Book Reviews, Sort of...

So here's the thing. I HATE the idea of trying to review a book. Movies, theater, anything of that sort, no problem. But with books, it's another matter. It's just so personal, passing judgement on someone else's dream-on-paper. And it's not critiquing because the author isn't getting feedback, they're just having their work picked over. But I do love discussing why I did, or didn't, like a book, and trying to figure out what the author was thinking when he or she did, or didn't, answer or raise questions in their work. So here goes...

I managed to finish two books this weekend, each in one evening. I like reading everything from teen things to the masterful Stephen King. These books were both of the former variety.

The first was 'The Bones of Faerie' by Janni Lee Simner. For the most part, I adored it. Without revealing too much about the book, I can say that it took an idea that I could see actually taking place and spun a tale of what might happen afterward. It was a strange and lovely mix of 'us' and 'them' and the sometimes blurred lines that run between the two. But there were a few things that were left drifting, even in a teen novel that might not be expected to drag on and on about details and plot background.

For instance, WHY was there a war? There are people who remember the War, some of them were directly involved in it. Yet we get no definitive answers as to what started everything and even more importantly, what the aggressors hoped to accomplish, should they win. Things like that irk me. It's like an adult telling you 'no' and then when you ask 'why?' they say, 'because'. Because? What the hell kind of answer is that? Maybe I'm just spoiled. My mother had a reason for whatever rule she laid down. Not that I didn't get a red backside now and then. but at least I knew WHY my rump was stinging, and not just 'because'.

My other issue is with the magic. It's not a terribly big issue, but it irks me the same way that the lack of background about the War does. There doesn't seem to be a trade off for the use of magic. There isn't any 'price' on the effort one must put into casting and using their magic. It's discussed, but you never see anyone ever deal with the price, not beyond getting exhausted. Again, trying not to say too much, there are instances where someone accidentally does great harm with their magic, not even understanding what they've done, not yet. But even when they find out, it turns out fine. People use their magic to the point of killing themselves, but they're saved by others, who suffer nothing for the effort but getting tired. I know that being a teen book 'The Bones of Faerie' has no need for copious amounts of death, but the situations have a serious gravity, and there is a blatant tone of owning your responsibilities, so you would think that there might be something to the magic along the same lines. On the whole though, a great, quick read, I didn't even put it down fro bathroom runs, and two toes met with door facings as a result.

SPOILER WARNING The first lines are spoiler free, but then I couldn't help it.

The second book was 'The Darkangel' by Meredith Ann Pierce. I had high hopes for this book (another teen variety) after reading the cover but I was disappointed in the end. The idea (roughly) is that the Darkangel, a vampyer, steals maidens away to be his bride. The main character Aerial, is a slave whose mistress is stolen. Right off the book was rather confusing from the standpoint that there is no sun, it's the Solstar, there is no moon, it's a planet called Oceanus. There aren't days, there are 'days' that lasts months, and no nights, but 'nights' that last a fortnight - I think. Honestly, I'm still not sure about that. At the beginning they refer to something as nightshade, but it's never mentioned again. And within the first pages, Aerial's mistress and 'friend' makes fun of her very harshly, in a way that no one I have ever called my friend would do.

Still, I liked the story overall, ignoring confusion over names and timeframes, and although the foreshadowing was heavy enough that I knew pretty much what was going to happen before it did, I kept reading, eager to see what happened between Aerial and the lovely, evil Darkangel.

And then the ending smashed it for me. Aerial 'saves' the Darkangel by poisoning him and then giving him her blood and her heart and *poof* he turns into a beautiful prince, who although stolen as a young child has grown up but conveniently stopped growing at 16 even though he's been enchanted for twenty-some years, which puts him neatly right at Aerial's age. And the best part? Even though he was only four or six when he was taken, he remembers everything that's happened to him and he understands how evil he was and sorrows for all his misdeeds and yawn yawn yawn.

Right their I lost all interest in the story. Everything enthralling about the Darkangel, the fact that he did horrible things and yet stopped doing nearly all of them to please Aerial, that he treated her poorly and spoke harshly to her and yet let her do as she pleased, was banished in the end. He turned into the boy next door.

This is a pet peeve of mine. The whole 'I want to be unique, just like everyone else.' It would have been so much more interesting if he'd been trapped in the shape of the Darkangel, or won against his evil tendencies but still had to struggle against them. But no, the Darkangel turns out to be just another prince charming, irrevocably linked to a former slave girl. That and the much over used term 'pity' rather ruined an otherwise good story. I really loath the word pity. To me, it insinuates that whatever you're pitying is worth less than you, and thusly worthy of your pity.

I very much enjoy the idea of having compassion and affection for something that doesn't deserve it, at least one of my characters is utterly weak to having compassion for the most dangerous and undeserving of things. But what (I think anyway) makes Pony so unique is that she has such compassion even knowing that she won't get a reward. And she has no pity for those evil things she loves. If circumstance had been different, SHE might be in the position of the evil creatures. It was just chance. Anyway, when you take a perfectly evil creature who is still somehow completely endearing and then 'fix' him by turning him into a prince charming, or restoring him to his former glory, I loose interest. It just flattens everything. I won't read the rest of the series. But I won't throw away Darkangel either. I'll just put it on the 'I wish' pile.

