Take That, Katniss Everdeen

Matched by Ally Condie

The comparisons to The Hunger Games were inevitable: a not-too-distant future world and a love triangle fueled not just by passion but by politics. However, this is no copy-cat novel. Ally Condie just may have created a new young adult sub-genre.  Not the dystopian, but the dys-Utopian novel.

Imagine this: In a not-too-distant future, the Society has eradicated cancer and most other life-threatening diseases.  Everyone is matched to a vocation that is perfectly suited to his or her talents,  crime is virtually non-existent, and everyone dies peacefully at the age of 80.  The ideal world, right?

Wrong.  The fact that "Society" is with a capital "S" should've been your first clue.

Another way in which Society ensures health and longevity is that they match individuals to marry who have compatible genetic profiles to guarantee healthy children. (The whole genetic-engineering concept should be your second clue.) When 17-year-old Cassia Reyes is Matched, she is initially overjoyed to find that her Match is someone she knows, which doesn't happen very often - her best friend Xander.  Her euphoria lasts until the very next day.  When she puts the micro-card of her match in the computer to look at Xander's baby pictures and think about what a perfect life they will have, for the briefest second - another boy's face appears. And she knows him, too...a shy, smart outsider named Ky, who is actually more than an outsider. He is what the Society calls an Aberration, for reasons unknown. Those few seconds not only make Cassia start to question the validity of her Match, but set in motion a snowball effect that lead to her challenging the foundations of the Society she lives in.

While this isn't as much of an adrenaline rush as The Hunger Games and sequels, I found this novel (and its protagonist) more interesting, more plausible, and more relatable, than Collins' (admittedly superb) trilogy. I also liked that the secondary characters, in particular Cassia's parents, are much more layered than the adults in Hunger Games.

Matched is the first in a planned trilogy, and I'll be eagerly pre-ordering whatever comes next.

Four super-short reviews

I went on a bit of a non-fiction binge last month - the humorous essays were calling to me. Here are two non-fiction, and two fiction books that I can't quite scare up a separate post on.

Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog by Lisa Scottoline - Scottoline mostly writes novels, but this collection of essays (first published as newspaper columns) was my introduction to her, and it made me want to check out her fiction. Fun, funny, and makes me confident that I, too, will be a cool chick when in my 50s. (Even without the two divorces, precocious child, and four golden retrievers and psychotic Corgi that Scottoline boasts.)

I'm Dreaming of a Black Christmas by Lewis Black - What can be better, and more amusing, than a Christmas chronicle written by a non-observant Jew?  That the non-observant Jew in question be Lewis Black, coiner of the phrase "If you think about it too long, your head will explode."  I absolutely adore Black, and even though this isn't his strongest writing, it was an amusing and fast read.

The Family Man by Elinor Lipman - I almost abandoned this one, and I'm glad I didn't.  Take one Upper-West-Side-dwelling gay man, his recently widowed Fifth-Avenue-dwelling wife, and a long-estranged ex-daughter who is taking on the media con of the decade, and what do you get?  Charm and hilarity. It took awhile to warm up to this one, but it was worth it.

Maybe This Time by Jennifer Crusie - Crusie is a master of snappy dialogue - one can imagine her writing for Hepburn and Tracy- and she usually spins a good story. This one let me down somewhat. Those of you who know me well won't believe I'm saying this, but I really disliked the supernatural bent of her latest book. Her strength is creating fun, believable relationships (albeit much better-scripted than real life) and this was a wild digression.  Didn't hate it, but could've skipped it.

Non-Cat Lovers Might Just Want to Stop Here

Homer's Odyssey, by Gwen Cooper


So this is what happens when I go into Borders to "buy Doubt for film class." Before I even get near the DVD section, my eye is caught by the bait; a big red sign that says "BUY ONE, GET 50% OFF THE OTHER!" Such signs were made for suckers like me, and I am further seduced by this cover:



Come on, what am I - made of stone?


After doing my usual ritual when buying a book about an animal - flipping to the end to be sure the cat doesn't die (the cat doesn't die) - I rapidly picked up my second book, Why My Third Husband Will Be a Dog by Lisa Scottoline, and proceeded to the checkout. Oh, yeah, I did remember to buy Doubt.

Author Cooper was an early-20s, non-profit do-gooder, crashing with a friend in South Beach when Homer came into her life.  Her vet called her about a kitten she'd found whose eyes were so severely infected that she had to remove them, but whose sweet and fun-loving spirit was undiminished by sightlessness. When Cooper met Homer, she found (much as I did when faced with the cover) that resistance was futile.

