Unable to read Mockingjay until three days after its release, I stayed off Twitter and Facebook to avoid spoilers. I ignored emails with Mockingjay thoughts or links to book reviews. I didn’t even read the book jacket. When I’m looking forward to a book, especially the last in a series, I want to dive in with a blank slate.
If you loved the first two books of The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins, you should do the same. Stop reading this review and dive into Mockingjay. It’s worth it; you’ll adore it. It may even make you cry.
If you haven’t started reading The Hunger Games series (Jodi, are you listening?), you should also stop reading and go get the first book. What’s not to love? A country divided and ruled by the ruthless Capitol, and a strong, smart girl challenging them at every turn. Succumb to peer pressure and start reading already.
If any of you made it this far, you’re the diehards, the ones who loved the first two books and have already finished Mockingjay. This review is for you.
The last time we saw Katniss, she was again defying the Capitol and living through the Hunger Games. The fight-to-the-death games, forced upon each District of Panem by the cruel Capitol and broadcast live across the nation, were just as violent as ever, but these games ended with half of the surviving victors whisked away to safety and the other half captured by the Capitol. Little did Katniss know, these games were actually a critical part in the uprising against the Capitol.
Mockingjay opens with the aftermath of the Capitol’s retaliation when we follow Katniss through the wreckage that was her home, District 12. Walking over skulls and on ashes, Katniss blames herself for those who died and she contemplates whether or not she can do what they’re asking of her in District 13.
District 13, thought to have been destroyed years earlier, is the home base for the uprising, and they need Katniss. Beloved because of her defiance in the Hunger Games, District 13 believes Katniss can unite all the districts and encourage them to fight.
Making Katniss the face of the uprising doesn’t necessarily sit well with her. Are they just using her as a pawn in a game, just like she was during the Hunger Games? Throughout Mockingjay Katniss questions this and the cruelty of war, from both sides of the conflict. Where do you draw the lines for what is acceptable in war? Can that even be defined?
Mockingjay is a great ending to The Hunger Games series, though it is unsettling and has its share of sorrow. Some of your favorite characters may die and the final question – will she choose her best friend Gale or her Hunger Games partner Peeta? – will be answered, though nothing really ends happily here. You will have some hope, but I just felt overwhelming sadness for Katniss, so the little bit of hope I had wasn’t enough. War is a bitch.
It seems most of the MN Reads’ writers are on vacation. And I’m in the middle of about four books. So instead of a review, I’m going to ask you to help settle a raging debate.
Last week at Grumpy’s, a few of my classmates from The Loft’s Short-Short Fiction class were celebrating the our last session. Over some tator tots and jalapeno bacon we got to talking at Gary Shteyngart and how he’s coming to read at Magers & Quinn on September 21, which is the same night Jonathan Franzen is going to be at The Fitzgerald.
I mentioned how I’m in the midst of Shteyngart’s Super Sad True Love Story, which is kind of unsettling and creepy (in a very good way so far) and Will agreed that the book was kind of sad and depressing but that he mostly stopped reading it because of the author photo. Apparently he has issues with “neckwraps.”
“What the shit is a neckwrap?” I asked.
Will went on to fumble through a description of this alleged “neckwrap.” We were all confused. I was convinced it was something Mr. Furley had worn in “Three’s Company” (though I mistakenly claimed it was something Larry would wear to the Regal Beagle).
Last night, Will emailed me a picture of this alleged “neckwrap.”
I replied, “That’s a scarf. This, this is a neckwrap.”
“YOU LIE” was his reply.
“Dude, I am totally going to ask the internet,” I said.
So internet. Which would you consider a neckwrap and and which a scarf?
Nathaniel is an eleven-year-old apprentice to a mediocre magician. Thinking he isn’t be taught fast enough, Nathaniel trains himself on more difficult spells well beyond his abilities. When an accomplished adult magician humiliates Nathaniel in front of a huge crowd, he skillfully summons a powerful djinni, Bartimaeus, to help him enact revenge.
Djinnis have been summoned by magicians for thousands of years, and often it is they who carry out the most dangerous, creative deeds magicians need, but Bartimaeus has never been summoned by one so inexperienced, which causes problems for both of them.
