Review: Pandemonium by Lauren Oliver

genre: dystopia
age: YA
rating: 7/8 tentacles

This is a sequel, there will be Delirium spoilers.  Don't read the review if you haven't read the first book.

Now that Lena has successfully fled her oppressive society, she must come to terms with losing Alex and face the new hardships that accompany life in the small, self-sustained community of runaways located in the middle of a forest.   

Pandemonium's narrative splits into segments titled "Then" and "Now" that flip-flop between this period, set immediately after Lena's escape, and the present, during which Lena seems to have adapted and thrived, joining fellow runaways Raven and Tack in their rebellion against an organization called the DFA (Deliria Free America).

I found myself looking forward to the "Now" segments.  I enjoyed watching the clockwork of Raven and Tack's plan tick out, observing the smooth efficiency of the DFA meetings that Lena attended, and was intrigued by the character of Julian.  His wounded air and sense of entitlement reminded me a little of Colin Craven, who I like.  Lena watches Julian struggle with his inherited beliefs, delusions from which her own experiences had only recently distanced her--making for an interesting relationship.  In Delirium, Alex drops into Lena's world out of the blue and radically changes everything for her, teaches her to expand her perceptions, to live.  Now it's Lena's turn to do the same for some one else.

I did enjoy the survival segments as well, but because I preferred the other chapters, I found myself disappointed whenever I saw the word "Then" heading a chapter.   The two threads of time are two separate stories, one informing the other, but I wish they had been presented chronologically.  I saw no reason to alternate sections like Oliver did--I don't think this decision increases the drama of the plot, and I wouldn't have kept getting jerked out of the story I wanted to be reading.

Delirium didn't resonate with me and I picked up the sequel mainly out of curiosity.  I approached Pandemonium with a kind of oh-all-right-I-read-the-first-one-so-why-not mentality, without expecting to be impressed, but Pandemonium surprised me.  The plot was much more interesting than its predecessor's, I liked more of the characters (didn't like Hana or Alex, do like Raven and Julian), and Oliver's descriptions were just as beautiful as her writing in Delirium.

Review: Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare

age: YA

genre: period, romance, paranormal
rating: 4.5/8 tentacles

**HERE BE SPOILERS. MAYBE. NOT FOR THIS BOOK, FOR CLOCKWORK ANGEL. THIS IS A SEQUEL SO, BE WARNED AND STUFF**

Okay so let's start with things I didn't like so we can end on a positive note.

I found the plot of this novel to be much less well-crafted than Clare's other work. I particularly like The Mortal Instruments series for its forward-moving plots that are centered on some kind of mystery or adventure--like where's mom and who are these weirdos with pictures on their arms? I enjoy romance when it's a subplot, but this trilogy's romance is creeping into the forefront, greedily elbowing the actual plot out of its way. In Clockwork Prince, the Magister and the clockwork angel and Tessa's unique abilities all take a backseat to her love triangle with Will and Jem. The romance is a spicy bonus but I’m reading the book because I want to know the secrets behind the Magister’s sinister scheming, why Tessa can shape shift, and who her parents were.

The one thing about Tessa that makes her interesting, that makes her stand out as a character, is the fact that she's a shape shifter and had no knowledge of this fact until some demon sisters trained her to do it properly. She should be using this ability, exploring its possibilities. This is what I was looking forward to when I read Clockwork Prince, but Tessa only shape shifts three times in the whole book: twice because it's part of a plan and once in the heat of battle. Why isn't she sneaking around in other bodies, getting into scrapes, and spying on people? Why isn't she using her skills for peronal gain or even just out of personal curiousity? It's such a fun, promising idea that I'm surprised Clare didn't do more with it. The subservient role of women in this time period lends itself to unique opportunities in this plot line.

I also had minor issues with some historical aspects of the novel. There was a kind of half-way attempt at period dialogue, but all Clare really did was use "shall" and get rid of contractions. I’m pretty sure that people used contractions in Victorian England. I think, with period speech, you either have to do research—which isn’t too hard, read some old letters or something—and really go for it, or you have write in the present day vernacular (avoiding obvious anachronisms) and it will just be understood that the character’s words are being translated in storytelling. Like in the movie Everafter. It’s set in medieval France, and yet everyone speaks with vaguely old-fashioned diction in English accents. It’s understood that the speech was adapted to aid the audience’s understanding. Maybe that’s what Clare was doing, but something about it felt off, or forced to me.

