Tag / review

by booksoverlookedblog

BIDP: Magic Lessons by Alice Hoffman

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

It’s time for another round of Books I Didn’t Pick, and we’ll be taking a step into a world of witchcraft with Magic Lessons by Alice Hoffman. Watching the movie Practical Magic has become a Halloween tradition for my sister and me. It’s a really fun movie, and we both like the strong bond between the two main characters, who are also sisters. My own sister gifted me Magic Lessons, the first book chronologically (but not the first written) in the Practical Magic series. 

I think I need to add a disclaimer here: I haven’t read the other books in the series, so my interpretation of things may not be accurate to the series as a whole. But as long as you’re not looking for deep lore analysis, pour yourself a cup of Courage Tea and get comfy.

Magic Lessons is the story of Maria Owens, powerful witch and matriarch of the Owens family. Centuries ago, Maria was scorned by a man, and cast a powerful curse: any man that loved an Owens woman was doomed to die. But who was Maria Owens outside of her curse? Who was the man who spurned Maria? And what happened to Maria after she was nearly hanged as a witch? 

The writing is beautiful. It goes into great depths to describe the details of life in the 1600s, and at times it feels downright cozy. Hoffman has done an incredible amount of research on the time period, and it shows. However, that research at times also gets in the way of the storytelling. The pages are full of history lessons, some relevant to the story, some not. Too much of this history is also given to the reader divorced from the story itself. For example, in the first chapter, the omniscient narrator tells the reader that 90% of women in Maria’s time were illiterate. The book gives us this actual percentage, rather than weaving it into the rest of the narrative. Several chapters start with the history of an area, but don’t add much to the story otherwise. The only “research dump” like this that was really relevant to the story was information about the Salem witch trials, though the characters had left Salem years ago by that point.

While the writing is lovely, the book can be achingly slow. This was because, in part, I had very few characters to cheer for. I liked Maria’s foster mother, Hannah, and Maria’s love interest, Samuel. However, Maria was a hard sell for me. Maria starts  as a perfect, precocious child who becomes a talented and powerful witch. The first three chapters dedicate a lot of time telling the re about how cool and special Maria is. I understood why, as Hoffman needs to establish Maria’s talents and skills, but it got tiresome quickly. I reached my breaking point in chapter three after Maria helps two of her friends deal with abusive husbands. Both of her friends go on to name their first daughters Maria “so that they said that name a hundred times a day with love and devotion.” 

The novel also uses real historical figures as characters, most notably John Hathorne, a magistrate of the Massachusetts Bay Colony and prominent judge in the Salem Witch Trials. In real life, Hathorne would ultimately sentence 19 innocent people to death for the crime of witchcraft. Presenting fictionalized versions of real people can be a delicate thing. Hathorne is given nuance, especially when he and Maria first meet early in the book. I liked that he was shown to be repressed by Puritan society. At that point in time, we typically think of women being repressed, not men. I appreciated seeing how such a strict religious society affected men as well. 

If you were looking for subtlety in the characters, you’ll be disappointed. The omniscient narrator tells you every aspect of their outer and inner lives, without leaving room for interpretation. While Maria and Hathorne have layers, they’re not gradually peeled back as the story progresses. Too often, we learn the characters’ thoughts and feelings through the narration, rather than their words and actions. When this happens, I feel like I’m reading a detailed outline of a story, but not really experiencing it alongside the characters. And, because I could rarely connect with the characters, Magic Lessons committed the greatest sin that any novel can commit.

I was bored. 

Since I didn’t feel invested in the characters, I needed a strong plot to make the book more interesting to read. As I mentioned before, though, the plot is very slow-paced. It was kind of like going fishing: the scenery was pretty, nothing would happen for a long time, and then you’d get a few minutes of frantic action. After the halfway mark, the plot became circular, with the main conflicts repeating themselves twice over. The climax was fantastic, but for the most part, getting there was a slog.

The novel suffers from prequelitis as well. Maria lays her curse because she has to, since it’s an important part of the books in the rest of the series. But the timing of it was terrible, because she fell in love just before the curse was laid. Towards the end of the book, Maria buys a house and sets up a trust so it will always remain in the family. That would be nice, except she buys the house in Salem. The place where she was scorned, nearly killed,  and full of people who want to kill her loved ones. So why does she want to buy a house in Salem? Because the other books in the series take place in Salem.1 Things happen because they have to, not because they make sense for the characters or the plot.

Obviously this wasn’t a great book for me. So it might surprise you to read that I’ve actually recommended it to a few other people. Well, to people who loved Where the Crawdads Sing. Much like Crawdads, the beautiful writing is what makes Magic Lessons shine. 

I’ve seen mostly positive reviews for Magic Lessons, which often cite the prose, the mother-daughter relationship, and Hoffman’s depiction of women as some of the strongest points in the book. I honestly don’t think that Magic Lessons is a bad book, so much as it is a bad book for me. It’s “no thoughts, just vibes,” and that’s not really the kind of story I go for. If that’s something you enjoy, and you like historical fiction (especially with a touch of magic), check this one out. I recommend reading on a rainy Sunday afternoon with a cup of tea.

Because I enjoy doing this, I have my chapter-by-chapter review below. I tried to not get too spoilery in the main review, but everything in the chapter breakdown is a big spoiler party.

  • Chapter 1: I like Hannah and the last scene was very good, but so much of this chapter feels like a research dump.
  • Chapter 2: I don’t really like omniscient narrators, but it’s not driving me crazy, even if it means there’s not a lot of dialogue.
  • Chapter 3: The book has started getting better, since it’s no longer all about how special Maria is.
  • Chapter 4: I’m really curious how the book will handle Hathorne going forward. I think it’s interesting that the author depicts Hathorne as repressed by Puritan society, not just repressed women.
  • Chapter 5: Faith continues the Owens tradition of “precocious child wise beyond her years.”
  • Chapter 6: Shit finally got real. Also, why are all but two men in the book utter scum? Martha’s husband could have been kind and died, and it wouldn’t quell her desire for a daughter of her own.
  • Chapter 7: This is a problem with prequels: Maria lays the curse because she has to, because it’s dealt with in the later books. But she lays the curse after she realizes she’s in love with Sam, so now the whole chapter is about how she can’t be with him, and it’s frustrating as all hell.
  • Chapter 8: The first two pages of this chapter are just history lessons that have nothing to do with Faith. Faith is a lot like her mom, which goes back to her being the “perfect child” trope. Also, Hathorne – real guy who sent real innocent people to their real deaths – has been given much more sympathy than the fictional Martha.
  • Chapter 9: Another frustrating chapter of Sam wanting to be with Maria, and her telling him no, then they sleep together anyway.
  • Chapter 10: Maria’s story is just more of the same; Faith’s the one I’m invested in now.
  • Chapter 11: …is Hoffman implying that Katherine Parr was not only a witch, but an evil one? Curious to see where the story will go now, as the biggest plot line so far has been wrapped up and there’s still 100 pages left.
  • Chapter 12: So much of this book has been about Maria looking for Faith, but we barely see them together once they’re reunited. Talk about a lot of buildup with little emotional payoff.
  • Chapter 13: I don’t like Faith, but I am 100% here for her seeking revenge on Hathorne. However, this circular plot is getting even more circular. We’ve had the will they-won’t they with Sam and Maria three times now, and now Faith and her mother are separated again.
  • Chapter 14: This is fine. At least the plot’s moving forward, and of course Maria is just the best writer ever. The Fall Out of Love Tea is a bit manipulative, though, if you ask me.
  • Chapter 15: Of course it’s Faith that ensures Hathorne will be remembered as a bad man, not just society in general thinking that killing innocent people is bad.
  • Chapter 16: Maria’s house is perfect, just like Maria. The epilogue still doesn’t tell us why Maria chose to settle in Salem, but it tells us every herb in her pantry and the outfit she wore when she sat for a portrait. Why. 
  1. The Salem thing bugged me so much I had to stop reading for a couple days. No, it’s never explained why Maria settled in Salem.  ↩︎
by booksoverlookedblog

Indie Review: OMG UR a Teenager!

