Miss Juju Rex ([info]juju_recs) wrote,
@ 2007-12-31 02:28:00
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in which our heroine battles dragons, rescues a princess and is back in time for tea. or, 3 reviews!

Look! I am not dead, nor have I been spirited away by a rakish prince to be a slave girl on his barge, only to make him fall madly in love with me and take me to be his wife. No, instead I have spent the last couple of months dedicating myself wholly to literature; during November, I participated in NaNoWriMo (because I am a NaNoWriMasochist), and consequently did not read a word that was not my own. Naturally, I’ve spent December making up for lost time. Most days, one can find me locked up in my room, slopping tea all over the couch and yelling unintelligible things at the pages. Now and then my parents will summon me to dinner, and I will reply in my best icy Garbo fashion, “I vant to be alone.” Then I ruin it all by adding, “With my books! I require no other sustenance!” and giggling happily.

 

My behaviour is perfectly understandable when you consider how I was deprived during November, which was spent trying to write a book rather than reading one. So as to avoid temptation, I strictly forbid myself to go near any bookstores, and this made me unhappy and on edge. Finally I thought that, if I could not have books, then I would at least have book talk. What was a desperate woman to do? I summoned the school’s book club and demanded discussions.

 

Don’t tell me you’re surprised – of course I’ve started a book club! We meet whenever we care to, which is about once a month, and drink tea and eat scones. Now and then, we chat about books and sexy communists and books about sexy communists. Unsurprisingly, I love my book club and secretly refer to us as the Bluestockings. (Secretly, because once I said it out loud and was cruelly laughed at.) 





Comforted by the discussions, I told myself that once NaNoWriMo was over, I was free to hurry to the bookstore and shop like a wealthy librarian on speed. (Do tell me if you want to see the list of their recommendations, by the way, because it is in my possession! You see, due to a freak accident involving strawberry jam and a complete lack of common sense, I became last meeting’s secretary. Needless to say, this caused unnecessary confusion and anxiety). I deserved a reward for, er, voluntarily writing fifty thousand words in the middle of a writer’s block, does this, it doesn’t sound flawed at all, my reasoning, does it? Good, because I needed those books.

 

But first I desperately needed a pen shaped like a reindeer. I bought one and named him Mr Deercy, for that is my way, and he stood by me during those last two days. Mr Deercy was a shoulder to lean on! Not that he has much in the way of shoulders, of course, but he wrote encouraging remarks in my notebook, let me use his Amazing Reindeer Powers and, when I was bored to tears with my story and just wanted to go to bed now please, he performed an interpretive dance set to the music of his homeland.


Paul McCartney, you were wrong. Money can buy you love!


So when the month was over, Mr Deercy and I went to the bookstore, where we made a spectacle of ourselves. There were so many titles that I didn’t know where to begin! I was in agony and Mr Deercy was for once not helpful, seeing as he was dozing in my handbag. Finally, I thought to myself, “Baby, what about urban fantasy? It’s what you’ve been writing for a month. In fact, it’s what you usually write.”

 

Surprised, I realised that I was having An Insight. Something about cities fascinate me endlessly – maybe it’s because they are familiar; maybe it’s because they are full of people and possibilities; maybe it’s because they have a tendency to develop personalities of their own. I’m not sure. All I know is that I thought Ulysses was a gripping read and that last time I tried to write a lovely subversive fantasy story set in the highlands, it did not go well.

 

Most of the story was planned out by the time I’d decided to start writing. I was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a list of my main characters and a friend was at the computer, typing. All that was left was getting into the mood, so I put on a record of lively (yet tragic!) folk music, lit some incense and commenced the Journey Into My Mind.

 

My mind is a disappointing place. Though I managed to find a deep lake and a pink sky, the rest of the landscape completely evaded me. When my hero was about to feel awed by the majesty of nature, I blinked my eyes open only to become aware of the fact that my tea was cold, and also that my friend had emerged from the depths of my dimly lit chambers to give me nervous looks and say, “I’m, I am going to get coffee now. From the coffee pot? Which is, it’s behind you. So… please don’t bite my ankles when I pass by, it could be catching.” After that, I ditched my story in favour of undines in the water tank. In conclusion, I love nature and I love reading and writing about nature – but I am a city girl at heart.

