Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

I impulse bought this book at Sam's club while I was at work, because I had to know what happens next. I finished it pretty soon after I bought it, and I mostly just agree with Amanda. I think that the story is a great set up for book three, which is I am moderately confidant will be better than two.

What I Saw and How I Lied by Judy Blundell

I don't have time to blog tonight, but I'm doing it anyway. I finished "What I Saw and How I Lied" today and it was like kiddie Noir. I loved it. Something about this book brought to mind the flavor of Lauren Bacall's autobiography, it was that authentic. This book is rich, beautiful, and unguarded. I was also reminded of Sidney Poitier's description of Florida as well, how he described seeing it as a young man in his autobiography. The story is gripping, deep, and gritty. There were some obvious modern sensibilities and prospectives in it, but not so much that I felt that I was thrown out of the world of the book. I found the heroine, Evie, to be engaging though narrator, though the story was definitely told solely through her eyes it was still possible to see other perspective with a few hints from the author.

In the end there was so much in this story about choices: about how and why me make them, their repercussions, and how we live with the consequences. It was also about familiar relationships and identification. I did not want to put it down until I had turned the last page, I would definitely recommend it.

Love of Seven Dolls by Paul Gallico

I am of two mind about this story. On one hand it was beautiful, psychological, and fascinating. On the other it was sexist, racist, and unrealistic. A young, suicidal woman finds hope and redemption in a troupe of seven dolls, whose puppet master is fierce and cruel. The dolls reach out to her, talk to her, and encourage her. The puppet master has no sympathy, no kindness. People are drawn to the interaction between the young girl, whose nickname is Mouche which means mosquito, and the puppets, which increases the revenue of the show.

We eventually discover that the puppet master has rid himself of any ability to feel, that this is a post World War II world, and his only emotions are played out in fantasy with his puppets. It is the destruction of concentration camps that really helped me understand this story, to understand why the characters were so broken and so desperate. It was at times sexist, and racist, but this is to be expected of a novel from this period. If taken to be a literal story, the conclusion is juvenile. If seen as a psychological tale, it makes a little more sense. I really liked the theme from the movie, Lili, and picked up the book in curiosity. There were several things in the movie which made no sense that worked much better in the novel, and overall I enjoyed reading it.

Little Brother by Cory Doctorow

I was simply in awe of this book, because it teaches so much that you hardly notice the lessons. The story follows Marcus and his friends and gives you a glimpse of the probable near future both technologically and politically. This book teaches the history of hacking, yippies, hippies, the Civil Rights Movement, the Internet, codes, ciphers, code breaking, computer networks, and so much more but perfectly interwoven in a gripping and fascinating plot. This story delves into personal rights, first love, true friendship, and the dangerous trade off of privacy for security. I don't really know what else to say except read it.

13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher

This book was a haunting, fascinating account of a young woman and her journey towards suicide. Her name is Hannah Baker, and this dirty dozen of reasons is actually thirteen people. She has recorded her last thoughts on thirteen audio tapes to be sent to the people included and as each layer is peeled back you come to understand her a little more.

Considering the subject matter, this book was not as dark as I expected it to be. More than anything I found it to be a reminder of how important it is to be kind and considerate to others, to reach out to them, and that even a casual cruelty no matter how small or well deserved it may seem at the time can be absolutely destructive, and can create permanent damage to whoever you are lashing out at. There are so many people like Hannah Baker out there, people who seem fine but are teetering on the brink of despair. It has been a couple of months since I finished the book, but I still find myself thinking about it. I would highly recommend it to anyone.

YA Covers

I hadn't had much time or energy for reading and blogging lately, having lost my job last week. Still, this looked like too much fun to try, and didn't take very long.

This was my first try. I think I can sense a flop.






















Here was my second try:






















Much better!



Directions:

CREATE YOUR DEBUT YA COVER

1 – Go to “Fake Name Generator” or click http://www.fakenamegenerator.com/

The name that appears is your author name.

2 – Go to “Random Word Generator” or click http://www.websitestyle.com/parser/randomword.shtml

The word listed under “Random Verb” is your title.

3 – Go to “FlickrCC” or click http://flickrcc.bluemountains.net/index.php

Type your title into the search box. The first photo that contains a person is your cover.

4 – Use Photoshop, Picnik, or similar to put it all together. Be sure to crop and/or zoom in.

5 – Post it to your site along with this text.

Ink Notes #1

This is in response to Ink Notes #1

Obviously, I need the practice. Listening to the music, I saw water dripping from branches and went from there.

Sadie was crying and she wasn’t quite sure why. The tears welled up one after the other, and she watched them fall into murky pond. The clear drops slip off the end of her nose and she watched them with an almost curious detachment. A wind rustled the bare autumn trees around her, and the dark clouds rumbled. Sadie looked up, the muted light of the stormy sky reflecting in her clear eyes, and adding a glow to her pale skin. It was a thoughtful face with clear, blue eyes. People sometimes remarked to each other that it was a shame that Sadie was not really pretty. At the moment, Sadie was not thinking about being pretty or plain, she was watching the rain, her tears now dripping from the end of her chin, her willowy arms wrapped around her long legs. Like the sky, she had been gathering the tears drop by drop for sometime, little sadness and irritations until she could hold them in no longer and slipped out to the old garden to let them out privately. Letting her dark auburn hair fall over her face like a curtain she sobbed into her knees, feeling that she was a part of the weeping sky, that nature had drawn her there to fill her with its comfort and sympathy. Even as she cried, she relished the strange loneliness of it, the sound echoing sharply back from the stone pavilion in which she sat. At last, the tightness in her chest eased.

Sadie wiped her face with the edges of her sleeves and drew her long hair back, tying it in a knot to keep it out of her way, scooting the edge of little stone pavilion, cupping her hands and letting the runoff fill them, and washing her face with the refreshing coolness of the rain. The cool water soothed her eyes, irritated from her personal maelstrom, and she took a long deep breath, listening to the wet dripping of the leaves around her. The air was cool and tasted sweet and sharp and damp. The soft green arms of algae in the stagnate water was obscured again and again by the jump of the drops as they hit the glassy surface.

Across the pool a black statue, a dancing pan, looked to be crying from mirth as water dripped down his pointed beard and curly hair, as it made a river of his wavy goat legs, and a made a fountain of his little pan pipe. His expression was witty and wise, and there was a look in his eyes as if he knew what was troubling Sadie better than she herself did, as if he could see the woes and triumphs of the woman she was soon to become.

“Being thirteen is harder than I thought it would be,” she said softly, ordering her thoughts into words and then trying them out in the open air, the sound of them veiled from the world by the patter of the storm. The clouds rumbled again, but this time the sound was softer. The summer storm was leaving her, and the tears had been poured out. Curiously, she reached down to dip her fingers into the rain fresh water of the pool at her feet, enjoying the feel of the water against her fingers.

“Sadie!”

Sadie looked up to see mother standing just beyond the trees. “Sadie!”

Sadie stood up and shook out her clothes, running her hands over her face, as if to smooth away its expression. “I’m here mother!”

Her mother was beautiful, her face a little wider, her brow a little higher, her blue eyes clouded with maturity. “What are you doing out there, Sadie? Is . . . is someone with you?” The woman peered further into the trees, her brow momentarily furrowed.

“No one, mother,” Sadie replied, her face a picture of innocence, picking her way through the trees up to her mother, who embraced her impulsively.

“Of course there isn’t,” replied the woman, looking into the young face, sighing softly and then adding to herself, “But soon enough.”