Middle of the Road Dystopian

The Girl in the Road
by Monica Byrne
Published by Crown
2 Out of 5 Stars

Set in the not-too-distant future, The Girl in the Road focuses on the brutal journey of two women fleeing from violence in patriarchal cultures: Meena, a young woman from India, and Mariama, a girl enslaved in Africa. Told in alternating first person narratives, their stories converge by the end in not entirely surprising ways due to the symbolic overlap we see in each of their tales. Both have been attacked by snakes, both show signs of mental illness, both have suffered tremendous loss, both encounter words and images that have a spiritual significance to them alone, both are journeying toward a future they hope will be better.

In Mariama's story, she flees her home after finding a light blue snake in her bed. Heeding her mother's advice, she decides to flee and becomes a stowaway in a caravan transporting oil to Ethiopia. During this time, a beautiful woman named Yemaya joins the caravan and Mariama adopts her in her mind as a mother/lover/goddess figure. Born into a life of poverty and subservience, and bearing witness to her mother's repeated rape by their owner, Mariama is a surprisingly driven, courageous character, but her childlike naivete and bluntly sexualized view of the world are a dangerous combination in one so young.

In Meena's story, she awakens to find that a snake placed in her bed has bitten her; she immediately assumes someone is trying to kill her and flees India for Ethiopia, the place where her Indian parents were brutally murdered before her birth. She undertakes the dangerous journey across "The Trail," a bridge consisting of "scales" that runs from India to Djibouti. The bridge is intended to harvest wave energy and to cross it is an illegal, dangerous act. As Meena's trek goes on, she begins shedding that which is inessential and facing the truth from which her traumatized mind has been shielding her.

There is a lot to like about The Girl in the Road. The futuristic setting is at once recognizable and alien, but doesn't overshadow what is essentially an emotional and spiritual story about violence and healing. The world of Meena (which is set a few decades after the story of Mariama) is a racial, cultural, and sexual melting pot, and reading a book with characters from diverse backgrounds was a pleasure. Byrne's prose is lovely and minimalist, and her inclusion of Indian and Ethiopian cultures is seamless.

However, there was a lot that I did not enjoy. First off, the persistent phallic imagery, both the snakes in the bed and The Trail itself, is fraught with psychological and symbolic implications that had me expecting the big reveals in the end. I'm not a prude faulting an author's use of phallic imagery; rather, my complaint is that it lessened the suspense toward the novel's end because it seemed a little heavy handed. I was also disappointed that, in a novel that initially challenged the stereotypical view of transsexuals, it ultimately bolsters that stereotype.

And then there was THE SCENE, a scene that has apparently generated a lot of debate.**Since discussing the scene in question involves spoilers, I'll post it in the comments section below.  Be forewarned.

I do want to make it clear that this scene is not responsible for my 2 star review. The disappointment I feel stems from the book blurbs leading me to believe that this is a sci-fi action/thriller. This is certainly a very different reading experience than the one I thought I signed up for. In addition to my misguided expectations, this is a novel of unlikable characters that engendered my sympathy, but not my empathy.

Beautifully Written, But Lacking Emotional Depth

Red Sky in Morning
by Paul Lynch
Published by Little, Brown and Company
2 Out of 5 Stars

Red Sky in Morning has rightfully earned comparisons to the terse, brutal writing of authors like Cormac McCarthy and Daniel Woodrell. This is a bleak story and a pervasive sense that all will not be well by the end hangs over every melancholy word. This is a book that I should have liked and why it didn't resonate with me is something I've been pondering for a few days.

Set in Ireland during the 1800's, the novel begins with the classic conflict between tenant and landowner--only this conflict ends in an accidental death that costs Coll Coyle not just his farm, but his family and his country. Fleeing from vengeance in the form of a foreman named Faller, Coll is forced to leave Ireland and sail to America, where brutal work and animosity against the Irish awaits. However, Faller is a single-minded hunter willing to pursue his quarry across the ocean and will not rest until Coll has paid for his crime.

Of course, the tale of a man trying to outrun the sins of his past and the weight of regret through a physical journey is not a new one. And I think that's part of the problem here. This is an oft told story and, to my mind, it's been compellingly told by other authors--McCarthy's No Country for Old Men and Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain come to mind. Red Sky in Morning never delves into the relationship between man and God, good and evil, sin and forgiveness with McCarthy's philosophical complexity, nor does it use the landscape as evocatively as Frazier does in revealing Inman's inner turmoil as the sinner hoping for salvation in a world gone to hell.

There is no doubt that Lynch can write beautifully, which is both a strength and weakness of the novel. While in Ireland, the harsh landscape bears silent witness to Coll's failings, refusing him shelter or succor from his sins. This idea of land as witness to the frailties and failings of man seems Hemingway-esque in a The Sun Also Rises sense; there's the feeling that, for all man's follies, only the earth abides. Lynch's depiction of this landscape is poetic, but begins to veer into a tedious purple prose before it mercifully shifts to the sea voyage, which picks up the pace as dialogue and plot begin to take the reins. I had also hoped that Ireland itself would be more present in the novel, but only a third of the book takes place in Ireland and, other than the Irish dialect and colloquialisms, the story could have easily taken place in any other European country in the 1800's.

Ultimately, though, my disappointment with the novel comes down to this: there is no one here to champion. None of the minor characters are likable and, while Coll is undoubtedly a victim in a system that has robbed him not just of his power, but of his humanity, he's also not a sympathetic character. Refusing to take any form of responsibility for his actions, putting those he loves at risk, and leaving his family behind (with only the occasional pang of regret or remorse; he goes chapters without thinking of his wife and children) make it difficult to connect with him. There is also the odd device of providing his wife with a very limited voice periodically throughout the novel. These chapters feel wedged into the narrative and serve only to reveal the source of the conflict that led to Coll's downfall. To read more about her life in the aftermath of Coll's desertion may have provided more of an emotional touchstone for the reader and salvaged something from the novel.   

