Wicked, Indeed

I wasn't sure whether or not I should post a review about this one, because I didn't actually finish it. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the fact that I couldn't force myself to step it up to the finish-line was as much a comment on the novel as any snippy remark could be.

Wicked, by Gregory Maguire, is one of the most beloved and renowned novels of recent history, and the rather brilliant plot is to thank for that. Or so I thought. How could I resist learning the untold story of Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West? What makes a person green--and what makes a person so wicked?

I can't begin to express to you my disappointment. This novel is nothing more than a contrived, poorly executed attempt to write "a great novel." Now, I would like to point out that there is nothing wrong with writing a "great novel"--but there is a subtle difference between simply producing one in the course of telling a story, and sitting down with the sole intent of writing one. Everything in this work is forced and overly-worded; it is a mimicry of the brilliant writers of centuries past. Part of the elegance of classic novels is that they were written for their time in relevant prose so stunning that even as it fell out of style it remained embraced and lauded.

Maguire's beautiful turn of phrase scarcely masks his overt attempt at being deep and symbolic. Blah. I couldn't stand it. I can't get much more in depth and critical of the story itself, because I couldn't force myself to finish it. Plus, the story had just barely started by page 300--seriously, Maguire--pretentious much?

And seriously, all you adoring fans--do you even know what the novel's about? Do you even grasp the concepts? Or do you simply think you should like it because so many other people do (and they made a Broadway play out of it)?

Blech. Poison ivy.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet

First of all, how great is this title? Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet. It's the kind of title that jumps out at me, and makes me want to read before I even know the basic plot (aside from the obvious theme of the bittersweet dishes life usually serves). I'm glad to report that author Jamie Ford's debut didn't disappoint; his take on the U.S. internment of Japanese citizens during World War II (told from the point of view of a 12-year-old Chinese boy) is poignant and utterly unique.

The story begins with Old Henry Lee, a Chinese-American gentleman, standing at the entrance of the Panama Hotel, a formerly grand building that in its heyday stood at the juncture between Japantown and Chinatown. For Old Henry Lee, the hotel also stands at the juncture between his past and present, and the novel moves between boyhood flashbacks and present-day occurences that remind him of those turbulent, yet somehow incredibly sweet, days.

As a child Henry Lee's father makes him wear an "I am Chinese" button to his mostly-white school every day, but children mock him and call him "Jap" or "Jap-lover" regardless. When Keiko, a pretty young Japanese girl, enrolls in the same school, Henry is surprised to discover in her a true and beautiful friend. He hides the friendship from his father, who bitterly hates all people and things Japanese, and must also come to grips with the fact that Keiko and her family are to be taken without reason and sent to a "prison" camp far away. Henry struggles with questions of love and loyalty, hope and despair, reason and injustice; who is he, and who is Keiko? What draws them together, and what makes them different? Even more important, what makes them the same?

Ford's writing is succinct and clear, yet encompasses a level of depth and thoughtfulness rare in modern American fiction. Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet is more than a story, and will instill in readers the knowledge and sense of thoughtfulness that are hallmarks of a work of literature well-done.

An oak.

And You Know You Should Be Glad

Sometimes, when I'm at work and the mindless monotony becomes unbearable, I read every single article on CNN's homepage. Most simply reiterate the same stories I heard on the radio during my morning commute, and some offer snippy, sarcastic points of view about things that don't really matter. While the articles are well-written and informative, I seldom feel enriched after one of these news cram sessions, but feel rather bogged down and disgusted with the world. On occassion, however, I come across a rare golden nugget amidst the sludge. One afternoon as I was reading an article (I confess I no longer recall the actual topic), I was surprised to realize that I really liked the article. I liked the writer's style and his voice, and I liked his view of the world. I wondered if he'd ever written any books, and a quick Google search told me that he had--several, in fact. I stopped at the library on the way home, and this is what they had in stock.

And You Know You Should Be Glad tells the story of Bob Greene, the author, and his life-long best friend, Jack Roth. Both men are older at the story's beginning, and throughout the book Greene recounts various moments they shared during their lifetimes. Jack is dying, and it causes Greene to really ponder the ideas of friendship, love, and life in general. The book undoubtedly reminds readers of the friends in their own lives, which can be a bittersweet experience. Without any contrived or superfluous wording, the book highlights some of the sweetest aspects of the human condition.

It's one of the best works of non-fiction I've read in a long time, and I definitely recommend it. I think this one's an oak.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

I don't think there's anything I can say about American Idol that hasn't already been said elsewhere, so I'll skip it entirely save for this: Kris is amazing in his own right, and Adam is as well. They're apples and oranges, and to compare the best orange with the best apple is ridiculous. Obviously, some people have their favorite fruit, but neither is inherently better than the other. I adore Adam and Kris as well, and America did not 'get it wrong.' Okay, done. Onto a book.

