Falling Into Fantasy

I don't consider myself a terribly impulsive person. I'm actually the kind of worrywart who has to reflect on it for a minute, and take the specific initiative to act impulsively when the opportunity arises for some spontaneous action. Even then, it takes a good couple seconds of "pro-con"-ing to err on the side of being impulsive.

So when I feel the impulsive urge to buy a new-release high fantasy YA novel but a few days after its publication, you can bet its a big deal.

Granted, I bought it for my Kindle. And its not like I had anything better to do. (Sorry, neglected ENG 302 homework, but you definitely don't fit the description of "better".) Still, the importance of this event must be impressed upon you readers!

Actually, better yet: can we just dispense with the origin story, and jump right into how great this book was, and how worthy it was of said impulsive buy?

Here transcribed is exactly what was written down in the notes of my book journal:

Likes: Everything! Dislikes: Nothing! 

Okay, maybe it warrants a little more in-depth discussion than that. I wouldn't necessarily bring it up in English class, but this book was really good! 

The suspense was there, the plot development was super solid. There were plenty of twists and turns, and it was a fast-paced plot. There were actually a couple of really perfectly performed reveals that had me scraping my jaw off of the floor and laughing in enjoyment, actually thinking to myself, "No way!" or "This just got even better." The movement of the story line was wonderfully done and expertly composed, with just the right pacing. 

The fact that it was a high fantasy was really what allowed the story to shine: usually, the high fantasies I've experienced have relied on some kind of staid self-composure, some direct form of adherence to only the most serious of tones and descriptions in an effort to command respect for the attempted realism. However, Poison excelled in the complete opposite: with a wink and a nod at the fact that the world they occupied wasn't remotely real, the characters were supremely adorable, and each one had some element of cutesy ideality in their comportment. I mean, the main character travels with a pig, for goodness' sake (which you can see cheekily poking its head out of the bushes at the lower left half of the cover). 

But don't think that it was all a marshmallow- and gumdrop-filled trip for our intrepid heroine: the characters may be sweet, but the slick pace of suspense gave just the right amount of edge to our almost-too-perfect cast, and made it just unpredictable enough for the appropriateness and attention span of the intended audience. 

Overall, the projection of such a strong heroine reminded me of someone out of a Tamora Pierce novel, but the new mystical creatures, incredibly unique focus of skill sets - I mean, who else writes about powerful potioners? - and constant game-changing revelations that popped up throughout the novel, marked Poison as a truly engaging and excellent YA fantasy. 

(And I'm diving back into the genre again soon, by reading Throne of Glass, by Sarah J. Maas, so keep watching for more fantastical worlds, powerful magic, and heroes and villians galore!) 

Post script 

At the end of the novel, I was left wishing that there were more such wonderful high fantasies present in YA. Unfortunately, after additional research into the life of the author, Bridget Zinn, I found out from her website that she -a librarian and writer - had died in May 2011, at the age of 33, due to colon cancer. Her novel is being published posthumously. What a legacy to leave behind! I haven't heard anyone say a bad word about this book, and I hope that Zinn and her family can hear those kind thoughts! Much appreciation to Bridget, her husband and family, and her literary family as well, for making sure that such a great story was told. :) 

Latest on College Fashion

Just because I'm short on time this week, this will only be a shameless plug, instead of a full-on article discussing why I love my subject matter - Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein - quite so much!

Please go read my article on College Fashion, by following the link below:
http://www.collegefashion.net/inspiration/looks-from-books-fashion-inspired-by-where-the-sidewalk-ends/

Hopefully my schedule opens up soon, and I can take a little time to write to you more well-roundedly about what I've been reading lately.

Love you all muchly, and here's to hoping you have a great Tuesday! :)

A Little Bit Stressed-Out and Weird

I have had a pounding migraine for the past two days straight, which has severely impacted my abilities to remove the source of the eternal damned headache: all of the stress-inducing activities which are currently leaving me with no desire to face tomorrow.

And what is tomorrow? An event for which I am NOT a planner, but a liaison, which leaves me in the unfortunate position of having to field all sorts of ridiculous demands, unabashed begging and pleading, and downright antipathy and potential sabotage, from both sides of the process.

