Keeper

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by Kathi Appelt
ages: 10+
First sentence: “Keeper leaned over the edge of the boat.”
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I wasn’t that interested in reading this one because I had such a bad experience with The Underneath. But Pam at Mother Reader convinced me that it’s completely different from Appelt’s first book. And she was right. It’s on that hinterland between reality and fantasy: while it has elements of both, it’s not really either. But even that worked for me.

It’s a simple story: Keeper has grown up on the Texas Gulf of Mexico shore, her family consisting, for the last seven years since her mermaid mother left, of Signe, Dogie and Mr. Beauchamp (that’s not counting the animals). They are the residents of a little road down by the shore. It’s a good life, one that seemed to, in one day, fall completely apart. So, Keeper has decided that she needs to go ask her mother how to put it back to rights. She gets a boat and in the middle of the night, heads out to the ocean to figure out how to put her life back together.

It’s a beautifully written book: sparse in the language, slipping in and out of viewpoints, including the animals, as the story needs. I loved that she used language I haven’t heard for a long time: cooleoleo, calloo callay, shazaam, easy peasy, and so on. It fit the feel of the book, as something both current yet also outside of time. It had the feel of mythology, and incorporated the mer mythos. But it was also very much grounded in reality. I loved how she defined family as anyone who cares about one another, no matter what. I didn’t think there would be enough of a story to manage 400 pages, but with flashbacks to the past explaining how this family came to be a family, it worked for me.

It’s not a flashy book, but it’s a sweet, quiet, tender one. And sometimes that’s exactly what a book should be.

Same Kind of Different as Me

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by Ron Hall and Denver Moore (with Lynn Vincent)
ages: adult

First sentence: “Until Miss Debbie, I’d never spoke to no white woman before.”

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I would have never, in a million years, have picked this up if it weren’t for my in-person book group. I don’t to religious books, I especially don’t do evangelical books. It’s not that I have anything against religion or even evangelicalism, it’s just that I prefer to escape when I read.

I’d love to say that I loved the book, in spite of my hesitations. But, I didn’t. I liked it. I thought the story was interesting. But I wasn’t moved by it, or even motivated by it.

It’s the story of two men: Ron Hall, who came from a lower-middle-class Texas upbringing and turned himself, by luck and the grace of God into a millionaire art dealer; and Denver Moore, the product of Jim Crow laws and a Louisiana sharecropping upbringing, who was homeless in Fort Worth when Ron and his wife Debbie first met him. Debbie insisted that Ron reach out to Denver, and it eventually turned into a friendship. One that helped Ron make it through his wife’s cancer and eventual death (yep: it’s one of those cancer books). It’s basically their witness and testimony: look what God wrought in their lives.

The most inspiring person (obviously, since it’s their story about her and because she’s passed on) is Debbie: how she took the money Ron made and put it to better use. How she got involved in her community and worked to make it a better place. But, even that wasn’t enough to salvage the book for me.

Now, I suppose this is me being all hyper-critical: just because the writing wasn’t the most elegant, just because the story was a bit cliche, should I take apart these men’s beliefs? Because I do believe that they believe they were doing good by writing this book. No. That wouldn’t be fair. I guess my fundamental problem was that I just never got what I was supposed to get out of their story. (There’s class issues here as well, I discovered: I have a problem with wealthy people throwing their money at good causes and saying “Look at me doing good! Aren’t I wonderful?” And I felt like I got a lot of that.) In the end, though, I felt like I feel in those tear-jerker movies: manipulated. And that rankled me.

That said, there is good in this book. There’s a good story. There’s redemption and forgiveness and grace. I just didn’t feel it. But maybe you will.

Audiobook: Street Magic

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by Tamora Pierce
read by Full Cast Audio
ages: 12+
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I realized sometime in the last couple of weeks that I was spending an inordinate amount of time in the car driving my children places. I don’t mind this: I like my car, I like my children, and I generally don’t mind listening to the news/music. But then I got thinking: the more time I spend in my car, the less time I have to actually sit and read (though I do take a book for me to read while I am waiting). Then the tragedy in AZ happened, and the news was just depressing, and that’s when it hit me: audiobooks! (I’m slow sometimes.)

