Author: booknutgirls

booknutgirls http://thebooknutdotcom.wordpress.com I read. I blog. I sell books. I chauffeur my kids. What more do you need to know?

The Winter Queen

3 Comments

I almost got a Russian minor in college. I know, I know… I’m not exactly a connoisseur of all things Russian around here, but I did have an interest in the country during my college days. (That and I had a morbid fear of Calculus. I know, I know… Russian isn’t easier than calculus. But try telling a stubborn 18-year-old that.) Anyway… I was trudging along taking classes, and mostly enjoying them until it came to the last two classes for a minor. One was conversation, and it was taught by a grumpy Russian woman, who told me that if I took her class she’d fail me. I spoke horribly. The other was the Russian literature class. I realized I just couldn’t stomach Russian literature.

Well, either I was horribly wrong (and I’ll admit that I could have been — Anna Karenina wasn’t nearly as horrible as I thought it would be… except for the last 100 pages. They were worthless) or Russian literature has changed a whole lot in the last 20 years.

Because I loved this book.

I’m not a big mystery reader, but I do love it when I find a good one. One that keeps me guessing, that makes me bite my nails, that keeps me up until late hours trying to finish it. Throw in a bit of humor, keep it relatively clean, add a winning/cute/sympathetic, detective, add a real intense ending, and you’ve got me hooked.

There you have it: Boris Akunin’s The Winter Queen in a nutshell. Really. Why bother with a plot summary, when all you really need to know is that Erast Fandorian, while no Sherlock Holmes, is an up-and-coming detective who just happens to get involved in something way over his head. And that he manages to solve the mystery anyway. And don’t forget the ending that had me going, “AAAAHHH! Where’s the next book!”

There’s really nothing more to say.

Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians

2 Comments

How I ended up reading this book: Brandon Sanderson was getting a bit of buzz a while back on Hubby’s group blog. I noted it, figured I’d get around to reading something from him eventually. But when I was in the library searching for something for M to read (not unusual), I noticed this one, picked it up, and gave it to her to read. M devoured it, laughed uproariously, couldn’t stop talking about it and now insists that we need to get it. Well, with that big of a reaction from her, I couldn’t resist throwing it on my pile. Especially after reading the author description on the jacket:

Brandon Sanderson is the pen name of Alcatraz Smedry. His Hushlander editor forced him to use a pseudonym, since these memoirs are being published as fiction. Alcatraz actually knows a person named Brandon Sanderson. That man, however, is a fantasy writer — and is therefore prone to useless bouts of delusion in literary form. Alcatraz has it on good authority that Brandon is actually illiterate and dictates his thick, overly long fantasy tomes to his potted plant, Count Duku. It is widely assumed that Brandon went mad several years ago, but few people can tell because his writing is so strange anyway. He spends his time going to science fiction movies, eating popcorn and goat cheese (separately), and trying to warn people about the dangers fo the Great Kitten Conspiracy. He has had his library card revoked on seventeen different occasions.

Who could resist something like that? Not me. I devoured it, laughed uproariously, can’t stop talking about it and agree that we should probably get this one.

Alcatraz Smedry is a thirteen-year-old orphan who’s been bounced around from house to house. The reason? He keeps breaking things. (He can’t help himself. ) His life takes a turn for the interesting when he gets a bag of sand on his birthday. It’s his inheritance, which is pretty weird. It doesn’t get much better: soon his grandfather shows up, babbling about the Free Kingdoms and evil Librarians and Alcatraz is sucked into infiltrating the downtown library in a desperate attempt to rescue the bag of sand. He just has no idea what he was in for.

Sure, there are the Harry Potter comparisons: orphan boy with great untapped power, thrown into a new world with weapons he has to learn to use, in order to fight an evil bad guy (though the evil bad guy is really a consortium of evil bad guys). There’s even horcrux-like elements, as well as an alternative reality hidden from the rest of us (Hushlanders rather than Muggles). But what really makes this book work, for me, is the tone. Alcatraz is snarky about almost everything that has to do with a book. He begins each chapter with an aside about something either to do with the plot, or writing a book (authors are not nice people; they like to torture their readers), or reading… I first thought they were cute, then they annoyed me, but eventually, I caught the tongue-in-cheek idea of it all and decided that they’re really funny, and that I liked it.

