Fiction Book Reviews

Apparently Rhiannon Lassiter really likes writing trilogies, and apparently I’m really good at reading only the first book of said trilogy, because that was the case with Hex too. I’m pleased to say that Borderland fixes some of the problems that marred an otherwise good story in Hex, but not so pleased to report that some of the problems remain and a few additional ones crop up too. (I should also probably add that I think “Rights of Passage” is a clever title for the trilogy, since much of the conflict in Borderland stemmed from who was and who was not allowed to travel between worlds and what they should or shouldn’t be doing there–but of course it’s also a play on words for “rites of passage,” since it’s about young people learning what it really means to grow up.)

The characters are more immediately likable, for one thing. Zoe, the protagonist, does snub some less popular peers in school, but that mostly crops up out of an understandable desire to make friends–she’s an Army brat and as such moves a lot, so she has to make new friends pretty often. She has a good relationship with her dad, too; even when she realizes she can’t possibly tell him about all the confusing problems cropping up because the friends she does make bring her, literally, to an alternate world, she still goes to him for advice, respects what he tells her, and tries her hardest to keep from worrying him. There is a goth girl who only wears black, but at least her name’s Morgan, not Raven, and although her characterization’s a little uneven, not only does she come across as more sympathetic than Raven ever did, but she’s also used for a rather clever purpose: in the world of Shattershard, black is a color that only powerful mages wear, and Morgan uses this perception to her advantage.

The worldbuilding is decent too, and rather than set up overly obvious good guys and bad guys in the political/military factions vying for power in Shattershard, Lassiter looks at the motivations for each and gives us characters on either side that readers can relate to, making the inevitable battle all the more tragic (it’s not a huge surprise when the character most eager for war gets a fast lesson in how awful it really is). Characters whom everyone else thinks are the height of cool actually do live up to that idea, more or less, and when they fall short, it’s because they’re supposed to, not because their characterization was sloppy.

Even so, most of the main characters don’t seem to quite get there. You like them okay if you’re supposed to or at least feel sorry for them when they get in trouble, but nearly all of them show some personality trait that’s just a little uncomfortable. It’s a bit hard to know whom to root for. And while it’s the first of a trilogy, it seems not entirely complete enough even for that, with hints about characters’ backgrounds and motivations that never become more than hints, not even strong enough hints to be sure they’ll get more development later. A few of the bad bits in Lassiter’s writing style got cleaned up at the expense of others, and I kept wincing at lines that just sounded rough. Apparently the 10 years between Hex and Borderland didn’t fix all of her mechanical or stylistic issues.

You might notice this is yet another old classic, kind of like Pamela (except not, in all the ways that matter, like tone and subject matter and worldview). That would be because I’m taking 18th-century literature this semester and have to read these books. And I can’t actually do a proper review of Tom Jones yet because I’m behind in my reading and am only about 50 pages in, but I just have to state for the record: so far, this book is hilarious. I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised by that.

Lest you think a book published in 1749 cannot possibly be funny to modern readers, let me give you the first example that made me laugh out loud:

Reader, I think proper, before we proceed any further together, to acquaint thee that I intend to digress through this whole history as often as I see occasion; of which I am myself a better judge than any pitiful critic whatever. And here I must desire all those critics to mind their own business, and not to intermeddle with affairs or works which no ways concern them; for till they produce the authority by which they are constituted judges, I shall not plead to their jurisdiction.

Really, anyone who’s going to start writing so tongue-in-cheek like that seems to have got quite a good sense of humor. I might actually enjoy this book despite myself.

I read Fangs of the Werewolf for research, believe it or not, because I’m planning to write a werewolf story as my thesis…believe it or not. In preparation for it, I’m reading as many werewolf books as I can, largely ones that describe the folklore about it rather than fiction (because my werewolves follow those in the Potterverse pretty closely anyway, and because I’d never reach the end of them if I tried to read every novel with werewolves in, and because that would mean I’d have to read Twilight). This was one of the few that came up on my search at the UEA library, though, so I grabbed it.

