Novel Review: Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

            So here it is: The finale. The end. The very last post I may ever write about Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games.

            My review of Mockingjay.

            Well. Let’s clear up some stuff first. Number One—the first HG book was awful. Number Two—the second HG book wasn’t much better. Number Three—these books offer no hope that humanity will change, that there is a force of good that can overcome the evil of carnality and bring us to a place of peace and goodness. Mockingjay was no different.

            While some character(s) advanced a little (Finnick, by name), the writing quality really didn’t. Katniss is still the flipping-back-and-forth girl we’ve seen since book one. She doesn’t change at all. AT ALL. Hasn’t changed in three books! I detect no growth here, in the finale, and I didn’t think there would be any, anyway. And while Peeta had a more determined air about him, he was still soppy and bent on keeping Katniss alive at all costs. Granted, he loves her, but really? You’re going to kill yourself to keep her alive, Peeta? Stupid, if you ask me. Why not fight for her, BY HER SIDE, until the end creeps up on you? Whenever that may be? And Gale? That moment when he was about to cry really made me . . . annoyed.

            And the plot? While near the ending the twists became clear, the fulfillment of answers and the reveal were nonexistent. We know next to nothing about Coin’s full plan and how she enacted it, who she got to be with her, and why she wanted Katniss alive even after the former thought the latter was dead. (Oh, wait. Spoiler alert.) On that Katniss note, why did she not kill the Mockingjay in her sleep? With an overdose of morphling? Would have been so easy. But no. Nothing like that. Bah. Major holes riddled the book, like how Katniss and Finnick “figured out” the Capitol was set up like the arena, which was a scene not entirely clear in wording or in action anyway. Oh, and the whole meeting-of-former-tributes near the end about enacting one last Hunger Games? Random, and quite frankly unneeded. And the fact that Katniss, who was a confessed hater of the Capitol and their Games, said “Yes do it?” . . . what? Again I say, honestly?

            Oh, and that’s another thing. Hate. This book’s energy is hate. The plot’s driver is hate. The entire reason Katniss exists is her HATRED of the Capitol. That’s why she does what she does, is because of hatred! Even close to the end of the book, there, she’s devising ways to kill herself. She loses her hatred, and therefore her reason for being flies out the window, so she gives up. And the fact that she “lets” Peeta revive her? Don’t get me wrong, I always knew she would end up with him (sorry, spoiler alert), but I didn’t think their final reunion would be so . . . not cheesy, but random. There should have been more leading up to it. A talk, for instance. In which there is both healing and baring of souls and uniting of hearts. Instead, they have sex. How shallow.

            And don’t get me started on the epilogue. Sure, we see Katniss’s and Peeta’s kids, their finality in marrying and stuff, but what of Panem? What of Gale? What of Haymitch and District 12 and how the country really turned out? We. Get. NOTHING.

            The entire Hunger Games series presents nothing for a world full of hatred already. The point that  brutality can only be beaten by brutality is not one a hopeless world needs to hear. Violence cannot quell the human corruption called carnality. Only Jesus can soothe our wounds and hurts and bring us into a fullness we can only imagine without Him. The Hunger Games presents us with a perfect picture of how hopeless our world truly is, and how desperately it is crying out for a Savior.

            Luckily, we’ve already been given one.

            Speaking of giving, I give Mockingjay Two flipped pages out of Ten. Why two? Because we didn’t go into the arena again.

Novel Review: Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

            Honestly?

            I can’t think of a better word. Honestly?

            Well, after the first installment of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games, I thought it couldn’t get much worse. Apparently I was wrong. And the trilogy’s second book, Catching Fire, proved to me how wrong I was indeed.

            I can’t number the things that annoyed me, or I would. So I’ll just list the main offenders.

            The first is Katniss’s attitude. Once again, we find our “heroine” in such a state of should-I-shouldn’t-I that it’s annoying. One minute she’s fine with this or that, the next she’s flying off the handle and making a mess, not only of herself, but for others like Peeta. (By the way, he hasn’t improved either. He’s still as annoyingly lovelorn and without resolve that I could puke.) Even her family can’t calm Katniss’s mood swings, and the flapjack quality about her gets real old, real fast.

            The second thing that annoyed me most is the fact that Katniss got put in the games AGAIN. What, that’s the best Collins could come up with for the start of the rebellion? Put another round of Hunger Games in? No secret, clandestine meetings underground while trying to funnel new tributes of the Capitol? No dodging spies on the different streets of the Districts while slipping from one border to another on apparently super-fast hovercraft? The best she could come up with is that? The originality level just bulleted down into the earth so far, I think China just had an earthquake.

            While Haymitch remained somewhat a likeable character, the others were either stereotypical, predictable, annoying, or just . . . poorly written. Cookie cutters. (Again, I think of Peeta and Gale and have to roll my eyes. How typical can you get for male characters, anyway? How flat! How boring! How . . . ugh.) The same goes for the plot. Must I redirect you to my previous paragraph? I couldn’t help but just wish for the book to be over. I thought the rebellion would be SO much more intense, so much more interesting. Instead?

