Tag Archives: LGBTQIA+

Book Review: Read Timekeeper Quickly

Standard

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, and author's bio.

I did not give Timekeeper the reading that it deserved, and I’m going to probably always regret that a little. I bought this book when it first came out, and—let’s get this out of the way—I wanted to love this book, and how much that bias colored my reading, I don’t know, but when I did read this book, I did love this book. Timekeeper is the first novel by Tara Sim. Tara Sim is the first person of my graduating class at my alma mater to get a book deal from a big name publisher (one that easily supplies Barnes & Noble). She is the first author that I’ve known personally to get such a book deal. She’s the one who made it first. (She won’t be the last.)

I don’t know what happened when I was reading this book—I honestly don’t. I bought it in November 2016. I’d actually opened it and read a few pages in November 2016; I have pictures. I started reading it in earnest in January 2018 or earlier—earlier I think, but I didn’t finish it until September 2018. Between January 2018 and September 2018 I reread three favorites, I read The Burning Maze, I started a mess of books, including several set in Wales in preparation for a trip to that country, without finishing them. I think portability made a big impact on my reading of Timekeeper this first time. Because I did read a new book called Tara Takes the Stage, a little 151-page paperback, and two of those rereads were portable paperbacks too.

I also have a niggling memory of a sense of being overwhelmed by book reviews that I hadn’t had the energy or time to get to you—and a feeling that I didn’t want to add to my pile of overdue reviews by finishing anything new; I think that might have been part of why I allowed myself so many rereads this year….

All this to say that I did not read Timekeeper in one great, thirst-quenching, squealing gulp like I ought to have done—like you ought to do; learn from my mistakes.  (And I’m sorry it took me so long, Tara.)

I was squealing enough about this book in January that I had to tell Goodreads about the dopey grin that I kept developing whenever I read about Danny and Colton and their will-they-won’t-they, forbidden romance.

Every time I opened it, I was infected by the characters’ emotions, but I somehow never sat down and put nose to page until I vowed to finish the books that I’d started instead of starting more. Once I was in maybe the last quarter of the book, I was tearing through it.

I was surprised by the ending.

I love that I was surprised.

The characters are all well-crafted, the world is vividly imagined and deeply considered. (There’s a note in the back where Sim talks about the ways her mythology and the changes that she made to humanity’s timeline in Timekeeper affect the characters and society in her world as compared to the world on our unaltered timeline, absent of her mythos.)

Here are so many things to cheer: well-portrayed PTSD; several, strong, well-rounded female mechanics, including one who is half Indian; a beautiful, gay romance; respected, well-rounded black characters in a Victorian setting because (to reference Psych) black people weren’t invented after 1888.

There are moments when Sim plays with textual layout and presentation to create story in a way that is nearly unique among books that I’ve read.

I intend to do better by Book 2, Chainbreaker, when I get my hands on a copy. The series deserves my attention.  Book 3, Firestarter, is due to come out in January.

This book deserves at least four stars, probably five if I’d read it as it ought to be read.

****

Sim, Tara. Timekeeper, Book One. New York: Sky Pony-Skyhorse, 2016.

This review is not endorsed by Tara Sim, Sky Pony Press, or Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.  It is an independent, honest review by a reader.

Advertisements

Shelfie: January 15, 2017: ReReading Blue Lily, Lily Blue

Standard

Oops.  In planning for another adventure and just the day-to-day I never did get around to finishing a blog post (though I’m close on at least one).  I didn’t want to leave you without anything for the next two weeks, so enjoy some of these favorite lines of mine from Maggie Stiefvater’s Blue Lily, Lily Blue, the third book in The Raven Cycle.

Needless to say, if you read the full pages, you might find some spoilers, but the quotes I’ve highlighted are all I think pretty safe.

IMG_0957

“She drifted toward the bedroom, on her way to have a bath or take a nap or start a war.”

IMG_0958

“Violence was a disease Gansey didn’t think he could catch.”

IMG_0961

“Blue was perfectly aware that is was possible to have a friendship that wasn’t all-encompassing, that wasn’t blinding, deafening, maddening, quickening.  It was just that now that she’d had this kind, she didn’t want the other.”

