Nerine Dorman's Blog, page 53
February 24, 2015
The Twelve by Justin Cronin #review
Title:
The Twelve
Author: Justin Cronin
Publisher: Orion Books, 2012
Sequel to the post-apocalyptic, vampire-outbreak novel The Passage, The Twelve picks up the story again as humanity’s hardy survivors battle to hold onto what vestiges of civilisation remain. Though I had not read book one, this was no obstacle to my enjoyment of The Passage, as Justin Cronin weaves in enough back story to fill readers in.
We are introduced to a large cast of characters on both side of the human and viral line. The latter are all in some way related to strains descended from the menacing and enigmatic Zero, who appears to have complete world domination at the top of his list of priorities.
Yet not all the infected are of the same mind. The mysterious girl Amy has her own agenda as she marshals her meagre forces against great odds. We get to know Peter, a soldier; Sara, a survivor in concentration camp conditions; and Alicia, who battles daily with viral infection that threatens to overwhelm her human side, who are but a few of the fascinating characters readers encounter, many of whom are prepared to die for their cause.
Cronin blends the horrors of Nazi-style death camps with present-day terrorist tactics, to create a dystopia that is drenched in blood and fuelled by incredible cruelty – so if graphic scenes of violence upset you, then this is probably not the book for you.
It’s clear that Cronin has put a great deal of thought into his world building, and it shows, because his writing is vivid and tactile. That being said, to his detriment, his having to divide his attention between so many characters often makes it a little tricky to keep track of everything and everyone, and some of the outcomes felt a bit by the by once I reached the conclusion.
The pacing, however, is relentless, and Cronin never lets his readers get too comfortable; there certainly are more than enough explosions to shake things up.
Author: Justin Cronin
Publisher: Orion Books, 2012
Sequel to the post-apocalyptic, vampire-outbreak novel The Passage, The Twelve picks up the story again as humanity’s hardy survivors battle to hold onto what vestiges of civilisation remain. Though I had not read book one, this was no obstacle to my enjoyment of The Passage, as Justin Cronin weaves in enough back story to fill readers in.We are introduced to a large cast of characters on both side of the human and viral line. The latter are all in some way related to strains descended from the menacing and enigmatic Zero, who appears to have complete world domination at the top of his list of priorities.
Yet not all the infected are of the same mind. The mysterious girl Amy has her own agenda as she marshals her meagre forces against great odds. We get to know Peter, a soldier; Sara, a survivor in concentration camp conditions; and Alicia, who battles daily with viral infection that threatens to overwhelm her human side, who are but a few of the fascinating characters readers encounter, many of whom are prepared to die for their cause.
Cronin blends the horrors of Nazi-style death camps with present-day terrorist tactics, to create a dystopia that is drenched in blood and fuelled by incredible cruelty – so if graphic scenes of violence upset you, then this is probably not the book for you.
It’s clear that Cronin has put a great deal of thought into his world building, and it shows, because his writing is vivid and tactile. That being said, to his detriment, his having to divide his attention between so many characters often makes it a little tricky to keep track of everything and everyone, and some of the outcomes felt a bit by the by once I reached the conclusion.
The pacing, however, is relentless, and Cronin never lets his readers get too comfortable; there certainly are more than enough explosions to shake things up.
February 17, 2015
The Diving by Helen Walne #review
Title:
The Diving
Author: Helen Walne
Publisher: Penguin Books SA, 2014
I’ve always enjoyed Helen Walne’s newspaper columns and, as it turns out, The Diving – her account of her relationship with her brother Richard, added further dimension to my appreciation of her talent.
Those who know Helen for her somewhat wry humour will see a contrasting side to her words, initially a serious examination of dealing with severe depression in a loved one and, thereafter, coping with a complex cocktail of guilt and bereavement.
It is immediately clear that Helen’s relationship with her brother was close, and that he was a large part of her life growing up and well into adulthood. She looked up to him, but also nurtured him.
Helen shares many memories of Richard, both good and bad, and we are left with a sense of her great helplessness while she did her utmost to help him. In the wake of his death, she almost foundered due to her crippling grief, and had her own journey to make through her personal bleakness before she was able to find fresh current.
Throughout the book she makes many profound statements that resonated powerfully. One such is “Grief is not a gift, no matter what New Age books tell us. It is not given to us. It happens to us. And even though I didn’t have to learn anything, I did gain new insights after Richard’s death.”
Helen’s observations are poignant and heartfelt – and she evokes her environment and the people who populate it with great vividness. In places, her signature humour is evident, tempered by her sorrow but redolent with incredible depth of feeling. This is not an easy book to read, because you know from the start what you’re in for, but as a personal account of those struggling in the aftermath of a suicide, it is rich in love despite the pain. And yes, the all-important letting go.
Helen has crafted a truly beautiful masterpiece that reaches beyond the page to kindle empathy and awe. This candid account of life, love and grief – and the complex entanglements of living with loved ones suffering from depression – deserves all the praise I can muster.
Author: Helen Walne
Publisher: Penguin Books SA, 2014
I’ve always enjoyed Helen Walne’s newspaper columns and, as it turns out, The Diving – her account of her relationship with her brother Richard, added further dimension to my appreciation of her talent.
Those who know Helen for her somewhat wry humour will see a contrasting side to her words, initially a serious examination of dealing with severe depression in a loved one and, thereafter, coping with a complex cocktail of guilt and bereavement.It is immediately clear that Helen’s relationship with her brother was close, and that he was a large part of her life growing up and well into adulthood. She looked up to him, but also nurtured him.
Helen shares many memories of Richard, both good and bad, and we are left with a sense of her great helplessness while she did her utmost to help him. In the wake of his death, she almost foundered due to her crippling grief, and had her own journey to make through her personal bleakness before she was able to find fresh current.
Throughout the book she makes many profound statements that resonated powerfully. One such is “Grief is not a gift, no matter what New Age books tell us. It is not given to us. It happens to us. And even though I didn’t have to learn anything, I did gain new insights after Richard’s death.”
Helen’s observations are poignant and heartfelt – and she evokes her environment and the people who populate it with great vividness. In places, her signature humour is evident, tempered by her sorrow but redolent with incredible depth of feeling. This is not an easy book to read, because you know from the start what you’re in for, but as a personal account of those struggling in the aftermath of a suicide, it is rich in love despite the pain. And yes, the all-important letting go.
Helen has crafted a truly beautiful masterpiece that reaches beyond the page to kindle empathy and awe. This candid account of life, love and grief – and the complex entanglements of living with loved ones suffering from depression – deserves all the praise I can muster.
February 10, 2015
When Rain Clouds Gather by Bessie Head #review
Title:
When Rain Clouds Gather
Author: Bessie Head
Publisher: Pearson Education Limited, 2008
This book is part of my required reading for the Unisa BA course that I’m busy with at time of writing, so please forgive me if I go a little deeper with this review than my regular offerings.
