We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler

We are all completely beside ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler is a brilliant depiction of both science and humanity, or rather the contradictions between what we can analyse and what is simply just being.

The story follows the Cooke family: one mother one father, one brother and two sisters. It is narrated by the youngest sister, Rosemary, with its primary focus being on her sister Fern who is, in fact, a chimpanzee. While the novel, like my review, does not immediately reveal that Fern is an ape, it is impossible to review the story, as it is impossible to tell it, without eventually revealing this fact. It is the reluctance, and conversely the need to share this aspect that strikes at the very core of the novel.

Fern is at once a sister, a family member, a loved one -Same and yet also non human, other, an outsider -NotSame. For Rosemary, despite Fern being an ape, there was no other that understood her or that she understood with such certainty as she did Fern.

Fowler expertly combines aspects of the scientific and of case studies - experiments with the grad students, endless notes and theories, with childhood memories and family dynamics inductive of any so-called normal American family. It is with expert skill that she paints Fern as simultaneously subject and family member. It is this paradox that forms the conflict of the novel, and of Rosemary's life in general. While social norms and public opinion portray chimps as simply animals -wild and unpredictable - there is a sense, for the Cookes, that Fern is a vital part of their family dynamic. Truly one of them in so many indefinable ways.

A heartfelt and moving tale, Fowler opens the readers eyes to new possibilities, highlighting interspecies connection without shying away from the devastation, heartbreak, cruelty and confusion that come with bringing a wild animal into a home. Touching on various aspects of behavioural theory - of both apes and humans alike - Fowler challenges our understanding of psychology and behaviour, rights and privileges.

A stunning and emotional novel, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is a beautiful take of man's need to know, to understand and our ultimate inability to do so.

Hey, Nostradamus

Hey Nostradamus! by Douglas Coupland

Cheryl is the epitome of teenage piety, her purity running deep and steadfast with a stubbornness indicative of any 17 year old. Jason is everything his father isn't. Impulsive, worldly and antisocial he forges his own way blindly and wholeheartedly, trusting in the love and bond he shares with his girlfriend Cheryl.

This story is about them, and wholly not about them. It is at once a coming of age tale and a commentary on society at large. Focusing on relationships - and especially the familial kind - Hey, Nostradamus explores the complexities of the connections forged through necessity and life experiences. The difference between families we are born into and cannot fully escape, and those we seek out to spend our lives with. It is about innocence, and guilt. Avoidance and acceptance, and above all the overriding presence of Something Else. Of God, of spirituality, or simply of the contemplation of such ideas.

Coupland, as always, has an art for weaving religious or spiritual tones throughout his work in an accessible and unchallenging way. He manages to make the reader question thoughts of morality, sin, innocence and human behaviour without bogging down the narrative. Despite heavy subject matter, -destruction, catastrophe and violence are, as is common for Coupland - evident early on in the novel, the text remains a quick and easy read as it deals with dark subject matter in a frank and instinctively human way. This honesty allows the reader to be honest about their own emotions and beliefs, forming a bond between text and reader without enforcing ideologies onto him or her. It is the honesty and the boldness, never sugar coating events or feelings, that makes Coupland such a wonderful author to read. His tales however outside your realm of circumstance become feasible or relatable in the very reactions characters have to them: ones that by little stretch of the imagination could have been yours.

Furthermore the style of the novel is such that we are part of each narrators mind - starting with Cheryl who speaks so calmly and retrospectively - who draws the reader in with compassion and intrigue alike.

A wonderful balance between family relations, the darkness of a world under siege and the guilts of growing up and accepting or rejecting your parents teaching, "Hey, Nostradamus" is a truly excellent read and a great marker of famous Coupland style.

When God Was a Rabbit

When God was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman
This book had been one I was hoping to read for years. I'd seen it on book shelves and displays in book stores repeatedly with the vague notion that I would buy it and read it one day. How can the title not intrigue you? pull you in? It did for me, and was a a 'to-read' book that was always at the back of my mind. When i spotted it in my favourite used bookstore Barter Books in Northumberland, it was as though the book gods at bestowed it on me. Hadn't I been meaning to read that all along? And so first began When God Was A Rabbit.

Unfortunately, it was not what I had expected. To be completely frank, I'm not sure WHAT I had expected, but it seemed to me it was if not a different tale, than one with a different voice or tone to it. But, never mind. The main character - a young girl named Elly - was still interesting, and her connection to her brother still paramount. Jenny Penny, Elly's childhood best friend, became both the interest, the heart and the comedy through those early chapters.

But as the novel progressed, it seemed to crumble. Experiences became displaced and as a result, uninteresting. It was difficult to stay attached to a narrative that jumped forward in time without explanation, so that characters became older without an real sense of age or time passing. There were moves geographically both winton England and the US so that by the end I was unsure which country Elly called home. Characters entered, left and reappeared such a fleeting way as to make them trivial or forgettable - I regret to admit sometimes I had a hard time remembering which fringe character was which - and the narrative further complicated this by referring for long periods to a character as "He" or "She" at the beginnings of chapters, therefore making it nearly impossible to know which character was being spoken about aside from through guesswork and inference. It was extremely frustrating as very little detail was given through which such inferences could have been made.

Sexually was often poking up in the novel in such a way that it should have been a theme, really, but it's sporadic and again, random occurrences prevented it from holding any sort of true stock in the novel. This could have been a real grounding factor as her brother's homosexuality and in turn his relation to childhood friend Charlie formed a key connection between characters and in many way created a thread throughout the novel, but the thread lacked substance and connectivity. Similarly, Nancy, Elly's Aunt, was a pillar of confidence and again, homosexuality. She was bold, free and loveable to all characters in the novel and in turn, she loved others - most interestingly, Elly often noticed that Nancy appeared to be in love with Elly's own mother (and Nancy's sister in law).

Relations, sex and love were constantly in question throughout When God was A Rabbit, but ultimately for me, it was this lack of connectivity - between the scenes of the novel themselves and in turn between the novel and the reader, that prevented both a clear theme and any interest in the characters and their lives on my part.

It is a shame, really, because there were glimmers of something I wanted to know in the novel - the pet rabbit who was named God (which after all inspired the very titled of the novel) was a wonderful narrative concept. The juxtaposition of childhood innocence in a pet rabbit and the grandeur of naming him God was beautiful in and of itself. Furthermore God appears to speak to Elly in such a way that only she can hear, which begs questions of spirituality and wisdom that spark a reader's imagination. Unfortunately, this character was not touched on enough or for long enough, in my opinion.

Similarly, Jenny Penny is a wonderfully interesting character full of reckless abandon and joy in the face of what is clearly a difficult childhood. She is lost to the novel and reappears in time like so many other themes and characters in this narrative. For once, though, I feel that story projection fitting. Her disappearance marks growing up, her return a chance to evaluate past and present. the problem, then, was that this storyline did not become the central one of the novel. to me, it was the tale which I could best hold on to - the one i found to be the most interesting, and my biggest complaint was that I did not get enough of it. Jenny Penny and her relationship with Elly became bogged down and tangled in daily chores and random sexual encounters that simply seemed irrelevant to me as a reader. I cared little for Elly and the rambling way she saw life, but her relationship with Jenny Penny - that was where the heart of the novel truly lay, and that was where I feel more of the focus should have been.