But Where Are the Werewolves? I Was Promised Werewolves!

Santa Olivia
by Jacqueline Carey
Published by Grand Central Publishing
2 Out of 5 Stars

The town of Santa Olivia lies between the U.S. and Mexican border, but becomes a sort of present day leper colony when it is walled off from the rest of the world. Apparently the epicenter of a particularly nasty flu virus, the U. S. military builds a base there so the soldiers can keep the townspeople in line. And, as governments are wont to do, it decides, "Hey, while we have this super-secret base cut off from the rest of the world, how's about we take the opportunity for a little genetic experimentation? Maybe splice some animal DNA into human DNA and create a super soldier? Anyone have any wolf DNA lying about?" Which is all fine and dandy until your super soldier escapes, impregnates a local waitress, and hightails it for Mexico after the townspeople turn against him. And so Loup Garron is born, a child with super-strength and an inability to feel fear. 

Following Loup throughout her childhood and teenage years, we witness as she deals with the deaths of loved ones, bands together with others in her orphanage to create miracles and punishments in the name of the town's patron saint, grapples with her identity and her sexuality, and enters into a military sanctioned boxing match as a means of avenging her brother's death. To have focused on any one of these stories might have made for a more cohesive (if not more satisfying) narrative, but, as it is, the plot structure seems clunky and jumps from one idea to the next. It doesn't help that, through it all, Loup doesn't seem to feel much of anything or develop a personality beyond "gee, I feel different from everyone else." The climax of the book leads to the aforementioned boxing match, which lacks any real sense of tension or drama.

I've seen summaries of Santa Olivia that claim it gives a new and intriguing slant to both the werewolf mythos and to the superhero concept. Except for it doesn't. Because, really, it's not about werewolves or about superheroes. The whole wolf DNA angle is basically irrelevant; the only wolfy characteristics exhibited by Loup are her super-strength and stamina, a keen sense of hearing, an increased appetite, and some poorly executed idea about her "mating for life." Any animal could have been selected for the same traits--there's no real reason as to why it had to be a wolf. In terms of her superhero abilities, see the list provided above. Not exactly thrilling stuff. She's no Wolverine (although one of the orphans compares her to him). Here she is, blessed with the strength of the big bad wolf, so what's she going to do? She's going to box her heart out, baby! This failed to blow my house down. 

There were some intriguing ideas here whose executions fell flat, but I did appreciate the inclusion of a strong lesbian character. However, even that feels a little disingenuous in that it seems to exist only as a means of reinforcing the idea that Loup never fits in, in case it's not really coming across that she's different. During her sexual experimentation with boys, the boys always reject her, saying that she just "feels different" when they kiss her or that sex with her is like putting a "penis in a vise." It's almost as if seeking out another female is her only option, although it's later connected to the whole tendency to have only one mate idea. I would have preferred it if her attraction to women had been separated from this strange connection to her lupine heritage.

Overall, I feel this is the type of book that was born out of a tongue-in-cheek conceit: "Hey, what if I named the main character Loup Garron? Get it? Like loup garou? As in werewolf? Why aren't you 'howling' with laughter?" 

Also, I'm pissed about that cover. Because that cover has nothing to do with the book.

Weak Rule

Emperor (Time's Tapestry #1)
by Stephen Baxter
Published by Ace
2 Out of 5 Stars

You know that whole "don't judge a book by its cover" thing? Yeah, well, I totally did. In a heady bit of book buying when I graduated from college and got a full time job, I may have celebrated by overindulging in a Books-a-Million and grabbing anything that struck my fancy. I may or may not have read the book blurbs. After all, I was young, financially independent, had a whole life ahead of me to read--who cared how many books I wantonly threw into my book basket? Life was a library, baby, and I was going to spend it all in the stacks.

Tragic mistakes were made that I'm still paying for years later.

For example, Emperor, a book that I feel must shoulder some of the blame for underwhelming me because of its blatantly misleading cover. There's a statue of Julius Caesar on the front pictured over what is clearly Rome. You might think that this is what the book is about. As did I. We're both mistaken because the book takes place in Britain and focuses on the rule of Claudius, Hadrian, and Constantine. It's the literary equivalent of being roofied and waking up next to an ugly book. 

Emperor revolves around a prophecy passed down from one family's generation to another in Britain around the time of Roman rule. Unable to understand the enigmatic message in its entirety, each generation uses it to its own ends: during the reign of Claudius, it is mistakenly believed to vouchsafe Britain against conquest by Rome; during the reign of Hadrian, it is used to gain the family profit by manipulating the emperor into building an ill-advised stone wall to protect his empire in Britain; and during the time of Constantine, it is used to make an assassination attempt on the emperor's life.

Consisting of three interlocking narratives that necessarily skip forward in time with only loose connections to the previous tale, the reader never really gets to know any of the characters--which is a shame because many of them could be fascinating if given more depth. Baxter writes with authority about the time periods involved, but the novel is billed as an alternative science fiction history. Without a historian's understanding of the time period, it is difficult to ascertain which parts are alternative and which are authentic. And the science fiction bit is definitely AWOL. There's some very brief philosophical debate about the nature of time (is it linear, or do the past, present, and future coexist at the exact same time?) and about whether or not the prophecy was sent by someone in the future (known only as the Weaver) attempting to change the past, but nothing that I would classify as "science fiction." 

The novel would have been far more successful for me if it had been a straight historical fiction (really the alternative part is virtually nonexistent and seems to stem entirely from the prophecy, which never really changes events) and focused on one of the three narratives presented. Baxter has the ability to bring the past to life in a real and satisfying way, but the lack of payoff in terms of the novel's presentation and in its use of the prophecy as an unnecessary device to explore the past make it a tedious read. While I will not read the other books in the series, I would not entirely rule out reading another Baxter novel.

