Reading with my ears

You know my methods

2012-01-24T14:24:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't call myself a true Sherlock Holmes disciple (I believe they call themselves Sherlockians), but I have enjoyed the stories as well as fiction inspired or influenced by them. I might be more familiar with Holmes cinematically (or whatever the television equivalent of that is), rather than in print (although I have read some stories). So, when I was perusing the offerings from Audiobook Jukebox's Solid Gold Reviewer program, Between the Thames and the Tiber: The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Britain and the Italian Peninsula caught my eye. I hadn't heard the reader, Simon Prebble, in many a day, so I requested it ... and received it for review.

Because I must, I made sure that I read the first of Indologist Ted Riccardi's Sherlock pastiches before embarking on this one. The previous volume purported to be Holmes' adventures in the Far East when he was lying low after Professor Moriarty tried to kill him at the Reichenbach Falls.

In this volume of 12 stories, Dr. Watson explains that he was the recipient of an unexpected inheritance and he and Holmes decided to create a second home in Rome (no mention of the sadly neglected Mrs. Watson). The stories are all over the place chronologically, and incorporate real-life events and personages: Brother Mycroft's death precipitates World War I, Arthur Conan Doyle himself shows up at a séance, Richard Wagner is poisoned, and Pope Leo XIII protects a possible apostate. Sometimes the details overwhelm a very slight story, and I was confused on more than one occasion by a case's outcome. A week later, I can hardly remember any of them.

One could argue that most of the Holmes' stories blend together, since they all feature the same elements: Watson's cluelessness, a few red herrings, Holmes' inexplicable behavior, the sudden solution (the pipe, the violin, the opium, the deerstalker, etc., etc.). Maybe I'm not the semi-fan I thought I was ... or perhaps they need to be absorbed the way they were originally written: Once a month (or so) in the Strand Magazine.

I am a fan of Simon Prebble, though (who might be languishing in the shadow of that other Simon, Vance). I've been impressed in the past how he can transcend ordinary material; he doesn't judge the writing but finds the emotion in the story and from that the motivation for the characters which he then translates into the speech rhythms, accent, volume, timbre. His characters always sound like real people, because the voices Prebble creates come honestly. It doesn't hurt that Prebble's voice is extremely pleasant on the ears.

In this book, he does his usual stellar work. The characterizations are interesting and believable. Prebble doesn't fall into the unemotional Holmes trap -- his Holmes speaks rapidly and with a bit of an edge, but he's not an automaton. Neither is Watson an idiotic slowtop, Prebble gives the narrator a softer, yet still intelligent delivery. The stories' many other characters are ably created, the accents sound authentic and are used consistently. It's a fine performance, but truthfully I was never captured by the stories. And, I think -- ultimately -- if a reader/listener isn't captured by a Holmes story (and is predisposed to), then the story isn't very good.

I just scanned our catalog for other books narrated by Prebble, and I see that he does one of my favorite mystery series, featuring tortured World War I veteran, Ian Rutledge. Place hold.

Thanks to Audiobook Jukebox and AudioGO for the copy of the audiobook.

[The view of the Tiber River, south of Rome, was taken by Delbene and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Between the Thames and the Tiber: The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in Britain and the Italian Peninsula by Ted Riccardi

Narrated by Simon Prebble

AudioGO, 2011. 9:17

Delinquent

2012-01-23T10:11:00.000-08:00

I needed a quick listen over the weekend and chose Gordon Korman's The Juvie Three (it's so nice to be back working in a library where I can actually hit the shelves!). Korman would rarely be my first choice (and I picked him this time because of the narrator), but I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this book. It's a little more serious that the yuk-fests I associate with the author (this is the only other one of his I've listened to), but it still has plenty of humor and adventure. The way he got the parents (in loco or otherwise) out of picture seemed original to me.

Disheartened by his own experiences as a juvenile offender, Douglas Healy has made his life's work an experimental program to provide a nurturing, positive environment for kids like him: Kids who have ended up in the juvenile justice system, but who might avoid recidivism with special support and counseling. Healy selects three teen offenders to live with him in his halfway house/apartment in New York City: Gecko Fosse, car thief and getaway driver; Arjay Moran, sent to adult prison for manslaughter; and Terence Florian, gangbanger and all-around jive-talking operator. While they live with Healy, they must attend school, keep their grades up, participate in group therapy and complete community service. The three boys struggle with the requirements, particularly Terence. Late one night, Terence attempts to break curfew via the fire escape. First, Gecko and Arjay try to stop him, and then Mr. Healy. Healy tumbles to the street, sustaining a head injury. The boys rush him to the hospital, but leave with his ID before he and they can be identified.

They decide to wait things out at the apartment, proceeding through their days and required activities as if all were normal. If the authorities realize that they are without supervision, they'll be re-incarcerated. But when they discover that Mr. Healy has no memory of who he is, the boys know they'll have to be on their best behavior long-term, with varying success. But when the dragon/social worker demands a onsite inspection, and Mr. Healy is transferred to the loony bin in The Bronx, desperate measures are required. The Juvie Three will each have to re-connect with their bad side if they're going to stay free.

There's something for everyone in here: bromance, romance, car chases, punk rock, wealth and privilege, knife fights, group therapy with a model cum psychiatrist and a couple of wacky patients, an African American (Arjay) with two loving parents and white kids from less happy homes, and To Kill a Mockingbird. It's fast and breezy, almost squeaky clean, and its message of redemption goes down easy. The breakout from the loony bin is pretty exciting and the ending is satisfactory.

A favorite narrator of mine, Christopher Evan Welch, reads the novel. I like listening to his slight husky, compassionate voice. While he doesn't sound particularly youthful, his rhythms and delivery capture a youthful feel. He creates individual voices for the three boys, and if Terence sounds a little stereotypically hiphop-y (in a white way), it proves distinctive enough that I accepted it. Gecko is the central character of the three boys, and I enjoyed the mix of loneliness and naïveté I heard in Welch's voice (much the same as the empathetic voice he provides in The Last Apprentice books). Welch creates natural-sounding voices for most of novel's secondary characters as well. I enjoyed his voices for the three other misfits from therapy -- a kleptomaniac, a nerdy hacker, and a goth girl, as well as Roxanne, Gecko's almost-girlfriend.

OK, I digressed into cozy mysteries, satisfying quests, and teen humor. I've still got a book I didn't like very much to blog about, but now it's back to the grindstone. Bring on the biracial orphans, suicide, and grave robbers -- just a titillating taste of what's to come!

[The logo from Portland's own Amnesia Brewing is from its twitter site.]

The Juvie Three by Gordon Korman

Narrated by Christopher Evan Welch

Recorded Books, 2008. 5:30

We have a winner!

2012-01-23T08:59:00.000-08:00

The Odyssey Award was announced this morning. Of the five titles, I've just listened to one (I liked it a lot and counted it among my top five for 2011) and I've eye-read two others. I found the winner, Daniel Kraus' Rotters, on downloadable and I put in an interlibrary loan request for the other new-to-me title, Ghetto Cowboy by G. Neri. In WorldCat, I was surprised to see that very few libraries own either of these titles (including mine!). Hope the award gives them a lift.

Congratulations to the committee (two members known to me) and to the authors, narrators and publishers.

Winner: Rotters by Daniel Kraus, narrated by Kirby Heyborne, published by Listening Library.

Honors:

Ghetto Cowboy by G. Neri, narrated by JD Jackson, published by Brilliance Audio.
Okay for Now by Gary D. Schmidt, narrated by Lincoln Hoppe, published by Listening Library.
The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater, narrated by Fiona Hardingham and Steve West, published by Scholastic Audio.
Young Fredle by Cynthia Voigt, narrated by Wendy Carter, published by Listening Library.

Since I'll be going to ALA Annual in June, I'll be able to attend the awards ceremony. Fabulous!

I also see that RUSA unveiled its first Listen List: Outstanding Audiobook Narration, featuring audiobooks for adults. This list extends well back in time (but annoyingly doesn't provide a pub date for any of its titles), but anyone looking for suggestions will find this a great resource. (I'm intrigued by Connie Willis' All Clear [except that it's 23 hours long]!)

Taran and friends

2012-01-22T14:59:00.000-08:00

Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain are in that category of books that I keep meaning to read, but they always get shoved aside in favor of more recent titles. As I'm trying to alternate between adult and juvenile/teen books this listening year (and the fact that the new youth audio is arriving so glacially here at my library), I needed a book for the j side and remembered The Black Cauldron. It had been almost five years since I'd read the first book of the Chronicles, The Book of Three.

I actually had to consult some reference materials (thank you Literature Resource Center, the Foundation Stones of Prydain, and the Prydain Wiki) and listen to the first disc twice to figure out what was going on (note to self: don't wait five years between books). The "companions" (Alexander's term and I do like it) from the first book -- Taran, the Assistant Pig-Keeper, the beautiful princess Eilonwy, the ever-hungry man-beast Gurgi, the fibbing bard Fflewddur Fflam, and Doli of the Fair Folk -- join the quest of Lord Gwydion to locate and destroy the black Cauldron of the death lord Arawn, who deposits the bodies of dead men into the Cauldron where they emerge Cauldron-Born (zombies). The companions become separated from the quest and end up unexpectedly locating the Cauldron in the possession of three witches, Orddu, Orwen and Orgoch, where they learn two things: 1. The only way to obtain the Cauldron is to trade something meaningful for it and 2. the only way to destroy it is if someone voluntarily enters the Cauldron. The pot will be destroyed, but so will the person who went inside it.

I think you can tell by the cast of characters why I was initially so confused. The names, oy, the names! Flying fast and furious, none of them recognizable (to most listeners), some of them similar sounding (Arawn - Annuvin, Eilonwy - Ellydir, Gwydion - Gwythaint), created a big mishmash in my head. Once I got things straightened out, though, I enjoyed the story. I understand that the Chronicles are grounded in Welsh mythology, notably a collection called the Mabinogian, but a reader doesn't need to know this in order to appreciate it. I kept getting flashes of The Fellowship of the Ring (the actual fellowship, not the book) with its mismatched characters, each with a quirk or two, together on the same quest. Alexander brings humor, loss, sacrifice and danger into what amounts to a very short book (under 200 pages); nothing is wasted.

Of course, narrator James Langton helps immensely with the names. Instead of tripping over them time and again reading to yourself, Langton whips them off with confidence and ease. He fully voices this story, creating believable, individual characters for a large cast of humans and non-humans. The three witches are very memorable if a bit cackling, as are the lilting bard (pronounced FLOO-dah) and Doli (who sounds like Sean Bean in the Sharpe series [this is not a bad thing]). He's equally at home voicing our innocent hero, a jealous and impatient warrior, and evil incarnate. Langton delivers the narrative in a bard-like voice, one that is pleasant on the ears and knows how to pace a good story. Plus, I now know that Prydain does not have a long i: Prih-DANE. (In further developments in what I know -- Prydain is Britain in Welsh.)

This recording is old enough that it ended with that familiar (to me) audiobooks-are-good-for-young-readers message from Jim Dale. ("Hullo, this is Jim Dale.") I think that message colored a significant amount of my early listening, so I enjoyed the flashback.

[The (poor) reproduction of the map of Prydain was retrieved from the Prydain Wiki (and is probably not copyright-free since it is from the print books, and I feel bad, but not badly enough). I think I've said before how much I like a map in a book.]

The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain, Book 2) by Lloyd Alexander

Narrated by James Langton

Listening Library, 2004. 5:26

Unmoved

2012-01-20T17:21:00.000-08:00

After 9/11, dystopic Chicago, a cranky old lady from Maine, a family broken by loss, and a woman kept as a sexual captive for seven years, I was feeling the need for something a little lighter in tone. Now one might argue that a book that contains a violent death and the impact that death has on a small community isn’t exactly light, but Still Life, Louise Penny’s first novel featuring Inspector Armand Gamache and the town of Three Pines, Québec, could be categorized in that mystery genre called cozy. Not much violence, a little scary, and a satisfying conclusion.

Three Pines is a close-knit community located in Québec’s Eastern Townships, where the factory has closed down (and the matriarch of the factory owning family has recently died from cancer), but artists, antique dealers, and well-off retirees are keeping the town vital. A long-time resident and retired schoolteacher, Jane Neal, has recently submitted a painting to the local art show, and those who have seen the painting are surprised and amazed by its primitive style. Just a few days after Jane learned that her work had been accepted for display, she is found dead in the woods outside her home – an arrow pierced her heart.

As a formality, officers from the Sûreté de Québec are sent to investigate what everyone believes to be a hunting accident, but the experienced Chief Inspector Armand Gamache begins poking around and soon reveals that someone murdered Jane face-to-face in a particularly grisly way. And then, you know how it goes.

The setting is evocative here; the action takes place in the days following Canadian Thanksgiving as the light recedes, the cold grows deep, snow threatens, and Jane’s friends come to the horrific realization that someone they know has killed in cold blood. The descriptions of Jane’s art – as well as that of some of the other characters – are vivid enough that you can easily visualize them. I liked the dual nature of the title, not only its visual art connection (although Jane does not paint still lifes), but the idea that a person who resists change remains still, or stagnant. I had pegged the murderer pretty early on (well, not really pegged, but I was viewing the person very suspiciously), but Gamache and Three Pines were so engaging that sticking with the story was no problem.

Still Life is read by Ralph Cosham, a new-to-me narrator. He reads with a quiet command of characters and story, much as Inspector Gamache controls both his own staff and the residents of Three Pines. It’s not a fully voiced interpretation, but dialogue is natural-sounding and determining who is speaking is not a problem. When we’ve learned who the murderer is and this person is threatening another character, Cosham reads tensely. His Québeçois French sounded OK to me, but I am not really a judge. It’s been a while since I listened to this, but I remember that Cosham’s pronunciation of Sûreté surprised me. I thought it was in three syllables (SUH-reh-tay), but he said it more in two (SUR-tay). (Warning: Neither of those written pronunciations capture what the word actually sounds like!)

I’ve said before that I really don’t need to start another mystery series (I’m way behind – Penny’s written seven books), but Gamache and Three Pines are worth visiting again. Of course, where I really want to visit is the Eastern Townships (directly north of Vermont and New Hampshire) themselves. Sometimes it feels like the places I want to go is as long a list as that of the books I want to read.

[The image is a print from Pinsonneault Frères of Upper Melbourne in the Eastern Townships in 1910.The original is located in the McCord Museum of Canadian History, and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Still Life by Louise Penny

Narrated by Ralph Cosham

Blackstone Audio, 2006. 9:35

Four walls to hear me/Four walls to see/Four walls too near me/Closing in on me

2012-01-08T12:05:00.000-08:00

New Year's resolution: Much as I appreciate the opportunity to return to children's and teen's books that the last 10 years of youth librarianship afforded me, I'd really like to balance my reading a little more and bring my adult books up to at least half of my reading. About 34% of listening and 23% of all reading (books and audiobooks) were adult books last year.

So, let's get started! Room by Emma Donoghue has been on the TBLT list for awhile, as something drew me to the idea of listening to this instead of reading it. An excellent decision, I think, as the voice of five-year-old Jack is still resonating four days later.

For those even more out of the adult reading loop than I am, Room is a story narrated by Jack. Jack and his Ma live together in Room -- which, as far as Jack is concerned, has everything he needs to be content: a few books, the TV (which shows him stories of fictional "outer space"worlds outside of Room, a particular favorite is Dora the Explorer), food and shelter, and the fierce love and companionship of his mother. Occasionally, Old Nick unlocks the door and comes into Room, but Jack is sent to sleep in Wardrobe while Old Nick is there. If he doesn't fall asleep, he counts the number of times the bed creaks during Nick's visits.

We first meet Jack and Ma on the morning of Jack's 5th birthday, but we quickly grow to understand what Ma knows -- that Jack cannot be contained by Room for much longer. Ma's story of kidnap and rape slowly emerges as she convinces Jack to be her hero and help her pull off a preposterous escape. I don't want to spoil, since I was truly invested in Ma's success or failure, so I shall finish this inadequate summary simply by saying that I was drawn in by this story from beginning to end.

Donoghue never loses sight of Jack's perspective. Yes, he's ridiculously articulate, but that five-year-old capacity for seeing the world very clearly in limited ways is also part of his narrative. His struggles -- and how he observes those of his Ma -- to come to terms with their life remain childlike, occasionally funny but also quite poignant. I was seriously creeped out at the beginning of this novel, because I knew what was really going on, and then it morphed briefly into horror at Ma's plan to escape. Clearly, I was invested in these two people and their fate mattered to me up until the end.

Yay audio! Room is one of those books where listening adds a whole level of intensity to the literary experience. It's not my voice I'm hearing, it's Jack's. And that made it utterly real to me. The narrator is Michal Friedman and she is pretty amazing. Her voice and rhythms are childlike, without being childish (unless Jack is, of course). I think that's why I was so disturbed at the beginning -- I was hearing this horror story from a child. When Jack is learning of Ma's plans for their escape, he and I had the same reaction: This is not going to work. I was listening to this part of the novel while trying to fall asleep ... and couldn't. It was nail-bitingly tense.

The audio publisher chose three other narrators to read the dialogue of the book's adult characters: Ellen Archer reads Ma, Robert Petkoff reads Old Nick and the other males, and Suzanne Toren takes all the female roles. (I guess that's a spoiler ... sorry!) Like Full Cast Audio does, the "s/he saids" are all removed from the narration, and since the narrators are only reading dialogue, they need to get all the character and emotion into just line readings, which can be treacherous. They all do well, but occasionally my ear would rebel if the voice actor was having a conversation with him/herself. This was a rare occurrence, and Toren had to do it most often. Toren also tried a few accents -- Irish and Spanish -- which never sounded completely natural. I've heard all three of them read before (Archer, Petkoff, and Toren before this blog).

I've also heard Michal Friedman read, although the publisher of that audiobook spelled her name incorrectly (and thus, so did I). But in trolling the internet to find out more about her, I came upon tragic news: She died in November from complications after giving birth to twins!

Donoghue, considered primarily an historical novelist until she wrote Room, shies away from "inspired," but does say that the notorious case of Josef Fritzl "triggered" her creation of Jack. And, masterfully in my opinion, it's Jack who keeps the horror at bay, Jack's innocence that keeps the story from sensationalism, Jack's wonder at a brave new world that makes Room so compelling. There's something ironic in beginning a resolution to read more books for adults with a book that so effortlessly tells a child's story.

[The lock on the door of a garden shed was taken by Ajmint and retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.

Post title is the chorus of "Four Walls," sung by Jim Reeves.]

Room by Emma Donoghue

Narrated by Ellen Archer, Michal Friedman, Robert Petkoff and Suzanne Toren

Hachette Audio, 2010. 10:52

Away did run

2012-01-02T12:21:00.001-08:00

Last audiobook of 2011. I'm still trying to figure out how I managed to listen to 30-1/2 days of books this year ... whew! That's a lot of miles (on foot and in a car).

The Piper's Son was one of those audiobooks that I selected out of desperation, as the new children and teen offerings at my library have seemed very slim this past year (or I'd already read all the new ones we ordered). I'm kind of meh about author Melina Marchetta (ch sounds like k) -- really didn't like Jellicoe Road, sort of enjoyed Finnikin of the Rock (not enough for the 2012 sequel). And even though this book is identified as a "companion" to Saving Francesca, and yes ... I read that about two months ago. I think I liked that one best of all her books.

Tom Mackee (pronounced MEH-key) was one of the group of private-school friends formed in Saving Francesca, the one who always remained slightly apart, the bullying one. It's several years later, but he's drifted away from those friends -- mostly because he's mired in a deep substance-fueled depression at the death of his Uncle Joe two years ago in the July 7, 2005 transit bombings in London. The loss has affected his very close family as well -- his parents are separated and Tom hasn't seen or heard from his alcoholic father in more than a year.

After falling down drunk late one night and splitting his scalp open, Tom discovers that he's been evicted from his shared apartment and shows up on his Aunt Georgie's doorstep looking for a place to stay. Georgie's got her own problems -- aside from her dead and/or missing brothers, 42-year-old Georgie is carrying the child of her former lover. Upon learning of his infidelity six years ago (resulting in a child), Georgie split with Sam. Since Joe's death, she's been leaning on him for emotional support and more. But she's still not ready to allow him back into her life permanently.

The Piper's Son is the stories of Tom and Georgie and their struggles to come to terms with their losses, and re-form their families (related by blood or otherwise) again. For me, it was a big steaming pile of melodrama and by the end of it I was sick to death of all of them. Oy, the suffering! Oy, the long internal monologues about how bad they feel! It pretty much stood in the way of my appreciating Marchetta's vivid portrayal of a close-knit Sydney, Australia neighborhood and her spot-on characterization of Tom -- a young man trying to balance the influences of his edgy, near violent father and his kind, kind uncle.

Michael Finney narrates the book. His Australian accent was initially impenetrable to me, so I ended up listening to the first half of the first disc twice. Once my ear got attuned, though, it's just delightful to listen to that unique speech -- for some reason, I Love those Long, deLiciousLy sLurpy "L's." Finney does a nice job with characterizations as well, managing the large cast of characters with interest and slight distinctions so all sound completely natural. The dialogue flowed easily in his reading. And for a very emotion-driven story, Finney brings acting skills that help us hear the tears or laughter, or anger or sadness.

Unlike other (more widely read) bloggers, I have issues with a book that purports to be for teenagers that features a middle-aged woman as one of its protagonists. I found Tom's journey to be very teen-friendly (who that age doesn't think about their post-"uni" years?), but Georgie's seemed out of place. Oddly though, Georgie's relationship with Sam doesn't seem much different than Tom's post-adolescent yearnings for Tara. I also learned more about Georgie's sex life than Tom's, much to my horror. I kept flashing back to a memorable few sentences in Finnikin about a long-parted, well-into-middle-age couple loudly coupling.

My second novel in two weeks about families of the victims of terrorist acts, and an interesting contrast in ways of mourning (and ways of writing novels). I seem to be on a bit of a downer lately -- the last truly happy book I read (both eye and ear) was Goliath. I think I need some cheering up ... oh, the one that's currently in my ears is certainly happy. Not.

[There's a memorial to the victims of the July 7 bombings in London's Hyde Park. The photograph is a closeup of one of the 52 stainless-steel stelae, one for each of the dead. It was taken by David Hawgood as part of the geograph.org.uk project and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.

[I like the Australian cover of this book a lot!]

The Piper's Son by Melina Marchetta

Narrated by Michael Finney

Bolinda Audio, 2010 (published in the US by Brilliance Audio, 2011). 8:22

Looking back

2012-01-02T10:29:00.000-08:00

It’s been a pretty good year for listening. Most hours ever (well, I’ve only been tracking this for four years) at 731:54! This is a vast improvement over last year’s 543 hours. I also listened to 22 more books than I did in 2010: 87. The average length of the books listened to was almost exactly the same (weird): 8.4 (2011) and 8.3 (2010) hours. (For anyone keeping an extremely close eye, I’ve got one more book to post about.)

Some other interesting data:

24 of the books were downloads
30 of them were written for adults
8 were nonfiction

Five favorite audiobooks for kids and teens:

Blink and Caution by Tim Wynne-Jones
The Ring of Solomon by Jonathan Stroud
The True Meaning of Smekday by Adam Rex
White Cat by Holly Black
Young Fredle by Cynthia Voigt

Honorable mention: Goliath by Scott Westerfeld

And five for adults:

The City and The City by China Miéville
Moonlight Mile by Dennis Lehane
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

Dion Graham was this year’s most-listened-to narrator, with five audiobooks (Black Jack, Black Water Rising, The Cut, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Here in Harlem). Bahni Turpin (Bird in a Box, The Other Half of My Heart and Smekday) and Simon Vance (The King’s Gambit, The Lodger Shakespeare, and The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher) were runners up with three each.

I’m surprised at the Dennis Lehane novels on my favorites list, but he also leads the pack of most frequent authors, with those two. The only other author I listened to more than once was Adam Rex (Fat Vampire and Smekday).

I think this might have been the year I listened to the most authors reading their own work: Libba Bray, Neil Gaiman, Jack Gantos, Wes Moore, Susan Orlean, Louis Sachar, and the memorably bad Amy Tan.

I could go on parsing my list to death, but I’d rather be listening! Happy New Year.

[“It is not uncommon, on an early morning walk around Bangor seafront, to find the discarded remnants of the previous night’s revelries. This empty champagne bottle, found at the Long Hole, was a little more upmarket than the usual discoveries.” Photograph and commentary from Ross on January 1, 2009, via the geograph.org.uk project; retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Ay-yuh

2011-12-28T10:24:00.000-08:00

I used to subscribe to The New Yorker. Eventually, though, I couldn't stand it as the issues just piled up staring at me, saying you can't recycle me until you read me. While I liked most of the nonfiction features (John McPhee anyone?), I felt kinda blasé about the fiction. Too dense, too obscure, too ... ok, I'll say it, literary. Reading it felt like work. Which brings me to Elizabeth Strout's Pulitzer-Prize winning Olive Kitteridge. I think I would have enjoyed reading these as they were originally published in The New Yorker, scattered over a year or two -- catching up with Olive and the other residents of Crosby, Maine -- but all in one swoop didn't go down easy.

Olive is a retired junior high math teacher, renowned for her strictness and her barbed temperament. Her former students fear her. She lives with her kind husband Henry, the town's pharmacist, but their only child Christopher pretty much got out of Olive's orbit as soon as he could (but this was later than just after college). The 13 stories mostly feature Olive as protagonist, but occasionally she just puts in an appearance. They are all vivid in their description of place, but where the writing left me gave me pause (in a good way) was the way Strout defines a character through the way they stand or dress, or even -- since the author's narrative is what the New York Times calls "free indirect" -- what they are thinking (without it being their actual thoughts). Her writing is literary without density, a reader doesn't have to work to parse what she is saying, yet we recognize that her spare prose is telling us so much than just the words she is using.