I fear that in my review I have done much the same thing I complained about in the novel - jumped around and rambled on in a non-linear and therefore confusing way, but I shall make my final statement thus: the novel lacked focus, and as such, heart. If it were to be stripped down, the fluff removed, and strong clear intention found, there could have been a great story of growing up and losing innocence, but this heartfelt theme got tangled in irrelevancies and therefore became rather irrelevant for me as a reader.
A disappointment, really, I'm sorry to say.

The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden

The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden by Jonas Jonasson
Jonas Jonasson's second novel, The Girl Who Saved the King of Sweden, is, like its forerunner, a vastly entertaining - and uniquely humourous - (miss)representation of the various adventures and mishaps that shape the face of history. Expertly intertwining main character Nombeko's modest South African roots with the lofty and politically charged goings on of kings, prime ministers, and presidents, Jonasson forms a tale both wildly unbelievable and perfectly natural.

There is something to Jonasson's humour that allows for catastrophe after catastrophe with ease and interest, rather than turning the tale into a frustrating sequence of implausibility. Hapless and exceptionally idiotic Holger One and Celestine form the perfect unintentional adversaries to thoroughly brilliant Nombeko and Holger Two. And with a political agenda passed from a mentally unstable father to unwitting sons, the novel has all the ingredients characteristic of Jonnason's winding tales. The narrative plays on a mixture of perfect accidents, terrible bad luck, and outstanding circumstances in order to tell - simultaneously - the personal stories of his unique characters, and the overarching national and worldwide politics. Of course there is also the matter of an atomic bomb.

Like his first novel, Jonasson's second maintains the stylings and humour indicative of his writing, and spins an uncanny trail of destruction into the perfect obscure tale of adventure, all the while providing characters you love, those you love to hate, and the Jonasson staple: the bumbling yet endearing fools.

Under the Hawthorn Tree

Under the Hawthorn Tree by Ai Mi
Under the Hawthorn Tree, by Ai Mi, started off with promise. A young Chinese girl named Jingqui, naive but smart, is sent off into the villages to document life in order to write more accurate history textbooks. Set in China in the 1970's the book is heavily rooted in the cultural revolution. Interest is peaked. A tale is told of a hawthorn tree with flowers dyed red from the blood of soldiers. The backdrop is set with an old folktale of a maiden torn between two loves. I wasn't 100% which way the story would go, but I expected some sort of excitement, really.

The downfall of Under the Hawthorn tree, though, was that it really wasn't all that gripping. Little happens in terms of drama and plot, and though there are moments of great family loyalty, and the love interest, Old Third, is introduced, things move far too slowly for too long to really keep the reader interested. Furthermore, the naive Jingqiu is neither sweetly innocent, nor undergoes a  knowledge revelation, as would warrant character development. Instead, she continually misinterprets signs and things people tell her. This becomes frustrating as she neither seeks to clarify, nor do other characters pick up on her extreme ignorance. While naivety is not a bad quality for a main character, it became increasingly frustrating in this instance as very simple misunderstandings lead to unrealistic conclusions. The novel itself plays on this by seeming to present information in a cryptic way, making the reader assume one thing when the opposite may be true. This tact could class as mystery, but rather comes across as a frustrating repetition of drawn out scenes and little-explained feelings. Is she being coy, or simply unaware of other's affections? Does Old Third lie to her?

What promised itself to be a Romeo and Juliet style romance, fraught with uncertainties and trials, became instead a tale about the mundane life of a young Chinese girl. Though appearances were made by Old Third, and there were glimpses of a budding romance, it came too little too late and Jingqiu's walls came down too unexpectedly for me to invest myself in the romance as much as I would have liked. Jingqiu simply wasn't someone I could connect with. Though her connection with Old Third eventually becomes a sweet one, and there are certainly moments of grand romance, the plodding nature of the novel throughout took away from these moments, and dulled the shine that could have been a sweet young love. The redeeming character was Old Third himself, resolute and kind, but as the story did not focus on him and rather Jingqui, there were certainly narrative lulls.

While the setting, China during the cultural revolution, was both interesting and less common, it provided both interest and problem to those less familiar with the time. Having studied modern Chinese History, there were elements that struck me, but the oddities present in this time did provide some-what of a struggle in terms of ease of reading. There were moments that wording and phrases seemed out of place for the anti-liberal society, though this may be due to translation.

Overall, the story provides a good account of life in China in the 1970's, and the struggles a young girl has to face in the upside down social structure facing the cultural revolution, but in terms of great romantic stories, I found the novel to have only scratched the surface of what could have been a very moving, deep story of love.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a wonderfully insightful and heartfelt book. True and unabashed, it provides a real and honest tale of struggle and victory for main character Christopher. Christopher, a 15 year old precocious young boy with autism narrates the tale with wit and wisdom. He sees the world in a way far different from most, which sheds light on many of the things often overlooked by the general public. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is not only a great commentary on life with autism, but a heart warming tale of the love and failures of family. Christopher is both exceptionally bright, and extremely solitary. He does not ever liked to be touched, a trait which manages to get him in to trouble with the police, and he tends to interact with others in a very matter-of-fact, purpose driven way. He tells the reader that it can be very difficult to understand facial expressions and metaphor, but alternatively, he has one of the most impressive mathematical brains out there. This unique combination of traits makes Christopher an exceptionally interesting narrator, and he informs the audience in a very factual and insightful way. He questions things in a way which many of us would not, and sees the world in a much more black and white fashion. Because of this, we learn, his home life is not always easy.

Enter Christopher's father, loving and currently the soul provider and carer. Christopher's father shows an unconditional love for his son, and a deep understanding of the way Christopher's mind works. Despite this, though, he can become frustrated with Christopher's need to investigate and unravel the mystery of who killed the neighbour's dog. It is this investigation which pushes Christopher to question neighbours, poke around for evidence, and generally get up to things that his father thinks he ought not to.

As Christopher begins to uncover bits of information about the dead dog, secrets previously hidden are brought to light concerning his family, and his community. As the new information starts to build up, Christopher pieces together an even greater mystery than that of the dog which sends him on a journey of self discovery. This journey tests him far more than anything he has encountered as he fights against the daunting world around him, faces trials, and begins to overcome set backs he previously thought impossible to face.

A tale of bravery and love, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time highlights the importance of seeing the world through someone else's eyes, the troubles and rifts this causes, and ultimately, the love which can overcome any such differences. A true triumph, Mark Haddon tells a tale very rarely heard.

The Ghost Brush

The Printmaker's Daughter by Katherine Govier
In theory, The Ghost Brush, by Katherine Govier (which was evidentially later renamed 'The Printmaker's Daughter') had all the ingredients for a great story. An interesting and troublesome setting, relationships fraught with twisted ideals if love, duty, honor and dependency - rebellion, subversion, defiance, art, prostitution, poetry - everything was there. And yet...
Frankly the novel was rather boring. I liked Oei, the main character: painter, tomboy and devoted second hand to her somewhat dictator father. I also like Shino, the graceful sophisticated courtesan who is both mother and sister to the wayward young girl. The Old Man, Hokusai, around which the story truly revolves, is similarly intriguing in flawed, curious in both his genius, madness love and distinct lack there of for his family. And that is all well and good, but interest in a character only goes so far, an 'liking' an individual is but the first step for the reader. Readers want- they need- to care. Become invested. Feel.