I’m a Reedsy Discovery reviewer! I received a free ARC of OMG UR a Teenager! by Leslie Young for this review.

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Twelve-year-old Kat Cruz can’t wait for her next birthday. Before she can become a teenager, though, she’ll have to make it through seventh grade. The year starts off rough when her parents buy the most run-down house in the neighborhood, and a bully snaps a picture of Kat in front of her new house. She’s constantly stuck babysitting her younger brother, who thinks he’s a superhero. Kat’s editorials in the school newspaper make a splash, but not always in a good way. She’s also crushing on her new neighbor, Will, despite the fact that his mom doesn’t seem to like her. With new challenges every day, will Kat make it to her thirteenth birthday in one piece? 

OMG UR a Teenager by Leslie Young is a contemporary slice-of-life novel full of clear, crisp writing that makes it easy for young readers to get into the story. The relatability will keep them invested throughout the book. Kat experiences things that many kids going through pre-adolescence face: bullying, the excitement and mortification of buying your first bra, and changing family dynamics. Most of all, she wants to be seen as the mature nearly-teen she is, not a child and permanent babysitter for her little brother, Max. Tween readers will understand exactly how she feels, and adults will easily recall both the joys and pains of middle school.

Kat’s family dynamic is true to life as well, with well-intentioned parents who don’t understand their daughter’s point of view, an annoying little brother that Kat loves (even if she wants to kill him sometimes), and her vivacious grandmother whose Alzheimer’s puts extra strain on the family. Kat’s and Max’s relationship is developed particularly well, showing their closeness (especially in the climax), even if they don’t always get along. However, Gran’s storyline wasn’t as well-developed, making her inclusion in the book feel unnecessary.

At times the story can feel disjointed, such as an abrupt cut from summer to Halloween. Like Gran’s story, some plot points are dropped without a conclusion. Kat’s narration is also, at times, too mature to be realistic for a twelve-year-old. While adult readers might have to stretch their suspension of disbelief at some of Kat’s inner monologues, tween readers may find her insights useful in their own lives.

Overall, OMG UR a Teenager is a warm-hearted, relatable story for tweens, and anyone who’s ever been one.

by booksoverlookedblog

Banned Book: Prince and Knight

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

Think of your favorite fairy tale. Were there talking animals? A handsome prince falling in love with a beautiful princess? Did it teach a lesson? 

When we’re very young, fairy tales and fables are usually our first introduction to stories. We learn a lot about narrative structure from these old tales. We learn that stories have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Stories have characters and conflicts. We even learn some basic symbolism: a cottage represents safety and home, the woods represent danger, and a castle represents success. A beautiful person is good, and an ugly person is evil. These simple, familiar stories set the foundation for our understanding of narratives long before we have the ability to read one on our own. 

There are many things in traditional stories that aren’t viewed as fondly today as they once were, like beauty equating to goodness and women as prizes. There are lots of retellings of classic stories now, which often change turn the formerly helpless maiden into a certified bad-ass. Heck, the best-selling Twisted Tale series are just Disney AUs based on their popular movies.

I didn’t write my earlier post about traditional literature just because it’s one of my favorite genres (though that is true), but because I want to discuss the oft-challenged picture book, Prince and Knight, but Daniel Haack and Stevie Lewis.

Well, let’s look at this dangerous book together. I love the illustrations – bright and colorful, and perfect for a picture book. The story is also told in rhyme, which I enjoyed. Sometimes rhyming picture books can be clunky or choose awkward words to make the rhyme work, but I didn’t see any of that here. Overall, it’s nice to look at and fun to read out loud.

Prince and Knight repeats familiar fairy tale beats: a prince goes on a journey, overcomes a challenge, and is rewarded with true love. The main difference between this and stories like Sleeping Beauty is that the prince’s true love is another man. 

The story goes like this: a prince is getting ready to inherit the kingdom, but the king and queen know that it’s too much work to rule alone. They want their son to find a nice girl and get married. He meets many lovely ladies, but he doesn’t want to marry any of them. When a dragon attacks, the prince races to save the kingdom. He’s not fighting alone, either. A bold knight rushes into the battle to assist the king. They save each other’s lives, and together, capture the beast. Soon, the prince realizes that his one true love, the one he’s been searching for, is this brave knight in shining armor. The prince and the knight are married, the kingdom rejoices, and everyone lives happily ever after.

I loved Prince & Knight. There’s action, but not violence (the prince and knight tie up the dragon rather than slay it), and it has an adorable happily ever after. My favorite thing about the book might be the king and queen’s reaction to the prince falling in love with another man. They’re ecstatic that he’s found someone and don’t care that it’s not a princess, and the whole kingdom celebrates their wedding. 

Cute, right?

Unfortunately, not everyone thought so. According to the ALA Prince and Knight was one of the most frequently banned or challenged books in 2019 for “featuring a gay marriage and LGBTQIA+ content; for being ‘a deliberate attempt to indoctrinate young children’ with the potential to cause confusion, curiosity, and gender dysphoria; and for conflicting with a religious viewpoint”

Siiiigh. Let’s break this down.

Prince and Knight was published in 2018, three years after same-sex marriage became legal throughout the United States. According to Pew Research Center, a majority Americans support same-sex marriage and it’s part of the cultural landscape, whether you think it should be or not.

“Confusion” and “curiosity” are natural parts of childhood. Young kids are learning about the world and, no matter what book you read to a young child, they’re going to have questions. For an example from my own life, I was in fourth grade when I two older students – who were also my neighbors – told me that our principal was a lesbian. I’d never even heard the word “lesbian” before, and it had to be explained to me: girls who love girls. I became worried, and asked, “am I a lesbian because I love my mom?” The older girls told me that girl family members didn’t count. Later, my neighbor’s mother called my house to warn my mom that I might be asking some questions about what I’d learned that day. But I can’t remember asking any other questions about it, or even it being that big of a deal in the long run. If a child has a question about the gay marriage in the book, “Some boys fall in love with other boys” isn’t indoctrination, it’s just a true statement. And it’s not going to be as earth-shattering as you think. And while we’re not totally certain what causes gender dysphoria, you don’t get it from reading a picture book.

As far as a religious viewpoint goes…I’m pretty sure we can guess which religion the complainants are talking about. Some religious communities, like the Buddhist Churches of America and some Jewish movements have celebrated or supported same-sex marriage for decades, and many sects of Christianity do so as well now. Even the Catholic church is slooooowly becoming more accepting of same-sex couples. So this book isn’t against all religious viewpoints, just a certain one. 

At the start of this post, I talked about the role fairy tales play in our formative years. So I have a question: why is Prince and Knight indoctrination, but a story like “Sleeping Beauty” isn’t? Classic Western fairy tales are often about finding true love through magical means. The prince magically awakens a sleeping princess with a kiss; a princess kisses a frog and finds her true love; a glass slipper fits only one woman perfectly. So many stories treat the princess as a prize to be won. I would say reading only fairy tales like that introduce kids to harmful stereotypes of gender. So why aren’t tales of heterosexual love accused of indoctrinating kids? 