The stories are deeply compelling, full of situations that ring completely true about a community that's losing its cohesion as its children move away, about aging and loss, about parents and adult children, about how relationships ebb and flow, how they change or don't change. There's a feeling of melancholy for lost things that runs through the stories. You don't need to live in a small town in Maine to utterly understand the actions and emotions of the people who live there. Strout's characters are universal. And her characters are -- almost to a person -- all deeply real.

But when the interlinked stories repeatedly provided a simple back story (Olive is fat, Henry is kind, Olive's angry at Henry's incapacity, Christopher is ungrateful), I got cranky. I didn't need that information intruding -- again! -- on this new story. And in the few stories where Olive makes just a brief appearance it often felt like she was placed there just to provide continuity to the collection of stories. So, the stories all together failed for me.

I had a brief flirtation (shorter than the time I subscribed to The New Yorker) with short fiction while I was in graduate school, as they met my need for stories with limited reading time available. I rarely go back to them, but I really should. I think I would have enjoyed Olive Kitteridge more in little bursts (to paraphrase the title of one of Strout's stories).

On the other hand, I wasn't crazy about the narration by Sandra Burr. She is prolific, but I've only heard her read one time, before I began keeping this blog. When Burr read the dialogue, she was lively, consistent and interesting; the characters are believable. Her Maine accent seemed a little wobbly to me, not nearly as good as those heard here, but it wasn't disastrously bad.

Burr's narrative voice, though, gave me problems. It rarely changed in pace or volume, its rhythm became lulling. It seemed as if she was awed by Strout's prose, so much so that she could only read it in the most deferential way possible. Does she want to step out of the way, so listeners can appreciate just the words? Unfortunately, reading this neutrally only leads to missing the words altogether as the mind inevitably wanders.

I'm also not sure that listening to something this well-written is the best way to access it. Strout's prose is so excellent that you want to linger over it, to go back and read that perfect, perfect sentence over again. To leave post-it notes (although I'm generally not a post-it-note reader), so you can find it again ... for a blog post, maybe [ ;-) ], although just to revisit may be reason enough.

This was likely the last audiobook for 2011. Some were better than others. The worst was, I think, the other Maine book. And that's all I'm going to say about that 'cause I don't want to end on a cranky note. There were these two books that also took place in Maine; I liked them.

[One of my favorite stories was "Tulips," where Olive is coming to grips with Henry's debilitating stroke. This photograph was taken by Nevit Dilmen and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout

Narrated by Sandra Burr

Brilliance Audio, 2008. 10:35

SAT vocabulary

2011-12-27T16:41:00.000-08:00

Before I started listening to audiobooks, I was a one-book-at-a-time reader (and, of course, I finished that book before starting the next). Now, I'm a tad more loose; but I got a little mixed up this past week listening to the dystopian Chicago of Veronica Roth's Divergent, while reading about dystopian Los Angeles in Marie Lu's Legend. Occasional muddling ensued, as did occasional amusement. Divergent, which ran away with Goodreads' Choice Award for Favorite Book of 2011, has that Hunger Games magic mix of bleak, maybe totalitarian, environment; girl with no future who triumphs over grueling physical and mental challenges, and ... oh yeah! finds romance.

Beatrice Pryor's 16th birthday is approaching, the day when she will evaluate the results of her aptitude test and formally choose which faction in which she will spend the rest of her life. Beatrice has been raised in Abnegation, one of five factions making up society in a future Chicago, and the only faction to hold political power (since they won't be swayed by its privileges). Each faction believes that it is the true path to solving the society's problems, and they live in uneasy coexistence. The test results tell the teens which faction is the place where their personalities will work best, but the society does not insist that a student select that faction on their Choosing Day. Beatrice, however, does not get a clear result on her aptitude test. She is told that she is Divergent, that she has aptitude for Abnegation, Erudite and Dauntless (but not Amity or Candor). And that under no circumstances should she share the results of her test with anyone. "Divergence is extremely dangerous."

On Choosing Day, Beatrice rejects her family and chooses Dauntless. Her older brother also leaves, choosing Erudite. Beatrice is plunged (literally) into an initiation that values physical power and "bravery" as a means of fixing society. (The quotes are mine, I didn't like this part.) When the month-long training is over, initiates will have endured countless episodes of physical violence, as well as a series of simulations where they are forced to face their deepest fears. Those who do not make the cut are severed from Dauntless and join the ranks of the factionless, doomed to live their lives in isolation and poverty. Beatrice becomes Tris, gets a few tattoos, bonds with some of her fellow initiates (and makes enemies of others) and her instructor, Four, and stumbles upon a plot designed to bring other factions to power.

The story is more complex than I've described -- and it thoughtfully addresses adolescent issues of community, family and where to belong -- but I found the violence deeply disturbing. It's clearly a military approach of break them down/build them up, and the novel reveals to us that Dauntless training was not always this way, but its glorification bothered me. I felt like I was meeting all the District One and Two tributes in training for The Hunger Games. Tris and her friends are sympathetic, but on the whole I didn't like any of them. When the plot to destroy Abnegation kicks in, the story became more of a thrill and I enjoyed the last pages. The romance is very sweet as well. And, in case you didn't know, Tris and Four will return.

Dystopian Chicago was very interesting to me, as Roth refers to various landmarks (the Bean, the Hancock Tower, I even think that Dauntless headquarters was at Wrigley Field?) familiar to almost everyone. Their decay and dilapidation leant an air of eerie horror to the novel, the feeling that our society today is just a disaster or two removed from Tris's.

Divergent is narrated by Emma Galvin, a new-to-me narrator (here's a short interview). She has a lovely reading voice, low and quiet with enough youthfulness to make you believe that she's a teenager. She brings a lot of intensity to her narration, which is perfectly in line with the character of Tris. She doesn't attempt to identify characters with vastly different voices, but uses speech rhythms, volume and changes in register so that following dialogue is easy. When Tris is frightened or excited, or making the decision to kill someone she knows, the emotions are easy to hear in Galvin's narration. She made the long hours of violent training mostly bearable and brought the novel to its exciting close. I'd listen to her read again.

I received Divergent as a gift from Bewitched Bookworms, for participating in their 2011 challenge, Whisper Stories in My Ear. I thank them, especially because I rejected their offerings the month I won and asked for Divergent instead. Since I had no trouble meeting their minimum -- one audiobook per month! -- there wasn't much challenge for me. I had my little fun this year out there on the wide prairie of the internet, but I think I'll return to my sod cabin and soldier on alone. Listening, always listening.

[The watercolor of the "HMS Dauntless in a following wind, November 17, 1950" is by Captain Cowper Phipps Coles and is in the public domain. It was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons and the original is in the collection of the National Maritime Museum.]

Divergent by Veronica Roth

Narrated by Emma Galvin

Harper Audio, 2011. 11:11

An innocent abroad

2011-12-18T11:03:00.000-08:00

It's Sunday, my library got some bad financial news (right before the holidays!) and I'm feeling reflective. Grief is a unique experience. No one grieves like anyone else. I tried to remember this while listening to Jonathan Safron Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close this past week. (The librarian in me struggles with featuring a Wikipedia entry, but the author himself links to it from another site, so here you go.) Until the very end of this book, I was close to utterly fed up with young Oskar Schell and his incredible journey. But then, Oskar got closure (or something like that [it depends on how you grieve]), and I was in tears.

Oskar was seven years old when his father died at Windows on the World on September 11, 2001. He is bereft. He was sent home from school early -- without being told why -- and enters his family's apartment hearing his father leaving a message on the answering machine. His father called a total of six times. Before his mother got home, Oskar removed the answering machine and its recording and hid it from her. Two years later, Oskar sees his mother, and the world, moving on from that awful, awful day, but he's not ready. He finds a key inside an envelope labeled "Black" tucked inside a glass vase in his father's closet. Oskar decides that if he can find the lock for that key, he will receive a message that his father left for him.

Oskar is an unusual child, and this was where I had the most problems with the novel (not all the problems ... there's more to come!). He's basically an adult with an occasional nine-year-old's trait. To all intents and purposes, his mother seems to have left him alone for two years as he pursues his various interests -- French, astrophysics, inventions, tambourine playing ... an insatiable curiosity that -- among other things -- exposes him to internet porn. He also has a load of fears -- all relating to the way everyday things led to his father's death. He applies his investigative abilities to tracking down every Black in the five boroughs to see who has the lock to his key.

I think it helps to view this as a fantasy novel -- there are no barriers in the way of a smart pre-tween making his way all over New York City to meet every Black he could locate (no mention of unlisted numbers, by the way). Mom doesn't seem to worry about his absences day and night and money wasn't a problem. Even when I told myself that I was reading fantasy, Oskar's situation and actions continually bugged me. For example, why would a class of 4th graders be performing Hamlet? Is it really that easy to dig up a grave in the middle of the night?

Then, being Foer (pronounced like the number if you are interested), the author ladles on another layer to his novel. Two other narrators interrupt Oskar's story: A man who does not speak is addressing a series of letters to his son and a woman who has "crummy eyes" and is writing a memoir for her grandson. All in wordy, stream-of-consciousness, and self-conscious, prose. We eventually figure out that these people are Oskar's grandparents who also live in a fantasy world that doesn't require money, physical logistics, or any basis in reality. And we learn that they experienced something akin to the attack on the Towers during the firebombing of Dresden, Germany during World War II.

As you know, I finish things, and I finished this. It rewards a reader who dislikes ambiguity , as Foer provides absolute closure (there are no loose ends at all). Oskar has an apotheosis at the top of another iconic skyscraper, the Empire State Building. It was incredibly moving, much the way that Conor O'Malley's was a few books ago. But unlike Patrick Ness' spare, focused novella, this one sprawls all over the place, feeling very indulgent and consciously literary. The book I had the most flashbacks to was that of Foer's contemporary and fellow author/gadfly, Dave Eggers.

I am grateful for three narrators, though -- who, as narrators do in so many instances -- make the nonsense go down a little more easily. Yes, following young Oskar on his quest for Blacks is so much easier when you are commuting, exercising, wrapping presents, etc. Jeff Woodman handles Oskar's narration, Barbara Caruso is grandma, and Richard Ferrone is grandpa. Woodman is the standout here, but he's got more to work with. He uses his youthful voice to great effect as the precocious Oskar matter-of-factly describing his inventions, his observations of the adult world, and his Asperger's-like focus on his mission. When Oskar finally weeps, though, it's shocking and deeply personal. Listening to Woodman's performance makes Oskar a real boy (which I don't think he is in Foer's novel), so that his breakdown is all the more poignant.

Caruso, who I listened to several times when I was first snapping up audiobooks (she was quite memorable as Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who and Mrs. Which in Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time), reads Oskar's grandmother with warmth and a rich emotion that invests her story with truth as well.

Ferrone, the only one of the three I have never heard read before, has a deep, gravelly delivery that nicely represents the voice of a man who doesn't speak. He reads with detachment, another good choice for a character who carefully keeps people at a distance and strong emotion under wraps.

Yes, the reason why I listened to this was because there is a movie coming out (I had mostly Sandra Bullock flashes while listening; fortunately Oskar's mother doesn't appear very often in the novel), and I was frustrated by the novel a lot of the time, but I'm glad I got to it. Foer's first novel, Everything is Illuminated, also satisfied me in the end, while annoying me during. I lived in New York well before 9/11, but in trips there since 2001 I've yet to visit Ground Zero. I've avoided the annual outpourings of mass mourning (or disaster porn as others more eloquent than I have described it) because I never felt it was my loss. Oskar's loss and grief rang true to me, though -- he was working through it the only way he knew how. As we all must do.

[The photo of the World Trade Center Tribute in Lights was taken by Derek Jensen and retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer

Narrated by Barbara Caruso, Richard Ferrone, and Jeff Woodman

Recorded Books, 2005. 11:00

40%

2011-12-11T12:19:00.000-08:00

Readers here know that I am a reader of detective fiction, but you might not know that I feel some small obligation to you to not plunk you down in the middle of a series. Starting at the beginning is important to me, so when I can combine the beginning with an audio version, I'm inclined to give it my ears. Add Dion Graham to the mix and it's an easy one to add to the listening queue. Hence, The Cut by George Pelecanos.

Spero Lucas works as an unlicensed investigator for a solo practice lawyer representing mostly small-time criminal defendants. He has a side business recovering lost or stolen items for a straight cut of 40%. He likes outdoor sports (biking, kayaking), women, food, music that I've mostly never heard of, books that I have heard of, and his working-class neighborhood in northeast (?) Washington, DC (all described with loving detail).

Spero, who was adopted into a Greek-American family, lives near his widowed mother and beloved older brother, Leo. Leo is African American and Spero is white. (I knew this because I'd listened to a short story featuring Spero's family before listening to The Cut, but I really liked how we learn about characters' race not through description, but how other characters react to them.) Spero was a Marine in Iraq, and his work feels a little like he doesn't really know what to do with himself after the purpose and mission he felt while serving.

He takes a recovery job from one of his employer's defendants, a marijuana dealer for whom a few shipments have gone astray. Pursuing the thefts leads to the assassination of the dealer's two young assistants, and to a criminal enterprise led by a former rogue cop. A promising student of Spero's brother gets caught up in the middle. Spero is driven not so much by right and wrong, but his sense of personal justice. And when he needs to kill, he views his act dispassionately, as necessary -- a view honed by his experiences in Fallujah.

While I appreciate Pelecanos' writing -- which has an urban rhythm and a righteousness that is compelling -- I find the details not particularly interesting. The name dropping -- clothes, cars, musicians, and yes, even writers -- feels pretentious to me, and it never ceased. The villains are so obviously, well villainous that their comeuppance is not satisfying. Even the setting -- which is the strongest part of the novel, as the affection the author feels for the non-governmental settings of DC is palpable -- became mired down in such detail that I began tuning out.

I don't wish to pile on, but I found the characters a little cardboard-y as well. In Chosen, the short story of Spero's origins -- how he was adopted and grew up in the Lucas family -- Spero's parents come across as saints in their color-blindness, not real people at all. Saintliness, sexiness, intensity, innocence -- all of Pelecanos' characters just seem so one dimensional. Like the flawed hero he is, Spero is an interesting character, but he's surrounded by types.

The question is, do these flaws show up in the detective fiction that I do like and I just don't see them because I'm enjoying the puzzle? Maybe I need the puzzle. I get that in real life most crimes are not committed by highly intelligent people adept at disguising their involvement, but I don't read detective fiction for reality. After two Pelecanos novels, I think I know that the "reality" of hard-boiled fiction (which isn't real either) -- the clothing labels, the music, and the no-question-about-it bad guys -- isn't my cup of tea. I'm just going to have to get my Dion fix elsewhere.

I liked Graham here (face it, I like Graham). He does a fine job channeling Spero's conflicts -- warrior, loner, lover, brother, grieving son. The resonant softness, almost whisper, of his delivery works well with Pelecanos' street rhythms, giving the whole narrative a sense of impending calamity. He livens up a few of the other characters with some vocal interest -- I enjoyed his portrayal of Spero's two war buddies, and the two young marijuana dealers who meet an unpleasant end.

And, I gotta say (with a blush) ... there's a scene early in the novel when Spero is making love with one of his women and, well ... Graham delivered a character's moment of pleasure authentically. And that's all I've got to say about that!

[Spero's 'hood is NE DC. The picture of the 800 block of H Street, NE was taken by AgnosticPreachersKid and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons. Also from the Commons, Jen's photo of blusher and brush.]

The Cut and Chosen by George Pelecanos

Narrated by Dion Graham

Hachette Audio, 2011. 7:32 (The Cut) and 0:45 (Chosen)

Summer residency

2011-12-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

Why do two book review journals (Booklist and Kirkus) refer to the hero of Mark Mills' The Savage Garden by the wrong last name? Was Adam Strickland's last name changed from Banting just before publication? Curious. And slightly pertinent, since Strickland is a character who -- when confronted with a conundrum like the somewhat askew arrangement of a formal garden in Tuscany, or a room where a murder took place that's been locked for 14 years -- will worry it until he has an answer.

Adam is an art history student at Cambridge in 1958. He lucks into a summer research project, courtesy of his lecturer, Crispin Leonard. He'll study the famed Renaissance garden of the Villa Docci, created in the 1500s to honor Flora, a young woman who died shortly after her marriage to an elderly Docci. The Doccis still reside at the Villa, and the family is slowly recovering from the years of occupation during World War II, when the eldest son was mercilessly killed by the Germans as they prepared to flee the advancing Allies.

When Adam arrives at Villa Docci and begins to explore the garden, something seems slightly off to him -- the garden doesn't follow the symmetrical rules of the period and the statues of the various gods -- the namesake Flora, Narcissus, Hyacinth and Adonis -- have unusual positions or locations. Welcomed into the Villa by the elderly owner, Francesca Docci and her beautiful granddaughter Antonella, Adam ponders this puzzle. He also learns about the circumstances of the death of Emilio -- the heir to the estate -- and that the room where he was murdered hasn't been touched since.

Adam's classical education comes in handy as he breaks the code of the garden using Dante's Inferno and the help of his randy older brother Harry. The Doccis seem less enthusiastic about his interest in Emilio's death, and getting too close may endanger his life. He's not even sure that Antonella -- with whom he has fallen in love -- will tolerate his curiosity.

I really enjoy an art- or literature-based historical mystery (Possession anyone? The Historian?) so this is right down my alley. The setting is wonderfully described -- the lush but slightly forbidding garden, the hot Tuscan summer, formal late-night dinners of wine and pasta at the Villa. But I found it dragging a bit. Adam's discoveries seemed to all be of the "by Jove!" variety (plus he always seemed to react precisely that way) -- revelations that seemed to pop fully formed into his head. The romance seemed a little stilted (I was folding laundry during the big lovemaking scene and it was not enough to make me stop ... folding that is).

There was also an all-revealing letter at the end that reeked of melodrama to me. And, in an audiobook huh? moment, the very beginning includes a literary device that confused me enough that I started the audiobook again. In the print version, this device would be recognizable as you turned the first page. When I was "look[ing] inside this book" at amazon.com -- in search of the map of the garden -- I came across the novel's first page, and I could not remember what it meant. Who "was known, primarily, for his marrows"? Huh? It seems odd to start this way, and then drop it immediately.

A narrator I seem to have no prayer of finding out about online, Ian Stuart, reads the novel. (My library's catalog says that he was born in 1927 [making him 80 when he read this ... which just can't be, can it?].) Stuart reads in a resonant, baritone-ish English accent. In the novel's long descriptive passages, he is pleasant to listen to. When things get a little dicey for our hero, Stuart can deliver the tension and excitement.

He doesn't voice characters vastly differently, relying instead on the emotion of what each person is saying to distinguish between them, so figuring out who was speaking wasn't a problem. All the Italians in the novel speak in Italian-accented English. When Stuart did speak Italian, which he did occasionally, he sounded authentic to me. I kept wanting to hear more of 'ch' sound when he pronounced Docci, in my ears Stuart gave it more of a soft 'g.' A minor quibble. If there are other Ian Stuart narrations out there, I'd listen to him again.

Curioser and curioser. Who is Ian Stuart? Who or what is Banting, and why is it a bad last name? Is there a literary reference to "savage garden" that I'm missing? From the Inferno, maybe?

[Adam Strickland compares the statue of Flora to that of Giambologna's Venus in Florence's Boboli Garden. This image of the Venus was retrieved from the museum's website.]

The Savage Garden by Mark Mills

Narrated by Ian Stuart

Brilliance Audio, 2007. 8:15

Grounded

2011-12-04T15:22:00.000-08:00

I was very fortunate to meet Jack Gantos when he visited our library in 2003. Gosh, he was funny! He made this great presentation -- using an overhead projector of all things -- where he entertainingly explained to kids how to write what you know. He drew a map of his neighborhood and began telling stories -- here's where I got the bad haircut, here's where I jumped off the roof, here's where our dog died. I think most of his novels stem from what he knows. His latest novel, Dead End in Norvelt, is more crazy storytelling from and by a boy named Jack Gantos.

Jack is having the worst summer of his life. It's 1964, he's 11 years old and he's living in slowly dying Norvelt, Pennsylvania. His mother has grounded him for accidentally shooting off his father's World War II Japanese rifle and for mowing down her corn crop (the latter at his father's instigation). The only time he can leave his house is when his next-door neighbor, Miss Volker, calls him for help. She's the town historian and chief obituary writer, but her arthritis is so bad that she can't type or grip a pen anymore. Miss Volker wants Jack to take dictation for her obits and her "this day in history" columns, and then dash down to the Norvelt News with them.

At first Jack is horrified ... at his first encounter with the acerbic Miss Volker, he thinks she's boiling her hands off as she tries a paraffin heat treatment. But as they get to know one another, Jack realizes that his love of history reflects hers. Norvelt, Miss Volker tells him, was a town founded by (what we would now call) the working poor during the Great Depression with the support of first lady Eleanor Roosevelt. The town honored her in its name. Norvelt was founded on the idea of people banding together to help one another, but now its residents are fleeing in droves. There are just a few original Norvelt-ians left, and Miss Volker is determined to remember them, and the town in which they used to live.

Miss Norvelt's obituaries are deeply personal -- as is fitting since she knows the deceaseds really, really well. But the elderly Norvelt-ians seem to be dying at an accelerated rate. This, coupled with Jack's fear of death, the dead Hell's Angel, his constantly bleeding nose, visits to the mortuary, and the fact that his dad's making him dig a bomb shelter, mean it's not going to be the boring summer Jack thought it would be.

Those who like to read Gantos (or Gantos-Boy as one of the characters in this novel calls him) for the laughs or the grossology will find plenty of that here, but the part of the book that spoke to me was more sentimental. Norvelt is changing, and mostly not for the better. Miss Volker realizes it, but she's hanging on to what is good. Jack's dad sees it and wants to get out. Jack loves history and -- through Miss Volker -- understands that it can inform us about the present. He's torn between his parents -- his mom wants to stay, his dad has his eye on Florida.

Gantos serves as narrator. Five years ago I listened to one of his books, The Love Curse of the Rumbaughs, which is the only book he's written that he hasn't narrated (I think). He couldn't narrate anyone else's books, because of a strong regional accent and limited voice acting skills, but he's just perfect here. His nasality, plus those western Pennsylvania vowels, fit so well with the Jack who is telling this story. He doesn't distinguish characters with voices, but his emotional readings are so genuine. Gantos has no difficulty getting inside the head and vocal patterns of a pre-adolescent boy. Fear, fascination, exasperation, stupidity and love are all completely clear in his narration. It's a pleasure to listen to him read.

The audiobook concludes with a insightful -- if poor recording quality -- interview with Gantos. He describes his love for his home town and the very real conflicts of his parents. He briefly explains his approach to writing -- starting with a nugget of an idea and seeing where it takes him. Jack also told of his affection for Eleanor Roosevelt; invited to the White House, he began to cry as he stood in front of Mrs. Roosevelt's portrait there. (His love of Eleanor Roosevelt reminded me of that image from the first Olivia book, where a picture of the late first lady hangs in that crazy pig's bedroom.)

This book bogged down a little bit for me in the middle, as I was wondering where we were headed, but Dead End in Norvelt ended perfectly. I think I knew what was going to happen to Miss Volker, but Gantos doesn't spell it out. Jack's summer just goes on. Life goes on.

[The (tiny -- click on it to make it bigger) map of Norvelt was retrieved from the Indiana University of Pennsylvania's site on "subsistence homestead communities of the 1930s" linked above (on Norvelt).

[The portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt was taken around the time that Norvelt was founded. It is in the Library of Congress and is in the public domain. It was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos

Narrated by Jack Gantos

Macmillan Audio, 2011. 7:11

Believe it or not, there are others listening out there!

2011-12-01T12:15:00.001-08:00

It's been too long since I've given a shout-out to the women who collect posts for their monthly feature AudioSynced. Be sure to check out November's links at Abby the Librarian, and October's at Stacked.

Other places to find blog reviews: Audiobook Jukebox, SoundBytes at Devourer of Books, Whisper Stories in My Ears at Bewitched Bookworms, and Teresa's Reading Corner.

All you need is love?

2011-11-30T12:56:00.000-08:00

I'm generally glad when an audiobook publisher discovers a book that features -- in some way -- a recognizably aural experience (as opposed to the general idea that listening to stories is a good thing) and says: "It's a natural! We've got to record this!" Eric Luper's Seth Baumgartner's Love Manifesto is one of those books. The titular manifesto is a series of podcasts created by 17-year-old Seth to cope with two major upheavals that occur the summer before his senior year.

Upheaval no. 1: Seth's girlfriend Veronica tells him it's best if they break up.
Upheaval no. 2: Seth spies his father with another woman.

To add insult to Seth's injury, both these events take place at Applebee's, somewhere in the vicinity of Albany, New York. And because a reeling Seth returns late to his shift at the Belgian french-fry place, he's fired from a job for the fourth time.

Angry. That was my overall impression of this book. Seth is seriously pissed off about just about everything. He finds out the name and address of the woman he saw with his father and begins to stalk her, he gets another job -- working at the local country club with his raunchy best friend Dimitri, he begs Veronica to reconsider. But underneath, he's simmering with rage. He channels some of this into his late-night anonymous podcast, "The Love Manifesto," which mixes music with his musings about his relationship with Veronica, about what on earth is going on with his father, and generally about why humans continue to seek out love from one another when it will only end badly. But even this gets dicey when some people connect Seth to the podcast.

