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The Laughing Cavalier by Baroness Orczy: B

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From the back cover:
The year is 1623, the place Haarlem in the Netherlands. Diogenes—the first Sir Percy Blakeney, the Scarlet Pimpernel’s ancestor—and his friends Pythagoras and Socrates defend justice and the royalist cause. The famous artist Frans Hals also makes an appearance in this historical adventure. Orczy maintains that Hals’ celebrated portrait of The Laughing Cavalier is actually a portrayal of the Scarlet Pimpernel’s ancestor.

Review:
What a perfectly abysmal blurb that is. Egads.

The Laughing Cavalier, one of two prequels to The Scarlet Pimpernel, tells the story of a penniless foreign adventurer who passed down his exceptional qualities—such as “careless insouciance”—to his descendant, Sir Percy Blakeney, the hero of the more famous work. This fellow, a half-English rogue enjoying the life of a vagabond in The Netherlands, goes by the name of Diogenes and has for companions/minions two fellows calling themselves Pythagorus and Socrates. When Gilda Beresteyn, sister of one man and former love of another who together conspire to kill the current ruler, overhears of these plans, Diogenes and his men are hired to spirit her away so that the assassination atttempt may proceed without her interference.

What follows is essentially a lot of what one would expect. Diogenes’ swaggering merriment (and, indeed, I ought to have counted the number of times his countenance, eyes, or laugh are described as “merry,” because the total would easily be in the triple digits) and saucy attitude make him the perfect adventure hero, capable of deftly handling many abrupt reversals in his fortunes. Gilda is the feisty and sensible noblewoman who is indignant at her plight at first but eventually comes to see that her captor is far more honorable than he originally seemed. The would-be traitor, Stoutenburg, is reduced to impotent fury by Diogenes’ constant smirking and eventually has his plans ruined and loses Gilda, whom he had planned to eventually woo back to his side.

As a story, the plot is not very deep or complicated. It takes fully one quarter of the book to simply arrange the details of the caper, making one antsy for Gilda to just get abducted already! Once she is, most of the rest of the book is comprised of simply moving her from place to place. The conclusion is fairly predictable, too. That the two leads end up together is neither a surprise nor a spoiler—this is a story leading to eventual parentage, after all—but it’s still fun to read their banter, even though Gilda’s sudden realization of her feelings comes rather out of the blue. I could very easily picture their relationship unfolding on screen—perhaps because it’s not exactly a new idea. (The Princess Bride comes to mind.)

I also really enjoyed the setting. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book taking place in The Netherlands before, so all the snowy landscapes, misty windmills, and icy rivers fit for nocturnal journeys on ice skates offered something new and different, even if the story itself did not. Also, there were tons of nifty Dutch honorifics and swear words! If you ever want to insult a Dutchman, apparently all you need do is call him a “plepshurk.”

In the end, I enjoyed The Laughing Cavalier and will read the follow-up volume, The First Sir Percy, at some point in the near future.

This review has been crossposted to the Triple Take blog, where K and I did a “double take.” You can find her review here.

Striding Folly by Dorothy L. Sayers: A-

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Book description:
Lord Peter Wimsey’s last three baffling cases all demonstrate his unique detection skills at their most spectacular. The enigma of a house numbered thirteen in a street of even numbers. An indignant child accused of theft. A dream about a game of chess that uncovers the true story behind a violent death. Each of the stories introduces a different side of the twentieth century’s most ingenious detective hero.

Review:
Short as it is, Striding Folly is still, by far, my very favorite of the Lord Peter short story collections.

Of the three stories collected herein, the title story is of the least consequence. It’s chiefly about a country gentleman who is suspected of killing a neighbor who planned to sell his land to developers. Lord Peter comes in at the end and prevents a miscarriage of justice. The title, incidentally, refers to the more tangible sort of folly, that is “a whimsical or extravagant structure built to serve as a conversation piece [or] lend interest to a view.” This one happens to be located on a property known as Striding. I had always thought it referred to a bit of foolishness engaged in while ambling about.

In “The Haunted Policeman” we get our first glimpse of Lord Peter since the events of Busman’s Honeymoon. It’s just over a year since his marriage to Harriet, and Peter has just passed a sleepless night while his wife gives birth to their first son. Once all is declared well, his spirits are high and he desires some conversation, even though it’s three in the morning. A passing policeman fits the bill and tells Peter the story of how he came to be accused of drunkenness by his sergeant. The tale involves a murdered man inside a house numbered thirteen on a street with only even-numbered residences. Again, Lord Peter serves as a force of vindication. Though the solution to the mystery is fairly ridiculous, the depiction of Peter is really excellent. I love the notion that, when fretting especially about Harriet, he takes solace in the company of the servants, who allow him to polish the silver.

The second charmer in the collection is “Talboys.” A further six years have passed since the previous story and Peter and Harriet’s family has grown to contain three sons. The eldest, Bredon, confesses at the outset to having stolen two peaches from a neighbor. Peter punishes him and the matter is considered closed until the following morning, when all of the peaches are discovered missing. A visiting houseguest—friend to Peter’s notoriously censorious sister-in-law—persists in suspecting Bredon while Peter rather easily proves his innocence. Again, the mystery is not really the point here. Instead we get a truly wonderful portrait of Peter as father—always willing to have a roll with the dog, let his children clamber all over him, and participate in mischief. I might wish for more emphasis on Harriet in this situation, but her happiness is never in doubt.

