by

Chronicle

A friend and I were supposed to meet up to write today. When I asked her if we were still on, she suggested that we see a movie instead. I’m always up for any reason not to work on my synopsis, so I readily agreed. She was the one who chose Chronicle (I let her choose, for I was the one who chose Joyful Noise last time, and I’m not sure she’s forgiven me yet). I didn’t even know what Chronicle was; I’d heard absolutely nothing about it. All Fandango told me was, “Three high-school friends make a discovery that gives them incredible powers.”

Powers? I’m in.

I was a little worried when the movie started, and I saw that it was another one of those found-footage movies. I’ve been leery ever since Cloverfield. While I liked the concept of Cloverfield, the whole found-footage part is what didn’t always work for me. There was a little too much of the jerky camera thing when the kids were running for their lives, too. (Not as bad as it was in The Blair Witch Project (Ugh!), but bad enough.) It wasn’t always believable why the kids were filming certain things… plus I remember feeling like the aftermath of the alien attack would have made for a far more interesting story.

But I digress.

What this movie did well from the get-go was characterization, especially with our main character Andrew. He was shy, socially awkward, and had a terrible home life (an abusive father and a dying mother). It made sense, in a way, why a kid like this would be recording his life. Partly in hopes to ward off his father’s fists, partly to capture some of the last moments he’d have with his mother, partly to put up even more of a barrier between himself and his schoolmates. And maybe, in a way, to record some of his final days of his senior year in high school.

Andrew’s only real friend is a his cousin Matt. (Hello, hottie!) Early on, Matt–worried about Andrew’s anti-social behavior–convinces him to come to a party being thrown in an abandoned barn. Andrew agrees reluctantly, and despite Matt’s warning, brings along his trusty camera. After an altercation with a guy in the party, Andrew ends up back outside by himself. Steve–a gregarious guy running for class president–finds Andrew, and tells him he should come with him, that he and Matt have found something amazing and they want to get it on camera. (Hello, hottie #2!)

The three boys venture into a mysterious hole in the ground–the aforementioned “discovery”–are exposed to some freaky glowing… something… and, next thing we know, they’re blessed with powers. It starts off small: being able to stop a baseball mid-throw, levitating legos. They learn that they have to build up their ability, to train it like a muscle. They push it too far, too fast? They end up with nose bleeds. Soon they can move bigger and bigger objects. Then they discover that they can fly, too.

The effects blew me away. And, coupled with the easy way in which the three boys interact with each other, it felt real (and voyeuristic!), too. That these seemingly impossible events really happened somehow.

With your average superhero movie, those bestowed with powers have some sort of noble duty, some important cause. But in this case, you just had three high school boys with the ability to move objects with their minds, to fly. So they did boy-things. They made plans. When things started to get out of control, they set up rules.

It was cool to see the beginnings of both a villain and a hero. Villainous backstories are often a little flimsy to me, but this one made sense. It was easy to see how someone who’d felt powerless all his life would start to change in light of his new abilities. How all his pent up rage essentially became a weapon.

When all hell started to break loose, it was fun to see all the different mediums used to continue the story when we couldn’t have Andrew’s ever-present camera. We got to see footage from cell phones and security cameras and other handheld recorders. Whereas Cloverfield felt limited, Trank utilized multiple types of cameras to give us the full effect of the chaos without it feeling too jarring or hokey. Despite the format, it still managed to feel like a superhero movie. Which is pretty amazing, I think.

It was an unexpectedly fun ride.

If you aren’t opposed to the found-footage genre (this one won’t make you throw up in your popcorn bucket due to motion sickness–promise!), and you like superheroes, you should check it out. It’s worth a viewing for the effects alone.

It’ll make your inner nerd hope like hell that there are other caverns like that somewhere. Because, really, who hasn’t wondered what it’d be like to fly?

by

Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi

I snagged this one for two reasons: 1. Male POV! (Not enough of these in YA, methinks), and 2. it’s a post-apoc and I have yet to have my fill.

