books i done read

The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

2009-12-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

Quick sum-up for those of you not In The Know: James Oliver Rigney Jr, aka Robert Jordan, published the first book in his ridiculously epic Wheel of Time fantasy series in 1990. I began reading them in 2001 when I was a telemarketer and I literally had nothing to do for eight hours a day except read and do crosswords while my mouth said things into the phone. The books kept coming and the world kept not ending and Jordan promised that Book 12 would bring about the long awaited and then he completed Book 11 and promptly died.

Fortunatemente, Jordan left copious notes once he realized he was going to kick it before cranking out Book 12, and Brandon Sanderson was chosen by the widow Jordan to finish it (in THREE VOLUMES! You milk that cow!). But Book 11 came out in 2005 and I'm not totally sure that I read it, so I sort of think I haven't read a Wheel of Time since 2003 (which, in case you are not a wizard of math, is six years ago) and I forget ALL of what happens. Plus I started reading Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series shortly thereafter which has almost the exact same plot, so I get them confused.

But fear not, yo! Wikipedia is here to guide you. And wikipedizing the first eleven books got me all jazzed up for Book 12 because I'd forgotten how intense these books are, and what a helluva job Jordan does of making things into a Big Deal so that I'm reading plot summaries and I'm all, Shit yes, I remember when that happened!

Also, clearly I have linked to the 'Pedia because I am not a plot-summarizing mogul. WoT = endoftheworld fantasy series wherein village boy is last hope in fight against forces of evil. Etc.

Moving on to The Gathering Storm! The storm gathers. Things continue in the same general vein - Rand gets more powerful and emotionless, Mat gambles and dices, Perrin worries about hurting people he is bigger than (so, everyone), Nynaeve tugs on her braid, the Forsaken scheme and wreak, Ariendha obsesses about her honor. The big deal is that Egwene is still Amrylin of the rebel Aes Sedai but she has been captured by the White Tower and demoted to Novice (this last sentence is why non-fantasy readers point and laugh because listen to it. But I am without shame).

I'd forgotten how resoundingly unsatisfying books like this are as books, particularly the last few in the series where they are less stand-aloney and more very-long-chapters-in-a-brain-shreddingly-long-novel. Like, the division in the Tower, that gets resolved, so I guess it's the main plot thread of this volume. But every one of the other eighty-seven plot threads is advanced maybe an inch. On t'other hand, it's unsatisfying because I H'NEED to keep reading and there is no more for me to read right now, which is to say that as a continuation of the series, it's pretty hella awesome.

And Sanderson does a capable job of mimicking Jordan's style (although he needs to describe women as 'vulpine' at least 800% more often to really nail it), which is really all that we wanted him to do. There are bits where he distinctly shows through as a different (and slightly lesser) writer, but my concern right now is not how seamless his syntax so much as will the Dark One break out of his prison and can Rand defeat him now that he only has one hand?

My biggest beef is that everything comes up a bit roses at the end in a way I found sort of disappointing. I mean, without being too spoilerish, something Unpleasant was happening to one of the characters, and it's the sort of Unpleasant thing you usually expect to be resolved into sunshine and bunnies eventually, but I kind of hoped that Jordan might, you know, just leave it. Which would have been seriously ballsy but also incredibly new and unsettlingly awesome.

So! If I were capable of taking my own advice I would just back the hell off until Book 12.3 comes out in 2011 and read the last two in a swoop, but it's rull good, y'all. I have the anticipations.

Eight caterpillars.

Thanks, Phenix!

Sensational Kids: Hope and Help for Children with Sensory Processing Disorder - Lucy Jane Miller, Ph.D., OTR

2009-12-11T06:00:00.000-08:00

Ok so. I've been working with a little boy who has Sensory Processing Disorder, except that he is twins and if you try to separate four-year-old twins, you are in for a bruising. So when it's time to practice falling, I have two giant-eyed manga faces peeping up at me from two little scrawny bodies that I have to push into a pile of pillows.

Because Little Twin the First (let us call him Alfalfa) has dyspraxia, which is a symptom of SPD and which basically means that he does not know where is body is in space, and cannot plan physical movements. So, ok, say I want to pick up that cup of coffee. I can tell where it is, how far I have to extend my arm, and how much pressure I have to exert to lift it without winging it all over the room. Kids with dyspraxia will miss the cup when they go to grab it, or will exert too much or too little pressure when trying to lift it. Also, they have trouble with automatic movements like getting your arms out in front of you if you're falling (which is why I spend so much time pushing him into pillows. It is practice [also, fun]). Alfalfa is also over-responsive to physical sensations, so certain types of clothes and foods are a problem, but under-responsive to aural sensations, so that he can't always follow directions because he doesn't realize that you're talking to him.

And the frustrating thing about SPD is that a.) it can look like so many other things. Like, sensation-seeking can look like ADHD, and under-sensitivity can look like autism, and over-sensitivity can look like being a pain in the ass. And then also b.) it isn't in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual yet, so more than a few specialists haven't heard of it or don't believe in it. I mean, I have a degree in Children, with a sub-specialty in Things That Might Be Wrong With Them, and I've never heard of it.

But having read Sensational Kids, I'm a believer. Not only in the disorder, but in the necessity for early intervention so that kids don't go starkers because they can't do shit. And while on the one hand I have trouble with the idea of slapping labels onto kids left and right, doing so allows parents to get help, children to get therapy, and everyone to sleep with ease.

If you have exposure to masses of children, this book is pretty engaging reading. Miller outlines the disorder and then describes a day in the life of five children with different sub-types, explaining their behavior in terms of their neurological idiosynchrosies and suggesting ways that parents and teachers can help them compensate and deal. This book is clotted with practicalness. And I don't want to freak you out, but if your child drives you round the bend for any of these reasons, maybe pick up this book and decide if you shouldn't get them checked out. Because you can't fix what you don't know is wrong.

Eight and a half caterpillars! Unless you have no kids, and have no friends with kids, and have no contact with kids, and are totally uninterested in the brain and in human behavior, in which case it will probably bore you senseless.

Secret Santing (and some other stuff)

2009-12-10T06:00:00.000-08:00

Ok, yesterday Colleen from Lavender Lines had a shitty day because she is moving and that is always a bitch, especially when there is dog diarrhea involved, and then my Secret Santa gift for her showed up and made the day less shitty, proving that CanadaPost can get things right from time to time.

