"Fooling Houdini" by Alex Stone

I picked this up on a whim, but I'm glad I did.

I have updated various bits and pieces around the blog, including the description, the info in my profile (which now links to my Goodreads account) and some of the attributions in the older posts.

Also: There are four new posts below this one. 

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    The subtitle to Alex Stone’s Fooling Houdini reads “Magicians, Mentalists, Math Geeks & the Hidden Powers of the Mind.” Just as stage magic inaccurately portrays reality to achieve success, so does this subtitle. Contrary to what seems obvious, this is not a book about the psychological and mathematical theory behind various magic tricks and effects—which is a shame, really, because I absolutely adore that sort of thing.   

                Instead, this book reads like a memoir. A really good memoir. In a conversational, lighthearted and surprisingly engaging voice, Stone chronicles his journey through the world of stage magic; he begins as a dropout at the Magic Olympics and ends with the development of a trick that can fool the greats of the magic world. 

                That is not to say that science is entirely absent from the book, however. Throughout this journey into the world of magic, Stone also studied physics as a graduate student at Columbia University. He brings a scientist’s perspective to the world of magic, explaining in his writing the scientific principles that undergird many of the building blocks of famous tricks—without, of course, actually revealing the method behind the entire trick. The science is present, but it is not the focus. Stone explains it as it becomes relevant, but the narrative concentrates more on his quest to grow as a magician. 

                The word “quest” might seem pretentious applied to a nonfiction book, but in this case it is perfectly appropriate. Stone could be a terrible writer and still manage to lend a sense of mysticism to his exploits. They simply tend in that direction naturally. Stone’s first and most important teacher was Wes James, a grizzled and taciturn old man revered in the magical community who frequents the same pizza joint all day every day, barring weekends and holidays, holding court with younger magicians seeking to speak with him or pick up his tricks.

Stone also meets Richard Turner, arguably the greatest cardsharp in the world. He can count the ridges on the edge of a card, consults for the United States Playing Card Company, and was once hunted by the mob for his skill at the gambling table. He is also blind.

                This feels like magical realism, like something Neil Gaiman or Gabriela Garcia Marquez would write. The idea that science and magic are less opposite ends of a spectrum and more opposite sides of a coin comes to us courtesy of Stone’s study of both. The fantastic original trick he develops relies almost exclusively on math, but baffles both his teachers and any audience to which he shows it.

I’m not going to explain the trick here—that would be telling. Read the book instead; it's worth it.  

4.1/5

"John Carter" vs. "A Princess of Mars"

Cinema buffs may disdain me for liking John Carter, but hey, I was entertained.

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A version of this story originally appeared in the March 2012 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File.

Edgar Rice Burroughs worked as a clerk in a stationery company in 1912 when his first novel, A Princess of Mars, was published. Little did he know that the book and its sequels would make him one of the grandfathers of science fiction.

A Princess of Mars did not simply help invent science fiction; it single-handedly introduced audiences of the time to the subset of sci-fi known as planetary romance. Planetary romance typically takes place on one non-earth planet and prominently features swashbuckling adventure. Because what Burroughs wrote was completely new, he assumed that the reader would take nothing for granted. This caused him to painstakingly describe the alien society, the way Mars was slowly dying and everything else bizarre about the setting.

Does Disney’s movie adaptation of A Princess of Mars—named John Carter after the titular character—do justice to such a revolutionary novel? Well no, not entirely. But that is all right. Disney has an advantage that Burroughs did not.

Disney’s advantage and the reason it could successfully compress this complex narrative into two hours is the growth of viewers’ familiarity with science fiction. When one of the antagonists says “Mars is dying,” the viewers do not need a multi-page explanation of the phenomenon. They accept it as a convention of the sci-fi genre and move on.

This effect allowed the screenwriters to cherry-pick most of the interesting, emotional and awesome scenes from the novel and string them together in order with a more linearized and driving plot. The result is very entertaining indeed.

Would I still recommend reading the book? Yes, it is a completely different experience. Does the movie need to be a carbon copy of the book to be good? After a 100-year wait, the answer is no.

"The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green

John Green also runs a tumblr where he answers questions about this book: http://onlyifyoufinishedtfios.tumblr.com/

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A version of this review originally appeared in the January 2012 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File.

Have you read Looking for Alaska? You really should. As soon as possible. I say that to everyone I talk to about books, regardless of the topic of the discussion. It is my way of recognizing the quality of John Green’s writing; it is worth recommendation no matter the context. Green, who specializes in teenage slice of life/romance, has a rare gift: he can accurately write teenage characters in the first person.

In The Fault in Our Stars, Green spins a tale of love, life and loss from the point of view of a hormone-riddled 17-year-old and makes it sound real. Unlike so many current teen and young adult authors, Green avoids the first-person pitfalls of the excessively angsty, characterless or just plain shallow narrator.

In general, Green’s plots can be summed up as “quirkiness with a gimmick.” An Abundance of Katherines is “quirky boy meets quirky girl with math.” Paper Towns is “normal boy meets quirky girl with a twist disappearance.” So it is with Fault, Green’s newest novel that incorporates elements of his previous unfinished work, The Sequel.

