Cannonball Read #20: In the Path of Falling Objects

In the Path of Falling Objects by Andrew Smith ended up crazier than I thought it would go. Absolutely nothing at the beginning prepared me for the Silence of the Lambs villain that cropped up in the middle of the story.

So the book is about a pair of teenage brothers, Jonah and Simon, who live in the southwest United States in the 1970s. They've been abandoned by their mother, their older brother's been in Vietnam, and their dad's in prison. They've decided to travel to Arizona to find their brother now that he's out of the army and their dad who's about to get out of prison. Taking minimal equipment, they start walking, but then are picked up by an odd pair: a pregnant teenage girl and controlling slightly older guy. Almost immediately, they regret the decision, and things just keep getting worse.

One of my biggest complaints is that most of the story is told in first person as if Jonah is telling the story, but every so often it turns to another character and is described in 3rd person, kind of like Jonah is still telling the story, but with a ridiculous amount of insight to that perspective. Most of all, the parts that were from the villain's perspective. It took me out of the story because it seemed so out of place.

Overall, it's a decent read, but it just kept going and odd things kept happening. A hidden commune in the wilderness, death, sex, brotherly tension. I honestly thought desert sage Tom Waits would show up at the rate the book was going. Mostly, I'm just glad it's over.

Cannonball Read #19: Howl's Moving Castle

The one book I've managed to read this month is, shockingly, a YA book. I was interested in Howl's Moving Castle after watching the Miyazaki film of the same name, mostly because parts of that movie just do not make sense. Do things make more sense in the book? Mostly. But without Joe Hisaishi's romantic waltz of a score and Studio Ghibli's magical animation, the novel turns out to be a fairly innocuous coming-of-age tale.

Sophie Hatter is the oldest sister of three. She's resigned herself to a mundane, frumpy life in a hat shop, secure in the knowledge that only bad things happen when the eldest seeks out her fortune. Her life is interrupted when she offends the Witch of the Waste in a rare bout of sauciness. The witch ages Sophie's body to that of a 90-year-old. Sophie flees the hat shop and finds herself more confident with herself, knowing that people forgive the actions of old people. She finds shelter from a threatening looking scarecrow in the feared wizard Howl's castle.

She soon finds out Howl's reputation is to ward off unwanted attention and that the real Howl is "slither-outer" young man. I think we've all met that guy: the 20-something with potential, but a desire to do as little as possible. So yeah. Adventures ensue as Howl is also under a curse from the Witch of the Waste, and Sophie gets to know Howl's apprentice, Michael, and Howl's fire demon, Calcifer, better. And then she's trying to keep her younger sisters safe as best she can.

It's not a spectacular novel, but it's fun. It somehow took me a month to read, but that was more out of pure busy-ness rather than disinterest. It's a great story about not giving up on yourself not doing anything or trying to get out of things you know you should do. The mythology of the story is fairly easy to follow, and you know I love some romance tossed in, too. Nice, light reading.

Cannonball Read #18: My French Whore

The book is called My French Whore, and it's written by the actor Gene Wilder. That may be all you need to know about the book, but I'll elaborate. It's a fairly pithy tale of a 30-year-old American soldier, Harry, in the Great War who flees a loveless/boring marriage to join the army. While overseas, he finds himself a coward in the line of fire, and thusly flees the battlefield only to be caught by the German army. Once caught, the German he learned from his immigrant parents comes in handy and he pretends to be a famed German spy. He's treated like a king and even treated to a French woman, Annie, who he begins a real and loving relationship with. All sorts of pickles and close calls ensue.

My French whore reads more like a screenplay if a screenplay were written in first-person prose. The chapters are fast and fairly predictable, and there is a clear three act structure. This isn't really a complaint so much as proof of Wilder's background as an actor and occasional screenwriter. An old school, broad sort of humor also bleeds through the book that makes it feel comfortable and well worn even though the book is only 3 years old.

And while My French Whore is too fast to have any real emotional resonance, it's a sweet book that likes its characters. It's funny with little dashes of deeper character development. What I enjoyed most was the kindness in Harry and Annie's relationship. You might expect a torrid affair, but it really just feels right. I appreciated the tone of the book, and by the end, I was ready to let the characters go feeling like I'd gone as far as I was meant to go with them and not a moment too long.

Cannonball Read #17: An Old-Fashioned Girl

Inspired by the cheesiness of the last book I read, I decided to go for actual Louisa May Alcott with her ode to hardworking young women in An Old-Fashioned Girl. The first half of the book tells the story of a poorish, working class girl of 14, Polly, visiting her richer, more fashionable friend Fanny and family. Their worlds collide and Polly is scandalized and confused by many of the trends, including dress and entertainment, that seemed to be the only topics of conversation. Lessons are learned that honor good old-fashioned hard work and modesty. Turns out, Polly is the paragon of everything good in this world. More than once I wanted to gag, for Louisa May has a habit of moralizing to her audience directly. The chapter where the kids sit around and listen to their grandmother's old stories is heinously boring to get through, but you feel guilty about skimming it because that must mean that I'm not a good person who is into wholesomeness and learning from my elders and blah blah blah guilt.