I had a much less shitty day yesterday (except for some incidences involving my moat) which was made EVEN LESS SHITTIER (i.e. 'waaaaaaaaaay more awesome') because my Secret Santa gift showed up TOO! From the Netherlands!!!

Awesome, right? Gnoe from Graasland is a secret-santing genius, because if you live in the Netherlands and you're sending a present to someone in Canada (especially if that someone is me), it should probably be something really, really Dutch.

Shazaam! How Dutch are these cloths? Really, really Dutch, amiright? Also, they are ridiculousmente soft and I can't stop snuggling my face in them. I think they're dishcloths, but I will not be washing any dishes with them. I will save them to wipe my (future) babies' faces with, and then I will tell my babies lies about how we stole them from a poor Dutch farmer. The babies, I mean. What kind of a jerk steals dishcloths?

But they are wrapped around something! Open eeeet!

This is where the gift gets almost scarily good. Because in addition to being really, really Dutch, it is also really, really festive AND really, really Raych-friendly. I mention from time to time that I'm a fan of baked goods, and my twitter profile says something about pies, but kids, I kid you not. I can bake a good like you've never seen. And this, this is festive Dutch baking (and baking-enablement). The shiny brown package in the middle is two speculaasjes, which are traditional Dutch cookies (and which were quickly reduced to zero speculaasjes because they are good in dipped in coffee). The blue sheet of paper is a recipe (in English) for speculaasjes which calls for the use of a speculaas mold and speculaas spices, both of which Gnoe was thoughtful enough to include (top center of photo), rightly guessing at our complete lack of such things in Canada.

I have a speculaas mold!!!

In addition, Gnoe has this to say about Sinterklaas: 'Sinterklaas and his helpers, that are all called Pete, give presents to all that have behaved well during the year.' That are all called Pete! I need to move to the Netherlands now.

Gnoe, this gift was amazing. You will definitely be seeing speculaasjes posted here as soon as I whip up a batch.

In completely non-holiday-or-book-related news, I writ an article about Tiger Woods. If you are sick of the scandal, you can at least go and play the drive-the-Escalade-quickly-away-from-the-angry-blonde game. It is amusing, but ultimately unwinnable (like in life!).

Mme Proust and the Kosher Kitchen - Kate Taylor

2009-12-09T06:00:00.000-08:00

If there's one thing I learned from Mme Proust etc. it is that having an overanxious mother will turn you gay. Ha ha, what? No, for real. There are exactly five People of Import in this book. Two of them are high-strung, nervous mothers, and two of them are those mothers' gay sons (the fifth is the woman who falls accidentally in love with one of the gay sons). And that's probably totally not where Taylor was going with this, and I doubt that in real life she's all Wimmins! You will homofy your sons iffen you stress over them! But that's the way it comes across, and I'm sort of not ok with that.

I'm also sort of not ok with playing fast and loose with history. Marcel Proust's mother = a real person. Her diaries as presented in this book = not real and (as Taylor admits in the afterword) many of the 'facts' = doctored. Which, dude. If you're going to totally make shit up, why use a real person at all? Why not invent a woman and then falsify her diaries all you like? Hell, base it loosely on Mme Proust and conjure up a Jewish intellectual woman with a sensitive literary son, but call her something else, and my problems with you (in this area) are fin.

Ok so. Triple-story-line! Mme Proust writes diary entries about her sickly son (circa 1890s). Marie translates them into English (now-ish) while she tries to figure out what went wrong with her non-boyfriend Max (a handful of years ago-ish). And then way over here we have Sarah who was sent to Canada during WWII (you know when that was) and we're all, The hell does this plot thread have to do with anything? But then Sarah grows up to be a fretful mother (tie in with Mme Proust, check!) whose gay son (double-check!) turns out to be the non-boyfriend Max. Circle of life, my friends.

And, ehhhhhhh. My friend Alicia has this theory about Canadian authors, and how they feel like, in order to be an Author of Literature, they can't pony up the happy ending. Not, you know, slim shards of hope and things, but unicorns and rainbows, gold-dusted puppies, happily-ever-after. Which, too much of that will give you diabetes of the soul, but once in a while it is nice. A spoonful of that would have been nice here.

So, not horrible, but if I hadn't been reading it for book club, I probably would have put it down halfway through and then forgotten I was reading it until it was two weeks overdue, and then my fines would be over the limit and I would actually have had to have paid them. So, thanks, book club, for saving me from myself!

Also, five caterpillars.

Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science - Atul Gawande

2009-12-07T06:00:00.000-08:00

Eva! I am going to follow you around picking up your tbr leavings. You are like a magical wizard of book recommendations!

Ok so. I picked this up because Joel likes to read books about doctors, and I like to enable his reading. Usually after he's read a book, though, I'm all, Wellp! That one's read! And I take it back to the library without cracking it. But since I also snagged it because Eva had done some raving about it, I thought I'd give it a try for my ownself.

PLEASE TO READ THIS BOOK! For real, unless you are totally allergic to engaging non-fiction, you need to trawl through this. Because usually someone is a competent writer (for a scientician) or has a good grasp of science (for a lit-nerd) but rarely is someone both a doctor (and a SURGEON which is like the DOCTORIEST of doctors) and a writer with cleverness and skillz.

Because this is part educational text, part memoir, part MEDICAL THRILLER! Gawande loads on the case studies, and every time I'd be flipping through pages breathlessly all Does she have the flesh-eating disease? Can they save her leg? CAN THEY SAVE HER LIFE?!?! Palpitations, y'all.

Right, so the first part is all about the practice of medicine and how it's totally wrong in parts but not really in the parts that we think it's wrong. And the second part is all the wack-a-doo stuff, like what the hell is nausea and why do we get it and how can we fix it? Also, does Friday the 13th = more patients in the ER? And then the third bit is on uncertainty in the medical practice and is ridiculously thought provoking.

And Gawande is so honest! And not just about Bad Doctors or the flaws in SCIENCE! but about his own views as a doctor/patient. Like this one time his son had heart problems, and he went to see an experienced cardiologist even though he knows that the young ones need practice and that experienced doctors come from unexperienced doctors and they have to practice on people but this is his son. What I'm saying is, he feels both sides of the coin.