I love fairy tales, old and new. I am aware of the pitfalls in classic traditional stories, and I enjoy adaptations that change things up. I still think fairy tales and other traditional stories and rhymes are an important part of early literacy. But there’s a phrase I heard once that’s always stuck with me: “It’s not what you have, it’s what you don’t have.” This sums up how I feel about a lot of media diets. If you get nothing but stories with a narrow view of what the world is like, it’s going to affect how you see the world. I don’t see anything inherently wrong with traditional stories, but I think it’s important for children to see stories where the princess saves the prince, where the ugly person is kind, and where the prince and the knight find true love. 

Because in real life, girls can save boys, not-beautiful people can be kind, and two men can fall in love and marry each other. To pretend otherwise is insulting to all of those who don’t live in a fairytale.

by booksoverlookedblog

Indie Review: Hounds of Gaia

I’m a Reedsy Discovery reviewer! I received a free ARC of Hounds of Gaia by Sean Tirman for this review.

⭐⭐⭐

Home to notorious criminals fleeing justice, the asteroid Deadwood was never a safe place. But something far deadlier lurks just under the surface of the mining colony. Something brutal and merciless, that leaves only death and gore in its wake. The Contractor Foxhound doesn’t know that. She’s only here to catch a human trafficker called Fink, and get back to Earth to collect the bounty on his head. Neither does Sister Penelope, a nurturing and peace-loving woman striving to protect the forgotten children of Deadwood. Foxhound’s, Fink’s, and Penelope’s lives collide with devastating results, but the real danger is closer to them than they think.

Hounds of Gaia starts with a bang, steadily building up the horror of the tunnels underneath Deadwood. The action-packed prologue is sure to keep readers turning pages.

The worldbuilding is extremely detailed, which works well in the first few chapters of the book. It’s interesting and immersive, and makes the reader more interested in the setting. Yet as the story unfolds, the exposition becomes clunky and often unnecessary. These information dumps bring the action of the story to a shrieking halt, and sometimes repeat information that the reader already knows. It also took away some of the mystery about Foxhound’s identity. Most readers will be able to figure out where she comes from long before it’s ever revealed.

The uninterrupted action sequences themselves are excellent. Thrilling chases through seedy neighborhoods, criminals hopped up on elicit drugs, futuristic weapons, and bouts with some truly evil villains will keep readers on the edge of their seats.

While the setting is given great depth, the heroes are not. The three protagonists – Foxhound, Penelope, and a girl with no name – all suffer from thin characterization. Foxhound is a tough woman with a job to do; Penelope is a kind woman who cares deeply about the children in her care; the girl is an innocent child. Those are their character traits, and not much else. As this is the start of a series, however, there is plenty of room for character growth and development in coming books.

On the antagonist side of things, Fink and his criminal associates are utter delights whenever they appear. They revel in their villainy, which is really fun to read. Like the other characters, they aren’t fully fleshed out, but given their role in the story (and how fun they are), they don’t need to be.

Overall, Hounds of Gaia has a lot of potential for a sci-fi series. Sci-fi fans who enjoy plot-driven stories and detailed worldbuilding will enjoy this book, and the ending will keep readers curious for the next volume.

by booksoverlookedblog

Indie Review: Curse of the Terracotta Warriors

I’m a Reedsy Discovery reviewer! I received a free ARC of Curse of the Terracotta Warriors by Mark Douglas for this review.

⭐⭐⭐

When the police come to Maddie Jones’s school, she thinks they’re going to arrest her for one of her many pranks. But the truth is much worse: her archaeologist dad has been kidnapped (Or dadnapped?). Maddie is certain this has something to do with the shipment of Qin dynasty terracotta warriors that just arrived at her dad’s museum from China. With the help of her two younger brothers, Maddie will face untold dangers and unravel ancient secrets to get her dad back. And she thought climbing the rock wall in gym class was tough…

Curse of the Terracotta Warriors is an action-packed book that moves quickly. Almost every chapter ends in a cliffhanger, which keeps the reader tuning pages. Unfortunately, much of the action sequences in Part One can feel repetitive, and the novel would have benefited from tightening up the first third of the book.

Maddie is, far and away, the star of the novel. She’s bold, a natural troublemaker with a snarky personality that will instantly endear her to readers. Told from Maddie’s first-person point of view, her clear voice and colorful narration will leave readers cheering for her through the most dire situations.

There are a few writing pitfalls throughout the book. Capitalization is occasionally inconsistent, with some character’s names or the start of sentences not being capitalized while common nouns are. Another instance sees Maddie “hurtling” over an obstacle rather than “hurdling” it. These aren’t major issues, and nothing that another proofing wouldn’t fix.

The Chinese setting of Xi’an is bland and feels shallow and poorly researched. Characters refer to “Chinese letters” and the “Chinese alphabet” when it’s common knowledge that Mandarin does not have an alphabet. The characters also watch CNN in their hotel room in Xi’an and use Wi-Fi at a Starbucks to do research, despite the fact that Chinese media is heavily censored. The Chinese setting doesn’t pop enough, and these inaccuracies show through.

Even so, Curse of the Terracotta Warriors is a fun, entertaining romp with a vivacious protagonist that’s tough to put down. Its short, action-packed chapters make this a great pick for reluctant readers, and middle-grade kids who love adventures.

by booksoverlookedblog

BIDP: Butterflies in November

In 2015, I took a trip to Iceland with my sister, boyfriend (now husband), and a friend. For ten days we traveled the Ring Road that encircles the country. It was an adventure unlike any other I’d been on, not only because of the beautiful and primal landscape we explored. It was also because I spent the second night of our trip in an Icelandic hospital, and got to learn about the Scandinavian health care system first hand. But that’s another story altogether.

I bring this all up because I wanted to explain how the book Butterflies in November landed in my lap. Technically, I did pick this book, just not for myself. I bought it for my sister, who re-gifted it back to me. I got this book specifically for her because it’s about an Icelandic woman making an unexpected trip around the Ring Road, and the people she meets along the way. It had been praised in reviews, and I thought it would be fun to relive our trip through a book where the protagonist takes the same route we did. My sister said that the book was “okay” – not exactly high praise – and passed it on to me.

One unusual thing about Butterflies in November is that very few characters have names, including the main character. For this review, I’ll be referring the her as “Kvenhetja,” the Icelandic word for “heroine.” At least, I think it is. Google Translate is far from perfect.

Here’s the basic plot: Kvenhetja is a linguist and freelance editor and translator. She’s been married for almost five years, but has been having an affair with one of her clients. Shortly after being dumped by both her husband and lover, she becomes the reluctant guardian of her best friend’s child. Tumi is four years old, deaf and largely mute, and Kvenhetja doesn’t have a mothering bone in her body. After Tumi picks the winning numbers for the largest lottery jackpot in Icelandic history, he and Kvenhetja set out on a  journey on the Icelandic Ring Road that encircles the entire country.

The plot isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. Someone unlucky in love who takes in a child (bonus points if they have special needs) and goes on a journey of self-discovery. The main difference between this book and stories like No Reservations, Raising Helen, and this way-too-accurate trailer for every Academy Award-winning movie ever is that it’s set in Iceland. But what really drew me into the book was how similar I was to the protagonist. Scarily so.