Despite everything that seemed to set th novel up otherwise, I felt no connection to the characters. Sorrows took place, triumphs, hardships.. Friends and lovers came and went, and yet the mood and tone if the narrative seemed to remain the same - steadily unattached - throughout.

I am a painter, a writer and a lover of books. The context if the story could not be better suited, as the narrative follows the life of a painter and his artist comrades who toil on despite the looming punishments and restrictions of the Shogun & bakufu of early 19th century Japan, and yet I found myself as a reader struggling to connect.

Luckily, I was familiar with the historical context at least, having once upon a time studied Modern Asian History. Thus the important of Edo in the 1800's and the implications of the Shogun spies held further weight in the story, but it seemed there was a distinct disconnect between the history surrounding the novel and the way it was portrayed to the reader. Even having studied the terms and treaties I found myself unclear at times, and Govier seemed to work under a sense of assumption rather than explaining - even if only with regards to her characters - properly what it meant to love in Japan in those days.

That is not, of course, to say that all was for naught, merely thT that characters presented were not fully explored. The very fact that I wished to be let in to the lives of Oei, Shini and Hokusai suggests the merits of their character, but by not allowing the reader to dive into them as they read, the reader losses interest over time.

Similarly, though plot need not always be presented chronologically, the manner in which the characters move forward in time and space is disjointed at times, presenting information much later as only when the situation directly calls for it rather than laying a ground work of setting and understanding which the reader can build on as they progress through the story.

By no means a failure, The Ghost Brush stings more of unfulfilled potential - much in the way Oei remains an untapped well of talent - merely allowing for glimpses of that brilliance here and there, while keeping the rest concealed and hidden from any would-be audience. Picturesque, but lacking colour, The Ghost Brush is but the outline of a drawing, still waiting for the pigments to be filled in.


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The Tale for the Time Being

A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki
Nao is the type of girl who immediately makes you here friend. Though an outcast, dislodged in time and space, and -within her own world - society, she writes with an honesty and sincerity that grabs hold of the reader and pulls them in. Nao and I were, from the start, friends. And she refers to the reader as such, as she goes along - writing to the invisible someone who maybe, just maybe, is reading her thoughts so many years down the line. For her it does not matter who, or when, merely that you are there.

Ruth, is a reader like us. Having found Nao's diary awash in the sea, she forms what she feels to be a unique and solitary bond with the unknown teenage girl, reading her words as though the very act my bring life to her - save her from what seems to be the inevitable tragedy of her life.
Both reader and writer need each other - giving each other purpose, and therefore life, and Ozeki uses this relationship to her advantage as we as the public readers gain a sense of purpose in our own reading of the novel.

Real, in both her pain and her triumphs, Nao is the inner self, in many ways, her ever wise and peaceful Jiko, the outer. and we are as Ruth, caught somewhere in between, desperate to pull both together and save each.

While the novel holds a nice level of mystery and what is -in my own opinion - the poetic tragedy of uncertainty in that Ruth will never know for certain who Nao is or was, and what became of her life, the novel takes a turn which alters this. As we progress, there is a sense of fantasy with regards to the very words on the pages of the diary - as they appear and disappear. For me, this was a flaw in the flow of the reader/writer connection for although it elaborated on the importance of one upon the other, it took away the authenticity by applying it to an un-real and therefore removed form. While ghost, powers, and mystery certainly have their place,e and were used effectively in the novel, this one inexplicable aspect seemed not only odd, but unnecessary, and thus diminishing.

Still an intertwined tale of human dependency, A Tale of the Time Being challenges questions of time, space, and human form as writing transcends these planes to pull people together.

Eleanor Rigby

Eleanor Rigby, by Douglas Coupland, jumps straight into the life of middle-aged, single Vancouverite Liz Dunn in a whirling tail of loneliness, breakdown, and the Human Condition. Unsugar coated, blunt and open, Coupland never shies away from the bigger issues of life hitting the reader with cases of MS - depicting quite honestly the crippling loss of self that chips away inexplicably at those effected. It is a blunt and therefore all the more effective look at sickness, human frailty and perseverance whilst incorporating the overarching themes of life, death, life after death, and inevitability of mortality.

Between the charming Jeremy who dreams of a simple working life on a farm to the office working Liz trapped in the cage of her own loneliness, the two begin to build a life together two halves thoroughly dependant on the other for more than happiness, but in many ways, survival. Coupland depicts perfectly the relations between the two as well as other characters, building a frighteningly real life wrought with the trials and small triumphs of Liz's life at 40. While seeing glimpses of her early years, it is the slow passing of her life up until the point she meets Jeremy that builds the foundation for the novel, constructing a crippling sense of self-inflicted isolation and lonely a condition mirror in a physical sense by the symptoms and complications of Multiple Sclerosis and their effect on one's body.

Coupland so easily paints the picture with such finite believability and detail that characters immediately become real, and true, a connection forming between them and the reader as you follow through their daily and (often monotonous) lives, all the while growing to love them more and more with each stumble, mistake or moment of happiness. Raw and rule, Eleanor Rigby is a true reminder of the importance of real connections, relationships, within the context of the both limited and fragile human life.

By Request

Polly Courtney's Feral Youth dives headlong into the life of 15 year old Alesha, a young girl from South London just trying to rep her endz and keep all the right affiliations with Peckham Crew. From the start, it is made clear that Alesha is a hard edged fighter of a youth, shaped and roughened by circumstance and necessity. An absent father and a mother that's negligent at best paint a vague background of Alesha's past, engraining an idea that without true family, street fam is all she has. That's where JJ comes in - best friend, brother figure, and the closest thing Alesha has to a real family. It is her connections with JJ that drive most of her wishes and decisions as she struggles her way through street life, bouncing from dodgy flats to hostels, robbing, shoplifting and running errands for the Crew to make ends meet.

At it's heart, Feral Youth is a coming of age story which documents the struggles of an inner city youth pushed around from place to place, and her journey to gain confidence in her self and the ability to change the outcome of her life. Bouncing between legitimizing her life with the help of her once piano teacher Miss Merfield and giving in to the ease of money making through drug deals, black market sales, and general thievery, the reader watches Alesha flip flop her way through the novel, unable to gain the drive to pull herself out of her current lifestyle - one she is smart enough to be scared of, but not strong enough to want to leave: it's familiar, its immediately gratifying, and she's GOOD at it.

Courtney engulfs the reader in the world of Alesha, and gang affiliated life, painting the scene through Alesha's own thoughts and eyes - her very specific catalogue of diction and slang terms reinforcing the believability of her circumstance. We are inside her mind, and feel what she does which often times is the only way the reader would be able to understand the thought process or presumed logic of situations.