So, the moral of the story is: the next time a cute little book starts making eyes at me from the shelf, I'm damn sure going to take the time to read the blurb before I take it home with me.

Not My Cup of Joe

Something More Than Night
by Ian Tregillis
Published by Tor
2 Out of 5 Stars

**I received a free copy of Something More Than Night from Tor in exchange for an honest review.**

A swell angel, Gabriel, takes a powder by way of the big sleep. But what kind of button man has the juice to take down a big player like an archangel? It's not long before heavenly forces put the screws to Bayliss, a two bit angel confined to the dive known as Earth, where he's spent centuries tipping a little rye, smoking pills, and eyeing dishy kittens who know how to fill out a skirt. Heaven wants Bayliss to case the joint and find a mortal palooka he can knock off to fill Gabriel's slot in the universe. Hoping for a mark who won't ing-bing, Bayliss instead ends up with a flametop twist who stirs up all kinds of heavenly trouble. Now Bayliss is behind the eight ball, the immortal bulls want answers, and Bayliss suspects he and this new dame may be the patsys in a universal game of whodunit. Savvy?

Of all the bookshelves, in all the towns, in all the world, this book makes it onto mine.

Something More Than Night is going to appeal to a niche group of readers: hardcore noir aficionados, of whom I am not one. I like my noir like I like my coffee--black. But with sugar and cream and flavoring so it barely resembles coffee anymore. In other words, I like my noir to be not-so-noirish.

Ian Tregillis presents a concept that sounds entertaining, but quickly becomes tedious. Beginning with the death of Gabriel as he flames across the night sky, questions are quickly asked by Bayliss, the only heavenly being who seems interested in getting to the bottom of the angel's murder. Through his investigation and the inclusion of Molly, the mortal Bayliss has bumped off to plug the hole in the universe left by Gabriel's untimely demise, we learn that, in the beginning, there was not light, but angels. Angels free to do and imagine the universe as they pleased until METATRON, the voice of a higher power, clipped the angels' wings by chaining them to the mortal realm. Denied the right to roam the universe as they once did, the angels chafed against their chains but their proximity to one another created the MOC (Mantle of Ontological Consistency) that ensured existence for mortals would continue through the angelic consensus of what reality is.

As Molly comes to terms with her divinity and Bayliss seeks the truth behind Gabriel's murder, Tregillis builds a heaven of quantum physics only tinged by religious philosophy. While I enjoyed his vivid descriptions of the angelic hierarchy and the individual Magisteriums each angel builds as a personal hideaway, his descriptions of the universe veer into physics-based purple prose. Initially, I found this inventive and enjoyed passages such as:

He'd been collecting little odds and ends since at least the double-digit redshifts. The interior reality of Gabriel's Magisterium burbled and shifted like convection currents in a star on the zaftig end of the main sequence. Because, I realized, that's what they were. Dull dim light, from IR to X-ray, oozed past me like the wax in a million-mile lava lamp while carbon, nitrogen, and oxygen nuclei did little do-si-dos about my toes. Every bubble, every sizzle, every new nucleus, every photodissociation tagged something of interest to Gabriel . . . Nuclear reactions unfolded with the calm susurration of solar wind upon Earth's atmosphere, seeding cloud formation and rain. Convective cells furled about me with the low, slow, sonorous peal of cathedral bells mourning a monarch's death. X-rays fizzed on my tongue . . . " (64).

Got physics? Because you'll need it to slog your way through endless passages like this, which, while serving to capture the complexity and immensity of creation, do nothing but slow down the narrative. The combination of unceasing physics jargon with the unending noir slang became too much for me. Add to that the fact that Tregillis's world-building on the Earthly plane is sketchy at best (we get the sense that it is set in a dystopian future, but the futuristic elements seem wedged in and serve no defined purpose) and the novel begins to buckle under too many clever ideas.

The ultimate twist is a letdown as it seems contrived to get the plot out of the corner it had painted itself into. As the reason for the narrative's reliance on the noir genre becomes obvious to the characters, one muses, "But why go to all this trouble? What did it achieve, turning himself into a hard-boiled detective pastiche in an archetypal story" (250).

Why, indeed.

Weak Hand

The Hand You're Dealt
by Paul Volponi
Published by Atheneum Books for Young Readers
2 Out of 5 Stars

Huck Porter is a poker prodigy, having been groomed by his father (much to the chagrin of his mother) from a young age . Every year the local church hosts an annual Texas Hold'em tournament and sends the winner to Las Vegas to play in a high stakes tournament. The standing agreement is that whatever money is won will be split between the winner and the struggling community. Huck's father has been the tournament champion for the last three years and it's only as his father is dying that a new tournament champion is named:  Mr. Abbott, the meanest math teacher to ever dust an eraser. When Mr. Abbott stiffs the town by refusing to split his earnings, Huck sees this as an insult against his father who once donated all of his winnings to the town. As a result, Huck decides it's time to humble Mr. Abbott both in the classroom and at the poker table.

While the opening chapter offers a lot of promise (Huck and the other poker players are being robbed at gun point in an elevator), it quickly loses momentum from there. The premise of a small time, small bets poker tournament being used as a means of sustaining an economically depressed community is far fetched and Mr. Abbott is almost cartoonishly evil in his tyranny over the classroom. In addition, Huck is dealing with some pretty heavy conflicts, but they're glossed over and resolved in simplistic ways.

For the target audience, which I assume to be 13-15 year old boys, this is probably a good read (especially for struggling readers) for all the reasons that I didn't like it. While the chapters are short and keep the action moving along, there's not a lot of description or character development, and there are several implausible situations/details that will probably sneak right on past a young reader. While I will certainly recommend the book to my students, it's not something that offers satisfaction to a more sophisticated reading audience.  

