Review: Atlantia

Can you hear Atlantia breathing?

For as long as she can remember, Rio has dreamt of the sand and sky Above—of life beyond her underwater city of Atlantia. But in a single moment, all her plans for the future are thwarted when her twin sister, Bay, makes an unexpected decision, stranding Rio Below. Alone, ripped away from the last person who knew Rio’s true self—and the powerful siren voice she has long hidden—she has nothing left to lose.

Guided by a dangerous and unlikely mentor, Rio formulates a plan that leads to increasingly treacherous questions about her mother’s death, her own destiny, and the complex system constructed to govern the divide between land and sea. Her life and her city depend on Rio to listen to the voices of the past and to speak long-hidden truths.

I honestly believe that each one of Ms. Condie's novels is better than the last. It makes me wonder how long she can keep this up.

"Atlantia" has the same strengths as the "Matched" trilogy, and more. It has the same elegant, minimalist writing style. There are loving but complicated relationships between family and lovers (you don't need a hero vs. villain divide to write good conflict). There are strong, but subtle messages: don't hide your talents; have a say in how your community runs; question everything; treat outsiders with respect. 

However, anyone who's read the "Matched" books might remember a certain vagueness about the world building. We never did find out how Cassia "sorts". In this area, Ms. Condie has decidedly improved. J. K. Rowling she is not, but we know that Atlantia is built in the form of interconnected bubbles; that they mine ore in exchange for food sent down by their counterpart city Above; that Rio, the heroine, is a mechanic who fixes the mining drones. We know that living underwater caused strange mutations, the sirens and the blue-winged bats, and that these "miracles" helped to inspire a religion that both inspires people and is used by their leaders to control them. We know that Rio solders back the leaves that fall from the metal trees around the temple. We know the different social classes, that wood is a status symbol because it has to be imported, that one marketplace is more disorganized than the other, that you can buy scented air there like candy - cinnamon, lavender, saffron - and illegal night races take place. The general and the specific - both are important for a fictional world to feel real, and this one does.

Besides the world, I also really liked Rio. As a siren, a mutant with a voice that can control minds, she's had to keep her true nature a secret all her life to avoid being used as a tool by the government. Even as it is, her deliberately flat voice makes people think of her as stupid. When her mother dies and her twin sister Bay leaves her behind, she's left alone without anyone who knows who she really is. I don't think Ms. Condie meant this deliberately, but it reminded me of people on the autism spectrum - how people think of them as geniuses, freaks or both. "Sirens are miracles, not people," Rio once heard a city council member say. Her mother replies: "How can anyone think that? People can be miracles."

Anyone who's ever felt lonely or marginalized will relate to Rio, but she's more than that. She has business sense, which sadly, not many YA heroines have. When Bay leaves, she is understandably heartbroken, but pulls herself together to investigate the truth. Needing lots of money to buy an air tank to swim to the surface, she overcomes her shy, secretive nature to become a star performer at the swimming races. With the help of True Beck, a handsome fellow mechanic, and her aunt Maire's instructions on how to use her siren power, she turns herself into an escape artist, an underwater Houdini. She does take serious risks, but that's understandable, since the person offering her help is Maire, who may not be trustworthy. Learning to trust True, control her gift, and help to free her society from centuries of bigotry and hate, Rio becomes a heroine to be proud of.

Maire, the only other "free" siren and too powerful for their leaders to control, was the last person to see Rio's mother Oceana alive. Fingers point to her as Oceana's killer. Did she do it, and if so, why? Rio fears her, but no one else can teach her how to use her gift. Maire's power shows in the way she can not only control people, but hear the voices of those long gone caught inside the city's walls. She tells Rio an alternative version of the history she's been taught in school and the temple. But which version is true? I can't say too much about her because of spoilers, but to me, she was the most fascinating character in the book.

Bay is another character I liked, even though she's not there for so much of the book. She comes alive in Rio's memories as Rio struggles to figure out the reasons for her betrayal. All their lives, Bay was considered the "good" sister: gentle, soft-spoken, pious and patriotic, following in their mother's footsteps as future leader. Until she sold their mother's precious ring, left the money with Maire of all people, and disappeared. As Maire points out, there is no such thing as a good twin and an evil twin. No matter how much people love each other, they can still cause pain and misunderstanding. It's up to Rio to find out the truth.

The only reason I didn't give this book five stars was because of Atlantia's politicians, who could have been better developed. I know Ms. Condie was trying to make a point about how easy it is to abuse power, and how many people don't question it, just like the Society Officials in "Matched". But I would have liked to see three-dimensional human beings, even corrupt ones, rather than faceless obstacles to freedom.