Firstly, I need to look at the context in which this book was written. Bessie Head, the child of a white mother and a black father, was born during a time in South Africa when interracial marriages were illegal, so she grew up within a racially segregated country. She was also involved in the media as a journalist, which naturally made her more outspoken and vulnerable to persecution due to her opinions, which were contrary to the government of the time. Consequently, she went to live in Botswana in 1964 as a refugee rather than endure the apartheid regime.
These issues lend authenticity to When the Rain Clouds Gather, as one of the primary characters, Makhaya, is a South African insurgent who has fled to Botswana, where he plans to live in exile. He is caught in a social no man’s land – a wanted man in South Africa, and unwanted by elements in Botswana.
In the novel, Head spends a lot of time examining the human condition, especially in the conflict that arises between traditionalism, colonialism and the need for progressive thought. Botswana at the time is a land administered by the British, but is still ruled by tribal chiefs. Great disparity exists between a wealthy elite (the chiefs) and the common folk. There is little in the way of education, and people prefer to stick to their time-honoured traditions as a way of life.
This in itself would not present much of a problem if it weren’t for the fact that the Botswanan countryside is in the grips of a severe drought, and traditions have exacerbated issues such as soil erosion, which only compound the people’s plight. Much of the novel is related to the discussion of agriculture, and people’s relationship with the land and each other.
Head puts great stock in the powerful metaphor of water in this thirstland, from which the title of the book derives.
“You may see no rivers on the ground but we keep the rivers inside us. that is why all good things and all good people are called rain. Sometimes we see the rain clouds gather even though not a cloud appears in the sky. It is all in our heart.”
People are central to this story – as agents of change and progress, as nurturers, and of course obstacles that result in great evil.
Primary to the narrative is Makhaya, who is troubled, and whose faith in people has been damaged. When he arrives at the village of Golema Mmidi, he is rootless and has no real plans going forward. He has a lot of residual anger too, and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness, and of not being able to create the change he’d like to see. We learn that he is a man who is dissatisfied with traditional values and who also has no great love for authority figures (which is understandable, considering that he has fled South Africa).
Yet in the village, he encounters a white man, Gilbert, who has also rejected his home (Britain) for the life of a pioneer in Africa. In the UK, Gilbert is stifled, forced to live according to social conventions. He is once again coming up against tradition in Africa, yet he is a dreamer who sees boundless potential for prosperity, and here he feels he is in a position to inspire those around him to strive for this brighter future.
Together, Makhaya and Gilbert work for a change for the better in the village, because they are able to think outside the box and are also not afraid to try new methods when they see that the old ways aren’t working.
But we are also faced with the two chiefs. Paramount Chief Sekoto is not a bad man, though he enjoys the many fruits of his powerful position. It is at his behest that the biggest decisions affecting his lands and his people are made. For all his faults, he is a generous man, and he has a good relationship with the British administrators and his own people. Although his younger brother Matenge is the opposite to him, that same generosity of spirit sees him give Matenge the benefit of his doubt.
Chief Matenge rules over Golema Mmdi but he is a small-minded, petty man, concerned that he should be respected because of who and what he is. For him it is all about the principle of being the one in power rather than caring for and guiding a community as a true leader. Consequently, Matenge sees the free-spirited Makhaya as a threat to his authority, and machinates against him.
Perhaps the most telling is Head’s way of framing the attitudes of the tradition-bound chiefs:
“The Matenges and Paramount Chiefs Sekotos did not have to lift up the spades and dig the earth. It cost them nothing to say yes, yes, yes, build your dam because we have no water in this country. But it gave them deep and perverted joy to say no, no, no.”
Two women feature. One is Maria, the daughter of the elder Dinorego, who is an apt counterpart for Gilbert. Their courtship takes place in fits and starts, but its conclusion is nonetheless a cause for joy in an otherwise bleak setting. Paulina, the other primary female character, has her sights set on Makhaya, but they must first see eye to eye, and make important realisations about themselves before anything can move ahead.
In the end, life goes on for the villagers, despite death, despite drought, and the beautiful simplicity of love and family, and their interconnectedness with each other and the land. All this continues, despite the intentions of the powers that be – the joy and goodness of people flow through everything.
Author: Bessie Head
Publisher: Pearson Education Limited, 2008
This book is part of my required reading for the Unisa BA course that I’m busy with at time of writing, so please forgive me if I go a little deeper with this review than my regular offerings.Firstly, I need to look at the context in which this book was written. Bessie Head, the child of a white mother and a black father, was born during a time in South Africa when interracial marriages were illegal, so she grew up within a racially segregated country. She was also involved in the media as a journalist, which naturally made her more outspoken and vulnerable to persecution due to her opinions, which were contrary to the government of the time. Consequently, she went to live in Botswana in 1964 as a refugee rather than endure the apartheid regime.
These issues lend authenticity to When the Rain Clouds Gather, as one of the primary characters, Makhaya, is a South African insurgent who has fled to Botswana, where he plans to live in exile. He is caught in a social no man’s land – a wanted man in South Africa, and unwanted by elements in Botswana.
In the novel, Head spends a lot of time examining the human condition, especially in the conflict that arises between traditionalism, colonialism and the need for progressive thought. Botswana at the time is a land administered by the British, but is still ruled by tribal chiefs. Great disparity exists between a wealthy elite (the chiefs) and the common folk. There is little in the way of education, and people prefer to stick to their time-honoured traditions as a way of life.
This in itself would not present much of a problem if it weren’t for the fact that the Botswanan countryside is in the grips of a severe drought, and traditions have exacerbated issues such as soil erosion, which only compound the people’s plight. Much of the novel is related to the discussion of agriculture, and people’s relationship with the land and each other.
Head puts great stock in the powerful metaphor of water in this thirstland, from which the title of the book derives.
“You may see no rivers on the ground but we keep the rivers inside us. that is why all good things and all good people are called rain. Sometimes we see the rain clouds gather even though not a cloud appears in the sky. It is all in our heart.”
People are central to this story – as agents of change and progress, as nurturers, and of course obstacles that result in great evil.
Primary to the narrative is Makhaya, who is troubled, and whose faith in people has been damaged. When he arrives at the village of Golema Mmidi, he is rootless and has no real plans going forward. He has a lot of residual anger too, and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness, and of not being able to create the change he’d like to see. We learn that he is a man who is dissatisfied with traditional values and who also has no great love for authority figures (which is understandable, considering that he has fled South Africa).
Yet in the village, he encounters a white man, Gilbert, who has also rejected his home (Britain) for the life of a pioneer in Africa. In the UK, Gilbert is stifled, forced to live according to social conventions. He is once again coming up against tradition in Africa, yet he is a dreamer who sees boundless potential for prosperity, and here he feels he is in a position to inspire those around him to strive for this brighter future.
Together, Makhaya and Gilbert work for a change for the better in the village, because they are able to think outside the box and are also not afraid to try new methods when they see that the old ways aren’t working.