While the memoir is partially about Homer's blindness, it is more about his utter cat-ness; having been blinded when only a few days old, he doesn't realize he's different.  The difference is more in Cooper's, and the people she meets, perception of him.  He is remarkable by any standards (he once scared away a would-be burglar/rapist) and Cooper's writing suggests that it is because of, not in spite of, his "disability."

In other words - fun, funny, heartwarming and sometimes heart-twisting (I was somewhat traumatized when Cooper wrote about being separated from her cats on 9/11 and not being able to get back to them in her downtown apartment for three days - it was totally a "there for the grace of God" feeling) and anyone with a heart and a scrap of pro-feline sentiment will fall for Homer, his owner, and his cat-step-siblings.

I was further charmed by the fact that Gwen Cooper is donating 10% of all her domestic royalties to organizations that benefit abused, abandoned, and disabled animals.  Go, Gwen!  And not only is Homer alive and well, you can friend him on Facebook. (Well, of course I did. Duh.)

Required Reading for All 80s Children

Talking to Girls About Duran Duran by Rob Sheffield and My Formerly Hot Life by Stephanie Dolgoff



Rob Sheffield owes me $15.00.

I'm not demanding a refund for the book (which I got out of the library anyway and thoroughly enjoyed.)  I just feel like he should foot some small part of the iTunes bill I incurred downloading 80s one-hit wonders whose existence I had totally forgotten until I read his book. (Come on Eileen, anyone?)

Sheffield, who used to write for Rolling Stone magazine, is a master at capturing small moments, and this memoir beautifully illustrates how intimately songs are linked with memory.  It's part coming of age story, part love-letter to the 1980s, embracing the decade warts and all.  A big part of the book's charm is Sheffield's persona; he writes about his earlier dorky days from an adult perspective that is not embarrassed by, but embraces, his past and present dorkitude. Which, as a total dork, I totally dig. Plus, he's cute!  I would have totally loved to see him with a boom box outside my window blasting Peter Gabriel. (Students, and anyone born after 1990, you'll need to ask me about the reference.)  (How thoroughly this book reconnected me with my misspent youth is proven by the fact that I used the word "totally" twice in one paragraph.)

I absolutely love the subtitle of Stepanie Doloff's blog-turned-book: Dispatches From Just the Other Side of Young.  What a great way to describe us children of the 80s, now in our early 40s, who don't seem to have an age bracket.  When I was at my class reunion last month, hanging out with my fab friends (and watching many of us dance JUST LIKE WE USED TO) it occurred to me that we don't seem middle-aged, even though we're now probably older than the teachers we thought were old, old, OLD in high school. "Just the other side of young" is a beautiful way to put it.

 While I imagine sitting with Rob Sheffield at Starbucks and picking apart Duran Duran lyrics (what, exactly, is "the union of the snake" a metaphor for?), I would love to sit down with Dolgoff for a cosmo or three. Except, as she describes, it'd probably take us three months to pick a date when we could both get together, and we'd be feeling it a lot more than we used to the next day. She describes perfectly the disconcerting experience of one's first non-Southern "ma'am"-ing, and all the other minor adjustments (fashion and otherwise) that one must make as one transitions from "young" to "just the other side."

I don't want to give away too much because I want all of my female friends to read this book, but I do want to give a big "AMEN, sister!" to Dolgoff's suggestion that we abolish the custom of saying a woman looks good "for her age." No one says that Denzel Washingon or George Clooney look good "for their age," so let's get rid of that last little bit of gender bias, m'kay?

Lest you get the idea that Dolgoff is some kind of militant feminist/age-ist, rest assured - her tongue is firmly planted in cheek for most of her observations.  In fact, her breezy, smart-ass, mildly self-deprecating tone is part of the joy of this book.  It is human, relatable, and utterly identifiable. 

Stieg's Sophomore Slump

The Girl Who Played With Fire by Stieg Larsson

After reading The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and discovering that it could, indeed, live up to the hype, my expectations were way high for the second installment in the trilogy.  I was not dramatically, but mildly, let down.

Played With Fire picks up about a year after the events in Dragon Tattoo and life for Mikael Blomqvist has returned, somewhat, to normal. (Although, really - is there ANYONE this dude doesn't sleep with?)  Not so for Salander, who has cut Blomqvist off and is living off the proceeds of her last caper in Dragon Tattoo.  Except, of course (Salander being Salander) she gets in boiling water and Blomqvist is the only one who can help her.

Mara Rooney

Noomi Rapace. Swedish Salander or Hollywood Salander? You decide.