Failed to Cast a Spell

The Color of Magic
by Terry Pratchett
Published by Harper Perennial
2 Out of 5 Stars

Meh. It just didn't do it for me. Unfortunately, this book has been recommended to me so many times by well-meaning friends who know my love of absurd British humor that it couldn't possibly live up to the hype. It suffers from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy syndrome. For years, everyone I knew--friends, family, students, co-workers--would ask me if I had read Hitchhiker's and their mouths would drop when I admitted no, I hadn't . . . yet. Their response was always the same, "Oh, but you have to! It's like it was written for YOU!" By the time I got around to reading it, there's no way it could have lived up to the expectations that had been percolating for years. Ditto for The Color of Magic. 

I'll admit, Pratchett has a way with words and there was the occasional turn of phrase in response to which I made that air-escaping-from-the-nose sound that's not full bodied enough to be considered a snort of laughter. There was the infrequent half-smile. A few head nods in appreciation of a clever conceit. But, alas, there were no tear-inducing uncontrollable fits of laughter, which is what I expected. Will I read more Pratchett? Yes, because I have at least three more books by him lying about. I just hope they're better than this.

Check, Please!

Waiter Rant:  Thanks for the Tip--Confessions of a Cynical Waiter
by The Waiter (Steve Dublanica)
Published by Ecco
2 Out of 5 Stars

How did I come to possess this book? Well, the combination of a Books-A-Million going out of business sale, my mistaken assumption that it would be a collection of essays written by various people who had once waited tables, and a cover blurb from Anthony Bourdain calling it "painfully funny" was apparently a heady combination that led to this bit of buyer's remorse. 

To be fair, this is not a bad book, nor is it a terribly interesting one. Alas, Waiter Rant is by one waiter who depends upon his anonymity as he blogs about his job while still in the trenches (he has since been revealed to be Steve Dublanica). Dublanica finds himself middle-aged and without steady employment, so takes a wait job as a stopgap between careers--and then never really leaves. The rest of the book follows his adventures and misadventures with the surly kitchen staff, incompetent wait staff, and the snooty, entitled patrons who can make a waiter's life a living hell. 

I assumed (based on the description and various blurbs) that all of this would be funny. Except it's not. By one-third of the way through, it failed to elicit a chuckle, a twitter, a smirk, or even one of those weird laughs that consist of basically blowing air out of your nose really hard when something catches you kind of off-guard and you're not sure if it's appropriate to laugh. And I like to think that I'm not humor impaired. I laugh and laugh often. The problem here is that being cynical is not the same as being funny. Now when funny and cynical come together with a dash of acerbic wit, it can be a beautiful and miraculous thing (I'm looking at you, Anthony Bourdain), but there's no magic here and I'm reading it because--once again, I'm looking at you Anthony Bourdain. 

The other reason it failed to entertain me is because its main message seems to be that people suck. And they do, I'll not argue against that. But waiters don't have the market cornered on I-don't-get-paid-enough-to-put-up-with-ungrateful-and-crazy-all-day-long. Anyone who has any job that requires contact with the public knows this spiel. I've been a waiter, a cashier, a secretary, a teacher and the dynamic is always the same--as long as there's a customer, someone's going to be an asshole because you're there to serve them and, by God, that means doing precisely what they want when they want it and if not then they will be talking to your supervisor. Having lived this, reading about it is not how I want to spend my hours away from work.

Throughout, Dublanica comes across as some kind of super-waiter and, while I have no reason to doubt that he was good at his job and took it seriously, his stories fail to come to life as he seems incapable of portraying himself as flawed. He always seems to have the upper-hand and becomes the sage keeper of knowledge for the younger employees. It also makes the dining experience seem all about the waiter: what's best for the waiter, how to keep your waiter happy, tips that help make the waiter's job easier, etc. as though it's the customer's job to cater to the waiter. Now, as previously mentioned, I've been a waitress (briefly; as part of my training, I was seriously told to "kiss the babies and flirt with the old men"--homey don't play that game so apparently my "perkitude" wasn't up to their standards and I was unceremoniously fired). And, yes, people can treat waiters terribly and there are things one can and should do to make a dining experience pleasant for all involved. Most of those things involve simple human decency. But Dublanica makes it sound like such a one-sided affair that waiters should be leaving tips to customers who jump through all the hoops outlined in the book to make it a pleasure to serve them.

While some of the information about the dynamic that exists among the employees in a restaurant is mildly interesting, there's nothing really surprising here. 

Caught in the Middle

Between, Georgia
by Joshilyn Jackson
Published by Warner Books
3 Out of 5 Stars

An enjoyable, but overall predictable, quick read. I always enjoy Joshilyn Jackson's books, especially this one's take on the rivalries that crop up between Southern families that are only exacerbated by life in a small town. There are some humorous moments, a few twists, and likable characters. Particularly inventive is Jackson's use of a main character, Nonny, who literally finds herself "between" the Fretts and the Crabtrees (the ersatz Hatfields and McCoys of the story), as well as the character of Stacia, who raises Nonny as her own. Stacia, who suffers from Usher's Syndrome, was born deaf and progressively loses her eyesight, but that doesn't stop her from being outspoken and independent, as well as an artist and a caring mother. Liked it, but did not love it.

Haunted by Missed Opportunities

Five Ghosts:  The Haunting of Fabian Gray, Vol. 1
Written by Frank J. Barbiere
Illustrated by Chris Mooneyham
Published by Image
2 1/2 Out of 5 Stars

2 1/2 Stars.

Part Indiana Jones, part Gambit, part James Bond and all pulp, Five Ghosts: The Haunting of Fabian Gray starts off as a fun throwback to the classic adventure narrative of the 30's and 40's. And then it does a cannonball into an empty pool, which is to say the creators really should have paid more attention as to where this thing was going.

