Weekly Book Review: Harry Potter (Full Series)

Harry Potter and the Blankety Blank by J.K. Rowling
Genre: Fantasy
Released: 1997-2007

To make up for missing last week's Weekly Book Review, I present you with mini-reviews for every single Harry Potter book. These reviews are arranged in order of preference, from my favorite at the top to my least-loved at the bottom. I should clarify, before we begin, that while I have many complaints about those books near the bottom of this list, I still loved reading each and every one of them. The series as a whole gets an A+ from me, and only His Dark Materials comes close to the sheer number of rereads I've done over the years. Harry Potter lies close to my heart. I criticize it out of love.

Weekly Book Review: The Hunger Games

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The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
Released: September 14, 2008
Genre: Sci-Fi / Young Adult

Summary:

The nation of Panem, formed from a post-apocalyptic North America, is a country that consists of a wealthy Capitol region surrounded by 12 poorer districts. Early in its history, a rebellion led by a 13th district against the Capitol resulted in its destruction and the creation of an annual televised event known as the Hunger Games. In punishment, and as a reminder of the power and grace of the Capitol, each district must yield one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 through a lottery system to participate in the games. The 'tributes' are chosen during the annual Reaping and are forced to fight to the death, leaving only one survivor to claim victory.

When 16-year-old Katniss's young sister, Prim, is selected as District 12's female representative, Katniss volunteers to take her place. She and her male counterpart Peeta, are pitted against bigger, stronger representatives, some of whom have trained for this their whole lives. , she sees it as a death sentence. But Katniss has been close to death before. For her, survival is second nature.

Review:

It's easy to see why The Hunger Games became such a phenomenon. Mixing an interesting idea with decent world-building and a whole lot of tension, The Hunger Games is a gripping read that pulls its audience in with a disturbing premise and keeps them hooked through swiftly escalating action. Its prose serves more to propel the reader through the plot than compel further reading through its own merits. The Hunger Games is a thing of short, clipped sentences and light description, favoring action over moments of thought or observation. Whether that's good or bad is up to your tastes. For me, the prose wasn't bothersome, but it certainly wouldn't have been enough of a draw to keep me reading without Collins' tight plotting.

The Hunger Games sets itself apart from many YA dystopias in that it presents a somewhat believable setting. We have a clear catalyst for the division of the districts and a historical explanation for the Hunger Games themselves. There are a few details that don't quite gel with reality, but I'd wager only the most demanding readers will find fault with novel's presentation of the world until after they've blown through it.

My biggest quibble with The Hunger Games and all of its sequels (especially its sequels) is that it falls into the common YA trap of saddling its heroine with a love triangle made up of two dudes who are both unappealing in their own special ways. Gale doesn't quite breach jerk territory until the next book, but he's also such a non-character in The Hunger Games that it's likely his inner jerkitude was simply biding its time. Peeta, on the other hand, is omnipresent. He somehow manages to be both the unwelcomely (and unnecessarily) protective boyfriend (despite Katniss' disinterest in the relationship except as it relates to their survival) and the damsel in distress at the same time. His presence is annoying, often dragging the excitement down as Katniss must break away from the action and her own developing plans to babysit him. His meagre personality isn't a good match for Katniss', and his strange obsession with her borders on creepy more often than it should.

The romance is, however, responsible for some of the best tactical moments in The Hunger Games, and for that, it can be partially excused. I can only wish Katniss were attached to a more interesting boy.

Like Tom Hiddleston.

Among dystopian YA, The Hunger Games is one of the best. There's a reason it let loose such a trend. Fans of dystopian YA, as well as YA in general, should give it a read, if only to see what all the fuss is about.

You should also read:

Divergent

Weekly Book Review: Landline

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Landline by Rainbow Rowell
Released: July 8th
Genre: Romance

Summary:

Georgie McCool knows her marriage is in trouble. That it's been in trouble for a long time. She still loves her husband, Neal, and Neal still loves her, deeply—but that almost seems besides the point now.

Maybe that was always besides the point.

Two days before they're supposed to visit Neal's family in Omaha for Christmas, Georgie tells Neal that she can't go. She's a TV writer, and something's come up on her show; she has to stay in Los Angeles. She knows that Neal will be upset with her—Neal is always a little upset with Georgie—but she doesn't expect to him to pack up the kids and go home without her.

When her husband and the kids leave for the airport, Georgie wonders if she's finally done it. If she's ruined everything.

That night, Georgie discovers a way to communicate with Neal in the past. It's not time travel, not exactly, but she feels like she's been given an opportunity to fix her marriage before it starts . . .

Is that what she's supposed to do?

Or would Georgie and Neal be better off if their marriage never happened?

[From Rainbow Rowell's official website.]

Review:

Landline is of a different genre and for a different audience than Rowell's normal fare. While all of her books could accurately be dubbed "romance," her most popular novels, Fangirl and Eleanor & Park (both of which have been reviewed on this very blog), are young adult romance, while Landline is a romance of the chick-lit variety. I am not a chick-lit person. Keep that in mind as you read this review.

Like all of Rowell's books, Landline is stocked with funny, snappy dialogue and appropriately quirky characters. Not all of the characters are particularly well-drawn, but Neal, the true subject of the novel despite Georgie's "main character" status, is both complex and interesting. Georgie is a goal-oriented woman with ambitions and all the worries that come with such. Unfortunately, her goals never seem quite as important to her as we're told they are, as this book is less about Georgie and more about Neal, Neal, Neal.

In fact, Landline could use more "showing" when it comes to certain aspects of all of our main characters. We're told that Seth and Georgie are funny people, talented enough to earn their own TV show, but we're never shown any of their hilarity. We're just to take the book's assertion that it is so at face value. Neither ever does anything particularly funny. They hardly even crack a joke. Neal, an artist, has a better excuse for his talent's lack of detail, but aside from a cute scene with a cartoon Georgie, his art is just as formless as his wife's funny.

