Really, Another Dystopic? Okay, Maybe One More

As everyone knows, The Hunger Games comes to the theaters today (well, technically at 12:01 this morning) and it’s almost all anyone can talk about. I can’t blame the world, I’m right up there with everyone else and right after work I will in line with the masses to partake in this pop-culture phenomenon. As regular readers of Sifting through the Pile know, I have a slight penchant for dystopic stories. Well, maybe more than slight. I tend to devote a lot of blog and recommendation time to this genre, so recently I have made a concerted effort to specifically mention many of the non-genre books I read that are equally as fantastic and close to my heart. Because of this attempt to diversify my review writing I have mistakenly let a really captivating and rather innovative book go by the wayside. So, in honor of The Hunger Games movie release, I am courteously and briefly going to suck readers back into my obsession with post-apocalyptic/dystopic fiction.

Pure by Julianna Baggott has been available for the past couple of months, and thanks to my misguided attempts to diversify, has gone largely unnoticed amongst my readers. Pure is yet another of those post-apocalyptic books where society has been split apart by war (in this book, the Detonations), with some members of the population secluded within a rigidly controlled, sterile environment and others, outside, starving in what remains of a world that no longer really exists. While this is not an unfamiliar premise in the least, what sets apart Pure from the other novels of similar vein is fusing. Those who live on the outside under an autocratic rule, with little food, and much fear are fused; meaning that during the Detonations (nuclear strikes), some were horribly scarred and disfigured, and others became fused with the environment surrounding them. Mothers became fused with their children—children who are never capable of physically growing, forever tied to their mothers arms, one boy has a flock of birds fused to his back, another is forever fused with the desert floor to become a monster of the worst and most frightening proportions, and our heroine, Pressia has a hand fused to a baby doll—its blinking eyes forever attached to what was once a hand. It is only those within the domed autocratic society that are unmaimed, or rather, “pure”. When Partridge, a pure with the highest of lineages, escapes the confines of the domed society in an effort to find the truth of his brother’s suicide and his father’s machinations, he discovers Pressia and her world of survivors. It is there that the two, along with an unlikely band of fused, uncover a plot and connections between Partridge and Pressia that take them all into a danger beyond their wildest imaginings.

What seems at first glance to be an absurd plot with a concept that could easily become cheesy and idiotic, is in actuality a brilliant use of imagination. The fusing is described in such a way that it actually makes sense from a scientific angle (at least for a layperson), and the fuses themselves—whether they are alive, like the children or birds, or inanimate like Pressia’s doll head—are almost characters in themselves, as Baggott makes clever use of them throughout this first book in, what is to be a series. It’s actually amazing how such a seemingly odd, and possibly ruinous plot point ends up “making” the story and when genetic manipulation, paramilitary groups, authoritarianism , and revolution are thrown into the mix, readers can’t help but become engrossed.

I won’t say that if you read one genre book this year, Pure is the one to read—there are too many well-written vehicles out or about to be released, but I will say, that should you choose to partake, Pure is one to give more than a second glance to.

For a bit of entertainment, check out the book trailer below.

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Mommy Porn—Really?

I need to go on a little rant here. There has been much ado about a new book called Fifty Shades of Grey by E L James and I just need to speak out. According to the Los Angeles Times the following is the much-discussed back-story to this bestselling ebook turned insta-print hit:

“British author E L James, a former television executive, first published the book on fan fiction site ff.net as a super lengthy tome ... that "reimagined the Bella and Edward love affair set in contemporary Seattle, Washington with Bella as the young college graduate virgin and Edward as the masterful billionaire with secret sexual predilections."  (http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/jacketcopy/2012/03/bestselling-mommy-porn-50-shades-of-gray-.html)

So obviously James changed the names of her characters to protect herself from the wrath of Stephenie Meyer, and this now three volume saga has been picked up by Random House to be sold world-wide in print form. It’s hard to go somewhere in the book world without hearing this title or author’s name. James has officially surpassed former self-published wunderkind Amanda Hocking and infiltrated the masses that read, well maybe not READ, but at least consume what is popular. After hearing about this book for a few weeks, I finally got my hands on one yesterday and had myself a little go and let me say—what complete and utter garbage!