Another minor flaw is the romance. True is a sweet young man and perfect for Rio; not only do they have their mechanical talent in common, but he respects her enough to let her make her own decisions, even if they might put her in danger - but not without speaking his mind about them. He also has secrets of his own, which make him empathize with her need to keep hers; a nice change from the "You lied to me! I'll never forgive you!" scenario we get in other books. However, he was just a little too perfect to seem real. As for the kissing, Salt Lake City-born Ms. Condie does leave a little too much to the imagination. Honestly, I've read sexier scenes in Dickens. 

Still, I really recommend this book. It may not be as fast-paced or graphic as "The Hunger Games", "The Mortal Instruments" or other bestsellers, but it has its own subtle, quiet beauty. Also, no love triangles - which, for all I loved "Matched", I found really refreshing. 

Also published on Goodreads.

The Right Angle

Baylee Wolfesberger enjoying her Sunday afternoon.

On Sunday, October 19th, I went slacklining. I’d never heard of this before last week; it means to tie a broad, flat rope between two trees and walk across it. With or without your hand on someone’s shoulder – or two people, in my case. The trick is to step quickly, have both feet on the rope as much as possible, look at the tree instead of the ground, and grab on to your companions for dear life. It was more fun than it sounds.

It also made for some great photos.

I took a photography class in CEGEP, about six years ago. I can’t remember now what any of the developing fluids were called, how long to soak the negatives in them or even how to program an analog camera, but I do remember what my teacher said about photography and truth. She said even though the camera never lies – or at least it didn’t, before Photoshop – you always have a choice which truth to tell.

The scene in front of you is what it is, but the angle, lighting, zoom, or even whether we take the picture or not – that’s where your message comes through.

Slacklining may be fun, but there’s a lot of wobbling, grimacing and tumbling on the grass. On the other hand, when it’s done right, it’s as graceful as any tightrope walk. You can focus on their faces, their feet, a single person playing a stunt, two or three supporting each other, or the entire bunch of us around the trees in one wide shot. If each one of the eight people at the park with me had used their smartphones too, we would have all had slightly different angles.

What I liked was the smiles. Balancing in the air is exhilarating, and my schoolmates’ faces show it. I also loved seeing three people gather around to help someone climb the rope, and then to stay balanced. I saw her fear turn to joy right in front of me.

I swore when my dorm mates invited me that I’d never go on that rope, but seeing them encouraged me to try something new. That’s why I take these pictures, almost every day: because I never want to forget what I’m learning here.

Review: Beyond the Pale Motel

Maternal, sexy Catt and her beautiful, daring best friend Bree are hairdressers at an L.A. salon called Head Hunter, and work out at a gym called Body Farm. They have over a decade of sobriety behind them and are getting close to living the lives they've always wanted.

But when Catt's husband, Dash, leaves her, and then her neighbor is brutally murdered, possibly by a man being called the Hollywood Serial Killer, Catt's world begins to come crashing down. The murdered victims all seem to bear a chilling resemblance to Bree. Catt suspects that Bree is the next target of the Hollywood Serial Killer...is she losing touch with reality or simply coming to terms with the truth?

In Beyond the Pale Motel, a terrifying and intensely erotic novel, Francesca Lia Block explores the dangers of modern living, loving and dying with lyrical edge and sensational attitude.

Since her publication of the Weetzie Bat series, the Ecstasia books and Echo in the early 1990’s, Ms. Block has become famous for her magical, idealistic fairy tales and her signature dreamy prose. In these books, a genie shows a suffering gay man visions of his future lifelong lover; four musicians turn a desert green with their love for a newborn baby; a woman falls in love with a winged man who may not be an angel. L. A. comes to life as both hell and paradise, as well as lush images of fashion, food and love.

Since the late zeroes, however, Ms. Block’s tone has been growing steadily darker. Beyond The Pale Motel is her darkest novel yet.

It is also her first shift in genre, from fantasy to murder mystery. As such it is very well written; the vagueness of information and plot holes her early work shows have been replaced by solid realism – all too solid in a world where Jack the Ripper and other serial killers not only exist, but fascinate. The identity of the killer comes as a complete surprise, especially to those unfamiliar with this genre. It is revealed in a very graphic, very disturbing scene, the last of many sexual and/or violent elements in this novel. It is not recommended for children.

The story begins when Catt Berns, hairstylist, recovering alcoholic, devoted godmother and loving wife, finds out her husband is seeing another woman. When he leaves her, a flood of insecurities bursts the dam: shame about her weight, jealousy of better-looking women, the need to drink, resentment for her neglected childhood, frustrated longing for a family of her own. At the same time, a so-called Hollywood Serial Killer dismembers beautiful women and leaves them in public places: women who look far too much like Catt’s best friend Bree.