LGBTQIA+ Representation in the Books That I Read in 2017

Standard

It’s Pride Month, and I’m feeling prideful. I wrote this post ages ago and stuck it in a drawer because, frankly, I am still embarrassed for myself and for the industry by how few books including LGBTQIA+ characters I had read in 2017, but those books still deserve recognition. So:

This year I want to start something new: Already I’ve started the list on Goodreads, but I want to highlight here too the books that either include characters from the LGBTQIA+ community or which offer support to the LGBTQIA+ community (because some are more explicit than others).

I read 237 books in 2017. Of those I’m counting only 10 that include characters who are explicitly or implicitly part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Those are pretty abysmal numbers (.04%), but I’m aware of the lack now, and I’m openly seeking and celebrating books that I find that include more diverse gender identities or sexual orientations because representation matters.

Picture Books, Picture Storybooks, and Board Books (Ages 0-8)

Not Quite Narwhal by Jessie Sima. Simon & Schuster, 2017.

Sima’s book is not explicitly about gender identity or sexual orientation. It’s about a unicorn born under the sea with a diving helmet who thinks that he is a narwhal, though he never entirely fit in. He meets unicorns later in life and realizes that he is actually a unicorn. When he returns to his narwhal friends, he takes “a deep breath” and tells his friends “the news: It turns out… I’m not a narwhal.” “Of course you aren’t.” “I’m a unicorn.” “We all knew that.” His friends take “it quite well.” This conversation is coded like a coming-out. The book later makes possibly an argument for not having to choose to be one or another, neither land-narwhal with the unicorns or sea-unicorn with the narwhals. This might be about gender-fluidity or transgender identity or nonbinary identity. Possibly it’s an argument against the segregation of groups by identity, for diversity among friends. Whatever message the takeaway, whomever finds meaning it in, it’s an absolutely adorable story about finding yourself inside of community—and making your own community.

Quackers by Liz Wong. Alfred A. Knopf-Penguin Random, 2016.

Wong’s book has a pretty similar message to Sima’s. Quackers thinks that he is a duck because he’s grown up among ducks by the pond—until he meets cats, and they show him the ways of cats. Quackers decides that he is both duck and cat, sometimes doing duck things, and sometimes doing cat things.

Middle Grade-Young Readers (Ages 8-12)

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 2: The Hammer of Thor by Rick Riordan. Hyperion-Disney, 2016.

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 3: The Ship of the Dead by Rick Riordan. Hyperion-Disney, 2017. 

Alex Fierro is gender-fluid. He/She becomes Magnus’ love interest, and the two share a kiss in the final book. Loki is also gender-fluid and bisexual, having children with men and women. In the third book, Alex brings to life a gender-fluid clay figure, Pottery Barn, who uses they/them/their pronouns. The einherjar in Valhalla are not entirely comfortable with Alex’s gender-fluidity, but that there is a Norse word for gender-fluidity undercuts the argument that gender-fluidity is a new phenomenon, and by book 3, floor 19 has pretty much accepted Alex.

The Trials of Apollo, Book 1: The Hidden Oracle by Rick Riordan. Hyperion-Disney, 2016.

The Trials of Apollo, Book 2: The Dark Prophecy by Rick Riordan. Hyperion-Disney, 2017. 

Apollo, the protagonist and POV character in this first person narrative is openly bisexual. In the second story, the heroes stay with two older, strong, well-rounded women who left the Hunters of Artemis and immortality to pursue their love for one another. They are raising an adopted daughter together. In the first, we also get to see Nico and Will together, and the camp seems quite accepting of their romance, though that Nico will pull out some creepy Underworld magic if separated from Will probably does help to keep people from complaining. 

Teen (Ages 13-19) 

The Raven Cycle, Book 2: Dream Thieves by Maggie Stiefvater. Scholastic, 2014. First published 2013.

The Raven Cycle, Book 3: Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater. Scholastic, 2015. First published 2014.

The Raven Cycle, Book 4: The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater. Scholastic, 2016. 

Ronan Lynch and Adam Parrish are in love, and by the final book, the two are comfortable enough to come together openly, sharing a kiss at a party. I think they may already be in love with another when we meet them, though their growth as individuals certainly deepens their attraction to one another. Joseph Kavinsky, who lusts after Ronan Lynch (I wouldn’t call it love), helps Ronan come to terms with his own sexuality.

Adult (Ages 20+)

A Place at the Table by Susan Rebecca White. Touchstone-Simon & Schuster, 2013.

This historical fiction is in part the story of Bobby Banks, a pastor’s son from Georgia, whose father turns him out when he discovers Bobby in bed with another boy. Bobby grows up in exile from his family, living with his gentler grandmother. He later escapes Georgia and moves to New York City. His time in New York coincides with the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s, and Bobby loses his partner to the disease. His friends lose partners and friends to the disease.

