Pulled From the Shelf: "All Are Welcome"

As so often happens, I see a book that has been part of a controversy and I check it out and read it. Upon doing so, I see that either the person raising the fuss hasn't read the book at all, or is egregiously blowing something innocent out of proportion.

Take for example, the Highly Offensive *sarcasm mode* picture book "All Are Welcome" by Alexandra Penfold.

Quelle scandale…

First, we will examine the complaints, because that is the order in which I came at it.

I was first made aware of this book by a former coworker who is a librarian. She posted a short video in which a teacher reads this book. Clearly posted at the begining of the video is a screen shot of someone's complaint about the book - "Why do you all want pornographic books in the hands of children? That's bizarre."

Other complaints I found came from the Westmorland County, PA school board who cited problems with the book, including not clarifying whether the (admittedly diverse) kids in the classroom pictured in the book were here legally or illegally, and the "minority" of heterosexual parents presented in the book.

Now, let's get into the book itself:

It's cute. It's cheerful. It presents a classroom in a seemingly cosmopolitan area - some children arrive by walking, another by taxi, and there are many different skin tones and types of dress. The story rhymes and the pictures are fun and colorful. It is a quick, brief tale of learning together, eating together, playing, drawing, and singing together. It depicts three children in religious head coverings, and one in a wheel chair... but also the majority of the class is able bodied, and wearing standard western clothes. In the class of 24 students, there are four blonds and a redhead. There is a set of twins. There are three children with glasses. Your child will find themself in this colorful, welcoming group, and that is lovely. At the end of the book, there is a fold out page that depicts the class's festival, attended by all parents, showing the children's science projects, lion dancers, a buffet table, and people dancing and playing basketball. It's a beautiful depiction of what a neighborhood school can be.

Now, onto the complaints:

Oh. My. God. Becky.

1. How anyone thinks this book is "pornographic" is beyond me. I'm HOPING that this person saw it on a list of books being considered for removal and just assumed that was the case. The closest thing I can find to that kind of objectionable material is at the end of the day, after having gone home, one little girl takes a bath and puts her pajamas on. In the tub she is up to her chest in water. While dressing, she already has her shirt on, pulling her pants over her barely-seen underwear.

2. Distinguishing "between legal immigration and foreign invaders."

Excuse me? It is a picture book for 2-6 year olds. It ONLY has 240 words (yes, I counted). There is a page where it shows the children pointing to a map with the words "or if you come from far away." But come on. We don't know if the kids are pointing out where they have physically come from, or where their ancestors are from. And are we really gonna write a rhyming couplet about who has a green card and who doesn't?

Somehow, I don’t think the blonde Australian is the one they have the problem with…

3. The "minority" of heterosexual parents.

Here is one of the last pictures in the book - families arriving for the festival. There are five heterosexual couples. Yes, there is a two-woman couple and a two-man couple. There is also a child arriving with what appears to be a grandmother. But just a quick glance at all the pictures in the book (no, I'm not counting again) my eye catches a majority of "standard" mom-and-dad families.

Honestly, the biggest problem I had was believing this many full families were able to take time off work to come to this school event…

My consensus:

For goodness sake people, books like this are NOT a problem. Don't you have better things to occupy your time?

Book Review: Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

"Perks of refusing to play by the rules: you don't have to chose between the boy who'd torture a man to death with you and the boy who'd welcome you back with pastries after."

I've been looking forward to reading this since I watched Xiran's videos on historical accuracy (or lack thereof) in the various Mulan films. And now that I'm finished, I'm chomping at the bit to read the sequel, Heavenly Tyrant. I went straight to Amazon to look for it only to see the listing as "temporaily out of stock," which was annoying. Then I noticed the publication date is next April. C'mon Amazon, it's not "out of stock" if it hasn't been published yet. Still... darn.

Anyway, the actual review.

"I dream about walking on daggers every night, you know....It feels like a nightmare, but I think it's just your life."

Is this the far future, or is it so far in the past that the history has been forgotten? I love a setting that makes you question which it is. For sake of this review, we'll say it takes place in China in the distant future.

200 years ago, the alien Hunduns took over the Zhou province. They are insect-like, and their carpaces can be reworked into armor. Humans have learned how to work this material into giant battle robots called Chrysalises. Due to the need for a balance between yin and yang qi, these battle suits require two pilots - one male and one female - to control them. But... for some reason, the female pilots - called Concubine Pilots - rarely survive a battle.

Wu Zetian was born into this world: a world where boys are valued much more highly than girls, a world where girls are essentially sold - either in marriage or to the army, a world where submission and footbinding* are standard.

*Be warned, you will learn a lot about foot binding and it's not for the faint of heart.

Zetian's sister is sold to the army, in hopes her pay will help finance their brother's wedding. But when she dies before even piloting a mission, Zetian takes it upon herself to avenge her sister's death.

Things do not go according to plan - or maybe they go better than planned. She has to contend with her sister's killer, mysogeny from every corner, getting assigned to pilot with an actual convicted murderer, and the unexpected arrival of her would-be suitor from back home. "You can't shoot me! I'm rich!" Oh, Yizhi...

Layers of secrets are unraveled and Zetian finds allies in unexpected places... and betrayal from those she counted friends. She is beaten down and beaten down and beaten down, but she rises harder and stronger - a true Iron Widow.

(By the way, did I mention this is a very loose retelling of the story of the ONLY female emperor in Chinese history? Long live Wu Zetian.)

I LOVED this book. It was the best book I've read in a while - and I've read a lot of good ones recently. (In fact, this is the best of three "teenage girls fighting the evil empire" books I've read in pretty quick succession.) With that said, though, it's not for the faint of heart. There is murder, battle, trorture, near-rape (and implied offscreen rape of minor characters), cataclismic damage to a city, and mental and physical familial abuse, including society-santioned breaking and regular re-breaking of young girls' feet. Yikes. It very closely skirts the line of what would be too much for YA (in fact, the afterword states that this is a toned-down version from an earlier draft that would very much not be YA.) But that's the stuff I love. It is also full of the fantastically sarcastic and witty humor I've come to expect from Xiran Jay Zhao's YouTube videos. You should look them up - they are hilarious (and educational!)


Enjoyed this post? Want to see more content like this? Make sure to follow me on social media!

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for several small snippets each week.

Or, if you're looking for more professional content (less frequent, but more closely related to writing, publishing, or libraries), connect with me on LinkedIn. (I do ask that if you request a connection on LinkedIn that you mention this blog so that I know how you heard of me.)

Review of Grace Lin's Before the Sword

Just a quick snippet of a review here:

This book had everything I love: coming of age adventure; backstories from mythology and folklore; a misinterpreted prophesy; the hero's backstory; a villain origin story; and, of course, a kick-ass heroine.

Technically a middle-grade book, it's a good, solid story for any age, honestly. The youngest middle grade readers might be intimidated by the size, or slightly frightened by monsters and action, but middle grade, young adult, and YA readers will all find something to love here.

The book serves as a prequel to the 2020 live-action Mulan, and, therefore, has slightly different names and family dynamic than the 1998 animated film.

For more about the book and the author, you can visit Grace Lin’s website.


Enjoyed this post? Want to see more content like this? Make sure to follow me on social media!

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for several small snippets each week.

Or, if you're looking for more professional content (less frequent, but more closely related to writing, publishing, or libraries), connect with me on LinkedIn. (I do ask that if you request a connection on LinkedIn that you mention this blog so that I know how you heard of me.)

Banned Books Week Day 6*: Burn, Baby, Burn

*If you feel like you're missing a day, yesterday I did a Throwback Thursday with my review of Out of Darkness.

Ray Bradbury, writing Fahrenheit 451: You shouldn't ban books.

1950's parents: Let's ban this book!

That seems to be how it goes, doesn't it?

As some of you know, last year I challenged myself to read a classic banned book that I hadn't read before, and review it for banned books week. I decided to do the same this year and, due in large part to nearly unanimous response from my readers, I read Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. (F-451, from here on out because I'm lazy.)

I wasn't sure what to expect going into it. I read it without looking up why it had been challenged. I had attempted to read a collection of his short stories a while ago and had not been impressed.

I was very pleasantly surprised with F-451. The language was BEAUTIFUL. The book was written by someone who obviously loved words, about someone who would come to better appreciate words. I haven't read a book with language like that since The Book Thief.

The world was also very well created - it felt very Twilight Zone-y, and I mean that in the best possible way. Of course, it didn't long pre-date the show, and Bradbury's work was used in an episode (and I think also inspired others). For me, there was a very clear atmosphere and color scheme.

What struck me the most, though, was how well a story written in 1953 captured the ennui and lack of attention span of 2022. In F-451, the main character's wife has speakers called seashells that she wears in her ears constantly - they are described as being silver and thimble-sized. She is constantly listening to radio shows, constantly watching her "parlor family," the unending broadcast of TV on the three walls of a room in their house. And that's not enough - she wants to be so immersed in the fictional television world that she asks Guy to buy her a fourth TV wall, even though it would cost about a third of his annual salary.

Honestly, the above is even just a small sample of how far gone most of society has gotten. They listen to their seashells and watch their parlor families unceasingly. The neighbor girl relates how she's constantly losing friends to car crashes - in this society people are so aching for stimulation that they speed and crash as casually as my husband might play a video game.

Of course, the one way in which the population of this world is not allowed to find stimulation is through reading. Books are illegal. Possession of even one will get you arrested. Neighbors report neighbors and the firemen come to burn not only the books but the perpetrator's home.

Guy is one of these firemen, but things take a turn for him in part because of his observant young neighbor's joie de vivre and because a woman's whose book collection they were about to burn gets the jump on Guy and his colleagues and sets both the books and herself on fire in a final desperate attempt to take at least that small act from them.

Guy finally comes to understand that he no longer believes in burning books, that he hates this world he lives in where no one sees, no one feels, no one connects. He starts saving books, but of course is found out. Long story short, he escapes the city and joins a group of "hobos" - who turn out to be "retired*" professors and a minister. They promise to teach Guy a technique they developed to remember the entirety of any book they've ever read. These men are the new library; they promise to pass down their collective knowledge until the world is ready for the books to return.

*Most are strongly hinted to have been driven out of their professions.

Not finding anything too bothersome in the book, I looked up the reasons it was challenged after I was done. Of course, profanity (as always) was at the top of the list... and yeah, maybe for the 1950's it might have been a tad strong, but it wasn't constant, and I feel like there wasn't much worse in there than "damn." Violence was also a complaint, as was a description of the Bible being burnt. (But, wasn't that the point? That Bradbury was CONDEMNING violence and book burning, not condoning them?) Other complaints included mentions of both suicide and abortion. Granted, once again, these came off as very tame to my 21st century sensibilities. The attempted suicide is accompanied by blase technicians who pump the would-be victim's stomach with less interest than a mechanic repairing a car. Abortion is mentioned in passing as Guy hurls accusations of unfeelingness at his wife's friends, one of whom who has had multiple divorces and abortions. And, let's be perfectly honest - a lot of those complaints would either go over younger teens' heads, or be completely unimpressive to older teens today.

All in all though, a really great book. Try reading it instead of burning it.


Enjoyed this post? Want to see more content like this? Make sure to follow me on social media!

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for several small snippets each week.

Or, if you're looking for more professional content (less frequent, but more closely related to writing, publishing, or libraries), connect with me on LinkedIn. (I do ask that if you request a connection on LinkedIn that you mention this blog so that I know how you heard of me.)