The book is painful to read. I’m quite certain that those of us who perused it together yesterday are all worse off intellectually than we were the day before. The writing is ghastly, something from “how not to write”, the prose similar to what one might see mocked in a movie where teenage girls read awful romance novels to each other and giggle in hysteria at how utterly painful it is. For example:

“I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn,” he whispers. I glance at the rack of canes as he says this.” (Fifty Shades of Grey, pg. 73)

Honestly, I think I saw something like this at the Hustler store when I went in for gag gifts—and trust me that stuff was never going to find its way to the bestseller list. I don’t know whether to be more appalled that this book is helping the cause of the self-published “bad writer” (I’m sorry, most people, but not all, can’t find a brick and mortar publisher for good reason), or that women everywhere are being sucked into this vortex of bad prose wrapped in porn. If I were a mother I would be offended that this tripe has been tagged as “Mommy Porn”, because no self-respecting mommy that I know would pummel their brains to horny mush with such unmitigated slop. I’m offended on the part of intelligent women everywhere. Seriously, having come off a year where women have taken a step up cinematically, proving that female ensembles can be smart, funny, even gross, and yet oddly sophisticated (Bridesmaids and The Help), why in literature are our standards so low? Fifty Shades of Grey is the cinematic equivalent of 2011’s What’s Your Number, ridiculous, brain numbing, not worth the time, and a general insult to my intelligence.

Look, I get that there are women who enjoy erotica. I’ve read a few, and I can see where the, I hate to say pleasure, but the thrill of it lies. My issue is taking a piece of poorly written fan fiction and turning it into a mega-hit that women are pursuing as though it were lottery winnings instead of fancily disguised pornography. This book isn’t art. It’s not even good. So, go ahead read it, but stop trying to make it something it’s not, which is good.



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Wonder

It’s like people you see sometimes, and you can’t imagine what it would be like to be that person, whether it’s somebody in a wheelchair or somebody who can’t talk. Only I know that I’m that person to other people, maybe to every single person in that whole auditorium.

To me, though, I’m just me. An ordinary kid. (Wonder, pg. 306)

Wonder is one of those remarkable books that manages to utterly captivate; it makes you grin, it makes you cry, and it, at times makes you a little angry (righteous anger to be sure, but anger none the less). A simple story about a boy with an extraordinary face, getting through his first year in a real school, Wonder is anything but ordinary.

Told in multiple narratives, readers get a glimpse into the life of a ten-year-old Auggie, disfigured from birth with extreme facial abnormalities, as he tries to maneuver his way through the harsh world that is middle school. Readers hear from Auggie, his family, and friends as they all struggle to deal with the everyday ups and downs of existence, while also dealing with the sometimes cruel realities of life for someone who is anything, but ordinary. In a time where more and more of the novels for kids and teens deal with dysfunctional families, teen angst, and substance abuse, Wonder is a breath a fresh air. The family, despite dealing with such a heart wrenching issue, is shockingly ordinary. The parents are married (to each other), they care about their children and actually spend quality time with them. The kids have the same issues as most kids do—fighting with friends, struggling through homework and school, dealing with the changes of getting older. This is an average family just doing their best to be happy. I love that for once, I can pick up a book that features a group of people put into one of the most extraordinary circumstances, and instead of imploding and turning on one another, they actually support each other and work together. It sounds sappy and Walton-esq, but it isn’t. They still have their problems, serious ones at that, it’s just the handling of it is a bit more real and relatable to the average reader.

I really can’t recommend this book enough. A book for all ages, Wonder is astonishing in its ability to capture so much in such a simple way. For such an unpretentious book is packs a lasting punch. It’s charming, funny, moving, and everything else you could ask for in a novel. A truly worthy read.


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Red Ruby Heart in a Cold Blue Sea

In a departure from my current list of mysteries, dystopics, and paranormal fantasies, I took a breather and picked up Morgan Callan Rogers’ Red Ruby Heart in a Cold Blue Sea, a smartly told coming of age story set in 1960’s Maine. The story follows young Florine Gilham as she comes to terms with the sudden disappearance of her mother and her own burgeoning womanhood. Told in Florine’s crisp Yankee dialect, the reader is given an intimate look at Florine’s internal struggles—from coping with the mysterious loss of her mother, to her father’s sudden relationship with another woman, to her efforts to understand the changes in her own body as she moves from a playful eleven-year-old girl to a headstrong eighteen-year-old woman.

