bookshelves of doom

Did anyone read the Washington Times yesterday?

Check out this intro to an interview with Robie Harris posted at the Planned Parenthood website:

On March 27, 2006, the American Life League placed a full-page ad in the Washington Times charging that a book titled It's Perfectly Normal: Changing Bodies, Growing Up, Sex, and Sexual Health, and Planned Parenthood Federation of America, which endorses the book, promote "kiddie porn" and "child abuse" — a charge that is a blatant act of deception and distortion.

I can only assume that the advertisement I linked to is the one that I assume ran yesterday -- it's the one that is offered at the ALL website. 

Howl's Moving Castle: The Movie.

My goodness.  That may have been the strangest book-to-movie adaptation I've ever seen.

I'm not going to moan about all of the changes.  Much.  But I do wish that they hadn't changed Howl's character so much.

Or the Witch of the Waste's reason for putting the spell on Sophie in the first place.  That kind of upset me.

Somewhat nasty author response to a blog entry.

The original entry is here.  TLL has posted M. Apostolina's comment and her response to it here.

I think it's so strange when authors get riled IN PUBLIC about middling-to-bad reviews.  It just looks so... immature and small.  Remember that John Irving interview?  He sounded like a BIG BABY.

(I do totally understand fuming at home, but really.  When you do it in public it makes you look like Tom Cruise.  And no, before someone makes the obvious comment, I DO NOT mean that in a good way.)

Clarice Bean Spells Trouble -- Lauren Child

Everything I said about Utterly Me, Clarice Bean still stands.  Except that this book's ribbon bookmark is RED, not PINK.

Here.  Enjoy some classic Clarice:

Eggplant is an organic shop as well as being vegetarian.  It's all about selling things that haven't been sprayed with chemically things.

I am not sure what that word organic exactly stands for really.  Who does know?  They should call it "with bugs" or something so people know what they are in for.  You might find a caterpillar in your broccoli but that's the point.

Mom says, "There's nothing wrong with eating a caterpillar."

I say, "There is if you are vegetarian."

I suppose that as they're so recent, these books probably can't be considered 'classics' -- yet.  But they will be.

I hope Delia sees this.

The best thing ever.

(Via Fuse #8)

Megan McCafferty is one classy lady.

She isn't seeking restitution in any form.

And, of course, in case you haven't heard -- Opal has been recalled. 

(How, out of the hundreds of articles on the topic, did I pick that one?  I just couldn't resist the utter LAME-o-sity of the headline.  "Not Novel Enough"?  If you're going to make a pun, at least try for a slightly less obvious one.  Not that I can think of one, but I'm not a headline writer, am I?  Also, it's early and I haven't eaten yet.  Brain is still warming up.)

The article at the NYT is much better, actually.  Read that one instead.

Okay.  I've read in several articles that KV "confessed to copying passages", but as far as I can tell, she still hasn't done that -- she's said that it was unintentional, that she has a photographic memory, blah-di-blah, but I haven't seen an actual CONFESSION.  Just a lot of excuses.

Am I being too harsh?  I don't really think so.  Plagiarism is gross.  As are excuses.

New Soft Skull catalog.

Some that I definitely want to read:

Sounds of Your Name by Nate Powell and Choir Boy by Charlie Anders -- Just look like a perfect match for my older YA lovin' self.

Eunoia by Christian Bok -- OOOoo!  I've wanted to read this for a while.  I asked the library director to buy it and she said I was the only person who would read it, so no.  Stinker.

The Bandana Republic:  A Literary Anthology by Gang Members and their Affiliates -- Do I read need to explain myself here?

The Good Fairies of New York by Martin Millar -- Neil Gaiman wrote the Introduction.  I have trust.

Under My Roof by Nick Mamatas -- I'm not sure if I can handle all of the craziness in this book, but I'd like to try.

There's tons more.

More Dan Brown news...

It appears that the world's most famous hack author has a secret identity.

Batman.

There's a new rock star in town.

From the Boston Globe:

LONDON -- The judge who presided at the ''Da Vinci Code" copyright infringement trial has put a code of his own into his ruling, and he said yesterday he would ''probably" confirm it to the person who breaks it.

I'm still laughing.  Is this real life?

In related news, a new diet book has been published.

Stay with Me -- Garret Freymann-Weyr

Garret Freymann-Weyr is on the same list as Ellen Wittlinger:  If I see her name on a book, I will pick it up.  Period.  Her books are always different, I never know exactly what to expect, other than overall excellence.  After reading three of her four books, I do expect them to be extremely thoughtful and probably somewhat achy.

I couldn't help loving Leila Abranel from the beginning (for obvious reasons):

And Clare told me that her mother had remarked that my name, Leila (from the Persian meaning "dark as night"), was pretentious but serviceable.

...

And the only thing I had ever had to say about my name was the rather lame I am not a rock song to people who called me Lay-la instead of Lee-la.

I realize that it's silly to like a character simply because she shares your name and specific pronunciation of it, but that's just the way it goes.  (Take that, you stinker.  Tell ME my name is "pronounced wrong".  Who does that?  Jerk.  Names are IMPORTANT.  You don't tell someone that their name is wrong.  Sorry.  Back to the book.) 

Of course, that was just where my affection began.  She also likes to start sentences with 'And'.  I liked her for that, too.  But there's obviously more -- I'm not so easily swayed that I like a character solely due to her name and her writing quirks.

As trite as it sounds, she's special.  Everyone sees it but her -- she thinks that she needs to strive just to be average.  Usually, that isn't a characteristic that works for me, but it did here, because it was true.  She isn't being self-deprecating or disingenuous.  That is how she sees herself.  And that might be part of what makes her so special:

Da is always talking about what a big heart I have.  At first, I thought it was only something he said when the girls were being particularly difficult, but eventually I came to see that he believed it.  Personally, I think that what he calls a big heart is my inability to gather information easily.  When you screw up your left and right, see letters backwards, and know you often make mistakes, it's easier to wait and see exactly what's what.  Deciding quickly on an answer or conclusion--about anything--makes me wrong more than is already necessary.

Even though the entire book is from Leila's perspective, she never convinced me of her mediocrity.  I agree with her father.  She does have a big heart.

The book itself, though it deals with suicide and grieving and pain, didn't make me cry.  Leila's voice is so analytical that I always felt held away at arm's length.  But that distance made everything even better -- it allowed me to see everything and everyone, rather than getting wrapped up in the emotions of one character.  She sees and explains events so clearly -- she might be the most trustworthy narrator I've ever come across.  It felt a bit like a play, which was probably deliberate, as Leila's dream (one of them) is to design sets for plays. 