But we are also faced with the two chiefs. Paramount Chief Sekoto is not a bad man, though he enjoys the many fruits of his powerful position. It is at his behest that the biggest decisions affecting his lands and his people are made. For all his faults, he is a generous man, and he has a good relationship with the British administrators and his own people. Although his younger brother Matenge is the opposite to him, that same generosity of spirit sees him give Matenge the benefit of his doubt.
Chief Matenge rules over Golema Mmdi but he is a small-minded, petty man, concerned that he should be respected because of who and what he is. For him it is all about the principle of being the one in power rather than caring for and guiding a community as a true leader. Consequently, Matenge sees the free-spirited Makhaya as a threat to his authority, and machinates against him.
Perhaps the most telling is Head’s way of framing the attitudes of the tradition-bound chiefs:
“The Matenges and Paramount Chiefs Sekotos did not have to lift up the spades and dig the earth. It cost them nothing to say yes, yes, yes, build your dam because we have no water in this country. But it gave them deep and perverted joy to say no, no, no.”
Two women feature. One is Maria, the daughter of the elder Dinorego, who is an apt counterpart for Gilbert. Their courtship takes place in fits and starts, but its conclusion is nonetheless a cause for joy in an otherwise bleak setting. Paulina, the other primary female character, has her sights set on Makhaya, but they must first see eye to eye, and make important realisations about themselves before anything can move ahead.
In the end, life goes on for the villagers, despite death, despite drought, and the beautiful simplicity of love and family, and their interconnectedness with each other and the land. All this continues, despite the intentions of the powers that be – the joy and goodness of people flow through everything.
February 5, 2015
Garden of Dreams by Melissa Siebert #review
Title:
Garden of Dreams
Author: Melissa Siebert
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2014
I’ve had an abiding love for India and her culture for many years, so when the opportunity presented itself to read Garden of Dreams, I grabbed it with both hands. In this story, we encounter the quite unconventional De Villiers family, and especially fourteen-year-old Eli, who finds himself in a predicament when his mother, Margo, abandons him. She feels that he is adult enough to complete the journey to Nepal, to be reunited with his estranged father, Anton.
Only Eli never makes it to his destination. He is kidnapped by child traffickers and ends up in a brothel in Delhi owned by the horrible madam Lakshmi, who develops a decidedly unhealthy fixation with the pretty lad.
The plucky Indian inspector VJ Gupta assures Eli’s parents that he is doing his best to find the boy, but as the weeks pass, hope dwindles. Margo falls into dissolution and despair, while Anton falls in with Maoist rebels in a desperate bid to save his son.
Meanwhile, Eli is made of sterner stuff than his parents expect, and when an opportunity for escape presents itself, he embarks on an epic quest to find his father – lost in a strange land and with no one to turn to other than the ragged band of children all trying to get home – and stay one step ahead of the child traffickers.
In Garden of Dreams, it’s not so much the physical journey that transforms Eli (and to a certain extent the secondary characters) but rather how his external circumstances impact on his inner landscape.
At the start, Eli strikes me as a self-involved boy (as many young teens are), and we join him at a time when he is at his most vulnerable – and in his case his naïveté has severe consequences. Yet this crucible in which he discovers himself, though fraught with danger, serves to strengthen him by stripping away the child to reveal a sensitive, resilient young man who, above all is a survivor who possesses much compassion.
Margo and Anton each have their realisations to make, particularly that they have failed as parents. Anton has run away from his issues by trying to save the world, whereas Margo sinks into her maudlin introspection to the point where she is mired in her feelings of inadequacy. Gupta and Lakshmi exist as polar opposites, each caught in an eccentric orbit around the other – their navigation of a corrupt world brings two distinctive perspectives of the same setting into play.
Much like real life, there is no tidy, convenient closure to Garden of Dreams. And as reader, I am content with this. Rather, it is a space for reflection against a cultural backdrop both alien and exotic, filled vividly with equal measures of beauty and darkness.
Author: Melissa Siebert
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2014
I’ve had an abiding love for India and her culture for many years, so when the opportunity presented itself to read Garden of Dreams, I grabbed it with both hands. In this story, we encounter the quite unconventional De Villiers family, and especially fourteen-year-old Eli, who finds himself in a predicament when his mother, Margo, abandons him. She feels that he is adult enough to complete the journey to Nepal, to be reunited with his estranged father, Anton.Only Eli never makes it to his destination. He is kidnapped by child traffickers and ends up in a brothel in Delhi owned by the horrible madam Lakshmi, who develops a decidedly unhealthy fixation with the pretty lad.
The plucky Indian inspector VJ Gupta assures Eli’s parents that he is doing his best to find the boy, but as the weeks pass, hope dwindles. Margo falls into dissolution and despair, while Anton falls in with Maoist rebels in a desperate bid to save his son.
Meanwhile, Eli is made of sterner stuff than his parents expect, and when an opportunity for escape presents itself, he embarks on an epic quest to find his father – lost in a strange land and with no one to turn to other than the ragged band of children all trying to get home – and stay one step ahead of the child traffickers.
In Garden of Dreams, it’s not so much the physical journey that transforms Eli (and to a certain extent the secondary characters) but rather how his external circumstances impact on his inner landscape.
At the start, Eli strikes me as a self-involved boy (as many young teens are), and we join him at a time when he is at his most vulnerable – and in his case his naïveté has severe consequences. Yet this crucible in which he discovers himself, though fraught with danger, serves to strengthen him by stripping away the child to reveal a sensitive, resilient young man who, above all is a survivor who possesses much compassion.
Margo and Anton each have their realisations to make, particularly that they have failed as parents. Anton has run away from his issues by trying to save the world, whereas Margo sinks into her maudlin introspection to the point where she is mired in her feelings of inadequacy. Gupta and Lakshmi exist as polar opposites, each caught in an eccentric orbit around the other – their navigation of a corrupt world brings two distinctive perspectives of the same setting into play.
Much like real life, there is no tidy, convenient closure to Garden of Dreams. And as reader, I am content with this. Rather, it is a space for reflection against a cultural backdrop both alien and exotic, filled vividly with equal measures of beauty and darkness.
February 3, 2015
Thirty Second World by Emma van der Vliet #review
Title:
Thirty Second World
Author: Emma van der Vliet
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2013
Anyone who has ever had a career in advertising will relate to the shenanigans in Emma van der Vliet’s Thirty Second World. We follow the lives of two women, both at different parts of their careers.
Alison, or Al, as she prefers to be known, is a control freak who thrives on micromanaging everyone and everything around her. Consequently, and despite her tough demeanour, she is blind to her own needs. She is a woman who wants everything – a career and a family – and in her bid to prove her worth, her relationships with her partner, friends and children suffer.
On the other side of the coin we have Beth, who’s just starting out in the high-pressure world of commercial filmmaking. Though she has much to learn, about the work and the people, she brings a refreshing attitude to the jaded crew she joins. Beth hits the ground running, despite her lack of experience. Even though she finds her colleagues’ behaviour a bit trying at times, she clearly has a passion for her chosen career. Her primary problem, however, lies at home, with her boyfriend Dan, who struggles with the fact that Beth is getting sucked into the industry.