My main conclusion is that I’m guessing it would sell a lot better if they changed the title and cover. I wish I could find a picture of the cover, because if you could see it you’d know what I mean. It’s cheesy and stupid and ugly and very…sensationalistic, I suppose, which the story itself mostly isn’t. Maybe more importantly, while the cover features a hideous anthro-wolf, the actual story’s werewolf is at first mistaken for an Alsatian and consistently described as looking like one.

That said, it’s not a bad read. Not a terrific one, and not one that filled me with werewolf-related inspiration (it did generate a few thoughts about the moon, at least), but at least serviceable. It deals in the supernatural without ignoring science or the reactions of rational people to such an event, and it does so through ordinary human beings trying to balance jobs, concerns about making friends, moving, children and siblings, fitting in at a new place.

Oh yeah, and werewolves. There is that.

Setting the story in Wales was a smart move, with a sense of mysticism and loyalty to a village upbringing gradually convincing one character to take the lycanthrope idea a bit more seriously, while the focus of the story is on 13-year-old Allison, recently relocated here and not liking it that much. The identity of the werewolf is no surprise, but the mythology is used reasonably well within the plot, and the adults manage to fix things up, more or less, without shoehorning out Allison as protagonist; just as importantly, the writing itself is decent, using a style that brings to mind any of those “true adventure, this really happened!!!” stories in a way that really works here.. I won’t be following the folklore used here because I prefer other takes on the werewolf idea, but it makes for a good quick read.

Good novels require the presence—and cooperation, I suppose—of a number of elements. In some cases, one or two elements may be so strong and compellingly written that they make up almost completely for the absence or shallowness of other elements. Take the Doctor Who episode “Blink,” for example, though it’s not a novel: if you think too hard about the plot or the logistics of the villains, the whole thing starts to fall apart, but the character interactions, dialogue, creepiness factor, and direction are so awesome you don’t mind, if you even notice. I certainly didn’t. Or take Diana Wynne Jones’ Dark Lord of Derkholm and Year of the Griffin: the former’s climax is a bit confusing and the latter’s is a bit anticlimactic, but both are such a fun read with such great characterization that I really didn’t care. (It’s probably a good indicator of this that I really want to own them because I want to cuddle them and read them over and over, because both leave me with a huge grin on my face. They’re just fun.)You can’t depend on that, of course, because one or two of these important elements are not meant to carry an entire story. That’s why there are several, after all. And if your story does end up depending primarily on a really cool plot or some amazing worldbuilding or a fantastic character but not more than one of the above, say, you had better hope that one element is really good.

Rhiannon Lassiter’s Hex has a fascinating premise with a lot of potential. And among all those various elements, a strong premise is the least able to support an entire novel.

The hex gene is a mutation that allows those who have it to access computers on an organic sort of level, allowing those who develop their abilities to become superhuman hackers. But they’re viewed as dangerous—and in this far-future and slightly dystopian London, with almost everything controlled by computers, it’s not hard to understand why. So there’s a law in place: anyone discovered to be a Hex will be arrested and destroyed immediately.

That’s good so far as it goes, and Lassiter does some creative things in portraying the rather alien Hex-computer interactions, but she falls short everywhere else. The plot meanders a bit and then goes in odd places in an apparent attempt to be edgy that comes across as the literary equivalent of a goth poser, and none of the main characters are as cool as Lassiter seems to think they are—certainly not cool enough to make up for the unlikable aspects of their personalities. You’ve got Wraith (yes, really), seen through other characters’ eyes as a natural leader who always knows what to do, and who gives absolutely no indication of such traits from his POV. You’ve got his sister, Raven (yes , really), who wears mostly black and is super awesome because she’s a Hex and thinks she can do anything, but instead of being awesome, she mostly seems to lack impulse-control, a moral compass, common sense, any of that fun stuff. Worse, the writing itself was little more than mediocre, making the other flaws even more noticeable.

