NOVEL REVIEW: Poison by Bridget Zinn

            NOTE: I figured I would write this one first, so you remember that I don’t always hate books. In fact, it’s not that I hate books at all. I simply see mistakes and continuity/editing/story/character/plot/etc. issues that could be fixed if writers would buckle down, suck it up, and actually set about writing the best story they possibly could without letting their pride get in the way. And I say that not with a spirit of judgment, but with a HUGE plate of experience in that area. I wrote eight manuscripts that got scrapped because they completely sucked. You know why? My pride got in the way of what was really supposed to happen, and I could only see where I wanted the story to go. Only when I let go of myself did God give me the story He wanted me to be telling. And I’m glad He waited until I got it through my head, because I would have messed up BIG TIME.

            Anyway.

            That being said, I want to tell you about a book that rocked me with so many emotions, I’m really not sure everything I want to say about it. I don’t know if you remember, but I said in a post awhile back that I learned a valuable lesson about libraries and why one should visit them before deciding to buy a book that happens to be very expensive (and very crappy). I’m looking at YOU, Life of Pi.

            (Also, a massive shout-out to my mom for reminding me that money is valuable, and so are libraries, and the two go hand in hand for a reason.)

            I frequently cruise Amazon looking for prospective books to check out, and I ran across Poison by Bridget Zinn on there in my suggestions. Now, step one in deciding a book for me includes research. My research stopped short here, though, because the author passed away before her book got published. (Which also happens to be the point where my emotional maelstrom starts for this book.) I thought, “What? She died before it was published??? No! That’s awful! I MUST READ THIS BOOK FOR HER SAKE.”

            The description also had a couple of effects on me. At first, I thought it would be some other fantasy story that really was all, “Oh, yeah, it’s fantasy. Great.” However, it’s rare that I’ve come across a female MC that’s a potions master exclusively before being all “I’m a princess,” or “I’m a magician,” or whatever. You know, the kind of plot point that makes it mushy and crap. *rolls eyes, sighs, and sits down for an annoying ride*

            Kyra, our FMC, is a normal girl. She’s a potions master. She’s strong, she’s smart, and she kicks serious rear.

            The other fantasy point that I liked about this is that it goes into the genre without being extremely over the top. Now, I’m not talking Tolkien or Lewis; they’re worlds are purposefully built where everything interconnects, everything has a purpose, everything makes sense while remaining wonderfully abstract and fantastical. I’m talking Avatars: So This is How It Ends by Tui T. Sutherland, or Dust by Arthur Slade, or The Time Travelers by Linda Buckley-Archer. All of which are  incredibly, presumptuously full of crap. Seriously. I deleted the review for the first one because it was too snarky, and I didn’t review the other two because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do so.

            Poison sends them to the cleaners. Within the first chapter this book made me smile. Not an oh-hey-that’s-cute smile, but more of a this-is-terribly-promising smirk, showing teeth and all. The story moves really quickly, and while if paced incorrectly this could be bad, Poison has enough content to make everything important. Because everything is. When Kyra and Fred get caught by the witch, the scene not only clues us in to some very important points (without one, the plot never would have happened in the first place), and shows our characters to be worth their mettle.

            And speaking of characters, not only are the names fantasy-worthy and easy so as not to be ridiculous (lookin’ at YOU, The Hunger Games), the characterizations themselves stick to their trueness, even through all the growth that happens. For example, Kyra doesn’t want to be caught up in a relationship, so she ditches Fred (short for Frederick). She ditches him a lot. And every time they meet up again, you get the hint that maybe Fred’s caught on to her secret, but you can’t exactly be sure. He puts on a good show of “not knowing” when he needs to and when he finds out that ***SPOILER ALERT*** Kyra’s innocent and the princess isn’t dead, his reaction was genuinely funny. Fred’s genuinely a good guy, with a lot of great facets and nothing stereotypical. Kyra describes him as being beautiful, but that’s really the only descriptive word I found that would irritate me; not exclusively, mind you, but I recently read a book that was so clichéd I felt like I was gonna throw my Kindle across the room.