Dragonwings: A Superior Book

I feel like Dragonwings, by Laurence Yep is something that I should have read as a kid and for whatever reason it was never on the agenda. I feel like it's the sort of thing I would/should have read in my American Girl/Laura Ingalls Wilder/Julie of the Wolves phase. It was put back on my radar due to this article.

Dragonwings is a book about Moon Shadow, a young Chinese boy who's father, Windrider, has been working in San Francisco since just before he was born, at the beginning of the 20th century. At the age of eight, Moon Shadow is sent to join his father and several other male relatives in their laundry company. He has grown up hearing both tales about the wonders and opportunities of the land of the Golden Mountain (what the US was referred to as by the Chinese during this period), as well as the dangers and cruelties perpetuated on the Tang people (what the Chinese referred to themselves as) by the American "white demons*."

*It should be noted that "demon" in the context is not a great translation from the Mandarin. It means something like spirit or ghost. It's a supernatural being that can be evil, but can just as easily be benevolent. Like the Fae of European tradition - some will kill you as soon as look at you, but some will help you.

As I always do when I see that a book has been challenged or banned, I like to look at the reasons why in addition to reading the book for myself. Per the article, reasons for banning the boom include:

-"Use of the terms such as 'white demon,' curse words, violence, drug use and prostitution in describing the experience of an 8-year-old boy and his family in San Francisco in the early 1900s."

-“'prohibited concepts' in instruction, such as that one race or sex is inherently superior to another"

-"This book is not appropriate for any American student"

-'If a line is not drawn in the sand, 'We’re going to continue down the woke CRT agenda.'”

Let's examine these, shall we?

"Demon"

Yes, even though Moon Shadow consistently refers to all Americans as "demons," he learns over the course of the book from the age of 8 to 15, that just because a person is American doesn't make them evil... just as, sadly, he finds that not all Tang men are good (more on that later). He originally decided to "educate" his landlady, Miss Whitlaw, on the "true" nature of dragons. In Eastern mythology, they are wise and benevolent creatures of water, and he is appalled to find that she only knows tales of evil, fire-breathing Western dragons. Later, as they bond, Miss Whitlaw suggests that perhaps the true nature of dragons is somewhere in between - neither wholely good nor wholely evil.

As an adult reader, of course I understand that the dragon is a metaphor for humans. A middle school student might need guidance to come to this conclusion, but the point of the book is clear: all humans are flawed, and capable of both good and evil.

I should also point out that this broad prejudice of one culture vs. another is pretty period-accurate for both sides. I recently reread my blog post about a Victorian Arctic explorer who conistently runs up against the problem that his native crew is almost universally untrusted by his fellow Europeans. Everyone assumes that they just lie all the time. This book takes that "these other guys are all, and always, bad" mentality, looks at it through the perspective of a child, and slowly, inevitably shows this boy learning that that is not the case.


Curse words

Fifteen-year-old Moon Shadow says "bastard" and "son of a bitch." Once. After having been attacked and robbed at knifepoint. Oh, my god, Becky. Look at those curse words. They are so vile.

Violence

Yes. There is no getting around the fact that there was violence in American history. To deny that is disengenuous, and does a terrible disservice to those who suffered it. Yes, there is violence in the book. Multiple characters discuss the lynching of their fellows. Though this, happening "off screen," is so mild as to almost pass over the heads of younger readers.

Windrider tells Moon Shadow that his grandfather was hanged by his hair from a lamp post. If I had read that as a 6th grader, myself having hip-length hair, I would not have realized it was lethal and would have understood it as bad bullying, not as murder.

Moon Shadow punches a neighbor boy in the nose after months of having been tormented by him and his friends.

Much of the violence, though, revolves around Moon Shadow's cousin, Black Dog. As an opium adict, he disappears for months at a time, usually resurfacing either when he has to be pulled out of an opium den, or when he attacks someone for money to feed his addiction. In the end, Black Dog ends up being just as bad as the worst "demons."

Then of course, there's the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. While most of the destruction is handled with tact, Moon Shadow sees the building next door collapse - one minute the scared faces of his neighbors are there, the next there is just a pile of rubble. As he and his father help dig for survivors later in the day, they occasionally see an arm or a leg sticking out at an odd angle. But even then, the horrible injuries there must have been on both the dead and the survivors are never really described.


Drug use

Yes. You can't fully understand the San Francisco of the time - nor the reasons the Chinese were seeking work in America because of the Opium Wars - without touching on the drug trade... and the consequences thereof. Additionally, the drug use is absolutely not glamorized. Those who use opium are showed either in a filthy stupor, or having resorted to robbery and attempted murder to fuel their addiction. Any middle schooler reading this is going to say, "ew, opium. That'll mess you up."

Prostitution

Prostitutes are mentioned maybe twice. Barely. They are mentioned as one of many, many people who work in the Tang section of town. They are never defined as to what they actually do. They might as well be fishmongers or haberdashers for as much description as they are given and as much as young teen might understand the word.


"Prohibited concepts" in instruction, such as that one race or sex is inherently superior to another

In some cases, Moon Shadow is justified in his fear of the "demons" - they lynched his grandfather simply for refusing to cut his hair. But as time goes on, Moon Shadow discovers that there are good demons as well as bad. Yes, there are racist, antagonistic Americans who shout slurs at him, white boys who threaten to beat him up... but his father is offered a job by a wealthy white man who recongnizes Windrider's skill with repairing engines. They start renting from Miss Whitlaw, a sympathetic white woman who is interested in the Tang culture (she adores the decoration on the box of tea that the Lees give her in thanks when they first move in). Miss Whitlaw and her neice, Robin, encourange Moon Shadow's growing English and reading skills and bond over books. Moon Shadow has such an affinity with Miss Whitlaw that he is certain she was a Tang empress in a previous life.

When the 1906 San Francisco earthquake strikes, Miss Whitmore's house is the only one for blocks left standing. She and the Lees immediately jump into helping the survivors. We see Chinese immigrants helping evacuate, white people refusing to help, but other whites helping. When fire sweeps through the reckage, all the survivors - Tang and American - flee to the Golden Gate park. Moon Shadow's elderly uncle hosts Miss Whitlaw for dinner in his tent; Windrider refers to her as a superior woman, borrowing his uncle's phrase of highest praise.

Shortly after, though, all the Chinese are forcibly removed from the camp by soldiers. Miss Whitlaw protests and very nearly comes to blows with the soldiers over the removal of her neighbors. But even here, Moon Shadow notes that there are good soldiers and bad: some soldiers helped set up the surviviors - of all races - with tents and food, and warned them of the spreading fires; others are shooting anyone seen near the wreckage on sight. There are even soldiers who fall in between - outwardly polite, but who begin looting as soon as they think the survivors can't see them.

If anything, the book ultimately presents both sides as nothing more than human - some good, some bad, but most of them a mix. The book is about overcoming prejudices - from both sides. Most Tangs are distrustful of the "demons." But Moon Shadow's father has no problem writing to the Wright brothers for information on how to build his own flying machine. They write back promptly, seemingly unphased by the foreign names at the bottom of the letter, saying that there are so few aeronauts that they consider them to all be part of one small brotherhood.

As always it makes me wonder if those deciding on the ban even read the book in question. I strongly suspect they did not.


"This book is not appropriate for any American student," one member of the school board that chose to pull the book claims.

Excuse me? How? It's a good, solid middle school text. I read both To Kill a Mockingbird and Jurrasic Park as required reading in middle school and both make this one look extremely tame. Seriously, though, unless you've been so carefully monitoring your child that they're only watching Word Party on TV or online, your child has already seen and read worse - and usually not with a literature teacher to guide their reading and discuss how it makes them feel.


Coleman said if a line is not drawn in the sand, 'We’re going to continue down the woke CRT agenda.'

Wow. Just... WOW. This book was written in 1975. For those of you who, like me, perpetually feel like the year 2000 was just a few years ago, let me break down the math for you. This book is almost FIFTY years old. It is no more woke than Julie of the Wolves or To Kill a Mockingbird.

Some people like to throw "CRT" around as the new scary buzzword. Most people don't even know what it is. In all honesty, do you want your child to grow up thinking (falsely) that Ameican history was just an episode of Leave it To Beaver? Children in pre-school and kindergarten are taught to share. They aren't taught, "You can play with Janie and Jaxson - but don't share your toys with Yue Ying. He's different."

Human history, when you get down to it, is in, large part, people being nasty to each other. It isn't just "white people are mean to non-white people." The British persecuted the Scots and the Irish for various long swaths of their history. Mongols invaded China. Japan invaded Korea. We all know what's currently happening in Ukraine. There's an old joke that goes something along the line of "a billion years from now when the planet is hurtling toward the sun, there will be microbes in the Middle East who hate each other."


Another point I'd like to bring up: when I originally posted that I planned to read this book due to the banning in Tennessee, one of my readers commented "to consider a book 'banned' because a school board dropped it from the curriculum as required reading after a parent complained ... seems like a hyperbolic use of the term."

I should clarify that I use the term "banned" more loosely that the American Library Association . I used "banned" rather than "banned or challenged" simply because it's one quick easy word that gets the point across. However, per the ALA, "A challenge is an attempt to remove or restrict materials, based upon the objections of a person or group. A banning is the removal of those materials." In this case as another article clarifies, the book was indeed taken from the students mid-reading:

"Kahla Williams said her daughter was on Chapter 10 when the school made the decision to move to the next learning module.

'The book was just taken from them. They didn't get to finish it. They're not testing on it,' she said."

In this case, my use of the term "banned" is appropriate - students who previously had access to a book no longer have access to it. That is banning.

And, yes, as an avid reader and former children's library worker, I have a different view on what's appropriate for a 6th grader than some. But to be perfectly honest, I would have no problem giving this book to Elianna YOUNGER than 6th grade.


Enjoyed this post? Want to see more content like this? Make sure to follow me on social media!

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for several small snippets each week.

Or, if you're looking for more professional content (less frequent, but more closely related to writing, publishing, or libraries), connect with me on LinkedIn. (I do ask that if you request a connection on LinkedIn that you mention this blog so that I know how you heard of me.)

Half Sick of Shadows, Sick of Anachronisms

Ok, first, let me say that I know that King Arthur is a legend far removed from any real historical character at best, and complete fiction at "worst." However, it's universally accepted that King Arthur is "medieval" - which, yes, I know that leaves about a 1,000 year swath in which the tales can be set. They were first written down in the 12th century (though mentions of names from the Arthurian legends can be found as early as the 800's), but most Arthurian scholars now agree that if Arthur were a real person that he likely lived around 500 AD - technically medieval, but so close to the fall of Rome that it straddles that ancient/medieval line. Personally, this is the era I think of when I think of King Arthur... but my perception is colored by the fact that I saw The Mists of Avalon (set in that early 500ish-600ish "the Saxons are invading" era) before I read any of the original (Mallory or Monmouth) Arthurian works.

Still, going on the "classic" interpretation of Arthur being high medieval (knights in armor) - such as you would expect from Mallory, Monmouth, and De Troyes - or even going on the idea of Arthur somehow being Victorian - per the works of Tennyson and the Rossettis (which of course is at odds with British history of not just the British Isles, but a good chunk of the world being united under Victoria) - that still leaves things just all over the place in terms of artifacts, costumes, architecture and other details in this book. Yes, I know it's a legend - put pick an era and stick with it.

(I recently watched a video on Youtube where the creator broke down the MuLan films by what time period the legend of MuLan is supposed to be set in. This is exactly what I'm talking about. This "legend" is supposed to take place in such-and-such century - let's try and make our film accurate to that period.)

