Best Books I Read in 2013

With the New Year just around the corner, it is time to jump on the list making bandwagon. Everywhere you look there are best of 2013 lists for every quantifiable thing imaginable. This year at Musings for a Leather Chair I have put together my own list, of the Best Books I Read in 2013. I must say, this year was an interesting one in terms of my book intake. According to Goodreads, a nifty website where you can track the books you’ve read and find suggestions for similar picks, I read 43 books this year. I had joined in the reading challenge hoping to finish 50 and I’m not entirely sure that I haven’t hit that, since all the reading for grad school has to add up to at least a few books.

Regardless, what stood out to me while looking over my Goodreads list and trying to choose books for my best of list was that 2013 was the year of re-reading. Nearly every single book I read this year I had already read, be it years ago or even just months before. I know some people hate the idea of re-reading a book. They have been there and done that and feel no need to revisit a plot they already know. For me, re-reading is like tucking into your favorite comfort food, or hanging out with friends you have had all your life. To open pages you have turned before and follow along on adventures with characters that you feel utterly connected to is a special thing. It is a comforting thing. You know your favorite books will never let you down, and so at least in my case, I go back to them time and time again.  I made a lot of changes in 2013, from finally landing my professional coaching job and moving out of my parent’s house to starting to train for athletics again and attending a new grad school campus. With all these changes whisking me one way or another, I read books that could keep me in one place for a while.

With that being said, I now present to you (in no particular order) Musings from a Leather Chair’s Best Books I Read in 2013:

1. The Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss –A fantasy series that I am positive will be my absolute favorite by the time it is over, eclipsing the likes of A Song of Ice and Fire and The Lord of the Rings. Rothfuss has two books in the series so far, The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear.
2. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green – A darkly funny love story about kids with cancer. I have yet to find a John Green novel I don’t like, but this one made me cry and laugh within a hundred pages of each other and so wins a spot on this list.
3. A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. LeGuin – Thank God my boyfriend made me re-read this book. It was so much better than in fifth grade. LeGuin creates a fully realized fantasy world that tries to answer the bigger questions of human existence.
4. The Beka Cooper (Provost’s Dog) Trilogy by Tamora Pierce – Tammy has once again given the reader a heroine to be proud of. Beka is shy, funny, incredibly loyal, smart and perhaps one of my favorites among Pierce’s extensive body of work. The police work provides mystery and a new setting in a world I was used to seeing from the point of view of a knight or mage.
5. Ender’s Game and Ender’s Shadow by Orson Scott Card – Despite Card having political views that I adamantly disagree with, he knows how to write spectacular science fiction. The characters are deep and the story sneakily philosophical between the fun space battles.
6. The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins – I will re-read these books forever. I love Katniss and the complexities of her character and I love that Collins resisted the urge to make these books merely teenage romance and instead strove for something deeper, darker and in the end way more engaging to read. Plus I love the movies and think Jennifer Lawrence is a goddess.
7. City of Bohane by Kevin Barry – A wonderfully original work by an up and coming Irish author. Bohane is a new take on the violence and dark humor that has consumed many Irish texts for the last decade. There are ridiculous characters that you root for and a poetic spirit to the novel that was unexpected. If you like the movie Snatch then this is a must read.
8. The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman – I cannot believe I hadn’t read any Gaiman up until this point. A beautiful story told simply, as the best ones are. This is the kind of book I can image reading to my kids years from now and still enjoying it.
9. The Will of the Empress by Tamora Pierce – I know, Pierce has already shown up on here, but this is by far my favorite book out of all of her works. Characters who I met when we were both ten years old have now grown up and I love them all the more for it. There is plenty of magic and sass and women doing badass things in various ways and I know I will come back to this book over and over again as the years go by.
10. The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown – Of course a rowing book would make it on here, and what a rowing book it is. A historical work of non-fiction telling the story of the 1936 Olympics in Berlin and the US rowers who went over and won a gold medal right under Hitler’s nose. The book gives us the rowers’ stories and a remarkably human look at surviving in the Great Depression. Regardless of whether or not you row, this is a book worth reading. 

The Belgariad & The Mallorean

 

First of all, a hearty apology that I have been remiss in my reviewing for so long. Life, as it has a way of doing, got in the way of literature for a while. In November I completed National Novel Writing Month, which although is a tremendous flurry of words and excitement leaves very little room for actual reading. That being said, I have a new sort of review for y’all today, one that has been in the works since the middle of September. I have decided to review not only two books, but two entire series at the same time, since they fit wonderfully together and have a few quirks that cannot be noticed without talking about both. Therefore, I present to you, The Belgariad and The Mallorean, by David Eddings.