In fairness, Hex is actually the first of a trilogy, and I haven’t been able to read the other two yet, so the characterization may well improve. Lassiter also published this trilogy when she was 19, which explains—but  shouldn’t—some of Hex’s shortcomings (and also makes me jealous, because I know my writing style was at least better than hers at 19…).

Still, on the plus side? At least she’s not Christopher Paolini .

Here, have a summary of Pamela that will save you hours of time and many headaches brought on by eye-rolling:

Pamela’s lady: *ded*
Pamela: Well crap, what happens to me now?
Pamela’s lady’s 20-something son, Mr. B.: You’re hot. You can work for me.
Pamela: Why do I think this isn’t going to go well? But still, how good of him to provide for such an unworthy creature as myself blah blah blah.
Mr. B: I can has sexy tiems nao?
Pamela: WHAT NO.
Mr. B: WHORE.
Pamela: Wait, what…?
Mr. B: How dare you when I’ve been so good to you! You’ve MADE ME LOOK BAD!
Pamela: Well, uh…if you want to insist you didn’t do anything improper even though you kissed me forcibly and propositioned your servant girl and stuff, why are you so mad?
Mr. B: LISTEN TO THE CHEEK OF THIS WRETCH. WICKED, SAUCY, NAUGHTY BLAH BLAH.
Pamela: But you didn’t answer my question so maybe I have a point–
Mr. B: SHUT UP OR I CUT YOU.
Pamela: I’m a poor and unworthy creature! Have pity on me!
Mr. B: For sex.
Pamela: …No.
Mr. B: You can say yes or I can rape you.
Pamela: I’ll die before I lose my innocence!
Mr. B: *kidnaps, imprisons, attempts rape anyway*
Pamela: *faints and nearly dies of…the shock?*
Mr. B: OMG WHAT HAVE I DONE.
Pamela: So…no more rape?
Mr. B: I still want sex.
Pamela: Answer’s still no.
Mr. B: Well, what if I am full of remorse and actually fall in love with you instead of just your hot, hot self, and we got married?
Pamela: What, for real? You do remember that I’m kind of way below you.
Mr. B: But I lurve you, and also you’re hot.
Pamela: Yeah, it turns out I’ve been in love with you for ages even though you were horrible to me, so okay.
Mr. B: *beams*
Pamela: *is SO HAPPY, ZOMG* My DH is so good to me! Even though I’m an utterly unworthy poor creature! Husband, give me things to obey!
Mr. B: Totally. I still like being really dictatorial, and I might stop loving you if you disobey me or interrupt me when I’m having a snitfit like a two-year-old.
Pamela: Sure, no probs.
Readers: …

Yes, I know it’s a classic and a foundational work of literature, but not only would it be vastly improved by cutting it roughly in half (you have no idea how much repetition there is–either we have to see over and over what a jerk Mr. B is and how many times he tries to get sex from her, or we have to be told over and over how awesome he is), it’s…just annoying, frankly. There are some good bits, about which I might say more except I’ll probably write a paper comparing this and Moll Flanders for the class I read both of them for, but I really don’t see the point in upholding these things as classic and assuming they must be good because they’re sacred or something, and not holding them to similar standards you would with any literature.

Especially since it can be summarized in an even shorter form:

Mr. B: *is a dick*
Pamela: *cries*
Mr. B: *is still a dick, but not as blatantly so*
Pamela: *RAPTUROUSLY HAPPY*
Readers: …

Despite what I said in my last entry about books for kids versus books for adults, there are significant differences. There shouldn’t be many, but generally speaking, YA books have less “adult content” than do adult books. Language, violence, sex, all that fun stuff. (This could be part of the reason I tend to prefer them. Shut up, I’m not a prude. …Okay, yes I totally am.) They should be just as fast-paced, complex, well-written, intriguing, carefully constructed, whatever, as adult books; good YA novels should be enjoyable for a number of age groups.

But they should also be about young people.

