The Third Victim by Lisa Gardner

Read: 13 May, 2008

This is your fairly standard mystery genre-fiction piece. Characters are well developed, they have psychologically realistic explanations for all their actions, and they are each unique - but none of them really jump off from the page in the same way that, say, Brother Cadfael does. In other words, they feel real but they aren't particularly memorable.

And that's really all that can be said about the entire book. It's a good book and, as far as genre-fiction goes, I'd say that it's one of the better mysteries I've read to date. It was an enjoyable read, it brought up some interesting ideas, I enjoyed the psychology perspective the author chose, and the subject matter was handled very well. But for all of that, I won't remember the title in a week and I will have forgotten the book entirely in a month.

Cadfael Chronicles #1: A Morbid Taste for Bones by Ellis Peters

Read: 9 May, 2008

This was my first Brother Cadfael mystery, though I did avidly watch the television show. I was not disappointed, not even by an ounce!

The most important thing that I would like to mention is that the characters are fabulous, something that is sadly quite rare in mystery genre-fiction. They felt real, like people I might meet in my day-to-day life. More than that, they felt unique. Cadfael, in particular, was very well developed. More importantly, when the narrator says that everyone likes him or that his speeches were well-received, it reflects my own opinion on his actions and speeches perfectly. This was a welcome breath of fresh air after reading The Mysteries of Udolpho.

The female characters were great too. They weren't all feminist icons (though certainly there were some realistically very strong female characters) and none of them were the swooning brand of silly girls. They were sensible and strong and human, just like male characters but with a realistic dose of femininity. This is something that I haven't seen done well in a very long time. Something about women makes most authors want to define their characters by their gender, as opposed to male characters who are defined by their individual traits. The baddies, too, were not entirely hate-able. I disliked them, certainly, but I also understood them and could empathize with their individual situations. Again, this perfect balance between due dislike and human sympathy is something that I have very rarely seen juggled to perfection.

The sense of humour was definitely a positive. It wasn't "laugh-out-loud" sort of humour, but rather present in subtle phrases that could easily be missed if the reader isn't paying attention. This is part of what makes Cadfael seem so likable. Humour seems to come naturally from him, unlike many protagonists who seem to force it, trying too hard to gain the reader's approval. The humour was also appropriate. In times of violence, for example, the narrative focuses on dealing with the situation, not poking fun of something that would be horrifying to live through. I suppose this is a reflection of our practical protagonist, but it works well. There was certainly a lot of morbid humour, but it was never inappropriate.

I mentioned earlier that mystery genre-fiction has certain shortcomings. The biggest of these is that characters tend to feel like cardboard cutouts rather than real living and breathing people. They are simplified because simplicity is easier to handle in a mystery - it makes it easier for the protagonist to come in and make order out of a chaotic event. That's something that I loved about Cadfael. He does not seek to impose order in that same way. He solves the mystery, yes, but the resolution is unexpected and, perhaps to those who like to have everything wrapped up neatly and the truth known to everyone, unsatisfying. But he finds a solution that works within a chaotic world and that's the solution that stands, even if it means that he has to substitute one set of lies for another.

Another shortcoming of the mystery genre is that it tends to have only a mystery. There will be "character backstory" going on, but it will usually be predictable and take a backseat. In this novel, however, the author successfully manages to juggle both the story and the mystery so that both flow naturally from one-another. Both are well-developed, and their interconnection never feels forced.

To ruin the ending for you, the bad guy dies. It's an accidental death, as it usually is (who wants to stain the protagonists with murder, after all?), but he still dies. This is something I've never liked. I prefer everyone to be brought to justice and have due process carried out. However, it didn't bother me nearly as much in this novel as it has in others because, unlike Hiaasen's novels for example, the characters actually seem to realize that they have done something they shouldn't have and feel some remorse for it. There isn't as much remorse as I would like (the inclusion of the phrase "oh no, what have I done?!" would have made me feel much better), but at least it was given a mention. And perhaps it is realistic considering the times and the cultural drive for blood-price. Again, at least it was mentioned (and the mention felt like it was part of the story, not just tacked on to make the protagonists look good).

All in all, this was an amazing book. Once I started it, I could hardly put it down. The prose flows beautifully, the humour kept me entertained, and the characters felt like living/breathing people. I would highly recommend this book to anyone interested in the middle ages, mystery novels, or just anyone who likes to read a truly good book.