And near the end Gawande brings up the Ever Controversial topic of patient autonomy, which takes serious balls. Because as a backlash to years and years of paternalistic doctoring, it's pretty well stomping on the flag to suggest that doctors should make decisions in the patient's best interests, especially if those decisions go against the patient's wishes. I mean, it's eight kinds of taboo right now for doctors to even suggest to patients what they think should be done, because that's seen as coercing.

And I cannot tell you how much I have appreciated being coerced in the past half-year, even when it took some coercing to get the doctors to coerce me. Because on the one hand, of course I want to make decisions regarding my health, but on the other hand, THESE ARE HUGE DECISIONS! And what if I choose wrong? All of my doctors have been great about telling me what they would do if they were me, but I always have to ask pretty hard.

So! Read for interest's sake, read because you will get sick eventually, read because it is damned good reading.

Eight and a half caterpillars.

Stealing Athena - Karen Essex

2009-12-04T06:00:00.000-08:00

Le SIGH! This is my own fault. Essex uses 'bespoke' and 'belied' incorrectly in consecutive sentences ON PAGE 7, and I soldiered on. I know better.

But historical fiction! Learning while you read! Ok, so Mary Elgin is the young wife of the Earl of Elgin and they are British ambassadors to the Turks and in their free time they pop over to Greece and scarper off with most of the Parthenon. This really happened. And then because someone gave her a copy of Plutarch's Lives and was all, Read up on Aspasia because there will be parallels with your life *significant glance*, Mary (and via her, we) read about the outspoken wife/courtesan of the great ancient Greek statesman Perikles. Fun!

Except that the thing is riddled with contradictions and non-sequiturs, so that I spend the whole time thinking, What? Why would you say that and what are we doing here? Like when Aspasia is all, 'I would never suggest it to Perikles, but I often wondered at his lack of doubt over the costs. "Do you never worry on these matters?" I asked cautiously.' WHAT HAPPENED TO NEVER SUGGESTING IT TO HIM!?!? Did you forget that part? Or when the sculptor Pheidias is all, Come to my studio later. And then when she does, he's like, Did they send you here to spy on me? You invited her over! I was there!!

Or like when Mary's husband comes running to fetch her all ZOMG YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS and hauls her off to see an exorcism, and she's like Yergh! And he's all, Oh, it wasn't the exorcism I scuttled your pregnant ass over here to see, it's the stone benches. Yes, these immobile stone benches, that have been and will be here for centuries. You had to come see them immediatemente! Also, check it. An exorcism.

Ok, and the action sounds like it was written by a high school creative writing class that can't figure out how to move the scene along, all 'And then this happened, and then that, but you don't get to see any of it.' And what you do get to see mostly sounds like this: 'His voice...reminded her of something that had rich, sweet overtones, like...' Dammit. Where is my sack of worn-out cliches? AH! *gropes around near the bottom* '...like fine chocolate or certain vintages of wine.'

And *spoiler* at some point, the Earl turns into a villain, but instead of being a complex, interesting badass he's all MISOGYNISTIC COMMENT! BASELESS ACCUSATION! VOW OF REVENGE!!! It was hard not to giggle.

And there's a fine line between not doing any research at all (and/or falsifying shit) and parading around in your authentic Athenian Research Toga. Like, Perikles initially thinks that Aspasia is there to be his concubine so he comes in all ready to concube her but she's like, NAY, there has been a mistake. So they have a rational conversation, during which she notices that he has nice hands despite being a general and is immediately all, Sure, bring on the hands! And then a paragraph later she's all, Woe! I will not do any of this long list of ritual things one does when being a bride which I will explicate for you now, Curious Reader of the Future, because I can no longer be a bride! Because I am defiled, you may recall.

One further beef: At one point she mentions how Mary's good looks are 'wrapped in the body' of an heiress which, I'm no biologician, but my good looks are on the outside. Of my body.

I slogged to the end because the story is really interesting, but that is why we have Wikipedia, amiright? I'd like to say I've learned my lesson, but you know me. I am an inveterate finisher.

Two caterpillars.

Death in the Stocks - Georgette Heyer

2009-12-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

Georgette Heyer, where the devil have you been all my life? And why have I not also been there? You are so WINSOME and RIDICULOUS!!

Ok, Death in the Stocks was my first encounter with Heyer, and it is entirely possible that her regency romances are sucky. It is also entirely possible that the quirky cast of DitS will drive you mad. But if they DON'T, they will AMUSE YOU NO END.

N'yallright. So a man is found in the stocks one morning (also, murdered) in whatever era had motorcars but in which men still regularly smoked pipes. Ye Olde Inspector heads down to investigate the dead man's heirs/half-siblings and they have improbably entertaining conversations, and this is 98% the novel. The murdery bit is, like, two pages at the beginning, and then all the answers fall out on the last four or so pages. And those pages to the right keep decreasing and you're all, The hell? How is this, and then also the other murder that occurs, going to be resolved? Am I going to be ok?

You are. Everything is fine, even though all the detectivity and policeness is almost complete bunk. Please tell me, if you read crime-solvey stuff religiously and then you've also read Heyer, are you ROLLING IN YOUR PROVERBIAL GRAVE? I would be. But I'm not, because I am presupposing an alternate universe where police inspectors really are this cavalier.

Besides, I thrive on witty banter and incorrigable characters. I'm not sure how to explain this to you. So, the half-siblings of the murdered man, Kenneth and Antonia, obviously fall under immediate suspicion because they can't stop saying things like 'Oh, we loathed Andrew' and 'If I had murdered him, I would have done it thus and thusly' and doing absolutely nothing to keep from looking ALL KINDS OF GUILTY! But then because of that, you (and the police) can't decide if you should suspect them or not. Are they innocent and stupid or guilty and stupid (or guilty and brilliant)?

And, kay. I suppose that, on reflection, these two kids are eight ways from spoiled. And sort of awful. I hereby preempt you, whoever is about to comment on the spoiledness and awfulness! Because dude, you are correct. And probably this will make some people particularly stabby, but I am not those people! They are so well-written that they can say and do all the retrospectively vile things they want.

Heyer! Let's be pals.

Eight and a half caterpillars.

Requisite ass-covering: got this book from Danielle at Sourcebooks FOR FREE! The interwebs is a party.

Let's Talk About Love: A Journey to the End of Taste - Carl Wilson

2009-11-30T06:00:00.000-08:00

This was like winning the lottery when you didn't even know you were playing. Something I read recently offhandedly mentioned Wilson's nugget of amusement and brains, but damn me if I can remember what.