Nathaniel’s continued missteps and Bartimaeus’ wit made me love Jonathan Stroud’s The Amulet of Samarkand, the first book in The Bartimaeus Trilogy. With chapters told in the first person by Bartimaeus mixed with third person chapters focusing on Nathaniel, this is a great fantasy involving revenge, magician conspiracies, and some fabulous magic.
The story is enough to keep anyone intrigued, but the cleverness of the world Stroud created is why I will continue reading the series. I loved things like magicians having to change their birth name during their apprenticeship because knowing a magician’s birth name is something that can be used against him in the magical world. You can probably guess that Nathaniel isn’t exactly the best at keeping his name secret.
Or the fact that djinnis, while being somewhat slaves to magicians, have their own power struggles against each other as we see between Bartimaeus and other djinnis he fights. Djinnis come off as way more powerful than magicians, so the struggles between them seem odd since they should band together to overthrow magicians. But bound to magicians they are, so against each other they fight.
I also love the fact that Stroud used footnotes in the chapters told by Bartimaeus. I love reading the clever footnotes where Bartimaeus gives historical context or where he directs snarky comments towards me, like this one where he further explains hitting his head five times on a pebble:
Once each on five different pebbles. Not the same pebble five times. Just want to make that clear. Sometimes you human beings are so dense. p. 12
If you’re looking for a great fantasy novel that will make you laugh along the way, this is the one for you. You’ll love Bartimaeus and look forward to the two other books in the trilogy.
About a month ago I stumbled on a sidewalk sale where, between cheese curd vendors, a 5-year-old magician with a stunning vocabulary, and hippies juggling sticks, I found some castoffs from the public library: $1 for trade paper; $0.50 for mass market. I was in a rush. There was an Italian sausage calling my name half a block away. (“Meat me. Meat me.”) But I like books. And typically I spend 25 times more for them than what the library was asking. So I deferred to my nemesis “thrift,” and I dove in.
This was easy. Three carts filled front and back. I scanned the titles quickly: Dud. Dud. Religious fiction. Airport lit. Around me, people were carefully browsing, yanking books off shelves, reading the back, building piles. I was lapping them, two, three times over.
The fools, I thought. You have no idea. Cheap crime novels and menopause lit. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? DO YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT THE WORDS YOU PUT IN YOUR HEAD!?
And then I found Zadie Smith’s On Beauty. I liked White Teeth, although ask me what it was about and I’ll distract you with a coughing fit. (Sometimes “good” isn’t enough to keep me from plot amnesia). I handed over my buck, happy to help the library buy something nice and hopefully put my name on it.
As I made tracks toward the meat stand, I was super impressed with myself. There I was, on day three of a book sale, eyeing the picked over remains. AND I found something good. Something the dull, untrained eyes of my fellow readers had passed over for whatever reason that is none of my business. I re-visited the entire scene. My dexterity with the task. My skilled gaze, like someone who scouts antiques or appraises art. The way my hand instinctively made a grab for the gem of the collection. My poker face as I handed over the single bill, never revealing that I would have gone as high as $3, maybe even $5.
At the root of On Beauty are two fundamentally different families running parallel: The Belsey family is liberal, and they find religious affiliation laughable. Father Howard is a white Englishman, married to Kiki, who is black. Their children are Zora, an overachieving college student, more right brained than left, although bent on living an artistic life; Levi, a high school student interested in street culture; and Jerome, who is trying to filter through his upbringing to figure out what values to take into the real world.
The Kipps, who are more in the background of the story as foils to the Belsey family, are black, conservative Christians. Monty argues against affirmative action and conducts family breakfasts. His ailing wife is a “stand by your man” figure. His daughter Victoria is operating under a chaste, virginal facade, but is a stunning-looking head-turner of a woman. His son finds a shiny woman who accessorizes with a cross necklace to marry.
