Tales of the Gilbreth Family

December 8, 2011 by 9 Comments

Mention the title Cheaper by the Dozen and most folks know it refers to a story about a family with twelve children. Before there were completely unrelated movies starring Steve Martin, however, there was the original book about the unique Gilbreth family, written by two of the children. This was followed by Belles on Their Toes, set after the death of the family patriarch, and later by several others, including Time Out for Happiness, a more serious family biography, and Rings Around Us, in which Ernestine writes about her own married life. Three out of the four are quite charming, and those aren’t bad odds!

Cheaper by the Dozen by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey
When I embarked upon reading Cheaper by the Dozen, I figured I was in for a warm-hearted memoir about the clever antics of twelve mischievous kids living in the early 20th century. And I did get that. There are stories here about playing pranks on the psychologist evaluating their intelligence and about young boys saying impertinent things to guests at dinner, about rousting a peeping tom from a tree and manipulating the family council system in order to get a dog.

What I didn’t anticipate, however, was that the real purpose of the book is to lovingly depict the Gilbreth parents, Frank and Lillian. I am a sucker for awesome dads, and have loved quite a few, but Mr. Gilbreth might just take the cake. He’s voluble, loud, and charming, with a zest for life and learning that leads him to devote his career to developing time-saving measures for various industries. He teaches his kids all manner of things, from languages to Morse code to nifty multiplication tricks, and at first it seems like he’s doing this just to satisfy his own curiosity—and, yes, that’s part of it—but in reality, it’s so that they’ll be able to get along without him and not be a burden to their mother when he is gone. For, you see, he hasn’t told them that he’s got a bad heart.

There is much to smile and laugh at in this book, but the end had me sobbing. In a good way. In the way that makes you want to read the book again so that you can love it even more intensely. I feel like fans of this book could meet each other and exchange a single word—mumblety-peg—and understand each other perfectly.

Belles on Their Toes by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey
Where Cheaper by the Dozen serves as loving tribute to Frank B. Gilbreth, Sr., Belles on Their Toes is “primarily the story of Mother.” Overshadowed somewhat by her charismatic husband in the previous book, Lillian shines here as a strong and capable mother defying social conventions and attitudes by taking up the reins of her husband’s business in order to secure sufficient income to not only keep the family together but send each child to college, as Frank wanted. There’s a marvelous passage early on that explains how Lillian overcame her timidity that left me sniffling.

There was a time when Mother wept easily, when she was afraid of walking alone at night, when a lightning storm would send her shuddering into a dark closet.

All that ended the day Dad died. It ended because it had to end. It ended because of the realization that what she really feared was that something would separate them.

Well, what she feared had happened, and tears would not wash out a word of it. So she gave his speech in London and presided for him in Prague. And she was not afraid any more.

I get a bit verklempt now, just typing that.

Belles on Their Toes also focuses a lot on the oldest daughters, as they develop into women and eventually bring beaus home to meet the family. I’m particularly fond of sensible Martha, who has no idea she’s become shapely and sought-after and devotes herself to principles of frugality. That’s not to say that pranks and mischief are entirely absent, however! Near the end, the pace of the story picks up a great deal, skipping over some of the middle children to cover the high school graduation of the youngest (Jane), followed by a family reunion in which three of Lillian’s grandchildren are christened in the same church as their parents.

It’s a very satisfying conclusion and most people would probably feel content to stop here. With a little research and a couple of interlibrary loans, however, I’ve unearthed a couple of other books about the family that are less well known.

Time Out for Happiness by Frank B. Gilbreth, Jr.
Whereas the first two books “stressed the comical aspects of raising a big family by Motion Study methods,” Time Out for Happiness puts the emphasis on Frank and Lillian’s work in the field of “scientific management.” You might think this sounds dull, but actually there are enough amusing anecdotes and big personalities (like “plump and boisterous” Frank) to make for quite an absorbing read.

Time Out for Happiness also dwells more on the family backgrounds for Frank and Lillian, as well as the early days of their courtship and marriage. Some of the material is familiar, but most of it is new. (Interestingly, a few small details are different here, like which child made what remark or what handyman Tom named his cats. Were those embellished the first time around?) I welcomed the insight into what Frank and Lillian were hoping to accomplish with Motion Study, especially the fact that Lillian was very much an equal partner.