Do you know or think that I misrepresented or misinterpreted any of these?  Please comment below.  Let me know. I’m hoping the list of books that I read in 2018 that include LGBTQIA+ characters grows far longer than this.

Book Review: The Raven King Refuses Expectation and Surprises Despite Prophecy

Standard

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, and author's bio.

Pretty much spoiler-free.

This is an odd review, because I’ve now read the book twice. I generally try to write my reviews while the story is still fresh in my mind but missed that pass when I first borrowed the hardback from the library not long after its release in April 2017. The paperback I read in late April 2018.

The Raven King wasn’t what I was expecting—and I don’t know why I thought it would be; no book in the series has been what I expected. But I guess I thought that by the fourth book, the only one that I couldn’t read immediately when I wanted to because I had to wait for its publication, I would have come to a point where at the very least the tropes of the genre would steer the book in a direction that I could anticipate. The tropes did not. Stiefvater ruthlessly undercuts expectations and genre clichés. And ordinarily I’m 100% down with that, but this time… it was a little bit of a let down, to read 4 books about a quest that ultimately falls a little flat.

But hold that phone.

I love how writing reviews can solidify my views of a book. Now that I’m thinking about the book less as a reading experience and more as an undercutting of every built-up expectation, I’m becoming more and more on board. And I guess I’ll just have to read it a third time and revel in its unmaking of the tropes (yeah, I said it).

What a fine, fine line to toe though, between failing to fulfill a reader’s expectations and desire and surprising them. There are lessons to be learnt here.

That ability to surprise me despite how many books I’ve read in the genre, despite both the first in the series and this last beginning with the characters musing about their foretold destinies, is astounding.

And I know I’m an easy mark, but still.

The second time, knowing the conclusion, I was more on board. I was more on board with an unconventional conclusion, with an unexpected resolution, with an improvised solution.

And of course I was here for the prose, the beautiful, beautiful prose that had me rereading passages and reading passages out loud to anyone who would listen to hope that they would revel with me in the language, in the thing so beautifully captured and expressed, in the pointed description that is at once perfectly succinct and poetic.

One of my favorite lines from the prologue is this:

“A Gansey reached bravely into the night-blind water, fate uncertain until the hilt of a sword was pressed into a hopeful palm.”

And of course I was here for the characters. Tumblr user h-abibti once described this series like “long road trips and the sound of laughter in a car full of people you love and its singing on the top of your lungs to lame music” (the quote continues beautifully; follow the link and read the full quote), and that’s so accurate. I think the intimacy with which the characters treat one another invites the reader into that intimacy and refuses to let the reader not care. I care deeply. These are friends. A stew of psychoses, yes, but friends. There are new friends here too. I want to give a shout-out to Henry Cheng, the unexpected, late addition to the court, Chinese/Korean American who though he has an extensive vocabulary and sharp wit struggles to communicate how he’d like to do out loud in English or any other language.

I have to give this book 4 stars because I was still not on board totally this second read, but I suspect that a third reading might raise my rating of the book.

****

Stiefvater, Maggie. The Raven Cycle, Book 4: The Raven King. New York: Scholastic, 2018. First published 2017.

This review is not endorsed by Maggie Stiefvater or Scholastic, Inc.  It is an independent, honest review by a reader.

Book Review: SPOILERS: The Burning Maze Wrecked Me, and I Loved It

Standard

Click to visit the author's page for links to order and summary.

This whole review is a spoiler. The spoilers are what I want to talk about.

 

I think I had a few days’ time at least of understanding certain friends’ reactions to Sirius Black’s death—and I’m sorry I didn’t understand then. We had Sirius for 1625 pages. We had Jason for 3029 pages. And I’m being maybe generous to Sirius and stingy to Jason, starting from the verbal revelation that Peter Pettigrew is alive and including all of The Goblet of Fire, for most of which Sirius is off-screen, and starting with The Lost Hero, including all of The Heroes of Olympus, but excluding the first two books of The Trials of Apollo and any of the books taking place simultaneously to or between the end of The Blood of Olympus and The Burning Maze (so none of the Magnus Chase books or Percy’s explanations of mythology). I’m guessing this is why this death was so much worse for me. And social media and fan culture has only got stronger and more pervasive since Sirius’ death (though I was on discussion boards before Order of the Phoenix, and I’m on none for Riordan). For a few days Pinterest was painful to visit because there was all of this fan art and discussions of future conversations between the seven, and I just kept thinking, “The poor dears. They don’t know.”

