Emotionally Brave, But Underwhelming

A Question of Manhood

by Robin Reardon

Published by Kensington

2 1/2 Out of 5 Stars

This is a tough one, but I'm going to go with 2 1/2 stars. It's tough because I admire any young adult author who is willing to tackle the issue of homosexuality in a way that teaches the need for acceptance and understanding, but doesn't do so in a way that fails to acknowledge the powerful social stigmas and gender stereotypes that still hold sway over pre-teens and teens grappling with what it means to be gay. However, in terms of plot and timeliness, the novel just didn't deliver for me.

The novel is set in 1972 and Paul Landon's brother, Chris, is serving in Vietnam. The novel opens as Chris, the family's golden child who voluntarily enlisted to serve, is home on leave before the Thanksgiving holiday. (In the interest of full disclosure, let me state that much of my disappointment stems from the fact that I thought this novel was going to have a lot more to do with the Vietnam War and with the experience of a gay soldier. If it hadn't been for the Vietnam reference, I would have never picked up the book.) Chris is there long enough to basically set up the time period: he tells some war stories, he throws around some Vietnam military jargon, and brings his brother a pair of Ho Chi Minh sandals. These obligatory Vietnam narrative motifs are basically all we get in the way of setting; if it hadn't been for this early scene, the rest of the book could have just as well taken place in the present day. The night before he leaves, Chris finds out that his boyfriend, Mason, was killed in Vietnam. Paul hears Chris crying in the room next door and when he goes to check on his brother, Chris reveals that he's gay, makes him promise not to tell mom and dad, and tells him that he's going back to Vietnam to die because he has nothing to live for. A few pages later, the family learns that Chris died a hero's death shortly after returning to Vietnam. Talk about a wham, bam, thank you m'am set up. It's not subtle and a bit too contrived for my tastes.

This moves us into the part of the novel with which I was impressed. The aftermath of Chris's death is handled well and with attention to emotional truth. Paul's mother walks around in a catatonic state, his father responds with stoic bravado and advises Paul to be a man and be strong for his mother, and Paul doesn't know what the hell that means. As if the transition between child and adult isn't hard enough, Paul's coming of age is compounded by the burden of carrying his brother's secret, being denied his own guilt and right to grieve by his father, and wanting to break away from Chris's shadow as it's impossible to live up to a brother who was idolized in life and is now revered in death. Paul also grapples with his own questions about homosexuality: can it be cured? does one "choose" to be gay? is it a sin? if not, why is it illegal? what exactly does being gay with another man mean? It's easy for adults to brush these aside as stupid questions, but they only remain stupid and a breeding ground for prejudice if they aren't answered, and I'm guessing in the 1970's there weren't many open and honest answers that a suburban teenager could expect. In typical teenage fashion, Paul internally deals with all of this and makes some poor choices along the way and, in typical parent-of-a-teenager fashion, his father always misinterprets Paul's intent and motivation.

As punishment for his sins (little Paul visited a prostitute and got caught. Stupid Paul. First rule of visiting a prostitute when you're a teenager: don't get caught because you sure as shit don't want your mom to know about that), Paul loses all privileges and is forced to work in his dad's pet shop with J.J., a college student working there for the summer and--guess what?--J.J. is gay. Now Paul has the opportunity to work through the anger and the disgust he feels toward his brother, as well as his grief, since J.J. can be a stand-in substitute for Chris and guide Paul through the labyrinthine questions, prejudices, and stereotypes he has built up in his mind. And it's the pet shop section where the novel lost it for me again. You see, J.J. is the 1970's answer to the Dog Whisperer. He trains dogs who have been abused or neglected by their owners. And apparently every dog in the tri-state area has an issue because this part of the novel lapses into J.J. working his canine magic on dog, after dog, after dog, after dog. Believe it or not, this gets old after a while. By the time he made his 57th speech on dogs being pack animals, establishing his presence as an Alpha male in the dog's eyes, and hitching some sort of little chain around the dog's head, I was ready to hang myself with a leash. And I get what Reardon was trying to do here; J.J.'s amazing calm and ability with dogs comes from learning how to deal with prejudice and bullies. I just think we could have gotten that message after 3 dog training sessions and shortened this sucker up by about 50 pages.