Ship Breaker takes place in a world running low on oil. What we’ve done to the planet has lead to the loss of places like Antarctica, huge chunks of land are underwater, and now there are Category 6 hurricanes (dubbed “city killers”).

Our protagonist, Nailer, is a teenage boy. We don’t know his exact age; maybe fifteen. He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter to him how old he is, his life is all about day-to-day survival. Nailer works light crew, his small frame slating him to be the one who crawls through the broken down tankers littering the beach of Bright Sands, pulling bits of copper free so it can be sold to corporations who recycle the metal.

When he and his friend Pima happen upon a grounded, elegant clipper ship, they think they’ve found their coveted Lucky Strike—the lucky break that will release them from their dire circumstances. The clipper was beached when one of the aforementioned city killers swept through. On board they find a “swank” girl pinned underneath a pile of furniture.

Nailer is torn between saving this girl and letting her die (so he and Pima can cash in their Lucky Strike). If the girl were to die, they could claim all the gold and silver on board as their own. When he ultimately decides to save her, everything changes; life as he knows is upended.

Overall, the pace of this was very slow for me. I thought, at first, it was because I’d come off the adrenaline high of books like The Hunger Games and Shatter Me. But the pace never really picked up. I settled into the rhythm eventually, though, and I did enjoy it. The pace didn’t make it boring, per say, but it wasn’t exactly an unputdownable page-turner either.

I’ve heard a few people complain about the violence in this, but that part of it didn’t bother me. It didn’t feel too gory or over the top. The son versus father element was a little disturbing, but more so because it was hard to deal with the idea of a teenage boy being that terrified of his own father. For Nailer to constantly fear for his life as long as his father was alive.

The theme of family was strong throughout the book, playing with the notion that family is about the people, not the blood. That sometimes your family are the people you choose, who have your back no matter what, simply because they care about you. Nailer’s family became Pima, her mother, and the swank, Nita. His father was someone he was bound to only by genetics.

I realized, towards the end, that the book reminded me a lot of Slumdog Millionaire. The idea that even if you’re not rich or book-smart, you still have value. That even the mundane, everyday events of your life are important. Just like Jamal was able to answer the Millionaire questions because of the knowledge he gained from his experiences in the slums, Nailer was able to skirt through dangerous situations based on the life he’d led—knowing the ins-and-outs of functioning ships because he spent all his life tearing the broken ones down.

What I loved most, I think, was the concept that one choice could change the course of your life. That if you zig instead of zag, a whole new set of possibilities opens up. Is it fate that led you there? Luck? When the opportunity presents itself, though, regardless of its source, you’d better take it. You never know where—or to who—it might lead you.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta

I adored this book. I’m not sure how I managed to go so long without reading it.

This is not an easy book to summarize, as this is a book you experience. We know that our heroine, Taylor, was abandoned by her mother when Taylor was eleven. But we don’t know why. We don’t know anything, really. We don’t know, because Taylor doesn’t.

The mystery of who she is slowly unravels as the novel progresses (told through interwoven story lines—past and present). Hints and clues are placed in the most ingenious way; you feel like a detective while you’re reading (sometimes I felt tempted to scribble a few notes for myself!). Just when you think you’ve figured something out, something else is presented, maybe a conversation, maybe a word, maybe a name, and then you find yourself scrambling to remember the bits and pieces of Taylor’s story you’ve learned so far. I flipped back to re-read the prologue at least once. It makes you, as a reader, completely invested.

I believe most readers will figure things out before Taylor does. But not in a frustrating way, and you’re constantly rooting for her, hoping she’ll figure it all out, she finds the truth. (Plus, anyone who wins the affections of Jonah Griggs has to be pretty great.)

Is Taylor an instantly loveable character? No. She’s grouchy. She doesn’t put up with anyone. Has a bit of a temper. But her desperation to understand who she is and where she comes from is what lures you in. And the more you learn about her, the more you want her to succeed.