Indeed, while gregarious Frank initially captures one’s heart, by the end one realizes how truly remarkable Lillie was. For a woman to get a Master’s degree in 1902 (followed by a PhD in 1914) was no small feat, and she was the first woman to receive honorary membership in several influential engineering societies. After Frank’s death in 1924, Lillie continued to espouse the Gilbreth method for over 40 years, eventually earning the public recognition of their endeavors that she’d long been seeking.

The one drawback to reading this book is that it makes one feel a serious underachiever. There were so many opportunities to think and do new things in the early 20th century that I don’t know now whether such chances simply don’t exist anymore or if I am just not personally bright enough to see them.

At any rate, this may be a more factual account of the family history, but it’s no less entertaining.

Rings Around Us by Ernestine Gilbreth Carey
Out of the four books on the Gilbreth family that I read, I liked Rings Around Us—the story of Ernestine’s married life—the least. I found it to be lacking the warmth of the earlier books, and I’m not sure whether to attribute that to the lack of Lillian or to the lack of Frank, Jr. as writing partner. Probably it’s a combination of both.

In September 1929, when she is a 21-year-old working girl in New York City, Ernestine Gilbreth meets Charles Carey. They hit it off immediately and are married in 1930. The book recounts their many apartments in the city, the many nurses they hire to take care of their daughter while Ernestine works, and the eventual decision to move to Long Island, where the kids have plenty of friends and room to roam and where the Carey parents experience the joy of tending a garden and the sorrows of home maintenance.

The problem is… Charles (called “Chick” by Ernestine) is a product of his time, in that he is a sexist git. He frequently makes comments about women and though he occasionally condescends to help Ernestine with meals and dishes, his attitudes eventually begin to wear off on his son. Ernestine chafes at his notions, but doesn’t get her dander up as much as I would’ve liked. But no matter, because she herself is sizeist. Many, many times she describes a person by their weight, be it the nurse whose bosoms she compares to watermelons or the dance teacher her daughter adores, “all two hundred pounds of her.” This attitude, too, wears off on the kids, as a later chapter dwells upon a game they invent wherein you score points for spotting fat people on the beach. The game is called “Whale.”

Nice. Really nice. Thanks for leaving me with a sour taste in my mouth, Ernestine.

Filed Under: Books, Memoir, Nonfiction Tagged With: ,

The Documents in the Case by Dorothy L. Sayers (with Robert Eustace)

December 7, 2011 by 2 Comments

From the back cover:
The grotesquely grinning corpse in the Devonshire shack was of a man who had died horribly—with a dish of mushrooms at his side. His body contained enough death-dealing muscarine to kill thirty people. Why would an expert on fungi feast on a large quantity of this particularly poisonous species? A clue to the brilliant murderer, who had baffled the best minds in London, was hidden in a series of letters and documents that no one seemed to care about, except the dead man’s son.

Review:
The Documents in the Case is the one full-length mystery novel penned by Dorothy L. Sayers that doesn’t star Lord Peter Wimsey. Before I’d read it, I knew of it merely as “the one with the mushrooms.” Now I’ll know it as “the really boring one with the mushrooms.”

For the most part, this is an epistolary novel in which letters written by the residents of a particular Bayswater address depict the state of family life before the death of patriarch and mushroom enthusiast, George Harrison (yes, really). Sayers expertly and efficiently depicts the character of each correspondent through their writing, including George himself; the young, flighty, and discontented lady of the house (Margaret); her deluded-to-the-point-of-insanity companion (Miss Milsom); the dashing artist tenant (Harwood Lathom); the deep-thought-having novelist tenant (John Munting); and George’s son from an earlier marriage (Paul), who has gathered the documents together in a bid to prove that his father was too much of an expert on mushrooms to have died from accidentally ingesting a poisonous variety.

Some of this is fairly interesting, some is irritating—seriously, although one can sympathize with Margaret for her repressive husband, she is still frequently too insincere and manipulative to bear—and some is downright tedious. Munting’s letters to his fiancée often lapse into pseudo-philosophizing, but the cake is taken by an extremely long and self-indulgent scene near the end in which Sayers uses a bunch of random professorial types as mouthpieces through which to espouse some theories on the origins of life. If I had a paper copy instead of an audiobook I would quote some of the dialogue from this section, but it will have to suffice it to say that my impatience caused me to hurl profanities at my innocent cassette player.

Eventually, this rambling conversation produces the means of proving the death was no accident, and then there’s a very brief postscript about how the culprit was hanged. The end.

