By no means do I want to be the kind of blogger who only posts

By no means do I want to be the kind of blogger who only posts to apologize for not posting.

But: my car was stolen last week; since recovered, needs lots of work; library books missing; not in much condition for reading and writing.

Castellucci, Cecil. Beige

15-year-old Montreal girl Katy has to spend the summer with her dad in Los Angeles while her mother goes on an archaeological dig in Peru. Oh--and her dad is a legendary punk rock drummer. And she hasn't seen him in a couple years because the last time he was up in Canada, he got kicked out of the country for brining in drugs. It is not a positive way to start out a summer. But because of the kind of novel this is, you know that she will grow to love the people here. This isn't surprising; but it IS surprising that it's done really well.

Some young adult novels seem to unthinkingly take it for granted that of course one's parents are lame, and of course one wants more freedom from them. Katy, on the other hand, seems young for her age, seems like the kind of kid who has to be dragged kicking and screaming from childhood, from insulation. The book is a series of unpleasant truths discovered; but they're not things to Reconcile Oneself To. They're things that bring Katy from relating to people as a child, to relating to people as an adult--which means honesty, and raw emotions, and scary things like that. It's very symbolic, isn't it, that Katy's mom knitted a ton of blankets for the people in her life? That's comfort, and safety, and what Katy wants to cling to. But can't.

Castellucci knows Montreal like I know Montreal. She makes me long to go back there. And it's a great deal of fun reading a novel that makes you say "Oh! I remember that! I love that!" We only get to see Montreal in Katy's remembrances, but I for one would love a sequel. It wouldn't even need to have a plot. It could just have Katy hanging around Montreal doing Montreal-type things.

I was curious about one thing. I am sure that Castellucci has done bucketloads of research and is way more knowledgeable about this sort of thing than I am, but: Guitar Center? Really? Raleigh isn't a L.A. or Nashville or Seattle but there are half a dozen music stores that I would go to in preference to the corporateness of Guitar Center. Maybe the one in L.A. is better?

Anyway, good book, loved it (maaaybe not quite to the extent of Boy Proof?), it made me cry.

Abdel-Fattah, Randa. Does My Head Look Big In This?

Australian-Palestinian girl Amal decides to start wearing the hijab full time, faces racism and stupidity at school, joins the debate team, has a crush, and deals with her friends' problems: Leila has a strict mother who wants her to leave school and get married, while Simone is a size 14 and has much angst about her figure and unlovability.

It is a book with a fabulous voice and a lot of genuine humor--I skipped through some pages at random to refresh my memory and got, "So is it like nuns? Are you married to Jesus now?"

If it hadn't been written with as much authority and assurance, I might have thought some of the situations were over the top -- obviously my high school (pre-9/11) and a snooty Australian prep school (post-9/11) don't have much in common, and I'm sure that I wasn't aware of everything that went on, but I felt like at my high school it was accepted as just normal that we had a handful of students who wore head scarves. But Abdel-Fattah made it totally convincing and believable.

Now, there were moments when it was just a little preachy (I thought Simone's issues were handled much less gracefully than Amal's) and moments when it lacked narrative drive and moments when it was trying too hard to be cool. But (without dismissing the seriousness of the issues involved) it's nice to read a book that takes on serious issues while being both reverent and irreverent, and very funny.

School from seventh grade to tenth grade was Hidaya - The Guidance - Islamic College. Where they indoctrinate students and teach them how to form Muslim ghettos, where they train with Al-Qaeda for school camp and sing national anthems from the Middle East. NOT!

Read and enjoyed *Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows* (yes,

Read and enjoyed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (yes, the day after it came out), but don't feel like I have anything to say about it that hasn't already been said a dozen times. (I'm just now updating my sidebar with the page count, so I feel like I should mention it).

Bear, Elizabeth. Whiskey & Water

The sequel to Bear's Blood and Iron-- a book that was occasionally a little like watching two strangers play three-dimensional chess. Fascinating, but not always easy to understand, or to invest with emotional meaning. This book is more like when you've been at the chess tournament for a while, have begun to absorb the rules, and have chatted with both players in between games. Much easier to understand, both intellectually and emotionally.

But it's still three-dimensional chess. We've got Hell, with Lucifer and other various devils; the Prometheans, who want to keep the power of Faerie bound; Matthew, ex-Promethean, a wounded man of divided loyalties; Faerie, and its queen; Heaven, and the angel Michael; oh, and Christopher Marlowe, Elizabethan playwright (late of Prometheus, Faerie, and Hell). And a loose band of humans who could've almost come straight from a Charles DeLint novel. All these groups and people have their own allegiances and motives, personal, political, and metaphysical.

The most interesting thing about this novel, to me, is that it has a number of things that ordinarily would push all my buttons and make me go squee. Like sexy devils! And sexy angels! And sexy Kit Marlowe! And cute gothy people! And then-- it turns around and stays too honest and dark and brutal to actually make me go squee. It's not even the turned-up melodrama of everybody dying beautiful tragic deaths; it's something quieter than that, and harsher in its own way. But this is so much a book about stories and lies (all stories are true, we hear again and again; but all stories are lies almost by definition; the most powerful magic is the magic of deception, which is the same thing as the power to control one's own stories...). And so the book's delicate balance between tragic/gorgeous/seductive and brutal is Just. Perfect. In fact, it rather exactly mirrors what one of the characters goes through...

It's not a book without flaws. In particular, it's so dense that I couldn't read it quickly, but it also requires so much memory that I couldn't read it slowly without losing track of my threads. Bear doesn't just require you to put two and two together; she requires you to put two and x together, where x is a detail you hopefully remember from a hundred pages back. So there were plot developments where I had to say, "Okay, I buy it, if you say so." But it would be silly of me to blame the book for being too smart for me, wouldn't it?

Swann, Leonie. Three Bags Full

When their shepherd George is suddenly found dead with a spade in his chest, a flock of sheep determine to solve the murder: Othello the mysterious black sheep, Mopple the Whale, clever Miss Maple, and a dozen others (some more differentiated than others).

Something appealed to me about this book from the very first. I don't know why; I don't read mysteries normally, and especially not mysteries where overly intelligent pets solve the crime. But I had a good feeling about it, and that was borne out.

First of all, the writing is lovely. I was about fifty pages in when I started skipping around the back and front matter out of curiosity, and discovered: it's a translation! From the German! This didn't entirely astonish me because it feels like the quirky sort of book that would have an easier time getting published in Europe, but I was astonished that a translation would have writing that brave and interesting. (What I mean by brave is this: if I were a translator I would want to beat more sense into a paragraph like the following, and I would be scared of what my editor would think if I didn't.)

Green stretched all the way to the horizon. Green was the song of unreason. It grew without sense or understanding, urging all creatures to do the same. And they did. Green was the most beautiful commandment in the world

Mind you, most of the prose is a lot more straightforward than that.

A lot of the story is necessarily a little oblique. The reader doesn't always understand the sheepy things that happen, and the sheep definitely don't understand the human things that happen:

None of them thought Satan capable of such an act. Satan was an elderly donkey who sometimes grazed in the meadow next to theirs, and uttered bloodcurdling cries. His voice was truly dreadful, but otherwise he'd always struck them as harmless.
"I still think it was God who killed him," said Mopple, with his mouth full. "Beth thought so too." The sheep had a certain respect for Beth because she had invested so much time and trouble in such a doubtful thing as George's soul

As a result, none of the plotlines had as much emotional impact as maybe I was hoping for.

And yet-- as I finished the book, I was utterly satisfied and content with it. And that's saying a lot.