Hunky/scary man aside (I’m leaning toward scary, personally… he weirds me out), this is not a romance. It has romance in it — in fact love is central to the plot — but it’s not a foray into the bodice-ripping genre. Which is not necessarily a bad thing; it just wasn’t what I was expecting from the cover.

This book picks up the Arthurian legend after Arthur has died (there’s flashbacks to the last years of Arthur’s reign, so I’m counting it for the Arthur challenge), with Galahad, son of Lancelot, and his search for the Grail. It’s a long and torturous journey, partially because Galahad is a bit of a single-minded twit, but it’s fairly interesting. He wanders all over Britain, taking his friend Percival back to Wales, challenging the kings of the north, serving for right and justice, fighting for Constantine, falling in love with Percival’s sister Dandrane, and essentially being a Hero. The quest is interspersed with sections flashing back to Galahad’s childhood, his relationship (or lack thereof) with his mother, Elaine –I’m not sure if this is true to the legends or not — and Lancelot, and how he became to be that single-minded twit.

It was an interesting story, but one that didn’t quite do it for me. Perhaps it was because Galahad is so unlikeable for most of the book — he’s unmerciful (cruelly castrating a man for raping a king’s daughter), he’s judgemental (especially of Lancelot and Gueneviere), he’s dismissive and suspicious of women (oh, boy is he!), he’s obsessive… in short, he’s frustrating. Incredibly so. Which makes the book, itself, hard to like. It has to be that way, though, for Galahad Learns many Important Lessons about Life and Love (and mercy, and judging, and relationships, and responsibility) before he can find the grail. Which is another thing I didn’t like: it got almost heavy-handed, preaching about all the things that Galahad was deficient in (sinning by being sinned against, to put a religious spin on it?) and how he had to reform himself (which he began to do because he fell in love) before he could be the Worthy Knight everyone thought he was.

I also found it interesting that McKenzie rewrote a bit of the legends, giving Elaine a much more defined (and sinister) role, and chasitifying the relationship between Lancelot and Gueneviere. They loved each other, but they were noble about that love, never giving in to it. Which was okay, but not the legends I was used to.

All those elements should have added up to a good book… but they just didn’t. It wasn’t that it was bad… but maybe what I really did want was more bodice-ripping?

I read The Count of Monte Cristo about 10 years ago, and I remember really liking it. I also remember it taking me nearly 3 weeks to read, but I’ve always thought it was because it was 1500 pages long. However, The Three Musketeers, which is roughly 1/3 of the the length took me about as long to get through, so maybe it’s the way Dumas writes and not the length of the book?

Because Dumas is a long-winded writer. In one of the Breaking Dawn reviews, someone pointed out that Stephenie Meyer writes lousy sentences but tells good stories. The same could be said for Dumas. The story — convoluted and complex and labyrinthine as it is — is a lot of fun. The actual page-to-page reading…. not so much.

We begin with d’Artagnan (that’s ar-tanyan; I had problems until someone pronounced it for me), a young hot-headed Gascon (I’m sure there’s some significance here, but not knowing 17th century French history, it was lost on me) headed to Paris to become a musketeer. He’s denied his request, but because he’s courageous, willing to get into duels, and a good swordsman he 1) makes friends with three musketeers — Athos, Aramis, and Porthos — and gets a place in the king’s guards. From there things get complicated. D’Artagnan falls in love with his landlord’s wife, gets involved with the queen’s affair (of sorts) with the Duke of Buckingham, chases a mysterious stranger who offended him, gets involved with the pretty evil Lady de Winter, is involved in a “war” (of sorts) with England, doesn’t quite save the day, and ends up getting promoted. In all this, his three friends come along, mostly, for the ride, though Athos plays a more significant role than either of the other two. Trust me, it makes slightly more sense reading it than typing the plot out.

Was it worth it? I’m not sure. On one hand, it’s a classic adventure story that has inspired movies and other novels for a couple hundred years. There must be something there. On the other hand, it’s incredibly dull for long periods of time interspersed with quick — and interesting and fun — bursts of action and plot. I suppose what Dumas really needed was a good, solid editor, someone to say: “Hey, Alexandre, do you really need four sentances to say what could be said in one? Or, do you really need to include Latin poems? Really? And the point of the whole Porthos-Madame Coquenard chapters are?”

Either that, or I just need to find a good, solid abridged version. At who knows: ten years down the line, I may be telling people that I absolutely LOVED The Three Musketeers, even though it took me three weeks to read.