Right, so. Celine Dion. I'm from The Canada, so I've never been sure how the rest of the world feels about our skinny, hyperexpressive French mascot, but from the looks of things it's the same the world over: people either want to have her skinny, hyperexpressive French babies, or wring her skinny, hyperexpressive French neck. And while I give her maudlin tunes a cheery thumbs-down, I'm sort of in love with Celine-the-performer, especially as video-byted thusly:

Bitch is crazy. Batshits aside, however, even the most strident of anti-Celinists is familiar with at least one song from her album Let's Talk About Love, the seemingly-interminable 'My Heart Will Go Ooooooooooooon aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon.' Don't tell me you're not singing it now. N-E-hoodle, Wilson uses Let's Talk About Love as a springboard for examining the why and how behind personal preference, on account of he hates it so much.

Carl Wilson is a savvy, cynical music critic with a penchant for obscure indie bands (color me surprised), which automatically means that he falls on the neck-wringing end of the Celine continuum. However, he realizes that this makes him seem like an asshole to all of the Dion-baby-want-havers, and 'much of this book is about reasonable people carting around cultural assumptions that make them assholes to millions of strangers.'

I.e. there's no accounting for taste. What made me hate The Book Theif so much (besides THE VERBIAGE HOLY HELL WHY ALL THE WORDS) when so many of you wanted to wallpaper your bedrooms with it? Why do I genuinely like Eric Clapton in the soul of my souls, but refuse to listen to him in public? How come I can't get over cheap copper jewelry? It is questions not at all like these but their distant cousins that Wilson seeks to answer.

And, alright, the book < 200 pages, but Wilson covers some serious ground. Not even just the rise of Canada's thinnest export, either. But, like, the history of schmaltz. Because Celine is schmaltzy, and when did we start to like this in our music and why? And then the process of acquiring specific tastes, particularly distastes, and the way being white and middle-class and terrified of following the herd makes me blow off watching The Family Guy. And Wilson is Smart but also Witty and Irreverent, which is my Tall, Dark and Handsome of books.

En fin, read this shiz. It will not take too much time and you will learn things and also be amused.

Nine caterpillars.

Mortal Love - Elizabeth Hand

2009-11-27T06:00:00.000-08:00

H'ok, let's go ahead and remove all suspense and tell you that I thought Mortal Love was the bee's knees. And word on the twitter is that Nymeth, Eva, and Maree also do, but I'm not going to recommend this carte blanche to all and sundry, because it was a tricky read.

And part of the tricky had to do with the parallel story lines (which, fur reals, is one of my favorite ploys) and how two that were brought up early on were then dropped for about half the book so that I had to go back and have a look-see because they are so interconnected and I had a sneak that I was missing something.

And then part of the tricky had to do with me knowing nothing about the Tristan and Isolde myth, which I feel would have added more layers, and then part of the tricky had to do with me knowing nothing about pre-Raphaelite paintings/ers, which would have made it more layer-like still. But I DO know things about Christina Rossetti and her Goblin Market, so points for me.

And then part of the tricky had to do with the insubstantiality of myth, and how you can really only see it out of the corners of your eyes and iffen you try to look straight at it you'll be blinded by the light (and probably also revved up like a deuce). Natch this is a difficult thing both to write and to read. Hand does an unspeakably good job, but you still have to hack your own way through the thing.

So! Plot-like. Back in the when we've got Radbourne Comstock painting fairly pedestrian illustrations for children's books, Johnny Appleseed and shit, except that we know from an earlier bit (set now-ish) that his later paintings are bats enough that just looking at them sends his grandson to the madhouse. But for right now (then?) Comstock himself is headed to the madhouse to help look after a patient, but while there he meets this fierce Amazon of a woman who changes his life forever.

Ok, and then there's Daniel living more or less now who's writing a book on Tristan and Isolde until his pal Nick introduces him to this fierce Amazon of a woman who changes his life forever. And there is all sorts of crazy shit like people with glowing fingertips and floods of acorns and reading it made me feel a bit high.

But it was 100% worth the ride. I know that plot-sum leaves much to be desired (like cohesiveness) but if I tell you, you won't get to figure it out for yourself. And you should. Convoluted reviews ahoy!

Eight and a half caterpillars.

The Birthday Present - Barbara Vine

2009-11-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

Zut alors, Barbie V. You have done eeet again. I will never be done loving your ominously dropped hints.

Ok, I almost never do this but I need to quote you part of the blurb on the back. Some prelim: Ivor is an up-and-coming government person (of the Britishy sort that I don't really understand but which involves Commons and division bells and things) and Hebe is his slutty married mistress, and it's her birthday. Ivor gives her a present (see: title), and then AND I QUOTE: Years later, this gift will ruin his career, his family, and his life. DO YOU SEE THAT, PUBLISHING INDUSTRY??? That is how you blurb a book.

I really don't know what else to tell you. That's sort of it. I mean, that and some intriuge and (potentially) mistaken identities and threatening men in leather jackets and a bit of bungled blackmail (with hilarious [but also sinister] results). And I could go on about the foreshadowing and the suspense and the incurable wit but this is Barbara Vine. It would be like telling you that chicken noodle soup has noodles.

Oh Barbara! You are so simultaneously high-brow and trashy! I am not ashamed to read you, but neither am I put-upon. Never, ever change.

Eight and a half caterpillars.

The Adoration of Jenna Fox - Mary E. Pearson

2009-11-23T06:00:00.000-08:00

I...ok. I am of two minds.

Mind the first cannot STAND this shit. Mind the first has a serious problem with poetic prose, with things like 'His voice is as soft as a sparrow's beating wing, and I can almost feel the gentle flutter across my cheek.' Mind the first le barfs at this.

And then ALSO (please, all, avert your eyes because I'm sort of embarassed that this bothers me), things like this:

'"You didn't approve."..."Approve is probably not the right word...shock, maybe. Or fear."'

So...you didn't 'shock,' then, or you didn't 'fear'? Because those words would presumably replace the word that is not the right word, only they do not work in the sentence. And holy hell is this ever the nit-pickiest thing, but it isn't the only mistake that she made like this, where her sentence structures didn't quite align and I get that it's people talking and people talking don't always have perfect syntax but it is a book. Obey the First Law of Tim Gunn and make it work, people.

