Lyra Selene

Review: Shadowfell, by Juliet Marillier

Shadowfell, by Juliet Marillier

Shadowfell, by Juliet Marillier

The magical land of Alban has fallen under the tyrannical rule of King Keldec, and Alban’s once generous and kind populace have become fearful and downtrodden. Once a year, the King’s Enforcers ride out on a Cull, killing everyone who dares speak out against Keldec while Enthrallers use mind-scraping techniques to turn anyone with useful magical gifts into pawns of the tyrant.

Sixteen-year-old Neryn is graced–or cursed–with the canny gift of Sight; she can see the Good Folk even when they seek to hide themselves from mortal eyes. But because of her gift she has been forced to lead a life of danger and worry, constantly moving from one place to the next with her father in order to escape the long arm of the King’s Enforcers. And when her drunken father gambles her away to a stranger for a handful of silver, she fears that everything is lost. But the stranger reveals himself to be a mysterious warrior by the name of Flint who has no intention of harming Neryn. Now Neryn must make a choice: will she take her newfound freedom and find a place to hide out from King Keldec’s Enforcers permanently, or will she try to make her way to Shadowfell, a secret stronghold spoken of only in whispers? Can she trust Flint, or does he seek to betray her? And can she accept the terrifying destiny waiting for her at the end of her journey?

I have never read any of Juliet Marillier’s novels before, but I’m glad I picked this one out at the library. Shadowfell was an enjoyable read for me; it reminded me of the fantasy novels I loved so much as a young girl, with a magical kingdom and a mysterious warrior on horseback and a courageous heroine whose mettle must be tested before she can find her destiny. Alban is beautifully drawn, evocative of a modern Britain while simultaneously conjuring forth an more ancient time of Celtic myth, when magical creatures lived alongside humans graced with mystic powers and abilities.

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Whistle While You Work

Andrew Bird, man of many melodies.

Andrew Bird, man of many melodies.

A friend recently posted a fascinating article called “Untamed Melody,” written by musician and songwriter Andrew Bird about his writing process. In case you’re too lazy to read the article (really, though, read it!–it’s good!), I’ll sum it up for you: from an early age Mr. Bird has lived his life with melodies. Melodies with his cereal, on the way to school, while brushing his teeth. At any given time he has several melodies filed away in his brain, which he then takes out and tinkers with until he feels they are ready. He then marries words to melody by verbalizing nonsense until “something true” slips into the babble. He teases words from his subconscious mind to “settle into the grooves of the melody.”

I really enjoyed reading this article. It is always a pleasure for me to sneak a peak into another artist’s creative process; the insight I gain by examining someone else’s process often helps me to define my own process more precisely. There were many things about Andrew Bird’s process that resonated with me as a writer, the main difference being that where he goes through life with melodies in various stages of creation, I go through life with stories.

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The Wild Rover

Dear me, I apologize for my short but unexplained absence. As I mentioned in my last post, spouse and I were moving away from London permanently, so last week was a bit overwhelming what with packing and cleaning and goodbye-ing, and I’m afraid I let my blogging go. Sorry! Not that things are quite settled yet–June promises to be relatively hectic in its own right, with visits to family and weddings and other excitement.

What a ragtag bunch of gypsies we are! Photo taken by my mom in Ireland.

What a ragtag bunch of gypsies we are!
Photo taken by my mom in Ireland.

And all this packing and cleaning and goodbye-ing has had me thinking a lot about moving. This certainly is not the first time I’ve moved in my life. Not by a long shot. My father is a sailor and my mother is a piano teacher, and both parents’ careers proved to be relatively mobile throughout my life. I was born in Florida, but when I was two we moved to Colorado for a few years, then back to Florida, then to Ireland for a year, then to North Carolina before finally winding up back in Florida again. Some stays were longer than others, but every few years my family would pack all our belongings in our station wagon or a UHaul, and move somewhere different.