What about books annoys you?

Lightening Has Struck!

No, I haven't secured an agent, I have no publishing contract.  But tentatively I will be getting a short story published in a local magazine called La Joie, which focuses on the relationships between animals and their human counterparts, and respecting life in all its forms.  I think that you gave me good juju Tinkandalissa!  ;)  Like the whole 'I do believe in fairies' idea!  I'm posting the story below, it makes for a long post, but what the hell, I'd like to know what folks think.  All the horses are real horses, my furry herd.  

                          New Life

                             By

                           A. Grey

She’s an embattled soul, my Saida, standing in the center of the field, bad leg cocked, long neck stretched low, her head angled slightly to one side to ease the pull on her scarred left shoulder. Dixie stands at the trough, J.D. and Sierra under the pines.  Among them all, Saida is the paradox, the inconstant thread.  Plain brown in contrast to their appaloosa patterns and dusty donkey grey, her winter coat is shaggy, tattered where the CSU and 1808 brands mar the pattern of hair, missing where old wounds inhibit its growth entirely.  Even her name is not her own, just one of many tags she’s borne.  To my mother, she is Aisha, Swahili for ‘new life’.  But to me she remains Saida.  The unconquerable.    

While the other horses were grazing in open fields, Saida was healing from wounds that will never be explained, alone and untreated.  While little J.D. roamed with a herd of incorrigible donkey siblings, Saida stood with hundreds of other horses, crammed into dirt paddocks and narrow chutes.  While Sierra and Dixie dallied at riding camps, Saida struggled to find her balance in a cattle rig traveling across the country.

When I first saw her she was wild and raw, almost unmanageable, carrying a foal that was not her own.  Trust was a truth that she never quite subscribed to, but motherhood proved to be her natural calling.  It was not a permanent state, however, and soon she was cast to the winds again, homeless and ill-suited to the expectations of a palfrey.  But I saw a nobility in her misanthropic ways, a brilliance in her madness, a kindness in her manic attentiveness to the self appointed position of herdsman.  And so here she stands in my field, safe now, but tattered and battered and not much to look at.

But come spring, the matte brown shag will slip from her lanky angles, revealing the crimson of blood bay, a coat of skin-close velveteen as soft as owl down.  The summer sun will bleach her new hide to a copper coated ruby and her scars will loosen beneath its heated golden glare.  She’ll run laps just to hear her own footfalls and the other horses will follow her even though they don’t understand why she finds such joy in the action.  And she’ll never be explainable.  Her sudden affection will never be something I can claim on a whim, her absurd fears will never have a basis I can grasp.

Come fall, her coat will drag low, its dull brown a catch-all for dirt and dead grass.  The chill will set in and her scars will stiffen in its grip and the years will hang from her coatrack hips again.  She’ll take to dozing in the sun, and move in a disjointed swagger, always stepping short with her bum left hind.  But when spring shows up again, it will breath new life into Saida.  The unconquerable.  The inconstant.  The noble and indomitable. 

Rejection!

So this is more of a rant than a post, and any form of writing at all is long overdue because my life has resembled something like an old disaster movie the last month. The Poseidon Adventure maybe, or the Towering Inferno. Intead of loosing characters to gruesome deaths along the way, however, my losses have been more along the lines of a steady stream of rejection letters from various agents. I understand that rejections are part of becoming a published writer, but it would be nice if I ever got a hint of WHY I was rejected. And it would be VERY nice if the rejection wasn't phrased 'We find your idea intriguing but' or 'Your idea was very interesting but'. Spare me the empty flattery. If the story was so intriguing or interesting, you'd be intrigued or interested in seeing at least a synopsis or the first few chapters. Rejection is fine, but a simple, 'I'm not interested, thank you for the consideration' is plenty kind enough.

I understand that I can't get feedback, it's not reasonble for agents, editors, and publishers to give EVERYONE feedback. But after being rejected twenty odd times and counting, it's easy for me to point out the rejections that drove me up a wall and the ones that made me want to try harder. Agents don't want you to flatter them or list how many of your friends and family 'just loved' your manuscript. In the same vein, I don't want to hear how intriguing my story idea was if an agent/editor/publisher wasn't interested enough to actually READ the story. In short, I would remove the word 'but' from the english language.

I will continue to query of course, because the one true NEED I have in my life besides air, food and water, is to wrote and the thing I want most is to write as a professional. And who knows, eventually maybe someone will actually read my manuscript and be able to articulate WHY they did or did not like it or parts of it and I'll be able to work on the problems. And maybe some agent/editor/publisher will find my query interesting enough to bother with learning more about the manuscript. Until that happens, I will continue to write. Or maybe I'll stage a near disaster in which I will save countless lives, since that seems to create instant writers who are sought after for book deals. That last being gotten out of my system, let me make it very clear that I think 'Sully' Sullenberger is a true hero of the highest order and deserves everything he's now receiving. I just wish that those of this without the term 'hero' in our resume had better odds of such success...