So, here's my beef with the novel: this is clearly a didactic novel for teens, so why is this set during the 1970's against the backdrop of Vietnam? This is Vietnam-Lite and I know Reardon didn't necessarily mean this to be a Vietnam novel, but it seems to date and undermine the novel's message. It's a bit like reading Uncle Tom's Cabin; it's relevant for a particular time and place, but the message that slavery is wrong isn't one I particularly need to hear as I knew that to be a truth before reading the novel. Living in the rural South, I know there are still some vehemently held prejudices out there. However, I don't know that reading a novel about a brother grappling with his brother's sexuality in the 1970's is particularly relevant to a contemporary teenager. I think this could have been more powerful and timelier if Paul had lost a brother to the war in Iraq or Afghanistan, allowing for more of a contemporary connection with the character. However, I respect and admire Reardon's message and handling of the subject matter in a way that acknowledges the complexity of the issues involved.

American Vampire Sinks Its Teeth In

American Vampire:  Volume 2

Written by Scott Snyder

Illustrated by Rafael Albuquerque and Mateus Santolouco

Published by Vertigo

4 Out of 5 Stars

I suspected this before, but volume 2 in the American Vampire storyline confirms what has now become an inalienable truth: Scott Snyder is a bad ass. And so are his vampires.

In volume 1, we were introduced to Skinner Sweet, the first American Vampire whose accidental creation proved to be a blow against the old school European vampires; Sweet is faster, stronger, and unlike any breed of vampire that came before him. Clearly, there's some symbolism here about America rising out of the outmoded aristocratic societies from which its populace immigrated to become a superpower, but who cares because there are VAMPIRES who are KILLING people and ENJOYING it without turning into emo-esque tortured souls after the blood spatters have hit the wall.

Volume 2 continues the story of many of the characters introduced in the first volume, but the setting is approximately a decade later (this is one of my favorite aspects of this series, the way it's not afraid to jump forward in time and explore its characters as America continues to work its way through its adolescence as a nation). The first storyline follows Las Vegas police chief Cashel McCogan as he investigates a series of murders that occur during the building of the Hoover Dam. Cashel is shocked to find out that his city harbors more than the mortal vices of gambling, drinking, and prostitution when he discovers that Sin City has more monsters hiding in its shadows than in its bright lights. The second storyline focuses on Pearl, the vampire created by Skinner Sweet in volume 1, as she tries to create an idyllic life with her human husband, Henry, and avoid the past that she knows is tracking her down.

These stories continue to develop the characters of Sweet and Pearl, as well as Felicia and Abilena Book who have become vampire hunters intent on making Sweet pay for turning Jim Book. I continue to love the idea of various types of vampires (like the Gaelic Prime), each of which must be killed in a different fashion, and how the American breed proves particularly difficult to kill as no one--man or vampire--has discovered its unique weaknesses. There are also some nice plot twists (with a chilling end to the first storyline of Cashel McCogan) and questions that still have yet to be answered (such as what exactly is Felicia Book, the naturally born child of Abilena and the infected Jim Book). I suppose it's on to volume 3 to find out.

A Weak Foundation Indeed

Pillars of the Earth

by Ken Follett

Published by NAL Trade

1 Out of 5 Stars

This book was popular? As in a mini-phenomenon? Seriously? Am I being punked? Tell the truth--no one else read the book. It was all an elaborate media/pop culture scheme to trick me into reading this book. Please lie to me about this. I'm not sure I can go on living if I have to believe that this is what my fellow man is reading these days.

My utter disdain for the book comes from many a source:

A) It's 900 pages. Mind you, I'll read 900 pages, even 1,500 pages, if it's amazing. But it has to be a crackerjack of a book. This was not.

B) Here's where this book and I really parted ways: Tom Builder's beloved wife, Agnes, dies in childbirth on the side of the road. Only hours later, Tom's rolling in the leaves with an attractive forest wench in a sex scene so ridiculous I could practically hear the "bow-chicka-wow-wow" music in the background. Poor Agnes' body isn't even cold yet and Tom's getting it on with a woman he had a 15 minute conversation with earlier in the book.

C) It's hard to believe this is medieval England, what with all the modern sensibilities and modern vernacular.

C) It could have been whittled down by about 500 pages if the scenes of people eating had been omitted.

E) The women, oh, the women. Witches or whores or victims of tag team rape.