Fault begins as “normal girl with cancer meets quirky guy with cancer” and, after Green’s three previous books, that opening feels stale. The main characters are Hazel, who has a deep relationship with an obscure book, and Augustus, who acts like a clown pretending to be a poet but is in truth something of both.

It should be noted, though, that this is not a book about cancer. As Hazel herself puts it, “Cancer books suck.” This is a book about people who happen to have cancer. And fortunately, the quirkiness does not persist. These traits become part of Hazel and Augustus’ characters, rather than mere idiosyncrasies that make them interesting. That shows definite maturation in Green’s writing.

As Hazel and Augustus’ respective cancers continue to menace their lives and the relationship between them grows, the quirkiness is shooed out, replaced by the duo’s quest to find the author of Hazel’s book and have from him a “proper” ending. The book, a first-person fictional account of a girl with cancer who Hazel strongly identifies with, ends mid-sentence.

Their journey is by turns idealistic and cynical, and absolutely beautiful. While that by itself is not unique to Fault, seeing Green develop his characters on a deeper level than merely highlighting and elaborating their surface traits is new and refreshing. Green's characters have always been dynamic, but now they're round as well. Or perhaps the other way around. Regardless, some of the later scenes in the book are tearjerkers, and what they reveal about Hazel and Augustus is just as sad as the events themselves.

This is a book wherein the creeping weight of cancer has caused our heroes to mature much faster than the average 17-year-old. The power of the book lies not in the cancer, but in what Hazel and Augustus do with their maturity, fatality and “why wait” attitude.

4.5/5

"America By Heart" by Sarah Palin

Fun fact: The original headline on this review was "Palin's heart in right place; brain MIA."  

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A version of this review originally appeared in the December 2010 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File. 

America By Heart, Sarah Palin's memoir-cum-manifesto is wearying, to say the least. The first half of the book is a diatribe on the correctness of political conservatism, and the latter half is a torturous discussion of the power of prayer in the United States.

The conservative section is seeded with arguments on how the U.S. is "exceptional," while the power-of-prayer portion is laced with anti-abortion messages every other page. For better or for worse, Palin's voice comes across very strongly in her writing. It is difficult to focus on the content of a book when said content is mentally delivered in the grating voice of Sarah Palin.

On the other hand, Palin does express some ideas that are reasonable at their root. However, she generalizes enormously and applies her opinion to the U.S. as a whole. The very survey Palin cites to support her claim that the "influential academic and legal elite" are out of touch with prayer and by extension the people, states that more than 40 percent of Americans don't pray at all.

This trend stretches throughout the narrative. The book is essentially Palin presenting her own take on conservative ideology, and while many disagree with conservatism, it does have a certain amount of grounding in logic. This logic transfers to Palin's dialogue, but fails when she tries to stretch it further than it can reach.

Palin's disconnect between the perceived and actual severity of an issue affects both her social and political views in the book. She uses phrases such as "the left" and "the liberal media" like blunt instruments. In this sense, Palin's writing is couched in black and white. She by turns ignores the possibility that she could be incorrect and acknowledges issues that put both the Republicans and Democrats in the wrong. The middle ground, however, is rarely discussed.

But enough about political bias. Stripped of politicization, many of Palin's thoughts have merit. Should we respect our troops? Yes. Does the US have great potential for enacting good in the world? Yes. Does faith create morality? In most cases, it does not hurt.

Palin's opinions are polarizing, to say the least. Nevertheless, underneath all the controversy and idiocy there is some respectable content worthy of being known by heart.

That doesn't make it a good book, though.

1.85/5

"The Patterns of Paper Monsters" by Emma Rathbone

This is the very first review I did at the Rank & File. The next three posts are all from the Rank & File as well. Now that I've graduated, I thought I should go back and find any reviews from there that I hadn't put up yet.

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A version of this review originally appeared in the November 2010 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File.

           In her debut novel The Patterns of Paper Monsters, Emma Rathbone delves into both the slightly twisted mind of a teenage boy and the depths of a juvenile detention center in Northern Virginia. The book, narrated in the first person by 17-year-old inmate Jacob, provides humorous but incredibly dry running commentary on those who excessively relish a little authority and the nature of communication in a disinterested system.

            Jacob’s narrative vocabulary far exceeds that of a typical high school student. Words like “palliative” (relieving or lessening without curing) sprinkle his thoughts, yet he comes across as a natural character. Despite the occasional obscure word thrown in, Jacob’s thought processes never seem contrived. The writing flows, stutters and jumps in a very human manner.

Jacob’s descriptions of the detention staff are depressing to the point of comedy. However, Rathbone is not crafting an effigy of bizarreness for all of us to laugh at. Rather, she is finding the most irritating—but real—aspects of the human condition, and saying: “Isn’t this ridiculous?” In a way, the technique brings to mind Napoleon Dynamite.

Of course, Napoleon Dynamite never involved a plot to burn down a building and kill dozens of people. The antagonist, David, is both twisted and fascinating. He never rants about his intentions or reveals his motives like a cliché villain; he just smiles evilly and sets to work. This provokes the majority of the drama in the novel, and emphasizes the humanness of it. We are used to omniscient viewpoints in stories, observations that point the reader at exactly what is going to occur. Not so here. Jacob’s thoughts on David are refreshingly limited, keeping the reader in just as much suspense as Jacob.