Over the course of planning this event, various other roadblocks have also sprung up in my path, most notably, schoolwork (a constant source of unnecessary stress), my College Fashion articles (ALSO due tomorrow), and day-to-day trivialities, such as sleep and eating (which I am beginning to realize are less and less vital). In the process, I have neglected some things, like going to the gym, and completely failed at others, such as keeping this blog alive (sorry). As a result - I have already mentioned the tugging at my skull, from the less contented parts of my brain, resulting in a fresh hell of lying in bed for four hours extra every morning - I have had the weirdest dreams lately, and frequently find myself misunderstanding information.

At a stressful, insane period like this one, the only thing to do, would be to read a strange and confusing book, right? Hence, Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair.

The smart story, post-modern in the way that Dodos are scientifically replicable in 1985, follows the beleaguered LiteraTec agent (tasked with protecting the integrity of the world's classics) Thursday Next, as she does battle with the incredibly dastardly villian, Acheron Hades, while fielding the unwanted policing by the all-controlling Goliath Corporation. England is a police state, while Wales is a carefully guarded socialist country, the United States is still referred to only as "the colonies" and the Crimean War has been fought with Russia for over a hundred years. Shakespeare is considered a basic language, and the idea of any of the country's great works being tarnished is one of absolute national importance; hence, the job of LiteraTec agent. The only thing that can make it more wacky? Fictional characters are able to start jumping in and out of books, leading to great confusion as some are found missing, and others even turn up dead.

Who WOULDN'T love this book?

I read it for the first time in middle school, and - at the time -rejoiced in my half-way obliviousness, thinking myself terribly clever as I read about Jane Eyre and Richard III. It is only now, years later, that I recognized the sounds of missed jokes and literary references whistling away way above my eighth-grade head. However, what is essentially a high-concept book, is enjoyable to both those who have mastered the majority of BritLit, as those who barely understand Middle English. It is truly funny, as well as intelligent.

And the perfect thing is, it completely mirrors my zany mind processing right now. Someone send me an Austen when I've regained my sanity.

[Also, my next College Fashion article goes up this Wednesday, about Jane Eyre. So be on the lookout!]

Stuck in the Doldrums

And just like that, this dismal weather has started to get me down.

What was once a novelty is now the norm, and it's quickly become more than a little dreary. Pretty soon, even the burnt orange and tarnished gold colors of the leaves will run together into a murky brown, and there won't be any color much of anywhere. If I've learned anything from my past inability to do my homework in the same place where I spend all of my time (well, not ALL of my time) on Pinterest, it's that environment determines attitude, and as the clouds droop ever lower in the sky, so do the corners of my mouth. I'm uninspired, uninterested, unmotivated... quite frankly, as I confessed to my father a week ago, I'm stuck in the doldrums.

He told me to go back and reread this: The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster.

He had read it to my sister, The Cheerleader, and I for the first time when we were just tiny. Henceforth afterwards classified as my favorite children's book EVER, and just currently finished with celebrating its 50th Anniversary, this tale follows the travels of a regular boy named Milo - who was none too motivated or inspired himself -through a mysterious tollbooth into a fantastical world full of witty puns, tremendous wordplay, and important lessons, in the hopes of rescuing the beautiful princesses, Sweet Rhyme and Pure Reason. It was a hit when it was first published back in 1961, (and not so much a hit when it was made into a film about a decade later) and has gained comparisons to the likes of fantasy counterpart Alice in Wonderland, while proving itself to be just as durable, having been credited as the NPR Kid's Club Book Pick in 2011.

The most terrifying moment, for me, always happened within the first 30 pages: Milo, having breezed through the bright, colorful, cheery land of Expectations already, relaxes and lazes, simply enjoying the scenery, never knowing that he missed his turn, until his car sputters and stops in... the Doldrums. Home to the Lethargarians, a boring bunch whose only daily objectives are to relax and daze - as well as daydream, procrastinate, nap and sleep, and deem it illegal to smile or think - the Doldrums are inescapable to those who enter, as they fall into the ways of the Lethargarians as well. Thankfully, Milo is saved by Tock, the watchdog (my favorite character), who gives him the secret to restarting his car and escaping the Doldrums: to think. And so, Milo thought of "birds that swim and fish that fly," "yesterday's lunch and tomorrow's dinner," "words that began with J and numbers that end in 3," and "as he thought, the wheels began to turn."
As it turns out, The Phantom Tollbooth was my key to escaping the Doldrums as well.