As a kid I hated moving. I hated having to throw out half of my toys and books and clothes every few years. I hated having to say goodbye to my friends. I hated having to start at a brand new school and navigate a whole new social minefield as an outsider. I hated when distance and time transformed my old best friends into some people I used to know. Moving was always emotionally overwhelming, and I dreaded the inevitable day when my parents would once more announce, “We’re moving!”

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Leaving London Cookies

 

Rainy day cookies.

Rainy day cookies.

Let me tell you a secret about London: the weather is terrible. I know, I know. This is hardly a secret, you think at your computer screen. Everyone knows that. But I’ll tell you why it’s so bad. It’s not because it rains most days, and the sky is usually a flat expanse of dark, unrelenting gray, or because it’s cold nine months out of the year. Those things are all true, but that’s not why the weather is so awful. No, that would be too easy. The weather in London is so unbearable because sometimes it’s actually quite nice.

Yep. Approximately seven days out of the year London gives us glorious, warm days with cloudless skies and cool breezes. Everyone goes outside and picnics in the park and throws around rugbys and plays with their children. And for those seven days you find yourself forgetting that for the other three-hundred and fifty eight, the weather is, to put it kindly, pure shit. 

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Top 5 Badass YA Heroines

A lot of discussion has been flying around recently in both my writerly circles and the media about the lack of female role models in most of geek culture. There’s this great article by Tor railing against the classic female superhero pose–you know the one. Artist Michael Lee Lundford has created a series of drawings depicting female superheroes if they were fully clothed. Emmie Mears recently wrote a blog post  about the appalling number of female superheroes compared to male superheroes. Spoiler–it’s way lower than you think it is.

Katniss Everdeen, strong female role model.

Katniss Everdeen, strong female role model.

And it got me thinking about female role models in the genres I read and write; namely, young adult fiction. In the past five years, there have been a ton of really strong and powerful female characters dominating the YA genre, which is as it should be. Young women like Katniss Everdeen and Tris Prior rise up to the challenges they face with tenacity and courage, sacrificing themselves for the things they believe in. They don’t need a man to protect them or marry them to feel complete. But Katniss and company are hardly the first strong women to leap from the pages of YA novels. So, I though I’d share my favorite fictional strong female role models from my childhood and teenaged years. They may not be superheroes, but they inspired me to be independent, forge my own destiny, and raise my voice against the world’s injustices.

1. Alanna of Trebond, from the Song of the Lioness Quartet by Tamora Pierce

Coincidentally, Alanna rescues the Prince fairly frequently.

Coincidentally, Alanna rescues the
Prince fairly frequently.

When her widowed father sends her to a convent to learn how to become a lady, Alanna decides to make her own plans. Disguising herself as a boy named Alan, Alanna travels to the Royal Palace in the city of Corus to become a knight, something no woman has done for hundreds of years. Although small of stature and weaker than the other boys in training, Alanna’s fierce character and stubbornness carries her through many trials and adventures, and she eventually learns that in addition to wielding a sword she also wields a kind of magic. She is incredibly loyal and steadfast when it comes to her friends, and a deadly opponent to her enemies. She is strong on the battlefield, clever with her magic, and tender with those she loves. Alanna is a warrior and a sorceress, but most of all she is a woman.

2. Hermione Granger, from the Harry Potter Series by J. K. Rowling

Wingardium Leviosaaa, bitches.

Wingardium Leviosaaa, bitches.

As a character, Hermione is incredibly complex. When we first meet her she is a nerdy bookworm with frizzy hair and buckteeth who is shunned by Harry and Ron until she proves to be of use to them. But over the course of the series Hermione blossoms into the kind of woman every young girl should strive to be; intelligent, competent, loyal, funny, self-assured. She is incredibly multi-faceted–she can be stubborn to the point of being obstinant, clever to the point of being a know-it-all, loving to the point of being mushy. But most importantly, Hermione stands up for the things she believes in and doesn’t let anyone tell her she can’t do what the wants. Also, the girl loves to read. I can get behind that any day of the week.