The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe

Read: 5 May, 2008

After reading The Monk, I thought that the Gothic genre was pretty neat-o. So I looked up for some other books in the genre and The Mysteries of Udolpho kept coming up, so I took a chance and bought it. It took me eons to read. In fact, I did give up at one point and read Tom Sawyer and Hearts in Atlantis before picking it up again. But I have an obsession with finishing every book that I start, so I was determined. I took notes while I was reading of everything I didn't like, so I will go through negatives first:

The biggest negative is the pacing. A full two hundred and change pages pass before anything happens. That's right, the first third of the novel is essentially a travel narrative with some old dying guy and his personality-less daughter as the travellers. Now, there's nothing wrong with a novel that toys with crossing genres and becoming a travel narrative (I did like Black Mountain, after all), but the descriptions of the scenery were altogether too Romantic for my tastes. Romantics are as stuck up, pompous, and self-absorbed as the Victorians, but a trait I find endearing in the latter is made annoying in the former by being caste under the pretence of artistic genius (those of you who know me know that I make a distinction between "artists" and "artistes" - I am incapable of being in the same room as the latter without wanting to hit something, whereas I find artists to be, on the whole, quite nice people).

On the whole, only about a third of the novel takes place in the titular location. But there was more to it than just a slow-moving novel (which, again, in and of itself is not a terrible thing). What made it infuriating was that the main character seemed to be suffering from Alzheimer's. A new plot line, or short-term goal, would be introduced and she would resolve to take care of it. It would then be dropped entirely as though it had never happened until dozens of pages later where she suddenly remembers and takes care of it. A good example of this occurs near the beginning where Emily's father instructs her to burn some secret letters. She gives him a solemn promise, goes to where the letters are, and then spends pages and pages moaning about how sad life is before she finally gets to the letters. At this point, my next complaint is made into example. Emily reads a bit of the letter, doesn't tell the reader what it says, alludes to how "shocking!" the content of the letters is several times, but does not actually explain what she read until a full 450 pages later!

That's right, dear Ms. Radcliffe seemed to have lived under the mistaken impression that frustration = suspense. Several times, Emily makes shocking discoveries that horrify her, but she refuses to tell the reader what those discoveries are. Worse yet, Emily will seem to forget all about them as soon as she is done being shocked - at least until another shocking discovery prompts her memory.

In fact, Emily's forgetfulness is a major theme in the novel. It comes up as part of another complaint that I will mention in a minute. For example, when she and her suitor, Valancourt, are forced to part, he makes her promise that she will always look at the setting sun. The idea is that he would do the same and that they would be "together" even when apart by knowing that they are both looking on the same object. Sweet and romantic, right? Well, yes, it is... the first night. Emily whines away while she watches the sun set. This promise is then never mentioned again. Never. By either Emily or Valancourt. This isn't just a case of sunsets not being mentioned because there are oodles of sunsets in the novel. Emily just doesn't seem to care that much about the "solemn promise" she makes to the love of her life.

Which is my next complaint: there are two Emilys in the novel. One is the Emily constructed by the narrator, the Emily that we are told about. The other is the Emily we see, through the things she says and the actions she takes (or, in this case, doesn't take). These two Emilys are rarely in agreement.

Another complaint I had was that objects and characters appear and disappear depending on the plot's need for them. A major example of this is Emily's dog. Whenever it is needed to wake Emily up to spot an intruder, or growl when there is a need for absolute silence, it will appear. As soon as it's done filling out this function, the dog promptly disappears. Relating to the last point I made, the narrator tells us again and again how much Emily loves this dog, feels comforted by this dog, and dotes on this dog. And yet, we never once see her cuddling it, petting it, stroking it, looking to it for comfort when afraid, or anything else of the sort.

There are other continuity errors. For example, Emily escapes Udolpho in the middle of the night, with no warning whatsoever, and from a place that is not her bedroom. And yet she somehow has the presence of mind to carry with her a large box of letters and all the drawings she's made since going to the castle. Maybe she hides them under her skirts or something?

