I have this bad habit where I don't read the front cover flap a book before I start reading it. That's why I got fifty pages into The Master, thought to myself "Hey, is this set in the 1800s or something?" and then, after fifty more pages, thought, "Hey, is this guy real?". As a matter of fact, he was: his name was Henry James and he was a famous American novelist. |
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Obviously, they date. Alex makes French flashcards. Bijou asks her cool older brother to supervise a date and sneaks away from a friend's house to go to a movie with boys. It's all really, really, cute, from Bijou learning English via soap opera to Alex being terrified of the scary movie they go to. Bijou's traditional uncle and the requisite popular jerks provide antagonism without outright villainy, though the big misunderstanding feels disproportionately harsh in comparison with the lightness of the other parts of the novel. My main problem with this book is that, despite the title, it's not about Bijou. A Song for Bijou is definitely Alex's story, and Bijou herself suffers from it: she doesn't get much in the way of plotline besides dealing with her culture and burgeoning romance, whereas Alex gets romance, friendship and a cool new talent (Haitian drumming). This book spends so much time exploring Haitian culture that it doesn't explore Bijou. I'd like to see Bijou being introduced to exotic American things, and discovering new talents, and learning how to interact with new friends. If she was more reticent about performing in public in the first place (or wanted to), for example, she could have a plotline about stage fright or dance that makes her going onstage at the end of the book about more than romance. Rating: Four out of five. A good book, but not the book I wanted. Turd rating: Two out of five, for the popular middle-school jerks.
Orczy's dialogue is clever and her abilities in creating interesting adventurous situations are unparalleled. I love the Scarlet Pimpernel's many disguises, and Blakeney's disguise as the dimmest man in England is hilarious. Still, though, perhaps because Marguerite is tangential to Percy (despite all her efforts), this book didn't really grab me. Even though Margeurite's situation is perilous enough, we don't really get to see Percy's cool plot unfold, which undercuts the narrative tension and leaves the explanation to significantly less interesting exposition. Rating: Three out of five. Good, but not great. Turd rating: one for miscommunication.
And that's why it hurts so much to see her agency slowly being curtailed, as she cannot take credit for work that gets a standing ovation, as she resigns herself to marry whoever her parents with her to, and then as everyone around her seems to conspire in beating her down. I like that Jim's many proposals are refused so that Ellen can prove to herself that she can live on her own, but her family keeps ruining her resolve, which I like much less. It feels like the narrative pushes her to depend and rely on Jim more and more, until it feels like she's living on his goodwill. I know it's unlikely that Ellen would have had the Oxford career that she deserved, but the moment when she had to deny her authorship of her papers just to save her gormless brother (though Gordon is charming, he is, one must admit, thankless and foolish) rankled. The moment when she had to crawl back to Jim Gatewood for Ralph's sake also rankled. I love Ellen, and I loved the parts of the novel where she learned how to revel in academia. I just wish that, once in a while, her book would let her win. Rating: Three out of five. Tries to be feminist, loops back to sexist near the end. Turd rating: One for Ellen's family combined. Sheesh.
As a historical drama and character study Maurice does very well. The prose is clear and well done overall, and Forster specifically notes that he wrote Maurice to give his gay main character a happy ending. As a love story, though, it's profoundly lacking. I don't know if it's because I didn't really buy the dissolution of Maurice's first relationship (which, though flawed, was still charming), but his second is less than compelling due to a severe lack of things in common and the awful way the two lovers treat each other. Maurice is kind of a dick in general, though his sexuality adds a layer of interest and pathos not usually prevalent in the standard English asshole. His slow mind isn't the problem: in fact, it appears almost virtuous when contrasted with Claude's over-intellectual pompousness. The problem is his self-importance, snobbery and general dickery, which are not as interesting of character flaws as E. M. Forster seems to think. My fundamental annoyance with Maurice is that his flaws preclude attempts at being better than he is: Maurice is incredibly self-absorbed, and though his book is interesting for the examination of pre-World War One homosexuality (and fuck knows I'm glad to see the gay guy get a happy ending for once), he is not. Rating: Three out of five. Good at what it does, and what it does isn't very nice. Turd rating: Four out of five. Maurice, Claude and Alec make up a turd trifecta. In Sarah Rees Brennan's Unspoken, the male and female lead, who're basically soulbonded (they've grown up with their minds in contact) finally meet. And they hate it. Unspoken pretty much rests on this upturn of usual YA convention. Jared and Kami's relationship, a delicious, unholy mix of getting-to-know-you jitters and best-friend banter, is the backbone of the novel: despite a light dabbling in investigative hijinks and the obligatory deep, dark, secret the whole town's trying to hide, Unspoken is very much about Jared and Kami getting to know each other and reconciling themselves to the fact that their imaginary best friends are very, very real.
I don't regret that, but I'm not especially glad that I did, either. For one, Ryam mispronounces Ai Li's name as Ailey once at the beginning of the book, and the novel proceeds to refer to her as Ailey for the rest, even when she's narrating. That was weird and annoying, but still minor. Unfortunately, Butterfly Swords doesn't redeem itself. It doesn't really establish Ryam and Ai Li as a couple that actually likes, respects and understands each other, preferring to go the dramatic star-crossed lovers route. We're supposed to believe that their love is enough to risk a nation and a family for, but, frankly, I didn't see it. Add that to histrionic angst about social positions, Ryam being instantly better at fighting than anybody except the other white guy (who's... also married to a Chinese princess) and a slow, plodding climax that culminates in a, frankly, baffling duel, and you have a decidedly mediocre book. I liked Ai Li's grandma, and the fact that Lin established that training in martial arts does not exactly equate to prowess on a real battlefield. I liked Ai Li's scholarly brother. Lin's prose is readable, and I'll probably check out her other books. I only wish this one was better. Rating: Two point five out of five. Enh. Turd rating: A solid two, for Ryam's waffling. This is a pretty great conclusion to what was a pretty great trilogy: Healy solves the Concluding Book Villain problem (i.e. that a lot of the time the villain of the last book is weaker and less threatening than the preceding ones) by bringing back old foes and having them work together. The Hero's Guide to Being an Outlaw in general is an exercise in continuity, as characters from the first two books return in various ways, and by the end of the novel, where our heroes separate and show us just how much they've grown, Healy manages do all their respective stories justice. Spoilers below! |