If I were the type to believe in signs and portents, I would have gone right back to bed after getting a mouthful of spoiled milk with my Cheerios. Blech. And don't give me any crap about not sniffing the milk. It has been a long time since I have had a carton of milk long enough to worry about spoilage. Plus, it really seems like organic milk has a longer shelf-life after opening. Regardless, I'm not the superstitious type, so I soldiered on.
I went to Barnes & Noble on Friday and for the first time in I don't know how long, I left empty-handed. I went specifically for Dhalgren, but B&N failed me. In fact, it failed to have any Delaney at all. I was bereft. Then, to cap it all off, there wasn't one other book that interested me enough to be an acceptable sub. That's right, people. Nothing in the store appealed to me. How appalling. But honestly, I'm not that surprised. I don't know about you, but if I'm looking for a specific book, I'm usually hard-pressed to choose something else if my original choice is unavailable. I wanted weird scifi/fantasy, dammit! Not that there isn't tons of that out there, I simply wasn't up to the task of finding it. The happy/duh ending to the story? I found the book at a different B&N on Saturday/my dad (of course) had a copy sitting on the shelf. I even had the thought on Friday: Gee, I'll bet my dad has this book. I should really check with him first before shelling out. I forgot that amazingly quickly. I'm considering returning the copy I bought for some credit, and taking my dad's copy. He said that he never managed to get through the book, so it wouldn't matter to him how long I keep it (likely forever). So far, I'm not having that much trouble with the book, but I can be partial to weird-ass scifi (like Barker) so I think it will be easier for me than for my dad. I'm going to attempt a review when I finish, but that may be a while. And if what I've read so far is anything to go by, the review may also be incomprehensible.
Weather related comment: I like that it is warmer, but as I'm currently short in the summer shoe area, it's not as much fun as it would be if I had fucking sandals. I'd be perfectly happy (OK, maybe not perfectly) if the weather stayed cooler until I can do some shopping.
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
05 April 2010
22 February 2010
Washington's Birthday Randomness
If you refer back to an older post, this will make more sense. On the way to work this morning, I saw a Pepto-colored Nissan 280(?). There was a number in the upper corner of the windshield, so I would assume that it was once some sort of fleet vehicle, but what company, besides the one that makes Pepto, would have Pepto-colored cars? Maybe it was the second pink Horseman of the Apocalypse?
I spent Saturday afternoon with my nephew and his mom. He was so happy to see me, which made me all gooshy. Throughout the day, he called me Carrie, Terri, or Harry. Since he was mostly right, I'll give it a pass. He fell asleep on me while watching Elmo.And since he's in the repeat everything phase, I got him to say "dude". Also, in the "Kids Say the Darnedest Things" category, his dad taught him this little trick. If you ask my nephew what's for dinner, he will promptly say "Beef!" Bloody hysterical. I told his dad I give him a case of beer if he could get his son to reply "Pork" when asked what the other white meat is.
Once he was down for his nap, his mom and I got a chance to kick back and watch some Olympics. She promptly chastised me for not writing anything about the opening ceremonies. I told her that I didn't see the point because they were so snore-worthy. It would seem that I was supposed to write about the extreme level of boredom. Here goes: the opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics was really really boring. In fact, it was so forgettable, that I can't even think of anything remotely snarky to say about it. I'm sure there was some traditional dancing/singing happening, and I know the commentators made shitty comments about some of the countries with smaller delegations. I don't think I would have had anything more to say if I had written about it the night it happened.
My current bathroom book is God Hates You, Hate Him Back, by CJ Werleman. It's a point-by-point breakdown of the hypocrisy and general shittiness of the Bible. The guy is a reasonably entertaining writer, but I sometimes feel that he's being a little too, oh I don't know, too snarky, I guess. I'm not defending the Bible here, not at all, but I think it's better to make your point in a more scholarly manner. But that's not what I was going to talk about. I was going to mention the author's use of the word "grizzly". Mr Werleman, I do believe you meant "grisly", especially since you were talking about terrible and bloody acts. Unless you were talking about biblical bear attacks - which didn't seem to be the case. And this doesn't fall under the "callous/calloused" heading. "Grizzly", if you aren't talking about bears, means gray-flecked. Maybe Moses was pretty grizzled, but his acts weren't.