By the end of the book, I was in tears. And, amazingly, they weren’t sad tears. A little out of happiness, a little out of relief. It’s such a beautifully bittersweet journey, and it deserves every one of its accolades.

Pick it up! I don’t think you’ll regret it.

Oh! And if you do pick it up, don’t let the prologue or the confusing/disorienting nature of the first few chapters discourage you from continuing. I was laugh-out-loud confused for a little while, but was so intrigued I couldn’t put it down.

Rating: (An enthusiastic!) 5 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

Crazy by Amy Reed

Publisher: Simon Pulse
Expected release date: June 12th, 2012 (Copy from Galley Grab)

Connor knows that Izzy will never fall in love with him the way he’s fallen for her. But somehow he’s been let into her crazy, exhilarating world and become her closest confidante. But the closer they get, the more Connor realizes that Izzy’s highs are too high and her lows are too low. And the frenetic energy that makes her shine is starting to push her into a much darker place. As Izzy’s behavior gets increasingly erratic and self-destructive, Connor gets increasingly desperate to stop her from plummeting. He knows he can’t save her from her pain… but what if no one else can?

Connor and Isabel meet over summer at camp, and exchange email addresses at summer’s end. Crazy begins with Connor emailing Izzy–and the majority of the book is made up of their email conversations. I’ve never read an epistolary novel before, so I cannot compare this one to any others, but I think this one was very well done. I got lost in their stories and their fluctuating moods, forgetting at times that this wasn’t structured like a standard novel.

Because Connor and Isabel are so honest with each other (so much so that sometimes the honesty made me squirm!) reading this felt incredibly voyeuristic. Like I had stumbled across a file of very personal information and was unable to look away until I’d devoured every last word. Izzy’s systematic unraveling aided in that as well; it was like seeing a car wreck on the side of the road and being unable to tear your eyes away. Equally invested and horrified by what you’re seeing come undone before you.

While Connor and Izzy’s interactions were initially funny–sometimes hilariously awkward–slowly their conversations turned into something else. I found myself trying to figure out who irritated me more. Connor was too much of a wimp and a pushover, Izzy was too melodramatic and callous. Then I hated Izzy for treating Connor like he was a worthless puppy dog who would happily follow her to the ends of the Earth. Then I was annoyed Connor was a nothing more than a puppy dog who would happily follow her to the ends of the Earth. I never loved them both at the same time!

I knew something bad was going to happen to Izzy. It was hard not to see it coming. But we weren’t sure if Connor would be able to get to her in time. We wondered which of Izzy’s promises and threats were true. We wanted Connor to tell her to stop complaining, to just take hold of her life and fix it. We wanted Connor to save her. We wanted Connor to cut her loose.

We wondered what we would do if we were in Connor’s shoes.

I don’t know anyone who suffers from bipolar disorder, but I hope all the Isabels in the world who do have a Connor in their corner, someone who does everything in their power to help them, even when they get pushed away. Someone who will fight for them when they’re too not strong enough to fight for themselves.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

The Art Torture of Revision

It never ceases to amaze me how much work revising is. I have a few friends who are still in the glorious stages of The First Draft, when everything is still new and you’re not bogged down by getting everything perfect. Since I’m a pantser (I fly by the seat of my pants when I write, and don’t have much, if anything, plotted out beforehand), when I’m in the first draft stage, I just let my characters do and say what they will. I’m open to any twists and turns in the plot that might come along. I just have fun.

But then revision starts. While I think pantsing is the best–okay, the only–way I can actually finish my projects, when I’m done, I usually have a hot mess of chaos roughly resembling a book. I set it aside and weep a little. And eat a lot of ice cream. Take the dog on many-a-walk, muttering to myself about how in the world I’ll be able to fix the mess sitting on my laptop.