By contrast, Andrea, Jacob’s love interest, is largely comedic. Jacob’s thoughts of her split between sex and romanticism in a fantastic parody of the hormone-addled mind of a stereotypical teen. Her relationship with him after she is released from the detention center manages to be both one of the most poignant and funny moments in the book.

The Patterns of Paper Monsters is characterized by dry, subtle humor and muted sorrow, but that is not how it should be recognized. It is a stunningly accurate depiction of the human condition, complete with all of its small, subtle comedies and flawed tragedies. 

3.92/5 

"Inheritance", Christopher Paolini

'lo everybody. I'm not quite dead yet! (Senior year is pushing me pretty close, though.)

I'm aiming to next review "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern, which is a fabulous book that everyone should read. It's probably gonna get higher than a 4.

I, of course, am making no promises as to when this review will go up. In the meantime, please find attached a review of one of the most-anticipated fantasy books of our generation. :3

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A version of this review originally appeared in the November 2011 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File.

It took Christopher Paolini a full three years to finish Inheritance, a culminating novel that no one, least of all Paolini, originally planned for. I'm not sure if it was worth the wait.

Paolini’s ascendance into the spotlight of the high fantasy genre began at the age of 15 with the 2003 publication of Eragon, a tale of a boy named Eragon and his dragon Saphira.

Eldest followed Eragon two years later and Brisingr followed Eldest two years after that. Paolini’s immature writing in the first book left the archetypical framework upon which the series is based—the hero’s journey—exposed, drawing the ire of critics, who accused him of borrowing ideas from Star Wars and Lord of the Rings.

Regardless, the 509-page Eragon was an impressive feat for a high school freshman, and the writing and content of Eldest evinced a maturity and depth that belied Paolini’s youth. Unfortunately, Inheritance possesses neither of these merits.

Inheritance concludes Eragon’s journey and resolves most of the remaining questions of the series, yet the entire ordeal feels alternately rushed and bogged down. In the first two novels, Paolini had clarity of purpose in his writing: Eragon had a very specific goal he was trying to achieve, and the majority of what Paolini wrote consisted of Eragon either trying to achieve or failing to achieve his goal. In contrast, much of what Paolini writes in Inheritance describes how Eragon comes to be in a position to pursue the main conflict, rather than what he actually does about it.

This difference allows Paolini to introduce a great number of irrelevant scenes into the plot. Some of these are of genuinely interesting and entertaining interactions between the characters, but many are simply egregious.

Roran, Eragon’s cousin and the only major “normal” character in the series, has two significant chunks of the book devoted to him. Half of Roran’s sections could be cut or significantly trimmed without noticeably altering the book.

At the end of the book Paolini, instead of writing too much, rushed things. The chapters in the aftermath are all written in a detached and summarizing style. The ending is one of the most emotionally powerful moments in the book, yet this manner of writing, which populates a departure sequence that lasts for pages with the merest snippets of dialogue, robs it of much of its impact. It feels as though Paolini simply wanted to quickly wrap up all the loose ends in the plot.

Honestly, this sort of criticism is painful to write because Paolini’s writing has such potential. The man has powerful ideas and the writing style to express them. He just remains unaware of proper pacing and narrative structure, and the way a dearth or excess of certain scenes can destroy them.

3.25/5

"Divergent", Veronica Roth

I think I'll cross-post all my reviews to goodreads. It's a very useful site. (And I hope everyone has learned not to trust my promises of prolific output.)

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Honestly, I went into Veronica Roth’s Divergent with high hopes.

That was probably a mistake. The way post-apocalyptic teen novels are now a dime a dozen after the success of The Hunger Games—the same way bookstores sprouted entire “supernatural romance” sections following the success of Twilight—should’ve tipped me off.

But that cover art is just so damn snazzy. Moreover, the premise of the book is a thing of beauty.

Society in decaying Chicago is divided into five factions: The selfless, the wise, the brave, the loving and the honest. Children choose which faction they will belong to at the age of 16, and the faction they choose shapes them physically and mentally for the rest of their life.

Our hero Tris is “Divergent,” meaning she does not fit cleanly into any one faction.

This is a fantastic concept. Everyone in the known world subscribing to one of five preset—and often conflicting—mindsets? One person who is non-conformist simply by virtue of their existence? Brilliant. The idea is ripe with the promise of rebellion against both society and the compartmentalization of humanity. There is an epic tale here that needs only an oppressive and antagonistic society to take flight.

Unfortunately, Roth takes the story in a far more awkward direction. She writes the central conflict of the narrative not as a battle against the system, but as a battle inside it. The conflict stems from the perversion of a functioning system, rather than from an inherent wrongness in the system.

This was a mistake. The reason so many dystopian novels focus on battles against society is that the society needs only minimal characterization and development to make it a menacing foe, leaving the author free to focus on other aspects of the story. Indeed, The Hunger Games was successful partly because it went above and beyond the societal development necessary for the plot without compromising any other facet of the story.

However, when the battle is within society, the reader needs a fuller and deeper understanding of the setting to drive home the impact of the conflict. Roth does not provide that understanding. Though she doesn’t necessarily fail at world-building, she most certainly does not provide enough.