Stay With Me reminded me of Shopgirl at moments, partially due to the obvious plot similarities (Leila gets involved with a much older man), but also because of the overall tone.  I also thought of Six Feet Under and Edward Tulane.  Rather than stories about getting through pain and leaving it behind, these are stories about living with pain, accepting it and still moving on.  But not leaving it behind, because that isn't always possible.  And maybe usually isn't.

The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl -- Barry Lyga

Okay.  I'm going to start this off with a bit of a disclaimer:  I am SO OVER books that feature a goth girl who is crazy, is possibly suicidal, is actually murderous.  And you know what?  I already did this rant:  It's all right there in my review of Caught in the Act.  (You'll find it by clicking the "actually murderous" link.)

I just think it would be fun to read a book about a Goth girl (or boy -- a boy would be fine, too) who's actually pretty normal.  Off the top of my head, Sweetblood comes the closest. 

So, yeah.  My opinion of The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl may have been colored by all of that baggage.  If so, sorry.

There were things that I liked about it.  None of them were so blindingly obvious that I can think of any specifics at the moment (and I finished it last night, which is frightening), but by the end I was attached enough to the characters that I was slightly concerned about how things would turn out...  I really liked the narrator's rant about the "My kid can beat up your honor student" bumper stickers.  (Did the main character even have a name?  I can't remember.  Apparently the book made even less of an impression that I originally thought.  I double checked.  No name.  Phew.  I feel slightly better about myself.)

I liked the Bendis cameo. 

I was reminded of a lot of other things.  This bit reminded me of Romy and Michelle:

Someday, when I've left this stupid little hick town with its stupid little hick people, the ones on The List are the ones I'll be sure to remember more than anyone else.  I'm not sure how, but I'll remember them.  Sometimes I can almost sympathize with those guys who go nuts and shoot up their schools, but no one on The List is worth dying or going to jail for.  The best revenge is living well, my dad told me once.  So I'd be happy to show up at my tenth reunion in a stretch limo, or with a supermodel on my arm, or with a TV crew filming one of many documentaries about me or something.

But my major problem?  I kind of hated the narrator.  I'm all for crotchety, obnoxious high school students, but he was so over-the-top.  He had reason to be a pill to the people his own age, sure, but he was such a jerk at home -- it just turned me off.  Maybe I'm getting old. 

His mom was crazy, yes, I get that.  She was all hormonal and hugely pregnant, so she had a reason, but I understand his pillishness on that front.  I also understand his anger towards her and her new husband, the Affair Guy.  It all made sense, yet I still found him so unlikeable that I felt almost no sympathy.

But perhaps this all stems from my aforementioned irritation with the Goth Girl thing.  There are loads of people who really liked it.  So maybe you should listen to them.

Random House isn't buying it.

They're PISSED. 

From the Harvard Crimson:

We find both the responses of Little Brown and their author Kaayva [sic] Viswanathan deeply troubling and disingenuous.

Go.  Read the whole thing.  It's pretty awesome.  He even threw in a plug for McCafferty's new book.  (Which, since yesterday, has jumped up 8 spots on the Amazon Sales Rank list.)

Did you see the Today Show segment?  As much as I loathe the Perky One, she really got a zinger in at the end.  And could KV have said 'genuine/ly' more?

Same Stuff as Stars banned.

From The Augusta Chronicle (see Bugmenot for login):

In a Tuesday meeting, the school board unanimously voted to ban the children's book by Katherine Paterson from elementary pupils, but still allow it in middle schools.

For the first time in Superintendent Tommy Price's recollection, he said, the board was asked to remove a novel from schools after a parent complaint about the graphic language and adult themes used in the book.

"There were some adult situations in the book, but I think the parent was mostly upset about the four-letter words in it," Mr. Price said.

Classic.  Forget the fact that we're talking about a well-written and well-reviewed book by an author who has won an almost ridiculous number of awards, a story about issues that kids can relate to, a story with characters you care about, etc., etc., etc... 

Some four-letter-words negate it all.

A big fat apology from Kaavya Viswanathan.

I so don't buy it.  I'm sure that she's sorry that she did it.  Well, sorry that she got caught.  I'm sure that she was in over her head, under a lot of pressure, etc., etc., etc.  But I refuse to believe that the plagiarism wasn't deliberate.

From the Globe:

Yesterday, Viswanathan acknowledged she ''read and loved" both of McCafferty's books while she was in high school and ''may have internalized her work" -- and clearly, the parallels are striking.

MAY HAVE??!  For future reference, "internalize" does not equal "copy entire passages and change the brand names in the hopes that no one will notice".  Sheesh. 

Rush Hour, Volume Three: Face -- Ed. Michael Cart

You'll find more of an explanation of Rush Hour here.

I was going to wait until I'd tracked down Volume Two... But I caved. 

Volume Three is much stronger than the first one -- obviously, I have no idea what V2 is like, but they've really hit their stride in this one:

David Yoo's "Turning Japanese":  His temp boss assumes that because he's Asian, he must be Japanese, he doesn't correct her, it turns into a whole big thing where she expects him to teach her Japanese:

Sharon was in her late forties.  She was extremely thin, with buggy eyes that made her resemble a grasshopper.  She was friendly in a way that was undeniably authentic but still sounded artificial.  It was probably her southern accent.  The fact that she assumed I was Japanese didn't help my impression of her.  I didn't bother clarifying that I was a Korean (albeit one born and raised in the States who can't speak Korean) the first time because at that moment it felt like less of a hassle to just let it slide.  She'd made only a few passing references to my "Japanese" heritage since then, and I figured her thinking this wasn't hurting anybody.  It had now been five months, and far too much time had passed for me to correct her because it would make me the asshole for leading her on the whole time. 

Lara M. Zeises' "Me and the Bean":  I've been meaning to read her for some time now.  This story pushed me right over the edge.  I must track her books down.

K. L. Going's "Samuel":  This one was rough.  But very, very good.  Made me realize that I need to bone up on my Bible knowledge, though.

Adrian Chamber's "The Scientific Approach":  Super short -- 4 pages -- loved it.  I will now finally read Postcards From No Man's Land.

There was also an excerpt from Grand & Humble, an essay about transsexuals called "The Wrong Body", an excerpt from a German novel that I MUST read, photos and drawings and a bunch of other pieces.  I'm so into this series.  Eclectic is an understatement.

They really should set up some kind of subscription package.  If that doesn't work due to changing release dates or whatever, maybe a standing order set-up: Sign-up and when a new one comes out, your credit card gets charged and the new volume is automatically shipped.  Or something. 