‘It’s as if you just don’t want to grow up, behaving like a child, even though you’re thirty-three years old, doing your weird and careless things [. . .] You’re always forgetting things, arriving the last at everything, you don’t wear a watch. And to top it all, you always seem to choose the longest route anywhere. [. . .] Words, words, words, exactly, your entire life revolves around the definition of words. Well here you go, impulsive: abrupt, hasty, headlong and impetuous. [. . .] Having a child might have changed you, smoothed your edges a bit. But still, what kind of mother would behave the way you do?’

It was bound to reach this point, the baby issue. But I’m a realist so I agree with him, I wasn’t made to be a mother, to bring up new humans, I haven’t the faintest clue about children, nor the skills required to rear them. The sight of a small child doesn’t trigger a wave of soft maternal feelings in me.

I have never felt so called out by a book before.

But in that outlining of Kvenhetja’s traits and quirks, there is one thing I am that she’s not. Impatient. I was promised a travelogue, but it took several chapters of set-up to get her and Tumi on the road. Granted, the chapters tend to be short, but it felt like forever to get to. When Kvenhetja and Tuni finally get to their journey on the Ring Road, I kept reading and waiting for…something to happen.

I’ve read some non-fiction travelogues, and they’re often a series of anecdotes as the narrator travels form Point A to Point B. This makes sense. Our lives don’t follow the structured five stages of plot (though sometimes it feels like they do). Telling a true story about your life isn’t going to be like telling a story in a novel.

Once Kvenhetja and Tumi are on the road, the story is mostly composed of anecdotes of people she and Tumi meet along the way. There are definite characters she meets, like a falconer and an Estonian men’s choir. There is a through-line to the plot, at least:  Kvenhetja is on the road to receive a prize she won, and Tumi is along for the ride.

The road trip was the part of the book I was most interested in, because it was a way to re-visit my trip around the Ring Road. All the people on the road that Kvenhetja meets are helpful and friendly, something I probably would have scoffed at if I hadn’t seen the kindness of native Icelanders and tourists firsthand. Iceland is a rugged country, and being stranded on the Ring Road can be dangerous. I think that’s one of the reasons why it feels like everyone has each other’s back.

I also liked to see  things on the page that had enchanted me in real life: black sand deserts, lava fields, hot springs and one-lane bridges. These are landscapes you can get lost in, perfect for resetting your life. The novel makes a lot of use of metaphors reflecting on the Icelandic landscape and travel on the Ring Road.

The reviews promised a quirky and funny story, but most of the time I read it, I was just bored. Despite the similarities between Kvenhetja and me, as the book went on, I just didn’t like her very much. She’s impulsive and makes poor decisions that are potentially dangerous for the child in her care. Granted, Iceland is generally safer than the U.S., but I don’t think that it’s a good idea to have sex with a stranger in a lava field while a four-year-old charge is sleeping in the car. Half the time Tumi may as well not even be in the story, considering how much of the prose is devoted to Kvenhetja’s introspection.

This book also hit on one of my pet peeves when it comes to writing child characters: children who don’t act like children. I don’t mind a precocious character every now and then, and Tumi is meant to be an “introspective oddball.” I liked how he has an interest in words and could read and write a little. It helped bring Kvenhetja and Tumi connect, not just for the purposes of communication. She might not have any inkling of what to do with a child, but their shared interest in words helps build their relatiomship. But for an entire trip, Kvenhetja never had to deal with Tumi wetting his pants, throwing a tantrum, or trying to eat rocks. Tumi isn’t just introspective; he’s the most un-childlike four-year-old I think I’ve seen in fiction.

Overall, I didn’t really care for Butterflies in November. I didn’t seem to get the wry humor that reviews promised. The prose is descriptive and fantastic, but it ultimately wasn’t enough to save the thin plot.

I don’t think it was a bad book. It certainly got plenty of love from critics. It just wasn’t a good book for me. If Butterflies in November sounds like something you’d enjoy, I encourage you to check it out!

by booksoverlookedblog

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars

First of all, thank you to everyone who read my work for Flash Fiction Month! I don’t normally post my original fiction online for various reasons, but FFM is special. I will be taking down most (if not all) of my stories after August, so please read them while you have the chance!

We now return you to your regular book rants.

This review contains spoilers for To Sleep in a Sea of Stars by Christopher Paolini. I’ve written a quick chapter summary here.

A few years ago, I re-read one of my favorite books as a teenager: Eragon, by Christopher Paolini. While my fifteen-year-old self had loved it, adult me was very aware of its flaws. I determined that Paolini was great at worldbuilding and description, but wasn’t great at writing characters. Paolini was a teenager when Eragon was published, and still wet behind the ears when it came to his craft. It’s now been twenty years since Eragon first came out (cripes, I’m old!). In my review, I wondered what a novel by a more experienced Paolini might look like today.

Well, in 2020, we got our answer. And like most things from 2020, I didn’t like it.

I think I’m in the minority in this case, though. To Sleep got good reviews overall, and there are plenty of fans online who really like this book. I generally like sci-fi, but To Sleep just wasn’t for me.

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars is Paolini’s first adult novel, and his first science-fiction book. It’s a whopping 800+ pages of space, aliens, futuristic technology…and a decent amount of fantasy elements for an otherwise “hard”* sci-fi.

Before we get into the novel, I want to talk about the physical book itself. I don’t pay a ton of attention to how books are marketed, but its pretty obvious they were trying to sell this one on Paolini’s name alone. The spine only has “PAOLINI” on it. The title isn’t on there. It’s pretty common for popular authors to have their names featured prominently on book spines, sometimes in a larger font than the title. But they all still include the title.

With that said, let’s get into what’s between the covers. I have tried to get away from nit-picking books to death, I still have included one-sentence reviews/reactions to each chapter at the bottom of this post, because they’re too much fun for me not to do.

The plot is very dense, to the point where writing a spoiler-free review is kind of impossible. I wrote a companion post for this review, with brief (and hopefully humorous) summaries of each chapter for those who haven’t read the book, or read the book but forgot some of it. Can’t blame you there – there’s a lot.

To Sleep in a Sea of Stars is a galaxy-spanning saga of alien invasion, mysterious and powerful artifacts, and high-tech space battles. Kira Navarez is a xenobiologist who travels with a crew of scientists to uncolonized planets to see if they could be made habitable. After she falls into alien ruins on a mission, a complex piece of alien technology becomes attached to her. The xeno encases her body, and is eventually responsible for the death of most of her crewmates, including her fiancé, Alan.

Then things get complicated.

The story moves quickly, and has lots of twists and turns. In an interview that’s available in some editions of the book, Paolini said that he was essentially trying to write an entire series in the span of one novel. It justifies the length, and it really does feel like he’s managed to succeed in telling an epic story from beginning to end, without needing to break it into multiple parts.

There are things that I both liked and disliked about this. First, it kept the plot moving. In my posts about Eragon, I occasionally complained about filler chapters, but I don’t think there were any here. There were times when it was hard to put the book down because I wanted to know what happened next.

On the other hand, sometimes it moved too fast. It meant that I didn’t have time to get to know or care about the characters (often before they met, or nearly met, their dooms) in the start. There was also no room to breathe, especially in the beginning. Humans, both real and fictional, need time to rest. When we only see characters in a crisis – which was the majority of the book – we see how they react to the situations they’re in, but not necessarily who they are. Too often, the characters often felt like reaction, rather than fully fleshed out people. Paolini does a better job with character development than he has in his previous novels, but sometimes it felt forced, like a chapter where Kira systematically learns the backstories of all her crewmates.

