Last Reads of 2011, or Books #78 and #79

I finished off the last bit of the year--the busy holiday time!--with two very different reads: a classic mystery (to make up for the nonsense that was the last mystery I read), and a children's graphic novel set in Wonderland post-Alice. Here are some brief details:

Murder on the Orient Express is one of Agatha Christie's classic mystery novels starring Hercule Poirot, Belgian detective extraordinaire. Poor Monsieur Poirot, even a simple trip back home from Persia turns into a murder mystery. When one of the passengers on Poirot's carriage of the Paris-bound Orient Express is murdered, the head of the company insists Poirot investigate. The premise is even more interesting and potentially menacing giving the fact that the train becomes stuck in the snow shortly after the murder is presumed to have been committed--meaning the murderer is likely still on the train. This limited set makes for a perfect backdrop to both Poirot's deductive investigative style and Christie's wonderfully adept mystery writing.


Wonderland, originally a series of comics written by Tommy Kovac and illustrated by Sonny Liew, is the graphic novel story of Mary Ann, the White Rabbit's housemaid, and the nonsensical and head-threatening situations she and her employer get into some time after the "Monster Alice" visited Wonderland. Mary Ann is something of a neat freak, and the White Rabbit is a bit irrational and twitchy, and the rest of the characters from Lewis Carroll's original tales are also present in a form slightly diluted from their originals. What seems like a totally pointless story ends up being a bit of a political commentary, though, which surprised me as I was reading--and I'm wondering if maybe that makes this graphic novel not a children's book after all, despite its being published by Disney. The art is really fun, however, with Liew paying homage to John Tenniel's well-loved illustrations. Not the best book to end the year with, but not a total loss for an Alice fan, either.

Book #77: Death Comes to Pemberley

I love Jane Austen.

I hate this book.

I read and heard so many really positive reviews of P. D. James's murder mystery Pride and Prejudice sequel Death Comes to Pemberley--there was so much positivity, in fact, that a mass-market-reviews skeptic like me ought to have expected disappointment. Supposedly the novel is a lovely cross between a true-to-the-oeuvre P&P sequel and Clue. Except that P&P is beautifully and ingeniously written, and Clue is funny; this book is neither.

I read this book on my Kindle, and I highlighted passages that bugged me--many made me yell out in frustration (this is true; ask my coworkers). Perhaps don't read this list of a) you plan to read the book, or b) you read it and enjoyed it. You've been warned.

The shades of Pemberley are thus polluted:

1. Everyone seems to drink coffee. Tea was the fashionable drink in the Regency period, especially in aristocratic private homes.
2. There are dopey, suck-up-to-Jane-Austen moments like this one, where Elizabeth reflects on the incredibly short courtship between herself and Mr. Darcy--that period between his proposals: "If this were fiction [it is!], could even the most brilliant novelist [brown-noser!] contrive to make credible so short a period in which pride had been subdued and prejudice overcome [yes a novelist could! and let's state the obvious!]?"
3. Not only are we, the readers, privy to conversations exclusively between men, we are availed of the goings-on among servants with no reference to their employers. Jane Austen only wrote what she knew, and so we never get these perspectives--conversations about which she would have had no first-hand knowledge. Except, apparently, here we do.
4. Jane Bingley talks more in one paragraph than Jane Bennett did in the entirety of P&P.
5. The servants answer direct yes-or-no questions from their employers with unnecessarily wordy answers. Since when do the servants turn into Whit Stillman characters and qualify all of their answers?
6. Really? Mrs. Elizabeth Bennett feels some pangs of emotion for "the handsome agreeable and gallant George Wickham"? "Gallant" definitely took that bit too far.
7. It is entirely unnecessary to work in contemporary mechanical developments, for example the Darcys' inclusion of a water closet at Pemberley. It is even more unnecessary to go on to say how said developments have "caused much ribald interest in the neighbourhood."
8. It is never necessary to know the name of a character's horse. Ever.
9. Lots of these characters have really stupid names. Joseph Joseph? Obadiah? Jeremiah? Really? You do know P&P is in the polite society of Regency England, right?
10. I may be mistaken, but I was under the impression that folks in England stopped calling America "the New World" well before 1804.
11. Mr. Darcy "could not speak but the joy which brought a tear to his eyes suffused his face..." Mr. Darcy does. Not. Cry.
12. And the worst possible offense, in my opinion: the crossing over of characters from other of Austen's novels. In an effort to provide some back story as to what the Wickhams have been up to over the past few years, the reader learns that the pair spent some time in the company/employ of Sir Walter Elliot. Lydia flirted with Sir Walter, Mr. Wickham flirted with Elizabeth Elliot; this idea in and of itself is mildly amusing as a character interpretation. But then there is the mention of a former Miss Anne Elliot, now married for several years to navy man Frederick Wentworth, recently made an admiral. Death Comes to Pemberley is set in 1803-04, and the Wickhams would have been around the Elliots in 1802. According to the FIRST PAGE of Persuasion, Anne Elliot was born in 1787. She would have been 15 at the time of the events in which she is mentioned, which is a full four years before she ever met her apparently promoted-before-he-joined-the-navy husband. Then, in a desperate bid to resolve a bit of bastardization at the end of the novel, we hear of these kind folks in a place called Highbury; Mr. and Mrs. Martin want to take in a baby, and Mr. and Mrs. Knightly of Donwell Abbey pledge their emotional and financial support for the arrangement. Austen's Emma--the Mrs. Knightly in question--would have been 7 at this time. That was too young even for French monarchs to wed, and given how much the English disliked the French at this time (James does at least mention Napoleon), 7 was definitely too young for well-bred English ladies to be married. Strange chronological discrepancies aside, it is still entirely out of the realm of the Austen oeuvre for these characters to be moving amongst one anothers' spheres, especially given they aren't related to one another. Austen's novels are largely set in small country villages and towns, where the social circles are small. These characters may each have dined with four and twenty families, but the chances of them ever coming into contact with one another, especially given their substantial geographical distances, are negligible at best and preposterous in effect. After enough Austen story lines intersect, one half expects mention of a Mr. Kevin Bacon.

