Richenda Gould

Pens and Needles: Women's Textualities in Early Modern England

jenna — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Pens and Needles takes a new approach to the study of how women expressed themselves in Early Modern England (roughly 1500-1700). It has long been assumed that the gender roles we know today have been consistent over time. Pens, writing, communication, are the realm of men; needles, sewing, the home, are the realm of women.

Frye disagrees; she gives extensive examples of women writing in the Early Modern era, from poetry to household accounts. There are examples from old books defining a ‘virtuous wife’ as a woman who is educated enough to run her household well. A good wife is, in fact, “a vigilant businesswoman” who “considreth lande, and bieth it, and wyth the fruite of her handes she planteth a vineyard.” (Frye quoting The Common Book of Prayer and Proverbs)

Women of this era have left behind ample evidence that text—prose, poems, names—were ever a part of their daily lives, particularly their textiles. It is no coincidence, she asserts, that so many samplers, appliqués and tapestries incorporate letters and wording in their designs. Many a pillow case is inscribed with a verse or family motto in Latin.

Further still, Frye insists that these sewn objects were a way for women to communicate. These items were used as decoration within the home, allowing women to define their spaces. In the lower classes, an excellent ‘household store’ of good embroidery, well-made clothes, or decorations added to the family’s wealth and prestige.

In the case of Mary, Queen of Scots, her projects became gifts full of meaning to both allies and enemies. Through specific examples, Frye demonstrates how Mary wove her identity into everything she created, emphasizing her noble heritage and royal aspirations. Symbolism is rife in Mary’s work, especially when creating gifts for Elizabeth I, her cousin and captor. Frye contrasts Mary with Elizabeth, who was prone to more intellectual projects. Elizabeth began easing her way into Henry VIII’s court through books she translated and bound herself. These gifts to her father established a reputation for intelligence as well as skill and taste, paving the way for her ascension.

Even now, we’re too quick to dismiss ‘arts and crafts’ as less notable than writing. Sewing is utilitarian, but it is also artful, and a means of expression. When we scoff at them we are falling in line with the sentiments of men who never fully appreciated the labor and creativity that goes into each item. Contemporary women more prone to letters should listen to Frye’s arguments, and grant more respect to their ‘traditional’ peers.

Pens and Needles is an academic text, and its style is better suited to researchers and college classrooms. The language (such as ‘textuality’, a tricky idea to wrap one’s mind around) is not meant for the casual reader. Frye assumes that her reader is already familiar with the era discussed and her area of study.

That said, the book is a real gift for researchers and academics. Frye is meticulous with her citations, resulting in a hefty appendix made up of Notes, Bibliography, and Acknowledgments. The chapters are few, but each is broken down clearly, helping one identify each smaller section.

I would very much have liked to read nonfiction in a more easily digested style, something that would allow me—someone who is interested but has no formal background in the subject—to orient myself and read for the pleasure of learning something new. Instead, I battled to get through it, as I’m sure many students will as well.

Regardless of readability, Pens and Needles is thorough, detailed and well-researched. For all that Frye has cited all her sources, I have no doubt that she will become a source on many other bibliographies.

Written by: Richenda Gould, December 17th 2010

Redemption In Indigo

jenna — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Karen Lord

Small Beer Press

Karen Lord hails from Barbados, and her novel, Redemption in Indigo, is inspired by African folklore. I was born in Africa, and raised on similar stories—the trickster spider Anansi is only the beginning of this genre. I had not heard of Paama before, and I love novelizations of fairy tales and children’s stories, so I was looking forward to Redemption in Indigo.

The original tale of Paama is about her relationship with her gluttonous husband, whom she ultimately throws off. The first few chapters are a retelling, with a few instances of foreshadowing for the rest of the novel. It isn’t until her husband has been driven off that the story really gets going. The djombi, undying spirits/demons who toy with humans, gift Paama with a tool, the Chaos Stick. This small but mighty instrument grants her the power of chaos itself—and the ability to choose an outcome from infinite potential outcomes.

But the djombi are playing with her. The powers of the stick actually belong to Lord Indigo, a djombi who has lost his faith in humanity. He is supposed to use his powers to aid and teach humans, but he has become apathetic and condescending. He is the antithesis of Paama, who is kind and generous to a fault.

Rather than an epic battle, Lord Indigo opts to prove that his point of view is valid by showing Paama example after example of human failings. He whisks her across the globe, and at each stop she finds herself tested. Should she use the Chaos Stick to alter what she sees? How would life be different if she did? Her good, giving nature sways the djombi, shifting the balance of power among the otherwordly beings.

Although it was wonderful to sink back into the familiar embrace of African storytelling, with all its tropes, pacing, and repetition, I found the overall structure of the book to be lacking. The first few chapters seemed to go on forever, and were almost entirely unrelated to the rest of the book, which now makes sense after reading a statement from Lord on writer John Scalzi’s blog. Though she talks about the importance of editing, she and her editors failed to excise dozens of pages that were essentially unnecessary and left me cold.

