Ratgirl, Song of the Viper, by Gayle C. Krause (A Book Review)

Ratgirl, Song of the Viper tells the tale of Jax Stone, a sixteen year old orphan in Metro City, a town where the majority of the inhabitants are forced to live underground in the sewers to escape the killer rays of the sun.  Her goal in life, besides staying alive, is escaping with her friends and little brother to Antarctica, the last place left where it is safe to live above ground.  Complicating matters is the corrupt mayor of the town and his evil scheme involving the town’s children.

Ratgirl is a futuristic, dystopic spin on the tale of the Pied Piper filled with action, betrayal, sacrifice and romance. All good things in my world. Jax Stone is my favorite type of girl, one who doesn’t depend on boys to solve all her problems, no matter how chiseled and swoon-worthy they may be. Jax is a strong leader in a desolate world, a good heroine in the YA world of literature.

Ms. Krause is skilled in the craft of writing and creates a tale that is easy and enjoyable to read. I downloaded the e-book onto my iPad, something I’m still new at, something that infuriates my children who like to “share” my technology. They were pleasantly surprised at how quickly I finished the book. So, Kudos to Ms. Krause for a story that kept me reading. My kids appreciate it too. ;)

Parental note:  Cussing and some mature themes.

          --Suzi Ryan

Divergent, by Veronica Roth (A Book Review)

Hunger Games fans rejoice! The Divergent series is the new dystopian hotness. The story takes place in a much altered Chicago with society broken into factions, each one representative of a particular virtue: Abnegation (these are the selfless people who put all others before them, in charge of the government), Candor (the honest ones who speak the truth at all costs), Dauntless (the brave ones who train to protect and kill, the military of this society), Amity (those devoting their lives to peace and farming), and Erudite (the intelligent, the geeks of the society, in charge of research). Once a year, all 16 year olds must choose their faction, the one they will stay with the rest of their lives. Do they choose the faction they’ve been raised in or jump ships to another, leaving behind their family forever?

Beatrice Prior makes her decision, one that surprises even her. Sealing her own fate, she then embarks on a quest to discover who she really is within the faction she chooses. The process is not an easy one with death as a possible consequence of failure to adapt. There is also the burden of knowing she could be cast out at any time, forever Factionless, poor and hungry. But Beatrice has a secret that she must guard well. One which others would kill her for. 

Divergent is a series filled with action, choices and consequences, betrayal and (thankfully) a bit of romance.

My overall impression is this was a very good book, definitely worthy of my hardback purchase. It had a few of my very favorite things: a girl with a secret, a girl who can take care of herself most of the time, and a boy who needs a good slap as much as he needs a good kiss. Ms. Roth has a writing style that is enjoyable and easy to read with well developed characters (even the ones you are rooting will meet a slow and painful death).

A teen that I know (who loooooooved this book, btw), excitedly grabbed my brand new copy, flipped open to chapter one and read aloud to me, “‘There is one mirror in my house.’ I’m telling you, I was hooked from the first sentence!” A teen, hooked from the very first sentence of a YA novel??  Kudos, Ms. Roth.  Kudos.

So…this one’s gonna be a movie, guys.  Check it out:

http://www.deadline.com/2012/09/divergent-scheduled-for-march-21-2014/

Read the book first, people!!

Parental note:  PG-13 violence and only one cuss word that I noticed.

Now, please excuse me whilst I go pick up my copy of Insurgent. In hardback, of course.

          --Suzi Ryan

The Next Big Thing

I was asked by my super amazing talented friend, Colleen Rowan Kosinski, to participate in this blog tag event detailing what we are all currently working on. Please to enjoy!


What is the working title of your book?

One of Those Moments
                                                  
Where did the idea come from for the book?

It’s a combination of two things. The first is a dream I had when I was 19. In the dream, a boy’s mom is killed when a tree falls on her car. In the father’s despair, he cuts down every single tree on his sprawling property, to the dismay of his son, who likes to sit in the shade of the trees, his acoustic guitar in lap, composing music.

Secondly, in grade school, I fell mad crazy in love with O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi. If you haven’t read it, get your butt to the library. Like NOW. I get choked up every single time I read it. And no, watching the Mickey Mouse rendition does NOT count!  Anyway, I’ve always wanted to do a modern, teen version of the story.

So…I took my dream in one hand and Gift of the Magi in the other and smooshed them together like a big ‘ol fluffer-nutter.

What genre does your book fall under?

Contemporary/Literary young adult fiction

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Cassie looks a lot like Alexis Bledel (Gilmore Girls/Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants). Grey looks a bit like a blonde, blue-eyed version of James Maslow (Big Time Rush). For Laken, I found this one pic of Amber Tamblyn (again, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) that looks pretty close. As far as Chase, in my head he looks like a young Barry Watson (7^th Heaven/Samantha Who?)  If I had to pick someone who could play him now, I guess I’d pick Chace Crawford. WITH bangs.

