting fraternal relationship at its core (plus some demons). However, I found the rules of the magical world Brennan established quite dull—there was no sense of wonder for me, or any feeling that, despite the dangers, I would like to hang out there. (I have this same problem with Torchwood. Even knowing that I could be killed, I would go hunting with the Winchesters, or slaying with the Scoobies, in a hot minute. I would not join Torchwood if you paid me a million billion dollars.)
I also saw the big twist coming a million miles away; nevertheless, I liked it: it was the right twist for the story, and it's an interesting concept overall. I almost wish, however, that the revelation could have come earlier in the novel, maybe even at the halfway point—isn't the fallout from that going to be the truly interesting part? But I suppose Brennan is setting up a series. Still, I'd rather have one really good book than a bunch of mediocre ones.
114. D’Aulaires’ Book of Norse Myths, Ingri & Edgar D’Aulaire — I loved the D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths when I was a little girl; I read it over and over and dressed up as Athena one year for Halloween. (This did not go over well in my neighborhood. NO I AM NOT AN ANGEL, SOUTH STREET. I AM THE GODDESS OF WISDOM. Sheesh.) I never even knew that they’d done a similar book about Norse mythology, however, until I read about it in Michael Chabon’s Maps and Legends—so thanks for that, Mike. The D’Aulaires give the northern myths the same treatment, telling the tales simply and elegantly, with beautiful illustrations. I think I will always prefer the Greek stories—whether because they were the tales of my youth, or simply because they are less dark (and the women get rather more to do)—but this is likewise a wonderful collection, and I’m really glad I finally got to read it.
115. Geektastic, Ed. by Holly Black & Cecil Castellucci — This book loses geek cred almost right away by misspelling Anakin Skywalker's name. (Really? No one caught that? Really?) But other than that, I found this collection to be lots of fun and just, well, adorable. So many cute teenage nerds! Having adventures! With little comic interludes between each chapter! How could I possibly resist?
116. Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict, Laurie Viera Rigler — I really, really hated Rigler’s first novel, which this book is a sequel to. So why, you might reasonably ask, did I read the follow-up? The answer “I am a glutton for punishment” might, likewise reasonably, be provided. In truth, the answer is perhaps sadder: I am desperate for time travel stories in which a person from the past travels to the present, and this novel, unlike its predecessor, is one such tale. It was also, thank the god of poor, goofy, don’t-know-what’s-good-for-them readers, significantly less annoying than the first book, and even rather enjoyable at times.
This can probably be attributed in part to Rigler’s growth as a writer—she smoothes out or just plain omits some of the plot points that made Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict so enormously dumb. But the fact is that the premise of our regency-born heroine, the unlikely-named Jane Mansfield, being transported to our present is just much more entertaining than Millennium girl Courtney Stone arriving in the past. For one thing, Jane has genuine reasons to be confused by all she encounters, while the bumbling and complaining Courtney just seemed stupid and whiny when confronted with the past she supposedly so loved to read about. Rigler also lets Jane actually stop and consider her prejudices and even have a bit of a feminist awakening, while Courtney, who in the last book called herself a feminist, consistently acted like the opposite, desperately swooning and waiting for a man to give her life meaning.
This is still not a great book, but I really did enjoy Jane wandering wide-eyed around 2009 Los Angeles. If you’re a fan of this particular—and sadly-underrepresented—sub-genre of time travel stories, than this would be a good title to add to your list; reading the first book is fortunately entirely unnecessary. And if you do know of any other good character-from-the-past-journeys-to-the-present books (or a snazzier name for the same), please do tell me!
P.S. This book, like its predecessor, has absolutely nothing to do with Jane Austen. Nice cheap marketing ploy, there!
117. & 121. Free-Range Chickens & Ant Farm, Simon Rich — Laugh-out-loud comedic sketches by a guy who is a) younger than me, and b) weirdly, the son of Frank Rich. But don’t think about that stuff: concentrate on the funny. Free-Range Chickens is the more recent and slightly superior collection; I particularly liked “A Conversation Between the People Who Hid in My Closet Every Night When I Was Seven.”
Rather than try to be funny about these books, I think I will leave it at that and just let Rich be funny on his own. He is more than capable, after all.
118. Swish, Joel Derfner — The subtitle of this book is My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever and What Ended Up Happening Instead. Even with that “What Ended Up Happening Instead” tacked on there, the subtitle is not entirely accurate; if this book is about a quest, it’s of the more typical memoir type, with Derfner struggling to overcome a whole slew of personal and psychological issues. I usually hate books like that, but I still liked this one because Derfner’s neuroses are relatable, and he’s consistently funny enough to get you over the cringe-worthy bits. This never rises to David Sedaris or David Rakoffian heights (maybe you have to be named David?), but it’s still heartfelt without being sappy, and I enjoyed it.