I wandered around the audiobook section (I really need an MP3 player/iPod so I can listen to downloadable stuff) and realized that I hadn’t read a Tamora Pierce book in a while, so I pulled this one off the shelf. When M saw the book, she informed me that it’s the second book in a second series and I might be a little lost. But then she proceeded to fill me in on all the information I needed.

Fourteen-year-old Briar Moss and his teacher, Rosethorn, are have been in Chammur, a Middle Eastern-like country, for a while to try and figure out a way to help the farmers with their plants. As both are plant mages, this is an ideal way for them to collect and study new plants and ideas. As their time comes to a close, Briar spots Evvy, a young street rat, in a market, and noticed she has stone magic. Once he finds Evvy, it becomes an interesting race with one of the nobles in town — Lady Zenadia, who is dabbling in leading a gang and inciting gang wars for a unspecified motivation — to see who can tap into Evvy’s power first.

That sounded bad. But it’s hard to explain, even though it’s pretty black and white: Briar wants to teach Evvy (or find her a teacher at least), Lady Zenadia wants the power (I’m assuming, since it was never specified) that Evvy’s magic will bring her. Evvy just wants to be fed and clothed and treated like a person not a slave.

The story is an interesting one, dealing with issues of ownership and propriety as well as those of class. However, I’m thinking this one was probably one I should have actually read, because I was distracted by the full cast audio. The narrator was okay, but several of the actors voices drove me nuts, so every time they spoke, I cringed. Of course this took away from the story. Also, it seemed to me, every time we turned around Pierce was describing what people were wearing. Did it really matter that Lady Zenadia was wearing a black and crimson sari, arms hung heavy with gold, a delicate nose ring that had a slim chain connecting it to her earring? Did it matter that Briar’s favorite overrrobe was a long, forest green one, beautifully embroidered? Um, no. Not really. I could have skipped over all that had I been looking at the text, but because I was listening, I couldn’t. Yawn.

Aside from that, the story was just okay. I wanted Pierce to give me more motivation for Lady Zenadia’s involvement in the city’s gangs, for her ruthlessness. It just was, and that bothered me. I wanted to know why. And while the ending was cool — it’s always nice to see YA characters taking action and being awesome without help from the adults — it was a bit too pat for my taste.

Maybe I should ask for some good audiobook recommendations. They need to be clean YA or MG because I drive around with my kids in the car, and there are some things that a 4 year old doesn’t need to hear. Any suggestions for my next book?

Behemoth

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by Scott Westerfeld
ages: 12+
First sentence: “
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When we last left our dynamic duo, Alek and Deryn, they were floating on the airship, Leviathan, headed toward Instanbul and the Ottoman empire. Deryn, who is masquerading as a boy, knows pretty much all of Alek’s secrets: he’s a prince, his parents’ death started the war, and he’s on the run. The crew of the Leviathan have a wary peace with Alek and his companions, especially because it’s their Clanker engines that are keeping the Leviathan up.

Deryn has still managed to keep her secret safe, though she’s slowly realizing that Alek means more to her than just a pal. Then again, he’s a barking prince. (What is it about Westerfeld’s writing that gets me talking like he writes? Seriously? I said “happy-making” for ages after reading the Uglies series, and now I’m swearing like a seampunk Darwinist sailor. Barking spiders, indeed!)

And when they get to Istanbul, it all breaks loose. Alek and his companions escape the Leviathan (they’re increasingly afraid that “guests” means “prisoners of war”), and end up falling in with a group of revolutionaries determined to overthrow the shah and end the German influence in their city, at least. Deryn, on a secret mission of her own, ends up in the same place: aiding Alek and his new friends.