I’ve talked about humor before: how it’s an individual thing, and how what I find amusing some others (like Hubby) might find benal or pedantic. I won’t even go so far as to say there are universal funny things. It’s all a matter of your mood, your history, your tastes… I have to admit that as I was talking up this book at breakfast, reading passages to Hubby this morning, his comment was, “Sounds a bit precious to me.” I thought about it: it is a bit precious — walking the line between snarky and smart-aleck — but it worked for me.

And maybe it’ll even work for you. Besides, how can you not want to read a book with an author blurb like that?

Sisters Grimm: The Unusual Suspects

4 Comments

So, when C and I last left the Sister Grimm, they had finally found a home with their Granny Relda and managed to defeat both Jack and the giants. What’s next for our heroic sisters? Nothing other than…. school.

Sabrina, at least, would rather spend her days (and nights) reading the “reference” books at Granny’s house trying to find magical tools to help her find and rescue her mom and dad. Unfortunately, the state steps in, and off Daphne and Sabrina go. Daphne has it easy — Snow White is her teacher — but Sabrina’s lot is another story. Especially when her teacher ends up dead at the end of her first day.

So, of course, they have a mystery on their hands. One that will lead them into much danger, nearly tear the family apart, and lead Sabrina closer to finding her parents.

While this one didn’t have the novelty that The Fairy Tale Detectives did, I still enjoyed reading it out loud to C. Sure, there was a lot of extra plot points (did we really need to know how Daphne did her hair?), but C didn’t seem to mind, and they added a bit of whimsy to what could have been an otherwise dark tale. We both really enjoyed Puck; he’s a fun addition to the Grimm family. There weren’t as many voices to “do” (and I couldn’t remember half of the ones I’d done previously; C was always correcting me), but neither of us seemed to mind (though now that I think about it, there were still quite a handful of fairy tale characters; I just didn’t get into doing voices this time through.) The story itself was fairly gripping, leaving us hanging at several points. It even ended on a cliff-hanger, after which C said, “I hate this book. When can we get the next one?” (She doesn’t like cliff-hangers…) It was a fun, well-told tale. I can’t wait to see what happens next…

Totto-Chan: The Little Girl at the Window

2 Comments

My friend Sarah recommended this one for our in-person book group; we’ve been passing her two copies around since the library doesn’t have one. And it was my turn to have the great pleasure of reading Tetsuko Kuroyangai’s wonderful little memoir.

It’s the most unusual memoir I’ve read recently. It’s in the third person and reads more like a work of fiction than a collection of personal recollections. That, and it’s so simply, so cheerfully written that it’s not just an easy read, but an entertaining one as well.

The story is about Totto-Chan, Kuroyanagi’s childhood name, and her experiences at the Tomoe (to-mo-e) Gakuen school, an alternative elementary school outside of Tokyo designed and run by Sosaku Kobayashi from 1937 to 1945. He believed in a whole education — and this book is as much a portrait of an ideal school as it is a memoir — and letting the child determine his or her place in school. He taught music, believed in exploring nature, used everyday experiences (like lunch) as teaching tool, and created a wholesome environment so that the children attending developed confidence and self-esteem. It was truly remarkable to read about.

I’m sure much could be said about the educational value of the book, and the critique it indirectly gives of modern education. I, however, preferred enjoying it on a simpler level: as a series of sweet reflections of a woman about her idyllic childhood. Either way, it’s a wonderful little book.

The Scarlet Stockings

5 Comments

I have to admit, I didn’t quite know what to do with this book. It’s an ARC, but it’s too young for Estella’s Revenge. I could have pitched it to the Edge of the Forest, but the email I got sent said it was for my site, so here it is. I usually review books I’ve either bought or checked out on principle (preferring to plug the ARCs I’ve gotten to a wider audience — both ‘zines get much higher reader numbers than I do here). But, since there’s no other place for this review to go, here it will be.