            I first read both series when I was in middle school. That is not to say that they are geared specifically towards children in any way, but more a testament to storytelling that is broad enough to hold the attention of multiple audiences. I found that re-reading as an adult allowed me to pick up tons of things that had simply gone over my head at the age of eleven, the most obvious being the sarcastic humor these novels are practically saturated in. Eddings has truly mastered snarky characters and clever dialogue, which raises these two series up out of the typical magical adventure plot to something a lot more fun.

            Now then, to business. The Belgariad is the first series, comprised of five novels: Pawn of Prophecy, Queen of Sorcery, Magician’s Gambit, Castle of Wizardry and Enchanter’s Endgame. They follow the story of Garion, a young boy who lives on a farm with his Aunt Pol and an old storyteller Garion calls Mister Wolf. One night Aunt Pol wakes Garion, telling him they must leave the farm, and they, along with Mister Wolf, set out on an unknown adventure. They are soon joined by a host of other companions as they journey throughout the continent, meeting royalty of diverse nations on a quest to reclaim the mysterious Orb of Aldur that has been stolen by a devious disciple of the sleeping dark god Torak. Already I can see questions rising in the readers mind. Who is Torak? What is the Orb? How are these farm hands qualified to visit royalty and get the Orb back? At this point I’m going to throw out a huge SPOILER ALERT! Proceed with caution.

            At the beginning of Pawn of Prophecy, and every subsequent novel, Eddings includes a prologue that has been taken from some sort of prophecy or in book scholarship. The first is describing how the gods made the earth and chose particular nations as followers. Among these gods were Aldur and Torak. Aldur is a benevolent god, choosing no one as followers and instead teaching a handful of those talented in the art of sorcery. Torak is an arrogant and power hungry god, ruler of the Angaraks and evil at his core. When Aldur creates a stone more perfect that anything else in the world and filled with power that cannot be matched, Torak is overwhelmed with desire and steals the so called Orb. Warriors set out to steal the orb, the world is cracked by Torak in an effort to keep his prize, and yet good ultimately wins out, with the people of the West reclaiming the Orb and forcing Torak into an enchanted sleep, his body ruined but his mind merely subdued for the time being.

            Aunt Pol is really Polgara the Sorceress, famed daughter of Mister Wolf, better known to the world as Belgarath the Sorcerer. They have been tasked with hiding an ancient bloodline of kings who the world thinks is wiped out. This particular bloodline, of Riva, is the only one who can touch the Orb without suffering immediate maiming and death.

As we pick back up with the books, Polgara and Belgarath lead their company across the continents of the West in search of the Orb, with Garion in tow. Garion realizes slowly who his family actually is, and by the middle of the series, realizes he is the heir to the bloodline so carefully protected by Polgara and Belgarath. He is the only one who can touch the Orb and bring it back to Riva where Garion will take his rightful place as King. As one can imagine, this is a bit much for a boy who starts this journey at the age of fourteen. However, part of the beauty of the series is watching Garion grow into his true identity as a sorcerer, eventual king and the only person who can defeat Torak in an ultimate battle of good and evil. Eddings plays with the idea of fate and destiny, making use of prophecy to drive his characters toward the climactic battle in the last book. Through some useful digging around on Wikipedia, I found that Eddings intentionally titled his books with chess piece names and fantasy twist, to further emphasize the game aspect of things.

 Garion is the Child of Light, guided by one prophecy, and Torak the Child of Dark, guided by another and only one of them may survive, to decide the fate of the world. By the time this final battle takes place, the company has recovered the Orb; Garion has claimed his throne and true name, Belgarion, sorcerer and protector of the Orb and has matured into his role of savior.

            Now this whole series would be horribly tedious if it weren’t for the characters that make up Garion’s traveling companions. Eddings chooses to bring levity to many situations that would simply flounder in overwhelming darkness otherwise, and for that I thank him. If not for Silk, a clever merchant-prince, and Barak, a huge warrior with a quick mouth, I probably would have not finished the series. It is their banter with each other and Belgarath, and Polgara’s staunch disapproval that makes The Belgariad more than just a typical fantasy series.

            I know this is getting long, so allow me to move onto The Mallorean. Again, the series is comprised of five books: Guardians of the West, King of the Murgos, Demon Lord of Karanda, Sorceress of Darshiva and The Seeress of Kell.

 In this series we again follow Garion, along with Polgara and Belgarath and a host of characters, new and old, on another quest for something that has been stolen. In this case that stolen thing is Garion’s son, the heir to the Rivan throne. The new Child of Dark has kidnapped the baby and it comes to light that the battle between Torak and Garion was no in fact the final battle of good and evil. It seems that this time when the Child of Dark and the Child of Light come together everything will be decided. I can already hear you all going “huh?” Yes, this does seem like a complete rehashing of the plot of the first series and in a way it completely is. Yes, there are new characters, who I must say are even funnier than the last bunch, and new countries, but in the end the plot is nearly identical. Instead of plowing onwards and pretending the parallels aren’t there, Eddings makes use of them. In a wonderful moment of meta-literary awareness, Garion points out to Belgarath that events feel like they have all happened before. Instead of being held back by reusing the same plot, Eddings has made The Mallorean hinge upon that repetition. I will refrain from going in depth with the plot of The Mallorean, but I will say that I prefer this second series to the first.