Volume Four, Reckless, is due out in June.  I'm especially looking forward to Bennett Madison's short story:  "Little Sisters Steal the Best Shit".

Just Listen -- Sarah Dessen

I mentioned recently that Sarah Dessen is on my list of comfort-read-authors.  Her books aren't as light as Joan Bauer's, but I still feel safe when I pick one up.  I know that she won't throw in some devastating sob-causing twist at the end.

Yes, I admit that I usually do cry at the end of her books, but it's a smiley-weepy-cry, not a heart-wrenching sob.  A nice, comfortable cry.  Just Listen didn't disappoint.  I found myself all teary on the back steps of the library during my lunch break.  Rather embarrassing, but I recovered quickly.

Annabel Greene is the youngest of three girls.  All three have spent their childhood and teen years modeling -- not horrible Living-Dolls-beauty-pageant-modeling, but wholesome, not-massively-pressured, strong-family-support-network-type-modeling.  Well, her two older sisters have eating disorders -- one is recovered and one is in the midst of recovery, but for the most part, Annabel's modeling is not a bad scene:

The director, fresh-faced and just out of film school, had explained to me the concept of this, his creation.  "The girl who has everything," he'd said, moving his hands in a tight, circular motion, as if that was all it took to encompass something so vast, not to mention vague.  Clearly, it meant having a megaphone, some smarts, and a big group of friends.  Now, I might have dwelled on the explicit irony of this last one, but the on-screen me was already moving on.

Of course, just because the modeling isn't hideously painful doesn't mean that Annabel wants to continue with it.  So.  People see Annabel as "the girl who has everything".  Which obviously isn't true:

For a second, we just stared at each other, and I instantly noticed the changes in her:  Her curly dark hair was shorter, her earrings new.  She was skinnier, if that was possible, and had done away with the thick eyeliner she'd taken to wearing the previous spring, replacing it with a more natural look, all bronzes and pinks.  I wondered, in her first glance, what was different in me.

Just as I thought this, Sophie opened her perfect mouth, narrowed her eyes at me, and delivered the verdict I'd spent my summer waiting for.

"Bitch."

Annabel isn't into expressing herself.  So it takes a long while for her to come clean to the reader -- let alone anyone else -- about what made her best friend hate her.  I had it figured out pretty early on -- like by page 25 -- but I don't think it was meant to be a huge shock for the reader.  The story isn't a mystery -- it is much more about Annabel finding her voice. 

Now.  The Boy.  Owen Armstrong.  He's big.  He's quiet.  He got into trouble the previous year for punching another boy in the face.  (Which is always weirdly attractive to me.  It must be some strange evolutionary thing.)  He doesn't really talk to anyone.  He just moves through his day, headphones in place.  At first, I really didn't like him very much.  He struck me as pretentious and a bit too... deep.  It seemed like he took himself waaaaaaay too seriously.  But he improved.  By the end, I was a fan.  Okay, a big fan.

Just Listen made me want to go on a Sarah Dessen kick.  I think I'll save it for summer, though.  She writes perfect sunny-weekend-day-sitting-on-the-porch-with-a-pitcher-of-something books.

Love You Forever: The Oddaptation.

Read it and laugh.

For the record, I really don't understand why anyone -- ANYONE -- would like this book, let alone think that it's anything other than creepy.  On a scale of 1 to ten, it has an ick-factor of, like, a million. 

Okay, I'm done.

No, I'm not.  It's CREEPY.  Someone who likes it, please explain.

Speaking of creepy, the last few episodes of Season 4 of Six Feet Under really made me think of Edward Tulane.  (Which I still like.)  So did Stay With Me, but I'll get into that when I actually have time to review the book.

Okay, done now.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

God, I love Bookslut.

How Kaavya Viswanathan Got a Book Deal, Panicked, and Stole From Megan McCafferty.

The passages that the Globe printed are pretty darn similar.  (There are lots more at the Harvard Crimson.)  I'm rather horrified.  I hope that McCafferty's sales get a good bump from this publicity.

Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings both rule.  When I finished the first book, I threw a temper tantrum because I wasn't able to start the next one immediately.  So if you're going to read 'em, get them both.  (We're entering the annual Time of the Beach Book, and these are perfect.)

The library copy of Charmed Thirds finally arrived.  Now I have to wait for them to process it before I read it.  Grrrr.

Sour grapes.

The Horn Book has been threatened with 'legal action' because a publisher didn't like getting a bad review.

If you scroll down through the comments, you'll find that I wasn't the only one who got into trouble for not liking a certain book.

I'm not usually a fan of performance art.

But here's my idea:

I think that people should dress up as the Dursleys and go to school board meetings whenever the Harry Potter books get challenged.  They can stand up and speak out -- in character -- against Harry Potter and magic.  It would be SO COOL. 

Obviously, the people that want the books banned (even though they haven't even read them) wouldn't get the joke.  Hah.

Later, gators.

Taking off to go and see Tom Russell with my favorite Greek-spouting ballerina.  (And Josh.)

Have a fab weekend.

The Amazing Life of Birds (The Twenty-Day Puberty Journal of Duane Homer Leech) -- Gary Paulsen

Finally.  A puberty book that most parents (even many of the super-protective ones) will find acceptable.  I think: 

Look, we've all seen those shows on the Discovery Channel where they show a baby being born.  There's a man in a hospital gown and a woman on a table and a lot of noise and sweat and there it is.

A baby.  Looking actually a lot like the little bird on my windowsill, all messy and ugly.

Me.

And if they'd done a video there would be my mother and my father smiling with love at me, all goobery and sloppy.

Defenseless, new in the world, not even a clue that someday puberty would come along and body-slam me.

It's short and light and hysterically funny and deals with zits:

Then I looked in the mirror over the sink and there was a zit in the middle of my forehead.  Not just a small one.  A giant.  It looked like something in there was trying to get out and when I pinched it...

Well, enough of that.  But now instead of a zit I have what the TV would call a "suppurating wound."  It isn't important to know what that means--just the sound of the words makes it work.

I have another zit on my chest which the shirt will cover but in the mirror my face looks like I tried to kiss a rotary mower.

Remember that episode of The Wonder Years where Fred Savage tried to hide his pimple with a Band-Aid?  By the end of this book, Duane Home Leech has more Band-Aid than face.

For real, though.  It's very wholesome and clean for a puberty book -- no wet dreams or masturbation or anything.  Any reference to girly parts?  Duane always says ELBOW, leaving the actual body part to the reader's imagination.