I was messed up for a few days (that reading that scene and finding out about a real-world personal tragedy coincided admittedly did not help, but the fact remains that I was messed up about Jason for a few hours before I found out about the personal tragedy). I frantically searched for anyone who had already read the story or who wouldn’t read the story so that I could spew my feelings, even going so far as to query a professional Facebook group of which I am a part (and finding my solace there in mutual feels).

Now eleven days on (six days since I finished the novel), I am ready to fully admit that I am so proud­­ of—but also angry with upset with—Rick Riordan, ready to forgive and accept. I am horribly, terribly scared that this is his Eddard Stark, that this is his declaration that no one is safe, that all rules of rewards or punishments for desert are out the window. I am as proud now as I was of George Martin—albeit really belated because I only read The Game of Thrones in 2016, and it was first published in 1996—before he started bringing his protags back as zombies.

I was so excited and proud that Riordan had decided to break up Piper and Jason. I thought that was a bold step. I didn’t realize then that it was a precursor to a bigger step away from the fandom wish-fulfillment. I really should recognize this pattern now, of distancing the character beneath the ax blade’s shadow from the others so that their death hurts just that infinitesimal bit less (to write about as much as to read about, I think). Martin remains the only author in this genre that I’ve found that does not to do this when killing off a main protagonist. Rowling certainly does. But Martin don’t care. He’ll crush us. I’m potentially comparing apples and oranges though. Martin has no pretense about writing for adults alone; Rowling and Riordan both began these series as for children.

I’m going to need to read this book again. I’m going to need to read this book knowing what’s coming. I’m going to need to reread the scenes following Jason’s death, which were raw and real, especially for Piper. I’m going to need to appreciate those more later.

There’s little else I want to talk about except for the impact of that one character and that one scene. I do want to point out that the scenes of war council at the bottom of the cistern, fueled by take-out enchiladas, were wonderfully raw too, I particularly enjoyed the first. I want to point out how much I enjoyed the idea of Incitatus playing Caligula for his own agenda, to create a world dominated by horses, how much I enjoyed him as a villain (and I’m a little upset that he won’t be our main antagonist going forward).

Everyone was less annoying, more grounded, more heroic here. Everyone.  Everyone came into their own: Grover as a Lord of the Wild and protector but also as a staple of the Percy Jackson world since page 1 as if Riordan too was remembering how much Grover has seen with us, Apollo as a hero, Meg as a daughter of Demeter and friend of the Nature.  The pacing seemed better here too than in the previous two of this series, the whole of the story more solid, more weighty. I feel like this book is where this series, these characters finally hit their stride for me, and now I’m looking forward eagerly and apprehensively to the next—especially if Reyna and/or Hylla will be there (Piper says Reyna, but I’m kind of hoping the twist will be that we really need Hylla and the Amazons); Reyna seems too obvious.

*****

Riordan, Rick.  The Trials of Apollo, Book 3: The Burning Maze.  New York: Hyperion-Disney, 2018.

This review is not endorsed by Rick Riordan, Hyperion Books, or Disney Book Group. It is an independent, honest review by a reader.

Shelfie 21: November 18, 2016: Passing Time with Timekeeper

Standard

This must have been a lovely November day for me to take my book and my bucket onto the porch.  This was my first attempt to dive into Tara Sim’s first novel, Timekeeper, and the time that I realized that this book would capture me and not let me go–I knew it would be by the 4th paragraph.  In November I couldn’t afford to be so captured.  I wanted to enjoy this novel.  I am enjoying it now.  I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, Tara!

That’s a Hollins bookmark too.

Book Reviews: January 2018 Picture Book Roundup: Love and Immigration and Fancy Nancy

Standard

Click to visit the publisher's site for links to order, summary, and sample pages.

What Do You Do with a Chance? by Kobi Yamada and illustrated by Mae Besom. Compendium, 2018.

I am a fan of this series. I am particularly a fan of Mae Besom’s artwork. The text continues to be inspiring but vague in its description, anthropomorphizing an idea—in this case a chance. The protagonist at first misses that chance, afraid to capture it, but then he catches another one later.

***

Stories of Immigration

Click to visit the publisher's site for links to order, summary, sample, and author's and illustrator's bios.