I spent Saturday afternoon with my nephew and his mom. He was so happy to see me, which made me all gooshy. Throughout the day, he called me Carrie, Terri, or Harry. Since he was mostly right, I'll give it a pass. He fell asleep on me while watching Elmo.
Once he was down for his nap, his mom and I got a chance to kick back and watch some Olympics. She promptly chastised me for not writing anything about the opening ceremonies. I told her that I didn't see the point because they were so snore-worthy. It would seem that I was supposed to write about the extreme level of boredom. Here goes: the opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics was really really boring. In fact, it was so forgettable, that I can't even think of anything remotely snarky to say about it. I'm sure there was some traditional dancing/singing happening, and I know the commentators made shitty comments about some of the countries with smaller delegations. I don't think I would have had anything more to say if I had written about it the night it happened.
My current bathroom book is God Hates You, Hate Him Back, by CJ Werleman. It's a point-by-point breakdown of the hypocrisy and general shittiness of the Bible. The guy is a reasonably entertaining writer, but I sometimes feel that he's being a little too, oh I don't know, too snarky, I guess. I'm not defending the Bible here, not at all, but I think it's better to make your point in a more scholarly manner. But that's not what I was going to talk about. I was going to mention the author's use of the word "grizzly". Mr Werleman, I do believe you meant "grisly", especially since you were talking about terrible and bloody acts. Unless you were talking about biblical bear attacks - which didn't seem to be the case. And this doesn't fall under the "callous/calloused" heading. "Grizzly", if you aren't talking about bears, means gray-flecked. Maybe Moses was pretty grizzled, but his acts weren't.
23 November 2009
Vocab Quiz
Jeff was born on a moonless night in 1996. Thirteen years later, he learned that he would need to go on a long and difficult journey to save all of mankind from a horrible future of enslavement by aliens. On this journey he encountered his newly discovered arch-nemesis and they fought. Jeff was bruised and bloody but never broken. His arch-nemesis tried many crafty tactics to bring about Jeff's downfall, but Jeff always prevailed. There were times when Jeff wanted to give up. He met a girl; she died. He made a friend; the friend betrayed Jeff. Jeff met another girl; she became his stalwart companion. Jeff thwarted the aliens bent on enslavement and was elevated to godhood status by the grateful masses. He didn't want to rule, and so retired to a quiet life in the country with his wife.
That, my friends, is a quick and dirty example of bildungsroman (or try here). I am fed up to my eyebrows with that word. Far too many of the reviewers in the NY Times Book Review are in love with bildungsroman. I didn't realize that "coming-of-age" was so passé. Instead, let's resurrect an obscure German word that most people don't know. I do appreciate that the reviewers aren't talking (writing?) down to me, but don't use a word just because it makes you seem erudite. Heh, see what I did there?
What I really want to know is: why now? How is it that bildungsroman became the word du jour? Was there a meeting of the book review community? Did they say "OK folks, we're becoming too mainstream. Let's reach into our collective asses and find a word we can abuse. Bonus points if 50% of our readers have to look the word up."
That, my friends, is a quick and dirty example of bildungsroman (or try here). I am fed up to my eyebrows with that word. Far too many of the reviewers in the NY Times Book Review are in love with bildungsroman. I didn't realize that "coming-of-age" was so passé. Instead, let's resurrect an obscure German word that most people don't know. I do appreciate that the reviewers aren't talking (writing?) down to me, but don't use a word just because it makes you seem erudite. Heh, see what I did there?
What I really want to know is: why now? How is it that bildungsroman became the word du jour? Was there a meeting of the book review community? Did they say "OK folks, we're becoming too mainstream. Let's reach into our collective asses and find a word we can abuse. Bonus points if 50% of our readers have to look the word up."
28 July 2009
An Odd Confluence of Events
During my lunch breaks I have been reading The Brain That Changes Itself. It's about neuroplasticity and it is seriously interesting. And it makes me want to learn how to knit, or foxtrot, or become a neurologist. OK, maybe I'm not going to do the last one, but learning about the brain and how it works and changes is pretty fucking cool.
