In Which I'm at a Kresley Cole Crossroads

I started reading Kresley Cole the summer her second book came out. In case you're forgetting, that was 2004.

I have no idea how I found her, where I found her, what author name/recommendation on Amazon led me to her doorstep, all I know is that from the moment I finished with those Sutherland brothers I was hook, line and sinkered.

Then there were the MacCarrick brothers, a trilogy I fell in love with, and though the second book was a disappointment, the third book more than made up for any disappointment (however minor) I had suffered.

When the paranormals started coming, I didn't want to read them. I didn't do paranormal, I insisted. And then I couldn't take the idea of not reading a Kresley Cole book for SO LONG (A Hunger Like No Other may have come out before the end of the MacCarrick brothers' trilogy, which kept getting pushed back... and back... and back...)

A Hunger Like No Other rocked my world and my socks simultaneously-- there was much rocking. It was like reading the fantasy books I enjoyed most in my youth... only with supersexy Alpha Lykae and lots and lots of hot sex. Perfection on a stick. And by the time that book was done, not only did I do Kresley Cole paranormal, but I was willing to try the entire subgenre, for better or for worse.

Four and a half years and nine books later, I'm a little bit worried about the state of the Immortals After Dark series. I talked about it before when I said I wasn't sure who Cole was going to write about next, and it turns out that the "last resort" characters I had identified are indeed the current and next books. I am in the middle of Demon From The Dark as we speak, and am enjoying it immensely, despite my earlier hesitation about how much I liked Carrow the Incarcerated. I'm not going to review the book now, but I do want to talk about some things that are making me... question.

(When I say I'm questioning, I am in no way considering a break up with the series or the author. Even at their worst, the IAD novels are solid, endearing romances with some badass heroines and really intriguing heroes. For the moment I am happy to continue reading them as long as Cole continues to deliver the goods.)

But with this book comes the introduction of (it seems like) dozens of new species, animals, dimensions, and possibilities. In the tenth book of the series, I find myself getting confused about the different Lorean creatures-- and frustrated that even characters in the Lore itself, characters who are over a thousand years old, seem to have never heard of some of these creatures, either.

This series is Kresley Cole's baby, and she's done a wonderful job with it. I question the (sort-of) desperation with which she is clinging to it. For example, it's really difficult to continue to appreciate old characters when we have to meet new ones in every book. Sure, there's cross-pollination, but I occasionally wonder why I had to meet some characters only to see them fade into the background. Doesn't bode well for re-read purposes. Also, ten books is a lot. It's a lot to follow the same characters over time (hi Charlaine Harris! J.D. Robb, how are you feeling today? Good? Good!), but it's really really a lot to keep track of all of these new and not-always-interconnecting characters. And while we (in real life) have experienced (at least) four and a half years, the books' timeline is... one year? Really disconcerting. Really really. All of this is to say nothing of the fact that, honestly, not every character needs/deserves their own book. Regin is next, and based on what I have read so far, Lanthe will be after that... I'm already exhausted thinking about how much longer this is going to be stretched out.

Now that I re-read this post, I recognize that it sounds a lot like my plea at the end of my Pleasure of a Dark Prince review. For that, I apologize. And perhaps, despite my reassurances to the contrary (to both myself and to you, dear reader) I am starting to have a serious problem with the direction of IAD. Maybe it's time for a post about breaking up with a series. We'll get there. But hopefully not with this series, and hopefully not soon.

In Which I Talk About "It Sucked And Then I Cried"

Last year before I left for Utah, the book "It Sucked And Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita" by Heather B. Armstrong came in to the library as an early contender for Best Title of the Year.

Then when I was in Utah, we had an inquiry about a "high profile blogger" attending the Festival, and my boss wondered whether or not it would be Armstrong, who actually lives in Salt Lake City. It turns out the writer of the ubiquitous dooce.com would not be attending the Fest, but when her name came up again, I remembered both her and the title of her hilarious-sounding book.

I started reading the blog on and off when I got home, and it is extremely funny. So I put the book on hold. It came in for me (finally!) last week, and so I read it.

Like the info dump? No? Tough.