It's awesome.

Blind Faith -- Ellen Wittlinger

When I read Joan Bauer, I always know what I'm going to get.  A character who has a passion/talent for something, whether it be waitressing, selling shoes, a budding historian or a pumpkin grower.  A love interest.  I have no issue whatsoever with this, and I don't see it as a fault at all -- I love her books.  Her books are like comfort food to me.  Sarah Dessen is much the same way -- the stories and characters themselves change, but I'm always pretty confident that I know what I'm walking into when I start a new novel.

I never really know what I'm going to get when I pick up an Ellen Wittlinger book.  Just that it'll be good.  Blind Faith didn't disappoint.

Liz Scattergood has always felt closer to her grandmother, Bunny, than to her mother.  For that matter, Liz's mother has always felt closer to Bunny than to her own daughter.  Liz has never really connected with her mother -- Christine and Bunny seem to have this closed-membership club of two.

Then Bunny dies.  And Christine collapses.

Enter the Singing Creek Spiritualist Church. 

Things get rough.  Liz's dad is an atheist -- an atheist and a half, really:

On Sundays, if Mom and I went to church with Bunny, Dad stayed home and read books.  "I'll get my wisdom from Tolstoy rather than the Gospels," he'd say.  "I trust Leo over Peter and Paul any day."

...

He never liked it when people talked about church or religion.  I'd once heard him tell Mom that religion was superstition on one side and hypocrisy on the other.  He didn't believe any of it and he didn't trust people who did.

I felt for him -- it would be a hard situation to be in, to have your wife suddenly go from 0 to 60 in the religion department.  And for the religion to be one that even most religious people raise their eyebrows at -- that would be even harder.  And for your wife to turn to that religion instead of to you, their husband -- that might be the hardest.  I would imagine. 

But the book is about Liz.  Who, like so many kids, finds herself stuck in the middle.  On one side, she desperately wants to believe, like her mother, that she can contact Bunny through the Spiritualists.  On the other, she thinks that her father might be right.

Even though the issues in Blind Faith are BIG issues, the book never feels heavy:

The whole idea of boys being people you would actually choose to spend time with was pretty much totally incomprehensible to me.  I could never think of anything to say to them, and they seemed equally dumbstruck by my presence.  I think Roxy was right when she told me, "Getting straight As is not exactly an aphrodisiac."  Once they grew up, like Dad, males apparently became human again, but the younger ones were aliens.  All that loud talking and pounding on each other--it was embarrassing how much they wanted attention.  I mean, I was attracted to men in movies, like Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom, but I couldn't imagine having a boyfriend I'd have to actually speak to.

All of the characters are engaging and likable (even Roxy eventually won me over, though it took a while), and the complex relationship between the whole Scattergood clan was very well drawn.  It was like Sandpiper. I felt like these characters were real people.

And, as always, I just enjoy Ellen Wittlinger's writing:

Dad sighed as though he were pulling the frustration up from the bottoms of his feet.

...

Sometimes I wondered if "best friend" just meant the person who knew you well enough to embarrass you the most.

I'm beginning to suspect that we may be on the verge of a new wave of YA books that explore religion and belief -- it's become such an unfortunately divisive force for so many of us in recent years that it isn't really surprising.  I just hope that talented authors like Ellen Wittlinger and Dana Reinhardt, who are able to explore without preaching, will be the people to continue the trend.

Temping Fate -- Esther Friesner

Ilana Newhouse needs a summer job.  Preferably one that doesn't involve burger grease and will look good on her college applications.  She gets turned away from business after business due to her attitude and appearance.  (Apparently, a 'Orc: The Other Green Meat' T-shirt and Sharpie tattoo of a skull on your cheek don't go over well in suburban Connecticut.  Go figure.)

Finally, she lands a job with the D. R. Temp Agency.  She quickly realizes that she's not just covering for some generic office worker -- she's temping for Fate.

It SOUNDS like a really fun premise, right?  There's a lot of potential for fun and adventure, maybe some romance and so forth, right? 

If I had to sum this book up in one word?  SNORE.

But one-word reviews aren't really fair.  I got a kick out of the Furies:

Ilana's scream was drowned out by a chorus of shrill giggles.  In an instant she was surrounded by a trio of girls, all barely into their teens, as perky and bouncy as a basket full of puppies.  They'd come out of nowhere.  One was blond, one brunette, one redheaded, all of them dressed in shorts, T-shirts, and flipflops that were identical except for color.

But that was it.  Just a kick.  I never developed any sort of emotional attachment with a character (I liked Mrs. A, and her secret identity was very clever, but I didn't care about her.  There was also a possibility with Arachne, but it just didn't pan out). 

I never even really cared one way or the other about what would happen.  They could have all died in a fiery pit of chili, and I probably would have said, "Huh.  That was odd."  MAYBE.  But I wouldn't have cared.  All surface, no depth.  All of that adds up to that sad book death-knell:  BO-ring.

All of the actual emotion interactions between the characters themselves felt stilted, somehow.  Forced.

I'm not just being grouchy.  I realize that I occasionally have a tendency to let my mood color my opinion, but I started this book in a great mood.  The book destroyed my mood, not the other way around.

In all honesty, if an older teen wanted a book about being Fate, I'd probably point him/her to that Piers Anthony series.  I totally think that P.A. is a hack, but I loved that series as a teen and I remember liking it enough that I re-read the Death and Fate books over and over again.  At least with those, I actually got attached to the characters.

The new Edge of the Forest issue is up.

Click and read.

Oh, no, this isn't horribly addicting at all.

Literature-Map.

My god.  I could do that all day long.

There's a music one, too.  That plays actual music.  This is so cool, I might have a heart attack.

Am I the last person on the planet to discover these?

Wilkins' Tooth -- Diana Wynne Jones

Wilkins' Tooth is the British title for this book.  Witch's Business is the American.  Want to know how I know that? 

I have a copy of each.  That I bought at the same time.  Because I thought they were different books.

It was an Internet order, okay?  I was in a hurry, I didn't look very closely, I thought I was buying two different Diana Wynne Jones books that I'd never read before.  I was so excited.  (If you don't know this already, Diana Wynne Jones flat-out rules.  Even her less-good books are better than most other stuff.  Recommend the Chrestomanci series and the Derkholm books to Potter fans, The Ogre Downstairs and other juvenile titles to Ibbotson fans, and just recommend Howl's Moving Castle to everyone.  No, I still haven't seen the movie.)

Then, of course, my box of books came and I realized that I was a moron.  Sigh.

Anyway.  This was the edition I happened to read.