            Part of why I am drawn to The Mallorean over The Belgariad is Garion’s character development. In the second series he is a full-fledged adult. He has become a well-liked and successful ruler, and has even managed to pick up on some of that sarcastic wit he was surrounded with during his adolescence. In short, Garion is funny as all hell and holds together a second series that otherwise wouldn’t really have any business existing.

            Eddings not only does humor well, but he has a gift for imagining new worlds and creating them for his reader with vivid detail. Every new setting the characters wander into was perfectly clear in my mind. He on occasion waxes poetic as he describes something, but for the most part the language serves as means of introduction to yet another new place. To have so many fully realized countries and races of people is a triumph when done well, and Eddings certainly has. I would put Eddings in the same realm of authors like Tolkien, G.R.R. Martin, Patrick Rothfuss and Robert Jordan. He might not have the same poetic command of language that Rothfuss and Tolkien share, but he has managed to create a world I am willing to revisit and a cast of memorable characters that I encourage you, my readers, to discover.

Flat Water Tuesday

I just finished my advanced readers copy of Ron Irwin's Flat Water Tuesday that I had won in a photography contest months ago. Grad school being what it is, I haven’t read a book for pleasure in two months, so I made up for lost time by reading Flat Water Tuesday in one day. I’ve never read an advanced copy before and didn’t quite know what to expect. Aside from some several continuity and misnaming mistakes, it was much like any other book. As a reader those mistakes annoyed me, because for a moment they took me out of the story. I had to go back, reread and make sure I was still following who was speaking to who, or if I was still involved with the character who’d been mentioned earlier. As a writer though, these mistakes did the opposite. They fascinated me. Why did Irwin decide (apparently half way through the story) that this character was from New York instead of Boston? Why did he choose the names he did for his characters? How important was it that one particular character said one particular thing to another? Changes, when left unnoticed serve as a tiny insight into the authors process, something we don’t often see in a finished work. But enough about the issues of my particular copy; you are interested in the story itself.

            Growing up in New England and attending a small NESCAC college, I have a soft spot in my heart for the preppy private school stories. I’ve read quite a few and they never fail to intrigue me. Flat Water Tuesday fulfills the majority of the stereotypes that run rampant in this prep school genre. Rob Carrey is a scholarship kid who arrives at the Fenton School and immediately feels at odds with the rich students. The emphasis on class differences dissipates as the story continues, but the idea that poor kids and rich kids can never fully understand each other is definitely there. Of course, then there is the misunderstood rich kid stereotype that the character of Connor Payne fills perfectly. Just because they have it all in terms of good looks, athleticism and money doesn’t mean they don’t crave the affection of distant parents. Connor is the charming, arrogant male that the protagonist must work against until ultimately the two come to respect each other. Check. There is the dark and mysterious female who intrigues but is off limits in someway, just waiting to be the source of unrequited love. Check. Throw in the older coach/teacher figure and a glorification of rule breaking and Flat Water Tuesday easily joins the family of stories like The Starboard Sea, A Separate Peace and Dead Poets Society. Where Irwin triumphs is when he breaks out of this stereotypical mold, not only by bypassing the usual homosexual longings that accompany stories of boys at boarding schools, but also instead giving the reader solid, accurate depth in the rowing scenes of the novel, and using a complex framing story to keep character perspective changing.

            So about that rowing. Basic plot of the book is Rob Carrey is a sculler from upstate New York, comes to Fenton to do a post grad year and row. The team has a race against a rival school that means everything and the training and competition for this race makes up the bulk of the story. I probably enjoyed this book more than most because I am a rower and a coach of the sport as well. Irwin writes with accuracy about the finer details of rowing, although is emphasis lies more with the pain of training than the near spiritual experience of rowing down the river perfectly in time with the other athletes in the boat. I am ok with this uneven representation only because I know the endless hours of work that go into creating one perfect stoke. Perhaps other readers will now understand that although rowing looks beautiful and effortless, a lot of sweat, blood and tears go into making it look that way. A race is a fight to the death inside the boat and inside a rower’s head.

            Irwin has a talent for putting us in the rower’s head and in the moment of the story. Again, I might have appreciated this more being a rower. At one point Irwin is describing the minutes just before an erg test and my stomach was in knots, thinking back to all those times when I’d stood in front of an erg and prepared to do battle. As I read that same horrible nervous feeling settled upon me and when Irwin mentioned the test piece was 2500 meters instead of today’s standard 2000 I literally had to close the book and shudder. The thought of an extra 500 meters of absolute effort made me want to cry, but props to Irwin for managing to put me deep into his story to feel that way.