 

            Eh.

            One thing I’ve noted about the entire story, though, is that there’s this element of hopelessness that not even the faintest glimmer of light will penetrate. Darkness hangs about the entire series, a pall of death and defeat that will never be overturned. And don’t even argue to bother that in our world things are the same, because I have news for you: THEY’RE NOT. There is a hope that could have been installed into this series that would have given Katniss such an undying determination to live instead of the annoying, flim-flam notion of “Do I live for Peeta or die for Peeta?”

            One person: Jesus Christ.

            Without Him, we have nothing. He is hope, and only His love can penetrate any darkness created by the world. Panem is so desolate and . . . doomed. There is nothing there. No “philosophy” to read into, no “parallel to our own society,” no live-and-die love story, NOTHING. This series is doom and gloom and death and gore. And terrible writing.

            I know that the love of Jesus will never be present in these books, but maybe there’s something—some element like pure, true, selfless love—that will bring at least a glimmer of light to this series in the last book. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. We’ll have to see.

            Catching Fire gets One flipped page out of Ten.

Novel Review: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

            Well, then. A book nearly everyone knows about since its movie release in March this year. That’s right, folks. You guessed it. (Or maybe you didn’t, I don’t know.)

            The Hunger Games.

            For a while there I was really hesitant to read it, due to the fact that kids are killing kids. Which, in no way, is excused by Suzanne Collins’ setting and Capitol crap. But I held my head high and read it to get the stupid thing out of my face. I wanted to see what everyone was so crazy about, so desperate to have everyone else read, so . . . glad with. Well, I read it.

            And I don’t see what the hubbub was so big for. (Mine and my mother’s theory is that it’s because there are no more Harry Potter books or movies.)

            But anyway.

            You know, usually I try to make my reviews concise and short, but I’m putting everything I felt into this one.

            The book started off with Katniss Everdeen being a pretty strong female character. She was stoic and didn’t like to show emotion so no one would take advantage of her and her family. That quickly changed, for no apparent reason. One moment she wants to be stoic and strong to intimidate other tributes from the rest of the Districts, then the next she’s all happy and jolly, or really moody and PMS-style angry, without cause for either. Oh, and the fact that she feels she doesn’t have any friends, yet acts like a complete dolt in the interview with Caesar? That really didn’t make any sense at all. Then, in the arena, her narrative and thoughts are so scattered at points it’s hard to follow what she’s thinking at all. At the end, she’s finally back to her somewhat strong self, but not really. She changed, but for the worst.

            And Peeta? Don’t even get me started. His “humble” act was aggravating when his kindness spilled over into sappiness around Katniss, and their brief talk on the roof before leaving for the Games was so brief in fact, I had no clue why it was put in there besides a rottenly failed attempt to give such a terribly-based book substance that would make it “acceptable” to the rest of levelheaded society. Anyway, Peeta’s sudden change in the arena—from nice guy to killer—was unexpected and random seeing as how he automatically switches back like it never happened. What the heck? Where did that kill come from? Peeta, you make no sense, and you’re such a flat and annoying, predictable character I’m really annoyed. Really.

            Speaking of romance, the attempted insertion of a romantic subplot failed. Miserably. Katniss never had any natural chemistry with Peeta, and don’t argue that that would be the intended purpose because of the Hunger Games “forcing” them together. She could just have easily killed him because he could just as easily have killed her. And she thought about it at the end as he raised his knife, so don’t tell me she was “conflicted” about Gale. That aspect was merely touched upon, if that. The excessive kissing and surface romance bubbling up through the dregs of scattered events and children’s’ deaths was enough to make me want to vomit.

            Oh, yeah. That. The violence. Not pleased at all. In terms of blood and gore, the violence was minimal, but in terms of content? Kids killing kids, being forced into an arena by the Capitol to fight to the death for entertainment? Yeah, in no way is that acceptable. There are areas in the writing world that should never be touched upon because they’re just wrong, and this is one of those areas. Imagine being twelve and given a knife, shoved into a ring and told to kill your older sibling. That happens every day in countries where it’s hidden. Kids kill each other for real, so why would you even want to write about such a topic in such a way when it can be touched upon just as forcefully with other, less dark ways. And believe me, a dark spirit lingers about this book.

            That reminds me. The Capitol. The way Collins passed them off, they seem less and less imposing every time we’re introduced to them; lazy and careless. They hardly seem intimidating besides the fact that they hold the Hunger Games every year as a punishment, but in terms of plot this is a weak bone in the seam of the Capitol’s spine. Or do they even have one? I can’t tell, the way they were written.

            With scattered, shallow writing and flat characters all around—unimposing, stereotypical villains and boring protags—I marvel that this book has been taken as such a “literary” “achievement.” (I separate these words because neither of them can be attached as a label to this book.) Suzanne Collins, while seemingly popular with this series, struck the flattest of notes and never recovered, for all 378 pages of inconsistency. Collins, quit your day job. Seriously. One flipped page out of Ten.

