In the spirit of Bad Book Cover Fridays, may we suggest viewing these loving photographic recreations of Mills & Boon romance novel covers? Turtlenecks and teased blondes ahoy!
(Link via an anonymous but appreciated benefactor.)
– E
Category: Book porn
Chalice, by Robin McKinley (2008) E
Date read: 1.2.11
Book from: Public library
Reviewer: Emera
“The story I tell over and over and over and over is Beauty and the Beast. It all comes from there. There are variations on the theme–and it’s inside out or upside down sometimes–but the communication gap between one living being and another is pretty much the ground line. And usually the gap-bridger is love.”
– from Robin McKinley’s blog (this post)
Mirasol, formerly a beekeeper, has become the Chalice of her demesne, charged with binding and unifying both its inhabitants and its restive magical energies. Unfortunately, her demesne is unsettled by the violent deaths of its last Master and Chalice. The arrival of the new Master only promises more strife. Previously banished by his brother, the last Master, to the priesthood of fire, he returns more than a little inhuman, terrifying to his own people and perhaps unable to command the land’s magic as he should.
The feeling that struck me as I was reading Chalice was that I was reading Sunshine again – which makes perfect sense, given McKinley’s above reflection. Chalice plays on that dynamic, and many more of her trademarks: fearful and inexperienced but pragmatic, good-hearted protagonists; magic that’s as often inconvenient and frightening as it is wondrous. (Mirasol, when receiving omens of her impending Chalicehood, spends most of her time cleaning up after the overflowing milk and honey that result.)
More than any of McKinley’s other books that I can recall (except maybe Rose Daughter), Chalice has an elusive, vignette-ish quality to it. It feels as if we only spend a brief time with the characters and world before the curtain drops on the scene again. Mirasol’s world is rich with tradition and history – there are numerous mentions of a not-so-distant barbaric past, and Mirasol’s fellow Circle members have evocative, little-explained titles like “Talisman” and “Sunbrightener” – but we’re only privy to what detail Mirasol’s own experiences reveal. This guardedness lends the setting a pleasantly mysterious feel.
On the other hand, I was not so much a fan of the intense internality that controls most of the book. The vast majority of it happens inside of Mirasol’s head, with dialogue and action indirectly reported, and flashbacks and occasionally repetitive exposition occupying much of the first half of the novel. So while I was deeply intrigued by the setting and circumstances, I felt a little stifled and not immediately involved. I was also put off by the flatness of the political conflict that eventually tests both Chalice and Master. I realize that for McKinley it’s always more about how her protagonists overcome difficulties, rather than what in particular they’re overcoming, but it can start to seem a little silly when all the villains are either greedy Overlords or mincing sycophants.
Overall, though, I was happy to sit back and enjoy the ride, just soaking up the odd, earthy details of Mirasol’s life, the rituals that she concocts and carries out, and the few characters with whom she interacts. Also, the love story is very sweet. Throughout, McKinley wields crisp, vivid language that particularly helps to crystallize Mirasol’s experiences of magic. Chalice is not a must-read if you’re not already a big McKinley fan, but it is beautiful and ultimately satisfying, if on the slower side.
Go to:
Robin McKinley: bio and works reviewed
Beauty (1976), review by Emera
Deerskin (1993), review by Emera
Deerskin (1993), review by Kakaner
Picture Book Report comes to an end
I was too scatterbrained to link to this while it was running, but I recently saw the sad news that Picture Book Report, a blog bringing together 15 extremely talented illustrators to create an “extended love-song to books,” is retiring after one year of operation.
Check out the blog for varied illustrations and associated commentary on classic and, more importantly, beloved works from Where the Red Fern Grows, to Sabriel, to Brave New World (the latter done by one of my absolute favorite illustrators, Emily Carroll).
– E
Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, by Grace Lin (2009) E
Date read: 12.16.10
Book from: Personal collection
Reviewer: Emera
Where the Mountain Meets the Moon is as much a joy to hold (literally – it’s the nicest size for a hardback) and look at as it is to read:
The insides are just as beautiful, with colored text and chapter headers, and more of Grace Lin’s ornate, exuberant, full-color illustrations scattered throughout, complementing her detailed, lively prose.
The story follows the adventures of Minli, a young girl who leaves her home in the shadow of the Fruitless Mountain to seek out the Old Man in the Moon, and learn from him how to change her family’s unhappy fortune. On the way, she helps and is helped by a varied cast of characters with cleverly interwoven stories to tell, including a talking goldfish with ambitions, a flightless dragon, and an orphan boy who lives with a water buffalo.
Minli is sort of generically plucky and lovable, and occasionally the story’s sweetness borders on sappiness, but it’s all so clearly coming from a place of genuine caring that I can’t really complain. Lin’s attention to the grief of Minli’s parents after her disappearance is particularly striking and moving. Among children’s books, I can’t remember reading another Hero’s Journey that also gave page time to those left behind. Watching her parents (her mother in particular) come to their own realizations about their relationships with Minli, and then witnessing the family’s eventual reunion – again, just genuinely sweet, loving, and ultimately joyful.
All in all, I felt like I was being given a hug and a bowl of hot soup in book form. (It doesn’t hurt that Lin clearly enjoys describing details of food as much as she does fantastical scenes of red-silk bridges and monkey-infested peach groves.)