Then there was the way the plot itself was constructed. As I mentioned, there are a lot of twists and unexpected events throughout. It keeps the story unpredictable, and the reader curious about how the characters will solve the newest curveball that’s been thrown their way.

But it also meant that some story arcs felt pointless, or like padding, once they concluded. For me, the most aggravating instance was when Kira and her new crew are searching for something called the Staff of Blue. No one is really sure what the Staff is, but Kira knows that it’s an important weapon that will help humanity combat the invading alien race nicknamed the “Jellies.” For more than 100 pages, Kira et al. search for the Staff, travel to a remote location to finally retrieve it, and engage in a deadly battle with the Jellies (and an even scarier creature, the Seeker). They find the Staff, but it’s broken in the battle and rendered useless.

Some readers might think, “holy crap! How will our heroes save the galaxy now?!” and read on feverishly. As for me, I was so frustrated that I just put the book down and refused to open it for two days. A “holy crap!” moment should make you want to read on, but I was annoyed that so much time had been devoted to something that ultimately had very little bearing on the actual plot.

This is also probably a good time to point out another issue I had with the book: excess. It seems a bit obvious when talking about an 800+ page book. Of course not every scene has to contribute to the overall story or character growth, but there were some spots that were just unnecessary. My first gripe with this was the character Inarë. Inarë is a refugee of the intergalactic war Kira inadvertently caused, and she and Kira meet on a ship taking refugees away from the fighting. Inarë is in the book for one or two scenes, described in a large amount of detail, and has a cat. She’s pretty weird and gives Kira cryptic advice about the journey ahead of her. Anyone who’s read Eragon could tell you that she’s pretty transparently Angela from that series, morphed into some sort of space witch. This isn’t just my assumption, either. Paolini even says so in the acknowledgements at the end of the book.

[T]hose of you who are fans of the Inheritance Cycle may have noticed some references to the series in To Sleep. You weren’t imagining things. And yes, Inarë is who you think she is.

As I mentioned in my post about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I don’t mind callbacks to an author’s previous works if it’s something small, or if it feeds into the plot later. However, Inarë has a few pages to herself, and except for her final words to Kira popping up occasionally, she had no overall bearing on the plot. In fact, the arc words that Inarë gives Kira (“Eat the path”) could have been said by nearly anyone in her crew and still have the same effect. When I see something like this, to me it feels more like fanservice and the author patting themselves on the back.

Towards the end of the book, I also wondered if a very large part of the plot was even necessary. There’s a subspecies of Jellies that the humans have to fight against, called “nightmares,” or the Corrupted. But there was already so much going on in the book without them. Space battles, ancient alien lore, a large cast of characters and almost non-stop action, reading about the nightmares and their progenitor monster, the Maw, was just exhausting. A book only about the humans and Jellies would have been interesting enough, but for me, this was too much.

It also suffered from the same ending fatigue present in movies like Return of the King. First, Kira kills the evil overlord of the Jellies. Then, she destroys the Maw. Then, she must go and destroy seven copies of the Maw. That’s seven copies that were never mentioned prior to any of the huge space battles in the climax of the book.

Then there are the appendices, which include the science behind faster-than-light travel and ship-to-ship combat in space, a timeline that covers over 500 years, and a glossary. Of all these, it’s the glossary that sticks in my craw. I complained about excess before, but there’s also the problem of absence of information, and the glossary exemplifies both.

I might start out by saying that I didn’t know that there was a glossary in the book at first, and I only found it by accident. I don’t think that there’s anything inherently bad having a glossary included in a fiction book, especially in sci-fi and fantasy stories. At the same time I was reading To Sleep, I was also reading Mastiff, by Tamora Pierce. Like To Sleep, Mastiff also has a glossary that defines the made-up words in the book, but you can also figure out what they mean in the context of the scene.

To Sleep‘s glossary doesn’t work like that. There are times when it feels like the reader was expected to have read it before starting the book.** This is best exemplified in the case of the “ship mind.” There’s almost no context for what a ship mind actually is for the first two-thirds of the book. As I read it, I was so confused about what ship minds actually were. Were they complex AI? Human-AI hybrids? Until I accidentally found the glossary, I had no idea. It turns out that ship minds are essentially augmented human brains, removed from their bodies, that sit in sarcophagi on board their ships, overseeing all the ship’s functions. This is such a huge thing, and totally different from anything I had imagined. Props to Paolini for originality, and for my new nightmares. But I really shouldn’t have had to accidentally find a glossary or wait until the near-climax of the book to see a reference to a sarcophagus housing a human brain sitting in a nutrient bath.

To Sleep takes great care to show the reader how things like faster-than-light travel and combat in outer space are possible. At the same time, it also uses a lot of fantasy tropes. I know, I know: “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” And I can buy that when it’s something like two humans from a highly advanced technological civilization using highly advanced technology to blow up aliens and glibly referring to it as “magic.” It becomes harder for me to take when the xeno attached to Kira becomes able to do almost everything and anything. Kira first used it as a weapon and armor, but by the end of the book, she uses it heal characters with devastating wounds and build entire living space stations.

Drawing upon the Seed’s banks of encoded knowledge, she began to build the needed machines, constructing them from the atomic level up. With energy gathered from the panels, she sparked a burning sun inside herself: a fusion reactor large enough to drive the biggest UMC battleship. With energy from the artificial star, she started to manufacture antimatter–far more than the inefficient techniques of the humans or the Wranaui allowed for. The Old Ones had mastered the means of antimatter production before either species had even come into being.

p. 791

Even though this takes place after the second (sigh) major battle of the climax, it’s still quite a lot to take in.

That paragraph also shows another fantasy trope present in the novel. You probably noticed a reference to the “Old Ones.” The Old Ones were a sentient species that predate the existence of humans and the Jellies. They made the xeno that attached itself to Kira, along with the Staff of Blue, and the Great Beacons, which gave humanity a huge leap forward, technologically speaking. In other words: all that sufficiently advanced technology came from a species that was at least over 300,000 years old.

I don’t mind the “old stuff is more powerful” trope in fantasy works. It can be a bit tiresome at times, but it usually fits with the setting and the feel of the story. Ancient artifacts and mysterious ruins are part and parcel for fantasy stories. Sci-fi (especially “hard” sci-fi) is more focused on technology and what could be if any number of events or scientific discoveries occur. Sci-fi focuses on the future: how technology and/or societal changes have changed our lives, for better or for worse. A book like To Sleep should be one that dreams of humanity reaching the stars – and much more – through its own ingenuity and innovation. Relying on ancient artifacts from a vanished civilization doesn’t feel like it’s reaching out into the future. It makes it feel like all of humanity’s achievements are small, and that there’s no way they could ever create what the Old Ones have.

Throughout my review of Eragon, I had to compliment Paolini on his descriptive abilities, as well as his world building. As before, the worldbuilding is thorough, and it really does feel like he’s created a whole galaxy full of humans and aliens. The characterization could be weak at times, but the crew of the Wallfish all had distinct personalities that made them stand out. Falconi was probably my favorite character, but I had trouble getting to know who Kira was as a person.

I know I can focus too much on the negative, but I actually really did like the aliens in this book. In fiction, it’s common to have sentient, non-human races look and act quite…human. The Jellies only resembled humans in that some of them were bipedal. They’re sea-based creatures inspired by octopi, complete with tentacles that can change color. The Jellies are genderless and have a hive mind, which has been used to control them. They communicate using smells, called nearscent. They have vastly different lifecycles than humans, from birth to death. In short, they’re an alien species that feels refreshingly alien. While the book sometimes felt like it was bloated, the story moved fast, and changed in ways I didn’t predict.