Of all the Lord Peter stories, only these last two have ever tempted me to come back and read them again. I had wondered how any short story could provide a sense of closure to the Wimsey series, but in fact it works perfectly, since little time and effort need be expended upon a mystery which is only of secondary importance. I will probably end up reading Thrones, Dominations in the near future but I certainly see the rationale behind stopping here, too.

Déjà Dead by Kathy Reichs: B

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From the back cover:
In the year since Temperance Brennan left behind a shaky marriage in North Carolina, work has often preempted her weekend plans to explore Quebec. When a female corpse is discovered meticulously dismembered and stashed in trash bags, Tempe detects an alarming pattern—and she plunges into a harrowing search for a killer. But her investigation is about to place those closest to her—her best friend and her own daughter—in mortal danger…

Note: There are many, many different covers available for this series. I picked the attractive British version.

Review:
For those who aren’t aware, this is the first volume in the series of mysteries upon which the TV series Bones is based. But if you’re looking for a story with banter/sexual tension between two attractive leads and a supporting cast of quirky scientists, then you’re going to be disappointed. The only real similarities are that the main character is named Temperance Brennan and that she is a forensic anthropologist.

The story is set in June 1994 in Montreal. Dr. Temperance (Tempe) Brennan is working for the Province of Quebec, examining skeletal remains of various types discovered around the city. When she notices some similarities between dismembered murder victims, she becomes convinced there’s a serial killer at work and must convince the detectives—one highly skeptical (Claudel) and one more receptive (Ryan)—of her theory. There’s a lot of emphasis on forensic technique and quite a bit of detail on Tempe’s findings; though the squeamish might find the latter too abundant, they are at least never relished. Meanwhile, the killer is annoyed by Tempe’s interference and begins leaving grisly presents in her yard and targeting her friends and family.

Déjà Dead is at its best when slathering on the suspense. Probably my favorite scene in the book is a wonderfully spooky one in which Tempe hears a weird noise at night and must investigate its origins. And there are some genuine surprises, too. I didn’t expect that any real harm would come to anyone Tempe cared about, and I liked that the culprit was not easily predicted. The characters are memorable and I really like her kitty, Birdie. My favorite line in the book relates to his grooming process: “Birdie focused on inter-toe spaces.”

At its worst, Déjà Dead puts its heroine into situations where I am supposed to be concerned for her peril but am instead annoyed. Why, oh why, do you go investigate a possible burial site on a dark and stormy night? Why go loiter in the seedy part of town in the wee hours to tail a creepy perv? I guess this is supposed to show how brave and determined she is and that my disapproval shows what a stodgy prig I am. Also, having Claudel’s resistance to the serial killer theory persist for so long in the face of overwhelming evidence doesn’t make much sense. He’s not a stupid man.

Despite my few complaints, I did enjoy Déjà Dead overall. By the end, Tempe is getting along especially well with Ryan and it seems possible that she and the intriguing Claudel might interact more compatibly in the future. Both of these developments are welcome, and compel me to seek out the second installment.

In the Teeth of the Evidence and Other Mysteries by Dorothy L. Sayers: B

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From the back cover:
A fleeing killer’s green mustache. A corpse clutching a note with misplaced vowels. A telephone with the unmistakable ring of death. A hopeful heir’s dreams of fortune done in when nature beats him to the punch. A playwright’s unwatered-down honor that is thicker than blood.

In each case, the murder baffles the local authorities. For his Lordship and the spirited salesman-sleuth Montague Egg, a corpse is an intriguing invitation to unravel the postmortem puzzles of fascinating falsehoods, mysterious motives, and diabolical demises.

Review:
In the Teeth of the Evidence and Other Mysteries is a collection of short stories, not all of them technically mysteries. Two feature Lord Peter Wimsey, five star Montague Egg, and the other eleven tell of wanted criminals, murderous relations, unpleasant smells, and more!

The two Lord Peter stories, “In the Teeth of the Evidence” and “Absolutely Elsewhere,” are not very exciting. They’re better than some of the Wimsey stories in previous collections, but coming off a novel like Busman’s Honeymoon in which Peter’s character is explored in greater depth than ever before, they seem incredibly lacking by comparison. It’s like we’re seeing a mere shadow of the person we’ve come to know, and anyone could have taken his place without altering the story one bit.

Montague Egg’s stories are somewhat more entertaining, although they share the common trait of ending abruptly. The focus here is on Egg’s cleverness, and once the clues have been interpreted to work out the method of the crime or the culprit, the stories tend to just stop. I suppose it isn’t really necessary to show the criminal being apprehended, and perhaps this would grow repetitive after a while, but the suddenness of the conclusions is jarring all the same.

The best and worst of the collection can be found in the stories with no detective character. Standouts include “The Milk-Bottles,” in which a week’s worth of milk bottles accumulating on a doorstep leads to suspicions of a terrible crime, and “Dilemma,” in which various tough decisions of the “which one would you save?” variety are debated. This last isn’t even a mystery at all, but just a really good story with a nice ending.