Here's the basic rundown of the plot:

--Building a church, building a church, building a church . . .
--Oh, crap, a plot complication! We might not be able to build the church.
--Crafty Phillip overcomes the complication.
--Insert licentious sex scene.
--Building a church, building a church, building a church . . .
--Oh, crap, a plot complication! We might not be able to build the church.
--Crafty Phillip overcomes the complication.
--Now insert gratuitous sex scene.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. For 900 pages.

And It's Perfect, Just the Way It Is

It's a Book

by Lane Smith

Published by Roaring Brook Press

5 Out of 5 Stars

Dear Amazon Kindle,

Do you know what else is portable? Do you know what else allows me to read anywhere at any given time? Do you know what else I can read on a beach or in any light? Do you know what else has crisp black and white contrast for easy reading? Do you know what else I can fit in my purse? Do you? Do you?

A book.


I'm not a technology curmudgeon (although my use of the word "curmudgeon" alone probably indicates that I'm well on my doddering way into geriatric-ville). There have been many technological advances of which I'm quite fond--just try and pry my iPod out of my cold dead hand. However, when it comes to technology, I see two categories: 1) technology that saves time and adds to the quality of my life and 2) status technology. For the most part, I think e-readers and their ilk fall into status technology. It screams "hey, look at me and my nifty gadget." Sure you can download several books within seconds, but going to a bookstore and browsing through the selections with a cuppa joe in my hand is one of my favorite things. I like walking around, basket on my arm, adding to it any item that catches my fancy. I like agonizing over which of my carefully selected books will be going home with me as I weigh my wants against what my meager bank account will allow me to have. I love the feel of books, the smell of books, the covers of books. I love turning pages. I love seeing what others are reading.

And that's why I love It's a Book. In a world of techno-abundance, it reminds the jackasses of the world that the book is already perfection. 

One Rainy Night, the End of the World Began . . . and It Was B-O-R-I-N-G

The Taking

by Dean Koontz

Published by Bantam

2 Out of 5 Stars

Well, I don't want to give too much away as a book such as this relies heavily upon suspense. Simply put, it was okay. The basic premise: it begins raining one night, but this is no ordinary rain--it's one bad mamma-jamma: torrential, luminous, and occurring at precisely the exact same time all over the world. Defense satellites are out of commission, strange alien creatures run amok, and people begin to go insane. And that's all before the crap really hits the proverbial fan.

Now the other thing about books such as this is that the most obvious explanation for whatever creepiness is going down is beaten like a dead horse to the point that you know it can't possibly be that explanation. Instead, you have to pay attention to the theory that's being ruled out as a possibility, yet mentioned peripherally and in often subtle ways throughout the book. Therein lies the problem with The Taking--the clues weren't subtle enough and I pretty much had it all figured out from the very first one (seriously, can you mention "Legion" and not be obvious?) I desperately hoped that Koontz was going to throw in a plot twist so craftily, well, crafted before the end that I would have to cede the victory to him ("Well played, Dean," I imagined myself saying by the book's end, "but you shant cozen me next time with your verbal trickery.") Instead, all I can say is, "Better luck next time, and play your cards a little closer to the vest--don't name the freakin' dog Virgil."

Eat, Drink, and Be Miserable

Like Water for Chocolate

by Laura Esquivel

Published by Doubleday

3 Out of 5 Stars

Okay, so maybe more of a 3 1/2 star. I have a love/hate relationship with magical realism and, if anything, part of my disappoint with the novel comes from the fact that there's not as much "magic" as I had hoped for (I prefer Isabel Allende's House of the Sprits by comparison). However, I still enjoyed the novel as it was unique in its structure, and the conduit for the magical aspects of the novel--food--was beautifully rendered in the recipes and descriptions of the connection between food and culture, as well as food and memory.

Tita, the youngest daughter in her family, is doomed by tradition. She grows up knowing that she will never marry as it is her fate to take care of her tyrannical mother as she enters old age. Tita might have been able to resign herself to her destiny if it weren't for Pedro, the man with whom she falls passionately in love at first sight. Tita's mother, of course, forbids the marriage and instead does the unthinkable--offers Pedro her eldest daughter Rosaura's hand in marriage. Pedro, the effin' fool that he is (oh, that's my other complaint with the book; I did not cotton to Pedro, although, to be fair, he's not a very well-developed character and so his actions come across as moronic since his only driving impulse is to be with Tita), accepts because it is the only way he can be near Tita. Oh, yeah. You know that's a plan that's going to end in a fustercluck.

