Book Recommendations: Graceling, I Am Not A Serial Killer, Alias Hook

Well, it's that time again. Three more book recommendations from yours truly! I tried to choose a diverse selection for this round.

Graceling, by Kristen Cashore

This book was published a few years ago, but I want to bring it back because it's fabulous. Graceling tells the story of Katsa, a very dangerous girl who has spent the latter half of her life under the employ of the king. In this realm, certain people are "graced" with particular talents; someone could be graced as an amazing cook, a particularly fast runner, a person with superhuman strength, and so on. Katsa is graced with killing. For years she does the king's dirty work for him, doling out punishments that are often disproportionate to the severity of the crimes committed. Her role makes her increasingly uncomfortable, however, and she finally decides to work against the king, in secret, instead of for him.

I love this book, and have for years. Katsa is a fantastic protagonist. She's fierce, but not without flaws. She's one of those strong female characters that readers of late so desperately (and rightly so!) crave. Crazily enough, she actually exists outside of her relationship with the love interest! Cashore's world-building is well done, and the concept of graces is a clever one. I think this is a great book not just for fantasy lovers, but for people looking to ease into the fantasy genre. This [YA] book is fantasy, but it doesn't hit you over the head with it. No dragons or wizards to be found here.

It might take a little bit to get into, but once it has you in its grip it won't let go until long after you've reached the last page. Fans of the Katniss Everdeen type will devour it.

I Am Not A Serial Killer, by Dan Wells

Horror-lovers, take note: this is a truly terrifying book. The protagonist is John Wayne Cleaver, a fifteen year old obsessed with serial killers. He is an expert in their histories and methods, and as such, when a serial killer comes to town and starts picking people off one by one, John considers it his personal responsibility to identify the criminal and stop him. The thing is, the killer's actions don't horrify John. They fascinate him. They delight him. John's secret? He's on the cusp of becoming a serial killer himself.

Honestly, this book scares the crap out of me. Through his narration, John becomes a very believable character, and for me, that is where the horror truly lies. The fact that there are actually people out there that think like John does. The one thing I'm not wild about is the slight supernatural element that the author brings in; I feel like John is a strong enough character to hold the book without this. Nevertheless, it's definitely worth the read. (And you'll fly through it.)

A frighteningly-insightful foray into the mind of a psychopath.

Alias Hook, by Lisa Jensen

I am a sucker for all things Peter Pan, so when I noticed Lisa Jensen’s Alias Hook sitting boldly on a bookshelf, outshining competitors with that beyond-gorgeous cover, I leapt at the chance to return to Neverland. The legendary Captain Hook is narrator here, and he tells us candidly of his origins and his greatest desire: to escape from Neverland, even if he must die to do so. Jensen does a brilliant job of bringing this world to life; in Hook, she gives us the rich history and complexity of the man behind the villain, and she beautifully restores Pan to the devilish, cruel persona that is too often lost in adaptations. Such a tale deserves a grand telling, and Jensen certainly rises to the challenge. Indeed, every sentence is constructed in such a thoughtful, pretty, even poetic way, that readers are reminded that writing is not just a device for churning out potboilers--it is an art.

This is without doubt one of my new favorite books. An absolute treat from start to finish.

Country Roads, Take Me Home

Thanksgiving morning. I wake in the bed I’ve had since childhood, though the house has changed. On the other side of the room, there’s a huge wooden wardrobe that my dad designed for me a decade ago, my old collection of Breyer horses lining the top. The random assortment of knick-knacks that once occupied the cabinets and shelves filling the top half of the furniture have been replaced over time by dozens and dozens of books. They’re over-crowded, and organized in that way that makes perfect sense to the organizer but not to anyone else. When I get up, I can look on my desk and find newspaper articles that my mom clipped for me in the months I’ve been away. I can open my closet and slip on the firetruck-red Converse sneakers that I wore all over Rome. 

~~~~

Home. It's a place that manages to be universal and completely individual all at once. Though it means different things to different people, it is generally a place of comfort and familiarity, one we regard with great fondness. A place, a group of people, even just a feeling. Full of memories, memories that are your family's and yours, yours alone.

My brother and I both made it home for the holiday this year. He’s in his first year of grad school, and I’m in my first year of my first job out of college, but for four and a half days, the whole family was together again. My parents of course were delighted, but so was I. I had been away for five months; I left in the beginning of July in search of a job and hadn't been back since. It was great to go home again, even for just a short while.

At some point during this visit, though, between the cooking and the reading and the playing with the cat and the talking and the gift-giving (we had an early Hanukkah, since the four of us were all together), it hit me: how often will this happen in the coming months? In the coming years? 

In college, breaks are scheduled every three to four months. I would usually go home during these, but now that I’ve graduated, it’s not so simple. I have far fewer days off, and flights are expensive. Home time is no longer built into the schedule.

There are lots of things that people will tell you about your first year out of college, but what I never really heard about was the new relationship that forms with “home.” When does home stop meaning the place where your parents live, and instead mean the place you now live on your own? When do you stop spending your money and days off on a trip to your house (your parents' house?) and put them instead towards a vacation someplace new?

As I boarded the plane bound back to New York, I wondered: is there a set point at which you’re supposed to stop going home?