Fortunately, the second half of the book, where the kids have grown into young adults is far more entertaining and the fourth-wall breaking side notes are funnier and less pedantic. So anyway, Polly is 20 and moved to Fanny's town to make a living for herself and earn money for her brother in college by teaching music lessons. It's a difficult life; she lives alone with a cat and finds work to be tedious sometimes. But she makes friends with her spinster landlady, makes new friends, and learns to be on her own. Sometimes I wanted to gag some more, but overall, this book contains great lessons for young women (and men if they dare read this book). You've got to give Alcott points for writing a novel that dares a feminist message.

And did I mention the second half of the book has romantic entanglements? Polly ends up mixed up with the man Fanny likes, but Polly doesn't really because she's in love with Fanny's brother Tom, but Tom's engaged to some girl named Trixie who is pretty stupid. The thing is, the situations weren't described as dramatically as they could have been. They're played out naturally with as much awkwardness and second guessing as normal people have all with hilarious sidenotes from Alcott. I mean, when the big love scene is skimmed over with the slightly condescending, although honest description of

"Never mind what happened for a little bit, love scenes, if genuine, are indescribable, for to those who have enacted them, the most elaborate descriptions seems team, and to those who have not, the simplest picture seems overdone. So romancers had better let imagination paint for them that which is above all art and leave their lovers to themselves during the happiest minutes of their lives."

Alcott wins me over. Cheesy, but grounded descriptions that seem shockingly modern albeit rather wholesome. With all these life lessons contained in one book, I think I need some nihilism in my next read.

Cannonball Read #16: Hattie Big Sky

YA lit, y'all. It keeps me motivated to read. Toss in some historical setting and a female protagonist and I'm beyond there. Hattie Big Sky by Kirby Larson is about a 16-year-old orphan who inherits a claim of land in eastern Montana from an erstwhile uncle. Anxious to start a life free of owing random relatives (especially her ice cold Aunt Ivy), she decides to move out Montana in 1918 and make her own life. Besides, her best friend Charlie has enlisted in the army and is trampling around Europe.

So she moves out there and it's scary. It's a different culture with people she doesn't know, she has to take care of herself and all the household chores, and most of all "prove" her claim by building fence and planting a certain acreage of land. Add on top of that the fact that her closest friends include a family with a German father who is constantly under scrutiny from the county defense league. And of course the leader of that league is the very handsome and somewhat charming Traft Martin. But she still has feelings for her soldier Charlie! What's a girl to do? The right thing of course!

Because it's the kind of novel that's in the spirit of Louisa May Alcott. It's about good girls growing up and learning lessons about being self-reliant and loving people who are good people first and foremost. It's cheesy as hell, but I eat this stuff up. While Hattie Big Sky starts to fall into a "could anything else possibly go wrong" territory, troubles are quickly over and we're never really in suspense of whether or not Hattie will make it through okay. On to the next book!

Cannonball Read #15: The Martian Chronicles

When I first read Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles in high school, it blew my mind. This time I read it, and I was only mildly interested. The ideas weren't enriched by years of life experience so much as became overwrought. The book consists of several short stories (some were previously published in magazines, etc.) that give different perspectives of life on Mars, from Martians to earth men. Men first come to Mars to explore, and then to flee the violence on earth, and then leave because a great war has broken out on earth (solidarity, I guess).

Although some of my lackluster second reading has to do with how dated I found the book this time. Obviously the story ("Way in the Middle of the Air") involving all the black people in the south fleeing oppressive white bosses is dated in the 40s-era it was originally written. But more dated to me was the lack of imagination Bradbury had for gender roles. I mean, even the Martian women are homemakers that live at the whim of their husband's decisions. Sure, some of the women are given some sass or an equal relationship with their husband, but the vast majority of the stories involved little female influence (especially the stories about space expedition crews). The story that had the most colorful female character was "The Silent Towns" where all the earth people have gone back to earth for the great war except one man and one woman. Unfortunately for the man (who was waiting for his 7 Brides for 7 Brothers kind of wife), the woman is overweight (now that everyone who told her to watch what she ate is gone) and waaay to eager to get married, so the man chooses to be alone. Haha?

Plus, the story I remember loving the most the first time, "Usher II," seemed kind of douchey pretentious. It's about a rich guy getting revenge for all the stolen books/movies that were censored (Fahrenheit 451-style) by killing the government agents involved. Although I was still amused by the Poe-inspired deaths, it just wasn't as hilarious as the first time I read it.

