Silk by Caitlin R. Kiernan
After writing four negative reviews in a row, I promised myself I wouldn’t write another until I found a book I could say something nice about. I wasn’t expecting Caitlin R. Kiernan’s Silk to be that book. Once perched at the top of my “to read” pile, months of unhampered spending pushed Silk to the middle of the stack as I heaped new purchases on top of it. After being disappointed by my latest urban fantasy / paranormal romance / sci-fi adventure reads I decided I needed something different and Silk fit the bill. I hauled it from the heap and discovered a diamond.
Birmingham’s grunge and goth scene may be flooded with posers, but Spyder Baxter is the real deal. A schizophrenic loner with her own novelty shop, Spyder is the definition of “eccentric.” Young scensters follow at her heels whenever she steps out with her girlfriend Robin and best friend Byron. She may be the unofficial patron saint of alienated youth, but Spyder has a secret. There is something evil lurking in her basement and she is the only person who can keep it from getting loose and destroying everything she loves.
After months of bitching and moaning about flat characters it was refreshing to read a book over flowing with fully fleshed out, three dimensional characters. Kiernan is well aware that showing trumps telling when it comes to characterization. Instead of telling the reader that her heroine Daria Parker has a bad temper, she offers several scenes in which Daria goes off on her junkie boyfriend. Instead of telling the reader Spyder is mentally ill we get to watch her down her meds every morning.
Character is everywhere in Silk,from the exposed brick facades on the run down buildings of downtown Birmingham to the contents of each characters pockets. Kiernan knows that people are built out of details. On page 7 Kiernan introduces us to Daria Parker. The first two paragraphs tell us worlds about the town itself as well as Daria’s place within it.
“Daria sat by herself on the sidewalk, fat spiral-bound notebook open across her lap, back pressed firmly against the raw brick, pretentiously raw brick sand-blasted for effect, for higher rent and the illusion of renewal, the luxury of history. The cobblestone street was lined with old warehouse and factory buildings, most dating back to the first two decades of the century or before and sacrificed years ago for office suites; sterile, track-lit spaces for architects and lawyers, design firms and advertising agencies.
The felt-tip business end of her pen hovered uselessly over the page, over the verse she’d begun almost a week ago now. A solid hour staring stupidly at her own cursive scrawl, red ink too bright for blood, and she was no closer to finishing, and the cold – real Christmas weather – was beginning to numb her fingers, working its way in through her clothes. Daria closed the notebook, snapped the cap back on her pen, returned both to the army-surplus knapsack lying on the concrete.”
Kiernan manages to paint a vivid picture of the Birmingham that exists within the novel, a town well on its way to gentrification that still hasn’t lost its sense of history or its seedy under belly. She also uses location as a way of developing character. Seeing Daria sitting alone on the sidewalk outside of a warehouse, the reader automatically identifies her as an outsider. By watching her try, and fail, to write new song lyrics we discover she is an artistic type – a singer and musician. Her hovering pen and her decision to quit writing for the day hint at her own precarious place in the world; an inability to move forward that is echoed by the pretentiously down-trodden buildings around her that can’t quite decide if they want to be upscale lofts or run-down squats. By the end of the first scene I felt such a kinship with Daria Parker that I would have followed her into any story. Kiernan gives all her characters the same thorough and honest rendering, creating an intimate world of complex people.
As you can see, Kiernan has a way with words. Her language is so evocative it’s practically a form of teleportation. From the very first sentence I felt like I was in the story; I could hear the streetlights as they flickered to life and see the cracks in the sidewalk.
Silk is littered with intriguing descriptions and turns of phrase. On page 171 she describes a character who has been slapped as having “palm-print impressions framing his face like the tailfeathers of kindergarten turkeys.” On page 180, as Byron struggles to find the right key on an over-burdened keyring to fit a particular lock, when he finds it Kiernan says it slides in “cocksmooth.” I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t think to associate sex with the physical act of unlocking a door. It’s that unexpectedness coupled with Kiernan’s insight that makes her comparisons so remarkable.
Published in 1998, Silk has a distinctly post-grunge, Generation X vibe to it. Daria, Spyder, and Niki trip through the novel on a wave of uppers and downers that make the reader wonder how much of the story is real and how much is imagined. Though Kiernan builds great tension throughout the book, it ends with a sigh rather than the bang I was hoping for, and that’s my only complaint.
Silk is hypnotic. Kiernan’s engaging characters, evocative language, and Southern Gothic flavor will suck you in faster than the baddies in Spyder’s basement. You can bet I will be running out and buying the rest of her books ASAP, and this time I’ll make sure they stay at the top of my “to read” pile.
