I was looking forward to this sequel by Patricia Wrede and Caroline Stevermer (the first being Sorcery and Cecelia). I loved the first, but in retrospect, I think I loved it more for the writing method (the Letter Game) than for the story. And it just didn’t hold up this time. Oh, don’t get me wrong: the story was fun (chasing a mad murderer wizard who wants to reinstate an Emperor across Europe while on their wedding trip), but it wasn’t nearly as engaging as the first book. The two distinct writing styles really came through this time. Stevermer’s character would spend pages talking about wedding bliss, or opera, or getting used to be a Marchioness and then Wrede’s character would swoop down, write a couple of pages and advance the plot tons. I could just imagine Wrede saying to herself, “Crap. Gotta move the plot along again.” It just made for a very uneven book. Granted, it all picked up in the end, which was good (a good ending can redeem a less-than-great book, just like a bad ending can kill). Still, I think next time I’ll stick with the first book, and forget the sequel.

I found the perfect antidote for long and disappointing adult novels: great little works of youth fiction. In any other circumstance, I probably would have decided this little book by Lloyd Alexander wasn’t really that great, but in this case it was exactly what I needed. It was short, plot-driven, full of adventure and thankfully lacking in the language and sex departments. It had a great, strong, fun heroine. And it was an amusing little tale. Not a deep or profound book by any means. But, enjoyable.

And maybe I’ll even be willing to try some adult fiction again. I was feeling adventurous at the library on Friday — I picked up a Phillipa Gregory historical fiction novel and the Deptford Trilogy by Robertson Davies. The hard part now is figuring out which one to read first.

I almost really loved this book.

Almost. Audrey Niffengger came up with a really great idea — a guy, Henry, involuntarily time travels, mostly to his own past; at one point he meets his future wife, Clare, when she’s six. She’s linear (doesn’t time travel), which makes for an interesting love story.

Yet. The first part of the book is really intriguing. Though there’s tons of bad language (which I generally cringe at) and sex (though it’s tasteful, in my opinion), and even though it was confusing at times, I was drawn into the story by the characters of Henry and Clare, their evolving relationship, and the idea in general.

Then the book tanked. I didn’t like the second half at all. The jumping around in time stopped, the sex became more graphic (which bugged me), and it just got long. At around page 363, I found myself wishing that this book would just END. Sigh. I still had nearly 200 pages left at that point…

The ending almost redeemed the book — it was a decent ending, tactfully foreshadowed. It could have even been touching. If I had cared at that point.

I have yet to like a book that our book group is reading. Maybe I’m in the wrong book group??

This book was dangerous for me to read. Might not be for someone else, but I’m terribly susceptible to the power of suggestion. And reading a book about candy, well, prompted me to, um, eat lots of candy. I dreamt about candy, craved candy, and, yes, bought candy. (I NEED to buy this candy; from the description in the book it’s absolutely heavenly. Haven’t yet, though.)

Granted, I’m also pregnant, but I think I would have fallen into what Steve Almond (he who wrote this book) calls a “freak spell”.

This was a perfectly delicious book, when it was on. When Almond was talking about candy, or candy manufacturing, or even the business of selling candy, it was fun and fascinating. Unfortunately, however (at least in my view), he spent much too much time digressing into self-analysis and self-pity and, well, self-digression. I’m sorry, but I really didn’t need to know that he smoked pot as a kid, or hung around with a less-than-intellectual crowd, or couldn’t keep a girlfriend, or (the real low-point) thought he had testicular cancer for a week or so. It was kind of distracting.

Still, there were personal tidbits that were funny — like how he used hard candy as “braces” because he figured it’d do the trick. Or the sheer poundage of candy he had squirreled away in his apartment. Or, even, his absolute worship of enrobing machines (those machines that drape chocolate over candy bars). Those added to the book. And, in the end (though the end was kind of lackluster), it was a good book to read.

It may just inspire you to go and buy some candy. (How about these? Or these?)