Jim Butcher has managed to write a set of novels for a very particular set of readers and still be successful. The collective Dresden Files can only be described as wizard noir. Harry Dresden is a paranormal private eye, and the only wizard listed in the phone book. He is wry, sardonic, and witty. He is faithful, archaic and the consummate underdog.
Harry is the everyman, with magic.
Butcher brings us Harry Dresden assuming his readers know fantasy. He doesn’t bother to explain what Harry’s wizardly probation, the Doom of Damocles, is a reference to. Nor does he explain why it is clever for his “probation officer,” Morgan, to carry a sword (here's why).
He doesn’t bother to explain vampires or werewolves (unless he is delineating his classifications), he uses high fantasy terms like sidhe (Fairies) and references both the Winter and Summer Court (part of high fantasy’s sidhe lore).
What Butcher does for his fellow fantasy lovers, is throw in a bit of the classic noir style murder mystery. Harry often meets, and feels compelled to save, smoldering femme fatales. He has his own sense of justice. He tends to stumble and bumble at times, but pulls through with the quality white magic when the need arises. He has self doubt. He is a flawed hero in a leather duster.
The Dresden Files reads quickly. Butcher is, among other things, an expert at pacing his novels. They don’t take a lot of thought, but they damn sure are entertaining.
I recommend the series, with this caveat: know your high fantasy, it makes the books better.
As a general rule, I am a sucker for any piece of writing that takes the common stories of our past, the fairy tales, and twists them for a new look into our storytelling lineage.
In The Book of Lost Things, John Connolly does just that. Connolly uses bits and pieces of our classic fables and fairy tales to examine childhood grief. The opening of The Book of Lost Things is heartbreaking. Connolly uses short sentences and terse verbiage to drive home the pain his young protagonist, David, is feeling as he watches his mother slowly waste away and die. To add to the grief, within five months David’s father begins seeing another woman; soon they are married and a new baby is on the way.
David begins having blackouts. He hears the books that he loves whispering to him. He is slowly going crazy. Then it happens: he slides into the world of his books via a crack in a sunken garden.
This is where Connolly has amazing moments of brilliance. His villain, The Crooked Man, is a combination of Rumpelstiltskin and other Trickster archetypes from stories past (think Loki, Coyote, Raven and Raynard the Fox). David encounters The Woodsman of Red Riding Hood fame who tells him the stories of Red Riding Hood (she commits an act of bestiality with the wolf that leads to the creation of the Loups - half man, half wolf - that chase David throughout the book), as well as the story of Hansel and Gretel (equally perverse and twisted as that of Red).
David faces harpies and the trolls of the Billy Goats Gruff. He meets the 7 dwarves (they spout communist ideals about the worker being oppressed) and a very fat and obnoxious Snow White.
He helps Browning’s Childe Roland find his Dark Tower (in Connolly’s version, a quest for his gay lover, Raphael), which in turn is the Briar Rose tower that holds Sleeping Beauty ( who is actually an evil, enchanted succubus that kills Roland and tries to kill David).
At its heart, The Book of Lost Things is a classic hero archetype story. David completes the hero’s journey, and that just seems right for a book that relies so heavily on classic tales.
There are moments in this book that truly sparkle and amaze. Connolly’s understanding and treatment of the stories of antiquity is both deft and twisted. However, there are moments when the book feels muddled in Connolly’s desire to fit as many of those tales in to the story as possible. The real world setting, that of WWII England, seems unnecessary and the last two chapters, in which David grows in to adulthood and returns to the story world upon his death, take away from the rest of the story by not allowing the reader to finish David’s life on their own.
After all that, The Book of Lost Things is still a well written book that is entertaining and worth your time.
You should read this.
*Note: while The Book of Lost Things is a piece of adult fiction, it won the 2007 Alex Award, which honors adult books that appeal to teen readers.
Ophelia Joined the Group Maidens Who Don’t Float: Classic Lit Signs on to Facebook
Sarah Schmelling
MaidensWho Don’t Float is obviously a book intended for my generation of Literature (with a capital “L”) lovers. Schmelling takes some of our favorite characters and authors and gives them Facebook profiles. The status updates and applications are gut-wrenchingly funny. Observe:
From Frankenstein: “The Monster became a fan of Wedding Crashers”
For those that have not read Frankenstein that is HILARIOUS. Trust me.
Schmelling shows not only an amazing grasp of classic lit. (she covers Poe, Hemmingway, Fitzgerald, Dante, Faulkner, and the Bronte sisters, among others) but a wry and witty understanding of the effect of social media on society today. She deftly weaves the two disparaging formats into comedic gold. The only downside to this book is it requires a good chunk of prerequisite knowledge to fully enjoy every page of it. That being said, if you remember the novels you read in high school or can access sparknotes online, this is an enjoyable romp through the wonderful world of literature.