Fabian Gray is a charming and handsome master thief who has spent his life acquiring some of the world's finest antiquities, with the help of his twin sister. However, when he and his sister attempt to steal The Dreamstone, things go cockeyed. Now his sister is in a coma and Fabian has five shards of The Dreamstone lodged in his chest--and within each stone is the essence of an archetypal figure: the detective, the samurai, the wizard, the archer and the vampire. Trapped within Gray's body, Gray can draw upon the powers of these "ghosts" to aid him in his newest quest--to find the artifact that will cure his sister. 

Set in the 1930's, Mooneyham evokes the look and feel of the pulp comics from that time period, adding to the overall narrative.  Things won't be easy for Fabian--supernatural forces are working against him, exotic locales need visiting, beautiful women need ravishing, and the "ghosts" are becoming increasingly unhappy over their imprisonment within Gray. And this is where the narrative lost me. Fabian must pass a test created by each of his ghosts, from which he will gain profound insight. These "tests" are anticlimactic, confusing, and miss the opportunity for some creative integration of the literary world inhabited by each of these ghosts. Each test could have been an issue in and of itself. 

While Barbiere squanders this opportunity, I'm hoping it's simply because Five Ghosts started as a limited 5 issue story arc. Since it has been granted ongoing series status, I will cautiously read the next few issues and remain optimistic that Five Ghosts will deliver on the initial promise I saw in the first two issues.

A Middle East Separate Peace

The Kite Runner
by Khaled Hosseini
Published by Riverhead Books
3 Out of 5 Stars

Consider me underwhelmed. The Kite Runner isn't a bad book, nor is it a particularly good book. Two boys are the best of friends, until a tragic incident tears them apart. One is doomed to live his life filled with guilt and the other is doomed to be unbelievably good no matter how tragic life becomes. Basically, it's A Separate Peace set in Afghanistan and, for my money, A Separate Peace is a far superior, more nuanced work. Despite my lukewarm reaction, I certainly wouldn't discourage anyone from reading it as there are some things to like. Let's review the good and the bad in list form, shall we? 

Things that I liked:
*In terms of description, Hosseini is a gifted writer. His descriptions of people and of Afghanistan before and after the Taliban took control show the stark contrast between the more prosperous, westernized Afghanistan of the 1970's and the desperate, impoverished Afghanistan that was created by Taliban rule. I appreciate Hosseini's depiction of how some Middle Eastern countries have been crippled by Islamic extremism. For that alone, the book is worth the read.
*Okay, in hindsight, I now realize that I probably should have titled that section "Thing that I liked" because I am drawing a blank.
*Oh, hey! I thought of something else. I appreciate that it didn't have a "happily ever after" ending, which I thought it was recklessly careening toward. I thought Sohrab's reaction to his new surroundings as he coped with his past was authentic and heartbreaking.

Things that I didn't love:
*The relationship between Baba and Amir inexplicably changes after they arrive in America. While it is later revealed why Baba's attitude toward Amir changes, it seems too little too late.
*I have to admit, I didn't like the two characters I was supposed to care the most about. Amir was self-centered and petty, while Hassan was unbelievably, ridiculously, annoyingly, and cloyingly good. 
*The obvious symbolism and predictable plotting began to wear on my nerves--especially toward the end. It's similar to those intricate domino designs that someone so elaborately and painstakingly sets up to knock down, all for the sheer joy of watching one domino slap into another. Each event so obviously leads to the next that I was constantly aware of the narrative as something contrived and something clever. I could never fully suspend disbelief. In fact, I began to play a game with myself: when presented with a new plot "twist," I'd predict what it would lead to and then wait to see if I was right. I was always right.

If I had read the book before all of the hype began, something might have been salvaged. However, given how ridiculously high my expectations were, the novel can't be entirely at fault for not living up to them. I still plan to read A Thousand Splendid Suns as I've been told it far exceeds The Kite Runner, but I'm quite willing and ready to leave the story of Amir and Hassan behind me.

What Happens in Lost Vegas (Is Dull Enough to Stay in Lost Vegas)

Lost Vegas
Written by Jim McCann
Illustrated by Janet Lee
Published by Image Comics
2 Out of 5 Stars

Lost Vegas was a limited series from Image Comics (normally a safe-bet for unusual, creative, and intellectual comics) that started with serious promise and ended with a serious letdown. 

The premise of Lost Vegas is that Roland, a gambler who stacks the deck in his favor whenever possible, is forced into indentured service on the pleasure ship, Lost Vegas, when a card game goes wrong. Lost Vegas offers all the thrills, pageantry, and adult pleasures of its earthly namesake. Roland, however, is the type of man who makes his own luck and it's not long before he cooks up a scheme to escape, along with a rag-tag band of misfits (aren't they always?), that inadvertently draws him into a high-stakes game of intergalactic politics.

The concept behind Lost Vegas isn't a new one, but its futuristic, outer-space setting had incredible potential. The characters could have been intriguing, the plot could have taken some maddening twists and turns, and the story could have ultimately proved memorable. So the problem? It told a minimum 12 issue story arc in 4 issues. The end result is a "wham, bam, thank you, m'am" experience for the reader; the canvas simply isn't big enough for character development, clever world-building, or proper pacing. In addition, there are some glaring and obvious typos in the final issue. 

The bright spot here is the lush and neon-splashed artwork by Janet Lee. While bringing the Lost Vegas in all its hedonistic, bacchanalian glory to life, her efforts aren't enough to revive the story line--its the equivalent of watching someone perform CPR on a corpse. You have to admire the attempt, but, damn, that sucker's dead.