Actual plot aside, the highlight for me was Buster Knell, the bully who uses quite colorful language:

"I'll let you off that purple ten pence," said Buster, "if you can get me my blanking Own Back on that blue-and-orange scum.  Only I bet you're too blanking scared."

Frank and Jess are flat broke:

So Frank came dismally home and, after some thought, he and Jess put up a notice on the front gate, saying ERRANDS RUN.  It had been up half an hour when their father came home and took it down.  "As if you two haven't done enough already," he said, "without decorating the gate with this.  When I said no money, I meant no money.  Don't think I'm going to let you get away with immoral earnings, because I'm not."

It was the talk of immoral earnings that gave them the idea.

So Frank and Jess put up a new sign (and pin it to the back of the potting shed instead of the front gate) that reads:

              OWN BACK LTD
            REVENGE ARRANGED
      PRICE ACCORDING TO TASK
ALL DIFFICULT TASKS UNDERTAKEN
        TREASURE HUNTED, ETC.

It doesn't take long for the neighborhood kids to notice the sign.  It also doesn't take long for Biddy Iremonger, the local witch, to notice a decline in her business.

In most other books, the little old lady that every kid in town knows and fears due to her magical abilities would actually end up being:

A) nice but shy, with no magical powers
B) misunderstood (possibly mentally ill and in need of a good, helpful child to weed her overgrown garden) with no magical powers
C) a bitch, with no magical powers.

But, this is a Diana Wynne Jones book.  Biddy Iremonger is a huge bitch.  With magical powers.

MA school takes a stand.

From the Boston Globe:

Lexington Superintendent of Schools Paul Ash said Estabrook has no legal obligation to notify parents about the book. ''We couldn't run a public school system if every parent who feels some topic is objectionable to them for moral or religious reasons decides their child should be removed," he said. ''Lexington is committed to teaching children about the world they live in, and in Massachusetts same-sex marriage is legal."

Sound fair to me.  Of course, not everyone thinks that is even slightly reasonable.

Here's the deal:  Apparently, in Massachusetts, schools are required to notify parents when sex-ed class begins -- which is in fifth grade.  The "Parents' Rights Coalition" is pushing to have lessons that deal with sexual orientation lumped into that same category.  They also want to change the rules so that parents have to opt-in rather than opt-out of the lessons.  Automatic ignorance rather than automatic education.  Bah.

Bah, I tell you.  BAH.

Kung Fu High School -- Ryan Gattis

The first paragraph will set the scene:

The Good Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King High School, that's the block-letter official name chiseled into the three-foot-thick concrete sign that sits in the dying yellow weeds in front of the cluster of buildings that was my school. First, it got called M.L. King or MLK, simple enough. Then there was King Junior to be more precise and that was because he started having a national holiday all to his posthumous self, but the word was never officially added to the title because everyone thought it would lead to confusion and people would think we were a junior high. That didn't stop us from calling it King Junior anyway. King Joony followed not long before it was mercifully shortened to King Joo. It never was KJ and I don't know why that is. But I do know that by the time Ridley was running drugs out of the school cafeteria, people in the city just knew us as Kung Fu.

This is a good pick for fans of anything ultra-violent, movies or video games or other books:

But a part of me believes that he wasn't quite dead when I rammed my own kinfe so deep into his left eye socket that part of the hilt disappeared and it didn't stop 'til it hit the back of the braincase.  I'd lined it up.  The eyeball made a squishing sound just before it disappeared and the four sharp edges tore through millions of myelin sheaths, ripping axon from dendrite, cutting cord after electric impulse cord, turning off the power in that fucked-up brain.

But other than that, not so much.  By the time I'd gotten to the end, it was starting to feel like a chore.  The action sequences themselves were really good, and I can totally imagine it being translated to comic book format or film.  (Oh, look.  I'm not the only one.)  The use of medical and technical terms worked especially well.  The diagrams and directions to make your own weapons (Kinfe is not a typo, by the way.) and armor were a nice touch.  But I never felt attached to any of the characters.  Part of that may have been deliberate -- Jen is understandably pretty emotionally closed off, but still. 

Not a single emotional connection for me = not a very enjoyable reading experience.

Would-be book-banners are certainly feeling empowered lately.

From The News & Observer:

The parents are also planning on forming a “Parents Council on Literary Discretion” to review individual school reading lists to look for other books they may find questionable. The parents are getting help from Called2Action, a Christian group which says its mission is to “promote and defend our shared family and social values.”

The books being challenged are Beloved, The Chocolate War, and The Color Purple.  The school system already has the usual policy in place -- if the parent or student objects to the book, they are offered an alternative.

Wouldn't it just be easier on everyone involved if Called2Action (Nice name, by the way.  LOVE the '2'.  Couldn't you have worked in a backwards 'R' somewhere?  BooksRBad, ThoughtsRDangerous, Don'tBGay, something like that?) just gave up trying to turn the public schools into their own little instruments of Christian indoctrination and built their own?  If they have the money to send people all over the country trying to ban books, I'm sure that they have the money to do their own thing.

Good news in OK, and a book challenge in FL.

From Library Journal:

While the Oklahoma House of Representatives voted 60 to 33 to deny state funding to libraries that don't confine gay-themed books and other age-inappropriate material to areas exclusively for adults," the bill Rep. Sally Kern (R-Oklahoma City) sponsored was not considered by the Democrat-dominated Senate. The Tulsa World reported that the topic would remain a wedge issue in future campaigns by Republican candidates. Even some Republicans thought it was unwise.

Meanwhile, in a story somewhat similar to the Deborah Ellis controversy in Canada, a book geared to grades K-2 called A Visit to Cuba has been challenged in Florida. 

Lulu Dark and the Summer of the Fox -- Bennett Madison

Lulu and I go way back.  In case you haven't already been introduced:

My junior year at Orchard Academy had finished off with, shall we say, a bang.  A big bang.  I'm not going to go into too much detail, but the bottom line is that having your purse stolen is traumatic.  Having your purse stolen by a criminally psychotic wannabe scenester who also has taken your identity, your reputation, and your rock-star-would-be boyfriend is not traumatic.  It's--I don't know--it's just so much worse than that.  I tried to find a word for it in my thesaurus, but there isn't one.  At least, not one that doesn't belittle the plight of POWs and victims of famine.  I guess we can call it beyond suck.

Even though she spent the entirety of the last book solving a mystery, she still isn't keen on the idea of being a girl detective:

"We're being followed!" Daisy yelped.  "There's a goon hot on our trail!"

"Oh, please."  I sighed.  "This is not Veronica Mars.  In real life, mysteries happen once in a lifetime, not once a week."