So, the writing provoked my mind the first to wrath. But THE STORY MY CHILDRENS THE STORY! It ate my face. Mind the second was so engrossed, I didn't even care about the slips (JOKES, I totally did. But I moved. on.). Because Jenna Fox awakens from a year and a half of comatosing and has no memories and no friends and a grandmother who looks at her with shifty eyes and there are hella secrets.

And you know me, friends. You know do not Get Shit, that I am driving the largest float in the Oblivion Parade, that I never see the twists coming and am blown to bits by all surprise endings. But I figured out the Big Secret on page 38, which totally ruined the first half of the book for me. Because Pearson would be all, Clue! And I would durrrr, because how is that not so obvious?

But then the Secret comes out halfway through the book, and then there are a few more secrets still to come but mostly it is the Aftermath. And this is when it gets good. Because what starts as a tired old tirade against Science becomes a fierce treatise on the value of mortality. Pearson is suggesting some things that take serious balls to suggest, about personhood and identity and yes, Science (which is a dead horse that will need flogging until nuclear winter) and let me tell you, it ripped my heart out.

So! I feel as though my rating system will let me down here. Hows abouts five for the writing and eight for the story and nine for the balls, averaging out to *tick-a-tick-a-tick TAP* Seven and a half sounds good.

It is my gift to you.

2009-11-21T19:52:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention recently that some of you are missing out on the various hilariousments that the intrawebs has to offer. I am totally looking out for you. Observe:

Dooce. Srsly, if you are not reading this paragon of mommybloggers then you are Missing. Out. If I try to tell you what is the what now, you'll be all She talks about her feelings and her boobs and posts pictures of her dog with things on his head? Which, yes. But this is ONE of the TWO that I'm going to insist you check out if you are not yet familiar. Dooo it, or count yourself my frenemy.

Go Fug Yourself. Funny. and. mean. They pick on famous people's outfits. This site is the only reason I know who Taylor Momsen is, on account of her penchant for showing up places either looking like a zombie harlot or a zombie matron harlot. This is my other Dooo it. You don't have to like it, you just have to try it.

Cake Wrecks. When professional cakes go horribly wrong. PROFESSIONAL CAKES. Keep that in mind when you trawl the wrecks. Someone was expected to pay for these monstrosities.

STFU, Parents. The above three are fairly SFW, but STFU parents is a bit crude in both content and commentary. But the extent to which parents chronically overshare about their children on facebook SLAYS me. There is also an STFU, Marrieds but it is more grating than amuisng.

Criggo. Newspaper headlines and stories full of WTF-ery. Also SFW. This is my favorite.

xkcd. I'm going to assume that you are all already familiar with this webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math and language, because it would break my heart to think you have been deprived all these years of its hilarity.

FAILblog. H'ok, it seems as though most of my entertainment comes from things going wrong. But beHOLD the epic things that can go wrong.

Ultra-Condensed Movies. Does what it says on the tin. Also, is funnier than I am.

Judge a Book by its Cover. Ditto.

Autocomplete Me. Ok, so one time (for reasons best kept to myself) I was googling the phrase 'and german' and the autocomplete was all, 'and german to my horse' and ha ha, what? But apparently that happens a lot (if you type in 'there is a Jew,' all of the autocompletes will be about one hiding behind you. It is frightening). Anywhazzit, this is my latest and favorite daily larf.

And then there is a pile of personal blogs (to which Dooce actually belongs but I couldn't NOT share her here) but I wanted to keep this short(ish?) to increase the odds that you would clickity-click. For real, say goodbye to your Sunday. Also, pony up in the comments: where do you get your h'yucks?

At this stage of the game, I still have not hacked all the ins and outs of blogger

2009-11-20T18:39:00.000-08:00

If there's an easy way to post the same post at two different blogs, I don't know how to do it. But Stephanie sent me a present and I would have trumpeted it here but I'm NaBloPoMo'ing at my other blog and I needed blogfodder. Go check it, it is most perfect.

The Truth About Forever - Sarah Dessen

2009-11-20T06:00:00.000-08:00

N'yallright, given how recently I hopped on the John Green bus and how I'm still sort of hanging out by the door, I feel kind of douchey saying this: Sarah Dessen is no John Green. But she is 9/10ths of John Green,* and it is sufficiently awesome, and that is as near as I can come to accurate.

So, backing up to the point where I talk about the plot for a minute, The Truth About Forever is the story of a girl coming to grips with the death of her dad and also meeting a dude. And they hook up. I am not here to disillusion you, there will be no indie-film-style-ambiguous-endings here. I say this with the least amount of Disapproval possible, but Dessen totally picks her characters and plotlines from some file of authorial clip art.

Because ok. Let us get out our checklists. Macy's dad dies (tick), so Macy and her mom become OCD about life in an Effort To Control (tick). Macy is dating this totally nice guy with no real emotions but it's sort of not his fault so that we recognize that he's not the guy for her but we don't really hate him (tick), but then he takes his safe self away for the summer and Macy accidentally Takes a Risk (tick) and makes some new friends who are a bit wildandcrazy but have good hearts (tick). There is a make-over scene (tick). One of the new friends is this fantastic-looking dude who doesn't realize how fantastic-looking he is which makes him even hotter (tick), PLUS he's an artist (tick) PLUS he has a shady past (TICK!). They have an emotional connection but do not date due to extenuating circumstances (tick). Then they almost date (tick), then something goes awry (tick), Macy's mom continues to express her grief by not letting Macy be a teenager (tick), the older sister who I forgot until now gives some heartfelt advice (tick), Macy and the hot artist hook up and it is sweet (tick).

And I have zero qualms about spoilering that for you, because it isn't the story, but the MANNER IN WHICH IT IS TOLD that will win you. Because it is sweet, AND winsome, AND clever. There's this one girl in the pack of new, wacky friends who spends the whole book standing laconically to one side or blowing her bangs out of her face and who literally only says three things ever, and I wanted to take her home and keep her. Macy, as a pretty teenaged heroine who underestimates her own prettiness, did not make me want to SMACK her even when she was being thick, which is Hard To Do. All those things that sound so twee in the above paragraph, they do not twee you in the face while you are reading. It's only later (when you are trying to describe to someone what the book is about) that you realize you are summarizing every teen movie ever made ever..

I'm saying a lot of words to try and squeeze this out. I will read more Dessen and I will anticipate it with delight. Chalk another triumph for the Wonderful Dare Challenge, and someone get TY a donut.

