Rose Under Fire

I just finished Rose Under Fire, the newest offering by Elizabeth Wein.  It was outstanding – which I would have expected, given the accolades heaped on Wein’s previous novel, Code Name Verity (which you can be sure I’ll be reading soon).  But I’m also not going to lie, Rose Under Fire was a tough, tough read.  This wasn’t surprising, given that the majority of the book is set in the Ravensbrück concentration camp during World War II.  In fact, I put off reading the book (until after its publication date, thus negating the usefulness of an Advanced Reading Copy…oops) because of this.  I don’t usually deal well with depressing reads or watches, and it was hard to make myself start, despite expecting the book to be great.

But once I did start, it was hard to put Rose Under Fire down.  Rose is a young (18) American pilot, and thanks to some family connections, she has moved to England to be an Air Transport Auxilary (ATA) civilian pilot, ferrying planes back and forth.  Rose is idealistic, a bit naïve, but tough and smart and very kind and kind-hearted.  She is devoted to the war effort, and dreams of being a fighter pilot.  When her uncle once again works to help her and she gets a chance to ferry a plane to France, she jumps on it.  But on her way back, she ends up captured by German planes and she and her jet are taken to Germany, where she is sent to the Ravensbrück women’s concentration camp.

This is where the story really gets tough to read, but also where the real power of Wein’s

Ravensbrück barracks

writing and character development shine through.  Things are tough for Rose from the beginning, but it is not until she is placed in the barracks with Polish prisoners that she – and the readers – witness the full extent of Nazi brutality.  Rose’s fellow prisoners are Russian, French, and Polish.  And the Polish women are part of a “special transport” who, before the death they have been condemned to, have been experimented on by Nazi doctors in horrifying ways.  They call themselves “Rabbits,” since they are being used in experiments like animals, and they are fierce and tenacious about finding ways to tell the world what has happened to them.  And here is where we get to the heart of why it was so hard for me to read Rose Under Fire – while the characters we meet through Rose are fictional, Ravensbrück and the Rabbits are not.  Everything we readers hear about in Rose Under Fire actually happened to real people, and that was the hardest – but also most powerful – part of reading about it.  So we as an audience, like Rose, are both involved in the story (through Rose’s first-person narration) and witnesses to a much larger story.

Rose herself is a masterpiece of character development.  Throughout the story she changes and matures drastically because of her traumatic experiences, but the Rose from the beginning of the book still shines through.  She still identifies as a pilot.  She still writes poetry.  She still cares enough to throw herself into resistance efforts in the camp and try to protect her “family” there.  And towards the end of the book, we see her continue to grow as a character in the aftermath of her experiences.

To me, that is one of the things that elevates this book above some of the other WWII literature I’ve read – what we see of Rose after Ravensbrück.  The story, beginning when she is captured, is written as Rose’s account of what’s happened to her after-the-fact.  It is woven in with her experiences with freedom.  We see how she is afraid to leave her room for weeks, how she can barely eat, how she jumps at loud sounds like ringing phones.  We also see how she recovers, slowly.  And in the last part of the book, we see Rose a year and a half later – living well, recovering, but still deeply scarred by what she has been through and seen.

Ravensbrück monument in Père Lachaise cemetery

There is so much more I could say about Rose Under Fire – it’s a truly fantastic book and despite the emotional toll of reading it, I could hardly put it down.  But I could not finish this review without mentioning Roza, one of Rose’s closest friends in Ravensbruck.  Roza is a Rabbit, and by the end, the book is as much her story as Rose’s.  She is wonderful and devastating to read about at the same time, an endearing, flawed, realistic, heroic character, and easily one of my favorite characters I’ve read about recently.

Rose Under Fire is technically a young adult book, but I cannot recommend it enough for teens or adults, especially if you have an interest in historical fiction.  And even if, like me, you might have a hard time reading a book like this, you should read it anyways.  It’s worth it. 

Why Mysteries?

Over the past year and some, I’ve gotten into reading mysteries in a way I never was before.  I was vaguely aware that mysteries could be good – my mom used to listen to them on tape a lot when I was little, because they were exciting and entertaining for car rides.  But last summer for a class, I had to read a “hard-boiled” mystery and one other.  I opted for an Agatha Christie, discovered “cozies,” and have never looked back.