(Okay, you got me.  I totally only included that because of my VM obsession.  Sorry.  Back to Lulu.)

She's having problems with Charlie, her oldest and best friend, now boyfriend:

"That's not even the start of it," I said.  "He's completely lost his personality since we first kissed!  He says, 'Let's go to the movies,' and I'm like, 'Okay!  What movie?' and he's like,'What movie do you want to see?' And I'm like, 'I don't know, what were you thinking of?' and he's like, 'Whatever would make you happy, Lulu!' And I'm like, 'For the love of God, have an opinion or I'm going to kill myself!'"

All of this is already going on before the actual mystery even begins, so poor Lulu has a pretty full plate. 

The mystery itself involves Lulu's mother, the semi-famous middle-aged B-movie blonde screamer, Isabelle Dark, the teen actress Lisa Lincoln (Yes, by the way.  I gave in after a few chapters and allowed myself to read her name as Lindsey Lohan.  It just made things easier.), The Fox, a mysterious prankster that seems bent of wreaking havoc on movie sets, and yes, very briefly, a pink Vespa.

Of course, our heroine uses her trademark vigor:

All I wanted to do was hang out on the couch, eat junk food, and read.  I was working my way through Madame Bovary, which I was enjoying thoroughly.  For a couple of days I considered becoming a libertine, but in the end it seemed like too much work, so I gave up the idea and decided just to become fat instead.

Insight:

Here's a piece of advice:  When at a crossroads, apply ChapStick.  ChapStick is, like, the great clarifier.  I whipped out a tube of eucalyptus and smeared on a fresh coat.  I think it was the smell that did it.  A thought occurred to me.

And maturity:

"Aaaghhh!" I shouted again, dropping my teaspoon with a clatter and throwing my hands into the air.  The girl at the table next to us turned her head and glared.  I looked straight at her and crossed my eyes until she looked away.

to ultimately solve the mystery and save the day.

Note to fellow librarians/booksellers:  After reading the first book, it occurred to me that Meg Cabot fans would like her -- after this one, it struck me that some Gossip Girl fans might as well, so long as they don't mind the adventure/mystery angle.  Name-brand fashion, gossip, romance and rich people abound, and I personally feel much less guilty about recommending these because they're actually decently written.  Might be worth a try.

Lulu Dark is a riot.  May there be many, many sequels to come.  (They should always come out late-spring/early summer.  Perfect beach books.)

Say it ain't so, Logan.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Jason Dohring is a second-generation Scientologist.

I might cry.

There may be hope -- according to this list, the last class he took was in 2003.  But I know JS about Scientology, so I don't know if that means anything.  Or if the site is even accurate.

Mock The Giving Tree, I'll be your friend for life.

Everybody's been chattering about Fibs, but I prefer the Oddaptations.

An awesome book signing.

From Dr. Franks's What's-it:

People "in the know" recommend that authors visit local bookstores and offer to sign their stock. It's fun for you (the author) and the booksellers allegedly like it because people like to buy signed books. There's a sort of Machiavellian reason, as well: stores can't return the signed copies.

Now, I am the front man of a sort of rock band. I have done thousands of rock and roll shows over the years, standing on a stage jumping up and down screaming and acting like an idiot time after time. I have played to crowds of over 10,000 people; and to crowds of, say, four people, which is in many ways more embarrassing. But I'll tell you this: I have never had a case of stage fright as bad as what I felt when I walked up to the guy at the Berkeley Barnes and Noble and asked if they would let me sign my books. I almost chickened out. But in the end I took a deep breath and went for it. Machiavelli would have been proud.

Body Brokers: Inside America's Underground Trade in Human Remains -- Annie Cheney

Oog.

So, Stiff turned me off re: donating my body to science.  Body Brokers turned me off re: donating my body to science and... pretty much everything else.  Maybe someone can just dig a hole out at The Land and chuck me in?  Or a Viking funeral?  Or maybe that awesome freeze-drying/sonic waves thing that they're working on in Sweden?

It's a great read for those who liked Stiff, for those who like non-courtroom-drama-true-crime (no O.J. and no Scott Peterson, thankyouverymuch), and for those who have a bit of a morbid side.  (Happy me, I fall into all three categories.)

Body Brokers tells the story of Michael Brown, a crematorium owner who started selling bodies to research facilities instead of cremating them:

Like many criminals, Brown blames his victims.  Corpses are vulnerable, he tried to tell me.  They're just asking for it.

Um, yeah, he's in jail now.

That's just the first part.  There's a section on the history of body-snatching, a section on the frighteningly frequent medical school scandals, a bit about the problems inherent in shipping body parts around the country, and loads more.  Considering that the book weighs in at just under two hundred pages, there's a lot. 

It's very readable non-fiction.  It's very journalistic, not as chatty as Mary Roach or Sarah Vowell, but occasionally, you'll be treated to sentences like:

It's not every man who would give a corpse an enema.

I'll just leave you with that.

The Possum Always Rings Twice -- Bruce Hale

Yeah, so if you haven't been reading the Chet Gecko series, you've been missing out in a big way:

Down these mean streets a gecko must go.  And as I've tramped along, I've picked up some hard-earned wisdom (along with the gum on my shoes).  One thing I've learned:  There's just not enough peace, love and understanding in the world. 

And that's a good thing.  Otherwise, I'd be out of a job.

When life gets rough, tough, and tangled, that's where I come in.  I'm Chet Gecko, Emerson Hicky Elementary's best lizard detective (and two-time dodgeball champ).

Personally, I don't know how anyone would find Bruce Hale's books anything but irresistible after that intro.

But: if you need more:  Chet's best friend is a mockingbird named Natalie Attired.  Get it?  Get it?  His client this go-round is a sandpiper named...  wait for it...  wait for it...  Viola Fuss!!  (Come ON.  It's funny.  Awesomely funny.  I can't even take it.  I love these books.) 

Chet's narration is genius:

Dizzier than a carload of cheerleaders, I struggled to my knees.

He goes on to describe Rocky Rhode as a "cactus on steroids".  Yeah.  She's a horned toad. 

Natalie is also a riot:

"What do you think?"  I asked.

"Well, it's simple like my uncle Brad.  But unlike Brad, it just might work."

And never fear -- there's even scatological humor:

"Whoa there, cowgirl," I said.  "Back up your pony.  Why are you being threatened?  Have you been picking your toes in Pottawatomie?"

"Blowing bubbles without using your mouth?"  asked Natalie.