I got this one as an audio book to read on our trip to Spokane. We didn’t get it on the drive here (we listened to Prisoner of Azkaban instead — Jim Dale is really an excellent narrator. We thoroughly enjoyed it, even though we’ve all read the book… some of us numerous times.) so Hubby and I took it on a little 15th anniversary jaunt we took to Portland over the last couple of days.

I’m not sure if it was the full version, a radio production of it — it was the full story, but only 3 CDs — but I wasn’t that impressed. Sure, there were funny moments (there’s always funny moments) but I think I’ve been forever warped when it comes to Jeeves and Bertie by Fry and Laurie. I enjoy watching the episodes so much more than I enjoy reading or listening to them. I kept comparing the voices to the ones on the series and it just wasn’t doing it for me. (I have to admit that I even fell asleep during part of it; that’s how engaging I found it… either that, or I was just really tired.) I think I’ll stick to the Blanding Castle stories Wodehouse wrote; I find them infinitely funnier.

I have to admit psomething. As much as I thought Right Ho, Jeeves was oojah-cum-pspiff (ha! I used it in a psentance!), I think I love Psmith (the P is silent like phthisis, psychic, ptarmigan, or pshrimp) more. Wodehouse was in fine, fine form here, and he had me rolling. Honestly. I had to be careful about drinking anything while reading for fear of damaging the library copy. Being a visual person, it takes a LOT to get me laughing when I read, but this one… well, it’s hilarious.

The plot — like I’m gathering most Wodehouse plots are — pretty convoluted. (Around and around in circles without ever going anywhere.) And very psilly. (Kind of like this review pso far.) Psmith is the son of a fish mogul, and is wanting out of the business. Can’t stand the pstuff. Pso, he puts an ad in the paper offering his pservices. He gets “hired” by the Honorable Freddy Threepwood (right ho!) to pinch his aunt’s necklace. There’s a good reason for this, but it’s much too complicated for this psimple review… Anyway. Psmith ends up at Blandings Castle, in the guise of a poet McTodd. Along the way he meets, and falls in love with, Eve Halliday, who is also going to Blandings Castle. Much psilliness, misconseptions, and humor enuses (including flower-pot throwing, mistaken identitites, Canadians posing as valets, dead bats, and pinched necklaces, of course).

Really. Just read the book. Right, ho.

This book has been getting mixed reviews on the book blogs — some people love it, others not so much. I have to admit that I didn’t have much interest in it, aside from reading the jacket flap at the bookstore once. But a friend offered to loan me her copy and I figured if I didn’t have to buy it or wait in a hold line for it, I’d read it.

It sat on my nightstand for two months, until Becky decided to use it as her book for her book group this month. I figured this was my reason for actually getting it read (and getting it back to my friend!). I started it, then about 14 chapters in, I realized I had other books due at the library, so I put this one down and read three other books. And I didn’t miss it. I finally picked it back up a few days ago and have been reading it in snatches ever since. I wasn’t gripped by it — not like Twilight, anyway — and it wasn’t until the last 150 or so pages that I actually really liked the book.

The plot is really convoluted to explain (I tried explaining it to Hubby, but it took a long time and a lot of questions for him to ever make sense of it). From the start, I felt like it was a Star Trek rip-off, and thanks to Natasha at Maw Books, I relized that was because Star Trek: The Next Generation actually did an episode fairly similar this. (I even remember watching that episode.) It also has Invasion of the Body Snatcher overtones, as well as other space drama influences. Given that the story itself is not original, the perspective of the book is: the main character is the alien, Wanderer (I hate the nickname they gave her: Wanda. Bleh.), and the events are from her point of view. Like Twilight, the innovation in Meyer’s work isn’t the plot or the characterization, but rather the method of telling the story. We’re made to sympathize (and sympathize I did… I really liked Wanderer) with what is supposed to be the enemy.

As for the whole “science fiction for those who don’t like science fiction”: this is no more science fiction than, well, Star Trek: TNG, which is more space drama than anything. (For back up here, go read Julie’s post on science fiction movies…. I really need to go see Wall-E.) This isn’t science fiction. Not by a long shot. More… paranormal romance. But then, the romance isn’t really romantic (sweet, nice, interesting, but lacking in, well, romance). More like paranormal contemporary drama with a bit of kissing thrown in. (But, as a publisher, how do you market something like that? Then again, it’s Stephenie Meyer. Her name has probably sold a lot on it’s own.) That didn’t bother me; I didn’t expect much else from Meyer. (Definately not science fiction.) I did like the relationships, though — not so much Jared and Melanie, but the other ones. I liked the relationship Wanderer had with her “host” (even though she wasn’t supposed to have one); I liked the people she met once she got to the caves, and the conflict there. But, I felt like she took too long getting where she needed to go; the pacing was very uneven. This book is a huge rock that takes a really long time to get going, but once it gets going it rolls pretty fast. Except it plateaued for me about two-thirds of the way through, and didn’t pick up again until the very end.