In any case, first - how to classify the time period, as it is written in Half Sick of Shadows?

Throughout the book there is the constant reminder that "Albion" (an old word for England - not including Scotland) is not unified - placing this pre-Alfred the Great (late 9th century). Characters also comment multiple times that someone wearing a risque outfit would get stoned to death if seen like that in Camelot. While I don't know for sure that stoning people for infractions took place in medieval or ancient Britain, that definitely does seems more of an early period punishment (whereas late medieval/early renaissance, you could just as easily be labeled a witchy temptress, but that would get you hanged or burned at the stake, not stoned). But there are also knights in full plate armor (late medieval, and Renaissance era) as well as architecture described in such a way as to make me think of high Gothic (approximately 1100) or later. Glass windows and mirrors are commonplace. The clothing feels even later - corsets are prevalent in the court of Camelot, and at a coronation the courtiers are wearing powdered wigs. Between that, the teacups, the hot cocoa, and the mention of chenille - a fabric that wasn't invented until the 1830's - I want to ask the author if this book takes place inside a Rossetti painting (the Rossettis being Victorian painters that were fond of painting knights, ladies, and other Arthuriana). There was even a point where Merlin mentions that Excalibur was placed in the stone by the ancient first king of Camelot that I started to wonder that maybe this whole thing was taking place in the far future.

I know that's a big long rant. I did mostly enjoy the book. The characters were interesting, the whole premise of moving between past, present, and future as Elaine's visions unfold was fascinating. Indeed there were several nights that I was up reading later than I should have been.

There were a couple places I was disappointed, though:

Visions of the future/spoilers follow

-What happened to Mattie? At one point Elaine, a seer, is introduced to her neice Mathilde (referred to as Mattie to differentiate from another relative by the same name). Mattie has seen the same vision of Elaine's death that Elaine references at the beginning of the book. After the scene where she's introduced to Morgana and Elaine, who discover her skills as a seer, Elaine arranges for Mattie's family to come to court at Camelot so that she (Elaine) can mentor her. But after that scene Mattie is never seen nor referred to again.

-Elaine's saccrifice negated Elaine and the reader both know from the get-go that Elaine will drown, and that it will be her own choice not to fight back up to the surface. We know this, we know this, we know this. We know this, just as anyone who has read Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalot" (or heard Loreena McKenna's adaptation thereof, or listened to Emilie Autumn's "Shalot" which of course is a retelling of Tennyson's work) knows that Elaine, the Lady of Shallot, dies. It's the why and the when that we don't know.
In the end, it turns out that Elaine, having spent the last 400 pages seeing visions of the people she loves the most betray each other in ways that she is tangentially involved in, in ways that she has "set them on the path" of, she decides to take herself out of the equation and drown herself in the lake that surrounds Avalon. It seems a fitting end to a young lady who has spent her time sacrificing to protect others, to a character we know MUST have a tragic end. But wait... what's this? Elaine is... not dead? Brought back to life by the Lady of the Lake? She's now the new Lady of the Lake and... basically hides out on Avalon to watch fate unroll.
I mean... I love a happy ending. I love a book where when all seems lost the characters are somehow able to pull a happy ending out of the air. Don't get me wrong, when it's done well it's incredible. But this made it seem like there was no depth or meaning to her sacrifice, and made the fact that Arthur, Gweneviere, and Lancelot would mourne her unnecessarily seem cruel to those characters. (Though I will say that the author explains in her afterword that she started writing this in high school, rewriting, and rewriting again, and finally finishing over the course of more than a decade. So maybe the ending was something she came up with as a teenager. It is not only what I would have written in highschool but also what I would have wanted to read in high school. And as someone who has been working on 3 novels for more than 10 years now I don't exactly have room to talk...)

1: -What happened to Mattie? At one point Elaine, a seer, is introduced to her neice Mathilde (referred to as Mattie to differentiate from another relative by the same name). Mattie has seen the same vision of Elaine's death that Elaine references at the beginning of the book. After the scene where she's introduced to Morgana and Elaine, who discover her skills as a seer, Elaine arranges for Mattie's family to come to court at Camelot so that she (Elaine) can mentor her. But after that scene Mattie is never seen nor referred to again. -Elaine's saccrifice negated Elaine and the reader both know from the get-go that Elaine will drown, and that it will be her own choice not to fight back up to the surface. We know this, we know this, we know this. We know this, just as anyone who has read Tennyson's The Lady of Shalot (or heard Loreena McKenna's adaptation thereof, or listened to Emilie Autumn's "Shalot" which of course is a retelling of Tennyson's work) knows that Elaine, the Lady of Shallot, dies. It's the why and the when that we don't know. In the end, it turns out that Elaine, having spent the last 400 pages seeing visions of the people she loves the most betray each other in ways that she is tangentially involved in, in ways that she has "set them on the path" of, she decides to take herself out of the equation and drown herself in the lake that surrounds Avalon. It seems a fitting end to a young lady who has spent her time sacrificing to protect others, to a character we know MUST have a tragic end. But wait... what's this? Elaine is... not dead? Brought back to life by the Lady of the Lake? She's now the new Lady of the Lake and... basically hides out on Avalon to watch fate unroll. I mean... I love a happy ending. I love a book where when all seems lost the characters are somehow able to pull a happy ending out of the air. Don't get me wrong, when it's done well it's incredible. But this made it seem like there was no depth or meaning to her sacrifice, and made the fact that Arthur, Gweneviere, and Lancelot would mourne her unnecessarily seem cruel to those characters. (Though I will say that the author explains in her afterword that she started writing this in high school, rewriting, and rewriting again, and finally finishing over the course of more than a decade. So maybe the ending was something she came up with as a teenager. It is not only what I would have written in highschool but also what I would have wanted to read in high school. And as someone who has been working on 3 novels for more than 10 years now I don't exactly have room to talk...) -Gweneviere is a warrior AND a werewolf Yes, really. Full stop. Um, excuse me, why isn't this the main storyline? That sounds funny and sarcastic, but I mean it sincerely. When you have a character whose story is explosively more interesting than the other major characters' stories, it makes me wonder why she isn't the focus. I say this as someone who is very aware that the main character in at least one of my novels-in-progress may be overshadowed by cooler characters in her story.

-Gweneviere is a warrior AND a werewolf Yes, really. Full stop. Um, excuse me, why isn't this the main storyline? That sounds funny and sarcastic, but I mean it sincerely. When you have a character whose story is explosively more interesting than the other major characters' stories, it makes me wonder why she isn't the focus. I say this as someone who is very aware that the main character in at least one of my novels-in-progress may be overshadowed by cooler characters in her story.


With all that said, though, it wasn't a bad book. Honestly, most people aren't anywhere near as picky as me about all the stuff I went off on above. So, really, this time around I will say don't let my opinion color whether or not you read the book.


Enjoyed this post? Want to see more content like this? Make sure to follow me on social media!

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for several small snippets each week.

Or, if you're looking for more professional content (less frequent, but more closely related to writing, publishing, or libraries), connect with me on LinkedIn. (I do ask that if you request a connection on LinkedIn that you mention this blog so that I know how you heard of me.)

The Toymaker's Apprentice: A Holiday Treat

So... I wanted to make this post earlier. (Heck, I wanted to finish the book on Christmas, but it ended up being the 27th.)

When I checked out Flygirl, by Sherri L. Smith, I noticed that she had a book entitled The Toymaker's Apprentice. From the seven-headed, seven-crowned mouse on the cover, I knew it was about/based on The Nutcracker. For those of you that may not know, I was in The Nutcracker four times as a kid. The full ballet is one of my very favorite pieces of music EVER. Y'all... I had to read this book.

Now, first of all, I want to say that this book is based on a 200 year old novella and a 120 year old ballet, so if I spoil the ending for you, well, that's on you ; )

The Toymaker's Apprentice is the story of Stefan Drosselmeyer, the second cousin of clockmaker Christian Drosselmeyer (who is THE Drosselmeyer from the ballet). Stefan longs for something more than his role as his father's apprentice. His father, Zacharias, is a traditionalist. Carved wooden toys - not clockwork or automatons - are what Zacharias Drosselmeyer encourages. But, reeling from the death of his mother, and the sudden appearance of his enigmatic cousin, Christian, Stefan is hit by revelation after revelation. Christian was banished from his royal appointment! Christian has been charged with curing a cursed princess! The only cure is a possibly-mythical, impossible to crack nut! Christian is being pursued by spies! The spies are mice! And they can talk! The mice kidnap Stefan's father!

Christian, Stefan, and Christian's jailer and friend, the astronomer Samir, set off for far-off Boldavia, to save a princess, rescue Zacharias, and defeat a revolution of mice.

Meanwhile, in Boldavia, the Queen of Mice has given birth to... a son? Seven sons? She refers to them in the plural but, to the shock of her subjects, her newborn has one body and seven heads. Famed rat scholar, Ernst Liszt, has been hired to tutor the... princes?... and even he is very uncertain about the queen's plans for her offspring. She names her sons for famous human conquerors, in hopes this will serve as portentous to their future, and her eventual goal of conquering the humans.

The chapters alternate between Stefan's, Ernst's, and eventually the mouse prince's points of view. Of the seven heads, the central one, Arthur, becomes the dominant personality of his brothers. Gentle Arthur, who wishes to be a scholar, but also wishes to live up to his mother's expectations that he and his brothers will be warriors, strikes up an unlikely friendship with the imprisoned Zacharias. Together, they bond over Zacharias's love for the son he misses - how Arthur wishes he had a parent who cares like this! Arthur's friendship and encouragement helps Zacharias continue the work his captors have designated for him.

Of course, I went into this story know what the ending was going to be... how it HAD to be, given the source material. And yet... I kept wondering, kept asking, how does Arthur go from sweet scholar to dreaded Mouse King, sworn enemy of the Nutcracker? How can Stefan defeat a city filled with countless mice out for revenge? And the answers... oh, the answers. I love a good tragedy. I can't tell you the last time I've read such a sympathetic and tragic villain as Sherri L. Smith's Mouse King. And the final interaction between the Mouse King and the Nutcracker, between Arthur and Stefan - two BOYS who love their parent and would do anything for them. Glorious. A real Christmas treat.

Read this book if you are a fan of: The Nutcracker; Young Adult or Middle Grade fantasy or adventure (like Terry Pratchett's YA novels? This is for you); Harry Potter; The Ranger's Apprentice series; The Colossus Rises, by Peter Lerangis; coming of age stories; steampunk (I mean... this is more clockwork punk, but I don't think that counts as a genre...; The Larklight series; retellings of classics/fairy tales; historical fiction; talking animals...seriously, y'all I could make a whole readers' advisory list.


Enjoyed this post? Want to see more content like this? Make sure to follow me on social media!

Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for several small snippets each week.

Or, if you're looking for more professional content (less frequent, but more closely related to writing, publishing, or libraries), connect with me on LinkedIn. (I do ask that if you request a connection on LinkedIn that you mention this blog so that I know how you heard of me.)

Review: Flygirl by Sherri L. Smith

"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly." Langston Hughes

Ida wants to fly. Ida yearns to fly. Flying reminds Ida of her deceased father, who taught her. But Ida is a woman. In 1941. Oh, yeah - she's also Black. The thing is... Ida's father's side of the family is mixed. She inherited his very fair skin. She has "good hair." When she dresses a certain way, walks and talks a certain way - and avoids her darker family members and friends - she can pass for white.