A visit back to my childhood was exactly what I needed. Get caught up in day-to-day life, where the only objective is to get done with that which is required from you the most immediately, and strive for nothing exceeding expectations, is not the right way to live. I needed that harrowing trip back to the Mountains of Ignorance, and to regain the inner sight necessary to see those same demons who have been hounding me since senioritis kicked in back in the Spring: the Hopping Hindsight, who only moves forward based on what's behind him; the Gross Exaggeration, and his beastly buddy, the Know-It-All;  the long-nosed, green-eyed, curly-haired, wide-mouthed, thick-necked, broad-shouldered, round-bodied, short-armed, bowlegged, big-footed demon... of insincerity, who really isn't any of those things he says he is. Most frightening to me, was a flimsy creature, simply riding on the backs of others, and not really proving substantial in anything but his victims: the Threadbare Excuse, the same demon that's been riding on my shoulder since I contracted a minor sinus infection a couple of weeks ago.

The Phantom Tollbooth has ties to my childhood, and therefore, my heart, and was exactly the kind of intelligent and lightly moralizing thing I needed to get me going again. And speaking of going, it's time for English class again.

Many Adventures

When flipping through the last few pages of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain, yesterday afternoon, and preparing to gather my thoughts for this blog post, I had to stop, and laugh for a moment. This book - this precious bundle of pages - is my favorite novel, of all time. Most people who learn this information are a little surprised, expecting something a little more... I don't know... romantic? British? More stereotypically fitting of the "classic" title? No. This book is my most beloved.

And I was laughing because I realized, that the first time I had ever read this book, was exactly a decade ago.

That's right. This little precocious reader first became acquainted with young Tom Sawyer at the age of eight, after having received his book as part of a Scholastic Book Orders (remember those?) bundle the year previously (it's companions being 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, which I have actually yet to read, and My Side of the Mountain, which I hold in the utmost esteem). Upon my first reading - over a cumulative week of quiet-learning periods at our Montessori summer school - I found myself unfamiliar with about half of the words inside of it... and yet, still safe and snug in the flow of the story. Despite having only just graduated the 2nd grade, I not only followed, but rejoiced in, Tom's escapades, and wound my way through all of St. Petersburg, Missouri, with him, Huck, Joe, and Becky, while my classmates sat coloring, doing math pages, or practicing for spelling tests.

Little did they know what sort of trouble I was up to. Safe inside the pages, I was far from quiet. I was fighting in the forests and in the streets, filling the cat up with painkiller, creeping into graveyards in the dead of night, paying witness to murder, lying, plotting and scheming, running away from home to become a pirate, getting trapped inside a labyrinthine cave, from which I might not ever escape... and none of my desk neighbors would ever know the difference, unless an unchecked laugh made its way through the silence of the class. And so, the daughter of a Sunday School teacher - who was not even allowed to walk through the grocery store alone - found herself a world filled with possibilities, opportunities for behaving badly, and no one could stop her.

I've read this book every summer since. My vocabulary and comprehension have grown, as is to be expected, and my tastes in literature have varied as well, and yet, to me, this book always remains the same.

This book has stuck with me throughout three different elementary schools, middle school, and high school, and has traveled with me to campgrounds, slumber parties, Sun River, and even church camps, over the course of the past ten years. I have read it EVERY SUMMER, without fail, and even a bunch of times interspersed throughout the years as well. Every crack in its spine, ridge in its covers, stain or rip on its pages, marks another trip inside the wonderful mind of Mark Twain, and another encounter with the mischievous champion of childhood, Tom Sawyer. I. Love. This. Book.

And yet, it made me cry yesterday - no, seriously cry - after I was done laughing. I realized that yes, this is a book I've been reading for the past ten summers, since I was eight... but that means, I'm eighteen. I'm going to college in less than a month. I'm growing up, shipping off, moving out... saying goodbye. I'm far passed the age for digging for buried treasure, or believing in witches. I'm trying hard to become an adult now, there's no time for dwelling in the adventures of years past. I've got to be a big girl, no more kidding around. But... does this mean, I've outgrown Tom? Is a book I've spent a decade loving now simply something I have to leave behind?

It was a major Toy Story 3 moment. Looking down at the bent cover, the well-studied artwork, and dented and creased spine, I contemplated my future, trying hard to ignore my past.