Things I still loved? The stories that involved earth men falling in love with Mars and wanting to protect it. "--And the Moon Be Still As Bright" tells the story of an archaeologist, Spendor, who ends up using violence against his own crew to protect the freshly vacated Martian towns. I understood the man's need to protect such beautiful things from those who wouldn't get it. Also, "The Green Morning" about Mars' Johnny Appleseed also struck me with its aloneness and awe at an empty planet.

All in all, it's a good collection of stories that explore what humans would do to a new planet using evidence of past conquests. I like its mosaic style of storytelling, the way different perspectives put together a more holistic view of the overall story. The Martian Chronicles is a pretty good read.

Cannonball Read #14: Silent Movies: The Birth of Film and the Triumph of Movie Culture

I always wish I watched more old movies. Almost all old movies with a reputation for being awesome are really that awesome. But I've seen even less of the silent movie era, only seeing a handful of well known classics like The Passion of Joan of Arc (yes, it is as awesome as its reputation holds). So when I saw Silent Movies: The Birth of Film and the Triumph of Movie Culture, I had to check it out from the library. Essentially a text book of of the early days of cinema, it's an easy read with plenty of pictures to illustrate the gorgeous cinematography and artfully painted posters that advertised these films.

One of my favorite things about this book was how much of cinema culture that we know and love (to hate?) today was established by the 1920s. Film was at first just a way to make money, with quickly made nickelodeon movies and eventually two-reelers churned out quickly for the middle- and lower-classes. Obviously that still exists today, with most films mostly released to entertain rather than enlighten or enrich. I especially loved the section on Cecil D. DeMille in the director chapter, which essentially described him as a money-grubbing hack who embraced spectacle much to the chagrin and disapppointment of critics. Right there in the 1920s there was the precursor to Michael Bay. All this has happened before; all this will happen again.

And while the book repeatedly points out that there were as many mediocre and terrible movies as there are today, it also emphasizes (even more) the artistry developed in the early days as well. I think it's easy to think most of the fast editing and montaging seen so often today as new and contemporary when it was quickly established as methods of storytelling when the technology was still developing. Also, plenty of movie stills shown through the book showed just how beautifully these films were shot--it's just bad copies are often what's left today.

And that's where Silent Movies is headed: the preservation of early silent films. So many are lost due to neglect from studios or from self-destruction of the highly flammable film stock used so often in the early days. But it's fascinating to take a look at the culture--even just the way filmmakers wanted to portray the culture--and to look at the artistry--which is incredible what many early filmmakers were able to do. It's an incredible heritage and history that's worth preserving.

For the Love of Film blogathon also promotes this goal: check out some of the posts.

Cannonball Read #13: Nightlight

Because the world needed another Twilight spoof, the Harvard Lampoon published its own short novel making fun of the popular series last year, Nightlight. It must be hard for the Harvard Lampoon to keep up in the word of online fan fiction, blogging, and even YouTube videos to be relevant. Can anything really beat "Twilight with Cheeseburgers"?



I mean, the first page of Nightlight after the cover is a description of its first volume being so funny, Ulysses S. Grant was warned against reading it because "he would be too much 'in stitches' to run the government." U.S. Grant, folks. Relevant indeed.

But shockingly, it wasn't just a rehash of everything I've ever heard joked about Twilight (although there was that, too). There are some distinctly literary things that only a novelization could capture, like Meyers' overuse of adverbs to describe every line of dialogue (someone didn't read Stephen King's On Writing). Or the way the first-person narrative can sound braggy and not at all accurate of what's going on. Or the similes and out of place literary allusions that add nothing to the story besides draw attention to poor writing.

In this version of Twilight, Belle Goose is a pretty stupid girl who imagines the school nerd that no one talks to, Edwart Mullen, is actually a super hot vampire who super into her. Of course, since the school nerd has no chance with a girl besides this, he kind of goes along with it. Incorporating events from all four of the novels and even the first Twlight movie, the Harvard Lampoon manages to make an entertaining and brief read that covers all the worst travesties of the series with just enough meta-moments to not be obnoxious. Plus, it was an easy read to slide between Olympic events this afternoon.

And in the end, I was glad I read it, if only to the second to last line that read, "We looked at each other and laughed a little because, hey, relationships take work, and communication" which is something you won't find in any of the Twilight books.

Cannonball Read #12: Homemade Love

I picked up Homemade Love by J. California Cooper at the library on a whim, mostly because it was short (175 pages), so I had no idea what to expect. It took me a while to get into it since it consists of 13 stories that basically tell a different life story. I was a little exhausting to restart a new story each chapter, and especially to get used to the fact that an exclamation point ends every other sentence, despite each story having a different narrator.

But then I got to the third chapter, "Happiness Does Not Come in Colors," and I knew that I would enjoy the rest of the stories. It was about a woman who finds inspiration to start living at the age of 30 when a new woman moves next door and inspires her. She goes to college and learns about herself and what sort of man she wants. And that new woman learns to love the white veterinarian and landlord she hated so much at the beginning. I was finally able to get invested to see what was going to happen in these characters lives, and it was fun. All of a sudden, Cooper's style started to make sense and it was as if I could hear someone telling me these stories.