I revise in stages. During the first (few) set(s) of revisions, I read it through and look for plot consistency, and try to logic-check everything.

+ Would Character A really do that?

+ Didn’t Character B just walk out the door? So how is she walking out the door again in the following scene?

+ HAHAH! Melissa, Character C would never say that.

Then I’ll go through it again and try to clean it up as best as I can before I send it off to a handful of friends, both writers and reader-only types alike. Then I let them find plot and logic issues. They always find ones I miss. Sometimes big ones.

I lament and pace and eat more ice cream. The dog gets to go on longer walks. I mutter some more.

Then I hunker down and start revising again. If I’m lucky, I can get a few additional people to read it. Once I incorporate their suggestions–assuming it’s nothing too big– I’m ready to query.

I was at that stage at the beginning of last year. I was ready to send my little baby off into the world! I sent it out to ten agents and got two nibbles. A partial request. I did a jig. And a full request! I had a dance party. I got a response to the full about three months later. A no. More ice cream was consumed.

I think I went through all seven stages of grief (this was the furthest I’d gotten in this whole process, you see).  I tried to convince myself that he probably didn’t even read it. Or that he was too busy to care about me, and had much better things to do. Like bathing in the tears of thousands of weeping aspiring authors whose hopes and dreams have been dashed on the Rocks of Failure.

But then rationality started to creep back in. Albeit slowly. I read over the agent’s feedback again, and, while vague, what I was able to glean from it was that my beginning just wasn’t working. So I took a deep breath, and tried to think about other ways I could start the book. Even though I’m a pantser, once I get the words down, I usually become rather attached to my story and all its details. I’d been hell-bent on keeping my beginning as is for a while, but I finally accepted that I might need to let it go. (Beth cheers.)

So I not only revamped my beginning, I changed it completely. I got six out of eight thumbs up on the new beginning from my ever-faithful readers. And then a whole new set of revisions came next. This new chapter one started a snowball effect, and I was quickly tweaking and rearranging everything in its path. I kept assuring myself that the major changes would mainly take place in the first half of the book. Once I hit the second half, the snowball would start rolling uphill. Perhaps come to a stop. It was the only way to get myself through the revisions, since they started to get so out of control that it felt like I was writing an entirely different book.

Then I hit the middle. And a snag. I skidded to a stop on the edge of the cliff as I watched the Plot Snowball of Doom soar off into the abyss.

Panicked, I called my resident Plot Checker (I think every writer should have at least one of these. Plot Checkers have two important characteristics: 1. They know your story, maybe even as well as you do, and 2. They’re honest, even if it might hurt). My Plot Checker is Danica.

I called her up, flipping out. Poor thing. She deserves a medal, I think, for putting up with me. She calmed me down, and we started plotting, throwing ideas back and forth. Then the conversation took an odd turn.

Danica: Do you think Character X would say something?

Me: *Pause* Character X? Character X? Are you nuts! Why would Character X do…

Danica: Hello?

Me: Ohmigod! …you’re brilliant.

Danica: I know.

The plot snowball had turned into an avalanche.

I’ve now rewritten the entire second half of the book based on one question. Something I never would have thought of before, but it was the right path to take. I think the book’s actually all the better for it. Well, at least I hope it is.

I’m rounding the corner on this last set of revisions now. Only four or five short chapters left. It’s much longer than I anticipated, but I’m trying to be okay with that. I’m trying to treat this very, very scary revision the way I treat The First Draft. I’m trying to see it as fun.

Because I know soon I’ll have to start the Plot and Logic-Check revisions next. And then a nit-picky edit to clean it up and trim the word count. And then sell one of my kidneys so I can afford all the fruit baskets and boxes of chocolate I’ll need to bribe my readers to read yet another version of this puppy.

I might have actually figured out where in the hell this story is supposed to go now…

But I’ll stock up on ice cream just in case.