The present-day timeline is a cycle that rarely deviates from itself. Georgie wakes up, goes to work, struggles to stay focused, leaves, goes to her mother's house, exchanges some witty dialogue with her family, tries to call present-Neal to no avail, and finally calls past-Neal by way of an inexplicable phone-shaped temporal distortion. You could skip over everything but the phone calls without missing anything of importance. It gets tiring, and these sections are almost solely responsible for my excessively slow journey through this book.

Luckily, the frequent temporal interludes bear the brunt of the action. These are far more akin to the brilliance of Rowell's other works: moving and demonstrative of relationships grounded in something like reality. They come in two flavors: pure flashback and time-bending conversations between a middle-aged Georgie and twenty-something Neal. Both have their strengths, and both are good enough to make me wish Rowell had done away with the magical telephone conceit entirely and written a more traditional but more focused college-age romance more akin to Fangirl.

The overall effect of the landline's time-bending power is fairly predictable. I doubt the conclusion will shock anyone, but neither will it disappoint. This is, overall, a very safe novel that chooses to use its sci-fi element for emotional rather than speculative effect. Don't come here looking for any serious contemplation on the nature of time travel.

If chick-lit is your thing, give Landline a go. Despite the book's faults, it is a well-written exploration of romance through a sheer time-travel gauze.

As Landline is the first chick-lit book I've ever read (seriously), I've got no basis by which to recommend another read. Anyone who's got an idea, feel free to leave it in the comments!

Weekly Book Review: The Fault in Our Stars

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The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
Released: January 10, 2012
Genre: Young Adult / Romance

Summary:

Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel’s story is about to be completely rewritten.

[From John Green's official website.]

Review:

If you've read anything about The Fault in Our Stars, you probably know that it's an emotional read. I'm here to confirm this. This book made me cry in full view of every patron of a bustling Wendy's. I tried to stop it, but the floodgates, once opened, would not be closed. To be fair, I knew what I was getting into when I picked up the book. It's a cancer book. Stories about cancer, for a variety of personal reasons, make me cry. I should've taken measures not to be caught reading the sad parts of the book in a public place, but I didn't. So there I was, oversalting my french fries with tears.

This is a novel rife with moments of beauty and genuine emotion. Amid that emotion, however, are a few dissonant notes that disrupt the experience, however slightly. Though its fans may clamor otherwise, The Fault in Our Stars is not a perfect book.

Hazel and Augustus are a charming pair, full of Whedonesque quips and adorable quirks. For this very reason, they ring a little false. Teenagers in general don't speak in platitudes and clever, quotable witticisms. I've been a teenager. It wasn't all that long ago. I'd have liked to converse like Hazel and Augustus do. I'd still like to. Unfortunately, coming up with that kind of material in time to keep up with a conversation isn't as easy as our star-crossed duo make it seem. It can be fun to read, but it risks disturbing the reader's immersion.

Luckily, Hazel's narration doesn't suffer the same problems as her spoken dialogue. Writing, unlike speech, can afford both time and thought. The writer can pause over a single sentence for hours without disturbing the flow of the work as a whole. If it sounds premeditated, that's fine, because it is.

This is another one of those books where the parents aren't absent, dead, or uncaring, so it gets extra points just for that. Though none of the parents impact the plot in any significant way, their quietly supportive presence adds an extra dose of pathos to the teens' afflictions.

The Fault in Our Stars has been heralded as one of the best YA novels of the past few years, and it very well may be. It does not, however, rank amongst my personal favorites. I read it quickly, I enjoyed it, and I can see why it's inspired such fervor amongst the YA crowd, but perfect it is not. Still, it is a strong novel from a writer whose popularity is largely deserved. YA fans should definitely check it out.

You should also read:

Looking for Alaska

Weekly Book Review: The Name of the Wind

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The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss
Released: March 27, 2007
Genre: Fantasy

Summary:

So begins the tale of Kvothe—from his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, to years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-riddled city, to his daringly brazen yet successful bid to enter a difficult and dangerous school of magic. In these pages you will come to know Kvothe as a notorious magician, an accomplished thief, a masterful musician, and an infamous assassin. But The Name of the Wind is so much more—for the story it tells reveals the truth behind Kvothe's legend.

[From Patrick Rothfuss' official website.]

Review:

The Name of the Wind is well-written, even lyrical at times. This isn't one of those fantasies that shirks style in the name of plot, nor does it forsake plot in striving for style. Kvothe's tale kept me engaged throughout, and though certain plot points can feel disconnected, almost all are intriguing in their own right.

The Name of the Wind's world is at once new and familiar, a mix of well-trodden fantasy tropes and original ideas. One of those is its magic system, sympathy, which bows before the laws of thermodynamics and tends toward subtlety over flashy explosions. This system should appeal to those who favor the intricate rules of a Brandon Sanderson novel over J. K. Rowling's wand-waving and vague Latin.

The book's otherwise traditional structure is bolstered by the addition of a frame narrative that sharpens suspense by showing us exactly where the story is headed without revealing how it will get there. The frame narrative gives readers a lot to look forward to and helps pull the book through its duller stretches with the promise of later developments.

Most of the book's problems stem from its hero, Kvothe (or Kote, as he's known in the frame narrative). Kvothe (pronounced "quoth" and not, as I can't stop calling him, "k-voh-th") is, quite frankly, infallible, or so the novel seems to believe. His talents include but are not limited to: anything and everything. His only fault is his personality, condescending in its pretend modesty and almost as arrogant as the Draco Malfoy stand-in who haunts his time at the University. The book presents Kvothe in a largely positive light, however, so it's hard to say whether his personality was meant to be a fault at all.

I can't decide where I fall on the topic of the novel's female castmembers. Many fit into easily abused stereotypes common amongst female characters. Auri, for example, is the flighty, damaged girl, spouter of esoteric ramblings that, in a roundabout way, turn out to be prophetic. Quirky and childish, Auri seems to have been designed as a catalyst for displays of Kvothe's inner goodness.