While the novel does well to depict the life of a disadvantaged young girl, and further contrast it to the (assumed) privilege born into others, there is an oversimplification which pervades the story. Alesha is motivated by survival - and on occasion, a need to ensure other's (JJ's) survival. Survival in itself is not a simple motivator, and yet the novel fixates on the living from day to day so much that greater motivations, intents, and emotions fall short. As a reader you care about Alesha because you feel sorry for her, and pity is not exactly the primary emotion you want a reader to feel for your character. Of course, there are situations and plots that need sympathy, but I wanted to properly connect with Alesha, understand her, and instead I found myself unsure when she would throw a tantrum and walk out on benefactor Miss Merfield and when she would have one of her 'the mother I never had' moments. While mood swings and angst are natural for a 15 year old girl, too much became for story convenience, and the continual back and forth bordered on the repetitive rather than enhancing Alesha's lack of self confidence. There were moments of course - times with Tisha primarily where I remembered that Alesha was still just a lost 15 year old girl, but these moments were too brief or too surface to fully grab hold of.

 Similarly, the revelation which final converts Alesha after various false starts, failed attempts and cases of giving up, is a simple reveal of a character who is successful, or at least appears to be, living in a posh world with nice clothes, despite having originally come from an estate. While this is a legitimate device to spur a character change in Alesha, the scene falls a bit flat after the months of pep talks, examples and support Alesha has been given to pull out of Crew life. I was frustrated by her because she did not seem to WANT to help herself for much of the novel - it is one thing to try and fail and get discouraged, but without full insight into her emotional side, these instances of failure felt less like tragic crippling self doubt, and more like a child too lazy to put in any hard work. I wanted to KNOW Alesha, what makes her tick, and was only offered brief glimpses of this in piano keys and her connection with JJ. Both could have been explored with more detail as they were reoccurring, though often unexplored themes throughout.

The emphasis on the riot itself, provided a window into youth and gang culture in a way which began to explore pack mentality, the contagion of rage and a need for action, the BBM messages highlighting the rapidity with which a collective can form, swell, and above all unite against a common theme. The tables were turned in order to show the deep rooted frustrations of a culture and society constantly put down and suppressed by ruling powers and the inevitable explosion that follows. Here the reader began to see more of Alesha - smashing in windows releasing pent up rage at all the people and things that have pushed her down. It is the depiction of those who destroy things out of envy - destruction of what they cannot have - and it is a powerful concept. But the truth remains that crime was crime - it was not food stolen for survival, but cell phones and technologies. While we feel for the caged bird, it can be hard from a readers perspective not to also call for justice.

This then is the dichotomy which encompassed my view of the novel. While I emphasized with the hardships of Alesha's life, I wanted more from her in terms of motivation. While I applauded Miss Merfield's benevolence, I chastised Alesha for her laziness. She had moments of gratitude, of pride, of will, yet I struggled throughout to support someone so blatantly turning to crime and drug trafficking. There may have been necessity there, but battling on through adversity is admirable - giving up is allowable - but lacking the ability to try - the DESIRE to, is frustrating.

Overall, Courtney does well to create a window into Alesha's world - the world of South, of streets, of Crew and of poverty, but I want more than a window; I want to step into that world and get lost there.

And the Mountains Echoed

Khaled Hosseini is superb, and continues to wow in this, his third novel. An expert at weaving a multitude of stories and characters into one cross-continental tale, Hosseini grabs his readers immediately and doesn't let go. Raising hopes,and leaving the reader crushed under the weight of tragic life - a reality he carefully avoids glorifying - Hosseini once again opens a window into characters lives, bit by bit, and makes you, inevitably and despite their flaws, love them. As the reader watches the slow decay of life unfurl before their eyes they are gripped by the tale of familial bonds, and deep rooted kinship that is not defined by local - be it Afghanistan, America, Paris, or Tinos. Human frailty, its capacity for love, and inevitably, fail those we love runs deep within the pages of ANd the Mountains Echoed.

The story opens upon a simple scene of storytelling, a glimpse at the relationship between the father (the speaker) and son, (the listener) while widening the ideas of family relations and obligations in the very theme of the story told. From there we are given a window into the lives of two young children - brother and sister - and the solidifying of a central them throughout the novel to come: bonds and ties of family and friendship that endure despite time or place. It is a story about finding a piece of one's self in another, and the inexplicable connections of love that tie us together.

Through heartache, trial triumph and testing, Hosseini explores relationships between parents and their children - touching on the loved, the difficult, biological families and adopted ones, in order to explore the depth of affection and loyalty inherent in such relations. There is a sense, too, for the characters of And the Mountains Echoed, that it is never too late. Whether it is Pari the young girl removed from her family at such a very young age, who - unable to remember anything but her adopted mother - lives her life with a vague, uncertain, but ever present ache; a hole undefinable of the place where something is missing from her soul, or Markos - ever running from the confines of his life, so rigid and void of tenderness, on the secluded island of Tinos, Hosseini weaves them each in turn, and the generations of family members and friends they connect with, into realistically jumbled, but ever connected tapestry.

It is a testament, also, that Hosseini is able to create such a balance - such reality. Never one to wrap everything up all nice and neat in perfect triumph or resolution, he also manages to avoid the opposite mistae of over glorifying the hardships and tragedies of poverty and circumstances. Each character is flawed, and each is redeemable, but only within the realities and confines of their lives and character. It is a masterpiece of a could-be reality. Like the works of Hosseini that came before, And the Mountains Echoed will grip your heart, and leave its resonating sound within you well after the final page has been read.

Based on the Novel By:

Taking books and transforming them into screenplays is certainly not a new idea, but it's becoming more and more apparent just how many of the major motion pictures of the last two years are adapted from books, short stories and novels.

The range, is drastic. On one end you have the short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, a story which would take less time to read than to watch as it was adapted into 3 hours of makeup marvel on Brad Pitt's face. On the other end of the spectrum, triologies, series and epics which attempt to pack vast twisting story lines into conventional movie length parameters (although most get around this by either splitting said series into multiple movies and/or extending run times). The point is, whether it's James Bond, Jane Eyre or Harry Potter - literary films have become the norm.

Let's take a look at the Oscars shall we?

Best picture: Les Miserables - oh, what was that? A book. Sure, it is perhaps more famously known for it brilliant and successful adaptation into broadway stage musical, but it too was a book. A very early example of the print-to-screen phenomenon that seems to be taking hold with such force these days.

Other major films in the upcoming or recently released category? Silver Linings,

Life of Pi, Anna Karenina, James Bond - Skyfall (only the latest in a long loved series of films of course), One for the Money, Children's book: The Lorax, The Hunger Games (how could we forget?) - and less recently - the infamous Twilight saga, The Lucky One, Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter (yes, this was a book), Alex Cross/Cross, Cloud Atlas (perhaps that one should have stayed in print form, no?), The Hobbit, Jack Reacher, Safe Haven (the latest of Nicholas Sparks' to be turned into a movie), The Host, Carrie (again), Ender's Game (upcoming)... I could go on, but I think you get the point.

While adapted screenplays are clearly not a 'new' invention, it seems these past couple years have seen an insurgence of novels becoming feature films.

There are two major things that might cause this.

One is a lack of creative writing of origianl screenplays, the other, an icrease in popularity of books.

Please, please let it be the second.

Having just watched The Great Gatsby film adaptation from the iconic story by previously mentioned F. Scott Fitzgerald, I couldn't help but be reminded of the art that is print to screen transferance. Gatsby, I have to say, made the switch flawlessly. The nature and setting of the novel - being the lavish parties of Manhattan in the 1920's, lent itself especially well to visual adaptation, and the cinematographers, costume artists, set designers and visual team did an outstanding job - but it was not just the set that pulled you in, it was the characters, the storyline, the dream-like fantasy which Gatsby himself creates. He is a master inventor continually attempting to recreate himself, and thus, his past. It is the heartbeat of the novel, and so too the film. 

this, if nothing else, was captured effortlessly.