A Dark Fairy Tale With Mixed Results

Sea Change
by S. M. Wheeler
Published by Tor Books
2 Out of 5 Stars

**I received a free copy of Sea Change from Tor in exchange for an honest review.**

A fantasy bildungsroman, Sea Change follows the isolated, lonely and headstrong protagonist, Lilly, as she explores the limits of friendship. Born into a prosperous house to parents who fight as fiercely as they once loved, Lilly is a disappointment to her father because she is not the male heir for whom he hoped and the birthmark that blemishes half of her face ostracizes her from the townspeople who fear she is a witch. It is not until she meets Octavius, a young kraken who can appreciate the beauty of her intelligence and compassion, that Lilly finds a kindred spirit with whom she can share her innermost self. When Octavius disappears and trouble at home forces Lilly to choose loyalties, she sets off on a quest to free the only true friend she's ever known--but the price may be more than she's willing to pay.

With its dark fairy tale quality, female protagonist, and unusual take on gender roles, Sea Change should have been a safe bet for me. And while S.M. Wheeler certainly creates a fantastic journey for Lilly and does not shy away from the more horrific, gruesome aspects of life, the novel struck me as being somewhat uneven. The transitions that occur in Lilly's life are indeed sea changes, often abrupt and unpredictable events that turn her entire life upside down, but the result was that I often felt as though I was reading a disjointed narrative. Certain events are given too much weight (such as the lengthy interlude with the bandits, during which Lilly's original intent for being there--a bit of clever trickery on her part regarding promised wealth in exchange for her life--is forgotten for several pages), and others are sadly given too little (the kraken appears very seldom in the book and only serves as the motivation for Lilly to undertake a quest that leads to self-discovery).

I also found Wheeler's syntax and phrasing to be confusing, often cluttered or inverted for no particular reason or to any desired effect. There are also several instances where references are made to people, objects, or events as though the reader should remember them from a previous mention--which never existed. By the end, I still found myself re-reading sentences and grasping for the meaning.

Despite this, I found myself experiencing a sea change in regard to the book once Lilly set off on her quest. Whereas I found the beginning overly long and tedious, Lilly's adventures after leaving home became compelling and I looked forward to seeing what peculiar character Wheeler would introduce us to next: a skinned witch, a troll who exacts an unthinkable price, a pair of homosexual bandits (I particularly enjoyed Wheeler's depictions of sexuality and the domestic, devoted relationship between these two men--even though they were every bit as violent as Neverwhere's Vandemar and Croup), the dark-wife who dines on memory, a zombie tailor whose specialty is the sought after Coat of Illusion, and many others. After a time, though, it seemed that too much was being crammed into one book. Some restraint in the number of characters may have resulted in a more streamlined narrative that was able to showcase these characters in all of their macabre and magical glory.

I look forward to reading Wheeler's next novel as there is a lot of promise in Sea Change, but there's also a lot of room to grow.

But Where's the Ass Kicking? I Was Promised Ass Kicking!

A Secret History:  The Book of Ash #1
by Mary Gentle
Published by Eos
2 Out of 5 Stars

The story of a female mercenary in the 15th century, A Secret History: The Book of Ash has an interesting premise, so I settled in with a hot cup of coffee and prepared to witness Ash kick ass, preferably Tarantino style. And then I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . and it's the last page . . . and, holy shit, no ass kicking in sight! Not one can of whoop-ass opened. This, of course, pissed me off. 

I'm not really sure how to describe A Secret History, but I can list what I consider to be its shortcomings. Obviously, these did not bother others as much as they did me. The book is highly rated, which is why I expected as much from it as I did. 

A) There are actually two story lines: one takes place in the present day and is a series of e-mails being sent back and forth between the author and the publisher. Apparently, the author's source material has been compromised as many of the historical documents he used in researching his non-fiction account of Ash have been mysteriously reclassified as fiction. These e-mails bog down the narrative and can be summed up as follows:

Publisher: I have serious doubts about your source material. What is going on? You have to tell me!
Author: I don't understand it either. But I'll look into it. In the meantime, you won't believe what I've found! I can't believe it! Did I mention that you won't be able to believe it? The world won't be able to believe it! But here's a tidbit to tide you over [insert tidbit here].
Publisher: Received your last e-mail. This is amazing stuff! But I have a problem with your source material. What is going on? You have to tell me!
(And repeat, ad nauseum)

B) The character of Ash is completely unbelievable as a mercenary captain capable of inspiring men to trust in her leadership. She struts around in armor, cusses a lot, and . . . basically, that's it. Then again, from what I've seen of the "rousing and inspiring coach monologue" of football movies, maybe that is enough to inspire men to beat the crap out of one another. She doesn't do much of anything other than be pushed around by events. She seldom seems in control and never really makes any decisions that demonstrate her skill as a warrior or tactician. In part, this is because Gentle introduces us to 8 year old Ash (apparently just so she can have Ash raped as a child and witness her brutal retaliation, thus establishing why she would so whole-heartedly embrace a life of violence) and then jumps forward to Ash in command of her mercenary band known as the Lion Azure. She leap-frogged what would have been the most interesting part of Ash's story and the part needed to solidify the reader's belief in Ash as a warrior: how did Ash rise to power and come to command her own army?

C) Even though it's sloppily explained by the contemporary historian translating the history of Ash as his attempt to modernize the language of the story, there are a lot of modern idioms and phrases used that take away from the authenticity of the time period and which I doubt any true historian would so gleefully sprinkle throughout a text.

There are a few mildly interesting twists, but the one dimensional characters and lack of fidelity to the time period mean that this is a series I won't continue. 