Part of me hopes that the third book in the series, Doors of Stone, will reveal that Kvothe's apparent perfection is all the result of an unreliable narrator, though the other part worries that such a reveal three monstrous tomes in would ruin the series just as much as an "it was all a dream" ending. Still, some of the plot points in the second book (see: the Felurian), are pretty common in Mary Sue fanfiction. Whether it turns out to be Kvothe's Mary Sue fanfic or Rothfuss' will probably make all the difference.

Despite some complaints, The Name of the Wind is an enjoyable read that deserves much of the praise heaped on it since its release. Give it a shot if fantasy is one of your mainstays and prepare to wait for Doors of Stone.

You should also read:

Mistborn

Weekly Book Review: The Raven Boys

The Raven Boys

The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater
Released: September 18, 2012
Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy

Summary:

Blue Sargent, the daughter of the town psychic in Henrietta, Virginia, has been told for as long as she can remember that if she ever kisses her true love, he will die. But she is too practical to believe in things like true love. Her policy is to stay away from the rich boys at the prestigious Aglionby Academy. The boys there – known as Raven Boys – can only mean trouble.

[From Maggie Stiefvater's official website.]

Review:

As you can see in the summary above, The Raven Boys professes to be about a teenage girl named Blue and the prediction that's been strangling her dating life since it was made. In reality, the book centers on a group of four boys from Ravenclaw—I mean, Aglionby Academy—on a quest to find and revive a lost Welsh noble.

The rich man's Ravenclaw.

Don't get me wrong. The reality of the novel is engaging. Each of the boys has his own set of goals, a backstory colored in varying shades of mysterious, and a slew of problems both mental and emotional. The group as a whole is a little cliché, consisting as it does of the Good Boy, the Bad Boy, the Quiet Boy, and the Angsty Boy, but they are compelling. Their quest is a little odd, as the book takes place in the fictional American town of Henrietta, Virginia and not, as might be expected given its ties to Welsh mythology, the United Kingdom, but it pulls its weight as the source from which the rest of The Raven Boys' plot emerges. Stiefvater crafts a fascinating and quite original hidden world throughout the book, enough to ignite my curiosity and ensure that I will likely read the second book in the series, despite a few misgivings.

One of these misgivings is, unfortunately, our so-called heroine, Blue Sargent. Born from the same shapeless mold as many female YA protagonists, Blue possesses no particularly interesting character quirks or emotional hang-ups. Despite her eccentric family of psychics and her super special psychic amplification power, Blue is reduced to the popular YA trope of the everygirl readers can easily project themselves onto. Her relative lack of personality isn't a huge problem, as the majority of the book is told from the perspective of other characters, but the trend she represents bothers me quite a bit.

Blue wasn't enough to stop me from tearing through the book. The Raven Boys was easy to pick up and hard to put down. Stiefvater's prose is quite good, and the plot is doled out at a quick but comfortable pace.

The novel ends on a shoddy sequel hook that is more likely to enrage than pique. Tonally dissonant and completely out of the blue (ha ha ha), a single sentence almost ruined what was otherwise a satisfying conclusion.

Fans of YA romance might be disappointed that the promised kiss-of-death plot plays second fiddle, but if you're willing to forget the synopsis, you'll find a fun modern-day quest narrative riddled with original mythological concepts.

You should also read:

Daughter of Smoke and Bone

Weekly Book Review: Hyperbole and a Half

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Hyperbole and a Half: unfortunate situations, flawed coping mechanisms, mayhem, and other things that happened by Allie Brosh
Released: 2013
Genre: Illustrated Comedy / Memoir

Summary:

This is a book I wrote. Because I wrote it, I had to figure out what to put on the back cover to explain what it is. I tried to write a long, third-person summary that would imply how great the book is and also sound vaguely authoritative--like maybe someone who isn't me wrote it--but I soon discovered that I'm not sneaky enough to pull it off convincingly. So I decided to just make a list of things that are in the book:

• Pictures
• Words
• Stories about things that happened to me
• Stories about things that happened to other people because of me
• Eight billion dollars*
• Stories about dogs
• The secret to eternal happiness*

*These are lies. Perhaps I have underestimated my sneakiness.

[From Goodreads.]

Review:

Allie Brosh's popular blog, Hyperbole and a Half, started up in 2009 with mostly text posts, but it wasn't until Allie started incorporating her now-famous drawings that it really took off. Over time, the blog metamorphosed into something halfway between a webcomic and a (non-fiction) short-story collection, and though it seldom updates, it appears to have maintained its popularity.

Perhaps her most famous panel, inspiration for the "X all the Y" meme.

Brosh's art is crude but charming, and it evinces a deeper understanding of perspective, anatomy, and movement than one might expect from characters whose complexity ranks only a few notches above "stick-figure." The drawings are just as hyperbolic as the name might suggest, and they infuse Brosh's already funny stories with enough humor to send you into a laughing fit as your unfeeling computer monitor stares stoically on. Their simplicity is obviously a stylistic choice, as her posts are peppered with art of higher fidelity. She alternates between the two styles as the story demands, and the overall effect is hilarious.

Her stories are at once silly and thoughtful. Brosh draws on real-life anecdotes for the majority of her posts. A good choice, considering the interesting life she's led. Most of her posts are funny, though a few (see: Adventures in Depression and Depression Part Two) are tinged with melancholy and whole lotta truth. I first read Depression Part Two at a very dark point in my life, and it amazed me how similar our experiences were. It was comforting to know that I wasn't alone. Depression Part Two may not be the funniest of Allie's posts, but it is one of her best. Relatable for the depressed and enlightening for those who've never really known depression, the Depression two-parter deserves a read, whether in print or digital form.