That kind of goes without saying, right? Young people can enjoy books about older people and vice versa, but if you’re writing for the YA market, your protagonists should be roughly as old as your target age group. And although said protagonists don’t have to rebel against their parents or be orphaned or whatever–those elements are cliches for a reason–the young people and their actions should still be the focus of the story. (Sure, this can get unrealistic at times–most readers of Harry Potter have wondered why the kids always had to do it all alone–but that’s a different problem.) What teenager wants to read about kids who step aside to let the adults in their lives take over and solve all the problems?

Apparently, that’s something Louise Cooper still needs to learn, if Hunter’s Moon is anything to go by.

It starts out strongly, with a decently characterized family, a mysterious ruined church, shadowy figures in the night, and a strange connection between the church and children with red hair. Gil, ostensibly the young protagonist, finds her sister suddenly ill and has to stay with some eccentric relatives while her parents rush her sister to a London hospital. Jonas, her cousin, seems to be the only one willing to help figure out what’s going on.

[Spoiler warning] And about halfway through, the adults start taking over. Those eccentric relatives actually know what’s going on and have all along; for some reason they didn’t say so at first, but they know how to break the curse that’s sickening Gil’s little sister and then Gil herself. Time to dispense some exposition to kids who are suddenly downgraded from characters in their own right to…well, recipients of exposition. And then they ride to the rescue.  Which they couldn’t have done before, of course. Something special about this particular time. Or, you know, something. Everybody lives happily ever after, and all the readers who actually liked Gil and their cousin before they lost their characterization wonder just what happened.

Major plot holes aside, you just can’t let the adults in your YA protagonists’ lives come to the rescue (unless that’s critical somehow in and of itself–like, the character’s whole problem is that she doesn’t want to trust people and now has to rely on them, whatever). It’s a YA novel. It has to be about the young people. They have to unravel the mystery and save the day. That’s just how it works–as well it should, because most kids have had enough in their own lives of adults not taking them seriously; vicariously saving the day is about as much as most can do, and they can’t even do that if authors don’t let them.

(As a disclaimer, I haven’t read any of Cooper’s other books, and this was written in 1998, I believe. It’s entirely possible she’s done better than this elsewhere. Whether she has or not, though, my general point still stands.)

Un Lun Dun is only the second book by China Mieville that I’ve read, the other being Perdido Street Station, and the differences between the two are frankly astonishing. Some elements are similar–Mieville thrives on the unexpected and extraordinary, subverting expectations and creating rich, immense worlds full of terrifying dark corners that both readers and characters somehow come to love.

But Un Lun Dun is for children, and Perdido Street Station is for adults. That difference shouldn’t matter as much as it does. Un Lun Dun is thick and enjoyable for just about any age group, with its tale of UnLondon (reminiscent of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, which Mieville specifically mentions in his acknowledgements) where broken and forgotten things go. It’s fast-paced, intriguing, and seriously clever, but kept from becoming silly by Deeba, its protagonist, who has a healthy sense of skepticism. Perdido Street Station has the feel of a masterpiece, but there, I got the feeling that Mieville was just a bit too pleased with his own wordplay and edginess. Perdido’s New Crobuzon is a bit like Torchwood, really: the good guys might save the day, sort of, but nobody gets a happy ending, and worse, by the time the characters have been thoroughly screwed over, readers have just begun to like them.

If anything, Un Lun Dun could be accused of ending too happily, but is that such a crime? It’s fun and deeply inventive, and it’s not spoiled by unlikable characters or anything that smacks of literary pretension.

In other words: hi. I have another new blog (my first on this site is Dusk Through Narrow Streets, a travel blog for my experiences studying abroad in England). It’s late, so I’ll put up an actual review tomorrow. I should probably say, though, that I prefer fantasy and sci-fi, and that although I’m almost 22, I tend to read mostly young-adult books, and I’m not entirely sure why. That means, though, that this blog will tend toward reviews of…guess what…YA fantasy and sci-fi.

Still, I read enough to come across a decent variety of fiction. Hang around and you’ll probably find a recommendation or two that you’ll enjoy following up.