Shadow and Bone & Siege and Storm: A Sexy Kick-Ass YA Twofer

A friend* sent me both these books, the first in Bardugo's Grisha Trilogy. I was more than a little over the whole "YA heroine in a dystopian world finds her inner strength and also there's a love trilogy and also Jennifer Lawrence could totally play her in the movie" - you know, that old chestnut. But I'm a sucker for a book with a map in the beginning, and a killer session with Rasputin by Boney M in Just Dance 2 had just gotten me a new high score, so I was open to a story set in an alternate reality best described as Tsarist Russia + witches. And lo -  I was rewarded. 

What I love about this series is that it's dark as shiiiiit. So much YA fiction doesn't have teeth (It took Harry Potter four books before a kid died - where's the fun in that?). Bardugo's Ravka is a messed up land ruled by a milquetoast King and a sexy and mysterious Grisha (basically a wizaaaaaard but sexier? Like, Manganiello stubble instead of a long grey beard? You got it) called the Darkling.  There's a literal rift across the country, in the form of the Unsea, an area of permanent darkness and man-eating monsters; and a metaphorical one, between the powerful Grisha army and the rest of the population, who both need & fear the Grishas' power. Enter the heroine, Alina Starkov. And yes, she's great and written with depth - but The Darkling is the star here, people. So much so that my only criticism is that the books lose some oomph when the story strays too far from the powerful commander-in-chief and his murky motives. 

I read both books in a weekend. I want more. Also CAPES, can capes come back in style? There are mad capes in these books.

In conclusion: Hunger Games? More like HUNGER LAMES. Books 1 & 2 of the Grisha trilogy: 4 dramatic cape swishes out of 5. 

*the friend works for MacMillan, who published these books. Thanks Claire! I need to disclose that? To the 20 people who read this blog? MOM I MADE IT I GOT A FREE BOOK! 

The Walking

I have a love/hate relationship with horror novels.  When a book is so unsettling that you change your movements in the physical world, that’s love:  when you have to jerk your foot up onto the bed so nothing grabs it, when you have to look over your shoulder, when you have to put the book in the freezer.  I feel like novelists who can produce those moments are some of our greatest talents – as opposed to the movies, when a jump scare is enough to get the blood pumping, readers need to be crept up on and slowly worked into unsettling paranoia. Sadly, a lot of horror novelists lean more toward the cheap thrills of B-list horror cinema than the sublime creepiness of a well-crafted spooky story. I hate feeling like I just waded through a schlocky soup of blood & guts – pages of gory, cartoonish description might put my off my lunch slightly, but they aren’t really scary.  

Bentley Little, according to this story of mysterious deaths ( and even more mysterious posthumous behavior), falls in the middle of the spectrum. There were some unsettling passages and creative visuals, but the cheesy gore seemed to drive the plot, instead of punctuate it. And, speaking of plot, it’s never a good sign when, in an effort to illuminate the twists & turns of the story, one of the characters has to say “sometimes there just isn’t an explanation.” NO. TRY AGAIN. That’s not even a Deus Ex Machina, that’s…a Deus Ex Quicquid. Stephen King, don't you ever betray me with a cover quote like that again. Throwing some side-eye at you too, ghost of Bram Stoker.

In sum: I did not put this book in the freezer. I kept it on my nightstand and slept soundly and restfully with my limbs splayed over the edge of the bed & the window wide open. Horror fail. 

2 overly-gratuitous Saw sequels out of 5 (I heard the first one is pretty good but I can’t see it – too scary!) 

Just Kids

If this book had a smell, it would be beer, piss, sweat, charcoal dust, and that musty thrift-store clothing odor. I’m sure certain people would also add “pretension” to that list, but I never got that vibe from Patti Smith’s memoir of her time spent in late 60s/70s NYC with Robert Mapplethorpe.  Sure, if Paris Hilton wrote “The artist seeks contact with his intuitive sense of the gods, but in order to create his work, he cannot stay in this seductive and incorporeal realm,” I’d be rolling my eyes with the best of them and looking forward to the inevitable reading by James Lipton on Conan. But pretension can’t exist if you have the chops to back it up, and I’d make the argument that Patti Smith, the Godmother of Punk, has got some fierce chops.

Besides, the memoir is really a love letter to Mapplethorpe and to the gritty New York City I can barely imagine. Hustling on 42^nd street, rooming with junkies at the Hotel Allerton, shoplifting raw steaks...it all has a seedy glamour* when seen through the lens of Smith & Mapplethorpe’s complicated relationship. Sometimes lovers, always friends, and often muses for each other, they navigated the city and its art scene together. The intimacy, warmth, and affection that comes through in Smith’s writing is powerful enough – take away Warhol, Hendrix, Max’s Kansas City, Joni Mitchell, CBGB’s; even the protagonists' eventual fame & fortune, and it’s still a worthwhile read. Actually, it would have been more interesting if both of them had grown up, moved to suburbia, become tax attorneys, and gotten together occasionally to reminisce about their wild youth over a glass of Pinot. Oh well - sometimes people grow up to be rock stars.