Some of the stories in this book are available on her website, but readers are treated to 10 pieces only available in print. Warning Signs, in which twenty-seven-year-old Allie, spurred by a time capsule left by her ten-year-old self, confronts herself at various stages of her life, is a particularly good one. It also hits a little close to home as I, like Allie, may have been obsessed with dogs at some point in my childhood. I may have, in fact, liked dogs more than people. That might not be surprising, however, as the list of things I liked more than people includes:

• The Internet
• Dragons
• Velociraptors
• Books
• Pokemon
• Digimon
• Monster Rancher
• Just about anything with "mon" in the title
• Fictional Characters

Other new content includes The Helper Dog is an Asshole, a belated introduction to Helper Dog, who made her first appearance in the absurdly popular Dogs Don't Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving, The Hot Sauce Debacle, The Parrot, Motivation, Lost in the Woods, Thoughts and Feelings, Dogs' Guide to Understanding Basic Concepts, and Identity Parts 1 and 2. Dinosaur (The Goose Story), based on a text-only post from early 2010, has been refurbished with added visuals and more refined storytelling.
The old content is well worth looking over, even if you've seen it before, as the artwork in Brosh's older stories has been updated for consistency with her newer material. The new panels preserve the tone of the originals while making it clear just how much Allie's artistic talent has evolved over the course of the blog.

Updated panels from "The God of Cake." Click to see the original post.

Overall, Hyperbole and a Half is a treat for readers both new and old. Come for the humor, stay for the insight, laugh at both.

You should also read:

Hark! A Vagrant

Weekly Book Review: How to Train Your Dragon

Click to find this book in our catalogue.

How to Train Your Dragon by Cressida Cowell
Released: May 1, 2004
Genre: Juvenile Fiction / Fantasy

Summary:

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was an awesome sword-fighter, a dragon-whisperer and the greatest Viking Hero who ever lived. But it wasn't always like that.

In fact, in the beginning, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was the most put upon Viking you'd ever seen. Not loud enough to make himself heard at dinner with his father, Stoick the Vast; not hard enough to beat his chief rival, Snotlout, at Bashyball, the number one school sport and CERTAINLY not stupid enough to go into a cave full of dragons to find a pet... It's time for Hiccup to learn how to be a Hero.

[From Cressida Cowell's official website.]

Review:

This first novel in Cressida Cowell's How to Train Your Dragon series might take those familiar with the movie by surprise. The novel and its film adaptation share only a few superficial qualities. Yes, the book stars a young Viking named Hiccup who happens to be the village punching bag, he is the son of Stoick the Vast, he's trained by a man named Gobber, and he "befriends" a dragon named Toothless, but aside from these and a few more shared names, the book and its adaptation couldn't be more different. In the movie, Viking society sees dragons as ruthless beasts to be slain for the good of their clan, while the dragons themselves are intelligent and gentle creatures who only fight back to defend themselves. In the book, Vikings have been training dragons for a long, long time. Their dragons differ from the movie's in that they are, for the most part, horrid little beasties, fond of insults and only willing to follow a human's orders out of fear or through some form of bribery.

Toothless in the films.

No character demonstrates the differences between book and movie more than Toothless. As you may have seen in my How to Train Your Dragon movie review, the film version of Toothless is jet black and large enough to be ridden. Toothless is scrappy when he needs to be, but in peaceful times he's a curious and playful companion. Though it takes time and patience for Hiccup to gain Toothless' trust, the dragon seems open to it from the start, and he's extremely protective of his human friend once that trust has been established.

The film's "Terrible Terror" was based on the original Toothless.

Book Toothless, on the other hand, is "extraordinarily small," far too small to fly on. In personality, he's more like a naughty child than an intelligent animal. He's cute, but he's also a bit of a handful, and though his antics can be endearing, for Hiccup, they're quite dangerous. If he can't get his dragon to obey him by the time Final Initiation rolls around, he'll be banished from his tribe. Luckily for readers, Toothless generally sways more toward endearing than annoying, but his whining (this Toothless can speak) grates at times.

Cowell's rendition of Toothless.

For much of How to Train Your Dragon, Toothless is more an obstacle than anything else. The book is more interested in Hiccup's evolution into a Viking Hero than in his relationship with his diminutive dragon. Still, the dragons are fun characters, and their interactions with each other and with their Viking handlers are entertaining.

How to Train Your Dragon the book and How to Train Your Dragon the film are ultimately two different beasts, and it's best to approach each as separate from the other. Both are good on their own merits. The book is lighter fare with lots of action and sprinklings of parody. It's primarily concerned with appealing to children, and I can confidently say that had it been out when I was still part of that age group, I would've read it and its sequels a hundred times over. The movie taps a larger (and older) audience. It's more reserved, though not entirely so, and its humor is more widely spaced. It's a lot less silly, but, again, this is just a symptom of a different audience.

As How to Train Your Dragon is a children's novel, you can expect a quick and simple read. The prose is quite good for its genre, especially in the frame narrative as told by an older and wiser Hiccup. This frame narrative is strangely melancholic in comparison to the boisterous action of the story within, which left me wanting to know what happens between the events of this book and that far off future to so alter its tone. Anyone who's read and enjoyed the first few entries of the Harry Potter series should feel right at home here.

Some of the best parts of the book are its illustrations. One stand-out example is the fictional book How to Train Your Dragon by Professor Yobbish (BA, MA Hons, Cantab. Etc.), reproduced in its entirety. This reproduction includes a cover, a copyright page, a library bar code, an "About the Author" section, the First (and Last) chapter of the book, and the back cover, complete with synopsis, price, and blurbs. It's a great little moment, especially for those of us who've spent a lot of time with academic texts, made even better by the single sentence content of the book itself (shorter even than the summary).

Leave any film-based expectations you might have aside and what you'll find is an enjoyable and often very funny romp through an imaginative world. If it skews too young for you, rest assured that the kids in your life will love its funny, witty antics.

You should also read:

Dealing With Dragons

Weekly Book Review: Saga Volume 1

Click to find this book in our catalogue.

Saga, Volume 1 by Brian K. Vaughn
Illustrated by Fiona Stables
Released: March 2012
Genre: Graphic Novel/Science Fiction/Fantasy

Summary:

When two soldiers from opposite sides of a never-ending galactic war fall in love, they risk everything to bring a fragile new life into a dangerous old universe.