 

“So, urban fantasy it is,” I said to myself, and began an exciting search to the tune of that Mission Impossible theme song.

 

Twenty minutes of scanning the bookshelves later, some things were brought to my attention. Did you know that there are practically no faeries in London? There are rat people in London, and plenty of djinn, but no faeries. This is because most faeries live in New York. I’m cool with that, because I like New York and I also like faeries. So when a book promises me two troubled brothers, elves, monsters in Central Park, a fabulous vampire on the Upper East Side and, I quote, “a troll under the Brooklyn Bridge”, what can I say?

 

Answer: “Please take all my money.”

 

Nightlife by Rob Thurman

 

Caliban Leandros’ father is a monster. By monster I don’t mean a strangely alluring creature of the night, but a frightening, perfectly inhuman thing who would never even dream of taking the kids on a fishing trip. Caliban’s father is not remotely attractive, unless of course you like your men with razor-sharp claws, shining red eyes, huge fangs and an unholy thirst for death and mayhem. (In which case I do not judge, but will sit and worry about you from afar.) He paid Caliban’s mother, fake psychic and raving alcoholic Sofia, a large sum of money to impregnate her (because, let’s face it, if it’s really the inside that counts, he’s in great trouble) and for obvious reasons, mummy and daddy separated after that brief and terrible liaison. (Imagine what family life would be like with a murderous monster, she’d never get the bloodstains out of the carpet, and what would she tell the neighbours when he disembowelled the children’s softball team, it would be enough to drive anyone to drink even more.) So Cal and his half-brother Niko live with Sofia, patiently saving money and dreaming of one day getting away. But then daddy shows up to take over custody. When Cal returns to Niko two days later, he is snarling, savage and has aged two years. Obviously Cal’s been on the worst father-son road trip ever and, anxious to avoid a repeat, Cal and Niko run and keep running.

 

When we encounter the brothers, they are hiding in New York, city of millions. Cal cleans at a seedy bar, Niko teaches people in the ninja ways and works as a bodyguard, and life is looking up. And then the monsters find them. Should they run again? Or should they find out what the monsters are planning before it’s too late?

 

First, allow me to say this: I actually liked this book. I need to mention this now, because I have a history of being tragically misunderstood. And I know that this is so because I have had many conversations in which Person A has said to me, “Oh Juju, but you hated that book/film/thing with tentacles that made a noise when you squeezed its tummy!”, and I’ve been like, “No, you’ve got it all wrong, I liked that book/film, and I own one of those squeezy tentacle things!” And then Person B has shown up and said, “Is there any food?”

 

The problem is that I want to love everything. When I pick up a book or watch a film or try something new, I’m fully expecting to give away half the kingdom and all of my heart, and when I love or really like something, I want to share it with the world. I do the whole thing with the reverent tones and the singing of praises and the bulging eyes, and people react differently to this. Some find it off-putting. Others are vaguely entertained. Very many say, in tones of deep disgust, “You just got spittle on my arm.” But when I just like something, I need to find out why exactly I didn’t love it, and then I talk about flaws and weaknesses and Things that Could Have Been until I sound as if I have a dark and shrivelled soul and torture baby animals in the basement. Only this week, I’ve had to carefully explain my views on two very different topics (“I thought Special Topics in Calamity Physics was a fun read and I do not hate white wine, calumny all!”). For that reason, I thought I should begin by listing all the things I liked about Nightlife! And there were many.

 

The story is told in the first person, from the point of view of teenager and half-monster, Cal. Cal is tough, smart and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, and Nightlife as a book is fast-paced and exciting. I also happen to be of the firm opinion that secondary character Robin Goodfellow should win some sort of award. (Apparently, Homer could drink anyone under the table, and Sappho? Could party like it was AD 99. I am not surprised.) At the same time, the author deals with issues like identity and family, and the relationship between Cal and Niko is touching and believable.

