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: 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: 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: 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.

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.