Ultimately, I conclude that this one is only for completists. Completists, I wish I could say this was better, but perhaps it will be some small comfort to know that it is at least quite short.

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A Traitor to Memory by Elizabeth George

November 28, 2011 by 2 Comments

Book description:
When Eugenie Davies is killed by a driver on a quiet London street, her death is clearly no accident. Someone struck her with a car and then deliberately ran over her body before driving off, leaving nothing behind but questions.

What brought Eugenie Davies to London on a rainy autumn night? Why was she carrying the name of the man who found her body? Who among the many acquaintances in her complicated and tragic life could have wanted her dead? And could her murder have some connection to a twenty-eight-year-old musical wunderkind, a virtuoso violinist who several months earlier suddenly and inexplicably lost the ability to play a single note?

For Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley, whose own domestic life is about to change radically, these questions are only the first in an investigation that leads him to walk a fine line between personal loyalty and professional honor.

Review:
I finished A Traitor to Memory last night and have spent most of today trying to find the words to explain why I didn’t like it very much. The one thing that keeps coming back to me is that it just felt somehow empty, especially in comparison with the previous few books in the series.

It’s November now, a couple of months since Barbara got demoted and she and Lynley spent an entire book at odds with each other. While it’s certainly a relief that they are getting along well again, it is fairly strange that neither ever reflects upon their period of estrangement. In fact, there is exceedingly little from Barbara’s point of view and no appearances by her charming neighbors. Compensating slightly for this omission, however, are some segments from Winston Nkata’s perspective.

Anyway, the case in question involves a series of hit-and-run accidents that are connected to the murder of a child that Superintendent Webberly (Lynley’s boss) investigated twenty years ago. Interspersed with the feats of detection are journal entries by a violin prodigy named Gideon Davies who is in therapy to discover the reason for his abrupt inability to play his instrument. As with many books in this series, one must have patience and wait for the a-ha moment that connects seemingly disparate elements, and there are quite a few of those in this novel. “Ohhhh,” one says, “so that’s who he is!”

Unfortunately, I found the final solution… inelegant. Oh, I can devise arguments in its favor, namely that in the real world, detectives frequently do not learn why a given suspect did something, only that they did. But readers are spoiled and we are accustomed to learning such details. The evidence is sufficient, but without that extra level of confirmation it’s not quite as satisfying. Also, there’s a shock ending that inspires conflicting reactions. On one hand, it’s a neat twist, but on the other, I highly doubt that George will ever get around to revealing what actually happened, especially as the next book in the series (A Place of Hiding) is about Simon and Deborah St. James and not anyone inclined to comment on the details of this case.

Ultimately, this was a long, slightly tedious, and rather disappointing installment in the Lynley-Havers series. Not that this will in any way dissuade me from continuing on, however!

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In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner by Elizabeth George

November 8, 2011 by Leave a Comment

Book description:
Calder Moor is a wild and deadly place: many have been trapped in the myriad limestone caves, lost in collapsed copper mines, injured on perilous ridges. But when two bodies are discovered in the shadow of the ancient circle of stones known as Nine Sisters Henge, it is clearly not a case for Mountain Rescue.

The corpses are those of a young man and woman. Each met death in a different fashion. Each died violently. To Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley, this grisly crime promises to be one of the toughest of his career. For the unfortunate Nicola Maiden was the daughter of a former officer in an elite undercover unit, a man Lynley once regarded as a mentor.

Now, as Lynley struggles to find out if Nicola’s killer was an enemy of her father’s or one she earned herself, Barbara Havers, his longtime partner, crisscrosses London seeking information on the second victim. Yet the more dark secrets Lynley and Havers uncover, the more they learn that neither the victims nor the suspects are who they appear to be… that human relationships are often murderous… and that the blood that binds can also kill.

Review:
Once again, Elizabeth George has created an intriguing mystery—perhaps her most complicated yet easy-to-follow case to date—while ensuring that the interactions between the lead detectives remain the most compelling part of the story.

The two victims in this case—Nicola Maiden and Terry Cole—are found on a moor in Derbyshire, and Lynley is specifically requested to work the case by the Nicola’s father, a former special operations officer for whom he worked briefly earlier in his career. Heading up the local investigation is DI Peter Hanken, a chain-smoking family man whose manner of speech frequently put me in mind of Gene Hunt. Hanken’s convinced that Nicola’s father is responsible, and while Lynley can’t buy that, he is still convinced that Nicola was the target, especially as more details of her not-so-wholesome lifestyle emerge.

