Still Looking For More To Read
Originally posted at Uncreated Conscience.
Thanks to everyone who recommended books to me. I have not yet taken up everyone on their recommendations (I am totally running out and getting Catherynne Valente’s PALIMPSEST when I get the chance), although I did spend part of my birthday giftcard on two books to read on my road trip down to North Carolina. (Amazingly, I did not get carsick.)
North Carolina was the furthest south I had ever been in the United States (excluding Disneyworld, Florida, which in all honesty, is not part of The South) and boy was it enlightening. Bear and I took the I-95 from New Brunswick, New Jersey, all the way down through Philadelphia (which has the highest number of billboards on the highway), Wilmington, Baltimore, Washington D.C. (where we took an accidental detour through the Capitol that delayed us for an hour and a half), and the entire state of Virginia, which seems to be the longest state ever.
We didn’t make too many stops, although Bear did request that we stop to eat at a Cracker Barrel. Cracker Barrel is apparently a theme restaurant that serves Southern cooking. I had never been in one before, but it did remind me a lot of Critter Country in Disneyland, what with the quaint rockers and wooden tables and vintage signs and paraphernalia all over the walls. Also, I had grits. Which are delicious. And fried okra, which are just…fried.
We were on the road in Virginia for over 4 hours, but we knew we had crossed into North Carolina when suddenly, all there was to listen to on the radio was country music, bluegrass, and Jesus rock. Now, I’m fine with country and bluegrass; in fact, I actually enjoy country and bluegrass. Bear, on the other hand, is not a fan at all, and neither of us were up to the Jesus music. North Carolina was gorgeous late at night; the woods and fields are wreathed in mist, although I will confess I kept hearing strains of dueling banjos from Deliverance in the back of my head.
I drove the last leg, which was fine as I got all my reading done while there was still daylight. I had two books with me: Sarah Wendell & Candy Tan’s (otherwise known as the Smart Bitches) BEYOND HEAVING BOSOMS and Maureen Johnson’s 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES.
Review of BEYOND HEAVING BOSOMS by Sarah Wendell & Candy Tan
Beyond Heaving Bosoms by the Smart Bitches
So. I am one of the people who Just Don’t Get It, according to the Smart Bitches. It is true; I am not a reader of romance. To date, I think I’ve read…7 novels? I was indeed scarred by my first experience, although let it be known it’s not as though I didn’t try. (For the record, I enjoy Georgette Heyer quite a bit.) And I’m certainly not one of those people who disparage the genre as being “chick porn” or written for intellectually inferior women. My dearest, most darling Sofa is one of the smartest, most intelligent women I know and she has a penchant for anything by Linda Howard. I am sympathetic to romance readers; after all, I read for romantic plotlines in my books. I also understand what it’s like to be a devourer of commercial fiction that’s considered somewhat “less” than high-brow literary fiction. Case in point: my favourite genres are young adult and fantasy, but mostly young adult fantasy.
Despite my indifference to romance novels themselves, I have the utmost respect for the Smart Bitches. I can’t remember how or why I started reading their blog, but I’ve been a devoted follower for years. I love their sense of humour, their unabashed love for what they read, and their interesting insights into women’s place in society, etc. Their blog entries can span everything from scathing reviews to cover snark to silly YouTube videos to intelligent essays about publishing and feminism. Their book is less informal than their blog, and a bit more “academic” in its examination of the genre, but all of the irreverent wit that characterises their website is intact.
I found the anthropological theories they make for the history of the modern romance novel the most interesting (especially the sections pertaining to the Rape of the Heroine in Old Skool novels), although perhaps the funniest section is the “Choose Your Own Man Titty”. It’s the romance novel version of the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books and I had a fun time playing it. The best is the paranormal romance section, although I will admit to blushing on the subway reading those bits. I’m not by any means a prude (for heaven’s sake, I’m proudly holding a book in public that reads BEYOND HEAVING BOSOMS on the front), but…yeah.
This book has everything a nonfiction work could ask for: humour, intellectual insight, and games. Highly recommended, even-or perhaps especially-for non-readers of romance like myself.
Review of 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES by Maureen Johnson
13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson
I’ll confess that I keep wanting to write GIRL AT SEA, not 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES because they have similar covers. Poor Maureen Johnson; she’s been saddled with the Headless Girl curse that I loathe. I think this may be the reason I’ve avoided her books for so long. It’s unfair, of course, but come on, we really do judge books by their covers. In Johnson’s case, her earlier covers say to me: We are YA chick lit. Not that there is anything wrong with YA chick lit, but we imply that there is much agonising over boys and nail polish and looking pretty and backstabbing best friends between our pages. You outgrew this stage long ago (if you even had that stage). Even though I knew Maureen Johnson didn’t really write books like that, I avoided them all because of the covers. Granted, I’m not exactly the publisher’s target audience, so it makes sense that they don’t appeal to me.
The first book of Johnson’s I read is her most recent SUITE SCARLETT, which I adored. I meant to read DEVILISH, which is about a Catholic schoolgirl, but the only book of hers they had in stock at the Union Square Barnes & Noble was 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES. (To which I hear there will be a sequel?)
During her summer vacation, Ginny Blackstone finds herself on an odyssey throughout Europe, following a set of instructions written in 13 little blue envelopes by her unconventional Aunt Peg. The only glitch? Her Aunt Peg is dead. Regardless, armed only with the envelopes and whatever she can carry in one backpack, Ginny embarks on an adventure to unravel the mystery that is her aunt, finding hijinks and potential romance along the way.
That summary does no justice whatsoever to the book. None. It sounds more hijinky and less emotionally potent than it really is, although to be sure, there are hijinks aplenty. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be Maureen Johnson’s friend; I bet she’s the kind of person who will take you on crazy New York adventures like making you pants the Naked Singing Cowboy in Times Square or eating ice cream upside down on the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. Both of the books I’ve read include some sort of madcap madness. They are also both populated with strange and eccentric artists, generally of the theatre persuasion. Spencer Martin is still my favourite, although Keith Dobson is pretty hilarious. I mean, a musical about the corporate evil of Starbucks? It’s funny because it’s true; somewhere out there, some hipster has done something incredibly similar.
But despite the ridiculous things that happen, Johnson’s books are at the core about something emotionally resonant. In SUITE SCARLETT, it’s about family. In 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES, it’s a journey of discovery. While I liked 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES, I didn’t find it as compelling as SUITE SCARLETT, which I felt was more sophisticated. I couldn’t help but wish 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES was either more about Ginny’s self-actualization or more about the mystery of Aunt Peg (one or the other). Regardless, Maureen Johnson now has a new fan and I would wholeheartedly recommend this too.