Several of the stories have amusing endings, in fact, though just as many have predictable ones, and a few seem absolutely determined never to end. One of the most tiresome for me was “Nebuchadnezzar,” which features a party attendee who becomes convinced that a group playing charades is about to reveal the fact that he murdered his wife. I think we spend too much time in his head as he freaks out, and it becomes annoying. Similarly, parts of “The Inspiration of Mr. Budd,” about a hairdresser who realizes that his customer is a wanted criminal, are irritating as the protagonist dithers about what to do, though this one redeems itself in the end.

While nowhere near as good or satisfying as a Wimsey novel, and barely offering anything about that noble sleuth, In the Teeth of the Evidence is still notable for containing some very good short stories by Sayers. I’m glad I read it.

Busman’s Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers: B+

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From the back cover:
Murder is hardly the best way for Lord Peter and his bride, the famous mystery writer Harriet Vane, to start their honeymoon. It all begins when the former owner of their newly acquired estate is found quite nastily dead in the cellar. And what Lord Peter had hoped would be a very private and romantic stay in the country soon turns into a most baffling case, what with the misspelled “notise” to the milkman and the intriguing condition of the dead man—not a spot of blood on his smashed skull and not a pence less than six hundred pounds in his pocket.

Review:
Busman’s Honeymoon is the final Lord Peter novel written exclusively by Dorothy L. Sayers. (Two collections of short stories follow, as well as a pair of novels completed by Jill Paton Walsh based on material written by Sayers.) Therefore, while there is a case to be solved, the real focus of the book is on giving beloved characters Peter and Harriet a fitting send-off.

After six years of struggle, Peter and Harriet have finally managed to get married and have gone off to Talboys, a country cottage in the village Harriet lived in as a child, for their honeymoon. Concerns about safely transporting Peter’s stock of port or unclogging some terribly sooty chimneys give way to investigation when the body of the former owner is discovered in the cellar.

There’s not actually a lot of emphasis on the case. Investigation mostly consists of some interviews, a few theories, and then sudden inspiration that leads to the reconstruction of the crime and a ready confession. At one point I was surprised to realize I was 75% of the way through the book and so little had actually happened on the detecting front. Instead, more attention is paid to Peter and Harriet as they make peace with being so happy, an emotion that actually produces some unease, and it’s a testament to the likability of these characters that reading about their contentment is actually interesting.

The end of the book is also fairly intriguing, though a bit odd. Peter catches the culprit, and that’s usually where these things end. This time, there’s a random visit to the Wimsey family home—complete with matter-of-fact discussion about ghostly residents—followed by a depiction of Peter’s descent into guilty despair because he has, through his efforts, sent someone to the gallows. We’ve heard about his dark moods before, but never really seen him in the throes of one. Harriet must learn how to deal with these episodes in a way that doesn’t belittle Peter and, indeed, much of the process of getting used to one another involves recognizing temptations to exert influence and forcing oneself to allow the other to remain fully independent.

As a final installment, it works pretty well. That said, though I had originally been on the fence as to whether to read the Sayers/Walsh novels, I now think that I won’t be able to resist getting another glimpse at the Wimseys. Heck, I don’t even need there to be a mystery, really. As Busman’s Honeymoon proved, with these characters, a case is not necessary for the result to be enjoyable.

Vanish with the Rose by Barbara Michaels: B+

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From the back cover:
Diana Reed has much to hide when she arrives at the Nicholsons’ 18th-century estate. Masquerading as a landscape architect specializing in “ancient” roses, she’s hired by the eccentric couple to restore the gardens, but her real interest lies in the manor’s more recent history.

Sinister scenarios ensue at the Nicholsons’ estate. Ghostly music echoes in the halls. The smell of roses haunts empty rooms. Diana must hurry if she is to solve her highly personal mystery before she becomes another of the garden’s well-kept secrets.

Review:
While I definitely enjoyed reading Vanish with the Rose, it was quite a slow read for me. At first, all we know about Diana Reed is that she’s pretending to be an expert on roses in order to gain access to property newly acquired by a pair of lottery winners, Emily and Charles Nicholson. Her true agenda is not mentioned for some time, but it eventually comes out after she befriends the Nicholsons’ housekeeper, Mary Jo, and all of a sudden things change quite a bit.

As it turns out, Diana is there investigating the disappearance of her brother, Brad, who had worked for the previous owner, an old woman notorious for her ornery disposition. The handling of this revelation is interesting in that several members of the cast, whom we’ve already met without suspicion, are suddenly revealed as potential suspects. Meanwhile, ghostly music disturbs Diana’s sleep and she experiences several visions from what seems to be someone else’s perspective. After the Nicholsons head off on vacation while landscaping work proceeds, Diana, Mary Jo, Walt (the head landscaper), and Andy (Emily’s son) remain at the centuries-old home where they look for leads on Brad and try to avoid Mary Jo’s abusive ex-husband, Larry.

So, essentially what we have here is a supernatural cozy mystery, with a dash of romance thrown in for good measure. As I said, I enjoyed reading the book, but the narrative would meander something awful. Things do come together tidily enough at the end, with some fun misleads and twists along the way, but I can’t help but feel some liberal editing would’ve produced a tighter story.