~~~~

The captain tells the flight attendants to prepare for takeoff. I switch on my music and look past my brother, out the window and to a graying sky. One thought rises above the rest.

Be back soon.

In Defense of Children's and YA Books

A few days ago, The New Yorker published an article by Christopher Beha entitled "Henry James and the Great Y.A. Debate." In the article, Beha dismissed children's and young adult books as both unsuitable and unworthy reading for adults. Allow me to pull the following three quotes:

“The critic Ruth Graham wrote, for Slate, that adults should 'feel embarrassed about reading literature written for children.’” 

“The problem with [Donna Tart's] “The Goldfinch,” its detractors said, was that it was essentially a Y.A. novel. Vanity Fair quoted Wood as saying that 'the rapture with which this novel has been received is further proof of the infantilization of our literary culture: a world in which adults go around reading Harry Potter.'"

“Putting down 'Harry Potter' for Henry James is not one of adulthood’s obligations, like flossing and mortgage payments; it’s one of its rewards, like autonomy and sex. It seems to me not embarrassing or shameful but just self-defeating and a little sad to forego such pleasures in favor of reading a book that might just as easily be enjoyed by a child.”

This article intrigued me. Then it shocked me. Then it enraged me.

Children's and young adult books are vitally important. They reach young persons at an age when they are developing. When they're learning about the world. When their imaginations are brimming with what-ifs. When they're growing.

Now read that last paragraph again. Read it and really think. Developing, learning, imagining, growing. Are these not essential to adulthood as well?

In our twenty-first century society, we like to place this sharp distinction between childhood and adulthood. In fact, we break life down into a series of stages defined by age-brackets: infants, toddlers, children, pre-teens, teens, young adults, adults, seniors. As if there is a clear point at which a person leaves one stage and enters another.

In fact, the entire concept of "childhood" is a modern notion. The idea that children are innocent and need to be protected, that they need to be properly educated, socialized, and given plenty of play time, that they are distinctly different than adults and therefore incapable of work, didn't even exist until a couple hundred years ago.

Obviously, people change as they get older. They learn to think in new ways. They learn how to live independently. They grow bigger. But life isn't a series of building blocks with clearly-defined edges and no ability to move between one phase and another. It is a continuous, fluid journey, and this fluidity moves in both directions. Our past helps to shape who we are. People age, but that doesn't mean they cut away their younger selves. Child-me is a part of present-me. 

News flash: young people are brilliant. They see limits and imagine ways around them. They have crazy ideas. They dream. Some of them even succeed in extraordinary ways; look at Mark Zuckerberg, Tavi Gevinson, Dakota Fanning, Tyler Oakley. Declaring that it is "self-defeating and a little sad to forego such pleasures in favor of reading a book that might just as easily be enjoyed by a child" is an outrageous insult to the younger generation. It suggests that young people's opinions are to be ignored, that their thoughts are not worthwhile. 

Saying that it is the mark of adulthood in decline when adults go around reading Harry Potter is preposterous. People don't go into the oven as kids and emerge fully-cooked as adults. We are constantly growing, thinking, learning, exploring, and imagining, just as we were when we were younger. Dismissing young adult books in particular as juvenile is just plain ignorant. These books explore a vast range of subjects and life experiences. Harry Potter, to take Beha's example, takes on an impressive spectrum of themes, from growing up to growing old, from acceptance and love to prejudice, hatred, and genocide. Indeed, for some reason, people seem to think it convenient to forget that a good half of the cast of characters in this series are adults. 

Besides, if some children's or young adult books do nothing more than make a person, young or old, excited about reading, is that not enough? 

When we reach the point when adults can no longer connect with their younger selves, when they stop valuing the importance of learning and imagining and growing, when they dismiss a "children's" story as beneath them, that is the point at which I will fear for the state of adulthood.