The final negative that I will mention is that Valancourt is a thoroughly despicable character. Honestly, Jane Eyre's Rochester is a sensitive and romantic boyfriend compared to this guy. He bears every mark of the abusive boyfriend. Not only does he accuse Emily of not really loving him whenever she doesn't want to do something he wants, he will also stalk her (to the point that her gardener shoots him thinking that he's a burglar) when she refuses to marry him. After all that, he flies into a rage when she (rightfully) wonders if he loves her, trying to physically restrain her! And for all the noble chivalry the narrator keeps telling us he expresses, he allows his girlfriend to be taken into a situation that he knows is dangerous for her and doesn't even try to save her from it (except, of course, trying to terrify her into marrying him with threats of violence - you know, from other men... that he'd be saving her from... obviously...).

He's also just so whiny. It's totally pathetic. He knows that he is distressing her, she's in tears and begging him to stop and leave her alone, but he just whines and whines and whines at her. He will even admit that he is distressing her and that he should stop, but the very next sentence out of his mouth is more whining!

All in all, I found that he was incredibly similar in his behaviour to the Count Morano - the bad guy, the guy we are supposed to hate, the guy Emily spends a third of the novel terrified of. The way he acts toward Emily is nearly identical. In fact, he even tries to scare Emily into marrying him by telling her that Morano will hurt her - using the same tactic the Count uses, except that he's passing off the obvious part of the blame to someone else!

There's plenty more that I could mention, but those are the major points and this post is getting pretty long. In terms of positives, I must admit that I struggle to find any. There were some instances of humour that had me chuckling, but they were too few and too far between to really count them as any kind of saving grace. I did like that every single instance of the supernatural was resolved (even if poorly) and shown to have perfectly natural explanations. And, of course, the novel is a classic and has a lot to offer if looked at as a historical document.

All in all, it's a book that I hated reading but that I am glad to have read. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone, though. This is one of the few books that I think might be better enjoyed in a heavily abridged or cliff-note form.

Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Read: 14 April, 2008

Tom Sawyer is an episodic piece that might have been titled "sketches of boyhood." There is a plot, but it takes a secondary position to main plot - the adventures of a young boy in Mississippi. It isn't a bad thing. The plot of the story (the discoveries of Indian Joe's various criminal activities) serves well for little bursts of excitement, but probably would have bogged the story down if it had taken central place.

I'm afraid that I don't have too much to say about the book. It was a light and interesting read, it was terribly funny at times, and the characterization was superb. I do wish that I had read this when I was a bit younger as I think that I would have appreciated it more. So while I definitely recommend it to anyone, I would especially recommend it to 10-15-year-olds.

Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King

Read: 31 March, 2008

Hearts in Atlantis is a collection of short(ish) interwoven stories dealing in some way with the 60s, Vietnam, and the lives of two people named Carol and Bobby. The first and main story is about a kid named Bobby who finds himself just about to grow up. One day, an older man named Ted moves into the building and, in him, Bobby finds an adult he can be friends with. This is the only story that deals with the supernatural and Stephen King fans will find that it connects with his Dark Tower series.

The rest of the stories are considerably shorter and mostly deal with Vietnam - either with the fear of being sent or with the effects of having been there. Wrapping up the novel is a short story that finds Bobby returning to his home town, completing the circular path of the novel.

According to the book jacket, the novel is about Vietnam and the 60s, but it's done in a very circumspect way. Only the minor characters ever go, the heroes of the shorter stories crammed into the final few pages. The main characters, Bobby from "Low Men in Yellow Coats" and Pete from "Hearts in Atlantis," never go. Bobby, in fact, never even gets to hear about Vietnam, growing up before the war starts. But "Low Men in Yellow Coats" doesn't avoid the subject at all, it merely hides it. Bobby is given a copy of Lord of the Flies and becomes obsessed with it, using that novel to understand his world, a world that would be transformed into a scene from the novel in the following years. As for Pete, he comes close to Vietnam, almost touches it, but he manages to scramble back into humanity and away from the mentality of Lord of the Flies that he approaches when he laughs at a crippled classmate who falls and nearly drowns in a flooded path. He regains himself, saving the classmate and raising his grades so that he wouldn't be sent to war, he is spared the guilt and trauma that affects the main characters of the next two stories.

For a book that centres around Vietnam, Hearts in Atlantis somehow manages to stay off the soapbox. It's always something that's bothered me about Vietnam stories. It's such a raw subject that I've yet to see an author be able to handle it without becoming preachy. That's not to say that King doesn't show an opinion, but that opinion is not a moral judgement of the war, but rather an exploration of the mentality that led to what happened during the war - like Lord of the Flies, he presents us with ordinary people who were thrust into extraordinary situations and either did or saw things that they spend the rest of their lives trying to deal with.