This was one of those books that really captivates. It’s not so much the story, as there are many holes that are left unfilled and some scattered MacGuffins that almost detract from the ultimate point of the novel (Florine’s coming-of-age), but the character of Florine whose voice is so remarkably honest and fresh, that draws readers in. Florine is brilliant, flaws and all, as she maneuvers her way through the unexpected emotional hardships of her teen years. She’s blunt, yet also prone to sentimental and beautiful imaginings of her lost mother, as she tries to make sense of her changing world. In some ways Florine reminds me of characters from Southern fiction writers like Rebecca Welles, Beth Hoffman, and Fannie Flagg, in that while the voice maintains its Yankee-ness, the language of place and character takes on the spin and beauty similar to that of what is thought of as Southern Fiction. The small town feel and quirky characters almost feel as though they are hushed away in a small Georgia town just slightly on the wrong side of the tracks. Of course, that image lasts only in snippets as the lobster fisherman and dialect take you right back to Coastal Maine. It’s this sense of place and character that really wins readers over more so than the plot itself.

Red Ruby Heart in a Cold Blue Sea is a good novel, a nice snippet of life in a small northern coastal town, and a candidly told narrative of growing up and moving on. It was an enchanting rainy day read and a delight to sink into.





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Reading Fairy Tales

Fairy Tales are “in”. If you don’t know that fact you must be living in a dark, dank tunnel with blinders and earmuffs on. With dueling Snow White movies about to start showing, a 3-D reissue of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, a Jack in the Beanstalk in the works, a 2013 Hansel and Gretel film; and that’s not even mentioning the two television shows with fairy tale ties—Grimm, the fairy tale cop show and Once Upon a Time (my personal favorite), the sprawling epic from the writers of Lost. It seems as though Hollywood has found it’s current muse in the realm of fairy tales and not surprisingly, so has the book world.

Actually, I should change my wording on this one—the book world has never forgotten this magical realm—there have always been new editions of Grimm’s, Hans Christian Anderson stories, and so forth; there have also been some great retellings, although it’s more typical to find them in the children’s section of your local bookstore, than with the classics or fiction—it’s just that as usual Hollywood takes the credit (at least in the eyes of the non-readers). In reality, Hollywood is running a half second behind publishing, taking its cues from what’s hot in books (as an example: Hunger Games, The Descendants, Hugo, and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), so it’s really no surprise that there are a few really good retellings of classic tales out right now in book form.

I have long been a fan of fables. Starting with my old Read-Along versions (cassette of course) of Hans Christian Anderson’s The Little Mermaid and Aesop’s Fables, to the Leslie Anne Warren version of Cinderella (which I have on dvd), to the old Fairy Tale Theater with Shelly Duvall, and graduating to my hardbound edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales (all 700 pages of it), I have never outgrown, and can never quite get enough of the fairy tale world. Since I’ve always had a free flowing access to books, thanks in first to my Book Buyer grandmother, and then to my own employment, I have been fortunate enough to have an unusual amount of opportunities to read these retold fairy tales—and there are more of them than any of us could possibly count. So, in light of the renewed fairy tale craze, I thought I might mention a few worth visiting. This idea, I have to say was not quite my own, I have to give credit to my seven year old nephew who recently spent the night at my house and started an interesting conversation about fairy tales, and how so many of the tales are told in such different ways. Not your typical conversation with a 1st grader, but one that spurred me to search my memories for all the different Snow White/Wicked Queen punishments, The Little Mermaid endings, retelling the stories from memory to my young nephew. Now, I do owe him a couple of readings from my original, and rather dark Complete Grimm’s (sorry, buddy, running behind on that one), but it also prodded me to think through the new stuff and what’s worth a read.

Brand new, and the start of what is to be a quadrilogy, is Marissa Meyer’s Cinder, a fascinating reimagining of the Cinderella tale (made popular by both the Brother’s Grimm and Charles Perrault), taking place in a rather bleak future, where our heroin is a cyborg with an unusual and rather special past. I know, “cyborg’ probably turned many of you off, it did me too, but having promised to read it, I was surprised to find myself completely captivated by the characters and the rather fantastic tale. Cinder holds that undercurrent of darkness from the original tale, actually, there is more death in this book than you might imagine, and it unwinds itself just enough to pull you in as a reader, and then dump you off into an abyss of endless possibilities at the end when it makes you wait for the next in the series. This one is highly imaginative, and perfect for those readers who like a bit of that sci-fi, dystopic edge to their fantasy tales. Now, I understand that the word dystopic is overused and is now turning many a book buyer to drink, so if that’s not your cuppa, I suggest an older retelling of the Cinderella story, Just Ella by Margaret Peterson Haddix. This is a slightly more feminist version, gritty, grounded more in reality, without the traditional magic, or in the case of Cinder, science. Just Ella is a quick read, but it is unforgettable and wonderfully told; a perfect way to revisit an old favorite.