Each of the factions—save the faction Tris enters—receives a rough sketch of a description, a facsimile based upon the most readily identifiable traits of each mindset. Given that the factions are the entire focus of the book, this is insufficient for the type of story Roth is trying to tell.

Additionally, glimpses the reader receives of life inside the different factions seem to indicate that characters do not lop off 4/5 of themselves when they choose a faction. They remain fairly well-rounded human beings, and as such, the concept of someone like Tris, who exists outside faction designations, falls entirely flat. The idea would be much more powerful if Divergence contradicted a force such as brainwashing or indoctrination, rather than a weak societal norm. Its inclusion in the plot feels almost pointless, save to facilitate the tacked-on ending.

That said, Tris is something not often seen in female teen protagonists: Cold and ruthless. She breaks both bones and the genre mold with delightful ease. While I can’t say much for Roth’s plotting, I would absolutely love to see more of Tris. Her character design is a diamond in the rough.

The force of her personality—the book is in first person—glues the events of the narrative together into an engaging package. Save for the ending. Nothing could help the clichéd, kill-half-the-cast-for-drama ending, though it did admirably set the scene for the sequel.

Anyway, as long you don’t read too deeply or think too hard, you’ll enjoy this book. The high adrenaline quotient makes it very readable, if not particularly well-plotted.

Rating: 2.85/5

"City of Fallen Angels", Cassandra Clare

Hello my pretties.

Guess what? School's out! Expect an increased volume of posts in the near future. In addition, I've started using my Goodreads account again. Goodreads is Facebook, but for books.

Though I don't write reviews on there, I do give every book I add to my shelves a rating. I can't imagine why anyone would be that devoted to my opinions, but if that tickles your fancy, you can find my account here.

It's faster to update than this blog, so I tend to fairly active. Feel free to verb me on there.

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A version of this review originally appeared in the June 2011 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File.

On the scale of modern fantasy romance, Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments series falls somewhere between Holly Black’s Modern Tales of Faerie and Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight in terms of both grittiness and quality. (With Twilight as the low end of the spectrum, obviously.)

City of Fallen Angels, Clare’s fourth book in the series, isn’t bad per se, but it feels formulaic. After three preceding books about “Shadowhunters” Jace and Clary, the plot structure “romantic tension becomes tangled with demon-fighting and the two problems resolve simultaneously” seems pretty familiar.

The unfortunate similarity between this novel and Clare’s previous works probably stems from the fact that this novel was spontaneously conceived. The Mortal Instruments was a closed and perfectly acceptable trilogy until Clare, in a spate of greed or generosity, conceptualized an additional three novels.

Breaking open a series you had written to remain closed is no mean feat—regardless of the wisdom of such a decision—so it’s understandable if Clare’s effort went into providing engaging material rather than worrying about overall plot structure. That said, even the best plot concepts in the world lose some of its luster when shoehorned into overused formats.

And that’s a shame, because the content of the plot is one of the strongest elements of the book. It’s not every day you read a book where the antagonists kill babies en masse and then have the protagonists come to face-to-face with baby corpses. Though Clare’s writing minimizes the character’s contemplation of said babies, her willingness to introduce such dark material to the plot all—without attaching some anvilicious commentary—is impressive. The gravity of the main conflict is part of what saves City of Fallen Angels from being Twilight WITH DEMONS.

The recurrence of older plot threads is also alleviated by secondary main character and teen-turned-vampire Simon. He bumbles about full of vampiric angst, unintentionally involving himself in the demon fighting and general chicanery. Simon’s guilt over his vampirism, which is actually very relevant to the plot, is not excessive.

Here we have the rarest of creatures, an angsty vampire who is not too angsty. Kudos to Clare on that front. As an unlucky everyman, connecting with Simon is far easier than relating to Jace and Clary’s author-enforced idiocy.

Indeed, beyond the homogeneity of the plot, the biggest issue with this book is that Jace and Clary—who displayed a fair amount of communication and intelligence in the previous books—suddenly cannot talk meaningfully to save their lives. The creation of romantic tension to drive the central conflict is dramatic at face value, but the drama is entirely undercut by the fact that the characters have suddenly become gibbering morons.

Thankfully, this only applies to Jace and Clary. The rest of the characters are as human as ever, particularly (ironically) Simon. The quality of his segments of the narrative and the way he interacts with the other characters is the second thing that saves this book from being Twilight WITH DEMONS.

All that said, the very existence of City of Fallen Angels feels unnecessary; especially when one considers the fact that the one thing that prompts the entire conflict is not explicitly or implicitly mentioned in any of the previous books.

Some things are better left untouched, and a conclusive trilogy is certainly one of them.

3.22/5 stars

"Sing You Home", Jodi Picoult--Full review

Hey everybody. I know I've been gone a while, and I'm sorry. I really have no excuse beyond my personal laziness and the difficulty of my schooling, and neither of those are shining beacons of get-off-the-hook.

As such, please acccept my apologies. I will try to make one post a month my absolute minimum from now on.

Also, I don't really enjoy standing on a soapbox to share my opinions, so I'm probably going to eliminate the "Thoughts" posts. If I think of something truly brilliant, I'll probably ramble on beneath the "official" review. We'll see how that plays out.