            In other areas Irwin’s technique becomes suspect. He starts with the most subtle foreshadowing but it grows to the point where about half way through the book I knew what was going to happen. Granted I had started the book with a few suspicions and had pretty much called the plot a few chapters in, but thanks to Irwin’s detail about rowing and the general pacing of the story, I didn’t mind. By the end of the novel though the foreshadowing has become so obvious one of the characters calls attention to it. “I can’t believe he did this. It’s the exact same thing that this guy did,” (to paraphrase). Now this moment can either be read as wonderfully meta-literary, with Irwin showing a sense of humor about his own work, or it is worthy of a double face palm for the way it patronizes the reader, forcing them to acknowledge foreshadowing that they obviously already picked up on. I’d like to believe the former, since the rest of Irwin’s writing, particularly the framing story, is quite good.

            Ah the framing story. Besides the rowing bits, this was by far my favorite element of Flat Water Tuesday. Here Irwin gives the reader the perspective of Rob Carrey fifteen years after he graduates from Fenton.  It is a story of a modern relationship and the terrible tragedies of life that is told in a genuine voice that I loved reading. Rob has been living with his girlfriend Carolyn for five years and their relationship is failing. Slowly, over the course of the novel we find out why and this was the only part of the book that emotionally moved me. Carolyn is a wonderfully complex character and the situation she and Rob find themselves in will tug at any heartstrings. Their story could probably stand alone as a novel in its own right. That being said, it ties in relatively seamlessly with Rob’s recollections of his year at Fenton and the two plot lines come crashing together at the end of the novel in an ending that while not necessarily satisfying still worked for me on the whole. If you are a rower this is a must read. If you aren’t but just enjoy human emotion, I’d say go for it as well.  

Hi everyone! I just wanted to chat a bit about something not related to any particular book. First off, I'm heading back up to the mountain this summer for my second year of my MA at Bread Loaf School of English. I am super excited, both in general and specifically because I am taking a course called Writing for Children. We get to read Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are and a whole host of other kids books and just yay! Further academic pursuit of children's lit!

Second is a weird annoyance I'm having with Game of Thrones and people who haven't read the book. Normally I don't care but as everyone knows by now The Red Wedding happened this season and people who haven't read the book freaking out about it just seems weird or naive. Like people expect that main characters are here to stay and don't see GRRM cackling in a corner as he kills of more and more people over the course of the books. The book gives more of a lead up to the events of the wedding and while readers are still completely shocked, I think they have a better understanding of the overall political structure that led to it, as opposed to TV viewers who only have the plot established by the show to justify something utterly terrible. I don't know, just a weird reaction I've been having. My final words on it are go read the damn books and be devastated ahead of time with the rest of us.

Cheers everyone. Happy reading!

A Wizard of Earthsea

I remember in elementary school we were required to read Ursula K. LeGuin’s A Wizard of Earthsea. Per usual when is comes to books I’ve been forced to read I formed the idea that it was not a good book and I didn’t like it at all. The only thing I actually remember from that first read was learning the word archipelago. Not exactly something to base a life long dislike on. However I am happy to report that thanks to my boyfriend’s urging I gave A Wizard of Earthsea another shot, and boy am I happy that I did. Not only did I discover a novel filled with utterly beautiful prose but I realized what LeGuin was trying to show her readers through a seemingly simple tale of a young mage.

            I’m sure you’re yelling at your computer screen right now, “What was she trying to show? What is this great and mysterious point?” Well, brace yourselves. Here goes a full on BA in English explanation. We are all going to die. The sooner we accept that most basic fact of life, acknowledge our own mortality and make it a part of ourselves, the sooner we truly begin to live. It is simple, but true and LeGuin takes an entire novel to explore and explain this truth.

LeGuin gives her protagonist Ged a strange shadow beast that he released into the world as an arrogant child as his mortality materialized. The entire novel centers on Ged’s search to find the shadow that haunts him and threatens him, darkening his entire life until that ultimate moment when he finds the creature and speaks its true name. LeGuin’s plot relies heavily upon the age-old fantasy trope of everything and every person having a true name that may be used by mages to hold power over it. A man only tells his true name to those he trusts most, and thus when Ged speaks the shadows name he finally masters it and holds it in his power. By mastering his mortality he brings light back into his life, not vanquishing death but accepting it as a part of his soul and the eventuality of time. Because I am a Harry Potter nerd I will draw this comparison. LeGuin is using a concept similar to the end of Deathly Hallows, where Harry must sacrifice himself and accept death in order to truly overcome the “shadow” (read Voldemort) that haunts and threatens him. By allowing himself to face the possibility of death and claim it as his own Harry defeats Voldemort and goes on to (we hope) lead a life that is more enlightened by the truth of mortality.