Enter Havers. After the events of Deception on His Mind, in which she not only disobeyed a director order but fired a gun at a superior officer, Barbara has spent the last three months on suspension pending the results of an inquiry. She is ultimately demoted to Detective Constable and at first attributes the fact that she still remains with CID at all to Lynley’s advocacy, but it turns out that he is quite critical of her actions. He assigns her various menial tasks connected to the Derbyshire case but, headstrong as ever, Havers follows her hunch that the key to the murders lies with Terry Cole, not Nicola Maiden.

She works that end of things in London, enlisting the more-charming-the-more-we-see-of-him DC Winston Nkata to help her. (Seriously, Nkata is fun. When are we going to get something from his perpsective?) Lynley gets increasingly fed up with her defiance and I swear… the tension between them kept me on the edge of my seat much more than the murder investigation itself. It was like watching two friends keep doing things to irritate and alienate the other while being completely unable to help. How could I not sympathize with Barbara as she doggedly works to get at the truth? But at the same time, how could I not cringe when her actions drive her further and further out of Lynley’s good graces? The resolution to all this comes about a little too conveniently, but I’m too relieved to be too critical.

The case itself is particularly multi-layered, and I marvel that George is able to keep all of these balls in the air while never losing the reader. There’s not too much with Lynley’s personal life in this volume—aside from Lady Helen’s involvement in patching things up with Barbara—but Barbara’s makes some progress. Her neighbor, Taymullah Azhar, has been trying to get the details of what happened in Essex and ultimately learns that Barbara wound up demoted because she wouldn’t let his daughter, Hadiyyah, be left to drown. So now he feels tremendous gratitude to her and it almost looks at one point like he’s confessing more romantic feelings but now I am unsure again. The thought of awkward, sloppy Barbara trying to navigate a romantic relationship fills me with utter squee, though, so I will continue to hope that matters develop in that direction.

If you’re looking for a well-written mystery series with a serious claim to the label “literature,” then the Inspector Lynley series might be for you. I’ll be diving into the next book as soon as I post this review!

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The Witch Family by Eleanor Estes

October 28, 2011 by 1 Comment

From the back cover:
Banished!

Old Witch likes nothing better than to fly about on her broomstick crying “Heh-heh!” and casting abracadabras, but now she has been sent away… by two young girls.

Amy and Clarissa love to tell stories about Old Witch… until one day they decide she is just too mean and wicked. Drawing a rickety old house upon a barren glass hill, the girls exile Old Witch there with the warning that she’d better be good—or else no Halloween! For company they draw her a Little Witch Girl and a Weeny Witch Baby.

Old Witch tries to be good, but anyone would get up to no good in a place as lonely as the glass hill… as Amy and Clarissa find out when Old Witch magics them into her world, a world of make-believe made real.

Review:
If you’ve got a clever and charming child and are looking for a clever and charming Halloween book that they might enjoy, The Witch Family just might fit the bill.

Amy and her best friend Clarissa, both “ordinary real girls,” are almost seven. Amy’s vivid imagination has been captured by the tales her mother tells about the wicked Old Witch, and she enlists Clarissa—who, with her faulty memory but pleasant disposition, is content with the sidekick role—in drawing a series of pictures that continue Old Witch’s adventures.

The story is presented in a really neat way. For example, it’s immediately clear through vocabulary that Amy is concocting Old Witch’s story herself. (She’s fond of big words, but doesn’t always know how to spell or pronounce them, so when she sentences Old Witch to live alone on a glass hill as punishment for her evil ways, she declares, “I banquished her!”) But a lot of the book is told from Old Witch’s point of view, so kids would probably enjoy the “is she really real?” mystery.

It’s certainly a fun Halloween tale, but I think Amy is the most fascinating character of all. What a bright little girl! Seriously, I found myself wishing for an epilogue that read, “And then Amy became a super-famous novelist” or something. There’s a real whimsy in the language used, and I love that she does typical little girl things like write the bumblebee who’d been in her yard into the story and give him a noble and heroic part to play. She’s also inserting herself into the story in a way, by giving Old Witch a little witch girl named Hannah to keep her company who looks so much like Amy that no one can tell them apart when Hannah comes to visit Amy on Halloween and goes trick-or-treating with her friends.