Novel Review: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan

            Have I mentioned lately that the Percy Jackson movie was crap? No? Let me say it again, then. I hate that movie.

            It’s crap.

            There.

            Now, onward with the review.

            I said in my last post that I loved the first Percy Jackson book. It sets the stage in a five-book saga that really grabs you and won’t let go. Ever heard of OMC Syndrome? One More Chapter Syndrome hits all of us, mostly at night when we want to sleep, but the book makes us diseased—our hands are attached to it, eyes glued, and we can’t put it down. We have to have one more chapter….

            Anyway, when I started Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Sea of Monsters, I had no idea what to expect, really, and I had a bit of a hesitation as much as I love the series. Would the debut lead into a strong sophomore novel? Or would it fall flat and leave us wanting? I needed to find out. So in I delved.

            I was not disappointed.

            The characters were as strong as ever, and with Percy’s new family secret revealed, you see other sides of him that are at first not-so-likeable, then his noble hero qualities come out and you like him even more. And Annabeth? Man, she’s BA. That girl kicks butt. Luke was a jerkbag, as usual, only more so in this book. The tie-in with Grover’s quest was also really innovative. We weren’t left hanging wondering what happened to our dear satyr friend.

            I liked how the other Halfbloods were incorporated more in this one, too. And the Sea of Monsters’ location? I smiled, and getting me to show any emotion while reading is difficult. Props to you, Rick Riordan. Your sophomore Percy Jackson book was full-blooded and a kicker. I can’t say you punched me in the face, but you certainly gave the first book a run for its money. Eight flipped pages out of Ten.

Novel Review: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan

            How many of you have heard, by way of cinema, the name Percy Jackson? Raise your hands. That many? Thought so. Now; how many of you associate this “good movie” with a book you will probably never read? Yeah, thought so.

            Okay, let me start off by writing off the movie ENTIRELY. That piece of pig vomit is nothing compared to Rick Riordan’s creative and innovative work entitled Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief. I read the book not knowing what to expect. The crap movie gives you high expectations, and I’m not saying they weren’t met. By far, they were. But these expectations are schnozzle compared to the deal you get with the first Percy Jackson installment.

            First, let me start off by saying the narrative and voice is incredibly entertaining. You laugh as much as you frown from tension. Percy’s a clever kid, and Riordan gives him a relatable, warm voice you could listen to for hours. All the characters in the book are great, and I love how Annabeth is such a strong female figure in it. You’d think they’d make her the damsel in distress Percy has to save time and again, like in Greek mythology, but she’s far from that. Sure, spiders freak her out, but who isn’t freaked out by spiders? My older brother pretty much dies every time he sees one. (For me, it’s earwigs, but hey. I’m weird.)

            The ways Riordan incorporates Greek mythology into the modern day is really fascinating, as well. The monsters are great and oft times pop up in unexpected places. And the short, punch-packing explanations of the monster origins save us a long-winded Greek epic that needs to be explained. They’re common knowledge and you can recognize them off the bat once the heroes that previously fought the monsters are mentioned.

            I didn’t know what to expect coming into the book, but I really enjoyed it once I delved in. I can’t wait to pick up the rest of them. And believe me, they’re going on my keeper shelf. Eight flipped pages out of Ten.

Movie Review: The Odd Life of Timothy Green

            I like movies. Even more, I like movies that make me feel. Those are rare. So when I walked into theater 6 to see The Odd Life of Timothy Green, I knew the film’s quirkiness would grab me from the beginning. The previews looked promising (but we all know what that means), and I couldn’t wait to see it despite my trailer-rule-of-thumb misgivings.

            The movie started off with a punch when you realize that the two parents (Jennifer Garner and Joel Edgerton) are unable to have kids, and the emotion Garner displays is completely believable. When they take that one night to imagine what their kid would be like, I felt so sad for them. They couldn’t have one of their own. They’d never experience that. Man.

            Punch in the face number one.

            Then when Timothy appeared? That was so cute. The kid’s acting was praiseworthy, and I say he has a great future ahead of him. But I digress.

            Let’s see, how many times did this movie punch me in the face?

            Great plot and relatable, believable, lovable, hateable characters? Punch number two.

            Sweetness that relates to life and relationships, and how the touch of one kind person can reach so many people in one fell swoop? Punch number three.

            Timothy’s very essence of kindness and showing love to everyone he meets? His lack of judgment and the honesty he portrays that touched not only his parents, but the people his parents came into contact with, including the stiff-necked adoption agents? Punch number four.

            I will confess something that has only ever happened once in the entirety of my movie watching career. Timothy Green made me cry. Honest-to-goodness tears that leaked out onto my face. Silent sobs that shook my shoulders and chest. I hated the ending (no spoiler alert), but at the same time I loved it. I understood it, but it still made me so sad. Sad and touched and happy and . . . all kinds of crap. Good crap.

            The only thing that could have been put into the film was a little explanation of where Timothy had come from. That would have topped off the French silk pie with chocolate shavings. Mmmmmmm….pie.