From New York Times bestselling writer Brian K. Vaughan (Y: The Last Man, Ex Machina) and critically acclaimed artist Fiona Staples (Mystery Society, North 40), Saga is the sweeping tale of one young family fighting to find their place in the worlds. Fantasy and science fiction are wed like never before in this sexy, subversive drama for adults.

[From Goodreads.]

Review:

Saga is at once beautiful, touching, funny, dark, and absolutely, totally, 100% insane. From TV-headed robots to cheeky teenage ghosts, Saga walks a thin line between science-fiction and fantasy, but it does so with such confidence that all resulting weirdness seems entirely appropriate for both setting and story. This isn't the sort of story that offers up its oddities with an abundance of exposition meant to make them seem realistic, and it doesn't have to be. It's all totally in line with the story being told.

Some of the book's best moments come from the little interactions between Alana and Marko, the star-crossed lovers who serve as the story's leads. The duo talk and fight like a real couple, though their spats come with a good deal more wit and charm than most real couples could muster. They may be members of two warring alien species that bare suspicious resemblance to mythological creatures (Alana a faerie, Marko a satyr minus the cloven hooves), but their relationship is surprisingly down-to-earth. Most other characters aren't given enough page space to truly shine, at least not yet, but the lives they tease seem worth looking forward to.

Be warned: all isn't humor and charm with Saga. This is an adult series with some very adult themes. It approaches a few dark topics (see: events on a planet called Sextillion), and its action scenes are awash with blood. Sexual content is everywhere (Again, there is a planet called Sextillion. Rest assured that its name has nothing to do with 10²¹.), and it's often just as graphic as its genre would suggest.

Saga barrels along at breakneck speed with nary a pause to catch its breath. Every moment of safety is shortly broken by some unexpected development that sends our protagonists fleeing to the next. While it can get exhausting, the chaos establishes the book's hectic tone to great effect.

A highlight of the series is Fiona Staples' art. Dynamic when need-be and always beautiful, every panel represents its story well. The beautiful cover drew me in, but it was her talent in combination with Brian K. Vaughn's that kept me reading.
My biggest complaint is that this volume was over far too soon. I've already ordered the next two, and barring some unexpected disappointment, I'll eagerly await Volume 4's publication.

You should also read:

Y: The Last Man
Volume 1

Weekly Book Review: Parable of the Sower

Click to find this book in our catalogue.

Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler
Released: 1993
Genre: Science Fiction

Summary:

When unattended environmental and economic crises lead to social chaos, not even gated communities are safe. In a night of fire and death Lauren Olamina, a minister's young daughter, loses her family and home and ventures out into the unprotected American landscape. But what begins as a flight for survival soon leads to something much more: a startling vision of human destiny... and the birth of a new faith.

[From Goodreads.]

Review:

This is a brutal novel, but not without hope. Survival seems possible even amidst the echo of gunshots and glint of knives, largely due to its protagonist, Lauren, an intelligent teenage girl with a no-nonsense approach to the outside world. While others are sticking their heads in the sand, Lauren prepares for the inevitable destruction of her home town safehold in whatever ways she can. Her methods don't always work out, but she approaches survival with such intelligence and foresight that a good ending always seems possible.

Parable of the Sower takes its time in moving beyond the walls of Lauren's home town. This allows the novel to fully explore both life inside of walled communities and life outside of them. That the outside is able to reach greater magnitudes of misery than Lauren's almost post-apocalyptic home base emphasizes how dire the world's situation has become. This emphasis heightens tension and adds to the bleak tone of the latter half of the novel.

The diary style of the novel gives events a sense of urgency while simultaneously allowing Lauren time to stop and think about all that's happened. It also allows the story to bypass filler in favor of more interesting events, though it doesn't always do so successfully. As much of Lauren's characterization involves secrets unknown to all but a few, access to her thoughts is integral. As for the other characters, we know only as much as Lauren does. Many stories are cut short by the dangers that her growing band of travelers faces, and character arcs are in short supply.

There are a few problems with the novel. Lauren's competence in the face of things she's never experienced before leaving the safety of her walls can be a little unbelievable given her youth and inexperience, and her hyper-empathy seems as though it was meant to be a larger theme than it ended up being. Like many novels with long scenes of travel, things drag a bit after Lauren leaves the confines of her previously walled community. The idea that the outside is brutal, that most people have been driven to extreme cruelty through desperation, that there are a few, a very few, who are still trustworthy, is reiterated over and over again through a variety of means, including attacks, backstory, attempted thefts, and arson. It never quite gets tiresome, however, as the novel's exploration of its alternate future was intriguing enough to keep me reading.

While not necessarily an enjoyable read, Butler's novel is a good one. Its problems never outweigh its strengths, and Butler's clear mastery of world-building shines through in every gritty detail. While not technically post-apocalyptic, fans of that genre will probably appreciate this grave vision of our country's future.

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The Handmaid's Tale

Weekly Book Review: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

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Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Released: February 21, 2012
Genre: Young Adult

Summary:

Aristotle is an angry teen with a brother in prison. Dante is a know-it-all who has an unusual way of looking at the world. When the two meet at the swimming pool, they seem to have nothing in common. But as the loners start spending time together, they discover that they share a special friendship—the kind that changes lives and lasts a lifetime. And it is through this friendship that Ari and Dante will learn the most important truths about themselves and the kind of people they want to be.

[From Goodreads.]

Review:

I'm starting to appreciate all these YA books that keep parents in the picture. I was weened on fairy tales, fantasy, and sci-fi, genres which tend to dispose of parents, sometimes with great fanfare, sometimes by dumping them into the ocean roughly fifteen minutes into the movie.

You were just too inconvenient, parents.

Reasons for this vary, but the most ubiquitous is probably that parents tend to get in the way of a teen hero/ine's dangerous exploits.

How dare they love and care about their children.