Her virtues are also her flaws: she makes soup for the sick, tirelessly babysits her godson, comforts her clients at the hair salon and gives all of herself to the men she dates, but all because she cannot stand being alone. She tries to take care of everyone except herself, which becomes more and more difficult as the story goes on. Even her bond with her godson Skylar, her saving grace, is at risk. The chopped-off arms and legs of the murder victims are a repeated metaphor for Catt’s own fragmenting soul.

Her self-destructiveness does not feel contrived as it does in some novels; it’s a real vicious cycle of guilt for her behavior, fear of being judged, hope that the next man will be the right one, and guilt again when it isn’t. Her support network – her best friend Bree and AA sponsor Shana – do their best, but they are only human too and make mistakes. Even Catt’s lovers, which some writers would have turned into one-note distractions, are flesh-and-blood men. There is Dash, her rock-star husband and fellow AA member; Cyan, his estranged brother, a photographer who finds beauty in Catt when she can’t see it; Carlton, a good-natured foot fetishist; Jarrell, a macho baseball coach suffering from his own divorce; even Scott, a soft-spoken gym trainer suspected of being gay, whom Catt and Bree treat as one of the girls. They all have their own quirks, lovable qualities, and dark secrets. Any one of them, or none, might be the killer.

For anyone new to Ms. Block, and used to serial killer stories, this book is a tightly plotted, suspenseful and entertaining read. Fans of her early fantasy, however, or anyone with a low tolerance for horror, may want to think twice.

Three Germans I Wish Were World-Famous

Also published on Positively Smitten.

*
 

If my grasp on the finer details of my mother-tongue weren’t so rusty, I would be writing this in German. It’s an unfortunate side effect of living twenty years in Canada, four of them at an Anglophone university, and an addiction to North American geekdom. However, just because I can’t write essays in it, that in no way means that I don’t still understand it, or that I have lost the ability to be moved and inspired by my native culture. Here are a few artists which I admire very much, and which I really believe would be a valuable contribution to today’s US-dominated global village. People should remember that there is more to our country than World War II, the Berlin Wall, and Angela Merkel’s hairstyle.

1. Michael Ende

A few of you may have heard of three rather embarrassing children’s movies from the 1980’s called The Neverending Story. He wrote the book. I can assure you, those movies are anything but faithful, except maybe for the first one – which still leaves out the heart and soul of the story. It’s about an eleven-year-old boy named Bastian, who is basically us – all the awkward, lonely people who have ever clung to fiction as an escape from an uncongenial world. In his case, literally, as he’s transported into the dying world of Fantastica and given the task of using his imagination to bring it back to life. A dream come true, right? Yes – but also a nightmare, because when an unhappy eleven-year-old has the power to do anything and be anyone he wants, there is no knowing what the consequences might be, for him and for both worlds.

This story is the backbone of my existence as a writer. My mother read it to me when I was six, and since then, I have never cracked it open without some new and wonderful discovery. It’s like a Dali painting: dreamlike, eerie, bursting with the unexpected, and yet with its own internal logic. And it’s not the only book he wrote, either: there are Momo, The Night of Wishes, and Jim Knopf, all of which are just as magical, and which  should have fanfiction pages filled to bursting, if not for the fact that no other writer can do Mr. Ende justice.

2. Herbert Groenemeyer

Remember Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, Petrarch’s Laura collection, and countless other works of love poetry by a white male for centuries? The ones that claim to immortalize their beloved without ever mentioning what she (or he) is like? Well, not this one. This man writes songs about women that are actually about them. Whether they are real or not, you can see and hear them perfectly in the music: the cold-hearted woman holding on to a dying relationship for vanity’s sake (“Airplanes In My Head”); the exasperating Stepford wife with a need for constant harmony (“Love Like Glue”); the golden-haired poet struggling against terminal illness (“The Way”).

Unlike some men, Mr. Goenemeyer is not afraid of being vulnerable. I’ve seen him in concert, singing his heart out until I thought the microphone would explode. I was so happy when he brought out his English-language album, I Walk, and I wish for as many people as possible to hear it.

3. Judith Holofernes

Her real last name is Holfelder, but the reference to the sword-wielding Biblical assassin is well chosen. This Judith’s weapons of choice are her songwriting mind, her mouth, a microphone, and the instruments of her three fellow members of the band Wir sind Helden (We Are Heroes). Her targets are consumer culture (“Die Reklamation”/”Return Counter”), the objectification of women in the media (“Zieh’ dir was an”/”Put On Some Clothes”), even the music industry itself (“Zuhälter”/”Pimps”). (I wish I could show those, but the video in the link is the only one I found with any decent English subtitles.) She has spoken out against tabloid magazines, especially a famous one called BILD, which she sees as a political tool with an insidious effect on its readers. She is a practicing Buddhist and has released a single in Japanese. And she does all this with a lively sense of humor, a rapid-fire Berlin accent, and a lovely, quirky style that’s all her own.