Both Howard Belsey and Monty Kipps, the family fathers, are involved in art critique, and teach at the college level. They spar publicly over differences in opinion about Rembrandt. Their worlds collide when Jerome Belsey takes a job with Monty Kipps and becomes enamored with his family. The exposure leaves him hungry for Christianity, and throbbing for Victoria — whom he intends to ask to marry him in a quaint Jane Austin-meets-technology sort of way. The shit hits the fan, there is some humiliation involved, and Howard extracts his son from the Kipps’ world.
Throughout the book, the families become even more entwined when Monty Kipps takes a job at the small liberal arts college where Howard doesn’t have tenure. Their wives develop a supersecret friendship, despite and because of their political differences; Victoria Kipps oozes into Howard’s art history class and tries to, ahem, befriend the instructor.
Adding to the layers of plot: Howard Belsey is in the doghouse over a three-week fling with a lifelong friend, a creative writing instructor at the university. His daughter Zora uses this info to get into the woman’s class; Levi Belsey has taken up with some Haitians and becomes embroiled in the community’s political struggles; A street poet named Carl becomes Zora’s pet project, and a reason to wear unflatteringly tight clothing. Monty Kipps, meanwhile, has a few shady secrets of his own.
This is such a meaty, layered and satisfying story told from multiple perspectives. There are some flinchingly honest scenes capable of making a reader squirm. When Kiki and Howard finally address his infidelity, Kiki screams at him about sleeping with a woman who is her antithesis: “You married a big black bitch and you run off with a fucking leprechaun?” she cries. As meekly responds: “Well, I married a slim black woman, actually. Not that it’s relevant.”
Yowch.
And when Howard is damn-near forced to stick it to a young coed, she performs a choreography of grunts and dirty talk, a truly embarrassing show of what she seems to think is sexuality.
Now she began to unbutton his shirt slowly, as if accompanying music were playing, and seemed disappointed not to find a pornographic rug of hair here. She rubbed it conceptually, as if the hair were indeed there, tugging at what little Howard possessed while — could it be — purring. … And then came more of this purring and moaning, although his hands had not yet reached her breasts …
Zadie Smith is so so good at building a story, forming characters, and developing a mix of honesty, realism and humor. Although this might be to a fault: It is so genuine, that I’m not sure I’ll remember this one any better than I remember White Teeth. But it is a fantastic ride when you’re nose deep in it.
Congratulations to the winners in our MN Reads’ 2nd Anniversary giveaway! Thanks to Random.org these people were selected:
Grand Prize (Books, Buttons & a Replacement Press T-shirt)
#2 Beth
First Prize (Books & Buttons)
#8 Melissa
Button Winners
#9 Jordan
#21 Erin
#18 N. Jeanne Burns
#25 John Vollaro
#19 Serena Asta
#6 Amy
I’ve sent an e-mail to all the winners, but if you haven’t gotten it send your address to me (jodi@iwilldare.com) and I’ll get your prize out ASAP.
Mix the small town sweetness of Fannie Flagg’s novels, some mysterious strangers from Neil Gaiman’s tales, a little bit of Charlie Daniels, and some great writing, and you have a fabulous story by Kate Milford.
That’s right, I said Charlie Daniels, as in “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” You just started singing that, didn’t you? “He was looking for a soul to steal…”
With that description, The Boneshaker by Kate Milford (not to be confused with Cherie Priest’s award-winning novel of the same name) probably sounds a bit odd, but this has become one of my favorite young adult novels of the year, and a lot of it has to do with the strong, intelligent Natalie Minks.
It’s 1914 and Natalie Minks lives in the small town of Arcane, Missouri. Intrigued by all things mechanical, Natalie has spent her summer helping her father in his machine shop, trying to ride an old, odd bicycle he fixed for her, and putting together a clockwork automaton. When a snake oil salesman rides into town and makes the automaton work without winding it, Natalie senses trouble.
While almost everyone else in town is mesmerized by the salesman and his Nostrum Fair and Technological Medicine Show, Natalie isn’t alone in sensing something strange. The oldest resident of the town, the one who beat the devil in a guitar face off years earlier, also has a bad feeling. He, Natalie, and her gang of friends try to uncover the mysteries of the medicine show before horrible things happen to the town.