Sunday afternoon I took a trip to Barnes & Noble. Yes, I voluntarily sought out the source of my addiction. I wasn't sure what I wanted to read, but I had been itching (almost literally) for something new. After doing a reread of a couple of books; I was ready to move on. Unfortunately, and irritatingly, the OV B&N is doing a remodel and the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section was moved, down-sized, and in considerable disarray. Really, did they have to make more room for calendars and board games? Stop hatin' on the nerds! I digress.
After some grumpy browsing and a quick consultation of the book-finding computer (BTW, the Sci/Tech section was not where the computer said it was), I managed to find 4 books. Three of them were books I had deliberately searched for, and the 4th was a random selection by an author I had read once before and enjoyed; James Rollins. The book was The Last Oracle. (Sorry B, I know I said it was Omega somethingorother, but Omega does factor into the story. Again, I digress.)
The point? Oh yeah. My point is that I was reading the Rollins book last night and the concept of neuroplasticity came into play. One of the characters said something about Hebb's Law and I knew what they were talking about before the explanation was offered! No, I'm not going to tell you what it is. Go look it up; learning is good for you. They were talking about neurons, and brain maps, and synapses and I knew all about it. Well, as much as a person who is reading a popsci book can know anything about anything.
I just thought it was neat that I was reading about neuroplasticity and BAM, there it is in a novel I'm also reading. You may now return to whatever more interesting thing you were doing.
Sunday afternoon I took a trip to Barnes & Noble. Yes, I voluntarily sought out the source of my addiction. I wasn't sure what I wanted to read, but I had been itching (almost literally) for something new. After doing a reread of a couple of books; I was ready to move on. Unfortunately, and irritatingly, the OV B&N is doing a remodel and the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section was moved, down-sized, and in considerable disarray. Really, did they have to make more room for calendars and board games? Stop hatin' on the nerds! I digress.
After some grumpy browsing and a quick consultation of the book-finding computer (BTW, the Sci/Tech section was not where the computer said it was), I managed to find 4 books. Three of them were books I had deliberately searched for, and the 4th was a random selection by an author I had read once before and enjoyed; James Rollins. The book was The Last Oracle. (Sorry B, I know I said it was Omega somethingorother, but Omega does factor into the story. Again, I digress.)
The point? Oh yeah. My point is that I was reading the Rollins book last night and the concept of neuroplasticity came into play. One of the characters said something about Hebb's Law and I knew what they were talking about before the explanation was offered! No, I'm not going to tell you what it is. Go look it up; learning is good for you. They were talking about neurons, and brain maps, and synapses and I knew all about it. Well, as much as a person who is reading a popsci book can know anything about anything.
I just thought it was neat that I was reading about neuroplasticity and BAM, there it is in a novel I'm also reading. You may now return to whatever more interesting thing you were doing.
19 May 2009
A Messy Examination of My Reading Habits
I have been in a huge scifi phase lately. It's been all about Banks, Simmons, Scalzi, Morgan. Crazy, complex societies and world-building. Vast stellar distances and technology to make the mind boggle. Give me light-years or give me nothing!
Things were sloooooow at work yesterday and I was poking around in my desk to find someting to read. I uncovered a book my coworker had lent me months ago; Jane Green's Swapping Lives. I have read a fair amount of Green's novels and have usually enjoyed them. She doesn't always wrap things up in a nice, neat bow and I approve of that. I'm not the type of person who needs the perfect, fairytale happy ending in everything I read. While her characters aren't perfectly relatable - way more into designer clothes and the newest hotspots than I ever have been - they also aren't amazing super-women who have it all. In fact, there was one main character in a previous novel I actively disliked.
I have read a fair amount of chick lit. Some of it was good, some of it was fluff, some was crap, but that's how it is with anything, right? I don't ascribe to the idea that only certain genres of fiction are worth reading. After all, I went through a huge romance novel phase - the dirtier the better. I know there are some people who think excessive amounts (whatever that means) of sex detract from a story, but what about when the sex is the story? People have sex and people write what they know. Ergo, people write about sex. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's not as if there aren't millions of other things to read.