Overall, I did like some of To Sleep – but not enough to pick up the next book in the series, Fractal Noise.

*The quotation marks aren’t meant to be pejorative. I don’t like the terms “hard” and “soft” to describe sci-fi, but I’m using it in this post because it’s easily understandable. Read more on the debate between “hard” and “soft” sci-fi at Tor.com
**Not recommended. This was how I accidentally spoiled what the Staff of Blue was for myself.

If you want more nit-picking, read on for (mostly) one-sentence chapter reviews. Lots of spoilers follow.

  • Chapter 1: A chapter centered around a romantic relationship, and I’m not at all convinced Paolini can write romance.
  • Chapter 2: I’m really trying to avoid comparing this book to Mass Effect, but let me have this chapter.
  • Chapter 3: Paolini’s love affair with thesauri continues, though isn’t as prevalent here than his Eragon books.
  • Chapter 4: I didn’t know enough about any of these characters, even Alan, to be sad when they died.
  • Chapter 5: Kira’s character is still made up of her reactions to things, rather than actual personality, but I’m finally getting into this book.
  • Chapter 6: Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m enjoying this.
  • Chapter 7: So far I’m not liking Kira, but I am excited for the the pew-pew space battles I’ve been waiting for.
  • Chapter 8: I understand that Kira is scared, but give us a moment to feel SOMETHING about what it’s like to be flung out in space.
  • Chapter 9: Really didn’t need a paragraph dedicated to a woman inspecting her vagina, thanks.
  • Chapter 10: Kira is just kind of numb, which is disappointing, because I was hoping to get some fantastic descriptions of space flight, but instead I just get blah.
  • Chapter 11: So…are ship’s minds humans or AI or what?
  • Chapter 12: I think Inare is supposed to be an interesting character, but she’s just a clone of Angela from Eragon, complete with cat.
  • Chapter 13: Another instance that had the possibility of being heartbreaking, except Kira is just worried about…who will find her attractive after all the trauma she’s gone through. #MenWritingWomen
  • Chapter 14: The Soft Blade is responsible for the death of Kira’s fiancé and crewmates, but Kira never seems conflicted about her gratitude towards it for keeping her alive.
  • Chapter 15: Sparrow jumping into action to save a kid is heroic, but I don’t know enough about any of these characters to care if they live or die.
  • Chapter 16: It’s clear that Hwa-Jung takes her job seriously and knows the risks of their current situation, so she should not be arguing with the captain about repairing the ship pronto.
  • Chapter 17: Paolini forgot about his love affair with the thesaurus and has begun a love affair with parentheses.
  • Chapter 18: I think the Entropists are pretty cool so far, but their shared dialogue is really annoying.
  • Chapter 19: I don’t know what a construct is any more than I know what a ship’s mind is.
  • Chapter 20: According to the characters, Kira can do no wrong, even after she’s done a lot of wrong.
  • Chapter 21: Kira was a biologist long before she was part of this story; she should be pissed that the Wallfish crew effectively destroyed an entire planet’s ecosystem, not amused.
  • Chapter 22: It just really seems like a bad idea to me to routinely send every member on a spaceship into cyro.
  • Chapter 23: Kira’s grief over the death of her fiance was barely present to begin with, but now it’s just been hand-waved away.
  • Chapter 24: Why the hell is anyone letting a teenager go on a potentially dangerous alien planet, when there are actual space marines who are much better equipped and qualified to do this mission?
  • Chapter 25: All right, I’m here for planetary exploration!
  • Chapter 26: And now the Entropists are doing actual magic.
  • Chapter 27: One thing that bugs me: there’s never any room to breathe in this book, and the action points are all the same. Solved something? Jellies attack! Go to a new planet? Another attack!
  • Chapter 28: This is just trippy.
  • Chapter 29: If the nightmares were created from the Jellies only about six months before, why are the nightmare ships so much better than the Jelly ships?
  • Chapter 30: Falconi’s advice to a shattered Kira: stop feeling guilty about this intergalactic war that you started. And Kira just…does. No struggle to get over it, no lingering guilt. Owning it and trying to fix it is far more heroic than going, “I broke everything and I don’t feel bad about it.”
  • Chapter 31: This is frustrating and Kira is frustrating.
  • Chapter 32: Kira and co. have every reason to dislike the UMC, but the UMC also has every reason to arrest and quarantine them.
  • Chapter 33: So…the Soft Blade can just be used to make vehicles now? And grow to ridiculous sizes?
  • Chapter 34: Can’t say I didn’t see Gregorovitch going off the deep end coming, but for awhile I thought it would be a lot build of about his mental state for nothing.
  • Chapter 35: This is the first time the reader gets a clear indication of what a ship mind actually is, without looking in the glossary.
  • Chapter 36: I like the Jellies/Wranuai as a species, though I’ve never been a fan of “hive minds” when it comes to fictional species.
  • Chapter 37: And now the Soft Blade can fix neural damage, because of course it can. Sex between Kira and Falconi wasn’t unexpected, but it was unintentionally funny for me to read.
  • Chapter 38: Got one big evil alien you need to destroy? That’s not enough, let’s add ANOTHER final boss to the mix!
  • Chapter 39: Ctein is…kind of cool, actually.
  • Chapter 40: The fight between Ctein and Kira is ridiculous and cinematic, and I liked it for that. Embracing the enormity of fighting a huge monster in outer space.
  • Chapter 41: I would like Kira’s unconventional defeat of the Maw via forgiveness much better if the theme of forgiveness or compassion was anywhere else in the book.
  • Chapter 42: This chapter is so cool that I can ignore how annoyed I am that Kira is basically a god now for a little bit.
  • Chapter 43: This book could have ended twice already, but now Kira has to save the day from seven other big bads that were never mentioned before. If you really wanted a third villain to show (again) that Kira is all-powerful, why not have her face off against the deadly and nigh-indestructible Seeker, who got loose ages ago?
  • Chapter 44: All powerful Kira is uninteresting and it ruins her character development.
  • Chapter 45: Fucking WHAT?! You tack on one final problem for God Kira to solve and it doesn’t even end? No actual conclusion about the seven extras Maws? It just ENDS?!
by booksoverlookedblog

BIDP: Where the Crawdads Sing

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owns was released in 2018 to great acclaim. Consequently, I’ve heard praise for the novel for a few years now, but never read it. I added it to my ever-growing “To Be Read” list at the recommendation of just…so many people, but there were always different books that intrigued me. Crawdads was one of many books that I’d get around to reading “someday.”

And then: book club. Yes, the same small book club that forced me to read An Ember in the Ashes got back together. And, as you might have guessed, the first book we picked was Where the Crawdads Sing.

I am the type of person who dismisses popular things out of hand. When a lot of people praise something to high heaven, I tend to roll my eyes and stay away. Especially when it sounds like something that Facebook moms with “Live, Laugh, Love” wall art would be enamored by. However, I am trying to be less judgmental and open to new things, so I picked up Crawdads without complaint.

There was one through line I heard through all the praise the book received: that it was beautifully written. However, no one casually talking about the book ever seems to mention the characters or the plot. This worried me a bit. If you’ve read any of my other reviews, you’ll know that what really draws me into a story, more than anything, is the characters. Would this be a beautiful book, but devoid of emotion and characters I would actually care about? There was only one way to find out.