Tita is both elated to know that Pedro is only marrying her sister out of love for Tita and depressed by the fact that their love is to go unconsummated as long as her mother's eagle eye ensures that the two are kept apart. Unable to express her innermost desires, they instead surface in her famed cooking. Ordinary meals become an emotional feast as those who eat her food are consumed by Tita's suppressed passion, anger, and resentment.

The episodic structure of the novel is genius, separated month by month and beginning with the recipe around which the story will revolve.

The characters are somewhat one-dimensional, but given that the novel has a fairytale quality to it and reads more as myth than reality, I'm willing to forgive that. What ruined the entire novel for me was the ending. I don't want to ruin it for other readers, so I will simply say that I don't think Tita chose the right man and leave it at that.

With No Particular Place to Go

Drive Like Hell

by Dallas Hudgens

Published by Scribner

3 Out of 5 Stars

Luke's lust for driving was inspired by late night rides in his father's '66 Chevelle Super Sport. During the wee A.M. hours somewhere on the back roads of a small town in Georgia, his father, Lyndell, would take his then 10 year old son along as he drank, smoked, engaged in some light B & E, imparted questionable nuggets of wisdom about life and women, and taught him to drive like hell. At 16 years old, Luke Fulmer now has only one thing on his mind: getting his driver's license so he can be like dear old dad. As a result, Luke's driving days are numbered when he's caught in a stolen car (he "borrowed" it from his neighbor) with marijuana, an air pistol, and contraband during an ill-fated attempt to get retribution against his mother's lowlife ex-boyfriend for stealing their RCA television. Now Luke has a suspended license and six months to prove to the judge that he can get his act together before he can drive again.

Drive Like Hell is an okay book with some strong points. It's well-written and very clearly rooted in a particular time and place (although sometimes desperately so; the characters take every opportunity to mention as many television shows, movies and songs as possible). However, one of the strongest points--realistic characters, is also the reason why I did not enjoy the book more. The novel is about the type of people for whom I have no sympathy. This family doesn't live on the brink of poverty: they have jobs, they have a house, they have vehicles, they have television, they apparently have plenty of money for booze, cigarettes, marijuana and food. There's no indication of any "want" here. It's almost as if Hudgens didn't want us to dislike this group of rednecks and so pulls his punches in terms of emotional neglect or criminal activity: mom's a beautiful slut with a heart of gold, but she cares; dad is a shiftless drunk, but he cares; big brother is a small time drug dealer, but he cares. These are the type of people who create drama to simply alleviate the boredom of small town Southern life and instead of channeling all of that energy into something productive, they purposely screw things up the very minute life seems to be headed in an okay direction. They're scared of success. They're scared of doing better. They've mistaken being ever-so-slightly on the wrong side of the law as "having character." In other words, this isn't the Dolly clan from Daniel Woodrell's superior Winter's Bone.

In Winter's Bone, we have a family who is shaped and created by poverty, whose meanness of spirit and unapologetic grit in the face of adversity is not chosen, but tools necessary for survival. We feel pity for them because life dealt them a shit hand in a shit place and has given them a shit chance of ever doing better. To hang onto even a shred of dignity, as the teenage Ree Dolly does, is a miracle in such circumstances. Compared to the Dollys, the Fulmers of Drive Like Hell seem like a whiny ass bunch of rednecks who just need to get off the damn porch because life for them just isn't that bad. Heck, it's not even that boring where they live--why, in the course of 300+ pages, young Luke has met Jack Nicklaus at a Waffle House, smoked marijuana in Paul Newman's car while Newman stays at the local Holiday Inn, and met a football legend.

Yes, these types of people exist, but I'm not sure why we needed a story about them. By the end, no one is transformed, no one rises above, we have a bildungsroman that is severely short on the "bildung" as young Luke seems to have learned very little about life by the novel's ambiguous end (he's even late for the court date at which his license might be reinstated). He doesn't realize he wants to be the catcher in the rye--he doesn't have an epiphany of any kind that's worth two bits. We can be pretty sure that young Luke will be out there driving like hell as soon as possible. So why did we ever go along for the ride?