The real meat of the story is Paama’s interaction with Indigo, but a disproportionately small amount of time is spent on it. Lord continuously jumps away from them to follow up on an unusually large cast of characters who do not deserve so much time. Lord does not delve into her character’s inner workings. The narrative remains distant and omniscient, giving only observational insight into how characters think and feel. The shift in the lead pair’s dynamic happens on a level the reader isn’t invited to share in. We have to trust that it is happening, and wind up feeling unsatisfied when the narrative declares that all is now well.

A more patient reader may enjoy the off-kilter pacing, but I cannot. Lord’s novella would benefit from the input of editors and readers who require her to go deeper into her characters, and encourage her to have confidence in what she is doing right.

Written by: Richenda Gould, December 16th 2010

A Home For Mr. Easter

admin — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Brooke A. Allen

NBM Publishing

Tesana is a teenage girl lacking love. Her mother belittles her behavior, and the kids at school make fun of her. She is huge—both very tall and very overweight. She feels like a walking target, so it’s understandable that she has learned to escape into her imagination. When the bus ride home sucks, she dreams up a unicorn to carry her across the city. But daydreams can’t make everything better. When the popular jocks and cheerleaders try to make a victim of a bunny rabbit, Tesana unleashes all her pent-up anger on them.

This is no ordinary bunny. He lays Easter eggs! He talks! Everyone thinks Tesana is crazy, but she knows the truth. She resolves to help Mr. Easter get back home. In order to do this, they have to retrace the route that brought him to the high school: a pet shop, a science lab, and a magician’s show. At every stop there’s someone who wants that bunny back, and soon there’s a small army chasing Tesana and Mr. Easter.

A Home for Mr. Easter is defined by its chaos. Tesana feels attacked on all sides, and then she actually is. The plot follows the logic of a dreamer, so magical things are suddenly allowed. The laws of the real world are stretched and twisted.

Though this graphic novel style isn’t really my favorite—it delights in the misshapen—I appreciate what Allen has succeeded in doing. What I don’t enjoy may make the book all the richer for some readers. Tesana’s world is ugly; she deals with ugly people.

Along the way, Tesana slowly excises some of her demons. By the time they find Mr. Easter’s true home, she is less angry and has had some of her deepest beliefs validated. Through the bedlam, she and her mother become allies, instead of enemies. The fairy tale ends happily.

And yet, A Home for Mr. Easter contains a great deal of insight, slipped into the subtext. Brooke Allen gives just enough clues for us to get a rich impression of what Tesana’s inner and physical lives are like. The characters are expressive, leaving no doubt about how something is being said or the emotion it’s being said with.

I did enjoy the story, and its fantastic nature. The range of emotion is powerful, taking one through disbelief, righteous anger, fear, and pathos. Allen is clearly talented and confident in her craft.

Written by: Richenda Gould, August 30th 2010

Sacred Hearts

admin — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Sarah Dunant

Random House

Sarah Dunant's first historical novel, The Birth of Venus, captured my attention right away with one of the best openings I've ever read. I picked up Sacred Hearts hoping for something equally brilliant. While I enjoyed the book, it is not one that will make your heart race; instead, you should immerse yourself in it, let it surround you so you are living with the nuns, at their pace. Enjoy the opportunity to sink into another life and time.

Set in Florence in 1570, Sacred Hearts takes place within the walls of a convent. Young Serafina has been banished there by her family, to keep her from the man she loves. She is furious, and determined to escape.

Suora (Sister) Zuana is the convent's dispensary mistress, their only healer. She sees in Serafina more than just an unwilling novice. Though she carries out her duties (novices who wail through the night are sedated), Zuana's own troubling thoughts are rekindled. An educated woman with no dowry, she had no choice but to enter the convent. Her active mind clashes with the philosophy of convent life, and so she has had to dampen many of her more critical instincts.

Serafina arrives at a time when change is rocking the convent, the city, and the continent. There are many calling for stricter rules in these houses built for women and maintained by them. Abbess Madonna Chiara, Zuana's old friend, walks a fine line between hobbling her flock and appeasing the more radical members like Suora Umiliana, who believes they have a saint living among them.

All this excitement is tempered by the sedate atmosphere of convent life. Dunant has done an excellent job of crafting their world apart from the world. The convent is an insular place, where peace is maintained through quiet and routine. The disorder Serafina brings sends ripples through the convent, creating opportunities for some, and trapping others. The historical context of Florence in the early 1570s plays a large role in how the convent will, ultimately, change.