I started with The Body in the Library for class, but loved it so much I immediately picked up another Miss Marple mystery – Murder at the Vicarage – and Murder on the Orient Express, my first introduction to Hercule Poirot.  I devoured these in a day or less each (partially because I launched into the second two while on vacation.)

While I love many books for many reasons – I am particularly drawn to character and world-building – there is nothing like a mystery to keep the pages turning.  Whether I’m reading a mystery or something else, the feeling of being so drawn into a book that I can’t wait to stop whatever I’m doing and start reading is almost as fantastic as the feeling of actually getting to stop what I’m doing and start reading.  And that’s certainly the biggest appeal of mysteries for me – that constant need to find out more, and see what happens, and the satisfaction of getting to follow this need to the end.

Miss Marple as played by Joan Hickson

But there is more that appeals to me about mysteries, especially cozies, especially series mysteries.  Take the Miss Marple books, for instance.  Miss Marple herself is a fantastic character – a bit smug and gossipy, but also a crazy smart and tough old lady.  She is surrounded by a wonderfully realized world, that of small town England, decades ago.  So not only do these mysteries have the plot to keep me dying for more, but also the character development and world-building that I love.  Not only that, but these cozies tend to be a little lighter on the violence, and a little heavier on the puzzle aspect than many other mysteries.  Now, I have no problem with book violence in many contexts, and not every mystery needs to be a puzzle.  But after reading a few hard-boiled detective stories, I find that the violence makes them significantly less comfortable to read, and leads me to want a break sometimes (as opposed to a cozy mystery, which I generally want to read in one sitting.)  And I really love getting to an end of a mystery and seeing how all the pieces fit together, how the solution was already in the pages of the text.  Granted, I have only ever guessed the murderer correctly on one occasion, and that mostly because the jacket description was a little spoiler-y, but I love the possibility that I could guess it.  Rather than a procedural, for instance, where dogged detective work pays off, but rarely are the clues the reader needs to fully solve the mystery embedded in the story ahead of time.

So for me, good cozy mysteries are the perfect blend of plot, character, world-building, and really, really difficult brain teaser.  And the latest author to sweep me away is P.D. James.  Because holy cow, that woman can write, and she can write an outstanding mystery.  Her main character, Adam Dalgliesh, is a fantastically realized character.  He grows and develops in each book, and reading multiple books has given me more insight into his character.  Each of James’ novels that I have read so far features, as a good cozy should, a well-realized and well-populated small community of suspects.  Each of these characters are, again, fully developed and interesting.  And the mysteries are creepy, exciting, surprising, and always keep me guessing until the moment everything finally clicks into place.  And this woman really is a brilliant writer.  Tell me this opening sentence doesn’t make you want to read Unnatural Causes: “The corpse without hands lay in the bottom of a small sailing dinghy drifting just within sight of the Suffolk coast.”  And for a more poetic passage shortly following that sentence, “It was early afternoon in mid October and the glazed eyes were turned upwards to a sky of surprising blue across which the light south-west wind was dragging a few torn rags of cloud.  The wooden shell, without mast or row locks, bounced gently on the surge of the North Sea so that the head shifted and rolled as if in restless sleep.  It had been an unremarkable face even in life and death had given it nothing but a pitiful vacuity.” 

So I hope I have convinced go pick up a cozy mystery (or heck, a hard-boiled or procedural, if that’s more your style) and prepare to be sucked in.

Book Interactions

Not surprisingly, I love talking about books (and libraries…but especially the book parts.)  A lot of what I write about on this blog comes out of those conversations.  The other night for instance, I had a fantastic conversation about books with a friend who I’m just now getting to know better.  We talked about the future of books and libraries, fairy tales, the importance of reading – any reading – for everyone, and much more.  It was an enjoyable and nourishing conversation, and a great way to get to know a friend better.

Books are often considered as being a very solitary thing.  And certainly they are, in many ways.  I read to escape, I read to have fun, I read to withdraw into myself.  But at the same time, when I read a really good book, I feel like I know the characters I’m reading about.   Like I am interacting with real people.