The Late, Lamented Molly Marx by Sally Koslow
I acquired The Late, Lamented Molly Marx through Library Thing’s Early Reviewers program. If you haven’t already, I insist that you go sign up right now. It’s a wonderful thing. The way it works is publishers send the good folks at Library Thing advanced review copies of their upcoming titles, and Library Thing gives the books away to site users in exchange for reviews. Each month a list of books available through Early Review is posted on the site, and registered participants can browse the list and request the ones they’d like to read. The requests are entered into a lottery and the randomly chosen winners receive advanced copies.
I requested The Late, Lamented Molly Marx because it sounded interesting. Molly Marx has everything a woman could want, a husband with a thriving medical practice, a beautiful daughter, and a great job as a freelance stylist. It isn’t until Molly is found dead on the bank of the Hudson River that it becomes apparent how un-charmed her life truly was. As Molly adjusts to the afterlife she can’t help but peek in on the people she loved as they struggle to solve the mystery of her death, and get on with their own lives
This was my first foray into chick lit, or women’s fiction, or whatever you call books marketed specifically to single, employed, middle-class, twenty and thirty something females. I studiously avoided the genre for years because I bought into the idea that chick lit was vapid fluff featuring superficial heroines. And, guess what? I was right!
The world of Molly Marx is all expensive bistros, Upper East Side duplexes, high fashion, interior design, and weekends abroad. All of the primary characters are rich and beautiful; they have high end, well paying jobs and never want for anything. They are sexy, glamorous, and shallow as rain puddles.
Intellectually, I understand why chick lit is popular. Like most mainstream literary fare it is pure escapist fantasy. Chick lit lets the reader experience what it’s like to be rich and powerful, graceful and fawned over, envied and ass-kissed. But, I guess I’m an anomaly because I’ve never had any interest in the rich and fabulous. Those aren’t the kind of people I want to spend time with, on or off the page. I prefer starving artist types; people who find a way to fit four roommates into a studio apartment just so they can afford to live in Manhattan; Salvation Army shoppers who aren’t necessarily into vintage clothing but can’t afford to shop at Old Navy, let alone Saks; Full-time college students who work full-time jobs, handle full course loads, and somehow manage to log hours at a required internship to boot. It’s true that challenge builds character, which might explain why the people who populate Molly’s world are so boring.
The biggest offender is Molly herself. Molly is completely passive. In life she never acted on her 
own desires, choosing instead to allow others to act upon her. She married her husband, not because she loved him, but because he was the first man to ask her. She moved from Greenwich Village to the Upper West Side, not because she wanted to, but because her mother-in-law wanted them nearby. She had a child, not because she wanted to, but because her husband thought it was time. Indecisive and naïve, Molly is more comfortable allowing others to make decisions for her than taking the time to figure out what she really wants.
She isn’t much different in death. Narrating the story as a disembodied spirit passing time in the Duration, Molly is able to watch over her nearest and dearest as they go about their lives, but is forbidden to interfere. She must remain passive, observing the aftermath of her own death, unable to ease the pains and shames it brings to light.
This makes Molly a problematic narrator. Though her voice is strong and punchy, her inability to act makes her a non-entity in her own story. More than once I wondered why Koslow chose to write this book in first person. She could have told the story just as effectively in third person for all the insight Molly’s perspective brings to the book. It’s difficult to invest in a character that spends her entire life and death acquiescing to others to such an extent that it robs her of her personality. And although I’m willing to concede that might be the whole point, it doesn’t make for very absorbing reading.
I never warmed up to the supporting characters either. Molly’s best friend, Brie, the heterosexual who dates women, is a fashion model turned lawyer who makes more money in a month than most people make in their whole lives. Molly’s husband, Barry, is an overly entitled, emotionally distant, compulsive philanderer. Lucy, Molly’s fraternal twin sister, is plain by comparison and her “sturdy” body makes her a shoe-in for the role of jealous frump. Each one is a caricature of a caricature, so flat and predictable it’s hard to care about them.
Pace is a problem in The Late, Lamented Molly Marx.It gets off to a slow start, taking nearly two hundred pages to find its rhythm. The story revolves around the investigation of Molly’s mysterious death. However, Koslow is never clear about what makes it mysterious. It seems as though Molly was involved in an unfortunate biking accident, and the reader is never told what led the police to proclaim her death “suspicious.” As a result, the investigation never feels particularly pressing. I had a hard time understanding why the lead detective became so emotionally invested in a case that seemed so banal.
The combination of a dull protagonist and weak plot makes the book drag. Tack on an ending that manages to be overly tidy while failing to answer any questions, and you can understand why I won’t be picking up another piece of chick lit any time soon.
Ravenous by Sharon Ashwood
Holly Carver is a witch on the rise. Despite a freak childhood accident that rendered her unable to perform “Big M” magic, she and her business partner, the lethally handsome and chronically undead Alessandro, have managed to eek out a nice living exorcising haunted houses and helping people find lost objects. She has a great boyfriend, lives in a house that has belonged to her family for generations, and is eager to start business school in the hopes of one day expanding her business.