Beth and Dan’s relationship comes under pressure, which is not helped by the arrival of a predatory male colleague at Beth’s work. Readers will be able to see the inevitable confrontation coming from a mile away – and it does become more than a little bit uncomfortable for all parties involved.
On the whole, there isn’t much of an earth-shattering plot here. Rather, we see the lives of two women bound in work and friendship, come to important realisations about themselves and the people around them. This is a story about friendship and love, set against the backdrop of the Cape Town film industry, with all its ridiculous demands on people’s time. The writing is detailed, and Van der Vliet is adept at painting detailed, fascinating characters. A bit of head-hopping in the narrative did annoy me, as well as a somewhat implausible, out-of-the-blue event involving a spinster aunt near the end, but overall I found this to be an entertaining read that felt spot on regarding the advertising industry I’ve come to know and loathe.
Author: Emma van der Vliet
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2013
Anyone who has ever had a career in advertising will relate to the shenanigans in Emma van der Vliet’s Thirty Second World. We follow the lives of two women, both at different parts of their careers.Alison, or Al, as she prefers to be known, is a control freak who thrives on micromanaging everyone and everything around her. Consequently, and despite her tough demeanour, she is blind to her own needs. She is a woman who wants everything – a career and a family – and in her bid to prove her worth, her relationships with her partner, friends and children suffer.
On the other side of the coin we have Beth, who’s just starting out in the high-pressure world of commercial filmmaking. Though she has much to learn, about the work and the people, she brings a refreshing attitude to the jaded crew she joins. Beth hits the ground running, despite her lack of experience. Even though she finds her colleagues’ behaviour a bit trying at times, she clearly has a passion for her chosen career. Her primary problem, however, lies at home, with her boyfriend Dan, who struggles with the fact that Beth is getting sucked into the industry.
Beth and Dan’s relationship comes under pressure, which is not helped by the arrival of a predatory male colleague at Beth’s work. Readers will be able to see the inevitable confrontation coming from a mile away – and it does become more than a little bit uncomfortable for all parties involved.
On the whole, there isn’t much of an earth-shattering plot here. Rather, we see the lives of two women bound in work and friendship, come to important realisations about themselves and the people around them. This is a story about friendship and love, set against the backdrop of the Cape Town film industry, with all its ridiculous demands on people’s time. The writing is detailed, and Van der Vliet is adept at painting detailed, fascinating characters. A bit of head-hopping in the narrative did annoy me, as well as a somewhat implausible, out-of-the-blue event involving a spinster aunt near the end, but overall I found this to be an entertaining read that felt spot on regarding the advertising industry I’ve come to know and loathe.
February 2, 2015
Is this it?
Very little could rival the excitement I felt many, many years ago (2007, if I’m not mistaken) when I opened my email to find a message from a publisher that wasn’t something along the lines of,
Dear Nerine
Thank you for your submission, but unfortunately your novel, The Splaytoed Bumblefoot isn’t quite what we’re looking for. While this doesn’t reflect, blah blah blah mudhut fishpaste…
If you’re an author who’s been on the query mill, you’ll know exactly how tired you get of those polite but generic form rejections that trickle in. That’s if the publisher or agent even bothers getting back to you in the first place.
My first novel, Khepera Rising , was rejected 67 times (yes, I counted) before I finally homed it with a small press in the US. It then went on to sell a grand total of one copy every three or four months for the next three years until I requested my rights back. Now it sells approximately one copy every three or four months… But at least all those few pennies are nearly all mine as opposed to giving the publisher 65% or more of my royalties. One day I'll hit Amazon's $100 threshold for non-US citizens and they'll pay me...
And, let’s face it, unless you’re writing a genre that’s perennially popular or you’ve lucked out by writing something that’s totally grabbed readers by the pubes, there's a chance your writing career might probably look similar to mine. You’ve written some solid fiction, but because you a) don’t whore yourself out on social media or b) either self-publish or run with small presses that don’t do much in the way of marketing or c) haven’t met with much luck getting the book into reviewers’ hands…
You get the picture.
Then… don’t depress yourself by going to look at your Amazon rankings. Just don’t do it. Therein lies madness.
On good months, you *might* get double-digit sales. On bad months, you’ll sell zilch. It’s no reflecting on the quality of my writing, which I know (without exaggerating or being completely vain) is above average. I’m a realist. Stephen King I am not, but I *can* write.
Why do I do this writing thing again?
Oh wait. And this is where I have to remind myself. I write because I want to tell stories.
When I was in high school, I was bored out of my skull 90% of the time that I wasn’t walking around the school field during break, rereading Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern for the umpteenth time or lurking in the library. If I wasn’t sneakily reading novels in class when I thought the teacher wasn’t watching, I was drawing pictures of dragons and unicorns or writing opening chapters of grand epics that never got completed.
Not much has changed now at work. (However, I make sure I meet my deadlines first before I doodle pictures of demon cats or dragons.)
I’ve been involved in the publishing industry for ten years now. I’ve got ink in my blood. It’s chronic. However if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the past year or so, it’s that I’m only going to make myself unhappy if I try to create words because I think they’ll make other people happy.
Believe me, I’ve been there. I wrote two erotic romance novels. They were fun, at the time, and they sold marginally better than my fantasy. But truth be told, unless I’m churning out one romance novel every three to four months, there’s no way I’m going to get my voice heard over the countless thousands other authors doing exactly the same thing.
That’s not to say I’ll never write erotic romance again. Just that my heart isn’t in it right now. And there are so many other stories that I’d rather write.
I’m also clearly at my happiest writing fantasy, horror or SF. Why on earth was I trying to keep bats in a canary cage?
Looking back now, I truly *get* it why I keep hearing the message, “Write what you want to read.” Only now I have internalised this message. Especially in the light of what I’ve learnt by stalking following some of my favourite authors on social media, many of whom still have their day jobs .
There’s a lot of glamour attached the publishing industry, but the runaway success stories are the exception rather than the rule. (Don’t quit your day job anytime soon, honey bunny.) I’ll be honest and say that this figurative whiff of success *does* serve to motivate me to an extent, because writing is a lot like gambling. We roll the cosmic dice every time we submit a story and say, “Is this the one? Is this my break-out novel?”
Our emotions go ride the Looping Star roller coaster until we gradually touch down on the ground and realise that the novel we slaved over for many months isn’t going to make us the next JK Rowling...while enduring the day job. (And trust me, there’s *nothing* glamorous about being employed in newspaper publishing, except the shizzy medical aid and the pittance of a pension waiting for me once they've extracted every last drop of goodness I've retired.)
Yet we continue to write. And hope. And dream of agents arranging bidding wars for your rights that reward you with that mythical six-digit figure.