I have no complaints at all about the characters, though, since I liked them all quite a lot. Diana has a lot of baggage from her parents, and takes some time coming out of her shell, but her new friendships help her to achieve this. Walt is gruff and sensible, Mary Jo is “determinedly rational,” and Andy is one of those fellows who appears glib and irresponsible, but is actually dependable in a pinch. The interplay between them is amusing, and while Diana has chemistry with both the guys, I’m quite happy about how things ultimately turn out in this regard.

Even though the story drags in places, Vanish with the Rose is a solidly entertaining tale, and definitely one worth reading.

Thus Was Adonis Murdered by Sarah Caudwell: B+

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From the back cover:
For young barrister Julia Larwood, it was to be a holiday of romance as well as flight from the tax man; in short, an Art Lover’s Tour of Italy. Reduced to near penury by the Inland Revenue, Julia could hardly afford such luxury but she’d be in hock to the Revenue either way so why not? But poor, deluded Julia—how could she have known that the ravishing Art Lover for whom she had conceived a fatal passion was himself an employee of the Inland Revenue? Or that her hard-won night of passion would end in murder with her personal, inscribed copy of the current Finance Act found lying a few feet away from the corpse.

Review:
Thus Was Adonis Murdered, the first of only four mysteries penned by Sarah Caudwell prior to her death, introduces Professor Hilary Tamar and a group of young barristers working in London in 1977. One of the barristers, chronically absent-minded Julia Larwood, takes a vacation to Venice and, while there, meets and beds “the enchanting Ned” and ends up the chief suspect in his murder. Aided by Julia’s improbably lengthy and descriptive correspondence, Hilary and the barristers attempt to assist Julia from London. This involves many scenes of the group reading her letters over coffee and wine, and eventually conducting some discreet inquiries of their own, since, as they have no official legal status, they cannot compel anyone to actually talk to them.

The structure of this mystery is quite fun, actually. Although it’s highly unlikely that anyone would spend hours of their vacation writing such detailed epistles to friends back home, it’s still an interesting literary device, and I liked the idea of there being a group of sleuths rather than only one. Hilary recounts the events retrospectively from his/her perspective (these mysteries are famous for successfully obscuring Hilary’s gender), which is fitting because it’s Hilary who eventually solves the whole thing by way of extreme attention to detail honed through years of scholarship—the clues are there if anyone would but notice them, but I certainly had not until they were pointed out in the narrative.

The drawback of solving a mystery from a distance, of course, is that it becomes a very detached and academic sort of pursuit. It’s a very clever exercise, I grant, but it’s much more in the vein of a puzzle than anything that acknowledges the true horror of murder. Also, while most of the barristers receive at least some personality (those remaining in London, at least), the fellow who heads off to Venice to assist Julia personally is really quite bland.

Even while I have a few complaints, I still enjoyed Thus Was Adonis Murdered a good deal and am really looking forward to reading the other three in the series.

Excel Saga Volume 1

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By Rikdo Koshi. Released in Japan by Shonen Gahosha, serialization ongoing in the magazine Young King OURS. Released in North America by Viz.

One of my all-time favorite manga series, I want to review this from the start, mostly because the general reaction I get when I mention it is “Wait, that’s still running?” Or even worse, “Wait, that was a manga?”. A classic case of Adaptation Displacement, the anime that was released over here in 2002 was wildly popular, and the manga, coming out about a year and a half later, ended up disappointing fans who wanted more over the top lunacy.

But back to the beginning. First there was Rikdo Koshi the doujinshi artist, who did fan parody comics for various series running in the 1990s, including Card Captor Sakura. He also had an original hentai doujinshi that was collected into a volume called Municipal Force Daitenzin, a sentai parody about a group of idiotic people in powered suits trying to save the day. Two minor characters in that doujinshi series were the villain of the piece and his hyperactive, incompetent assistant. When Shonen Gahosha gave Rikdo the opportunity to create his own manga, he cut out the pornographic bits and made Excel and Il Palazzo the focus.

And so we have Volume 1, which seems very odd to read coming at it about 15 years later, with Volume 23 just having been released in Japan. We are introduced to our main cast working for the secret organization ACROSS: Excel, the still hyperactive and incompetent minion; Il Palazzo, her cold yet bishonen superior with a fondness for dropping her into a pit of water at the slightest provocation; Hyatt, a fellow minion at ACROSS with a nasty tendency to cough up blood and drop over dead; and Mince, a put upon puppy who gets deemed ’emergency food’ by Excel.

We also meet three of her neighbors, Iwata, Watanabe, and Sumiyoshi, but as yet they are not part of the main plot and almost seem to be off in their own separate manga. Notable is Watanabe’s first meeting with Hyatt, beginning his obsessive crush with her, and also Sumiyoshi’s tendency to communicate only in captions behind his head. (He also “speaks” in the manga in a heavy Geordie accent, Carl Horn’s attempt to show his Okayama accent while getting out of the Brooklyn/Southern trap most Viz or ADV manga fell into. Strangely, it works, though the phonetic absolutism of the accent can make him hard to interpret.)

At this point, the manga is still finding its feet, and there’s not much of the overreaching plot we’ll get in future volumes. There’s also not much here the anime watcher will recognize. The manga was only up to Volume 4 when it was licensed for anime, and the publisher requested that the anime not actually use the manga’s plotline (hence the “I agree to let Excel Saga be turned into a ______ anime” shtick). So the characters and basic plot (ACROSS tries to take over the world and fails) are the same, but the details are altered.