Although the book is slow to get started, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve picked up Leviathan (like me), once it does, it delivers everything you’d want from a Westerfeld book. Action, adventure, mystery, romance… and a great imagination. There’s some amazing machinery and creatures in this book; things that will have you gaping and scratching your head: where does he come up with this stuff? And, of course, by the end of the book, enough happens that you will be on the edge of your seat, wondering what, possibly, could happen next.

Waiting is always the hardest part.

Forge

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by Laurie Halse Anderson
ages: 12+
First sentence: “‘Can you walk?’ someone asked me.
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I’m not sure how you are, but I really shouldn’t read winter books in the dead of winter. It’s too depressing.

Granted, this book, the sequel to Chains, isn’t supposed to be lighthearted fluff. It picks up several months after (spoiler, sorry) Isabel and Curzon escape. They had wandered around a bit, trying to get some money, and squabbling about whether or not to head south to rescue Isabel’s sister Rose. That led to a split between the two, something which Curzon thought he wouldn’t mind. However, through a couple of accidental encounters, Curzon’s ended up in the Continental Army. Again. He signs on to save his skin just as the army’s heading into winter encampment at (dead giveaway because of the title, here) Valley Forge. Anderson spends some time making sure that her readers know just what the conditions of Valley Forge were (not good is an understatement), but this is historical fiction, not non-fiction. The story is Curzon’s and we follow his struggles to get accepted at camp as an African American. He registers as a free man (even though he’s not, technically), and yet there are prejudices and obstacles to overcome even among his friends.

Then his old master shows up and decides that Curzon isn’t a free man. Which means that Curzon has to figure out how to escape all over again.

This book came with expectations, because it’s Anderson’s work and because I adored Chains. I’m not sure it lived up to them, however. Perhaps because it’s been too long since I’ve read Chains. Perhaps because, as I mentioned before, it’s winter, and reading a story about soldiers freezing in the snow just doesn’t help my already glum mood. But it just didn’t grab my attention the came way that Chains did. It’s a good story and Curzon’s an interesting enough main character, and once I picked it up, I did enjoy what I was reading. Anderson does the history justice, and more so: she paints a picture of the situation that’s can’t be found in the history books. The story doesn’t clip along as fast as I remember Chains doing, but it managed okay. However, in the end, I felt it was missing that something to keep me turning the pages, to draw me to the book in between readings.

That said, I’m quite curious to see what happens in the next book.

Guests of the Sheik

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An Ethnography of an Iraqi Village
by Elizabeth Warnock Fernea
ages: adult
First sentence: “The night train from Baghdad to Basra was already hissing and creaking in its tracks when Bob and I arrived at the platform.”
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I’m perfectly sure, even with Amira’s high recommendation, that I would have never picked up this book without it being chosen as a book group selection. I am also perfectly sure that, even though it took me a lot longer to read than I wanted it to (for various reasons), it’s a fascinating look at a specific segment of of the Iraqi women population in a specific time in history.

Our author, amazing woman that she is, was brave enough to spend the first years of her marriage in a backwater tribal village in southern Iraq in 1957 and 1958. Her husband, Bob, was there to do some research, and she went along for the ride. It was good, as well, since Bob had no access to half the population: the women. Through trial and error, Elizabeth (or Beeja as they referred to her) made her way through the intricacies of daily life for a Shiite Muslim woman in that particular tribe. It was an interesting insight to the Islamic faith, to the traditions and strictures and customs of both the faith as well as the tribe.

That’s one of the things I had to keep reminding myself: this ethnography (so hard to spell!) is of a particular village in a particular time, and while it’s fascinating, it really can’t be applied broadly. I kept wondering how things have changed, not just for the village, but for women in Iraq in general.

Given that, it was an interesting story. I kept admiring Beeja for her gumption: I’m not sure, newly married, if I would have been that adventuresome. (Yes, I want to travel, but generally “travel” for me includes flushing toilets and mattresses.) But, she did what any sensible person would do: she threw herself into her situation and made the best of it. Can’t ask for more than that. It was interesting to read about her ups and downs of adapting, and how her relationships with the women in the village evolved and flourished in spite of the cultural (and, initially, linguistic) barriers.