3. Meliara Astiar, from Crown Duel by Sherwood Smith

Meliara, complete with a black eye.

Meliara, complete with a black eye.

Although Meliara (known as Mel to her friends and family) promises her dying father than she will save the kingdom of Remalna from tyrannical King Galdran Melindar, she has no experience in battle or intrigue. But that doesn’t stop her from launching a rebellion with nothing but a few poorly armed villagers and her own wits and determination. Although essentially illiterate at the beginning of the novel, Mel has a thirst for knowledge and seeks out any opportunity to better herself as a scholar. She is often self-conscious about the way other people view her, but rarely lets that stop her from doing the right thing or saying what she means. Mel describes herself as “quick to laugh, quick to act, and much too quick to judge,” but she is also kind, brave, and selfless.

4. Meg Murray, from A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

Funny, I don't remember a winged centaur in this book.

Funny, I don’t remember a winged centaur in this book.

Like Katniss Everdeen, Meg is a reluctant hero. She doesn’t particularly fancy running around trying to save the world or making a stand against evil, but when situations conspire to throw her into the middle of a dangerous adventure, she rises to the occasion. When Meg and her younger brother Charles Wallace follow their scientist father through a “tesseract,” or a wrinkle in time, they find themselves on the dark planet Camazotz where everyone is controlled by IT, a giant evil brain. In the end, only Meg’s great love for her family and her strong will can protect her brother and Camazotz from the wicked machinations of the disembodied brain who seeks both the destruction of individuality and the end of free will.

5. Princess Eilonwy, from the Prydain Chronicles by Lloyd Alexander

Jeez, but her mom looks mean.

Jeez, but her mom looks mean.

Anyone who has read the Prydain Chronicles cannot help but love Eilonwy, the snarky, headstrong princess who accompanies Taran on his far-flung adventures. Eilonywy is descended from the Royal House of Llyr, a line of powerful enchantresses, but the princess has no interest in behaving as a “true lady” should. Rather, Princess Eilonwy is hot-tempered, stubborn, and sharp-tongued, and although she has no formal training in the usage of weapons she is a formidable opponent when it comes to battle, resorting to teeth and nails when she has no other weapons at her disposal. While she is often sarcastic and short-tempered, Eilonwy is also loyal and caring with regards to her friends and companions, and often uses her wits and determination to get them out of sticky situations.

Well, there you have it! It was actually a challenge for me to narrow down my favorite strong female role models from my childhood–they were more plentiful than I expected! While there is definitely a paucity of female superheroes in Hollywood, I think it’s great that there are so many strong young women dominating children’s literature and the young adult genre!

Do you have favorite strong female characters from your childhood or teenage years? Share your thoughts in the comment section below!

A Life Reinvented

On Writing Well, by William Zinsser

On Writing Well, by William Zinsser

A few weeks ago my husband sent me an article that he’d stumbled across in the New York Times and thought I might enjoy. The article is about William Zinsser, author of On Writing Well, and how his career has grown and changed throughout the decades of his very long life. Zinsser has been many things: student, soldier, journalist, novelist, professor, editor, jazz pianist, and that’s naming only a few. And now, legally blind and 80 years young, Zinsser has embarked on yet another career: mentor and writing coach for novelists and journalists struggling to succeed in the difficult world of publishing.

I found this article incredibly inspiring. There are few people in this world who can truly call themselves masters of any one career or trade, let alone become leaders in many fields over the course of their lives. Zinsser has approached each new opportunity in his life with passion and determination, but also with the curious attitude that when one thing inevitably passes, another opportunity will, also inevitably, arise. I’ve heard people say “When one door closes, open a window;” I think Zinsser might say “When one door closes, open all the windows in the house, plus air out the basement and the attic and poke your head in some wardrobes to see if Narnia is hiding inside.”