The characterization is amazing. This is the first actual Stephen King book that I've read. I've read some of his short stories, but they've never appealed to me. Now I know why. His strongest ability is characterization, something that he creates and builds upon over the course of a long narrative. Despite the length, there was an economy of space too. Every scene served to advance character and the result was a lengthy book with very little action that I read quickly and excitedly.

I'm trying to think of labels for the book, but I'm finding myself at a loss. There are elements of suspense and horror, but these are merely vehicles for exploration and not the subjects of it. Not to mention that the supernatural elements of "Low Men in Yellow Coats" are abandoned entirely until the final few pages.

How To Tell Your Friends From The Apes by Will Cuppy

Read: 2 February, 2008

A series of two page profiles for a number of animals (including a section devoted to other humanoids). Cuppy displays a great deal of research and uses it well to make his profiles quite funny. The style of comedy is very subtle, making it easy to miss if the reference isn't known.

I wasn't wildly impressed with this book. I did enjoy it and it truly is very funny, but it left me feeling a bit empty; it's like a meal that just isn't as filling as expected. Finishing, I couldn't help but to feel that I could have much better spent my time with a different selection. That being said, however, it truly is quite funny and I certainly wouldn't say that it's a bad book.

Just to give a sense of what to expect, here is a passage:
"When standing beside a mimosa the Giraffe is indistinguishable from the tree except that he has four legs and a head and a tail. Some hunters will stalk a mimosa tree for days without getting results."

Ultimately, I found that the introduction by P.G. Wodehouse was the best part of the whole book (not only because Wodehouse is awesome, but also because all the best passages from the book to follow are quoted there).

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Read: 2005

Piscine Molitor Patel (known to all as Pi Patel) is the son of a zoo owner. He's an exceptionally bright young man and shows his maturity quite clearly when it comes to religion. He's a Muslim, a Hindu, and a Christian, all at the same time. But soon, political discontent drives his family out of India and towards Canada. The zoo is sold, the bags are packed, and the whole family (including several animals on their way to American zoos) board the Tsimtsum, a Japanese cargo ship with a Taiwanese crew.

"The ship sunk," begins Part II. From that point on, this is a story of survival against amazing odds. Not only does Pi Patel survive 227 days in the Pacific Ocean, but he does it in the company of an adult male Bengal tiger named Richard Parker.

The thing I love most about this book is the fact that you can read it once and interpret the story one way, but then you can read it again and see everything differently. The revelation of Part III is certainly really good food for thought. There's the literal interpretation of seeing the boy on a life-raft with a tiger. Then there is the alternative story given at the end of the boy on a life-raft struggling with his inner beast while trying to keep his humanity. Then, of course, there's the third possibility that the entire story is complete fiction and is just about a boy maturing and struggling with the different influences in his life. It's easy, especially as an English major, to really read too far into books and see things that just aren't there. But I think Yann Martel makes it quite clear that all three of these interpretations are intentional. Heck, he even gives us two of them up front!

Another thing I loved about the story was the three part system. Part I deals with introducing Pi and the society he is coming out of. I found that what I read in Part I really brought Pi to life and let me identify with him enough that I really cared about what happened to him in Part II. I had bonded with him enough that when he suffered in Part II, I suffered as well. When he started to lose touch with his humanity (like when he suddenly notices that he's eating like a tiger), I really feared for him. Thank goodness Part I ends with the message: "This story has a happy ending." I think it would have been very difficult and painful to read otherwise. Part II is his struggle on the raft. Part III is his interview in which he explains what happens. I found this to be a really important part. It's also a very interesting part in its function. It serves not only to ridicule the idea that the concept of the book (a boy surviving that long in the pacific with a tiger) is preposterous, but also serves to introduce a whole new perspective and the possibility that none of it might have happened at all (I mean that within the book's fictional world).

Several people I have spoken to have said that the transition is too abrupt. Of course, it would have to be since that's exactly what it was for Pi Patel: abrupt. But I've heard many times that there's too much character development at the beginning to wade through before getting to the meat of the story. To each her own, I suppose.

One final fantastic point I just want to bring up in relation to the two possible stories offered by Martel is the idea that the more interesting story is more important than the story that is true. So that's what Martel leaves us with: "Which is the better story, the story with animals or the story without animals?" Which is more important to you, a good story or the truth?