They're a great pick for kids that like the Time Warp Trio and other silly-type low-level chapter books.  I think they'd be great read-alouds, too -- especially if you do a decent Bogie.

Dearly Devoted Dexter -- Jeff Lindsay

I have to make this quick, because if I don't hand the book over to Josh pronto, he's going to freak out.  (He finished the first one last night and is just itching for the sequel.)

Everyone's favorite friendly neighborhood serial killer is back in action:

And so I had learned how to dress neatly and smile and brush my teeth.  I had become a perfect fake human, saying the stupid and pointless things that humans say to each other all day long.  No one suspected what crouched behind my perfect imitation smile.  No one except my foster sister, Deborah, of course, but she was coming to accept the real me.  After all, I could have been much worse.  I could have been a vicious raving monster who killed and killed and left towers of rotting flesh in my wake.  Instead, here I am on the side of truth, justice, and the American way.  Still a monster, of course, but I cleaned up nicely afterward, and I was OUR monster, dressed in red, white and blue 100 percent synthetic virtue.  And on those nights when the moon is loudest I find the others, those who prey on the innocent and do not play by the rules, and I make them go away in small, carefully wrapped pieces.

Poor Dexter.  His co-worker, Sergeant Doakes, has been tailing him -- Doakes has his own Dark Passenger, see, and generally those with Dark Passengers recognize others for what they are -- so Dex hasn't been able to get to his nighttime gig very often lately.  Instead, he's been spending lots of time sitting on the couch at his girlfriend's house drinking lite beer.  He's miserable.

I loved this book.  I really enjoyed the first book in the series, but I LOVED this one.  Dexter's voice is so original and funny (and sometimes scary and creepy, but that's as it should be -- the guy IS a serial killer, after all):

...details like that always ring a small bell and send a Mister Rogers whisper through my brain: "Hello, neighbor." 

Dex just doesn't care -- not because he's a jerk or anything, but because he doesn't have the capacity to -- and he's no Data.  He doesn't want to care.  He doesn't feel like he's missing out on anything.  He's fine with who he is.  His lack of empathy is part of what makes his narration so fabulous.  Keep an eye out for the bit where he describes someone else's victim as a "yodeling potato".  It was so, so wrong -- yet so, so right. 

Look!

Rosemary Graham also wishes Naomi Wolf would just stop.

Has anyone read Upstate?

The Alex Award winning novel is being challenged.

It sounds like the grandmother who brought the challenge at least read the book, which is more than the Harry Potter lady did -- and it sounds like she was just taking an interest in her grandson's life, rather than just looking for something to complain about.

But still:

"There are loads of good books out there. Our kids don't need more raw language. Give them something that will nurture their spirit."

I'm so over that argument.  No matter what, someone is going to disagree with the choice of novel.  Different things nurture different spirits, "raw language" is a fact of life in many situations.  Case in point:  To Kill a Mockingbird was just challenged -- I'm really not sure if you can get much more spirit-nurturing than Harper Lee. 

And in regards to the cussin', as the director of YALSA said:

In the case of "Upstate," Yoke noted that "the author used authentic language to make the characters believable."

Citing imprisoned Antonio, Yoke said "it would be ridiculous to think he says `gee, golly, gosh' in his letters."

Playing Right Field: A Jew Grows in Greenwich -- George Tabb

From Chapter Two, A Jew vs. Jesus:

Religious symbols and the concept of evil fascinated me when I was a little kid.  I remember seeing Rosemary's Baby and The Omen, and feeling something that wasn't fear.

It was jealousy.

I wanted to be Mia Farrow's devilish offspring.  I wanted to be Damien, to have cool dogs around me, to kill people with plates of glass.  I especially wanted to be Damien in Omen II, where he went to boarding school and killed tons of bullies.

No such luck.  I was stuck being a Jew in Greenwich, Connecticut.  The only antichrists around were the other kids, who kicked my ass every day.

I don't think that book covers get much better than this.  I remember also really digging the cover of Drugs Are Nice, so maybe it's a Soft Skull thing.  In fact, I'm sure of it.

Playing Right Field is an extremely funny book about an extremely miserable childhood.  I responded to it the same way that I responded to Running with Scissors:  I smirked and giggled my way through the book, but after finishing, when I let it all sink in...  Ooog.  George Tabb even got beat up by a blind kid.  A blind kid. 

His father and stepmother were peaches:

My stepmother, pissed as hell that now she couldn't stay home in the mornings listening to Carole King or fucking the carpenter, yelled at us for the next few weeks.  My dad got so angry about my stepmother yelling, he grounded us for a month.

And beat the shit out of me.

It took me a little while to get into his rhythm -- I suspect that he dislikes commas as much as I love them -- but once I fell into it, I just read and read until I was finished.   It very definitely doesn't have to be read like that -- each chapter is pretty self-contained.  He's an excellent storyteller.

There were some odd editing glitches that I found distracting -- a word repeated occasionally, or a 'the' instead of 'they' -- but nothing that made me feel violent.  I'm really looking forward to his next installment.  (I'm especially hoping that there will be a story that more fully covers the (many) brief references to his father wearing ladies' underwear.  So sue me.  I'm immature.)

Harry Potter challenged in Georgia.

From the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:

Mallory said she hasn't read any of the Potter books in their entirety. She read portions of a few of the books, she said, and was offended by descriptions of demonic activity.

"My personal religious views don't agree with these books," said Mallory, a missionary who moved to Gwinnett about two years ago. "We need for our children to read things that teach good morals. Harry Potter lies, cheats and steals, and there is no accountability. There are better things for our children to be reading."

Mallory first challenged the book in September at her children's school, saying the books glorified witchcraft.

"A missionary who moved to Gwinnett about two years ago."  A missionary for what?  Banning books?  Spreading the word about "dangerous" books?  Maybe she should start hanging out with Naomi Wolf.

Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist -- Rachel Cohn & David Levithan

Wow.  Wow.  W. O. W.

Rachel Cohn (Gingerbread, Shrimp, Pop Princess) and David Levithan (Boy Meets Boy, Realm of Possibility, Are We There Yet?) teamed up to write this book back and forth, chapter by chapter.  Coolness of the team-up aside, either name alone would have been enough to make me dive for a copy when the opportunity presented itself. 

Nick (Levithan) meets Norah (Cohn) when, after a show, Nick's ex shows up and he, in a very teenage move of desperation, asks Norah:

"I know this is going to sound strange, but would you mind being my girlfriend for the next five minutes?"