Diane Zahler is also a wonderful author who reworks lesser-known tales very well. In February 2012 she has a great new book based loosely on Grimm’s The Six Swans, called Princess of the Wild Swans, and in 2011 she released another novel The Thirteenth Princess that retells the more well know story of The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Both books are aimed at a younger audience than the two mentioned above, but hold enough of the magic of the original tales to charm more mature readers.

These three authors do a fantastic job of reinventing well-loved stories, but there are those that sell the originals short. Just like director Catherine Hardwicke nearly ruined Little Red Riding Hood for us with her atrocious film Red Riding Hood (who knew Gary Oldman could be bad in a film?), there are authors who adapt and destroy, instead of building new offshoots. I won’t go into too much detail, but author Jackson Pearce, whom I have now given two chances to wow me with her re-interpretations of Little Red Riding Hood (Sisters Red) and Hansel and Gretel (Sweetly), has proven that not all adaptations are magical, in fact some, like those two mentioned, can be abominable, taking the word “grim” to a new and unappealing level. Fortunately, with the plethora of offerings, we as readers (and watchers if we’re looking at film/TV) can be more discerning, avoiding those types of disasters more easily.

If, like me, you want a taste of the original to go with the new, there are some beautifully made editions of these fairy tale collections put out by Dover Publications, currently available; English Fairy Tales retold by Flora Annie Steel, Grimm’s Fairy Tales with illustrations by Arthur Rackham, The Sleeping Beauty and Other Fairy Tales retold by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch, and Norton’s edition of The Annotated Hans Christian Anderson. Each of these is a beautiful addition to your bookshelf, but more importantly they are filled with wonderful stories capable of transporting you to other lands and times, if only for as brief moment.

Fairy tales aren’t going anywhere. They will continue to exist and expand into whole new concepts. These stories offer us the baselines to so many of our favorite forms of entertainment. So why not take a moment to revisit these tales of old—whether in their more original form, or in one of the retellings available out there, you are sure to find a nugget of brilliance, or at least a moment of enjoyment.


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Delving Into Carol O'Connell's Mallory Series

“And Mallory’s road was run.”

That sentence at the end of Carol O’Connell’s 2006 Find Me has haunted me for nearly six years. Not because of anything devastating that occurs in Find Me (although it is filled with amazing revelations about the character Kathleen Mallory), but because I truly feared the end of O’Connell’s brilliantly scribed series. And so I’ve spent the past years diligently searching for the next O’Connell novel to appear. I was rewarded with her stand-alone mystery Bone by Bone in 2008, but nothing on the Mallory front. I was fairly sure that my worst fears for the series had come true, no more Mallory, until I happened to glance up and see an advanced reading copy of The Chalk Girl. I was giddy. I dropped the other books I was currently juggling and got sucked into the New York City, as owned by Detective Kathleen Mallory.

Here’s the deal with the Mallory series. Mallory is a bona-fide sociopath, with a mind like a computer; she also carries a big gun and has a badge. I’m taking a very complex, highly original, wholly fascinating character and reducing her to a few glib lines—doing O’Connell and her brilliant creation a great disservice, but to get Mallory, to understand the character and world O’Connell has created, you just need to read her. Start with Mallory’s Oracle and whip your way through the rest. I guarantee you too will become a fan.

The Chalk Girl, the newest book in this ever-fascinating detective series takes place several months after the events of Find Me. Here you will find my only criticism, the dramatic and revealing plot of Find Me, particularly the spectacular ending, are barely mentioned—almost as though they did not happen at all. I was really moved by Find Me, it was an epic road novel, with emotional depth, and elegant prose, not typically seen within the confines of a detective serial. To push those events aside is slap in the reader’s face and an insult to the characters and their journeys. Let’s just say that I was a bit annoyed.

After pushing aside those feelings, I was able to delve into the mystery of The Chalk Girl. First, let me give a very brief synopsis:

A child appears in Central Park, drops of blood on her shirt—from the sky she tells the police. When a body is found hanging from a bag in a tree, Mallory and her cohorts from Special Crimes are pulled into a past of wealth, blackmail, torture, and death.

True to form, the characters brought in by this murder and a series of unusual attacks that follow are well drawn and remarkably deep, considering that many of them are probably not going to appear in subsequent books. The twists and turns are truly twisted—occasionally shocking, and often moving. As a psychological suspense, The Chalk Girl hits it’s mark, as part of the Mallory series, it seems as though it has taken a step back in character development, but in all honesty, I think it’s me putting my wants for the characters far above the actual integrity and motivations of their established actions.