            Fred isn’t the only character that defies stereotypes. Kyra is strong and smart, and when she can take care of herself she’s not prideful to the point of being an immature little brat. She claims her independence with a bloodied flag and stands upon the hill, displaying her wounds as trophies. Rosie, her pig, is adorable beyond proper comparison, and Ariana took the tomboy princess stereotype and gave it attitude instead of trying to stand out by being aggravating and pushy.

            Sure, the villain was a bit typical, but overall I really can’t complain. The twists and turns did leave me doubling back over previous guesses, and the obvious clues I overlooked were huge hints that made me have the right guess one minute, then second-guess the next. The plot to overthrow the kingdom was expected; the way it was done wasn’t.

            Small details that needed polishing can be overlooked because this was Zinn’s first novel and the plot was really good. Her technicalities would have gotten better to the point of nonexistence had she lived to write another. I can’t in good conscience point my finger. And I can’t, anyway, because I liked this book so much, after reading it in a day and a half, the next week I bought my own copy, book-plated it, and stuck it on my shelf.

            Rarely do I find myself sitting back in satisfaction at the end of a book. If I do with restlessness, I attribute the itch not to poor writing, but to a story so compelling I yearn for the next book. (Divergent, that’s you.) However, few standalones cause me to sit back, grin, and sigh with satisfaction (like Julie Klassen’s The Tutor’s Daughter). Poison was one of these books. In fact, I haven’t even found any pictures to illustrate my points. I think the story, and the cover, speak for themselves in every way possible. I felt satisfaction and so much more.

            At the beginning of the post, I told you that this book caused me a maelstrom in my center. The center of gravity is that Bridget Zinn did not live to bring us anymore stories of such caliber. The fact that she left us so early is an ache I cannot fully describe and a grief I have encountered few times before. Her book immortalizes her, and if she was anything like her manuscript—funny at all the right moments, charming, out-of-the-box, adventurous—then the world has lost a dear and blessed soul. I want to send a thank you to everyone who helped pull this book together in her absence. You’ve done her an amazing justice. Thank you.

            Poison by Bridget Zinn gets 20 flipped pages out of 10.

NOVEL REVIEW: Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell

            Recently I’ve discovered that reviews rarely tell the truth about the book, especially when they come from “professionals” in the field. (Oh, yeah. I did it: quotation marks.) When I’m trying to decide whether or not to read a book, I always go to the readers for their opinions, and even then I have to be careful about ferreting out who’s telling the truth and who’s obviously bought into the media-crazed drivel surrounding “critically-acclaimed” pieces of “art.” (Let me translate: carcasses and bags of vomit dressed up with bows and little stickers. That’s right. I’m lookin’ at YOU, Life of Pi.)

            Well, I wouldn’t call Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell exactly those things, but it did push the limit into the break zone and fall into “drivel.”

Look at the cover. The insides
should deliver the implied
quirkiness the art tells of!

            The panel blurb tells the potential reader that we can expect a sort of offbeat romance between two high school misfits in 1986. And me being who I am—an exterminator and total repudiator of all things cliché—I picked up the book, brand new, and decided to give it a chance. I don’t normally dig the whole “romance” category, due to the very reason that I am a Repudiator. I wanted Eleanor & Park to be different, I really did. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want.

            (I’m talkin’ to YOU, Life of Pi.)

            The story starts kind of slow, with all the establishment of a normal romance. Boy meets girl (boy swears at girl because he thinks she’s drawing attention to stay hidden), they don’t necessarily click at first (he thinks she’s weird, she thinks he’s a loner on purpose, even though he’s kind of cute), they eventually find something in common (comic books, music, being misfits), which leads to mutual affection (which is slow at first because he’s worried about image and she’s worried about her douche stepdad), they have a spat that leads to a small breakup initiated by a close family member (Park’s mom), they get back together because of the same family member, then everything progresses in a kind of halting gait that stumbles upward almost like a financial chart…no, just like a financial chart.