The story, by Charlotte Kandel, is one of a girl with big dreams and a desire to be loved. Daphne is an orphan at St. Jude’s in London when she receives a mysterious package with a pair of silk stockings. It doesn’t take long for Daphne to realize the stockings are magic, but they come with a price: they will help her achieve her dreams, but she must be responsible and choose wisely and pass them up at the height of her fame, or they will lead her to her death.

It’s one part Hans Christian Anderson’s The Red Slippers and one part that story where the girl has magic ballet shoes who help her be good and can’t perform without them until one day when she forgets them and realizes that it’s all her own hard work (can’t remember the name of it right now). It also has an interesting premise behind the story: what would a person do when ambition is confronted with an opportunity too good to resist? An ambitious idea, and one that’s intriguingly set in the world of 1920s ballet.

However, I didn’t especially like this book. My main problem was that I felt like there was too much tell and not enough show. The author’s telling us that people care about Daphne, the author’s telling us that people are upset and angry and hurt, but I’m just not feeling it. It doesn’t help that Daphne — probably on purpose — is the least sympathetic character in the book. I felt bad for all the people who she stepped on — from her adopted parents, to her friends, to her former employers — on her way to stardom. Sure, she’s got ambition, and talent, but what about a heart, or some kindness? She had two emotions: ambition and guilt. Not a pretty picture.

Because the main character was so unsympathetic, I looked to the secondary characters for interest. Some were interesting– like her first boss, Magda, — but most were just stepping stones on the way to Daphne’s eventual success. How could I not feel bad for her adopted parents when she was treating them so horribly? Or her friends that she pledged to be friends forever with? Here they come… there they go. Everyone nice got shuffled off-stage pretty quickly. I didn’t even feel like Ova, the ultimate prima ballerina, got enough stage time to fully develop her whole jealousy of Daphne. (Maybe she didn’t need it. She’s the star, she’s just as self-centered as Daphne, she wants her crowds. Who needs more explanation than that?)

There’s a lot in this story that could have been developed, fleshed out — there’s even a decent moral at the end. I just felt like it was developed enough, or in such a way, for us truly care about Daphne and her experience. Which is too bad.

A Curse Dark as Gold

4 Comments

I was not planning for this to be my next read, but when it arrived in the mail on Tuesday (courtesy of Renay; THANKS!) I did a happy dance (A and her friend H were looking like they thought I was pretty weird) and immediately began reading it.

It’s basically the tale of Rumpelstiltskin, but more organic, less fairy-tale-ish. Charlotte is the daughter of a miller who dies abruptly. She and her sister, Rosie, are the last of the Miller line, and so it’s up to Charlotte to run the woolen mill, thereby supporting the town. But, there’s a run of bad luck (or is it a curse?) which leads Charlotte and Rosie to enlist the services of one Jack Spinner, who can spin straw into gold (among other things). Unfortunately, life only spins (he he) further out of Charlotte’s control from there.

One part fairy-tale, one part ghost story (and an excellent ghost story), one part historical novel, this book — the first by Elizabeth Bunce — didn’t feel like any other fairy tale book I’ve ever read before. It took me a while — 50 pages or so — to get the rhythm of the book, to understand what Bunce was trying to do with Charlotte (she grated on me at the beginning, but eventually I understood, and liked, her as a character), and to really enjoy what I was reading. But once I got past that point, life got put on hold. It was a very intriguing, engrossing, full tale. I liked the characters, I like the ghost story, I liked the resolution. The only thing that really bugged me was all the names (so many people to keep track of), but that’s such a trivial little thing.

I won’t say it’s worth it’s weight in gold… but it is a really good telling of a fairy tale.

My Life as Furry Red Monster

3 Comments

This little book, by puppeteer Kevin Clash (with Gary Brozek, in very small print), is one-part memoir, one-part glimpse into the world of Sesame Street and one-part life-affirming-self-help-ish-type book. I liked two-thirds of it.