Eight and a half caterpillars.

*By which I mean, the style is similar but the dialogue is 9/10ths as zingy and the jokes are 9/10ths as funny and the heart-breakingness is 9/10ths as heart-breaking. But Dessen has waffles and as far as I can tell, John Green has no waffles.

A Place of Greater Safety - Hilary Mantel

2009-11-18T06:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Hilary Mantel,

I could kiss you. Of all the books I had to read for my 18th Century Now class (which, every time I walk into that class I'm all 'SERENITY NOW!'), your A Place of Greater Safety was the longest by about 500 pages. It was also, however, the only one that didn't make me want to throw myself off a bridge.

Not for you the overwraught symbolism of The Life and Times of Captain N. Nor the ungainly mishmash of truth and fiction Beryl Bainbridge crammed into her According to Queeney. No dreams about falcons mating with sexy hats. No awkward, fumbling sex scenes. No idiotic titles for you; A Place of Greater Safety sounds like a book I'd pick up on my own. So, kudos and thanks.

So, how about that Robespierre, hey? Terror and all that, eh wot? Ok, I'll be the first to admit that anything and everything I know about the French Revolution I learned from A Tale of Two Cities (so, basically I get that there was a guillotine involved, and people did a lot of knitting?). Mantel's novel is waaaaaay more historically accurate, and everyone dies.

I feel dumb trying to sum up the plot because I have NO IDEA what happened on the real and what Mantel yanked out of her brain. So in the novel there's a revolution but it's sort of over there. I mean, you're following this one particular faction that was really, really involved, but you're more often in their drawing rooms and feeling bad for their wives than in the STREETS WITH THE BLOOD AND THE BASTILLE! VIVE LA LANTERNE!

Which, ok, if I were writing a book on the Revolution I'd be all up in the tumbrils with the doomed because I am allergic to subtlety, but I appreciate Mantel's take. I am doing a terrible job. If you have 700+ pages of reading time to spare and you're down with the Citizens' Republic, get up on this.

Eight caterpillars.

The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

2009-11-16T06:00:00.000-08:00

A butler? Kazuo Ishiguro's EW's-New-Classics-book-that-everyone-loves is about a friggin butler? Like, as in a Jeeves? Huh.

So! Stevens is a butler in the era just after the era where butlers were hot commodities and moderate celebrities in their own rights. He comes part-and-parcel with an old British estate purchased by an American. And this chandalier is genuine Tudor, and that whatnot over there is early 15th century, and Stevens? Stevens has been bowing and scraping and 'Would sir desire a spot of tea'ing since the days of bonnie Prince Charlie.

When the American gentleman goes on vacation, Stevens is given permission to go visit Miss Kenton, a former housekeeper from the estate's glory days. On the way there, he reflects on said glory days, as well as the general dignity inherent in butlering (butling?).

And that's pretty well it, kids.

But be damned if it isn't just the dearest thing! Stevens is the classic British butler, all uptight and reserved and hyperactively proper. He is so stiffly awkward whenever he's out of his element, but so skillfull and brilliant in all things silver-polish-related. Miss Kenton, with her emotions and opinions, acts as a clever foil to Stevens' composure, and I spent a great deal of time laughing and cringing and shouting whenever the two interacted.

On the whole, this is a story of coming to terms with a changing world. Stevens spends a hilarious few moments musing about 'banter,' and boning up on his bantering skills since it seems this is what his new American employer seems to want. A couple of quips with my tea, please. It is seriously winsome and sweet.
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Also, I definitely read and reviewed this over a year ago, but never posted it. H'whoops! Good thing it hung around for Dark Times Such as These, whereall of my reading is of essays composed in the wee hours that need a vicious re-shaping.
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Eight caterpillars

The Art of Racing in the Rain - Garth Stein

2009-11-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

Alright, by now everyone's heard about this book narrated by a dog and has been all, Well that's stupid. And it is, it's terribly stupid. Especially when the dog is being all, Durrr, I'm a dog! Why are these humans acting so funny after drinking that fermented drink?! Abuhhhhhhh. Mercifully, those parts are few and far between after the first stretch, and Enzo becomes just a regular, shaggy, balls-licking narrator. Who can't talk to anyone else in the story. Because he is a dog.

But then the other thing that everyone says who read it is that it was remarkably less stupid than they'd thought it would be. And then the other other thing that everyone says is that it is just about the saddest thing. And this is why I'm not going to be able to be objective about this book (which, alright, I'm not the Queen of Cool Disinterest on the best of days). Because while I love me some sweet sobby things, this was too too sad for me.

And this has everything to do with where I am in my personal headspace right now and nothing to do with the book. I year ago I probably would have eaten this shit up, and maybe in a year when I'm totally out of the woods a book about a woman who dies of brain cancer, and who you know is going to die because the dog tells you on page six so that when the humans are acting funny from the fermented drink you're all Don't do it! Do NOT get married and have a baby, because you are going to die and it will be sad, maybe at such a time I'll be able to read such a book with the detached, vicarious sorrow it deserves.

So! Probably the only thing I can say about this book is that it's better than you think it will be, and it has some Seriously Deep Moments, but someone with a dryer eye needs to scan it for ham-handed emotional manipulativeness. Also, *spoiler* everything comes out Disneyfied in the end. Like, not even just a tidy, pat finish but like EVERYONE WINS THE HAPPINESS LOTTERY! Except for Eve, who (you may recall from page six) dies.

I don't feel like I can rate this bad boy because I am riding a Chariot of Bias.

Perfume - Patrick Süskind

2009-11-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

Patrick Süskind has never met a reiteration he didn't like. If there is more than one way to say a thing, you can bet your bottom dollar that Süskind will say it. Por ejemplo: 'It all disgusted him. The sudden eruption of renewed fear among the populace had disgusted him, their feverish joy of anticipation disgusted him. The people themselves, every one of them, disgusted him.' That last line is like a reiteration WITHIN a reiteration. In sum, this 255 p book could have been about 50 p shorter and literally not lost a cent.

And, sigh. I have put off reviewing this because I read it for the Wonderful Dare challenge, and I wanted to keep the streak alive as long as possible. TY and I may only be fraternal brain twins after all.