119. Genesis, Bernard Beckett — Brief piece of philosophical/speculative fiction that I found both muddled and insipid. I liked the framing device—the story is told through one character’s oral exam as she attempts to gain admittance to The Academy—but the characters were woefully flat and I found the story Beckett was trying to tell obvious and dull. I saw the big “twist” coming from at least ten miles away, and thus felt no sense of wonder or revelation at the climax; I kept reading to ascertain that I was right, and I was. The end. Many, many books have conveyed a message similar to this one’s, much more subtly—and in a much more entertaining fashion.
120. Waltz With Bashir, Ari Folman & David Polonsky — Graphic account of the 1982 Sabra and Shatila massacre, from the point of view of the Israeli soldiers who were to varying degrees complicit in the events. I wished Folman had provided more background on what actually took place—I can understand how that would be tricky to fit into the dreamlike, piecing-together-memories storytelling, but I wasn’t born in 1982 and am sadly more ignorant than I ought to be, apparently. Thank god for Wikipedia.
The art is gorgeous and evocative, however, and the story is hauntingly told (if still a bit confusing; see above re: general ignorance, etc.). I’d be interested to see the film version of this—I wonder if it is more or less clear?
Total Reviews: 121/197
111. Abandon the Old in Tokyo, Yoshihiro Tatsumi — Psychologically twisted experimental Japanese comics. I can see how Tatsumi’s method of storytelling would have been influential and even revolutionary when they first appeared in the ’70s, but that doesn’t make the stories themselves any less unpleasant or misogynistic. I did not enjoy them.
112. The Lightning Thief, Rick Riordan — Kids these days! They are obsessed with this series, but I mostly just found the opening volume flat and dull. The Harry Potter comparison is the obvious one to make, and as several other reviewers have pointed out: even at J.K. Rowling’s CAPSLOCKY worst, her books are bursting with more imagination and world-building on a single page than Riordan manages in his entire tale. The M.O. of this story seems to be “demigod preteens go somewhere, something mythological shows up.” These cameos aren’t particularly imaginative or revealing—Medusa has a fruit stand/roadside shop with a statue garden! Blah blah—nor are the main characters dynamic enough to make me really care. So it’s not bad—it’s just boring. Okay, fine—I can keep showing kids where we keep the series in the shop; I don’t have to read it.
113. The Demon’s Lexicon, Sarah Rees Brennan — WHY IS TOM WELLING ON THE COVER OF THIS BOOK? I know it's not just me who sees the similarity, because one night while I was perusing these pages,
turtlespeaks came in from the other room, took one look at me sitting on the couch and said, incredulous, "You're reading a Smallville tie-in?" Dude. This book may contain some twists about its main character's true identity, but the fact that he is Superman is not one of them.ANYWAY, unfortunate evocations of bad television aside, this isn't a bad book. I'm reading almost anything that reminds me of Supernatural these days (evocations of good television are apparently okay), and this has an interesting fraternal relationship at its core (plus some demons). However, I found the rules of the magical world Brennan established quite dull—there was no sense of wonder for me, or any feeling that, despite the dangers, I would like to hang out there. (I have this same problem with Torchwood. Even knowing that I could be killed, I would go hunting with the Winchesters, or slaying with the Scoobies, in a hot minute. I would not join Torchwood if you paid me a million billion dollars.)
I also saw the big twist coming a million miles away; nevertheless, I liked it: it was the right twist for the story, and it's an interesting concept overall. I almost wish, however, that the revelation could have come earlier in the novel, maybe even at the halfway point—isn't the fallout from that going to be the truly interesting part? But I suppose Brennan is setting up a series. Still, I'd rather have one really good book than a bunch of mediocre ones.
114. D’Aulaires’ Book of Norse Myths, Ingri & Edgar D’Aulaire — I loved the D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths when I was a little girl; I read it over and over and dressed up as Athena one year for Halloween. (This did not go over well in my neighborhood. NO I AM NOT AN ANGEL, SOUTH STREET. I AM THE GODDESS OF WISDOM. Sheesh.) I never even knew that they’d done a similar book about Norse mythology, however, until I read about it in Michael Chabon’s Maps and Legends—so thanks for that, Mike. The D’Aulaires give the northern myths the same treatment, telling the tales simply and elegantly, with beautiful illustrations. I think I will always prefer the Greek stories—whether because they were the tales of my youth, or simply because they are less dark (and the women get rather more to do)—but this is likewise a wonderful collection, and I’m really glad I finally got to read it.
115. Geektastic, Ed. by Holly Black & Cecil Castellucci — This book loses geek cred almost right away by misspelling Anakin Skywalker's name. (Really? No one caught that? Really?) But other than that, I found this collection to be lots of fun and just, well, adorable. So many cute teenage nerds! Having adventures! With little comic interludes between each chapter! How could I possibly resist?
116. Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict, Laurie Viera Rigler — I really, really hated Rigler’s first novel, which this book is a sequel to. So why, you might reasonably ask, did I read the follow-up? The answer “I am a glutton for punishment” might, likewise reasonably, be provided. In truth, the answer is perhaps sadder: I am desperate for time travel stories in which a person from the past travels to the present, and this novel, unlike its predecessor, is one such tale. It was also, thank the god of poor, goofy, don’t-know-what’s-good-for-them readers, significantly less annoying than the first book, and even rather enjoyable at times.
This can probably be attributed in part to Rigler’s growth as a writer—she smoothes out or just plain omits some of the plot points that made Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict so enormously dumb. But the fact is that the premise of our regency-born heroine, the unlikely-named Jane Mansfield, being transported to our present is just much more entertaining than Millennium girl Courtney Stone arriving in the past. For one thing, Jane has genuine reasons to be confused by all she encounters, while the bumbling and complaining Courtney just seemed stupid and whiny when confronted with the past she supposedly so loved to read about. Rigler also lets Jane actually stop and consider her prejudices and even have a bit of a feminist awakening, while Courtney, who in the last book called herself a feminist, consistently acted like the opposite, desperately swooning and waiting for a man to give her life meaning.
This is still not a great book, but I really did enjoy Jane wandering wide-eyed around 2009 Los Angeles. If you’re a fan of this particular—and sadly-underrepresented—sub-genre of time travel stories, than this would be a good title to add to your list; reading the first book is fortunately entirely unnecessary. And if you do know of any other good character-from-the-past-journeys-to-the-present books (or a snazzier name for the same), please do tell me!
P.S. This book, like its predecessor, has absolutely nothing to do with Jane Austen. Nice cheap marketing ploy, there!
117. & 121. Free-Range Chickens & Ant Farm, Simon Rich — Laugh-out-loud comedic sketches by a guy who is a) younger than me, and b) weirdly, the son of Frank Rich. But don’t think about that stuff: concentrate on the funny. Free-Range Chickens is the more recent and slightly superior collection; I particularly liked “A Conversation Between the People Who Hid in My Closet Every Night When I Was Seven.”
Rather than try to be funny about these books, I think I will leave it at that and just let Rich be funny on his own. He is more than capable, after all.
118. Swish, Joel Derfner — The subtitle of this book is My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever and What Ended Up Happening Instead. Even with that “What Ended Up Happening Instead” tacked on there, the subtitle is not entirely accurate; if this book is about a quest, it’s of the more typical memoir type, with Derfner struggling to overcome a whole slew of personal and psychological issues. I usually hate books like that, but I still liked this one because Derfner’s neuroses are relatable, and he’s consistently funny enough to get you over the cringe-worthy bits. This never rises to David Sedaris or David Rakoffian heights (maybe you have to be named David?), but it’s still heartfelt without being sappy, and I enjoyed it.
119. Genesis, Bernard Beckett — Brief piece of philosophical/speculative fiction that I found both muddled and insipid. I liked the framing device—the story is told through one character’s oral exam as she attempts to gain admittance to The Academy—but the characters were woefully flat and I found the story Beckett was trying to tell obvious and dull. I saw the big “twist” coming from at least ten miles away, and thus felt no sense of wonder or revelation at the climax; I kept reading to ascertain that I was right, and I was. The end. Many, many books have conveyed a message similar to this one’s, much more subtly—and in a much more entertaining fashion.
120. Waltz With Bashir, Ari Folman & David Polonsky — Graphic account of the 1982 Sabra and Shatila massacre, from the point of view of the Israeli soldiers who were to varying degrees complicit in the events. I wished Folman had provided more background on what actually took place—I can understand how that would be tricky to fit into the dreamlike, piecing-together-memories storytelling, but I wasn’t born in 1982 and am sadly more ignorant than I ought to be, apparently. Thank god for Wikipedia.
The art is gorgeous and evocative, however, and the story is hauntingly told (if still a bit confusing; see above re: general ignorance, etc.). I’d be interested to see the film version of this—I wonder if it is more or less clear?
Total Reviews: 121/197
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-22 11:07 am (UTC)You're a braver woman than I am. I actually always thought that one of the things Buffy did best was conveying the total horror of being the Chosen One: that even when you're exhausted and in over your head and scared out of your mind, you have to keep fighting, or all your friends die and the world ends; and it's too much to ask for so much as ONE DAMN AFTERNOON OFF to go to the prom. ;)
That said, I would happily be a magician in Harry Dresden's world, or a witch on Discworld, so I know what you mean about the sense of wonder of a good magical universe.
I actually really loved the Demon's Lexicon, because I'm terribly fond of stories about sociopaths and the people they love, but I really didn't like the way the magic worked in that book, myself. It just seemed kind of pointless, and not worth the bother and risk.