Kate Milford does a wonderful job painting a picture of Arcane, its residents, and old town folklore (or is it folklore?) in this mysterious tale. While we’ve seen some of the good versus evil themes before, this tale feels new and intriguing, and it will keep you turning pages long into the night. Natalie Minks is a great character; she’s one I don’t want to let go. I wish a book series was built around her, though with how this ends I don’t have a sense that this could be a series. I do hope that Kate Milford keeps writing, though. This is her first novel and I can’t wait to read more.
Among the notable observations I have made during recent trips to Orlando, Florida, were the highway signs pointing to Celebration. Thinking this was some strange slang Floridians use for Disney World, I later learned Celebration is a community designed by Walt Disney Company as a model city of the future. This whole idea of creating a utopian community both disturbs and intrigues me. It’s disturbing because I don’t believe anyone has the ability to do such a thing, and yet the gumption of someone to think and do such a thing intrigues me.
My disturbed intrigue about utopia fueled a desire to read J.C. Hallman’s In Utopia: Six Kinds of Eden and the Search for a Better Paradise. Using Thomas More’s 1516 book Utopia as a research framework, Hallman explores six different utopian projects: Pleistocene Wilderness Rewilding in New Mexico, Twin Oaks Intentional Community in Virginia, The World residential ocean liner, Slow Food movement in Italy, New Songdo City in South Korea, and Front Sight Firearms Training Institute in Nevada. Hallman researches the history of each project, finds historical parallels, and actually goes out and submerses himself into the particular utopia. At the very least, Hallman interviewed key people that are influential in creating these utopian projects. When possible, Hallman experiences the utopia himself by joining the community for a period of time. The link to More’s Utopia and Hallman’s own philosophical inquiry were consistently examined.
Hallman’s writes with authority about utopia because of his research breadth and life experience. Furthermore, Hallman provides fair analysis that is neither overly apologetic toward utopian ideas nor completely negative.
“The truth is, utopians don’t always slip, and any sympathetic survey of utopian thought, after acknowledging itself as utopian, must allow that the slouch toward tyranny of some utopias is not a misunderstood joke but part of the plan” (233).
In Utopia also has a slight sense of humor, which mainly showed up during Hallman’s trip to Italy. This was a voyage made with his “significant adjacent cohabitator” who he labeled his docent (152). Hallman’s amusing descriptions of traveling with someone you love (especially one with which you contrast with in eating and traveling styles) made me laugh. Infusing humor into quality research is always a plus.
The humor was just one facet of Hallman’s personal interaction with In Utopia, an interaction that makes the book stand out from the crowd. The topic is worthy of examination on its own, but I as a reader am interested in human interactions, specifically the writer’s interactions. Hallman not only told us about utopia; he showed us what it meant for him. This added dimension makes the topic come alive for the reader.
I need to you to journey back in time with me. Back to the place before my brain was infected with Scott Pilgrim and when Ariel Schrag was the queen of my graphic novel universe. Remember that? Those were good times.
But then my universe came crashing down when I embarked on reading Likewise the third, and final book in Schrag’s High School Chronicles. Written in a Ullyssesesque stream of consciousness, I couldn’t take Likewise. My annoyance with the the WTFness of the narrative was a disappointment. I’d read pages and pages and then, like waking up from some sort of reverie, wonder what the hell was going on.
Like I said, I was crushed. But then I found Scott Pilgrim and life was grand again. However, as you know, Scott Pilgrim came to an end and I was bereft, set adrift on the sea of nothing. That was until I found Stuck in the Middle: 17 Comics from an Unpleasant Age an anthology edited by Schrag and featuring Middle School stories by her and sixteen other artists.
While this collection isn’t offering up any earth-shattering revelations that will help you cope with the trauma that is being thirteen, it is reassuring to know that it sucked for everyone. Everyone. At times funny, and other times poignant, this book is all about how misery loves company. It’s reassuring to know that we didn’t suffer alone.