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10 Reasons I Love Doctor Who

*Author’s Note: the below post contains mild spoilers for Seasons 1-3 of the modern Doctor Who BBC television show. 

I was not making that up. *shudder*

I was not making that up. *shudder*

Now, before I dive right into all the reasons I love Doctor Who, I should say that I’ve had people telling me I should watch Doctor Who for years now. I would always brush these people off with a “Sure, sure, one of these days” comment while inwardly laughing at the very idea that I might enjoy such a thing. I think my resistance stemmed from the fact that when I was very young I watched a few of the 1970’s era Doctor Who episodes on PBS and they scared me silly. Seriously scary. Nightmare inducing scary. I remember one particular episode where extremely tall mummies ran around strangling people with their concave chests.

But I finally caved, and started watching from the beginning of the modern reboot, with Christopher Eccleston as the 9th Doctor. I am now halfway through the 10th Doctor’s stint. So, with no further ado, and in no particular order, I give you…

10 Reasons I Love Doctor Who

1. The camp factor. Even as a child, I realized that Doctor Who was pretty campy (not that that made it any less scary). The special effects were, to put it kindly, primitive. I remember one particular episode where a lizard alien stumbled on his entrance and you could see the zipper of his costume coming undone. The modern Doctor Who uses much more sophisticated special effects without trying to make the show something it’s not.

2. It’s British, and it knows it. Nearly every episode contains some kind of cheeky reference to British culture, class divisions, history, or linguistics. Not to mention that fact that despite the TARDIS being able to travel anywhere in space/time, the Doctor and his companions spend a majority of their time on Earth, in the UK, usually in London.

Victory through extermination!

Victory through extermination!

3. Daleks. God, the Daleks are scary. But part of me wants to chain one up in my basement and teach it how to love. Exterminate.

4. There are no real laws of physics. The science in Doctor who is incredibly soft. The shows frequently bends the laws of physics in insane and unexplained ways, and when the Doctor does bother to explain something scientific it’s usually techno-babble designed to entertain the audience more than anything else. On top of that, even when there is a “law” of some kind, it is invariably bent or broken sooner or later. Some people might find this irritating, but I love it. So many science fiction shows or movies get bogged down in the hard science while missing out on the important stuff.

5. The companions. Let’s face it, the Doctor has a soft spot for pretty girls. But he also likes his companions tenacious, intelligent, brave, and fun. So far (and I’ve only met a few of them) none of the Doctor’s companions have been brainless arm-candy whose only purpose is to act the damsel so the Doctor can save her. No–he’s chosen witty, deep, courageous women to accompany him on his larks across the galaxy. And that’s a preference I can get behind.

The Face of Boe.

The Face of Boe.

6. Hilarious and amazing aliens/future humans. The Face of Boe. Slitheens from Raxacoricofallapatorius. The Ood. Tree people and cat people. Oh, and in one recent episode I discovered that when a cat-human hybrid from the future mates with a pure human, they have kittens. No, seriously. Kittens. I don’t know who comes up with this stuff, but I adore them.

7. The sonic screwdriver. Can I get me one of these? From opening locked doors to performing medical scans to deactivating killer robots, this thing is truly a multi-purpose tool.

8. Meta humor, running jokes and recurring references. Oh, where do I even begin? Doctor Who fans know that something bad will always happen on Christmas Day, and Bad Wolf refers something more than a fairy tale. There are catchphrases: “Fantastic!” and “Allons-y, Alonzo!” And, of course, let’s not forget: “I’m the Doctor.” “Doctor who?”

9. The TARDIS. A 1960’s era small blue British police-box disguising a gigantic alien spaceship designed to travel through time? And that flashing light on top? And that iconic noise? WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE?!???

Also, that eyebrow.

Also, that eyebrow.

