Graceling by Kristin Cashore
My rating: 3 of 5 stars “Mercy was more frightening than murder because it was harder” Eighteen-year-old (or so) Katsa is a Graceling, possessed of a special gift (Grace) like a superpower in X-men or Heroes, in her case, a preternatural ability for killing. She is far less subject to fatigue, pain, hunger, thirst, cold, sickness, injury, and so on than normal (Graceless?) people and far quicker and stronger and more dexterous, resourceful, and creative etc. in fighting, hunting, swimming, etc. Not having any parents, she has been exploited for several years by her uncle King Randa as his attack dog-thug, being sent on missions to intimidate and physically punish any lord or commoner who dares cheat or diss the King. But lately she’s started chafing at that service, refusing to harm basically innocent people for Randa and starting the Council, a secret society spreading throughout the Seven Kingdoms to protect powerless people from the powerful. And such is the virtue of her cause that she has brought into the Council King Randa’s own spy master Oll, his own son Prince Raffin (a cool possibly gay guy into science, medicines, and his assistant Bann), and one of his most important young lords Gidden. When the first novel in Kristin Cashore’s Graceling Realm series, Graceling (2008), begins, Katsa is on a Council mission (unknown to King Randa) to rescue this Lienid grandfather prince from the dungeon of the King Murgon, so we get a good glimpse of her formidable fighting skills as she easily knocks out several dungeon guards and a dozen or so castle guards—until she almost meets her match in the person of Greening Grandemalion (call him Po), a handsome, be-ringed young Leinid prince not much older than she and apparently Graced with fighting ability (because he sure knows where each of her lightning-fast blows is going to land and act accordingly to avoid them…) The novel will develop the relationship between Katsa and Po in rather convincing, interesting, and moving ways as the plot (full of concise world building, exciting action, surprising reveals, complex romance, grueling adventure, and a boss villain with a scary Grace) puts them through the wringer and challenges Katsa’s understanding of herself, her Grace, and her lover. Interestingly, although the novel was published in 2008, the audio book version didn’t get made til 2022, so it is another example of a book that was first published before audio books were so popular and that has benefited from the popularity of audiobooks. Reader Xanthe Elbrick really enhances the story. The novel recalls Robin Hobb’s earlier Assassin’s Apprentice. A young highly trained, skilled, and effective killer for a king; the conflict between doing the dirty work for a demanding master and wanting to be free to live your life; the ethics of killing; etc. But of course Katsa is a she, and everyone knows what she is and what she can do, which is part of why they shun her, while in Fitz's case it's because they know he's a bastard without having any idea he's a highly trained spy assassin. And Fitz doesn't start his own "Council," but stays more a tool of the Farseers. It also reminds me a bit of The Murderbot Diaries, because although Katsa refers to herself as a monster, she’s really a human survivor-savior. Cashore’s novel indulges in a bit of YA Special Princess Heroine Overkill, in that Katsa is a beautiful orphan, she complains of having no friends but really has several good ones, she has a really cool love interest, she’s basically not one princess but two, she’s a great fighter (the best in her kingdom), and (so far) her unique Grace is countless Graces rolled into one. Because there is (so far) no explanation for the Grace system, where the abilities come from, how they actually work, who gets one, why it manifests as it does in a person, why Graced people have one eye one color and one eye another (apart from being cool), and so on. This permits Cashore to come up with any kind of Grace with any kind of rules needed to suit her plot. And the climax is over too quickly. However, I had such a great time listening to the audiobook, which was funny, exciting, suspenseful, moving, surprising, and so on (and has some great stuff re to marry and have kids or not and how it'd be to be close to someone who can basically read your thoughts), so that I really had to kind of flog myself to find flaws because I just wanted to enjoy the ride to the end. I also appreciate that apparently each Graceling book can stand by itself. Will I go on to listen to other books in the series? Hmmm…… View all my reviews
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The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbit
My rating: 4 of 5 stars A Comical, Scary, Sublime, and Imperfect Fantasy The heroes of E. Nesbitt’s fantasy novel The Enchanted Castle (1907), Gerald (Jerry), Kathleen (Kathy/Cat), and James (Jimmy) are three British West Country siblings who go to unisex boarding schools and can only meet on the weekends at some house where they can't play (“You know the kind of house” says the narrator). Luckily one thing leads to another, and the boys get to spend the holiday at Kathleen's girls’ school in Littlesby while all the other girls are gone. The kids are wanting an adventure—Kathleen even suggests writing a book, but the boys refuse that fatiguing work—when out hunting caves in the woods they stumble upon (and into) one that leads to what appears to be an enchanted castle with an enchanted garden with an enchanted princess lying there waiting to be kissed awake. Princess, garden, and castle all turn out to be not exactly enchanted in the way the kids (and reader) were expecting. The ensuing plot has the kids making a good new friend in Mabel Prowse, the daughter of the housekeeper of Yalding Towers, the estate the kids found, and getting to know through increasingly fraught trial and error the properties of what turns out to be a tricky magic ring. Is it a ring of invisibility? Or a wishing ring? Or whatever one wants it to be? Like certain other later more famous magic rings, this one has a tendency to drop off your finger at unexpected moments and to seduce you into using it the wrong way. **You can see the influence Nesbit must have had on C. S. Lewis here: two boys and two girls having fantastic adventures driven by magical artifacts, marked by the interface between the “real” world and fantasy, and flavored by pagan deities (though Nesbitt blessedly is not writing Christian allegory). There’s lots of fantasy in the novel! Comedy scenes, like Gerald disguising himself in brown-face to become an India Indian conjurer at the town fair (this is offensive today). Disturbing horror developments, as when an audience fashioned from coats, pillows, broomsticks, and hats comes to life as “Ugly-Wuglies,” or as when to prove a point Mabel (foolishly!) wishes the ring made people four yards tall, or as when Kathleen (foolishly!) wishes she could be a statue, or as when James (foolishly!) wishes he were rich. Interspersed through the disturbing moments shine sublime ones, like a celestial picnic featuring animated statues of pagan gods and a moment of total revelation and understanding outside time and space and without need of words, when it seems “that the whole world lay like a magic apple in the hand of each listener and that the whole world was good and beautiful.” Throughout all of the fantasy, Nesbit runs her “realism,” which involves giving plenty of money and food details, demystifying or mundaning certain fantasy elements (like sleeping beauties and enchanted castles) while freshly and imaginatively utilizing others (like magic rings), and frequently addressing her readers to for instance challenge them to do things like make their own Ugly-Wuglies to see how scary they can really be and generally to pose as a real person who’d met the siblings and gotten their story from them (she archly tells us that she believes everything she’s been told, including the story we’re reading). She also uses relatable similes, like “... looking as unreal as the wrong answer to a sum in long division.” And she has her kids use then current British slang, like “I've had a rum dream,” and “What a ripping book!” and refer to then popular literature like Sherlock Holmes. She also inserts at one point an American millionaire who, suitably, likes saying “great” and shooting his gun (which he lovingly carries on his person). Gerald is a neat character, good at currying favor with adults by being attentive and polite to them, a natural born general who takes charge of the other kids and bucks them up when their morale flags, an articulate lad who likes narrating their activities as though he’s the narrator of an adventure novel as well as its hero, with the other kids being his minions. The other kids are not as interesting but still individual enough. There are points where they do unbelievably stupid and out of character (the kids are anything but stupid) things with the ring to create suspenseful complications. Johanna Ward gives a fine reading of the Audiobook. Unfortunately, Nesbit shoves into the story an unconvincing and excrescent fairy tale-like romance involving the French governess “Mademoiselle” who’s supposedly keeping an eye on the kids during their holidays. And, like Gerald posing as an Indian conjurer, some things don’t wear well today, as in lines like, “Even though you’re French you must know that British gentlemen always keep their word.” But the novel is worth reading for psychologically interesting and true moments like when the kids reveal their awareness that grownups play with them to please them without knowing that kids play with them to please them, and for some potent fantasy writing, like this: "There is a curtain, thin as gossamer, clear as glass, strong as iron, that hangs forever between the world of magic and the world that seems to us to be real. And when once people have found one of the little weak spots in that curtain which are marked by magic rings, and amulets and the like, almost anything may happen." And like this: “The two little girls kissed in the kind darkness, where the visible and the invisible could meet on equal terms.” View all my reviews
Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