Only a couple of the stories have a male protagonist or narrator. For the most part the view point of women, either as storytellers of another's life or as tellers of their own. Some of the stories even have ignorant narrators, my favorite of which is "The Watcher." A woman tells the story of all the times she's intervened in other people's lives for their own good. Essentially, it's Mary Worth with real consequences, she's meddling so much in people's lives that they move away. But she's also so sure of her goodness and that of certain members of her family that she's shocked when they leave her, too! (The exclamation points are infectious.)

Anyway, it's a fun read, mostly about women finding love, even if it's from a dorky classmate, a toothless mama's boy, or an old neighbor. And of course, the great message overriding is that it's never too late to begin to live your life to the fullest.

Cannonball Read #11: In Cold Blood

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote gives context to the murder of four members of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas in 1959. Gorgeously written with an empathetic eye for murderer and victim alike, the novel succeeds in immersing the reader in the complexity of a crime, from the people involved to the system that solves and prosecutes it.

Using first-hand accounts from many sources, Capote pieces together a story. It begins the day before the murders by introducing the Clutter family, the soon-to-be murderers Perry and Dick, and townspeople who knew and associated with the Clutter family. The first section, The Last to See Them Alive, is an eerie one, quickly fleshing out the quiet lives of a family in Holcomb. It's impressive that by the end of the section when the crime finally happens, that you feel a loss. But the personalities are described so colorfully, their presence is felt beyond the 70 pages they're alive.

The second section, Persons Unknown, sketches out the investigation of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation headed up by Al Dewey. Incredibly, regular viewing of procedural television shows didn't diluted the brilliant and brief rendering of an investigation in this novel. In a few of the interrogation scenes, I could imagine David Boreanaz or Mariska Hargitay leaning over a table staring at the criminal in the eyes, but the character development of the criminals in In Cold Blood was deeper due mostly to the fact that the investigation took more than 42 minutes to solve.

Answer, part III, is a slow build to finally catching Perry and Dick and getting the solution of what really happened the terrible night of the murder since that's left a mystery to even the men investigating the crime until they final get the story out of the men. The fourth part, The Corner, is the most unique touch of the novel. It takes time to follow through with Perry and Dick to the bitter end with their experiences on death row. This includes capturing the personalities of fellow death row inmates, Perry's withdrawal, and Dick's need to appeal the trial several times. In the end, it takes 5 years for the men to finally be hung after conviction.

Certainly, the novel is detailed, but the descriptions are so concise, it never feels meandering or like a textbook. The novel format even allows for some character arcs to take place with vignettes defining weeks or months of time. In this way, the novel felt cinematic, with brief chapters that could easily be scenes in a movie or television show. But the richly described inner life would be missed in a film medium. Capote did his homework on this novel, taking him 6 years to complete, and you can tell from the level of detail and beautifully written descriptions. Most impressive, though, is that In Cold Blood manages to draw out human characteristics out of all the people involved, no matter how minor. A fascinating read.

Cannonball Read #10: The Only Alien on the Planet

In the last few years, The Only Alien On the Planet by Kristen D. Randle has become one of those chicken soup, curl up in bed, and listen to the rain sort of books. It's comforting and ends with a life-affirming message. Also, as a quick read, it means I can catch up a little bit on this Cannonball Read.

The story begins with Ginny's family moving east on the adventurous whim of her parents. She's a new student for her senior year of high school, and she feels pretty down about having no friends and her older brother/BFF Paul leaving for college. But Ginny quickly becomes friends with her neighbor and classmate, Caulder, who introduces her to "The Alien" in the class, Smitty Tibbs. Most everyone in town has gotten used to Smitty, but Ginny becomes fascinated by him. He doesn't speak and he doesn't interact with anybody. He's not stupid--he's actually quite the genius--but he just doesn't talk.

So Caulder, who's been looking out for Smitty for years, recruits Ginny to help him pull Smitty out of his shell. First, they have him help Ginny with her math homework by having him write out step-by-step instructions. They then invite Smitty to go with them to the local film society where they screen old classics. All of this is much to the chagrin of Smitty's mother, who seems confused that anyone would try to befriend her clearly disabled son. But eventually, the two of them, although mostly Ginny, are able to break through the barriers that Smitty has kept up for so long.

If this sounds a little made for TV, it's a little like that. But the characters are written so fully, and the relationships are so organically grown, it rises above what could have been a saccharine plot. Ginny as a character just makes sense to me. Her doubts about herself, her fears at adjusting to a new life, and her relationship to her family seem natural. I'm mostly making this point because I read this book shortly before reading the first Twilight book which also features a "new girl becomes intrigued by weird but pretty guy everyone ignores and begins a tenuous relationship with" plot, but with a dislikable protagonist who is only defined by a list of dislikes. Unfortunately, I think I imprinted my love of The Only Alien on the Planet to Twilight which fooled me into thinking it wasn't that bad of the read. But I can't reread more than a couple chapters of Twilight, even though I could reread The Only Alien on the Planet hundreds of times.

