On books... Always the Bridesmaid

 

Always the Bridesmaid by Lindsey Kelk

  

When we still lived in our house in Sydney, I had multiple bookshelves (and yet, never enough room for all my books…), with the top shelf of one dedicated to my absolute favourites.  These favourites include fantasy books, classics, high-quality young adult books, and modern literary novels, which pretty well describes my taste in literature – substantial, thoughtful, but not too heavy.

While working through a recent and particularly severe bout of depression, however, I decided to head down a slightly different reading path.  In such a low mood, attempting to distract oneself with a manuscript about the events surrounding a fatal high school shooting, or the heartbreaking trials of a war orphan, is likely to do more harm than good.  And so I headed purposefully for the section of the bookstore marked “chick-lit”.

I’ve never been a huge fan of chick-lit; in the same way as I’ve never been a huge fan of crime, or new adult, or Tolstoy – I’ve read bits and pieces, but none of it has ever really grabbed me.  I do, however, get extremely cranky at people who dismiss the entire chick-lit genre as somehow less important or less worthy than other genres.  There seems to be a prevailing view that just because a genre focuses on romantic relationships, friendships, and issues primarily affecting women, in stories that almost always end happily, that this genre should be dismissed as frivolous.  I’ve worked in publishing, I’ve read a lot of manuscripts, and let me tell you, in the world of literary fiction, there are some absolute shockers out there.  Choosing to write about a lofty subject does not automatically make a well-crafted novel.

Lindsey Kelk’s Always the Bridesmaid is undoubtedly a well-crafted novel.  She creates a flawed but lovable main character, adds in two maddening but loyal best friends, a couple of conflicting romantic interests, and surrounds them all with circumstances that are utterly ridiculous and yet completely believable.  The story is engaging, the characters well-drawn, the pace is easy, and there’s a great balance of drama and humour.  But the thing about this book, and all other well-written chick-lit novels, is that you know more or less how it’s going to end (spoiler alert, sort of…) – everyone is going to end up with what they deserve, and the main character will make it out the other end having learned some important life lessons, and most likely with a lovely gent on her arm.  And yet, even though I knew it would all work out in the end, I never felt like putting it down.  Many other literary genres have the advantage of making no promises, but to have an ending already set and still keep the reader entertained and absorbed is a separate – and highly commendable – skill.

8/10 – A fun, satisfying read.  Try this if you’re after something light, humourous, and engaging.  Guaranteed to put a smile on your face.

  

Please support your local bookstore!  If you’re in Australia and you can’t get to a bookstore, please consider buying online from local businesses like Dymocks or Booktopia.

with love from the lit dancer

artemis

On books... I Was Here

I Was Here by Gayle Forman

One of the pleasant problems of working in the publishing industry is that it is not uncommon to be faced with a saturation of quality literature when a new trend arises.  I have found this to be particularly so for YA – in recent years, I’ve been fortunate enough to read some absolutely top-notch paranormal fiction, dystopian fiction, and now, the ubiquitous “real-lit”.  The problem that I find in this is that once I’ve read three of four books in a rising genre, I have a tendency to become bored and even jaded.  This is natural; after all, a trend is necessarily impermanent, and the great strength of literature lies in its diversity.  However, it does leave me worried that some superbly talented authors may miss out on the recognition and success that they deserve, simply because their work appears too late into a trend that is already waning.

Months ago, when I first read the manuscript for I Was Here, I was absolutely stunned.  In the time between then and now, I read a number of other real-lit YA books, including The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Noggin, Will Grayson Will Grayson, and of course, The Fault in Our Stars.  Now that I’m preparing, finally, to sell I Was Here into February 2015, I found myself fretting that perhaps the book was overstated in my remembered estimation; maybe it was merely the first outstanding book I’d read in a genre that has become incredibly popular and introduced some phenomenal books to the reading public.  Quite apart from this, I was also concerned that I’d forgotten bits and pieces of the book – I remember the main plot, and I remember how it made me feel, but I couldn’t recall the names of the characters, and I worried that I may have inadvertently mixed up parts of the story with other real-lit books (another hazard of literary trends).  So yesterday afternoon, while the rain drummed quietly outside, I sat down on the couch to re-read it.

In a bizarre simultaneity, the experience of reading the book felt both familiar and new.  Before I was two chapters in, I remembered why I adored the main character, why I felt pain when she did, why I begged her to hold on and rejoiced when she did.  And yet, the experience was also fresh, even in a reading climate soaked with real-lit – with good real-lit.

The story follows Cody, a teenage girl a couple of years out of high school.  Her best friend, Meg, had moved away for college the previous year, the friendship had cooled, and then, shockingly and seemingly out of the blue, Meg committed suicide.  Cody is devastated, bewildered, and furious both with Meg and herself – how could she be Meg’s best friend and not know that something was wrong?  Cody offers to help Meg’s distraught parents by travelling to Meg’s college share-house and collecting her belongings, but what she discovers there leads her to believe that Meg may have been talked or coerced into suicide.  She embarks on an investigation, bordering on obsessive vendetta, that turns into something utterly unexpected both for Cody and for the reader.