 

Another plus is that the monsters are genuinely scary. Cal and Niko refer to them as Grendels, though actually they are elves or Fae, usually referred to as Auphe in the books. Universally feared, the Auphe revel in murder and destruction, live in a cold hell and speak a language that sounds like consonants being put through a meat grinder. You are not likely to find these merry fellows traipsing across a meadow, because they will be too busy chewing merrily on your entrails. Thurman has reinvented the traditional fantasy elf by giving Legolas fangs, anorexia, a bad hair day and some serious attitude problems.

 

That having been said, there were some things that made me like rather than love this book.

 

This is a debut novel, I think, and it shows partly in that the writing is a bit uneven. It’s a matter of taste, I know, but personally I’m always wary of things like “his eyes were frozen grey lakes of mistrust” or “I went out into a night as black as my soul”. Also, for reasons I will not enter into for the sake of the plot, the second half of the book is rather repetitive. There are only so many times you can do the whole “I should know about monsters – I AM ONE” and “I will tell you about the MASTER PLAN AHAHA!”

 

Characters such as adorable red-headed psychic Georgina and femme fatale (literally) Promise hardly get any screen time. More importantly, though, I felt that there wasn’t enough Niko. Stony-faced ninjas are all well and good, and I do like me a man with a vast vocabulary, but I wanted to get just a bit closer. At the moment, he feels a bit like one of those men in the movies, you know? The one with the billowing black coat who appears unexpectedly from the shadows, accompanied by a cool signature melody. All his women have gorgeous legs and smoke cigarettes, purring, “I could never get past his icy exterior. I cared for him, but I did not know him. Except… he loved healthy food. Carrots, you know? And seaweed.” Personally, I would have liked to see some of the story told from Niko’s point of view.

 

Finally, while I liked this book, I put it away feeling slightly disappointed. But this was not Nightlife’s fault! Nightlife and I had a good time. We shared a banana split and did each other’s hair! No, it was because my expectations, they were like the Himalayas. I mean, this is exactly the type of story I should adore. It focuses on a platonic relationship, it brings up themes like identity, friendship and loyalty, it has monsters, and of course a city… It’s also kind of exactly like Supernatural, only we will not mention my Supernatural crush or I’ll be ill-spoken of in the village. (Now that I think about it, Nightlife also happens to be eerily reminiscent of a story I wrote a while back, which was set in London and featured two troubled half-brothers, one zombie dad and Battersea By Night. See? Exactly my thing.) I thought I would love it in the singing-praises-reverent-spittle way, and I didn’t, and that confused me. Still, though, if you’re in the mood for a fun, exciting read, then look no further. Here there be monsters.

 

 Having bought and read Nightlife, I realised that I still had some money left and began my quest for an anthology. Why an anthology, you may ask? Hello, lots of stories for a trifling sum! You are right in thinking that I am the Ebenezer Scrooge of bookshopping. Should I find an anthology that offers me five hundred pages of faeries for almost no money at all, then what do you think my reaction would be?

 

Answer: “I don’t think you’ve taken all my money yet. Here is the rest!”

 

The Faery Reel, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling

 

Some anthologies can be a bit uneven, but that was not a problem here. In fact, if I have a problem with The Faery Reel, it’s that I can’t list all my favourite stories, because I loved nearly all of them. With spittle! The Faery Reel is a wonderful collection of stories, songs and poems, with a wonderfully consistent high quality. It features works such as Neil Gaiman’s lovely poem The Faery Reel, Patricia McKillip’s Undine (in which a seductress of the sea becomes an environmental activist) and Kelly Link’s The Faery Handbag (in which it is proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that a handbag is a woman’s best friend). While the general subject is faeries, the authors have chosen to look at different myths and legends, and tackle different themes.

 

There is also a geographical spread: here you’ll find stories set in New York, Japan, even in Never-Never Land (oh my darling cricket-playing James Hook, I like your curls!). Why not take a road trip through Australia’s outback with Bill Congreve in The Shooter at the Heartrock Waterhole, or get tanned at the Brazilian seaside with Katherine Vaz in the beautiful Your Garnet Eyes? Or if you prefer the Philippines, what about The Night Market by fantabulous faerie queen Holly Black?