And so it begins.  The book chronicles an all-night wandering adventure/romance in New York City, and let me tell you -- it's got some pretty steamy moments.  I had to fan myself with the book a few times.  Phew.  I'd probably stick to recommending it to the older teen set rather than the Princess Diaries crew.  It might also win an award for the most swearing in a YA book, so keep an eye out for that, too -- I know that some librarians have been a tad concerned.  (I, of course, love swearing.  But I know that some parents can be touchy about it.)

After reading only a chapter or two, I fully believed in both Nick and Norah -- as much as I love Cohn and Levithan, they fell away.  I heard Nick and Norah's voices, not Rachel and David's.

There are loads and loads of pop-cultural and music references -- the range is so broad that I really think that kids in their early twenties will love it, too.  And, as usual, any book that mocks emo kids (affectionately, granted) is okay by me:  "...he's so emo he's practically a Muppet..."

If you're familiar with their other books, you won't be surprised to know that the writing is witty, smart, engaging and very often hilarious:

"Tal," she says with an edge usually reserved for cutlery, "you haven't missed me for one fucking minute.  You have never for one single second in your entire pathetic life missed me.  You might have missed fucking with my head, and you might have missed the satisfaction you so clearly got from demolishing me, but those are your emotions you're missing, not mine.  I'm afraid I can't help you.

"C'mon, baby," Tal says, leaning into her.  She flinches backward into the seat.  I can sense Scot about to say something, but I beat him to it.

"Dude, nobody puts baby in a corner," I say.  "Get the fuck out of my car."  (Levithan)

...

Suddenly all my fantasies of reconciliation were gone, suddenly all I could remember was how I was never good enough for him, Jewish enough, political enough, committed enough.  Tal wasn't a lying cheating skank like Tris, but who was I kidding?  He had been, as Caroline likes to remind me, a "controlling fuckface."  So right there, in a fucking Yugo, next to the poor schmuck I introduced myself to by making out with him, I finally had the moment of clarity that Mom and Dad and Caroline have been waiting form me to have since I was fifteen:  ENOUGH!  (Cohn)

The book is due to be released at the end of May.  Don't miss it.

Literally, the funniest thing EVER.

Literally, a Web Log

(via Hissycat)

PS.  I am horribly, horribly guilty of misusing literally.  I apologize.  (But it's just so FUN.)

Happy 90th, Bev.

As you probably already know, today is Beverly Cleary's 90th birthday.

I'm a huge fan of the Ramona books, though I have to admit that I've always identified with Beezus much more than with that little toothpaste-squeezing squirt.

I think it's safe to say at this point...

I am officially sick of Naomi Wolf.

Oh, wait.  It was actually Dr. Robin who said the books were dangerous. 

Let's recap:  Books aren't dangerous.  Not thinking is dangerous.

I'm also sick of the Dr. First Name thing.  "We go by our first names!  We're smart and friendly!"  Bah.

Secret Scribbled Notebooks -- Joanne Horniman

Action-packed this book is not.  There are two major events:

1.  The narrator's sister has a baby.
2.  The narrator meets a boy.

For real.  If you like a lot of action, this is NOT the book for you.  It isn't a huge exaggeration to say that nothing happens.

But if you're looking for a nice, quiet -- sometimes dreamy -- book with beautiful writing (and the added bonus of an Australian setting), here it is.

Kate O'Farrell gets to know her new notebook here:

You smell (I have just sniffed you) clean and sharp and a bit spicy.  Some books smell of mushrooms, but by the time you have developed that mushroomy odour I will be an old woman.

She loves reading, and the parts about books were my favorite bits -- at one point, she describes her adopted grandmother/mother as a sort of "Miss Havisham in reverse", which I thought was especially nice.  The book bits outshone even the vague romance, but that might be partly because I found the boy -- Alex -- a bit too... something for my tastes.  Precious?  Pretentious?  Deliberately obtuse?  A bit of all three?  Yuck.

Kate is given to flights of fancy that, for some reason, are okay in fictional characters (For more information, please re-visit Anne Shirley -- she's a textbook example of this phenomenon) but would be hideously obnoxious in real life:

I would really like to be a tree.  Not for ever, just for a little while.  A mango perhaps, with lots of sheltering leaves and luscious fruits.

Corydon & The Island of Monsters -- Tobias Druitt

Corydon & The Island of Monsters is the story of (big surprise coming up) Corydon the shepherd-boy.  Because of his deformity -- one of his legs is a goat-leg -- he is driven out of his village during a drought and subsequently captured by a freak-show.  When he escapes, he sets the other freaks free:  the Medusa, the Nemean Lion, the Minotaur, the Sphinx, a Harpy, etc. 

Not long afterward, Perseus gathers an army of heroes together to go and destroy the "monsters".

There were a lot of things I really liked about the book -- Perseus was a totally obnoxious pansy, and Jason didn't fare much better.  Zeus was portrayed as the CEO of a huge trading conglomerate, and I also found Athene's brief cameo hugely entertaining.  Hermes' sandals reminded me of Calcifer's stint as a flying carpet in The Castle in the Air.  The Nemean Lion was adorable, I ended up with a crush on the Minotaur, and Lady Nagaina was just cool.

But.

For some reason, the book was just S-L-O-O-O-O-W.  I don't understand it.  There was loads and loads of action, but the book still dragged.

Tobias Druitt isn't a real person.  Or, rather, he is two.  Tobias Druitt is the pen name used by Diane Purkiss and Michael Dowling, a mother-and-son writing team.  Usually, I avoid dual-author books because they tend to feel disjointed and uneven.  This one didn't.  It just lagged.  But it lagged very evenly, so that's something, right?

Love, Ruby Lavender -- Deborah Wiles

Finally.  I finally recovered enough from the sob fest that was each little bird that sings to read Deborah Wiles' first book, Love, Ruby Lavender.  Everyone and their mom had said to me: "Leila.  Stop being such a weenie.  We promise that Ruby won't make you cry.  Just read it.  C'mon.  Read it.  JUST READ IT, YOU HUGE WIMP!"

So I did.  And it didn't make me cry.  So yes, you all win:

Well, Good Garden of Peas, Miss Happiness,

Your letter was exciting.  I was sure you would hate Hawaii.  Maybe by now you do.

For your information, Melba Jane is curling her hair so loopy it looks like a heap of catfish guts.  It's very attractive.  I told her so.

The whole book is pretty darn adorable.  Fans of Winn-Dixie will especially like it -- it's got the small-town southern setting, the quirky characters and a similar storyline about loss.  It's much funnier, though. 

This is going to ruffle some feathers (HAH!  Get it?  Feathers?), but as much as I like this book, I still liked each little bird more.  Sorry.