10. The Doctor himself. Who is the Doctor? He is so many things. A madman in a blue box. The last Time Lord. A true outsider, alone even when surrounded by people. He is fiercely protective of those he cares about, but cruel to his enemies. Intelligent, eccentric, spirited and resourceful, the Doctor roams the universe fighting injustice, tyranny and exploitation. He is not human, yet his humanity is his greatest weapon in the endless war against evil spanning space and time. He wears many faces to the outside world, but his one true identity is a horrible secret, buried in the ruin of a once-great civilization.

Also, he’s pretty cute. Maybe I’ll tie him up in my basement and teach him how to love.

Are you a Doctor Who fan? What about the show do you love? I’d love to hear your comments below!

Keepsakes

This is, more or less, my father. Image belongs to Herge.

This is, more or less, my father.
Image belongs to Herge.

My father is a sailor, which meant that for most of my life he was off at sea for long stretches of time, usually four months or more. And when I was little, four months was an incredibly long time. Practically a lifetime. Goodbyes were always difficult when it came time for him to rejoin his ship, but I remember one particular time when I was seven or eight when my dad’s departure left me particularly upset. The whole family saw him off at the airport, and when he hugged me he must have noticed that I was blinking back tears. After a moment’s consideration my dad reached into his pocket and handed me a quarter.

“There,” he said. “Now, whenever you feel sad about me being gone you can look at this quarter and know that somewhere in the world, I’m thinking of you.”

There was nothing special about the coin. It was just a quarter, with George Washington’s familiar mug printed on one side and an eagle rampant on the other. No particular year; no particular mint. Just a quarter. But I treasured that quarter like it was made of gold. Not because of what it was, but because of what it represented: a brief, special moment shared with my dad. Whenever I saw or touched the quarter, I was reminded that my dad loved me and missed me too. Its power lay not in its monetary value, but in its symbolic value. It had become a keepsake, a talisman whose power was invisible to all but me.

Often my favorite books become keepsakes.

Often my favorite books become keepsakes.

As I’ve grown older I have collected many other keepsakes, objects that symbolize or spark a remembrance of a time now past. Most, like the quarter, have no real objective value, yet are nonetheless precious because of what they symbolize to me. A collection of long emails exchanged between my husband and me when our relationship was still very young. A much dog-eared copy of the Once and Future King given to me by a dear departed friend. A Claddagh ring my mom gave me when we first moved to Ireland that now barely fits on my pinky finger. Each keepsake recalls a time that, on most days, I have no cause to think of otherwise.

Maybe he gave her that helmet as a keepsake.

Maybe he gave her that helmet as a keepsake.

But keepsakes can also be less tangible. Singular moments can themselves be keepsakes of larger memories or past experiences. An off-hand phrase or comment that, though immediately forgotten by the speaker, I keep tucked away in my mind so I can occasionally take it out and admire it. A private glance shared between friends silently recalling some inside joke. A meal, a drink, a slice of cake. Like snapshots of another time, these brief memories glint like stars against the ever darkening landscape of our memories, totemic in their ability to represent experiences or memories now long gone.

A keepsake isn’t always a good thing, however. I know that I keep souvenirs of my failures and losses as well as keepsakes of love and happiness. Somewhere, tucked away in a box or in the back of a notebook, is the very first exam I ever took in college, on which I got an abysmal grade. Similarly, I sometimes hang on to memories of deep embarrassment or shame, or words flung at me in disappointment or anger. But, unlike that quarter my dad gave me long ago, these negative keepsakes do nothing but sour otherwise good memories, casting a dark pall over happier moments. They are the seeds of grudges and resentments, destined to fester if they cannot be purged.

At some point I lost that quarter that my dad gave me. I don’t know when or where, and when I eventually realized it was gone it didn’t really matter. Why? Because it had already served its purpose, and when it eventually disappeared I had learned other ways of remembering that my father wouldn’t be gone forever. Our keepsakes can act as positive talismans to help us move forward, but they can also hinder us, reminding us of pain or failure better forgotten. So treasure your keepsakes, both physical and intangible, but use them well, and let them go when their work is done.