            Only, here’s the thing. One of the “professionals” reviewed the book as “heartbreaking.” You know what happens in this book that’s supposedly heartbreaking? Eleanor moves from Nebraska to live with her uncle in Minnesota, safe and sound where she won’t be kicked out by her stepdad and doesn't get to see Park anymore. Because, honestly, in a world like we live in, living away from a bad home and a first boyfriend is SO the worst thing that could happen to us. And the reasons this bugs me are because (1) Eleanor is so much tougher than this gives her credit for. Sure she has a lot of internal thought about how her mom took her stepdad’s side, who wouldn’t have those thoughts? But Eleanor’s made out to be iron-clad, not soft like this suggests; and (2) having to move away from home for safety reasons away from your boyfriend is not heartbreaking (except in a first-world country like ours), especially with how tough Eleanor is made out to be Of course she would have tried to save her mom and siblings, but with her apparent speed of thought and quick mind, you'd think she would have found another way instead of placing herself back in such a dangerous environment. You know what would be heartbreaking? You know what would have caused the story to shoot through the roof with amazing amounts of disbelief and the feel that life truly isn’t fair, even when we think we can save someone from what’s going on in their life? If Eleanor or Park had died. Yes, I said it.

            Someone.

            Should’ve.

            DIED.

            Think about it: The book ends with Park getting a postcard from Eleanor that has three words on it (presumably, “I love you,” which she never said to his face). After 308 or so pages of buildup with Eleanor’s dysfunctional family, you know what happens? …wait for it…

            NOTHING.

Tell 'em, Merida. TELL THEM.

            That’s right; not one heartbreaking thing except that Richie is a creep and makes his “family” live in near-squalor. What would have ended the book better than a look back from a grown Eleanor or Park about how that experience of first love and what happened changed their entire outlook on life and what was important? That couldn’t have failed—if written right.

            And that’s not the only weak aspect of the book. Far from it.

            First, the issues that were presented were brushed lightly through the book instead of making it deeper and more thought-provoking than it ended up being. You have two dysfunctional families here. Park’s, which likes to sweep stuff under the rug and act like everything’s okay while tension simmers and a fight explodes and they make up and do the same thing over again; and Eleanor’s, which likes to sweep things under the rug while Richie’s around and talk about it secretly and yell at each other and simmer and never make up. Not to mention you had the entire bullying issue at the school and the self-confidence with both Park and Eleanor. Potential littered this book so heavily that it could’ve been given a citation. Sadly, the litter stayed in the gutter and was never swept up to be dealt with properly.

            Several issues were frequent and ofttimes presented major issues for Eleanor and Park both, but they were glossed over with some crap-colored veneer and left out in the blue as if to say, “THERE! I fixed it!”

No, not fixed.

Um, gross. Definitely not fixed.

...honestly? NO.

WHAT THE HECK??? STOP BEING SO STUPID!!!

            For example, the whole Tina thing. Why did she randomly stop bullying Eleanor and actually help her near the end of the book, then never inquire to Park what happened to the girl that sort of randomly disappeared from school without a warning?

            And who plugged the toilet in the gym locker room with Eleanor’s clothes, and why?

            And Park’s self-induced exile. What brought him to the point where he wanted to be out of the crowd even though he skirts around admitting he could be just as popular as the back-of-bussers, yet chooses, far before Eleanor arrives, to be an outcast? Without any given explanation?

            And why Eleanor never started to think better of herself, even at the 280-page mark, and in a book with only 320 pages, that’s a boo-boo.

NOT THAT BOO BOO.

                I mean, what? Come on. Seriously, self-confidence issues don’t last that long when you’re doused with love like Park and his family doused on Eleanor at that point, not to mention the fact that DeNice and Beebi were really, really strong pillars of support in her school life.