What I admire most of all, though, is the band’s ability to quit while they’re ahead. In 2012, they went on an indefinite hiatus in order to focus on their families. Whenever I read about the latest celebrity divorce or drug scandal in the newspaper, I’m amazed at how the basic instincts of caring for yourself and your loved ones seem to die out as soon as you become famous. Who knows? If more actors, singers and athletes took a break every few years, we might end up with a much higher quality of entertainment.

I realize that there are groups much more under-represented than one wealthy, mostly white country in Europe. But when I saw The Monuments Men last week, with all its dead Nazi horses being kicked for the hundredth time, I just had to write something. I understand that the atrocities of World War II should never be forgotten, but no one reduces the USA to a nuclear bomb or Canada to residential schools. There is so much more to my country, to every country, than the worst of it.

Anyone who’s reading this, please consider reading Goethe, watching The Lives of Others or Mostly Martha, or following one of my links.

Sources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judith_Holofernes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuxaM-vNU-M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gj8pgVnH6KY

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15619.Michael_Ende

Review: Tiger Lily

Cover Summary:

Before Peter Pan belonged to Wendy, he belonged to the girl with the crow feather in her hair. . . .

Fifteen-year-old Tiger Lily doesn't believe in love stories or happy endings. Then she meets the alluring teenage Peter Pan in the forbidden woods of Neverland and immediately falls under his spell.

Peter is unlike anyone she's ever known. Impetuous and brave, he both scares and enthralls her. As the leader of the Lost Boys, the most fearsome of Neverland's inhabitants, Peter is an unthinkable match for Tiger Lily. Soon, she is risking everything—her family, her future—to be with him. When she is faced with marriage to a terrible man in her own tribe, she must choose between the life she's always known and running away to an uncertain future with Peter.

With enemies threatening to tear them apart, the lovers seem doomed. But it's the arrival of Wendy Darling, an English girl who's everything Tiger Lily is not, that leads Tiger Lily to discover that the most dangerous enemies can live inside even the most loyal and loving heart.

From the New York Times bestselling author of Peaches comes a magical and bewitching story of the romance between a fearless heroine and the boy who wouldn't grow up.


As a stand-alone novel, this book is wonderful. As a companion to Peter Pan, however, it does not quite work.

This is not the Neverland of the book. Not because it's so much darker, because it's really not. If you've read Barrie's work as an adult, you will notice that Hook's vendetta against the children is truly disturbing, that the Lost Boys have trouble finding enough to eat, that they enjoy killing pirates far too much, and that Peter's "innocence" leaves them in danger of being abandoned or forgotten at any time. These things are the same in Tiger Lily; unfortunately, the magic that makes Neverland so alluring despite the darkness is sadly diminished. Ms. Anderson takes a lot of liberties with the setting and characters, so much so that they are barely recognizable: Tinker Bell can't speak (except to readers as the first-person narrator) and therefore cannot be her snippy, feisty self with Peter; no one can fly; the English arrive in Neverland by a series of convenient shipwrecks; the Lost Boys are teenagers with the hormones to prove it, including Peter; and the ending - though I won't spoil it - is deeply objectionable to any fan of the original. The only thing I really liked about the setting was its solution to the mystery of aging in Neverland: its inhabitants stop aging at the most defining moment of their lives. This is why the pirates grew up, but the Lost Boys didn't. It's ingenious, and results in some very interesting reflections about life, death and change.

Several characters from Barrie's work were reinterpreted, a procedure that was rather hit-and-miss. James Hook was a hit for me; seeing him as a child laborer who lost his hand to a machine, and whose gentlemanly affectations are all self-taught, makes a lot of sense to me. There is such a theatrical quality about him to begin with, and such a desperation, that the two versions of him mesh well together as adaptations are supposed to do. Smee was a miss; he is supposed to be an innocent, pathetic character who cannot be dangerous if he tries, not a Jack-the-Ripper-style psychopath who dreams of strangling young women. Tiger Lily and Wendy were misses too; while I like Ms. Anderson's Tiger Lily much better than Mr. Barrie's, as a far stronger and more complex character, I believe the author (in the form of Tinker Bell's narration) was rather unfair to Wendy in comparison. It's as if their roles in Peter's life were reversed: in the original, Tiger Lily worships him, while Wendy is the one who takes him down a peg when he needs it. In this book, Tiger Lily is praised as the independent warrior, while Wendy earns quite a bit of undeserved narrative hostility for being too feminine and too submissive towards Peter. Most girls can sympathize, I'm sure - we all worry too much about not fitting in with the feminine ideal, and envy girls who we think can do it - but I don't believe we should be worrying so much. I don't believe there is any "wrong" way to be a woman. To be fair, that might also be what Ms. Anderson was trying to say, but the message didn't quite come through.