But when dead bodies start popping up all over campus, Holly has to put her life on hold. Called in to help with the investigation, Holly and Alessandro can tell these are more than just run of the mill sorcerer or vampire attacks. Someone is trying to start a war, and it’s up to them to find out who. But, it’ll take more than “little m” magic to find the culprit…or for Holly to resist Alessandro’s charms.
I’m not a huge fan of romance novels, but I picked up Sharon Ashwood’s Ravenous, the first book in the Dark Forgotten series, because it sounded more action adventure, urban fantasy-esque than paranormal romance.
And, yes, I admit it, I liked the cover art. Pretty, leather-clad chick crouching against an urban landscape dangling a dagger from her hand? What’s not to like? In his fiction writing guide, Cunning & Craft, author Peter Selgin wrote, “What readers of fiction most want to learn about is people,” and that is definitely true for me. I picked up Ravenous because I wanted to learn more about the woman on the cover; wanted to reach below the surface and see what kind of woman lived beneath that outer vestige.
Ravenous turned out to be a good reminder of why one should never judge a book by its cover. Ashwood has populated the world of the Dark Forgotten with flat characters. Not one of them possesses even an ounce of personality. Holly is a witch who comes from a long line of powerful witches, and hopes to become a successful paranormal investigator. In 334 pages that’s all we find out about her. Ashwood does not bother to give her interests outside of those related to her magical abilities. Holly has no hobbies, no individual quirks, and no friends aside from those she accumulates through the murder investigation.
The same is true of the hero, Alessandro. He is draped in vampire cliché from the moment he steps foot on the page; he’s foreign, lethal, breath-takingly gorgeous, and covered from head to toe in black leather. That’s as deep as his character ever gets. About half way through the novel we learn Alessandro is a musician, that he plays numerous instruments and can sing in seven different languages. But, we never get to observe him enjoying a piece of music, playing a guitar, or singing a song. We never so much as hear him hum a tune under his breath. If Ashwood had bothered to bring this aspect of his personality to life through action it would have done wonders to flesh out his character. As is, they’re nothing but words on a page, as flat and featureless as Alessandro himself.
It’s a shame the people who populate the realm of the Dark Forgotten are so, well, forgettable, because Ashwood has actually succeeded in creating a compelling world. In it, vampires, werewolves, and supernaturals of all stripes have been integrated into human society. They own homes, have respectable jobs, and are issued social security numbers. While there are definite advantages to fitting in to human society, like not having to hide or pretend to be something they are not, supernaturals must also deal with the discrimination leveled at them by prejudiced humans. Additionally, supernaturals strive to preserve their own ancient traditions and customs in a modern world. It’s a scenario ripe with conflict, and I hope Ashwood will explore some of the more explosive possibilities as the series moves forward.
But, is having an interest in the world itself enough to make me continue on to the next book in the series? Probably not. I need to have people, people who captivate and surprise me, who I can relate to and sympathize with, and the world of the Dark Forgotten just doesn’t have them. Ashwood’s prose may be solid, she may be a talented writer, but without three dimensional characters she’s got no moral and emotional center for the reader to latch on to. Strong characters are what breathe life into a written work, and Ravenous is, like the murder victims chronicled within, dead on arrival.
The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Nightfall by L.J. Smith
I was twelve when the first book in The Vampire Diaries tetralogy was released back in 1991. I was immediately taken with the pretty, popular, and strong-willed Elena Gilbert, as well as her two vampire suitors, the sensitive Stefan and his womanizing brother Damon, not to mention Elena’s loyal friends Meredith, Bonnie, and Matt. Reading The Vampire Diaries was a transformative experience for me. I found Smith’s deliberate and well paced prose incredibly appealing. I also found her ability to make the simplest physical interactions between characters sensual without becoming sexually explicit, very admirable. When I wrote my senior thesis during my final year as an undergraduate Creative Writing major, I listed Smith as one of my primary influences as a writer.
Smith went on to write three more YA trilogies with a supernatural slant, as well as the successful Night World series, before withdrawing from the writing world one book short of completing the Night World series. Twelve years after the publication of her last novel and eighteen years after the publication of the last volume of The Vampire Diaries, Smith is back with the fifth installment, The Vampire Diaries: The Return: Nightfall. Though Nightfall is the first book in The Return trilogy, the series picks up right where Dark Reunion left off, making them the continuation of a series rather than a stand alone trilogy.
It must be noted from the get go that I have not picked up a YA novel since I was sixteen. Coincidentally, I outgrew YA fiction around about the same time Smith stopped writing it. As a result, I don’t really know what appeals to the YA audience these days, and can’t even guess at how a reader in the appropriate age demographic would respond to this novel. I can only evaluate it as a grown woman and long time fan that still possesses a great deal of love for the series.