And this is why: stories. I have stories to tell. When I’m writing in my groove, it’s like I’m hearing, seeing, tasting and touching, *feeling* and *being* where my character is. For that time, I get to leave this reality. I get to order reality as *I* want it. I create a safe space for me to unpack ideas and play in another world. I get to ride dragons on thermals. I shoot lightning bolts from my fingers. I travel to distant exo-planets. I am a queen. I am a warrior who lops off heads. Hell, I am a griffin or a vampire. I am limited only by my imagination.
I invite my readers to share in my magic.
And that's it. Whether I have ten rabid fans or ten thousand, it doesn't matter in the end so long as other lives are touched by the magic I've wielded.
Dear Nerine
Thank you for your submission, but unfortunately your novel, The Splaytoed Bumblefoot isn’t quite what we’re looking for. While this doesn’t reflect, blah blah blah mudhut fishpaste…
If you’re an author who’s been on the query mill, you’ll know exactly how tired you get of those polite but generic form rejections that trickle in. That’s if the publisher or agent even bothers getting back to you in the first place.My first novel, Khepera Rising , was rejected 67 times (yes, I counted) before I finally homed it with a small press in the US. It then went on to sell a grand total of one copy every three or four months for the next three years until I requested my rights back. Now it sells approximately one copy every three or four months… But at least all those few pennies are nearly all mine as opposed to giving the publisher 65% or more of my royalties. One day I'll hit Amazon's $100 threshold for non-US citizens and they'll pay me...
And, let’s face it, unless you’re writing a genre that’s perennially popular or you’ve lucked out by writing something that’s totally grabbed readers by the pubes, there's a chance your writing career might probably look similar to mine. You’ve written some solid fiction, but because you a) don’t whore yourself out on social media or b) either self-publish or run with small presses that don’t do much in the way of marketing or c) haven’t met with much luck getting the book into reviewers’ hands…
You get the picture.
Then… don’t depress yourself by going to look at your Amazon rankings. Just don’t do it. Therein lies madness.
On good months, you *might* get double-digit sales. On bad months, you’ll sell zilch. It’s no reflecting on the quality of my writing, which I know (without exaggerating or being completely vain) is above average. I’m a realist. Stephen King I am not, but I *can* write.
Why do I do this writing thing again?
Oh wait. And this is where I have to remind myself. I write because I want to tell stories.
When I was in high school, I was bored out of my skull 90% of the time that I wasn’t walking around the school field during break, rereading Anne McCaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern for the umpteenth time or lurking in the library. If I wasn’t sneakily reading novels in class when I thought the teacher wasn’t watching, I was drawing pictures of dragons and unicorns or writing opening chapters of grand epics that never got completed.
Not much has changed now at work. (However, I make sure I meet my deadlines first before I doodle pictures of demon cats or dragons.)
I’ve been involved in the publishing industry for ten years now. I’ve got ink in my blood. It’s chronic. However if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the past year or so, it’s that I’m only going to make myself unhappy if I try to create words because I think they’ll make other people happy.Believe me, I’ve been there. I wrote two erotic romance novels. They were fun, at the time, and they sold marginally better than my fantasy. But truth be told, unless I’m churning out one romance novel every three to four months, there’s no way I’m going to get my voice heard over the countless thousands other authors doing exactly the same thing.
That’s not to say I’ll never write erotic romance again. Just that my heart isn’t in it right now. And there are so many other stories that I’d rather write.
I’m also clearly at my happiest writing fantasy, horror or SF. Why on earth was I trying to keep bats in a canary cage?
Looking back now, I truly *get* it why I keep hearing the message, “Write what you want to read.” Only now I have internalised this message. Especially in the light of what I’ve learnt by stalking following some of my favourite authors on social media, many of whom still have their day jobs .
There’s a lot of glamour attached the publishing industry, but the runaway success stories are the exception rather than the rule. (Don’t quit your day job anytime soon, honey bunny.) I’ll be honest and say that this figurative whiff of success *does* serve to motivate me to an extent, because writing is a lot like gambling. We roll the cosmic dice every time we submit a story and say, “Is this the one? Is this my break-out novel?”
Our emotions go ride the Looping Star roller coaster until we gradually touch down on the ground and realise that the novel we slaved over for many months isn’t going to make us the next JK Rowling...while enduring the day job. (And trust me, there’s *nothing* glamorous about being employed in newspaper publishing, except the shizzy medical aid and the pittance of a pension waiting for me once they've extracted every last drop of goodness I've retired.)
Yet we continue to write. And hope. And dream of agents arranging bidding wars for your rights that reward you with that mythical six-digit figure.
And this is why: stories. I have stories to tell. When I’m writing in my groove, it’s like I’m hearing, seeing, tasting and touching, *feeling* and *being* where my character is. For that time, I get to leave this reality. I get to order reality as *I* want it. I create a safe space for me to unpack ideas and play in another world. I get to ride dragons on thermals. I shoot lightning bolts from my fingers. I travel to distant exo-planets. I am a queen. I am a warrior who lops off heads. Hell, I am a griffin or a vampire. I am limited only by my imagination.
I invite my readers to share in my magic.
And that's it. Whether I have ten rabid fans or ten thousand, it doesn't matter in the end so long as other lives are touched by the magic I've wielded.
January 28, 2015
Don't Be Afraid by JC Piech #review
Title:
Don’t Be Afraid
Author: JC Piech, 2012
From the get go, I do need to state that I’m no great fan of reaper/blissful afterlife stories, but JC Piech engaged me from the start. I must add that I’ve had the pleasure of including one of her stories in an anthology that I edited a few years ago, so I knew more or less what to expect with regard to tone and style – so let me assure you she’s an absolute joy to read.
The premise of Don’t Be Afraid is simple. Jason Stone is a British scientist far away from home on a day that will change the fate of the world; the date is July 16, 1945, and he is part of the team that saw to the creation of the atomic bomb.
Only he never gets to live with the repercussions of his actions, as he dies on that fateful day. From there it’s a pretty standard reaper theme – some departed souls are tasked to work as guides for the newly departed, to bring them to whatever waits on the other side. And Jason is one of those guides, and what he experiences as he submerges in others’ lives, will change him. It’s not so much about bringing peace to the newly dead, but also for Jason to fully understand the peril that mankind faces in the atomic age.
Here is where the beauty and sensitivity of Piech’s telling comes into play, as she explores the horrors of the aftermath of nuclear warfare and the people whose lives are torn to shreds at the touch of a button. A series of seemingly loosely connected vignettes vividly illustrates the pain and suffering in a way that poignantly makes cold terms like “thousands dead” become tangible – as I found myself immersed in individual lives with histories, as opposed to nameless throngs.
A secondary thread was also illustrated in how Jason remained watchful over his mortal family throughout the years, and how their lives too were bound in tragedy. A strong message of peace and acceptance of the inevitability of death and the cherishing of life flows through Don’t Be Afraid, and if I had to best encapsulate the genre in which I’d place this book, I’d call it mystical fantasy.