Some of the standouts included Ariel Bordeaux’s hilarious “The Disco Prairie Rebellion of ’81″ and Daniel Clowes’ oddly touching “Like a Weed, Joe.” My affection for the Clowes piece comes as quite a surprise because I kind of abhor Ghost World like nobody’s business. Perhaps what I liked best about this book is that it introduced me to a bunch of comic artists without having to invest in each other their work individually. It’s a nice way to discover new authors and artists.
If you’re still working through your middle school issues, this might be the book for you. If you know a thirteen year old who is starting to struggle through middle school this is exactly the book for him or her.
Even if you don’t want free books by Peter Bognanni, John Jodizo, Wendy Webb, and Linda LeGarde Grover, you should head over to our 2nd Anniversary giveaway to see what other MN Reads’ Readers are claiming as their favorite books of the year so far.
While there you might as well enter the contest. We’re taking entires until noon on Wednesday, when we’ll draw the winners.
Go on, git.
I drank the Jodi Chromey Kool-Aid and readers, it was delicious.
As anyone who has ever lurked the hallowed halls of Minnesota Reads knows, when Jodi likes something — I mean REALLY likes something — she damn near holds her very own Fourth of July celebration for that thing. Under these circumstances, I tend to listen to her. Aside from a few ticks in her taste buds (what kind of 80s teen disses so hard on Bret Easton Ellis? It’s inhuman), home girl tends to save virtual exclamation points for things that are truly delicious.
When it comes to the passionate reads, we lean similar: I’d guess that we will both end 2010 with plenty of crossover in our Top 10s, including Hot Pants Bognanni, and Cirque de Egan. And neither of our lists will include anything from the vampire domestic assault genre, or “it” books by 120 pound men with first world problems.
But when we leave the aisles of contemporary fiction, Aunt Jodi takes a left at graphic novels, and I take a right at food and addiction memoirs. And never the twain shall meet. Until she went all Tourettes on the Scott Pilgrim series by Brian Lee O’Malley. I peeked warily over the proverbial bookshelf, saw she was having a blast, and dove in.
My god, Jodi Chromey. You made me a believer. I spent an entire weekend laying around in my underwear reading six consecutive comic books (I believe this is her preferred method as well) and hot damn, I liked it.
A brief overview for those people who automatically edit Michael Cera, who stars in the movie adaptation, out of their consciousness: Scott Pilgrim is a 23-year-old (mostly) straight edge Canuck, in the okay band Sex Bob-omb who shares a 1BR apartment — and bed — with his gay friend Wallace.
When the series starts, Scott Pilgrim is in the beginnings of a pretty chaste relationship with Knives Chau, a high school girl. A Asian high school girl. The kind of high school girl who wears a Catholic school girl uniform. Oh, Scott. While he is still navigating the leap from hand holding to hugs, he has a dream starring a mysterious girl on roller blades whom he eventually meets in his waking: Ramona Flowers, she of the ever-changing hair du and super secret who do voodoo lifestyle. He shakes loose the jail bait and gets touchy-feely with Ramona. (Not necessarily in that order). But in order for their relationship to succeed, he learns he must defeat her seven evil exes.
Throughout the series, Scott Pilgrim battles the douche bags, twins, vegans and a chick, and struggles with his own demons: a sexy ex of his own, a stalker, his own unemployment, the Fleetwood Mac-ian moments of being part of a band. Our hero is pretty clueless and self-centered (he isn’t even sure where some of his besties work) albeit totally likable. The six books are riddled with pop culture references (my favorite being a Grosse Point Blank movie poster in the background, and references to the Pixies), video game terminology (whatevs), and self-referential barbs — things like this will be explained in Book 3, or the next 30 pages will include a fight sequence. It’s all fantastically clever. For instance, one of Ramona’s exes is vegan and this is treated as a cult-like group with bylaws.
Overall, I tended to like the even-numbered books a star more than the odd numbered books in the series. Book 2 delves more into the relationships with his friends, Book 4 is heavy on the Scott-Ramona relationship, and Book 6 is a wonderful and relate-able finale for anyone who has ever had friends, relationship residue, and has successfully managed their 20s.