            With four punches in the face and counting, not to mention the sheer goodness of this film, I give Timothy an unprecedented Six kernels out of five. (Yes, I have the power to bend fractions. This is my blog. I call the shots.) Congratulations, Timothy Green. You made me cry.

Novel Review: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs

            Okay. This is my last review for the night, and I’ll have to see more movies and read more books to get on the review train again. I haven’t been caught up in a while, so this is rather relieving for me. That stupid sticky won’t stare me down anymore. Ha! VICTORY.

            Moving on.

            Since I saw it on Wal-Mart shelves (I know, not the best place to book spy), I’ve wondered what Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children was all about. Recently I ordered it and polished all 348 pages of it off in three days. Oh, it was that good.

            The story moves kind of slowly at first. We’re introduced to a not-so-hard-to-figure-out MC (main character) named Jacob Portman, and his grandfather tells stories about an island where the sun never stopped shining and peculiar children lived, himself included. Well, Jacob’s progression from his grandfather’s death to finally stepping through to the world that was told of if a somewhat tedious experience, but there are moments where you’re grabbed by the face and forced to keep reading, like when Jacob first finds the house. Then when he goes there and opens the trunk.

            When it comes to character, all the peculiar children—and even Miss Peregrine—were extremely well-written. But Jacob fell flat in places. Sometimes he just seemed like some whiny rich kid who was chasing after his grandfather’s stories for answers. Other times he was the heroic and conflicted hero we all want to see win. The flip may have been intentional, but the progression was slower than it needed to be.

            Two things saved this book: (1) the unique and refreshing integration of strange antique photographs to make the story come to life, and (2) the crazy-creative villains and wide-open space for a series. I. Hated. Dr. Golan. Period. What a jerkbag! Oh, I knew there was something fishy about him, especially when he was at the airport, but the end clinched it for me. And what an end for him. Ha. Take that, nosy parker.

Ransom Riggs’ debut novel could have used some major polishing in some areas, but when Jacob transformed into the hero (finally) I couldn’t wait to keep turning the pages. For Pete’s sake, Emma was such a BA, she outshined Jacob the entire time. No pun intended.

One thing I didn’t appreciate was the unnecessary use of excessive language. A cuss here or there doesn’t bother me, but when you take the Lord’s name in vain? There’s never any call for that, I don’t care how dramatic a scene may be. Minor cusses, fine. Misusing God’s name, not okay. That’s a huge factor in lowering the book’s score. I give it Four flipped pages out of Ten.

The Book Cover Rule of Thumb

I almost fell asleep, Roland March.

            We’ve all heard it: “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Yet we do it anyway, and for good reason. We read with our aesthetic appeal before we read with our logic center. (Fancy words for, “Good artwork attracts.”) But why is that? Bah, I don’t know. I’m not here to explain some high-end scientific fact. I’m here to lay down a jam, son.

            Sort of.

            What I want to say is this: Judge books by their covers, but at discretion. For example, looking back I can see that Back On Murder by J. Mark Bertrand’s cover looks like it’ll be a cookie-cutter cop story about a rogue middle-ager looking for his identity. That’s exactly what we received. And Eon: Dragoneye Reborn by Alison Goodman told us to prepare for a mystical journey through a fantastic land. Which is also what happened.

            But then there are exceptions, the ones that fool you. For instance, Dragon’s Blood by Jane Yolen gives us the idea we’re about to receive some cheap sci-fi knock-off and we’ll be disappointed. Far from it! That book is rife with creativity and originality. It was great! Or Issym by Jessie Mae Hodsdon, for another example. The cover gave us the impression we would get a fantastic fantasy bursting at the seams with adventure and grit. Dragons! Woo! Were we disappointed? Uh, yeah.

WHERE IS YOUR GRIT?!?!

            Here’s the lowdown. Covers serve a purpose. They’re supposed to attract the reader so that any other book in mind gets forgotten and the eye-catching one gets picked up. Yeah, I know. Cheap media influence: Shiny is better. But alas. That’s what we’ve gotten into. But that can be overcome! Despite the cover, the writing and story are always what prevail in the land of writing. While the cover may be glossy and pretty, if the writing sucks, forget it. So judge books by their cover, but only after you’ve had a taste of the writing and story within. Then you’ll see just how appealing the book really is.

Novel Review: Seekers: Return to the Wild, Book Two, - The Melting Sea by Erin Hunter

            Remember my post on Island of Shadows? I’m going to try my hardest not to be too scathing here. Bear with me. (Get it? Bear? Never mind.)

            So! In Island of Shadows, we found Toklo, Lusa, Kallik, and Yakone finally off that stupid island and onto the next leg of their journey. And that’s what we get for the vast majority of the book. Travel. Movement. Stopping to rest here, hunting there, digging out a den over in that corner. Again, this is not why I read a book. If I wanted to see bears traveling and digging out dens, I would watch the Discovery Channel or NatGeo (National Geographic). I do not understand what is running through Erin Hunter’s head right now, but quality certainly isn’t at the top of the list, and the stumble is painfully obvious. Has been for quite a few books, not just in this series.