I loved Pride and Prejudice and Zombies; I am not averse to retellings and reimaginings of Jane Austen novels. But this? This felt sloppy and clunky and simply uninteresting, even as a straight up historical mystery. And that's all in addition to the infuriating bits. Overall: badly done, indeed.

Books #75 & #76

Despite a seemingly accelerating programming agenda, my reading has not slowed as of late. I recently finished two books, each by one of my entertainment favorites:

The Song of the Quarkbeast by Jasper Fforde - It is no secret that I love love love Jasper Fforde. In fact, I love his writing so much that I happily special ordered the most recent book in the Last Dragonslayer series from the UK. The novel, meant for a juvenile audience, did by no means disappoint. The story picks up where the first book left off. Foundling Jennifer Strange is still acting manager of Kazam, a house of magic-for-hire, although things haven't drastically improved for the motley assortment of sorcerers despite the recent Big Magic. Jennifer and her assistant Tiger Prawns must seek to protect their establishment, use their sorcerers' powers for good, and prevent an all-too-gullible royal household and public from letting themselves be overtaken by the conniving, malevolent, and flat-out mean competition. Throw in a few particularly disgruntled sorceresses and the threat of Quarkbeast-induced localized singularities and you've got a thrilling good story. (Don't understand a word of that description? That's because you haven't read it yet. Jasper Fforde is so funny and fanciful, and it all makes sense in the end.)

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) is the recent memoir by that hilarious customer service rep lady on The Office, Mindy Kaling. Kaling tells the tales of how she got to be the normal, average woman who lives the crazy cool Hollywood comedy life that she leads today. There were so many times in this book when I laughed out loud--Kaling really has a talent for finding the complete humor in situations that are universal in growing up, pursuing your dreams, and dealing with the day-to-day nuttiness that is life. I love how over-dramatic she is--and that she fully realizes she is being over dramatic! This book is worth reading, if for no other reason, for its sensational one-liners peppered throughout the text. Geez, that funny lady is perceptive!

Books #73 and #74: For a Mock Newbery Discussion

All of the children's librarians in the library district at which are work are busy reading what have been called Newbery Medal contenders for this year. In an effort to all be aware of some of the best titles to come out for kids this year, at our December meeting we'll share with the group the details and our thoughts about these books. My two follow.

The Adventures of Sir Gawain the True by Gerald Morris is a really laugh-out-loud funny retelling of the classic tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Lots of folks read SG&tGK in high school or college, and for that very reason we tend to forget that the story itself is perfect for elementary school kids. After all, the Arthurian tales originated as oral stories--why not tell them in a way that not only is accessible to children but appeals to them as well? The author takes us with Sir Gawain in the year preceding his fateful meeting with the Green Knight, and along the way we meet the somewhat incompetent other Knights of the Round Table, some odd characters throughout the kingdom, and the idiosyncratic Sir Gawain himself. The tale is true to the traditional telling with the added benefit of the type of humor kids love. I can't wait to use this as a read-aloud at some sort of school-age program.

The Trouble with May Amelia by Jennifer L. Holm is something completely different. This historical fiction sequel to the Newbery Honor Book Our Only May Amelia is definitely funny in its own way--after all, children being terrorized outside their school house by a bull wrongly-named Friendly is a humorous situation. But the depth of May Amelia's character makes for a really compelling read. Being a part of an immigrant Finnish community in the Pacific Northwest is struggle enough, but when misfortune seems to settle on May Amelia's family, we're left to wonder if her spirit can be enough to see everything through. This novel displays some wonderful historical background, moving family dynamics, and a flat-out good story of a really likable heroine. I'll definitely be recommending these books for readers asking for something historical besides American Girl and Dear America.