So, what’s the revision process like for you?

by

The Disenchantments by Nina LaCour

And, yes, we all are, or soon will be, disenchanted, but I still want to know it all: the heartbreak, the fear, the friendship, the anger, the love. All of it.

Publisher: Dutton Juvenile
Expected release date: February 16, 2012

I was very excited when I won a copy of The Disenchantments from Goodreads. I hadn’t heard of Nina LaCour before, but when I saw that a roadtrip was going to be a central part of the plot, I was already hooked. Who doesn’t love a good roadtrip story? And now I’ll definitely be picking up Hold Still, her first novel. Her style is very simple and easy to read (no easy task!), with completely spot-on dialogue. (I’m a junkie for good dialogue.)

There’s a vintage quality to the book as well. It took a while to convince myself that the story didn’t take place in the 70s. Maybe the feeling came from the fact that our gang of four (Bev, Alexa, Meg–the three members of The Disenchantments, the worst girl band in history–and Colby, our narrator) were traveling across the Pacific Northwest in a VW bus named Melinda, or that Colby thinks things are “rad,” or maybe it was the cover art and colors, with the girl in a rainbow-adorned sweater that looks like she probably found it at a local thrift shop. Maybe it was because all the tiny, dingy towns we visit feel like they’re a little stuck in the past.

(A sidenote about the cover: Now, normally I don’t feel too much, one way or the other, about covers. It’s not a bad cover, I’m just not sure it’s the right one. I would assume the girl on the cover is Bev–though the rainbow on her chest might mean it’s Meg–and while Bev is a big part of Colby’s world, and the lead singer of The Disenchantments, this is Colby’s story. It almost feels like a disservice to him to have one of the girls, or a girl, period, on the cover. Especially since initially I assumed Colby was a girl, given the cover. Maybe the design he created with the silver crying eyes would have been a better choice. Especially if his “Art School” tag could be included!)

The pace of the novel perfectly matches the feel of a roadtrip, a very linear plotline that unfolds before us, just like the road Melinda’s driving down, edging us closer to our final destination. The pacing is done so effortlessly that I forgot I was reading. I was in that bus, too. I could see the blur of the trees through Melinda’s windows, I could feel the excited anticipation of who we’d meet next, could smell the smoke from Bev’s cigarettes.

I’m always a little leery of male POVs written by women, since I’ve read many books where the men lose some of their “maleness.” So I was worried when Bev broke the news to Colby that she wasn’t going with him to Europe after all, and that after their last show, she would be starting college. Which was definitely not part of their plan. I expected Colby to get whiny, to act a little too much like the girls he was traveling with. “It feels like forever ago, that Dad and Pete were standing there waving, and I was pulling onto the road, confident in what was happening next. And now this trip is the beginning of nothing.” But he was understandably upset, and I was rooting for him the whole time.

It was hard to not feel for the guy: his entire life plan was overturned by the girl he loves. We ache with him as he faces the vast landscape of the unknown that will be the rest of his life; the bittersweet feeling that everything is ending, yet everything is beginning, too; and who can’t connect with the torture that is unrequited love?

I thoroughly enjoyed my last tour (for least for a year) with The Disenchantments, and loved all the people we met along the way. That’s really one of the best parts about a roadtrip, isn’t it? I was just as sad as everyone else when it all came into an end. The beginning of the rest of their lives, all four continuing their journeys in different directions. We know that even if they all stay closely connected, it will never be the same. And I grieved for the loss of that right along with them.

Even though we all start off bright-eyed and hopeful, life has a knack of swooping in and dismantling our expectations and optimism, just like it did for Colby. Plans will change, people will disappoint us. But I hope we all have a bit of Colby’s bravery. That even if we become disenchanted with what life throws our way, that we’ll still forge ahead into the unknown. Because you never know what’s waiting for you around the next bend in the road.