I seem to have lost sight of the point of this post. My point is this: I forgot how much I enjoy other genres of fiction. Scifi is my number one choice and I'm probably still going to head over to that section first, but I may make more of an effort to explore (or revisit) other sections of the bookstore.
Things were sloooooow at work yesterday and I was poking around in my desk to find someting to read. I uncovered a book my coworker had lent me months ago; Jane Green's Swapping Lives. I have read a fair amount of Green's novels and have usually enjoyed them. She doesn't always wrap things up in a nice, neat bow and I approve of that. I'm not the type of person who needs the perfect, fairytale happy ending in everything I read. While her characters aren't perfectly relatable - way more into designer clothes and the newest hotspots than I ever have been - they also aren't amazing super-women who have it all. In fact, there was one main character in a previous novel I actively disliked.
I have read a fair amount of chick lit. Some of it was good, some of it was fluff, some was crap, but that's how it is with anything, right? I don't ascribe to the idea that only certain genres of fiction are worth reading. After all, I went through a huge romance novel phase - the dirtier the better. I know there are some people who think excessive amounts (whatever that means) of sex detract from a story, but what about when the sex is the story? People have sex and people write what they know. Ergo, people write about sex. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's not as if there aren't millions of other things to read.
I seem to have lost sight of the point of this post. My point is this: I forgot how much I enjoy other genres of fiction. Scifi is my number one choice and I'm probably still going to head over to that section first, but I may make more of an effort to explore (or revisit) other sections of the bookstore.
22 December 2008
Keep Reading, I Eventually Have a Point
It's been just over a week since my last post and I'm sorry to say that the minutiae of my life has been even more boring than usual. Also, there hasn't really been anything that has raised my ire enough to pound out a couple hundred words. At least nothing that would require a whole lot of backstory that I don't feel like recounting. I'm currently baking cookies. Someone stop the excitement.
In case anyone was wondering, I am officially 30. I had an excellent time out with some friends but nothing super exciting happened. Well, JR managed to loudly announce that she thought I would need a book during my pooping adventure. As we were both reasonably drunk, I was content to let it slide. And there was only one dude around and he was on the phone. Otherwise, 30 feels pretty much like 29.
On the literature front, I have a new author. His name is Jonathan Carroll and he writes beautiful fantasy. But it's not too fantastical. He melds fantasy and reality in a lovely, scary, intriguing way. My dad got me The Ghost in Love for my birthday and I really enjoyed it.
As I was putting my next batch of sugar cookies in the oven, I remembered what I wanted to quasi-rant about - Facebook. A couple of days ago, I girl I used to be very close with found me on Facebook. Now pretty much everyone knows that FB is specifically for finding people you used to hang with. I can't even remember why I started the stupid thing. The reason this particular friend request matters is because my friendship with this girl was somewhat fraught. I'm fairly certain that she thought she was smarter than me (not a huge deal), but she also said that I should find something to do that doesn't involve school because I wasn't very good at it. Ouch, Ms. Ivy League. I let that slide. The friendship ended when I told her I didn't want her as a bridesmaid because I didn't feel we were close enough anymore. I still wanted her at the wedding, but we had drifted apart and there were girls I was closer with. She didn't like being booted and that was about the end of it.
Flash forward a couple of years and I'm in a bar in Fairless Hills. I ran into the older brother of another girl I used to be friends with back in high school. We got to chatting and the brother mentioned that he had called his sister to get my name. The brother knew he knew me (stay with me here) but my name was escaping him. OK, it's going to get more confusing. When the brother called his sister, she happened to be on the phone with the girl I ousted as bridesmaid. What was the first thing she asked him? She asked if I was still wearing my wedding ring. Double owie, bitch. Did you girls have a nice snicker over my divorced state? Did you feel all smug and superior to know that while I was the first to get married, it didn't last? Am I projecting?