It having been such a long time since I’d read the first four books, before starting Nightfall, I hauled out my first edition paperbacks and re-read the entire series to refresh my memory. My response this time around was less favorable than when I was twelve. I found it very difficult to like most of the characters. Elena is incredibly selfish and manipulative. I couldn’t figure out why I identified so much with her when I was younger. Of course, I realize the series is all about how Elena goes from being your stereotypical “mean girl” to a caring, selfless, and ultimately noble person, but that doesn’t change the fact that she remains almost entirely unsympathetic through the first two books. Stefan’s insistence on blaming himself for every negative thing that happens to the people he loves struck me as narcissistic. I liked Damon up until he forced Elena to exchange blood with him by threatening to kill her little sister, thus resulting in a metaphorical rape scene that is later referenced as the night Elena “succumbed” to him. I thought Bonnie was too sensitive and Matt was a door mat. Don’t get me wrong, all the characters have redeeming qualities. I just felt their flaws outweighed their virtues, making them difficult to like. The only character I didn’t have to work at liking was Meredith whose occasional “mean girl” tendencies and biting sarcasm were eclipsed by her level-headedness and compassion.
The writing, however, held up. Simple and descriptive, spare and deliberate; every scene, sentence, and snippet of dialogue advanced the plot. There wasn’t an ounce of fat to trim. Every single word in those books needed to be there. There are precious few writers in the world who can construct such tight stories, and it’s the primary reason I loved Smith’s books.
That said, twenty pages into Nightfall I knew something was wrong. Dark Reunion, the fourth book in the series, ends on the morning of June 21, 1992, and Nightfall picks up seven days after. Yet, all of a sudden there is 2009 technology in a 1992 world. Damon carries a hand held video recorder. Stefan has a personal computer. Everyone has a cell phone and they all make video calls to each other on a regular basis. None of these devices were readily available in 1992. If they had been, the first four books would have been significantly different since many of the most frightening scenes occur because one character can’t get in touch with another.
There is nothing I hate more than authors who disregard their own timelines or world rules. I think it’s the hallmark of a lazy writer. After seething for a while, I came up with an idea that I thought might explain the sudden time shift. I went down to my local Barnes and Noble and picked up a copy of the most recent edition of The Vampire Diaries. And there it was, just as I’d suspected – the years had been removed from all the diary entries in the reissued texts. On the final page of Dark Reunion, the diary entry Bonnie writes is simply dated June 21st, instead of 6/21/92 as in my first edition paperback.
I can understand Smith and HarperCollins wanting the books to appeal to today’s teens and thinking the only way to do so is by making the books as modern as possible. But disregarding the original timeline only hurts the series. First, it makes the books inconsistent. Assuming Smith hasn’t made any major changes to the original texts, having the characters go from possessing no modern tech devices in the first four books to having tons, is jarring. It changes the tone and alters the 
intensity of the dangers the characters face. Second, assuming that YA readers won’t read anything that isn’t set in the present is absurd and shows a marked lack of faith in young readers. If they can suspend disbelief long enough to accept that vampires walk freely among us, surely they can acknowledge a time when cell phones and the internet were not part of everyday life. Young readers can be drawn into a well written story even if it doesn’t take place in the present. I don’t see anyone rushing to modernize Little Women, The Secret Garden, or The Outsiders, and I’m pretty sure those books remain popular. Third, it totally disregards their other target demographic, pre-existing fans of the series; those of us who are already invested in the story and already familiar with the timeline. Making such a dramatic changes disregards the continuity of the series and the intelligence of the readers.
Though that was the first, unfortunately it was not the only problem I had with Nightfall. At 592 pages, Nightfall is a bloated novel. Though Smith has always written epic fiction, none of her previous books contained so much unnecessary material. There are entire scenes that do nothing to advance the plot, reveal character, or add depth to relationships. For instance, the first half of the book contains multiple love scenes between Elena and Stefan that reveal nothing the reader doesn’t already know. They serve no purpose other than to bog down the narrative. There is lots of unnecessary dialogue and redundant description, both of which are very uncharacteristic of Smith. I figure she could have cut a good 250 pages without sacrificing anything essential. The deliberate plotting, tight prose, and good pacing I’ve come to expect from her are completely absent here.
The story itself is simple – seven days after returning from the dead Elena Gilbert has forgotten everything she ever knew. She can’t talk, write, and can barely walk. She doesn’t recognize her friends and is completely reliant on Stefan. Elena’s return super-charged the already mystically saturated Fell’s Church, turning the town into a beacon of power that can be sensed by supernaturals across the globe. New beings with bad intentions begin flocking to Fell’s Church. When a handful of pre-teen girls start making uncharacteristically bold sexual advances on the men in town, Bonnie, Matt, and Meredith know something’s up and enlist the help of Stefan, Damon, and Elena to get to the bottom of it.