Granted, the latter half of Kristen D. Randle's novel may be oversimplified, but it's genuine, never predictable, and you go with it because the characters are so interesting. For me, it's a page turner and a fully inhabitable book.

Cannonball Read #9: A Separate Peace

Everyone has a moment in history which belongs particularly to him. It is the moment when his emotions achieve their most powerful sway over him, and afterward when you say to this person "the world today" or "life" or "reality" he will assume that you mean this moment, even if it is fifty years past.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles takes place mostly in a summer session at Devon School during WWII. The boys at the boarding school are at the cusp of enlisting or being drafted into the military, but they have one last summer before the reality of war reaches them. Our main character, Gene, is reflecting on this time in his life 15 years before, when a boy names Phineas overwhelmed his life. Phineas is a fascinating boy, naturally athletic and friendly, willing to break rules, easily charming. But our narrator is Gene, so we view Phineas from the outside, knowing him only from how Gene felt about him.

Gene is an introverted character, revealing things to the reader that most people would keep private, like wanting the worst of your best friend, fancying some rivalry. Like showing how a shy personality can be taken in by a strong personality despite skepticism. Like showing how you can care so much for someone without ever telling them. Like honestly trying to figure out how to apologize and how to do right.

More than anything, the book captures the detached feeling of looking back a big moment in your life. It still holds power, but you've had time to look back at it and analyze, to realize what sort of an idiot you were at the time, but also to realize that the magic of that time can never be recaptured. A Separate Peace ached for that school year in the details remembered and forgotten by older Gene and how it would define his future.

Cannonball Read #8: Darcy's Story

It's official: I'm a Pride and Prejudice slut. I've seen countless adaptations of the story in film and literature (latest travesty: Lifetime's 12 Men of Christmas), but today I admit that I stooped to reading novelized fan fiction. Something about it being $5 and on an end display spoke to me, and I knew I had to read Darcy's Story by Janet Aylmer.

Granted, the book isn't as bad as it could have been. As far as having a writer use a dead author's work as a starting off point, it could be worse. Take Scarlett, for example. It's hundreds upon hundreds of pages of some writer I'm too lazy to look up trying to get Scarlett and Rhett back together, never capturing the fully fleshed-out and beautifully written characters of Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind. Instead, you have bizarre plot choices, a trip to Ireland, and PG-13 love scenes only fit for reading late at night at sleepovers of bookish girls.

Although Darcy's Story has an advantage of being the story of Pride and Prejudice only from Mr. Darcy's perspective, so no bizarro shark jumping moves are made. In fact, it's a fairly tasteful book give it's sole purpose is to answer "OMG, what was Mr. Darcy was THINKING and FEELING and DOING the whole time!!?" more or less. It takes a view that seems to conducive to his character, showing him justifying his sometimes snobby behavior logically. It also fills in what he was up to during the moments in Pride and Prejudice that he was gone. Darcy's sister Georgiana benefits in this version, showing up in some sweet, if rather expository, sibling scenes.

Unfortunately the answer to what he was doing (as shared in this novel) is mostly thinking about Elizabeth Bennet. Certainly, that makes sense, but it's got to the point where the short chapters seemed to list the number of weeks he was at a certain place before Darcy met up with Elizabeth again and played out scenes that closely resemble the original work itself. And while there are additional scenes with Elizabeth that develop the storyline further, it's not enough to make this a novel in and of itself.

Surely it wasn't supposed to be taken as more than a companion to Pride and Prejudice, but it's not spectacular. Darcy's behavior and thoughts in this adaptation didn't surprise me in the least, having drawn similar conclusions about the character on my own. At the end of the day, Pride and Prejudice is best in its original form--full of wit, satire, a lovely and humorous heroine, and the suspense of not knowing how Mr. Darcy would behave next. But I guess I know now that he rather blandly obsessed about Miss Eliza Bennet. What an anticlimax.

Cannonball Read #7: Catching Fire

Book 2 of the Hunger Games series, Catching Fire, by Suzanne Collins picks up a few months after the conclusion of book 1 (Hunger Games). For anyone who hasn't read the first book, a future dystopic nation has 12 impoverished districts that are under the thumb of the wealthy and corrupt Capitol. To remind the districts of their dependence on the Capitol, they hold annual Hunger Games, in which one boy and one girl ages 12-18 are chosen from each district to compete in a death match where there can only be one victor. The Games are required viewing for citizens and are televised to every home. What makes it an even sicker practice is the facade of honor the Capitol puts on the Games, creating instant celebrities out of these teenagers who will struggle to survive in the harsh climate of the Games. Our protagonist is the scrappy 16-year-old Katniss from the coal mining district 12. She's a skilled hunter with a vast knowledge of fauna, but has severe deficits in her ability to work the media in her favor. In other words, she's an interesting character to follow.