But that of course was not all. the bookishness - in the best possible understanding of the word - came through with every expression and movement, from the emphasized visual ques, to the focus on the character of Nick and his writing to the lovely image of daisy herself, dreamlike in the clouds, waving away words of an ever remembered letter. The references back to the original work were many and expertly used - not overdone or overly relying on the fame of the novel previously, but simply drawing on not only the story, but that which it stands for. 

Straying very little if at all from the original plot, Gatsby manages to both stay true to the original work while drawing in a new level of excitement and wonder. The perfect mix, I might suggest, and as such, a huge success.

It is debatable whether or not book adaptations are such a good thing - they have given us such wonders as the Epic Lord of the Rings, and yet vastly disappointed viewers (or at least this viewer) in the case of One Day or Cloud Atlas. I'm glad to say the latest did not do so. 

It is, however, with a careful hand I praise it, lest we get carried away. Adaptations may be brilliant, but let us not forget the works from which the originate, nor forget to pay tribute not only to the writers, but the very works.

In simple terms, some movies are awesome and are so because of the books that came before - so don't ever stop reading.

-Q

Sherlock

Sherlock Holmes, the iconic detective character. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has managed to create a character that withstands the test of time, and, in recent years, seems to only be growing in popularity. From the Blockbuster starring Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law (an impeccable match) or the BBC modern day series simply titled 'Sherlock' starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, the Memoirs and Adventures of Sherlock Holmes live on.

Having recently read a large number of the iconic stories, I must admit, it makes sense to see so many of the plots adapted to screen - they are intriguing riddles which lend themselves far better to film than to print. Because really, being told in point-by-point factual reports of the minute details which lead to discovery is not entirely suspenseful or exciting. Sure, there is interest and intrigue and most definitely a sense of awe, but it's a report. It's not a... story.

So it seems that it is the mystery of how Sherlock can be so effortlessly observant, the question of the character himself rather than each individual storyline. We are captured by him, and his unusual character and, in turn, the humourous relation between himself and Watson, far more than we care to know 'who-done-it'. And thus, Sherlock becomes the perfectly malleable, transient character. You can move him through time and era effortlessly, changing crime and mystery to fit. Because that's not the part the matters to us. We, like Watson, simply want to watch the genius at work.

Pigeon English

Stephen Kelman's debut novel Pigeon English is a raw and real look into inner-city London's dark daily life. Narrated by the profound Harrison Opoku - an eleven year old boy recently emigrated from Ghana, Pigeon English reveals the depth of violence and twisted justice which so quickly becomes apparent in the London youth. 

Following the death of a fellow youth and student - a bloody and seemingly meaningless stabbing - Harrison and his friend Derek take on a vague sense of duty an begin investigative reports on the scene. In their simplified childish way, they set up watch, interrogate suspects and look for clues and evidence. 

Though the novel holds aspects of crime scene investigation, it is in no means a Murder Mystery by genre. Instead, through these investigations, Kelman reveals the beauty of a young boys mind, and the simple honesty with which he lives his life. Both gentle and loving in his displays of caring for the pigeon which lands on his balcony one day, Harrison is an expressly loveable character whose affection and protective nature for his little sister Agnes (residing in Ghana with their father) is both inspiring and heart warming. 
"I pretended like all the oranges rolling everywhere were her happy memories and they were looking for a new person to stick to so they didn't get wasted.”

 In contrast,  the youth's desire for destruction, brutality and violence, and Harri's own fascination with the local gang, reveal the intensity of youth and the ease with which they as a society can slip into such immense horror and destruction: "Killa got a screwdriver out of his pant. I saw it with my own two eyes... I could even see the killing thoughts in the air, they were sticking to us like crazy moths after thunder. They wanted to kill us, you could tell." Through these dichotomous emotions Kelman weaves the intricate tapestry of emotions which drive youth culture. 

The voice through which the story is told - most predominantly that of Harri, is honest and real, and often times simple - childish excitability certainly comes though - but with a profound depth and beauty which transcends all age and circumstance. 
His analysis of people, is so childishly simple that it reveals truth so often missed by adult mindsets. In his observation of Mr Frimpong, Harrison reveals the pureness of his heart: 

“Mr. Frimpong is the oldest person from church. That's when I knew why he sings louder than anybody else: it's because he's been waiting the longest for God to answer. He thinks God has forgotten him. I only knew it then. Then I loved him but it was too late to go back.” 

This passage also reveals a reoccurring theme within the novel and specifically within Harrison of a fascination with death. The memory and 'spirit' of "The Dead Boy" permeates and presides over the story, weaving its way in and out of day to day chores, guilty looks, and moments of personal triumph. Harrison is fixated on his memory - a boy he wasn't particularly close with - and continually dedicates his moments of happiness to the boy's memory or spirit. 

In the same way, gang members and bully figures are forever fixed on death and revenge, carving death threats in apartment doors and chanting for blood during street fights. There is an animalistic quality alive in each youth and each person which Kelman carefully explores within the confines of brutal gang culture, forcing it to collide with innocent hearts and pure minds in a violent clash of interaction and emotion.

A turbulent and reflective novel, Pigeon English uses the simplicity of style and heart to pierce the heart of the reader even as it drags them into a world of shockingly hardened young criminals perpetuating the dark inner-city life of London. 
Funny, sickening and triumphant, Stephen Kelman's debut is a fine example of voice and heart in a plot-driven, increasingly sic-fi literary world.  

Starter For Ten

"All young people worry about things, it's a natural and inevitable part of growing up, and at the age of sixteen my greatest anxiety in life was that I'd never again achieve anything as good, or pure, or noble, or true, as my O-level results."

A poignant and raw look into the inner workings of the eighteen year old Brian Jackson, upon his entry into University, Starter For Ten by David Nicholls is not so much a straight forward coming of age as it is an uncovering of what University life really is about - what knowledge means, and the lessons school cannot teach you. Inherantly smart and hard working, Brian is a rather typical book-smart student lacking the comfort and ease of social structure and easy friendships. But behind the simple structure of his character is the burning desire to bring pride to his mother and deceased father, and clinging to knowledge - specifically University Challenge which he connects inadvertently to memory of his dad, and  longing for love and acceptance from the University sweetheart "beautiful and knows it" Alice.


Brian has big dreams for University - and high expectations. Ever focused on school work above all else, it is his sole belief that hard work and dedication will bring him the future he desires. This humorous and ironic passage depicts not only Brian's hopes for the future, but more poignantly, his sheer lack of understanding of how the world really does work.