And now--books!

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A version of this review originally appeared in the March 2011 issue of the George C. Marshall high school newspaper Rank & File.

Politics and sentimentality: two great tastes that most assuredly do not taste great together. In Sing You Home, Jodi Picoult delves into the nature of gay and embryonic rights as she narrates a lesbian love story from three different perspectives: that of Zoe, the main character, that of Zoe’s ex-husband, Max, and that of Vanessa, Zoe’s newfound love. Toward the beginning of the book, Max divorces Zoe after she intends to place herself at medical risk to have a baby despite having miscarried three times.

Heartbroken, Zoe meets Vanessa, and over the course of roughly four months their fast friendship blossoms into love. Max, meanwhile, has joined a church to support him in his endeavor to defeat his alcoholism. When Zoe and Vanessa wish to have a baby using frozen embryos previously fertilized by Max, he sues for custody of the embryos with the force of his church behind him.

The overriding problem with Sing You Home is that it tries to be both a heartfelt fictional narrative and a political commentary. Even the best-written books of history have trouble juggling these two goals; and Picoult poured so much research and emotion into her writing that an even balance between the two is impossible.

It plays out like this: In order to craft a compelling narrative, Picoult must paint both sides—Zoe/Vanessa and Max/the Church—in a sympathetic light in order to create emotional tension. However, in order to construct relevant political commentary, Picoult needs to paint the church as the “bad guys.” Clearly, these two aims cannot coexist.

In fact, the rift between these two portrayals is one of the main detractors from the book’s quality. One moment Max’s church is caring and sympathetic, the next they’ve all lined up behind bible-thumper and main antagonist Wade Preston—whose name is almost certainly a jab at the church by Picoult vis a vis Roe v. Wade. By the same token, Zoe is perfectly content with her sexual identity one minute, and then has a flashback to justify it to herself and the reader the next.

Regardless of how Picoult needlessly tinkers with the nature of her characters, they begin the book excessively well characterized. This book makes effective use of a first-person point of view in a way that few others can match. Max’s struggle with alcoholism, narrated from inside his head, is particularly devastating.

Unfortunately, the “twist” ending comes as a direct result of mid-story character shifts, making it both predictable and not much of a proper ending. Such a thing is irksome, to say the least.

While Picoult’s writing is traditionally seeped in what might be termed by the unkind as “sappiness,” her prose reads so quickly that the majority of the overly dramatic portions are only visible in hindsight. While this tends to discourage re-reading the book to a degree, going into the story cold for the first time is a wonderfully visceral experience.

Additionally, many of the most egregiously emotional moments are not constructs of the author, but direct adaptations of events she witnessed or heard of while researching the book. This removes a certain amount of sappy stigma, though there is still plenty to go around. The book comes with its own CD, ostensibly written by Zoe, who is a music therapist. Though the stated goal of the music is to give the reader a look inside Zoe’s head, it feels rather pointless, albeit poignant to listen to. Seeing as one-third of the book is narrated from inside the head of the main character, songs written in the voice of self-same main character fall rather flat as supplementary materials. Also, they don’t sound that great.

In sum, Sing You Home works against itself. The political and emotional halves prevent each other from reaching fruition. That said the ridiculous amount of feeling and research Picoult put into the novel is evident. Even if neither aspect of the story is as amazing as it deserves to be, they are both certainly above average. If you don’t mind lesbians, righteous religious fervor and overflowing emotions, this is a book worth checking out.

3.1/5

"Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town", Cory Doctorow--Full Review

Aha! You thought I wasn't gonna manage another post for September, am I right? Don't lie. :P

Well, transferring into the IB Diploma Candidate program has been crazy, but things have settled down enough (I hope) to find time to write another review.

This book is pretty deep. I think I'll try to get a "Thoughts" on it up within the week as well.

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Cory Doctorow is somewhat famous on the Internet.

A journalist, blogger, sci-fi writer, and liberal-copyright proponent, Doctorow should know better than to write a book that makes no sense.

The main character--who is called "Alan" initially but answers to and is referred to by any masculine name beginning with A--and his siblings are all children of a mountain and a washing machine.

One of Alan's sibling is prophetic, one is undead, one is an island, and three are Russian nesting dolls.

And that's just the backstory. Alan has moved into a house in Toronto (coincidentally Doctorow's hometown) and meets a punk named Kurt trying to blanket Toronto in free WiFi. Alan strikes up a quick friendship with him and helps him try to achieve a network-ed Toronto while dealing with the layabouts who live next door.

One of whom happens to have wings.

At the same time, Alan is fending off assaults from his undead brother who is randomly kidnapping the Russian-nesting-doll brothers who have come to take shelter at his house.

Have I mentioned that this book is weird?

While a great many of the plot points seem to come out of nowhere or strain suspension of disbelief, this seems to be more a case of writing imitating life than sheer randomosity.

Just like life, the book isn't just a drama, or a fantasy, or a romance, and Doctorow's writing reflects that. The comedic moments are written wittily, the erotic moments sexily, the pensive moments solemnly, and so on.

In real life we don't always get closure. We don't always know why what happens happens. We frequently have no idea who the hell we're talking to, really.