I can totally see why Seth is so angry, but the nastiness of this book surprised me. Sure, there's a lot of humor -- mostly of the teenage boy variety, i.e., trading insults or objectifying women; which is not particularly amusing to me, I grant. But I didn't sense any heart there. There was no reason for me to like Seth, or to sympathize with him in his extremely uncomfortable situation.

On the other hand, there's a lot of teen-friendly ideas in here: realizing that your parents aren’t infallible, understanding that some secrets should remain secrets, discovering the emptiness at the end of a love affair. For me, there were a few places where I went huh? Like, would goddess Veronica (who is memorably called Moronica at one point by Dimitri – I did laugh then!) be interested in semi-nerd/geek Seth, who also happens to be the best friend of the tubby and socially inept Dimitri; and do 15-year-old girls like Dimitri's younger sister Audrey have that much romantic confidence? These won’t bother most readers, and seem to me to be particularly boy-friendly errors. The explanation for Seth's dad's relationship with Luz also rang true for me. It's a thoughtful book for older teens.

It's been shockingly more than a year since I've listened to book read by Nick Podehl (who was feeling a little ubiquitous in this blog for a while). This one is right in his wheelhouse -- smart, but confused, slightly id-driven teenaged boy. The dialogue is snappy (particularly, of course, between Seth and Dimitri) and the voices are authentic. Podehl is expert at pacing in teen novels, keeping the narrative lively and interesting with consistent characterization. I did object to one pronunciation: Podehl says Luz's name as luhz, when I think it should be looz. Of course, I could be wrong.

My ears went into complete shock when Podehl disguised his voice to give Seth's manifestos. It was utterly unrecognizable, I heard not a trace of Podehl's "normal" narrator voice. It is deep, really deep, resonant and well ... adult. But not at all how he read the adults in the novel, who are fairly standard one-note characters. I stopped and replayed the recording when I first heard it to check to see if there was another narrator listed. I mean, it was really, really different.

Even though I enjoyed the idea of "The Love Manifesto" on audio, the execution just highlighted the shortcomings of the medium in its occasional role as the poor stepchild of the publishing industry. Each of Seth's podcasts begins and ends with a music cue, where he tells us exactly what music he's been or will be playing. Alas, the music underneath the narration is an extremely generic pop-y instrumental, with one extremely odd exception -- when a snippet of a well-known piece by Bach (I think I'm remembering this correctly) comes over.

I understand copyright and permissions, but tell me truthfully: Is it really an expensive, time-sink of an exercise to get permission from eight or ten music publishers (alright, there might be more cues than that in this novel) to include a genuine piece of music in an audiobook? Seth Baumgartner would have been an absolutely fantastic audiobook with this added, instead, it's just an ordinary one. Print book publishers get permission when authors include song lyrics or poetry, why not audiobook publishers?

(I think I know the answer: Audiobook publishers are on a fast production track, aren't they? They simply do not have the time to wait for those permissions to roll in.)

What's slightly amusing, of course, is that the music references meant absolutely nothing to me. Aside from "Dueling Banjos" (one of the novel's jokes), I don't think I'd heard of any of the songs/performers that Seth mentions. But teens will have, no doubt, which means that maybe they don't need the actual music in there. And, now that I think about it, Seth was engaged in copyright violation, wasn't he? It's so complicated ... or not?

[Seth had just one short putt to make to win the father-son golf tournament that ends this novel. This picture was taken by Lewis Clarke at the Tiverton Golf Club as part of the geograph.co.uk project and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons. As was the copyright symbol.]

Seth Baumgartner's Love Manifesto by Eric Luper

Narrated by Nick Podehl

Brilliance Audio, 2010. 6:33

It's witchcraft

2011-11-29T09:13:00.000-08:00

It's been over two years since I've had a visit with the Spook and his apprentice Tom Ward in the series called The Last Apprentice by Joseph Delaney (for those who like their info in the original English, here's another website). I'm not on any listening committees anymore and for some reason, my library isn't buying the audiobooks, so I've gone without. I really enjoy the marriage of series and narrator here which might be why I've abstained. When I needed something quick to read over the long weekend, I discovered a collection of short stories, The Spook's Tale and Other Horrors, which means (thankfully) I wasn't reading out of order (a true horror!).

My cranky side says that these books must make a fair amount of money for the publisher, because this is really, really minor Apprentice. Just three stories and a whole lot of filler make up its 166 pages. The actual apprentice, Tom Ward, barely makes an appearance. However, Delaney does keep up the deliciously chilly atmosphere and provides a bit of back story for some of his characters, so it wasn't a total loss. And I got to listen to Christopher Evan Welch for a short time.

The first story is narrated by John Gregory, the Spook himself, who relates how he first encountered the dark and eventually decided to become his Spook's apprentice. On a journey to enter seminary, he met up with a witch who tried to use him as bait to trap the Spook. Fortunately, his Spook -- Henry Horrocks -- was wilier, and Gregory survived, eventually choosing a Spook's career instead of the priesthood.

The third tale is from Grimalkin, the witch assassin that we met in Tom's fourth adventure and who is our cover girl (I think). She explains why she and the Fiend are mortal enemies and describes the time she battled the previous witch assassin to the death.

In between, Tom's friend Alice Deane (who is trying to overcome her witchy origins) tells how she bravely returned to her home village of Pendle to face her relatives in an attempt to save Tom's brother, whom the Pendle witches had kidnapped. (That Pendle witches story is fascinating. I do like how Delaney relates the County's actual history to his fictional stories.)

Following these stories is "The Gallery of Villains," which recaps all the bad uns that Tom and the Spook have met in their adventures, providing a little excerpt from the book in which they first appeared, followed by the exhortation to read the entire book. It felt quite cheesy to me and I spent my listening time idly wondering if Welch had read these sections anew or if the producer had pulled them from their archives.

I eye-read the last Last Apprentice book and enjoyed hearing Welch's voice in my head while I was reading. His narration is quite distinctive and I like it a lot. There's a lot of delicious fear in listening to these, of the please-go-on-but-it's-so-scary variety. He builds tension in the stories through the first-person narrative and in some expert pacing -- knowing when to stretch out the suspense and when to quickly resolve it. I like the fairly high-register innocence he brings to young Tom's character and the crabby, scratchy growl of the Spook. In The Spook's Tale, Welch sustains the Spook's growl while he is telling the story, but assumes the younger, more naive delivery (much like Tom Ward's) for John Gregory's dialogue.

Welch also has a nice variety of scary, threatening, and evil voices that he gives to the book's various witches, fiends and creatures of the dark. Grimalkin has a sharp, raspy delivery that asks for no sympathy despite what the Fiend did to their child. She is, indeed, a cold-blooded assassin who lets nothing get in her way.

While eye-reading the book, Clash of the Demons, I realize that these books are written in a pretty simplistic style -- there are lots of short, choppy, declarative sentences. This can be a trial to listen to (and to read), but Welch pulls it off, imbuing Delaney's prose with the all the conflicting emotions young Tom feels as he faces his fears, his feelings for Alice, and his growing confidence and maturity at fighting the dark.

I think I'd rather keep listening. Alas, there one downloadable available from our Overdrive, but I'm really still a CD person. There may have to be some Interlibrary Loan-ing.

[The image from The Lancaster Witches by William Harrison Ainsworth (an 1849 novel based on the Pendle witch trials of 1612) is in the public domain and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Spook's Tale and Other Horrors by Joseph Delaney

Narrated by Christopher Evan Welch

Harper Audio, 2009. 2:31

Winner and still champion

2011-11-27T15:24:00.000-08:00

I learned the story of the African American boxer Jack Johnson from the filmmaker Ken Burns. In between his epics, he makes shorter films and Unforgivable Blackness was one of them. So, I brought a little bit of knowledge to the picture book biography by the poet and photographer Charles R. Smith, Jr., Black Jack: The Ballad of Jack Johnson. In spare free verse, illustrated by Shane W. Evans (whose website seems to have been highjacked, so try this one), Smith tells the remarkable story of this black hero.

Jack Johnson's parents were freed slaves, and Jack considered himself an original American as his ancestors arrived before there was an America. Alas, born in 1878 in Texas, most people in the United States considered him inferior. He honed his boxing skills, though, and became a wealthy man. Wealth -- although he enjoyed it quite a lot -- was not enough for Jack, he wanted to be the heavyweight champion of the world. Only the white fighters -- the ones holding that title -- wouldn't fight him.

He finally convinced champion Tommy Burns to meet him in the ring at a match in Australia in 1908, defeating him soundly for the title. Since whites couldn't stomach the idea of a black champion, his title was quickly diminished by those who claimed that the real champion remained the undefeated retired boxer Jim Jeffries. Two years later, Jeffries agreed to come out of retirement to fight Johnson in "The Battle of the Century." Johnson was victorious, and truly became the champion.

Smith's biography covers Johnson's life up to his victory in 1910, concluding with a brief afterword (thoughtfully titled "And then what happened?") about the rest of his life. Evans' illustrations are full of action, with Johnson looming larger and larger. On the last spread, there's just a big bald head and shoulders, smiling slightly, haloed by a shining sun and the bold words: "THE WORLD'S FIRST BLACK HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION."

My man Dion Graham (here's the usual link, but here's a different one) narrates the book. His rich, expressive voice reads the poetry slowly but with vigor. He doesn't belabour the sometimes rhyming, sometimes free, verse making it sound (mostly) natural. Johnson's strength and pride are clear in Graham's sterling narration that builds in intensity and volume to the championship fight.

Live Oak Media always does a fine job with the extras in a picture book narration -- music and sound effects -- and Black Jack is no exception. There's lots of crowd noise and the thwack of boxing gloves nestled into the narration and the music (composed by Chris Kubie) alternates from a stirring riff on America the Beautiful (I think I'm remembering that right) to more jazzy and percussive stylings. I've always liked how Live Oak incorporates the non-text words into its audiobooks (usually the same volume as the sound effects) and it's done well here.

This is the first picture book audiobook I've reviewed in quite awhile, taking me back to my Odyssey days (along with all the frantic listening I was doing at this time of year). And that puts me in mind of this year's Odyssey Award. The committee is chaired by my Odyssey "teammate," Liz Hannegan, and although I'm almost completely out of the loop in current-year listening, I'm still eager to learn what they pick.

Live Oak provided a copy of the audiobook and the picture book to me as part of Audiobook Jukebox's Solid Gold Reviewing program. Thanks to both.

[The photograph of the Johnson-Jeffries fight is in the public domain and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Black Jack: The Ballad of Jack Johnson by Charles R. Smith, Jr., illustrated by Shane W. Evans

Narrated by Dion Graham

Live Oak Media, 2011. 0:14

Go. Run with it. Make trouble.

2011-11-27T12:30:00.000-08:00

"The monster showed up just after midnight. As they do." If I gathered first lines, this would be in my collection. As I am an admirer of both the late Siobhan Dowd and Patrick Ness, reading A Monster Calls (inspired by an idea from Siobhan Dowd) by Patrick Ness was a no-brainer. I was going to eye-read it, but learned somehow that the audiobook reader was Jason Isaacs (best known as the evil blond Lucius Malfoy, but also more recently as the sad-sack detective Jackson Brodie), and quickly downloaded it from Overdrive. Hearing the story read aloud packs an additional punch, I think. Well, I was weepy.

Conor O'Malley's mother has been sick for some time. The treatments are brutal, and he's often left on his own to get himself up, fed and on to school. The few times he's had to stay at his grandmother's house have not been pleasant, as her place isn't really a place for kids. School is lousy as well, despite the loyal friendship of Lily, Conor's being bullied by a particularly nasty boy named Harry. And his dad is mostly absent, living with his new family in the United States; Conor hasn't seen him in a couple years. He's plagued by a recurring nightmare.

And then the monster shows up, at 12:07 a.m. It emerges from the yew tree that guards the ancient churchyard across from his house and it's kind of threatening. It announces that it will tell Conor three true stories from its own past, and then Conor will have to tell him one. Conor's not quite sure why it's visiting him -- and he's kind of disappointed in the stories -- but he soon comes to believe that it's here to save his mum. But, of course, it's not. It's here to save Conor. But before Conor can be saved, he's got to face some deeply painful truths. Foremost: his mum's not sick, she's dying. Second, perhaps: Is Conor a (the) monster?

Ness's Chaos Walking trilogy was an amazing invention of a post-apocalyptic, apartheid-istic society trying ever harder to destroy itself. One boy stood between hope and destruction. The despair there -- particularly in the third installment -- was occasionally unbearable. In A Monster Calls, Ness shrinks his stage to one familiar to way too many people -- the inexorable death of too-young loved ones -- but it's still down to one boy and a lot of despair. Conor's situation is so realistic that it's often painful to read: A lot of us know Conor. I do.

I've read a lot of discussion about the audience for this novel. I won't give it to my dear young friend Marie whose father (also dear to me) died not quite a year ago, but I sure am curious about what she'd think about it if she did read it. I imagine that the wound is too raw at this point, even though she's faced what Conor faced, to want to read about it. She'll stick to Inheritance, thank you. But she might want to read it later. I certainly think it's a spot-on description of what it's like to live with a beloved who is dying. But will those who have directly experienced it want to read about it? And if they don't, who does want to read it? Fans like me of the two authors. We aren't disappointed.

Among it's many themes, the novel is about the power of stories and stories always feel more vivid when read aloud. Isaacs has a deep voice that he lightens slightly for Conor's and his mum's dialog. He shines as the monster, dropping his register even more and all but growling the dialog. He'll shout, commandingly, when Conor isn't properly respectful. And Isaacs knows how to tell a good story, his delivery of the monster's three tales has a tension and pacing that helps keep you listening. There is nothing cuddly about this guy; it shows no sympathy at Conor's situation. Listening to Conor's suffering as the novel ends is pretty heartwrenching, but also cathartic.

I did want to pause to process the ending -- which first felt abrupt, but almost immediately felt just right. The audiobook continues with an interview between author and narrator which -- in hindsight -- I should have taken a break before listening to it. I was still back with Conor while Ness and Isaacs were speaking. Isaacs -- who appeared to be interviewing Ness after having read the book but before he began recording it -- wanted to know if Ness had experienced such a loss himself and the author declined to answer. Even though I wanted to know this as well, his book speaks for itself, and rightly so.

Ness also reads the author's note that begins the book. He views Dowd's idea and original notes as a baton passed to him for him to run with, to do with what he liked; not to try and imagine what she would have made of it. His modesty, and yet his honest confidence in his own story, is refreshing to hear. And as much as I've enjoyed all of Dowd's books, I'm glad that Ness stayed true to himself. I like to believe that she would have approved of what he did.

The book has been amply illustrated by Jim Kay; even though I didn't miss seeing the illustrations (as occasionally happens when I listen to an illustrated book, the listening experience ably substitutes for the visual one), I wanted to provide a link to his website, where he has posted many of the artworks he created for A Monster Calls.

[The photograph of an ancient yew tree in a English churchyard was taken by Penny Mayes as part of the geograph.org.uk project. It was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

A Monster Calls (Inspired by a idea from Siobhan Dowd) by Patrick Ness

Narrated by Jason Isaacs

Brilliance Audio, 2011. 3:59

Perspicacity

2011-11-21T11:05:00.000-08:00

There are few things more satisfying than just the right ending. Scott Westerfeld satisfies. While listening to the impish Alan Cumming read the third installment of Westerfeld's Leviathan trilogy, I had a stupid grin on my face the whole time. Goliath, in the hands of Westerfeld and Cumming, is -- as our heroine Deryn Sharp would say -- barking brilliant! The end is so satisfying that I don't even regret that my adventures with Deryn and Alek are over ... or are they?

Goliath picks up as the Darwinist whale/ship is making its way from Constantinople to Russia. Prince Alek and Midshipman Sharp are back on board, along with Alek's advisor, the Wild Count Volger (who knows that Deryn is disguised as a boy) and the Darwinist scientist Mrs. Barlow. The two perspicacious lorises that hatched in Behemoth are here as well. The Leviathan is headed to Russia to pick up some secret cargo, along with the scientist Nikola Tesla. Tesla claims that he has a weapon, Goliath, so utterly destructive that it will bring World War I -- Westerfeld's imagined conflict between the Darwinists and the Clankers -- to a quick close.

Alek, who blames himself for the War, believes he must ally himself with Tesla, whom most everyone else views as barking mad. But Alek is also struggling with the betrayal he feels once he learns Deryn's true gender. He had told her everything, she'd been lying to him from the start. He's not sure they can be friends again. Of course, Deryn has more than friendly feelings for the crown prince, but she knows that he could never marry a commoner.

Once Tesla is aboard, the Leviathan heads for the United States, some fateful meetings with some other figures from history (William Randolph Hearst [here is an excellent example of why finding more than one source is generally a good idea!] and Pancho Villa), and a dangerous test of Tesla's Goliath. Alek and Deryn again meet the bumrag American newspaper reporter named Eddie Malone (who writes for Hearst's competitor, Joseph Pulitzer), who threatens to expose Deryn. (It's Malone's fake mustache that the Bovril the perspicacious loris is playing with in the image below.)

There is a very romantic scene on the top of the beastie in a tremendous storm, there is cagy diplomacy and tense military standoffs, there is humor (most notably with those sly, but charming lorises), Deryn saves the day with some aeronautic derring-do, and -- in Westerfeld's world, the War might indeed end by Christmas. Deryn is mouthy and brave, Alek is noble and lacking in confidence. They are utterly innocent, yet sweetly believable young lovers. What with all the globe-trotting, it's amazing to think that these books take place in about a three-month period of time.

This being my second visit with Alan Cumming and these characters (I've also listened to him read this), I realize (again?) how skilled he is at voice acting. Each character is unique without being a caricature, and everyone sounds natural (with the possible exception of Hearst's ace girl reporter, Adela Rogers, who sounds exaggeratedly femmy). Deryn's soft Scottish burr coupled with her impulsive delivery is so lovely to listen to, and it contrasts nicely with Alek's formal, German-tinged voice. I also enjoy the novel's other characters: the gravelly, vaguely menacing Count Volger, the pip-pip boffin Mrs. Barlow, the gladhanding Eddie Malone. The lorises, who repeat phrases that they've heard before in the voice of the human speaker, are consistent and deeply amusing. Cumming's command of accents is evident here: British English (various social classes), American English, Scots, German, Serbian (Russian), and Mexican. And he switches between them with what appears to be ease and confidence.

I also like Cumming's narrator voice; he provides a pleasant neutral British accent. He keeps things moving at the brisk pace Westerfeld's story demands. The excitement of Deryn and Alek's adventures are evident in the liveliness and tension of Cumming's reading.

As he did with the previous audio versions, Westerfeld reads his own afterword. I like the connection this gives me to an author. His information (what's true, what's not) is helpful, but not overly comprehensive.

The audiobook's publisher, Simon & Schuster, provides a short video of the author and narrator chatting that makes me love them even more (although I confess to a desire for Alan Cumming to wear some sleeves!). I was so glad to hear Westerfeld say that listening to the audiobook is a different story experience and how critical the narrator is to this experience. It appears that Cumming's natural speaking voice is the one he has given to Deryn. If, indeed, the adventures of Deryn and Alek continue, please let's keep Mr. Cumming working!

[Keith Thompson's illustration of Bovril the perspicacious loris was retrieved from Scott Westerfeld's website.]

Goliath by Scott Westerfeld

Narrated by Alan Cumming

Simon & Schuster Audio, 2011. 10:34

Unbelievable

2011-11-17T14:48:00.000-08:00

Pontificating briefly on our celebrity-obsessed culture. It seems to me that we get so wrapped up in the lives of the "famous" that we forget that more ordinary people have led lives of great drama and epic sweep. Louis (pronounced Louie) Zamperini -- still alive at almost 95 -- is one of these people. Thank goodness we have author/researchers like Laura Hillenbrand who can tell Louis' story with all the adventure, tension and drama of a piece of fiction and -- like she did with the tale of a horse named Seabiscuit -- she excels in Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. If you just heard the bones of Louis' story, you'd think it was completely made up.

Louis was the second son of Italian immigrants, born in 1917. He grew up in Torrance, California as the local juvenile delinquent, always in trouble of one kind or another. As he reached his teen years, he began channeling that energy into running and very soon he became a world class miler, running the distance in slightly more than four minutes. He qualified to compete in the 5,000 meters at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, and even though he finished 8th, he garnered the attention of Adolph Hitler.

Upon returning home, Louis continued his running career at the University of Southern California, but he quit just short of graduation. He joined the army just before Pearl Harbor, then asked to be returned to civilian life after a few months. Out a uniform for a short while, he was drafted into the Army Air Forces and assigned to bombadier training on the new B-24 bomber. By 1943, Louis -- who was one of the crew who actually dropped the bombs -- was flying missions in the Pacific. Sent on a search for another plane and crew that hadn't returned from a mission, Louis' plane crashed on May 27, 1943. Three of the crew made it to the life rafts -- Louis, the plane's pilot, and its tail gunner. The rafts drifted west for 47 days before landing in the Japanese-occupied Marshall Islands. For two years as a prisoner of war, Louis endured the utmost privation, humiliation, and nearly continuous torture at the hands of a particularly sadistic sergeant named Mutsuhiro Watanabe. In the hands of Hillenbrand, even Watanabe, nicknamed "The Bird" by the Allied prisoners, has a fascinating story.

Louis survived, obviously, but the journey is riveting. Hillenbrand creates a casual, humorous tone when relating Louis' youthful highjinks and running career. She clearly describes his military training and the tightness of that B-24 crew. But when the Green Hornet crashes into the ocean, Hillenbrand ratchets up the tension, the atmosphere, the all-too-vivid descriptions of hunger, thirst, medical experimentation, beatings of all varieties to what feels like an inexorable conclusion where all prisoners of war will be executed in the last days of the War. Even though you know that Louis' outcome is a good one, Hillenbrand has placed that knot of anxiety in your stomach as you listen to this incredible journey. And it is incredible; it is simply beyond belief that this young man survived. Cue the credits. Wait: Unlike those bozos "surviving" on some faked-up island, this is all real. I loved it.

I'm most familiar with Edward Herrmann as an actor, but I have heard him read one children's book. I didn't think he's particularly well-suited to books for younger listeners (good grief! he reads the Geronimo Stilton books!), because of his natural gravitas. But he is outstanding here. He delivers the author's humor in Louis' early years, then grows serious as Louis' peril deepens.

He reads everything -- from what could be mindnumbing detail of airplanes to the way the sharks circled the life rafts -- in a committed way that makes all of it easy to listen to. As Louis loses hope -- both in Japan and in the years he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder --Herrmann's compassionate voice enables us to feel his pain. Herrmann pays such close attention to the text that I clearly heard the occasional stumble where he said the wrong word. I heard them, but I didn't mind them. He was clearly deep into the story (and so was the producer)!!

I realized as I neared the end of the book that Herrmann eschews the more emotive (dare I say acting?) method of narrating nonfiction where quotations embedded in the text (i.e., are not accompanied by "s/he said") are preceded by a dramatic pause. (Simon Vance makes this choice.) I completely see it as a way to alert the listener that a direct quote is coming, but ultimately, I didn't care whether I knew something was a quote or not. It just seems so much smoother to listen to Herrmann's way.

I spent a long weekend in Boston while I had Unbroken on the mp3 player. Usually, when I am not at home my listening slows down -- more social activity and no walking time are usually the culprits. But I couldn't put it down (or turn it off, I guess). Late one night, I had to ... turn it off. It was keeping me from sleeping! Then on the plane back to Portland, I finished midflight, with no new book to start. I started listening to the beginning again.

My few, but close, readers may have noticed that I changed my "About me" section a little bit. This is because I have a new job (same library) working as an adult nonfiction librarian. Until recently, I would have said that I would not be a good nonfiction librarian since I never read it. But this is, as I've said before, no longer true. While I've got a good bit of fiction lined up on the shelves, I'm working out what nonfiction to listen to next: Mark Kurlansky, Nathaniel Philbrick, Simon Winchester ... I like history and art/culture (absolutely no business) ... suggestions?

The question I been asked the most is will I continue to listen/read books for children and teens. And the answer to that is ... of course! In case I need any prompting to read "down" (which I don't), I was just named to the 2013 William C. Morris YA Debut Award! I wonder if I can listen to these (if there are audio versions of them)?

[The photograph of Louis as a young miler was retrieved from the USC Trojans website. The image of the B-24 bomber is from the National Archives and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons. Be sure to check out many more fantastic photos -- as well as a map showing Louis' World War II journey -- from Laura Hillenbrand's website.]

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand

Narrated by Edward Herrmann

Books on Tape, 2010. 13:57

It's alive!

2011-11-16T13:36:00.000-08:00

I've pretty much enjoyed everything I've read from Kenneth Oppel, although I've only listened to this one. In spite of this, I didn't have much interest in his latest novel, This Dark Endeavor [or Endeavour if you're Canadian]: The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein. But when I saw that the narrator was Luke Daniels -- whose reading of Days of Little Texas I really, really liked -- I thought I'd give it a listen. I enjoyed this -- mostly for its Easter-eggy in-jokes about Mary Shelley's book and other related media -- but I don't think it needs to be a series (which I understand it will be). The origins of Victor Frankenstein are made very clear here.