The humor is also a bit different. There is still some slapstick violence, and Excel shows her remarkable endurance even in the first chapter, but the comedy here stems from wordplay and ridiculous situations. Excel’s part-time jobs come before her minioning, as a girl has to eat, and we can also see from some of her complex rambling speeches (going off about the phylum and order of cave crickets, for example) that she’s quite intelligent. Excel isn’t stupid, just crazy, impetuous and a bit broken. Notably, when joined by Hyatt she starts to comment wryly on her health state, and shows signs of becoming a deadpan snarker. She’ll develop this far more once Elgala shows up in Volume 8.

There are occasional references to the anime in this translation, which is adapted and edited by Carl Horn and Dan Kanemitsu. Several jokes are Westernized, but notably the endnotes also note the original Japanese joke as well, which works out fine. Amusing bits include noting that Rikdo asked the anime version of Excel Saga not to have any panty shots (especially amusing if you know how fanservicey Excel Saga gets in later volumes), as well as Il Palazzo calling Jesus Christ a criminal of the State worse than Hitler and Aum Shinrikyo, much to Excel’s horror. (In case anyone is wondering, this is the scene they didn’t dare put in the anime, as the back cover notes.)

Excel Saga Volume 1 is just plain fun. It doesn’t have the healthy backstory we’ll get in future volumes, but you don’t need that right away. Instead, you just have fun watching Excel and Hyatt fail desperately for the glory of Il Palazzo, and her next-door neighbors assaulting each other for random slights. It’s a fun, funny manga.

These Old Shades by Georgette Heyer: A-

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theseoldshadesFrom the back cover:
Society believes the worst of Justin Alastair, the notorious Duke of Avon, who is clearly proud of his sobriquet, “Satanas.” It is he who buys Léon body and soul from a scoundrel in a Paris backstreet. The red-headed urchin has strangely familiar looks, and should play a fine part in Justin’s long-overdue schemes to avenge himself on the Comte de St Vire—until, that is, Léon becomes the ravishing beauty Léonie…

Review:
These Old Shades is the supremely entertaining tale of the clever and manipulative Duke of Avon and his spirited page-turned-ward Léon/Léonie. The book has an interesting publishing history, in that it’s a sequel of sorts to Heyer’s first novel (The Black Moth) but with the characters’ names changed since the events of said book did not allow for a direct sequel. It stands alone perfectly well, though, and I experienced no disadvantage from not having read the earlier work.

The basic plot is pretty simple, if slightly improbable. The Duke of Avon has many enemies, and chief among them is the red-haired, black-browed Comte de St Vire. When Avon should happen to run into a youth who bears a striking resemblance to the Comte, he immediately realizes the boy, Léon, must be the result of some indiscretion on St Vire’s part and resolves to use him as a weapon to destroy his foe. Most of the rest of the book consists of flaunting Léon under St Vire’s nose, both as a boy and later as the lovely Léonie, and trying to induce St Vire to admit to what Avon has surmised but has no concrete proof of. It all wraps up tidily at the end, and with a terrific final line, to boot.

The characters are the real charm of These Old Shades. I love characters like the Duke of Avon—seemingly foppish, but really incredibly dangerous. He always speaks languidly and sardonically and kind of reminds me of what Mr. Bennet (of Pride and Prejudice) could’ve been like had he been ruthless instead of indolent. Léonie is irrepressible (yet completely devoted to Avon), and though she (eventually) submits to learning to be a girl, still derives great delight from traditionally boyish pursuits. Supporting them are the Duke’s siblings, friends, and neighbors, who are all charmed by Léonie and make a fun audience for Avon’s schemes.

The one complaint I could make is the eventual direction of Avon and Léonie’s relationship. Avon states at one point that he has only a fatherly affection for Léonie and that he is convinced that she looks upon him as something akin to a grandparent. It would appear he was mistaken about that, but a paternal vibe was planted so firmly in my brain that when the story proceeded to pair them up romantically it was kind of icky.

All in all, though, I really enjoyed These Old Shades. It’s somewhat of a relief, coming after a rather disappointing first attempt at reading Heyer, since I was so convinced I’d like her books that I once bought a whole slew of them on eBay. Happily, the story begun here is continued in three more books, so those will likely be the next of her books that I tackle.

The Dead and the Gone by Susan Beth Pfeffer: C+

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deadandthegoneFrom the back cover:
When life as Alex Morales had known it changed forever, he was working behind the counter at Joey’s Pizza. He was worried about getting elected as senior class president and making the grades to land him in a good college. He never expected that an asteroid would hit the moon, knocking it closer in orbit to the earth and catastrophically altering the earth’s climate. He never expected to be fighting just to stay alive. And when Alex’s parents disappear in the aftermath of the tidal waves, he must care for his two younger sisters, even as Manhattan becomes a deadly wasteland.

Susan Beth Pfeffer’s Life As We Knew It enthralled and devastated readers with its look at an apocalyptic event from a small-town perspective. Now this harrowing companion book examines the same events as they unfold in New York City, revealed through the eyes of a seventeen-year-old Puerto Rican New Yorker.