Quick note: When you’ve never read something in this style, it is a little clunky to get used to the relationship of pictures and words. My boyfriend used to draw comics, and explained to me all of the opportunities to communicate in this style. The words have to say something, and the picture is an extra opportunity to add another layer to it. With that in mind, I got a little dizzy until I got into a groove. It didn’t take long to get into that groove, mind you, but those first few pages were exhausting.
Overall, this was such a pleasure to read. It oozes with cleverness. Jodi Chromey: That SuperGenius business you throw around is not hyperbole.
The Surrendered by Chang-Rae Lee is a novel of epic proportions. The book is set in the present tense, but very much of it takes place through remembering life during war.
June and Hector are the two main characters and they met during the Korean War. June was a young girl who lost her family and Hector, an American soldier who lost his way. They find themselves at the same orphanage. Hector is a handyman and June is the most disliked girl among the orphans. Both are in love with Sylvie, the new minister’s wife.
She took off her husband’s wedding band and put it in Sylvie’s finger, where it hung loose. She removed her own and fit it on top, the second ring a good, tight fit.
‘We love you more than anything,’ her mother murmured, kissing her brow, her cheeks, her messy nose and eyes.
‘I know,’ Sylvie answered, if not quite believing it was true. They loved her, yes, but the whole world was woeful, all the places they had been were so bereft, that no one could blame them for having to care for it equally or perhaps even more than for their own child.”
-pg 226
Sylvie saw too much growing up as a minister’s daughter and lost her parents in another war. She is addicted to opium and is clearly confused about her life. None of these imperfections matter to Hector or June. It is a fierce love and it clings to them, even after Sylvie’s death and after they start new lives in the States.
Because June saves Hector’s life in the fire that destroys the orphanage, he marries her and brings her to his home country. She disappears almost immediately, but not until after she has one night of confused relations with him. She never tries to find him or tell him about her son, until she is at the final battle of a war with stomach cancer. It is only due to June’s illness and wish to see her runaway son, that she crosses paths with Hector for one last journey.
And yet here he was, dressing for an errand that he could hardly pretend had not partly become his own. He was increasingly curious about Nicholas, too, wondering about the bloodlines that he and June had given him; about its expression in his physical appearance, and then in his undeniably slippery character; what his voice sounded like; and then simply wanting to lay eyes on the young man, take in the shape of him astride the world.”
-pg 339
This novel is intense and unexpected. As soon as you start to guess at the plotline, it swerves madly in the other direction. This ingenuity of storytelling is what keeps the reader motivated through the dense pages. Lee’s saga is thought-provoking and sensual. It captures the beauty and disparity of human lives as it examines the brutality and frivolousness of war. The Surrendered is one to read.
Being a librarian, I’m a sucker for anything library related. I love that librarian Katharine Hepburn is better than the computer in “Desk Set.” I cheered for the librarian uncovering a conspiracy and running for his life in Larry Beinhart’s The Librarian. I just ordered a t-shirt reading, “I’m a librarian. Don’t make me shush your ass.”
Knowing my library obsession, it really shouldn’t be a surprise that, even though I don’t read manga, I had to read Kiiro Yumi’s Library Wars: Love & War, Volume One.
Library Wars follows Iku Kasahara during her Library Forces training where she’s hoping to be a part of the Defense Force. The Defense Force fights on the front lines against the Media Betterment Committee, a federal government organization attempting to censor all media and books. Libraries, managed by the local governments, are the only institutions that can oppose their censorship, and war is brewing between the federal and local governments.
But don’t forget the love part. There always has to be a love part when there is a strong, tomboyish, ass-kicking girl who argues with the hunky, rude, condescending trainer, who is really only hard on her because he believes in her, and she secretly sees and loves his soft side, yadda, yadda, yadda.
I hate him; he’s mean; he’s helping me; I love him. She’s overly confident; she’s dangerous; I see good in her; I love her. Why are we continually fed the idea that the boy who punches us and pulls our hair actually loves us? And, sadly, when Iku screwed up in training her love interest does punch her in the face. Yep, in the face. But she loves him.
I tried to see past the punching scene so I chalked it up to military training. She screwed up and almost got killed, so maybe in the military punishment involves punches in the face? Just go with it or it’ll be hard to continue reading, especially seeing her with a black eye in subsequent pages.