Konrad and Victor Frankenstein are the identical twin sons of a wealthy and enlightened couple living in an old castle near Geneva, Switzerland. Two younger boys and a distant cousin named Elizabeth Lavenza round out the happy family. Exploring the castle one day, the twins and Elizabeth discover a fake bookcase and a secret stairway into a decaying old library. When Frankenstein père discovers them there, he forbids them to enter it again. Soon after, Konrad falls mysteriously ill and after many physicians (including a Dr. Murnau) try and fail to cure him, one of the family's maids urges Victor to find a Mr. Polidori (who lives in Wollstonecraft Alley), once an alchemist, but now all but banished from Geneva. Polidori convinces Victor and Elizabeth that he can recreate the Elixir of Life, which may save Konrad's life. There are just three ingredients, all extremely dangerous to obtain (do not do too much exploring of the author's website if you don't want exposure to spoilers!).

While Victor, Elizabeth and their friend Henry Clerval (all three of these characters appear in Shelley's novel) seek the ingredients, Victor grows obsessed -- with saving Konrad, with loving Elizabeth (who loves Konrad), with concoctions that can improve humans, with the tantalizing books in his father's dark library. As a result, for a novel's protagonist, he's not a particularly appealing character. And because Victor hasn't yet created that most sympathetic of characters, his Monster, there's really no one in this novel to care about.

Sure, there are some very exciting bits -- climbing to the topmost branches of a fir tree in the midst of a windstorm in search of some special lichen [digression (so I don't forget): I just heard Alan Cumming pronounce this word "LIE-shen" while listening to Goliath], spelunking to the depths of Lake Geneva's caves for the all-but-extinct coelacanth, and a frantic escape from a character who is up to no good are all breathless and highly entertaining. But there's no heart at the center of this story.

Narrator Luke Daniels tries very hard to find that non-existent heart. This book does not have the razzmatazz narrator opportunity that Little Texas did, but Daniels still does a very good job. He's comfortable with the more formal dialogue Oppel uses to place the novel firmly in the late 18th/early 19th century. He creates slightly different voices for the twins -- Konrad is quieter and more subdued while Victor sounds impetuous and commanding. Daniels has a resonant voice that he uses to great effect, and when some adults reveal themselves to be more than a bit evil, their voices can bring you bolt upright. At the same time, Daniels can voice women in a natural way -- they sound girlish without being swishy.

Daniels shines in the action sequences, nicely building tension with volume and pacing. I am the tiniest bit claustrophobic and I got squirmy when our heroes were down in that cave with the rising water. And when the novel takes a turn to tragedy, the characters' grief is clear in his narration.

Is this a book you can only appreciate if you have some familiarity with the original material? I read it a really long time ago, but earlier this year I watched a fantastic theatrical production via the NT Live program, so the details were fairly fresh. According to the women who are hosting the new Printz blog, it is clear that Oppel took a great deal of care to make all sorts of connections to his source. Once again as I try futile-ly to enter a teenager's mind, would this book prompt a reader to seek out Mary Shelley? Or vice versa?

[You can see how a coelacanth could have swallowed Victor's arm from this photograph from Tokyo Sea Life Park. It was taken by OpenCage and retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.

[As for the guy on the right, I doubt an introduction is needed (and it has nothing to do with this novel, but occasionally resistance is futile). It's a public-domain still from The Bride of Frankenstein and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

This Dark Endeavor: The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein by Kenneth Oppel

Narrated by Luke Daniels

Brilliance Audio, 2011. 8:02

Wobbly

2011-11-07T13:40:00.000-08:00

I didn't have too difficult a transition after my four-year tenure listening to audiobooks for YALSA first ended in January 2010 (no doubt, some pent-up desire for particular books or genres); but for some reason, it felt like my library's purchases of new audiobooks for children and youth were few and far between this year (not decreased, but the acquisition process slowed to a glacial pace), so when I would see a new audiobook pop up in my RSS feed, I would just place a hold. Ostrich Boys showed up this way -- I knew nothing about it. I like to know a little bit (or a lot) about books I'm going to read, but this one was new in every way. And sometimes that's good. It was good here.

Keith Gray's novel -- first published in the U.K. in 2009 -- tells the story of three young men from Cleethorpes on the east coast of England: Blake, Sim and Kenny. They are mourning the death of their friend Ross, who was killed while riding his bicycle to school. Ross' service was a joke, they think, and people aren't mourning him properly, so the boys engage in a little juvenile delinquency by spray-painting the houses of several people they hold responsible for his death. Then Blake -- who is narrating the novel -- gets a brainwave: They'll take Ross to Ross! He always said he wanted to go. Ross is a dot on the map just north of England's border with Scotland, near Kirkcudbright (pronounced kir-COO-bray, which comes up in the novel) and Blake figures it will just take them a day to get there and a day to get back. In a desperate move, the boys liberate Ross' ashes right out from under his grieving family and make a dash for the train station.

And, things go wrong from there, naturally. The boys have to change trains quickly and Kenny, the dim one, leaves behind his bag -- the one with his ticket and all their money. They get tossed off the train and find themselves in the back of a rather dicey taxicab that will take them to Blackpool. They need more money for Kenny's train ticket, so Blake -- the fat one -- agrees to bungee jump for cash. They learn the police are after them because everyone in Cleethorpes is concerned that they are planning on killing themselves ... in imitation of Ross. They don't believe that their best friend did kill himself, but this is a journey of discovery and soon they are facing truths about their friendship with Ross they'd be happy not to ever acknowledge.

There's nothing surprising here, although I did appreciate the fact that the title wasn't actually referenced in the book; the author respects his readers enough to get it. (My post title does need explanation: Sim, the angry one, has a love of collective nouns, and one of the collective nouns for ostriches is a wobble. Who knew?) The journey is an entertaining mix of adventure (bungee jumping, haunted abandoned farm house complete with legend of a beheaded girl, escape via moped) and authentic sounding teen banter, with all the bickering and emotional yo-yoing that entails. The end is bittersweet (naturally), but I also felt good about the boys and how they would go on without Ross.

A new-to-me narrator, Bruce Mann, reads the novel. He has an oddly high, thin voice that's really different from the mostly resonant men I'm used to listening to. But it works for these teenaged boys; while he knows how to speak in their ebullient riffs and rhythms, they all sound just a little bit lost and lonely in Mann's interpretation. Since it's Blake telling us this story, Mann gives me a crystal clear picture of the intelligent, but shy boy he is. The stresses of the journey really begin to tell on Blake, and Mann's voice reflects this.

He does a good job of differentiating between the three boys, and I just believe that the accents are accurate to that particular corner of England. When the novel arrives in Scotland and our boys meet three comely Scots lassies, Mann rises ably to the burr (and helps us pronounce Kirkcudbright correctly).

Trolling the internet tells me that a theatre company commissioned a play of the novel which had a brief run this summer. This is good! "Children's theatre" often seems so focused on cultivating younger audience members -- witness the dreck on offer (well, not all of it is dreck ... and [digression] doesn't Lonnie Motion look a little old?) from a local company -- when in fact, it's teens who can benefit most from learning that live theatre performance can be for them.

[Perhaps Blake looked like this as he jumped off the platform in Blackpool. This photograph was taken by Ellywa and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Ostrich Boys by Keith Gray

Narrated by Bruce Mann

Listening Library, 2010. 6:10

A dog's life

2011-11-06T14:06:00.000-08:00

I have only the haziest recollection of the television show about Rin Tin Tin (it was little bit before my time). The masterful nonfiction story teller Susan Orlean has memories that are crystal clear. She remembers the charismatic German Shepherd so vividly because her somewhat distant grandfather had a plastic Rin Tin Tin toy with which she and her siblings were fascinated. It is that connection that sent her on the path to research Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend. I was lucky enough to receive a fresh-off-the-presses copy of the audiobook as part of Audiobook Jukebox's Solid Gold Reviewer program.

Orlean, probably best known for The Orchid Thief (a book I also listened to) begins at the beginning -- with the late 19th-century origins of the German Shepherd and a portrait of a lonely, fatherless boy named Lee Duncan who connected better to animals than to people. Duncan was an American soldier in World War I who found a female Shepherd desperately trying to protect her litter of new pups amidst the remains of a bombed-out kennel. Lee rescued the animals and somehow made it back to the U.S. with two of them -- Rin Tin Tin and Nanette (named after some good-luck charms popular with soldiers). Nanette died soon after they arrived, but Lee recognized that Rinty was one special dog.

Rin Tin Tin got into the mostly new movie business when someone filmed him making an incredible leap (12 feet?) over a wall and that film made it to a producer who was looking for a dog to make dog pictures. (Rinty wasn't the first canine movie star.) Lee and Rinty had a pretty stellar career, in both silents and talkies, although most of his movies are gone. Orlean describes how a pristine copy of Clash of the Wolves was found tucked away in some movie theatre and restored to its black-and-white glory, and how much she enjoyed watching it.

Once Rin Tin Tin died in 1932 (and in another one of her deeply entertaining digressions, Orlean visits his grave at Le Cimitiére Des Chiens in Paris [you get a glimpse of Rinty's grave at about the 3:00 mark in this trippy video]), Lee attempted to keep the magic going with his descendants, but the movie industry had moved on. However, Rinty II got another chance at show biz fame 20 years later when television could not get enough Westerns. The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin didn't actually use one of Lee Duncan's dogs (evidently Rinty II was just too damned dumb!), but at this point it's the legend of Rin Tin Tin that has taken over.

And, as is perhaps inevitable in our litigious society, the story of Rin Tin Tin ends with two parties (the "owner" of the broadcasting rights vs. the owner of Rinty's DNA [his descendants]) squabbling over who has the legal right to ... to what? The royalties on the TV show or the few extant movies? The ability to call your dogs Rin Tin Tin's descendants? It's hard to believe that this is important in the larger sense (since it's mostly the descendants of the original parties who are still arguing), but Susan Orlean does an excellent job of making us understand how important Rin Tin Tin was in the lives of these people.

What I admire about Orlean's brand of narrative nonfiction is how broadly she casts her net and how cleverly she brings what she finds in there to the nugget of her story -- how a dog outlasted mortality and how each person he encountered sort of molded their own image of Rinty, so that he met their needs. Lee Duncan needed a reliable companion, but what does Daphne Hereford (owner of the trademark Rin Tin Tin) need? (I mean, I'm all for a good dog story, but some of the people she met are crazy!) And then there's Orlean's ability to tell a good story; when it was over, I certainly didn't feel like I'd listened to more than 12 hours about Rin Tin Tin.

Orlean reads her own work and she's quite easy to listen to. I can hear the care that she takes to read clearly, and her familiarity with the story shows in the comfortable way that she reads. There are no attempts at drama, but when she describes her own memories of the dog, I can hear the voice of a deeply affected person. Even though I found some of her human subjects to be somewhat bizarre, Orlean avoids commenting on them with her voice. It's just the facts, but -- in her hands -- the facts are never boring.

It's been a little more than a week since I finished this book, and I've just started listening to Laura Hillenbrand's Unbroken. When I look back at my reading log, I see that I listened to both The Orchid Thief and Seabiscuit within two months of each other in 2003. These women, along with audiobooks, may be responsible for initiating my interest in adult nonfiction. I never read nonfiction until I began listening to it. And almost every piece of nonfiction I've listened to since has been really, really memorable.

Thanks to Simon & Schuster Audio for this audiobook.

[The still of Rin Tin Tin in Clash of the Wolves was retrieved from the Silent Era website.]

Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend by Susan Orlean

Narrated by Susan Orlean

Simon & Schuster Audio, 2011. 12:30

Just down the road

2011-10-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

I like books in a series, I like following a beloved character through a series of adventures even if one (or more) of those adventures might involve a bit of a wrong turn ... a bit of a reading slog. Sometimes, though, I can't deny the satisfaction (and yes, relief) in knowing that I don't have to read any more about them. That's what I thought about Peter Kenzie and Angie Gennaro. It was Gone, Baby, Gone and they were ... gone. Until now ... when I think they are really gone. Yes, Dennis Lehane had one more book to write, Moonlight Mile. [grrr...] (Now I didn't read Gone, Baby, Gone until 12 years after it was published --in 2010 -- so my relief-turning-to-horror at having to pick up the Kenzie/Gennaro story again was relatively mild compared, I'm sure, to some readers.)

Twelve years ago, Peter and Angie -- private investigators and partners in life -- split up over the conclusion of a case of a kidnapped toddler. Peter insisted on returning the child, Amanda McCready, to her negligent, possibly criminal, mother; while Angie thought Amanda should remain with the loving couple who thought they knew better and had removed her from said mother. Peter and Angie reconciled, married and had a daughter of their own, Gabriella. Gabby is four, the same age Amanda was when she was taken. Peter is the family breadwinner and he has taken more than one investigation that rubs up against his moral compass. Angie is chafing at her role as stay-at-home mom. The family needs health insurance.

But when Amanda's aunt Bea calls them again, telling them that Amanda is missing again, Peter knows he's got to find her. In proper P.I. fashion, the case multiplies in complexity, involving drugs, gambling, identity theft, black-market babies, the Russian mob, and more than one set of misbegotten parents. Through it all, Peter retains his unflappable wit and sarcastic repartee -- even when his own family is threatened. Order is returned, and I'm pretty sure that Peter and Angie will not be returning again. But only pretty sure ...

The novel has an elegiac feel -- the economy sucks, fall is melting into winter, old wrongs must be righted, parenthood bring new priorities. But it also felt a little rushed, the characters seem flat, the villains are cartoons. And speaking of cartoons, Bubba -- the lovable psychopath -- is mostly offstage and when he's on, it's as if Lehane tried to crowbar him into the story. I mean, they put him in charge of hustling Gabby out of the story so Peter and Angie can kick butt. I think Lehane remained haunted by what he did to Amanda, so he had to work it out. And now that he's a wildly successful author, his publisher said, "Whatever you want!"

Which isn't to say that the audiobook isn't terrific. It is. It might be as good as the Lehane novel I listened to earlier this year. The narrator, Jonathan Davis, was a revelation. I listened to him read something else earlier this year and it was utterly unmemorable (or rather, memorable for the wrong reasons); I can't remember a thing about his narration. But here, he's amazing. First of all, he sounds completely, authentically white working class Boston as he reads Patrick's first-person narrative. It's unforced and consistent. Angie speaks similarly, but her delivery sounds female. Even Gabby's origins are clear, and Davis keeps her from becoming cute or cloying.

The Russian mobsters afford Davis the opportunity to flash some other accents. While they are pretty scary as mobsters go, the accents tend to make them somewhat comical. Still, Davis is consistent.

In addition to his command of a variety of accents and characters (there's a Boston Brahmin in there, some Latinos, a lesbian from Vermont and an annoying fitness guru among others), Davis sets the right tone for the novel. Patrick's quiet relating of the story is told in a reserved voice that leaves a listener in no doubt of how aware he is that he's turning the corner and moving on.

Discovering that Jonathan Davis was not the average audiobook reader I thought he was proves cautionary. I look back at a post about yet another book that I heard him read and I was somewhat complimentary. A successful narration really does mean that the reader is matched with the right material. Moonlight Mile is a good match.

[A cross from Belarus plays an important role in the novel. This Belarussian postage stamp depicts the Cross of Saint Euphrosyne. The image was provided by G. Komlew and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Moonlight Mile by Dennis Lehane

Narrated by Jonathan Davis

Recorded Books, 2010. 8:45

Finally all caught up! Ten books (86.5 hours) listened to in 30 days ... blogged in 10 days!!

Went

2011-10-20T09:26:00.000-07:00

Cynthia Voigt's Young Fredle surprised me on so many levels. It's much more than your basic animal story and more than your leaving-the-nest story. There's also a terrific narration by someone I'd never heard read before (who may not have narrated before?). An all-around excellent package.

Fredle (rhymes with medal) the house mouse lives in the pantry of the farmhouse owned by Mister and Missus. His extended family forages in the kitchen at night, but are understandably fearful of the traps, the cat and the other dangers that surround them. If a mouse is caught, or gets sick enough that it can't forage for itself, it is declared "went." One night Fredle and his more adventurous cousin Axle discover and feast upon a deliciously sweet round, brown object. It makes Fredle terribly ill, and his family -- as it must -- pushes him out of its nest to went. As Fredle slowly recovers, he is gathered up by Missus and placed outside. He finds himself under the porch, not knowing what to do in order to survive.

Soon a bossy field mouse, Bardo, approaches and introduces Fredle to the culinary delights of the compost heap. Bardo acquaints Fredle with the dangers and excitements of the outside world, but instead of fearfulness, Fredle is filled with wonder ... at the light of day, the stars at night, flowers. He ventures beyond the porch and makes friends with one of the family dogs, Sadie. At the same time, he feels a longing for home and as he tries to figure out a way back inside the house, he is kidnapped by some rowdy raccoons and must rely on his wits to escape consumption. Fredle has more discoveries to make before he returns back home, and once he gets there he finds that home isn't how he remembers it.

Despite the concept of "went," this is a gentle story that even the most sensitive or mouse-phobic reader will enjoy. Voigt's loving descriptions of Young Fredle's discoveries are evocative and deeply child-friendly. Her anthropomorphized animal characters are universally appealing -- avoiding cuteness -- and demonstrate an understanding of each animal's behaviors. While I found the story arc predictable, I can see that a young reader would be on tenterhooks about Fredle's fate.

A pretty amazing narrator, Wendy Carter, reads the story. She's got a soft, gentle voice that perfectly mirrors the long summer days when Fredle's adventures occur. Fredle's curiosity and independence are evident in the voice she uses for his dialogue. Carter creates a number of vocal characterizations that are downright hilarious. Sadie, the somewhat dim yet eager dog, has a breathlessly excited delivery. Bardo's pushiness comes out in his emphatic speech. Fredle's cousin Axle speaks quickly and eagerly, but when Fredle meets her again after his journey, she has been traumatized by her own experiences. The exhaustion and depression are clear in her voice.

It's the Rowdy Boys (favorite exclamation "Woo-Hah!") who are the most fun, though. Sounding like bunch of Joisey gangsters, led by the charismatic Rilf, the raccoons burst into the story full of bluster and, well, rowdiness. They are dangerous and loveable in the same way the mobsters on The Sopranos were.

The Rowdy Boys nicely illustrate the fine line that Voigt walks in this novel: Fredle knows that these raccoons plan on eating him, but he's also having a boatload of fun with them. The danger and the humor mix it up in a delightfully scary way. This book can appeal to so many readers: like sentimental animal stories -- check! like adventure -- check! like to be scared -- check! like humor -- check! like a little sadness -- check! like great characterizations -- check! What I liked most was how unexpected this book was. What I like in a book is to be surprised! Check!

[It was a York Peppermint Pattie that proved to be Fredle's downfall ... or his ticket to adventure. This photograph was taken by Scott Ehardt and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Young Fredle by Cynthia Voigt

Narrated by Wendy Carter

Listening Library, 2011. 6:20

Arch frenemies

2011-10-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

It's not every book for teenagers that starts with an erection, but I thought Jack D. Ferraiolo takes this situation and runs with it in a pretty hilarious, totally teen-friendly way in the fun romp, Sidekicks. (In the interest of avoiding a National Book Award-type fiasco, note that the erection does not occur in either Dan Danko's nor Dan Santat's books confusingly also entitled Sidekicks.)

When mischief occurs in the Big Apple, Bright Boy is there -- in yellow spandex, red cape and a face mask. He's the sidekick of the great superhero Phantom Justice, who understands the need to appeal to the youth market. When Bright Boy isn't fighting crime, he's Scott Hutchinson, high school senior and ward of Trent Clancy, keeping a low profile at his elite Manhattan prep school.

As he's rescuing a damsel in distress from a thug who wants to drop her off the side of an 80-story high-rise, Bright Boy gets aroused. Those yellow tights leave nothing to the imagination. And with all the news cameras that diligently follow the exploits of Phantom Justice and Bright Boy, soon everybody knows what a perv he is. Sure, no one knows that the perv is Scott Hutchinson, but Scott really can't stand the stain on Bright Boy's reputation. He begs Phantom for a reboot ... a new costume ... one that recognizes that Scott is no longer the prepubescent nine-year-old Bright Boy. Phantom says he knows the market, the yellow tights stay.

On a mission against another villain, Dr. Chaotic, Bright Boy finds himself in a duel with the doctor's sidekick, Monkeywrench. In the clinch, Monkeywrench's mask falls off, to reveal Scott's classmate Allison Mendez. Scott's had a crush on Allison for some time, but she hasn't given him the time of day. After she cleverly exposes Scott, the two sidekicks first spar (verbally and physically), but then they fall hard. And when Phantom Justice and Dr. Chaotic figure out what's going on, well, the superhero world turns upside down.

Ferraiolo, who has another job as a writer for animated television, leaves nothing un-spoofed in his satire. The superheroes and the villains take the time to engage in witty repartee while fighting, the news cameras are omnipresent, the villains always intent on world domination through some doo-hickey. The fights are lovingly detailed. There's a twist that is revealed pretty early on, but the author keeps us nicely in the dark regarding motivation. The dialogue is indeed snappy and the teen romance fresh. I was a tad confused by the ending (so is Scott), but it's not really important. Ferraiolo has a knack for what teenagers will like and I think they'll like this one.

Ramón de Ocampo reads the first-person narrative. (I don't think I knew how hunky he is! Apologies for that shallowness.) I've listened to him read several times (here and here) and I've enjoyed it every time. He's great at reading teenagers, while his voice doesn't sound particularly youthful, he can deliver their speech rhythms authentically. de Ocampo brings nothing flashy to his narrations -- just solid characterizations, an appropriate feel for the book, and a pacing that reflects the mood and emotions of the plot. In Sidekicks, he reads the silliness straight, and keeps the dialogue peppy and the speakers consistent. He does a great riff on someone's (Michael Keaton, George Clooney, Christian Bale?) Batman as Phantom Justice -- clipped speech, gravelly register and take-no-prisoner's authority.

There are a few third-person sections of the novel read by Jack Garrett. He's evidently read a number of audiobooks but I've never listened to him before. He reads chapters where the book's adult characters act separately from Scott and he brings a stolidness and, yes ... slight evil to his narration. He's mostly neutral (although not the cypher that Alexander Marshall is in Life of Pi), but creates consistent characters and recognizes the humor that runs through the novel.

This is a really fun audiobook, and no one is listening to it at my library!! The book's got plenty of circulation, though. Is the cover too juvenile? Bright Boy looks younger than he is in the book to me. I think younger readers will enjoy this, but will Scott's embarrassment over his misbehaving genitalia soar right over their innocent little heads? Well, it won't be the first time ... or the last.

[The monkey wrench was photographed by Dori and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Sidekicks by Jack D. Ferraiolo

Narrated by Ramón de Ocampo and Jack Garrett

Recorded Books, 2011. 7:00

Spiders

2011-10-17T17:52:00.000-07:00

I am so close to being caught up! So, just a pause to point out a few places on the vast web of the internet to find out about other great audiobooks.

There's this month's (so what if the month is half over?) AudioSynced from Abby the Librarian.

Another book blogger invites listeners to link their audiobook reviews to her weekly review of an audiobook, Sound Bytes. Devourer of Books does indeed that, I don't think she needs to sleep! This is the place where last June's Audiobook Week came from.

Finally, as you can see, I received my Solid Gold Review audiobook from Audiobook Jukebox and reviewed it. From September's offerings, I get two more!! Excellent!

Spread your wings

2011-10-14T16:02:00.000-07:00

Herewith my first Solid Gold Review. Thank you Audiobook Jukebox and Full Cast Audio.

Cecilia Galante's The Patron Saint of Butterflies is based, in part, on her own childhood. She was born and raised in a religious commune in upstate New York. I think she is very careful to say that where she lived was not as extreme (or spiritually questionable; i.e., the color red is considered evil) as her fictitious Mount Blessing, but she does raise some important questions about the wisdom of turning over control of one's life (and one's children's lives) to another person. As Galante says in the FAQs on her webpage, "not much good will come out of it."

Agnes Little and Honey Harper are best friends, 14 years old, and have lived their entire lives in the isolated Christian community of Mount Blessing. The charismatic Emmanuel is the spiritual leader, and members of the community are contentedly obedient. Except for the fiery-haired Honey. Honey's latest infraction has been French kissing a boy, and both she and Agnes have been called into Emmanuel's Room of Requirement for punishment. Agnes is deeply distressed at her transgression (which was to defend Honey), as she has been aspiring to be more like the saints she's been reading about in a book given to her by Emmanuel. She's going so far as to secretly mortify herself by tightly tying a rope around her waist and sleeping on rocks. The punishment angers Honey, whose questions about the world outside and why everyone follows Emmanuel so blindly are becoming more pointed.

The girls are surprised by the arrival of Agnes' grandmother, Nana Pete, who usually comes during the summer but has poorly timed her visit to coincide with a significant Mount Blessing holiday, Ascension. Even though Honey is all but orphaned (her mother ran away from the community shortly after Honey was born), Nana Pete has always treated her like another grandchild. Nana finds out about the Room of Requirement, and then Agnes' younger brother Benny is in a terrible accident -- sustaining an injury that Emmanuel claims to have healed through a miracle. Nana Pete spirits him, Agnes and Honey away. As Agnes and Honey begin to experience the world outside Mount Blessing the rift in their friendship grows deeper.

This book rings utterly true. The girls are each seeking their place in the world, and their fears and questions seem so authentic. The escape from Mount Blessing is exactly that, as Nana Pete drives literally like a bat out of hell to get her grandchildren to safety. The novel never lets up this suspense, practically to the final pages. It asks some big questions, ones that are important to adolescents: When am I old enough to make decisions on my own? What do I do with what I know? The two girls are opposites in practically every way, but they come by their characters honestly. I can see how Mount Blessing made each of them.

It's my second audiobook in the last month where a child confronts a parent who deserted him/her. I got shivers again at the deep pain and honest anger coming from the child. (I hope it's not a spoiler to realize that Honey connects with a parent [I was wrong about which one, though!]).