Rating: 5 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins

Three years ago, Sophie Mercer discovered that she was a witch. It’s gotten her into a few scrapes. Her non-gifted mother has been as supportive as possible, consulting Sophie’s estranged father–an elusive European warlock–only when necessary. But when Sophie attracts too much human attention for a prom-night spell gone horribly wrong, it’s her dad who decides her punishment: exile to Hex Hall, an isolated reform school for wayward Prodigium, a.k.a. witches, faeries, and shapeshifters.

By the end of her first day among fellow freak-teens, Sophie has quite a scorecard: three powerful enemies who look like supermodels, a futile crush on a gorgeous warlock, a creepy tagalong ghost, and a new roommate who happens to be the most hated person and only vampire student on campus. Worse, Sophie soon learns that a mysterious predator has been attacking students, and her only friend is the number-one suspect.

As a series of blood-curdling mysteries starts to converge, Sophie prepares for the biggest threat of all: an ancient secret society determined to destroy all Prodigium, especially her.

The aforementioned prom night fiasco starts the book off, and I was laughing out loud before the first chapter was even over. Sophie Mercer is such a goofball, and has such a witty, sarcastic mouth on her, that you can’t resist her charms for very long (Though, if I ever met her in person–don’t tell me she’s not real!–I would probably be forced to smack her). When she uttered “screw that noise” I thought she was pretty awesome. When she exclaimed “holy hell weasel,” she made a fan for life.

The other characters are solid, too. Archer Cross is the hot bad boy, Jenna is the best friend/roommate (who happens to be a pink-loving, lesbian vampire), and the villainous trio of girls adds a great dose of tension. Elodie, the queen bee of the three, could have been a little more evil, though.

A little more is really my only complaint about this book. It felt like it was stripped down to its bare bones. I honestly would have liked it to be 50+ pages longer. To have even more fleshed out characters and plot. To learn even more about Hex Hall itself and how the magic in this world works. I just wanted more. Which, if you think about it, is a positive in a way, too.

Even though the details were lacking for me, I barreled through it in only a few days. Hex Hall is just fun. Plus, near the end, there was a twist that literally made me gasp and slam a hand over my mouth. Good job on that one, Hawkins! Never saw that one coming!

Rating: 3 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

Shatter Me by Tahereh Mafi

Juliette hasn’t touched anyone in exactly 264 days.

The last time she did, it was an accident, but The Reestablishment locked her up for murder. No one knows why Juliette’s touch is fatal. As long as she doesn’t hurt anyone else, no one really cares. The world is too busy crumbling to pieces to pay attention to a 17-year-old girl. Diseases are destroying the population, food is hard to find, birds don’t fly anymore, and the clouds are the wrong color.

The Reestablishment said their way was the only way to fix things, so they threw Juliette in a cell. Now so many people are dead that the survivors are whispering war– and The Reestablishment has changed its mind. Maybe Juliette is more than a tortured soul stuffed into a poisonous body. Maybe she’s exactly what they need right now.

Juliette has to make a choice: Be a weapon. Or be a warrior.

I was supposed to hold onto this one until it was my turn to choose the next book for my book club. But when it arrived, and it was sitting on my coffee table, I was only able to resist the temptation for about a week, before I gave up on waiting and dived in. I gobbled it up in a couple of days.

Like Blood Red Road, Shatter Me has a very unique style. With Blood Red Road, it’s something you get used to within a handful of pages, and you forget it’s told in a “weird” way. Shatter Me always leaves the reader feeling a little… off. Possibly because the style isn’t consistent throughout. It was most effective in the first half of the book, I think, when we’re more or less trapped in Juliette’s head. It felt a little disjointed, a little manic. But if you were Juliette, you’d probably feel disjointed and manic, too.

The style worked for me, for the most part. Some of the lines were flat out brilliant, while other lines had imagery that was so bizarre it sometimes tripped me up, caused me to remember that I was reading and I’d stop, puzzled. There were lines like, “I am too poor to afford the luxury of hysteria right now” that I loved. Then lines like, “My jaw is dangling from my shoelace” that were just… odd. I didn’t think the strikethrough font was always necessary, either (though it was laugh-out-loud-funny in at least one instance).