I wish she had written about a real-life aboriginal tribe instead. It might have meant a little more research, but I'm sure she could have pulled it off. The scenes in the Sky Eaters' village were by far my favorites, especially those involving Tiger Lily's adoptive father, a crossdressing shaman who calls himself Tik Tok in honor of a clock that washed up on the shore. He is a very wise and compassionate person, and the advice he gives to Tiger Lily about being proud of who she is is something every parent should tell their child. When she bitterly remarks that the other villagers find her ugly, he replies: "They do, but we are a small village, and we have narrow tastes. Who knows how many other people in this world would find you beautiful?" Moon Eye and Pine Sap, Tiger Lily's friends (insofar as her reserved nature is capable of friendship) are also very likeable. The way in which Phillip, a shipwrecked Englishman, disrupts the Sky Eaters' society with his Christian beliefs are sadly reminiscent of North American history. Ms. Anderson does not hesitate to bring several shades of gray into the conflict, since neither side has any bad intentions, but things still spiral into tragedy.

Finally, the language was off. I realize that Neverland is timeless, but if you are going to have your characters live in tribal settings, travel in sailing ships, work in shoe factories during childhood and carry a colonialist attitude towards the Natives - let alone a fairy narrator, for goodness' sake - you just cannot have them using words like "fan", "goner", "hi" and "okay". Next thing we know, we'll hear Peter Pan wearing baggy pants, using an iPod and referring to the Lost Boys as "dude".

Not a pretty picture, I know, but there you have it. If you've never read Peter Pan, please read this, as a thoughtful and original coming-of-age story in an unusual setting. But if you have read Peter Pan, the more you love it, the more you should steer clear of this.

Deborah Meyler: Mixed Treats

A classmate at Concordia once told me that the measure of a really good book is that it's good on every page. I find that to be absolutely true. I can open Deborah Meyler's The Bookstore on any page and unearth a jewel.

Ready? Here we go:

"If I rang out the bells to celebrate, would they sound dully, would they ring true? My mouth is full of champagne. I hold it there for a second or two. It is expensive and yeasty and tart. It is glorious. I won't be allowed any more for months on end. I think of swans singing before they die, of butterflies with cornflower-blue wings living for a day, and then I swallow." - p. 143

"You are young. You have everything ahead of you. When you have lived so long as I have, seen so much as I have seen, the savor goes out of your life. Perhaps it is best, so we do not cling on. You have chlamydia, but treatment is simple." - p. 105

"I am not going to put up with the lipstick-mouth toilet seat any longer." - p. 232

"Cameras are receptive - they are just holes that let in light. But because men use them more than women, we get different words, words that don't really go with what happens. Imagine if men went around saying, 'Hey, I'm just going to grab my camera because I want to receive some photos.'" - p. 51

"She is looking from me to Luke. A false light dawns.
"Oh! You are the father!" she says to Luke. She strikes her knee with her palm, in exasperation that she didn't see this before."
"No, ma'am, I am not," answers Luke. He injects profound thankfulness into his voice.The old lady shakes her head.
"I thought you were kind of a good fit."
"But thank you, Luke," I say. "That was very courteous of you." - p. 182

"All the errant 'I love you's in the world don't have such an effect, they don't spark bonfires, either of tragic or magnificent dimensions. The spark they send out into the world whistles on a brick and dies." - p. 298

"Maybe the daydreams of ravishings on the sofa are hormonally induced. After all, in my present state, even Thiebaud's paintings of hot dogs have an undesirable effect." - p. 97

"That thing that Hamlet says - there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Not quite true if you're stuck under a grand piano, not quite true for genocide, but surely it must be true about love." - p. 89

Somebody give this lady an award.

The Bookstore Fan Cast

Emma Watson as Esme
She's English, she's beautiful in a modest, healthy way, she can be strong but also vulnerable, and I have this irresistible mental picture of her calling Mitchell an "evil little cockroach" and punching him in the face. Someone has to do it, after all!

Hayden Christensen as Mitchell The golden boy with a dark side ... this is for anyone who cringed when Padme married Anakin and wondered, "Girl, what are you thinking?"

Eric Bana as Luke
He has a way of saying much more with his eyes than with his mouth, which is important when playing a taciturn character. Look at this photo - isn't that exactly the way Luke would look at Esme, much to her confusion and dismay?

Ellen Page as Stella
She was hilarious as the snarky title character in Juno. Besides, since she came out recently, she might enjoy contributing to LGBT representation in the media. Or not, as the case may be.