Hearing that anger and pain comes in no small part from the young actress portraying Honey in this full cast production, Julie Swenson. All of Honey's frustrations at the limitations imposed upon her are clear in Swenson's dynamic and emotional reading. She has Honey's impetuousness and intelligence in her voice as well. Swenson's counterpart in this book with two narrators is Lydia Rose Shahan as Agnes. Shahan has the less showy part as Agnes' struggle is a more interior one but she is as confident a reader as Swenson. Her loneliness and confusion at being completely outside her comfort zone are vivid. And when the two girls start arguing, well ... they sound like teenage girls having a real slingfest.

Shahan and Swenson are ably backed up by the other members of the cast, but I need to single out humorous, avuncular Bruce Coville who is absolutely terrifying as Emmanuel. He bellows from deep in his chest when angry and has a preacher's authority when ministering more kindly to his flock. I also think Dianna Dorman as the crusty Texan Nana Pete and Trevor Hill as a mentally disabled character named Winky (who introduces Honey to butterflies) are particularly good.

For a Full Cast Audio production, the music was kind of ordinary -- just a little bit of a plink-y piano theme between chapters. Gloriously though, Nana Pete and her charges find themselves at an African American church because Agnes insists that they attend on Sunday, and a soaring hymn is sung on the recording by a singer named Agatha Devore [sp.?] and the All Saints Choir.

I'm having a little trouble parsing the title. Is Honey, the unsaintly one, the saint? Or is it Winky, who pretty much saves the day (setting the girls [the butterflies] free), but who is really a secondary character. I don't think it's Agnes. I'm not sure it really matters, except that I have to believe the author had someone in mind when she titled her book.

[The butterfly separating the heads of the two girls is a zebra longwing, one that Honey has been hoping to see one day. The photograph was taken by Tammy Powers and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Patron Saint of Butterflies by Cecilia Galante

Narrated by Lydia Rose Shahan, Julie Swenson and the Full Cast Family

Full Cast Audio, 2011. 8:45

And in this corner ...

2011-10-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

Bird in a Box is the last of the six books that needed catching up when I started on Monday, but now -- thanks to public radio pledge week and a lot of time in the car -- I'm two more in the hole! This well-researched little story from Andrea Davis Pinkney about three African American tweens growing up more or less parentless in the 1930s provides a glimpse into a culture with which I only have the most basic acquaintance. It also gave me little remembrances of Bud, Not Buddy (even down to the sky blue cover) and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that! (It looks like Christopher Paul Curtis will be publishing a "companion" novel in January: The Mighty Miss Malone [alas, I cannot remember Deza from the earlier novel].)

Hibernia's mother left her and her father -- reverend of the True Vine Baptist Church in Elmira, New York -- to follow her dream to be a jazz singer in New York City. Stuck singing in the church choir (for the moment) Hibernia is making plans for a similar career. Willie's drunken father burned his hands beyond repair, destroying Willie's dreams of becoming a boxer. Otis' parents died in a fiery collision with a hay truck. Willie and Otis have been living at the Mercy Home for Negro Orphans, under the affectionate care of an older white woman, Lila Weiss. It's 1937.

The radio plays an important role in the lives of all three children. Bernie listens to jazz on the sly, but realizes that her father is also secretly listening -- following the fights of the Brown Bomber, Joe Louis. Otis and Willie (and Mrs. Weiss) are big boxing fans,and Otis' most prized possession is his father's old Philco radio. The story is told from the perspective of each of the three children, who eventually meet when Bernie's choir performs for the orphans in the Mercy Home. They avidly follow Louis' comeback -- from his surprise June 1936 defeat at the hands of Max Schmeling to his title fight a year later against Gentleman Jim Braddock. We grow to understand what an important figure Louis was to African Americans during this time. Like Joe -- Bernie, Willie and Otis have had to fight back from disappointment and loss.

Although I enjoyed getting to know the three children in this story, the novel's episodic nature made it difficult for me to really attach to them in any way. I just flitted in and out of their lives without truly connecting. Sadness and difficulties were suddenly resolved, most particularly when Bernie's father has a change of mind about her ambitions to sing beyond the church choir. At times, the children all seemed to stand for something -- Bernie is sassy and opinionated, Willie is angry and withdrawn, Otis cheerful and optimistic. The title metaphor is explained several (i.e., too many) times: "Even a bird in a box can get free."

The best part of the novel, I think, is the recreations of the voices, stories, and even snippets of the music that come out over the radio. They so authentic and interesting, and Pinkney's research is so thorough, that the era does come to life. I just don't feel that the characters in the story were quite as lively.

Three narrators share the reading: Bahni Turpin (heard memorably here), S'von Ringo, and J.B. Adkins. (I think that Ringo portrays Willie and Adkins Otis.) I've never heard either of the two men read (although Mr. Google leads me to the [unsupported] conclusion that they are both part of the Los Angeles music scene), but their inexperience shows. Turpin's natural reading, the expressive way she uses her slightly hoarse voice, and her ability to portray characters using other voices simply outshine the two men. Their sections sound awkward, like they are fundamentally uncomfortable reading out loud.

I particularly love when Turpin voices an African American adult laying down the law to young kids. There's a power and uniquely black inflections that make even this middle-aged white woman sit up and take notice. I liked it when she portrayed Grandmother Johnson and here when she voices Bernie's father. Turpin's also very good as the announcers calling Joe Louis' fights, and the other radio voices. She understands the rhythms of this kind of speech, understands that the sound and the delivery are different.

On top of my general sense of meh about this book and audiobook, I'm wondering how many kids are going to want to read it. The history is kind of obscure, the narrative jumps around, not a whole lot happens plot-wise, and the characters are kind of stock-ish. I like the cover (except that Hibernia looks like she has two noses), but I'm not sure many children will stick with it.

[The only image of Joe Louis in Wikimedia Commons is this one taken from the Library of Congress' Van Vechten collection.]

Bird in a Box by Andrea Davis Pinkney

Narrated by Bahni Turpin, S'von Ringo and J.B. Adkins

Listening Library, 2011. 4:55

Into the breach

2011-10-13T09:06:00.000-07:00

Never underestimate the power of a good booktalk. Several years ago, a colleague booktalked China Miéville's Un Lun Dun (which I have never gotten around to reading), but I was intrigued enough to know that I wanted to try something from this author someday. The City and The City (or The City and Ytic Eht as the book's cover indicates) is another title I found while browsing the LOS shelves. As it wasn't a monster (another Miéville audiobook clocks in at over 24 hours), plus it appeared to have a detective element, I snagged it. Either I'm getting soft (or the catch-up blogging is affecting my cranky side), but this was another good one.

It's also really complicated. Inspector Tyador Borlü of the Extreme Crime Squad is called to a case of a dead woman found in a waste ground on the outskirts of Besźel (oy! the diacriticals are killing me!). Borlü is your classic loner cop, experienced but a bit of a maverick. Besźel is on the eastern edge of Europe, a rundown and slightly backward place that has the feel of an old Soviet city. Besźel also shares its space -- literally -- with the more sophisticated and vibrant Ul Qoma. The cities exist utterly separately except in areas known as crosshatched. There, they overlap, but if a citizen of Besźel happens to glance and see something going on in Ul Qoma (or vice versa), they must quickly "unsee" it. Unseeing is a skill taught early and practiced without thinking. If they don't unsee, they have "breached" and officers of a deeply feared and shadowy institution, Breach, swoop in and take them away ... forever. No one knows what happens to someone who has been swept up by Breach.

It doesn't take Borlü long to figure out that the murdered woman is somehow involved with an archeological dig in Ul Qoma -- a dig that might provide the existence of a third city, Orciny -- but he is not allowed to make inquiries about anything that happened there. Evidence appears proving that her body was moved from Ul Qoma to Besźel (through a legitimate border crossing), and Borlü applies for permission to continue his investigations in Ul Qoma. There, in classic crime fiction format, he meets his Ul Qoman counterpart (and complete opposite) Qassim Dhatt. They've got to set aside their differences in order to solve the crime.

And that's enough synopsis.

I think what I enjoyed most about this novel, aside from the plunking of a conventional detective story into the off-kilter-making co-existing cities -- was Miéville's complete respect for us as readers. He doesn't waste time elaborately building his worlds -- he spins out the details that we need to know naturally as the plot progresses. He has created a truly frightening entity, Breach, that we know almost as little about at the end of the novel as we do at the beginning. He's also making a sophisticated statement about how 21st century city dwellers live: We "unsee" all the time, ignoring the panhandler as well as a couple having an angry argument in public. We teach our kids to unsee. Yet, I never felt that his message was blatant or heavy-handed ... or even judgmental.

All of my posts lately seem to have ended with variations on "I'll read another" by this author, and this one is no exception. Un Lun Dun (which I think also explores the idea of intimately connected cities?) here I come.

John Lee reads this audiobook. Even though he's quite prolific (105 entries in my library's catalog!), it turns out I've only heard him read once (back in the earliest days of my blog ... forgive me its sloppiness). His experience and talent show in his masterful reading of this very complicated book. He retains a calm control over the novel's bizarre setting, knowing when to step up the pace of the narrative and when to let the emotional parts linger. (Without spoiling [I hope], I was actively disturbed when Borlü finds himself in a place where he doesn't know the rules.)

He gives most of the characters variations on an English accent, but contrasts Borlü's slightly formal manner of speaking with the more relaxed street stylings of Dhatt. When called for, Lee produces authentic American and Canadian inflections. He also sounds natural when voicing women. And, as always with a novel like this -- with its unusual place and character names -- he selects a way to say them and sticks with his pronunciation consistently.

BOR-loo
BEZH-el
Al KOh-ma
And last but not least, China (like the country) Mee-A-ville

[A Wikimedia Commons search of "breach" resulted in an image of this sculpture by the Suriname artist Oscar Adogo, Der Doorbraak, or The Breach. The photographer is Clock.]

The City and The City by China Miéville

Narrated by John Lee

Books on Tape, 2009. 10:16

It never forgets

2011-10-12T09:22:00.000-07:00

Jack Martel and I share an interest in elephants. Jack, 11-year-old hero of Jennifer Richard Jacobson's Small as an Elephant, is hoping to see one named Lydia on his Labor Day weekend vacation with his mother to Maine. I plan on seeing them in the wild sometime before I kick the bucket. Jacobson has written a gentle novel about a boy fiercely protective of his mentally ill parent, who will test himself again and again as he attempts to save her and himself.

Jack wakes up in his tent on the first morning of his vacation in Acadia National Park. He crawls out and finds that his mother, her tent, and their rental car are missing. His mother has gone missing before; when she's in one of her manic phrases -- Jack calls it "spinning." He just needs to sit tight for a few hours ... she'll be back. Even though he only has $14, he knows he can't let any adult authorities know, because they'll make him move in with his grandmother who Jack thinks doesn't really like his mother or him.

But when his mother doesn't come back, Jack first decides to look for her and then to make his way from Maine to their apartment in Jamaica Plain near Boston. Hungry, thirsty, with no place to sleep, Jack hoists his backpack and makes his way south (Jacobson's website has a fun map showing Jack's journey). As an adult, I accompanied Jack on his painful trip (so much bad luck!) just frustrated that he wouldn't ask for help. But I think kids will really identify with Jack's stubborn independence and understand his feelings that he has no options. Such a kid-friendly book. Jacobson has also written a series for beginning readers about a boy named Andy Shane. Also really terrific.

The squeaky-voiced William Dufris reads the book. I've heard him read several children's books, plus one adult, and I like listening to him. He reads in a tense, excited manner that captures Jack's sense of panic as things quickly spiral out of his control. Every time something goes wrong for Jack (and they go wrong frequently), the frustration in Dufris' voice is palpable. When Jack reaches the end of his resources, there is a subdued calm and real sadness. He also creates a cast of natural sounding characters (he does "Maine" very well, aye yup). Like the story, it's a gentle narration, nothing flashy.

My love of elephants stems from a stuffed animal with many large polka dots that lived on my bed for years. It then morphed into a "figurine" collection until that got out of control (or people thought that I was a Republican!). Now, I content myself with informational books and try to quell a (mostly) unobtrusive anxiety that they aren't long for this world, species-wise. Speaking of informational books, check out Ann Downer's Elephant Talk: The Surprising Science of Elephant Communication. It's fascinating.

[The photograph of rocks in Acadia National Park was taken by Michael180 and retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Small as an Elephant by Jennifer Richard Jacobson

Narrated by William Dufris

Brilliance Audio, 2011. 5:05

Take your congeniality and shove it!

2011-10-11T15:51:00.000-07:00

Checking our library's catalog, I see with astonishment that we own but one copy of Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty on audio. I remember really enjoying this audiobook (although not enough to go ahead in the series), and I've not been disappointed in the Printz winner's other two books either. I think she needs a editor who engages in a bit more pruning, but I love the preposterously big ideas that she bites off, masticates with humor and cleverness, and spits out in the form of entertaining, yet thoughtful fiction. Beauty Queens is hilariously funny, with sharp, social commentary (if, yes, a little heavy-handed) under the delicious candy coating.

Any description will not do Bray's imagination justice. A planeload of teenage girls all participating in the Miss Teen Dream beauty pageant, crash-lands on a deserted island somewhere in the Caribbean (I think). Just a handful of contestants survive. Miss Texas, Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins, vies with Miss New Hampshire, Adina Greenberg, for leadership. Sensible Adina thinks they should be concentrating on acquiring food and shelter and pursuing rescue, while pageant-crazy Taylor wants to stay focused on the competition. The girls initially vote to follow Taylor. As time passes, we get to know each contestant and watch as their secrets are exposed, hidden strengths are revealed, and their consciousness raised. They can look after themselves quite well, thank you, despite the corporate entity, The Corporation, which plans on using the island (and the contestants) to legitimize trade with a tinpot dictator with a stuffed (live?) lemur and an Elvis complex. The Corporation also has a slightly fishy relationship with the founder of Miss Teen Dream, Ladybird Hope.

Much else is spoofed as well. The narrative is interrupted by commercials for various products peddled by The Corporation, including Lady 'Stache Off, DiscomfortWear, and MaxiPad Pets; and previews of reality television shows and other entertainment created by The Corporation, such as Captains Bodacious IV: Badder and More Bodaciouser. Each Teen Dream contestant's Fact Sheet is presented. For the many references that those of us whose lives are not deeply influenced by The Corporation, a series of footnotes help to keep us informed.

I'll admit that I lost track of what was going on on more than one occasion. It's too long. Characters blurred. Some of the jokiness and satire run well past their sell-by date. It needs tightening. Hence my call for a less-nurturing editor. I was interested in learn in the author's note that Bray's editor, David Levithan, essentially gave her the idea to run with. Which means -- to me -- that neither of them have the distance required to approach the book with a tough, gimlet eye.

Bray reads her book. This can be a minefield, but I think she pulls it off. Her theatrical background is strongly in evidence in her ability to keep the lenghthy narrative moving and create a number of distinct characters. Now, her voicings are all pretty cartoonish (Miss Texas is seriously twangin', Ladybird Hope is right out of Wasilla, Alaska, Miss California is a Valley Girl [once she's exposed], Miss Mississippi (Alabama?) is a empty-headed baby-talker, etc.), but so are her characters. Bray's consistent, though, and the exaggerated characterizations help a listener keep the large cast straight.

She's most brilliantly funny reading the footnotes (which are indicated by a "bellboy" ding), and the commercials. Bray's in full snark mode and for those of us who appreciate what she is satirizing, listening to her is deeply enjoyable. Throughout the narrative, it's clear how much she is enjoying herself reading, and I don't mean to imply that she's on an ego trip.

The audio production is excellent. Music cues are used to great effect. Miss Mississippi (Alabama? I did have trouble telling them apart.) introduces each disc with a whispery clueless commentary -- I can't exactly remember, but along the lines of "Disc 2. I like the number 2, don't you?" There's an "interview" with the author/narrator at the end that continues in the satiric vein of the novel. The only thing I didn't like was the very lengthy acknowledgments, where she does come across as a bit glad-hand-y.

The comparisons to William Golding's Lord of the Flies are everywhere, and inevitable, I guess. I read this book a lifetime ago, and was probably too young to appreciate it. (Is it a book to "appreciate?") We own the audiobook. It's short. I'm curious now.

[Frida Kahlo might have been a Lady 'Stache Off client, but I doubt it. Her Self Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird is owned by The University of Texas and this image of it was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Beauty Queens by Libba Bray

Narrated by the author

Scholastic Audio, 2011. 14:30

Cowgirl

2011-10-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, a library volunteer expressed amazement and possibly even disappointment that I had never read a Molly Gloss novel. I certainly loved pioneer fiction as a young reader, but I had never even heard of her. Despite the fact that I never remedied my error of never reading her work, it would be impossible for me as an Oregonian interested in books not to know of her. So when I was browsing the Outreach shelves for something to take on a nine-hour road trip, it seemed serendipitous to find The Hearts of Horses there. Oh my, this was absolutely lovely.

Martha Lessen has left home with her three horses, horses she "didn't feel she could leave ... behind" with her violent and abusive father. She's 19 years old, the year is 1917, and Martha rides into Elwha County in Eastern Oregon offering to break saddle horses. Martha breaks horses gently, understanding their fears and behaviors, and she finds herself at the ranch of George and Louise Bliss. The Blisses offer her a place to park her bedroll and hire her to break two horses for $10 each. Despite her shyness, she is slowly drawn into the lives of the ranchers and farmers of the county, who soon arrange a riding circuit for her. She'll work to break a string of horses -- riding them from homestead to homestead until all of them are ready to ride.

Despite her determination to remain distant, Martha soon becomes entwined in their lives and witnesses the small and large dramas going on: the drunkard who neglects his family, the spinster sisters running their father's ranch, a husband and father dying from cancer, the German Americans ostracized by their neighbors. The sisters' ranch hand, Henry Frazer, begins wooing Martha with the same gentle handling that she gives to her horses. Each of the character portraits is exquisite and the listener -- like Martha -- gets caught up in their lives in spite of ourselves.

The landscape is also a character and Gloss writes about it economically but vividly. The mountains looming over the valley, the cold and isolation, the fug of a barn, the cold cheeks of a skating party are all described. The horses have their own personalities as well, and there is such comfort and security in Martha's kind methods. It's the kind of book where you aren't aware of any forward momentum, yet suddenly you are at the end and you've absorbed so much.

The narrator is Renée Raudman. I admit to avoiding books that she's narrated because I didn't really enjoy listening to her the few times I did. She has two oddities that may make her unique for some listeners, but that I find annoying - a really broad 'a' and a slurred 's' that sounds like a 'zh.' These are in full evidence in her reading here, but when I asked my traveling companion if she heard them, she didn't even know what I was talking about. So, I moved on.

Raudman reads with a soft almost-whisper that nicely embodies Martha's shyness and reserve, as well as the quiet of the lonely country and the privacy that its residents profess to crave (even though there is a lot of minding each others' business here). She maintains a very even narration; even when the man dying from cancer is in his final hours (and these scenes are very distressing) or when Martha is attempting to rescue herself and a horse down a ravine, Raudman keeps her tempo consistent. I respect her choice; the novel is written in an omniscient third person that is reflected in her dispassionate narration.

It looks like The Hearts of Horses is the only Gloss book available in audio (I'm not counting the few cassette tapes still hanging out there in WorldCat). I guess I'll have to eye-read another one. It'll be worth it I think. Add it to the list!

[Fictional Elwha County stands in for the northeastern corner of Oregon anchored by the Wallowa Mountains. The photograph of this landscape was taken by Fbolanos and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Hearts of Horses by Molly Gloss

Narrated by Renée Raudman

Tantor Audio, 2009. 9:23

The next goat

2011-10-10T15:04:00.000-07:00

Oy! I'm behind! Six books! (Seven, probably this evening ... although finishing this post will keep me at six.) Alas, remembering details may be problematic. So, let's get right to it! Life of Pi. A little over a year ago, I decided to listen to this book (frozen holds are a wondrous thing). My intrigue stemmed from the fact that I read somewhere that this was a nighttime read-aloud of Barack and Malia Obama (although maybe it was Michelle and Malia?). Either way, as a person interested in what children read, I was curious about Canadian Yann Martel's Man Booker Prize-winning book.

Piscine Molitor Patel (named in homage to a French swimming pool, but -- after much teasing -- shortened to Pi) grows up in Pondicherry, India at his family's zoo, where his father teaches him to respect the wildness in the wild animals. (Dad uses a goat to show the bloodthirsty qualities of the big cats and Pi's older brother tells him he'll be the "next goat.") A bright boy, he explores the three major religious faiths and practices pieces of each of them. In 1977, when Pi is 16, his family decides to emigrate to Canada, they take the zoo with them. One stormy night, the vessel that the family and its collection are on explodes and Pi is the only person to escape. He ends up in a lifeboat with a zebra (with a broken leg), an orangutan, a hyena and Richard Parker, a Bengal tiger. Nature being how it is, soon it is just Pi and Richard Parker in that boat. For 227 days.

Pi cleverly figures out how to keep the tiger sweet by sharing his food and water. Both Pi and I slowly grow to understand that Pi needs Richard Parker, without his companionship in those lonely days he would go mad. Unless, of course, he does go mad. (You decide.) I wouldn't have thought that 11.5 hours of hopelessly drifting in the Pacific would be riveting listening, but it was. Martel's delicious descriptive passages, coupled with the puzzle of what would be Pi's fate kept the headphones plugged in. The payoff is terrific! And I would love spoiler ideas about Pi's (ultimate) relationship with Richard Parker.

I decided to listen to this book (rather than eye read it) because of Jeff Woodman. He reads this novel with his usual attention to detail, gift for emotion, and character creations. The latter is limited to just a few, obviously, but each is distinct and natural- sounding. At the end of the novel, when Pi is being interviewed by the Japanese owners of the ship, Woodman had an extremely difficult job distinguishing between two male characters both speaking Japanese-accented English in a transcript format (no "Mr. Okamoto said" to help you). Couple these characters with Pi's East Indian accent and I occasionally experienced confusion following the conversation.

Woodman's talent as a reader is grasping the emotion of a character or a story, and he breathes life into Pi's saga. Every moment of agonizing loneliness, fear, and deprivation come out in Woodman's reading. You can hear Pi shrinking away into a starved, dehydrated, hallucinating (?) husk. Pi's suffering is very real to a listener, perhaps more so than to a reader. However, Woodman's accent never sounded right to me. Yes, he speaks in that high, clipped, rhythmic delivery that we associate with Indian-accented English, but it always sounded like an accent and not a real person speaking. Is this because I know that Woodman isn't Indian? Food for thought.

Another narrator, Alexander Marshall, reads some short sections portraying a writer researching Pi's journey many years later. He is nondescript as a reader, carefully neutral, so thoroughly different from Woodman's lively and authentic reading that a listener can only wonder what the publisher was thinking.

Martel recently completed a small act of artistic integrity: He sent Canada's Prime Minister Stephen Harper 101 books -- one approximately every two weeks over four years -- in an attempt to convey the idea of stillness (thoughtfulness, contemplation) to a man who barely gave him a nod during a ceremony honoring him (Martel) and other Canadian artists and writers. Harper needs the time he'd take reading Martel's gift books, the author hoped, to see himself, Canada, and the world on a larger canvas. Contrast Harper's reaction (a few canned thank yous from his staff) with a letter Martel received from Obama, as reported here. (So it was her father Malia read it with.) Say what you like about the President ...

[The photograph of the Piscine Molitor is from a "memoria" website. For a more up-to-date picture, check out Wikimedia Commons (sigh).]

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

Narrated by Jeff Woodman and Alexander Marshall

HighBridge Audio, 2002. 11:30

Think lovely thoughts

2011-09-21T15:30:00.000-07:00

I've never read (actually I've listened to all of them) a Dana Reinhardt novel I didn't like. I had issues with the audio version of Harmless, but liked the book itself and I really enjoyed both How to Build a House and A Brief Chapter of My Impossible Life (listened to pre-blog). Reinhardt tells brief, precise stories of older teenagers in insightful and compelling ways. Their brevity and smart, strong narrators make them great candidates for listening. The Summer I Learned to Fly is her first book for (slightly) younger readers, but it has all the hallmarks of a great Reinhardt read.

Drew Robin Solo was actually given the first name of Robin at her birth -- and called Birdie by her loving parents; but her mother changed her name when Drew's father died suddenly when she was three. Drew was her father's name. She's a loner and lonely girl growing up in a small town on the central California coast in the mid-1980s, but her 13th summer turns out to be one full of big changes. Her mother opens a specialty cheese shop in a dying downtown and Drew loves to hang out there, even if she has to smuggle in her beloved pet rat, Hum, past the health inspector. She plans on spending her summer helping out in the shop, crushing on the dishy college student/surfer dude who works for her mom.

She meets a boy, slightly older than she is, one night at the back of the shop. He introduces himself as Emmett Crane and tells her how much he appreciates the still-good, but not sellable, cheese she leaves out by the dumpster. He also seems to know a lot about rats (the pet kind). He and Drew begin a tentative friendship, one that encourages her to push her boundaries, ride without her bike helmet, disobey her mother. Things happen that shock, sadden, and even thrill her and her safe, manageable world tilts a little bit. Drew is telling us her recollections of that important summer from a distance of five years.

Reinhardt's mastery is how few words she needs to tell us so much. Drew's relationships are so carefully portrayed (we learn about her slightly-mean-girl friends in a spare paragraph or two), her small town is vivid -- Drew's understanding of the state of her mother's business is perfectly described as she beholds Safeway. She's a bit of an unreliable narrator, in that she's got a 13-year-old's tunnel vision, but her voice sounds so authentic. The bird/flying metaphor is there, but it's not intrusive.