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Universe takes it a step further by letting the camera linger on both boys' parents every once in a while, cementing them as real people with real feelings rather than human-shaped obstacles to be overcome. While the emotional rollercoaster that is Aristotle and Dante is the novel's thesis, their relationships with their parents—Aristotle's, especially—are major plot points.

The novel is told in a short, clipped style, heavy in dialogue and first person introspection. Thoughts and discussion take heavy precedence over any sort of action, and while I like the steady, quiet tone this lends the novel, others might lack the patience for it.

The middle section of the novel dragged a little, as it kept revisiting the same problems—Dante's malaise, his longing for some contact, even indirect contact, with his estranged, imprisoned elder brother—without offering much in the way of resolution or forward momentum. It's still compelling, largely because those problems are compelling, but at times I wished Aristotle could move on a little quicker.

Overall, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Universe is a sweet, quiet book about love. It acknowledges that love comes in many different flavors, all of them somehow both delectable and hard to swallow. Those tired of quirky white teens will find Dante and Aristotle a nice change of pace, as will those interested in LGBT relationships.

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Personal Effects

Weekly Book Review: Eleanor & Park

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Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell 
Released: February 26, 2013
Genre: Young Adult

Summary:

"Eleanor... Red hair, wrong clothes. Standing behind him until he turns his head. Lying beside him until he wakes up. Making everyone else seem drabber and flatter and never good enough...Eleanor.

Park... He knows she'll love a song before he plays it for her. He laughs at her jokes before she ever gets to the punch line. There's a place on his chest, just below his throat, that makes her want to keep promises...Park.

Set over the course of one school year, this is the story of two star-crossed sixteen-year-olds—smart enough to know that first love almost never lasts, but brave and desperate enough to try."

[from Goodreads.]

Review:

Oscillating between cute and heartbreaking, sometimes within the same page, Eleanor & Park is a romance, but it isn't just a romance. It's the story of two teens from different sides of the track, with problems of varying intensity intruding on their comic book and mixtape built relationship. Eleanor faces an actively abusive stepfather and a mother too beat down to do anything about it. Park's problems are lighter by comparison—his father disapproves of his less-than-manly hobbies and appearance, while his mother disapproves of Eleanor—but enough to make his life less comfortable than it should be. Eleanor & Park doesn't shame Park for having an easier life than Eleanor, nor does it insinuate that his problems are insignificant just because they aren't as bad as hers. This is an unbiased look at two very different, intersecting lives.

Eleanor & Park tackles some heavy stuff, and it doesn't pull any punches. This book is in no way concerned with preserving its readers' feelings. It'll hit you hard, and it'll hit you often, with surprising intensity. The adorable cover fooled me into thinking I was getting something light and comfortable. This is not the case.

This is a slow book to start. It takes its time in setting up the characters and establishing their relationships. It's a pace that works well, however, as Eleanor and Park are similarly slow in warming up to each other. The two take small steps in reaching their destination, and it's satisfying to see them finally come together.

Of the books I've read since starting at the library, this is probably my favorite. Recommended for everyone but the most romance-allergic.

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Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

Weekly Book Review: Noggin

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Noggin by John Corey Whaley
Released: April 8th, 2014
Genre: Young Adult / Light Science Fiction

Summary: 

"Listen — Travis Coates was alive once and then he wasn’t.

Now he’s alive again.

Simple as that.

The in between part is still a little fuzzy, but he can tell you that, at some point or another, his head got chopped off and shoved into a freezer in Denver, Colorado. Five years later, it was reattached to some other guy’s body, and well, here he is. Despite all logic, he’s still 16 and everything and everyone around him has changed. That includes his bedroom, his parents, his best friend, and his girlfriend. Or maybe she’s not his girlfriend anymore? That’s a bit fuzzy too.

Looks like if the new Travis and the old Travis are ever going to find a way to exist together, then there are going to be a few more scars.

Oh well, you only live twice."

[from John Corey Whaley's official website.]

Review:

I teared up no less than twenty times over the course of this book. Converted into normal person figures, that equals out to about 2 cpb (cries per book). The focus of this book is not on the event of Travis's Frankensteinian resurrection, but the emotional consequences of that event. For Travis, that means facing the long and painful process of dying only to come back to a world that's moved on without him. For his family and his friends, it means saying goodbye to Travis, dealing with his absence, and suddenly finding him back in their lives. The book posits that, like most anything that marks big changes in a life, resurrection would not be a wholly joyous experience. 

Travis is happy to be alive, of course, but he wants to live the life he left behind when he let those doctors cut off his head. His old life is just far enough outside his grasp to assure his failure, but close enough to get his hopes up. It stops him from moving on, and in his desperation to have everything back to the way it was, he tries to reverse what moving on his friends and family have done.

It's easy to sympathize with Travis, and just as easy to sympathize with his loved ones. I will admit to getting annoyed with his panicked attempts to win back his girlfriend's heart, but my reaction to them makes them no less understandable. At the same time, Cate's pained reactions to these are even more so. 

Don't get me wrong: the tears might flow, but this isn't a depressing novel. Just as the book examines the ugly side of living again, it pauses every once in a while to show that there are beautiful moments even in the midst of dying. Not to mention the many pluses of living again. 

Like, you know . . . living again.

The science fiction elements might be closer to fantasy than true science fiction. It's never quite explained how the doctors were able to graft Travis's head onto his body donor's neck. The book simply asks you to accept its conceit, and the rest of the book is so engrossing that I had no trouble doing exactly that. 

Read if you're even slightly interested in Young Adult fiction and you don't mind getting the pages a little wet.

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The Fault in Our Stars

Weekly Book Review: The Goblin Emperor

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The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison
Released: April 1, 2014
Genre: Fantasy

Summary:

"The youngest, half-goblin son of the Emperor has lived his entire life in exile, distant from the Imperial Court and the deadly intrigue that suffuses it. But when his father and three sons in line for the throne are killed in an 'accident,' he has no choice but to take his place as the only surviving rightful heir.