Granted, in many ways this novel is not my chosen genre, and if it had not been offered as a review book, I’d never have read it of my own volition – I prefer GrimDark, to be quite honest – but have to admit that a bit of light, accompanied by a slightly squishy message of love and hope, was possibly not a bad thing in the midst of the parade of my usual doom and gloom.
Don’t Be Afraid is a feel-good story about not forgetting one of the most important, timeless aspects of the human self – love. No matter your culture or creed, we all have family and friends, and we must never forget that despite our disparities, that we are all woven together by complex ties. And perhaps now, more than ever before, we must all play our parts (however small) to forestall future horrors.
Author: JC Piech, 2012
From the get go, I do need to state that I’m no great fan of reaper/blissful afterlife stories, but JC Piech engaged me from the start. I must add that I’ve had the pleasure of including one of her stories in an anthology that I edited a few years ago, so I knew more or less what to expect with regard to tone and style – so let me assure you she’s an absolute joy to read.
The premise of Don’t Be Afraid is simple. Jason Stone is a British scientist far away from home on a day that will change the fate of the world; the date is July 16, 1945, and he is part of the team that saw to the creation of the atomic bomb.Only he never gets to live with the repercussions of his actions, as he dies on that fateful day. From there it’s a pretty standard reaper theme – some departed souls are tasked to work as guides for the newly departed, to bring them to whatever waits on the other side. And Jason is one of those guides, and what he experiences as he submerges in others’ lives, will change him. It’s not so much about bringing peace to the newly dead, but also for Jason to fully understand the peril that mankind faces in the atomic age.
Here is where the beauty and sensitivity of Piech’s telling comes into play, as she explores the horrors of the aftermath of nuclear warfare and the people whose lives are torn to shreds at the touch of a button. A series of seemingly loosely connected vignettes vividly illustrates the pain and suffering in a way that poignantly makes cold terms like “thousands dead” become tangible – as I found myself immersed in individual lives with histories, as opposed to nameless throngs.
A secondary thread was also illustrated in how Jason remained watchful over his mortal family throughout the years, and how their lives too were bound in tragedy. A strong message of peace and acceptance of the inevitability of death and the cherishing of life flows through Don’t Be Afraid, and if I had to best encapsulate the genre in which I’d place this book, I’d call it mystical fantasy.
Granted, in many ways this novel is not my chosen genre, and if it had not been offered as a review book, I’d never have read it of my own volition – I prefer GrimDark, to be quite honest – but have to admit that a bit of light, accompanied by a slightly squishy message of love and hope, was possibly not a bad thing in the midst of the parade of my usual doom and gloom.
Don’t Be Afraid is a feel-good story about not forgetting one of the most important, timeless aspects of the human self – love. No matter your culture or creed, we all have family and friends, and we must never forget that despite our disparities, that we are all woven together by complex ties. And perhaps now, more than ever before, we must all play our parts (however small) to forestall future horrors.
January 26, 2015
Wading through time by Sai Vadhan
Today I've handed over my blog to an old friend of mine, Sai Vadhan, whom I've know for simply ages. He's busy celebrating the release of the first of his Kronikles, so I reckon I'm going to let him say what needs to be said, because it's quite clear that he's got oodles of drive and passion for what he does.
India. 29 States. 1 600 languages. Each language has a culture. Each culture has a lore. I was four when my maternal great grandmother started with the most famous of them all. The story of Prince Rama and his wife Sita and the ten-headed king, Ravana, who kidnapped Sita.
Halfway through the story, she’d dose off. Her story would become slurred and her facts would be all wrong. I would correct her, much to the amusement of my mother and grandparents.
I loved my other grandparent, my paternal grandmother. I would sleep on her soft arm and she would tell me stories of my forefathers and how they were great rulers of their lands, how they hunted in the forest and chased after robbers, how fairly they treated their farmers and how everyone in the village used to eat in our castle.
I was a great conqueror in my mind. The swivel chair of my study desk was my chariot drawn by flaming horses. The old family sword with the beautiful hilt was my scimitar and my towel magically turned into a cape.
As I grew older, I started poetry. First it was love, then pathos and finally philosophy. I was all of twelve. That’s what happens when you do too much mythology. Poetry was just not enough. I started my first book. Needless to say, it was fantasy fiction. I finished it just a couple of years ago, much after Kronikles.
I forgot all of this as a young man pursuing law. Thereafter, life took me away from my fantasy world. My children’s demands for bed time stories reminded me of the stories I so loved. Memories flooded in. Stories abounded. Bed time rocked with both my children laughing away to glory or getting so scared by Raakshas and Bhoot that they’d fight over each other to snuggle up to me. I loved it.
That was when I created the character that would finally become the protagonist of my book. I did not have to worry about lab experiments going awry, getting bitten by toxic insects or wearing clothes of metal. All that was already figured out.
All I had to do was wade through the timeless waters of myth, explode through the colours of legend, freefall into thousands of years of stories which had time travel, flying machines, Demi-Gods and monsters.
So, while my children busied themselves with their academic pursuit, I figured it was time I pursued the one thing that gave me limitless bliss. Writing stories. I don’t know why I had not done it thus far. From that point onwards Kronikles took me nine years from concept to publishing.
Moral of it all: follow your passion! Without it we are mere automatons doing time to earn money. Sure, the home hearth has to be warm but…is that it?
Purpose comes to life when you pursue your passion. Doing drugs, taking selfies with celebrities, clubbing and drinking-mundane, empty, boring. Do whatever makes you tick (unless one is a mass murderer or a serial rapist or some such sicko, in which case I suggest jumping off a cliff without further delay!)
Go find a multiverse, see whether you like a curvature or non-curvature black hole (both exist), figure out what the universe is before you even attempt to find out why it’s there, stare at a blade of grass because who knows, may be its not you seeing the blade, maybe you’re helping the blade see itself!
Whatever else you don’t do, read.
Music and movies are good too! Writing books is more fun though!
Bio:
Vadhan writes novels, sometimes with poems in them and can sketch reasonably well. His first published book is Shatru, Kronikles Book-1.
Vadhan loves cricket, tennis, shuttle badminton, table tennis…and golf. He is proficient with four of the games. There is a golf course he recently visited which is now officially a crater! They had to call in the fire service to pull him out. The golf ball is still in there, somewhere. He is a movie buff. He loves fantasy, comedy, action and adventure movies and maybe prefers one of those funny love stories once in a while.
Transactional law practice, advising Indian MNCs on compliance frameworks for their business in India and ten other countries in North America, China, Asia Pacific and Europe takes up a chunk of Vadhan’s time.
His company, Sand Legal Services Private Limited, is ranked amongst the top 20 compliance service providers in India and has won the best corporate governance and administrative law practice awards in 2014 as titled as the company of the year award in 2014 for best legal compliance services by the international magazine, CIO review.
Vadhan is busy these days researching on the third instalment of Kronikles and for a legal thriller he is writing. A question often asked, how does he manage between practice of a niche segment of law and writing books?
When there is passion, anything is possible. Things will fall into place. Always.