Let me start by saying that It Sucked and Then I Cried is not something I can really relate to at this time in my life. Sure, I want to be a mom someday, but I'm not currently married, not currently pregnant, and not currently thinking about getting pregnant. It Sucked is a month-by-month account of 18 months of pregnancy and post-pregnancy that Armstrong experienced, starting with going off of her anti-depressants in order to procreate.

I laughed a lot while reading this book, just like I laugh a lot while reading Armstrong's blog. She has a flair for language and over-dramatic writing that makes me very happy, and the way she addresses her own flaws and tendencies toward exaggeration is similar to mine (in my opinion). She knows she's crazy and refuses to take herself seriously. I like that.

It Sucked and Then I Cried was a disappointment to me. I loved reading about her relationship with her husband, and I loved reading about the dynamic of her family. Armstrong has very definite, rebel opinions with regard to her Mormon upbringing, and it's hysterical to read about the shock she gives her family just about every time she opens her mouth.

While I don't dispute the trauma of what she went through or the severity of her postpartum depression, I felt like she really skated over the details- for someone who claims to have thrown gallons of milk at her husband, she never really offers a single specific example. I'm more than willing to grant that these are terribly personal and painful things to write about, but then... don't write a book about it.

The overall message of the book was one of positive enforcement for those women suffering from postpartum depression- and that is something I cannot argue with. Armstrong goes so far as to have herself temporarily committed to a mental ward, and makes no apology for it. In fact, she maintains it saved her marriage, and her life itself.

I totally dig that. I just wish the author had given more detail about her experience.

In Which I Finish Talking About the Books I Read on My Sickbed

Confession time: I really, really like Tessa Dare. I do. I got my mom to read her (she likes Tessa Dare now, too), I've recommended her to other romance fans, etc. I LIKE TESSA DARE.

For some reason, though, I cannot seem to finish her trilogies.

I read Goddess of the Hunt and Surrender of a Siren. I own A Lady of Persuasion, have for almost a year, and have yet to read it. I read One Dance with a Duke earlier this summer, started and then abandoned Twice Tempted by a Rogue in July, and then read Three Nights with a Scoundrel while fighting my Four Fatal Diseases.

This is odd. Even I can admit it. I like the author, and I always like the first book in the trilogy. Then the problem arises! I have a theory that the first book gives too much information about the rest of the people in the trilogy.

For example, in the first set, I loved Lucy and Jeremy, and I liked Sophie enough that I was totally intrigued for her book, the second in the series. A character I did not care for (I don't mean this in a negative way, I simply mean that I was totally neutral about him and had no feelings one way or another) was Toby. Toby's, of course, was the third book.

So I didn't care about Toby, so I didn't care to read his book. I'm not even remotely suggesting it is a bad book or that it is inferior to those that came before it. I'm just saying that my feelings about the character diminished by need to read his book.

Same goes for the newest trilogy. The first book was great, but I was so much more interested in the relationship between Lily and Julian that I didn't care that Rhys' book came before theirs. He was sort of boring to me, and I was not in any way compelled to read his story. So I didn't.

Normally I would be a huge fan of Tessa Dare's release strategy-- three books, three months in a row. What's wrong with that? Absolutely nothing. Except that perhaps in these instances they are detrimental to the characters and my interest in them. There's no time for them to sit and stew in my brain (or in those two instances, for me to forget about how much I don't care for those characters). I look to Kresley Cole's newest book, released this past Tuesday, and I think about a previous post I had written regarding just how many more of these IAD books she could come up with. She was running out of characters. But there was enough time between installments for me to forget that the main, familiar character in this book (Carrow the Incarcerated) secretly annoys me (a lot) and distanced me enough to want to know her story.

I'm just saying.

So I read Three Nights with a Scoundrel, and it took me far, far longer than it really should have.

Despite my feeling that Julian and Lily were going to have the best romance of the three, they actually were fairly annoying after a bit. It really took too long for them to tear each other's clothes off, and in the end I'm still not sure I understood Julian's motivations. And I'm not sure I really cared. In the end the most compelling part of the book was the resolution of Leo's death (the instigating event from book one) and the revelation of his homosexual liaison with a British spy. I'm not sure how historically correct everyone's actions and reactions were with the circumstance, but it was certainly a cool and unusual thing to read about in historical romance. At least, from the perspective that the homosexual was not the raging villain of the piece.

