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.

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.

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.

Rant

Chuck Palahniuk, where DO you come up with these things?
Rant, the 'oral history' of one Buster (Rant) Casey, is a tale which is ever intriguing, wildly insane, and just once you think you've got the crazy concept, jumps up several notches into the exceedingly imaginative.
Now I realize that description does little to inform of the actual plot, synopsis or narrative modes of the novel, but that's just it with Palahniuk - he's genius in his very concepts.

The novel is written in the halting, broken style of accounts, or oral histories, whereby sections of interview or conversation are transcribed with little evidence of chronology, relevance of speaker, or merit. Aside from the brief description of each character in the form of tagline ex: (Party Crasher) , (Childhood Enemy), (Mother) etc, the story is in many ways about deciphering the credibility and biases of each speaker as much as it is unravelling the story of Rant himself.

From the get-go, it is clear that this is not your average tale. Rant is a teen with ambition, cunning and a plan. Outwitting his small town in under the table old-fashioned coin deals - the Tooth Fairy scheme - he inflates the entire economy of his tiny town by way of paying children in gold coins for lost teeth, thereby drawing attention away from his own pile of gold which would otherwise be deemed suspicious.
The parents lie, the children lie, and everyone gains.

This is the mindset of Rant Casey - reckless, rash and pleasure seeking. From the moment the reader hears of him stuffing his arm down holes and dens in the middle of the dessert just to see what might be inside, the image of Rant is solidified. He is insane, but wondrously and geniusly so.

As the story unfolds we read of thinks like PartyCrashing, and Night timers and Day timers concepts and phrases known not the the reader, and never fully explained. It is with a level of authenticity and completeness that Palahniuk leaves it up to the reader to piece together over time what exactly the world in which Casey lives is like, and what it means to be a 'night timer'. Accounts of Rabies epidemics and coin trades add to the mystery of who Casey is, and what really was all the interest in his life - was he a serial killer? Patient X, just a regular reckless teenage boy?

Palahniuk's style and poignant voice make his novels - and this is no exception - a mind bending experience. If you've ever seen or read Fight Club and thought, yes, that seemed exceptionally likely, maybe you're the one person who would not be impressed, but for the rest of us I'd have to say his creativity and careful unfolding of information and character development masterfully evoke not only intrigue, but suspicion and avid following. I was hooked. Rather confused, at times, but hooked. And once I hit the end - well - I was ready to call it down right genius.

It's an insane story, and certainly not meant for everyone - it's a pretty specific appeal as far as the style of writing and content go, but if you're willing, it's well worth the mind bend.

-Q

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). 

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. 

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.