Alexis Bledel - James Maslow - Amber Tamblyn - Chace Crawford

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Upon the death of her father, Cassie abandons her dreams of pursuing the study of music until she meets Grey, a guitar player who has recently lost his mother.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

One fabulous summer.
                                                                                                                     
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Nicholas Sparks’ The Last Song.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

I’ve wanted to be nothing but be a published writer since the age of 12. Yet fear, insecurity, and self-doubt paralyzed me so thoroughly that I abandoned my dream, much like my main character, Cassie. But after many years, reality finally slapped me in the face—the reality that I never went after the one thing I wanted most. So…I finally went to my first writing conference with my friend and co-blogger, Suzy Ismail. I took pages from the story I was working on, one I was madly in love with. I had my very first critique. My critiquer ripped me to shreds, not having a single, kind thing to say. I left bawling my eyes out. Suzy dragged me to P.F. Chang’s to calm me down before my long drive home. In the parking lot, she gave me advice. Advice that I hated. Advice that I needed. She told me, “You need to write something else.”  Well, I went home and threw myself one giant pity party. I yelled, stomped my feet, ate ice cream and vowed to never write again. I cried. I prayed. And then I surrendered to my dear friend’s advice. And I’m so glad I did. 

What else about your book might pique your reader’s interest?

It’s romantic and deeply emotional. Just. Like. Me. 

Please check out my friend Colleen's blog too:
http://www.colleenrowankosinski.com/2012/10/16/the-next-big-thing/

          --Suzi Ryan

Random Thoughts on Birds and Truth

One crisp pre-winter morning while driving my kids to school, I did something I never do—I looked up. My mouth fell open as I discovered the pale blue sky alive with movement, thin lines and curves undulating through the air like ripples of sand created by desert winds. A great flock of birds, the likes to which I’d never seen, flew high above a barren field. I called to my children to look at the pretty birds.

“Where, Mommy? I don’t see any birds.”

I looked back up, confused at how they were missing a sky overflowing with winged creatures.

“Ooo, look, the letter “V,” my daughter called out.

Indeed, the birds were jockeying for position to form a bunch of V’s, intent on their quest for a warmer climate. But they appeared as nothing more than lines sketched by the edge of an artist’s charcoal stick, each bird’s individuality and identity completely lost from our earthbound perspective.

As we travelled, the flock descended, low enough that the shape of each bird could be distinguished. Side by side we rode, one with the avian crowd. My daughter called out again, “Yellow birds! Mommy, look at all the pretty yellow birds!” Now the birds were not, in fact, yellow. They must have been a shade of gray or white. You see, the sun was still rising, low in the sky, casting forth its golden light, bathing each bird in an aura of yellow. I opened my mouth to correct my daughter, to explain the wonders of light reflection and refraction, but how does one explain physics to a kindergartner? (Especially when physics has never been a strength of mine). This observation skipped my ever wandering brain onto the subject of truth. Truth: the birds’ feathers were not yellow, regardless of how they appeared.

My brain then briefly slipped on the slope of moral relativism. Funny how nature doesn’t seem to struggle with truth the way people do. Those birds were the color that they were. Period. It didn’t matter if I called them gray or white or fuchsia. It didn’t matter if I spray-painted them silver. My perspective, whether near or far, was irrelevant. My opinion did not change truth.

 Next, I think of myself. One of the blessings that seems to have come with my age is my level of self-awareness. I pretty much know who I am and who I’m not. Others may have their opinions about me, opinions they have formed from the brief moments they have seen me with their eyes, of the brief bits of conversation or text messages we’ve exchanged. But those opinions, whether complimentary or disparaging, do not change the truth of who I am.

So then I start thinking about God, about how we mortals, drunk on our own acumen, think we can tell God who He is. We piece together all of the happy, rosy bits of various religions and philosophies, creating our own belief system, fashioning it in such as was as to legitimize us doing and saying whatever the heck we darn well feel like.

But the truth is those birds were not yellow. Truth is your opinion of me will not change who I am (though I confess, it may make me cry). Truth is God is who He is, regardless of our own vain fabrications.

“Slow down, Mommy! We’re losing them.”

I snapped out of my philosophical reverie. Good thing, too. My brain was starting to cramp. I looked back out my window and indeed, the birds were slipping behind us. And then my brain shifted to parenthood— the sports, meal preparation, laundry, homework, dishes, repeated lines of “how many times have I told you not to.” We parents grumble and moan and groan about the day to day, lost in the blindness of the mundane, forgetting this truth: We’re losing them. In the scheme of our entire lives, the time we have with our little ones at home, needing us, wanting our undivided attention, is so very small. In a blink they become teenagers and the center of their universes shifts from us to their peers and we will in turn beg for their undivided attention.

We cannot fight the clock. Time continues whether we want it to or not. Another truth which cares not of our opinion of it. While we cannot slow the clock, we can slow ourselves, cross a few things off our list that really weren’t that important to begin with. Right now I have three children who still like to curl up in my lap, who love when I read to them, who beg me to pick them up and spin them as fast as I can. My one son just walked into the kitchen and, while I’m in the middle of making dinner, he asked me to pick him up. He’s getting so big, it makes my back hurt. But you better believe I pick him up. Every single time. Without fail, he puts his head on my shoulder and coos, “Mama,” softly, for my ears only. Worth the slightly overcooked dinner in the pan and the price of a chiropractor visit any day. And yeah, that’s truth. J

          --Suzi Ryan

Every Body Matters, by Gary Thomas (A Book Review)

Gary Thomas, in Every Body Matters, dares to blaze a trail on a subject many Christian authors and church leaders won’t even dip their toes into: sloth and gluttony. While the Bible touches on both vices, the overall number of reference verses is surprisingly few. Mr. Thomas extrapolates from these specific and similar verses, along with a number of writings of various religious leaders across the centuries. The repeated point he makes throughout the book is that, as Christians, we are to be “…instruments for special purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work.” (2 Timothy 2:21)  My summation of his basic point is this: If you spend your evenings sitting on the couch scarfing Oreos, if you have to sit down to catch your breath after climbing one flight of stairs (and you have no physical infirmity as cause), well, your body is probably not ready for “any good work” God may ask of you. The author is very careful to point out that God loves us just the way we are. God’s love for us is not what he calls into question. He surmises that as we discipline our bodies, our spiritual fitness is apt to increase as well.