            While the hunting and traveling is okay to a degree, we as readers demand more action, more struggle. Yeah, the bears get into binds once in a while, but it’s nothing that’s not easily fixed, and that aggravates the crap out of me. Nothing life-threatening has happened yet, and that is an annoyance factor as well. Where’s the stress? The internal turmoil? The doubt, the wanting to give up? Everything that makes characters as human as possible? Even when their animals, they need to display the same hero characteristics. No exception is given there. Look at the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. They hit obstacles all the time in their journeys, and they struggle against evil as hard as they can, and they’re all animals! (Note: While some may argue that his plots are “recycled,” I say you can never have enough hero lore in a land steeped in as much history as his is.)

            But that struggle is only present in certain situations in The Melting Sea. We run into random bears that need “help” and they hang around for a minute, but then the ultimate appearance of them has no real meaning. The reason the white bears were being taken to land is left unexplained, and that bothered me. Finally, when we did have some battling to do, Kallik finally showed some internal turmoil, but not for long. And the conflict with Taqqiq and his crew was short at best. I think that could have taken up a much larger portion of the book to add spice and conflict that would have ripped Kallik apart had Taqqiq not bowed to her anger so quickly, and then that would spawned more conflict and tension because the seals were growing scarce and the ice was melting, and Taqqiq’s crew would be stalking about causing more havoc . . . you can see how it needed to be written. I don’t care about a crag in a stupid mountain that the bears have to climb up. I care about what they’ll do in the face of hardship.

            Another note before the verdict: The writing seems . . . not choppy. But it seems like the Erin responsible for this series isn’t giving it her all. The punches are lacking, and the dynamic flow of showing v. telling is interrupted with clichés and awkward phrasing. The flow is broken in plenty of places by too-long sentences and amateur Wordsmithing. Sad. They used to be so good. Seekers: Return to the Wild: The Melting Sea gets Two flipped pages out of Ten.

Novel Review: Seekers: Return to the Wild, Book One - Island of Shadows by Erin Hunter

            I read a blog post on novelmatters.com recently that really grabbed my attention. It was called “Storyteller Vs. Status Seeker.” The premise of the post was that real and true storytellers can’t wait to get back in and start writing again, no matter how “important” publicity may be. They want words, and they will get their words one way or another. Status seekers are storytellers who get caught up in pumping out the next novel for the sake of noveling. They want as many books as possible to be recognized as “that author.” Unfortunately, it happens a lot.

            Mega-unfortunately, it’s happened to one of my favorite authors of all time.

            Erin Hunter had an amazing first series of Warriors books that captured my imagination and took me to the forest I have never left in my mind as I followed Fireheart and Graystripe on their perilous journey to stay alive amidst so much war and devastation among the cat Clans. I will never forget the amazingness of that first series. However, as the years go by, the team of five have fallen from storytellers to status seekers. I witnessed this over their last warrior cat arc, Warriors: Omen of the Stars. Quality fell dramatically. All but two of the characters fell into the “blah” and “gray” categories. It was like a mass merging of personalities into one entity that somehow split itself into multiple creatures with slightly altering factors. Needless to say, I was severely annoyed. This quality downturn took a sharp hook into their bear series, Seekers.

            Now, the first series I can’t review because I read it a while ago and can’t remember everything about the books. But I can say that the last one in the first series disappointed. Hunter built up the plot to where the bears—Toklo, Lusa, Ujurak, and Kallik—were going to do something amazing, but what they ended up doing was destroying an oil tower to “save the wild.” (insert disappointed stoic face) Wow, really? This trend continues in the second series, Seekers: Return to the Wild.

            The first book pretty much was about this: travel and getting lost. The teaser offered us that Toklo, Lusa, Kallik, and now Yakone were going to get lost in a set of dark tunnels and be stuck there amidst peril and adventure as they tried to find their way out. Did it happen? No. They were lost for approximately two chapters, three at most. This—aggravated—me. To no end did it aggravate me. And the little bear they ended up encountering? Yeah, Nanulak was more a pestilence and annoyance than anything. I hated him so much I cannot begin to convey the frustration I harbored towards this bear. Oh, and yes, hunting and stuff is essential, but when the book is comprised of 80% hunting and travel with random, meaningless appearances from other bears (Tekani, the polar bear Toklo met up with briefly), then I fail to understand how the book made it onto the New York Times bestseller list. It failed in delivering what it promised. Miserably.

            Seekers: Return to the Wild: Island of Shadows gets Three flipped pages out of Ten.

Novel Review: House of Secrets by Tracie Peterson

            The time I post these are always contrary to the time I write them. FYI, it is currently 1:48 AM. I—cannot—sleep.

            To the matter at hand.