I also re-re-re-read Honor's Splendour, which is among my favorite Julie Garwood novels. I have to confess that the more I read in romance, the more I expand my palate, the less I have interest in returning to the Garwoods on my keeper shelf. This is not to say that I would be clearing them off the shelf, but rather that they are no longer holding my interest and imagination the way they once did.

Julie Garwood's novels are very important in the Span of Romance Novel History, bridging the gap between Old Skool and New Skool Romance. Her heroes are understanding and emotionally available (whether they want to be or not), but they still do have some hair-grabbing tendencies. They don't jump to wholly illogical conclusions (or if they do, they are quickly disabused of their notions), and they fight against the external threats to their relationships with aplomb. Garwood heroines are occasionally silly and ridiculous, but always likable and resourceful when it comes to making friends, taming their heroes, and defending themselves (see: Jaime and the sword in The Bride) when necessary.

I like Honor's Splendour because Madelyne and Duncan embody all of the best of these characteristics: Duncan takes her hostage as an act of revenge against her brother, but he very quickly (immediately?) recognizes that she is more than a mere hostage. Madelyne is incredibly clumsy and slightly scatterbrained, but when it comes to taking charge of the situation, she does so masterfully. Especially when her life is spinning out of control. Sure, she cries a couple of times. But it's not because she's annoying and waiting for someone to come save her.

Up Next: It Sucked and Then I Cried review. Also, maybe I'll finish the new Kresley Cole this weekend! I might be sent back to my sickbed, anyway.

In Which I Offer Explanation, and Then Try to Make the Best of It.

So.

Some of you may know that I have been making a concerted effort to write regularly in this blog. You might also know that of late, my efforts have been focused on re-reading the Harry Potter series and then talking nonsensically about it.

Now, in case you don't know (and since only about four of you read this, and you ALL already know), I have been very ill of late. Like, almost three weeks out-of-work, unable to stand up for more than two minutes at a time ill. Blood work suggests some hell mixture of Mono, Lyme Disease and Fifth's Disease, which was then closely followed by a run-in with Thrush.

Have you ever watched Meet Me in St. Louis? It's among my fave movies. And in it, the little girl Tootie talks about how her doll has "four fatal diseases." My diseases are nowhere near fatal, but rather are somewhere in the "moderately debilitating" arena. However, I have been known to announce to Boy Scout over the past few weeks that I have four fatal diseases, and he has to be nice to me. Not that he was being mean. He was very, very nice to me during my run-in with the Plague.

THE GOOD THING ABOUT HAVING FOUR FATAL DISEASES: Well, when one can physically do nothing more than lie in bed, one tends to get things done that need to get done. Within 48 hours I had finished the Harry Potter series, and then went on to watch True Blood (season two), Parenthood (season one), Flight of the Concords (season one), Supernatural (season one and half of season two), and other various assorted episodes of Shows That I Needed to Catch Up On.

THE BAD THING ABOUT HAVING FOUR FATAL DISEASES: Concentration levels become nonexistent. On no less than three separate occasions I tried to write about finishing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (I even went back and re-re-read the last 250 pages, hoping it would re-energize me) and came up with a rather incoherent set of paragraphs about the ecstatic climax to one of the great all-time fantasy series. Yeah, I went there. And if you have a problem, you can go read elsewhere.

As much as it pains me to finish reading without reaching any grand and far-reaching analysis, at this point (three weeks later), it seems a little... done. I simply finished it so long ago that I can't muster more than passing enthusiasm to delve back into the last dark and twisty caper of one Harry Potter.

And so, painfully, I offer a couple of bullet points on the issue:
* The return to Godric's Hollow is simply haunting to me. It's odd that it never occurs to Harry to return until the end of book six/beginning of book seven. Again, he probably isn't mature enough before that to realize that it's the missing piece of the puzzle, but seeing the graves of Lily and James (and noting that the Harry Potter books were actually published *after* the end of the series on the real-life timeline... curious) kills me. Every damn time.
* Severus Snape is the hero of the Harry Potter novels. I mean, Harry is the hero of the Harry Potter novels, but I think an argument could be made that Snape is even more crucial and courageous than even Albus Dumbledore. And Harry's final recognition of that also kills me. Every damn time.
* Once again, Rowling astounds with the revelation and expansion of a few well-placed details (Dumbledore v. Grindelwald as noted in the first book, the identity of the Hog's Head barman, the location of the Black locket, the mysterious female Hogwarts ghost, etc.) proves her genius and superiority to... others.