I find I haven’t a lot more to say about the book than this. It’s very cute. There are kitties and weeny witch babies and things to make adults giggle and the most adorable bee on the planet. Thanks for the recommendation, K!

Filed Under: Books, Children's Fiction, Fantasy, Supernatural Tagged With:

Club Dead by Charlaine Harris

October 8, 2011 by Leave a Comment

From the back cover:
There’s only one vampire Sookie Stackhouse is involved with (at least voluntarily) and that’s Bill. But recently he’s been a little distant—in another state, distant. His sinister and sexy boss Eric has an idea where to find him. Next thing Sookie knows, she is off to Jackson, Mississippi to mingle with the under-underworld at Club Dead. It’s a dangerous little haunt where the elitist vampire society can go to chill out and suck down some type O. But when Sookie finally finds Bill—caught in an act of serious betrayal—she’s not sure whether to save him… or sharpen some stakes.

Review:
It’s been more than a year since I promised “Club Dead, coming soon!” at the end of my review of Living Dead in Dallas. I didn’t forget the pledge; it just took me that long to be in the mood for another round of salacious vampire shenanigans. But what better time to revisit the series than Halloween Week? This one was such an improvement over the last, however, that I’m going to make a sincere effort to get caught up on the series.

Part of what makes Club Dead interesting is that there is so little Bill and when there is Bill, he’s wronging Sookie in ways that culminate with her disinviting him from her home. As the book begins, he is working on a top-secret assignment for “the queen of Louisiana” (there’s a lot of detail about the vampire hierarchy in this book) and tells Sookie he’s heading to Seattle to work on it. This turns out to be a lie, as she learns later that Bill is being held captive in Jackson and that he was preparing to pension her off and return to his vampire love, Lorena.

Despite the betrayal, Sookie agrees to help Eric (Bill’s superior, in a manner of speaking) find Bill and is matched up with a brawny werewolf named Alcide Herveaux, who can introduce her to the supernatural element in Jackson. Alcide’s got baggage of his own, so in addition to treading lightly around “the king of Mississippi” and the werewolves the king has hired to search for Bill’s girlfriend (thankfully, he never got her name), they’ve also got to avoid Alcide’s crazy ex, Debbie Pelt.

All of this is fairly entertaining—even if a large amount of the plot is contingent upon guys finding Sookie extremely hawt and wanting to boff her—but it did seem randomly strung-together at times. For example, after Bill is rescued the gang must next prevent the crucifixion of “Bubba” (Elvis in vamp form) and foil a convenience store robbery. I really liked the ending, though, and once again find myself hoping that Sookie will not forgive Bill’s transgressions, now weightier than ever before. Sure, it’s a little ridiculous how many guys are hot for her, but her steamy encounters with both Alcide and Eric are more fun to read than detailed sex scenes starring Bill. (The fact that Eric gets fleshed out a great deal is one of the best aspects of the book, actually.) Plus, Sookie’s reaction to these tempting guys is pretty amusing. “I was not pleased with my moral fiber!”

I find that I haven’t much to say about the book beyond this. It’s diverting and amusing and has even rekindled my curiosity about True Blood. It’s not fair to compare something like this against oh, say, Price and Prejudice, but for this particular genre, it exceeds expectations.

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I Am Not a Serial Killer by Dan Wells

September 21, 2011 by 2 Comments

From the back cover:
John Wayne Cleaver is dangerous, and he knows it. He’s spent his life doing his best not to live up to his potential.

He’s obsessed with serial killers but really doesn’t want to become one. So for his own sake, and the safety of those around him, he lives by rigid rules he’s written for himself, practicing normal life as if it were a private religion that could save him from damnation.

Dead bodies are normal to John. He likes them, actually. They don’t demand or expect the empathy he’s unable to offer. Perhaps that’s what gives him the objectivity to recognize that there’s something different about the body the police have just found behind the Wash-n-Dry Laundromat—and to appreciate what that difference means.

Now, for the first time, John has to confront a danger outside himself, a threat he can’t control, a menace to everything and everyone he would love, if only he could.

Review:
It’s hard to resist a book with a title like I Am Not a Serial Killer, at least for me, and when I picked this up I figured I was in for something akin to “Dexter: The Early Years.” But that was before Wells pulled a genre switcheroo.