So, it’s finally here, the day I swore would never come. I’m reviewing an adult, non-fiction book. In general, the only non-fiction I read are the books written by my co-blogger, Suzy Ismail. I write and read almost exclusively young adult fiction. Give me angst, exquisitely written kisses, and tons of dialogue, otherwise my eyes completely glaze over. Just saying aloud the phrase “non-fiction” sends me into fits of shuddering.

Why this book then? Perhaps because I have my Bachelor’s in Nutrition, perhaps because of the leading of the Holy Spirit, perhaps because I’m fat. Yup, I said the “F” word—get over it. God did not call us to live under the bondage of offense. That’s how the world lives, stalking around, looking for reasons to be offended. There is freedom in knowing who we are in Him. Whoops, slipped onto my soapbox. Apologies.

But even though I have a degree in Nutrition, even though my maternal grandmother died of heart disease, even though my father suffered two heart attacks and underwent a heart transplant, my BMI is entirely too high. How can that be? I have all this knowledge. Clearly, knowing and doing are two entirely different animals. I suspect a few of you might know what I’m talking about.

I’ve found that I’m much more motivated when the spiritual is brought in. The only times in my entire life I’ve been able to go without sweets were the times I fasted them as an offering for a specific prayer request. This book had a number of “ouch” moments for me. The one that stands out the most is when the author relates a scene from his past where he was at his book signing and no one showed up. The very thought of this makes the writer in me want to curl into fetal position and whimper. The author, disheartened, drowned his sorrows in a sundae. Not that the sundae was a sin. But he was using it to comfort himself instead of turning to the Prince of Peace, the one who could actually DO something about his circumstance.

So, if you are having trouble with motivation to eat healthy and exercise and if knowledge doesn’t seem to be enough, this book might be just what you need. I’m not certain I’ll ever be in a size 8 again. I’m not sure I’ll successfully trudge through the rugged terrains of “obese” and “overweight” or make it to the land of “normal weight.” But I’m down two pounds since reading the book and I was able to do something for the first time in my entire existence—I walked past the Entenmann’s holiday cupcakes without breaking my stride. But I’m at the stage of my life where I truly want to be ready—physically and spiritually—to do any good work that God throws my way. And this book gave me a start. There’s much to be said for beginnings. J

          --Suzi Ryan

*Zondervan provided me with this book free of charge for the purpose of review. The opinions expressed are my own. No other compensations have been received.

Failure to Connect

I am sitting at my daughter’s basketball practice, laptop open, desperately trying to get a Wi-Fi connection.  All my feeble attempts at hacking through an unsecured network fail miserably.  I feel hopeless as I stare at the “No connection” message flashing on the screen.

And then it dawns on me.  Is Wi-Fi really what I need to feel connected? Why am I so desperate to get online?  Is it to login to my online classes and tend to students’ “I need this question answered RIGHT NOW!” demands? Or to keep my Facebook window open so as not to miss an all-important status update? Or is it to check in with my three email accounts just in case I’m desperately needed by someone?

A small, sarcastic laugh escapes my lips as my bench neighbor looks at me oddly and then slides away a few inches.  Now, I am shaking with internal laughter.  My daughter turns from her dribbling practice, smiles, and waves.  And it hits me.  For the past several months, I’ve been going through the motions of living while truly being trapped in the online world.

I had become so conditioned to only feel connected with others by constantly being online that it was a sudden wake-up call to realize that there is life outside the cyber window.  My laughter dies down almost as quickly as it began.  I’m laughing at myself and my own imagined self-importance. The false feeling of constant connection in the online world pales in comparison to looking around and watching my daughter proudly shoot from the free-throw line.  Hearing the whoosh of the ball as it slides seamlessly through the net makes my heart flutter more than any “you’ve got mail” message ever could.  Checking Yahoo News and joining online protests, petitions, and causes can’t hold a candle to seeing my daughter’s teammates clap each other on the back and high-five one another with giddy excitement.  Being online can’t compare to seeing, hearing, sensing, touching, and tasting in REAL life. 

Just as this revelation dawns on me, I hear a little “ding” on my phone letting me know I’ve got an email message waiting.  I resist the urge to grab it and check.  My fingers are itching.  One… Two… Three…I delay a few seconds longer and then can’t hold myself back.  I grab the phone and open the message…another petition lamenting Lowes’ discriminatory stance against the “All-American Muslim” show on TLC. 