“I want to be able to listen to recording of piano sonatas and know who's playing. I want to go to classical concerts and know when you're meant to clap. I want to be able to 'get' modern jazz without it all sounding like this terrible mistake, and I want to know who the Velvet Underground are exactly. I want to be fully engaged in the World of Ideas, I want to understand complex economics, and what people see in Bob Dylan. I want to possess radical but humane and well-informed political ideals, and I want to hold passionate but reasoned debates round wooden kitchen tables, saying things like 'define your terms!' and 'your premise is patently specious!' and then suddenly to discover that the sun's come up and we've been talking all night. I want to use words like 'eponymous' and 'solipsistic' and 'utilitarian' with confidence. I want to learn to appreciate fine wines, and exotic liquers, and fine single malts, and learn how to drink them without turning into a complete div, and to eat strange and exotic foods, plovers' eggs and lobster thermidor, things that sound barely edible, or that I can't pronounce...Most of all I want to read books; books thick as brick, leather-bound books with incredibly thin paper and those purple ribbons to mark where you left off; cheap, dusty, second-hand books of collected verse, incredibly expensive, imported books of incomprehensible essays from foregin universities.

At some point I'd like to have an original idea...And all of these are the things that a university education's going to give me.”

Set from 1985-86, the novel is a commentary on social class and societal structure, often addressing Brian's understandings of money and privilege (shown in both the character of the seemingly perfect Alice and various boarding-school types) in contrast to his own working-class single parent upbringing (his father having died when Brian was 12). No where is anti-classism more evident, though than in the brash, passionate character of Rebecca who through a chance meeting at a party becomes in an awkward, Brian way, one of Brian's closest (and indeed one of few real) friends. Relying heavily on Brian's self deprecating wit and humour, manifested primarily in his narrative (first person) voice, and Rebecca's hard edged honesty and banter, Nicholls adds a light and admittedly very funny tone to the would-be heavy novel. There is an obliviousness, and an extremely narrow sighted optimism in Brian which drives not only his actions but the manner in which he sees - and therefore narrates - the world around him.


Despite a keen interest in his studies and efforts otherwise, Brian very quickly finds himself an outsider, marking this down to class difference and upbringing more than anything else. Reflecting on his own lack of personal connections, he contrasts his way of life with that of Alice's, as she states she enjoys her independence, realizing in doing so, just how alone he has become:


"Independence is the luxury of all those people who are too confident, and busy, and popular, and attractive to be just plain old lonely. And make no mistake, lonely is absolutely the worst thing to be. Tell someone that you've got a drink problem, or an eating disorder, or your dad died when you were a kid even, and you can almost see their eyes light up with the sheer fascinating drama and pathos of it all, because you've got an issue, something for them to get involved in, to talk about and analyse and discuss and maybe even cure. But tell someone you’re lonely and of course they’ll seem sympathetic, but look very carefully and you'll see one hand snaking behind their back, groping for the door handle, ready to make a run for it, as if loneliness itself were contagious. Because being lonely is just so banal, so shaming, so plain and dull and ugly."


Brian has lived the majority of his life with people grasping for the door handle, but for so long has not been able to see it. As his paper-perfect University career begins to spin around him, odd friendships, failed relations, let downs and confrontations lead Brian to discover that though he might be full of knowledge worthy of quiz shows, he is, inevitably, ignorant to the world in a manner far beyond his comprehension, and, indeed, doesn't even know who he is. 


“I contemplate the idea that maybe I'm an alcoholic. I get this occassionally, the need to define myself as something-or-the-other, and at various times in my life have wondered if I'm a Goth, a homosexul, a Jew, a Catholic or a manic depressive, whether I am adopted, or have a hole in my heart, or possess the ability to move objects with the power of my mind, and have always, most regretfully, come to the conclusion that I'm none of the above. The fact is I'm actually not ANYTHING.”


A realist often sarcastic and extremely humorous novel, Starter for Ten outlines not only the base lines of lasting grief and inherent loneliness, but the meanings of friendship, the awkwardness of young adult relations, and ultimately, the true value of knowledge (and whether or not knowledge is really the same thing as intelligence). 

Watership

Just completed my annual reading of Watership Down by Richard Adams.
Regardless of its position in the children aged 9-12 section of Chapters, it is a brilliant book I can't help but love. For me, it is an ageless tale that translates far beyond a 9 year old audience to reach young and old readers alike. Though I did first read Watership at age 11, I'm not 100% sure all of the deeper themes would translate to your average 9 year old from the outset)

A tale of loyalty, and friendship that overcomes all obstacles, the underlying themes of the novel are universal ones, despite all characters being rabbits (with the exception of one bird). A relatable story of suffering and triumph, where goodness wins out (but not without sacrifice) and wits and cleverness are praised, I can't help but love it time and time again and find it an ageless gem for all readers - definitely enjoyable and with some great lessons too. What more could you ask for?

The Book Thief

The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak appeared mysteriously on my bookshelf one day. I believe it's been sitting there for a while, sorted into the pile of 'novels that do not belong to me' (which primarily hosts books borrowed from my big sister). This, however, appeared on its own.

Rather fitting really, now having read the tale of book thievery, that it should have ended up in my procession as a gift I recently took it down off the shelf to read. I read The Book Thief without knowing anything at all about it. I enjoy reading books that way, it adds to the story without predetermined context or assumptions about the content, and the Book Thief was for me, then, a complete surprise.

A powerful, sorrowful tale of death, destruction, and inevitable dismay, the Book Thief is a curious tale of a unique young girl, and an even more intriguing speaker. Though the narrator is never literally named, it becomes quickly apparent to the reader that the speaker is indeed, the voice of Death - a personification that is both supernatural, but of seemingly human-like form, "You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue." Death is both expressly inhuman, and yet very much a part of who we are, in it's own perspective, becoming both beyond ourselves, beyond human, and inherently sympathetic as it feels and comprehends hope, sadness, defeat, and most often, fatigue. 

Set in Germany in the second World War, Death is not only a fitting, but a challenging narrator which provides not only insight into the depth of destruction obviously apparent at the time, but a level of individuality as the voice touches on single stories within the ever present context of death. 

Though it could technically be categorize as War literature, or even historical fiction, the Book Thief was unlike any other wartime or holocaust themed novel I had previously read, the focus of the novel so very much on the girl, Leisel, rather than the war itself. Of course, the thoughts and consequences of war were ever present throughout the novel, but they arose as just that - consequences - which moved and shaped the daily activities and lives of the characters within. Leisel felt the sting of war every day, and the reign of Nazi Germany, the omnipresent ruling, was a foreboding darkness over the city and nation. It was through her story that the pain of the war years is made real to the reader, not as a statistic, or a horror story of holocaust victim, but rather through the tale of a loss of innocence and privilege, a loss of comfort and home, and eventually, the simple loss of life. Because Leisel's tale is such a simple one, such a basic one, in essence, it allows the reader to connect and latch their emotions to that of the young girl all the more strongly as she stumbles her way through life and onto Himmel St. 

Death, itself, takes care of the bigger picture. Through simple tales of mass murders and bombings, concentration camps and executions, told from the other side, Death is able to turn the stories from unfathomably horrific, to poignantly tragic - a subtle change which allows readers who have in all likelihood been bombarded with History texts books in school years, to view the deadly acts of world War Two in a new, more personal light. A calm, but sorrowful one. Death does not talk of the bloodlust in the killer's eyes, or the long nights of suffering, but of gently scooping up the souls of the dying humans, whether one by one and slowly, as the victims starve in their beds, mercifully and lightly, as escaping Jews fall to their death over rocky cliffs - dying mid fall, or  of collecting them all at once and in large batches, sifting the souls out of the deadly smoke that rose out of the killing showers of concentration camps. All horrific, all deaths, but all told from a caring, but calm voice who lifts them each out of their bodies, and carries them skyward.  