Much has been written about a recent study by Shira Gabriel and Ariana Young published in Psychological Science that showed reading can increase empathy.  The authors say “Books provide the opportunity for social connection and the blissful calm that comes from becoming a part of something larger than oneself for a precious, fleeting moment.”  And certainly, that’s how I feel when I’m reading.  So in that sense, reading is almost the opposite of a solitary activity – it requires connection with characters and material in order to be really enjoyed.  At least reading most fiction and a large chunk of non-fiction does.

And books also are for many people a way of connecting with each other in the real world.  I’m sure I could have had – and for that matter, did have – many other great conversations the other night, but the one I remember most was about books and libraries and reading and stories.  I had a conversation with another friend a couple weeks ago, one whom I have always bonded with over books.  We began talking about books when my boyfriend was around.  He left to give us some one-on-one time, and our conversation cycled around to many other topics.  But by the time he rejoined us, we were back on books.

I talk about books with my mother, a fellow librarian, and exchange suggestions.  My brothers and I have spent, literally, hours of our lives discussing the Harry Potter series alone.  My boyfriend and I read very differently (he will tackle non-fiction that I get bored just looking at while I’m reading my eighth YA fantasy novel of the month) but we talk about books as well – we share what we read, what we feel about what we read, what we think the other will enjoy.  Less than a week ago, I went out with old college friends to grab a couple beers, and we probably spent at least an hour of our evening talking about George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series.  We talked about plot predictions, character interpretations, wild theories that could just be true, less wild theories that probably were true, how we thought the TV show measured up, what characters we loved and connected with and why, and on and on.  And the thing about these conversations is that even though they are about books, they are also about the people we’re talking to.  The reasons I find Hermione such a compelling character, or what I think Melisandre’s motivations are in Martin’s work, says something about me.  And sharing these conversations with friends, family, and acquaintances gives us a chance to know each other better. 

So reading is not always a solitary activity, and books are not just a way to escape from people.  In many cases, reading is interacting with people.  And talking about books can enhance the books, enhance the friendships, and keep us connected.  It's worth remembering that though reading can be a way to retreat from others, it can also be a way to connect.

Four Reasons Why I Love Rae Carson’s The Girl of Fire and Thorns Trilogy

If I have recommended books to you in the past several months, there’s a very high likelihood that Rae Carson’s The Girl of Fire and Thorns was one of them.  And with the release of the trilogy’s final installment, The Bitter Kingdom, I’ve taking my raving to a whole new level the past couple of weeks.  This series is just so good, and I cannot say enough good things about it.

The series focuses on Elisa.  Elisa is a princess, and also the bearer of a Godstone – a stone embedded in her navel that shows she is marked by God to do some great service in her world.  But mostly, Elisa is the fat, awkward, younger sister, continually at odds with her perfect older sister.  And then she is married off to a neighboring king, and leaves for a new life in the desert country of Joya d’Arena.  There, Elisa is swept up into politics, rebellion, and war, where her prodigious intelligence and her compassionate heart stand her in good stead.  But she also discovers true friendships, true loves, and her own power and strength.  The first book of the series, The Girl of Fire and Thorns, focuses on Elisa’s personal journey into strength and power.  The second book, The Crown of Embers, delves more into politics and Elisa’s struggles as queen of Joya d’Arena.  And The Bitter Kingdom…well, The Bitter Kingdom has it all.  Elisa growing in strength, action and adventure, war, politics, personal growth, romance, friendship.  All three books are wonderful, but The Bitter Kingdom has cemented this trilogy’s place as truly great fantasy, and one of my favorite series.

There are tons and tons of rave reviews of The Girl of Fire and Thorns series online.  And if I tried to write one, it would probably devolve into more nearly-incoherent raving like above.  So instead of doing a full review, I’m going to tell you about four of the many (MANY) reasons I love this trilogy.

