false 24 450 437 true 5626854 read 13 true 483471 currently-reading 0 true 483470 to-read 26 false 2883251 comics- 1 false 5607557 first-reads http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/76223057 to: The Windup Girl (Hardcover) by Paolo Bacigalupi
Paolo Bacigalupi’s The Windup Girl is intelligent and frightening. Agricultural companies rule the world, distributing sterilized versions of crops long ruined with diseases like blister rust, cibiscosis, and scabis mold. The Earth of the future is one gone to waste; politics, climate, and resources like food and energy (i.e. oil) have deteriorated. In Thailand, the government has set up factions to control their most precious material: a genebank containing original crop DNA free from existing disease and genetic enhancement, the epitome of all that is natural and good to the Thai people.

With plagues ravaging crops and making people sick (and Agricultural companies barely staying on top of the latest strain), the Thai government is determined to police imports and keep their country thriving amidst a global crisis that threatens to metaphorically tear down the pumps that keep the capital from drowning in seawater. The Environment Ministry monitors the borders under the guidance of Captain Jaidee--one of five narrative viewpoints--the ‘Tiger of Bangkok’. He ruthlessly enforces the law, going so far as burning incoming material under even the faintest trace of suspicion. Jaidee’s earned himself a reputation that grates against the Trade Ministry’s ability to import and export items and profit from more lucrative, albeit shady, deals.

Anderson is a westerner who works for a Agricultural company in Des Moines. He was sent to Thailand under the guise of the SpringLife factory owner, manufacturing a renewable energy source called kink springs, to barter for influence and gain access to the genebank. Hock Seng is a worker who fell under Anderson’s jurisdiction when his predecessor, Yates, failed bring the company results. Hock Seng is (if I have this right) not a Thai native, he’s a refugee from China who blends in at the risk of being subjected to the ridicule and contempt his lower tier status as a non-native grants him. Although he works under Anderson, his dislike of the farang, or foreigner, is fueled by a personal desire to undermine the man’s authority and steal information to sell to suppliers eager for a step up in competing markets.

Lastly, there is Emiko, the genetically altered Windup Girl invented by the Japanese that stands against everything the Thai find wrong with the global crop production: artificial, sterile, and soulless. She was left abandoned by her former owner and lives as a prostitute, forced to barter favor with her new owner by performing to the perverse nature of her customers. Emiko is all too aware of the risk she poses should the authorities find out she’s been living inside Thai walls and succumbs to her owner as obediently as her programming demands of her.

As the titular character, Emiko really steals the show. In a novel that thrives on political and personal motivations fueled by greed and power, it’s a refreshing, albeit sobering, perspective to read Emiko’s struggle to simply be. She was designed poorly for the Thai climate with tiny pores and suffers frequently from overheating problems. Her jerky, twitchy movements instantly reveal her true nature and elicit the shameful epithet, “heechy keechy.” When her existence is abhorred and rejected by the Thai way of life, she’s come to understand the symbolic threat she poses in the brewing war between the Environmental and Trade Ministries. Her development throughout the narrative follows the political maneuvering going on around her, especially when she acts against her programming and unwittingly causes an uproar to tip the already agitated scales of political upheaval.

She’s so integral to the plot and symbolic of the dilemma facing everyone and everything in this novel: survival. It’s the thematic pulse of The Windup Girl and works on multiple levels, which, to the author’s credit, is only a small part of what made this book so fantastically satisfying. The characters are dynamic, written with a studied understanding of the disparate elements that influence every day life. The setting is amazing. Bacigalupi exemplifies a strong grasp on modern technology and politics as he extrapolates our world to the believed future of Emiko’s Thailand. It’s a frightening reality made all the more influential by the connections apparent to habits and the scientific endeavors of today. It’s as much about survival as it is about progression and where the two must inevitably meet. Whether that’s to our benefit or not is yet to be seen, but Bacigalupi left me floored.

I don’t think anything I write can or will do this book justice. At this point, I want to go back and reread the book to pick up on everything I missed. It’s not wise to wade through the weighted (not purple, just weighted) descriptions with impatience, or skim the exposition in any sense of the word. The cities and streets thrum with the vitality of Bacigalupi’s talent. The secrets of understanding the plot and thematic interests rest in the entirety of the pages--nothing can be skipped; there is no pause in the narrative where one protagonist sits and explains what’s going on, what’s been going on, or what happened to bring us here. It’s a true “show, don’t tell” story and any reading would do a disservice to the text and the reader themselves should The Windup Girl be gobbled up for plot, rather than for gratifying experience of reading a well-written SF book.