Fifteen-year-old John Wayne Cleaver is a markedly self-aware sociopath, in that he is fully cognizant of his lack of empathy and bizzare compulsions and narrates about them in an articulate manner that I wouldn’t be surprised to learn is uncommon in others of his kind. He’s seeing a therapist and trying to keep “the monster” at bay by following a series of strict, self-imposed rules (a what-to-avoid list gleaned from intensive serial killer research) designed to keep him from going down a dangerous path. When mutilated bodies start showing up in his small town, John is excited and fascinated, but the more he learns about the crimes and the fact that the killer never intends to stop, the more he comes to realize that he may be the only person who can prevent the deaths of more innocents by letting “the monster” out to kill the perpetrator.

Soon it becomes clear that John is dealing with something supernatural. Ordinarily, it would bug me when a “real world” mystery suddenly veers into the supernatural for its resolution, but it actually kind of works for me here. John is such a broken person that he can’t understand why the culprit is doing certain things, and eventually realizes that even a demon is more capable of genuine human emotion than he is. This ties in some with the depiction of John’s family life—an absentee father who never follows through with promises and a mother who loves with desperate urgency to try to make up for her ex-husband’s shortcomings—since one of the most important moments of the book occurs when John is finally able to achieve a bit of real understanding with his mom instead of just faking it.

I guess the book is somewhat gross. None of the descriptions of the crimes bothered me, but the mortuary scenes—John’s mom and aunt run a funeral home and allow him to assist sometimes—are clinical and grim. They made me think of my late grandmother and made me want to call my parents. That said, I appreciate how familiarity with the mortuary layout and equipment pays off later in the story.

Ultimately, I Am Not a Serial Killer is pretty interesting. Though I’m not sure I buy the extent of John’s self-knowledge, he’s still an intriguing protagonist, and I thought Wells did a decent job of making him simultaneously sympathetic and abnormal. When I picked up the book I didn’t realize it was the first of a trilogy, but it was a pleasant surprise. Look for a review of book two, Mr. Monster, in the near future.

Filed Under: Books, Supernatural, Suspense, YA Tagged With:

Winter by John Marsden

September 19, 2011 by Leave a Comment

From the back cover:
For twelve years, Winter has been haunted. Her memories will not leave her alone. There are secrets she does not remember—but needs to know.

The time has come for her to go back home.

Every journey starts with a single step. But sometimes if you want to step into the future, you must first step into the past…

Review:
After reading Checkers, So Much to Tell You, and Take My Word for It, I realized that John Marsden has a certain… preferred pattern. In each case, something profoundly traumatic has happened to the (Australian) teenaged heroine and the slim book consists of her first-person narrative as she attempts to work past whatever it was, while gradually divulging enough tidbits to enable readers to figure out what happened. In many ways, Winter is very similar, though in this case, the titular heroine begins the book as in the dark as anyone else.

It’s been twelve years since sixteen-year-old Winter De Salis has set foot on the family estate of Warriewood. Both of her parents died when she was four, but she wasn’t told much about them by the relatives with whom she spent the intervening years. Now old enough to leave school and return home, that’s exactly what determined Winter does, and makes short work of dispatching the dishonest caretakers of her property while questioning anyone who might provide some useful information concerning her parents’ deaths. After making friends with a girl around her age, enjoying a bit of romance, and uncovering the family secret, she is eventually able to face her future without obsessing over the past.

Despite the structural similarities to other Marsden books, Winter doesn’t much feel like them. Its setting is more rural, for one thing, so there are sections like the one describing the cathartic process (for Winter) of removing unwanted blackberries from the property, or the depiction of her first attempt to take care of the cattle by herself. Winter is a unique protagonist, and I love how Marsden shows her capacity for being difficult—when you’re underage and you want something strongly, sometimes the only weapon in your arsenal is being stubborn—while simultaneously showing that she really is a good kid. She’s grateful for kindness and not so wounded that she can’t make new friends, and posits at one point that perhaps the early death of her famously strong mother is what has enabled her to become so strong herself. It’s a pretty devastating truth that she learns, but it’s believable that she is able to move on from it and not dwell too long on questions that will never have answers.

My only minor quibble is that the romance feels somewhat superfluous; granted, it plays an important role in demonstrating Winter’s progression from someone fixated on the past to someone anticipating the future, but I would’ve liked the boy (Matt Kennedy) to be a more well-rounded character. I’d almost wish for a sequel—perhaps a story set twenty years later with Winter and Matt as parents to a new protagonist—but I suppose that would require something traumatic to happen to their offspring, and we wouldn’t want that!