 

I had a great time reading this anthology and at the moment it is lying on my bedroom table, where it does not rest easily. I do, though, especially after having picked it up again and reread a story. Why not do the same? Maybe you will start seeing faeries. They’re notoriously difficult to get rid of, but I wouldn’t worry too much. You won’t want to get rid of these faeries.

 

The Faery Reel, a couple of pies and some birthdays later, I realised, aghast, that I had no money left. This was a blow to me. More reading had to be done! After all, I had missed out on an entire month of it. Mr Deercy agreed with me. “But darling,” I told him, “if I buy more books, you and I will have to go begging on the streets. I shall be forced to work as a call girl and you’ll be a, a rent…rentdeer? Why, the mere thought is unbearable!”

 

It was at this point I imagine Mr Deercy must have rolled his eyes and said, “I am made of plastic, and still I’m the brains in the gang. Go to the library!” Being the muscle in the gang, I did as I was told.

 

Not that I had any idea what kind of book I was after, exactly. After a while, I just grabbed a couple of classics and some plays, shoved them into a friend’s arms and said, “Just one more…”

 

You know how sometimes a certain book seems to beckon to you? The title catches your eye, the cover shines with a pure light, the artistically ripped pages seem to whisper your name. This was what happened to me. “Dear me,” I said, “what a long title! And what a nice cover. Those artistically ripped pages almost seem to, to whisper…” I placed The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, on the top of the tottering pile of books.

 

Picking up Octavian Nothing, I had no idea what to expect; the summary on the back was vague, I didn’t know which genre it was, and I had never even heard of the author before. Luckily, I was pleasantly surprised. In fact, I lost my heart, half the kingdom and the ceremonial headgear to this book, and I learned a valuable lesson in the process.

 

Sometimes, it’s all right to judge a book by its cover.

  

The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Vol. 1: The Pox Party by M.T. Anderson

 

In a gaunt old house isolated from the rest of the town, live the young boy Octavian and his mother, the exiled princess Cassiopeia. They are surrounded by scientists and scholars who provide Octavian with everything from fine clothes to an excellent education, but gradually he begins to question his role in their experiments. And he comes to a chilling realisation.

 

Descriptions like “stunningly original” and “gorgeous writing” are overused, I know, (in the context of “my, but this daring sculpture of a canary balancing a cactus on its head is stunningly original!” rather than “gosh, Juju, this essay of yours is stunningly original and gorgeously written!”). However, I can safely say that Octavian Nothing really is stunningly original – and the writing is gorgeous. I’ve certainly never encountered anything like it before, and I often felt I had to reread a page or a passage because of the pretty words. At times, however, this was impossible, because I was too busy biting my nails and crying, “Octavian my darling, everything will be all right!”

 

In the beginning, the author deliberately makes it unclear where and when the story takes place, so that as Octavian unravels the secret of his identity and purpose, so do we, the readers. Not that this is a mystery story, mind you; I am sure it’s just as enjoyable if you read it knowing perfectly well what will happen. Octavian’s story will shock and horrify you, and make you sniffle into your sleeve! I know I did. As I put this book away, my sleeve had a noticeable wet dark patch.

 

By the way, I have begun hunting for some of your recommendations! Yes, hunting. Please imagine me fully armed and clad in camouflage, creeping stealthily through the bookshop with a pair of binoculars at the ready. A gang of policemen is standing outside, yelling at me through a megaphone to come to my senses and not do anything drastic. “I’m coming,” I reply anxiously. “I just have to find Temeraire by Naomi Novik, Sir Apropos of Nothing by Peter David, Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh, Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay and something by Patricia McKillip!”

 

At this point, the policemen decide they can’t bother to wait around anymore and go to a nearby café for lattes and pies.

 

Sweet pies, in case anyone was wondering.