As always with really good YA, I wish I knew younger persons I could gift this to. Older readers looking for more books set in mythical China would do very well indeed to look up Barry Hughart’s rumbustious, madcap adventure-fantasy-mystery-everything-awesome series, The Chronicles of Master Li and Number Ten Ox, beginning with Bridge of Birds.
Congratulations to this year’s Nebula nominees!
And I have read… exactly none of the things on the list, sigh, though there are familiar names and familiar “I want to read this! when I have time! in my next life!” titles a-plenty.
Kakaner and I have both been mostly swamped with work these days, if it’s not evident from our spotty activity. Hope all is well out there.
– E
[inserts self] I will go give my self a well-deserved stab in the eye for not having read any of these either… how dare I call me a SFF fan!
-K
[/insert]
Farewell to Brian Jacques.
Brian Jacques has passed away at the age of 71.
I don’t really know what to say right now.
Lorem Ipsum, Lorem Ipsum
Lorem Ipsum Books
1299 Cambridge Street, Cambridge, MA (Inman Square)
Really nice space, complete with small couch-y area and prints etc. by local artists. Decent selection of sff, great selection of YA. I forgot to check out the poetry section, which gives me a good excuse to go back ASAP. In general, really carefully organized and curated. Since they have a lot of floor space, they don’t have the slightly frantic, overstuffed feeling that most used bookstores end up having.
Loved all the extra-pretty old books selected for display:
Dystopia in YA
The New York Times interviews a bunch of notable YA/sff authors (and one academic) on what they think is driving the “dystopian trend” in current YA fiction.
It struck me as being a little bit silly that they didn’t interview any actual young adult readers, but it’s still interesting to see the varieties of cynicism and optimism represented.
– E
Raise your hand…
…if you love the feeling of going into a library and coming out again with more books than you know you can read in the time available.
Ohhhhhhh yeah.
(I’ve been working hard on whittling down the ratio of unread to read books in my collection, but for the holidays I decided to indulge and sneak in a huge library trip, and it feels so good.)
Also, fun Nebula Awards interview with Cat Valente, wherein she provides all sorts of interesting tidbits about Fairyland.
Also also, may I squee about the fact that a week and a bit ago I got to see Valente read from her newest novel, The Habitation of the Blessed? (Unfortunately I forgot my camera, otherwise I’d have a few event photos, but I’m hideously backed up with any kind of blog-posting anyway and etc. etc.) As always, it looks to be tender, strange, and luscious; can’t wait to spend some quality time with my copy.
– E
Go to:
Catherynne M. Valente: bio and works reviewed
http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781597801997?
Visual, aural, other?
Two blog posts on reading that piqued my interest lately:
- Ari Marmell talks about being “Blind in the Mind’s Eye.” That is, when reading or writing descriptions, he does not visualize them, and if he takes the conscious effort to do so, “it doesn’t seem to add much value.” I would have loved to know what he does perceive foremost when reading…
- …an answer to which might be provided by Matthew Cheney’s discussion of “Ways of Reading,” in which he describes his own, primarily aural experience of the written word. Cheney also comments on the general usefulness of reading analytical (versus evaluative) criticism as a way of gaining access to other people’s perceptions of the same works – which is indeed a major part of why I love reading detailed, descriptive essays.
Since I’m always fascinated by differences in how people process and organize information – how do YOU read? Do you hear sounds first, or create images in your head, or some combination of the two, and/or something else entirely? Have you noticed that it affects what types of writing you prefer to read, or what you remember from what you’ve read and how you remember it? Somewhat on a tangent/more generally, do you feel that books demand you to read them in any particular way? (I have one friend who can’t read a book unless she’s concurrently taking exhaustive notes and marking bits off with Post-Its. You should see her copies of Thomas Pynchon and Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.)
I’d describe myself as being primarily visual – although since I perversely have rather bad spatial and cognitive mapping skills, I suck at visualizing expansive and/or complex architecture and geography, except in a very impressionistic way. (Hence why sci-fi description frequently demands multiple re-reads from me – alien architecture and three-dimensional battle scenes are Right Out.) I notice aural qualities mostly on a subconscious level; if I’m interested in paying explicit attention to them, I either have to make a conscious effort of it, or read things aloud. (I suspect that’s not uncommon.) Secondary to my visual perceptions, I tend to form an overall sensual/synaesthetic impression, which is not infrequently influenced by the cover art. (Yep, I really, really do judge book covers, on more levels than one.) A random sampling:
- Ursula LeGuin’s The Left Hand of Darkness is flat, grey-white/blue-grey, and concretey. Her Earthsea Cycle is twilight-purple and gold, fading warmth, sun just gone under a horizon of black waves.
- Robin McKinley’s Sunshine is dark, warm, glossy, and… squishy. Like a molten chocolate cake (appropriately).
- A. S. Byatt’s short stories are greyish-gold light filtering through shallow water.
- Orson Scott Card’s Ender books are austere, even greyness, shading towards graphite, and a few degrees below room temperature.
That impression is a huge factor in my decision to re-read things – if I really, really like the feel of it, I want to have it recreated. It’s analogous, for me, to being attached to particular aspects of a season or time of day – wanting to see late-afternoon autumn sunlight coming in through a particular window, or to feel a particular temperature of breeze, say. I feel like there has to be a word for that in German…
– E