4 androgynous haircuts out of 5.

*A seedy glamour I am happy to appreciate from afar: I hate having dirty feet & I’m terrified of bedbugs, so I’m fairly content with the sanitized version of NYC that exists today.  

SPEED REVIEWS: Kitchen, Sharp Objects, Red Rain, Dare Me, and One Day

Yes, I'm still reading. I read with my coffee in the morning, I read on the train to work, I (attempt to) read while eating sloppy sandwiches from the food truck by work for lunch, and I read before I go to bed - more than once I have read up to the point where I fall asleep and the book falls and hits me in the nose. Yeah - I'm *pretty* cool.

But I've been silent because I haven't read anything amazing/terrible enough to muster up more than a few sentences about. So - drumroll - REVIEW SPEED ROUND!



Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto: Woah, woah, woah - you're telling me someone named Banana wrote a book described as "whimsical" and "quirky" by reviewers? Wonders never cease. I can't help but think that something was lost in translation with this one. But I did get my daily dose of potassium while reading it! BANANA JOKE. Bet she's never heard that one before. 2 terrible fruit puns out of 5.



Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn: I love me some G.Flynn. She's like Law & Order: SVU crossed with a Tana French novel. Dark & twisted and with something to say, but with a dash of tabloid flavor. Also Ice T is a minor character.* The only thing I'll say about this one is that the big reveal was pretty obvious if you've seen enough episodes of the aforementioned L&O series. Hey, we've come full circle! 3.5 cameos by Coco-T out of 5.



Red Rain by R.L. Stine: This. Book. Was. Awful. When I complained to my friend Lauren her response was "R.L. Stine isn't a talented author?!" - touché. Horror writers who actually write books (good ones!) for adults gave this good reviews/blurbs on the cover, so I was suckered in. Maybe Stine used the profits from Say Cheese and Die! to buy the good press? This is the worst book I've read in awhile but I can only write so many words about how it's about freaking ancient Irish zombie children who want to "rule the school" and burn people with laser heat eyes. There, I spoiled it for you. You're welcome. 0 uncomfortable sex scenes written by an old dude who used to write children's books out of 5.**



Dare Me by Megan Abbott: I enjoyed this one. It's about cheerleaders and the weird cults of personality that develop so easily in high school. Normally I would have filed this under the sad suburbia label and ignored it, but the cheerleading angle prompted me to give it a second look. Definitely disturbing though - this ain't Bring it On, bitch. 3.5 flawless back tucks out of 5.



One Day by David Nicholls: This book is very...British. I recently saw this Bestie x Bestie on "What's Wrong with Books?" and Jenny Slate's monologue kept coming to mind as I was ping-ponging between Emma Morley and Dexter Mayhew. Even their names - so British! They dance around each other for 20 years and we get to check in on them on the same day every year. A bit gimmicky. Just read a frickin' Dilbert and go to sleep! Sing it, Jenny. Also they made this into a movie with Anne Hathaway; I'm not a Hathahater but picturing her in my head as a "plump, bespectacled frumpy English maid with dreams of being a writer" probably did NOT help me enjoy the book. 2 St.Swithin's day scones out of 5.

So that's what I've been up to, pals. Thankfully I am now reading the new Jon Ronson and it's wonderful and making me think & feel and laugh. There are no laser eyes. I can't wait to tell you about it. Stay tuned!

*False. But can you imagine?! *Opens notebook, furiously starts scribbling. You look over - it's just gibberish.*

**Warning: it actually does contain one such sex scene. The girl's skin is described as "creamy white" several times. My childhood is ruined.

Jurassic Park & The Lost World: A Dinosaur Twofer

Jurassic Park might be the movie I have seen the most. I was 10 when it came out, and my dad took my brothers & me to see it and then hid in a bush on the way home and jumped out and scared us. Great parenting, Dad! Dr. Alan Grant was one of my first crushes (don’t panic, Indiana Jones-era Harrison Ford – you’ll always be #1. Apparently I like gruff older men who are frequently exasperated while wearing dusty fedoras....Paging Dr. Freud!). We got a VHS tape of the movie and played it every single day after school. My family quotes it constantly (Mom: “Finish your dinner.” Me: “Now you will eventually have DINOSAURS, on your dinosaur tour? Hmm?” Mom: *Cries silently and wonders where she went wrong*). I just had my bachelorette party and my bridesmaid designed Jurassic Park themed t-shirts for us all to wear, and, spoiler alert: my bridesmaids are going to walk down the aisle to the theme song (What? It’s PRETTY).