So you can imagine how I felt when I saw that stupid friend request - or maybe you can't. Maybe shit doesn't bother you the way it bothers me. My dilemma was whether or not to approve the request. I won't describe the hemming and hawing, it's boring. Ultimately I decided that FB isn't really about becoming bestest friends again. It is about amassing a slew of pseudo-friends who you couldn't be bothered to keep in touch with, or had fallings out. The way it normally work is that I'll get the request, a few emails/wall posts are exchanged and that's the end of it. I've gotten fairly adept at summing the last ten years of my life in about 4 sentences:
In case anyone was wondering, I am officially 30. I had an excellent time out with some friends but nothing super exciting happened. Well, JR managed to loudly announce that she thought I would need a book during my pooping adventure. As we were both reasonably drunk, I was content to let it slide. And there was only one dude around and he was on the phone. Otherwise, 30 feels pretty much like 29.
On the literature front, I have a new author. His name is Jonathan Carroll and he writes beautiful fantasy. But it's not too fantastical. He melds fantasy and reality in a lovely, scary, intriguing way. My dad got me The Ghost in Love for my birthday and I really enjoyed it.
As I was putting my next batch of sugar cookies in the oven, I remembered what I wanted to quasi-rant about - Facebook. A couple of days ago, I girl I used to be very close with found me on Facebook. Now pretty much everyone knows that FB is specifically for finding people you used to hang with. I can't even remember why I started the stupid thing. The reason this particular friend request matters is because my friendship with this girl was somewhat fraught. I'm fairly certain that she thought she was smarter than me (not a huge deal), but she also said that I should find something to do that doesn't involve school because I wasn't very good at it. Ouch, Ms. Ivy League. I let that slide. The friendship ended when I told her I didn't want her as a bridesmaid because I didn't feel we were close enough anymore. I still wanted her at the wedding, but we had drifted apart and there were girls I was closer with. She didn't like being booted and that was about the end of it.
Flash forward a couple of years and I'm in a bar in Fairless Hills. I ran into the older brother of another girl I used to be friends with back in high school. We got to chatting and the brother mentioned that he had called his sister to get my name. The brother knew he knew me (stay with me here) but my name was escaping him. OK, it's going to get more confusing. When the brother called his sister, she happened to be on the phone with the girl I ousted as bridesmaid. What was the first thing she asked him? She asked if I was still wearing my wedding ring. Double owie, bitch. Did you girls have a nice snicker over my divorced state? Did you feel all smug and superior to know that while I was the first to get married, it didn't last? Am I projecting?
So you can imagine how I felt when I saw that stupid friend request - or maybe you can't. Maybe shit doesn't bother you the way it bothers me. My dilemma was whether or not to approve the request. I won't describe the hemming and hawing, it's boring. Ultimately I decided that FB isn't really about becoming bestest friends again. It is about amassing a slew of pseudo-friends who you couldn't be bothered to keep in touch with, or had fallings out. The way it normally work is that I'll get the request, a few emails/wall posts are exchanged and that's the end of it. I've gotten fairly adept at summing the last ten years of my life in about 4 sentences:
Got married, moved to California. Got divorced, moved back to Phila. Got my degree, working in Warminster. Things are quiet.I don't even care if it sounds boring. It isn't important to me for these people to think my life is super-awesome. The former BFF is married with two kids and I couldn't care less. I will admit that there is part of me that wonders if she added me because she wanted to she if her life was better than mine. From her perspective, of course. I was on guard for catty comments or backhanded compliments. Then again, it has been 10 years. I doubt that she thought about me at all until Facebook reminded her of my existence.
09 December 2008
Relapse
The sickness is descending on me again.
I don't know if it is because my birthday and the holidays are so near, or if it is because I've been so good for so long. Either way, I can feel it creeping up on me, peering over my shoulder, blowing its sweet breath of temptation in my ear. It makes me itch and yearn and long and desire (OK, three of those are approx. the same thing). I don't know how much long I can hold back. I need the smells, the sights. I need to touch and covet and peruse. That's right, the addiction is pulling me under. I need my Barnes and Noble's fix.
Before you go writing the previous paragraph off as artistic license, it's actually a fairly accurate description of how I feel when the book covetousness sweeps over me. I walk into a B&N and can feel the tension fall away from me. I lovingly finger the books. Oh, that's right, I touch them. I open them up to my avidly hungry gaze. I breathe in their scent. Whew. OK, gimme a minute to collect myself.