But it wasn’t until the end of the book that I found something that truly resonated with me:

How many years would it take, I wondered, before the two worlds began to understand each other’s attitudes towards women? For the West, too, had a blind spot in this area. I could tell my friends in America again and again that the veiling and seclusion of Eastern women did not mean necessarily that they were forced against their will to live lives of submission and near-serfdom. I could tell Haji again and again that the low-cut gowns and brandished freedom of Western women did necessarily mean that these women were promiscuous and cared nothing for home and family. Neither would have understood, for each group, in its turn, was bound by custom and background to misinterpret appearances in its own way.

For better or for worse, this still is the case. And, at the very least, helping bridge that misinterpretation is something good that this book, even out-of-date as it is, can do.

Musing about Historical Fiction

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This morning, in a column I sometimes read in the paper, I read this:

My 10-year-old son chose “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” for his upcoming book report on a work of historical fiction.

I never finished the column because I did a double-take. Tom Sawyer, historical fiction?

Really?

I could see how it could be defined as such, for (as the columnist went on to say her son said), “The people in the story don’t really exist, but the time period does.”

I asked Hubby what he thought, and it turns out that he and I have different definitions of “historical fiction”.

Him: the work has to be a fictionalized retelling of a historical event, involving actual historical figures. So, according to his definition, Moon Over Manifest (to throw out an example) is not historical fiction, but rather fiction set in the past.

Me: the work has to be set in an earlier time period than an author is writing. By this definition, Moon Over Manifest is historical fiction.

By either definition, Tom Sawyer isn’t historical fiction. A classic, yes. Historical fiction, no. But that also got us debating about what defines historical fiction. We weren’t able to come to an agreement, so I’m throwing it out to the masses: what makes a book “historical fiction” for you? Is there a set definition? (Librarians, help!) And do you agree or disagree: is Tom Sawyer historical fiction?

Sapphique

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by Catherine Fisher
ages: 13+
First sentence: “The alleyway was so narrow that Attia could lean against one wall and kick the other.”
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If you haven’t read Incarceron, you’ll probably want to skip this review, because there’s no way to talk about Sapphique without giving away the ending of the first one. That also begs the question: WHY haven’t you read Incarceron?

Finn has made it out of Incarceron, discovering that Outside isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. He’s got endless Protocol, and after the relative freedom of the prison (ironic, yes), it’s driving him batty. He thought he could remember his past once he got outside, but is finding even that isn’t what he’d hoped. Claudia, who was banking on the belief that Finn was the lost prince, is even having second guesses. On top of that, Finn’s oathbrother Kiero and their friend (such as it is) Attia are still stuck in Incarceron, still looking for a way out. That knowledge haunts Finn, because he feels it’s his fault that they couldn’t escape with them. And to add insult to injury, there’s another claimant for the throne, one that Finn and Claudia are sure has been put up by the current, not so nice, queen. Finn has to prove something he doesn’t quite believe in himself, both his and Claudia’s lives are forfeit.

On the inside, Kiero and Attia are looking for the Glove of Sapphique, a magical item that legends say helped Sapphique escape from the prison. Is the glove real? Can they find it? And more than that, will they be able to stop the prison from escaping itself.

This book is much like Incarceron: complex, intricate, yet held together with brilliant writing and plotting. It’s not a romance: everyone in the book is working to save their life and/or the world that they know, to just survive. And yet there are moments of tenderness, of reflection, and insight as well. It’s a good follow-up book, wrapping things up quite nicely, yet leaving room for another book, if Fisher so chooses (I have no idea if she will or not). And while Finn is meandering aimlessly, and Kiero is his still-annoying self, the girls carry the book: Attia is amazing, finding hidden resources and connections that otherwise would have gone missing. And Claudia, even with her doubting, handles the scheming and plotting of the court quite admirably. The unsung hero award, however, goes to Master Jared: Claudia’s tutor and father-figure, he’s the one who finds most of the answers to the questions, as well as ultimately saving the day. He’s remarkable.

At the very least, Fisher is an author to keep an eye out for.