Clockwork Prince could have done with a little less classics-quoting. On the one hand, it’s interesting to know what was popular at the time and the books mentioned help set a historical backdrop. On the other hand, it’s a bit of a pet peeve of mine to read books that constantly quote other books. It feels a little bit like name dropping, or like a cheatery way to give the characters more depth. Maybe today, reading Victorian novels implies a certain level of intelligence, but back then, they’d have just been making their way down the bestseller/new publication list. I don’t know, I think I’m getting tangled up in my own presumptions but I still dislike reading about people reciting quotes.

Ta da! I’m done complaining.

And despite all of this, I did like Clockwork Prince. Not as much as Clockwork Angel and definitely not as much as The Mortal Instruments, but I enjoyed it. It’s the kind of book that has this magnetic pull to it, that makes you think about it constantly when you’re not reading it, that makes you count down the minutes to the end of your work day even more urgently than usual because you have a book to get home to, that makes you stay up reading late into the night. I’m trying to think of specific praises to balance out my review full of criticisms and the robot battle scene was pretty cool and the Jessamine thing was intriguing (and oh my god I forgot to complain about Will’s secret but this is getting long), but I think this addictive quality is so wonderful and rare that it balances out all of the little flaws on its own.

Review: Delirium by Lauren Oliver

genre: romance in dystopian world (emphasis on romance)
age: YA
rating: 5/8 tentacles

In the future, scientists have recognized love, or “amor deliria nervosa,” as a mental illness… and they have found a cure. All eighteen-year-olds undergo a procedure that promises to relieve them of the threat of love’s horrifying symptoms: obsessive attachment to another person, sweating palms and fluttering hearts, and the irrational behavior often triggered by this madness. Lena Holoway’s eighteenth birthday approaches and she can’t wait to have the procedure, to be safe from the strange behaviors exhibited by her own mother before she eventually succumbed to madness and then death. Lena is desperate to escape the risk of this horrible disease—whose effects she has witnessed firsthand—and is counting down the days until the moment she will be examined, cured, and then assigned a partner in what will be a loveless marriage of convenience.

Delirium’s premise is far-fetched, but intriguing and I was curious to see where Lauren Oliver would go with it. Generally, the story takes the most obvious route: girl thinks love is disease, girl wants cure for disease, girl meets boy, girl likes boy, girl’s heart stops (Is she dead? No, in love!), girl realizes love is good! But underneath this extremely predictable plot line, there is a government that advocates a medical cure for love (why?), that fights to keep “un-cured” rebels at bay, and that harbors great secrets, and a conclusion that is not quite as predictable as the course the novel takes to reach it.

Delirium struck me as having a similar premise as Matched because both plots rely heavily on a dystopian system where individuals are evaluated and assigned spouses. Oliver’s take on this idea is much more thoughtful and better written than Condie’s effort, with its fluid prose and strong, vivid descriptions. For example:

It’s only slightly better than the other word that followed me for years after my mom’s death, a snakelike hiss, undulating, leaving its trail of poison: Suicide. A sideways word, a word that people whisper and mutter and cough: a word that must be squeezed out behind cupped palms of murmured behind closed doors. It was only in my dreams that I heard the word shouted, screamed.

These moments of sharply poetic prose provide useful and striking descriptions of Lena’s thoughts and world. Key word: useful. (I’m looking at you, Condie and Steifvater.)