Entirely unschooled in the art of court politics, he has no friends, no advisors, and the sure knowledge that whoever assassinated his father and brothers could make an attempt on his life at any moment.

Surrounded by sycophants eager to curry favor with the naïve new emperor and overwhelmed by the burdens of his new life, he can trust nobody. Amid the swirl of plots to depose him, offers of arranged marriages, and the specter of the unknown conspirators who lurk in the shadows, he must quickly adjust to life as the Goblin Emperor. All the while, he is alone, and trying to find even a single friend . . . and hoping for the possibility of romance, yet also vigilant against the unseen enemies that threaten him, lest he lose his throne—or his life."

[from Katherine Addison's official website.]

Review

Though I loved the first three books of George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, I sometimes can't help but resent their popularity. They seem to have opened the floodgates for the type of grim and gritty fantasies that revel in blood and grit and subversions so commonplace they've metamorphosed into tropes. The lighter fantasies I prefer have been drowned out by Martin's deluge.

It may be that I just haven't been looking in the right places. I'm not always as on top of book releases as I should be, probably because my other media interests take up so much of my brain space. Still, before I started working at the library, every visit to the book store was an exercise in frustration. Most book stores didn't carry the older, less well-known works that might've quenched my thirst for more hopeful fantasy fare. As for those works so famous they've never gone out of print, well, my book shelf spilled over with those years ago.

The Goblin Emperor was a refreshing read. Maia, the titular Goblin Emperor, is the sort of protagonist I love, a kind, thoughtful person who genuinely wants to do good. Doing good is more difficult than it should be, of course. Much of the novel chronicles Maia's attempts to work his will in a system that actively resists it. Maia's only 18, and not used to having any authority at all, much less ruling authority over an entire kingdom. He's grown up away from court, separated from everyone and everything that could have taught him what to do and how to act in highly political situations.

Maia may lack in political know-how, but his general intellect and overflowing empathy make up for it in many ways. It's a testament to the author's skill that Maia never comes across as suffering from "Stupid Hero Syndrome" despite his disadvantages. Even his mistakes are logical. They just operate according to his logic rather than the empire's.

Maybe it's more realistic for the terminally good and the critically naive to succumb to the threats authors like Martin mete out for them, but it's not always that satisfying. Reality is a common sacrifice in the name of a good book, and for good reason. Reality's a little too unpredictable to make a decent narrative devoid of unanswered questions and unfinished character arcs. Maia's journey is not always realistic, but it is fully satisfying.

Those looking for action won't find it here. The majority of the book takes place in conversations and meetings, and the conflicts are driven by character rather than plot. Despite its lack of action, The Goblin Emperor never felt slow. There are few wasted moments in this novel's 446 pages, and it ends well before it's worn out its welcome.

The Goblin Emperor is one of the most enjoyable new fantasies I've read in a number of years. If you've got a taste for court politics but aren't hungry for backstabbing and bloodshed, definitely give this one a try.

You should also read:

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

Weekly Book Review: The Magicians

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The Magicians by Lev Grossman
Genre: Fantasy / Fiction
Released: 2009

Summary: 

"Quentin Coldwater is a high school senior, but he’s still secretly obsessed with a series of fantasy novels he read when he was little, about the adventures of five children in a magical land called Fillory. Compared to that, everything in his real life just seems gray and colorless. That changes when Quentin finds himself admitted to a very secret, very exclusive college of magic in upstate New York, where he receives a thorough and rigorous education in the practice of modern sorcery.

But magic doesn’t bring Quentin the happiness and adventure and meaning he thought it would—until he and his friends make a stunning [discovery]: Fillory is real. The Magicians is a grand, glittering fantasy that reinterprets the grand tradition of C.S. Lewis and J.K. Rowling in a brilliant novel for adults."

[from Lev Grossman's official website.]

Review: 

The Magicians is a bit of a complicated book for me in that I enjoyed reading it despite a growing list of misgivings. Grossman is a skilled prose stylist, and The Magicians is peppered with beautiful moments. It has its flaws, some glaring, some small matters of personal taste, but it's a worthy read.

The first half of The Magicians may as well be titled Harry Potter and the Undergraduate Education. After a mysterious entrance exam, our protagonist (I won't say hero, because Quentin doesn't live up to the title) is accepted into Brakebills, a university for the magically inclined. Brakebills' curriculum is far more complicated than Hogwarts', as the magic of Quentin's world is a thing of complex theory, mathematics, and arthritis-inducing hand movements. Light on heroic qualities as Quentin may be, none can call him a slouch. Brakebills only accepts the best and the brightest, and for good reason.

The chapters at Brakebills are by far my favorite parts of the book. The magic system is interesting and well-imagined, and the students that populate Brakebills' hallowed halls are complex, fully realized, and very, very broken. Quentin is the worst of them, a vain, spoiled, greedy brat whose malaise and general negativity often intrude on otherwise good scenes. Quentin's awful personality is likely intentional, but The Magicians doesn't always avoid the pitfalls inherent in an unlikeable leading character.

The second half of the book, covering Quentin's graduation from Brakebills and adventures in the Narnian land of Fillory, feels a bit disconnected from the first. It's almost as though The Magicians was two novels slapped together, both with clearly different themes and focal points. That isn't to say the Fillory half is worse than the first, and I'm sure many readers will like it better than Quentin's comparatively aimless journey through the magical education system, but the transition between the two stories is rocky. Still, Fillory is an interesting place, and it wears its darkness a little better than Brakebills does. Had Quentin's Fillory adventures been allowed the breathing room of their very own novel, they may have been more successful overall.