            And that’s another thing: Why did DeNice and Beebi never invite Eleanor out anywhere if they were such good friends? They show up in gym and lunch, disappear, and we don’t hear from them again until the next gym or lunch scene. Really, Rainbow Rowell? Really? So much for “supporting” characters; the best chances at normalcy in Eleanor’s school hours—because I guarantee you Park wasn’t always there—is stripped from her all the time. This infrequency is the equivalent of giving a blind man a cane some days and taking it away on others. (“Hey, I’m glad I gave that to you yesterday, but today, nah. Today you’re on your own.”)

            And why is the fact that Eleanor and Park are honors students so highly stressed if it never plays into a situation in the entire 320-page “smart” romance? Ever? This fact is mentioned so many times, you’re bound to think, “Hey, this is important.” Guess what? IT’S NOT. The topic is never touched on besides passing thoughts and getting Eleanor into the same classes as Park. One word:

            And Park’s obviously and overtly under-used taekwondo skills. He uses a jump reverse hook to Steve’s head while the guy’s picking on Eleanor, and Park’s dad, who’s pretty much the taekwondo master, shrugs it off like, “Hey, cool. You were in a fight and did an awesome move. Good for you.” Um, if my kid who I thought was a screw-up actually pulled off a move like this, I’m pretty sure I’d have a bigger reaction. (After being upset they started a fight, of course. But still. Who wouldn't be impressed?)

            And why Park never did anything about Richie when he, Park, found out what had happened to Eleanor and her family. He could have at least called State Troopers if the Omaha Flats-area police department cared so little. You know, Park, for an honors student you’re not quite as bright as you should be.

            Aaaand the kicker: Richie’s douchebaggery. The biggest thing about this book is that Richie, Eleanor’s stepdad, is a total ass, and we’re never given resolution. Yeah, I know, life doesn’t always give us resolution, but that’s why we don’t sit around and wait for it. We make it happen. If the person won’t listen to us, we forgive them and move on. That way it rests on that person’s head and not ours; that way our hearts are settled and theirs can stew for all we care, it’s not ours to deal with once we let it go. (To wit, Matthew 6:14-15.)

            That being said, here are my problems with Richie.

(1)   He never shows any crude or weird interest in Eleanor, so why would he have any motive whatsoever to write that stuff on her books or freak out about the stuff in her fruit box? Honestly, he goes through this book doing nothing but sitting on the couch or at the bar, drinking both places or sleeping it off, and doesn’t pay a hoot of attention to Eleanor. This. Makes. NO. SENSE.

(2)   He beats his wife, but the kids, excluding Eleanor, he treats like gold. Coming from a family with an abusive father, I know that this is very seldom the case. The abuser—my dad, in this case—abused my mom any way but physically (she warned him that if he knocked her down, he better make sure she stayed there or he’d know it) and hit my brothers (if he’d have hit me, Mom would’ve really beaned him beyond repair). Eleanor’s family-wide abuser—Richie, in that case—ignored her, was violent with her mom, and left the kids alone, even the ones that weren’t his. I’ve never seen this before in abuse cases. And, no, it’s not in the “originality vein” because “originality” for life-based fiction uses issues that are…well, life-based.

(3)   Richie kicks Eleanor out for no reason. She was typing song lyrics on a typewriter. In her room. While the TV was on in the other room. And the door was shut. I’m pretty sure that unless the inventor of the cannon had a hand in the keys’ sound, Richie wouldn’t have heard her typing. Not even a little. And besides that, this reason seems to have escalated out of nowhere, because Eleanor doesn’t give any other definitive purpose for being kicked out besides that one incident with the typewriter. How much sense does this make? In a word,

(4)   If the cops in town knew about Richie’s problems and douchebaggery, why did they shrug off Eleanor’s phone call when they would have known due to his previous character that Richie had done something to make his stepdaughter call the cops? I mean, come on. Really, Rainbow Rowell? Really???

It's...it's so beautiful!

