Weasels. What do you think they do all day? Eat nuts and berries? Frolic in the leaves? Lurk in the dark? … What they really do is plot world domination!
I love this hilarious book about a group of weasels who plan to rule the world with the help of a big machine and a little white mouse. When their big machine breaks, various strategies are employed to fix it but some weasels have divergent ideas while others are easily distracted. Chaos ensues until one curious weasel solves the mystery. Brilliant.
Here is a clip from inside the book. As you can see, one little weasel’s attempt to improve the tense work atmosphere goes awry.
One bleak morning in the eye of winter, five horses and five riders thundered into the remote mountain village of Nag’s End. Without ceremony or respect for local custom, they charged through the square and up the steep alpine trail that lay just beyond (p 1).
The arrival and quick deaths of the king’s men set off a series of disturbing deaths. Add to this the arrival of a group of strangers (a couple and their daughter) with whom Rowan is forbidden from approaching and a Duke who visits Rowan’s father and Rowan’s world is turned up-side-down.
First, the beautiful young woman named Fiona is revealed to be her relation. Then Tom, Rowan’s best friend, falls completely in love with Fiona. But death toll rises and each gruesome body suggests a protean and impossible murderer. Then, the ever friendly Tom becomes truculent and crazed and the villagers become suspicious.
This atmospheric tale has a touch of mystery, fantasy, romance and fairy tale all mixed together. Though it could have benefited from a tighter telling, I recommend it to fans of Marcus Sedgwick and Chris Wooding.
When I first heard Gayle, I couldn’t tell if she was a bird or a girl. All I knew for sure was that the music she made wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard before. It was magic.
Even a kid like me could recognize that (p 1).
Little John first hears Gayle, an orphan being fostered by the town’s poor widow and her bully son, singing as he and his father are pruning pecan trees for the richest man in town. He finds her perched in a nest snug in the branches of a sycamore tree that abuts the Emperor’s property. Gayle, who reminds John of his deceased younger sister, becomes the catalyst to John’s much needed healing.
With an undercurrent of subtle magic that harkens to Hans Christian Anderson’s The Nightingale, this is an enchanting and thoroughly delightful story with deftly drawn characters and sparse, lyrical language. Highly recommended.
I was horrified by the use of the word fault, with its negative connotations, especially as it was being employed by someone in authority. I abandoned my decision not to deviate from the genetic issues. The matter had doubtless been brewing in my unconscious, and the volume of my voice may have increased as a result.
“Fault! Asperger’s isn’t a fault. It’s a variant. It’s potentially a major advantage. Asperger’s syndrome is associated with organization, innovative thinking, and ration detachment.”
A woman at the rear of the room raised her hand. I was focused on the argument now and made a minor social error, which I quickly corrected.
“The fat women — overweight woman — at the back? (p 10)”
What can I say? I was charmed by this book from the beginning. I could not pull myself away from Don’s voice and perspective. I was immediately and hopelessly enthralled.
Don is a professor of genetics in Melbourne, Australia. As he nears his 40th birthday, he attempts to find a wife via questionnaire. He has specific requirements that a prospective mate must satisfy. Then Rosie walks into his office and disrupts his well-constructed life, simultaneously inconveniencing Don and delighting him.
Reading this as I am also listening to Far From the Tree: Parents, Children and the Search for Identity by Andrew Solomon, I applauded Simsion’s perspective on Asperger’s syndrome and his treatment of it as a matter of identity rather than illness.
My only qualm with the book come in the last quarter when the narrative meandered and took on a cinematic (read: wild goose chase) quality. Otherwise, it was a complete delight and I look forward to a sequel.
Library copy | Simon & Schuster | 292 pages | ISBN 9781476729084 | Ages 16+
Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are many days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, I want more number for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn’t trade it for all the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful (p 260).
John Green’s most recent best seller is a tear-jerker that has found it’s way to a big screen adaptation (surprisingly, faster than his superior novel, the Printz Award winning Looking for Alaska). In Stars, we meet Hazel Grace, a teen with terminal cancer who meets the deceptively healthy looking and handsome Augustus at Support Group. The two connect, stories and experiences are shared and, predictably, someone dies. Everyone dies, sooner or later… but reading about it makes it feel real. But this is just a book and characters do not have lives outside of the book, as the fictional alcoholic author, Peter Van Houten, brutally informs the pair. Or do they?
Green is most successful when exploring truths about relationships – not through precocious teenage dialogue – but through the genuine reactions his characters have to the suffering of their loved ones and their struggle to find words to describe their myriad (and sometime conflicting) feelings.
In Hazel Grace’s pre-death eulogy to Augustus Waters, she speaks poignantly. Her comments during his actual eulogy are more mundane and rote, a dichotomy I fear will play out in the film adaptation. Will a Hollywood movie capture the unpretty reality of death Green explores or will the movie soften these truths, glamorizing the characters and dumbing it down for a wider audience? If the trailer is anything to judge by, we’re going to get a mundane film with all the components of the book but little truth.
Library copy | Dutton Books | 313 pages | ISBN 9780525478812 | Ages 13+
Ann Patchett’s collection of essays is at its best when Patchett writes about writing. Her passion for her craft is evident but its difficulties are not glossed over or romanticized. She talks about her process and the path she took to publication.
When Patchett, in a later essay, shares her experience as co-owner of an independent book store in Nashville, TN, she learns about the process of actually selling books to readers. Anyone with illusions of making millions (or even an income) on self-published titles… take note. Writing and selling books is a complicated and time-consuming business that requires a lot of work. Attempting to circumvent the publishing industry is, in my opinion, a mistake. Patchett has some very insightful things to say on the importance of hard work, publishing support, and an author’s role in selling his or her work. Wanna be writers take note.
Patchett’s closing essay on some nuns, a piece on RVing, her dog and other such frivolities did not hold my attention. Jonathan Yardley of The Washington Post put it well, “… you can take the writer out of the women’s magazines, but you can’t always take the women’s magazines out of the writer.”
Summing up: I like her fiction a great deal more than her non-fiction, but both are worthwhile reading. Get them from your local library or independent book store.
This book was recommended to me by a friend’s wife. Looking for a lighter read, I delved in and, much to my chagrin, I was stuck in a quagmire. Like a witness to a horrific car accident or a devastating nature disaster, I was enthralled… transfixed… unable to turn away, all the while my face contorting in disbelief, despair, and finally, the insane laughter of disbelief and mystification.
Never have I read a book so utterly without style, plausibility, or intrigue. The characters were laughable. The author-professed intellect of the two main characters was undermined ever time the author gave utterance to their thoughts or allowed them to speak. There were so many mixed messages and descriptions, the characters lost all form. All supporting characters were inane and frivolous, merely props.
I can’t help but laugh when I think about this book. It’s absolutely ludicrous. How anyone who maintained consciousness through high school English could enjoy this is beyond my comprehension. To call this literature is a great stretch and entirely too complimentary. To say it strings words together to form semi-intelligible sentences is slightly closer to the truth.