The rest of this review is spoilery if you haven't read Hunger Games. Just go read it. You won't regret that decision, I promise. It's young adult literature at its best.

Anyway, book 2 picks up a few months after Katniss and Peeta's shared victory of the annual Hunger Games. They're keeping up their fake romance for the media to keep the government from thinking their move to pull a double suicide at the end of Games was a ploy to defy the government. However, it's too late, as Katniss and Peeta's act has sparked rumblings of rebellion from all the districts.

So we end up following Katniss as she comes to accept her role as a symbol for revolution. I like that we only know as much as she knows about the state of the districts and the government's power, although most readers will probably catch onto what all the clues mean before she does. We also follow her journey in finding out where she stands with her old hunting buddy Gale and the spurned Peeta. Both of them love her, but how does she feel about them? Fortunately, this last issue was dealt with, I felt, realistically and organically. Part of that has to do with the fact that romance isn't the only focus of the book, although it's a delightful thread that gives more weight to the choices Katniss has to make.

And while Catching Fire book might not be as perfectly plotted or surprising as Hunger Games, it's just as engaging. It was exciting to see the characters grow and connect with one another within this very dangerous context. I can't stress enough how much it heartens me to read literature about a teenage girl that's actually good. Katniss seems like a real person and has real (and scary) choices to make, and I can't wait for the next book to see where she ends up.

Cannonball Read #6: Maus

Maus (Parts I and II) by Art Spiegelman presents the Holocaust in what seems like a very modern, metaphysical way: through graphic novel that depicts his father's experiences of the Holocaust, contemporary experiences between Spiegelman and his father, and later how Spiegelman is dealing with the success of Part I of the novel itself (in Part II). It's as much a novel about creating the book as the recording the horrors of 30s/40s Europe.

What's odd about reading this book is that it could feel very trite. The Jews are depicted with mouse heads on human bodies, the Germans with cat heads, the Polish with pig, French with frog, American with dog. But it works, and adds a layer of (mostly) unspoken metaphor. In some ways the drawings make things easier to digest, but what's most odd is that seeing cartoon drawings of people with mouse heads being tortured and killed is so disturbing. For something so stylized to be so moving is probably because we know these things happened and we know that the author's own father is telling first hand accounts in this novel.

And I think it also has something to do with seeing Spiegelman's father depicted as a demanding old man. Certainly, conclusions could be made as to why he's so cheap and immortalizes his first wife while driving his current one crazy, but he's never depicted as extraordinary. He survived the Holocaust, but he's almost just an annoyance to his son. This element, trying to understand and deal with your parents, is universal and gives a reader with no connection to the Holocaust or Jewish culture something to relate to. And I think that's where the real genius of the book lies: it contrasts the relatable present to an unbelievable and horrifying past. How could something so terrible have happened to such an ordinary old man? To your parents? And what are you supposed to do with that history?

Cannonball Read #5: The Dangers of Mistletoe

So I went to the library to looking for some sort of Christmas classic that I've never bothered to read, but since it's the holiday season, they were all checked out. Thus, onto plan B: if I can't find something good, I might as well find something as bad as possible. Using the keyword "Christmas" on the library's catalogue system, all sorts of gems popped up, and fortunately Theresa Alan's The Dangers of Mistletoe was in stock. Lame title, creepy cartoony people on the cover that reminded me of Wheat Thins ads of yore, and an endorsement from chicklitbooks.com? Perfect.

I don't have much to say about the book itself except that's a combination of the worst kinds of lazy writing imaginable. The book is told in the first-person perspectives of a pair of sisters, the chapters switching off who narrates the story. Amber is single, lives in New York, is struggling to make ends meet with her massage skills, and of course has trust issues with men. Emily is recently married to a widower with two kids, lives in Colorado near the sisters' mom, and wants to pull off the best Christmas ever so her stepdaughter and mother-in-law will love her. Add some pseudopsychoanalysis of the sisters' daddy issues (their dad left their mom, and they verbalize this in both conversation and narration ad nauseum) and you've got what must have been the result of someone thinking, "You know what would make a great book? A Lifetime original movie." Then add some references to websites that read like product placement and pop culture comparisons that seem out of place. Sigh. It's books like this that convince me I could be an author if this is the kind of stuff that gets published.