With haunting themes of family, faith, personal change, and courage, this powerful novel explores how a young man takes on unimaginable responsibilities.

Review:
Seeing as how The Dead and the Gone is a companion book to Life As We Knew It, I expected that they’d have fundamentally the same plot. Apparently, I should’ve anticipated they’d have the same pitfalls, as well.

The story this time focuses on ambitious teenager Alex Morales, whose dreams of a bright academic future are cut short when an asteroid knocks the moon much closer to Earth, sending everyone into panic and claiming the lives of both of Alex’s parents. Forced to care for his two sisters, he does some awful things in order to survive and tries to make the best decisions he can, though sometimes ends up making mistakes. Faith is important to the Morales family, especially to super-pious Briana, who believes that her parents aren’t really dead but just stricken with amnesia from which they will miraculously recover someday.

One of the most annoying things about Life As We Knew It was its whiny protagonist and how she’d seem to improve, only to backslide. The same thing happens in this book with Alex’s younger sister, Julie, though eventually I realized Alex himself is a large part of the problem there. I’ve read three of Pfeffer’s books by now and have noticed that she tends to repeat things. This book is no exception, since a large part of it is taken up by variations on the following scene, repeated at least five or six times:

Alex: *accuses Julie of something*
Julie: I hate you! *runs off, slams door*
Alex: *goes in to talk to Julie and apologize*

After a while, I ended up sympathizing with Julie because Alex kept blaming everything on her! I was also irritated by the open-ended conclusion, predicted something waaaaaay in advance about Briana, and literally laughed out loud at the ridiculous fever dream Alex has while he’s sick with the flu.

That said, I do tend to like these apocalyptic YA books, so at least I enjoyed the basic plot even if the Morales family got on my nerves. I think I’ve learned by now, though, that Pfeffer’s books just aren’t my thing.

Two Fables by Roald Dahl: B

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Two_fables_coverFrom the front flap:
Roald Dahl is recognized as a master in two quite different fields: the short story and the novel for children. In these two new fables, Dahl has once again written startlingly original stories that, while owing something to the clarity and verve of his writing for children, are firmly intended for adults. In “The Princess and the Poacher,” the beastially ugly Hengist is granted a dark wish, but cannot bring himself to fulfill it. In “Princess Mammalia,” Mammalia is driven to attempt murder when her beauty dazzles every man in the kingdom except the one who has what she truly wants.

Deftly told, these pared-down tales explore the intertwinings of love and power, beauty and desire.

Review:
Two Fables contains two odd short stories that share some common themes and some bizarre, Rorschach-y illustrations by Graham Dean.

In “The Princess and the Poacher,” Hengist, an unfortunately ugly young man, is quite naturally interested in maidens fair but, as Dahl aptly puts it, “no maidens, fair or otherwise, were interested in Hengist.” In an attempt to distract himself from the ladies he can’t have, he takes to solitary walks in the woods and discovers a talent for stealth that ultimately leads to a life of crime as a poacher. One day, seeking a challenge, he ventures into the king’s woods and ends up saving the princess from being gored by a boar.

In gratitude, the king makes a proclamation that Hengist is free to ravish any female in the land. But now that all women are powerless to resist him, Hengist suddenly finds that he doesn’t want any of them. Alone of all the males in the court, he treats the princess courteously and, in the end, wins her love, which was the king’s plan all along. I don’t really get why the king wanted his daughter to marry a poor, uneducated commoner like Hengist, since Dahl never spells it out, but perhaps it’s a political maneuver to avoid having a scheming son-in-law in his household. This seems likely, given the outcome of the second tale.

In “Princess Mammalia,” the titular princess awakes on the morning of her seventeenth birthday to discover she has become a dazzling beauty. She promptly begins exercising her power over men, growing contemptuous of their obedience. Like Hengist, once members of the opposite sex become powerless to resist her, Mammalia loses interest. Tiring of humiliating her admirers, she soon sets her sights on usurping her father’s throne, but the king, like his peer in the first story, is a clever fellow and devises a way to test his daughter’s loyalty. This story’s a little more concise than the first, with a more definite ending, so I liked it a bit better for that.

In the end, this is an extremely quick read that, as the flap promises, delivers an intriguing hybrid of Dahl’s fairy tale style and more adult subject matter. I’d never read anything by Dahl intended for a grown-up audience before, and it was an interesting experience. Like any fable ought, these stories also deliver a clear (though sexually tinged) moral: irresistibility (whether mandated by law or achieved through beauty) is seldom as enjoyable as daydreams might suggest.

Blackout by Keith R. A. DeCandido: C-

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blackoutFrom the back cover:
New York City in 1977 is vampire heaven. Serial killer Son of Sam is often blamed for their hits, and a citywide blackout gives them free reign of the streets, allowing them to get away with murder. Spike and his beloved Drusilla are in the Big Apple taking advantage of the situation, as is Vampire Slayer Nikki Wood, who has hunkered down with her son, Robin, in a Times Square apartment where she thinks they’ll be safe.

But no matter where she goes, Nikki has to watch her back. Spike has only one thing on his mind: to slay a Slayer. Adding to Spike’s list of challenges is a corrupt local vampire community that catches wind of his presence, and when they start messing with him, things get bloody interesting.