From the first sentence, Gayle Forman’s incredible writing talent is undeniable.  Every character in the book is so real, so perfectly imperfect, that I am half-convinced that the events in the book must somewhere have actually happened.  The dialogue, the settings, the language, are all faultless.  The plot moves both subtly and deceptively, twisting sharply at times, but softly enough to draw the compelled reader along.

The force of this book hit me like a juggernaut.  It is beautiful, heartbreaking, uplifting, enduring, and for me, profoundly close.  As someone who suffers from mental illness, and has a beloved friend affected by depression, I am in the unusual position of being able to strongly identify with both Meg and Cody – evoking remembered feelings of both desperation and terror.  It cut to the core, and yet even as I was shedding tears at the end of the book (for the second time), it made me feel hopeful – supremely, warmly, hopeful.  Yes, Meg took her own life, which is utterly and unmistakably tragic, but in the climactic scene when Cody chooses life, hope resonates and illuminates fiercely.

I don’t believe this book is only for readers who know depression.  This book is for anyone who has ever loved, who has ever been worried about a friend, who has ever had even a single moment without hope.  This book should be read by everyone – it will convince you that even in the darkest night, hope is an enduring flame that never needs to be – and never should be – extinguished.  This book is immense.

There are many parents who worry about their teens reading books dealing with depression and suicide, and I believe this concern is completely reasonable.  But the first thing I did after finishing I Was Here was to call my best friend.  We made a pact right there – no matter how great the darkness, no matter how deep the chasm, and no matter if it seems like the end is inevitable, we will always, always, call for help.

I Was Here is a book that will change lives.  It changed mine.


~



This book will be available from February 1st, 2015 - please support the Australian book industry and buy at your local bookstore, or if you would like to buy online, please consider an Australian online store such as Booktopia or Dymocks.


with love from the lit dancer


artemis

On books... Books that have made me miss pole class, #1

The great thing about being obsessed with both pole dance and books is that the two rarely conflict with each other.  My favourite time and place to read is in bed just before I go to sleep - not really going to clash with pole dance there.  And when I'm about to go to class I'm usually really pumped (or at least generally looking forward to it!) and the idea of sitting down and reading seems faintly ridiculous.

Yesterday was Saturday.  I was planning on doing a catch-up class, but I had an hour to kill beforehand, and I didn't really have anything to do (not anything that would take only an hour, anyway).  I walked into my bedroom and saw a book that I've been reading sitting on the shelf next to my bed.  Now I've been a bit stuck with this book for the last week or so, because it's a very dark psychological thriller - not particularly the kind of book that one should read before bed.  So I thought, hey, it's the middle of the day, what a great opportunity to read some more of it without the likelihood of nightmares.

Big mistake.

My pole class was at 1:30pm.  I would have to leave at 1:15pm at the latest to make it on time.  This is how it went.
12pm: Started reading.  This is great!  I can probably get through a third of this book before I have to go!
12:45pm: Hmm, I should probably start getting ready.  I'll just read the rest of this chapter.
1pm: Crap.  Well, maybe I can just be a bit late.  Just one more chapter.
1:15pm: Maybe I don't need to shower??
1:20pm: Yeah this is not happening.  The book has won.

In case you're interested, I finally finished the book at 2:20pm.  Victory!!  Sort of.

Seriously though, it was an absolutely brilliant book.  It's called In the Blood by Lisa Unger, and the company I work for is publishing it in January.  I'm not a big reader of thrillers, so those that I do read tend to be for work purposes.  I'm so glad I did read this one though - it's very well-crafted, a bit more literary than the average thriller, and has the most brilliant twists.  I will admit that I'm one of those people that try to figure out the ending to a thriller genre book/movie/TV show before the end (sorry to my boyfriend who has had several TV episodes ruined by this), and I'm quite proud to say that after stumbling down a few false paths I did eventually get a few of the twists before they happened.  But just when you think you've got it all worked out, BAM - she hits you with another one.  Fantastic.  Another annoying thing I tend to do is go back over the plot in my mind and try to pick holes in it.  I'm not sorry to say I didn't find any in this.  There were a few slightly loose threads, but personally I think it's a mark of a higher quality of fiction when the author allows a few of these and doesn't insist on neatly wrapping up every single part of the story.  I've seen that done before and it usually interrupts the pace of the ending.
Now, fair warning - the book is very dark.  There are a lot of issues around mental health, which did make for slightly difficult reading for me, but it doesn't demonise people with mental health issues, especially given that the main character has been dealing with them for quite a while.  It also involves children, which always adds an extra level of discomfort, and gender issues, although I thought these were covered really well.