My rating: 5 of 5 stars A Perfect Picture Book I’ve been teaching Where the Wild Things Are (1963) here at Fukuoka University for over twenty-five years now, and almost every time I learn something new about how it works and enjoy it again. Maurice Sendak had some false starts making his classic book, one in 1958 called Where the Wild Horses Are, a book about an inch in height with wide pages, and then one in 1963 with the final title but fashioned too small (about the size of his Nutshell Library). And then when he’d found just the right size and title of the eventual book, he had to de-clutter the words (the text being overwritten) and pictures (the initial pictures having too many objects and details). Anyway, he did finally make a perfect picture book. In the compact and potent story Max is wearing his “wolf suit” pajamas and going violently crazy at home (torturing his stuffed animal bear, hammering a nail in the wall to hang a string to make a blanket lair, chasing his dog down the stairs with a large fork, threatening to eat his mother up, etc.), so his mother calls him, “WILD THING!” and sends him to bed without supper, whereupon his bedroom changes into a forest and an ocean, and he sails off in a boat to Where the Wild Things Are, where he tames the monsters and becomes their king and plays with them, until he finally is sated and realizes he misses someone who loved him most of all and returns to his bedroom to find his supper waiting for him. To tell that story, the pictures and words do interesting things, separately and together. Sometimes the words add details absent from the pictures, like Max’ mother, whom Sendak never draws. One sentence goes on for about eight pages! But he uses “and” skillfully and ends each page at a pause-able point so as to make it easy and fun to read the book aloud. There’s even a neat touch whereby he puts the time words when Max travels to Where the Wild Things Are in an order increasing from small to large (night, day, weeks, year) only to reverse them (year, weeks, day, night) when his hero returns home, giving the impression of time travel (though then how is one to explain the full moon in his bedroom window at the end of the story when it began with a crescent moon?). Sometimes the pictures add details absent from the words, like the nature of Max’ mischief, the picture on the wall of a wild thing that Max has drawn, the presence of the moon throughout, the way the moon changes size to match Max’ changing moods, the items in his supper, the diverse and chimerical composition of the wild things, and so on. Sometimes the illustrations provide a pleasing balance or symmetry, as when Max and the wild thing with human feet are sitting like mirror images in the same pose. Sendak’s extensive cross-hatching makes the pictures solid and substantial but also dreamlike and nocturnal. Sometimes the words and pictures work together, as when Max is “lonely,” and the picture shows his melancholy face. Sometimes the words and pictures work against each other, as when “mischief” seems an understatement for the mayhem Max is unleashing, and when “terrible” repeatedly describes the wild things, but they look more silly or cute or ugly. Sendak also cleverly uses layout, as in the way the pictures at first appear on the right hand pages with big white margins around them, while the words at first appear on the left hand pages, but as Max’ wildness grows, the pictures grow across the pages as the words and margins retreat, until in the wild rumpus climax there are three consecutive wonderful wordless two-page spreads where the pictures go from edge to edge (it is now that the moon is finally full, too). Then after Max expresses his wildness and fulfills and exhausts himself, the pictures start retreating as the words start advancing, till the last page has no image at all but only the words, “and it was still hot.” A wonderful touch to represent the degree of Max’s wildness by the presence or absence of words (more civilized) and pictures (more primitive). It must be so fun for kids to read a story in which the little boy hero goes wild at home, escapes punishment by journeying to his ideal wild play place, takes command of giants like grotesque adults, gives them the punishment his mother has given him by sending them to bed without their supper, then returns home to his own still hot supper comprised of soup, milk, and cake. (The themes on using fantasy to express one’s anger and resentment and frustration are great.) And although in the last picture he has pulled down his wolf suit head to reveal his good boy’s head, he is still wearing the wolf suit, and he can go wild again any time, and the moon is full, and the wild thing on the cover is waiting for him. Finally, I’m impressed by Sendak’s emotional restraint in the book, which is unsentimental. Imagine if at the end, instead of the brilliant last blank white page bearing only the words, “and it was still hot,” Sendak had, for instance, forced on us a picture of Max and his mother hugging or of Max’s mother watching her son eating! (Contrast that with the ending of the 2009 movie.) This year the book is sixty, but it never feels old. View all my reviews |
Jefferson Peters
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