Review:
It is a truth universally acknowledged that “Fool for Love” is one of the best episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Occurring near the beginning of the fifth season, this episode finds Buffy asking Spike how exactly he managed to best two Slayers in his time and Spike concluding that, in the end, all Slayers have a death wish. The themes of this episode tie in with the magnificent fifth season finale, “The Gift,” and it’s incredibly important for the characters concerned and the series as a whole.

It’s unfortunate, then, that the tie-in novel that fleshes out Spike’s encounter with Nikki Wood, the second Slayer to meet death at his hands, is so crappy.

The plot isn’t too bad: we first meet Nikki in 1973 when she learns about her destiny and begins training, and pick up with her later in 1977 when she’s quite the badass and a local folk hero, preferring to live amidst the poor and disenfranchised of New York rather than with her Watcher, whose swanky place is located in a neighborhood where the residents can depend on police protection. A vampire-led criminal organization is her chief bane, and Spike becomes problem number two. They have a series of charged meetings and only after she cleverly uses him to exterminate her other foes do they finally have that climactic battle on the subway depicted in “Fool for Love.”

It seems that DeCandido has done his work making the narrative fit the two times we see Nikki and Spike in the series (she also appears in season seven’s “Lies My Parents Told Me”) as well as incorporating the 1977 blackout into the story. Spike and Dru sound mostly like themselves—though DeCandido gets the color of her eyes wrong—and it’s clear that Nikki is resourceful and special.

So… what’s the problem? DeCandido cannot write a non-stereotypical black character to save his life! Every single male black person is wearing outlandish, pimp-like attire, sporting an afro, and talking jive. Nikki’s the only female black character we see, but she is consistently being compared to heroines of blaxploitation films and greeted with hails like, “Right on, Big Mamma Jamma!” Maybe the dialogue is the result of DeCandido’s misguided efforts to evoke a seventies feel by loading every single sentence with period-appropriate slang, but it’s cringe-inducing. Here’s Nikki’s first line as an example:

No, sugar, they ain’t got nothin’ to do with that cat. Don’t worry, they’re gone and they ain’t never comin’ back, you dig?

In the end, what could’ve been a fairly decent story is ruined by DeCandido’s writing, which I can describe as nothing less than embarrassing. I feel like I ought to apologize to African-Americans on his behalf.

Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator by Roald Dahl: C

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charlieelevatorFrom the back cover:
Now that he’s won the chocolate factory, what’s next for Charlie? Last seen flying through the sky in a giant elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Charlie Bucket’s back for another adventure. When the giant elevator picks up speed, Charlie, Willy Wonka, and the gang are sent hurtling through space and time. Visiting the world’s first space hotel, battling the dreaded Vermicious Knids, and saving the world are only a few stops along this remarkable, intergalactic joyride.

Review:
This reminds me a lot of what happened when I read The Neverending Story. Its film version (the original, thank you!) debuted around the same time I discovered Willy Wonka, actually, and I loved it just as much. I read the book about ten years ago, but the portion that was filmed ended about halfway through. The rest, as far as I remember, was a psychedelic story about a lion and wishes and multi-colored sand. It wasn’t bad, but neither was it the story I loved.

Similarly, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator continues where the first book left off and yet fails to achieve the magic of its predecessor. Mr. Wonka and Charlie’s family are taking the elevator back to the factory Charlie has just won, but Charlie’s three bedridden grandparents—who will fulfill the role of trouble-causing brats throughout the book—prevent Wonka from pressing a certain button at the right time and the elevator ends up entering orbit. So, essentially, you’ve got an eccentric guy in funny clothes piloting a box through space with some regular humans in tow for companionship. Sounds familiar…

Misadventures in space ensue, primarily caused by Wonka being somewhat of an ass and the grandparents being morons. I felt bad for Charlie on several occasions, because it seemed he wasn’t having very much fun. Eventually they get back to the factory, and the grandparents are at it again; the final quarter of the book is spent on de-aging them with the benefit of one pill and then re-aging them with a sort of magic oil. It’s pointless and not at all enjoyable. Add to this some potty humor and an unfunny incompetent president and you come up with a book that I will probably never read again.

If you love Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and want to preserve your warm and fuzzy memories of same, do yourself a favor and avoid the sequel.

Dark Congress by Christopher Golden: B-

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darkcongressFrom the back cover:
Since the beginning of time, the demonic races have gathered every century to resolve conflicts among them and to determine the course of their future. This centennial event is called the Dark Congress.

Buffy is horrified and disgusted to be included as an arbiter of these conflicts. After all, she is not a demon… is she? She knows so little about her powers that she cannot say for certain where they truly spring from. How can she spend so much time wallowing in the darkness without becoming part of it? Can she possibly agree to a truce with all the horrors of the world and allow them to come to the Hellmouth in Providence, Rhode Island without any attempt to stop them? And does she have a choice?

Review:
Dark Congress is unique because of it’s one of only two Buffy tie-in novels set after the conclusion of the series. (Here is the other. Its apparent cracktasticness is most appealing.) This removes some of the constraints placed upon a media tie-in author, and, free from said limits, Golden seizes the opportunity to do what many a fanfic author has done before him: break up Willow and Kennedy and resurrect Tara. Oh sure, lots of other stuff about demons happens, but c’mon. Who really cares about that?