So if you like thrillers or crime books, definitely give this one a go.  If you're more of a literary fiction reader but you're thinking of branching out a little, this also would be worth a try.  It might be the only thriller that I read this year, but damn, it was good.

 

In the Blood by Lisa Unger will be available from January 2nd.  You can pre-order from Booktopia here, or from Dymocks online (it's not on their site yet but I'll put the link up soon), or check out your local bookshop - support Australian retailers and publishers!



with love from the lit dancer
artemis

On books... The Boy on the Wooden Box

The funny thing about this whole blog business is it doesn't write posts by itself...!  I've been stupidly busy and/or sick over the last month or so, but I have been reading!  So until I get time to finish writing reviews for the books I've finished recently, here's a review of a very special book I read a few months ago, when I was first given a copy of the manuscript (I work for the publisher).



The Boy on the Wooden Box by Leon Leyson

I’ve been working in publishing for nearly three years now, and I’ve been an avid reader since I worked out how to put those funny squiggles called “letters” into words and sentences.  People often ask me “what’s your favourite book?” which to me is a ridiculous question – it’s like asking what is your favourite memory, your favourite flavour, your favourite star in the sky.  There are too many, and they are too wonderful in different ways to rate on a simple scale of most to least brilliant.

Occasionally, and more frequently now that I work in the publishing industry, I will come across a book that connects with me in a profound and beautiful way.  I treasure these books and these moments, and it’s one of the many reasons why I feel so truly fortunate to work with books and with people who love books.

Rarely, though, I will read a book that leaves me feeling as though I’ve had my breath knocked out of me.  The Boy on the Wooden Box is such a book.  Written for children aged 10-14, it is a brief (133-page) autobiography of Leon Leyson, a Jewish man who grew up in Poland during the rise and fall of the Nazi party.  Along with many other Jews, he suffered horrific treatment at the hands of the Nazis, but unlike many he was fortunate enough to find himself and his family unexpectedly saved by a man named Oskar Schindler – the subject of the book Schindler’s Ark and the subsequent film Schindler’s List.

The details of Leyson’s childhood under the Nazis are absolutely shocking.  Although I have read many stories of families torn apart and lives destroyed during World War II, reading it as told from a child’s point of view is particularly jarring.  Nobody of any age should be made to suffer such inhuman treatment, but hearing it from a child’s mouth just makes it seem even more deplorable. The child narrator’s voice also has the interesting effect of making his saviour, Oskar Schindler, appear in quite a different light – the adult voice of Leyson interjects frequently to explain Oskar’s possible motivations and to elaborate on the many details he learned long after leaving Poland, but the child Leyson, though immeasurably appreciative of Schindler’s kindness, was ever wary of this man, who after all was outwardly a confirmed Nazi.  The child’s voice also brings to the story a sense of plain speaking, of clarity that is at times chilling and discomforting in its honesty, yet makes the story incredibly powerful.

Of course this all begs the question of whether or not this book is indeed appropriate for the target audience of 10-14 year old children.  After all, it describes some of the worst moments in human history; some absolutely traumatic and destructive events.  It is so very tempting to shield children from this, to pick out bits and pieces of the story and to postpone the full truth “until they’re older”.  But I disagree with this for two reasons.  Firstly, that I believe reading is about telling the truth.  And secondly, the overwhelming thought running through my mind as I was reading this book was “I want to make sure this never happens to anyone ever again”.  I honestly believe that my ten-year-old self would have felt the same.  Yes, the story is heavy and violent, but that’s the truth.  And the real message within is one of inspiration, of courage against evil and of protecting life and humanity at any personal cost.  That is a message I want all children to know and to believe in.

On an educational note, there are countless opportunities for class discussions and projects around this book.  The most obvious are research projects on World War II, the Nazi party, Judaism, and conflict around the world today.  There is also potential for interesting discussions about perspective; for example, Leyson mentions in his story that on his journey to America the conditions were what most people would consider less than ideal, but after the horrors of the labour camps he considered them very comfortable.  Apart from being a remarkable, fascinating and haunting story, it is also engaging and thought-provoking for a young audience.

I feel that I could write pages upon pages about how this book made me feel, and yet there seem to be few words that can accurately describe it.  The closest I can get is to say that it reached right into my soul, made me feel sickened and terrified at humanity’s capacity for depravity and hatred, and yet joyfully proud of how brightly the lights of the good people shine in such darkness.  It brought me to tears, filled me with love and inspired me profoundly.  This is an immensely important story and I feel privileged that I have the power to help bring it to my corner of the world.

This book will be available from today (21st August) - please support the Australian book industry and buy at your local bookstore, or if you would like to buy online, please consider an Australian online store such as Dymocks or Booktopia.

with love from the lit dancer
artemis