What brings this book down, in my opinion, is its own cynicism. The Magicians clearly scoffs at the rampant idealism of certain entries in the fantasy genre, and it relishes unleashing the potential darkness in lighter stories like Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia. In doing so, though, it loses much of what makes those stories so valuable to their readers without offering up anything of its own. It's sterile and clinical, the hospital hallway to Harry Potter's grand, shifting castle. Even Quentin and friends' delve into Fillory is strangely devoid of magic. The Magicians is a more realistic take on the idea of a magical school and of what would likely happen if a group of irresponsible twenty-something was given access to a magical other realm, but realism is hardly the chief concern of fantasies like Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia, nor should it be. The strength of the genre, at least in my opinion, is its ability to single out and champion universal themes by removing or altering reality's natural roadblocks. The Magicians points to these roadblocks and declares, "Here they are!" as if many fantasy authors, rather than making the conscious choice to scoot around or dismantle them, simply hadn't noticed their existence.

I think The Magicians will be more successful to readers who prefer literary rather than genre fiction, but it is a competent work of fantasy on its own. It may be a dirty, down-to-earth sort of fantasy, but plenty of the genre's fans hunger for such works. Its chief failing is that it leans on other books a little too much when a little more devotion to its own ideas and conceits could have resulted in something even better than it already is.

This review may seem a little negative, so let me restate my opening paragraph: this is an enjoyable book that well deserves your time. It's complicated and a little messy, but that just makes it more interesting to think about after you've turned the last page.

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Wicked

Weekly Book Review: The Knife of Never Letting Go

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The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness
Released: May 5, 2008
Genre: Young Adult / Science Fiction

Summary: 

"Todd Hewitt is the last boy in Prentisstown.

But Prentisstown isn't like other towns. Everyone can hear everyone else's thoughts in a constant, overwhelming, never-ending Noise. There is no privacy. There are no secrets.

Or are there?

Just one month away from the birthday that will make him a man, Todd unexpectedly stumbles upon a spot of complete silence.

Which is impossible.

Prentisstown has been lying to him.

And now he's going to have to run..."

[from Patrick Ness's official website.]

Review:

This is another book that came highly recommended by random strangers on the internet, and so far, their recommendations are 2 for 2. Thank you, dear random strangers, for your surprisingly good taste.

Even so, I wasn't sure I'd like The Knife of Never Letting Go. I could see from my random strangers' summaries that the novel made use of a trope that I particularly dislike, which can be summed up as "X is the last of his/her sex in a world dominated by the other." This trope strikes me as exploitable in all the wrong ways, and, as a result, I tend to steer away from it. Thankfully, Ness's handling of the trope is both respectful and surprising. The novel's plot defied my expectations on almost every level. What I'd mistaken as predictable turned out to be misdirection, and I fell for it without a second thought.

The effect Noise has on men's lives and their interactions with other people is one of the more fascinating elements of the book. The novel is narrated in first person from Todd's perspective, and his thoughts mixed with the Noise he projects makes for an interesting study. It's interesting to see the normal way of thinking--to yourself, without blaring your thoughts out for all to hear--through the perspective of someone who has never known normalcy.

The latter half of the novel moves along at a breakneck pace. Todd and Viola are given barely a second's rest between the middle of the novel and its conclusion, and the pace is as straining on the reader as it is on them. By the end, the sheer amount of near-misses and close calls had me exhausted, and after so many, it was hard to be surprised when new ones cropped up. As for other negatives, well, there was one scene in the not-quite-middle of the novel involving a giant bird and Manchee, Todd's talking dog, that seemed a little too familiar (see: Pixar's Up), but it's a small bother in the long run.

Those who like their novels fast-paced and thrilling, with a dash of forced introspection, should enjoy The Knife of Never Letting Go.

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The Maze Runner

Weekly Book Review: His Majesty's Dragon

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His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik
Released: March 28, 2006
Genre: Historical Fantasy

Summary:

"Aerial combat brings a thrilling new dimension to the Napoleonic Wars as valiant warriors rise to Britain’s defense by taking to the skies . . . not aboard aircraft but atop the mighty backs of fighting dragons.

When HMS Reliant captures a French frigate and seizes its precious cargo, an unhatched dragon egg, fate sweeps Capt. Will Laurence from his seafaring life into an uncertain future–and an unexpected kinship with a most extraordinary creature. Thrust into the rarified world of the Aerial Corps as master of the dragon Temeraire, he will face a crash course in the daring tactics of airborne battle. For as France’s own dragon-borne forces rally to breach British soil in Bonaparte’s boldest gambit, Laurence and Temeraire must soar into their own baptism of fire."

[From Naomi Novik's official website.]

Review: 

His Majesty's Dragon is the first in a series of books that ask a strange but intriguing question: what would the Napoleonic Wars have been like if both sides had access to an air force comprised of dragons and their riders? The reimagined battles that answer this question are thrilling, but the true strength of the novel lies in its response to a different line of inquiry springing from the main: how would humans and dragons coexist?

The answer is often "adorably."

There's really no other word for it. The relationship between our protagonists, Laurence and Temeraire, is that of two doting and devoted family members, sometimes brothers, sometimes parent and child (with both parties taking each role in turn). They protect each other, they teach each other, and they do all of this while upholding the virtues of politeness and honor as best they can in their war-torn Britain. Temeraire's genteel speech and mannerisms, paired with Laurence's absolute devotion to keeping a stiff upper lip, can only be called adorable.

Approximately this adorable.

This relationship does sometimes get a little too saccharine, and some readers might be more annoyed than charmed by Temeraire's cuddliness. There's tooth and claw ferocity to be found in the battle scenes, but these take up a relatively small section of the book. Those who prefer a bit more Smaug than Toothless in their dragons probably won't find what they're looking for here.

Novik's alternate Earth is an intricate creation, and much of the fun of the book is in discovering the many ways, both large and small, that dragons have redirected the course of history. Novik seems to have done her research, at least from my layman's point of view, and she manages to pile on the detail without interrupting the flow of the plot.

His Majesty's Dragon paces itself well, using plenty of smaller scenes to emphasize Laurence and Temeraire's growing camaraderie rather than relying on set pieces. Those that prefer nonstop action might find themselves disappointed, but readers who like their plot interspersed with character building moments should appreciate Novik's willingness to pause every once in a while. 

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Dealing with Dragons