As for Serafina, her focus is solely on the man she loves. Her feverish desire turns to despair when their plans fall through, and the fever begins to consume her. Umiliana urges her on—deprivation will bring her closer to God, she insists, against Zuana's medical opinion.

The novel is a tapestry depicting the fight for balance and supremacy, woven with the threads of God, science, authority, family, love, and community.

Sacred Hearts makes it possible to both love and hate the convent system. Women enter for many reasons—poverty, tradition, disfigurement or disability, lack of a husband, to escape a bad husband, or even the opportunity for a different kind of freedom. Had Zuana married, she would be a wife and mother with no time to pursue her studies. Madonna Chiara has become a successful leader and politician, dealing with Church officials and the wealthy and powerful families of the nuns. The convent frees them of society's usual demands, creating a space for them to grow in other ways.

At the same time, there is much to rail against. Many of these women have been victims of society. Many, like Serafina, are not given a choice about entering the convent. Many fear the boredom—what is there to do for the rest of your life, trapped behind the walls? Add the usual feminist complains about religion (Chaiara is Abbess, but only a male priest can conduct services and give them the Eucharist.) and it sounds unbearable.

Dunant addresses this complaints in subtle ways, adhering more closely to the matters that concerned the women of the time. My fellow atheists may always be uncomfortable with topics like these, but Sacred Hearts affords us all a rare glimpse into the circumstances of these women.

Written by: Richenda Gould, July 23rd 2010

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun: The Autobiography of a Japanese Feminist

admin — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Hiratsuka Raichō, Teruko Craig

Columbia University Press

In the beginning, woman was truly the sun. An authentic person. Now she is the moon, a wan and sickly moon, dependent on another, reflecting another’s brilliance. _ _... The time has come for us to recapture the sun hidden within us.

These lines launched Seitō, a women's literary journal, in 1911 Tokyo. Hiratsuka Raichō was one of the founders, and she poured her emotions into this opening editorial. Her essay gave voice to frustrations felt by women across the nation, and is now considered part of the canon of Japanese feminism.

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is Raichō’s autobiography. Teruko Craig has translated the first half of a four volume set, with her own summary of the latter half of Raichō’s life. The book can best be described as a memoir, with more focus on experiences than facts.

Raichō did not intend to become a feminist icon. An atypical young girl, she went fishing with her father as a child, and later fought for permission to enroll in one of the few women’s colleges. Throughout her youth, Raichō squirmed under the oppressive dictates of school and family, conventions we would designate now as patriarchal, though she was not thinking in such terms.

Raichō was given a remarkable amount of freedom for a young woman. She walked alone to and from school and pursued her own activities. Passionate about attaining spiritual growth, she studied Zen for years. Her interest in literature came late, but when it did she began poring through the classics of European thought.

It was a male friend who urged her to found Seitō, "Bluestocking," a literary journal dedicated to fostering women writers. Raichō’s original drive was to inspire women to become their authentic selves. She did not think in terms of men and women, but of people who were denying themselves spiritually.

Raichō became a primary manager of the operation, with a team of other young women, and the magazine remained independent during the majority of its run from 1911 to 1916. Those involved were dubbed "New Women" by the newspapers, and their every action was scrutinized. The editorial team constantly walked the line between asserting their rights to act freely and avoiding the condemnation of society and the government, which banned several issues.

Raichō narrates her memoir in the voice of a confident woman, never apologizing nor boasting. I felt as though she was sitting near me, telling the story simply because I had asked to hear it. She explains her motivations, even when they are not quite what one might expect from a feminist icon. It was only later in her life that Raichō began to fight for the special rights and responsibilities women have as women, particularly as mothers. She describes this as a maturation of view.

Much time is spent on Raichō’s relationships with other writers. Though I was interested in the other women participating in Seitō, there were so many of them that they began to run together. I am sure that, to someone more familiar with the movers and shakers of Raichō’s time, the names will have more meaning, and these insights into their characters will be a gift. Craig points out that as an oral narrative, the text “tends to be repetitious and digressive,” but I rarely found this to be an issue except for these tangential stories.

The only thing missing is more of Raichō’s writings. The preeminent “In the beginning…” essay is only excerpted, allowing tantalizing glimpses into Raichō’s mind without allowing the reader to develop a sense of her full meaning. I feel it would have been helpful to have more of what appeared in Seitō as well. As such, In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is not a one-stop-shop for learning about Japanese feminism. There is a good sense of history and the larger changes in Japanese society at the time, but only in relation to Raichō and her projects. Her motivations and intentions are explained, but her work is not allowed to speak for itself. Nevertheless, the book sheds light on a time and a place that few would think of as progressive in terms of women’s rights.