Still, I have to admit that Meyer has branched out (some — I think she’s still writing basically the same story, just a different setting) and is trying to broaden her base. I have to give her credit for that.

There is something about Jeeves and Wooster that always makes me want to talk like them. Bertie, especially. What ho. Pip pip and all that. I think I did this a bit backward, though. On somebody-or-other’s recommendation a while back, we put Fry and Laurie’s Jeeves and Wooster series on our Netflix queue (that was complicated) and loved it. Well, they did this book over two episodes, pretty much word-for-word (or at least scene-for-chapter). And while it didn’t ruin the book for me (they did an excellent job), it did take… something… away from the reading experience.

For those who haven’t seen the episodes, or read Wodehouse, or even don’t know what the heck I’m talking about…. Bertie Wooster has friends that are in trouble. Specifically, this time, Gussie Fink-Nottle (Wodehouse is brilliant with names). Gussie’s in love with Madeline Bassett and can’t bring himself to propose to her. So, Bertie hatches a plan (which involves sending Gussie to Bertie’s Aunt Dahlia’s house) to get them together. Meanwhile, Bertie’s friend Tuppy Glossop (another great name!) has had his engagement with Angela (who happens to be Bertie’s cousin) broken off over a spat about a shark (don’t ask; too long to explain). Bertie, again, comes up with a plan to save their relationship. After much hilarity, everything (of course) goes awry, and finally Jeeves steps in, makes a bit of a fool out of Bertie, saving the day for everyone.

Confusing? But the plot isn’t the point. I’m sure you could also read some sort of social critique of the idleness of the upper class. For heavens sake, Bertie — nor any of his friends — doesn’t DO anything. Perhaps Wodehouse was trying to say something about this idleness, especially making the servant the useful, brilliant one. It reminds me of this exchange from The Importance of Being Earnest:

Lady Bracknell. I feel bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?

Jack. Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.

Lady Bracknell. I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is.

Same principle. But as I was saying, that’s not the point either. The point is comedy. It’s silly. It’s slapstick. It’s the complete insanity of it all. Jeeves is the ultimate straight man, always the foil for Bertie’s goofiness. And Bertie is lovably goofy. I do have to say, though, that Jeeves really didn’t come off as brilliant in this book — if I hadn’t had seen the series, I’d be wondering what the big deal is. Most of his brilliance was alluded to. Not that it mattered. (Not the point.)

I enjoyed this. I’m not sure if I’ll go out and read a whole bunch of Wodehouse, but I’m glad I’ve read at least one. It was a lot of fun. (I need to find a use for oojah-cum-spiff — as in “things are not looking to oojah-cum-spiff at the moment” — in a sentence sometime….)

Ah, the consummate Jane Austen. The Most Popular Jane Austen (thanks, Colin Firth…). The Chick Lit Jane Austen. What is there really to say about Pride and Prejudice??

I used to say that I read it annually, that it was my favorite Jane Austen. Honestly, though: I don’t, and it’s not. But, I do love it for what it is: a genuinely funny, sweet, wonderful romantic comedy. (My mother’s complaint about the A&E version of the book is that they played up the romance too much and short-changed the comedy. It really is a funny book.) Lizzy and Darcy are the perfect romantic leads: the lovers who don’t realize that they’re in love until they’re already most of the way there. (I thought reading this was very appropriate after having seen Much Ado About Nothing. Lizzy and Darcy have much in common with Beatrice and Benedict.) The man who can’t resist the woman, even though he really tries hard. The woman who loathes the man until she realizes that he’s really much more than he appears. They fight the urge to fall in love, for different reasons: there are no star-crossed, obsessed (Bella and Edward!), pining lovers here. And, because of that, because of their wit and banter, and because of the whole tension surrounding their relationship, that final kiss (well… in the movie), their final tumble into and acceptance of their love is that much more sweet and fulfilling. It is truly a perfect book to read on a hot, summer day.

That is what I can say.