Doctorow seems to be trying to illustrate this universal truth with his plot...which features the child of a mountain and a washing machine, and a girl with wings. Go figure.

The only thing that I really couldn't digest was the conclusion, which seemed a complete departure from Alan's character. I'd elaborate, but spoilers and the fact that my nitpick occurs over less than two pages dissuade me.

In sum: This is a really surprisingly engrossing speculative fiction novel that would've been torrid and torturous if written by any but a select few authors. Doctorow doesn't manage to pull it off perfectly, but it's definitely worth reading.

Rating: 3.8/5

Hunger Games Trilogy, Suzanne Collins--Thoughts

---VAGUE SPOILERS WILL BE MENTIONED---

In a dystopian future, the world's population has been reduced to one small nation, called "Panem", which is divided into thirteen districts plus the capitol. Every year, each district (save thirteen, which seceded aggressively) sends two "tributes" to the capitol to compete in a vicious contest where only one of the 24 entrants can emerge alive.

Such was the setting until protagonist Katniss Everdeen became a symbol of rebellion to the districts, sparking all-out civil war.

Now, this trilogy certainly isn't the first young-person-sparks-dystopian-rebellion series, and I doubt it'll be the last. The thing that sets this series apart from others that have covered the same ground is, I think, the first-person narration.

We get a direct line into the mind of a Katniss, who has been forced into kill-or-be-killed situations at the tender age of sixteen. She also has faked a love interest with her fellow competitor to gain the popular support necessary to survive the games. This created a love triangle with her best friend. Katniss has been concussed, burned, exploded, shocked, broken, and poisoned over the course of the series, at the very least.

Worst of all--though it's not directly mentioned in the books--she's going through puberty. It naturally follows after all this that she'd be a mental wreck by the end of the series; but most characters in her role display superhuman mental resilience to meet the demands of the plot.

Here, not so! Katniss is undeniably screwed up by the end of the series. In this sense, readers can relate to her. They can see she's not super-human or some immortal symbol, but a regular teen thrust into events disturbing by almost anyone's standards.

There are dozens of things that make this series attractive, but when you're popular enough for a midnight release, "attractive" doesn't cut it. What takes this series a step further is the humanity of of Katniss.

All that being said, the conclusion to the series is just one big anti-climax after another. Fairly disappointing. But hey, a disagreeable ending is far better than no ending at all. :P

Too long; didn't read--Read the Hunger Games Trilogy and marvel at how realistically the protagonist falls into insanity.

"Artemis Fowl: The Atlantis Complex", Eoin Colfer--Full Review

I just got back from 12 days of a Spanish immersion camp, and I grabbed this in an airport bookstore on the way home.

I ended up devouring it on the plane ride, so, lo and behold, I have a book to review the day I come home. (Or rather, three days after, due to ruthless procrastination.)

Let's see...

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Eoin Colfer must be some sort of savant. Seven full-length books in, and he still manages to weave a tale mostly exempt from the sequelitis and degenerative effects of an aging series.

"The Atlantis Complex" introduces a new piece to the jenga tower of criminal-mastermind-turned-do-gooder Artemis Fowl's life. Mental illness. Inevitable for a boy genius, really. Artemis' internal mental struggle sidelines him for the majority of the novel, letting the development of the other characters shine.

The antagonist in particular (a certain Turnball Root) is interesting to observe. He is motivated by revenge, fairly old hat in this series, but also by love. This is something new. This is the first time a Fowl villain (no pun intended) has had a motive stretching beyond the typical rage/vengeance/money spectrum.

Although Turnball's backstory removes any sympathy the reader might feel for his amorous motives, this could signal a trend away from the black-and-white conflicts that have characterized the Artemis Fowl series so far. That would be great fun to read, especially when combined with Artemis' increasing maturity, an underlying theme throughout the series.

Unfortunately, Colfer shifts his prose grayer with a certain amount of awkwardness. At times it feels as though the main characters are being neglected to pontificate on Turnball's ANGST. While discussion of the villain's character is certainly not a bad thing by itself, the balance of attention feels a little out of whack.

This book represents a tentative step in a new direction. I for one hope that Colfer keeps on walking. While the ranking of this book versus the other six is debatable, it definitely won't come in last.

Pick it up, all ye Colfer faithful.

Rating: 3.4/5

"Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour", Bryan Lee O'Malley--Full Review (Kinda)

Disclaimer: This review is actually fairly pointless. If you love Scott Pilgrim, you're guaranteed to get this book regardless of what I say. If you dislike Scott Pilgrim, the final volume certainly won't change your mind.

That effectively renders a review moot, save for spoilers, and I try to avoid those. This review is purposely vague, in fact. :/

------------------------------

The long-awaited sixth and final volume of the Scott Pilgrim series does not disappoint. At all. In fact, if "Awesome" was infinity and "Disappointing" was negative infinity, this book would go through negative infinity on the way to infinity. At least twice.

For the uninitiated: Scott Pilgrim is a Canadian graphic novel series combining social drama with kung-fu action, videogame tropes, and the most bizarre sense of humor this side of dadaism.