Written by: Richenda Gould, June 28th 2010

Eleanor the Queen: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine

admin — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 07:00:00 +0000

By Norah Lofts

Touchstone

I have to say... I feel a little duped. There is nothing in the book's presentation to suggest that Eleanor the Queen is a reprint of a 1950s novel by Norah Lofts. Apparently Lofts was a prolific and best-selling author known for her "authentic use of period detail." I hadn’t heard of her, but I don’t follow the historical novel market, I just read them. I did not, however, finish reading this. I forced myself to finish Part One of four, but I just could not go on.

Eleanor of Aquitaine was a remarkable woman. She was born in approximately 1122, and became the sole heir to her father’s vast property when he died in 1137. To protect her and her land, she was married to Prince Louis VII of France, who soon became king. When he rode to the Crusades, Eleanor went with him, bringing a coterie of other women with her. She was admired and compared to the Amazons. But the marriage became strained and ultimately ended. (And that’s just Part One—Eleanor went on to do a lot.)

Research tells me that Eleanor was intelligent, strategic, and ambitious. Norah Lofts tells me that Eleanor sat around waiting for things to change, twiddling her thumbs. She tells me Eleanor is intelligent, but somehow this "politically savvy" young woman didn’t know how big her land was until her uncle showed her on a map. Like in so much mediocre fiction, the writer makes statements about the character, setting her up to be admired, only to have the character's actions completely undermine those statements.

People always argue about historical fiction’s (lack of) accuracy. A scenario set in the tenth century is patchy enough that it’s possible to build an excellent story while sticking to the few known facts. Either Lofts did not have good information, or she ignored the facts completely.

Worst of all, the book is incredibly poorly written. The dialogue is hackneyed, the characters are just names and voices, downright boring passages drag on forever, and interesting events aren’t developed. The style is reminiscent of books written between 1700 and 1900, but it rings false, and is just an irritant. The narrative is aware of its own grandeur, wallowing in description without letting people or their actions speak for themselves.

I was so astounded by how poorly written Eleanor the Queen is that I began doing more research into the book and its writer. It was confirmed that Norah Lofts still has a devoted fan base. It was also confirmed that her facts are just wrong, totally contradicting that line on the back cover about her use of period detail. When I discovered that Lofts was born in 1904, I forced myself to rein in a bit. Older books do have a different style. That style doesn’t always appeal to modern readers, including me. But then I saw that Eleanor the Queen was written in the 1950s. It ain’t that old.

Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind in 1936 and it blew my socks off; there’s no excuse for Norah Lofts.

This book would never make it out of a writing workshop.

Written by: Richenda Gould, June 22nd 2010

Graylight

admin — Sat, 22 May 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Naomi Nowak

NBM/Comicslit

The field of comics, also sometimes known as graphic novels, is dominated by male creators and readers. However, there's been increasing push in the last few decades by women to enter the field and make their mark. Though comics drawn by women are gaining popularity, most are classified as "indie," distributed by small publishers that may not be able to advertise or place volumes in prominent bookstores. Naomi Nowak's most recent graphic novel, Graylight, is designated indie, though it deserves to be appreciated by a wider audience.

Sasha is a German photographer on assignment somewhere in northern Europe, where the sun stays up all night in summer. She is a mysterious person, a foreigner. She attracts the attention of a journalist, and he invites her to join him on his quest to interview a famous recluse. The woman takes a disliking to both of them and refuses to grant him an interview. But Sasha leaves with her own prize—a book stolen from the house.

The woman's son follows her home to demand its return, and attraction sparks. But the reclusive old woman is no ordinary woman. She is a witch, with a grudge against women like Sasha, who play with men. When the witch's son takes an interest in Sasha, his mother takes action to destroy her. The witch's son is not Prince Charming, but he does save Sasha, changing his relationship with his mother. He asserts his independence, but in the end Sasha, true to form, leaves town to find some other hearts to break.

The plot summary is intriguing, yet its execution is not entirely clear. I found myself re-reading several times, trying to spot clues I may have missed. Plot is not Nowak's primary concern here—impressions of character and mood supersede coherency of plot.

Nowak is an artist who studied painting and illustration. She brings those skills to her comics, creating page after page of exquisite visuals. The colors are watercolor shades, ranging from pastel to flamingo and lime. The inking is both intricate and vague; symbolic or decorative flowers and crystals are detailed while faces and unimportant objects are only partially defined. Every knot in a sweater is drawn to give its precise texture but the shoes disappear into the background. Nowak focuses attention on what she wants the reader to notice. Pages where there's almost too much detail are deliberately overwhelming.

The style reminds me of the Japanese manga Paradise Kiss. Graylight is exquisitely rendered, and worth looking through for the art alone. Nowak's website contains examples from the book, a more compelling argument to pick it up than I could ever make.

Comics and graphic novels are not as easy to create and produce as some may think. Nowak has made something beautiful, if imperfect in its storytelling. I look forward to seeing her skills progress.