But enough English major babble and theory. When all is said and done A Wizard of Earthsea is a beautifully written story. LeGuin’s prose is more like poetry as she deftly creates a world of island kingdoms and inhabits that world with characters that are richly varied. Occasionally the plot and Ged’s brooding upon how to defeat his shadow borders on repetitive, but I’m of the opinion LeGuin is trying to hammer a point home. Perhaps that is why I was made to read the novel as a rather young child. The main theme is made obvious for those who are willing to see it.

I liked that LeGuin also works through a range of emotions with Ged. True, he is most often the dark and brooding hero, mysterious with his great power, but he starts out as an arrogant and prideful boy. The reader sees him be clever, develop a friendship that could be described as true platonic love, and even flirt a bit, although Ged has no idea what he’s doing in that arena. He shows compassion for other men and animals in particular and redeems the arrogance of his youth by taking responsibility for his actions. I’d say he is a fine character for young people to read and learn from, and even adults too. I certainly had my eyes opened.

I have two complaints about the novel and one I will admit is rather trivial. There is a particular animal that I, and I’m sure most other readers, come to love and it doesn’t make it to the end of the novel. It was like Hedwig dying all over again. Very sad. My more legitimate complaint is that women are very much secondary characters throughout the novel. Yes, LeGuin wrote this in the 1970’s, female fantasy protagonists weren’t exactly the norm yet, but it still irks me that every woman presented is either incredibly simplified or carries some kind of threat because they use magic for dark purposes. Men are established as higher than women in his society, the only ones taught magic and naming and the only ones expected to wield power. This fact won’t take away from the story and I only mention it because of my study of female characters in fantasy works. Otherwise I highly recommend A Wizard of Earthsea and look forward to hunting down the sequels and seeing if they live up to the first.

The Fault in Our Stars

 

When it comes to books, I’m not usually a crier. Movies of course. Plays occasionally. A well-done commercial has even evoked a tear a time or two. There is a specific formula to get me to cry. An animal dies (dear God Marley and Me just about killed me), families being separated forever, lovers staying together despite all odds (end of the Notebook, end of Titanic) and of course someone dying of some sort of terminal disease. Amazingly, John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars hits on the majority of those triggers, provoking tears for at least the last 50 pages if not more and yet never for a moment did the story feel contrived or formulaic in any way.

            I’m already a huge fan of John Green and his take on young adult literature. He writes about teenagers like they are actually people, not trying to teach them something but writing truly for them. It’s a refreshing take on a genre that is littered with generic coming of age stories and paranormal romances. Green tackles true love in a realistic way, facing the challenges of life with another person with honesty instead of ideals. He doesn’t shy away from sexuality, but doesn’t rely on it to sell his novels or legitimize his characters relationships. Green writes about people and the tragedies and triumphs that we all face throughout life, and he does so with humor, elegance, grace (never thought I’d ever use that adjective) relevance and skill.

            By now you might actually want to hear about the book, ‘eh? The Fault in Our Stars centers around Hazel, a teenage girl with terminal lung cancer and Augustus, a teen who lost one of his legs to cancer and is in a shaky state of remission. The two meet at a support group for “cancer kids” that both Hazel and Augustus view with a hearty does of disdain. Their attraction to each other is immediate and the novel follows that developing relationship, as they navigate the waters of first love while confronting their own fast approaching mortality. Neither Hazel nor Gus (as Augustus is called) is the type to wallow in despair, but they are both deeply intellectual. They think deeper about life, particularly Gus, and both connect with a novel called An Imperial Affliction, whose author is a mysterious man from Amsterdam who they begin to have contact with. At this point I struggle to say more about the plot without ruining many of the nuanced twists and turns that Green has written, and so I’ll speak broadly.

            Hazel and Gus give the reader an inside look at cancer and the kids who suffer from it. They joke about “cancer perks,” things like signed basketballs and special treatment at restaurants and theme parks, using their humor to mask how much they hate being treated differently. Above all Green emphasizes that despite suffering from cancer, Gus and Hazel are teenagers and they do have lives outside of fighting and being strong, all while knowing they will die. They have wonderful banter back and forth that definitely elicited chuckles from me throughout the novel and as the pages began to dwindle the tears began to flow as I realized my time with them was coming to an end.

            The Fault in Our Stars is a devastatingly beautiful novel, filled with humor, compassion, and insight and above all, everlasting love. Remember, it isn’t easy for a book to make me cry and this one managed it handily, and therefore you should all go read it as well and let yourself experience such emotion for yourself. Once you’ve done that, go read everything else John Green has written and follow his YouTube videos. He is a remarkable author who I have tremendous respect for and I look forward to reading the rest of his work.