1.)  Elisa is fat.  And the way this is portrayed is, I think, wonderful.  At the beginning of the series, Elisa is self-conscious about her size, sedentary, and has an extremely unhealthy relationship with food.  But by the end of the first book, and even more as the series progresses, this has changed.  Forced physical activity helps Elisa grow strong and active.  And as she gets stronger and more confident, her relationship with food changes.  But here’s the thing – yes, Elisa loses weight.  Yes, she stops eating her feelings.  Yes, she gains some physical abilities she didn’t have before.  But at the end of the series, she’s not a skinny girl.  She’s still chubby and curvaceous.  She still loves sweet foods.  But her relationship with food and her body has improved immeasurably.  I loved that this book shows us a heroine who learns to love and embrace her body and her physicality without transforming her into a skinny girl who stops loving her favorite foods.  (Not that there’s anything wrong with skinny girls or liking different foods…it’s just not particularly realistic, and sends a seriously wrong-headed message to readers.)

2.)  #GoodGuyHector.  Hector is one of Elisa’s first friends in Joya d’Arena, and her eventual love interest.  And he’s a good guy.  And not part of a love triangle.  And not a “bad boy.”  And not forbidden to Elisa in some way.  Yes, I’ve read books where love triangles and bad boys and forbidden loves work really well.  But they are all way overused plot and character devices, and it was a breath of fresh air to read this love story.  Hector is an upstanding, hardworking man.  He is Captain of the King and Queen’s guard in Joya d’Arena, and is outstanding at his job.  He is loyal, brave, and always, always, respectful of Elisa.  He is never threatened by her power, never irrationally angry at her, and he never tries to create drama.  Their love story is realistic and engaging.  Not once did I have any desire to smack either of them because of how they interacted with and treated each other (a common problem when I’m reading a lot of love stories).  And their love story was really, really good.  It was engaging and heartwarming and sexy and made me melt into a puddle many times over.

3.)  Not everyone is white.  Actually, most of the main characters are explicitly not white.  And reading a wonderful, successful YA fantasy series featuring a cast of a variety of races and ethnicities, primarily non-white, was awesome.  There’s really not much else to say about this, it’s just fantastic.

4.)  Plot, Character, World-Building.  No, I’m not going back on my word and delving into a real review here.  What I’m getting at is the perfect balance of all these elements.  The Girl of Fire and Thorns trilogy is fast-paced and exciting, with intricate and fascinating plotting.  But the plot never gets in the way of the development of characters and their relationships – the two are perfectly wed.  The character development is under-stated and realistic enough to not take over.  And the world-building is excellent, without being boring and info-dumpy.  Carson manages to meld these three integral parts of good fantasy into a perfectly balanced and perfectly wonderful trilogy.

As I said, there are many more reasons I love this trilogy, and I will gladly talk your ears off about them.  But I hope I have convinced you to go out and read the books yourselves.  Then we can rave about them together!

Hannah Recommends a Romance!?

What’s this?  What’s this?  A romance novel that Hannah not only didn’t hate, but actually enjoyed?  It’s true!  It exists!  And you should all consider reading Wait For You by J. Lynn (pen name of Jennifer Armentrout).   Seriously, you should give it a shot, even if you don’t normally like romance novels.  Because after several attempts at getting in to the genre, this is the first romance novel I’ve read that had me anxious to pick it back up and continue reading, rather than trying to calculate how much longer I had to stick it out.  Not that I’m slamming the romance genre – I’ve just had trouble finding the books that appeal to me.

I got Wait For You (to be released September 3, 2013) at the American Library Association conference.  I saw the name of the author, Jennifer Armentrout, immediately connected her with a totally different romance author I’d heard of (Jennifer Armintrout - you can see where the confusion arose), and decided it was about time to give this whole romance thing another whirl.  Lucky me, I grabbed the book before I realized I was thinking of a totally different Jennifer Arm(i/e)ntrout.  But Armentrout turned out to be a great find. 

Wait For You is a new adult romance novel featuring Avery, who has left her childhood home in Texas to go to college halfway across the country in West Virginia.  She is recovering from some serious trauma, but tentatively taking steps to heal herself by leaving the town that has shunned her.  She meets the handsome, ripped, kind, funny, Cam on her first day of class (in a well-executed “meet cute,” no less!) and finds herself attracted in spite of herself.  Because seriously, who wouldn’t be?  If I have any complaint about Wait For You it’s that Cam is too perfect, so much so that he veers into the unbelievable.  But somehow, Armentrout makes it work (mostly by making Cam so dynamic and lovable you can forgive his lack of faults) so that it never bugged me too much.