Written by: Richenda Gould, May 21st 2010

All Around Wide Pre-Tied Headband

admin — Fri, 14 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By CoverYourHair.com

I have very thick hair. I don't bother with most barrettes or clasps; they just don't stay in. When I began ballet classes in elementary school, we had to factor in the time it took to wind my hair in a bun, which was covered by a knitted net. It took at least ten pins to hold it in place, often more. Naturally, I'm wary about what I spend my money on when it comes to my hair.

Hard headbands give me headaches. Recently I've taken to soft headbands with rubber surfaces; the rubber helps keep them in place. But, these don't do much to cover up my laziness. The feathered layers around my face will stick out at odd angles, and these thin bands can't hide when I've gone a day too long without washing my hair.

That's where bandannas and handkerchiefs come in. Fold in a triangle, tie around your head, and you're good to go. Unless you're me. Then you'd better remember the bobby pins, or they'll slip and slide, and have to be rearranged (which always requires taking them off completely, and often a good brushing).

The All Around Wide Pre-Tied Headband from CoverYourHair.com is a cross between a bandanna and a soft headband. The bottom half is rouched like a scrunchie, with generous elastic and extra fabric. The top half is a wide piece of fabric that is gathered at either end. You can spread this flat, like a bandanna, or bring it together into a thinner, ruffled band.

The headband's first test was grocery shopping on a rainy day. Last minute errands, I hadn't expected to go out that day, so my hair wasn't super-clean. The band stayed in place through the whole outing, and kept my hair dry through the quick runs in the light rain. Point!

Its next outing was on a clean hair day, so my hair was more slippery than usual. The band largely stayed in place, but I felt the need to keep checking it. On the upside, resetting the headband is easy. It pops on and off, and covers any wild stray hairs that might feel the need to make a break for it.

On the whole, the All Around Wide Pre-Tied Headband is a good product that does its job well. The fabric is silky, but holds hair in place, and the manufacturing seems durable, creating a simple solution to some very aggravating problems.

Written by: Richenda Gould, May 14th 2010

Joy Pendant

admin — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By K. Robins

I fell in love with the Joy Pendant the moment I saw it. The sweeping, curling shape embodies a sensation of buoyancy. In it, I see a person spinning with excitement, astonished at their good fortune, then leaping up with arms outstretched, the only fitting expression of their happiness. The pendant does what it was meant to: it symbolizes joy.

I began making my own jewelry in middle school and have become very discerning in my purchases since. I won't buy something I know I can make myself or that I know is overpriced for the work and materials involved. But this pendant is something well outside my abilities and well worth the very reasonable price.

K. Robins begins by sculpting her shapes in wax. I enjoy running my fingers over the central spiral, where I can feel the uneven shapes of hand tooling. The long lines are smooth, and the whole thing has a satisfying weight without being oppressive. It is unusual in that there is no separate ring for it to hang from. Instead, the pendant's uppermost 'arm' has an oblong hole near its top, so the pendant can hang directly from the cord. Because of this, it will always lie flat, and you won't have to worry about walking around half the day with your necklace back-to-front.

The Joy Pendant ships in a small Ziploc bag with a company card and a black silk cord. I tied mine with a pair of adjustable sliding knots (instructions online). I find that it hangs best at or below the collar bone. The silver doesn't have much contrast against my pale skin, so I try to wear it over a darker color, where it looks like a spot of light erupting from a black sea.

For me, the pendant is both a worry stone, perfect for rubbing, and an expression of emotion. Over the years I've found a few pieces of jewelry that I feel suit my innermost self. This is one of them.

Written by: Richenda Gould, March 6th 2010

Remarkable Creatures

admin — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Tracy Chevalier

Dutton

I'm a huge fan of Tracy Chevalier. Like a lot of people, I began with Girl with a Pearl Earring, and have since made my way through all but one of her other books. So of course I leapt at the chance to sample her newest offering.

Like all her books, Remarkable Creatures begins with something tangible. In Pearl Earring it was a Vermeer painting, and The Lady and the Unicorn explained the origin of a famous medieval tapestry. This time, the inspiration is a sketch of a most unusual woman.

Mary Anning is a working class girl living on the southern coast of Britain. The people there often host tourists and sell them "curies," curiosities, as souvenirs. Only recently have men of learning begun to study and classify these curies as fossils. Mary has "the eye" for spotting them, and she is keeping her family afloat by hunting fossils along the beach.

An older gentlewoman and spinster, Elizabeth Philpot, takes an interest in this clever girl. She, too, collects fossils. They form a friendship, spending hours and hours together combing the beach and cliffs for new specimens. Elizabeth collects for the joy of it, Mary for the money.