The memoir part was fascinating. Have you ever wondered how a 45-year-old, tall black guy ends up playing a 3 1/2-year-old furry red monster? I have. Ever since I found out that the same guy played both Hoots the Owl and Elmo (as well as Natasha the baby monster), I’ve wondered about him. How did he get into puppetry? How did he end up being Elmo, of all muppets… This book answers some of those questions. He had a poor, but loving, and nearly idyllic (if you believe everything he writes) childhood. His parents were awesome — how many parents would take their child’s love of puppets and wholeheartedly support it? And his evolution as a puppeteer and a performer is fascinating, too.

I loved the parts about Sesame Street, too. Jim Henson was probably the world’s best boss, and Clash gives you a little insight into that world. I appreciated the logic and the insider dope on some of the global spin-offs, as well as the Sesame Street’s evolution here. (Especially since I stopped watching the show with my kids sometime in 2002. C was the last one who really watched it. A didn’t have much interest in it, and since we don’t have cable now and the local PBS station’s signal is weak, we don’t even get it anymore.) I haven’t always liked what they’ve done with the show, but I understand the reasoning behind it. Clash took us through the whole process from curriculum design through to rehearsals and test audiences. It was pretty interesting, too.

But when he tried to sum the whole thing up into little bits of advice (good advice: love, joy, creativity, tolerance courage, friendship, cooperation, learning, optimism), it just felt forced. I would have rather read a book about Clash’s life, his experiences with being a master puppeteer, and left the whole life affirming stuff off. Even so, it wasn’t too obnoxious and overbearing. And it was worth it to read about his life and work.

Estella Reminiscing

3 Comments

The March issue of Estella’s Revenge is up (my lone review — February was a slow month — is here)! Andi and Heather have put together another good issue (I love the new look, too!) so stay and browse a while.

I was reminded, that I began writing for Estella (shoot, Estella, in its current incarnation, began) a year ago. It started with a silly little review (as I think about it now, it wasn’t terribly well written) of The Penderwicks. I wasn’t sure if Andi and Heather would even like it, let alone run it; I sent it to them on a whim. I really can’t remember the motivation behind my reaching out. I’d been writing on my blog for two and a half years, content with my readership of 10 people (half of whom were family members). But I saw an announcement somewhere (can’t remember where, now) that this new literary ‘zine was looking for writers, and I thought to myself: “I can do that.” Encouraged by Hubby, I did. And I found I liked it. I like getting ARCs in the mail (as does M — she’s always pilfering through my ARC pile), I like having my name and my writing out there in more (better-read) places. I like interviewing authors. I like having authors read what I write. It’s exciting; a real rush. And it’s something I can do. I won’t say I do it well — I’m not “good” enough to get a job at the local paper, let alone be as respected as, say, Lisa at Bluestalking Reader or Betsey at Fuse #8. I don’t have piles and piles of publisher contacts (time, baby; it’s all about the time. And when you’re home with four girls — two all day! — you don’t have much of that). But I’m having a grand time. And, I’ve come realize, that as long as I’m loving what I “do” then that’s all that matters.

Thanks, Andi and Heather, for accepting and publishing that first piece. It gave me the confidence I needed to realize I could reach out and give “real” book reviewing a try. And the past year has been a grand experience. Here’s to many more.

Graphic Novel Roundup #1

8 Comments

First, an announcement: The Edge of the Forest is up…. and here are my two little reviews; I had fun doing them. Go take a look at the whole issue…

Second, an explanation: I decided sometime last month –partially because C is SUCH a big fan of Babymouse (thanks, Abby!), and partially because the Cybil graphic novel winners got me curious, and partially because of this post (which I found through a link in the comments of this post) — that I would begin exploring the world of graphic novels. Unlike, Hubby, I didn’t grow up reading comic books. Sure, I read comics — Bloom County and Calvin and Hobbes were two of my favorites — and I still do. But comics in the newspaper just aren’t the same as comic books, at least not the way I see it. I don’t think the reason I avoided them was active dislike on my part, more like disinterest. I really don’t have much interested in superhero stories, even though I’ve gone to pretty much every comic book movie that Hubby’s dragged me to. (The best? The second Spiderman and the second X-Files and the new Batman. That last one’s AWESOME. I’m actually excited about the sequel coming out this summer.) But, something in me clicked this last month, and I actually decided that I can give graphic novels a try.