Growing Apart

I had a little bit of a moment the other day. In the midst of this ALS ice bucket challenge frenzy, someone posted a video of herself completing the challenge. I used to be best friends with this girl, and all I could think after watching the video was...

That's what her voice sounds like?

I haven't spoken to her in so long, I couldn't even remember the sound of her voice. And though I wouldn't say it upset me - it's been a very long time since we last saw each other - it did give me pause. 

I'm fortunate enough to have remained close with most of my friends over time. My best friends from high school are still some of my best friends today. We can speak for the first time in six months and instantly fall back into our usual rhythm. I made friends during my semester abroad two years ago that I only get to see on rare occasions, but that makes those times all the more precious. 

But I'm not immune to growing apart. There are people that once upon a time I couldn't imagine not being in my life, and over time they've just... fallen away. With one person, it was gradual. With another, all at once. One I still feel close to for a period and distant from the next. With one I could see separation inching its way ever closer, looming in the distance like a storm threatening to break, before I decided to stop it. With some, I feel it happening right now.

Sometimes it's a mutual thing, some unspoken agreement that the relationship (and I mean this in the broadest sense possible) is not worth saving. But sometimes it isn't your choice, or you didn't see it coming, and it hurts like hell. I guess it makes sense - in a way, friends are a part of all of us. Losing one can feel like plucking a strand of hair from your head - it barely touches you - while losing another can feel like losing a finger, or a hand, or an arm. Unbearable.

So how do you deal with growing apart from somebody? Sometimes it's in your control, and you can decide for yourself if you want to let it happen, or fight it. I was in a situation recently when I could have just let it happen. It was already beginning. I could feel everything we'd built just slipping... slipping... away. But I decided to fight. I looked the relationship square in the eye, thought - worth saving, or no? - and decided... worth saving.

But the bitter, inescapable truth is, at some point, someone in your life will look the relationship square in the eye, think - worth saving, or no? - and decide... no.

I've spent a lot of time throughout the past year trying to help people through this. I've spent my fair share of time trying to deal with it myself. I don't think there's a set way to deal with it, but I have realized a few things. 

You can't deny that it sucks. It totally, completely, 100% sucks. To paraphrase a line from Stephen Chbosky's [in my opinion] masterful book The Perks of Being a Wallflower, you have the right to feel pain. It may not be as severe as someone else's, and you may think that that other person has a better reason to feel pain, but this is yours and that is enough.

But you have to realize that life is big. So very, very big. There is so much out there in the world. Losing someone can feel like the end, but it's not. It's a beginning. The beginning of a new chapter in your life. 

So feel the loss. Feel your pain. And then, in time, move on. Life has its ups and downs. Life can be good, and life can be bad. Life can be fun, depressing, exhilarating, upsetting, out of control, messy, fast, slow, wonderful, tragic. But it is yours. 

So go live it.

Why Fiction Can Matter As Much As Truth

Recently I've been thinking about why the labels "based on a true story" and "inspired by true events" seem to add so much weight to a story. True stories are compelling and can be quite inspiring, of course, but the question I'd like to think about is why they often feel more important to us than fictional ones. 

For example. A couple of weeks ago, my dad and I watched a movie called The Way Back. Directed by Peter Weir, The Way Back tells the story of a small group of Polish prisoners that escape a Soviet labor camp in Siberia and walk all the way from the camp, across the Gobi desert, through Tibet, and over the Himalayas to India. The film is good, but what makes it more remarkable is the fact that it claims to reflect true events. The main character is Sławomir Rawicz (though he is given a different name in the movie), subject of the ghostwritten book The Long Walk. Published in 1956, The Long Walk tells of how Rawicz and six other prisoners escaped from Siberia and walked to India. 

Almost immediately after the movie ended, my dad (who has read the book) announced that some people question whether the events Rawicz described actually happened. After a little digging on the internet, I learned that there has indeed been a large controversy surrounding The Long Walk since its publication half a century ago. Though it is a very celebrated book, a lot of people have attacked the story as a lie since parts have been found to be untrue. Many even believe that Rawicz stole the story from a man named Witold Glinski, who told an almost identical tale of escape.

So maybe parts of The Long Walk never really happened. Maybe none of it did. Regardless, the anger it inspired in people makes me wonder: why do we as a society always feel so compelled to poke holes in things, and why do we place true stories on such a pedestal? Instead of being passionate about the story of the Long Walk, people were passionate about disproving it. As a student of history, I understand the importance of telling a true story when you're claiming to. However, people seem to actually enjoy the process of naming someone a liar. Why did my dad feel compelled to so quickly discredit some of the things we'd seen? Why can't we take just as much from a story that is part-truth and part-fiction as a story that is fully true?