Honestly, if timing had been different, if the War hadn't started, if her older brother hadn't enlisted as a medic... If her younger brother hadn't found an article about how the army was putting together a group of female pilots (the Women's Army Service Pilots, or WASP), Ida would have just continued what she was doing - scrimping and rationing, cleaning houses, collecting scraps for the War Effort - indefinitely. But not only does she itch to fly, she also itches to do something, anything, to help bring her brother home sooner. So, doctoring her father's pilot license and borrowing a nice hat and fur, she joins the WASP.

I had been curious about both the WASP in general, and this book specifically, since I read Orleans by the same author several years ago. Somehow it got forgotten, pushed to the side. But after Out of Darkness, I wanted to read another historical novel about someone outside my own experience... and this one immediately resurfaced in my mind.

It was a good read, an interesting peek into both the life of a Black woman at the time, and any woman in the army during WWII. Actually, I should say, civilian women among military men. The WASP were not militarized until the Carter administration, and as such, the ladies are treated as the lowest of the low - interlopers, unworthy, given all the planes and tasks that the men don't want to deal with. Made to bunk in poorly thrown-together rooms on the base, or to stay in boarding houses off-base. Asked to show their worth by flying an experimental plane dubbed the "Widowmaker" when no man wants to touch it because of all the problems and accidents it's had so far. Some of the men don't think women should be there, don't think they should be flying. Others discount their instincts or their careful checking of equipment.

In addition, Ida has to deal with the added stress of "passing" - of hiding her true self and heritage, as not only are Black women not allowed in the WASP, but her basic training takes place deep in Texas where a Black woman caught passing will find herself in immediate danger. Though, interestingly enough, Ida isn't the only one dealing with prejudices. She immediately takes to two other bunkmates, becoming fast friends, and the three of them are referred to as a "carny," a "hick," and a Jew.

I enjoyed the book, and I enjoyed learning about the challenges these ladies faced. The pacing wasn't what I would have expected for a wartime novel about a woman hiding her identity, but it was a good read with important themes. I felt the ending just sort of... happened. It wasn't terribly climactic and became more about Ida's thoughts and which of her relationships had changed. Though, a big message of the book is about that transition of early adulthood - you grow apart from your childhood friends. You wonder if your fate lies with your family or with your dreams and skills. Should you pursue your dreams, no matter what, or should you do what others expect of you?

But don't worry, just because Flygirl didn't take off for me the way I expected doesn't mean I'm done with Sherri. I've already moved on to another book of hers, The Toymaker's Apprentice. And I'm loving it so far.

Review: Out of Darkness by Ashley Hope Perez

As some of you know, this book was put on my radar because a mom at a school board meeting in Texas pitched a fit about the reference to anal sex on "page 39." The book was pulled from two middle school libraries in the district shortly after that. I don't know how many more other schools may have pulled it at this point, because the video from the school board meeting has spread like wildfire.

I had initially posted a news story about the board meeting on my Facebook page, but after Banned Books Week, I was contacted by the author's publicist to ask if I was interested in writing a blog post about Ashley's response (which you can read here).

As I often do when someone makes a stink about a book being inappropriate, I got curious and decided to read it. (That's what I do, y'all - banning a book just makes me want to read it more.)

So I checked out a copy from the library. I actually don't check out books for myself from the library that often, because I really only get a short window of time at night to read and I'm always concerned I'm going to run out of time and that someone else will be waiting for the book, so I won't be able to renew it. I was even more concerned when I picked up the copy I'd requested. I was not expecting a 400 page tome. But I shouldn't have worried - I ploughed through the book quickly, often staying up well past when I should have gone to bed, especially as I neared the end.

What follow are, first, a basic review, and then, secondly, my thoughts on the offensive phrase that got the book pulled as compared to other content in the book.

Review, with minor spoliers

Out of Darkness is the story of Naomi and Wash. In New London, TX, in 1937, a Black boy befriends a Mexican girl who has recently moved to town with her stepfather and her half siblings. Her stepfather is white, and the twins (Beto and Cari), though mixed, pass for white, especially since their father enrolls them in school as Robbie and Carrie Smith. Naomi, however, is dark enough that Wash first mistakes her for Black and wonders how he could have missed a new girl in "Egypt Town," the Black Quarter.

Naomi has many struggles. Her stepfather, Henry, works long hours in the oil fields and is often away, leaving her to care for her younger siblings, run the household (cleaning, mending, cooking, shopping) while also attending high school full time.

Naomi is quiet and keeps to herself. The boys at school think she's exotic and alluring, despite being aloof. The girls at school have nasty things to say about her. (Well, the boys do, too, but it's a different kind of nasty.) But with Wash's genuine attention to and friendship with Cari and Beto, she begins to open up and find some enjoyment in her new life.

But, alas, no one's going to read a 400 page book about Wash and Naomi and their Happy, No-Conflict, Idyllic Life. This is Texas. In the 30's. A Black boy and a Mexican girl can't be friends. A Black boy and "white" children can't be friends. And most of the kids at the otherwise all white school look down on Naomi. Those would be enough problems to deal with without Henry's long hours, alcholholism, possesive nature and his... history with Naomi and her mother. That would be enough to deal with without the school using raw natural gas for heat rather than safer, refined gas or oil from the oil company. That would be enough to deal with without falling in love with the "wrong" person. And that would be enough without the literal powder keg of the school exploding, and the figurative powder keg that goes off when a black boy carries the body of a dead white girl out of the rubble.

The author, Ashley Hope Perez, skillfully layers in foreshadowing until you know, YOU KNOW, something terrible is about to happen. But, with that said, it was still beautiful, even the dark parts. (Even the many, many dark parts.) It is an amazingly well-written tale of love, friendship, family, hope, despair, possession, toxic relationships, abuse, racism, and disaster. It is fantastic.


There are better reasons to ban a book - warning for spoilers and potential triggers

I am so aggravated that the book has been pulled from school bookshelves because of a line where highschool boys fantasize about Naomi, and suggest "put it in her cornhole." That's worth pulling the book? Wash and Naomi are both called the "n" word. But that's OK - at least it's not "cornhole."

Another phrase that upset the mother at the school board meeting was "pussy, or the idea of pussy," again, brought to us by the fantasizing of the boys in Naomi's class. That's worth pulling the book? The book opens with an explosion - a true, historical event that still stands as one of the worst three disasters in Texas history. There are details about the rescue workers collecting small body parts and putting them in baskets, while parents had to identify their children by clothing or birthmarks because their faces weren't recognizable. But that's OK because at least those bodyparts weren't a "pussy."

As the book goes on, we learn more about Henry and Naomi's relationship. Henry started making her touch him when she was seven. He tries to force himself on her in the kitchen as a teenager when he comes home drunk and mistakes her for her (long-deceased) mother. But that's OK - it's not "cornhole."

Naomi's mother had a history of miscarriages - and young Naomi was present for at least two of them, and remembers them in great detail. But that's OK because it's not "pussy."

Henry makes Beto go hunting with him to "make a man out of him." He forces him to shoot a bird even when it becomes clear that the boy doesn't want to. Henry bullies him so badly that eight-year-old Beto wets his pants.

There are also beautiful, tender, intimate moments between Naomi and Wash, serving to offset Henry's force and lack of concern about consent.

Henry drinks. He sleeps around. He sees a man catch on fire and burn to death at an oil rig. He has a tin of condoms in his drawer (referred to exclusively by brand names like "Romeos)... but when a doctor told him his wife couldn't survive another pregnancy, he protests, "she's my wife - a man's got a right." Naomi remembers lying awake at night before the twins were born listening to the mattress squeak while her mother cried. But that's OK because no one says "pussy" or "cornhole."

Cari, Beto's twin, dies in the explosion. Her face is smashed. So many children die that Henry decides to make a coffin rather than wait for one. Meanwhile, Cari lies on the kitchen table while Beto mourns underneath.

The white men of town (it was the whites-only school that exploded) decide someone needs to be held responsible. They focus on Wash, who was nearby (because he worked on the property), mostly because he had the audacity to touch a dead white girl. His family are terrorized and beaten. Their house is burned. Henry forces Beto to throw a rock through the window of his friend's house. Henry forces his son to watch his friend be beaten by an angry mob.

I wanted so badly, SO BADLY for this book to have a happy ending. But Naomi and Beto both survive the explosion - a miracle. Wash narrowly avoids a lynching - another miracle. So when Wash and Naomi reunite and attempt to run with Beto, and Henry catches up to them, you know that three miracles was too much to hope for.

Hnery, by now very far gone, and showing his true colors, forces Beto - at gunpoint - to tie Wash to a tree so Henry can beat the already-injured teenager more. He forces both boys to watch while he rapes Naomi. He gives Beto a sadistic choice - shoot your friend, or watch me shoot your sister. Beto makes a third choice, but too late to protect Wash and Naomi. But please, by all means, protect us from the words "cornhole" and "pussy."

And yes, that all sounds horrible... but I still loved the book. It's still worth the read. Sometimes you need to read things that bother you.


I am not, of course, suggesting that the book should be banned for ANY reason. Is the book for everyone? No. Is it appropriate for middle schoolers? For most of them, no, but then again, I am not the mother of every middle schooler in Texas, so I shouldn't be the one to make that call.

Personal Challenge: Speak

This year, I reached out to friends and family this year for ideas for Banned Books Week posts. A friend suggested “banned books that are also classics or fantasies that might be outside your usual reading type.”

For this challenge, I considered Gone With the Wind, Lolita, and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. But all of them are decently long, and I was concerned that as close to BBW as I’d had the idea that I wouldn’t be able to finish one of them before Banned Books Week started. (Let’s be honest – I’d have had to started Gone With the Wind six months ago to finish in time…)

I had also been curious about Speak for a while, in part because I write Young Adult fiction, in part because it’s a relatively new addition to the Banned Books Lists, and also in part because I saw it a lot on the Young Adult holds list when I worked in the children’s department at a library.

I was never a big fan of the “slice of life” high school books, even when I was in high school. I almost passed on it for this challenge – for the idea of reading a “classic” you might not normally read - until I checked the publication date and saw that it was published in 1999, when I was in high school. It’s older than the high school students it’s being assigned to now. I decided that qualified. It’s also only 200 pages long, giving me a much better chance of finishing in the two weeks I had from when I decided to start the challenge to the first day of Banned Books Week.

Speak is about Melinda, a ninth grader struggling to find her way in high school. Over the summer, she called the police at a party and most of the school has not forgiven her for that. Melinda becomes more and more withdrawn, to the point that she is in danger of failing and nearly stops speaking altogether.

I’m glad I chose it. I really enjoyed it. I ploughed through it much more quickly than the much shorter H.P. Lovecraft novella that I put aside in favor of getting this one done for my blog. I can’t put my finger on what made me keep reading – it’s not suspenseful or action packed. Maybe it’s because I knew a little about the storyline and that made me curious. In any case, I loved it and, not only do I see no reason to ban or challenge it, I also do agree that it should be read and discussed in schools.

Let’s speak more about that…

Speak has appeared on the following Banned and Challenged lists, per the American Library Association:

Top 100 Banned/Challenged Books: 2000-2009 (#60) – You’ll recall it was published in 1999.

Top 100 Most Banned and Challenged Books: 2010-2019 (#25)

Top 10 Most Challenged Books of 2020 (#4) – For reasons of: “it was thought to contain a political viewpoint and it was claimed to be biased against male students, and for the novel’s inclusion of rape and profanity.”

Frequently Challenged Young Adult Books

Additionally, Wikipedia notes that Speak has been challenged for "exposing children to immorality," being "classified as soft pornography," glorification of drinking, cursing, and premarital sex."