I guess I'll fill up the rest of my review requirement by stating how much I dislike first-person narrative. It can be well done (see: The Poisonwood Bible), but it's hard to pull off if you have less than interesting characters. Especially characters that feel the need to tell you about themselves instead of just letting it come through their actions and reactions naturally. Why create interesting characters with motives they don't even know about when they can directly correlate their men issues to their daddy issues which is why they do everything ever and they're going to narrate and tell everyone in the book about it? Granted, The Dangers of Mistletoe reads better than the popular Twlight book series that obnoxiously uses first-person narrative for Bella's boring perspective*, but that's only because the characters seem to have life goals beyond "spend all my time with my marble-like boyfriend" and instead have goals like "find steady employment" or "be a decent stepmom." Decent goals, not particularly interesting when told from these roughly sketched characters.

But whatever. I'm the one who picked up the book, so I have no one to blame but myself. And don't worry. I've got more crappy Christmas books on the way. Can't wait til finals are over and I feel motivated to read non-fluff books again.

*How delightful was it when Jacob's perspective took over the 4th book and the book was interesting for 100 pages?

Cannonball Read #4: The Things They Carried

It's been about 5 years since I first read The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. At the time I was a senior in high school, disinterested enough to feel done with high school, but nerdy enough to keep up in a schedule full of AP classes. I'm 5 years older now, 22 and a grad student. I went out of state to college where I made friends, lost friends, grew up a little more. Now I'm back in my home state of Washington for grad school, rooming with old friends I knew as a kid. I look back to high school and the last four years and it feels like all those experience are, in the words of O'Brien, "a lot like yesterday, a lot like never."

Is it weird to feel nostalgic at 22? Maybe. But it's impossible not to when reading The Things They Carried. Part of it has to do with growing up, and part of it has to do with O'Brien's incredible storytelling. The novel itself is more like a collection of short stories about a company of soldiers in, before, and after Vietnam flowing together to form a nonlinear collage of characters and impressions. It creates a sense of mood sadder and more nostalgic than a marathon of "The Wonder Years," but absolutely beautiful.

Comparing how the book affected me 5 years ago and now is an odd experience. The first time I read it, my mind was opened up to the possibility that "absolute occurrence is irrelevant. A thing may happen and be a total lie; another thing may not happen and be truer than the truth." This idea alone carried me through several university courses and has defined my outlook more than I probably realize. This time reading, I was struck by how true the stories were about young adults. The confusion, the loneliness, the early heartbreak. It doesn't matter that I didn't go to war, I understand these young men, specifically the chapter that O'Brien tells about his decision to go to war or dodge the draft. That feeling of choice paralysis, of complete aloneness in a decision, is captured so accurately, so perfectly. I understand that feeling exactly.

And that's O'Brien's thesis is, more or less, for this novel. Late in the book he states, "I want you to feel what I felt. I want you to know why story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth." O'Brien accomplishes this. I've never read another author that describes inner thoughts and doubts so well and so honestly. Maybe the stories are real--O'Brien did go to Vietnam--but maybe it's not. In the end it doesn't matter because they contains such a core of truth.

Reading this book is an experience. It causes you to live through the characters' stories they experience and tell and reflect on your own stories at the same time. It makes me wonder how much more nostalgic I'll feel, what truths I'll find, picking up The Things They Carried again 5 years from now.

"Stories are from joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story."

Cannonball Read #3: Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights. Where to begin? The classic romance penned by Emily Bronte is often alluded to, but no one ever tells you the main plot line sucks. The main story takes place between Catherine Earnshaw and an orphaned young boy taken in by her father who is given one name: Heathcliff. He's rough and poor, with a vengeful temperment, and a healthy dose of mysterious birth. This apparently means he's got some gypsy blood because it's the 19th century and gypsy prejudice is a golden literary opportunity. Anyway, the father dies, leaving the two friends to face the snobbish cruelty of Catherine's older brother. As the two grow up, they are obviously head over heels for each other, but Catherine is lured by the civility of the household at the Grange, home of the Lintons. Heathcliff disappears for a few years and Cathy ends up marrying the affable, but far less passionate Mr. Linton. A few years later, Heathcliff shows up to ruin their marriage like the devil he is. Drama drama drama.

The saving grace of the book is the framing device of a stranger renting out the Grange, the closest neighbor to Wuthering Heights. Mr. Lockwood meets the strange household of Wuthering Heights, and subsequently gets the whole story out of his housekeeper, Ellen Dean. And luckily, Nelly has the whole story, having served in both houses at particularly opportune times. And Mr. Lockwood luckily has a sense of humor. He's amused by the whole ordeal, and obviously loves a good story, but has no intention of sticking around these crazy people. Emily Bronte was a genius to include a skeptical perspective because, as much as I love a good tragic romance, the initial one is just lame.

However, the second part of the book is far more engaging. It's kind of like Wuthering Heights: The Next Generation. Here we see Heathcliff wreak havoc on the lives of Catherine and Linton's daughter, his and Linton's sister's baby (Heathcliff marries Catherine's husband's sister, out of spite of course), and the cruel older brother Earnshaw's son. It's slightly confusing and incestuous in a first cousin sort of way, but deliciously so. Heathcliff has gone completely mad, and it's hilarious to read. All my new favorite insults come from him: "You infernal calf," "whey-faced whining wretch," "insolent slut." My new life goal is to use these in real life.