To me, the overall fixation on true stories seems to suggest that they are somehow better than fictional stories. That fictional stories don't matter as much. And this is something I have a problem with. 

John Green articulates my feelings excellently in the author's note with which he opens his book The Fault in Our Stars:

"This is not so much an author's note as an author's reminder of what was printed in small type a few pages ago: This book is a work of fiction. I made it up. Neither novels or their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

Granted, Green is talking about novels, and there is obviously a difference between novels and works of nonfiction. Nevertheless, I think he touches on an important point. Fiction can matter. Fiction does matter. The characters in works of fiction might be made up, and the events they experience might not have happened, but that doesn't mean we can't take something from these characters and their stories. That we can't learn from them, or be inspired by them, or do nothing more than simply enjoy them. The imagination is an important part of the human brain. Indeed it is one of the capacities that most distinguishes us from other animals. So while it is of course important for a work that calls itself nonfiction to actually be nonfiction, I do think we shouldn't always feel a story has to be 100% true for us to find meaning in it or value it. I think we should open ourselves to treating fictional stories as important. For truth often empowers a story, but imagination always empowers us.

For a nice overview of the Long Walk controversy, I recommend this page: http://www.mikaelstrandberg.com/2011/01/03/the-long-walk-did-it-ever-happen-2/

Book Reviews: The Truth About Alice, Looking For Alaska, A Game of Thrones

Anyone who knows me knows that I read a lot. And if you don't know me, hi. I love books. A lot.
Since this is a blog of my thoughts, and since my thoughts are so often consumed by books, I thought it would be a good idea to post some quick reviews of the things I'm reading. Hopefully one will strike your fancy one day. Enjoy!

Young Adult, Fiction:

The Truth About Alice, by Jennifer Mathieu

I was actually given an advanced copy of this book on a recent visit to Macmillan, the book's publisher. The young woman who gave it to me recommended it with flying colors, describing it as "very Vassar," so I was pretty excited to read it.
The Truth About Alice is a young adult novel that came out just this month. Alice is a high school student who becomes the talk of her school and small Texas town when she sleeps with two guys on the same night at a party. Things get even worse when one of those guys then dies in a car accident after being distracted by sexual texts from Alice. At least, that's what the rumors all say.
The brilliance of this book is that the reader doesn't get to hear from Alice until the last chapter. Every other chapter is told by one of four people: the school's queen bee, Alice's former best friend, the jock who was in the car with the boy who died when the accident occurred, and the nerd with a secret infatuation with Alice. Mathieu is able to distinguish the four voices enough to make each one distinct, and the change of perspectives keeps the story fresh as it progresses. Because we don't get to hear from Alice until the end, we're able to see how little control people actually have once others start spinning tales about them. Often, the truth doesn't seem to matter once people have already made up their minds about someone, and this book reveals the real damage that that can do.
Though the characterization of the queen bee did seem a little juvenile at times, I think this book is overall progressive and bold. Mathieu doesn't shy away from teenage sex and sexual experiences, but instead confidently and unapologetically explores the pleasures and challenges her characters face.

Rating: 4/5 stars. A short book that packs a big punch.

Looking for Alaska, by John Green

As a big fan of The Fault in Our Stars, I've been wanting to read more of Green's work for a while now. I picked up Looking for Alaska first, because I had heard someone say it was even better than Stars. The narrator is Miles Halter, a sixteen-year-old boy from Florida who convinces his parents to let him attend an Alabama boarding school called Culver Creek, the same one his father had attended in his youth. The book tells the story of Miles's first year there. Though he becomes good friends with his roommate, nicknamed the Colonel, as well as a couple of others, it is the Colonel's friend Alaska that fascinates him. She is unpredictable, wild, fiercely loyal, and a mess. (I have to admit, I didn't quite share his fascination. I found her pretty annoying at times.)
In many ways, this book has a completely different feel than The Fault in Our Stars. It's hard to explain, but something about the narrator's voice, the boarding school setting with its lack of cell phones, the constant presence of cigarettes, and more makes it seem like this book could have been written fifty years ago instead of nine. The story feels in many ways like it comes from an older tradition, more Catcher in the Rye than Fault in our Stars contemporary.
That being said, there certainly are some noteworthy overlaps between Alaska and Stars (SPOILER ALERT). A couple of phrases ("I love you present-tense," for instance) literally repeat in Stars (which came later), and then of course there is the presence of teenage death. Green seems fascinated by the ways in which death affects the living left behind, and as with Stars, I think he explores this subject in a thoughtful and genuine manner in this book. I just hope I don't continue to see dead teenagers when I read his other books; Green is a talented writer, so I would hate for his stories to become repetitive.