Examination of some of these reasons behind this cut due to spoilers.

“Political viewpoint” – As best I can tell, this refers to either the nearly-satirical saga of the school board continually changing the school mascot so as not to tread on the toes of any cultural groups, or to the debate started and then abruptly stopped in Melinda’s social studies class.

In said “debate,” her teacher goes off on an anti-immigration rant; half the class disagrees with him, while half agree. That seems to me to be less a political viewpoint and more, “hey, half the class is pro-immigrant and half is anti” – y’know, kind of like a real-world split. The teacher’s point of view isn’t even presented as wrong. Melinda is a very neutral narrator of the scene as far as politics goes; what she takes exception to is the teacher shutting down the discussion once it starts going against him, rather than letting the students continue to debate.

“Biased against male students” – Not at all. There are plenty of male students. Most are presented in a neutral light, aside from the fact that many of them are annoyed with Melinda for calling the police at a party over the summer. Indeed, the girls in the book are presented much more harshly than most of the boys. Melinda’s male lab partner is presented as a character of admiration – he is willing to stand up and speak his mind. The only male student presented in a negative light is a student she refers to as “IT” until she finds out his name. Melinda is right to see him in a negative light, as she finally reveals that the reason she called the police at that party is that “IT” raped her.

Profanity – There’s really not that much. I just flipped through the book looking for some bad words. I found “sucks.” After quite a bit more flipping I found “bitch” and “bastard.” Oh dear. Heavens to Betsy. I finally found “bullshit.” My, oh, my such a dirty book that I had to flip through most of the book to find that.

Rape, immorality, softcore pornography, and glorifying premarital sex: Rape. Yes, OK, you got me there. That’s the whole point. Melinda goes to a party over the summer between 8th and 9th grade. Yes, there is alcohol. Yes, she drinks some. Yes, she gets drunk. And, yes, she is raped. We don’t find this out (though it's hinted at) until halfway through the book. She is THIRTEEN when it happens: a handsome older boy compliments her, kisses her. She thinks she’s going to start high school with a boyfriend. She is A CHILD. She doesn’t understand what is happening to her until it’s too late. Even then, she barely describes it. He pushes her shirt down and her shorts up. “I’m not really here,” she thinks desperately before declaring “he hurts me he hurts me he hurts me and gets up.” That’s it. He could just as well be punching her in the face. Immorality. Are we calling the rapist immoral? Then hell yeah, I’m all about that. Are we calling a 13-year-old immoral for a bad decision? If so, that’s stupid. What I find more immoral is the lack of support and understanding this girl gets from her parents and guidance counselor. Softcore pornography. You gotta be kidding me. Was the passage I just quoted sexy or titillating? Reading it as an adult you barely understand what happened to her. The “hurts me” line just happened to be the last line of the page in my edition. I read it. Turned the page. Turned it back to double check. Yeah, that just happened. But it is most definitely not explicit and in no way pornographic. Glorifying premarital sex. Excuse me? EXCUSE ME? Did we just read the same book? I am certain that the people claiming this have most definitely not read the book. Glorifying getting raped at a party and not even really understanding what happened to you? Glorifying being so traumatized by your first sexual experience that you tank your grades and stop speaking? This book glorifies nothing – except maybe the need for approachable adults who might have been able to help this poor girl.

In fact, Melinda’s biology class highlights the very fact that premarital sex is NOT glorified… or even mentioned. Bored, Melinda flips through the textbook – “Nothing about sex. We aren’t scheduled to learn about that until eleventh grade.” Maybe if someone had bothered teaching these kids about sex earlier Melinda would have had a better understanding of what was happening to her.

.....


This is the story of a girl – a CHILD – who wants to be mature and wants to fit in, and wants to understand who she is, and what has happened to her.  This is a story of high school: the story of being forced to go to pep rallies you don’t care about, deal with the minutiae of what each social clique wants from you, of dealing with the whole school demonizing you for doing what was right in a bad situation.  It’s about dealing with unobservant parents, unhelpful guidance counselors, and unevenly enforced school rules (Melinda frequently bemoans her need for hall passes while popular senior jock Andy waltzes off and back onto campus with fast food takeout).  And that’s on top of classes, homework, and, in Melinda’s case, trauma.

And as much as I disliked most of high school, I loved it.

Book Review: The Terror by Dan Simmons

A couple years ago, AMC produced a TV series based on this book. Jason and I really enjoyed it, and I decided I wanted to read it. I had kind of forgotten about it until reading Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan, about John Rae, the explorer who discovered what happened to the Terror and Erebus.

It was a long read (over 700 pages), but very enjoyable. Even knowing what happens, I found myself wanting to keep reading each night, wanting to keep pushing past when I should have lain down and gone to bed.

Brief overview:

In 1845, an expedition lead by Sir John Franklin sets out from England to discover the long-searched-for Northwest Passage - a water route between the Northern Atlantic and Northern Pacific oceans. The Franklin expedition - 129 men and two ships, the Erebus and the Terror - never returns and there are no confirmed survivors. This is an imagining of the horrors the crew encountered while marooned in the Arctic, including extreme winter weather, scurvy, tainted food stores, impossibly difficult physical labor, the hubris of their captain, rats, fire, and, last but not least, a monster resembling a huge polar bear that stalks the mission.

The first part of the book is told in flashbacks. It opens with now-Captain Crozier on deck, in the bone-shattering cold, giving kind of a "how we got here" overview in his head. The chapters then go back and forth for a while between a few characters - Captain Sir John Franklin, Dr. Goodsir, and others - give background on events leading up to Crozier's current situation.

Goodsir serves as kind of an everyman - an audience avatar - when he volunteers to go on an exploratory mission and fails miserably at keeping up with the hard work the other sailors endure, as well as expressing shock at Captain Franklin's callous disregard for the life of the native man his men shot by accident.

Franklin immediately establishes himself as the one who carries the blame for various failures. At a dinner party, a seasoned explorer expresses concerns that Sir John doesn't have enough supplies - of food or coal. Franklin has no clue how much he's actually bringing with him; he feels like this is someone else's job to figure out. He just smiles and nods while the other explorer grows obviously more concerned about this voyage. Franklin comes off as a hubristic idiot. Actually, calling him an idiot isn't fair - he seems to be doing it on purpose. He repeatedly ignores sound advice from Crozier - his second in command - other explorers, and various officers on his mission. There are so many things that just would not have gone wrong if he had just listened to other people... but, no, determined to rid himself of his reputation as "the man who ate his shoes" on his previous Arctic mission, he plows ahead, so certain of his own infallibility.

As mentioned above, Sir John often expresses the thought that the natives are somehow less - not worthy of saving from death, not worthy of a proper burial... In the book, many other characters also express this period-accurate disdain for the Arctic peoples they encounter. (In the show, this is toned down, with some of the characters seeming to be pro-native, and even speaking some of the Inuit language.) As was also par for the period, there's a decent amount of disdain for women, Irish characters, characters of non-noble birth, and homosexuals (exclusively referred to as "sodomites").

While the setting is bleak, and often gory, and even the most likeable characters flawed, you do find yourself rooting for most of them, hoping that at least SOME of them make it.

I've read some other reviews and opinions that the last few chapters and the fates of a couple of characters comes out of nowhere, but I didn't think so. I thought it was the sort of thing where everything these two had experienced, everything they had endured together came together to form only one possible, inevitable scenario. Want to know more?

Here be spoilers...

In the show, Captain Crozier and Lady Silence - the native woman who's father was accidentally shot by the crew - end up being the only survivors. He's taken in by her people, but their connection ends there (or at least is no more special than them both being part of a very small, close-knit community). In the book, she rescues him when he's shot multiple times by mutineers, and nurses him back to health over a period of several months. She teaches him to live like a native. They share dreams - as they began to do when Crozier suffered from severe alcohol withdrawal earlier in the book. Eventually, she takes him to be her husband. I do mean that - Lady Silence/Silna is the one who initiates a physical relationship with Crozier, though by that point he understands that they also have an intertwined fate. Their interractions in the last couple chapters seem less to me "out of nowhere" and more what happens when two people have been through so much trauma together that they come to realize that each of them is the only person who could understand the other. It's not romantic, per se, but it's fitting.

And, yes, people have complained about the age difference. Crozier is in his early 50's by the end of the book, whereas when the expedition encountered Lady Silence two years earlier, the doctor determined she was between 15 and 20 (much younger than in the TV adaptation). Yes, this is a shocking age difference by today's standards... but in the 1840's it was not. Indeed, Crozier had proposed about five years earlier to a woman in her early 20's who turned him down not for his age, but for his station (she claimed she couldn't be a mere captain's wife). Girls in their teens were married to men old enough to be their grandfathers all the time back then. For me, what sells it is that Silna knows exactly what she is doing and it is Crozier who seems surprised at first, as well as their ironclad devotion to each other through the remainder of the book. Each is willing to give up their world and follow their spouse; Crozier is the one who gives up his old life to be with Silna.

Really the only thing I found to be problematic in the book is the outdoor New Year's carnivale. For so much of the book, the author has been hammering into us what the extreme cold is like for the crew. The (heated) intterior of the boat is only just barely above freezing on the warmest decks. The crew are wearing layers upon layers. They are constantly losing toes. The men on watch on the deck have to constantly move, constantly stomp to keep from freezing. More than once someone accidentally touches metal and loses skin for their carelessness. And yet at the Carnivale, where we are told it is a whopping -100 degrees, men stay out wandering around, eating outside, hanging out in a tent labyrinth, wearing costumes either over or under their cold weather gear... for hours! It just seemed glaringly out of place to me.

I did think it was interesting that at one point a crew member references the wreck of the Essex, an American whaling ship sunk during an encounter with an enraged whale, marooning its crew in life boats in the tropical Pacific. It reminded me that I had also read a book about that incident a few years ago. I'll have to do a compare/contrast of the two.

It occurred to me recently that I should include Readers' Advisory at the end of reviews. This is a book for both fans of history, and fans of horror. In particular, if you like setting-based suspense and horror - something like Sphere, where you're trapped by the elements with a dangerous and unknowable presence. For the history fans, if you like The Terror, you might also enjoy In the Heart of the Sea, by Nathaniel Philbrick, and Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan.

Throwback Thursday - In the Heart of the Sea

So, I'm doing something a little different for Throwback Thursday this week.

The blog post I want to revisit is from my former website. I had planned to eventually set up an archive page here, but as you can guess, I have not yet gotten around to it. That post will be under the second markdown, below. The first markdown is a little snippet I posted on my Facebook page five years ago (five years ago, Oh my god...) about watching the film that was based on the book I review below. Now I'll have all of this in one spot!

Mid-July 2016, Jason and I watched the film In the Heart of the Sea, and really enjoyed it. My response to it is here:

From Facebook post, July 17, 2016

As a librarian and a writer, there are some classics out there that I am kind of embarrassed to admit that I haven't read. One of these is Moby Dick. I recently watched In the Heart of the Sea. It's a movie based on a book of the same name about Herman Melville speaking to one of the few survivors of a whaling ship that was attacked by a huge whale (and served as his inspriation for Moby Dick). It's a very good movie, which makes me sad that it didn't do better. Plus, as an actor, I also now have a TON of respect for the actors portraying the stranded whalers who lost tons of weight to look like they had been lost at sea for months; Chris Hemsworth lost 35 pounds, and Cillian Murphy looks like he was mummified.