Learning about the Library Forces was interesting, especially the fact that those in the Defense Force have a more dangerous job than those in the Army. I want to hear more about that, but sadly a lot of this book involved Iku’s relationship with her trainer. With some of the back story involving a mysterious man who is the reason Iku joined the Library Forces, I have a feeling the subsequent volumes will also be relationship heavy.
I just blah-blah-blahed through an anniversary post and it probably looked like I forgot to mention the MN Reads readers (how’s that for awkward?). . . not true!
Of course we love (and I speak for everyone who participates here) all the people who take time out of their lives to read MN Reads. And to show that love we’ve put together two (get it for the second anniversary) kick-ass prize packages featuring two of our favorite novels and two of our favorite short story collections by Minnesota authors.
To win one of the two prize packages, just leave a comment on this post telling us about the best book you’ve read so far this year. Winners will be chosen by random draw on August 18th.
Here’s what you can win:
The House of Tomorrow by Peter Bognanni
Right now this book is perched atop my list of favorite novels of 2010. From my review: “What I like so much is that the plot unwinds slowly on the strength of Sebastian’s voice and you’re eventually enveloped in the story to the point where you feel real fear and sadness when it comes to the precarious health of some of these characters. There were times while reading the book that I was actually afraid.”
But I’m not alone, Christa loved it too: “This isn’t the most eloquent thing I’ve ever said about a book, but holy schmoly The House of Tomorrow by Peter Bognanni is just so freakin’ cool.”
The Tale of the Halcyon Crane by Wendy Webb
This is one of Christa’s favorites: “Webb has crazy chops as a storyteller, and plays this one exactly right. Often, at the end of a chapter, I’d close the book, chuckle and think “nicely played.” The ghosts in the story are introduced in a subtle way, more like they are actual characters — albeit spooky characters — than something Dan Akroyd needs to Hoover. The relationship between Hallie and Will is adorable. And every time I stopped to say something like “Hey, wait a tick, how old does that make Iris?” Hallie had exactly the same thought. And there are scenes that are so, so, visual that it is like someone is reading the book to you while you lay there with your eyes closed.”
The Dance Boots by Linda LeGarde Grover
If MN Reads had a star rating Ben would have given this Flannery O’Connor Award-winning short story collection five stars (I know this because that’s what he gave it on Good Reads): The Dance Boots weaves around this family’s history and illustrates the connection across generations. Grover neither sentimentalizes nor victimizes indigenous people but rather shows them as the complex humans they are. I love Grover’s use of Ojibwe words throughout the book, as well as the way the individual stories do not follow a linear timeline. Both of these qualities challenge the reader to remain engaged with the story. However, Grover’s powerful descriptive writing is the book’s greatest asset.
If You Lived Here You’d Already Be Home by John Jodzio
This collection is inventive and fabulous. In January I wrote: “Here, each story is wholly unique and that makes it exciting to read because you never know what you’re going to get when you turn the page. And, then there’s “Gravity.” Yes, I wanted to say it again. Really, this story is worth the price of the book alone. Trust me. It’ll be like when you bought an entire album based on how much you enjoyed the song on the radio and were delightfully surprised by how good the rest of it was.”
Plus, thanks to the kind and generous folks at Replacement Press on lucky winner of our book give away will get a kickass t-shirt featuring the illustration on the cover of John’s book.
Finally, we’ll be giving away six sets (because we like the number six) of our new MN Reads buttons! Enter to win by leaving a comment and telling us about your favorite book so far this year.
Today marks the 2nd Anniversary of Minnesota Reads. Yippee! Later I’ll post about a giveaway we’re having to celebrate our anniversary later but right now I want to say a few things.
Since 2008 we’ve posted 482 book reviews. Not too shabby, considering every day someone is pronouncing the novel/short story/reading/books dead. Plus, in a time of dying newspapers and disappearing book review sections, small blogs like ours is one of the main ways readers find out about new books.