The Typewriter Girl

When I first picked up Allison Atlee's The Typewriter Girl, I was so excited to read it. The book seemed like the perfect trifecta of noveldom. A pretty pastel washed cover featuring Victorian era clothing and the open ocean, a sassy lower class English girl overcoming class differences to find love and the author was a Bread Loaf grad! Always one to support my fellow Bread Loafers, I bought the book, brought it home and made my way very, very slowly through it. New job, exhausting hours, it was just hard to stay awake and read once I snuggled into bed. I am sad this was my reading process for this book, for I think that is perhaps the reason The Typewriter Girl really didn’t do it for me. When I first picked up Alison Atlee’s

            When I say didn’t do it for me, I mean that the book never really seemed to click in place. The protagonist’s actions seemed hurried and disjointed, each portion of the story stretching out over too long a time or not enough time at all. The more I read, the more I felt that I was being presented with stock characters instead of new people to meet and enjoy. Elisabeth Dobson, our heroine, is a strong lower class English girl who has found herself in one too many sticky situations and now sees her job at a seaside entertainment resort her last chance. She has modern ideas about sexuality that are refreshing for the time, but otherwise her sensibilities don’t set her apart from the rest of the Eliza Doolittle types in literature. Elisabeth’s object of affection is Mr. Jones, a Welsh engineer who is even more of a stereotype than Elisabeth. Jones has pulled himself up by his bootstraps, overcome class differences and the snobbery of the aristocracy to make his way in life and we never get to forget that. The love story that develops between Elisabeth and Mr. Jones moves quickly and predictably, with only a few surprises thrown in to keep things interesting. I was sad that I figured out the ending far before the final pages.

            Timing and plot aside, Atlee has provided quite the cast of characters to keep the reader entertained, if not to actually aid the plot along. We get the rough and tumble workers of the seaside town, the savvy hoteliers who employ Elisabeth, the kind family who she lives with and the aristocracy who are painted broadly as out of touch, shallow and rather conniving. I found myself more intrigued by some of the secondary characters than by our protagonist.

            Atlee does have a wonderful sense of how to create a scene. Perhaps if one looks at the novel as a set of scenes instead of a tightly flowing plot things will work out better for them. There are moments when Atlee perfectly states what being in love is like, or how it feels to lose a child or the hidden sides to all conversations and interactions. The scenery is treated nicely, not overdone but used to add to the particular scene being tackled.

            I fear I am beginning to ramble and write with the same disjointed feeling the novel gave me. Again, I’ll state that part of that feeling came from reading over too fragmented a length of time. For a first novel, I give Atlee credit for not being afraid to take chances, even if they end up falling into the realms of predictable or awkward. Overall she has presented a story that aims to charm and entertain and I will grudgingly admit she has achieved that. Give The Typewriter Girl a chance; let Elisabeth try to charm you and Mr. Jones seduce you. Who knows, they might just succeed.

On the Road

I'll give you fair warning on this one. I didn't go for academia. I went for annoyed rant. Read at your own peril and don't expect intellectual thoughtfulness.
 

On the Road was a book that has been sitting in my to read pile for quite some time. I come across people who constantly recommend it, saying that it is their favorite book. So to all those people (Jimbo & Taylor esp.) I apologize in advance. On the Road did nothing for me besides make me incredibly happy that I didn’t grow up in the Beat Generation.

            You all know that I don’t like to start a review off on such a negative note, so allow me to explain myself. I have no problem with author Jack Kerouac’s actual prose. In fact his style was such a departure to what I normally read that I found myself drawn into the language in a way that I haven’t experienced in a while. As his characters get excited so do Kerouac’s words, stacking one on top of the other in a stream of consciousness wave, creating combinations that shouldn’t work but somehow are exactly right. His paragraphs run or jump or simply stroll along as needed and this style is certainly suitable for a novel about rootless people who spend their lives in various states of travel and excitement. So I truly have no problem with the words. The characters however are a completely different story.

            The narrator Sal has no backbone whatsoever and I constantly wanted to hit him and tell him he was being an idiot, following his aimless friend into hopeless situations time and time again. He idolizes Dean, a man with no purpose in life who lives without recognizing there are consequences to his actions. It is a mystery to me why anyone would want to follow around such a fuck up. Dean is a terrible friend to everyone, Sal in particular, and yet no one seems to wise up and leave him behind until the very end of the novel. There has to be more to life than sex and drugs and wild nights and yet no one in this story seems to agree. Perhaps my view of this is skewed by having not lived in the Beat Generation. I didn’t grow up during WWII and have the horrors of life thrust into my face early on. I don’t feel the need to prove to myself that I am alive by “digging” everything around me, partying and traveling and refusing to settle into a life that could easily be taken away. Maybe you need that perspective to enjoy this novel. Maybe you just need to know what if feels like to have no direction, no purpose or ambition. I don’t know. I’m lucky enough to have all of those things and so I can’t get to the level Sal and Dean and the rest of their cohort are operating on. I can’t imagine leaving behind a steady job to hitchhike across the country with no plan or money in my pocket. Instead of being inspired by the spontaneity and freedom with which these characters live their lives I am turned off by it and have no desire to join them even with the novels pages as my shield.