A narrator new to me, Shannon McManus, reads the book. She has a pleasant voice and speaks with the rhythms of a teenager. Drew's quietness and sensitivity are nicely reflected in McManus' undramatic -- but still lively -- reading. While Drew sounds like a 13-year-old, I also got a slight impression of the older person (all of 18) telling us the story. McManus slightly voices the novel; her characterizations are subtle but the important features of each personality are clearly captured. I really liked the fact that her portrayal of Nick the surfer was not a caricature in any way. There was real emotion in her reading, I heard the lump in her throat when Drew reads a section of her father's notebooks. I'd listen to her read again.

This was my second novel in less than a month blurbed by Markus Zusak: "When you start reading a Dana Reinhardt book, it's like discovering a new friend." The other one was Jason Wallace's Out of Shadows: "Honest, brave and devastating -- more than just memorable. It's impossible to look away." I'm seeing more and more books for young readers with blurbs on the cover, most recently Michael Grant (The Marbury Lens) to Audrey Niffenegger (Peter Nimble and His Fantastic Eyes). Does this matter to teen readers? Or are they strictly aimed at adult buyers? Do you ask your friends to do this for you? Or does your publisher?

[Hum the rat is named for Drew's favorite cheese, Humboldt Fog. The beautiful photo (that's "vegetable ash" running through the cheese) was taken by Jon Sullivan and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Summer I Learned to Fly by Dana Reinhardt

Narrated by Shannon McManus

Listening Library, 2011. 4:24

Sister act

2011-09-15T14:10:00.000-07:00

The lovely thing about Jeanne Birdsall's Penderwick books is how they seem to effortlessly evoke an old-fashioned time of summer days with no structure but always with plenty to do, while having their feet somewhat firmly in the present. (No one in the family seems to have a cell phone, for which I am grateful, but it does seem a little odd.) I read the first two Penderwicks, but decided (for no particular reason) to listen to Book 3: The Penderwicks at Point Mouette.

If you don't know the Penderwicks, they are four motherless sisters -- Rosalind (the oldest, the responsible one), Skye (the scientist), Jane (the writer), and Batty (the baby, as yet unformed) -- living somewhere in western Massachusetts. In the first book, they met a fatherless boy named Jeffrey, who has since become a dear friend and honorary brother, and whose wealthy and distant mother has since sent him off to boarding school. Penderwick pere, after spending many years as a widower, has recently remarried a widow with a baby boy. (That was the second book.)

This summer, the doctors Penderwick are off to present scientific papers and have a brief honeymoon. Rosalind (kind of a busybody who is the OAP - Oldest Available Penderwick) is spending a vacation with her best friend in New Jersey. The three remaining sisters are going to Point Mouette in Maine with their father's sister, Aunt Claire. Skye must now assume the role of OAP and she knows that she is not terribly suited to the part. She drowns the long list of instructions provided by Rosalind and can now only read the part that says "blow up Batty."

The sisters are thrilled to discover that Jeffrey will be joining them in Maine. But when a neighbor's dog trips Aunt Claire and she ends up with a severely twisted ankle, Skye knows that things will only go down from here. It's only two weeks, but much happens and their world is briefly and poignantly set on its ear. All rights itself by the end, as it should be.

I'm pretty sure that I would have wanted to be a Penderwick sister if I were reading about them as a tween. All that fierce love and acceptance, and "real-life" adventures that just seem so interesting. Sure, lessons are provided, but they are so heartfelt and often so amusing that you don't even mind. The book is so easy to listen to, its language is so natural. The descriptions are vivid -- I could see that small house at the end of the road, butting up against the pine forest. When the sisters go out on the ocean, the sun was beating down on my head and I could smell the salt air.

Susan Denaker reads the book. She's an experienced narrator, but I've not heard her before. I really enjoy how she created an individual voice for each sister -- not particularly easy since Skye and Jane are just a year apart in age. Skye's sensibility and Jane's volatile emotions are nicely delineated by Skye's more grounded voice and Jane's flighty, higher register. If six-year-old Batty is a little babyish for me, well, so be it. A narrator's got to sound babyish sometimes.

Denaker portrays a large cast of characters with interest and appropriateness. This is a novel about people you or I might know, so no one sounds bizarre or ridiculous simply to provide differention. There are some moments of high emotion in this novel and she plumbs those emotions honestly. Tears are shed and I heard them in her voice. It's a lovely performance.

The March sisters, the Melendys, the girls at Miss Minchin's, the Ingalls girls, Nancy, Bess and George; and for older readers, the Bennets and the Dashwoods, even Dorothea and Celia Brooke (yes! I've read Middlemarch!). I'm sure there are so many more I'm forgetting ... but I do enjoy classic novels about sisters, or a reasonable facsimile thereof (and the occasional brother). Count the Penderwicks as a modern classic.

[Birdsall says that Point Mouette was inspired by Boothbay Harbor in Maine. This stereoscopic photograph of the Harbor was taken by O.M. Jones in the late 19th century. It lives in the New York Public Library's Photography Collection and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Penderwicks at Point Mouette by Jeanne Birdsall

Narrated by Susan Denaker

Listening Library, 2011. 7:32

Dis not!

2011-09-12T15:13:00.000-07:00

I'm late to The Misfits, but I'm glad I got around to it -- my timing was unusually good since I'd just heard a "Talk of the Nation" feature on bullying last week. The only other James Howe book I've read was the clever and funny Bunnicula, that perfect first "scary" story. The Misfits is very different, but contains the same liking for and respect for its young readers.

The Misfits are four seventh graders who just don't "fit in" at Paintbrush Falls Middle School in upstate New York. They actually refer to themselves as the Gang of Five (I can't remember why), making it through the meat grinder that is middle school through mutual support and friendship. Bobby Goodspeed, overweight and motherless, is the story's narrator. He's an introspective kid who tries to fly below the radar but can't seem to go a day without being called Fluff, Lardass or Pork Chop. Addie Carle (Nerdette), Joe Bunch (Faggot), and Skeezie Tookis (Greaser) round out the Gang.

Addie -- smart and not afraid to express her opinions -- decides that she is going to run for president of the student council as a third party candidate, and gets the Gang to join her. She initially creates the Freedom Party, representing minority students, but she's foiled when a teacher points out that only one of her candidates (an African American boy named DuShawn -- who really only gets involved because he has a crush on Addie) actually meets her criteria. After a particularly nasty name-calling incident, Bobby has a brainwave and the Gang forms the No-Name Party -- dedicated to the elimination of derogatory names at school altogether. A few more obstacles from school administrators stand in their way, but Bobby and the Gang eventually do get on the ticket and get to present their platform to the whole school. Some things change, and some don't, but all four kids feel good about themselves.

This description makes The Misfits sound like an afterschool special, and on one level it is. But there's a lot of humor here, the Gang themselves are quite appealing, and the outcome isn't happy-ever-after. I think it helped to listen to this and to listen in a full cast format because each member of the Gang really emerged as a real person -- not as a cardboard representative of the fat, nerdy, gay or "hood" (which is what we called the black-leather-clad smokers who made that first-floor bathroom impossible to use at my high school in the 1970s) constituencies.

Full Cast Audio's website provides a cast of characters, so I know that Spencer Murphy, Maggie Lane, Ryan Carlesco and Andrew Pollack play the Gang. Murphy does the major narrator duties, and he creates a completely believable character of a sad, shy boy. The other young readers also sound comfortable and natural in their performances. Carlesco, who plays the not-quite-out gay teen, sounded overly young to me and he relied a little too much on volume to express Joe's flamboyance. Full Cast Audio's handy links tell me that I heard Murphy in The Will of the Empress and Pollack in Fairest, but alas, saw no reason to mention them by name in those postings. I also enjoyed performances by David Baker (an FCA regular) as Bobby's sympathetic dad and Bill Molesky as a lonely haberdasher who inspires Bobby's creation of the No-Name Party.

I didn't begin listening to Full Cast stuff until after this audiobook was published in 2002, and I admit that I found some of the ones I first listened to were pretty amateurish. I think they've improved by leaps and bounds -- more nuanced and polished readings from the young narrators, confident and natural-sounding characterizations, and sophisticated sound effects and musical interludes. I was surprised that The Misfits had these qualities, I didn't hear a clunky interpretation, a shouter, or an emoter in the cast. Plus, my personal bane of these productions -- that upstate New York "tense short a" [scroll down to Buffalo] -- was perfectly in order for this story which takes place in a small town where people indeed do speak that way.

I read The Misfits because my book group is discussing Addie on the Inside and -- as you know -- I hate to come in in the middle. So, when I read the jacket flap for Totally Joe (Book 2 of The Misfits series), I learned that The Misfits inspired No-Name-Calling Week, which is January 23-27 (or 24-28 ... I hope they straighten that out), 2012. Here's the logo promoting next year's activities [retrieved from the website].

No Dissing ... yeah!

[I am relieved that a search of Wikimedia Commons for "faggot" did not turn up any hate materials ... at least as far as I searched. As a knitter, it was nice to see some faggoting, instead. The photograph was taken by Linda Spashott and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Misfits by James Howe

Narrated by Spencer Murphy and the Full Cast Family

Full Cast Audio, 2002. 5:00

F***ing anecdote

2011-09-09T14:37:00.000-07:00

I firmly believe that reading should not be a chore, but as I am a compulsive finisher, some books can be more effortful than others. I've had some books I've been angry at, but the times I've felt like I was wasting my time are few and far between. And despite its preciousness, pretentiousness, and (failing to come up with another pre- word) extraordinary self-indulgence, I didn't find that A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius made me either angry or irritable. Sighingly impatient perhaps, or fairly bored upon occasion. Thank goodness for Dion Graham, whose really stellar performance makes this go down pretty easily.

This work -- originally published in 2000 -- is catalogued as Biography in my library, but memoirist Dave Eggers tells us that much of it is fictionalized. Perhaps revisited would be a more accurate description: I believe these things happened to Dave, but because he's kind of a jokester, his re-creations of events and conversations aren't exactly trustworthy. Several times, his characters jump out of character and begin talking to Dave as if they know they are speaking for Dave's posterity (if not their own). Isn't this meta-something? My post title is taken from one of these instances: "I don't want to be a fucking anecdote in your stupid book!"

When Dave was 21, his parents died (of two different cancers) within a month of one another. Dave and his two older siblings decided that they would parent their much younger brother Toph (Christopher) together, with Dave taking the primary role. Dave and eight-year-old Toph moved away from their suburban Chicago home to the Bay Area. For the next five or six years, the boys raised each other, while Dave established himself as a GenX literary gadabout, founding the satirical Might magazine, and trying out for MTV's Real World.

There are moments of real honesty here, particularly in the beginning. Eggers' descriptions of his mother's final days are indeed heartbreaking. When he and Toph set up housekeeping, it's a hilarious frat party of a never-changing menu (potatoes in the French style), spoiling food, dirty dishes, and Toph frantically waking up Dave in time to get him to school.

As the book winds on (and on), it gets less engaging. The lengthy section devoted to Dave's audition for the Real World ups the pretentiousness (although we finally get a little more info about his family's life in Lake Forest), as does the shenanigans involved with the production of Might's bimonthly issues (nude photographs, the faked death of a celebrity). Dave fantasizes about death and disaster frequently. Toph disappears for long periods. At the end, as Dave and Toph are preparing to move to New York, it appears they gave up on San Francisco because they were bored and needed something new to do. The audiobook concludes with the preface Eggers wrote to the paperback edition. More self-indulgence and meta-explanations. Here's where he says what he wrote is fiction.

The cover joins the circus as it was created by those 90s art rock-stars, Komar and Melamid. I guess the title might get you to open the book, but that painting sure wouldn't. Interestingly, audiobook publisher Recorded Books, which almost never uses a book's original cover, uses this. I wonder if they were contractually obliged to.

I listened to this because of Dion Graham, and I'm glad I did. It's an outstanding narration. He doesn't hold back on Dave's grief, his love of Toph, his childishness (and the fact that he knows he's infantile), even the intense sincerity with which he tells the Real World producer his life story. He reads quickly when necessary (speeding across the Bay Bridge for a few hours without Toph has the rhythm of a true getaway), but never lets go of the narrative's underlying emotion. It is through Graham that I understand that this story is one of a person working through loss. It's not a self-indulgent exercise in hipness. Had I read this with my eyes, Genius would have just been words ... annoying, pretentious, wa-a-ay overdone. Ironically, it is Graham who gives this story a heart.

When I was lucky enough to meet Dion in 2010, he told me that Eggers had been so impressed with his work on What is the What that he knew that Graham was the only one who should narrate Genius. If I'm remembering correctly, Eggers told the publisher that no one else was to be considered. This is pretty radical in audiobooks: Graham is a black man narrating a white man's story. Thank goodness we live in an audiobook world where culturally appropriate narrators are available to narrate books by and/or about people who aren't white; but an even better world is the Eggers/Graham universe: Where the match between narrator and book is the only thing that matters.

[The broken heart image was created by Nevit Dilmen and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers

Narrated by Dion Graham

Recorded Books, 2010. 13:30

Sweet dreams

2011-09-09T09:29:00.000-07:00

The last time I listened to a book centered around walking or running, I fell and broke my ankle. Since then, I've definitely experienced fear about doing it again (not from the pain of the break, but from the sheer inconvenience of not being able to walk) and I'm still not sure I'll ever go walking in the dark again. [sigh] These were the hamster-wheel thoughts that kept going through my head as I listened to Wendelin Van Draanen's The Running Dream. I kept my eyes firmly on the ground during the morning walks and finished accident-free. You know how "they" say that most car accidents take place less than two miles from home; I'll probably fall while listening to a book about a kid who stays home reading all the time. See what I mean about fear?

Jessica Carlisle had just set a personal best in the 440 at her high school track meet and was on her way home on the team bus. An uninsured junk hauler with faulty brakes slammed into the school bus, killing one student and crushing Jessica's right foot. Everyone else gets out with cuts and bruises, but Jessica's leg is amputated below the knee. "My life is over," she says. Shocked and depressed, convinced that her classmates will see her as a freak, she hides out at home until her best friend Fiona drags her back to school and life. Working with a crafter of prostheses she nicknames "Hankenstein," Jessica gets a prosthetic leg, but struggles with the loss of her running identity.

Then, her coach shows her a video of a runner named Oscar Pistorius [photo below], running on prostheses that don't resemble Jessica's in any way. Coach Kyro announces that her track team, her school, her community will raise the $20,000 needed to get Jessica her running leg. The remainder of the novel follows Jessica through the stages of loss to acceptance. Along the way, she meets a more severely disabled schoolmate, Rosa, a 9th-grade math whiz with cerebral palsy. Until she had to share a desk with Rosa (because they are both in wheelchairs), Jessica realized that she never truly saw her.

I won't share the ending, but cue the inspirational music.
I finished this while ironing (never mind why I was ironing when it was 90+°), and I do admit to clearing a bit of a lump from my throat.

The Running Dream is narrated by Laura Flanagan. I've only heard her read one other time, and I really didn't like it much; but I think in that case it was the material, not the narrator (inspirational rehab stories aren't any more a fave than vampire novels [see previous post]). Here, Flanagan gets the teenage voices really well, and is particularly effective with the inflections and characterization of first-person narrator Jessica. She portrays Rosa's speech impediment (which Jessica describes as "under water") honestly, while ensuring that we can understand her.

Where Flanagan is less successful is in portraying adults. There are a number of adults in this story (unusual for a teen novel, now that I think about it), and they all seem a little formal, a little stiff and unnatural sounding in Flanagan's reading. Is she trying to make them sound so different from the teenagers that she teeters into caricature? Her choices don't ruin the book by any means, but they do give you that little ear-hiccup that makes you pay more attention to the voice than what the character is saying.

There are two other things in this book (having nothing to do with the audiobook) that struck me:

Jessica's younger sister (13) is frequently portrayed texting (and this activity is always presented in a slightly negative way) ... but 16-year-old Jessica and her friends never do. Yeah, right!
A small subplot of the novel involves health insurance (or the lack thereof, Jessica's working class family decides to only insure their laborer father). While lawyers are haggling over who's responsible, Laura needs care!! This was resolved a bit too neatly (and quickly), but I thought the issue was raised in a thoughtful way.

[The photograph of Oscar Pistorius running just a few days ago in the 2011 World Championships -- where he was the first amputee ever to compete at this level -- was taken by Erik van Leeuwen and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Running Dream by Wendelin Van Draanen

Narrated by Laura Flanagan

Listening Library, 2011. 7:00

Really sucky

2011-09-08T13:34:00.000-07:00

I'm having difficulty rustling up an example of a vampire book that I have truly enjoyed (years ago, I read Anne Rice's first few Lestat books, but those got weird [and so did she]). Adam Rex's Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story seemed promising; I mean this was the guy who dreamed up the hilarious mayhem of Smekday. Mostly I want a book that doesn't involve true-love-forever in any way whatsoever, thank you Adam Rex: "The vampire pressed down on you. There was no beguilement, no charm or enchantment. You were held fast by the hair as the vampire tore you open and siphoned off your life. Your blood mingled. It wasn't romantic." [p. 89]

Doug Lee -- short, pudgy, comic book fan, Jewish, general nerd -- was made a vampire by accident over the summer. His maker (corrupter or granter of immortality depending on who you are talking to) had just been made a vampire itself and was scared and wounded when it attacked Doug. Doug is pretty depressed at the thought that he'll never change from the fat, loser dork he is. He tells his best friend, the even nerdier Jay (formerly homeschooled), because he'll need some help when the two boys go on their long-planned trip to Comic-Con in San Diego. But while they're there, Doug -- who hasn't quite mastered the whole feeding thing -- calls enough attention to himself that he catches the eye of Alan Friendly, host of a reality television show called Vampire Hunters (the videos linked here are pretty funny).

Doug and Jay scuttle back home to suburban Philadelphia where Doug attempts to act like a normal high school sophomore. He falls kind of hard for exchange student Sejal, but she tries to let him down easy. Doug confronts his maker, acquires a vampire mentor, and begins dating another girl and just like that, things begin to look just a little better. And interestingly, so does Doug.

Fat Vampire is also Sejal's story. In a nicely loony twist, she is spending her exchange year with a dial-up-only family because she caught "the Google" at home in Kolkata, unable to tear herself away from her technology. She decides to start fresh by losing her suitcase full of saris on purpose and adopting the Goth fashions and tranquilizers of her host sister, Cat.

This is pretty darn funny, with lots of satire about sexy vampires, just about every clique in high school (although I did have a bit of a laugh at the idea that the drama kids were the popular ones), reality TV. Every once in awhile, the quirky mood vanishes and some serious stuff comes your way: Doug's description of how he was made -- which he does in the second person -- is fairly disturbing, as is Sejal's obsession with her digital life. The ending isn't tidy.

It's been almost a year since I've heard Kirby Heyborne read anything (that, and the next book I finished led to disability flashbacks). Despite his six appearances in my blog (thank you Audiobook Jukebox), he's just not a favorite narrator. His relatively high voice, the sing-song quality of his reading, and the precise diction simply aren't very interesting to listen to. Occasionally, he breaks out of these patterns, and is really, really funny! Doug uses his vampire skills for good and thwarts a robbery at a MoPo store (a 7-Eleven-type store that also shows up in Smekday). As Doug goes a little crazy, so does Heyborne. "POP-TARTS! POP-TARTS! POP-TARTS!" He gets louder, lively, funnier, more engaging to hear. When he did this, it took me by surprise, but I liked it.

In this novel, he mostly portrays teenagers; they are relatively interchangeable but they sound like real kids. There are enough written clues (Doug said, etc.), that following dialogue isn't difficult. With adults, Heyborne deepens his high voice, and this sounds a little strained. Sejal speaks with an Indian accent and Vampire Hunter Alan Friendly is English. Both accents are a little wobbly here.

Definitely better than any other vampire novel read or listened to recently (which means about five in the past five years), but this is just not my genre.

[In times of stress, Doug transforms into a bat. The photograph of the vampire bat (Desmodus rotundus) was retrieved from the Instituto Nacional de Biodiversidad (Costa Rica) via the Encyclopedia of Life and is used under a Creative Commons license.]

Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story by Adam Rex

Narrated by Kirby Heyborne

HarperAudio, 2010. 8:25

Good news!

2011-09-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

The days surrounding Labor Day are always my favorite time of the year (although I might have to push back my pleasure a week as today is the first day of an anticipated five-day stretch of 99° days), and several good things happened to me over the weekend:

Audiosynced at Stacked linked to my August reviews and said a very nice thing about them!
The Audiobook Jukebox notified me that my request to be a Solid Gold Reviewer was accepted this month and that Full Cast Audio's The Patron Saint of Butterflies will be on its way to me soon. Thanks!
I won the August random drawing at the Whisper Stories in My Ear audiobook challenge!! The Bewitched Bookworms were kind enough to give me a copy of Divergent.

Must keep listening ...

Roll, tap, tap, tap

2011-09-01T10:16:00.000-07:00

Oh boy. The Marbury Lens. You may have read about it here; I'm not sure where heard about it, but I'm building a list of 15 "New & Notable" books to booktalk and one of my colleagues recommended it. I think it'll go on the list, it's definitely compelling but whew! It's one of those books (like Liar) where the reader decides what happened. The author, Andrew Smith, doesn't spell it out. Here's the story, told by a deeply unreliable narrator; take what you read/heard and figure it out ... for yourself.

I won't tell you what I decided (or rather what's still rolling around in my head), but here's (more than) a little to get you started. Jack Whitmore is a 16-year-old boy with few emotional connections. He's been raised on the central California coast by doting maternal grandparents (his mother was a teenager herself and is long gone, dad was never in the picture), whom he regards with tolerant dispassion. His best (only?) friend is Conner. In that cruel boy way (lacking that Y chromosome, I just don't get this), Conner continually ribs Jack about never having had sex, frequently baiting him about being gay. The boys plan a trip to England later in the summer, where they'll take a look at the exclusive school that Jack's grandfather attended to decide whether they want to spend part of their senior year there.

At a party at the end of the school year, a drunk Jack stumbles upon Conner having sex with his girlfriend. Conner casually invites Jack to join them. Getting drunker, he flees the party and accepts a ride home from a doctor in an expensive car. Only this doctor takes Jack to his home, where he drugs and tortures Jack and attempts rape. Jack manages to escape and tells Connor what happened to him. Connor concocts a plan to kidnap the doctor, which instead results in his death. There is no evidence linking them with the doctor's death, so the boys fly to London as planned.

Jack arrives a few days before Conner, and meets an older man in a pub who leaves him with a pair of purple-lensed glasses, saying they are Jack's. Jack glances through them and sees another landscape -- seemingly post-nuclear. He tries them on and is transported to this place, where he sees the decapitated head of the man who handed him the glasses and is known by name by two younger boys, Ben and Griff. Jack somehow knows he is in Marbury. And once he's experienced Marbury -- full of horrors like mutant flesh eaters and a lot of mutilated body parts -- Jack feels compelled to return. Neither the insistence of his best friend or the love of a good woman can keep him away.

I think that's what I had the most trouble with in listening to this story is what draws Jack to Marbury. Aside from the gradual breakdown in his sanity resulting from the kidnapping, that is. Or maybe Jack isn't going crazy? In Marbury, Jack is in charge, he's the actor not the acted-upon, those boys look to him. But, does Marbury exist? What happened there? Why is Conner in Marbury, but has mutated to the bad side? And what about the ghost of Seth, who appears to Jack both in Marbury and in his "real life." (Seth announces his presence in Jack's real life by making the "roll, tap, tap, tap" sound.) And another thing ... why does Jack sometimes refer to himself in the second person? So many questions ...

I didn't really like this -- it is extremely disturbing -- but I couldn't stop listening. Was it because I wanted my question answered (why does Jack keep going back?)? Or like Jack, was I drawn to something very awful and couldn't look away? It's clear my appreciation of this book suffers from middle-aged-woman syndrome (alas, it's unavoidable): it is so written for teenaged boys. It doesn't matter if I like it or not. And I'm happy to sell it (hence it's appearance on my list).

Mark Boyett reads the novel, and he is very good. I think he's new to narrating, but he reads this book with confidence. His voice is a bit gravelly for a teenager, but Boyett overcomes this by speaking in those boy rhythms as Jack and Conner exchange insults as conversation. I think he really does a fine job depicting Jack's spiral downward -- picking up the pace as Jack disconnects from the reality of his life in London. I could also hear a distinct change of delivery -- more certainty, harsher -- when Boyett reads the parts of the text that are in second person. Several sections of the novel are devoted to first-person narration from Seth, telling us the story of his life (another textual question -- just how does Jack know this story?). Here Boyett goes a little overboard with the twanginess, a fairly cheap way of indicating a rural and less educated character. At the same time, he reads Seth with a quietness that makes his narrative quite compelling to listen to.

I did find him a little too high and swishy for the novel's few females -- essentially Jack's new English-Swedish girlfriend Nickie and her friend Rachel. The English accents sound a bit wobbly to me as well. [The middle-aged woman has to interject here: Could these girls be more of a teen boy's fantasy -- utterly supportive and eager for sex? And Swedish ... really? Come on!]

I poked around the author's blog to see if he had commented at all about Meghan Cox Gurdon's take on his novel (she does call out The Marbury Lens for its "unimaginable gore and cruelty"), and what I found was thoughtful and worth reading. In our world of instant media reaction, Smith took a few days to think about what had been said. He kept his eye on his book, not any hurt feelings at being singled out and certainly not that YA saves. OK, I could have used fewer expletives, but it's the middle age talking again (she's talking a lot today). I am intrigued that Smith thinks he wrote a happy ending. It kinda makes me rethink the book all over again!