From what I understand, The Windup Girl, while being a debut novel, is the product of a couple of short stories written in the same world, “The Calorie Man” and “Yellow Card Man.” I was a little worried that, not having read either story, the book would be too influenced by the two, would not stand on its own without having read his previous work, but that wasn’t the case. If any one else has the same concerns, don’t worry. You’ll be fine.

I’ll definitely be watching out for Paolo Bacigalupi titles in the future! ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/79209400 to: Mouse Guard Volume One: Fall 1152 (Hardcover) by David Petersen
]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/79178948 to: The Green and the Gray (Hardcover) by Timothy Zahn
I barely remember this one, but it was okay. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/79178923 to: Manta's Gift (Hardcover) by Timothy Zahn
I remember really enjoying this book, weirdness and all. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/79003011 to: Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo (Leven Thumps, #1) by Obert Skye
I read this book in 2005 when it was released. It was awful. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/78168130 Erika's review of Ash
by Malinda Lo

Shannon wrote: "I think I know what you mean. Alphabet of Thorns was like that, and I'm reading The Darkangel just now (nearly finished) and it has the same tone and style, like a measured cadence - the style of fairy tales. Is there a word for it?"

I wish I knew a word for it! You're on the right track, though. There's something in the diction that makes the narrative measured, rhythmic, or slowly teased out, unfurled, if you will. It's a lot of fun to read and very relaxing. It makes you feel like leaning back in a comfy chair. :) I'd call that something closely resembling oral storytelling. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/78168130 to: Ash (Hardcover) by Malinda Lo
We’re all familiar with the story of Cinderella: a girl, coming of age, breaks free of her unfortunate circumstances and upsets the balance of society to rise above her station and marry not just any Prince, but the Prince; they go on to live Happily Ever After. The fairy tale is part rescue mission, part freedom fight with some political commentary wedged between the two. It’s about choices and desires; dreams and surprises. There’s little initiative on Cinderella’s part--her fairy godmother does all the hard work and saves the day. All Cinderella ever has to do is what she’s told: wear the dress, go to the ball, come back before midnight.

Malinda Lo approaches the fairy tale from a different perspective: what if Cinderella had no desire to secretly compete with her stepsisters for the Prince’s heart? What if there was a different way to escape her circumstances? The solution comes in the form of Sidhean (pronounced SHEEN), a cursed fairy, and Kaisa, the King’s Huntress. Alone in the city after her father’s death, Aisling’s curiosity keeps bringing her back to the woods beyond her stepmother’s home where she meets both Sidhean and Kaisa. Sidhean is a strange fairy man who surprises Ash (Aisling’s nickname) by not kidnapping or killing her like the fairies in her fairy tale book. Devastated over her father’s death and miserable at the thought of having to pay back the debts her father left to his widow, Ash struggles with Sidhean to abandon her world altogether and live in the land of fairies. Instead of helping her cross the boundary between the worlds, he grants her wishes. As many as she desires, but with each comes a price. And so Ash uses her wishes to bring her closer to Kaisa, whom she doesn’t yet realize she’s falling in love with.

Having changed the fairy godmother of the fairy tale into a fairy godfather (and cursed, no less), Lo then turns to the fated ball. Except, in this case, Ash doesn’t fall in love with the Prince. Her eyes are solely for Kaisa. Instead of a glass slipper, it’s a fairy cloak that Kaisa clings to, lost in her confusion and despair over Ash’s mysterious disappearance.

Placing the fairy tale in the same medieval, fairy setting with Kings and Queens makes it inordinately difficult to follow the rules of aristocracy and allow Ash--with a notably different sexual inclination--to fall for, much less marry, a Princess. The Prince remains, moved to the periphery with the audience wondering: how then does she become free? This left me grasping at the idea that Cinderella’s happiness at the end isn’t the pageantry of royalty, but the romance she finds. It’s love that saved her. Keeping this in mind, Ash is a uniquely successful re-telling shaped around the idea that ultimately Cinderella’s savior isn’t a magical pumpkin or glass slippers, nor is it a fairy godmother. All of those things provide her the opportunity to prove her worth, without which she would never have been able to fall in love. But it’s love, in the end, that makes the Prince choose her as his bride, thus saving her from a wretched existence at the mercy of her cruel stepmother.