I can’t help but feel the giggle gurgling inside me again.  Here I am, poised to respond with a raving rant of self-righteous indignation when I realize that since basketball season began, I have never once stopped to introduce myself to the other parents.  I have never taken the time to make an effort to get to know them.  Why? Not because I am an unfriendly person, but because I have been too consumed with always being “connected” online.  Even the connection I used to feel in writing seems to have faded in favor of the all-consuming cyber interactions.

Embarrassed and a bit sheepish, I put down the phone, close the laptop and turn to my bench neighbor.  “Hi, I’m Suzy.”  A raised eyebrow, a slight pause, and an imperceptible bob of the head… and before I know it, Ann is reaching out to shake my hand and eagerly discuss how well the girls are doing this season.

Basketball practice is wrapping up and Ann is packing her things… I can’t help but sneak back into my laptop.  Yes, I’m addicted.  But, with my fingers flying over the keys, I’m desperately seeking another connection.  Not an online one this time, but a connection through writing. 

And I find it.  The knowledge that someone, somewhere may find this post, read it, and nod in understanding...that’s some powerful connection.

Connecting to the world without Wi-Fi… what a concept!

          --Suzy Ismail

Blood Red Road, by Moira Young (A Book Review)

Summary:  Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome for a new generation, only with a chick as the one kicking post-apocalyptic tail feathers.

The only world Saba knows is Silverlake, a dried up land where life is hard and food is scarce.  Strange, cloaked riders on horseback appear on the heels of a wicked dust storm, capturing her twin brother Lugh and stealing him away.  Saba, knowing almost nothing but stories of the world beyond her home, vows to get him back.  Her journey lands her into a world of violence and corruption.  She teams up with renegade Jack and a girl gang of insurrectionists called the Free Hawks.  Together they endeavor to rescue Lugh and depose a corrupt king. 

Sound the trumpets!  Fire the canons!  Cue the choir of angels!  It’s finally happened.  You have no idea how much I’ve longed for this day.  I’d almost given up.  But Ms. Moira Young has done the impossible for me—she created a female protagonist that I loved from the first page.  Saba.  This is not a story about a girl, quaking in her espadrilles, who sits back and watches the boy save her repeatedly while she nibbles on her cotton candy pink glitter nail polished fingertips.  Yessssssss!!  J

I loved this book, I loved this book, I loved this book.  Whew!  I feel so much better to have that off my chest.  Blood Red Road is now located in the very short stack of books I will read again one day.  I lost track of how many times I moaned and laughed out loud. I truly can’t remember having this much fun reading any book.  Ever.

All that gushing aside, there are a couple of things I should prepare you for.  This book is written without the use of quotations.  Glancing at other reviews, it seems to have taken some people a number of pages to adjust to this.  I confess, for me, it was easy and refreshing.  If you find yourself initially frustrated, I urge you to push forward. You’ll catch on.  This is a post-apocalyptic/dystopic world where no one goes to school.  They have their own verbiage, slight variations to English slang.  Perhaps a sample from the book to demonstrate?  Here goes:

He throws his head back an curses unner his breath. Stands up. Whatever I say now, he says, you ain’t gonna believe me. 

Alright, so one of the reasons I loved this book so much is that I am a Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome fan  (This admission will unfortunately clue you in to my age).  I have a sneaking suspicion that Ms. Young is as well.  I’d go so far as to suppose she has an old Beyond Thunderdome movie poster hanging up somewhere with a lipstick kiss on a youthful Mel Gibson’s cheek.  J  This story also involves a bit of cage fighting and I confess, any time I read a fight scene, a crazed crowd cheered from the recesses of my brain, “Two men en-tah, one man leaves.”

This is the point in my review where I offer up some tidbit of criticism, as no author is perfect and the art of writing is a continual refining process…nope, I got nothing.  This is  story with action, adventure, romance, drama, tension, tears,  plot and characters I can’t get enough of.  Fans of The Hunger Games will find plenty to get excited about here. 

Here’s the part of my review where I was going to implore Hollywood to add this to the list of YA fiction it scoops up for the big screen.  But then a little birdie whispered in my ear that my wish is already coming true.  Who you ask?  Why, Ridley Scott.  Oooo…I’m all aquiver.  Check it out:

http://pages.simonandschuster.com/bloodredroad

Parental note:  Some cussing.

As I end this book review, cue the guitar and keyboard.  Sing it, Tina Turner.  “We don’t need another heeeeero,  We don’t need to know the waaaay home.  All we want is—” Ms. Moira Young to write quickly.  I’m ready for the next book.  Like, now. 

            --Suzi Ryan

Popular by Alissa Grosso (A Book Review)

Hamilton Best is beautiful and perfect, the queen bee of Fidelity High, attended to by her worker bees, The Clique.  Her posted guest lists to her fabulous parties leave students either jubilantly bouncing off the lockered hallways or weeping and gnashing their teeth in the lav.  You know you’ve arrived when Hamilton takes notice of you.  But all is not well amongst the clique—Olivia, Nordica, Zelda, and Shelly.  Each has her own agenda and Hamilton is not on it.  But Hamilton has a secret, one only known by her boyfriend, Alex.  And it might just have the power to undo them all. 