A number of things have changed in YA literature since Smith’s last novel hit the shelves. It is now acceptable to openly address matters like sex, pregnancy, and sexual orientation. It’s more acceptable for teenage characters to curse. Topics that had to be tip toed around back in 1992 are now fair game, and Smith does her best to throw each and every one of them into Nightfall. Characters who never so much as uttered the word “darn” in previous books shout “hell,” “slut,” and “bullshit” in Nightfall. Though the words themselves are not particularly shocking, they are out of character for the kids using them.
Sex plays a key role in Nightfall. There are several scenes in which barely dressed pre-pubescent girls proposition Matt while rubbing suggestively against him. These graphic scenes leave the reader feeling so dirty, showering at the end of each chapter is well advised. In the first four books the act of exchanging blood is used as a metaphor for sexual intercourse. In Nightfall, the metaphor is made blatant when it is explained that vampires don’t actually have sex because bloodlust takes the place of sexual desire. This was hinted at in the previous books, but by refraining from stating it outright Smith allowed the reader the choice of taking the metaphor at face value or imagining that there was more to the act than what was being stated outright. Over-clarifying the metaphor not only robs Damon and Stefan of their sex appeal, but it robs the reader of their fantasies. Before, a reader could imagine Damon or Stefan having sexy fun time with Elena. Now, that option is off the table. It removes the idea of consensual sexual intercourse within a committed relationship from the story, replacing it with the aforementioned pre-pubescent advances which ultimately paint sexuality as a dangerous thing. This marks a drastic change in tone. In the first four books tact, subtlety, and imagination were king. Controversial topics were handled delicately and that sensitivity was very attractive. It indicated a willingness on Smith’s part to trust her readers to piece together what was going on without having to be told outright. Nightfall, on the other hand, is all about getting in your face. The garish sexual displays and over-explanations rob the series of its sensuality.
Many readers and reviewers have stated that Smith tossed all the character development she built in the first half of the series out the window in Nightfall. I wouldn’t go that far. Nightfall contains plenty of solid character development that’s in line with the previous books. Take Matt for example. In Nightfall he finally gets sick of being a push over and begins standing up for himself. Bonnie is still determined to be brave in the face of danger, and we get to witness her failures and successes. Elena sacrificed her life in The Fury, and played guardian angel to her friends in Dark Reunion. Since she spent four volumes becoming a better person, it makes sense that she would return to Earth as a living angel, at least temporarily.
But there are a number of irregularities, and some character back-tracking. For example, at the end of Dark Reunion it’s indicated that consummate villainess, Caroline, is on her way to mending her rift with Elena, Bonnie, and Meredith. Yet, Nightfall opens with Caroline making a deal with a demon to “get back” at Elena. Her motivation is skimpy at best. On page 10, Caroline explains “I’m just so tired of hearing about Elena this, and Stefan that…and now it’s going to start all over.” But, for all intents and purposes Elena is still dead. The only people who know or can know she is alive are the people who saw her materialize in the woods. Since no one can know she is alive, Elena can’t over shadow Caroline the way she used to, therefore Caroline doesn’t have anything to fear and her sudden shift back to mega-bitch makes no sense.
Damon’s struggle to come to terms with his noble side continues in Nightfall. We see him show concern not just for Elena, but Bonnie, Meredith, and even Caroline, referring to them collectively has “his girls.” We see him save Bonnie from certain death more than once, not because anyone forced him to, but because he wants to. The only problematic aspect of his character arch is his sudden decision to actively start pursuing Elena again even though he seemed to have given up the quest and accepted her love for Stefan by the beginning of The Fury.
Both Caroline’s and Damon’s decisions to go after Elena are instances in which Smith sacrificed character continuity in the name of plot. Rather than allowing her villains the redemption they were well on their way to earning in Dark Reunion, she turns them back into “bad guys” to keep things interesting. This is what readers are railing against when they go on about the demolition of character in Nightfall. These particular choices feel forced and are not in line with the character development that took place in the original books.
Overall, Nightfall was a let down. I wanted to adore this book the way I adored its predecessors, but the choppy prose, changes in tone, and disregard for the original timeline prevented me from doing so. I could have accepted everything else if only the writing and continuity held up. Fans across the Web are hailing this book as the worst in the series. Even Smith herself admits Nightfall is not her best novel. I hope Smith will take in the criticisms and listen to what her fans are trying to tell her. The bad reviews aren’t meant to insult. They are the pleas of frustrated fans trying to remind Smith why they loved her work to begin with, and hoping she will bring wayward elements back in line with the original text as the series progresses.
Key to Conflict by Talia Gryphon
Key to Conflict is a good idea that suffers from poor execution.