From the reputation of the book, I would have thought the romance was the best part of the book, but Heathcliff is no romantic lead, just some sort of heartless heathen. I wasn't expecting that, basing my knowledge of the book on the 1939 classic Laurence Olivier film adaptation (and when is Laurence Olivier ever short of sympathetic and charming?). And the other half of the romance, Catherine (the elder), is absolutely insufferable.

But in the end, my enjoyment in Wuthering Heights was mostly for the gossipy tone of the framing device. After all, what's more fun than telling stories of the ridiculous people in your life? I got to read the juiciest of all juicy stories with some great moments of drama and superstition wrapped into the prudish visage of 19th century societal norms. That's a pretty good read.

Cannonball Read #2: Sweet Valley Senior Year #12: Bad Girl

My brain is mush from midterms, so I turned to a classic series from my middle school days, Sweet Valley Senior Year. A spin-off of sorts of the Sweet Valley High series, the series picks up after an earthquake hits Sweet Valley and the surrounding fictional California towns. The Wakefield twins, popular Jessica and studious Elizabeth, have their lives shaken up by the event. Jessica is no longer popular and Elizabeth has gotten into an on-again-off-again with brooding musician Conner who's house she lived in after the earthquake (sans parents!). Obviously, there's more drama and characters to go around, but what's really essential to know is that all Sweet Valley Senior Year books are like reading "The OC," but less clever.

Book 12, Bad Girl, is the epitome of teen angst. I forgot what a joy teen series are. They're quick and easy reads with comfortable characters you already know, and really like you're reading a TV show: different author writes each book (although it's still under the name of creator Francine Pascal), the scenes are short and sweet, and many characters make up many story lines. Also, they only take a couple hours to read.

Anyway, Bad Girl sees Elizabeth dealing with her perhaps borderline obsession with how Conner is treating her. At the moment, Conner is ignoring her, and she's not handling it well. At least the book acknowledges that this isn't healthy, unlike the creepy Twilight series. Anyway, it's pretty hilarious to read her reactions to his behavior: "After all, it was all Elizabeth's fault. She sighed, sneaking a glance in Conner's direction. She was the one who got herself trapped in this role of the good girl." Self-loathing is never more hilarious.

Elizabeth ends up having to talk to the school counselor, who then tips off her parents that she's struggling with aftermath the earthquake. Overly strict parenting and subsequent rebellion ensue. All of this is to say, it's hilariously cliche and the perfect read for someone who can't think about anything of substance anymore.

But the real highlight of the Senior Year series is the "handwritten" diary pages and various emails in the chapter interims. You get some angsty and often times legitimately funny interior dialogue and perspective from the characters. If you think about it, it's like how The Office and various other sitcoms have used the documentary talking head interviews to make a situation funnier. In this case, it's absolutely funnier with a character's perspective front and center.

But that inner dialogue is no competition for hilarious narration. I mean, when you read a chapter that ends with this:

"Conner sighed. Finding Megan was all that mattered. The Elizabeth factor shouldn't affect anything.

Conner walked over and roughly pulled open the diriver's-side door.

He could pretend all he wanted to. But he knew the Elizabeth factor always affected everything."

You know you've got great teen lit in your hands.

Cannonball Read #1: The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance

This is part of Pajiba's 2009-2010 Cannonball Read. The goal is to read and write reviews for 52 books in one year. Let's see if I can do it.

My new favorite Mormon Elna Baker's memoir The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance was exactly what I was hoping for: an honest look at life for those who love being Mormon, but also love being normal. Just recently moving back to Seattle after a 4-year stint in the LDS Mecca of Provo, Utah, I could use a little refresher of what it's like in the real world.

The book chronicles Baker's life mostly from the time she moved out and went to NYU to be an actor to present day. She talks about everything from her love life to losing 80 pounds to not fitting in at church to working with creepy realistic babies at FAO Shwarz. Some of the stories she shares I've heard before (she's been a contributor to This American Life and some of her stage acts are on YouTube), but in written form, she seems more honest. She's not just aiming for a punchline (although they are in there), but for revealing her perspective and thought process.

What I appreciated most about TNYRMSHD though, is that it's funny without being insulting. Baker pokes fun at a weird culture and weird beliefs while giving sincere reasons why she stays around. She's walking a fine line between wanting to belong to the regular world, but also wanting to feel the peace she finds in religion. It's hard to express why you believe in God without getting cheesy and overly sacrosanct, but Baker manages to do it. Probably because it's sandwiched between moments of trying to lose her virginity and finding out she unknowingly used amphetamines to lose weight, but it works for me. My experience is that you find God in the weirdest of places, and it was nice to read that someone else finds that, too.