Paddington by Michael Bond and illustrated by R. W. Alley. HarperCollins, 2014. First published 1998.  Intended audience: Ages 4-8.

This one was a little long for my audience, but they made it. It was very British—understandably British as its written by Brits—but there were words that my audience didn’t know. Overall, it’s a sweet story—but I hesitate on this one. On the one hand the language used to describe Paddington is worrying. He is from “Darkest Peru” and though polite, he does not understand some basic concepts of “civilized” British society (he climbs on tables to reach food and does not understand modern plumbing, leading to not only a giant mess in the bathroom but also to his near-drowning). The cabbie wants to charge extra for driving a bear and even more for a sticky bear. Paddington is depicted as needing to be taken care of by the British family because he’s incapable of taking care of himself—even though he’s traversed half the globe on his own with nothing but his wits and a jar of marmalade. I want to rate this story highly, because if I don’t think about it, it’s quite a wonderfully British, wonderfully fun adventure story of a bear who finds himself suddenly a part of a kind, suburban British family, but….

***

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, reviews, and author's bio.

Mama’s Nightingale: A Story of Immigration and Separation by Edwidge Danticat and illustrated by Leslie Staub. Dial-Penguin Random, 2015. Intended audience: Ages 5-8.

This is an important story, particularly now, of a Haitian American family torn apart by an immigration detainment center. The jailors are cruel, and un-empathetic to young Saya’s tears, threatening not to allow her to visit if she can’t keep from crying when asked to leave. Her mother sends cassettes home with Saya’s father of stories of Haitian folklore or her own imagination for Saya to listen to at bedtime, but of course its not enough. Saya and her father write letters to plead her mother’s case, and Saya’s letter to the newspaper gains the media’s attention and the public’s support, ultimately reuniting her family. Saya’s story ends happily, where so many others do not, but Saya fights a battle that no child should have to fight. This one nearly made me cry in the store. Be warned though that it’s a long story. It’d have a hard time keeping the attention of my young story time audience.

****

Stories of Love

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, sample, reviews, trailer, and author's bio. 

Love by Matt de la Peña and illustrated by Loren Long. G. P. Putnam’s Sons-Penguin Random, 2018. Intended audience: Ages 4-8.

So many beautiful people and families are depicted in this bright, colorful picture book! The text is lyrical, poetic, and deeply moving. There’s an image that was controversial around the time of its publication of a child hiding beneath a piano in a room with overturned furniture, a nearly finished glass of scotch, and two fighting adults, the woman crying because sometimes love is hard and sometimes love doesn’t last. This is an important book. This is an important book for children who are struggling because a family’s love has burnt out or for whom fear has come from a newscast. This is an important book of hope, of finding love in everyone and in everything. There is a message of sending you out into the world, which will make this an alternate graduation recommendation from me when all everyone wants is Oh! The Places You’ll Go!. This one also made me nearly cry in the store, and I know it touched the hearts of several coworkers too.

*****

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, sample, and author's bio.

Santa’s Husband by Daniel Kibblesmith and illustrated by A. P. Quach. HarperDesign-HarperCollins, 2017.

This one is shelved at Barnes & Noble in the adult section under humor, but there’s nothing that makes it inappropriate for children—and frankly I didn’t it find it very humorous–deeply touching, yes, but not laugh out loud. Santa and his husband have a wonderfully loving marriage and cozy home in the North Pole—though each year the North Pole seems to grow just a little warmer. They help one another, Santa’s husband being especially supportive of Santa with his difficult job, and though they sometimes have disagreements, they always kiss and make-up. Santa is portrayed as an older black man who is living happily with his husband David (not named till the last page), an older white man, who helps Santa with his heavy workload, negotiating benefits packages with the elves, cooking, even going to shopping malls sometimes to impersonate Santa for the children. I’m sorry I found it only so late after Christmas. Next year will be another year.

*****

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order and summary.

You! by Sandra Magsamen. Jabberwocky-Sourcebooks, 2015.

There’s no story to this one, and the text all seems pretty trite. The text rhymes. The illustrations are all very simple, solid-colored figures and shapes on solid-colored backgrounds with graphics of question marks, hearts, and stars. There’s loopy text on one page and an illustration on the facing, no clever layout. The text tells me I can be everything I want to be—including someone who lives in a tree. That’s my favorite bit, because it’s the most imaginative, though it’s very possible that that line is included to have made the rhyme (“I think this line’s mostly filler”).  I just don’t see the appeal of this book really.