Review: The Bookstore

Cover Summary:

A witty, sharply observed debut novel about a young woman who finds unexpected salvation while working in a quirky used bookstore in Manhattan.Impressionable and idealistic, Esme Garland is a young British woman who finds herself studying art history in New York. She loves her apartment and is passionate about the city and her boyfriend; her future couldn’t look brighter. Until she finds out that she’s pregnant.

Esme’s boyfriend, Mitchell van Leuven, is old-money rich, handsome, successful, and irretrievably damaged. When he dumps Esme—just before she tries to tell him about the baby—she resolves to manage alone. She will keep the child and her scholarship, while finding a part-time job to make ends meet. But that is easier said than done, especially on a student visa.

The Owl is a shabby, second-hand bookstore on the Upper West Side, an all-day, all-night haven for a colorful crew of characters: handsome and taciturn guitar player Luke; Chester, who hyperventilates at the mention of Lolita; George, the owner, who lives on protein shakes and idealism; and a motley company of the timeless, the tactless, and the homeless. The Owl becomes a nexus of good in a difficult world for Esme—but will it be enough to sustain her? Even when Mitchell, repentant and charming, comes back on the scene?

A rousing celebration of books, of the shops where they are sold, and of the people who work, read, and live in them, The Bookstore is also a story about emotional discovery, the complex choices we all face, and the accidental inspirations that make a life worth the reading.

I am not sure whether I can do this book justice. I honestly believe that, a hundred years from now, professors will write theses about it and assign it to their students – and even if they don’t, they should.

Deborah Meyler is the twenty-first century’s Jane Austen and Charles Dickens all rolled into one. This may sound like an odd combination, but she has the dry wit, sharp observation, and feminine strength of the former, as well as the idealism, sense of social injustice and energetic descriptions of urban life of the latter. Also, like all the best authors, she is not afraid to bring up controversial topics – homelessness; prejudices based on class, race and sex; the abortion debate; emotional abuse – and present them in a natural, unforced, compassionate manner that takes into account more than one point of view.

Esme Garland is a heroine after my own heart. Not just because she loves books, or because we’re the same age, but because she is so real that I half expected her to be sitting across from me in the armchair when I looked up, smiling from under uneven bangs, teasing me in her gentle English voice for losing track of time. If this book were a movie (which it should be!) I would cast her as Emma Watson.

She has a timeless quality about her – the problem of an unexpected pregnancy and a faithless lover is timeless, after all – but at the same time, her way of coping with it is very much the way of a highly educated, feminist, modern woman with a promising career ahead of her. She thinks carefully about her options, and – with the blunt and sensible advice of her friend Stella – makes a decision that is right for her, without being in any way judgmental of the decisions of other women in similar situations. This is not to say that she’s cold or detached, though, quite the opposite. Her emotions run very deep, and not just the “acceptable” emotions either: much as she comes to love the baby, she does have moments of resenting it for its father’s cruelty and for the added complications to her life.

She is not perfect. She is initially very naïve, and I wanted to shake her sometimes for not being able to see through Mitchell as the selfish, soulless creature he really is. She is afraid of confrontation (which she blames on being English, but this German-Canadian reviewer often feels exactly the same), which makes it very satisfying to see her slowly learning to stand up for herself. She also has a lot to learn about privilege (money troubles or not, she is still a white, heterosexual Cambridge graduate), how it should not be taken for granted, and that being less privileged does not make anyone less worthy of respect. I especially liked the scenes in which DeeMo, a black homeless man, contrives to both keep up with her in intelligent wordplay and call her out on her own prejudices. Moments like this between Esme and the regulars at The Owl stand in sharp contrast to Mitchell and his family, who are perfectly aware of their privilege and use it to control and humiliate others.

Mitchell, the other main character, is another brilliant creation of Ms. Meyler’s – and unlike Esme, a terrifying one. While it is easy to see why she would be overwhelmed by him at first, with his dazzling good looks, formidable intelligence and powerful charisma, the ugliness beneath the surface comes slowly, but surely, to light. He is a man who always has to be in control: when she tries to initiate anything, even lovemaking, he shoots her down and makes her feel guilty for even trying. He cheats on her, and then expresses surprise when she is hurt by this, because he thought she knew that they weren’t “exclusive”. He was raised by a mother every bit as heartless and controlling as he is, and there are moments I even pitied him in that toxic environment. However, it eventually becomes clear to Esme – and the reader – that wanting to “save” an abuser is no reason to stay with him, and that no matter how much you love someone, it doesn’t make you entitled to be loved in return.