Rating: 4/5 stars. Seems more suited to older teens and adults who like YA lit than younger readers, but I'm sure younger readers would like it as well. An engaging, well-written book that I devoured in a single sitting.

Adult, Fantasy:

A Song of Fire and Ice, Book I: A Game of Thrones, by George R. R. Martin

Game of Thrones, Game of Thrones... how do I begin this discussion? Anyone who hasn't heard of this series by now has been living under a rock. A Game of Thrones was published back in 1996, but the series has exploded in recent years due to the hugely successful HBO television adaptation. It's difficult to summarize the book, because the story and the world it takes place in are quite extensive, but I suppose it's fair to say that most of the action revolves around the Stark family. Eddard Stark is Lord of Winterfell, one of the Seven Kingdoms that the King reigns over. When the King appoints Eddard as his Hand - essentially his closest advisor - Eddard and his two daughters move south to King's Landing, while his wife and three sons remain at Winterfell. This really only scratches the surface of the story, but suffice it to say there is adventure, treason, murder, incest, castle politics, and more in this powerhouse of a novel.
Because of the book's sheer length (over 800 pages in my copy) and the enormous breadth of the story, I feared it would be a dense and slow-going read. On the contrary, it is extremely readable and difficult to put down. Part of this is, I think, due to the fact that the chapters are told from different characters' perspectives, and part of it is undeniably due to Martin's amazing ability to tell a story. He works with an incredibly vast cast of characters and locations, but he writes of them all with just the right amount of detail. When you read the book, you get the sense that Martin knows the backstory of every character major or minor, that he knows exactly what's going on throughout the kingdoms at any given moment. He is in complete control and navigates his tale with masterful deftness.
Though I watched the first season of Game of Thrones after finishing the book and agree that it's very good, I really wish more people would read the books the show is based off of (and indeed remains faithful to, at least in season one). As for myself, I've decided to watch a season of the show only after finishing the corresponding book. And believe me, it is 100% worth it.

Rating: 5/5 stars. Please don't be daunted by the length. The book is truly even better than the show, and just as gripping, if not more so. Fair warning for more squeamish readers: the book has its fair share of graphic scenes, of both the sexual and violent varieties. To Martin's credit, though, they rarely feel superfluous.

Graduated College... Now What?

It has been a month since I graduated college. It's hard enough for me to believe it, but apparently it's even harder for strangers considering all the comments I receive about how young I look. (An annoyance which will have to be saved for another post.) My friends and I have been in school for the past seventeen/eighteen years of our lives, and now, with the exception of those going to some sort of graduate school, we're finished. So what are we supposed to do now?

The answer overwhelmingly seems to be to Get A Job. Of course, we need to be able to support ourselves and start our career track. Fair enough. But does this have to happen right away?

It seems to me that the primary focus for those who attend college is on having a job lined up for you immediately upon graduating. I want and need a job of course, but there are other things I want too. I want to finish tweaking my book, which I wrote four years ago but haven't had time to dedicate to fixing it up. I want to travel, oh man do I want to travel. I want to see things and experience things and, God forbid, take a couple months to celebrate the end of my college career, refresh after eighteen years of school, and consider my options. I feel guilty for having these desires, though, because most of my friends already have jobs. I don't. It isn't for lack of trying, but the fact of the matter is that I have been out of college for a whole four weeks and am still unemployed. 

So why do I feel guilty? After all, to want a break after a long period of intense work is natural. I feel like it's because this country has an obsession with working. As far as I'm aware, people in other countries take breaks. Here in the States, though, so often it's all about working yourself into the ground. (Unless you're an overpaid CEO of a major company, but I digress.) 

I fully understand that I am coming from somewhat of a privileged perspective to feel entitled to a break, and I don't deny that many people don't have the option to not work straightaway. I'm certainly not made of money myself. I just wish that more people did have the option. To not just work round the clock, but to live a little too. Financial security is undoubtedly a necessity, but what about psychological well-being?

So I will continue to try to Get A Job. I want one, I need one, and it is expected of me. But I may not find one for a little while. And in the midst of all my friends going off with their awesome jobs, I'm going to stick to my belief that that's okay.