So! Eleanor & Park ultimately served as a reminder to me, personally, that one should NEVER trust “rave reviews” and the “professionals” that give them; that readers should always be consulted before picking something up, because they are the ultimate ones to be trusted; that I really shouldn’t buy books I don’t plan on keeping anyway so I have a little extra money in my pocket. (Thank you dearly, Mom, for bringing me back down to earth and reminding me of the realm called “Library!”)

When all 320 pages have passed and all we’ve gotten is a skim-milk Romeo & Juliet redo, which seems to be an awful fashion lately, we have another addition to the pile of books never to be read. Honestly. Just don’t. Eleanor & Park gets 2 torn pages out of 10.

NOVEL-MOVIE BUNDLE REVIEW: Life of Pi (Written by Yann Martel, Directed by Ang Lee)

            So! Here we are again, unavoidably late at night (12:24 AM) and I’m writing a review.

            No, that is not why it’s going to be scathing. (On all accounts, I’m a night owl [because of course ALL owls come out in the daytime, being nocturnal; why is that even the term???].)
            Many of you have probably heard about this next book/movie that’s come out and was nominated for—and received, no less—several Oscars. At the first moment of seeing some of the surreal scenes in this movie, I was enchanted. But that was because I hadn’t seen the entire thing. To quote my brother, “Yep, I’m tripping on acid.” Kind of like these:

            Considering this is a book/movie review (considering they were pretty much the same), I’ll flip back and forth between them sometimes.

            What is this book/movie I’m reviewing? Why, none other than Life of Pi, by Yann Martel!

            Now. I have to admit I wanted to read this book SO BADLY. Like I said, I had seen the Oscar snippets—I was watching the Oscars for one reason only: To see Les Miserables smoke everything (unfortunately, it didn’t, but it should have, EXCEPT for Tommy Lee Jones winning Best Supporting Actor, which also DIDN’T happen, and Daniel Day Lewis winning Best Actor, which made me happy because he was absolutely amazing in Lincoln).

            Anyway!

            Life of Pi looked interesting to me. The snippets had the kind of stuff I like. Strange, etherealness that melts into your sublime consciousness and makes you think, “Wow, the world still has some wonder left in it.” Well, this thought only came about because I hadn’t seen the whole movie and/or read the book. My disenchantment didn’t hit me hard. But I did sit back and wonder, “Why did this win the Man Booker Award? Or any Oscar?”

            To begin, the plot moves a lot like this:

            Yep. And according to Cinemasins onYouTube, the sloth shown at the beginning of the movie is epic foreshadowing of the plot’s speed. (Baahaha) Indeed, the plot is slow. S-L-O-W. SLOOOOOOOOOW.

            In the book, the entire thing is broken up into three parts: (1) Pi’s religious experience, which is muddled and confused and makes absolutely no sense at all, (2) Pi’s “epic” tale of survival on the Pacific Ocean (which is really boring and reads more like a survival manual than a novel) after the Tsimtsum sinks (which is never explained), and (3) Pi’s relating of the events to the Japanese officials, where he tells the two versions of his story, the one with people and the one with animals.

            Now, I don’t care that the animals were a part of it. I love animals. I don’t love how they’re exploited as some kind of “coping mechanism” that Pi uses to relate a “more palatable” tale of his survival. And here’s why that don’t fly.

1)      Richard Parker can in no way represent Pi.