 



(7 comments) - (Post a new comment)


[info]jacobford
2007-12-31 03:16 am UTC (link)
Whoa! You're back! I'm so happy you're posting I'm not even going to complain about your uber-long post taking up so much space on my fpage--'sides, let's face it, most of my friends don't post much anyway, and certainly not anything interesting about books, so forget the fpage. Bah!

Buuuuttt...urban fantasy, urban fantasy...I wish I could rec some urban fantasy. I really do. But I haven't actually read much urban fantasy, so no luck. You've already read China Mieville, right? And you're reading Scott Lynch. And really, that's as much as I've read. Although Tad Williams' The War of the Flowers MIGHT be urban fantasy. Urban fantasy-ish, maybe. Dunno; haven't read it in years, and I only just bought a copy on sale somewhere and haven't had a chance to read it again yet...but it DOES have faeries in it.

Also, I didn't try NaNoWriMo this year, mostly because I've never lasted more than 3,000 words in previous years. 'Sides, I had to focus my energy on book-buying, y'know! The final official end-of-year total comes to slightly less than 200 books (not counting some of the books I just ordered off BarnesandNoble.com from the post-holiday sale because those won't arrive until January anyway), which is a nice little number to reach. So I bought 200 books in 2007. Guess I'll have to spend 2008 actually READING them. GAH.

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[info]juju_recs
2008-01-02 06:35 pm UTC (link)
Oh my GOSH, I am sorry and red-faced! I got a bit carried away and didn't even realise I had created The Post That Ate The Friends Page (And Then Moved On To Tokyo). Note to self: in the future, remember that lj-cut is your friend! Or babble LESS.

I read The War of the Flowers a while ago, and as I recall I quite liked it. Exotic other world! Evil children (or at least one evil child)! Though I didn't really fall in love with Williams' faeries, the book was definitely nail-bitingly exciting. (Only, there was one faerie that claimed my heart! Sadly I can't seem to remember his name. He showed up in one scene and was rich and obnoxious, then did something terribly heroic off-screen. My nameless love, I think of you fondly.)

I've done NaNoWriMo for a while now -- four or five times, I think -- and each year I spiral deeper into madness. It would do me a world of good if I stopped and focused on book-buying, too, because 200 BOOKS! That's so, oh, 200! Envy, you know, and, and speechlessness.

(By the way, I've just started reading Temeraire now and it's excellent. Thanks for telling me about it!)

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[info]baeraad
2008-01-01 07:17 pm UTC (link)
Ahhhhh, I figured there must be a good reason for why we were deprived of your wit and wisdom for so long. Good to see you here again. :D

I hear you about stories that take place in the wilderness - I can't seem to write those either (mind you, I genuinely don't like the wilderness. It's cold. It's dirty. There's bugs. Give me a nice air-conditioned room any day. =]). My stories (and the kind of stories I like to read) tend to take place in sort-of-medieval cities.

I agree about places having personality, and I would further add that stationary characters have more context than ones that are always on the move. They have homes and maybe jobs, they have friends and acquaintances, they have places where they like to hang out, they have resources and connections... you can just generally do more with a character if they've had some time to get comfortable with their surroundings.

Out of curiosity, which Communists are considered sexy? =]

Oh, and thank you - I laughed for quite some time at Mr Deercy. :D

I did get the impression that you didn't like Special Topics in Calamity Physics, I must admit... ^_^; On the other hand, I did get that you liked Jean Brodie, and I agree, it's a marvelous book. :D

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[info]juju_recs
2008-01-03 11:14 pm UTC (link)
Oh, I love taking long walks in the wood and admiring beautiful landscapes and lakes – as long as I can relax in my air-conditioned chambers at the end of the day. Bugs, sudden showers of rain, mud: these things do not agree with me! I was not a woman made for living in the wild -- after a day or so, I would lose my glasses, blunder into a hedge, get branches stuck in my hair and go insane trying to get them all out.

Though I haven't encountered him myself, it's rumoured that the communist in Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin is red hot, pun intended. Apparently, the girls are crazy about him! Don't ask me why, I think the girls have no taste, anyone can see that Mr Deercy is the most eligible bachelor in town! (And I do hope that you meant you laughed WITH him, or I shall be very cross.)