* The death of Dobby the House Elf makes me cry more than the death of Albus Dumbledore. Fact. I might even start crying about it right now.

* The Epilogue (which my brother insists on disparaging at every possible opportunity) to me is perfect, though I would have liked to know what happened to every single surviving person in the series. Fingers crossed for the sort-of promised encyclopedia containing the names of every child born to the Weasley family after the Battle of Hogwarts.

OK. Again, apologies for... being ill. I also managed to read the new(est) Tessa Dare, and to re-read Honor's Splendour, one of my Julie Garwood forever-keepers. Maybe I'll write about those tomorrow. If you're nice.

In Which Harry Faces the Beginning of the End

It's funny to read the beginning of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, which opens with a chapter entitled "The Other Minister." The "other" minister, depending on your point of view, is either the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, or the Minister of Magic. What's funniest to me is the reflections of the Muggle Prime Minster, who seems to know more than anyone how much of a screw-up Cornelius Fudge is.

When the Muggle Minister first comes to office, Fudge introduces himself with the promise that this should be the only time they meet, ever. Then he has to come and announce the escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban. Then he has to come explain the Death Eater incident at the Quidditch World Cup (and to clear the dragon import for the TriWizard Tournament). Then he has to come back and admit that Voldemort has returned. Then he has to come and announce that he has been forced to resign his post. Obviously.

The Half Blood Prince is one of the shorter of the "later" books, though it is certainly the heaviest, steeped as it is in teenage pheromones. This is the book in which the kids truly cross over from being children to young adults, with Ron and Hermione fighting their mutual attraction tooth and nail (unsuccessfully), and the "beast" in Harry's chest awakening to recognize his love for Ginny.

Because of a nasty virus, I was able to read The Half Blood Prince and The Deathly Hallows quickly and back-to-back, literally picking up one and then the other. This made a big difference in my perception of the sixth book, because clarity on the actions of so many of the characters came (relatively) quickly as well. Snape's screaming at Harry that he (Snape) is not a coward, for example, is far more laden with meaning when you know the truth of Snape's motives, and also when you can follow up so quickly with just how much of a coward he is not.

The most important part of The Half Blood Prince, especially looking forward to The Deathly Hallows, is Harry's evolving relationship with Albus Dumbledore. At the end of book five, following the disastrous events at the Ministry and the failed Occlumency lessons with Snape, Dumbledore apologizes to Harry and confesses two things, one of which Harry had suspected, and one of which Harry had not: yes, Dumbledore had been avoiding him out of fear that The Dark Lord would use his psychic connection to Harry against him. But more importantly, Dumbledore was afraid that the psychic connection would give Voldemort insight into exactly how much Dumbledore cares for Harry.

And so The Half Blood Prince features a much more intensive set of interactions between Harry and Dumbledore, beginning with Albus' appearance on Privet Drive to deliver Harry to the Burrow and continuing down into the Pensieve to discover the origins and secrets of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Of course, the end of the story is the most important, and the most resonant. We learn the secret of the Horcruxes, as well as the existence of the locket, a locket not the Horcrux, with a note inside signed "R.A.B." And, most importantly, Severus Snape kills Albus Dumbledore.

I remember the first time I read this, I felt betrayed, bewildered, and not a little confused. Snape, after all, was someone Dumbledore trusted implicitly, and who Dumbledore defended, literally to the death. His final words, begging for mercy, were some of the hardest I have ever read. That is, until my mother pointed out that to her, it didn't sound like Dumbledore was pleading for his life. She thought it sounded like he was asking for Severus to complete a mission.

The Phoenix laments, the tomb is sealed, and the final journey begins. Harry breaks from Ginny, which is hard but ultimately right, and Ron and Hermione state unequivocally that they are "in." On to The Deathly Hallows.