Using the voice of death provides a unique perspective not only on dying, but on loss and being left behind: "I witness the ones that are left behind, crumbled among the jigsaw puzzles of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs". For death, the dying brings relief, whether the dead realize it immediately or not, and it is those left that become the victims, broken by the incomprehension of separation.

The novel, then, centres around not only the inevitable sense of loss and destruction, but on friendship, and the bonds of those fated to live through such times. Introducing the childhood best friend connection with Rudy, Leisel is able to experience, in many ways, a normal relation with her neighbour and soon best friend. It is this bond, the ever growing friendship that exists both despite and because of the environment within which the characters live, that allows the reader a sense of hope and a connection to the story, as the reader invests in the child antics and relations. The friendship, like all those in the novel, is complicated by circumstance, and though street soccer games and playground fights are central, bonds are formed through the stealing of apples - a necessity for the near-starving children, rather than a game of fun - and bonds of mutual longing, as both children experience what it is to have their father figures sent to war. 

Likewise, Leisel's relationship with her Papa and Mama both mirrors that of a child with their parent, but is given further depth by the sheer fact that neither are Leisel's biological parent. Learning to form a connection of extreme love and devotion, the three characters quickly become a bonded family, their love extending past factual family and becoming one knit together by love, loss and circumstance, just as Max is integrated into their hearts in much the same way. 

Providing a window into the life of a Jew in Nazi Germany, Max becomes not only a friend but a liability. A constant balance between a fugitive and a brother, the threads of Max's friendship with Leisel are woven through not only a sense of family and justice, but over an attendance to Hitler Youth, around the loss of her own brother, and through the not only impractical but the forbidden nature of such a bond. It is not only love that holds these characters together, but the reoccurring theme throughout the novel of Words. 

Words, as any reader will know, are an extremely powerful tool. Both a weapon and a form of reconciliation, or comfort, words can connect and severe ties, and infiltrate minds. Words are the birthplace of so many actions, and so much of the movements of Nazi Germany. And Leisel herself writes after reflecting upon both her habit of book stealing and of writing, "I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right."

The Book Thief itself uses words in much the same way, highlighting and pushing them, contorting them to depict both the good and the bad, as well as highlighting the consequences of words, both said and unsaid, and their effect on those on which who's ears they fall. From simple spelling lessons, to a book which Death itself carries in its pocket, literature and language (spoken and written) is shown for what it truly is - a power and weapon beyond understanding which can shape the minds of followers, and a hope on which to cling to, when all else falls. 

It is with a unique voice and brilliantly executed perspective - that of the character and narrator of Death - that Zuszak sheds light on the dark times of Germany in war, and reawakens an emotional connection between reader and characters, refreshing what has become numb and desensitized in a violence-based society. 

Room

We meet Jack, the narrator and hero of Room by Emma Donoghue on his fifth birthday and proceed to share the next few weeks with him experiencing every corner of his life and world, Room, the 11 by 11 foot, windowless room he has called home for the entirety of his young life. Living just with his mother for company, Jack and 'Ma' learn to live within the confines of their sheltered 'home' relying on and loving each other as their very means of survival. Never having left Room, Jack and his mother exist only within the tiny space, warping Jack's very perception of the world and life itself. For him, everything in Room is real, and everything on TV is purely that - TV. There is no world, there is no Outside. There is only Room and it's occupants.

Donoghue masterfully crafts an interesting and engaging tale within the tiny space of Room, using what little possessions, interactions and events the two characters encounter within the context of confinement to weave a tale of innocence, ignorance, and innovation. Trapped within the four walls, Jack and Ma show perseverance against all odds. The bond between mother and child is explored and reinforced as the two have nothing but each other for company and support through the ins and outs of their days and nights. Those monotonous days. And yet, it is a tribute to Jack's Mother that she continues to make the most of her situation, educating her five year old son beyond his years despite the lack of schooling, exercising and implementing routine to ensure that regardless of confinement, their lives had order, purpose, and a sense of stability. The down side to this routine, though, is the fact that the reader becomes very familiar with the daily life of the characters rather quickly, and a sense of tedium or monotony may threaten to enter the story.  But just when the reader was feeling the events too repetative, Donoghue expands the imaginations and events of the two characters through vivid dreams and aspiritions for the future, providing a turn of events in the story which re-awaken's reader's investment in the young character's lives, disposing of the 'familiar-to-the-point-of-dull nature that can creep in to confined tales.

The true strength of this novel is it's voice and style. Being narrated by the five year old Jack, the narrative voice has both a simplicity, and a beautiful honesty that can only really be seen through the eyes of a child. The unique look into the activities of his life highlight not only the bliss he holds in his ignorance, and the crafty fashion in which the author makes issues known to the reader that are beyond Jack's understanding, but the balance is perfectly written, and allows for a beautiful relation between character and reader as he moves through his days, painting, albeit vaguely and in pieces, the larger picture of his life within Room. Likewise, it is Jack's pure joy and inability to grasp what he is missing that is both tragic and hopeful for the reader as we witness the melee of emotions of both characters through the turmoil of modern imprisonment. Difficult though it can be to capture the nature of a the world through a child's eyes, Donoghue grasps the very syntax that is evident in a young boys mind, cause the thoughts of the child narrator not only to ring true to any age of reader, but to grab hold of their emotions and fill the gaps which may be lacking (in a grammatical or verbal sense) from Jack's vocabulary. The result is a wonderful concoction of words and rhythm that permeated my own way of thinking and speaking for days after reading.

As the novel progresses and comes to its conclusion, issues of social justice, public danger and modern slavery are addressed through the platform of human frailty and emotion, woven within the complex styling of Donoghue's narrative voice. All in all, it is an interesting tale of a simple life in dire and complicated circumstances,which hones in on how the love between a mother and child can prove to be a bond both more powerful and more vulnerable than any other.

The Hunger Games Trilogy

Now, there's been a lot of hype and talk and fandomonium about the Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins consisting of The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay, so naturally, I thought I'd investigate. And when some well respected friends added merit to the general public's love of these novels I thought them worth a shot - especially with the movie coming out in March, I knew I had to read before I saw too much. I must admit, though, I was a bit nervous seeing as Twilight etc. got even more fame and those were certainly not top novels. The YA genre is full of mush, yet some stars remain.
In Hunger Games, I was not dissapointed. (Or at least not entirely).
It is essentailly pointless and impossible for me to critique each of these novels seperately as they not only contain the same characters/world in the continuity of a Trilogy, but they essentially read as one large novel more so than 3 stand alone novels. While it is possible (although somewhat unsatisfying) to read just the first, the second and third novels would be nothing without the original, and so they stand a firm trilogy.

First of all, on a high note, the characters are wonderfully unique, complex and real. Showing both immense bravery and immense fear, love and hate and everything in between, the characters grab you immediately and pull on your heart strings from the very start. For me, this is of the utmost importance - if I am not invested in the characters, then who really cares?