Important: do it because you love it. Nothing else matters.
Warning: Golf is the exception to this rule!
ABOUT SHATRUShatru was half Asura.
That was not the reason why he was the best Hunter for the most powerful peace keeping force in all fourteen worlds. If he did not do their bidding, they would kill the one person he loved. That was just the way it was.
The Devas and Asuras, the most powerful of the Primordial Tribes shadow-controlled the financial, political and cultural lives of all of humanity just for one reason, domination over each other through control of terrestrials.
When the brittle line between adversity and aggression was broken they were set on a collision course. Shatru was the only one standing between them.
To stop the Primordials from destroying each other, Shatru had to go after an ancient sentinel of Chaos ready to do what it takes just to destroy.
Vengeance will rise.
Worlds will fall.
Evil will ascend.
Shatru is in the way.
If he doesn’t stop the war, ours will be the first world to wear away!
Kronikles Book-1www.authorvadhan.comwww.facebook.com/bscvadhan
India. 29 States. 1 600 languages. Each language has a culture. Each culture has a lore. I was four when my maternal great grandmother started with the most famous of them all. The story of Prince Rama and his wife Sita and the ten-headed king, Ravana, who kidnapped Sita.
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Halfway through the story, she’d dose off. Her story would become slurred and her facts would be all wrong. I would correct her, much to the amusement of my mother and grandparents.I loved my other grandparent, my paternal grandmother. I would sleep on her soft arm and she would tell me stories of my forefathers and how they were great rulers of their lands, how they hunted in the forest and chased after robbers, how fairly they treated their farmers and how everyone in the village used to eat in our castle.
I was a great conqueror in my mind. The swivel chair of my study desk was my chariot drawn by flaming horses. The old family sword with the beautiful hilt was my scimitar and my towel magically turned into a cape.
As I grew older, I started poetry. First it was love, then pathos and finally philosophy. I was all of twelve. That’s what happens when you do too much mythology. Poetry was just not enough. I started my first book. Needless to say, it was fantasy fiction. I finished it just a couple of years ago, much after Kronikles.
I forgot all of this as a young man pursuing law. Thereafter, life took me away from my fantasy world. My children’s demands for bed time stories reminded me of the stories I so loved. Memories flooded in. Stories abounded. Bed time rocked with both my children laughing away to glory or getting so scared by Raakshas and Bhoot that they’d fight over each other to snuggle up to me. I loved it.
That was when I created the character that would finally become the protagonist of my book. I did not have to worry about lab experiments going awry, getting bitten by toxic insects or wearing clothes of metal. All that was already figured out.
All I had to do was wade through the timeless waters of myth, explode through the colours of legend, freefall into thousands of years of stories which had time travel, flying machines, Demi-Gods and monsters.
So, while my children busied themselves with their academic pursuit, I figured it was time I pursued the one thing that gave me limitless bliss. Writing stories. I don’t know why I had not done it thus far. From that point onwards Kronikles took me nine years from concept to publishing.
Moral of it all: follow your passion! Without it we are mere automatons doing time to earn money. Sure, the home hearth has to be warm but…is that it?
Purpose comes to life when you pursue your passion. Doing drugs, taking selfies with celebrities, clubbing and drinking-mundane, empty, boring. Do whatever makes you tick (unless one is a mass murderer or a serial rapist or some such sicko, in which case I suggest jumping off a cliff without further delay!)
Go find a multiverse, see whether you like a curvature or non-curvature black hole (both exist), figure out what the universe is before you even attempt to find out why it’s there, stare at a blade of grass because who knows, may be its not you seeing the blade, maybe you’re helping the blade see itself!
Whatever else you don’t do, read.
Music and movies are good too! Writing books is more fun though!
Bio:
Vadhan writes novels, sometimes with poems in them and can sketch reasonably well. His first published book is Shatru, Kronikles Book-1. Vadhan loves cricket, tennis, shuttle badminton, table tennis…and golf. He is proficient with four of the games. There is a golf course he recently visited which is now officially a crater! They had to call in the fire service to pull him out. The golf ball is still in there, somewhere. He is a movie buff. He loves fantasy, comedy, action and adventure movies and maybe prefers one of those funny love stories once in a while.
Transactional law practice, advising Indian MNCs on compliance frameworks for their business in India and ten other countries in North America, China, Asia Pacific and Europe takes up a chunk of Vadhan’s time.
His company, Sand Legal Services Private Limited, is ranked amongst the top 20 compliance service providers in India and has won the best corporate governance and administrative law practice awards in 2014 as titled as the company of the year award in 2014 for best legal compliance services by the international magazine, CIO review.
Vadhan is busy these days researching on the third instalment of Kronikles and for a legal thriller he is writing. A question often asked, how does he manage between practice of a niche segment of law and writing books?
When there is passion, anything is possible. Things will fall into place. Always.
Important: do it because you love it. Nothing else matters.
Warning: Golf is the exception to this rule!
ABOUT SHATRUShatru was half Asura.
That was not the reason why he was the best Hunter for the most powerful peace keeping force in all fourteen worlds. If he did not do their bidding, they would kill the one person he loved. That was just the way it was.
The Devas and Asuras, the most powerful of the Primordial Tribes shadow-controlled the financial, political and cultural lives of all of humanity just for one reason, domination over each other through control of terrestrials.
When the brittle line between adversity and aggression was broken they were set on a collision course. Shatru was the only one standing between them.
To stop the Primordials from destroying each other, Shatru had to go after an ancient sentinel of Chaos ready to do what it takes just to destroy.
Vengeance will rise.
Worlds will fall.
Evil will ascend.
Shatru is in the way.
If he doesn’t stop the war, ours will be the first world to wear away!
Kronikles Book-1www.authorvadhan.comwww.facebook.com/bscvadhan
January 22, 2015
The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey #review
Title:
The 5th Wave
Author: Rick Yancey
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2013
Having read a fair amount of YA post-apocalyptic and dystopian novels, I can say with authority that The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey comes out on top of the pile. This post-apocalyptic thriller is tight, and I’m seriously hoping the upcoming movie adaption will do it justice.
Cassie was the girl no one really noticed, and if the alien invaders never made their attempt to knock out the human race, she’d most likely have gone on to lead a very ordinary life. And then there wouldn’t have been much of a story. This is not that book.
When the first wave hit, all the lights went out, but humanity was not to concerned because the powers that be would look out for them. Yet the alien mothership continued to loom ominously. Subsequent waves of attack saw the destruction of coastal cities and the release of a virulent disease that came close to wiping out nearly all the survivors.
Yet humanity endured. Those who survived were the strongest, the most wily.
Now Cassie is alone, and she has no idea who she can trust, because humanity has been infiltrated – and it’s almost impossible to tell friend from foe. All she has left to live for is her little brother Sam – but he’s been taken to a secure military base.
During the course of the story, we also encounter Ben’s ordeal, as he and a whole bunch of youngsters are put through basic military training with the aim of eradicating the alien threat.