Despite the lovely writing, I had some issues with melodrama, continuity, and annoying boys. Delirium definitely contains some of that melodramatic fluttering heart garbage that is really becoming one of my biggest pet peeves. This is partly because I do not like romance novels. I enjoy romance as a subplot, but the main plot has to be something more creative, more original, more interesting (no, I don’t find two people sighing and drooling over each other at all interesting). And although Delirium is set against a dystopian backdrop, it is, at its palpitating heart, a romance novel. I generally steer clear of romance novels, but I am occasionally fooled into mistaking one for, oh, I don’t know, a dystopia. Once I get sucked into reading them, the obsession with abnormal heart activity and tingling body parts makes me fake gag and roll my eyes. This close attention to the bodily indications of attraction reminds me of a hypochondriac tracking his symptoms (Which is kind of funny when you remember the topic of this book. Maybe romance novels are a disease). In short, I do not find these types of descriptions romantic at all. So maybe it isn’t that I dislike romance, but that its common portrayal in literature fails to appeal to my particular romantic sensibilities. Especially the overly angstified romance rampant in YA. Yuck.

Contributing to my dislike of the romance is the rather ordinary, uninteresting love interest, golden-eyed Alex. I didn’t like him or his weird habit of laughing with his head tipped back so that Lena can see the roof of his mouth. What is he, an animated super-villain?

Something about Delirium, despite its attempts to conquer the deep and complicated topic of love, feels superficial and contrived. Lena is presented to us as an intelligent person who is somehow more discerning than her peers, somehow, deeper. She has a “poetic” soul (supposedly). But these qualities that allow her to transcend the oppressive norm are presented to us in very superficial ways. Her favorite color, for instance, is gray, as opposed to the acceptable blue… adopted by mindless drones everywhere? Maybe this is meant to be symbolic of the phrase “shades of gray” and how they are no longer accepted in Lena’s society, but when I read this part, I rolled my eyes.  Reciting poetry and enjoying the color gray doesn’t tell me that a character has more emotional depth than her peers. It tells me that the author is trying really hard to make her seem like she does.

I do like the descriptions of Lena’s struggle to put on an act for the world and I think a lot of people will be able to relate to the pressure she felt to stamp down her personality in favor of a socially approved persona.

Sometimes I feel there are two me’s, one coasting directly on top of the other. The superficial me, who nods when she’s supposed to nod and says what she’s supposed to say, and some other, deeper part, the part that worries and dreams and says “Gray.” Most of the time they move along in sync and I hardly notice the split, but sometimes it feels as though I’m two whole different people and I could rip apart at any second.

This book certainly has its pros and cons, but overall I’m left with a kind of “eh” feeling.

I did enjoy Oliver’s writing, and I kind of want to know how other aspects of the story pan out… So although this did not make it into my favorites, I will be reading the sequel. Probably.

Review: Shiver by Maggie Steifvater

genre: paranormal romance
age: YA
recommend to: those who liked Twilight
rating: 3/8 tentacles

Don't let this book fool you. It will try. It will pretend to have a plot, just to draw you in. It will dance pretty descriptions before your eyes and hide nonsense behind pretty words, hoping that you won’t notice. Steifvater writes, “As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air.” Isn’t that lovely? It fooled me too.

As soon as girl meets boy (in his human form), all pretense at plot is abandoned in favor of what I like to call Gooey Teen Romance. You’ve seen it. Two teens meet each other for the first time and it’s like a spell has been cast. They think constantly about that person. Every other aspect of their life fades into the background. Everything becomes irrelevant except for this other person. They need to see this person, need to speak to this person. But most of all, they need to touch this person. They yearn for them. Gooey Teen Romance primarily consists of yearning. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to read page after page of descriptions of yearning. I like to read stories. About things happening. With plots that unfold, instead of gathering dust in the corner.

This is the plot, before it was discarded and then vaguely picked up again towards the end of the book like oh yeah, wasn’t I talking about something? The book begins with Grace enduring a wolf attack. She lies there in the snow, motionless, doing nothing to protect herself. This seems like an interesting sub-mystery—why doesn’t she fight to live? But don’t get your hopes up. This is never addressed. So as she calmly submits to death-by-mauling she looks up into the yellow eyes of one of the wolves. And the wolf seems to gaze back before calling the other wolves off. Grace survives.

After this moment, Grace feels a special connection to what she comes to think of as her wolf. He appears in her backyard every winter. She looks forward to Christmas because she knows her wolf will be waiting at the edges of the woods. Watching her. Guarding her, it seems.