Gillian Key is a paramortal psychologist. In a world where humans exist along side supernatural beings, including vampires, werewolves, fairies and elves, it is Gillian’s job to provide them with the same caliber of mental health care available to humans. Also a gifted empath, Gillian is able to receive feelings from and project feelings to the living and the dead, a rare talent that puts her at the top of her profession. Not only that, but she is a retired Marine Special Forces operative.
The books opens as Gillian makes her way to Romania, having been sent to provide short-term therapy to both vampire Count Aleksei Rachlav, and a local ghost Dante Montefiore who has been terrorizing the inhabitants of a nearby castle. But Gillian’s legitimate role as therapist is also her cover. As an undercover field operative she has been charged with the task of pumping Aleksei and Dante for information about a rumored vampiric uprising led by the legendary Count Dracula.
Key to Conflict presented me with a heroine I wanted to read about in a situation I was interested in watching her navigate. However, a decent premise is all the book has to offer.
It’s full of mistakes you’d expect from a beginning writer, the most glaring of which is Gryphon’s complete dismissal of the classic writing axiom ”Show, don’t tell.” Rather than draw readers in through carefully constructed scenes played out by dynamic characters, she “tells” her readers what is going on instead of allowing them to watch the story as it unfolds. This distances them from the material and prevents readers from really getting into the story.
Similarly, her idea of character development is to list all the positive and negative qualities she claims her characters possess rather than allowing readers to see them display these qualities through their actions. There is often a huge disconnect between the qualities she says her characters possess and the qualities she actually shows her characters to possess.
For instance, Gillian is supposed to be a fearless Marine, yet, when in danger she is more apt to run, hide, or look for a nice man to save her. She is supposed to be a highly decorated Captain, yet she fouls up every plan of attack she attempts. As a therapist, she shows a remarkable talent for leaving her patients worse off than they were when they came to her. Gillian is supposed to be a strong, independent , modern woman, but what Gryphon gives us is a helplessly dependent, petulant brat who constantly complains about how no thinks she can take care of herself, even though she never does anything to prove she can.
It isn’t just the constant ”telling” and lack of character development that mark Key to Conflict as the work of a novice. The text is full of run on sentences, unnecessary dialogue, unnecessary repetition, and grammatical errors, all of which cause the story to drag. The main plot involving Count Dracula’s coup lacks urgency and does not come across as particularly dire. Gryphon seems to think the only time it is appropriate to insert an actual scene into the story is when something of a romantic or sexual nature occurs. Don’t get me wrong, romance has its place, but a book that’s nothing more than overly explanatory narrative injected with the occasional sex scene wears thin very fast.
Essentially, Key to Conflict is a starter novel; the one a new writer works on for years that ultimately ends up collecting dust at the bottom of their desk drawer because no one will, or should, publish it. I’m actually astounded this book made it into print. Written by an author lacking in both technique and story telling ability I am confounded there is an editor on the planet who thought this work worthy of mass production. Though, it does give struggling novelists hope. After all, if Talia Gryphon can get published, anyone can.
Best and Worst of 2008
Just because I only posted three book reviews during 2008 (and two of those were written within the last five days so they don’t count,) doesn’t mean I haven’t been reading. I read 81 books this year, the most I’ve consumed since I started this blog back in 2006. However, writing about reading has taken a back seat over the last last twelve months as I’ve focused my attention on my own creative writing projects.
I know it is cliche to say a book changed your life, but in my case, Ariel Gore’s How to Become a Famous Writer Before You’re Dead, actually did. In the review I wrote back in August 2007, I said the book had motivated me to generate my first literary essay in years. It also motivated me to start writing poetry again even though, at the time, I hadn’t written so much as a stanza in over three years.
I spent the next seven months generating new poems and revising old ones. When I felt I’d accumulated enough decent material I started submitting to literary magazines, and, to my great surprise, I began getting acceptance letters. My first poem was published in April, my most recent was published two weeks ago. By the end of the year I will have had ten poems published in seven different online and print literary magazines.
I started writing short stories when I was ten, poetry when I was fourteen. For the last twenty years all I’ve wanted was to see my work in print, and now I have. I am very happy. My mom can’t stop bragging about me to her friends, and my friends can’t stop bragging about me to each other. Each success has pushed me to work harder and write more, which is why this blog has been languishing.
I hope to revive it though. You see, the more I write, the more I want to read, and I have been devouring books at a pace that would make a Nascar racer sit up and take notice. There’s a reason for that. This year, I discovered genre fiction and, by extension, re-discovered the mass market paperback.
All my life I’ve been something of a book snob. Ever since I out grew YA fiction back in junior high I’ve turned my nose up at genre fiction, buying into the view that it’s nothing but fluff written by substandard writers. However, having grown bored with the three primary tropes featured in most literary fiction (working out the mommy/daddy issues, surviving marriage, and dealing with death), I decided I needed to expand my horizons. Having always been a fan of fantasy films, I figured I might like fantasy literature if I gave it a chance.