            This doesn’t make SENSE. Sure, the whole “survival instinct like a tiger’s” or whatever can be brought into it—as a lame excuse for the imagery—but how do you explain the “taming” of the tiger? The aggressiveness that kept Pi off the boat almost the entire time? The holes in the tarpaulin during the storm? The tiger poop? The teaching of Richard Parker to jump through hoops on the carnivorous island (which, in itself, makes no sense)? Too many holes riddle this “plot” in order for it to be plausible. Another thing: The story of how Richard Parker got his name doesn’t fit either, because this especially “amazing” tiger that is obviously so awesome to Pi and so important it has a backstory, is NEVER mentioned before Pi gets the tiger in the lifeboat after the Tsimtsum sinks. Another tiger is mentioned, a DIFFERENT one, but not Richard Parker. If Richard Parker was so important, he would have been present throughout the book instead of lodged into one monstrous epic of flat and tasteless proportions, then suddenly and randomly disappear without so much as a backward glance at Pi. (This sudden disappearance also debunks some theories that Richard Parker is supposed to represent God, because God would never abandon His true children; see Deuteronomy 31:6 and Matthew 28:20, and God was silent when Christ was on the cross because a. He couldn't bear to see the sins of the world on His Son's shoulders, and b. the willing sacrifice of Christ had to be completed).

2)      The hyena—who represented the French cook—was dead far, FAR before Pi heard the French guy talking to him. I mean, WAY far before.

Yeah, I don’t get this. Suddenly—and randomly, might I add—Pi starts hearing the French cook talk to him and thinks it’s Richard Parker. However, the French cook wouldn’t have been able to talk to Pi anyway; not only because he “wasn’t in the boat,” but because the hyena who represented him was killed WAY BEFORE THIS CHAPTER. Richard Parker tore it apart and Pi threw the body overboard. Then out of the blue we have the French cook-hyena talking to Pi and Richard Parker killing the French cook-hyena and eating him until he’s nothing but a bloody, hollowed-out ribcage? Pi says himself that the cook-hyena was thrown overboard with the gaff and was stabbed, not eaten. Yeah, no. In what way does that make sense?

3)      The animals in no way represent each of these people’s nationalities, or even remotely come from their home nations.

And don’t give me that “they represent the person’s inner animal, or id,” or whatever bullcrap like that. For instance, how does a Taiwanese sailor with a broken leg become a zebra? How can we base this person’s character into an animal symbolism if we know, oh, say, NOTHING about this person? Zebras are not helpless animals. In fact, its pattern and coat should have confused the hyena at first. Instead, what happens at first is the hyena completely overlooks the wounded, bleeding, helpless animal that is its natural prey, putting the characteristics of this animal way out of the zone of normalcy.

And why would the hyena represent the French cook? Granted, he was a “monster” or whatever, but again; the only basis we have for this fact is that Pi says so at the end, when he retells the story with people instead of animals. If we were to take this fact seriously at all, we would have to know FOR A SOLID AND PROVEN FACT that the cook was a terrible man. (Even in the movie he’s just a bit of a douche, and not a total freak.) How can someone we’ve barely even been introduced to take on such a dramatic and disgusting transformation? Worse, how can an author do this and expect his readers to believe him?

Also, zebras live in Africa, Orangutans come from Borneo and Sumatra, and spotted hyenas (the only hyena species on the entire planet) comes from Africa as well. So…somebody point out the sense here. (And if Pi’s mom was supposed to be so tough and everything, so forceful and loving at once, why wasn’t she a wolf or something? And if she wasn’t seen leaving the Tsimtsum and the entire lower deck flooded before his parents could get out, how did she escape?)

Now. Here are some more points I need to make before I can say some final statements.

First, can we all say, “medically impossible for tears to cure blindness?” Salt does not cause blindness in the eyes, nor can it be cleared by tears when the tear duct is not producing tears. In Pi’s state of severe dehydration, one in which he couldn’t even produce saliva, how on earth would he be able to produce enough tears to cure his blindness? (Can someone scream really loudly, “TERRIBLE, CONFUSINGLY-ATTEMPTED ALLEGORY?”)

And here’s another thing. If there were so many rations on board, why did the cook resort to cannibalism immediately? (IF that’s the story you wish to believe.) How is this even remotely okay to think of as “symbolic?” It doesn’t make any sense! Sure, cannibalism happens on shipwrecks and life rafts and survival stuff like that, but not when the rations are still fully intact! (I mean, look at the Donner Party!) And don’t tell me the cook didn’t know the locker was under the tarpaulin because he worked on the ship.