Character is definitely the biggest strength of Wait For You.  Avery has DEPTH y’all.  She has experienced trauma, yes, which is important to the plot and her character.  But she is not defined by it.  She also likes history, is sarcastic, appreciates zombies, likes to dance, etc. etc.  She is not defined by being “feisty” or “fragile” or anything like that, she is a fully fleshed out person.  Her struggles are not only trauma-based, but also based on her family dynamics (a problem pre-dating any one major event) and her own personality and flaws.  Cam, despite his over-perfection, is also a well-rounded character.  He bakes, loves his family, parties, watches UFC, owns a tortoise, yadda yadda yadda.   I think the reason these characters work is that whatever traits they have, and however cheesy and “quirky” Cam’s baking habit or Avery’s bad movie tendencies could be, these character traits all seem really organic to Avery and Cam.  I don’t get the sense that Armentrout sat down trying to write delightfully unique and endearing characters.  Rather, I get the feeling she sat down to write characters who rang true to her, and this is what happened.  Even Avery’s friends, Jacob and Brittany (distinctly “best friend” side characters) have unique personalities and turns-of-phrase, and made me want to hear more about them.  

Another thing that really made me love Wait For You was the treatment of sex and, yes, sexual assault. The sexual assault in Avery’s past is not fully defined at the beginning of the story, though it’s easy enough for readers to figure out the basics.  But since the book is from Avery’s point-of-view, and Avery doesn’t like to think or talk about what happened, it takes a while for all the details to come out.  But the gist of what happened – she was sexually assaulted in some way, but at a party and in a situation where she was vulnerable, somehow her whole town and social circle determined she lied and shunned her for it – is familiar.  I liked that Armentrout portrayed a situation that was not a stranger-in-a-dark-alley assault, but rather a more common scenario involving partying teenagers, flirting, and alcohol.  But she never shies away from the realities of what happened or that the fault lies, always, with the assaulter, not the assaulted.  I’m probably not describing this well, and I don’t want to give everything away, but what I’m trying to get at is that the traumatizing event is, to me at least, sensitively and appropriately handled in every way.

And lastly, this book was so freaking sex-positive, and it did an incredible job of making consent hot.  Don’t get me wrong, there are some romance tropes.  For instance, Cam pursues Avery doggedly, despite her avowed disinterest in him romantically – but never to the point where he makes her uncomfortable, and with her permission to be her friend and spend time with her.  And when she really tells him to go away, he does.   When their relationship begins to be sexual, Cam checks in frequently with Avery about what he’s doing, and if it’s okay.  He asks her before he takes off her bra for the first time.  And it’s sexy.  And the first time Cam and Avery go beyond making out, the agency is all Avery’s.  She makes the moves, she tells Cam what she wants, and it is awesome.  So the next time someone tries to argue that creepy/stalkery/rapey romance is the only way to make it hot, you can rub this in their face and assure them that they are wrong. 

So there you have it.  Probably the first romance novel I have ever recommended to anyone.  So you should check out Wait For You by Jennifer Armentrout. 

"Homage" or "Derivative"?

I read two Advanced Reading Copy’s (ARC’s) recently that I enjoyed, but that raised the same questions in my mind, as different as they seemed.

The first is Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock by Matthew Quick (recently released).  This young adult contemporary book follows a day in the life of a depressed and traumatized teenage boy.  But not just any day – this book follows the day he packs a gun in his backpack, intending to shoot first his former best friend, then himself, before the day is over.  But before he commits these final acts, Leonard Peacock must say goodbye to the four people in his life he still feels connected to, and give them his farewell gifts.  Unfortunately, in the process, Leonard becomes disappointed and disenchanted with more than one of them, and the farewells don’t give him the closure he desires.  Leonard Peacock was a fascinating read, and a really impressive character portrait of a seriously damaged teen.  As the details of what happened between Leonard and his former friend emerge, the details of Leonard’s personality emerge as well.  He is not always a likable character (in fact, I found myself wanting to smack him across the face many times) but I think that was part of what made Leonard Peacock such a compelling read.  Certainly as the book picked up speed towards the climax, I found I could hardly put it down – love him or hate him, I was desperate to find out what would happen on Leonard’s final day.