After we finished the movie, I turned to my boyfriend and said, "Huh, that was really good - I'd like to read it." He responded, "yeah, I never read it either." I then clarfied that I was NOT talking about Moby Dick, but rather the book the film was based on.

For some reason, Melville is one of those authors people kind of cringe away from. No one picks up Melville for fun, just like no one picks up Dickens for fun. It's sad to say, but I'm just as guilty of this as the general population. As much as I love a rich vocabulary, some of those Victorian authors intimidate me.

But I guess that's ok, because Melville himself (at least according to the movie) is intimidated by Hawthorne. Which makes one of the closing screens, a quote by Hawthorne about how Moby Dick is the Great American Epic, all the more touching.

I liked it so much that I turned around and checked out the book from the library. I apparently finished it quite fast (oh, those pre-baby days!) as I posted the below review two weeks later:

Adapting from Page to Screen

Sometimes when having watched a movie and then read a book, I can say to myself, "Ok, I see why they changed that."

Sometimes it's a case of condensing a timeline or characters so as to make something easier to follow. Sometimes it's making characters older, younger, or changing something about their looks or personality to make them either more believable or more accessible to a broader audience. Sometimes it's adding "drama" (a problem that wasn't there in the original version to up the tension) or changing or leaving out something that the characters did to make them more relatable or sympathetic.

You may remember from my Ivey Ink Facebook post of July 17 that I recently watched In the Heart of the Sea. This is a movie based off a book that was written about a historical whaling ship disaster. The book was based on the accounts of several survivors of the Essex (a whaling ship); their stories also were a big influence on Herman Melville writing Moby Dick.

I enjoyed the film, and I found the book fascinating as well. However, upon reading the book, there were several very obvious, "wow, I see why they changed this for the movie" details. First of all, without some changes just for sake of narrative and the flow of plot structure, it would simply be a documentary that no one would watch unless they were interested in 19th century whaling and shipwrecks.

One of the major changes was the dynamic between First Mate Chase and Captain Pollard. In the film, Chase and Pollard do not get along, as Chase feels he was passed over for the position of captain simply because Pollard's father is a captain and one of the owners of the whaling company. In real life, Chase was several years younger than Pollard and they had been working their way up the ranks together for the last four years; Pollard had been First Mate previously and prior to that had been Second Mate, while Chase had previously been Second Mate and prior to that Harpooner. But which movie would you rather see:

"An orphaned farm boy* (played by the studly Chris Hemsworth) has worked hard to prove himself to The Man as capable sailor and has been promised a captaincy. However, at the last minute, he is passed over for promotion in favor of the boss's son (played by the brooding Benjamin Walker). Now they must struggle to scratch out a living from the violent sea with the forces of nature stacked against them." or "A tall 22-year-old and his pudgy@@ 28-year-old coworker of four years receive promotions and head out to hunt whales."

*And by the way Chase's father was still alive, and living in an expensive house in town, at the time of the voyage. @@Yes, Pollard is almost consistanly referred to as "portly" in the book. (Maybe this is repeatedly pointed out to help explain why he was one of the few who survived. He had more excess weight that could be lost without major inconvenience.)

However, like I said, injecting some drama for sake of narrative is understandable. Another major change (or, rather, omission) is even more understandable.

I don't know what you know about whaling. I didn't know a lot before I read this book. The movie shows a whale being hunted and killed (and only one hunt is shown to completion in the film, when there would have been HUNDREDS during the actual voyage of the Essex). It shows a couple brief scenes to get the point accross - a whale being harpooned, a spray of blood landing on the faces of the whalers as the whale dies (we do NOT see the blood actually spraying out of the whale itself), and a few short shots of the whale being butchered. We are also treated to a scene of the cabin boy being lowered into a hole in the whale's head to scoop out the last of the oil. He serves as something of a bridge between the characters and the audience, as his obvious horror and disgust at this task is more along the lines of what people who grew up learning about environmentalism and animal rights would feel.

These scenes in the movie really gloss over the realities of whaling that are gone into in more depth in the book.

As I mentioned above, a whaling voyage that lasted two years (as most of them did) and returned to port with 1,500-3,000 casks of whale oil would have had to kill hundreds of whales to fill their quota. I had been under the impression that, like the plucky homesteader of a slightly later period, the whalers used all of the animal - sell the bones and teeth for furniture and jewelry, eat and/or salt down the meat to sell, do...I dunno, something with the skin. No. The oil and blubber are the only parts of the whale used and the rest is DUMPED INTO THE OCEAN. The book describes the Pacific as being just a slick of oil, blood, and decomposing whale during a large part of the 19th century.

From a contemporary perspective, it's disturbing. What makes it even more jarring is that in the book the scene of the full hunt and butchery of the whale comes either immediately before or immediately after a scene in which the sailors complain to the captain about their small portions of rationed salt beef and salt pork. You people are throwing away dozens of tons of meat every few days and you don't think to keep any of this to augment your rations?

What makes it even worse than that, though, is that on their way to the whaling grounds of the Pacific the ship stops at the Galapagos islands so that they can hunt tortoises to bring on the voyage as food. The tortoises were preferred to any other live source of meat because their metabolisms were so slow that the crew didn't have to feed them. The ship takes on dozens, possibly hundreds, of tortoises, fully intending to just leave them in the hold and not give them food or water. Ever. Until it's time to kill and eat them. The cabin boy's memoir reflects his misgivings about the assumption that just just because the tortoises didn't NEED to eat didn't mean that they SHOULDN'T, as he claims that every time he went down into the hold he saw them licking things.

If these weren't bad enough crimes against nature, one of the crew members set one of the Galapagos islands on fire. As a prank.

It's scenes like these that make it extremely difficult to think anything other than "I'm glad most of you died miserable deaths of starvation adrfit at sea - you're horrible people!" As I said, sometimes you have to change things in a story to make the characters relatable on screen. Even without these scenes shown in the movie, it's hard not to root for the whale when he attacks the Essex after the whalers harpoon another whale in his pod.

But, as my sister is fond of saying, "why ruin a perfectly good story with something like facts?"

Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

"Confess. Unburden your soul."

Alright, I confess. I'm a theatre major and I've never seen Wicked. Go ahead, lock me up.

Up until recently, I hadn't read Wicked, either. A friend of mine, fascinated by the world-building in my writing, loaned it to me and I just finished.

First, I would like to say that, while I appreciate that she finds my writing to be good, my world-building is not on par with Gregory Maguire. (Though, admittedly, I am not very familiar with the original L. Frank Baum Oz books, so I don't know how much Maguire is inventing, and how much he's expanding upon.)

Interestingly, the day before I finished reading Wicked, Jason and I watched a film called The Reckoning, which was about a woman in 1665 who is accused of being a witch and the torture she endures as the authorities try to get her to confess.

How things change! In 1939, in a film based on a book published in 1900, Glinda famously (even cutely) asks Dorothy, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" Dorothy, aghast, responds, "I'm not a witch at all," more in line with what we'd expect from someone accused of witchcraft in the 17th century. "I am innocent to a witch - I know not what a witch is," proclaims a character in The Crucible, based on events from the Salem Witch Trials of 1692-93.

This was supposed to be a review of Wicked. It seems to be turning into a review of accusations of witchcraft.

It doesn't spoil anything to say that Elphaba in Wicked chooses to become a witch. Or rather, she chooses to pose as one and things kind of fall together for that persona. She and her sister don't balk when people start - jokingly, at first - to refer to them as the Wicked Witch of the East and the Wicked Witch of the West (based on where each of them lives).

In the film I referred to, Grace obviously does not chose to pose as a witch, and the amount of torture she endures is in hopes to save her infant daughter.

Interestingly enough, we watch both women slide along the slippery edge of insanity. The scale is different, to be sure: Elphaba's story spans approximately 40 years, Grace's merely a few days.

Elphaba slowly endures parental neglect, hardships, friendlessness, sudden personal loss, and denial of the forgiveness she desperately seeks. When her sister, Nessarose, is unexpectedly killed by the falling house, and her old school friend Glinda gives away Nessa's shoes - shoes that her father made for the favored sister, shoes that Nessa had promised would be Elphaba's some day - Elphaba finally allows the cloak of "Wicked Witch" to slip around her and goes off the rails trying to get the shoes back from her sister's unwitting killer. (And I mean, really, if my old college roommate gave a prized family heirloom to the person who killed my sister, I'd be pissed, too.)

Grace, on the other hand, has physical hardships and, arguably, more psychological hardships thrust upon her within a very short period (we aren't given a timeline of events prior to her arrest, but from arrest to the end of the film is four days). She maintains her innocence, refuses to give in even as she sees visions of both her dead husband and Lucifer himself.

In drastically different endings, Grace is saved by water, while Elphaba, famously, is destroyed by it. Though, reading Wicked while having seen The Wizard of Oz, Maguire handles Dorothy's (and Elphaba's) motive differently than the source material. Both Grace and Elphaba have a moment of peace as their trials finally end.

Book Review: Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan

I bought this book in a giftshop in Orkney, after Jason and I saw John Rae's memorial in the nearby St. Magnus Cathedral.  I was intrigued by the idea of an explorer whose work was pushed down and forgotten simply because he reported facts that rubbed the bigwigs in the wrong way.  I had actually been putting this one off for a while, though - another non-fiction book about Scottish history that I picked up on our trip was drier than I had hoped and I was concerned this might be, too.  Fortunately, I was wrong - Oh, my goodness, John Rae was a character!

So, imagine this.  You work hard.  It's a demanding job, but you love it.  You're willing to work with a team, provided everyone does their share of the work; in fact, you generally work even harder than some of the people on your team so that you can ensure success.  You keep asking your supervisor for time off (it IS hard work, after all) and they keep hedging.  Your job doesn't leave you time for a love life and you're not getting any younger. People on your team complain, "that's not my job."  They don't follow your directions and someone gets hurt.  But you finally finish that big project - the one you've been working toward for so long... and someone else gets the credit.  You make honest reports and no one believes you - or worse, cast you as an attention seeker.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet John Rae, mid-nineteenth century Arctic explorer.  He's just like you.  Actually, he's cooler than you, but we'll get to that.

Who watched the TV show The Terror?  It was on AMC a couple years ago and was based on the novel of the same name.  The novel was inspired by the true events of the Franklin Expedition, a mid-nineteenth century British expedition to find the final link in the Northwest Passage.  The book and show take what little we know about the expedition - that the ships were trapped in ice and, presumably, the whole crew died - and expands into some supernatural scariness (and the show in and of itself is worth a watch if it's still available out there).  How did we find out what happened to the Franklin Expedition?  John Rae.

But let's back up.  The book Fatal Passage begins with plucky John Ray, a 19-year-old newly graduated surgeon from Orkney*, Scotland.  He set off for Canada, to join the Hudson's Bay Company.  The HBC was a company of traders and explorers in arctic Canada and had been heavily involved, along with the British navy, in charting as-yet-unmapped areas and searching for a navigable passage from the Northern Atlantic to the Northern Pacific (the Northwest Passage).

*Fun fact - people from Orkney are called Orcadians, which I think is flippin' fantastic.

Rae gleefully spent the next several years getting to know the arctic landscape; learning native hunting, building, and dressing styles; and snowshoeing across hundreds of miles in the winter just for kicks.  He started as a "surgeon" (comparable to a nurse practitioner today) and worked his way up the ranks as a general Jack of all trades, eventually becoming Chief Factor (director) of a major trading post (called a "factory" at the time).  He was well-respected by peers and supervisors, as well as by French fur traders, and native and mixed-race locals.