In Which I Finally Finish Harry Potter #5

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is not one of my favorites. It’s certainly not my least favorite, but there is a certain whiny-ness to Harry that is simply not attractive.

In fact, a lot of people spend a lot of time whining in the fifth edition. Sirius is trapped inside his ancestral home with no one but an insane house elf to keep him company. And he whines about it. Ron is recruited as Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team despite the fact that he’s not the best player anyone has ever seen. And he whines about it. Harry is being treated by the rest of the world like a delusional psychopath for announcing that Voldemort has risen again. And you better believe he whines about it.

It has taken me two weeks to finish The Order of the Phoenix for various reasons, but mostly because this volume is incredibly frustrating when it comes to making actual plotline progress in the saga.

Dolores Umbridge is the sort of person who you wish fervent death upon from the moment she appears at Harry’s Misuse of Magic trial in the beginning of the book. The fact that she is soon designated as Hogwarts High Inquisitor and later Headmaster is ludicrous-- and frighteningly close to what would happen in a similar real-life political situation.

The sheer idiocy of those running the Ministry of Magic is confounding-- not unlike the idiocy of those running general government organizations. They believe what is convenient (Voldemort is not back and everything is fine... including leaving the Dementors in charge of Azkaban), they spread lies that best suit their political motives (Albus Dumbledore is trying to discredit Cornelius Fudge in order to place himself in line to be Minister of Magic), and they blame the wrong people for the wrong things (Harry Potter is an attention starved douchecanoe who is so used to being the center of attention that he cannot stand having the spotlight turned elsewhere).

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is a highpoint in the book, with Fred and George themselves presiding over one of the finest moments in Hogwarts’ history. Their triumphant exit from the main hall in the wake of their great portable swamp charade, when they promptly announce that they’ve had enough of higher education, summon their brooms from lockup, and ask Peeves to be sure and give Umbridge hell on their behalf is the stuff of legend. In what is certainly the only time he has taken orders from anyone, Peeves complies wholeheartedly.

But of course, we must come to the darker things afoot and the progress that is made in the saga of Harry and those fighting the Dark Lord.

We begin with Severus Snape, who we see for the first time as a sympathetic young man who, while being admittedly douche-y to people in general, is no more asking for the trouble given him by James and Sirius than Harry asks Malfoy for his constant and unending antagonism. We also have our first glimpse at his relationship with Lily, as Snape’s worst memory reveals her attempts to defend him against the bullies. This is not the last time we will see this scene, but it is the defining moment in the James-Lily-Severus triangle: Snape calls Lily a Mudblood, and loses her forever.

As I’ve said before, the Harry books grow with their audience, and Harry for the first time has the painful realization that his idolized parents, while wonderful people, were not perfect and did not always do wonderful things. The scene where James Potter bullies Snape is indeed disturbing, and Harry’s reaction of questioning whether he even wants to be compared to his father anymore is wise and filled with mature perspective. However, the guidance and opinion he gets when he is finally able to talk to Sirius and Lupin is also filled with wisdom: Yes, we were idiots, and who isn’t? But no. Your dad was not a hideous human being. At least, not any more than any other fifteen year old.

(I think it’s important too, to say that Harry does not have the luxury of becoming a bully- he’s got far more important things to worry about than what his school rivals are thinking or saying or doing at any given time... he might not ever be able to relate to this aspect of his father, or indeed anyone)

And we finally have acknowledgement by Rowling, through the voice of Albus Dumbledore, that the reading audience is ready to hear what has been kept from them for five books (five Harry Potter years), and close to seven real-life years (by way of book release dates). Voldemort came to Godric’s Hollow on that fateful night fifteen years ago to dispose of a baby who had been prophesied as a threat to his power.

Beyond the fact that he did not know the entire prophecy (and what kind of idiot acts without hearing the whole thing firsthand? I ask you), clearly Voldemort has never read Oedipus Rex. There were two babies born at the end of the seventh month that year to parents who had thrice defied him- one was Harry Potter, the other was Neville Longbottom.