Popular is told in first person through six people’s alternating points of view: Hamilton, Olivia, Nordica, Zelda, Shelly, and Alex.  I picked up this book at a conference and didn’t have the slightest clue what to expect.  All I could tell was that it wasn’t my typical read (not a bad thing, per se).  This is probably the most POV’s in one story that I’ve ever read and I confess, a couple of times I scratched my head and wondered if there was a point.  There is.  Go with it. 

What Ms. Grasso effectively manages to do is create a sense of impending portent.  I knew “something” was going to happen. That mood is what kept me turning the pages.  I guessed that it would be big and bad…though it ended up not being any of my initial imaginings. That’s a good thing.  Would it be bragging if I say I figured it out ahead of time, but barely?  (I am SO biting back a 1999 movie quote right now, it’s almost painful. But it could be a spoiler if you’re familiar with the movie…so I shall refrain.  But feel free to contact me if you’re curious)  ;)

A note of critical analysis, as always.  This story is told through a lot of first person internal narration. We’re camped inside the characters’ heads much of the time, not necessarily a bad thing but I thought that the “voice” of each of the characters seemed to be a bit mature, considering none of these kids seemed quite qualified to be pre-ordering a maroon Harvard hoodie.   

My favorite part of the book: It ended differently than it began (in a good way).  I love when music does that.  I love when life does that. A literary Sour Patch Kid. This was where the surprise factor came in for me. That’s the part I didn’t see coming.  But it ended the way I want all my books to end.  Me with a content smile on my face. 

Parental concerns:  Cussing.  A couple of non-descript kisses.  That’s all folks.  J

          --Suzi Ryan

Finding the Right Words, Reflections on the heartbreak of 9/11

It’s after midnight on September 11th.  In just a few hours, the clocks will strike 8:46 a.m. marking a decade’s passing of the unimaginable.  For the last month, I have been thinking of this very night… wondering what I would be doing, how I would be remembering, and maybe more importantly, what I would be writing.

A blog post, an article, or even a journal entry seemed in order.  Over the past few weeks, I struggled to find words that would articulate what I had to say.  Strange as it may seem, the usual rambling writer in me stayed stubbornly silent.  My poised fingers refused to cooperate in creating a stellar account worthy of commemorating the lives lost and the radical changes that our nation underwent that day.

Now, in the eleventh hour, as I sit staring at my blank laptop screen lamenting the lack of words for such a critical occasion, it suddenly dawns on me as to why I cannot write.  For the past few months… no, for the past few years… I have written about 9/11 and its aftermath out of a sense of obligation. Whether writing about the tragedy, or about being Muslim in America post 9/11, or about the painful loss of lives, my writing often felt like a duty, both required and expected.  I developed a weighted sense of responsibility that urged me to write statements staunchly opposing terrorism, denouncing the hijackers, and lamenting the slaughter mainly from the point of view of a Muslim Arab-American.

In all these writings, though, I always felt like there was a missing element.  Something in my words just didn’t feel right.  I couldn’t bring myself to write about my own experiences or my own reflections of 9/11.  I never wrote about how years before that fateful day, I travelled daily through the World Trade Center on the Path train during my commute to my first internship in the city. I never mentioned how giddy I felt gawking at the majesty of the buildings the first time I laid eyes on them.  I never shared the sense of pride I had of working in a city that I had fallen in love with.

 I couldn’t bring myself to write about the sickness in my stomach as I watched the towers collapse on the news while holding my newborn safely at home several miles away from the scene.  I never shared the inexplicable worry that shot through me as I wondered if the friendly pizza man in the WTC Sbarro’s ever got out okay.  I never wrote about my own sense of sadness after learning that friends I’d worked with had lost lives that day.

And then it clicked.  I couldn’t write about 9/11 today because for so long I had set up a clear distinction… a barrier between emotion and obligation.  My writing on the topic embodied this separation.  As explanation usurped emotion, I never articulated my own feelings of humanity or my shared sense of loss.  I bought into the mediated distinction of the Muslim “other” and neglected to focus on the communal sentiment of a human being sharing the desolation of unbelievable tragedy.  In trying so hard to avoid being viewed as an outsider, my defensive mode of writing did just the opposite. 

As the clock creeps closer and closer towards marking the ten years that passed since the tragedy of 9/11, I can finally write.  I can let go of the need to find the “perfect” words because there are no words that can erase such deep wounds.  I can focus less on what to write and more on what to do. 

My nation is in mourning today for the loss of lives here and abroad after the senseless heartbreak of 9/11.  As an American… no, as a human… I know what I should do today.  Writing empty words in an attempt to honor the memories of so many is not enough.  Breaking down self-imposed barriers through actions is a much more potent reminder of the beauty of our country, our communities, and the people we lost.  Strengthening the bonds of humanity by helping others today shows respect and compassion borne of the deep sympathy that was shared on the day that changed our world ten years ago.  For me, the best form of commemoration on 9/11 is a day spent helping others-- hand-in-hand, un-alienated from my country, my people, and my world. 

How will you remember?

May the lives we lost on 9/11 serve as a memory to strengthen our human bonds.  May the souls all rest in peace.  And may the families and friends of loved ones find comfort and consolation in the hearts of their communities.