Everything changes when Mary discovers a "monster"—an Ichthyosaurus preserved in the rock. Educated men swarm to the town to see it for themselves and try to discover their own creatures. Mary is pleased by the attention and works closely with the men to find each his own specimen. Though they are only too happy to gain from Mary's knowledge and experience, Elizabeth discovers that Mary's best specimen is not credited to her at all; instead, the man who sells it to the London museum is listed as its discoverer.

Elizabeth is dismayed when she realizes how badly Mary is being abused. Collectors and scientists are appropriating all her efforts, so she spends less time collecting items to sell. One man even draws Mary into a flirtation and takes advantage of her desire to please him. He leaves town with nearly a hundred specimens—and not a dime to pay Mary for fossils or guidance.

The facts Chevalier has based the book on bear this out. The real Mary Anning and Elizabeth Philpot were hardly acknowledged in any official capacity by their contemporaries. Mary is and was responsible for discovering the first complete skeletons of several dinosaurs, but it is the men who purchased them to study at schools and museums who named them and whose names are now remembered.

Though Mary is doing sensational things, it is Elizabeth who is really exceptional. She is very self-aware, and is under no illusions about her future. Her family has only enough money for one of four sisters to marry, and that sister is not her. She knows she will need something to occupy her days. She chooses fossils. She reads scientific journals voraciously, and she is constantly seeking answers to questions many people—including the foremost natural scientists of the day, all men—avoid: What are these fossils? Why do these animals no longer exist? Did God allow them to die out? Did he destroy them—did God make a mistake in their creation? Could humanity die out one day? What a majority now consider hard facts were then shocking, blasphemous ideas to nearly everyone.

Remarkable Creatures speaks of both the amazing fossils being uncovered and the two women who pursue an unladylike career with no hope of recognition. The world they live in shapes their actions and reactions, turning what could be a dull history into a vibrant story of female friendship. An excellent read for the drizzling, gray days you want to spend indoors.

Written by: Richenda Gould, March 5th 2010

Chosen By Desire (The Guardians of Destiny)

admin — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Kate Perry

Forever

Kate Perry is a pretty kickass chick. Her childhood dream was to be a ninja, and she's now a seventh degree Kung Fu blackbelt. The serious study required in kung fu appears to have colored her novel, giving the 'paranormal' elements of this paranormal romance a more grounded feel than most Asian-inspired material written by Westerners.

Second in The Guardians of Destiny series, Chosen By Desire continues the modern legend of the Scrolls of Destiny, ancient writings that impart elemental powers on those who study them. Our heroine, Carrie, is a doctoral candidate looking for something to spice up her dissertation. On a tip, she travels to a Chinese monastery where her snooping uncovers exactly what she's looking for. Frantic not to get caught, she stuffs the scrolls in her bag to study later. To ease her conscience, she promises herself she will return them as soon as her paper is approved, and she's won a coveted position at her university.

But the legend is true and the current Guardians are onto her. Max, an American tapped to hold the power of Metal, follows her to California. Convinced that she is working with his rival to damage him, he invites Carrie into his home to translate the texts in his collection, giving him a chance to study her and learn her plans.

The book starts out well. Perry is good with scenes of action and tension (including sexual), but when times are good and everyone's relaxed she tends to lean on cliché. Max is the alpha male who is unable to trust, but I don't see why Carrie calls him arrogant, except that that's a stock description for that archetype. Due to the Power of Lourve, he makes an awfully fast switch from suspicion to loyalty. Then there is my least favorite Conflict Trope: everything could be resolved if people just talked to each other. Given, Perry does a much better job establishing why these people are close-lipped, but Carrie holds on to crucial information for way too long, even after she and Max are all but together.

Though I enjoyed the book for what it was (read: escapist fiction), I find myself dwelling more on its problems than its strengths. Carrie is a confused character. She has to be a Middle American Good Girl. Believably flawed, a serious doctoral candidate worthy of a professorship, and a sassy slang-slinging modern heroine all at once. Ultimately, she doesn't solve the mystery, save herself or anyone else's life, and she definitely doesn't find personal power (paranormal or otherwise). Things are just a little too easy for Carrie, sliding in and out of trouble without any lasting damage or lessons.

This is a shame, because Perry is not a terrible writer. I think she got caught up in what this sort of book is "supposed" to be like. She cut off her natural ability to render her characters as dynamic, interesting people. Writing romances is much more challenging than people think. I'm not going to give up on Perry, but I hope she gives herself the freedom to go a little wild and throw the formulas out.

Written by: Richenda Gould, January 14th 2010

Louder Than Words: Marni

admin — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Marni Bates

HCI Teens

Louder Than Words is a series aimed at teenagers about teenage experiences. Atypically, the volumes are also written by teenagers. It may seem bizarre to ask teenagers to write memoirs—as Marni says, her siblings laughed—but Louder Than Words is dedicated to “reinforce[ing] the message that the experiences of teenagers and their perceptions and beliefs regarding [their] experiences have validity.”