Then a boy, Jack Culpepper, is killed by wolves. The town is in an uproar and the boy’s family insists the wolves be eradicated. Jack’ body is stolen from the morgue and Grace could have sworn she heard his voice in the forest. And there’s a new wolf lurking in its shadows. A mercurial wolf with very familiar eyes. She’s determined to save her wolves and also worried about what has become of Jack and what this new, dangerous wolf will do.

Sounds good, right? I thought so. But then human Sam, aka golden eyed wolf, appears and the plot is forsaken. The angry wolf hunters are never mentioned again. The yearning and drivelly romance begins. Grace actually tells us, several times, that she feels like the rest of her life (school, her friends, her parents) doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters now is being with Sam. I had some horrifying Twilight flashbacks. Their relationship is revealed as being even more unhealthy when Grace admits that she fell in love with Sam before she knew he was a human. She fell in love with a dog. Fell. In love. With a dog. He is touched, instead of being properly repulsed by her bestial tendencies.

Steifvater alternates between Sam’s and Grace’s perspectives although the only way to tell the difference between speakers is context. I often skipped reading the chapter heading and mistook who was narrating. Steifvater probably wanted to get both points of view in, but focused on trying to sound writerly instead of creating distinct voices for her characters. See As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner as an example of successful alternating perspectives. One of Sam’s chapters begins, “I was a leaking womb.” First of all, what boy would ever liken himself to a womb? Second of all, leaking? Was it his time of the month? Was he leaking baby juices? Whatever female reproductive organ he feels like, there is no need for metaphorical leakage. It’s just disgusting. Regardless of whether or not this is a successful and illuminating metaphor (it’s not. what does it even mean?), this is not something that ANY boy would say. She really wrote this. Its on page sixty-three.

Further nonsensical imagery include, but are not limited to:
-paper falling "like listless birds" (page 49). Grace drops some loose leaf. Imagine listless (languid, dispirited, indifferent) birds falling to the ground. Now imagine sheets of paper falling to the ground. Do they look similar? Does describing these indifferent birds help you envision the paper? I rest my case.

-The full leaking womb bit goes like this: “I was not a wolf, but I wasn’t Sam yet, either. I was a leaking womb bulging with the promise of conscious thoughts…” Okay, so I think what Steifvater is trying to tell us is that Sam is in between forms and he can almost feel the conscious thoughts coming, like a baby being born? But… I don’t know. If he didn’t already have conscious thoughts he wouldn’t have been able to tell us this, so that doesn’t work either. And I have never heard and can't imagine ever hearing a boy use the word "womb."

-“Sam and I had spent last night talking about the strange room of stuffed animals at the Culpeppers’ and wondering, with the constant irritation of a scratchy sweater, where Jack was going to make his next appearance” (Page 120). This metaphor makes sense but it’s really crammed in there. Awkwardly. This sentence is as awkward as a leaking womb.

I only wrote three examples down. But there are plenty more. I attribute them to Steifvater paying more attention to what her words sounded like than what they meant. A lot of this novel reads like overwrought pseudo poetry. For example: Sam’s song lyrics. One of Sam’s hobbies is to make up song lyrics in his head and then force us to read them (One of his songs is about truffles). I skipped over them. They seem completely out of nowhere and disconnected to his character.

So who is Sam? In the winter he’s a wolf with yellow eyes that saves girls from being mauled. In the summer he is a boy who makes up songs in his head, feels like a uterus with something oozing out of it, and reads Rilke. Which Steifvater forces us to read too.

When I picked up Shiver, I wanted a story about the silent bond between a girl and a yellow-eyed wolf. I imagined them exploring a lush forest carpeted in pine needles. I imagined the wolf following the girl, the amazement that such a majestic and wild animal had chosen her as its companion. I imagined the adventures they would have together, and her shock and delight when the wolf became a boy. When he could respond to her with words of her own language. Then, the bond they built as girl and wolf might evolve into something else. I was hoping he would still be wild and wolflike as a boy.

But Sam is just ordinary. And this isn’t the story I got.

I’m primarily focusing on the negatives here, and I feel a little bad about that. There is a lot more of the beautiful description I quoted in my first paragraph. But I didn’t like this book. Partly because it didn’t meet my expectations, partly because this kind of story just isn’t my cup of tea, and partly because a lot of things in it didn’t make sense.