[To erase from my head the horrors of Marbury, here is Marbury Big Mere, photographed by Espresso Addict as part of the Geograph Britain and Ireland project and retrieved from Wikimedia Commons. As instructed, I note that the photograph is copyrighted, but licensed for further reuse.]

The Marbury Lens by Andrew Smith

Narrated by Mark Boyett

Brilliance Audio, 2010. 10:49

Shakespeare slept here

2011-08-26T09:30:00.000-07:00

The final book finished on the summer's great road trip was a work of nonfiction: The Lodger Shakespeare: His Life on Silver Street by Charles Nicholl. Taking his cue from Shakespeare's testimony in a financial dispute (the only time the Bard's words were recorded and acknowledged to be his by his signature), Nicholl creates a vivid picture of the playwright and actor in middle age, what life was like in Jacobean London, and how Shakespeare's tenure on the corner of Silver and Muggle (the locals' shortened version of Monkwell) Streets may have influenced such plays as King Lear, All's Well That Ends Well, and Pericles.

Shakespeare's testimony in the 1612 case of Belott v. Mountjoy (recorded verbatim on the second page of text in this PDF) was unearthed by an American researcher in 1909 (much to the horror of many British scholars) and tells us that he assisted his landlady, Marie Mountjoy, to convince her family's apprentice, Stephen Belott, to marry her daughter, Mary, in 1604. The Mountjoys were French Huguenots (Calvinists) who had fled to England following the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre. Once in London, they became very successful "tirers" -- creators of elaborate headdresses -- who counted the Queen among their clientele. According to the lawsuit, Mary's father Christopher had promised the young couple a dowry, but eight years later, Christopher had yet to pay out.

Nicholl uses a very charming "we" voice to speculate a great deal about Shakespeare in his 40s -- why he sought to live at a slight distance from his theatrical cronies, what he might have seen coming and going from the Mountjoy's tire shop, how he may have formed relationships with the less-salubrious (including the owner of a brothel who later collaborated with him on his play Pericles) denizens of Cripplegate, and the affectionate, paternal relationship he may have developed with Mary that may be the result of her own father's distance and/or cruelty. It's fascinating stuff, and it is written in such an avuncular and accessible style that "we" want to keep listening. (Only once did my ears glaze over, during an especially lengthy and detailed description of the tires of Jacobean London.)

Simon Vance contributes to this accessibility, I think. His low, pleasant voice invites us to be a part of Nicholl's "we." He's just telling us this fascinating story over a pint in a London pub. Throughout the book, he has the opportunity to orate -- to recreate a passage from a Shakespeare play or sonnet, or another primary document. When individuals are speaking from these documents, Vance provides the appropriate accent -- Huguenot immigrant, cockney brothel keeper, loving daughter, even Shakespeare himself (who has a little bit of a country accent).

Since I've listened to Vance read two nonfiction titles practically back-to-back (purely by accident), I just need to add that there is a nonfiction narrative technique that he -- and others -- employ that I just don't like. (Although in a post on another nonfiction title earlier this year, I said that this technique was "appropriate" [for goodness sake, Lee, make up your mind!].) I fully understand why they read this way and can't offer an alternative way to satisfy the requirements of the text.

Here it is: When an author incorporates a quotation (either a person speaking or simply a passage from someone else's material) in the middle of a sentence, narrators inevitably take a dramatic pause and read the quoted section in another voice -- a set of auditory quotation marks. To my listening ear, this sounds dreadfully awkward and artificial. But how else are we supposed to know that the author is quoting? I suppose it would be worse if the narrator actually said the word "quote." No matter how much I love listening (and enjoy listening to nonfiction), the medium can occasionally fail. It's a question of weighing the two and, for me, the medium ultimately outweighs the artificiality of the "quotation marks." You'll be relieved to know [ ;-) ], I'm not going to stop listening to nonfiction.

[The portrait of Shakespeare is believed to be from around the time he was living on Silver Street (1610), and was possibly painted by John Taylor. It resides at the National Portrait Gallery (the first portrait acquired for its collection), and this image was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Lodger Shakespeare: His Life on Silver Street by Charles Nicholl

Narrated by Simon Vance

Tantor Audio, 2008. 9:00

Under the sea

2011-08-25T13:38:00.000-07:00

When we last saw Jacky Faber, she was sprawled on the sand in France after some misadventures on a German battlefield, awaiting a bullet in her head. Fortunately, fiancé Jaimy Fletcher and personal servant and friend John Higgins hustle her aboard the Nancy B. Alsop and hie across the English Channel to London. Jacky prepares to wed (finally!). But, oh no ... British Naval Intelligence believe she's still in service to them and Jacky and friends find themselves headed to the Caribbean for a little treasure hunting.

Yes, I'm at book the seventh: Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy. The British have noted Jacky's excellent swimming abilities and they send her off, accompanied by the H.M.S. Dolphin (the ship upon which Jacky first sailed the seas), to bring up the golden treasure that sunk with a Spanish warship many years before. The British have a newfangled diving bell -- a device that hangs below the ocean's surface, but has a pocket of air held there by the pressure of the water. A diver can explore the ocean floor holding her breath, returning to the bell (rather than the surface) for air.

Jacky is reluctant to participate, and then she thinks about siphoning off some of the treasure. She rigs herself up a bathing suit and a pair of goggles for efficiency and gets to work. Of course, this being Jacky's story, a lot of other things are going on as well: several chaste nights of spooning with Jaimy, an alligator attack, buying (and freeing) a slave in South Carolina (who becomes the ship's cook "Aunt" Jemima, and who tells Brother Rabbit stories to entertain the crew), training a rooster for cockfighting, pirate mutiny, a sea battle or two, and several doublecrosses over the Spanish gold. Another satisfying outing.

Katherine Kellgren. Up to her usual great job. Excellent narration, terrific character studies (some Spanish pirates and sailors are particularly good), singing, laughing, crying, shouting. The cockfighting and battle descriptions are breathlessly thrilling, Jacky's moments with Jaimy tender and touching. Ho hum. I guess the surprise would be if she didn't perform to the very high bar she has set.

This audiobook concludes with a lengthy conversation between Kellgren and author L.A. Meyer. They sound so natural here, chatting like old friends. I learned that Lou's original inspiration came while listening to music while framing pictures in his studio one day -- all those ballads about young girls disguising themselves as boys began forming the idea in his head. He has written the final Bloody Jack adventure, but he's not ready to publish it. Katy has consulted with vocal coaches to get some of the accents right. She keeps the voices of recurring characters on her iPod and calls them up when she needs a refresher (I know that Jim Dale does this as well).

Mary Burkey recently posted a short clip of Kellgren narrating a bit of an upcoming Bloody Jack (book the ninth) at her blog, Audiobooker. With at least three more books to go (and probably more), I think I'll just take to posting that I listened to it and yeah ... it was great!

[The engraving of Edmund Halley's Diving Bell was retrieved from PortCities UK. The original engraving is held by the National Maritime Museum.]

Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy by L.A. Meyer

Narrated by Katherine Kellgren

Listen and Live Audio, 2010. 12:20

Wolf at the door

2011-08-25T11:12:00.000-07:00

Two years ago, I needed to read Kathleen Kent's The Heretic's Daughter for one of our new book trainings for teachers, and when I was browsing the outreach shelves for audiobooks to take on our road trip, I spotted her latest title: The Wolves of Andover. I was looking for a mix of genres from which to choose, but I think the reason we selected this title to listen to was because it was one of the relatively short ones on our auto bookshelf. Nevertheless, we both enjoyed it. Kent writes about her 17th century New England ancestors with compelling suspense and an eye for detail.

In 1673, Martha Allen is sent from Andover by her father to help a cousin, Patience Taylor, in Billerica, Massachusetts. Patience is pregnant and her husband's carting work takes him from the family farm for weeks at a time. Martha -- who is 23, blunt and outspoken, and considered nearly unmarriageable -- is to help manage the household and look after Patience's two children. Also working at the farm are two hired men, Thomas Carrier and John Levistone. They will work the Taylor's land for two years, at the end of which each will be rewarded with a parcel of his own. Martha's keeps a journal in which she writes her most private thoughts -- she is harboring a terrible secret there. And Thomas has a secret of his own.

The novel's setting switches to England. King Charles II, recently restored to the throne following the Interregnum of Oliver Cromwell, hires an assassin. This man, Tiernan Blood (changed from Thomas for the novel), gathers a team of five who will sail to the American Colonies in search of the man who wielded the axe at the beheading of Charles' father, King Charles I, 24 years earlier.

It's not difficult to figure out who the axeman is here; what does make for a good read is how Kent follows the assassins on their journey from London -- alternating with the story of Martha and Thomas as they tentatively explore a relationship, cautious of exposing the horrors of their pasts. She brings the 17th century vividly to life -- full of gore (war, dog fights, childbirth), ceremony (waiting for an audience with the king, a visit from a Puritan preacher), and snippets of daily life (the community grain harvest, the death of a child, the making of a bright red cloak). Wolves do make an appearance -- as they seek the Taylor's lambs and chickens -- but it's the human wolves one should be most wary of in this novel.

Ellen Archer is the narrator. I've only heard her read once before, and this performance is much, much better. The novel is relatively short, and she reads it with an appropriate energy that keeps it moving along. There are a wide range of characterization opportunities -- English of a variety of social classes, the Welsh Carrier and the Scot Levistone, a few Dutchmen, and the American colonists. She seems comfortable voicing them all, and can portray both men and women in a realistic way.

There is a long passage, recorded by Martha in her journal, where Thomas is telling the story of the King's death that gets a little tedious. Archer has chosen to voice Thomas as the large man he is described to be -- by making his speech patterns slow and deliberate. This works fine in dialogue, but becomes ponderous at length. Oddly, the story itself is riveting. We were dead quiet in the car, hanging on every word.

Kent is a descendent of Martha Allen Carrier (evidently there are a large number of them), proud of Martha's refusal to admit to witchery in order to save her life 18 years later in Salem, Massachusetts. Cotton Mather called her a "rampant hag" (you go girl!). She wrote about this last part of Martha's life in her first novel. As someone whose knowledge of these trials didn't extend far beyond Arthur Miller's The Crucible, I liked learning that Martha died with John Proctor.

For some reason known only to the publisher's marketing staff, The Wolves of Andover is being renamed The Traitor's Wife in paperback. I guess they seek symmetry with The Heretic's Daughter, but she spends very little time as a wife in the story. Have you ever heard of metaphor, people?

[The photograph of Daniel Mijtens the Elder's portrait of Charles I, hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, was uploaded by PKM. Wikimedia Commons considers that "faithful reproductions of two-dimensional public domain works of art are public domain."

Alas, the photograph of Martha Carrier's memorial stone in Salem, Massachusetts was retrieved from a website of which I am too ashamed to mention by name, although I admit to a vast curiosity about why the image is located there.]

The Wolves of Andover by Kathleen Kent

Narrated by Ellen Archer

Hachette Audio, 2010. 8:42

Never complain, never explain (H. Ford)

2011-08-24T12:34:00.002-07:00

The Complaints was our entertainment during our lengthy drive from Portland to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks this month. Upon arrival, we had to do a little bit of extra driving around to finish off the last 66 minutes because we didn't have access to a player (and as I type this, I give myself the dope slap -- I had my laptop, duh!) outside of the car. Sitting in the car in a hot, exposed burn area, we then tried to make sense of what we had just finished. Alas, I'm still not entirely clear, but I think author Ian Rankin likes it that way.

Rankin has retired (he's not dead is he? ... I'm not up to the last novel yet) legendary Inspector John Rebus, and he's moved to another department in the Lothian and Borders Police, the Professional Standards Unit, otherwise known as Complaints and Conduct. This is where the police police themselves (in the U.S., it's usually called Internal Affairs?), its officers are sarcastically referred to as The Complaints. On the surface, Inspector Malcolm Fox is the antithesis of his literary predecessor -- sober, connected to family, willing to work with others, preferring birdsong on the radio to classic rock; plus you get the feeling he may have had a run-in or two with Rebus -- yet as we get to know him, we see the a similar independent streak and crafty intelligence. It shouldn't surprise you to learn that Fox himself gets suspended, but he still can't stop solving the crime(s).

Said crime involves real estate gone bust, an online pedophile ring, the murder of Fox's sister's abusive boyfriend, and more that all twist together into something that makes a little sense. I still can't get my head around the deus ex machina who appears near the end of the novel and explains why they had to manipulate Fox so ... but ten days later, I really don't care. I like the metaphor of Fox, and that everyone is the novel is complaining about something. Rankin's writing is pure pleasure and -- having recently been there -- I love the way that Edinburgh is always a central character.

The audiobook is in fine hands in the voice of narrator Peter Forbes. Forbes reads with a pleasant Scottish burr that he adapts and tempers depending on who is speaking. Characters are pretty easy to tell apart, although I experienced occasional confusion when Fox and the other main male character, Jamie Breck, are conversing. For an author who propels his plot along with a lot of dialogue, Rankin doesn't write a lot of "Fox said"s. Everyone sounds like a real person and considering the large size of the cast of characters, this is a great narrator job. Forbes keeps the complex story moving along.

I blame myself for not really understanding the story's conclusion; I don't think it's difficult to sustain concentration as one listens to books in substantial chunks (much larger chunks than I'm used to), but maybe I zoned out somewhere in Idaho. Rebus novels (which I have only eye-read) are often confusing, but I'm always able to leaf back to clarify something. Maybe I'll test myself by listening to an upcoming Rebus novel and reading the next Malcolm Fox.

[The rather amusing Wikimedia complaint flowchart can be viewed in all its glory if you click on it. It was designed by Cary Bass and retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Complaints by Ian Rankin

Narrated by Peter Forbes

AudioGO, 2011. 12:16

Truth is stranger than fiction

2011-08-24T08:40:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned before that I enjoy listening to adult nonfiction, as I find it easier to tune out of (and then tune back in) the elaborate detail sometimes provided while listening rather than reading. I can't remember where I heard of The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher: Murder and the Undoing of a Great Victorian Detective (British subtitle: or The Murder at Road Hill House; plus somewhere along the U.S. publication trail, the words A Shocking were added before Murder) but when I did, I knew it was right down my alley. The author, Kate Summerscale, posits that Mr. Whicher and the crime he investigated were Wilkie Collins' inspiration for his classic (long considered the first) detective novel, The Moonstone. As I was listening, I marveled at the drama of everyday life because this story does indeed have all the hallmarks of a rattling good yarn.

Samuel Kent lived with his second wife, the many children (eight?) of his first and second marriages, and numerous servants in a large house in rural England. He was your classic Victorian paterfamilias, tyrannical to family and employees, but concerned about what the neighbors thought. Several years earlier, he succeeded in declaring his first wife insane and had her committed to an asylum where she soon died. He then married his children's nursemaid. His older children were essentially banished to the nether regions of the house, while his wife and their children occupied the more comfortable rooms.

On the morning of June 30, 1860, the youngest son of the family -- Saville, just under four years old -- was found to be missing from his bed. Not too many hours later, his body was found stuffed in the privy with multiple stab wounds and a slashed throat. The local constabulary assumed an outside perpetrator, but soon it became clear that the murderer was familiar with both the property and the routines of Road Hill House. One of the brand-new detectives (there were only eight of them at the time) from Scotland Yard -- Jonathan "Jack" Whicher -- is sent to investigate. Pressure from Samuel Kent and a hysterical national press led to the arrest of the nursemaid, Elizabeth Gough, but she was soon released. To Whicher, Saville's half-sister Constance -- then 16 years old -- was clearly in the frame. But the Victorians' ideals of family couldn't support such a finding (and Whicher's evidence hinging on a missing bloody nightgown was circumstantial), and the charge was dropped. Five years later, she confessed to the crime. She was sentenced to hang; quickly commuted by Queen Victoria to 20 years incarceration. Following her release, Constance vanished.

And if you think that's the end of the story, many more surprises (unearthed in the 20th century) remain. I was riveted by what Summerscale uncovered and revealed in her very compelling narrative. While it doesn't read like fiction, as we and the author can only speculate about the emotions and motives of the individuals connected with the murder, the story of the Saville Kent murder certainly has enough twists and surprises that your average crime novel might look like an imposter when compared to it. Infanticide! Mental illness! Disease!! Miscarriage!! Romance with the governess!! Religious conversion!!! Sibling rivalry and intense sibling closeness!!! Shocking revelations to descendants!! A character who lives to 100!!! Even Charles Darwin and Jack the Ripper put in appearances.

The effortless Simon Vance narrates here. I say effortless not because he has put no effort into his narration, but because the reading is the clear, smooth work I have come to expect from him. His voice is both pleasant to listen to and utterly authoritative. He reads in a neutral tone to tell the story, but there are multiple opportunities here to add emotion and character as Summerscale includes many, many quotations from the multiple primary sources available to her. Vance's skilled use of accents to designate class differences helps to delineate the story's characters. As the 20th century revelations mount, he increases his intensity to bring things to an astonishing close.

The catalog entry for the audiobook says that it included a six-page genealogical table and house plan, which was long gone from the copy I had. It would have been helpful since the Kent children and servants eventually mostly blended together (plus, I really love a map in a book!), but I ended up just looking at a copy of the print version to satisfy my general curiosity.

Even before I learned that other minds were well ahead of me, I knew this story would make great television. (Here's the trailer, which has a few more spoilers than I've provided.) Shown in the spring in England, hopefully it will be on this side of the pond before too much longer. Like the book, just right for me.

[The image of Constance Kent is from The Encyclopedia of Murder (by Wilson and Pitman) and is now in the public domain; it was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher: Murder and the Undoing of a Great Victorian Detective by Kate Summerscale

Narrated by Simon Vance

HighBridge Audio, 2008. 9:45

Yo ho ho!

2011-08-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago, school library staff in Oregon created a children's choice award and named it after perhaps the state's most famous writer, Beverly Cleary. It's aimed at readers too young for the ORCA, and my outreach team works hard each fall to get the nominees into the hands of readers in Multnomah County's poorer schools. So, I like to have a passing familiarity with the nominated titles; one of this year's is Megan's McDonald's Judy Moody and Stink: The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Treasure Hunt. Long, long ago I listened to the first Judy Moody book and found it fun and entertaining -- and as this installment was only a little more than an hour, spending a little time with the squabbling Moody siblings was no burden at all.

(Listening also brought me over the 400-hour mark for 2011, and was my 50th audiobook. I'm in "Megaphone Shout" territory in the Whisper Stories in My Ear challenge.)

The Moody family is spending a weekend on Okracoke Island (Stink calls it Artichoke Island), and as they step off the ferry they are greeted by a pirate who invites the kids to participate in a pirate treasure hunt. The winner will get a sixteen pieces of eight, a gold doubloon, and the chance to sail on a pirate ship. The clues are rhyming puzzles and will take the searchers all over the island. As they are figuring out the answers, Judy and Stink notice another brother and sister team and identify them as their chief competitors. After a day and a half, the Moodys are triumphant; then they realize that the other kids helped them solve one or two of the clues and so offer to share their pirate booty with them. Oregon kids will like it, but probably not as much as they'll like Nubs (my early guess of the winner).

This being a book for less experienced readers, there's a lot of dialogue, short sentences and repetition. Not always the best combination for an audiobook. However, Barbara Rosenblat does just fine. (She's so calm and experienced, she probably recorded this in an afternoon!) She reads slowly enough that following along with the book is possible, but the story never drags. When things get a little exciting or scary, she picks up the pace.

Her characterizations are welcome as they create additional interest in what is really a simple story. Stink has a slightly hoarse voice, while Judy's is lighter but still child-like. Neither are child-ish, Rosenblat never attempts to be a kid while she is narrating. Parents are simply adults without quirks, while the pirate's (Scurvy Sam, aka Captain Weevil) voice is suitably gravelly and ever-so-slightly menacing. It actual brought back fond memories of some other pirates I've heard Rosenblat voice (and not this unfortunate title). I am impressed at Rosenblat's range -- it's not every narrator who can successfully transition from a stinky boy to a condescending French concierge.

Is the title of this book meant to refer to the this old movie? It might be fun for families to watch after reading the book. I watched it recently (I don't think I'd ever seen it before) and it is pretty darn funny (although kinda long).

[The image of a 1798 Spanish doubloon is in the public domain and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Judy Moody and Stink: The Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Treasure Hunt by Megan McDonald

Narrated by Barbara Rosenblat

Brilliance Audio, 2010. 1:10

Friday afternoon's checklist

2011-08-05T15:31:00.000-07:00

Two things to note before the weekend:

The librarian bloggers who host AudioSynced have posted their links for July (including mine, she says modestly). I'm always so impressed that they have actually read everyone's blog posts, as I am more of a scanner myself.

Another blog, Audiobook DJ, alerted me to something featured at the Audiobook Jukebox: Solid Gold Reviewer. Here is a place for publishers to post the audiobooks they have available for review and for bloggers to express interest in receiving a copy. The requirements are minimal -- essentially, just review what you are given within six weeks -- so I'm going to give it a try. I don't want to appear to be pressuring the publisher by telling you what I requested, but I hope I get it!

Well-deserving

2011-08-05T09:32:00.000-07:00

Six years ago, I listened to a book by Kate Atkinson (undoubtedly I read a review ... but did I place a hold or find it on the shelf?) called Case Histories. I loved it, loved its private eye, and vowed to read more when subsequent installments appeared. I'm three books behind ... well, now I'm only two books behind. But, like the cardholders at my library who have suddenly created a queue for Kate Atkinson's books (it's so nice to know I'm not alone in my obsessions), an impending television version is on its way (courtesy of Masterpiece [I still call it] Theatre) so I've got to read them first. Fortunately, not a difficult assignment. One Good Turn is sheer fun.

I can't always say with confidence (since I've invariably read the one[s] before) that you don't have to start at the beginning, but in this case I can. I don't remember much from six years ago -- except a fondness for Jackson Brodie -- and I did just fine, thanks. Jackson used to be a copper (both military and civilian), then a PI, and now he's retired to a farmhouse in the south of France thanks to an generous inheritance from a grateful client. He's got a steady girlfriend and he finds himself at somewhat loose ends in Edinburgh because actress/girlfriend Julia is rehearsing and will be performing in a really bad play, "Looking for the Equator in Greenland," during the annual Edinburgh Fringe Festival (which starts today!).

He witnesses an incident of road rage -- Peugeot Man suddenly stops his car for an absent-minded tourist/pedestrian and is rear-ended by Honda Man, who leaps out of his car swinging a baseball bat and proceeds to smash all the Peugeot's windows out before turning his weapon on Peugeot Man. Like many of the other witnesses, Jackson isn't certain that this isn't street theatre. But as he's deciding whether or not to step in, another observer flings his computer bag at Honda Man who subsequently gets back into his car and roars away.

Then Atkinson begins working her magic. We get introduced to four of the witnesses: Gloria, a frumpy, middle-aged woman who is not as she appears; the bag-thrower, Martin, a milquetoast cozy mystery author who would very much like to be not as he appears; two teenagers with petty crime on their minds; and Jackson, who is struggling with the aimless direction his life is taking. Their stories expand and spin out. And yes, because this is fiction, the seemingly disparate plots and lives begin to connect and coincide. I love this in a novel; I love the anticipation and the guesses you make, and then the aha! of seeing one more piece click into place. The pieces involve money laundering, women brought from Eastern Europe for purposes of prostitution, shoddy real estate developers, murder-for-hire, and just plain murder. It's the kind of crime fiction where the "whodunnit" is really beside the point, it's the how and the why that are interesting.

On top of this, Atkinson is terrifically funny. She brings her wit and her satirical eye to bear on pretentious actors, aggressive comics, mystery novelists and publishers of all sorts (presumably including herself), slightly corrupt coppers, animal lovers, McMansions and their owners, and more. There were times I was laughing aloud while listening. I'm amazed at how well she keeps the balls in the air, the story moving along and still making sense. I had a few questions about some minor details at the end (what was with the Matryoshka dolls? [I mean literally, I get the metaphor]), but on the whole I finished feeling satisfied. And ready to dive into the third book, but I'm saving that for vacation (in print).

Steven Crossley narrates the novel. He's got a lot of audiobook experience, but this was the first time I'd heard him. I thought he really took command of this complex story and its many characters. Jackson has a quiet strength, and a very pleasant gravelly baritone. Martin, the novelist, always has an edge of panic in his voice, yet when he's immersed in his active fantasy life he's calmer and more authoritative. Crossley's characterizations of the novel's women run the gamut -- some (notably Julia) were rather painfully femmy, while others -- a Russian immigrant call girl and a smart Scottish policewoman -- are much more authentic sounding.

And the Russian and Scottish reminds me that there are many opportunities for different accents (originating from region, country or social class) in this novel, which Crossley handles superbly. I even heard variations within the Scots which is pretty amazing. Atkinson's humor is always present in Crossley's delivery, as well; it's never obviously emphasized. Wisely, the narrator just lets the author's words speak for themselves.

The British version of this novel is subtitled "A Jolly Murder Mystery," which was left off the U.S. version. Martin began writing his bloodless, extremely conventional, mystery series featuring the perennially perky sleuth Nina Riley at the request of his publisher for a "jolly murder mystery." Nostalgia sells, she tells him. Is the book's U.S. publisher afraid we won't get the joke? Or heavens, the irony? I wish they wouldn't tamper with books that come from across the pond.