I discovered that the fantasy genre is home to a number of talented writers and story tellers. I found that I tend to favor urban fantasy, so the books included in this years list will be heavily slanted in that direction. After developing a taste for fantasy, I decided to give science fiction a shot, then romance. I have yet to move on to horror or mystery and suspense, but I’m getting there. As such, you’ll notice most of the books on this years best and worst list fall into the genre category.
The only reason I’ve been able to read as many books as I have this year is because I’ve read almost nothing but genre fiction for the last six months, and genre fiction tends to come in the mass market paperback format. Not only are they shorter than your average piece of literary fiction, but they cost less as a result, something my aching bank account was thrilled to remember. I can purchase five genre books for under fifty bucks where the same amount of cash might get me three literary novels if I’m lucky, and with the economy the way it is that is a definite selling point.
Enough of my blathering. I’ve offered up my excuse for not keeping up this blog, now it’s time to tick off the best and worst books of 2008. As usual, the lists consist of books I read this year, not necessarily ones that were published this year.
The Best:
1) Landing by Emma Donoghue – With characteristic sensitivity and compassion, Donoghue writes about the pleasures and pitfalls of long distance romance in this effecting love story. In vivid prose, she paints a picture of two women struggling to reconcile conflicting desires; to maintain order in their lives on one hand, and to find a way to be physically together on the other.
2) The Year of Ice by Brian Malloy – Brian Malloy excels at creating characters with tons of faults who still manage to elicit an equal amount of sympathy from the reader. Last year, Malloy’s second novel Brendan Wolf was number two on my “Best of” list. His first novel, The Year of Ice, delivers a similarly compelling protagonist in Kevin Doyle, a high school senior struggling to come to terms with his mother’s death, his father’s infidelity, and his own sexual orientation. A rich and highly moving read.
3) Bitten by Kelley Armstrong – Like The Year of Ice, Bitten, the first book in Armstrong’s Women of the Otherworld series, is a story about self-acceptance, albeit with a fantastical twist. Turned into a werewolf by her former fiance, Elena Michaels spends years trying to deny her wolf nature. She cuts ties with her pack and attempts to live a normal human life in Toronto. When an emergency calls Elena back to her pack, she is forced to deal with the family she left behind and parts of her personality she would rather ignore. Elena is a fully realized character, one who is easy to like and even easier to root for. Armstrong delivers a tale full of murder, mayhem, romance, and excitement that manages to evoke thrills while simultaneously provoking thought.
4) Keeping it Real by Justina Robson – Book one of Robson’s Quantum Gravity series is a delightful mix of fantasy and sci-fi. When a hole is torn in the fabric of the universe that separates the various dimensions of existence, inhabitants of the Earth-like Otopia must learn to live with elves, demons, and elementals. Enter Lila Black, a government commissioned cyborg who is charged with the task of protecting one of the most successful rock and roll musicians in the universe. Full of action, adventure, political intrigue, and tons of humor, Keeping it Real pokes fun at just about every sci-fi/fantasy convention imaginable, making it an incredibly fun read.
5) Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder – I have never been a fan of romance novels, but this one showed me that, when done well, they can be breathtaking. The story revolves around Yelena, a nineteen year old girl condemned to death for murdering her guardian. When offered the chance to avoid death by becoming the Commander’s food taster instead, she jumps at the opportunity, and leads the reader through a story of political unrest and constant suspicion. Snyder must be applauded for giving us a fully developed, well-paced, and completely earned romance, one that is both satisfying and essential to the plot.
The Worst:
1) American Youth by Phil Lamarche – This is one of those “coming-of-age” novels praised for the realism with which it portrays today’s teens. Books in this vein often depict kids doing drugs, getting drunk, having sex, and engaging in all manner of self-destructive behavior that is so over the top it’s hard to believe anyone could honestly view them as ”realistic.” Set against the backdrop of an economically depressed town dealing with the aftermath of a teen shooting incident, this dull story serves up nothing but flat characters and a far too pessimistic opinion of American youth.
2) Conversations with the Devil by Jeff Rovin – My big problem with Conversations with the Devil was that Rovin lost the plot half way through the book. When Frederic, on of psychologist Sarah Lynch’s teenage patients, suddenly commits suicide she is determined to figure out why. After discovering Frederic was a closet Satanist Sarah decides to conduct a ritual to find out what happened to his soul after death. When the Devil himself answers her call Sarah kind of forgets why she raised him to begin with and spends the rest of the book trying to get rid of him. Having become invested in Frederic I was disappointed that Sarah never followed through on her mission to find out what happened to him. That, in addition to a cliched and anti-climactic ending, made this a thoroughly unsatisfying read.