Do you have souvenirs or keepsakes that symbolize past experiences? Are they positive or negative? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section below!

Review: Sanctus, by Simon Toyne

Sanctus, by Simon Toyne

Sanctus, by Simon Toyne

With the whole world watching, a green-robed monk throws himself from the top of an ancient citadel in the center of the mountainous Turkish town of Ruin. But his death raises more questions that it could ever answer. What was he doing atop the citadel? Why did he stand for hours with his arms outstretched, mimicking the pose of Cristo Redentor in Rio de Janeiro? And above all, why did he choose to end his own life in such a macabre and public way? Was his death a terrible accident, or a symbolic gesture?

For charity worker Kathryn Mann and her family, the monk’s death is a long-awaited omen promising changes and revelations the world over. For the ancient order of fanatic monks who have lived in the citadel for thousands of years, is it a terrible betrayal that threatens to unmask their deepest, darkest secret: the identity of their holy Sacrament, long guarded against the outside world. And for New York journalist Liv Adamson, it begins a dangerous journey of body and soul, the result of which will change her life and the future of the planet.

It is impossible to discuss Simon Toyne’s debut novel Sanctus without making certain comparisons to a very famous conspiracy thriller that is seemingly loved and loathed in equal measures the world over. Superficially,  Sanctus seems to resemble The Da Vinci Code in both plot and structure. For instance, the novel begins with an inexplicable death shrouded in mystery but clearly portentous of things to come. Also like The Da Vinci Code, Sanctus involves a fanatical order of disturbed monks willing to torture and murder if it means protecting their secrets. But beyond the initial set-up, the resemblances to The Da Vinci Code quickly dwindle. In fact, I found Simon Toyne’s novel to be much more enjoyable than Dan Brown’s; better written and more imaginative, despite following a fairly hackneyed set of rules for conspiracy thrillers.

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Harry Potter and the Illiterate Wizards: Part III

*Warning: Spoilers for all seven Harry Potter books and movies follow. If you haven’t read the complete series, step away from the computer. Also, what rock have you been hiding underneath?

If you haven’t read Part I and Part II of this blog series, I highly recommend you toddle on over and catch up before continuing with this one. Also, lest any of you read too deeply into my criticism and get all steamed up, let me remind you that I love these books and this is meant to be a humorous take on the Harry Potter universe, not serious literary criticism.

So, now that’s over with, I present to you the third (and final) absurdity in the Harry Potter books that I only considered as an adult…

3. Deus Ex Machina

At least I'm good at Quidditch, right? Amirite? Anybody?

At least I’m good at Quidditch,
right? Amirite? Anybody?

Harry Potter is nominally the hero of all seven Harry Potter books. Obviously. But when you really take a long hard look at each and every triumphant moment in the books, it quickly becomes clear that Harry isn’t much of a hero at all. Not to say that he doesn’t have heroic intentions,  but from a purely literary perspective, Harry isn’t even much of a protagonist. He is a generally passive character whose fate frequently gathers him up and sweeps him along at a brisk and dangerous pace. And Harry is absolutely a survivor, but a hero? I’m not so sure. Because nearly all of Harry’s successes in the books come down to one of two things: “other people” or “by accident.”

In the first few books–which solidly fall into the children’s lit genre–Harry’s characterization works. He is lost, confused, and ineffectual, bobbing along in a swift current made up of the history and politics of a world he doesn’t fully understand. He’s also eleven. And these sorts of “everyman” characteristics made it easy for child readers to relate to Harry, to put themselves in his shoes. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero yet–just the Boy-Who-Lived, someone whose destiny has big plans for them. But then the third book came along, and the fourth, and still an adolescent Harry lurked in mediocrity, relying on his friends and elders to support him through the trials thrown at him again and again.

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