*

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, and reviews.

Not So Small at All by Sandra Magsamen. Jabberwocky-Sourcebooks, 2017.

My favorite part of this book was the facts and photographs at the end of the book about bees and butterflies and ants and hummingbirds—though I was more interested in those facts than was my story time audience; I did try to read them, and I read them excitedly. From my review of You!, you might have realized that Magsamen is just not my jam. This one doesn’t have a story either, but it seems less trite for having a more unified theme to its platitudes and reminders: that being little does not prevent you from doing great things. If you’re looking for a book with the same moral, though, let me point you to Little Elliot, Big City.

**

Fancy Nancy

Click to visit the publisher's site for links to order, summary, sample, activity, and author's and illustrator's bios.

Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy by Jane O’Connor and illustrated by Robin Preiss Glasser. HarperCollins, 2007.  Intended audience: Ages 4-8.

Nancy’s family is getting a dog—and Nancy hopes it’ll be a Papillion, a fancy little puppy like her neighbor’s dog. To convince her family that a fancy puppy like Mrs. DeVine’s is what they need, everyone agrees to let Nancy and her family puppy-sit for Jewel. Her friends bring their dogs for a doggie play date, but Jewel hides behind Nancy and is quickly exhausted. Jewel is scared by Jojo’s fun. Nancy realizes that maybe a Papillion like Jewel isn’t the right dog for her family, and she’s feeling quite down. The family stops by the shelter, where the woman introduces the family to Frenchy, a big dog of indeterminate breed that jumps right into Nancy’s arms and likes it when Jojo hugs her. Their dad says that Frenchy is a very unique breed—and Nancy realizes that unique is maybe even better than fancy.

****

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, sample, activity, teacher's guide, and author's and illustrator's bios.

Fancy Nancy: Stellar Stargazer by Jane O’Connor and illustrated by Robin Preiss Glasser. HarperColllins, 2011.  Intended audience: Ages 4-8.

Nancy and Jojo are having a night out beneath the stars. “Can you wish on the sun?” “Hmmm… well, it is a star, so why not?”  Framed by having Nancy explain to Jojo, the book is peppered with lots of simply explained scientific “stellar facts,” like that the sun is a star but that the moon is not and how long it takes a spaceship to reach the moon using current technology. The two pretend to visit the moon. Nancy sports Leia’s buns and invents a new legend for a new constellation, a story about a princess who runs away to marry a man below her station. This is the most fun non-fiction book I think that I’ve stumbled upon since The Magic School Bus books of my youth. It actually reminded me a great deal of The Magic School Bus books but for a younger audience.

****

Click to visit the publisher's page for links to order, summary, sample, activity, and author's and illustrator's bios.

Fancy Nancy: Oodles of Kittens by Jane O’Connor and illustrated by Robin Preiss Glasser. HarperCollins, 2018.  Intended audience: Ages 4-8.

This is a good story for families with new siblings or new pets. Nancy and Bree find a mother cat—a queen—with new kittens. Mrs. DeVine takes the family in, and Nancy and Bree keep a close eye on the young kittens. Bree and Nancy keep Sequin and Rhinestone after the other kittens have found homes. Frenchy is jealous and feeling ignored as Nancy pampers Sequin with lots of attention. Frenchy is an excellent stand-in for an older sibling where Sequin is the new child and Nancy is the new mother. After her parents point out to Nancy that Frenchy might be jealous, Nancy is sure to pay attention to Frenchy too, and she slowly introduces her dog to her cat, explaining too that Sequin is only a baby and not mature like Frenchy. The two become friends, and Frenchy even helps to find Sequin when Sequin goes missing. This one got a little bit long, comprising of several plots strung together: Nancy finding the kittens, Frenchy being jealous of the kitten, and the kitten being lost and found.  But overall, I enjoy the story.

***

These reviews are not endorsed by any of the authors or publishers or anyone else involved in the making of these books. They are independent, honest reviews by a reader.

Shelfie 18: October 14 & 18, 2016: Young Love

Standard

 

 

I was really excited to keep reading this series after I fell in love with The Raven Boys without even realizing or thinking that I had done.  I thought I didn’t love it–until I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  And this book–the second–became my favorite of the series.

I was excited too to find this apt description, this description that I didn’t know that I needed in my life till I’d read it, but which I now think about often:

“His mind was a box he tipped out at the end of his shifts.”