Despite these thoughts on my part, this is a solid mystery, with dark, disturbing undertones perfect for the psychological suspense fan. The Chalk Girl is a much anticipated and rewarding return to the world of Kathleen Mallory. I can’t recommend this series enough. Now…when’s the next book out?

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Haven’t I (Seen/Read) This Before

  (Some Spoilers, Beware)

Lately, it seems that it is nearly impossible to pick-up a book or go to the movies without having some sense of déjà vu. For instance, when I saw the film Dream House (2011, Daniel Craig, Rachel Weiss) all I could think of was “Something about this sure reminds me of The Others.” It’s like watching the The Lion King and realizing that it’s Hamlet, except instead of clever re-workings of classic texts we see blatant robbery of ideas. Now, it has been said that there are only a certain number of plot lines within literature (I’m including film in this genre, as I find it to be a form of visual literature), I personally like the listing from Ronald Tobias[i], which is the following twenty plots:

1. Quest
2. Adventure
3. Pursuit
4. Rescue
5. Escape
6. Revenge
7. The Riddle
8. Rivalry
9. Underdog
10. Temptation
11. Metamorphosis
12. Transformation
13. Maturation
14. Love
15. Forbidden Love
16. Sacrifice
17. Discovery
18. Wretched Excess
19. Ascension
20. Descension.

 Of course the number varies according to which scholar is speaking, but all are in agreement that there are only so many ways a story can go. The thing is, I don’t care if I see the same plot, as long as it’s well put together with interesting new twists to old concepts. After all, we as viewers and readers are typically drawn to the same type of stories over and over again, if we weren’t we certainly would not have as many paranormal books aimed at teens (thanks Twilight), Nordic mysteries (Stieg Larsson), or graphic horror films (Saw). We as consumers love more of the same—we just want it to be bigger and better the next time around.

This roundabout thought process leads me to a new young adult book, Tempest by Julie Cross. A brief synopsis of the plot is that a 19-year-old time traveler must travel through time in order to save his girlfriend. This is a simplified premise, but suffice it to say that it was enough to get me to get me to pick up the book. Basically, this teenager, Jackson Meyer, finds out he can jump through time (never to the future, and only a few hours back), when his girlfriend Holly is killed by mysterious men in 2009, Jackson inadvertently leaps back to 2007, he is unable to get back to his own time and Holly. Jackson spends the rest of the book leaping through time trying to change events, all the while discovering the origins of his abilities, the truth of his birth, and trying to escape from shady CIA agents other time-travelers with a serious agenda. Interesting story, neat plot idea, and actually as a hole it worked. I liked the book, emphasis on liked—not loved.

 It’s hard to love a book when images from a couple of mediocre movies keep popping into your head. You see, the storyline starts to bear a markable resemblance to The Butterfly Effect and Jumper. One movie I hated, the other was okay entertainment even though it starred that brooder Hayden Christensen. If you’ve seen Butterfly Effect then you know the direction this book will take—think about what happens when you mess with time in order to save one person—if not, well congrats the ending of this first book (it’s a trilogy) will be a surprise. As for the Jumper similarities, think elite groups hunting people who “jump” through time (in the movie, it’s location, not time) and weird familial ties to the enemy hunters—you get the idea. It’s hard for me to imagine that the concept for this story wasn’t subconsciously, if not consciously, derived from bits and pieces of these other stories. Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing blatant here, the story absolutely stands on it’s own legs, and has snippets of originality at it’s core, but these similarities are hard to disregard as an avid reader, and in this case movie watcher. They kept me from really getting absorbed in the book as an original and interesting story. It’s hard to love a book that does that.

 As this is the first book in a trilogy, you might ask, “will you read the next book?” the answer to that is a resounding yes. I liked the book. I want to know what happens next. It’s not a bad tale if the author has managed to capture my attention this much. Let’s just say that the next in the series will not move directly to the top of my pile, as say the next book in the Matched series by Ally Condie. My recommendation would be to read it if you’ve seen the movies mentioned, but try and move beyond the similarities. If you’ve never seen either movie, enjoy the book as an creative and entertaining love story. Either way, Tempest is a decent read, definitely one to pull out of the pile and onto your bedside table.

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[i] Tobias, Ronald, 20 Master Plots. Cincinnati: Writer’s Digest Books, 1993

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