And it sounded like such a good idea! Jean-Baptiste Grenouille is a odorless villain (because evil has no scent) with whatever the 20/20 of smelling things is and NO SOUL. He sets out to create the ultimate perfume, for which he must kill and distill a small town's worth of virgins (so, like, 25). And then they catch him and bring him out to be HUNG but he's wearing his virgin-perfume and then there is a town-wide orgy. Caused by the perfume.

And if you like a sensuous novel (as in, heavy on the senses) then this will be up your alley. Grenouille smells EVERYTHING, and you will smell it through him. And then probably something bad will happen to you, because the boy is like a black cat and everyone who comes near him ends up falling into a river and drowning afterwards, or something else innocuously fatal.

SO! Not my cuppa virgin-scented perfume, but probably somebody else's. I bet the movie is unsettlingly awesome.

Seven caterpillars.

A Morbid Taste for Bones - Ellis Peters

2009-11-09T06:00:00.000-08:00

I'm not totally sure what to say about A Morbid Taste for Bones, the first in the Brother Cadfael mysteries. I expected it to be medieval and good...and it was both of those things! MLIA.

So. Brother Cadfael is that particular breed of Benedictine monk with whom people are forever sitting down with over a cup of ale (and a haunch of venison, and a trencher of bread and sundry other medival nommables) and shooting the shit, as it were. Having come to the monk-mobile late in life as a sort of austere retirement home, Cadfael has a rich history as a doer-of-various-things-(and-women).

What with this being the first of some 20 books, it looks like Brother Cadfael's silver years will be punctuated with more than the ordinary number of murders. Like, at least 20. Morbid gets off to a quiet start with some young monk having visions, and a cohort of brothers hieing off to a Welsh village to collect the bones of a forgotten saint on account of said visions. It isn't until about half-way through that the lord of said village is found murdered and his daughter's immigrant-beloved is accused but then escapes and Brother Cadfael has to put all of his pre-monkal wisdom to use sussing out the real killer so that the upstanding but landless young Saxon can return and marry his fiery sweetheart. Awesome, right?

To be honest, this is the sort of ramble fantastic that I could read for ages. There could have been nary a murder and I would have happily tottled behind while Brother Cadfael mediated between his relic-hungry prior and the lusty Welsh villagers. Peters is that good. And from the looks of things (via Colleen, who was my gateway drug into the Cadfaelia), she only gets better.

Also, choice exerpt from the back: 'Soothing, but no shortage of mayhem.' - Observer

I could not say it better myself. Eight caterpillars.

It's Sunday, right?

2009-11-08T11:51:00.000-08:00

Sunday is usually when people post non-reviewish things? Salon-like? Ok, so while this is totally a review, it isn't a review here so I must send you on a goose-chase. I saw Where the Wild Things Are and it. was. awesome. There was a seriously unprecedented amount of squeeing when I got home. Clickity-click for more deets.

And then also, while I am in no shape to join the NaNoWriMo madness (kudos to all you who are), I have been NaBloPoMo-ing over at that blog that I neglect every month that isn't November. Some days I am reaching for content and you know I'm going to end up blogging about my dog again, because except for that time I wore shoes worth more than my car, I'm not up to much these days. Alas.

Time now to get back to my not-much. Tootles and doots, mes amis.

What the Dead Know - Laura Lippman

2009-11-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

I do not read crime novels. I am a high-brow uppercrustacean with an education in Books. I know what 'anagnoresis' means, I don't need to read about your missing childrens and the detectives who hunt them down.
Except that sometimes I haven't got the energy to play lady-or-the-tiger with my stack of Fine Literature and so what better to have a run at than something I'm already indifferent about? Something that I do not expect to rock me like a hurricane?

What the Dead Know is ridiculously adequate. Sufficient? Satisfactory? Is there any word to express how much this fit the bill that doesn't sound half-assed? It's like craving SOMETHING and then lighting on a jar of pickles and realizing that PICKLES ARE EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANT AND THESE ARE THE BEST PICKLES EVER IN LIFE except that you feel stupid getting so rapturous about pickles.

Ok, so a woman hits-and-runs and then is pulled over and then claims to be one of a pair of missing sisters from some cold case file, and then a skeptical detective has to suss out whether she is said missing sister or crazy or just trying to dodge being pinned for the hit-and-run which, dude, there are less-complicated ways to do that. Boobs come to mind.

And those who are skilled in crime novels will probably figure it all out, but I didn't. And those who are also literary crustaceans will enjoy Lippman's occasional nerd-slip. And those who just want to read the damned story without getting tripped up by the writing, there are neither errors nor flourishes to catch at your ankles.

So! Plenty good then. Seven and a half caterpillars.

Also, what do you read when you haven't got the energy to roust out something amazing?

The Little Stranger - Sarah Waters

2009-11-04T06:00:00.000-08:00

I happened to mention recently that if The Haunting of Hill House had gone on longer than 182 p. that the terror might have been too watered down. The Universe has seen fit to make me renege, because it now seems that Hill House, when embiggened, becomes Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger and if one more book about hauntings crosses my path this year SO HELP ME I am moving into a tent in the park.

Ok, so. The Little Stranger. Frightening, or really, really frightening? So this doctor goes up to tend to a housemaid at this old manor house, except that it turns out that she's totally shamming because the house kind of freaks her out and she's only, like, fourteen and no one else lives there except the madam and her two grown children. He talks her into not being such a pansy and goes about his merry way.

Except that pansy has nothing to do with it, and the house really is Scary As Shit. Ok no wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. So, the doctor sort of befriends the madam and the grown children, and starts treating the son who has some leg injury from the war, and with so on and such forth gets gradually absorbed into the family. Except not really because of the raging classism in which property-holding outranks doctorifity.

And then Waters starts doing that thing that Stephen King always does that I'm such a sucker for, being all, I wish I had not said this totally innocuous thing that I said because a HORRIBLE THING happened shortly thereafter because of it. And then you spend the next eight pages on tenterhooks of doom because you know a Horrible Thing is coming. It's like ominous music, but on paper.

So Horrible Things start happening, but there are never any corpses in the bathtub and the walls don't start bleeding and this is maybe worse, because the haunting is underneath your skin and you can never quite see it. But the house may or may not be alive, and if it isn't, then everyone may or may not be going slightly mad. At any rate, fright comes a'knockin'.