Marni Bates comes from a dysfunctional home. Her parents are estranged long before they divorced, and her sister is her rival. Young Marni wants to be loved, so she plays into the manipulative games her father contrives. The shocking realization that her father sees her as a tool, rather than a daughter to love, is the first of many sledgehammers to Marni's self-esteem.

Trichotillomania is a stress-related disorder. People pull their hair out as a means of coping, not unlike cutting or other forms of self-mutilation. Marni begins to pull at her eyebrows, taunted about her unibrow, a term she doesn’t even understand. Soon she is tugging out her eyelashes, her bangs, and the hair behind her ears. She knows she’s gone too far, but she can’t stop herself. Still, she hides the results of her pulling well, giving the disorder free reign over her mind and body.

Marni is a self-possessed young woman. Nineteen at the time of her writing, she has come to a mature understanding of herself and the other people in her life. Teenagers often are not given credit for having this kind of self-awareness, and many times they’re not given an opportunity to prove they have it.

There are a few points in Marni's story that seem slightly bent by her lingering emotion. For instance, her descriptions of her father are not at all kind—but this is to be expected of someone who is still living this period of her life. Marni continues to battle her disorder, and it is because of this that the book does not really have a proper ending. The story stops, but is not over.

Marni does not make false promises or pretend she has reached a happily ever after. This may be one of the best messages for teens: acknowledging that life is not a series of neatly packaged stories with beginnings, middles, and ends.

I blazed through this small book in a matter of hours. The writing is human, humbling, and honest. The Louder Than Words could do a lot of good in high school health classes. I know I would have been happy to read it.

Written by: Richenda Gould, December 21st 2009

Racing the Dark

admin — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 00:04:00 +0000

By Alaya Dawn Johnson

Bolden

Racing the Dark is unique among fantasy books. The world draws upon Pacific Island and East Asian cultures to create a rich blend very different from fantasy canon—an island nation with an animist religion centering on sacrifice and binding. Though a young adult novel, Johnson is unafraid to tackle harsh topics, and readers will love her for it.

The book begins with Lana's womanhood trial: the morning of her first bleeding, she must dive alone to prove her worthiness as a diver (like the ama pearl divers of Japan). Her findings mark her as being destined for great things. Lana doesn't want the sort of life the island elders would force on her, so she hides the signs and tries to go on as before. But forces in the world are already shifting. Soon the divers have no gems to collect, and the weather patterns begin to ravage their island. Their way of life dying, Lana and her family leave in search of something better.

What comes next is the slow, inexorable destruction of Lana's idyllic childhood. Their situation worsens and everyone makes sacrifices—and that's sacrifice in the true meaning of the word. Lana is pushed into tighter and righter corners, always trying to stay one step ahead of the monster that chases her.

The book draws on themes of environmentalism, trade offs, personal responsibility, and trust. One has the feeling that nothing is safe—it can all come undone in a moment. This suspense keeps the book moving after a slow start. Though the opening scenes are of obvious interest from a feminist perspective, the book is not centered on issues of gender, which is actually a relief. Johnson's primary characters are mostly women, but their being women doesn't make them extraordinary or weak. They are people drawing on their own strengths to survive. It's a much more human approach that I am grateful for. The banner doesn't always have to be waved in your face for the message to be clear.

This is not to say that Johnson ignores their femininity. In fact, the women involved in romantic relationships with men all struggle with them. How many transgressions can love and affection make up for? Which sacrifices for love are justified, and which are foolhardy? All these women wonder if they should stay with their men—and not one is wholly dependent on him for her survival. This frees the debate to be solely about ethics, self-worth, and love.

As a teen, I would have gobbled Racing the Dark up. As an adult writer, I'm not wholly enchanted, which I put down to this being Johnson's first novel. I do wish I had a niece or young friend to pass it on to, so I could follow the story through her. I am also keeping a close eye on Johnson's other projects. Johnson's writing improves over the course of this book, and I'm certain she will become a reliable force in the fantasy genre.

Written by: Richenda Gould, October 31st 2009

The Hebrew Tutor of Bel-Air

admin — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 23:38:00 +0000

By Allan Appel

Coffee House Press

The back copy for The Hebrew Tutor paints a picture that is enticing:

Under threat of nuclear war and the gorgeous California sun, the two [Norman and Bayla] forge a tentative truce. They may not be learning Hebrew, but through the miracle of motorcycles and the epiphanies of the road, Bayla and Norman just might learn to shape their own destinies. And—for a few precious hours—become a latter-day Bonnie and Clyde searching for a reverse Jewish nose job in the City of Angels.

This paragraph implies that we will spend quite a bit of time with "the two," Norman the Hebrew tutor and Bayla the tutored. It implies that this time will be full of adventure, riding motorcycles, under threat from things unseen, playing at Bonnie and Clyde. It suggests a cheeky 'eff you' to Hollywood dogma. All of this happens... but it doesn't receive the focus the copy suggests.