While Played With Fire takes even longer to reach the main plot than Dragon Tattoo did, it didn't feel as long in this book because I had an emotional investment in the characters this time around. And on the topic of characters: As complex and multi-layered as Salander is (and I totally agree with the majority that she is one of the most interesting, unpredictable female characters in the history of ever) I find Blomqvist to be equally....well, not flat, exactly, but I don't see the charisma that makes every woman he meets want to sleep with him. Larsson tells us he's charismatic, but he doesn't show us. I like him, but I don't get him. Finally, I found some of the big plot reveals to be kind of predictable...but then again, I point out foreshadowing for a living, so I'm kind of a tough crowd.  On the plus side - the descriptions of Stockholm, the Swedish countryside, and the minutiae of daily life in Sweden kind of make me want to live there for awhile - and that's something I NEVER thought I'd say!

I found out from a student after I finished the book that it's a set-up for the last book in the trilogy, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (which I own but have not yet read) and that made sense.  It felt like a "bridge" novel, kind of the print equivalent of The Empire Strikes Back.  When reading over this review, it strikes me as much more negative than my actual experience of reading the book was.  I really did enjoy the book, it just didn't have the "wow" factor of Dragon Tattoo. 

The Curse of the Sequel Persists...

Contagious - Scott Sigler   



Let down by two sequels in  row - that has to be some kind of record!

Let's be clear, my expectations for this book were WAY high. When I read Infected, it had me by the throat. Any time I wasn't at school or sleeping, I was reading that book.  Dishes?  Let them pile up. Papers to grade? They'll still be there in the morning. This one just didn't have the same effect - it took me a week to finish.

When the action picks up, Perry Dawsey has been successfully rid of his triangles physically although to say there is emotional backlash is an understatement. He has a lingering psychic connection to other triangle hosts, and is working with hard-boiled CIA agent Dew Phillips (my latest literary crush - I am determined that Xander Berkeley from 24 should play him in the movie, if there is ever a movie)...

Xander Berkeley

...and CDC scientist Margaret Montoya to track down new hosts of the strange disease. The main conflict for the first part of the book is that Montoya and Phillips are desperate for a live host in order to study and hopefully conquer the disease, while Perry's idea of "helping" is to kill the hosts on the spot.  Arguments ensue, but subside when it becomes evident that there is a new strain of the disease, much more threatening, and....wait for it...CONTAGIOUS. (And also spread in the GROSSEST WAY YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE.) (And no, it's not what you're probably thinking.)

One of the problems I had with this book is that there are just TOO MANY CHARACTERS.  Infected focused very tightly on the trio of Perry, Dew, and Margaret; there were supporting characters, but they were just that: supporting.  In this volume there are at least seven or eight characters who get their own point-of-view chapters, and I'm still not quite sure I could keep them all straight. One of them is one of the most disturbing villains I've ever read - a seven-year-old little girl who is a host of the new strain of the disease. And she's not disturbing in a Hannibal Lecter, oh-that's-kind-of-intriguing way; she's disturbing in an I-think-I-want-to-skip-to-the next-section-and-see-what Perry's-doing way. Shudder.

I also hated, hated, and give me one more HATED the ending.  It was a logical ending - perhaps the only logical ending - but I still hate it.  Damn you, Sigler, why did you have to leave your readers with a bad taste in their mouths? (An unfortunate metaphor, as you'll know if you read the book.)

3.5 out of 6 stars

Greeks Beat the Romans, Hands Down

The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan

Reading this book, I got an inkling of what it would be like if J.K. Rowling wrote a new Hogwarts series, with Harry and Co. as mentors.

Don't do it, J. Ro.  Rick Riordan is a far more skilled writer than you, and he fell short of the mark.

In this first volume of his Heroes of Olympus series, Riordan introduces us to three new fledgling demi-gods: Jason, an amnesiac who learns that he can fly; Piper, a not-really-kleptomaniac; and Leo, the mechanical genius who is haunted by his mother's death at (he thinks) his hands.  In due course they find out who their godly parents are (some nice twists here - one of them is the child of the Roman aspect of one of the Greek gods) and shortly thereafter are off on a quest to save an imprisoned deity and, of course, stop the end of the world as we know it.

Oh, and that Percy guy? He's missing in action. He's mentioned a lot, but we never get to see him. (You'll find out why about two pages from the end, and yeah, that was a nice twist as well.)

I liked this book.  There was plenty of action, Leo and Piper are cool characters (Jason, the protagonist, is oddly un-charismatic for the child of a major deity) and the references to famous and not-so-famous myths are a blast. (What's better than a book that makes you feel smart.)  What I didn't get was the "Oh my god, I can't wait to read the next one, let me go on Barnes and Noble and order it RIGHT THIS MINUTE!" feeling.   Part of this, I think, was the fault of the shift from a first-person (which all of the Percy books had) to third person point of view.  One of the things I enjoyed about the first five books was Percy's smart-ass, sardonic narration, and that was sorely missed in this book.

4 out of 6 stars.