            Now. Normally when a normal person reads a fantasy book, they feel the need to go back to the real world with a life-fiction, as I call them. For me, it’s the other way around. I can only take so much life-fiction before I have to delve back into the realm of the speculatively concrete world of fantasy, where anything is possible. To test a popular CBA author, I wanted to read one of her most recent books that my mother just so happened to have (thanks, Mom!). House of Secrets by Tracie Peterson . . . the cover entranced me. Usually books have elaborate layouts with inset text giving reviews or little teaser taglines. Not House of Secrets. The cover is simply three sisters holding each other in a family embrace, their backs turned to the viewer, and a forest in front of them. The title and author’s name are simply typed onto the picture in such a plain way, I was immediately drawn to the novel. Which is unusual, considering a year ago, I probably would have never considered this book to be on my TBR list.

            Anyway, to the writing. Bailee Cooper, the main character and oldest Cooper sister, had a distinct-ish voice. You could tell that she was trying to keep the family secrets and keep her sisters safe from what she thought would harm them. However, something about her felt a little too plain. A little too . . . expected. This was the case with most of the characters in the novel. Too much expectedness.

            A lot of the book involved talking, too. I mean, don’t get me wrong; novels are comprised of 85% dialogue. It’s what moves the story forward. But a little action now and then wouldn’t hurt, and I’m not talking about cooking a simple meal. Yeah, that’s action, but when the meal is alluded to instead of some talking while cooking (seeing as how the sisters had some special spaghetti recipe) irked me. Instead the talking was done mostly around seating areas and the seaside. These intimate spaces served well for the dialogue exchange but impeded any real movement that could have added to both the characters’ personalities and the story’s lack of action.

            Dialogue aside, there were few twists, and the one I didn’t completely see coming wasn’t all shocking because I had a niggle about it anyway. I think that Geena, the second-oldest Cooper sister, should have been diagnosed with their mother’s psychological disease to make things more intense. Geena could have added a lot of tension with normality one second, craziness the second. That would have been a twist we wouldn’t have seen coming but only suspected, because Piper, the youngest Cooper, displayed signs of the illness (I won’t tell you what it was in case you want to read the book). It turned out that Piper only had hypothyroidism, not the mental illness, but Geena should have had it. I can only grieve the lost action and detail that could have been added, the tension that could have smoked things up.

            Now, these aren’t the major reason I had a problem with the novel. My biggest irk was the romance plot. It—was—blatant—and—obvious. Bailee hardly struggled with herself, Mark seemed far too perfect to be human, and their kiss? Pah. I expected fireworks. I got a sparkler. A good novel is supposed to make you feel. I felt nothing. I wanted more heat, more struggle, more undeniable passion that made the two unable to stay away from each other, but Bailee could have fought against that even more and made the first kiss that much more explosive! Sadly, it didn’t happen.

            All in all, I wouldn’t call House of Secrets a bad book. It was good to read. Easy. But it didn’t challenge me. Not in life or faith or writing skill. And I never got punched in the face. (A good book always punches you in the face somehow.) Tracie Peterson kinda fell flat on this one, folks. Five flipped pages out of Ten.

Novel Review: Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher

            Well. We’ve all had our share of depression, right? Right. Sometimes authors just want to shed a little light on a topic that’s hard to swallow, and suicide is one of those stickers that lodges itself in your throat. No one wants to talk about it. Why? I don’t know, but Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher gave me a little more insight into how everyone affects everyone.

            I had never really thought about it before, but Hannah Baker is right. Everyone does affect everyone, and whether we like it or not, our lives intertwine with EVERYONE ELSE’S ON THE ENTIRE PLANET. Let me give you an example.

            I may know someone who lives in Colorado who teaches a kid whose parent runs a business that has dealings in California. Well, the California business trades and has close ties with corporations in Japan, and this corporation deals with the distribution of emergency supplies to third world countries, and one shipment going out has the boss’s right hand man on board. The right hand man knows a worker in Africa that’s from New Zealand, who’s a recorded artist with three albums, who works with relief efforts to dig wells in this country their relieving. The kids in the country go to schools built by a Russian missionary who attended seminary in France and made several European friends, including a French woman who works with an American who lives in Sweden now, and this American is married to an Icelandic woman who has British friends, including my own cousin. My cousin knows me. And I may know someone . . . .

            You get the picture.

            That being said, we affect everyone we come into contact with. And Jay Asher displays this really well in Thirteen Reasons Why. Clay Jensen’s receiving of the tapes is a catalyst to a whole world of introspection. How did he make Hannah Baker’s life different? How did he interact with the very people who betrayed her and made her life miserable? Did he take time to know her parents and even her? He felt extreme guilt, overall, because her reputation scared him. And because he didn’t get to know her so they’d talk and she’d have someone to vent to, she bottled everything up. And when she bottled everything up, she got to thinking. And when she got to thinking, she thought no one truly cared and decided that her life was meaningless anyway; why not end it?

            You see? Human strings are entangling.

            The novel hit close to home for me. With God’s amazing help, I’ve persuaded two friends out of suicide. They started caring because someone else did. They saw the value in life because someone saw value in them.

            Looks like this review turned into more of an essay-like thing, huh?