            So that’s my initial rant. A more concrete reason as to why I dislike Sal so much is that his character is woefully inconsistent when it comes to the details of his life. I can’t pin him down, and as one of the more stable characters I am presented with, that bothers me.

            As I’m writing this I realize that I really didn’t like this novel at all. I would try and spin things so that I could at least talk about the language with a higher regard, but I honestly can’t. I found the novel boring, the characters infuriating, the language meandering with moments of brilliance and that is the sum of it. That being said, On the Road is in the great literary cannon for a reason and even if I couldn’t find it there is no reason you shouldn’t. Take a chance. Hitch a ride. Maybe the Beat Generation is for you.

An Interesting Interview

Well, I've never actually read anything by Jodi Picoult, mainly because I've formed a strange stigma about her work in my head. My elitist brain tells me that her work isn't worth reading because it's been so commercialized. Clearly my elitist brain needs to get a swift kick in the ass. Having read so many different genres and so many different authors by now, I know that making a judgment about a book just because it has been mainstreamed is awfully hipster of me. I mean, I've made an academic study of young adult novels. Clearly I'm not the one to be judging any writer or reader. That being said, I love how sassy Picoult is in this interview and will definitely be picking up some of her work in the future. Enjoy the read!

Interview with Jodi Picoult

The Name of the Wind

It’s hard to write a review after I’ve just named Night Circus as my favorite book of the year. Reading something else isn’t hard, and falling in love with it isn’t hard either, although I’m sure some sort of literary cheating is occurring. I’m willing to risk that though to talk about The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss’s debut novel. This book is a genius example of how the ideas of storytelling can still change and it was truly a pleasure to read.

            The reader first meets an innkeeper called Kote, standing alone in the “three part” silence of his empty inn. The silence, delicately imagined with a variety of imagery, falls back into this man, as though he were a black hole. Rothfuss writes, “It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.” What the hell sound a cut flower makes, I couldn’t begin to tell you, but the fact that Rothfuss makes it make sense in this context says a lot for his newly revealed literary talent. From the beginning of the novel I had a sense of foreboding, but not the heavy handed foreshadowing that so often fantasy novels fall prey to in some sort of prologue. That sense is heightened as the usual crowd gathers in the inn, only to be interrupted by one of their fellows bursting in covered in blood and holding the corpse of what can only be described as the most terrifying spider ever imagined. Think legs like razor blades and a body like stone, nearly impossible to kill and out for your blood. Yeah, I agreed with the local men when they dubbed it a demon and was happy they were dealing with it in the confines of the book. But I digress.

After the high impact demon filled opening of the novel, it settles into a more subdued pace, as Kote, now known to us as Kvothe, begins to tell the story of his life to a scribe who has sought him out. We learn that Kvothe is a legend and curiosity is piqued as to how a man who has killed a dragon and entered the University at a crazy young age somehow ends up in a backwater tavern. Kvothe spins his tale carefully, telling Chronicler (the scribe who is way more important than is let on) of his childhood as a traveling player, his days of poverty in a frightening city and finally his acceptance into the University. Most of the novel’s action takes place at the University as Kvothe begins to grow up and learn about the great and dangerous powers of the world that are his to control. The story seems to meander through time as Kvothe remembers particular things, and yet the through line of the narrative remains clear and moving steadily forward. There is even a wonderful meta-narrative sort of thing happening, as Rothfuss artfully takes us out of the story Kvothe is telling and reminds the reader that this novel is a layered experience with brief interludes taking place in the novel’s present time.

This novel is a brick and I’ll do my best to not make this review a reflection of that. I didn’t feel like I was reading over seven hundred pages though, and I believe that it is a testament to Rothfuss knowing how to pace himself that didn’t have me throwing the book down half way through. He knows that an adventure story gets boring and so he gives Kvothe a romantic interest that keeps things lively. He knows that only using one setting stagnates a story and so his tale takes us through mountains and cities, universities and taverns, tapping into the characters populating each to create a rich world that rivals that of Middle Earth and Westeros. Rothfuss isn’t following the traditions of epic high fantasy to the letter, but he’s clearly been inspired by them and I look forward to his next novel in the series to see how these base themes he’s laid down hold up over a longer story arch. In particular I look forward to his continued treatment of magic as more of a science than a mystical force of the universe. I think this concept will slowly be abandoned for some reason, although I can’t quite put my finger on why I think so. Maybe any of you who read this can let me know your thoughts on the matter afterwards.