          --Post by Suzy Ismail

Forever, by Maggie Stiefvater (A book review)

Forever is the third and final installment of The Wolves of Mercy Falls.  This is where I normally do a brief synopsis of the book but I can’t effectively do that without giving away the ending of the second book, Linger.  And since I want people to read this series spoiler free, let me just sum up:  These books are about people who change into wolves  and then back again, all outside of the individual’s will, which lead to some interesting and heart breaking scenes.  In Ms. Stiefvater’s mythos, lycanthropy is a disease that can be transmitted via bites, but one that just might have a cure.  This book is told through alternating POV’s of Sam, Grace, Cole and Isabel. Okay, so glad to get that out of the way….

Now, I’m about to do something I’ve yet to do so far in my reviews:  GUSH.  I.  Loved. This.  Book.  This series contains the hands-down swooniest, sigh-worthy couple in YA paranormal: Sam and Grace.  Sam—A guy who sings, plays guitar, writes his own music AND works in a book store…be still my beating heart.  And I’m known to be harsh on my female protagonists, but I am quite fond of Grace, with her ‘what you see is what you get’ sensibility. Plus, she loves coffee.  A girl after my own heart.  And Cole? Former front man of a world famous band, one who is quite accustomed to abusing his body, running down demons from his past and needing to prove himself.  Ah, my other weakness—a redemption story.  Lastly, ice princess Isabel with the chip on her shoulder larger than the National Debt.  I confess, I didn’t care for her much in Shiver and Linger, but she finally grew on me in this book.  Hats off to Ms. Stiefvater for effective character development. 

But what do I love the most? Maggie’s writing.  One of my top two favorite YA authors (Cassandra Clare is the other, in case you were curious), Maggie writes effortless, flawless lyrical prose like few I’ve read. Most people who attempt lyrical only achieve one thing:  trite, over-worked,  hyperbolic drivel plagued by a surplus of metaphors and similes.  Contrastingly, Maggie’s writing is well-balanced, thoughtful, beautiful and so swooooooony.  I can’t even begin to tell you how many sighs I uttered over the two days it took me to polish off this novel.  And, deep dark confession—I cried my eyes out.  Some who know me might ask: ‘what else is new?’  Okay, yeah, I’ve been known to cry over as little as a Pampers commercial, but I’m quite jaded when it comes to books.  It takes much to draw literary-induced tears from me.  But I had the whole delightful rabbit hole experience with this book.  One where I tagged off parental responsibility to my hubby, grabbed a box of tissues, dashed into my bedroom before my kids could see my girlie tears, and locked myself in until the very end. 

Here’s where I normally offer one piece of criticism.  I’d like to call this section “discussion” instead.  I glanced at a few of the Amazon reviews and was flabbergasted that anyone could possibly give this book three stars.  I understand what the critiquers were saying.  I’m also pretty sure these people have not read much of Ms. Stievfater. Whether her earlier works with fairies or her short stories, this author does not sit you down with a bib, cut up your food, feed you by hand, and then wipe your slobbery mouth for you.  She likes to leave a bit open, trusting her reader’s imagination to fill in the gaps.  I respect her for this. That being said…I admit, I would have liked my steak cut up a bit more for me concerning the relationship between Cole and Isabel.  After two books of deliciously written tension involving the two, I was still left a tad bit hungry in the end.  Note to Maggie:  I’m still longing for the red coffee pot.  You did such a great job of putting that symbol in all three books, I very much would have liked to have seen its inclusion in the ending. 

Of all of the YA books stretched to more than a mere trilogy, (ones with not nearly enough plot to support the act), this is the first series I would have liked to have seen just one more book.  Alas, the good ones seem to go too soon.  Sam and Grace, I shall sincerely miss you (and Grace, in my happily ever after imagination, I shall buy you your shiny new red coffee pot as a wedding present, for many happy years of caffeinated bliss).  J

Parental concerns and spoilers:  There is mild foul language.  This is one of those series where the characters are engaging in sexual activity.  I personally did not find it gratuitous, fitting well inside the YA norm of giving the reader just enough to make sure you know where it’s going and then letting the camera fade to black.  If at all concerned, I advise you to read first.   

Favorite Forever quotes:

“I didn’t want to talk.  I wanted to curl up against him and fall asleep.  More than anything, I wanted to be able to see him again, to see in his eyes that what we had had been real and that he wasn’t a stranger.  I didn’t want a big gesture, an elaborate conversation—I just wanted to know that something was still the same when everything else had changed.”

“There is no better taste than this: someone else’s laughter in your mouth.”  (I can NOT even begin to tell you how much I love this line).

“Then I began to play.  Variations on a G major chord, the most wonderful chord known to mankind, infinitely happy.  I could live inside a G major chord, with Grace, if she was willing.  Everything uncomplicated and good about me could be summed up in that chord.”

“The thing I was beginning to figure out about Sam and Grace, the thing about Sam not being able to function without her, was that that sort of love only worked when you were sure both people would always be around for each other.  If one half  of the equation left, or died, or was slightly less perfect in their love, it became the most tragic, pathetic story invented, laughable in its absurdity. Without Grace, Sam was a joke without a punch line.”

          --Reviewed by Suzi Ryan

Keeping the “Me” in Marriage: A Book Review of Kristin Hannah’s “Distant Shores”

Kristin Hannah’s novel, Distant Shores, is not the type of book that makes you walk into walls because you can’t put it down long enough to make it to the bathroom.  Instead, Hannah’s work reads like a warm tidal wave of words that gently washes over the reader.    Neither shocking in originality nor surprising in its plot twists and turns, the beauty of this book lies more in its realistic content, rather than in any gimmicky moments of instant gratification or superbly developed characters.