Ash is no different. In that respect, I really appreciated Lo’s ability to reach into the heart of the fairy tale. That Ash fell in love with a non-royal is as insignificant as her falling in love with another young woman, but the distinctions are what make Ash so beautiful against what always threatens to be the same old tale.

That being said, I think the writing is what saved this book from falling just short of marvelous for me. Ash reminded me stylistically of Robin McKinley and I think fans of her writing would enjoy this book a lot. It’s shorter, but very engaging and accessible. As I read, it was easy to imagine the book being read to me, as some writing lends itself quite effortlessly. It read very much like a fairy tale and not just because that’s what it was. My only problem is in Lo’s execution of the romantic relationship between Kaisa and Ash. As much as I wanted to believe in the innocence of Ash discovering her true feelings, her interest in the huntress came off as curious more in the romance involved in being on a horse, on the hunt, left alone in the woods to do as she pleases, than on Kaisa as a woman--as a person. In other words, I felt Ash falling in love with the freedoms Kaia had than with Kaisa herself. As the narrative progressed, Ash’s feelings narrowed and found in Kaisa a like partner, but I was usually disinterested in their interactions together. I won’t deny there was chemistry, but the romantic chemistry felt forced, added at the end as an afterthought--which I know it was not intended to be. What I missed was the courtship between the pages where Kaisa and Ash undoubtedly connected in a way that went further than initial curiosity. I wanted to see more moments that warranted the embarrassed and shy glances between the two of them that persisted past what could be explained away as involuntary reactions to physical attraction.

I’m still thinking it over and love how beautiful everything about this book was--Malinda Lo is an author to watch out for in the future. And maybe I’m being too critical of the romance, too demanding for a book that doesn’t promise to go past a first kiss or show us if Kaisa and Ash lived happily ever after. Maybe Ash is just about Aisling making that first discovery and deciding to pursue a new relationship rather than be solely about the romance. And I think it speaks to Lo’s ability as a writer, that after finishing I’m still focusing on the beauty of the relationship--isn’t that part of what Cinderella is all about? ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/76222995 to: Eyes Like Stars (The Théâtre Illuminata: Act 1) by Lisa Mantchev
If you had the chance to leave the only home you’ve ever known, would you do it? That’s the dilemma Beatrice Shakespeare Smith, or Bertie as she’s known to the denizens of the Théâtre Illuminata, faces. Bertie doesn’t know who her parents are or why she was left at the theater’s doorstep and, as part of a ritual half comfort, half quest she’s constantly writing the script of her own life. To give herself a history, she imagines a bittersweet romance between a famous actress and an ordinary, lovestruck fellow, a magical caravan, and a mysterious Mistress of Revels. The particulars are always foggy, but in the story of How Bertie Came to the Theater, Bertie is always wistful, always searching for the right combination of lines and directions to point her toward the truth: who were her parents? Why did they abandon her? Where did she come from?

Bertie is far from lonely. She’s been living inside the magical Théâtre Illuminata, home to The Book, which holds the complete works of every stage play ever. It also holds the power to summon any stage character or cast imaginable for weekly performances of beloved plays that helps keep the theater thriving. Surrounded by four mischievous fairies and a colorful array of characters, Bertie’s made quite a home for herself. She’s also learned, like any teenager, the fine art of getting into trouble. This time, the theater manager’s finally fed up. Faced with being cast out, Bertie is given an ultimatum: if she can think of a way to make herself indispensable to the theater, she can stay.

Despite the not-so-subtle manipulations of Ariel (from The Tempest), Bertie isn’t eager to leave, even if it provides the opportunity she needs to find her parents. She’s determined to stay--as if lost and doing what every child is told to do when they don’t know where they are: stay put and eventually you’ll be found. With the help of her fairy friends, Nate (a dashing pirate from The Little Mermaid and my favorite character, aside from Peaseblossom), and the production managers, Bertie’s devised a plan that she’s sure will change the theater and stage manager’s minds.

Eyes Like Stars is whimsical mix of script and novel, juxtaposing imaginative backdrops and familiar characters against Bertie’s reality. The result is an explosion of coffee, pastries, glitter, beautiful costumes, and clashing personalities. Characters from different plays (albeit, Shakespeare’s are favored) meet and interact in unexpected, humorous ways. The stage is a personality itself, almost stealing the show with multiple and quick scene and prop changes reminiscent of a magical Tim Burton fantasy.