Tara’s resurrection is actually handled admirably well for a novel such as this, prompting some very in-character reactions. Buffy, for example, wants to be happy but is cautious and worried. Later, after Tara proves herself to be genuine, she is fiercely protective of their happiness, a characteristic Buffy has displayed towards her friends’ relationships on the show, too. My favorite reaction, however, comes from a horrified Giles, whose very first words to Willow are, “What have you done?” I shan’t spoil how everything turns out, but their reunion is quite compelling.

Golden also has a good ear for the characters’ speech patterns, and there were many lines that I could hear perfectly in the actors’ voices, Oz and Faith especially. The plot about the demon council is really not very interesting, but it’s an excuse to bring all of our core characters (and a returning character from Golden’s Gatekeeper trilogy) together again. Although the whole back cover is devoted to the history of the Dark Congress, all you really need to know is that the lead demon, Kandida, wants to broker peace between demons and humans, but she’s killed, and a “mystery” ensues wherein the Scooby Gang seeks to find her killer(s). I say “mystery” because it is completely and utterly obvious who is responsible.

Obviously, most of this story is not going to fit with the canon Season Eight comic book series from Dark Horse. It seems Golden had a little bit of knowledge about it, though, since a mention is made of Dawn being away preparing a castle in Scotland to serve as the new Slayer headquarters. This book was published in August 2007 and the first issue of the comic was released in March of that year, so it seems possible that the reference was intentional and not merely a lucky guess.

In the end, this is one of the better Buffyverse books I’ve read so far. It seems like the demonic threats are always going to be lame in these stories, so the best anyone can hope for is a successful depiction of the characters, and Dark Congress does deliver on that front.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl: A-

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charliechocolateFrom the back cover:
Willy Wonka’s famous chocolate factory is opening at last! But only five lucky children will be allowed inside. And the winners are: Augustus Gloop, an enormously fat boy whose hobby is eating; Veruca Salt, a spoiled-rotten brat whose parents are wrapped around her little finger; Violet Beauregarde, a dim-witted gum-chewer with the fastest jaws around; Mike Teavee, a toy pistol-toting gangster-in-training who is obsessed with television; and Charlie Bucket, Our Hero, a boy who is honest and kind, brave and true, and good and ready for the wildest time of his life!

Review:
I’m not sure why we spent what seemed to be the entire last week of fourth grade sprawled on the carpet of the media center wearing out one of those new-fangled videotapes of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory by watching it over and over again, but sprawl and watch we did. I don’t remember anyone complaining when, after the movie ended, it was immediately begun again, but perhaps my recollection is clouded by how much I loved (and still do) the film. Until now, however, I had never actually read the original book though I’ve owned it for several years.

As most people probably know, this is the story of humble and poor Charlie Bucket who loves chocolate very much but must be content with nightly meals of watery cabbage soup. As luck would have it, a huge and world-famous chocolate factory is on his way to school and every day he pauses to sniff the air near Wonka’s Factory, though his family is so poor they can only afford to give him one bar of chocolate each year on his birthday.

When Wonka announces his Golden Ticket contest—in which five Golden Tickets are hidden in Wonka chocolates, each entitling one child to a tour of the facilities and a life-time supply of candy—Charlie tries not to get his hopes up, but is nonetheless disappointed when his birthday bar fails to contain the golden prize. A second bar paid for from his Grandpa Joe’s secret fund yields the same results, and Charlie has almost given up hope when a lucky dollar found on the sidewalk buys him a bar containing the fifth and final Golden Ticket. The next day, Charlie and Grandpa Joe join four other children and their parents in a tour of the fantastic factory. Each of the other children has a flaw—eating too much, being spoiled, chewing gum constantly, and watching too much television—and is disqualified along the way by some means connected to it. In the end, only Charlie remains and it’s a happy ending for the well-deserving child.

Although the basic flow of the plot is the same and indeed, some lines of dialogue are used verbatim in the film (“Violet, you’re turning violet, Violet!”) there are some differences. No one in the book sings except for the Oompa Loompas (who are not orange and are sometimes female), and their songs are not nearly as catchy in print form. Charlie and Grandpa Joe do not commit the grievous sin of sampling fizzy lifting drinks, although the beverages and the method to combat their lifting powers are discussed, and Veruca’s exit is facilitated by nut-evaluating squirrels rather than an egg meter. I seem to recall that Tim Burton’s film version (which is pretty awful) keeps the squirrels, so perhaps special effects in 1971 were simply not up to the task of bringing them to life on the screen. Most importantly, there’s neither Mr. Slugworth nor any testing of Charlie to see whether he will protect Wonka’s secrets. When I was a kid I didn’t like that part because Wonka was mean to Charlie, but now that it’s gone, I find I miss it. In the book, Charlie is an observer who wins mostly by process of elimination, but in the film he’s required to prove his goodness and is a more interesting character.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is thoroughly charming and is undoubtedly a classic of children’s fiction. The fact remains, however, that I still like the movie more. Gene Wilder brings so much to the role of Willy Wonka, retaining his eccentricities but also endowing him with both warmth and menace, that even the original pales by comparison. Add to this the film’s more fleshed-out portrayal of Charlie and my choice is clear.