Not only that, Rae was rather progressive.  He was incredibly vocal in how much he admired the natives' (mainly Inuit, but some Cree, Ojibwe, and other groups) ingenuity, and thought that "half-breeds" (mixed-race European and Native American) were the best men that could be had for any job.  He also made notes in his own correspondence that he does not use the term "half-breed" as an insult, as many do.

Rae was eventually tasked with exploring uncharted coastline in search of the Northwest Passage, which everyone and his brother was doing those days.  Rae usually put together his own team.  It was usually comprised of just as many natives and half-breeds as full-Brits, as they were used to the terrain, the weather, the work, etc.  In fact, the only time he used naval officers that he was told he had to use rather than men he chose was the only expedition in which anyone died - which was EXTREMELELY unusual for 19th century arctic expeditions.  Rae was not only the first European explorer to winter in the Arctic "Native style," but also the first European to winter in the Arctic without losing a member of his team.  Given that his teams were usually much smaller (10 or so hardy men) that the large HBC and naval expeditions (100-200 sailors, often with no Arctic experience), this is really saying something.

Rae relished the work early on.  He loved snowshoeing and hunting - he considered "a long day's march in snowshoes is about the finest exercise a man can take."  He enjoyed living off the land and taking as few supplies as possible.  (This man often slept outdoors in the Arctic on a sleeping skin with one blanket.  I get cold in a 72-degree house with 2 blankets.)  He didn't shy away from doing MORE than his share of the work: shooting the majority of the food his group would eat, taking meticulous weather and geological measurements, trying to thaw his frozen Complete Works of William Shakespeare, and sleeping in his own individual igloo* rather than with the rest of his team for warmth because all the others were smokers.

*The term used in the book is "ice hut,” but I wanted to use igloo this first time to indicate the native-style building.

His most successful journey - the one in which he not only discovered the last link in the Northwest Passage (a strait later named for him) but also was the first to encounter anyone with knowledge of and artifacts from the doomed Franklin expedition. 

Having returned to his summer mooring, after having spent much of the winter trekking around and mapping - he was approached by natives who had cutlery and other items, some of which had very distinct initials and the family crest of Sir John Franklin himself.  He paid the natives well for these items, and interviewed the entire group separately, using his trusted interpreter (even though he himself spoke some of the Inuit language).  They all reported the same thing - a couple years prior (approximately five years after the Franklin expedition set sail) they had seen a group of ragtag white men (none in this group had ever seen Europeans before) dragging a boat like a sled, and heading south.  Later, another group of natives had reported to them that they had found the remains of this group - all dead, but many having been mutilated.  Rae came to the same conclusion as his second-hand witnesses - the last survivors of the Franklin expedition had resorted to butchering and eating their dead companions. 

Torn, Rae debated whether he should return to the area that the Natives had indicated to confirm the story.  But it would require back-tracking quite a long distance (ironically, the strait he discovered was quite close to where the doomed encampment lay).  It was too late in the season for him to make that trek and return while his route back to "civilization" (in this case a rural fort) was still navigable.  Many of the waterways he was using were ice-blocked for 10-11 months out of the year - basically, if you weren't traveling in August you were out of luck. 

In the end, he made the decision based on the state of his team.  Two of his men were very badly worse for the wear - one had frozen off two toes and could barely walk, let along keep up the strenuous pace needed to get to the Franklin crew site and back before winter set in and they had to hole up in ice huts, and hope that they had enough supplies. 

It was a difficult decision for him, but he ultimately decided that he would not risk his men's lives, especially since it was now all but impossible that Sir John Franklin or any of his men had survived.  There were other rescue expeditions out there, too, and they deserved to know the truth so they could also decide how much of a risk they were still willing to take for what now was not a rescue mission, but one to confirm the location of the bodies.

Rae, an honest man who was always meticulous in detailed record-keeping, wrote a very thorough letter to his superiors.  Unbeknownst to him at first, it was then sent to London and published by the Times.  And then... oh, the scandal!  Even though Rae had made clear what had happened, he still euphemized, still skirted using gory language.  He reported that the "the state of the bodies and the contents of the kettles" indicated that the last few survivors had been forced to use "the last resort." 

Still, Victorians knew how to read between the lines and they were most definitely not happy.  What, cannibalism?  Not, not our fine British officers!  The kindest opinions toward Rae were along the lines of, Oh, this poor Orkney yokel, poor naive man, taken in by the lies of the nasty, tricksey savages*. General opinion, however, was even more harsh.  Many speculated that Rae himself fabricated the story to tarnish the reputation of Sir John (who, honestly, was a less-than-stellar explorer and politician anyway) so that he could get the reward money.  Rae hadn't even known there'd been a reward until he traveled to London after the letters had already been published - without his knowledge.

*The assumption that any and all natives will lie whenever they get the chance is something consistently repeated in the articles and letters of the time and is REALLY uncomfortable to read.  Rae, to his credit, defended his interpreter and the natives - going to so far as noting that the one time his interpreter tried to lie about something when he was much younger (Rae had known him for over a decade at this point) that he had been absolutely dreadful at it because he had never lied before.

Chief among Rae's detractors was Lady Franklin, who for years had refused to believe her husband was dead (this news coming ten years after he had last been seen), and of course was appalled at the insinuation that her husband might have been among those final men desperate enough to eat their fellows (documents were found during another expedition that eventually confirmed he had died before the ships had become ice-locked and therefore couldn't have been one of the cannibalistic "survivors").  She continued to send out search parties - funding many of them in large part herself.  She continued to smear Rae's name to the point that several other explorers were credited with his discoveries including, most egregiously, Franklin himself. 

There was quite a bit of arguing of semantics.  Should the discoverer of the passage be the person who found and theorized that passage was navigable?  Should it be the first person to traverse it on foot?  In the latter instance, Franklin's crew was credited for a while on the assumption that they had dragged their boat over the frozen last link in the passage before they died.  Other explorers were credited with finding other passages that would later turn out to not be navigable with nineteenth-century ships.  This is how they treated the man who not long before was their go-to for any Arctic expedition - "Oh Rae's in that quarter, Rae will do that." 

Interestingly, while the British continually tried to downplay his achievements, even question his sanity for "going Native" and using Inuit methods of survival rather than "tried and true" modern techniques, the Norwegian explorers of the same period seemed to appreciate Rae much more - "This guy!  This guy knows what's going on!" (Ok, that's not an actual period quote.)  In fact, it was a Norwegian explorer in the first decade of the 20th century who finally successfully navigated the Northwest Passage, using Rae's route - 50 years after he discovered it, and after so many others had died trying to disprove Rae's journey.

Rae himself eventually retired from the HBC, married, and gave up Arctic exploration.  His last excursion was an exploration of the Canadian Rockies to determine the best route for a telegraph line.  He took his wife along for part of the journey, which was extremely unusual for the time.

Rae was a really interesting guy.  Even after his retirement, he kept active - hunting and hiking.  It was not unusual for him, even in his 70's, to walk 20 miles to the train station.  He lived to be nearly 80 years old.  He kept a massive collection of Inuit artifacts, referring to the native people as "my friends the Esquimaux.*" He was progressive man, a man ahead of his time.  He understood that smoking was unhealthy, and theorized that scurvy was caused by "lack of something [the body] gets from vegetables" decades before vitamins were discovered.  He was a man who respected and admired Native Americans - to the point that he not only paid those on his teams well, but usually provided them more pay than originally contracted once they returned due to how arduous the work was.  He was so progressive that at times while reading the book, I chuckled to myself, "Huh.  Wonder if he was a time traveler."  It kind of wouldn't surprise me.

*We know now that "eskimo" is a Cree slur that means "snow-eater," but Rae didn't know that.

All (actual) quotes are from Fatal Passage by Ken McGoogan, who himself is usually quoting Rae's own correspondence.

The memorial commissioned by John Rae’s wife, Kate.  Rae sleeps beneath a buffalo skin blanket, wearing his mocccasin boots, as he was wont to do.

The memorial commissioned by John Rae’s wife, Kate. Rae sleeps beneath a buffalo skin blanket, wearing his mocccasin boots, as he was wont to do.

The exterior of St, Magnus’s Cathedral in Orkney.  Rae is buried in the church yard in the back.  No, this isn’t brick - it’s red sandstone, local to Orkney.

The exterior of St, Magnus’s Cathedral in Orkney. Rae is buried in the church yard in the back. No, this isn’t brick - it’s red sandstone, local to Orkney.

The interior of St. Magnus’s Cathedral.

The interior of St. Magnus’s Cathedral.

Book Review: Unholy Night by Seth Grahame-Smith

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Fun - and, if you have a dark sense of humor, funny - mashups of historical and literary characters with zombies and vampires.

I was in the dollar store a few years ago and saw a bin of another book by the same author - Unholy Night. I recognized Seth Grahame-Smith, and the title was intriguing. I flipped it over to read the back and the premise had me hooked - what if the Wise Men were not simple pilgrims, come to worship and give gifts, and then to disappear from whence they came? What if instead they took umbrage - ultimate umbrage - with Herrod's slaughter of the innocents, of his attempt to find and kill the baby Jesus?

And it was only a dollar! Um, yes, please. (And, as it turns out, it was not priced so low because it hadn't sold, but rather because this bin was full of misprinted copies - on one page Balthasar's name appears as Ba!tha%a*, or or something like that.)

Mostly Spoiler-free review:

First, as you might guess from an author whose other books are about genteel historical and literary figures messily fighting evil creatures, be aware that if you're not up for some heavy doses of gore, this book is definitely not for you. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the violence and gore in this book is even more distubing because it's happening to normal people who more often than not are either just trying to do their jobs, or, even more terrifying, are innocents who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The book opens with Balthasar, not a king, not a scholar, but a thief, evading persuit by Roman troops. After being captured and thrown in prison, he and his cellmates escape by disguising themselves as priests. The three "priests," traveling out of the Roman province of Judea encounter a couple with a newborn, hidden in a stable.

The couple is hiding for good reason - only briefly after their encounter with the traveling "magi," Herrod's troops enter the town, rousting all children under the age of two. Balthasar witnesses a mother with an infant run down by a soldier, and the child is killed in the street. Even this thief cannot comprehend the terrible act he has just witnessed - and he snaps. He rides down the soldier and kills him.

Other soldiers fill the town, other wails of dying babies and weeping mothers fill the air. Another soldier chases a young boy carrying his infant brother - but Balthasar chases him. Melchior and Gaspar join the fray. Soon the entire troop of soldiers is dead. Many infants are also dead... but many more have been saved, including a very special one.

Now the "magi" and the young family they encountered in the stable must flee in earnest. On the way they encounter various dangers - dehydration, angry mobs, locusts (yes, really), and burning buildings - before before being captured by joint forces of Herrod and a young, up-and-coming Roman officer named Pontius Pilate (Yes. Really.) who everyone says will go far.

And, as you can guess, since Easter occurs some 30-odd years later, the baby survives. But it's the *how*, the reactions of the characters with him, the string of coincidences and oddly timed good luck, that makes the story intersting and gripping. Reading this book you think that it is not so much the circumstances of the Mary's* pregnancy and Jesus's birth that are miraculous - rather the miracle is that he survived his first few weeks at all.

*Mary, incidentally, is a fantastically feisty 15-year old. Say what you will about her, believe she is delusional if you must, but bad-mouth her husband and she will give you what-for!

#Spoilers Below#

I love the whole "historical in joke" - when historical characters meet up in unexpected ways. It's hard to do well, without coming off as either cheesey or a forced coincidence.