I'm actually not sure how I feel about this one. There's a lot of hype going around about Swedish author Stieg Larsson and his international best-selling series, which starts with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I was intrigued by the Swede (ho hum, I'm so funny with my rhymes), and am the first to say that Larsson's work is anything but juvenile and sub-par.

I just don't know if I actually liked it.

The story is a tantalizing little mystery, wrapped up in tales of violence and crime. It's too long and complicated to spell out, but the story is, on a most basic level, about Mikael Blomkvist, a once renowned financial reporter who has fallen from grace and earned himself a cozy spot in prison for libel against a big time financial guru named Wennerstrom. After this rather heavy blow, Blomkvist is surprised to receive a telephone call from Henrik Vanger, the former CEO of the Vanger Corporation, which in years past was a major player in Swedish industry, who hires Blomkvist to investigate the disappearance (and probable murder) of his niece, Harriet. Harriet vanished from the family's island home decades ago, and the incident seems to be a "locked room" case (if at this point you think I'm being long winded, then this book is not for you). Blomkvist takes the job, and eventually works with investigator/hacker Lisbeth Salander, the girl with the dragon tattoo, to crack the case. Dozens of little side-stories and innuendos crop up throughout the novel, all eventually interrelated, including a bit of a disfunctional love story. Phew. Got it all out.

I want to choose my words carefully, because this is definitely the work of a mature writer. The characters have been painstakingly, succinctly developed, and while at times this is borderline maddening, it is actually necessary for the flow of the story. It's clever. The crime and disappearance of Harriet Vanger herself is fascinating, as is the search for her killer. While some "twists" were predictable (what can I say, I watch a lot of crime TV), there were still some major shockers that dragged my jaw down to the floor. Parts were graphic, and plain gross; parts were boring; parts seemed irrelevant (but perhaps they'll come into play in the next book?). It was addicting--I couldn't put it down. But when I closed it, it was with a sense of tremendous relief. What am I to make of that?

I suppose the best I can do is present the facts. It's a tough read if you're not familiar with Swedish names, places, and pop culture history. (BTW, Lisbeth Salander is supposedly based off the character of Pippi Longstocking--I'm sorry, I don't see it). It addresses heavy issues, including murder, fraud, and sexual abuse, so don't mistake it for a cozy mystery or a light read.

The best I can come up with is that I respect this work, but I don't especially like it. I don't plan on reading the follow-up. I'll give it a puddle.

Two Items

Item 1: American Idol

My faith in America has been restored. Danny Gokey has been sent home from American Idol, and Kris and Adam get to hash it out in the finals. I can now breathe easily, knowing that whoever wins will at least be talented. I have to say, though, that I'm torn as to who I support. I started out this season as a clear-cut Lambert fan, but as the weeks have progressed Kris Allen has gotten better and better, while Adam's simply been treading water (don't get me wrong--I know the water he's treading is the Nile and Amazon combined) and hasn't really got anything left to really 'wow' me with. Or has he? I guess I'll have to tune into the finale to find out.

Item 2: Enchanted, Inc. -- A novel by Shanna Swendson


I randomly grabbed this book off the library shelf, desperate for some form of entertainment at work. We're currently in an extreme lull (I actually just found out my position will be eliminated next month to save $$), and I'm at my wits end trying to entertain myself. Here's the basic story:

A smart, sarcastic young Texan has moved to the Big Apple to chase big city dreams (what these dreams are is actually a bit unclear), but unfortunately is only able to land a drab, administrative job which consists mainly of making copies for a Satanic employer. She notices a lot of weird things around the city, like people wearing wings and moving gargoyles, but chalks it all up to big city weirdness. Until a mysterious man approaches her and offers an explanation for it all--MAGIC. The man works for a magical corporation, an honest-to-goodness business that markets spells, and offers her a job because she has special abilities she wasn't even aware of. On top of the job offer, the world's cutest wizard is the company's researcher in residence.

Okay, in this day and age, a novel about magic is golden. I'm a sucker for it, it makes me weak in the knees, probably because my own life is so devoid of anything like it. The book is no Harry Potter, to be sure, but it moves quickly and has some snappy dialogue. Swendson also does a great job at making readers fall in love with the novel's leading man.

I can't, however, claim the book's extremely thoughtful and intelligent--it's not. In fact, it's far from brilliant. If you're looking for serious mental stimulation or a new obsession, this is not the book for you. It's just a quick, mindless read, the kind that would be great to toss in your beach bag and devour while soaking up some rays. It's pure fun and relatively entertaining, a cute little fairytale that makes you smile. It's the first in a series, which is fabulous, because you can keep indulging your magical fantasies for days at a time. I give it a daisy.