The second book I have in mind is Blackmoore, by Julianne Donaldson (September 9, 2013).  Blackmoore is a young adult regency romance, heavily influenced by Georgette Heyer (as Donaldson told me herself.)  I admit, I went in with pretty subdued expectations.  I rarely read romances, and I wasn’t sure how the regency romance setting would translate to young adult.  But I remember my mother listening to many Georgette Heyer novels in the car when I was young, and I was intrigued.  Blackmoore definitely exceeded my expectations.  The main character, Kate, was interesting and flawed.  Her relationships with her best friend, Sylvia, and love interest, Henry, were complex and realistic.  And the intrigues and drama that unfolded at the Blackmoore estate, thanks especially to the manipulations of Kate’s and Henry’s mothers, were engaging and fun, despite verging dangerously close to melodrama and predictability.  And despite my absolute certainty about how the story would end, I found myself excited for the journey.

Obviously these books have little in common on the surface.  But what struck me is how closely Leonard Peacock and Blackmoore each resemble some of my favorite books of all time, Catcher in the Rye and Jane Austen’s novels, respectively.  To the point where I am certain, in both cases, that the books were heavily influenced by these classics, and understandably so.  

Of course, it is nearly impossible to write a book about a disaffected high school age boy without immediate comparisons to Catcher in the Rye, and I suspect every regency romance ever written has been compared to Jane Austen.  But in both these cases, the similarities struck me forcibly.

Leonard’s short journey, narrated in the main character’s idiosyncratic voice, reeks of Holden Caulfield.  Leonard even uses the word “corny.”  Leonard’s struggle to connect with other people, his relationship with an important and supportive teacher who is hiding something but cares deeply about him, his pursuit of a girl who is wrong for him, his kindness and empathy that he hides behind his angry and superior exterior, even his pretentious and un-self-aware dismissal of his peers as more shallow and less intelligent than him, bring Holden forcibly to mind.  It is no leap to imagine a modern day Holden skipping school and following miserable businessmen and businesswomen on their commutes as Leonard does, or imagining an isolated future of boats and scuba diving (Leonard’s imaginary idyllic future) instead of the remote ranching Holden considers.  To me, the connections between Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock and Catcher in the Rye, between Leonard and Holden, were so strong that I assume Quick intended to emulate and pay homage to Salinger’s masterpiece.

In the case of Blackmoore, I hardly even need to assume the emulation and homage.  With a main character nicknamed Kitty, her sister Maria, family friends named “Delafield” (not far off from Sense & Sensibility’s location of “Delaford,”) a love interest named Henry, and supporting characters including a Mr. Brandon and an aunt Charlotte, the names themselves in Blackmoore make it hard to avoid thinking of Austen.  Add in a scandal at Brighton involving a sister, a sister who refuses to control her emotions, and a heroine who resolutely declares her intentions never to marry (before, of course, falling in love), and it seems obvious to me as a reader and Austen-lover that Donaldson, also, loves Austen and was inspired by her.

But reading these books so close to each other made me wonder, where is the line between an homage, or a book strongly influenced by another work, and a book that is straight-up derivative?  I’m not sure there are any hard and fast rules here, but both books made me ask this question. 

I think my enjoyment of Leonard Peacock and Blackmoore was definitely influenced by how much they reminded me of two of my favorites, and the influence by and large was negative, especially at first.  Reading Leonard Peacock, for instance, I spent the first chunk of the book getting distracted from the story by how much it resembled Catcher in the Rye, and comparing it to the classic.  And there’s not much I could possibly compare to Salinger’s opus and that would come out on top.  I have always adored Catcher in the Rye.  Eventually the story took over, and I did find myself invested in Leonard and his story independently of how much I was reminded of Holden and his story.  But I never stopped making the comparisons.  And while Leonard had his own character and his own story, the stylistic and thematic similarities to Catcher in the Rye did not fade, and overall, damaged my enjoyment of the work.  I’m still not sure I would call Leonard Peacock derivative, but I would certainly say the homage/influence aspect missed the mark.