As to Special Topics, I didn't DISLIKE it! It WAS fun, it just happened to be a lot of other things as well. Glad to hear you liked Jean Brodie, though (because otherwise I could have been accused of Leading You Astray)! I read your wonderful review, and smiled.

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[info]baeraad
2008-01-04 07:10 pm UTC (link)
There is something to be said for long walks, admittedly... but yeah, if I tried living in the wild, I'd so get eaten by a bear. I'm not sure if we even have bears around here, but I bet you anything that if I tried living in the wild, one would emigrate here just so it could eat me. =]

Hmm, Margaret Atwood... I did like the one book I've read of her, so maybe I should look into The Blind Assassin. It might do my self-esteem some good to read about smokin' Communists, as apparently people are getting the impression that I am one. Honestly, you make one tiny rant about the evils of capitalism and people jump to the oddest conclusions... ^_^;; Hmpf. Like I'd ever want to create a Worker's Paradise. Now, a Slacker's Paradise on the other hand... =]

And I make a point of laughing exclusively with anyone who has sharp-looking horns. =]

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[info]juju_recs
2008-01-06 11:57 pm UTC (link)
Bears are tricky animals and should be feared! When I was little(r), I read a poem about bears who ate people who walked on the lines of the street, and so I grew very wary and watchful for some time. Several weeks later, I was still taking great care to hop in the squares, much to the annoyance of the parent holding my hand at the moment. But it was worth it, for I was not eaten or even attacked! Ah, childhood, a time of constant fear and worry and occasionally ice cream.

Alas! I've not yet read anything by Margaret Atwood (save some of her poetry, that is), but I've often thought I'd like to. Which book of hers did you read? OOH but, you know, I've finally gotten around to reading Wintersmith and I absolutely adored it. Really, my only reaction WAS a happy dance around the living room, because, oh, it was funny and tragic and at times Achingly beautiful (because the puns, how can I resist them, they are scantily clad and they dance for me!).

Finally, sign me (and Mr Deercy who, being an amiable man ungulate, accepts your apology) up for that Slacker's Paradise! I think it sounds like a brilliant idea and we both support it wholeheartedly.

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[info]baeraad
2008-01-07 07:20 pm UTC (link)
Yeah, you never know with those bears... =] I tend to be all in favour of them, mind, as long as they agree to leave me off the menu. There's something so restful about the way they move. It's all, "oh yeah. Being a bear here. Taking it easy. Nothing to worry about, 'cause no one's dumb enough to mess with the bear." =]

Have you read The Golden Compass by any chance? I got it for Christmas. It filled me with glee - and you can guess who my favourite character was. :D

I don't think childhood ever agreed with me. I was always so annoyed with never getting to do anything and (worse) with never understanding anything. If it's true that everyone has a true, inner age, I think mine is something like seventeen - the age of being angsty, lazy, and having a problem with authorities. I was like that when I was seven, and I'm like that now when I'm almost twenty-seven - there seems to be no shaking that mentality for me. =]

There are perks to that, of course. Being seventeen on the inside makes you really appreciate living on your own and having no one tell you what to do. Really, youth is wasted on the young. ;)

I read The Handmaid's Tale, and I have noted down my thoughts for posterity here. It was a marvelous book. It kind of gave me story ideas, though. Have you ever felt like everything is always giving you story ideas and you develop massive decision anxiety trying to figure out which ones you should spend your all-too-brief mortal lifespan writing down? ^_^;

See? Wintersmith does cause spontaneous dancing! :D I do so love that book. I love the tragedy. I love the comedy. I love Granny being a smug, manipulative genius. =]

I wonder if we can organise some form of slacker revolution? Not a violent one, of course, since that's a hassle, but perhaps some form of strike to make the corporate overlords of the world give in and admit that it's unreasonable to expect people to work overtime. It can't be that hard to convince slackers in all nations to stay home from work and watch TV for a couple of weeks - that should be their natural inclination, surely? =]

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