The third main character is New York itself. You might think there is nothing left to be said about it, but there always is, and Ms. Meyler says it exceptionally well. She has lived there herself, even worked in an independent book shop like The Owl, and it shows. The genius is in the details: how Esme wakes up around Christmastime to the sound of the Korean deli owner downstairs meticulously sawing Christmas trees into shape; how the rain falls through the subway grates; how her accent gives her trouble communicating with shopkeepers when she pronounces “butter” with a “t” or “tuna” with a “ch”; how she enjoys the intensity of the seasons and the speed of life compared to her home. It’s also interesting to see how her views of New York and of England both change according to her moods, and how artistically aware she is of this. A park she went to in the spring with Mitchell, blooming with roses and graceful statues, becomes a graveyard in the autumn when Mitchell breaks up with her. She has attacks of homesickness for a version of England that she knows is idealized and not quite real, but she can’t help feeling it. She is an art student, accustomed to stepping back from her own emotional response and analyzing it, in a clear and objective way, at the same time as she’s still caught up in its impact. This gives her first-person narrative voice a unique quality that is hard to describe, but impossible (for me at least) not to admire.

Finally, I loved all the references to works of art, especially books, in this story: what they mean to different characters, how to define their value. Esme’s friend Stella is a photographer who loves her work because it captures a moment long after it has passed. Esme herself swims against the current of modern art by preferring paintings that make her feel happy. She and Luke have a beautiful conversation about their respective passions, paintings and music, and how they change as your perception of them changes.

The owners of The Owl deal in secondhand books because of the history and emotional weight to them, and they struggle to keep the store going in the face of Amazon, e-readers, and big chains like Barnes and Noble. They believe in the importance of connecting with customers and allowing them to discover books by chance, instead of by automatic recommendation. In this sense, the story reminded me of the movie You’ve Got Mail starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, and also of the bookstores, cafés and libraries I know and love in real life, where people know my face and chat with me of an afternoon. 

These are places worth holding on to, even and especially in our digital age, and with more authors like Ms. Meyler, I hope we will.

Ten Things Wrong With "Winter's Tale"

 (Also published on my Tumblr.)

10. Colin Farrell’s hairstyle in the first half of the movie. Why would a street thug who depends on unobscured vision allow his hair to flop distractingly over his right eye? (No matter how handsome it makes him look.)

9. Was Peter raised entirely by Irish immigrants? It couldn’t have been Pearly Soames, since they met when Peter was already an adult. If not, there is no excuse for that fake accent.

8. How does Pearly expect his henchmen to do their jobs if he doesn’t give them any directions? Romeo was right; that redheaded girl whose silhouette he drew in blood could have been anyone. It’s pure coincidence that they found Beverly, and later Abby. Even a demon should be efficient.

7. If Willa is a child in 1895, and still alive in 2014, that would make her over 120 years old. How is that possible? And why is she still old, as opposed to the unchanged Peter and Pearly? At least their long lives were given some kind of explanation.

6.. The most prominent non-white character, played by Will Smith, is Lucifer. Seriously?

5. If you’re going to reference Native American culture, do it properly.  There’s no way Peter’s unnamed friend’s tribe, whoever they were, could have had only “ten songs”, and “everybody has a miracle inside them” sounds a lot more like the inside of a Hallmark card than any Native philosophy.

4. On that note, they should have made up your minds which myth to follow. Christianity and Native religions don’t exactly gel, one being dualistic (Holy Trinity versus Lucifer) and the other pluralistic (ancestors and animal spirits). As the concepts of good and evil in this movie are completely Western, they should have just called the horse an angel and be done with it.

3. Dying people are not beautiful. They are not graceful, curvy, light-footed and rosy-cheeked. They are not angels who talk to strangers about “the whole world being connected by light” – or if they ever do, it takes a lot of anger, denial and grief before they reach that state. Tuberculosis was called “consumption” for a reason; because the victims coughed blood, shrank down to skin and bones, and seemed to burn out from the inside. Falling in love with someone in that state would take a very unusual person indeed; if done right, it might have made the story much more interesting.

2. I’m no doctor, but even I know that it’s insane to make a fever patient sleep in a tent or walk barefoot in the snow. Instead of helping Beverly, those measures would have only made her worse.

1. Death by Sex. The single worst scene in the movie. Instead of being tragic, it was so disgusting and bizarre that I almost laughed when almost-naked Colin Farrell hauled almost-naked Jessica Brown Findley’s “dead” body out to the greenhouse. I kept expecting her father to catch him. Besides, in this day and age, we really should have a healthier attitude than the Gothic-horror-esque “if she asks for sex, she’ll die from it” – except, perhaps, for the Twilight fans in the audience.

Review: Teen Spirit

Francesca Lia Block, critically acclaimed author of Weetzie Bat, brings this eerie and redemptive ghost story to life with her signature, poetic prose. It's perfect for fans of supernatural stories with a touch of romance like the Beautiful Creatures series by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl.

After Julie's grandmother passes away, she is forced to move across town to the not-so-fancy end of Beverly Hills and start over at a new school. The only silver lining to the perpetual dark cloud that seems to be following her? Clark—a die-hard fan of Buffy and all things Joss Whedon, who is just as awkward and damaged as she is. Her kindred spirit.