Grahame-Smith does well at using a young Pilate as a secondary antagonist. He's 20 (so, young enough that him still being alive in 33 years, while also being old enough now to be a competent officer is not unlikely), with a strong eye on his career. He aspires to be a high-ranking official - maybe even a governor - which is why he goes along with the emperor's orders to humor Herrod in his search to eliminate this prophesied baby. But when they finally do catch the family and those aiding him, when it becomes clear that Herrod has gone off the deep end, Pilate decides to defy his orders.

Enough is enough, and this isn't right - Piate sets the prisoners free with the warning that for the sake of his own life he must pursue them shortly. But the head start - and a little divine intervention - are enough that the group is safely away before persuing soldiers follow. The soldier and the thief have a moment of understanding and respect - these are two men trying to make their way, trying to survive - and they both understand that you draw the line at killing babies (even though they both also understand now that this is not just any baby).

It's also hard to pull off a deus ex machina. This book is full of them - but they're well done and justified. And given that we mostly see Balthasar's reaction to them (rather than being told through the eyes of the already-believing Mary and Joseph), they seem more real.

Three fleeing swordsmen just happen to show up in time to protect they baby? Meh, I was just passing through.

A perfectly straight stream of perfectly clear water just happens to cross their path in the dessert right as they begin to fear the baby and nursing mother might die? Well, that's odd, but we're glad it was there. (A 15 year old with no lactation specialist has no trouble breastfeeding her newborn as they flee across the dessert? That might be the biggest miracle in the book...)

But when an angry mob of pilgrims attacks the Roman soldiers for violating the sancticy of their holy site, when a swarm of locusts descends on the persuing soldiers... but doesn't harm the fleeing family? It's more than Balthasar can accept as coincidence - especially as the baby SMIRKS while the locusts attack the soldiers. (And, honestly, this serves as a reminder that this incarnation is where the vindictive Old Testament God meets the humble and loving New Testament man.)

Reading this novel with a new baby (I read it last fall; Elianna would have been just a few months old) the horror of so many things that could happen to such a delicate and vulnerable child was very, very real. Don't get me wrong - I really enjoyed the book. But reading it as a new mother gave me a very different perspective, and made me very thankful that I live in a place and time where my baby is relatively safe.

Future Tense

When I was in middle school and high school, I went on a medical thriller binge.  I think it started because of how much I liked Jurassic Park.  I read all of Michael Crichton's other books, and then started looking for similar authors.  Robin Cook was another one I read a lot of.

I had gotten it into my head that these were Science Fiction.  Some of them - Jurassic Park, and a Robin Cook novel about an alien invasion, definitely count.  I wouldn't understand that what I was looking for was more accurately a science/medical thriller until I was actually working in a library.

Aside from Jurassic Park, the only book I read from this period that stands out in my memory is The Plague Tales, by Ann Benson.  (Below is the review I wrote for it rereading it as an adult for my library's quarterly genre review.)

Plague Tales review.png

One interesting thing about this book, which took place in part in the then-future of 2005, was that the world was recovering from a global epidemic.  Air travel had been restricted - those “lucky” enough to be allowed to fly were subjected to full-body latex suits, diagnostic tests involving the drawing of blood upon landing, and, if resisting the latter, arrest.

I actually hadn't really given the "future" setting of this book much thought until I saw an article yesterday entitled "I Just Flew and it Was Worse Than I Thought," accompanied by a picture of two airline passengers in full respirator masks (for what it's worth, the article is from early May* and the accompanying photo was somewhat misleading).

*And who would have ever thought “I’m not gonna bother reading this 5-month-old, out-of-date article?”

But it also made me think about some of the assumptions made.  It seems that 20+ years ago we had more faith in how we would handle a pandemic - and specifically how willing people would be to comply with fairly stringent restrictions.  It's some food for thought.

No Joke

Jason and I watched Joker last night; he was interested to see a villain origin story where the villain and the hero (in this universe, Batman) don't interact.

When Joker was first released, there was a big to-do about how it was glorifying violence, glorifying shooters. Having seen it myself now, I have to say that anyone who thinks this movie is glorifying anything obviously hasn't watched it. It is the disturbingly tragic tale of an absolute dumpster fire of a man who no one cares about and who is repeatedly kicked (literally and figuratively) until, after enduring more misery than anyone should have to, he breaks.

When some people break, they quietly crumble into themselves. Not here. Here, when he breaks, he shatters and produces shrapnel that breaks other lives. It is not glorious. It is not fun. At no point would anyone watching this movie say, "man, this obviously disturbed and frighteningly skinny man has it going on! I want to be him!"

There are no "good guys" in this movie. Thomas Wayne (who usually is remembered posthumously as a saintly philanthropist who could have fixed Gotham had he not been snatched away so soon) is an out of touch, wealthy, would-be politician who alienates the very people he's trying to help. Joker's therapist is an overworked public counselor who doesn't listen to him and who, when accused of not caring about him, retorts that the system doesn't care about her either. His mother is a piece of work that I don't have time to go into. The talk show host who seems like he's going to give Joker his big break into the stand-up comedy scene is really looking to milk an awkward video clip for views. He has a well-meaning but very irresponsible coworker who causes more harm than good. The list goes on.

It is a good film. It's not fun. It's not pretty. It's not a glossy comic book with a dapper villain. But it's worth watching. It is a cautionary tale of why you shouldn't be horrible to people, why you shouldn't cut the funding that helps the helpless, and what happens when the already broken are pushed past the final breaking point.

The Battle of the War Movies

Or, rather, the battle to stay awake during the war movies.

You kind of expect that when you go to watch a movie about a pivotal battle that it's going to be exciting.  When you go into a movie that you know is about a moment where the course of history hinged on the outcome, you expect it to be engaging, thrilling, on-the-edge-of-your-seat, even though you already know who won.  You don't expect confusion, characters you can't relate to, or to keep checking the time.

Last weekend, Jason and I watched Darkest Hour.

If you know me at all, you know I'm a big history enthusiast.  When I heard that Gary Oldman was playing Winston Churchill, I said, "dude, I have to see this movie!"  I didn't realize Churchill was a mumbler.  I didn't realize a lot of his peers were also mumblers.  I knew that King George VI had a speech impediment... but I didn't realize the actor playing him in The King's Speech spoke more clearly in a movie about a man overcoming a speech impediment than the actor playing him in Darkest Hour.  But maybe they were going for an accurate portrayal of a bunch of rich mumblers.  (Churchill's secretary, on the other hand, speaks more clearly than any of the men in the film.)

I also hadn't realized that Darkest Hour was going to pretty much just be about the bureaucracy of getting the Dunkirk evacuation off the ground.  The majority of the movie consists of Churchill arguing with other politicians in locked rooms of various sizes.  

I wanted to like Darkest Hour more than I did.  Then this weekend we watched Dunkirk.  And now I like Darkest Hour more by comparison.

The evacuation of Dunkirk: I knew, and had refreshed for me in Darkest Hour, that the Nazis swiftly invaded Belgium and France, giving the United Kingdom the nasty wake-up call that the enemy could very soon be knocking on their door.  This would be a bad situation even without the added predicament that the majority of the British army was now stuck in France with Germany rapidly closing in and no viable means of escape.  

*Cue rousing music and Every-man boaters taking to the seas with cries of "we're going to rescue our boys!"*

Or not.  The above was what I expected.  It was not what was delivered.  What was delivered was almost 2 hours of confusing story line that didn't focus on anyone long enough to connect or relate to them (and even if you did, most of them you didn't know their names anyway), grating music, and long, long shots of nearly-black and white scenery that seem more fitting for an art gallery than a war film.  Plus, starved and desperate soldiers standing neatly in lines with less urgency and motion than The March of the Penguins.

As Jason put it, we spent much of the movie waiting for it to "start."  Yes, you had action from the get go, but the actual understanding of what was going on, who these people were, was slow in coming (if at all).  It reminded me (unfavorably) of 2001 a Space Odyssey.  It actually had a very Kubrickian feel (and, again, not in a good way) to both the cinematography and the soundtrack.  After watching the film, I wondered if the intention was to confuse the audience and put them on edge, so that we would better relate to to confused, on-edge soldiers in the film.

I hate to deliver such scathing reviews of films of such an important event... but that's just it.  It was a MAJOR, pivotal moment in the course of modern history and I feel that it was most definitely NOT given its due.

On a side note, the best war movie I've seen in the past year?  Rogue One.

Chillin' with the Norse Gods

I haven't done a book review in a while.

(OK, so this isn't going to be an actual full-on review, partly because I haven't finished the book yet...)

I'm currently reading Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman.  A couple things to know here:
-I really like Neil Gaiman.
-Neil Gaiman really likes Norse mythology.

I was really excited when I heard the book was coming out - I love his style.  Plus, since a lot of his books feature Norse mythological characters, and since Jason and I are interested in both the Norse/Vikings specifically, and mythology in general, I thought this would be really interesting to read.  I haven't been disappointed, though it's also not quite what I expected.

I also follow Neil Gaiman on Facebook.  A month or two ago (before I got the book), he made a post announcing that Norse Mythology had been nominated for a fantasy award (I don't remember which one now) and while he was honored to have been nominated, he was also somewhat amused, as he had marketed this book as non-fiction.

(Side note on non-fiction:  For several years, I worked in a library system that used the Dewey Decimal system, meaning that fiction and non-fiction are kept separate, as opposed to the Library of congress where you will find fictional pieces by an author next to reviews and criticism about that author's work.  It was always interesting to me to see what was housed in non-fiction that kind of hovered on the fiction/non-fiction line.  Many pieces of older literature - poetry, the Greek epics, Shakespeare - were housed in non-fiction, as were books of myths and fairy tales.) 

I recall having read in a book about the defining characteristics of different genres that fantasy is arguably the oldest genre - mythologies and fairy tales are the very oldest stories.  So to me, hearing that a non-fiction book about mythology had been nominated for a fantasy award didn't strike me as all that odd.

But then I started reading the book and it made even more sense why it was nominated for a fiction genre award rather than non-fiction.  Gaiman comes right out in his introduction and says that a lot of this book is based on his fond remembrances of reading Norse mythology as a kid (after having become interested due to the Thor comic books).  He states that he did some research but that a lot of this is revisiting tales he remembers; the book is not an in-depth anthropological examination.

Really the great thing (one of the great things) about this book is that it comes off as Personal Recollections of Hanging Out with the Norse Gods by Neil Gaiman.  As opposed to a lot of mythology books, that can actually be quite dry, because the author is either taking a heightened style, respectful approach, or because the author is merely presenting "this is the direct translation of these old rune and I myself have no interest or opinion on the story itself," Gaiman's retelling of these myths comes off as personal.  He's not afraid to be casual with the gods, giving us such gems as "'Shut up, Thor,' said Loki."

Part of why I picked up this book when I did (you, know, selecting it out of the massive tower of books that I got for Christmas) is that I just finished reading Gaiman's Odd and the Frost Giants.  It's a story about a kid who doesn't quite fit in with the rest of his Viking village.  He runs away and encounters 3 of the gods, who have been cursed into different shapes and need his help getting back to Asgard.  I was curious to see more tales about the characters I'd just read about, so I started in on Norse Mythology (even though I generally do not read the same author back-to-back unless I'm reading a series).

The gods in Mythology are given the same casual, familiar feel as they are in Odd.  It comes across less as "here is what the ancient peoples of Norway believed" and more, "So did I ever tell you about that time that Thor was just chilling and Loki played this really mean trick on him?"  Some stories feel almost like these are the antics of Neil's college buddies.  And I'm loving it.