Feels Like Work

Then We Came to the End
by Joshua Ferris
Published by Little, Brown and Company
2 1/2 Out of 5 Stars

In fairness, this book is more of a 2 1/2 star, but given the tyrannical nature of the star system I am forced to go with a 2. Typically, this is the type of book I like--sarcastic, cynical, and funny. I really enjoyed the first half of it, but then got bogged down by the halfway point. I've worked in an office scenario like this and easily recognized the stereotypes depicted by Ferris (part of the fun in the beginning was recognizing and assigning real life names to the characters, "Oh my God, that is totally Bubba!"--obviously names have been changed here to make sure I don't get my butt kicked by a former colleague). Part of the problem is that Ferris is so good at describing the minutiae of day-to-day life in an office--the petty bickering, the fight for the best office supplies, the gossiping that takes precedence over work--that I eventually began to feel like I was going to work every time I picked up the book. 

This is not a bad book and it certainly has its merits. Ferris uses a peculiar point of view throughout the book that I have heard others complain about, but I found it to be one of the strong points. The book is told from the "we" perspective, as though such is the mediocrity of their carbon copy lives that the mindless office drones can no longer think for themselves and instead think as a collective. As the book goes on, we begin to see individual characters emerge--usually as they are laid off from their jobs and, thus, their individuality is returned to them. In some cases, the individual character is someone who has become the poster child for a particular office stereotype and is granted an individual name based upon the collective's view of this person as "different" in some way: the person who is always last to know, the person who is always the first to know, the storyteller, the noncomformist, the perfectionist, the couple engaged in the interoffice affair. Also compelling is the stand alone chapter we get from the perspective of Lynn, the boss who is diagnosed with breast cancer and who struggles with keeping her private life and fears separate from the office. 

As a whole, this was a clever conceit that would have done well as a novella, but it was wearing pretty thin by the 385 page mark. Watch Office Space--it does it better. 

A Fragile Narrative That Doesn't Hold

Fragile Beasts
by Tawni O'Dell
Published by Crown
2 1/2 Stars

When I read Tawni O'Dell's Coal Run a few years ago, it became an instant favorite.  So I was certain that I would love Fragile Beasts. I hate it when I'm wrong.

Set in Pennsylvania coal country, Fragile Beasts tells the story of the wealthy and reclusive Candace Jack, a woman who has tried to recreate the Spain of her youth in the remote mansion where she makes her home.  Her obsession for all things Spanish begins as so many obsessions do:  with a loss.  The love of her life, a Spanish bullfighter, is killed in the ring, leaving Candace to forever mourn what could have been.  Understandably, the town sees her as the crazy old spinster lady that nobody ever sees--although, in lieu of cats, she keeps a bull.  That's right.  A bull.  She bought the bull that killed her lover and has always kept one bull from each generation of his progeny.

So, we have an old woman nearing the end of a life created from walling herself off from her own emotions and from other people.  We've been here before.  There's only one thing to do:  create a plot device by which she is forced to interact with a young person who is damaged himself/herself and through this unlikely pairing, both will be forever changed.  In this case, Candace agrees to take in two teenage boys who have recently lost their father in a drunk driving accident.  Their mother left years ago and is clearly an unfit parent, even though she returns to collect the boys and move them to Arizona.  Candace reluctantly agrees to take the boys in mainly to spite the mother, to whom she takes an instant dislike.  The rest of the novel follows the uneasy relationship between the two boys, Kyle and Klint, who are coping with the death of their father, and Candace, a woman whose motherly instincts are non-existent.

The main issue with the book is that there is simply too much going on.  There are two stories, one set in the past during Candace's experiences in Spain and one in the present.  The present day story is narrated from 3 points of view:  Candace, Kyle (the sensitive, more emotionally open boy), and her Spanish butler/friend, Luis.  However, the "voice" between these three perspectives isn't varied enough.  Kyle in particular seems inauthentic as his chapters don't always read like that of a young teenager.  Sure, he's mature for his age, but I've never known a teenager to be that insightful.  Candace Jack is exactly what one would expect of a wealthy older woman--always concerned with the proper way of dressing, speaking, eating, behaving, etc.  If she had been more salty and cantankerous it would have given the novel more energy and perhaps more suspense.  She has flashes of humor, but they're sparse.  These first person points of view also lead to a lot of telling and not showing.  Most of the chapters are presented as internal dialogue in which the character reflects on the progress being made in forming the tentative bonds that may eventually bring them together as a family.  Instead of reflections, I would have preferred to see more in the moment interactions between the characters.  The Luis chapters serve primarily to explain what happened in Candace's life decades ago.

Despite its predictability and its flaws, there are some compelling moments, some witty dialogue, and I admire O'Dell's refusal to shy away from the dark corners of life.  For me, the back story of Candace and the bullfighter are the most interesting, as are Luis's stories about being a boy in Spain.  These stories made me wish an entire novel had been dedicated to Candace's youth.  As it is, the competing story lines never seem to get the breathing room they need to come alive.

See That Title? Yeah, Best Thing About It.

Baroque-A-Nova
by Kevin Chong
Published by Putnam Adult
2 1/2 Out of 5 Stars

Not sure what I should say about this book. First and foremost, I wouldn't recommend it to just anyone. It's off-beat and the characters really aren't likable. However, there was something about the book that kept me reading. 

The main character, Saul, is the child of the St. Pierres, a Canadian folk duo who were famous during the 60's-70's, but fell into relative obscurity after Helena, Saul's mother, walked off the stage one night and never came back. When the duo's most famous song, Bushmill's Threnody, resurfaces as a sample on a German rap group's popular song, the St. Pierres are once again thrust into the spotlight--a twist of fate that the fragile Helena, now living in Thailand and working at a mission, can't handle and it's not long before Saul learns of her suicide. Saul is a shiftless, smart ass teenager who has difficulty coming to terms with who his mother was and who his father really is. 

The book has some funny moments, but it's not as humorous as I expected it to be. Also irritating is Saul's first person point of view that lapses into long-winded descriptions of people and everything else around him. It just seems inconsistent with his character, as it's presented in the opening chapters.