There is a lot going on in this book. With so much distraction outside of the main plot, it’s no wonder Bertie’s plan went tangentially into a dance with Ariel that led to The Book disappearing, changing the direction of the novel. What started out as a quest to help Bertie stay at the theater became a hunt for The Book, but don’t be discouraged. Mantchev manages to entwine the chaos into a reasonable assembly of working cogs all moving toward the same end: the clock is ticking and just when Bertie thinks her goals are insurmountable and hopeless, she remembers the Théâtre Illuminata has one advantage that works in her favor: magic.

If the disparate elements of the narrative struggle to make sense to you, be patient! Like all good authors, Mantchev proves she has command of her story, answering most of our questions and leaving the more burning ones for the sequel.

I have to admit, I’m not a huge fan of Ariel The Romantic Interest as much as Ariel The Manipulative And Scheming Sprite. The chemistry between him and Bertie seemed born of his machinations and desires to be set free (typical Ariel!) and I can’t help wanting to disbelieve his disposition at the end. My heart goes to Nate, whom I desperately hope isn’t related to Bertie in any familial way. The two of them were adorable together, even if Mantchev held back in what I can only hope is out of respectful consideration and not foreshadowing. I’m still suspicious of Ariel, but will have to wait until next year for any answers. This was an overall cute and easy read I’d recommend to anyone who wants something fun and light. ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/73682373 Erika's review of Boneshaker
by Cherie Priest

Jason wrote: "I think the reason that Jeremiah's dialogue is italicized is because he's the only one with an artificial amplifier in his metal gas-mask. I think it's meant to connote that his voice comes out in ..."

That's very helpful, thank you for pointing that out! I was confused since he wasn't the only one with a mask on and I assumed the italics were to denote when he spoke with the mask, but then no one else had italics... Thank you so much. :) ]]> http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/76223042 to: Fire (Hardcover) by Kristin Cashore
Fire is, like the cover says, a companion book to Graceling. Chronologically it’s a prequel, but in setting inhabits a mysterious world separated by mountains from Katsa’s and populated with Monsters instead of Gracelings. Monsters are no less captivating or powerful than Gracelings, but they’re considerably more deadly; Dellians fear Monsters as much as they inexplicably love them. Lucky for Fire--the protagonist--she’s the only human Monster left in the Dells. The rest are animals: brightly colored with poisonous malice and a thirst for blood, especially Monster blood. What attracts normal people to Monsters is their beauty. As Clara eloquently put it, “Everyone wants a bit of something beautiful.” (p. 204) The danger with that sentiment is not everyone responds by fawning or showing devotion and adoration. Some people are driven to do mad, horrible, violent things. It’s because of the degree of reaction (overwhelming unless a person has learned to control themselves, which can be done), Fire has learned to grudgingly defend herself by making use of the hypnotic, controlling power she has as a Monster. Exerting her will onto others while distasteful and utterly disagreeable to Fire’s inclinations, helps keep her safe, but it also reminds her of her father.

Cansrel was a lustful man who abused his Monster abilities and enslaved people to do terrible things for him. Worst of all, he enslaved the Dellian King, drove him mad enough to kill himself and ran the kingdom into ruins. As Fire is constantly reminding herself: she is not Cansrel. That doesn’t stop other people from sending harsh, critical stares in her direction or judging her objectively before they’ve ever met her. But Fire is nothing else if not brave. For as much as Fire’s Monsterhood ostracizes and objectifies her to other people, it saved her from her father, Cansrel. In his beautiful little girl, Cansrel found a bit of himself, a person of like abilities to share a bond with, someone whom he could never harm, but train--in secret--to hone her abilities and harness her will for selfish and bad deeds. Before his sudden death, Fire learned everything she needed to know about her power: how not to be like Cansrel.

And so Fire, the novel, opens onto an eerie scene with a man and his Graceling son, a wicked boy who uses his Grace for cruel exploitation and perverse motivations. Immiker, who is also known as Lek, is creepy. He’s so creepy, I was glad the book moved onto the first part and chapter, leaving him far behind in favor of Fire. Fire, who is not creepy. Fire, who is determined to find the poacher who shot her on accident and the archer who shot him and continues to kill throughout the Dells. But to do that, she has to contend with a king who can’t resist her, vicious raptors, her own misgivings, and a prince who doesn’t hide his distrust and dislike of Fire.