Since it is almost my birthday and Christmas, I should hold myself in check. All of my friends and family know of my love for books. I KNOW I will get books, or gift cards for Borders/B&N, but I don't know if I can wait. The lust can sometimes be too persuasive. "Come," it says. "Want me, hold me, touch me, love me." It is a siren call I am all but powerless to resist.
I don't know if it is because my birthday and the holidays are so near, or if it is because I've been so good for so long. Either way, I can feel it creeping up on me, peering over my shoulder, blowing its sweet breath of temptation in my ear. It makes me itch and yearn and long and desire (OK, three of those are approx. the same thing). I don't know how much long I can hold back. I need the smells, the sights. I need to touch and covet and peruse. That's right, the addiction is pulling me under. I need my Barnes and Noble's fix.
Before you go writing the previous paragraph off as artistic license, it's actually a fairly accurate description of how I feel when the book covetousness sweeps over me. I walk into a B&N and can feel the tension fall away from me. I lovingly finger the books. Oh, that's right, I touch them. I open them up to my avidly hungry gaze. I breathe in their scent. Whew. OK, gimme a minute to collect myself.
Since it is almost my birthday and Christmas, I should hold myself in check. All of my friends and family know of my love for books. I KNOW I will get books, or gift cards for Borders/B&N, but I don't know if I can wait. The lust can sometimes be too persuasive. "Come," it says. "Want me, hold me, touch me, love me." It is a siren call I am all but powerless to resist.
30 October 2008
My First Ever Book Review
A good friend lent me a book about a week ago. "OMG!" she gushed. "I laughed so hard right from the beginning. It's kind of like Buffy. It was in the romance section, but it's not really romance." Sweet, I thought, I could use a new book and I have enjoyed the odd "Paranormal Romance". I have read snappy and entertaining otherworldly stories before. I mostly treat them as a quicky Saturday read and then pass them off to the used bookstore for credit. I figured this book would be a nice bit of fluff, good for reading right before bed. The book is The Accidental Demon Slayer by Angie Fox. This book, at least what I have read so far, is, well, it's not good.
The protagianist of the book is a girl whose name I forget. Seriously, unless someone refers to her by name (OK, it's Lizzie), I have no idea what her name is. She is a preschool teacher who finds out on her 30th birthday that she the inheritor of mad demon-slayin' skillz. Her maternal grandmother, who she has never laid eyes on before (oh yeah, Lizzie is adopted), barges into Lizzie's cream-colored condo and proceeds to fling about jelly jars filled with rancid raccoon liver and manky bog water. Did I not mention that Gramma Gertie is a witch? Who drives a pink Harley and is a member of a motorcycle club called the Red Skulls?
Anyway, Gramma locks Lizzie in the bathroom as the moment of her (Lizzie's) birth approaches. For, you see, Lizzie is about to come into her demon-slayingness. Unfortunately for Lizzie, a little troll-looking demon appears on the toilet and shoots purple darts at her. Gramma'a all "Let's jump on my pink hog and skeedaddle!" Lizze is "No, I'm rational! My adoptive parents were caring-yet-distant and it made me sooooo normal. I wear khakis and oxfords! I don't curse so I say things like 'Mother fudrucker!'" Eventually Gramma manages to bully Lizzie and her talking dog, Pirate (who could always talk, it was just that Lizze was finally listening!), on to the pink Harley and they lay tracks.
The romance part of the book happens in the form of mysterious Dimitri. Dimitri spends part of his time as a griffin. Lizzie has no trouble identifying him as such. I guess the certification requirements for pre-school teachers has a section on mythology? Lizzie, who has been unfortunate in her previous romantic encounters, is instantly attracted to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Rippling. Gramma insists he is not to be trusted.
Blahblahblah, they end up at the Red Skulls' bar/clubhouse and Lizzie fucks up a protection spell the wrinkly witches brew up for her. Dimitri shanghais Lizzie and berates her for wanting to find her doggie. There's an encounter in the woods where Lizzie feels Dimitri's kiss on her forehead straight down to her toes. At some point she is chained to a tree, struggles until she "feels like she ran a marathon" yet only a trickle of sweat runs down her back. Dimitri's hands are "callous." According to the dictionary search I did, that's an acceptable use of the word, but it did not jive with me.