The main character, a sixteen year old girl named Katniss, is every young reader's dream. With the possibility of being vague and flippant, and wash of a character (see the non-descript bore Bella Swan), Suzanne Collins avoids the generic and dives head first into a strong, distinct pointed character. And this, is the beauty of it, really. You might not love Katniss - you might not be all that much like her: as brave, or as hard, as indecisive or as piercing and yet, it doesn't matter. (or at least, didn't bother me, though fangirls of the male characters everywhere will doubtless scream she is an unloving, insensitive fool). I think, though that vagueness of character is a major flaw that writers fall into, especially those that write teen or YA literature, to pick a character - a main character - which is universal with the assumption that the more relatable the character is, the more invested the readers will become. It's really just the opposite, I find. Sure, vague characters WORK because we place ourselves in the role and feel part of our own character going through the plots and turns, but in the end, who did we just read about? Does the character stick with us? Could they be real, do we really care?
No.
This is where Collins diverges from the norm. Katniss Everdeen is most certainly NOT your average 16 year old girl. With a strong sense of justice and a streak of rebellion she runs her household in place of an absent father and vacant mother. Hunting, trading, bartering and protecting, she is the provider for her family leading them day in and day out through the impoverished life of District 12.

Throw into that Katniss's first big act - a selfless volunteering to replace her 12 year old sister in 'The Hunger Games' a fight-to-the-death televised event where 24 children (ranging in age from 12-18) enter a stadium, fight, survive, outwit, until only one remains, and Collins has immediately stepped up her game.
The shining beacon of Collin's work is her ability to form meaningful, quick relations between the characters and the reader at just the right level so that when they die (as inevitably most of them will), the reader feels a real sense of loss at their death without feeling completely gutted, or like part of the story has died with them. This is a major feat given the genre, as often authors cannot find the balance and when a character we are invested in dies, we lose a large part of why we were connected to the story in the first place, and begin to seperate ourselves from the story.

It's 'The Lottery' meets 'Gladiator', a mashup of crepy opression and violence. Though the death match idea is not an original idea, by any means, and The Hunger Games has often been compared to such stories as 'Battle Royale', it is not althogether fair to write Collins' work off purely as a rip-off or a replica of novels previous. This story holds its own, at least in part.
For me, the first novel was something worth fighting against the 'Battle Royale' critiques, etc. Strong, powerful and heartwrenching, Hunger Games is a well crafted tale of triumph, failure, friendship and perserverance amidst the great horror of forced violence, murder and death. Collins did well to adress these issues in a way that was both poigant and accessable (especially to the younger audience). It wasn't until the later novels that the story began to change adopting an aire of rebellion (far stronger than that found previously), a bigger cause, and a greater sense of struggle against the opressor. The story no longer becomes just about Katniss, or the Games, but the very structures in which these characters live. Enter, Dystopian novel archetypes.

Stephen King who has large amounts of praise for the series, added this in his review: "displays of authorial laziness that kids will accept more readily than adults." The general idea was that while the novels have great merit, there are flaws which the 15 year old female reader will be less inclined to critique (give or take a few). I must say upon reading this comment, I feel much the same way. While the first novel was polished and precise, the later two had some tendencies that wavered away from the main story including a few dashed-together scenes that in theory were good, but lacked the slow detail that would have made them shine like the rest. "authorial laziness" makes perfect sense to me when describing such tendencies - they are neither wholey bad nor entirely poorly written, just, lacking in depth and detail, especially when  contrasted to the rest of the novel. Especially the ending, which (of course) I won't give away, held a much more prominant sense of this laziness in my mind where events seem to build and build towards the great acts, only to be thrown together and wrapped up in almost a rush - a real shame, seeing as the feel and flow of the novels previous was such a strong point. Collins gets lazy, and thus seems to pull out of that which makes the novel truly a good one.

Plot points and focus become some-what muddled as the story continues through books two, and especially three, with big overarching themes that both rocked the events of the novel, but also turned many things readers held dear from the first book on their heads. Though in theory this is not a no-no, more time and care should have been given to such plot points so as the add a level of beleivability to the events despite the other worldly nature of the novel. When characters, events or situatuions are flipped so drastically, readers can feel a sense of betrayal, disconnect or disturbia that will pull them out of the novels. Though I wouldn't say Collins goes so far as to betray the readers, I did find the occasional turn jarring, and felt that more time and care could be taken to lead the reader into the changes and therefore make them more realistic and maintain continuity.

At times I found myself wondering what the real focus or drive of the later novels were - what the characters were leading up to, what was actually being done, and coming up with simply ideas like 'fighting against opression' or 'rebelling for the cause'. Fine... but, just because the target audience is young, doesn't mean they don't understand details of war and refugee living. Or at least, could LEARN to know them given the writer's intention to expand their knowledge. Collins doesn't hide to gore or the sorrow or the realities of starvation in Hunger Games, why are finer points so readily left out of Catching Fire and Mockingjay? Characters die off, triumphs are made or lost, and they become blips in plot, not moments of feeling and expansion. This is the real downfall. In order for the reader to connect, they need to be pulled into these moments, and often times I felt less of the story, and more of the point-by-point plot summary. Collins, though talented, lacks this continued reader-character connection, at times, that leaves the novels at a good, level but prevents them from being amazing.
There is so much I can say about these novels, and so much i have already said, but ultimately, I very much enjoyed reading them and felt they were an excellent option (if occasionally graphic) for younger readers. (much more preferable than some teen & YA lit out there today). With real feeling, and real issues, Collins begins to open the minds of young readers and older ones alike, but stops short of greatness as plots get bigger and slightly out of her grasp, losing focus on the character connection that so drove her story at the start. A return to this, and a more polished conclusion after 3 novels, would only serve to elivate what is widely considered a successful and enjoyable series. I am anxiously awaiting the release of the first movie, and hope it does the author justice rather than stripping it of all it's literary goodness.
If you haven't read these, do it. despite my critiques, I don't think you'll regret it.

The House on Mango Street

A snapping, poingent look into one girls suffocating life and bumpy coming of age, The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisnero is another example of her raw talent and unrelenting eye. An eighty-odd page 'novella' consisting of chapters ranging mostly within the length of 1-4 pages, Mango Street is less of a novel and more of a series of snippets and poems hitched together by the underlying current of supression, poverty and endurance.

Seen through the eyes of the young Latina girl Esperenza, the reader catches glimpses not only of Esperenza's life - desperate to escape the impoverished neighbourhood she seems forever confined to - but the lives of those around her, costantly observing. While the majority of the text focuses on Esperenza's day to day activities, the reader is also exposed to other ways of life on Mango Street alluded to by Esperenza's childish observations: the neighbour who's wife seems to look diffferent to everyone each time they see her; Lucy and Rachel the texan girls with whom Esperenza and her little sister Neeny form a close friendship; Sally who is embrassing womanhood at a speed far beyond Esperenza, despite their closeness in age. The other characters paint a picture of life on Mango street, and for esperenza, what seem to be some of the few options she might have to follow. However, despite hercircumstances, she is determined to bnreak free one way or another, and her first outlet becomes writing.

Esperenza often writes little poems or vignettes as a way to escape her surroundings and project a sense of future. Though it is never directly stated, by the end of the Novella we are led to believe that her ability to escape Mango, and yet always have a need to return, encompasses this act - though she may not remain physically in Mango Street, her heart will ever return there, as she writes the stories of those she new, helping them, too to escape.