For Once, I'm Not Interested in Shoes

In Her Shoes
by Jennifer Weiner
Published by Atria
2 1/2 Out of 5 Stars

***Some mild spoilers ahead***

Typically, this isn't my kind of book and, if the rating system allowed for half stars, I would have more accurately given it a 2 1/2. This is one of those it was the right book for the right time scenarios. I had just finished reading Nineteen Eighty-Four andFahrenheit 451 and, suffering a dystopian hangover, needed something light that didn't involve too much thinking. This certainly fit the bill. 

From the get-go we have a stereotypical plot: two sisters (one pretty but dumb and the other smart but plain) who are insanely jealous of one another despite their bond. However, this stereotype exists because there is a component of jealousy in many same-gender sibling relationships. No matter how much the two love one another, siblings often feel as though they are being compared to one another by parents, family, friends, society at large, and examined for deficiencies that become obvious when compared against their genetic foil. The smart one always wants to be pretty; the pretty one always wants to be smart. The athletic one secretly wants to be a book nerd; the book nerd always wants to be able to dunk a basketball. The one with curly hair always wants straight hair; the one with straight hair longs for curly locks. We end up envying precisely what the other hates or loathes in himself or herself. Maggie and Rose are no exception. There's some rich material to work with here, and Weiner does realistically portray the root causes of the sisters' envy for one another. She also takes some chances: further complicating their relationship is their mother, whose mental illness leads to her death while the girls are still young; the beautiful Maggie suffers from a debilitating learning disability that effectively limits her chances at success in the entertainment industry (she can't read the teleprompter during an MTV audition that she would have otherwise had in the bag); Maggie betrays Rose's trust to such a magnitude that their relationship may be beyond repair (no one can hurt you like a sister and Weiner takes advantage of the opportunity to challenge the sisters' relationship). Oh, and thank heavens she didn't take the route of making the overweight Rose thin by the end.

Having said all of that, there were certainly some things I did not love. There's a subplot involving the long-lost maternal grandmother that slowed down the narrative for me. Also, Maggie and Rose just weren't likable characters. These are not two women I would ever want to know in real life. They're self-involved and often petty. I'm also not buying that Rose quit her job to become a dog walker, nor that Maggie lives in the Princeton library and miraculously becomes a literary genius (by the novel's end, Maggie's reading every great literary classic she can get her hands on and spouting poetry like a water fountain). I'm not saying that someone with a learning disability is incapable of doing this, only that Weiner never plausibly made me believe Maggie was capable of doing this. If there was one perk of the inclusion of Maggie's reading of One Art by Elizabeth Bishop, i carry your heart with me(i carry it in by E. E. Cummings, and several classic literary texts, it's that it reminded me that there are certainly better books out there and, even though Weiner's work was somewhat humorous and mildly entertaining, maybe my time would be better served reading some of those. 

Bottom of the Barrel

Bottomfeeder
by B. H. Fingerman
Published by M Press
2 Out of 5 Stars

You know that scene at the end of Interview With the Vampire's film version where Lestat takes over the journalist's car? As he adjusts his lace sleeves, he notices Louis's voice on the cassette tape, and says, "Oh, Louis, Louis. Still whining, Louis. Have you heard enough? I've had to listen to that for centuries." That's the way I felt about Bottomfeeder. Oh, Philip, Philip. Still whining, Philip. For 200+ pages. It's safe to say that I've heard enough.

Bottomfeeder tells the story of Phil Merman, a Jewish vampire who is suffering a midlife crisis. Turned at 27 by an unknown attacker, Phil is now 54--half of his life spent as a mortal, half amongst the undead. After his inability to explain his new lifestyle to his wife or his (now deceased) parents, Phil has led a circumspect, solitary existence. He works at night for a photo archive (typically archiving photos of grisly crime scenes), lives in modest accommodations, and only hunts for the criminal and deviant elements among the homeless population. He's never sought out others like him and has rejected all human relationships--with the exception of Shelley, a sad alcoholic whose friendship Phil can't quite shake.

All of this changes when Phil meets Eddie Frye, another vampire who introduces Phil to vampire society--from bacchanalian bloodbaths, to a home for special needs vampires, to vampire group therapy. Suddenly Phil finds himself craving something other than blood: interaction with his own kind. As the friendship between Phil and Eddie solidifies, his relationship with Shelley deteriorates with potentially dangerous consequences.

I get what Fingerman was going for here--a vampire novel that is not the prototypical, romanticized vampire story most audiences have come to expect. And I do admire him for challenging these traditions. The lives led by his vampires are probably more realistic in terms of what vampirism would really mean. The isolation, loneliness, and compromised moral code are the tip of the iceberg (or fang, however you want to look at it). There's also the heightened senses, which are not pleasant. With heightened smell, sight, and taste, Phil becomes uncomfortably aware of how disgusting humans are. He can smell the unpleasant odors beneath the deodorants and fragrances; see the dry skin, stray hairs, and pimples as though through a magnifying glass; he can taste the layers of I-don't-want-to-tell-you-what-but-Fingerman-will on the necks of his unwashed victims. It would be like if you were put in a pen full of shit-smeared cattle and told to wander around until you found one you actually wanted to eat for dinner.

And that was an aspect of the novel I did not enjoy in the least. This novel triggered my gag reflexes far more often than I care to admit. I'm not talking about the blood and gore--that I can take. But Fingerman takes great joy in describing every ashy ass crack, every piss sodden newspaper, every used condom. I swear that every 10 or so pages he would bring in some hygienically challenged crazy person just to catalog every disgusting bodily function possible. Or he would have the main character step on a fluid filled condom. Apparently, New York is a condom-strewn wonderland.

The one thing that did keep my attention is the dark humor throughout which made Phil's voice engaging, when he wasn't whining about his circumstances. And I must say that, although I had one major plot twist figured out that factored into Phil's unnatural origins, it still led to an amazingly apropos ending.