As far as negatives go, that’s about it: the style was just weird sometimes. Never enough that I wanted to stop reading for more than ten seconds. Never enough for me to not be completely engrossed in Juliette’s story.

I’m usually picky about worldbuilding, especially in post-apocalyptic novels. But I didn’t really mind that the world wasn’t fleshed out in this. This is Juliette’s story, and I was more than happy to spend all my time with her. In her world, society wasn’t destroyed by war or a plague. The government–The Reestablishment–swooped in to save society from itself. Which, as you can imagine, didn’t go well. The Reestablishment wants Juliette for her ability to drain someone’s life with her touch. They tore her from her family and locked her up. Think of it like the prequel to Rogue’s story, if she lived in a post-apocalyptic world.

Shatter Me takes us through Juliette’s journey of discovering the truth about her abilities, what’s really been going on in the world outside the single window of her cell, and accepting that she’s not the monster she once thought. All of the characters we meet along the way are engaging, and my god, Mafi’s dialogue is brilliant! I’ve noticed that sometimes male characters lose an element of their “maleness” when written by women, but the dialogue from everyone in Shatter Me–male, female, young, old–was perfect. (The moment Kenji uttered “son of a motherless goat,” I fell in love with him.)

I think without the intensity that’s infused into every page of this book–thanks to the often clipped, minimal style–some of the concepts might have sounded silly, or the romance element might have felt overdone. But the style actually just heightened everything. The romance was sexy as hell, without actually including sex! Which is a feat in itself, I’d say. It’s a fun, stressful intense ride, from start to finish.

While the book felt complete, a wide range of possibilities for the upcoming two books were left wide open. I have no idea what’s going to happen next, but I can’t wait to find out!

Rating: 4 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand by Helen Simonson

A book review that isn’t YA! Shocker!

I really wasn’t sure how I would feel about this book when I started. I was frankly bored during the first five or so chapters.

Part of my aversion was due to the main character himself. Major Ernest Pettigrew is, essentially, a grumpy old man. He’s 68, retired from the military, widowed, and grouchy. I found myself rolling my eyes at him. Wondering how in the world I would be able to stand a book starring such an unlikable man. He’s sarcastic (to the point of being covertly rude), elitist, and his sense of propriety is so absolute that I often found myself wanting to give him a good hard shake, tell him to lighten up.

The pace of the book is much slower than anything I’ve read lately, too, and it took me a while to find my rhythm. Which is not a reflection on Simonson’s storytelling. The main characters are all older people, living in a small village, with a “slow” lifestyle. The storytelling reflects that pace of life. It was actually refreshing, after a while, to be reading a story from the point of view of an “elderly” person that had nothing to do with the end of life, with illness, with the aches and pains of growing older. There are elements of the latter mixed in, but if anything it helped endear us to the Major more.

Mrs. Ali, a 58-year-old Pakistani shopkeeper, swoops into the Major’s life just when he thinks his life is over. Just when he thinks he’s all alone in the world. It’s through her that we really get to know the Major. He grows on you. His sarcasm loses some of its bite, and we start to see the humor in his observations and sarcastic retorts. We rejoice when he finally lets some of his decorum slip. Mrs. Ali doesn’t change him, just opens his eyes. He’s still gruff, still mildly elitist, but she’s able to soften his edges.

I ended up loving Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand. It instills a kind of hope. A hope that people are never too old to learn something new, to change their perspective. That it’s never too late to take a risk, and that it’s never too late to fall in love.

Rating: 5 out of 5

Add it to your Goodreads HERE.

by

Ghostly ramblings

To any of my fellow writers out there… do you find yourself constantly watching people, wondering if a story resides there somewhere?