When the two try to contact Julie's grandmother with a Ouija board, they make contact with a different spirit altogether. The real kind. And this ghost will do whatever it takes to come back to the world of the living.

Francesca Lia Block's latest young adult novel is a haunting work about family, loss, love, and redemption.

Congratulations, Goat Girls and Beautiful Boys. The magic is back!

For those who don't know, that was a reference to the two anthology titles containing, respectively, volumes 2-3 and 4-5 of Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat series, all five of which are now sold under the title Dangerous Angels. They are her best work, wildly creative and utterly unique, and while none of her later works could possibly compare, Teen Spirit comes closer than any of them since Necklace of Kisses in 2005. And I'm not just talking about her style, which was certainly in abeyance while she was working on Pink Smog or The Elementals (A history teacher named Mr. Adolf waxing enthusiastic about WWII? The sulky, Mary-Sue-ish tone in which she describes author-avatars Weetzie and Ariel being criticized for "overwriting"?) but - for lack of a better term - the "wholesomeness" of the story. The author of Pretty Dead and The Waters and the Wild - two of the most infuriating, defeatist, morally corrupt endings I've ever read - seems to have finally remembered what she knew by instinct in 1989, namely that death is not, in fact, romantic, and guess what? Life is a thing worth celebrating after all.

Of course, it takes Julie and Clark a while to learn this lesson. Which is perfectly understandable, since they are both in mourning for a beloved family member, with all the personal demons that entails. I really admired Ms. Block's way of handling the complexity and individuality of grief, and the way even people who love each other very much have trouble understanding each other's feelings. Losing a charming, witty, inspiring grandmother at sixteen is, after all, not quite the same as losing your mother, best friend and only child-care supporter in your mid-forties. Julie and her mother, Rachel, have to struggle to hold their broken family together, especially when Rachel looks for solace from the unsavory Luke. (Nasty as he was, though, the image of a middle-aged man shirtless and wearing fishnet tights is almost hilarious.) The clash between "Why can't you be the strong mother I remember?" vs. "Why can't I depend on someone for once?", while not logical, was very understandable. Clark's rather different kind of grief, a half-resentful loneliness for a twin brother who outshone him in talent, strength and charm, adds yet another layer of interest and sympathy to the story.

Also, Clark is adorable. He wears a different silly hat every day, loves Joss Whedon, and he cooks. Seriously, I wish I had one of my own.

Speaking of him leads me to the love triangle, which isn't much of one, but which I enjoyed anyway. Picture Stephenie Meyer's The Host, only in reverse and with ghosts instead of aliens, as Clark's twin brother Grant begins to possess his body in a desperate bid for the love he was denied during his lifetime. Grant is, it must be admitted, much sexier than Clark (on the surface, at least), given his passionate intensity and the power Julie has over him by (inadvertently) calling him back to life. Clark, like many other "good boys"in YA literature, has an unfortunate tendency to blandness (at least in the beginning - trust me, he improves). For a moment there, I was honestly terrified I'd end up with another Pretty Dead on my hands, but thankfully, Ms. Block did not justify that fear.

Just for the record, ladies and gentlemen: dead people are not sexy. Even if they don't happen to drink blood. (Or sparkle.) And a man who shows you kindness and respect (by swallowing his skepticism to participate in one mystic ritual after another; by telling you how beautiful you look; even by not kicking you to the curb for being attracted to his ghostly twin) is not boring or weak; in fact it's the very opposite.

And yes, I realize I just effectively spoiled the ending for anyone paying attention. However, if I hadn't, how was I supposed to say exactly what I liked about this book?

Other things I liked were the supernatural aspect, the cultural diversity, and the setting. Ms. Block's trademark urban fantasy style comes through very nicely when the presence of ghosts is signaled by an ambulance siren as well as inexplicable smells and colors. As for Daiyu, Tatiana Gonzalez, and Ed Rainwater - Chinese, Mexican and Cherokee healers whom Julie and Clark consult about the ghost - I may not be the best judge as a white person, but I found nothing offensive about any of their portrayals. In fact, little details such as the milagros, the ground pearl cosmetics, Ed's wry comment about "native enlightenment", and the implied underlying unity of compassion and common sense in their various methods ("It must come from you") are very much in this story's favor. And of course, L. A. is still L. A., as always in Ms. Block's novels: polluted yet still beautiful, artificial and natural, illusory and real, so vivid as to become a character in its own right.

In the words of Julie's boss, "Why do girls have to grow up to appreciate the really special ones?" Ms. Block certainly has grown up since Weetzie, and though it's taken her a long time, she has certainly produced something special I can appreciate.