Lizzie is an odd combination of disbelieving and instantly accepting. She's totally down with her biker-mama witch-bitch Gramma, but hesitates to drink the potion that would provide protection. She's wildly attracted to Dimitri, even as he magically chains her to a tree. I don't have the book in front of me, but I believe that heat pools low in her body.
I stopped reading at chapter 10 (short chapters). Lizzie is bland and annoying. Gramma is the quirky and fiesty elder relative who may have murdered someone. Dimitri is the fairly typical mysterious and slightly shady reluctant mentor/fuck-buddy. In fact, I don't even know if they got to the fuckin'. There was one kiss-with-tongue and some smoldering looks, but I wasn't really feeling the heat. Even the talking dog, Pirate, is a letdown. Ms. Fox has him speaking like a 6 year-old hopped up on pixie stix. I get that he's a Jack Russell and they are energetic and jumpy little creatures, but if you're going to have a talking dog try to give him a little depth. Yes, I just said to flesh out a talking dog character.
The protagianist of the book is a girl whose name I forget. Seriously, unless someone refers to her by name (OK, it's Lizzie), I have no idea what her name is. She is a preschool teacher who finds out on her 30th birthday that she the inheritor of mad demon-slayin' skillz. Her maternal grandmother, who she has never laid eyes on before (oh yeah, Lizzie is adopted), barges into Lizzie's cream-colored condo and proceeds to fling about jelly jars filled with rancid raccoon liver and manky bog water. Did I not mention that Gramma Gertie is a witch? Who drives a pink Harley and is a member of a motorcycle club called the Red Skulls?
Anyway, Gramma locks Lizzie in the bathroom as the moment of her (Lizzie's) birth approaches. For, you see, Lizzie is about to come into her demon-slayingness. Unfortunately for Lizzie, a little troll-looking demon appears on the toilet and shoots purple darts at her. Gramma'a all "Let's jump on my pink hog and skeedaddle!" Lizze is "No, I'm rational! My adoptive parents were caring-yet-distant and it made me sooooo normal. I wear khakis and oxfords! I don't curse so I say things like 'Mother fudrucker!'" Eventually Gramma manages to bully Lizzie and her talking dog, Pirate (who could always talk, it was just that Lizze was finally listening!), on to the pink Harley and they lay tracks.
The romance part of the book happens in the form of mysterious Dimitri. Dimitri spends part of his time as a griffin. Lizzie has no trouble identifying him as such. I guess the certification requirements for pre-school teachers has a section on mythology? Lizzie, who has been unfortunate in her previous romantic encounters, is instantly attracted to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Rippling. Gramma insists he is not to be trusted.
Blahblahblah, they end up at the Red Skulls' bar/clubhouse and Lizzie fucks up a protection spell the wrinkly witches brew up for her. Dimitri shanghais Lizzie and berates her for wanting to find her doggie. There's an encounter in the woods where Lizzie feels Dimitri's kiss on her forehead straight down to her toes. At some point she is chained to a tree, struggles until she "feels like she ran a marathon" yet only a trickle of sweat runs down her back. Dimitri's hands are "callous." According to the dictionary search I did, that's an acceptable use of the word, but it did not jive with me.
Lizzie is an odd combination of disbelieving and instantly accepting. She's totally down with her biker-mama witch-bitch Gramma, but hesitates to drink the potion that would provide protection. She's wildly attracted to Dimitri, even as he magically chains her to a tree. I don't have the book in front of me, but I believe that heat pools low in her body.
I stopped reading at chapter 10 (short chapters). Lizzie is bland and annoying. Gramma is the quirky and fiesty elder relative who may have murdered someone. Dimitri is the fairly typical mysterious and slightly shady reluctant mentor/fuck-buddy. In fact, I don't even know if they got to the fuckin'. There was one kiss-with-tongue and some smoldering looks, but I wasn't really feeling the heat. Even the talking dog, Pirate, is a letdown. Ms. Fox has him speaking like a 6 year-old hopped up on pixie stix. I get that he's a Jack Russell and they are energetic and jumpy little creatures, but if you're going to have a talking dog try to give him a little depth. Yes, I just said to flesh out a talking dog character.
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