The majority of the book focuses on Norman alone. He is seventeen, and turning into quite the Hebrew scholar, yet he doesn't feel a strong spiritual connection with his studies. His student is impossible—she wants nothing to do with this Bat Mitzvah stuff. Rather than fight her, Norman sits back passively and lets Bayla waste their time. He observes the goings-on at Bayla's, contrasts their rich lifestyle with his family's poverty, and feels shame. Still, he does very little.

Things and people happen to Norman; he does not effect change on his own. As such, the book is fairly slow, trapped in the tutor's head. His thoughts are interesting, but not really enough to sustain the bulk of a novel.

It isn't until the very last that Bayla takes control and the promised motorcycle escapade—full of unexpected twists—happens. Even here the pacing is strange, with several very important days condensed to a few dozen pages. I devoured that part and then wondered why it was so short.

Appel has provided plenty of material for a longer, more immersive discussion of many topics. The setting alone is interesting: A Jewish community in 1960’s Los Angeles, with the Cold War looming. The romantic and married relationships in the book are all less than healthy. Norman's father is a chronic gambler. What is it about Jewish nose jobs? And what sparks Bayla to go looking for a reversal when her own nose is already petite? Perhaps most interesting to feminists: how can Bayla's parents even joke about marrying her off to 'keep her under control?”

The Hebrew Tutor is poorly proportioned, spending too much time following Norman's passive ambling and not enough examination of what happens around him. That said, I like the initial idea behind The Hebrew Tutor, and I like the look of Appel's other books, which also deal with religion in a modern context. I'd like to pick them up and see how they compare.

Written by: Richenda Gould, August 27th 2009

Mating Ritual of the North American WASP

admin — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 17:32:00 +0000

By Lauren Lipton

5 spot

spoiler alert At its core, Mating Rituals of the North American WASP is wholly typical. Girl goes to Vegas. Girl gets drunk. Girl wakes up to find she married some stranger. Girl flees back to New York. Boy calls her up to tell her that, yes, they’re legally married. In time, Boy and Girl fall in love and decide to stay married. Mix in a secondary cliché plot: if they stay married, they get money.

Peggy is a New Yorker who runs a shop with her best friend. They’ve been successful for ten years, but their rent is about to be hiked up (that much is realistic). Luke Sedgwick is the last surviving member of the venerable Sedgwick clan, a family that has not left Connecticut since its founder built a big house which is now falling apart. Luke would love to sell the house and leave his oppressive birthright behind him, but his great-aunt Abigail is in her eighties and she refuses to leave. Her health is deteriorating at the same pace as the house, and Luke is badly in need of a way to pay for both.

Peggy and Luke meet in Vegas where inhibitions go to die. Aunt Abigail, clearly having her priorities straight, says she will allow Luke to sell the house if he and Peggy remain married for one year. Needing her share of the house’s selling price, Peggy starts leading a double life. During the week she lives and works in the city and on weekends she rents a car, drives to Connecticut, and pretends to be the happily married wife of a genuine, full-blooded WASP.

I kept reading this book out of a sense of obligation, and because there was nothing terribly egregious about it. But in hindsight, I’m actually rather pissed. You see, there’s Peggy and Luke… and then there’s Peggy and Brock.

Brock is Peggy’s long-time boyfriend/pet frat boy-cum-thrillseeker. They’ve been dating for six years, and she desperately wants him to pop the question. He’s constantly finding reasons not to. They have a big fight right before Peggy goes to Vegas, and later, just as she’s having feelings for Luke, Brock shows up with a ring. Peggy tells herself she can wait out the six months left of secret marriage with no one the wiser.

Brock is a selfish, childish dolt. He has no redeeming qualities besides being handsome. He’s comfortable in a no-strings relationship with a woman who is too anxious to assert herself, and he likes it that way. Peggy’s waffling is annoying, and her self-delusion more than a little infuriating. Worse, she doesn’t have that big, cathartic "I Am An Idiot And I Really Love Luke" moment at the end. In a faceoff between the three of them, she chooses Brock. Sure, it comes right in the very end, but Silent Luke’s not exactly fantastic either.

The book itself is WASP-ish. There’s no sex, no intimacy, and no delicious description. I never really rooted for Luke because I never felt the supposed connection with Peggy. I didn’t have much sympathy for either of them because there wasn’t much to like about them.

I will give kudos for a heroine who wasn’t stereotypical. Peggy has a streak of neurosis that I liked, but it wasn’t made into a defining issue, and it could have been. I would have much preferred a story about a woman who learns to let go of her own anxiety through her exposure to some classically repressed people.

Written by: Richenda Gould, July 30th 2009