I experienced Blackmoore a little differently.  Initially, all my complaints inspired by the similarities to Austen were based on my own, Austen-inspired view of the time and society that the story was set in.  Every time Kate did or thought something that didn’t jive with my sense of what was correct in Austen’s world, I would sniff to myself that clearly Donaldson hadn’t done her research.  Now, I am in no way an expert on the regency period and early 1800s England, and it’s been years since I read a regency romance, so I’m quite sure that I was probably incorrect about my assumptions of incorrectness, and Donaldson undoubtedly did plenty of research.  But because the book reminded me so much of Austen, I couldn’t help comparing it to the exact world portrayed in her novels.  But after a few times reminding myself of all the reasons Blackmoore was a different creature from Austen’s novels – Blackmoore is a romance, is explicitly aimed at young adults, is narrated in the first person, etc. – I was able to let go of a lot of the comparisons.  I was sucked into an enjoyable story, and trying to spot the frequent Austen references (or what I interpreted as Austen references) became just a fun game for me as I read.  Blackmoore, then, I would place squarely into the “homage” category, and I think it was a well-done homage at that.

So what would make a book completely derivative?  I think the key with Leonard Peacock and Blackmoore is that they are both good books, independent of their influences.  They were enjoyable reads, thought-provoking (in very different ways!) and books I could and would have enjoyed and understood without ever having read Salinger or Austen.  And perhaps that’s all it takes to keep a book in the “influenced by” and “homage to” (even if one homage was, in my opinion, off the mark) territory rather than the “derivative” territory – quality.  Certainly I think that made the difference in these two books.

Comfort

This is not how I intended to inaugurate this blog, but on Wednesday, my family lost a beloved pet.  Sam was a 9 year old German Shepherd we’d raised from a puppy.  He was my younger brother’s dog first and foremost, but we all loved him and cared for him, and he loved all of us.  He was older, arthritic, cranky at the new puppy, but still as loyal and affectionate as ever to the end.  He communicated with us primarily through a diverse vocabulary of groans, moans, and sighs.  He never needed a leash, though he would get excited when he saw one since he knew it meant walk time.  He loved to play with rocks – chewing on them, attacking them, or pulling them out of a lake.  He wasn’t big on cuddling, but he sure did love to be right by his people (sometimes underfoot) and would often follow us around the house or yard.  He was extremely smart, brave, and sweet-natured.  I could go on and on about what a fantastic dog he was.  Suffice it to say that we are heartbroken, and missing him already.

When I got the news, I cried of course.  A lot.  I went for a walk.  And then I abandoned the Advanced Reader’s Copy of a book that I had been devouring, and turned to my bookshelf.  In hard times, I always turn to books, and always books I already know and love.  The need is so compelling I feel like I hardly have a choice.  I can always find a book to suit my mood and give me the escape I need.  Nothing immerses me and takes me away from my sorrow like a book.  And there are several wonderful comfort books on my shelves.

These books are not always just “comfort” reading.  What makes  them comforting is that they are, by and large, my favorite books.  I love them already, I have already read them over and over, yet every time I pick them up – for fun or as a salve for hurt – I fall into them just as quickly and easily as the last time.  This, for me, is what makes them comforting – the fact that I can always immerse myself, no matter how many times I’ve read them.  On Wednesday, I picked up Sunshine, by Robin McKinley.  This is a book that definitely makes it onto my list of top five favorite books, one I am always wanting to re-read, and one that successfully distracted me – at least for a little bit – from what I was feeling.  I also looked at Tamora Pierce and Jane Austen books, but Sunshine won out this time, and absolutely gave me what I needed.  Another reliable favorite is The Picture of Dorian Gray.  I remember a night in college when, emotional and sobbing after a fight with a roommate, I picked up Dorian Gray at four in the morning and began to read.  And it soothed me.  I have read that particular book so often, I can’t remember when it was a treat in times of joy, when it was a balm in times of pain, and when I picked it up just because I couldn’t wait to read it again – I have used it so many times for so many reasons.

There is so much more to these favorites, and the others I have picked up over time to drown my sorrows in, than just being comfort books.  But they have always come through for me when I am hurting.  And I am so grateful right now to be a reader, and have these wonderful, comforting volumes waiting for me when I need them most.