Much like marriage itself, Hannah’s book requires a slow appreciation and a gentle simmering of mixed emotions.  Instead of being a drawback though, this deliberate measured pace is precisely where the value of Distant Shores lies.  The main character, Elizabeth “Birdie” Shore, is the forty-something mother of two college-aged girls who suddenly realizes she’s lost herself in the years she’s dedicated to being an exemplary mother and wife.  As her husband begins to focus more on his own professional success and her girls are consumed by their college careers, Birdie is left wondering what she has been working towards all these years and why her marriage and life suddenly hold no meaning for her.

Although sprinkled with clichés and riddled with a plethora of lonely sea imagery, Hannah somehow makes these common devices work as metaphors for marriage.  The writing style fits the topic of her book because dissolving marriages are relevant, familiar, and yet often unaddressed in our societies today.  The present unraveling of marriages and families is not something that happens overnight or with a sudden big bang.  Instead, the demise of a marriage is often a surreptitious unwinding that begins with a single thread, continually picked at until it pulls the whole sweater apart.  Like the drip of molasses, Hannah’s words and writing style capture that slow pace of family estrangement.  Bit by bit, the clandestine winds of discontent settle in and carry the couple apart, both physically and emotionally. 

Hannah’s message is a strong one that isn’t articulated quite enough in any medium.  Although the character of Birdie opts for a marital separation in order to “find herself,” the author doesn’t seem to be advocating this path of family destruction.  Both husband and wife realize in the end that despite the bumps in the road, the 24 years of marriage they shared is not something that can be easily forgotten or tossed aside.

Distant Shores is the type of work that can only be what you make of it.  Some readers may interpret it as encouraging an individualistic outlook, but I am confident that the underlying message is all about finding that middle road.  Marriage does not have to result in the loss of self and identity, particularly for the mothers in this world.  Instead, marriage can and should be the bond that helps each partner develop a stronger sense of self with the support and sanctity of a spouse.

While this novel won’t leave you breathless from excitement or emotion, it will provide you with a realistic look at married life with words that mimic the gentle swaying of a summer hammock rather than the rocking of a roller-coaster.  Losing yourself in life and in marriage is not a path worth following, but losing yourself in Hannah’s novel definitely is.

          --Suzy Ismail

Passion, a Fallen novel by Lauren Kate (a book review)

Passion is the third (but not final) installment in the Fallen series. The second book, Torment, ends with the protagonist Luce jumping into an Announcer (kind of a shadowy, past memory/time portal device), as she is frustrated with her fallen angel boyfriend, Daniel, who won’t tell her anything about their past lives together or the curse that has plagued them for centuries, destining Luce to repeat her life, birth through age seventeen, again and again. Passion is almost exclusively a time jumping tour (feels a little like Groundhog Day goes island hopping), each trip taking her further back into the past with Luce learning a little more about the curse and the triggers that end her life each time, perpetuating her circuitous rebirth.

This is one series I look forward to, one that doesn’t merely get tossed on top of my teetering “To Be Read” pile.  Luce and Daniel are definitely one of the swooniest couples in current YA paranormal romance (anyone who knows me, knows I love my swoon). And this book has plenty…dare I say almost too much. Almost. I can’t believe I just said that! Excuse me while I wash my proverbial mouth out with soap. But alas, it’s true. I learned that even I  have a limit and this book took me right to the edge and dangled my ‘ruby slipper red’ pedicured tootsies over it. So, fellow swooners, rejoice. 

Ms. Kate seems to have had some fun with this book, imagining her characters in different times and parts of the world and how the social conventions of those would affect the couple’s relationship. World Wars I and II are covered. Also 1800 England, 1700 Tibet and France, all the way back until the years tick in reverse, 1046 BCE China and 3100 BCE Egypt. This novel is a bit of  a bonus for lovers of paranormal and historical fiction. 

At this time, I’d like to tip my hat to Ms. Kate for creating a male and female character I adore. Thing is, it’s not Luce or Daniel.  Supporting cast Arriane and Cam win that prize. Now for a deep, dark, secret confession few know: I generally don’t like female characters. Trust me, I want to be all girl power, but very few of the fictional fairer sex garner my admiration. Arriane is a street smart, tough cookie of a fallen angel, capable of kicking any guy’s tail feathers. We get to see loads of her in Fallen, one great scene in Torment,  and barely at all in Passion. L I’d have loved one big scene in Luce’s past life with Arriane, (perhaps while cast in the trappings of frills, lace, and a corset), seriously clocking someone.

So clearly for me…it’s all about the boys. And in this case, Cam, a superbly written character with a crystal clear voice. If Cam saunters into a scene, you know who is speaking long before the first dialogue tag. He’s a demon who’s a little bit sexy and a whole lotta sarcastic. My favorite combination. And we certainly get more of Cam in this book than the last (though I confess, I was still left uttering to Ms. Kate, “Please, mum, can I have some more?”). 