Have you read anything this year meant for juvenile readers through grade 6 that you think might be in the running for a Newbery? Please share!

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Menu

Herb-Roasted Turkey Breast

Bacon and Cheddar Smashed Potatoes

Brussels Sprouts with Bacon, Garlic, and Shallots

Raspberry Fool with Lemon Curd

Book #72: The Language of Flowers

I heard about The Language of Flowers this summer when I attended a book preview lunch at ALA in New Orleans. During that hour session, I heard about a number of forthcoming books, mostly fiction, that would hit bookstores and libraries this autumn. I was lucky enough to get to bring some advanced reading copies home with me, but not every book the publishing staff book talked was available. I had to wait, just like everyone else, for The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh. After finishing it last night, I can attest that it was well worth the wait.

The story opens with Victoria, a lifelong ward of the state, about to age out of her group home placement. Finally eighteen, she will now be emancipated and truly subject to only her own decisions. Victoria was always a somewhat difficult child, but her behavior stemmed only from what her upbringing was steeped in: abandonment, abuse, and dashed hopes. When Victoria steps out on her own for the first time, all she has is a backpack of a few belongings, an emotional mess of guilt and misanthropy, and a particular talent for flowers.

The Language of Flowers is told mostly in chapters alternating between Victoria's present and her time, ages 9-11, with a foster mother with whom she thought she could finally stay. This span of her childhood is the root of her guilt but also the budding of her love and talent for flowers. Her foster mother taught her the Victorian meanings of flowers--how gentlemen would express their feelings for ladies through deliberate selection of particular flowers. Victoria takes this skill, along with her natural proclivity for arranging flowers, into her new adult life. After a stint of homelessness, she finds work with a florist. She feels competent, if not completely comfortable, arranging bouquets for customers with desires for very specific emotions in their lives, and she becomes known for creating beautiful arrangements that express the customers' feelings.

Victoria can speak the language of flowers, and she feels pride and happily alone in her ability to convey messages through blooms without anyone else's knowledge. Then she meets a man at the flower market; his focus on her immediately puts her on edge, but she is even more taken aback when he begins to give her single flowers that convey messages to her. It turns out that Victoria is not as pleasantly alone as she thought. Suddenly this man causes her present and her past to collide, and for the first time Victoria must confront her own feelings, both about her past and herself.

The Language of Flowers is a beautiful piece of storytelling. The characters are very well developed, and it is difficult not to feel for them--especially Victoria, even though she does some truly awful things. The use of the Victorian language of flowers adds a beautiful and slightly mysterious, ethereal element to the novel--can we really communicate and influences lives with flowers? There is a lot to talk about in this book: flowers, the foster care system, family, personal guilt. I would suggest this book to readers who enjoy complex characters, beautiful descriptions, and themes of forgiveness.

Read-aloud Tales for School Children, or Books #70 and 71

We tend to think of reading to kids in public libraries as something specific to pre-readers; once a child can read for him/herself, they don't need to be read to, right? Wrong. It doesn't matter how old you are, how strong a reader you are--everyone loves and benefits from listening to stories. If you're looking for shorter, strange, and sometimes mysterious tales to read, either to yourself or a group of school children, give these two books a try.

The Chronicles of Harris Burdick was just released not too long ago. It is in immediate response to The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, a picture book published in the eighties. Mysteries was comprised of 14 strange illustrations, each with a cryptic title and caption from its unpublished story counterpart. The story goes that Harris Burdick was a man who stopped into a publisher to show these 14 illustrations and give just a taste of the stories that accompanied them. He left these bits with the publisher along with a promise to return the next day with the full narratives, but he never returned. So intrigued was this publisher that he published Mysteries, and ever since folks have been wondering what the true tales behind the images might be. The Chronicles of Harris Burdick is a long-awaited answer to those wonderings. While Harris Burdick never did reappear (is he real?), 14 talented children's authors each chose a picture, title, and caption set and crafted a story to fit it. The result is a book of 14 wonderfully strange stories well befitting the mystery of the original picture book.

The Troll with No Heart in His Body is a likewise intriguing anthology. It contains various stories of trolls from Norse mythology, some familiar and some not. It includes the Three Billy Goats Gruff, but it also includes such fun and beautiful tales as the Eating Competition and the Boy and the North Wind. Like all good folktales, they tell the reader/listener something about life--the moral--as well as about the culture from which the tale originated. I would love to use these stories in a program and then make guesses as to why trolls were the national monster of Norway, and we could make trolls out of random craft supplies as well. Regardless of whether you read these tales alone, tell them to others, or make them part of a larger event, they are very much tales worth reading.