3) WebMage by Kelly McCullough – It’s tough to buy into the premise that magic has gone digital when the author never really bothers to explain how or why it’s possible to merge sorcery with cyberspace. In a story full of one dimensional characters, a decent hook is mandatory and McCullough left his in the tackle box.
4) Fantasy Lover by Sherrilyn Kenyon – This book had everything I’ve come to expect of a bad romance novel. Superficial characters? Check. Cringe-worthy sex scenes? Check. Simplistic prose? Check. Provokes in reader an overwhelming desire to throw the book across the room? Check.
5) Touch the Dark by Karen Chance – I love vampires, but not even a herd of them could save the first book in Chance’s Cassandra Palmer series. In Touch the Dark, Cassandra petitions the vampire senate to protect her from the vampire mob. Cool premise. But, far from being the kick-ass urban fantasy heroine the cover blurbs claim her to be, Cassandra Palmer is little more than your stereotypical blond bombshell who spends all her time running, hiding, and letting the men in her life protect her. That is, when they aren’t busy trying to get her into the sack. If I hadn’t been so invested in the hero, Mircea – a far more compelling character than Cassie – I would have never continued on to the second book. To be fair, book two, Claimed by Shadow, is better than Touch the Dark, and book three, Embrace the Night, is even better than book two. However, if you want to read about a REAL kick-ass heroine, try book one of Chance’s Dorina Basarab series, Midnight’s Daughter.
Landing by Emma Donoghue
In Emma Donoghue’s fifth novel, Landing, “Love isn’t a problem, geography is.” So says Jude Turner, a twenty-five year old museum curator who has spent her entire life in the small town of Ireland, Ontario, population six hundred. The love she’s referring to is Sile O’Shuanessey, a thirty-nine year old flight attendant whose roots are in Dublin, Ireland. After meeting on a trans-Atlantic flight neither woman can get the other out of her head, and they start up a flirty correspondence that slowly blooms into full blown love.
Jude and Sile appear to be total opposites. Jude is young, androgynous, loathes technology, adores small town life, and has a great respect for history. Sile is older, feminine, tech-savvy, well traveled, and loves urban living. But scratch the surface and you find both women are stuck in ruts dug by the repetitious natures of their respective lifestyles. Jude finds herself hanging around with the same people she did in high school, engaging in the same activities day in and day out, while Sile spends her days stuck in an airplane dealing with the same moody passengers flight after flight. It’s the stone of their long-distance relationship that disrupts their routines, sending ripples through every aspect of their lives.
The long distance relationship itself isn’t just the cause of each woman’s internal struggle, but an external depiction of it. It allows both women the emotional benefits of commitment without any of the inconveniences. There’s no fighting over where to eat dinner Friday night; no having to play referee to the lover and best friend who can’t stand each other. Both Jude and Sile are able to continue living their lives without significant interruption. But as their relationship turns serious, Jude and Sile begin to view the arrangement in a negative light. When the two meet up in New York for a weekend together, rather than look forward to the three days they have with 
each other, each sunrise and sunset only reminds them that they will have to part again. On page 196 Sile’s best friend Jael observes that the long distance relationship ”Sounds like all the hassle of being in a couple, and none of the pleasure.” Still stubbornly attached to their home towns, however, neither Sile nor Jude is willing to make any compromise that will require major change in their lives. When the strain of maintaining separate lives becomes to much for the relationship to bear Jude and Sile must decide whether to remain chained to the past and rooted in routine, or to risk taking flight and seeing where their relationship lands.
I am a big fan of Emma Donoghue, and as with all of my favorite authors, she consistently produces work that is rich in themes worthy of examination. One could write a critical essay on the how the arbitrary constructs of “time” and “place” work in the novel. Or ask what is it that physically and emotionally anchors us to specific locations? Donoghue returns to the idea of taking flight and eventually landing throughout the novel, and how the two seemingly opposing actions often overlap and mimic each other.
While it would have been easy for Sile and Jude to come across as cliches, the consummate city mouse and country mouse, Donoghue gives them depth and individuality. Jude has a strong sense of self that allows her to be open about her fluid sexuality even in a town where everyone knows everyone elses business, and Sile is incredibly kind and nurturing despite a fast paced jet-setter lifestyle that often forces her to deal with highly demanding individuals. The women have enough in common that it’s easy to understand why they like each other, and are in just enough disagreement for the reader to understand what is keeping them apart.
Falling in love is like taking to the air. There’s the soaring, butterflies in the stomach feel of the honeymoon period that must eventually give way to the apprehensive, stomach-in-your-throat feeling brought on by the realization that what goes up must come down. With her trademark compassion and sensitivity, Donoghue has crafted a satisfying read about the risks of falling and the rewards of landing.