So. My first three graphic novels…

Babymouse: Our Hero (#2)
I know it’s not the first in the series, by Jennifer and Matthew Holm, but I think you don’t have to read them in order. I picked it up mostly because it was lying around waiting for C to come home, and once I started flipping through, I really had to sit down and read the whole thing. It’s a cute little book, spunky and sassy. And I love the snarky narrator comments interspersed throughout the book. As I mention, C eats these up… the only one we haven’t been able to get a hold of is #5, and she’s not-so-patiently waiting for that one. Maybe we’ll just get it for her for her birthday and save her the wait….

Robot Dreams
This one, by Sara Varon, had to be the family’s favorite. M and I read it together one evening, and just fell in love. I’m not an artist, so I don’t really know the difference in artistic styles (is it okay to call these drawings “cartoon like”?). We liked the simple story of the dog and the robot, and how the poor robot ends up stranded on the beach. Dog attempts to find another friend, while robot dreams of getting up off the sand. We talked about it so much, that Hubby read it, and then we passed it along to C. Poignant, yet accessible to the youngest reader (there are no words, and A sat and “read” it last night. She got the story pretty well, and enjoyed looking at all the pictures). A wonderful little book.

The Arrival
This one is harder to define and to describe. I was entranced by it — the artwork by Shaun Tan is absolutely beautiful — yet I didn’t know if I was “getting” it. It’s the story of a man who immigrates from his country to a new one. It’s a fantastical (I know that’s not a word, really, but I couldn’t come up with another one) world — one that’s strange and wondrous all at the same time. I got the feeling that Tan was using the fantasy element to portray some of the confusion and strangeness that immigrants experience when going to a new country, and I enjoyed and appreciated that. However… there were times — mostly when the people the man met were telling their immigration stories — when I was confused, wondering if maybe I was trying too hard to get the book, and it hindered my enjoyment of it. It got me wondering what the difference between a graphic novel and a picture book was. One of my favorite winter books is The Snowman by Raymond Briggs — how come that’s a picture book and not a graphic novel? What ‘s the difference here? Are graphic novels just grown up picture books? It was because I wasn’t able to fully grasp this one that I felt like I didn’t enjoy it as much as I did the other two. Though, I have to admit, it will be the one that I would probably look through again and again, just so I could look at the artwork. So, maybe it really is the best of the lot.

Stay tuned for the next episode…

The Book Thief

8 Comments

Things I can say about Markus Zusak’s best-seller: I admire it. I thought it was brilliantly written. I thought Death as a narrator was an intriguing premise. I thought it was interesting that the story was set in Nazi Germany, but was about ordinary Germans just surviving. And yes, I cried at the end.

Things I can’t say about The Book Thief: that I like it. (Oh, and that I can spell thief the first time, without a spell-checker. Just can’t do it.)

This bothered me. I read the book — all 550 pages — and two-thirds of the way through I was still unsure what I thought of it. I didn’t hate it; I had no desire to stop reading. I did want to “find out” — though I already knew — what happened to Liesel and Rudy and Max and Hans. I don’t consider it time wasted, or time lost. So I didn’t hate it, or even really dislike it. About 100 or so pages before the end I finally decided that this book would have to be a toss: I was going to admire a book, to recognize it’s literary worth, and yet not like it.

I think my fundamental problem with this story is that it’s not really a cuddly or accessible one. Not that stories set in Nazi Germany can ever be cuddly. And a story about a pre-adolescent girl during this time isn’t necessarily accessible or enjoyable. It is an interesting, and possibly important story — but like “Schindler’s List” or “The Pianist” or Elie Wiesel’s books — it’s not one you want to cuddle up with, to read and reread. The final moral is something along the lines of: words can do good as well as harm, some people are good even in a bad situation, and some people survive. That’s life. In the end, I feel like this is an English class book; one to be respected and studied and analyzed and possibly imitated.

Just not really liked, at least by me. I’m okay with that.