Then, with a flick of the pages, I couldn't ignore it anymore, when the crackling, yellowed paper issued the scent of freshly cut grass, reminding me of reading the book on our back patio in the summer sun, while my dad mowed the lawn. Then came the scent of hot sand, when I took Tom along to Long Beach. The scent of strawberries, when the cousins came over for a Fourth of July party and we had strawberry shortcake, and I accidentally spilled a little on a page of my book. I smelled bug spray, and sun lotion, and chlorine from a pool. I smelled the peanut butter sandwiches my mom packed for me the entirety of the 1st grade, and the mix of perfumes from the Stadium girl's locker room. This book has been with me everywhere. If it has already stuck along for the ride this far in my life... why should I give it up now?

So I decided Tom and I were in for another ten years, at least. I can't think of another book that has impacted me in such a way as this novel has. This post isn't a review, and it's not a recommendation either. It's an overly-long post, filled with effusive praise and fond memories, made while reading my favorite book in the entire world.

Thank you Mark Twain, and Tom Sawyer. Happy Tenth Anniversary.

Up All Night

Hello, my name is Savannah, and I was once a Paranormal Teen Lit addict.

I gleefully read the entirety of Meg Cabot's Mediator series - about a girl who can talk to ghosts - in the summer before 6th grade, and R.L. Stine's (yes, the Goosebumps guy) duet of books, Dangerous Girls and the Taste of Night, served as my introduction into the world of teenage vampires. I read about werewolves in Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause, and all other sorts of beasties, borrowed from the oft-tread Teen section of my local library. Yes, I will even admit it: I borrowed Stephenie Meyer's Twilight from a friend, and in enjoying it so much, immediately bought the next two over-priced books in the series - New Moon and Eclipse -  from the school book fair. This was a much simpler time, back in middle school, when you could  still be considered that-weird-girl-with-the-vampire-books, but not care, because you were too busy reading about dark forests, dangerous kisses, and a fight to the death. Back when Twilight's sheer size and subject matter still turned most normal young teenage girls off of reading it, we few slumped in the back of the science classroom happily, with our overly-criticized, much-loved teenage fare.

Then everything changed, when the Hollywood studios' mass-production machine attacked.

Suddenly, Twilight was being made into a movie, with hot young actors and blockbuster headlines. We original children of the dark recoiled in horror, as bubble gum pink talons reached for our beloved books and crowed, "Oh, I love Edward!" (or Jacob. Like it really mattered). It was impossible. No one whose hair smelled like strawberries could possibly love these dark, romantic tales like we did. And yet, that same Teen section of the library was flooded by teenage girls, and ransacked of all the novels that I loved most.

Then, the shelves began filling up again, with new novels, and more handsome vampires. Paranormal teen romance was the number-one genre on the market, TV shows and movies starring things that went bump in the night started popping up in every major studio and network, and, all of a sudden... it was cool to be a batgirl. The hype hit what I thought was critical mass, and then kept growing and growing, until it seemed that there wasn't enough breathing space for us originals anymore. So, I sighed, and abandoned that genre that I loved, for the romance of the British classics, and the supernatural horrors of Shelley, Stoker, and King, vowing never to read a book that combined the two genres again. Until now.

As it is, so many years later, paranormal teen lit is still a major selling point, and I've grown to be okay with that. Still, in a genre that has become so over-populated, it isn't easy to determine which are actually well-written, and which have been mindlessly churned out by a career stock writer on a tight deadline. Therefore, if one of these books does grow to become a much-celebrated #1 national bestseller, I'm willing to give it a chance. And that's how the Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern, ended up in my to-read pile.

The story, about two conflicting schools of magic at war, fought out by skilled manipulators whose hearts are connected by more than simply the challenge, features all of the best parts of those books I read in middle school, with nary a vamp in sight. However, the mystical, paranormal romance never manages to feel overdone, or like a repetition of something I've seen before. Even the calling card of the genre - the colors black, white, and red - take on an entirely new tint when represented in this novel. Sure, there were some sections I found a little boring or bumpy, and the chronology of the book (the effect of which was revealed to be quite clever, eventually) was pretty irritating when you were trying to really get into the story, but for the most part, the idea that I was the most impressed with, was that there was actually an interesting, emotionally-involving, dark and twisted romance left in this genre, the echos of which I haven't seen anywhere already.

I'm not calling the Night Circus the rebirth of my love of paranormal teen romance, by any means. And I still find all those teenage fangirls obnoxious. By I really must accredit Morgenstern with accomplishing a major feat: which is, to revitalize an entire genre, by finding new ideas and ways of thinking - by creating a clever format, an amazing cast, and enchantingly, whimsically, dark venue - to craft a compelling story, the remarkable nature of which is not often present on those kinds of bookshelves.