[The photograph of a street performer at the Fringe Festival was taken by snappybex and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson

Narrated by Steven Crossley

BBC Audiobooks America (now AudioGO), 2006. 14:12

Off the map

2011-08-02T15:15:00.000-07:00

I finished The Emerald Atlas last week and already it has pretty much faded into that hazy part of my brain where the non-memorable reads go. This is the first book in a projected trilogy, The Books of Beginning, and is written by John Stephens, who is -- as many have said before me (in a "cue the movie script" way) -- a writer for television (Gilmore Girls and The O.C. -- I've seen an episode or two of the former, and none of the latter). The book has a lot of buzz and when Listening Library went to Jim Dale for the audiobook, I thought it must be worth hearing.

Four-year-old Kate is the only one who was old enough to remember the Christmas Eve night she and her brother and sister were spirited away from their parents and lost their last name. For ten years, Kate, Michael and Emma P. have bounced from orphanage to orphanage -- each one worse than the previous. The last, the Edgar Allan Poe Home for Hopeless and Incorrigible Orphans, seems to be the end of the line. When they spoil their last chance at adoption by claiming to not be orphans, the manageress of the E.A. Poe Home finds an orphanage run by Dr. Stanislaus Pym of Cambridge Falls and quickly ships them to Vermont. The siblings discover that they are the only residents and pretty much have the run of the place.

Here's where the haze sets is. They find a book and discover that they can travel to the place and time of any photograph placed into the book when they end up in a nearly deserted village about 15 years earlier. The place is still Cambridge Falls, but it's a Cambridge Falls ruled by a terrifying, ageless Countess -- who is holding the town's children hostage so the men will diligently search for a long-buried book. The Countess has no delicate sensibilities when it comes to killing children.

The book the Countess seeks is -- of course -- the one the children have found 15 years later, and over the course of the story we learn that Kate has the powerful ability to make it do its thing: time travel. Along the way, bookish Michael meets the creatures of his dreams -- a clan of quarrelsome dwarfs, feisty Emma finds a warrior father figure, and Kate catches a glimpse of her long-lost mother (before she was born). Chases, battles, and daring rescues ensure, much (much!) is explained and the stage is set for the next book (Book).

I found all the time travel and the boatload of exposition to be both a drag on the momentum of the story and overly confusing. The author throws pretty much everything into the story, and borrows copiously from those who have gone before him: Narnia, Oz, Hogwarts and its wizarding world, Middle Earth. The different influences lend an air of incoherence to the whole thing, and I just couldn't get very excited about the three children and their adventures. Each seemed like a stereotype and nothing else.

Jim Dale does his manful best with the material. He's such a good reader (and it's been a long time since I've heard him!) -- setting a beautiful pace, filling the story with subtle emotions (nobody does tender moments like him), and imparting a general sense of excitement at the story's developments. And then there are the characters. Yes. Plenty of opportunities for Dale to shine: the professorial Dr. Pym, his cranky housekeeper, the imperious Russian Countess, her squealing and hissing secretary, elderly and loyal Abraham (Pym's handyman), stalwart and heroic Gabriel (Emma's father figure), and those dwarfs.

It is with the Scots-accented dwarfs (don't ask how they found themselves in Vermont) that Dale shows all his trademark goofiness. There's the righteous Wallace (who should be king) and his overblown brother (who is king), plus a few warriors to keep things lively. Except for the fact that the dwarf-ish sections of the story were milked for all they had (and then some), Dale's rollicking humor makes these intervals mostly hilarious.

The siblings at the center of the story are nicely portrayed as well, it's just that they are the straight men of this story and of Dale's performance. (In much the same way that Radcliffe, Grint, and Watson are the center around which all those other actors deliciously revolve.)

So, Dale reads about the adventures of three American children in his English accent. It doesn't bother me, but I will admit I had trouble remembering the story takes place in Vermont. I'm not sure it really matters where this story occurs, but it is an interesting narrative choice. To my few, but loyal, readers ... does this matter to you?

Despite my lack of enthusiasm, The Emerald Atlas will no doubt appeal to a large number of readers. (Crikey! I just checked the holds and the audiobook has 34 in the queue!) It's got all the elements of a fun fantasy read for those who devour same. And the audiobook is great road trip material, for all but the most sensitive of listeners. Not ear-time ill-spent, it's just not amongst the great ones.

[The photograph of the (time-traveling) Tardis was taken by Paul Hayes and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

The Emerald Atlas (The Books of Beginning, Book 1) by John Stephens

Narrated by Jim Dale

Listening Library, 2011. 11:38

Nagasaki, mon amour

2011-07-25T13:26:00.000-07:00

I love a big, chewy chunk of historical fiction (adult portion, please) and it's been awhile since I've indulged. (The last was this one.) I think I'm fearful of the time commitment, although this makes absolutely no sense. What is the difference between three six-hour audiobooks and one 18-hour doorstopper? I suppose you get more notches in your reading belt, but it really all comes out in the wash. David Mitchell's The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet clocks in at 19 hours, actually, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I'd never read anything by this author, so I didn't bring any preconceptions about his work to this sweeping epic of traditional fiction.

Of course, there will be vast swathes of it that won't get mentioned here, but I shall attempt a summary. Red-haired Jacob De Zoet (YAH-cobb Dah-ZEHRT) has arrived in the strange little trading community called Dejima perched out in the harbor of the Japanese city of Nagasaki. It's 1799 and Jacob -- a scrupulously honest clerk -- is hopeful of making a quick bundle by working for the Dutch East India Company so he can marry his beloved Anna back in The Netherlands. The xenophobic Japanese have exiled the Dutch to Dejima in order to keep Christianity and other non-Japanese influences out. Only the most trusted Japanese can enter Dejima in order to facilitate the export of copper and lacquerware through the Company, and no non-Japanese can walk through the gate into Nagasaki. The Dutch were the only traders with Japan at the end of the 18th century.

Jacob has some difficulty transitioning to this odd, isolated culture. He disobeys orders immediately and sneaks his family's psalter (prayer book) under the noses of the Japanese inspectors. All of Dejima's residents put any Christian items in storage for the duration of their stay. What Jacob doesn't realize at first is that a translator named Ogawa spotted the psalter right away, but did not report it. The two men grow closer as Jacob gets used to his post, and eventually Ogawa transmits a letter from Jacob to a young Japanese midwife -- who is receiving additional medical training from the Dutch Dr. Marinus -- offering to take her as his "Japanese wife." But he never receives a reply from Orito, the midwife, as things take a dramatic turn.

Jacob's exposure of corruption in the Company's finances doesn't earn him a quicker trip back to Europe. Instead, he is demoted in favor of a less honest accountant. Orito's father dies with many debts and she is spirited away in payment to a remote monastery/convent with some particularly repellent practices. And Jacob learns that his friend Ogawa had been wooing Orito himself until his father insisted he marry someone else.

Add to this a vast and interesting cast of characters, a beautifully realized setting, thwarted love, a daring, cinematic rescue, delicate diplomatic negotiations with the bizarrely formal Japanese, the loving description of several 18th century medical operations (for strong stomachs only!), the appearance of a British warship, and many games of Go. I like that historical fiction effortlessly introduces me to other times and places, and all this was new to me. (My knowledge of pre-Meiji Japan is from Pacific Overtures and Heart of a Samurai.) It was fascinating, and on a a satisfyingly epic scale.

Two narrators share the duties, although most of the 19 hours are from Jonathan Aris. A voice actor named Paula Wilcox narrates the half-dozen or so sections where the story proceeds from Orito's perspective. Aris does an outstanding job -- producing authentic sounding, non-caricatured Japanese-accented English for the translators (I couldn't get my hands on a copy of the book to see if the dialogue was written with the missing "l's'' or "r's"), and fully accented portrayals of an Irishman, a Prussian and a half-Dutch/half-Indonesian slave. The Dutch all speak with British accents (class-specific), except on that British warship when the one Dutchman (a turncoat!) speaks with a Dutch accent. When the Japanese are conversing among themselves, they are British as well!

The one (slightly) inconsistent choice is that Jacob spoke in his halting Japanese with no accent. In other words, he retains his British accented English. The only way we know he is speaking Japanese is that his syntax was a little screwy. This didn't really bother me, as the rest of Aris' work is excellent. Completely clear, consistent and full of emotion. Jacob's sensitivity and isolation are palpable in this lengthy narrative. And when a certain character meets his death, whew! I was teary.

Particularly memorable to me: One Sunday morning Jacob hears the strains of the John Bunyan hymn "To be a pilgrim" across Nagasaki Bay coming from the English ship. Aris sings (beautifully) every verse and I've been hearing it on and off in my head ever since (you need the lyrics from the link at the title, but here's the music [lyrics not very well enunciated]. You know how I love it when a narrator sings.

When the action heats up -- the rescue of Orito from the convent, the staredown between Jacob and the mighty guns of the warship Phoebus -- I was breathless at the tension and pacing that Aris sustained. I sped through this book in about a week and I think it was because Mitchell keeps the suspense percolating and Aris maintains a spirited narration.

Wilcox just doesn't have the opportunities that Aris has to shine, but her sections appropriately reflect the closed and interior lives of Japanese women. She reads quietly, but with authority and Orito's desperation at her situation is frighteningly vivid.

Eensy, weensy problem: The many, many Dutch and Japanese names that go flying about the pages of this novel. The "foreign-ness" of the names might lead to some confusion for a listener. It did for me. There is one scene near the end of the novel where eight Dutchmen are together and Mitchell names each of them, one after the other. Beyond Jacob, Dr. Marinus and maybe the Irishman, the others had sort of blended together in my mind.

Someone went to the trouble of noting every single character in the novel (and shared it with the world), although you can see at the end that even s/he gave up! If you were to ask me who all but a dozen (okay, maybe 20) of these characters were, you're likely to have stumped me. But once the story got going, I had no difficulty figuring out who I needed to know by name, which is why it's just a tiny issue -- hardly worth mentioning! (Except that you do go on about it, Lee!)

I may have missed the explanation of the title in my listening, so I had to look it up on the internet (scroll down to "Ichijitsu-Senshuu") where all truth lies. Truly, longing is personified in Jacob -- who yearns for love, friendship, honor, wealth, faith, and more. I'll leave it for you to discover if he finds any (or all) of that.

[The image of harbor at Nagasaki -- with the wedge-shaped Dejima in the foreground -- is from a no-longer-available webpage and is in the public domain. It is in Wikimedia Commons as Nagasaki_bay_siebold.jpg.]

The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitchell

Narrated by Jonathan Aris and Paula Wilcox

Recorded Books (Clipper Audio), 2010. 19:00

There may be trouble ahead

2011-07-22T11:07:00.000-07:00

I love that sensation that you get when a suspenseful book has gripped you -- that you must keep going no matter what you have to do that day until you have finished. The characters matter enough to you and their situation is so convincingly perilous that you've got to know NOW what happened. I got that literary rush listening to Tim Wynne-Jones' Blink & Caution this weekend (and I've got it now with another book, but there's too much left of it to drop everything!). Dig the bullet holes on the cover (and how one of the holes substitutes for the 'o' in Jones)!

Blink is all dressed up in his Blessed Breakfast Uniform, ready to stride into the Plaza Regent Hotel in Toronto in order to break his fast. In his months living on the street, Blink has found this to be a reliable way of getting a halfway decent meal: He prowls the hotel's floors looking for abandoned room service trays. As he's chowing down on his find -- in that room where they keep the ice machine -- he hears some crashing noises inside Room 1616 and sees four men leave the room. Three of the men look like criminals (rubber gloves and black clothes), the fourth is a well-dressed businessman. They toss a Blackberry into the room and flip the room key down the hall. Blink can't resist -- he picks up the key and enters the room -- which has been violently tossed. He grabs the Blackberry and leaves the hotel.

Caution thinks she's helping out her boyfriend by demanding some payment from the drug dealer that he works for. When she arrives back at the squat she shares with him -- triumphant with groceries and gas in the car (because he has been claiming that he has money for neither) -- he is less than appreciative. Hurt and pissed-off at her discovery of something particularly unpleasant that he's done, Caution figures out where he keeps his stash of drugs and money and impulsively steals both.

Both teens are on the run: Blink starts getting phone calls from the Blackberry owner's daughter and he tells her that her father -- unlike what the news is saying -- wasn't forcibly kidnapped. The daughter eventually convinces Blink to drive up to her father's remote cabin just to make sure that he's OK. Caution figures out that her boyfriend has been tracking her and realizes she's got to get away from Toronto for awhile. Blink and Caution meet in the ticket line at the train station and -- tentatively sensing that each is a kindred spirit -- they set off for the Canadian woods together. Not a good idea, really -- trying to find a wealthy man who has staged his own kidnapping.

And there's so much more that I'm not telling you! Wynne-Jones alternates the narratives of Blink and Caution for nearly half the book before they meet up. He teases out the back stories of the two teenagers -- how they ended up on the street. He cleverly wraps you up in their lives so that you are utterly invested in what happens to them. You know -- of course-- that they will meet, but when they do, something unexpected happens. And once they climb into the daughter's brand new bright yellow Jeep Wrangler and head north, the novel turns into a suspenseful thrill ride that can lead to a lost weekend of reading or listening.

Blink's narrative is in the second person ("You're wearing the Blessed Breakfast Uniform ...") which I initially found offputting, but it blends so perfectly with narrator MacLeod Andrews' performance that I began to look forward to his sections. Andrews is an experienced narrator, but I've only heard him read once (and he was very good there as well). His voice is deep and kind of gravelly and he reads Blink's narrative with an intensity that sounds to me like barely suppressed anger and fear. The "you" feels almost threatening -- like a verbal grab-of-the-shoulders, look-me-in-the-eye and listen. Fearful and longing for connection, at least someone is talking to him.

When Andrews is narrating Caution's story, he tones it down a little ... but Caution's carrying a huge, emotional secret and he is not afraid to expose her tenderness about this. He doesn't attempt to be "girly" in any way, but Caution's spikiness and intelligence are crystal clear. I did wonder, in an off-hand way, why a female narrator wasn't narrating Caution's sections. It would have made it a different listening experience, but Andrews is so strong here that I don't think it would have made it better.

The author's writing is really quite wonderful (and he is almost new to me -- I read one of his books a while ago). There are so many touches that let you know how carefully crafted his work is: The way the second person adds urgency to the narrative. The patient, yet compelling, build-up of the individual stories. The way the two storylines merged -- and how one character's breakthrough (emotional or otherwise) often take place in the opposite character's section. The sheer suspense as they walk toward that cabin in the woods. The blending of character study and nail-biting action. I'm glad to see that I'm not the only person who enjoyed this -- Wynne-Jones was recently named the fiction winner of the Boston Globe-Horn Book Award for Excellence in Children's Literature.

It was pouring down rain here on Sunday (and right now we are blessedly free from the rest of the country's hellish heat wave). Blink & Caution is just the kind of book you want for a cold, rainy weekend ... no reason to do anything else.

[Caution sign -- at a Florida rest stop (yikes!) -- was taken by TampAGS and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons.]

Blink & Caution by Tim Wynne-Jones

Narrated by MacLeod Andrews

Brilliance Audio, 2011. 9:55

Elementary

2011-07-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago (pre-blog), I listened to the first book in the "authorized" James-Bond-as-a-boy series, SilverFin. I liked it ... I liked listening to Nathaniel Parker. Now descendants of another author have hired someone to write the official adventures of young Sherlock Holmes. Death Cloud is the first installment and "the legend begins." It's easy to see Bond as a teen action hero, but I'm having a little more trouble with Holmes. Nevertheless, author Andrew Lane clearly loves the Holmes stories because he sprinkles many easter eggs that directly relate to the Arthur Conan Doyle Holmes throughout this novel. So let's set aside our concerns that Sherlock Holmes was probably a really creepy teenager, and enjoy this for the teen adventure story it is (Justin Bieber hair and all).

It is 1868 and Sherlock Holmes is 14 years old. His older brother Mycroft has come from his important job at the Foreign Office to escort Sherlock from school to his uncle's estate where he will spend the summer. There is no one at the family home to look after him. Sherlock is perturbed at the thought of a lonely, boring summer among people who don't really want him there. He soon meets two people who will keep boredom a long way away: a young street urchin, Matty Arnatt, and a tutor that Mycroft has arranged for him, an American named Amyus Crowe. Matty tells of witnessing a mysterious black cloud that seemed to intentionally move out the window of a house where a dead body was found. The body was completely covered with welts and boils and rumors of plague arise. Just a short time later, another body is found in similar condition.

With Amyus offering support -- and guidance in deductive reasoning -- Sherlock and Matty pursue the mystery of the deaths and the menacing cloud. They uncover a nefarious (naturally) plot against the [gasp!] highest levels of the British government. It is the resourcefulness and bravery of the two boys that saves the day.

As I said, Holmes is an unlikely teen hero. But for a reader who doesn't know much about the adult Holmes, that's not really going to matter. Sherlock is a smart, thoughtful kid who takes to detecting like a duck to water and if his adventures reek a little too much of an action-adventure movie maybe that will entice a few more young readers to explore the Conan Doyle canon. The character of Amyus Crowe (who is kind of Holmesian with an added taste of the Wild West) is very interesting -- even if he has a spunky daughter upon whom Sherlock develops a crush.

The audiobook is narrated by Dan Weyman (the recording itself says Daniel). I think he's new to narrating, but he has gotten off to a splendid start. He sets a cracking pace, but reads Sherlock with a quietness that aptly describes the shy, introspective boy he is. Weyman has the opportunity to tie on the accents -- with a broad range of social classes amongst the English as well as the whispery (and threatening) German accent of the chief villain, Baron Maupertuis. He's amazingly good as the novel's two Americans, with the right emphasis on our hard "r's." Amyus might be a little too twangy, but I'm truly not certain how people from New Mexico Territory sound. (My research shows me that the Territory included parts of Arizona and Colorado, so I'm good with the twang.) I'm assuming that Weyman is British, and pretty darn often the British aren't so good at American accents. If he isn't British, all American compliments are off!

There was one thing that really bugged me about the audiobook (and presumably the book), though, is that it always refers to Holmes as Sherlock. It makes sense for a young person to go by his first name, but it caught me up every time. An odd name that sounds odd spoken aloud. That's another one of those disconnects between a teen Holmes and the misanthropic loner/drug user/emotionless adult one. But as I said before ... this probably doesn't matter to young readers.

I like Sherlock Holmes. I've enjoyed the stories themselves, I liked Jeremy Brett's Holmes as well as Benedict Cumberbatch's not-quite Holmes. Rupert Everett was pretty fun too. (Not so much Robert Downey, Jr.) I like Holmes patisches, particularly Laurie R. King's Mary Russell mysteries. I recently read The Sherlockian, which was delightfully informative about Doyle himself. Holmes is everywhere! So why not in the teen section of the library?

[The photo of the plaque on the wall near 221b Baker Street was taken by Damiano Luchetti and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons. The text on the bottom reads: "We met next day and inspected the rooms at 221b Baker Street ... and at once entered into possession." A Study in Scarlet/Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.]

Death Cloud (Young Sherlock Holmes, The Legend Begins) by Andrew Lane

Narrated by Dan Weyman

Macmillan Audio, 2010. 7:16

Your safety is our priority (TSA)

2011-07-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

I searched in my library's catalog for children's books about foreclosure and only two came up (actually three, but the third one was about a cockroach and so doesn't really count for this survey): Julia Alvarez' Return to Sender and Gennifer Choldenko's No Passengers Beyond This Point. Promising ... Alvarez handled this unhappy subject with tact and understanding of her young readers. I expected no less from Choldenko's whose Al Capone books are destined for the classics (well, the first one) area of a children's library fifty years from now.

India, Finn and Mouse Tompkins live with their widowed mother in Thousand Oaks, CA. One day, Mom springs on them that the bank is foreclosing on their house and that they will be moving in with her Uncle Red in Colorado. The kids are leaving without Mom who needs to stay in California to finish the school year (she's a teacher). The siblings aren't particularly close, so they band together reluctantly to make this journey they don't really want to a relative they don't know. India is the oldest, a teenager sure that her mother is arranging this on purpose to spoil her life. Finn is the worrier (middle child!) trying to be the man of the family, and Mouse is considerably younger but really, really smart. Mouse has an imaginary friend named Bing who has his own ID.

They get on the plane (after a brief misunderstanding at security since Mouse had packed her Mentos and diet soda so she could demo a volcano for Uncle Red), travel through a serious storm and land in Denver. But Uncle Red isn't there to meet their plane. Instead, they take a decidedly odd taxi covered in feathers into the town of Falling Bird where they are greeted by a parade in their honor and escorted into their own individual houses. Houses that seemingly fulfill their every desire, including a "cool mom."

But there's a price to pay to stay in their houses, and Finn and Mouse soon realize that they aren't willing to pay that price. But getting out of Falling Bird is easier said than done, and they are determined to bring India with them. If they don't get out by the time their watches (clocks?) run out of time, they'll be stuck there forever.

That description does not do justice to the bizarre and outlandish world that is Falling Bird (think Alice in Wonderland or The Phantom Tollbooth), sprinkled with multiple meanings, red herrings and dead ends. I wonder if I might have been better off eye-reading this novel since I didn't linger over the many, many clues that Choldenko provides.

Since I trust this author (having enjoyed all her books, except for this one), I've got to believe those clues were there, but when I got to the end, I felt ripped off. None of the trials that the Tompkins endured to leave Falling Bird were resolved for me; I didn't have that "aha" moment that you want to have as a reader when a wrong world is set aright and everything falls into place. Instead, it felt a little bit like she couldn't figure out what to do with all the stuff she'd dropped into her novel and just provided an abrupt, pretty lame (and somewhat disturbing) conclusion.

The three siblings share the storytelling, and there are three narrators: Becca Battoe (heard here by me), Jesse Bernstein (here), and Tara Sands (here). Each of them is very good, creating consistent and vocally interesting characters that seem true to the author's intent. I enjoyed Sands' slightly hoarse voice full of Mouse's confidence in her intelligence, and I liked the responsible worrier I heard in Bernstein's voice. Battoe creates your standard sullen teenager -- knowing that everyone around her is stupid or out to get her -- without veering into caricature. Bernstein and Sands also avoid this trap when they are voicing India in their portions of the narration.

Unfortunately, the book ends with a fourth narrator (uncredited ... or if she was, I've forgotten) winding up the story in the unsatisfactory way I mentioned. She's an adult who's adopted a fake folksy delivery that pretty much spoiled everything that went before. Up to this point, I believed in this novel and the young narrators telling me the story, but then it all went terribly, terribly wrong. A real disappointment.

[The photo of the Mentos geyser experiment is by K. Shimada and was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons. The liquids from left to right: Perrier, Classic Coke, Sprite, and Diet Coke.]

No Passengers Beyond This Point by Gennifer Choldenko

Narrated by Becca Battoe, Jesse Bernstein, and Tara Sands

Listening Library, 2011. 6:06

Performance art

2011-07-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

It's somewhat unnerving to realize that I've been reading Sara Paretsky's V.I. Warshawski novels for almost 30 years. I swear that Vic started out older than I am, but now she's younger [isn't everyone?], but she's starting to feel the years (if not the mileage) in her 14th installment, Body Work.

[Oh boy, the weeks since finishing this one are showing.] Vic gets embroiled in the many mysteries surrounding an avant-garde performer calling herself the Body Artist who allows customers at the trendy Bar Gouge to paint images on her nude body. A camera records the images (often violent ones), which are posted on her website. Vic is at the show when an Iraqi vet attacks a young woman who is painting a particular image on the Artist's body. A few days later, the woman is shot outside the bar and dies in Vic's arms. The vet is found overdosed and in a coma, holding the murder weapon, and is arrested. His family asks Vic to investigate.

Many twists and turns, the Russian mob, a Blackwater-like military contractor (OK, paranoid moment: the website xecompany.com morphs into the all-American ustraining.com [a "solutions provider to the U.S. government"] without stopping) who can monitor her activities, more than one physical dust-up, and all of Paretsky's familiar characters (can I say how much I despise the recently added young cousin, Petra?) combine to the logical, satisfying ending that mystery readers (mostly) require. I didn't much care for the deus ex machina that Vic used to bring the perps to justice, it didn't seem like her to me. I like Vic's righteousness as well as the strong sense of place (Chicago) her novels have, but ultimately I found this to be kind of minor Vic.

I wonder if I'm feeling this way because I wasn't crazy about the narrator, Susan Ericksen. To me, she lacks Vic's edge. In her narration, Vic comes across as earnest and dominating, but more like a teacher and less like a woman who relies on both her wits and her physical strength to control people and events. The narrative feels instructive rather than exciting. The aforementioned Petra was also grating, she feels caricatured in her Gen Y-ness (or whatever Gen we're on now).

Now, Ericksen is clearly a skilled narrator who can create individual characters (which she does here) and can keep a lengthy novel moving along, but -- in spite of her nicely subtle Chicago accent -- she just doesn't feel right in this part. (I'm clearly in the minority here, as she has narrated a number of V.I.'s stories. Many years ago, I listened to Sandra Burr read Paretsky's Blacklist, and I wasn't too impressed with her either, pronouncing it "very-average" [oh, you are so articulate, Lee!].)

In the tiny world of audiobook-dom, I read that Ericksen is married to David Colacci (alas, not thrilled by what I heard from him, either).

I believe I have a six degrees moment with Sara Paretsky: My first cousin was her first roommate at Bryn Mawr. (But I might be misremembering and maybe they were only in the same graduating class.) Those of us without celebrity cling to what little we have.

[The Chicago skyline was retrieved from Wikimedia Commons; the photographer is unattributed.]

Body Work by Sara Paretsky

Narrated by Susan Ericksen

Brilliance Audio, 2010. 16:06