Oh, another point. Yann Martel is always saying that the book isn’t an allegory, but the way that people are interpreting it, and the way he presents it, all fit the definition of “allegory,” and the Oxford definition, no less. Here, let me even give it to you:

Definition of allegory

noun (plural allegories)

·              a story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one: Pilgrim’s Progress is an allegory of the spiritual journey

·    a symbol.

And according to these sites, you can interpret some things certain ways as, guess what? ALLEGORICAL. Thank you, Yann Martel, for LYING TO THE WORLD.

Overall, the movie and the book had pretty much the same elements—except for the movie having those trippy, pointless scenes of weirdness. At the end of the book/movie we’re left with a hole-riddled plot, a character we can’t relate to because he’s so messed up himself, two stories that don’t make any sense at all, pointless musings about religions that don’t and never will mix, and a really long, slow-moving story about a boy in a lifeboat, because there’s nothing else going on, really.

Life of Pi gets two turned pages out of ten. (One for being crappy, the other for allowing me the opportunity to say “Richard Parker” in an Indian accent.)

NOVEL REVIEW: Seekers - Return to the Wild, Book Three - River of Lost Bears

            Well!

            That time has come again. Yes, THAT time. The time where I look at the clock as soon as I start typing a review out and say, “Holy crap, it’s 12:14 AM?”

            Ah, the good times.

            I apologize; my reviews stopped for . . . well, a long time. I don’t feel like counting the months. And while I feel the juices stirring for (1) a horror-type story that I aim to scare my non-scare-able brother, and (2) that other one I’ve been working on for, say, a month and only have eleven pages, I aim to hitch up my skirts, run full speed, and jump back on this crazy train! So in those good spirits, I begin my first interview after having stripped Suzanne Collins’ overrated post-apocalypse to its barest essentials and revealed what it’s REALLY all about.

Am I the only one who noticed that
this bear looks really baked? Must have
been those funny mushrooms in the woods.

            My first review after having been gone for so long? Erin Hunter’s Seekers: Return to the Wild: River of Lost Bears. Because of course that title’s not long enough when adding, “You know, the woman who wrote that kick-ass first Warriors series and then fizzled out? Yeah, her. THAT Erin Hunter.” (Oh, and to reacquaint you with my disappointment, here are the links to the first in this new Seekers series: Island of Shadows, and The Melting Sea.)

            River of Lost Bears starts off with promise. Number One: We’re not on that accursed ice anymore, where the bears have been since the end of  The Last Wilderness, which happens to be book four of the first Seekers series (making that five books we have to deal with seal-fishing and Lusa and Toklo complaining about the ice and Kallik constantly cajoling them to be quiet; oh, yeah, every reader’s dream). Keep this fact in mind, now. It’s vital.

            Number Two for a Promising Start: Toklo runs into a bullied black bear named Chenoa and saves her and she starts journeying with them, making it a point to build a black bear-to-black bear friendship with Lusa. This point is also vital.

            The story starts out with the usual bear-banter and in way of relationship, Kallik has progressed to that of a stronger female figure and actually banters with Toklo more than usual, which I really liked. Yakone, however, was extremely annoying. Since the bears are back in the forest, Toklo and Lusa feel at home (which was really nice to see), and Kallik even felt comfortable, having traveled on land herself until she even met Toklo and Lusa. Yakone voices his displeasure often and loudly and makes it a hard point to drive home the fact that he left his beloved Star Island to be with Kallik—which hurts her, by the way, considering she nearly stayed with him there—and always “apologizes” in the most contrived way until he does it again! What the hey-ho, Yakone?! Don’t threaten to leave, if you’re so hell-bent on hating the forest and all it holds, just leave! Stop moping and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. AUGH!

            Anyway.

            Another thing I noticed about the characterization is that, yeah, Toklo’s starting to move on with his grief about Tobi, Oka, and Ujurak, but everyone else is flat. Flat. F-L-A-T. Really, worse than a pancake. Pretty much, like this:

See those mountains in the distance? Waaaaaaaay out there? That's Toklo.