The graphic novel or comic book, with its compelling stories and beautifully wrought drawings, has emerged as something no longer seen as the cute step-sibling of pure prose, interesting but lacking literary merit, but a praiseworthy form of literature in its own right.
DC Comic’s Vertigo imprint is currently publishing one of the best comics out there: Bill Willingham’s Fables.
The premise is simple: Our traditional fable characters have been forced out of their traditional homeland by the mysterious Adversary and now occupy a single street in New York City, as well as a farm upstate. To live in harmony and not give themselves away to the Mundane (Mundy) world they have formed Fabletown. All Fabletown citizens signed the Fabletown compact that forgave their previous sins committed against fablekind.
The joy of this series lies in Willingham’s portrayal of some of the best and most loved fairy tale characters. Snow White is the Deputy Mayor of Fabletown, and is a strong willed and dignified woman. Old King Cole is the bumbling but lovable Mayor for Life. The Big Bad Wolf (aka Bigby) has been re-imagined as a werewolf and acting sheriff of Fabletown. Cinderella is one of Bigby’s kick-ass clandestine agents (she owns a Fabletown shoe shop as well). Even Little Boy Blue, the Frog Prince, and a flying monkey have important roles to play in the story.
Fables is filled with plot twists and intrigue. It is one of those series that you stay awake long into the night to read. I continuously found myself thinking “o.k. … just one more section and then I’ll go to bed” while reading the series. The writing is flawless, the graphic artist amazing.
Fables is still being published by DC Vertigo. The story arch with the Adversary has finished and a new threat is attacking Fabletown. You can read the first 82 issues in a series of 12 graphic novels or go to the local comic store and pick them up one at a time.
I am an unabashed Gaiman fan. I will tell anyone who listens that Neil is the greatest author in modern literature. Of course, he proves my point every time he puts a new book on the shelves.
His latest masterpiece, the Newberry Award winning The Graveyard Book, is brilliant in its simplicity. Gaiman took a classic concept, that of Kipling’s The Jungle Book, and gave it his own dark yet hopeful twist.
The book opens with a murder. The Man Jack is creeping through a house, slowly and mercilessly killing all the inhabitants. He only has the baby left. Gaiman doesn’t focus so much on the killing as he does on the emotions, or lack thereof, of The Man Jack. The baby, ever adventurous, crawls out of his crib and out onto the streets. He makes his way to the local graveyard and that is where his story truly begins.
The boy, Bod (short for Nobody) Owens, is adopted by the ghostly inhabitants of the graveyard. The ghosts of Mr. and Mrs. Owens take him in and care for him. The dark and mysterious Silas, who is no ghost, but a different creature all together, becomes his guardian, and Bod lives in two very distinct worlds until he must again face The Man Jack and take control of his life.
The beauty of Neil’s writing is in his control of the language. He doesn’t so much as author a book, but guides his readers with every word, comma and period he uses. You feel what Neil wants you to feel. You feel what Bod is feeling. Of course you can not relate to being raised by ghosts, but you can relate to the sense of isolation and loneliness that Bod struggles with in every chapter.
I’ll admit I am also a sucker for dark, macabre stories. However, The Graveyard Book isn’t a typical spooky story. It’s not that you feel scared while reading; in fact most of it isn’t scary at all. Gaiman wraps you in dark. Everything feels slightly dim and eerily damp. It seems like you are walking in a rundown part of town, coat collar lifted to stave off the cold, arms held tightly across your chest and a slight feeling of unease settled comfortably across your shoulders as you traverse the pages. Yet for some reason, you have a goofy smile on your face the whole time.
I could wax poetic about McCarthy's The Road. I could go on about the road being a metaphor for the personal journey and changes that The Boy goes through in the tale. I could talk about McCarthy's writing style and how his staccato rhythm adds to the feeling of walking along with The Man and The Boy as they traverse the desolate, post-apocalyptic landscape. I could say all these things (and I did) but someone has undoubtedly done it, and probably better than I.
What I will say about The Road is that it is one of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. At its heart, this is a tale of growing up. This is a tale about the relationship between a man and his son. This is a tale about love and perseverance. The Man and The Boy walk along the road avoiding other travelers and searching for food. They hope to reach a place where others are living peacefully and they can finally rest.
It is really a simple plot line driven by small, delicate moments. When The Man gives The Boy a coke he finds, the excitement for both The Man and The Boy is palpable. It is such a simple action; the drinking of a coke, but beautiful in the exquisite heartbreak and joy that fills the blank spaces of the scene.
The most artistic moment of the book is so well crafted, it is almost impossible to notice. McCarthy very slowly, very subtly shifts the roles of The Man and The Boy. By the end of the novel it is The Boy who cares for and protects The Man.
I love books. It is not often that I am moved so deeply by such a gentle touch as I am by The Road.