The final volume is the darkest in the series. I think this is the first time a character has actually bled, rather than suffering cartoony bludgeoning. Copiously, at that. However, rather than decreasing the amount of humor and deliberately making the conclusion darker and edgier, O'Malley manages to work humor into even the most gruesome impalement. This impressive balancing act is entertaining most of the time, though there are a couple instances where it comes across as jarring or inappropriate.

O'Malley's art has improved over the six volumes as well, to the point where I can now tell the characters apart. Seriously, that was a problem I had in the first couple volumes. D:

There are several scenes of extreme beauty in this volume as well as a couple scenes of horrific events, and O'Malley could've managed none of them at the beginning of his career.

The ending is one of the most satisfying I've ever read, and cleverly wraps up several loose ends that had left readers puzzled. The only downside is that it isn't different enough to entice skeptics to the series, but if you dislike Scott Pilgrim, you're probably not very important anyway. :P

Rating: 4.7/5

"Outliers", Malcolm Gladwell--Full Review

Malcolm Gladwell has debunked the American Dream. At least, he’s tried. Gladwell, who also wrote “Blink” and “Tipping Point,” isn’t nearly as in-depth or convincing as he could be.

The thrust of the first half of “Outliers” is that people who occupy societal positions far beyond the norm achieved them less through innate talent and more by being in the right place and at the right time. Thus, no one, regardless of their talent or effort, is truly “self-made.”

Gladwell has some impressive examples to support this. He takes a list of the 75 richest people throughout history and points out that a disproportionate number of them (14) lived in the 19th century. As it turns out, all these people were born between 1831 and 1840. Age-wise, these people, such as J. P. Morgan and Andrew Carnegie, were perfectly poised to take advantage of the economic revolution of the 1860s and 1870s.

Unfortunately, Gladwell provides no other evidence on par with this. He is positing that this pattern occurs throughout humanity, yet applies only one worldwide example to his research. He cites a great a many studies--and has a well-annotated bibliography to boot—but none of them deal with more than 1000 people. When proposing something that affects six billion people, small numbers do not prove anything. It should be noted that the studies support his arguments admirably, though. They simply do not cover enough people to be certain whether the pattern holds throughout the world.

The second half of the book deals with cultural legacy. It attempts to explain, among other things, why the airline Air Korea had so many crashes, and why Asians are so good at math. In these chapters, Gladwell’s research is much more clear-cut, although his writing occasionally brushes past possible alternative explanations. For example, he explains how the composition of Chinese number words allows Chinese-speakers to think much more quickly about math problems. However, he neglects to address the case of Chinese who were raised in an English-speaking country and learned English simultaneously.

Gladwell’s highly personal and fast-flowing prose tends to lend weight to his arguments through sheer personality, which makes the book much more enjoyable to read. He fails to conclusively prove a great many of his postulations, but in the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t detract from the book as much as it would seem. His intention is to “transform the way we understand success” (quote from inside flap) and fascinating anecdotes he provides do just that.

Bottom Line: Read it if you’re a sociology major or interested in the concept. An entertaining read, but be sure to not take it as cold hard fact.

Rating: 3.2/5

"wtf", Peter Lerangis--Thoughts

For the record, a "Full Review" is harder to write. I have to form a solid opinion and condense it. Here, I can kinda go off the beaten path and have vague opinions~

So, wtf. Colloquially, "what the fuck", in case you didn't know.

First thing I noticed was that the teaser on the back bears very little resemblance to the actual plot. Rather annoying, to the say the least.

Second thing I noticed, this book is written from six different viewpoints, separated by chapters. Normally this grates on me, but for some reason it didn't this time around. The story centers on three kids trying to sell what they think are drugs and how the situation pretty much goes to hell as other people get involved.

It's kinda like "Things Fall Apart" (Achebe) but with drugs and the mob, set in present day NYC. Also much shorter. :P

I doubt the novel breaks 250 pages, which is pretty disappointing given the potential contortions of the plot. Sure, everything is resolved neatly, but it *could* have stretched on for another couple hundred pages with some serious drama and romance.

As it is, all the conflict is resolved by a single car crash and the reader gets nice little one-paragraph ever-afters* for the six main characters.

So. This book is actually pretty fun to read from a schadenfreude angle, as you watch things go to hell in a handbasket and back again, but I definitely wouldn't make it my primary book at any time.

*My term for the "where are they now?" blurbs that the author sometimes provides for characters at the end of a book. The Septimus Heap series is particularly good at them.

"Will Grayson, Will Grayson"--Full Review

(Left, David Levithan, Right, John Green)


The not-at-all-illegitimate lovechild of John Green ("Looking for Alaska") and David Levithan ("Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist"), "Will Grayson, Will Grayson" is a delightful read, albeit a bit angsty.

The premise is simple enough. Two teens, both named Will Grayson, both different flavors of troubled, one straight, one gay. The book is not about their meeting, or their interaction, but their residue. The life of each Will Grayson intersects and subsequently gives something to the other.

The book is told in chapters that alternate between Green's Will Grayson and Levithan's will grayson. The difference in the writing is definitely noticeable, but actually isn't that jarring. The differences highlight the different worldviews of the two Will Graysons. One is more uptight with perfect grammar and punctuation while the other is apathetic, not capitalizing anything and frequently relating real life in the manner of a chatlog.