Author Rick Yancey paints a frightening world that hints at the horrors of the World Wars and the complexities of warcraft. Throughout everything, he asks the age-old question: “What makes us human?”
If there is one YA post-apocalyptic read that you want to give a shot, make it this one. Everything is spot on, from the pacing through to the world building. Though there is a hint of the almost-ubiquitous love triangle experienced YA readers expect from the genre, Yancey handles this in a way that doesn’t result in too much eye-rolling. And another thing, Yancey spins out this epic with an authentic voice. Not once did I feel the adult author’s perspective creeping through.
Though Cassie begins as your average, slightly boy-obsessed teen, her heroic qualities, as she struggles against unbelievable odds, quickly shine through as she and her companions face challenge after challenge.
Author: Rick Yancey
Publisher: Penguin Books, 2013
Having read a fair amount of YA post-apocalyptic and dystopian novels, I can say with authority that The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey comes out on top of the pile. This post-apocalyptic thriller is tight, and I’m seriously hoping the upcoming movie adaption will do it justice.Cassie was the girl no one really noticed, and if the alien invaders never made their attempt to knock out the human race, she’d most likely have gone on to lead a very ordinary life. And then there wouldn’t have been much of a story. This is not that book.
When the first wave hit, all the lights went out, but humanity was not to concerned because the powers that be would look out for them. Yet the alien mothership continued to loom ominously. Subsequent waves of attack saw the destruction of coastal cities and the release of a virulent disease that came close to wiping out nearly all the survivors.
Yet humanity endured. Those who survived were the strongest, the most wily.
Now Cassie is alone, and she has no idea who she can trust, because humanity has been infiltrated – and it’s almost impossible to tell friend from foe. All she has left to live for is her little brother Sam – but he’s been taken to a secure military base.
During the course of the story, we also encounter Ben’s ordeal, as he and a whole bunch of youngsters are put through basic military training with the aim of eradicating the alien threat.
Author Rick Yancey paints a frightening world that hints at the horrors of the World Wars and the complexities of warcraft. Throughout everything, he asks the age-old question: “What makes us human?”
If there is one YA post-apocalyptic read that you want to give a shot, make it this one. Everything is spot on, from the pacing through to the world building. Though there is a hint of the almost-ubiquitous love triangle experienced YA readers expect from the genre, Yancey handles this in a way that doesn’t result in too much eye-rolling. And another thing, Yancey spins out this epic with an authentic voice. Not once did I feel the adult author’s perspective creeping through.
Though Cassie begins as your average, slightly boy-obsessed teen, her heroic qualities, as she struggles against unbelievable odds, quickly shine through as she and her companions face challenge after challenge.
January 20, 2015
The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom #review
Title:
The Time Keeper
Author: Mitch Albom
Publisher: Sphere, 2012
So far as basic premises go, The Time Keeper is exactly as it states – we are introduced to three primary characters who are fixated on time. Dor lives during an earlier age, before time keeping is invented, and from his childhood he is engaged in activities in involving the measuring of the passage of time. It is through his scientific, rational approach that he is able to predict events, and his quest for knowledge also bizarrely sees him punished. God assigns him the role of Father Time, locked away in a cave for 6 000 years, where he has to listen to the plaintive voices of those who cry out for more or less time.
Sarah Lemon has never been popular – and now that she’s discovered a lad who may be interested in her, she feels that time is passing too fast. Yet as we reach the conclusion of her unhappy story arc, we see that she does not, in fact, value time at all. She is the stereotypical plump, nerdy girl.
Our third viewpoint character is Victor Delamonte, a wealthy businessman who has just been informed that his cancer is terminal. Deep in his eighties, he has a gnawing sense of too much left undone. His problem is that his time is running out. He simply does not have enough time to still do all the things he wants.
With three characters’ lives to follow, and the constant jumping between the viewpoints, The Time Keeper offers readers a choppy narrative that makes it difficult to connect with Dor, Sarah and Victor. If the book had, perhaps, been longer, it might have been easier for me to invest emotionally and care more what happened to the three.
As for why Dor was punished for measuring time, when his actions were never implicitly stated as being sinful, also puzzles me. And, as such, his reasoning for selecting Sarah and Victor as his two subjects to help at the end of his incarceration also mystifies me. Neither are very likeable, and so far as characterisation goes, they are rather two-dimensional, to the point of coming across as clichés.
Overall, this is not a bad little book, if you’re the sort who enjoys inspirational fables, but unfortunately I am not that reader. All throughout I found myself wanting the story to get to some sort of profound realisation. Which it did not. Instead I felt annoyed and preached at, because the author’s intentions were so glaringly obvious from the get go until the novel reached its Dickensian conclusion. That being said, each reader unto his or her own. If you don’t mind a saccharine story that aims to teach you about not taking time for granted, then this one may possibly give you the warm fuzzies.
Author: Mitch Albom
Publisher: Sphere, 2012
So far as basic premises go, The Time Keeper is exactly as it states – we are introduced to three primary characters who are fixated on time. Dor lives during an earlier age, before time keeping is invented, and from his childhood he is engaged in activities in involving the measuring of the passage of time. It is through his scientific, rational approach that he is able to predict events, and his quest for knowledge also bizarrely sees him punished. God assigns him the role of Father Time, locked away in a cave for 6 000 years, where he has to listen to the plaintive voices of those who cry out for more or less time.
Sarah Lemon has never been popular – and now that she’s discovered a lad who may be interested in her, she feels that time is passing too fast. Yet as we reach the conclusion of her unhappy story arc, we see that she does not, in fact, value time at all. She is the stereotypical plump, nerdy girl.Our third viewpoint character is Victor Delamonte, a wealthy businessman who has just been informed that his cancer is terminal. Deep in his eighties, he has a gnawing sense of too much left undone. His problem is that his time is running out. He simply does not have enough time to still do all the things he wants.
With three characters’ lives to follow, and the constant jumping between the viewpoints, The Time Keeper offers readers a choppy narrative that makes it difficult to connect with Dor, Sarah and Victor. If the book had, perhaps, been longer, it might have been easier for me to invest emotionally and care more what happened to the three.
As for why Dor was punished for measuring time, when his actions were never implicitly stated as being sinful, also puzzles me. And, as such, his reasoning for selecting Sarah and Victor as his two subjects to help at the end of his incarceration also mystifies me. Neither are very likeable, and so far as characterisation goes, they are rather two-dimensional, to the point of coming across as clichés.
Overall, this is not a bad little book, if you’re the sort who enjoys inspirational fables, but unfortunately I am not that reader. All throughout I found myself wanting the story to get to some sort of profound realisation. Which it did not. Instead I felt annoyed and preached at, because the author’s intentions were so glaringly obvious from the get go until the novel reached its Dickensian conclusion. That being said, each reader unto his or her own. If you don’t mind a saccharine story that aims to teach you about not taking time for granted, then this one may possibly give you the warm fuzzies.