Those of you familiar with Graceling will appreciate Fire. Kristin Cashore writes amazingly strong, complicated female protagonists. In Fire, it’s not just the protagonist who’s strong, it’s every woman, even those on the fringes. Women are in the military, they’re used as guards, spies; they’re mothers, grandmothers, daughters, sisters; they’re powerful no matter what role they play. Women are everywhere and everywhere productive, indispensable. That the women on the fringes are even noteworthy speaks to their phenomenal contributions side-by-side their male counterparts; they’re equals and for that, I thank Cashore tremendously.

Fire’s an interesting character. She’s both a metaphor for the archetypal woman and the one that breaks the mold. Fire is desirous and desired; because of this she’s seen--and recognizes herself as--dangerous. As a result she’s become self-conscious and weary, quick to dread the presence of men. Male Monsters don’t illicit the same response in women as Fire does to men. It’s inexplicable to me why males are automatically put into the weak-minded category and constantly have to wrestle with reality when Fire’s around, but were she a man, women wouldn’t be fawning all over her. It’s a double standard I had a lot of trouble with (maybe someone can explain it for me?), but for all that, Fire was still interesting. In addition to being dangerous, she’s also powerful and is keenly aware of this. With her power (to attract others, to change the will of most people) comes those who want to use her as a tool, a possession, a thing to be stolen, an object. In this way, she’s reduced to a feminist nightmare. But, when in the course of the book, she is actually kidnapped, Fire does everything but sit helplessly at the mercy of her kidnappers. She’s resourceful, willful, determined, brave, and smart. She also has the capacity for love of every kind. In her whirlwind life, she even finds the time for romance.

Cashore is determined to, once again, show young girls everywhere that they can have everything they want out of life, it’s just a matter of balance. Fire’s choice not to have children is a difficult one that haunts her throughout the book. She also struggles with her Monster-ness even as she successfully completes the work she tasks for herself using her abilities. Through Fire we see that finding a moment of peace with who we are isn’t always, or ever, easy, but it is doable if we want to work for it.

For everything I admired and loved about Fire, it did have some drawbacks. I was confused why the revelation about Cansrel’s death was presented in such a way that led me to believe I, as a reader, was supposed to be more shocked. I wasn’t. For all the attention and guilt associated with it, there should have been more suspense. As it is now, the narrative doesn’t warrant the outcome. If I had more clues to pick out the truth on my own, and why the truth was so consequential, I’d be more involved in the emotion of that revelation. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. It was more of a shock when two women became pregnant, and by whom. Maybe I’m just dense.

The major problem I had with Graceling was the plot. With two major events taking place, and the first so easily trumped by the second (which seemed to me to be less consequential), I found myself lost and unable to be caught up in either one with any real conviction. Cashore fixed this in Fire. At first, it appears that the mysterious assassin that sends Fire to King City in the first place is completely forgotten about in favor of the jobs Fire takes while there to help out Nash. As we find out, that’s not the case, not entirely, and both threads were wrapped up rather nicely, if with a bit of an afterthought when Leck is thrown in quickly at the end. After letting the end simmer, I came to appreciate it a lot better and actually think Cashore did a great job tying everything together.

I kept getting distracted, though, with Fire’s Jedi-like ability to read other people’s minds and project her thoughts and feelings onto other people. Especially in the gala scene, her inner dialogue and manipulations ruined the suspense from an extremely suspenseful situation. Her ability in this case, seemed like an easy excuse for Cashore to use the dreaded “tell” instead of showing us what was happening. To be fair, this scene was the worst offender and Cashore did a good job otherwise. I just hope there isn’t anything like that in Bitterblue. While it’s unfair to criticize that because it’s who Fire is as a character and that technique is to help us understand her ability and what she’s experiencing, I still thought it detracted from the book. If my expectations were so high, it’s only because Cashore raised them considerably herself!

I love how Kristin Cashore’s characters are so complicated and realistic. Her multi-layered approach to their needs and desires is mirrored in their surroundings and the thematic issues raised in both books. Her writing and the issues she raises are so much more eloquent and sophisticated than I’ve ever expected. I can’t recommend Fire or Graceling enough. I winded up liking Fire better, but only because some of the kinks in Cashore’s writing were smoothed out. It doesn’t matter which you read first; both are worth reading; Graceling is about independence; Fire is about desire and control</i> (and has a girl with wicked red hair, and bows and arrows. BOWS AND ARROWS). Your only dilemma is deciding which to read first! ]]>