MN Reads would not exist if not for our dedicated reviewers (and you can be one too, we’re always looking for new voices to add to the site) who not only choose to spend their time reading, but then choose to share their thoughts about books. They’re an amazing lot and I’m honored to work with them.
You know what else has been a great honor? Asking 83 Minnesota readers, writers, and artists the 6 questions we always ask and Kurtis Scaletta, the 6 questions we hardly ever ask. He alone holds the honor of answering that second batch of six questions though Steve Brezenoff and J.C. Hallman will be answering them too in the coming weeks.
One of the main reasons MN Reads was created lo these many years ago was to highlight the literary goings on in our fair Twin Cities. At the time there was no calendar that aggregated all the happenings of the various venues around the state.
Sure the bookstores had their individual calendars, and occasionally the Pioneer Press would give a weekly rundown of what was going, but it was all hit or miss. Our literary calendar was the whole reason I started the site. I’m proud to say it was the first aggregated calendar of Twin City Literary Events (mad props to MN Reads’ interns Jaycie and Max who have been updating it all summer).
So there you have it, two years of Minnesota Reads. Long may we read.
I made a rookie error and poor, poor Vendela Vida’s novel The Lovers is the innocent victim.
It all started when I fell madly in love with Jennifer Egan’s book A Visit from the Goon Squad. I lovingly caressed the cover, made kissy faces at it, considered starting from scratch and rereading it immediately. I tried to think of a better book in all the world over, and failed. I sighed a lot. The music of REO Speedwagon finally made sense to me.
What I should have done: Chased it with something completely different from a a faraway section of the bookstore. A food memoir, travel essays, or lousy vampire fiction.
What I did do: Chased it with Vida’s book. Climbed right back into a piece of contemporary fiction. Stupid. STUPID.
The end result wasn’t pretty. The Lovers is probably a better book than I think it is, in light of where it fell on my reading list. It unwittingly became the block of Velveeta you are forced to consume when you finish the $40 chunk of brie, but still need a taste of cheese.
Yvonne is zeroing in on her twilight years. The school teacher’s husband died tragically two years earlier, and she has adult children, twins with very different lives. Matthew is a success, with a fancy pants fiance and a cool job. Aurelia is a recovering addict who tormented the family through her teen years, with her in and out of rehab bit.
Matthew has invited Yvonne to go on a cruise with his fiance’s family, but instead she decides to travel to a small town in Turkey where she and her husband had honeymooned a zillion years ago. She’ll catch her son during a leg of his trip, but mostly try to recapture her own sense of adventure with this solo gig. Yvonne’s got an itch to reclaim the sense of adventure she had when she was young.
Times have been tough. Yvonne feels like she is on everyone’s watch list, and during the past school year she presented the same lecture, word for word, twice in the same week.
She’s a bit out of her element in Datca, where she rents a house from a possibly abusive man. While roaming the space, she finds a book about anal sex, a nudie photograph, and a sex swing. She makes friends with the man’s wife, a young and colorful woman with a lot of bad ideas and a pregnancy of questionable origin. She makes enemies with a waiter. She is a little scared of the landlord. She meets a young seashell seller named Ahmet, who doesn’t speak English, and they fall into an easy, albeit silent friendship.
But instead of being a healing trip, per se, Yvonne spirals toward her emotional breaking point — helped along by a whack tragedy that pages later is still a head scratcher of an event.
Vida’s novel feels a lot like an Anne Tyler creation, with its quaint thises and thats. The defining moments of the book are kind of snoozers. In one, Yvonne drives her rental along a freshly tarred road and ruins the exterior of the car; In another, an owl gets trapped in the house, which is seemingly an omen. A very obvious omen. There is also a boat ride with new friends during bad weather. Yawn. Yawn, double yawn.
There is also a lot of introspection about her family life back home. Yvonne spends much time thinking about her husband Peter, weighing their relationship and what it was worth, and the struggles with Aurelia and how that affected them all.
Maybe under different circumstances I would have found this book beautiful and light. A pleasant read about a woman popping her emotional bubble. But under the circumstances of cracking it immediately after finishing the epic piece of awesome that is A Visit from the Goon Squad, The Lovers felt dull and uninspired.