The only downside to this book is that it's about ANGST of various types. Some people enjoy reading that, and others find it overwrought. I personally thought it wasn't over-the-top, but I can definitely understand how it'd put some people off. The gay (lowercase) will grayson in particular is almost whiny at times.

The ending, while certainly moving, seemed a touch contrived and broke my suspension of disbelief. But it could've been much, much worse. Plus it was unexpected. Always a good thing in an ending.

Anyway, I'm not gonna give this the "Everybody Should Read This" designation I gave "Alaska", but it is certainly a good book. If you're into troubled teens, go grab it.

3.87/5

...3.87 specifically because it's my blog and I will use bizarre decimal point ratings if I want to. :P

----Edit-----

Thanks to my awesome friend Zephy (aka Heather, see her blog here) we have photographs from a book signing the authors did in DC. :D

"Looking for Alaska", John Green--Thoughts

This book is something of a tearjerker, be warned. Telling you why would constitute a major spoiler, but I will say that it involves Alaska Young, the centerpiece of this novel. The tearjerker-spoiler occurs in the middle of the book, which, along with creating an unusual story flow, precludes any sort of spoiler-free rumination on the plot.

Which is actually pretty annoying, as I want to discuss it, but this is one book that shouldn't be spoiled for anyone. :/

--Anyway--

Alaska is one of those fascinating people whom one seldom runs into in real life. She is attractive, flighty, loyal, brilliant, idiotic, courageous, cowardly, and, most of all, completely and utterly unknowable. Not a single character understands what's going on in her head. The book describes her impact on a small group friends at a boarding school, as narrated by "Pudge", a newcomer to the group.

Bear in mind, that's a rough description. A distinguishing characteristic of John Green novels is the inability of the reader to determine one main theme. There are often several instead, which is one reason I like John Green so much.

There is a certain amount of sexual content and great deal of smoking, drinking, and cussing in this book, which caused certain (very silly) groups and organizations to raise something of an outcry.

"The book has never been marketed to 12-year-olds. Never. It is packaged like an adult book; it doesn't even say it's published by a kids' book imprint on the cover, and it's never shelved in the children's section of bookstores."

That was the author's response, and he's totally right. However, everyone over the age of 14 should read this book. No questions asked. It's just that good.

The author has acknowledged that certain parts of the novel derive from his days at boarding school, and the wikipedia article implies that the book is largely autobiographical. This has not been directly confirmed by the author, however.

It is also worth mentioning that John Green is one of the two Vlog Brothers and thus cofounder of the Nerdfighters, an organization dedicated to reducing the amount of suck and increasing the amount of awesome in the world.

Green's personal website contains FAQs and summaries for all his books.

"Eating Animals", Jonathan Safran Foer--Full Review

This book made me want to become a vegetarian. At least, until I discovered that we buy the majority of our food from the only non-factory farm in the area. But still. It was pretty shocking. Anyway, review:

A version of this review first appeared in the Langley high school newspaper The Saxon Scope.

You wouldn’t eat something infected with a dozen different diseases, that’s been fed more antibiotics than a typical AIDS victim and is genetically engineered to die when left alone, right? Well then, put down your hamburgers. Cast off your chicken and turkey. Eschew your delicious pork. For that, along with pain and suffering, is what you’re eating.

So asserts Jonathan Safran Foer in his new book “Eating Animals”, which, strangely enough, is not a an attempt to convert the reader to vegetarianism. Rather, it is a brilliant cross between Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle” and Michael Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma”. “Eating Animals” is part memoir, part philosophy, and part exposé. In an engaging, conversational manner, Foer touches on the concept of “suffering” (what is it, exactly? Do animals feel it?), the cruelty of factory farms, and the cultural importance of meat at the dinner table.

Backed by a bibliography bigger than a college student’s thesis paper (60 pages, with added commentary) this book is the product of three years of extensive research. Unfortunately, it’s not perfect.

The extensive bibliography makes it possible to fact-check the author, showing that there are a couple times where the author presents a conclusion of his as fact. This doesn’t happen often, but in a book that otherwise so clearly differentiates and combines fact and opinion, it feels a touch dishonest. Connected to this is the fact that, although the author does not explicitly attempt to convert the reader to vegetarianism, this is a book about extreme injustice. As such, a self-righteous, moralistic tone occasionally permeates the writing. This isn’t bad by itself (Foer never really devolves into “preachy”) but it is jarring to read when you’re analyzing a factual argument the author made and he suddenly switches to telling an emotional anecdote.

These are annoying flaws, but they do not dilute the shocking overall message of the book: Upwards of 90% of the time you put meat into your mouth, you are enabling the inhumane torture of animals.

This is How it Begins

Hey.

My name's Patrick and I am a teen book-lover. It occurred to me that there is a dearth of commentary and reviews on teen literature by teens.

I aim to correct that. This blog will be a repository of my thoughts and/or reviews of pretty much any book I feel like talking about.

Most of that, though not all, is teen lit, which is the area most sorely in need of attention anyway. The first review coming up was written for my school paper, though that in no way diminishes its value. :P

Anyway, I hope anyone reading this blog takes something away from it, even if it is just whether or not they should read a certain book.