I have to agree with the same thing that everyone says: the prose is beautiful. It’s lush with description and metaphor, and is easily the novel’s strongest point. I wasn’t surprised when a movie based on the book was announced, but I had my doubts about how well it would work. Removing the narration is like removing the heart of the original work. Though I haven’t seen the movie myself, I think the many mixed and critical reviews show the importance of the actual writing in the book. The story suffers without it.

Looking beyond the beautiful prose, the plot can feel thin at times. For example, the book starts with the (probable) murder of Chase Andrews, a character that the protagonist, Kya, has been involved with. The investigation and Kya’s subsequent arrest feels more like a framing device for the story. Near the end of the novel, Kya is arrested and goes to trial after being arrested for Chase’s murder. Until that point, the murder mystery doesn’t feel fully integrating into Kya’s story.

The book uses an omniscient narrator, which I generally don’t like. Omniscient narrators make me feel like I’m looking at a character through a window, and not like I can connect with them or get in their heads. It felt like there was a lot of telling and not enough showing when it came to characters’ emotions.

She’d given love a chance; now she wanted simply to fill the empty spaces. Ease the loneliness while walling off her heart.

Over time, I grew to like it. Even though the narrator knows everything, it doesn’t give the whole story away. While the book opens with the mystery of Chase Andrews’s suspected murder, the reader doesn’t get an actual, final answer to the who-dun-it (if anyone dun it at all) until the final pages.

Considering the premise of the book – an abandoned girl living alone in a marsh for years – I expected this to be a survival narrative. A coming-of-age story in the style Island of the Blue Dolphins or Hatchet, perhaps. Especially after the book points out that it’s easy to find your dinner in a marsh, provided you didn’t mind digging up shellfish or fishing.

Kya observes and studies the marsh and great detail, and she relies on it for her survival, though not in the way I expected. For much of the novel she sells mussels, and uses the money she earns to buy groceries and supplies. She receives secondhand clothes from two characters, Jumpin’ and Mabel, who become parental figures to her. It is a survival story in that it’s about a girl living alone and in poverty, and raising herself to adulthood. While she does ultimately live off the land, it’s not in the direct way that I’d anticipated.

Towards the middle of the book, I realized, with growing horror, that this was a romance novel. Romance isn’t one of my favorite genres, but I usually like it as a B-plot. But this was no B-plot. The bulk of the book focuses on Kya’s romantic relationships with two boys from town, Tate and Chase.

I was a disappointed. I wanted Hatchet, but what I got was a banal love triangle. Kya falls in love with Tate, but he leaves her to go to college, and doesn’t come back into her life for years. Lonely and heartbroken, Kya lets herself fall for Chase.

A lot of the plot was predictable from here on out. Anyone who’s ever watched a romantic comedy could figure out what would happen next.

We know who Chase is from the start of the book. He’s a star quarterback in high school, which in fiction about a weird girl is usually synonymous with “asshole.” He comes from a prominent family in town who look down on people like Kya as “marsh trash.” He’s known to cheat on his partners, and even Kya understands that becoming romantically involved with him could be disastrous.

On the other hand, Tate is a nice, smart boy who loves and respects the marsh. He teaches Kya to read and helps open her to the wider world. Which of these two do you think she’s going to end up with? It’s not hard to figure out.

I really wasn’t that into the romance aspect of the novel until I saw it in a different light. Instead of a generic love story, Kya’s relationships with Tate and Chase could be read as an extended metaphor for humans’ relationships with the marsh. Chase sees the marsh as a thing to be used, either for hunting, fishing, or draining the water for land development. It’s much the same way as he treats Kya. She’s a curiosity, an exotic adventure, someone to bed for the bragging rights of having slept with the feral marsh girl. He uses Kya and discards her when she no longer suits his needs.

Like most people, Chase knew the marsh as a thing to be used, to boat and fish, or drain for farming, so Kya’s knowledge of its critters, currents, and cattails intrigued him. But he scoffed at her soft touch, cruising at slow speeds, drifting silently past deer, whispering at birds’ nests.

Tate loves the marsh for what it is. Where some people only see it as a swampy wasteland, Tate understands its intrinsic beauty. He dedicates his life to studying and protecting the marsh. Similarly, he doesn’t reject Kya out of hand as “marsh trash” as the other townspeople do. He appreciates Kya for who she is, and doesn’t try to tame or change her. He gives her the tools she needs to expand her world, and by doing so, helps protect her and the marsh.

Overall, I liked Where the Crawdads Sing well enough. I’m glad I kept an open mind about it, but it’s not a book I’d re-read. The plot as a bit thin and I didn’t always like the narrative style. Even so, the prose is excellent and the book can be read on a couple different levels. If you’re looking for a well-written, even relaxing book, this is for you. The audiobook also has a wonderful reader, Cassandra Campbell.

But I think I’ll stick with Hatchet and Grandma Gatewood’s Walk for now, thanks.

by booksoverlookedblog

BIDP: Save Your Breath

For the next round of “Books I Didn’t Pick”, I read Save Your Breath by Melinda Leigh. This is the most recent in Leigh’s Dane series, which revolves around the eponymous attorney, her fiancé, PI Lance Kruger, and his assistant, Lincoln Sharp.

I haven’t read any thriller novels since I was in high school, and I’ve never really liked mystery books. I didn’t think that Save Your Breath would be something that was fun for me to read. But I’m trying to read outside my usual genres, and assured myself that, however bad this got, at least I wasn’t reading another romance novel.

I opened the first page, and finished the entire book in about a two weeks.

I get pegged as a fast reader, but that’s not entirely the truth. I don’t read faster than the average person, I just read a lot. It still can take me several weeks or or a couple months to finish a book. Which is why finishing Save Your Breath within two weeks was a bit of an accomplishment for me, and shows how compelling I found the book.

Though there is one thing I need to point out: when I read Save Your Breath, I was midway through two children’s literature courses. Throughout the semester I would read at least 60 children’s and middle grade books, and it was just so refreshing to read a book intended for an adult audience. Busy as I was with school and work, it would have been easy to let Save Your Breath fall by the wayside. Even so, I kept coming back to it, day after long day.

The writing technique was fine. I know that’s a boring way to put it, but that’s about all I can say. The prose wasn’t anything spectacular, but it wasn’t bad, either. Every sentence said just what it needed to, and got out of the way for the next one. It got the job done – no more, no less.

Though Save Your Breath is part of a series, it worked as a standalone novel. Whenever a main character from the series appeared, they reader got a little bit of background about them. That way, I could understand who everyone was, their role, and their relationship with the other main characters.

I’ve seen this used in other book series, like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books, or The Dresden Files. It makes it easy for readers to pick up the newest book without having to know everything that happened in the ones before it. I imagine this could be annoying for readers who have been following the series for a long time, but it was helpful for me.

The downside of novel series where a new reader can jump in at any point is that changes to the status quo often come very slowly. Going back to Janet Evanovich for a moment, the 27th Stephanie Plum novel (not counting side-stories) was released in November 2020. In it, Stephanie Plum is still torn between the same two love interests she’s had since the first book, which came out over twenty years ago.

Not to throw shade on Evanovich or the Stephanie Plum series, of course! I’ve read some of the books and enjoyed them, but this is the only comparable example I have at the moment. Like I said, I don’t read the thriller/mystery genre much.