The very act of choosing Harry as the baby to destroy is the one that sealed their fates forever. As Dumbledore confirmed, Harry was probably selected because his most closely resembled Voldemort’s own origins, as they were both half-bloods. Had Voldemort not acted, nothing would have occurred, and the prophecy would not have come true. But that’s not how these things work, is it? Of course Voldemort was going to act. And of course the story was never going to end up anywhere other than where it is now.

So now the second war is upon us. Voldemort revealed himself within the Ministry, Fudge was forced to admit that he had returned, and we’re ready for the warnings to The Other Minister that open Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

Final notes: the locket in Grimauld Place that wouldn’t open (ahhhhh!), and the barman at the Hog’s Head who looks vaguely familiar (HOLY CRAP MARIE). Dear Stephenie Meyer: This is how you build a series.

In Which I Talk About Two, Two, Two Heroines in One!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still not done with Harry. I'm working on it.

But with the return of Mad Men on Sunday comes fresh inspiration for a heroine post. Joan Holloway Harris and Peggy Olson are heroines for the ages (theirs and ours), and I'd like to take a moment to talk about them. And it's my blog, so I pretty much get to do whatever I want. HA!

I'm going to start with Peggy, because she is easily the single most evolved character on the show. I don't mean "evolved" like "forward-thinking and acting" (though she is that), I mean personally evolved since the start of the show.

The pilot is a typical "first day of work" by way of story-arc-opener for Peggy- she starts her first day as Don's secretary, taking advice (and OB/GYN recommendations) from the ever-helpful Joan and fending off the advances (momentarily, anyway) of the overzealous Peter Campbell. By the end of the episode, of course, she is on the Pill, knocked up, and well on her way to being more than just a secretary in the Sterling Cooper world.

Though modern times make this seem unlikely, Peggy spends the entire first season not knowing she's pregnant, and she's promoted to copywriter the day she gives birth. We later find out that Don tracks her down, helps her pick up and dust off, and the two set off toward the future knowing just a little bit of each other's secrets.

The changes in her over the course of season two are obvious-- at the end of the season she is able to confess to Pete that she had their baby, and that she could have made it so that they were together forever, but she "wanted more." This "more" seems to have been her disturbing affair with Duck in season three (still waiting to see how that hashes out) and very definite ambitions to be "the next" Don Draper, if not his most promising protege.

These seasons and changes are a marked by fierce contrasts-- Peggy hesitatingly welcoming Pete into her home in the pilot; Peggy rejecting his drunken offer of love and devotion. Peggy cowering under Don's glare when she missteps on her first day; Peggy looking Don straight in the eye and demanding his respect when he makes her an offer (but not really) to join the still-zygote Sterling, Cooper, Draper, Pryce. Peggy the secretary; Peggy having her own secretary (a man!) who she can order around at will.

While Peggy has grown and changed (or, at the very least, figured out what she wants and how to go about expressing it), Joan has achieved her goals, only to find out that they're not all they're cracked up to be.

Joan Harris spends her time being the best: she is the best secretary (and therefore becomes the Office Manager), the best mistress (discreet and non-demanding... plus she's really great for your nuclear mother/daughter squabbles), and then later the best fiancee (to the biggest dirtbag around), and the best wife (she quotes Emily Post to the dirtbag and plays the accordion... awesome). All of this, but nothing in her life is perfect. Because she is a woman in this time, she might be given the "highest position" that can be given to a woman (Office Manager), but she is trumped by Peggy, who breaks through the ceiling and enters the men's realm.

Her perfection as a wife is indisputable, but the perfection of her life as a wife is nonexistent- Greg is a whiney, inept surgeon who is very jealous, possessive, and useless. When she brains him with a vase in season three, it is a joyous thing to behold.

I will be anxious to see what has happened to Joan since she was summoned back to save the men as they floundered trying to get the details in order to create SCDP (One of her last lines of the season: "Greg's going to kill me"). Last we heard, her useless husband had joined the Army so he could go be a surgeon in Vietnam, where I really, really hope he dies. Big time. Whatever she's doing at SCDP, she's doing well, since she has an office all to herself in the sleek (if crowded) new offices in the Time Warner building. And while we're at it, I hope she's still using her considerable charm and physique to lull those men into submission before going in for the kill. Manipulative? Sure. But you can't argue that it doesn't work, and you can't argue that it's not a smart move on her part.