            Well, let me quickly break down what I thought of the novel. Plot was interesting, and I’ve never seen a book that deals with suicide deal with it like this before. Everything else has the victim’s family and stuff looking back, but this was from the victim’s viewpoint herself, which was neat, and sad. Characters were real—and sometimes infuriating. I wanted to personally kick Bryce Walker below the belt, and the same with Justin, who let Courtney get raped. And I felt bad for Clay because he wanted so badly to tell Hannah not to do it, that she was valuable . . . but it was too late. That hurt the most. Mechanics and grammar were fine, and the viewpoint was really done well. The book would have dragged and suffered under anything other than first-person present tense.

            Overall, Jay Asher did a really good job handling a prickly topic with gentle hands. Brutal, but gentle. Eight flipped pages out of Ten.

Novel Review: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

            I find it odd I stay up so late to write reviews for a blog I don’t think anyone’s reading. If you’re here, give me a, “Hey, gurl, hey. ;-D” (Just kidding, you can say whatever. Or nothing.)

            I’ve come to something I probably have no business reviewing because of its widespread admiration: a classic. Now, I know you’ll probably skip over this review if you loved the book, but that won’t stop me from writing it.

            Part of me considered making this a letter to the main antagonist of Rebecca. I think that would have been interesting. However, it’s almost midnight, and I don’t think my brain can function that way this late at night. And it would probably come across more crass and sarcastic and mean than I would like it to. I’d like to be objective, but when you’re as opinionated as I am, it’s hard to keep your mouth shut about anything you experience. And oftentimes you end up offending someone. Even if what you say is the truth.

            Several points stood out to me while reading Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. The first was the tagline on the top of the book, something about it being the unsurpassed masterpiece of romantic suspense, or some bullcrap like that. Yeah, I said it. BULLCRAP.

            For one, I the romance in the plot stood out not a bit, and when there was passion between Mrs. de Winter and Max, it was in a time of crisis, which puts the human instinct blatantly forward. The urge to hold someone when under an immense amount of fear and stress usually overrides irritability and the fear’s cold stone wedged between your heart and stomach, and you reach out to the person you trust most. For Max, it was his wife. And while this could be seen as romantic, I see it as desperate. If someone can point out the romance to me, please feel free to do so.

            Here’s my second problem with the title: “suspense.” I find more suspense watching the Olympics (which, by the way, I am highly enjoying). The feeling that there’s more to Rebecca’s death than first seen is automatic, but the overriding puke of unneeded detail and mundane niceties du Maurier jammed between the pages dampens all prospect of being suspended in . . . well, suspense. Not once did I beg for details to be revealed, and when the big reveal did come (make that the two big reveals), I simply raised my eyebrow and said, “Hmm.” Nodded a bit. Actually, I begged for the novel to be over. The novel would have been MUCH better if Max had been found out, and if Mrs. de Winter had been harboring a little love connection with Frank. That’s what I thought was going to happen, and when du Maurier dragged us inch by torturous inch through London traffic near the end, I wanted to scream with frustration. Nothing that I predicted happened, and it was most disappointing. Not because I was wrong, but because the novel fell flat with extraneous things and unexplored territory. Again, if someone can please point out what was so suspenseful about the novel, be my guest.

            HOWEVER. I did find Rebecca to be a most intriguing non-character, and the fact that she was present without being present was really neat. I loved how she haunted Max in the most painful ways, and her antagonism without her being physically present really was something I myself would like to incorporate into my technique. Bravo for that, du Maurier.

            Overall, I would never read Rebecca again. Nor would I recommend it to anyone else. Not only did my above points make it drudgery to read, I hated how the characters cursed God’s name so many times. That put burrs in my blanket. Hot burrs. In fact, I was so non-impressed, I put Rebecca on paperbackswap.com and gladly mailed it to the next poor sucker who wanted it. Maybe I should have attached a warning note: “The Not-So Romantic or Suspenseful Non-Masterpiece of Romantic Suspense.” Something like that. Three flipped pages out of Ten.

Movie Review: Chernobyl Diaries

     Well. How to begin this post. I think two words are appropriate here: Wow, seriously?

     I don't know about you, but that movie . . . wow. I have no words to describe the searing disappointment I feel. (But, alas, I will move on.) The trailer's rule of thumb struck viciously and without remorse here, ripping apart a story that could have otherwise been very good, very good indeed.

     When first introduced to the characters, you find yourself wondering which ones will die. You know what's going to happen. The movie's predictability is astounding, to say the least. I found myself wishing--hoping, praying, begging--for something to jump out and scare me. Sadly, nothing did.

     My second problem with this movie is inconsistency. Sure, the van's wires get chewed. But the battery also dies. And when Paul and the others find the wires, they rejoice. Huzzah! We can leave! And when they find the video left by Paul's brother Chris, the van's lights are still on. What happened to the dead battery?! What, did some magic bolt of lightning strike and restore all power, every engine go? No, that's not acceptable.

Smile! You're all going to die!