P.S. — Here is my review of The Dream Thieves.

Book Review: Everything I Love is in The Dark Prophecy–But So is Apollo

Standard

Click to visit the author's page for links to order and description.

That title seems harsh, but it is nonetheless true.

Some spoilers!

This is a story of overbearing fathers or fathers who overshadow their children—Marcus Aurelius, Nero, Zeus, Midas, Apollo himself, maybe even Ssssarah’s father should be included in the list (is that Tartarus?)—the weight that they put on their children, and the right and wrong ways to react to that weight.

Apollo seemed to me less annoying in The Dark Prophecy, whether because this is a god much humbled or because the supporting characters are larger, helping to balance him better. Here is Leo, already well-developed and greatly loved, and Calypso with him. Their relationship, one in which I was fairly invested prior to the beginning of this series, serves as a good breaker of a subplot to Apollo’s narcissism. Jo and Emmie, new characters, are large characters too (and if you want to give us the continued or previous adventures of Emmie and Jo, Uncle Rick, I won’t complain). They loved each other so much that they left the Hunters of Artemis and its accompanying immortality. They are also not just lesbians, but an older, married and settled lesbian couple, particularly underrepresented in children’s literature maybe partially because adults are so rarely the heroes in children’s literature. I’d love to see more teen and child heroes raised by two women in love—or two men in love.

Riordan has introduced another new character that I want to keep an eye on: Olujime (Jaime). Olujime is descended from the Yoruba people of Western Africa. He is a graduate student in accounting, working as a gladiator to support himself. He fights using Gidigbo and Dambe, both West African fighting styles, and lightning, which I and Apollo in this writer’s world take to suggest godly parentage or patronage. I am both excited and scared that the appearance of Jaime suggests that Rick is researching for another series. I’m not sure that it’s his place to explore Yoruba myth and tradition, but I’d be interested to read such a series–and I already know that I’d love the style if Riordan wrote such a series. Moreover, I love the idea of a adult hero from Riordan, suffering the horrors of graduate school while also having to battle monsters and gods–probably with a good sense of humor and a passel of friends.

Apollo is really attracted to Jaime but backs off when Jaime lets slip that he has a serious girlfriend. We get to see Apollo’s bisexuality not as a long-ago myth as with his labeling last book Hyacinthus as one of his greatest loves (the other being Daphne)—not just through his attraction to Jaime but also through his broken relationship with Commodus, a relationship we visit in its prime in flashbacks that Apollo experiences. This book more than in the previous one Apollo’s past comes back to haunt him.

I’ve said a lot about Leo and Calypso in this review. For all that, their relationship was a bit of a letdown. Given that Leo quite literally died to rescue her and that Calypso has been waiting eons to leave her island, I expected and wanted a glorious ship. But their relationship was built on a few weeks when Leo was stuck on her island and spent most of that time devising a way off for himself and, a good bit of that time, the pair spent sniping at one another, neither wanting to be stuck with the other’s company. Calypso softened to Leo during that time and Leo to her, and he left, vowing as most heroes seem to do, to come back and rescue her. They had not seen each other again until Leo landed, having narrowly escaped death, to rescue her. They’re relationship now is tense. They are discovering that they don’t really know one another, and Calypso particularly is discovering that she doesn’t really know herself. I hope soon that Rick will leave them alone to discover life outside of monsters and quests and new foster homes. Maybe I expected too much of them. Still, I was glad to have them here. I was especially glad to have Leo here. He made a good balance for Apollo.

This novel still for me though does not hold up to the sort of love that I have for the rest of Riordan’s series, though this far more than The Hidden Oracle, climbed near them. In fact, I think if that first book had been as good as this, I would be completely on-board with this series, but The Hidden Oracle drags this down because this one cannot stand well without it.

Here again are more human villains, a more relatable foe for the reader than the gods and Titans and giants of previous series. Leo and Calypso are here. Grover will be here!  Apollo was one of the gods I was most excited to see whenever he showed up in Percy Jackson in the Olympians, though more because he made me laugh with his horrible, egotistic haikus than because he was a solid character.  There’s so much potential here.  I just struggle so much with Apollo himself and his narration.

****

Riordan, Rick. The Trials of Apollo, Book 2: The Dark Prophecy. New York: Hyperion-Disney, 2017.

This review is not endorsed by Rick Riordan, Hyperion Books, or Disney Book Group.  It is an independent, honest review by a reader.