Parental note and potential spoilers: There is very little foul language, perhaps the only usage being H. E. double hockey sticks. All three books contain very descript kisses (Lauren Kate is one of the best writers of kisses) and some very non-descript wandering hands over fully clothed bodies. Keep in mind, Disney has optioned this series, so it would be a good ‘mom/daughter read together’ before it’s in the theaters (Dear Disney producer people: Think Pirates. This series is a bit dark. Respect it. Thank you. P.S. I’ll be there opening night). 

In closing, I say, read the books, don’t wait for the movies.  J

    --Suzi Ryan

Sirenz, by Charlotte Bennardo and Natalie Zaman (A Book Review)

“Frenemies” Meg and Shar are reluctant roomies in a fourth year Live-In program in Manhattan.  While fighting over a pair of red patent Vivienne Westwood heels on the subway platform, a fatal “accident” occurs involving a very superhot, innocent bystander.  During the aftermath, who should show up but Hades, Greek god of the Underworld himself. He offers to undo the damage from the girls’ mishap if they agree to become his Sirens, with a special assignment to lure a famous fashion mogul, whose contract just expired,  to the underworld.

Okay, so Sirenz is NOT my typical read.  I live mostly in the YA world of oblivious female protagonists and enigmatic, brooding boys with far too many secrets. Let’s compare to one of my favorite topics, shall we?  Chocolate.  I love chocolate. Lots of chocolate (just ask my hips). Problem is, after a number of bites, the complexity  of the cocoa concoction becomes muddy and lost.  But break it up with a bit of vanilla? Or a lovely raspberry sauce? Ah, the chocolate once again delves into intricate layers of flavor. So, for me,  Sirenz was a lovely, literary palate cleanser. 

Co-authors Charlotte Bennardo & Natalie Zaman have penned a story of unlikely friends caught up in the conspiracies and meddlings of the Greek gods. Hades takes the center spotlight and no, this is not the animated James Woods’ version of Hades stuck in many of our brains.  Hades is smooth talking, well dressed and kind of…hot.  Demeter, Persephone, and Hera all make appearances and assist  Hades with doling out plenty of red tape and “fine print below.”

A word of constructive analysis, as always. I would have liked Shar’s temptation to have been more of a struggle. Shar was such a strong character (not a bad thing, per se) that I wasn’t worried she’d give in. What can I say…I like to worry and I like to be tempted.  I’ll say no more—don’t want to head into spoiler territory.  

The bottom line is Sirenz is super-quick, funny, and easy to read—perfect for a summertime list of books to conquer, especially as a means to break up whatever your regular read is (unless your favorite reads are light, witty YA, in which case this would fit in nicely with your library).  I deem this book fairly high on my “daughter/mom books to read together” list. There is a mild amount of cussing and just a splash of sexy. 

I shall now return to my regular literary diet of boys I can’t figure out if I want to slap or kiss…or preferably both—at least until Charlotte and/or Natalie’s next book is released.  J

    --Suzi Ryan

The Crankamacallit: A Review of Mimi Cross’s New Interactive iPad Story App

The Crankamacallit.  Say that three times fast and let the syllables tickle your tongue.  The title’s probably already got you smiling inside and out.  With such an intriguing name, you know that lots more giggles are sure to follow in this hilarious interactive iPad App. 

Dr. Seuss couldn’t have penned a more aptly fitting title for such a high-tech tale.  The Crankamacallit is the story of a crazy gadget that piques the curiosity of kids of all ages.  The magical twist to this highly amusing tale is that Mimi Cross, the creative author, has chosen the perfect technology medium to showcase her true visual and literary work of art.  

Displayed on the iPad, the story comes to life and becomes a virtual playground for both children and adults.  Mimi Cross’s creation is clearly a beacon for the future of children’s writing.  A story written in beautiful rhyme with  Polymash created images, The Crankamacallit turns your iPad into a field of recreation with flying balloons, turning cranks, pushing levers, and lots of fun swirly-ma-gigs.

The story-teller’s voice matches the excitement of the App perfectly.  When I first experienced the magic of The Crankamacallit I squealed like a child and couldn’t help laughing out loud at the humorous portrayals of this new gadget.  No picture book could ever let a child explore a characters’ workshop at his or her own pace the way The Crankamacallit does.  In something akin to a technology-bound pop-up book, the surprise that each “page” elicits in this story is compounded by the hands-on approach that the iPad allows.

One of my favorite parts of the App comes early on when navigating through The Crankamacallit creator’s workshop.  One click on the radio image and the user can listen to what the character is listening to!  Lo and behold the lively notes that come out of the radio are none other than the author’s recording of “Alligator Waiter.”  An original song written and sung by Mimi Cross that my own children love and have sung incessantly since the first time they’ve heard it.

Sincere congratulations are definitely in order for the author of this creative tale and for the voice behind the story and the image creators as well.  Bringing a story to life for children has never been done more effectively.  The Crankamacallit truly encompasses the childhood spirit of discovery and adventure and immerses the user in the world of the story more completely than any print form ever could.  Now, if only I could build myself a real life Crankamacallit to help get things done, I’d be an even happier reader!  

Don't have an iPad & want a peek at The Crankamacallit?

http://www.polymash.com/2011/06/crankamacallit-demo-reel

OR: Author interview and demo reel halfway down the page at
http://www.polymash.com/crankamacallit

          --Suzy Ismail