     Another thing I noted about the movie was that we never saw the stupid mutants. We had a bit of a flash here and there, but I think seeing them would have brought a WHOA aspect to the movie, really. Not knowing the bald, nasties' faces was just . . . disappointing.

      Ah, disappointment. The constant use of the "F" word was not only excessive, but easily avoidable. That much F-bomb dropping really REALLY detracts from what's going on in the film. All you can here is the F word and you forget that, oh, I'm watching a movie, not a bunch of punk kids in a bad situation.

     Another thing: the ending? Yeah, typical horror style: DISAPPOINTING AND UNFULFILLING. I sat back, brow furrowed, eyes wide, jaw slack. What. The. Heck. Let me summarize the movie for you in one sentence: Tourists running away from mutants we never get to see. The end.

     I was thoroughly let down by the slack writing and poor execution Chernobyl Diaries  had to offer. Then again, what have we come to expect but this from Oren Peli? 1 kernel out of 5.

P.S. The idea of mutants in Chernobyl I came up with two years ago. THIS IS PLAGIARISM.

Movie Review: The Avengers

            My fellow superhero nerds.

            It is my duty to announce to you that all is not lost! Marvel Studios, in pulling Disney’s rights, have completely overturned their bad reputation for awful superhero adaptations and made one whoopin' movie entitled The Avengers.

            I’ve been on Marvel’s ride of highs and lows starting with Spiderman and ending with the horribly-written X-Men Origins: Wolverine. I need not name all the disappointments in between because I only have so much attention span for terrible cinema, as do you, I imagine. But, just to remind you and make you see the studio’s progress, look back for a moment on Ang Lee’s Hulk.

            A moment of silence for those weeping . . . .

            Thank you.

            ANYWAY. Ever since Iron Man came out, and rumors of Captain America, and Thor started circulating, I have sat and rocked back and forth in impatient anticipation for The Avengers. The novelist in me LOOOOOOOVES when characters cross paths and end up working together. Avengers did not disappoint.

Arguably one of my favorite characters, Hawkeye

            From minute one—one!—action is the key component, and then the story paces out from there with the barbed hook of “WHOA” stuck in the viewers’ mouths. I got so excited, I downed a whole box of Reese’s Pieces within the first ten minutes. (Sadly, I had no more food for the rest of the movie.) A lot of the middle is spent aboard S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Helicarrier, and this serves for good interactions between the Avengers. However, just when you think everything is safe and secure, WHAM! More action intertwined right with the story! Nothing is random! Everything makes sense! The characters are consistent and keep to who they are! And comic book lore is followed to the letter! HUZZAH! MARVEL SUCCEEDS IN CREATING AN AWESOME PIECE OF CINEMA ART!

            To say the least, I have not had the chance to park it in a theater seat and enjoy this movie again, and with the busy summer schedule of hopefuls coming out, I don’t know if I’ll be able to. (I shed a tear here.) However, this is one to add to the Blu-Ray list, FOR SURE. Nerds rejoice! Marvel is in big business! Seven big kernels out of five.

            P.S. Stay after all the credits. It’s so worth it.

Movie Review: Safe

            Answer me honestly: Who doesn’t like a good action-suspense movie fueled with nothing but testosterone? (And well-written testosterone at that!) Jason Statham had barely blipped on my celebrity radar until I saw Safe.

Luke Wright, the bad a**

            Not to give too much of the story away, Luke Wright (Jason Statham) screws up a match he was supposed to lose and his boss ends up losing a looooot of money on that match, as well as the people who hired him to set the match up: the Russian mob. Needless to say, the Russians get mighty mad and go after Wright. Wright ends up homeless.

            Meanwhile, in China, a super-genius eleven-year-old named Mei is kidnapped into doing the Triads’ dirty work in New York City. They have her memorize a sequence of numbers, but in transit to get the second sequence, the Russians spirit her away to try and get the numbers out of her. She escapes them and ends up with Wright. And everything—the story, the action, the corruption, the gun fighting—escalates from there in one whirl of testosterone.

            Now, when I think about “T-Films,” as we’ll call them, I think of the 80s movie Commando with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Explosions, muscles, car chases, helicopters, guys gettin’ their skulls severed in half with saw blades. The works. However, the dialogue, the writing, and the overall plot structure suffers because of all the testosterone infused into the film. Safe does not suffer from this plague.

            Multiple stories intertwine you into the world of underground NYC corruption, and you’re fascinated and outraged at once. You root for Wright, pray that Mei doesn’t fall into the wrongs hands or say something that could get her shot, and wonder what’s gonna happen each time the scenes transition. Things are revealed slowly, making the pacing of the story wonderfully juicy, and the watcher doesn’t feel inundated with useless facts about the characters. Everything is meaningful; everything has substance. It couldn’t have been written any better.

Mei, the Genius

            The characters are real, and the plot could happen right under our noses. And you’re served a butt-load of action and butt-whooping, along with a nice dash of thriller to cleanse the palette. Safe was played anything but, and the results were savory, to say the least. Five kernels out of five.