So when the movie was re-released in 3D IMAX, I was psyched to see it on the big screen again. It did not disappoint! Haters to the left. My mom says I read the book when it came out, which would have made me 7 (?!). Did I understand ANYTHING ABOUT IT? What a weird kid. Anyway, 20 years later, enthralled once again, I decided to re-read the book and the sequel, The Lost World.

Lessons learned:

• Movie Alan Grant is way better than book Alan Grant. Book Dr. Grant actually LIKES children. Terrible. 
• There's an awesome T.Rex river chase that never made it to the big screen - probably because actually seeing the T.Rex dog paddling makes it look cute instead of scary? Too bad.
• The book is less scary, though, overall. My theory is that dinosaur names are too nerdy on the page: "The dilophosaurus attacked!" Oooooh I'm sooooo scaaaaared. "The razor teeth terror beast attacked!" *shits pants, cries, puts book in freezer*
• In both the novel & the book, Ellie is the coolest and consistently shows the men in the room what the hell is up.  I want to be a paleobotanist!*
• The Lost World is pretty much just Jurassic Park, again, on a different island. NOT COMPLAINING.
• Michael Crichton can't write children - the ones in both books are one-dimensional plot devices. "Oh no we've lost little Billy! Time to move from plot point A to B!" And scene.

I am regretting reviewing these books. They're neither bad, nor good - they simply are (Jurassic Park). Okay, they're probably not great - but they are a million times better than anything Dan Brown ever wrote, paleontogists > symbologists 4EVA. 

Jurassic Park: 4 Dodgson's out of 5.

The Lost World: 3 Goldblum cackles out of 5.

*You're right - I just want to look good in short shorts. 

Lonesome Dove

This book is like a stew. BEAR WITH ME PEOPLE! This is going somewhere.

Day 1 of stew: This stew is okay. It's stew - what do you want me to say? It's simple and it's filling.

Day 2 of stew: Sure, this stew isn't fancy. But I was working as a professional business lady all day and it's nice to be able to heat up a comforting bowl for dinner.

Day 3 of stew: This stew keeps getting better & better. All the flavors are coming together. Stew - you keep surprising me! I am glad I have a giant tub of you in the fridge.

Day 4: What a long day. I am glad I have you, Stew. You are coziness personified. You are like an old friend.

Day 5: STEW THERE IS ONLY ONE BOWL OF YOU LEFT! I'm not ready to say goodbye! At the beginning you felt like you would last forever...but I see now how short-sighted I was. *single tear*

Day 6: There is no more stew. RIP Stew. I'm sorry I took you for granted in the beginning. I could make you again, but it won't be the same as the first time. Goodbye. Goodbye...forever. *sobs*

Additional notes on Lonesome Dove that don't fit into a stew metaphor (believe me, I tried):

• Fantastic character names. Pea Eye! Newt! Dish! Soupy! Dang, now I feel like I probably could have worked those names into a stew metaphor. Lazy, Jane!
• The dialog is amazing enough to make you want to slip snippets of it into your own conversations. This will result in an uncomfortable silence when you're on a conference call at work with your New York office about the Q4 budget and you say, "I doubt it matters where you die...but it matters where you live."
• This is the type of novel that is rightly described as "epic," and an "opus." Epic & Opus would also be acceptable character names in a Larry McMurtry novel, I think.

5 grizzly bear fighting bulls out of 5.

Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

The term "armchair travel," in addition to being silly, refers to books or other proxies that give you the experience of a place/trip without ever having to get off of your fat ass and out of the house. I guess "an armchair travel book" sells it better than "you know you'll never get it together enough to spend the summer biking through Tuscany, so read about this person who did. They are also better looking than you."

Cheryl Strayed has written a book I would describe as "armchair wilderness therapy." You know, those programs that troubled kids get sent to after appearing on Maury Povich episodes about "out of control teens." Strayed's is the book you read to (via armchair) get your shit together so that you CAN (via armchair) travel to Tuscany and live your best life.

Is this a new record for the amount of words I've written in a review without actually describing anything substantial about the book in question? No? How...about....now?

Making up for lost time: Strayed's memoir, of the summer she hiked a section of the Pacific Crest Trail, is powerful and honest. It's so vividly descriptive, of both the trail & her state of mind, that it feels like she wrote it as she walked along, not years after the fact. Anyone who has ever faced a turning point in their early adulthood (so...everyone?) will find themselves nodding along, and may even start to look for their hiking boots in the closet before getting distracted by an old bag of gummy bears they find sticking out of their purse. Gummy bears never go bad - fun fact!

Read this book. You will find more than expired candy.

5 blood-filled blisters out of 5.