From Save Your Breath, at least, I did get a feeling that big changes for the characters do happen more frequently. At the beginning, for example, Morgan and Lance are engaged, which is not how they started the series.

I didn’t feel like I got to know the characters very well, especially Lincoln. Morgan, Lance and Lincoln are all intelligent, tenacious people with different skill sets. They care about each other and are protective of the people they love. Looking back on the book now, it’s hard for me to pick out individual character traits beyond that. Morgan is a mother, and Lance is a good step-father to her kids, but I can’t think of any distinct characteristics of them beyond that.

I think the characters would have come across more strongly if I had read the previous books in the series. Save Your Breath also deals with a crime that’s personal to the characters: Lincoln’s girlfriend, Olivia, has been kidnapped. Lincoln is justifiably concerned, and working around the clock to do anything he can to find her. The other characters note that he’s so worried that he’s not acting like himself. This makes sense, but because I haven’t read the other books in the series, I don’t know what he’s really like as a person. So, pros and cons of jumping into a serial series!

Like I said before, I’m not a big fan of mysteries. Even so, I was pretty drawn in by the set-up. True crime writer Olivia Cruz has an ethical dilemma about what information she should put in the book she’s working on. She calls Lincoln to ask him for advice during lunch the next day, and is kidnapped from her home. Morgan, Lance, and Lincoln must learn who took her, why, and most important, how they can bring her home safely.

The more they uncover, the more the mystery deepens. Murder, suicide, and a homegrown militia all come into play. Each moving part offers another clue to the story. If nothing else, this book got me to understand the appeal of mysteries novels better. I liked trying to put the clues together, and I was really interested to see how they all tied together.

This next paragraph is a little spoiler-y, so skip it if you plan on reading this book later.

Unfortunately, the clues did not all tie together. I liked the rouges’ gallery of suspects involved in Olivia’s disappearance, and I was especially intrigued about the para-military survivalist organization that one of them ran. And what was the ethical dilemma that Olivia wasn’t sure if she should put in her book? It was a question that I thought the entire plot hinged on. But it turned out that very little of those details actually mattered. The true culprit and motive for Olivia’s kidnapping had very little to do with those questions. Another reader might have appreciated the subversion of expectations, but it left me feeling disappointed and disgruntled. A lot of interesting plot points had been built up, only to ultimately fall flat. The otherwise exciting events of the book became filler in the wake of the novel’s conclusion.

Despite the above complaints, I liked Save Your Breath for the most part. It was easy to read, and I’d be open to trying out another thriller novel when I need something a bit less dense than what I normally pick out for myself. Maybe during my next semester at school, it’ll be a nice breath of fresh air….

by booksoverlookedblog

Books I Didn’t Pick: How Fires End

How Fires End by Marco Rafalá is a family drama, following the life of Salvatore Vassallo using three different perspectives.

Salvatore was born in Melilli, Italy, where he lived during World War II. Salvatore’s younger brothers were accidentally killed during the war, and their deaths destroy Salvatore’s faith, and bring ruin to his family. With the help of an Italian soldier with fascist ties, Salvatore and his sister, Nella, leave Italy and immigrate to Connecticut. A generation later, Salvatore’s American-born son, David, seeks to discover his overbearing father’s secrets, with devastating consequences.

Since other “books I didn’t pick” were disappointments for me, I was a little wary coming into this one. I also don’t read a lot historical drama fiction. When I started How Fires End, the only other novel I could think to compare it to was Middlesex by Jeffery Eugenides. Both tell a multi-generational story of a family of immigrants. The family heads keep secrets from the next generation, which change their children’s lives forever. There’s a historic fiction element to both, but that’s really where the similarities end. In recent memory, the only family dramas I’ve enjoyed and felt invested in were Downton Abbey and The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver. While I am familiar with the family drama/historical fiction genre, it’s not something I seek out frequently.

Why is why I was pretty surprised at how quickly I got sucked into this novel. A big part of that is just for the way that the book is written. The prose is beautiful, even poetic. The first section of the book, “David”, was a prime example of this. Throughout it, the author uses extended metaphors to show the relationship between David and his father.

Imagine an object so massive that not even light could escape the pull of its gravity. If light could not escape, nothing could. That was how my father loved me.

The metaphors in Part 1 are often related to black holes or planetary orbits, which makes sense, because David has a strong interest in astronomy. I really enjoyed them, mainly because I’m a space nerd. If they had been based on some other topic, I could see the constant metaphors getting annoying, but they worked well for me.

David’s section of the book was easily my favorite, but there was one issue I had with it. The novel is told using first-person perspective, so David is our narrator. He’s thirteen years old, but the narration doesn’t have the voice of a young teenager. Of course, thirteen-year-olds can have deep thoughts and come up with clever metaphors about their lives. But this entire section reads like an old man looking back on his life, not as a kid living it.

This is most obvious when it comes to David’s relationship with his only friend, Sam. Vincenzo says that Sam and David are paisanu.

‘They are saying, the saint is one of them, a paisanu. You know what that word means? It’s like the way you and David fought for each other. You understand? It’s the same thing.’

Sam really likes this, and calls David paisanu as an affectionate nickname. For any thirteen-year-old, especially a lonely one like David, that would be a huge deal. Later, Sam excitedly discusses his summer plans for the two of them. He talks about going to the beach, starting a band, and girls.

Sam had unspooled a thread for me to follow–a way out of the labyrinth–and I held onto it even as I knew our Ray Harryhausen days couldn’t last. Nothing did.

This just drives it home for me that David’s narration is not that of a thirteen-year-old. When you’re at that age, you often feel closer to your friends than you do to your family. No thirteen-year-old would refer to his friend as a brother, but also fully believe that their friendship will come to an end.

It’s a bit paradoxical – the prose is one of the book’s greatest strengths, and also one of its weaknesses. What this novel struggled with most was distinguishing the voices of its characters. The second section of the book is narrated by Salvatore, and the final part is told by Vincenzo. Salvatore’s and Vincenzo’s stories focus on the past: their lives in Italy, and early life in America. Though their life stories are different, the prose doesn’t change to match them. There’s no stylistic difference between David’s, Salvatore’s, or Vincenzo’s narration.

Salvatore’s section was probably the hardest for me to get through. Part of it was the aforementioned issue with voice, but it’s also just kind of a bummer. This makes sense when it comes to the three-act structure commonly used in fiction. Salvatore’s section is the second act, which is usually a downer. There were no light-hearted moments or hope spots, and getting through it was a slog for me.

At that point, I’d also become pretty attached to David. I wanted to know more about what happened after his part in the novel was over. There’s a little bit of an epilogue, but I really wanted to see more than what I got.

My one other complaint might be the dearth of female characters. David, Salvatore, and Vincenzo all have romantic interests, though they aren’t all that well fleshed out. Of them, David’s mother, probably has the most characterization, but she died when David was young. She doesn’t appear “on screen” as much as she appears in David’s faint memories of her. Salvatore’s sister, Nella, does play a significant role in the novel, yet she doesn’t appear to have any sort of life of her own outside of Salvatore and David. Of course, the first-person perspective is limited, and can only tell us how the narrators see her.

On one hand, I would have liked to see the women in this book have a stronger presence. However, the novel doesn’t feel incomplete because of that lack. It’s a very masculine novel, a book about fathers and sons. The writing style and excellent prose help hide this absence. I wouldn’t be surprised if other readers didn’t notice it at all.

While How Fires End did have its flaws, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. This is Marco Rafalá’s first novel, and I’d be interested in reading more from him.