Does it honestly look like four bears could free THIS???

            And I couldn’t believe how incredibly annoying Lusa turned out in this one! For a whole chapter she’s dancing the jig on those cut logs, freaking out about the bear spirits that are “trapped” within them. (Yeah, okay, we get it; apparently black bears inhabit trees when they die, stop being so annoying about it, because OBVIOUSLY you can’t do anything to get them out of the logjam. That’s why it’s called a JAM.)

            Oh, and do I mention that fact that *spoiler alert* they kill off the only promising prospect of the book? Yeah, CHENOA DIES. The only companion that could have reasonably settled down and made a friendship with Lusa, ends up dying. And not a reason is given as to why.

And if you say "to give the book its name because
of the logjam of 'lost bears,' " I will reach through
the screen and slap you.

            The adventure is pretty good, in terms of action, but the facts and believability go the way of the Costa Concordia really quickly, starting with the wolverine “pack-attack” and ending with Yakone’s jump onto a moving train while possessed of a serious injury. That’s pretty much, oh, the whole book. Let’s devise these fact-blunders, then, shall we? (Oh, yes, we shall.)

BLUNDER ONE: Wolverines attacking in packs.

It is a proven and well-known fact that wolverines do not, in fact, attack anything in packs. They don’t even stay together after mating! They only linger a few days with the opposite sex, do their business, and leave. And only recently has it been discovered that wolverines “hang” with siblings or hunt together OCCASIONALLY. For a wolverine, this is pretty nil, considering that scientists have JUST discovered this fact about them. They do not live in packs, therefore rendering a pack-attack on a group of bears in wolverine territory, void. They have solitary lives and would not even think about attacking a pack of bears together.

BLUNDER TWO: A black bear attacking a grizzly.

            Why would a black bear—weighing in at only 300 lbs.—once defeated by a grizzly the size of Toklo—a staggering 800 lbs.—even think of attacking the grizzly again??? It’s inconceivable! Not even for “vengeance” would this be carried out in the wild. Besides, black bears are known to frequently run from possible threats and climb a tree to get away from them. Hakan’s actions here are inexcusably stupid. (Read this link, Erin Hunter, and be ashamed.)

BLUNDER THREE: Coyotes attacking four adolescent bears.

            Are coyotes vicious? Oh, yes. Are they conniving? A thousand yeses. Deadly? Certainly. To bears? Let me think, um, NO. First, when one of these aforementioned bears happens to be a grizzly—who happens to weigh a whopping 800 lbs. compared to that of the coyote’s measly 15 to 25—I think this fight is a big no-no. Not to mention the fact that bears prey on coyotes. Not the other way around. And, by all means a law of nature, when prey is presented with a predator, prey flees. Simple as that.

BLUNDER FOUR: Yakone, seriously injured and barely able to move, jumps onto a train.

            After having a bear trap snap two of his toes off and the injury nearly putrefy by the end of the book, Yakone manages, somehow, to pull Toklo and a cling-on coyote off a precipice and onto a speeding train.

Yeah, no, that don't fly.

BLUNDER FIVE: Bears do not sheathe their claws.

            This was even noted in the Seekers Wiki. Bears never sheathe their claws, let alone unsheathe them.

Case in point.

            Tsk, tsk to you, author that is still currently a favorite of mine despite recent blunders. I honestly don’t understand what happened to your quality of writing since that first AMAZING Warriors arc with Rusty and Graypaw and all the twists and turns we never saw coming. Now you’ve resorted to this, Erin? Have you really? PLEASE, I implore you, return to your skill. Return to what made you the writer we fell in love with way back when. I, sadly, am addicted to your works because I have a problem with dropping collections I’m in the middle of (curse you, OCD), but I see clearly now what’s wrong. Please. Stop this crazy snakebeast.

            River of Lost Bears gets two torn pages out of ten.

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.