Dear Sarah Waters, when did you get so spooky? And whither all your lesbians? Because even though I'm basing this solely on Tipping the Velvet, Fingersmith, The Night Watch and the blurb on the back of Affinity (so....every full-length novel she's written until now), I feel generally confident in asserting that SWat = Victorian lesbian romances (except when she = post-war lesbian romances). And ok, people can break out of their boxes, and I'm FOR it, but it's like when someone shows up without their lip-ring or their moustache and you're all Hey, that's new.

Newness! Hauntings! Potentially mad relatives! An ambiguously unsettling ending! Where is my approval stamp...

Nine caterpillars!

My French Whore - Gene Wilder

2009-11-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

Good evening, childrens. My name is Gene. You may remember me as the winsome but temperamental Willy Wonka.

You might remember when I played the slightly-mad Victor Frankenstein and you thought it was kind of hot.

Our you might have seen me purchasing a purple handbag last Tuesday and been upset when I did not respond to your hysterical cries of GENE!, but I promise you that was actually Estelle Harris. You can, perhaps, be forgiven for the mistake.

I am sorry not to have been my rumpled, oddly charming self lately, I have been holed away writing novellas about my French whore and then dedicating them to my wife. JOKES! My wife is my French whore. Love you, my little Oompa Loompa.

My French Whore is my memo to the masses who cried out Give us more of the same! Very well, leibchens. You would like to re-live the black comedy of The Producers? I give you the mad-cap tale of an American soldier who impersonates a German spy, with hilarious but sombre results. Picture much hollering, in German! SCHNELL und ACHTUNG!

You would like some of the saccharine sentimentality of young Charlie and his Aged Grandparents? I give you the best of all love stories, that of a faux-colonel and his beloved scarlet woman. Watch them as they feast on duck and try to navigate the waters of her sordid past and his not actually being a German colonel.

You enjoyed the zany antics of young Frankenstein? My protagonist dons an eyepatch! Unnecessarily! Tres drole, n'est-ce pas?

Please to enjoy it. For all my sardonics, it truly is comic and sweet. You will be endeared.

This finicky girl doing my typing insists on adding the words 'Eight caterpillars' afterwards. I am not sure what she means, but it is easier to let her have her way. Very well. Eight caterpillars.

(editorial aside: Gene Wilder wrote a novel! About a French whore! *agog*)

The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson

2009-10-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

How is there so much crammed into this teensy, horrifying book? HOW AM I SO HAUNTED?? (Also, how terrifying is the cover on the kindle edition?)

Ok, The Haunting of Hill House is like a Narnian wardrobe. Not, like, full of fauns and always winter, but bigger on the inside than it appears from the outside. So, Dr Montague rents up Hill House because he hears it's haunted and he is a Doctor of Researching Haunted Things, and then he recruits a team of folk that, with one thing and another, dwindles down to two young ladies, and somehow the young heir of Hill House gets sucked into the mix, and now you've got a likely group.

And then there are pages and pages of sweet life-slices where the four go for walks on the grounds and play chess and have the sort of endearing, cultivated banter that doesn't exist anymore and it's all very homey and will make you want to go to there except that for some reason the doors don't stay open, even if you prop them, and none of the walls meet at right angles, and if you weren't expecting a haunting maybe this wouldn't bother you. But you are, so it does.

And nothing untoward is happening and nothing untoward is happening, and far from being bored you are SO STRESSED OUT because nothing untoward is happening and if it would just happen already you could see what you were dealing with.

And then something very hair-raising happens, and then there is a comedic interlude that let's you climb back down from the walls, and THEN your mind a-splodes and you die. And that is the last page.

SO! Phew. I am askeered just reviewing this one (also, I am home alone and my house is making noises, which I feel is hardly fair). If it had been any longer thn 182 pages I either would have had an apoplexy OR the fright would have been stretched too thin. So brava, ShirJack, on knowing when to fold 'em (and also, presumably, when to hold 'em).

Eight and a half caterpillars.

Nefertiti - Michelle Moran

2009-10-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

Kidlets! I just read the greatest book and it's called The Other Boleyn Girl and is set in England and is about this vivacious, ambitious young girl who goes on to marry the king and then she's TOTALLY STRESSED OUT by how exhausting it is to keep the king's attention all the time when there are ladies everywhere and also to try and subtly rule in his stead because he's a bit of a ditz, and it's told from the point of view of her younger, less-vivacious sister who just wants to have a quiet life but who keeps getting swept up into the INTRIGUE and I totally lied and it's actually set in Egypt and called Nefertiti but the rest of it is true.

And I know, have this thing where sometimes I exaggerate to make a point and I PROMISE I am not doing that here. Sub out taffeta gowns and French hoods for sheer robes and be-cobra'd crowns et PRESTO! I give you The Nef. I AM NOT COMPLAINING, I am just stating a fact. Truth be told, I wish all of my favorite novels would be re-set in Egypt. Janehetmaktun Eyreapten. It would be awesome.

And if we accept Premise A: that Moran is the P.Greggory of Egyptian royals, along with Premise B: that Greggory isn't precisely good but she is certainly engaging, then we are led uncomplainingly to Conclusion X: that Nefertiti is nothing stunning, but will totally while away some spare hours if you happen to have them.

And Moran isn't at all subtle (and here is the General who will be trouble later, and this here is the General whom Mutnodjmet will fall in love with later, and this particular enterprise isn't going to end well, and if we are barring the doors so that The Plague does not enter the castle, YOU HAD BETTER BELIEVE THAT THE PLAGUE WILL ENTER THE CASTLE) and she does that thing that most historical fiction writers do where they latch on to a particularly archaic way of saying something that they think sounds really authentic, or a certain set of descriptors or something and then they FLOG it into the GROUND until it's all you can SEE anymore. Which sort of chaps my ass.

But where she really let me down was in the romance angle, because there's this general, see, and he kind of glances at Nefertiti's sister Mutnodjmet one time, and then a few chapters later he chats her up for maybe two lines, and then she invites him to her tent one night and he shows up and they clasp hands and then I do not joke it is a month later and they are discussing politics. POLITICS! Where is all the, you know, nervousness and awesomeness and tingling!?! I do not need to see them getting it on, and I don't necessarily need all of P.Gregg's heaving bosoms and slender waists, but when Mut shows up pregnant a few chapters later I do not want to feel shocked because I HAD NO IDEA.

So. I will probably read more Moran, but only when I need something brainless. And I mean that in the best possible way.

Seven caterpillars.

Also, thanks to TY for recommending this one as part of the Wonderful Dare Challenge.