Stick with the Teens, Stephenie

I've read Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series, and even finished the last three books in the same week. Anyone would admit that though they're not exactly fine literature, they are popular fiction at its best, and indulgently (dare I say wickedly?) entertaining. I personally love any story that sucks me in, and leaves me dazed and lost in a fictional world for days. I love it when I can't think of anything but the characters in the book I'm reading, and have to grudgingly count down the minutes at work until I can hurry home and see what happens next (you don't have to tell me, I know that sounds lame). Meyer's style is simplistically pleasing, and flows well, allowing for the rapid consumption of her delectable vampire saga.

I was therefore relatively excited to read Meyer's first adult lit novel, The Host, though I knew it was unlikely to knock my socks of in any philosophical sense. I am not, however, a huge fan of science fiction, though I have been known to quote Star Wars on occasion (Come on, everyone knows "I am your father!"). Certain reviews marked the novel as science fiction for people who don't like science fiction, however, so I decided to give it a shot. What did I have to lose?

Hours of my life.

The novel's basic premise is as follows: Earth has been taken over by a group of alien beings called "Souls," who can exist only when supported by a "Host" body. Humans, of course, have become the Souls' hosts. When a Soul takes over a human's body, the original person's mind is always completely erased. Always, that is, until Melanie Stryder, a human who survived the initial takeover and has been living in hiding with other rebels for years, is captured and Wanderer, an old Soul, is placed inside her body.

Melanie does not fade away. She and Wanderer must fill the same space.

Eventually, through a series of events I will not get into, Melanie shows Wanderer that humans are not the horrible, violent creatures the Souls thought them to be, and Melanie, in turn, learns that Wanderer is not a monster. Yawn.

The style Meyer employs in her Twilight series simply doesn't cut it in a serious novel. She addresses some heavy themes in The Host, including ideas of love, goodness, and what truly defines humanity. I don't doubt that Meyer herself is an intelligent person often engaged in contemplating such complex issues. She does not, however, explore them well enough in this book. Her efforts to delve into such themes seemed juvenile, overtly transparent, and utterly contrived. It's hard to define what exactly went wrong in her efforts--please just trust me when I say that it did. It was annoying to encounter them again and again, blatantly splashed across the pages without even the slightest air of subtlety. It was, in my opinion, truly horrible. The story itself quickly loses its sparkle, and monotonously drags on and on, attempting to really make the readers think, but actually only killing their brain cells one at a time.

My pet peeve concerning the story is the ending--I won't spell it out, I don't want to spoil it for anyone who may still read it--but I will say that the idea is presented that maybe one day the host species and the Souls can coexist.

Um.................no.

They steal human bodies. They kill human minds. I don't care how nice they are. They cannot coexist with anyone. Sorry. It's just not logical.

Sorry, Steph. Perhaps you simply tried your hand at it a little too early, but if I'm to judge your skill by this novel alone, you aren't cut out for the adult market. Please continue writing the young adult thrillers (if you so desire--goodness knows you don't need to--you've made your fortune already), because I'll gladly sink my teeth into those.

The Host: A Hurricane.

Stephenie Meyer: An Azalea.

The Girl She Used to Be

David Cristofano's debut novel The Girl She Used to Be had me salivating over the prospect of spending hours tucked away reading a cozy, riveting tale of intrigue and suspense. The basic premise involves a girl who has lost her true identity after witnessing a horrific crime in early childhood (enter WITSEC), and her surprising encounter with a man who is a member of the mafioso family responsible.

It seemed an interesting twist, the girl's fascination with her would-be assassin, especially coupled with the journey she would undertake to find herself in the process. Sigh. So it seemed.

I have the habit of reading the first page of a book to determine whether or not the author's writing style is to my taste. Generally, while the actual subject matter may be disappointing, the first page is nevertheless a good gauge for the style. I read the first page of this book and found it to my liking, and so made the purchase. On page 2, however, the writer switched to the first-person, present-tense. I hate that. It's just my opinion, but it seems almost infantile, and negates the possibility of rich verbal expression. It's like back to pre-K, where "see Spot run" and "Jill likes cats" were the norm.

I plowed on, however, in hopes that in spite of the writer's distasteful style the story would still be pleasing. Unfortunately, the stylistic lack of imagination was a mere precursor to an overall lack of imagination. The main character was immensely unlikeable, and, while her condition could have been pitiable, she wasn't engaging and I didn't really care what happened to her. Reading became tedious, and ridiculous, and by the story's end I was so bored that I didn't even care that I was disappointed.

I would not recommend this book to anyone.

Without a doubt, The Girl She Used to Be is a honeysuckle at its best.