For my job, I’m out and about all day long. I see (and often interact with–sometimes against my will!) strange and interesting people everyday. I watch facial expressions, take in attire, strain to hear pieces of conversation. I like trying to figure out people’s stories. Not just to have additional fodder for my stories, but because people on a whole fascinate me.

I often see the same people several times a week while I’m making my pet care rounds. Like the old hunchbacked woman with the giant orthopedic shoes, totebags hanging off either arm. She has distractingly long dentures. Of the dogs I walk downtown, she always asks, “Are they friendly?” I always say yes, she always reaches down to pet them. Then she laughs and says, “They’re sweet, aren’t they?” I always agree.

There’s the man who lives around the corner from me. He’s out on his front porch talking on the phone a lot. I think it’s to get away from the 4+ children who live in is house. And/or the chain-smoking woman I assume is his wife.

He always says hi to me and my dog as we go by. Often asks me about the books I’m reading, since I read while walking Diamond quite a bit. He’s a nice guy–though I’m worried there’s something wrong with him. His stomach, more specifically. It’s not just an oversized beer belly, but it looks misshapen. Like he’s storing things under his shirt. Perhaps his kid’s toys. Wooden blocks and Tonka trucks. Sometimes I picture a baby alien bursting forth from his abdomen. Something has to be growing in there.

I saw him marching angrily through the neighborhood the other day, further than I’ve ever seen him go. He was on the phone, of course, talking loudly. “I had to leave. I’m going to the store!” he said. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

But it’s the guy I saw tonight that made me think about crafting a story. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for about a year now. I walk Diamond twice a day, the times varying greatly depending on what my work load is like. Sometimes she gets her walk at six. Sometimes we don’t go til eleven. Yet somehow, regardless of when I go, nine times out of ten, I’ll see this guy walking. We pass each other on opposite sides of the sidewalk in the same general area, night after night.

I’m guessing he’s in his late teens, early twenties. He’s got shoulder length brown hair, always down, always parted in the middle. It’s in better shape than mine, which I find upsetting. I always marvel at how straight and sleek and shiny it is as he strolls past. He’s always in black jeans and a black t-shirt hidden behind a black leather jacket. He’s always sporting heavy black boots. And I do mean always. I’ve never, in a year, seen any variation in how he dresses or how he wears his hair. Never a pony tail, never blue jeans. He’s never talking on his phone or listening to music. He’s just walking at a steady clip, a hurried bounce to his steps.

The lack of variation has started to creep me out lately. I find myself often hoping something will be different when I see him. I hope someone will be walking down the sidewalk on his side, will say something to him. But it feels like no one else sees him when he goes by. No one turns to look at him. What if only I can see him? I’ve wondered. What if he’s a residual ghost forever walking the dark streets of Sacramento?

Most people, especially when walking at night, will glance over at anyone walking in their vicinity, just to make sure, ya know, the person doesn’t look like this. But in a year, he’s never even glanced my direction. Even when we’re walking on opposite sides of the sidewalk as late as eleven in the evening.

I was slightly relieved when Diamond heard those large black boots of his crunching through the fallen leaves tonight, and she watched him as he walked by. But it was only a temporary comfort. Dogs are said to be open to seeing spirits, too! As I watched him, I wondered if his destination lay somewhere around the next corner, or if he simply vanished, reappearing again the following night to make the same, endless journey.

I could, of course, just say hi. Call out an exuberant “Good evening!” to him and see if he responds. But, at the same time, I feel like that would break the spell. I realized tonight that I like seeing him. I like wondering about where he’s going, where he’s coming from, and if he only owns one outfit. I like wondering about what his story would be if he were a ghost. And about why I might be the only one who could see him.

Maybe when I get through this latest round of revisions on my book, and I’m letting it sit for a few weeks, I’ll attempt a short story.

But which way should I go? A ghost boy who’s trapped wandering the same street, night after night, or a living boy who floats through life unnoticed?