Oh dear, I’m quickly heading towards brick-ness. I’ll finish off with a quick run down of my likes and dislikes, to help you know what you’re getting into. I like Kvothe, his outlook on life, his intelligence and refreshing normalcy. I like the university in general and his life there. I like that he notices girls while still living up to the greatness we know he is destined for. I’m not a huge fan of the moments in the present, since that story has yet to come together as well. I’m dying to know why Kvothe and Kote are such different people despite being one man. I think that I don’t have dislikes so much as I have questions that need answers. That’s not a terrible place to be after finishing a book though, so I’ll take it. So there you go. Check it out; go on an adventure and perhaps you’ll find The Name of the Wind draws you in the way it did me.

Night Circus

The advent of a new year often brings about a great deal of reflection about the one slipping into the past. What milestones occurred? What were your favorite movies, songs, sporting triumphs and other such listable things? Of course, here at Musings from a Leather Chair, what I really care about is the best books of 2012, at least out of the ones I read. It seems almost serendipitous that I would read what I hands down consider to be the best book of this year (and perhaps this decade) right at the end of the year, just in the nick of time. Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern enthralled me for the last week of 2012 and is how you should usher in 2013.

            Night Circus was a novel I had been hearing about for quite a while. I would see it in bookstores and be drawn to its artsy cover that uses only red, black and white. I wouldn’t know this design was important to the actual plot of the story, but somehow I would feel connected to the book. Of course, I would then hem and haw about paying full price for a hard cover and walk away empty handed. That is until I was in my favorite used bookstore and found a paperback copy. I had it up at the counter as fast as I could move and dove into it as soon as I got home. Instead of then continuing to frantically read, flipping pages in a frenzy of energy, I slowed down. Night Circus is the first book in a long while that I savored. I read carefully, the plot pulling me along at just the right pace, keeping me engrossed in the story but not hurling too much at me at once. I had time to get a feel for each of the different characters and to understand how their lives would intersect by means of the most extraordinary circus ever imagined. It definitely helps that I happened to be on vacation when I was reading the majority of Night Circus. A beach in Jamaica will make anyone pause and linger over something enjoyable, and so I spent my days in the sun with Night Circus in hand, not wanting the story to end but dying to know what would happen next.

            The novel focuses on two competing magicians and their respective protégés, both of whom are pitted against each other in a lifelong competition of endurance and skill. The two young competitors know they are playing against each other but the scope of this test takes time to sink in, and as they each work within the circus to create wonders that are actually magical but taken as enchanting tricks, they slowly fall in love. It is an all-encompassing love that fills them and drives the second half of the novel to its thrilling and completely unexpected conclusion. It is also a relatively believable love, as far as stories go. Marco and Celia, the two illusionists, go through separation and jealousy and all the rest of the hurdles life throws at lovers, and it is their struggle that makes them human. There is something incredibly erotic about the dark setting of the circus and their competition against each other that suits the adult who wants to be enchanted but not coddled. Marco and Celia may possess magic of sorts, but magic isn’t a savior in Night Circus. It is more of a tormenting force kept at bay and twisted for good instead of consuming the world for evil.

            Most of the story takes place within the confines of Le Cirque de Reves, or the Circus of Dreams, a creation thought up by an English theatrical producer and several intriguingly quirky dreamers who attend his infamous Midnight Dinners. What the creators do not know is that one of those dreamers, the mysterious Mr. A.H, is actually Marco’s teacher and building up the circus as the arena for the competition. Still, competition space or no, the circus thrives when it finally becomes a reality, delighting audiences’ world wide with its mystery and its wonders. The circus only opens after dark and while it holds the same features of a circus in the late 1800’s, it also hides magic behind every corner. Think the circus from Water for Elephants plus an infusion of The Prestige type magic with a dash of Harry Potter for flavor. All in all, a delightful space for a novel to tell its story.

            Morgenstern takes an interesting approach to novel writing, splitting her sections into the past and present and working from multiple points of view. Her sections in the present are written in second person and immediately gripping, while her sections in the past are written in the present tense and seems to involve the reader more intimately than other stories. She is skilled at leaving mysteries for the reader to figure out. A character is never presented from all sides. There are parts to everyone that are left in the dark and we never fully get to figure any one person out. This makes for an active reading experience, as I was certainly always trying to piece things together and figure out the puzzle before the story would let me. I believe it is the mark of Morgenstern’s elegance and craft that this mystery did not distract me from the story but made me love it even more. Her words are straightforward but intoxicating, poetic but crisp at the same time. By the end of the novel I agreed with every review that was calling Night Circus “hauntingly beautiful” because that is exactly what it is.

            If you want magic, love, adventure, growing up, deception, action, dark fairytales and a down right beautifully suspenseful novel, read Night Circus. I am dubbing it the best book of 2012 and certainly looking forward to any more work Morgenstern produces in the future.