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Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi

September 9, 2011 by 2 Comments

From the back cover:
In America’s Gulf Coast region, where grounded oil tankers are being broken down for parts, Nailer, a teenage boy, works the light crew, scavenging for copper wiring just to make quota—and hopefully live to see another day. But when, by luck or by chance, he discovers an exquisite ship beached during a recent hurricane, Nailer faces the most important decision of his life: strip the ship for all it’s worth or rescue its lone survivor, a beautiful and wealthy girl who could lead him to a better life…

In this powerful novel, award-winning author Paolo Bacigalupi delivers a thrilling, fast-paced adventure set in a vivid and raw, uncertain future.

Review:
Ship Breaker won the Printz Award this year, and I must say I think it deserved it! It took a little while to grow on me, but I liked it a lot by the end.

At some unspecified point in the future, a community of people has sprung up on Bright Sands Beach (on the Gulf Coast) where the best work to be found is on crews breaking down giant, rusting wrecks of oil tankers. Everyone toils away to meet their quota, all the while dreaming of the lucky strike—oil or other scarce commodities—that could make them rich. Nailer Lopez is fifteen years old and works on the light crew, where his job is scuttling through pipes to scavenge copper, aluminum, and nickel.

After a near-death experience during which his wits and luck save him from drowning in a pocket of oil, Nailer is christened Lucky Boy by his friends. This moniker seems apt when he and his friend Pima discover a valuable wreck left behind in the wake of a hurricane. They set to work stripping it but are stunned to discover a survivor—a very wealthy girl named Nita Chaudhury, who promises her father will reward them for saving her life. When Nailer’s drunken and dangerous father Richard discovers the wreck, however, he opts to trade Nita to her father’s enemies, which forces Nailer to make a whole bunch of difficult decisions.

When he and Pima find the wreck, she urges Nailer to be smart about it. In her eyes, “smart” seems to involve profiting enough to obtain a position of power on Bright Sands Beach. Nailer is aiming higher, however, and makes Nita promise to take him and Pima away and into a better life. The choices he makes from that point on are partly in pursuit of this goal, but also out of a growing sense of loyalty towards Nita, who proves herself capable and quickly loses her prejudices towards those less cultured than she. There are many times where he could have walked away and abandoned Nita to her fate but doesn’t, and ultimately, his concern for her works out in his own favor.

The story ranges over a few different settings, from the beach to the drowned docks of “Orleans” to a clipper ship crewed by people loyal to Nita’s father. As a big fan of the Hornblower series, I liked the ship the best. I hadn’t realized how much I missed depictions of naval battles until the awesome sequence wherein Nailer’s familiarity with the coastline results in a surprise advantage over a superior foe. In fact, the whole final sequence of the book was quite exciting, and makes me think this would make a good movie.

I also found it interesting that the main villain of the work is Nailer’s father, Richard, because Nailer harbors such conflicted feelings about him. He remembers the man his father used to be before his mother died, and though Richard’s now more likely to be high and abusive than relaxed and kind, Nailer feels obliged to care about him and give him chances to be a better person. After many disappointments, he finally realizes that Pima and her nurturing mother, Sadna, are his true family and is able to muster the strength to stop believing that his father is capable of turning over a new leaf at this point. Essentially, he’s a victim of domestic abuse who finally achieves the strength to say, “I’m not going to let you hurt me anymore.”

Lastly, Ship Breaker is commendable for its effortless portrayal of characters of many ethnicities. None of the lead characters is Caucasian. Their skin color is mentioned as part of their physical description, but doesn’t factor in to their relationships at all. Characters are judged purely based on their individual actions. If anything, the only real prejudice left in the world seems to be between the rich (or “swanks”) and the poor, but Nailer’s actions convince Nita, at least, of the errors of her ways, especially since he proves fully capable of functioning in her world if given half a chance.

Although initially a little frustrating—despite my love for dystopic YA, I still get a little frustrated with crappy situations that just seem to be getting crappier—Ship Breaker turns out to be a well-crafted and riveting tale.

Filed Under: Books, Sci-Fi, YA Tagged With: ,

Bruiser by Neal Shusterman

August 30, 2011 by 2 Comments

From the back cover:
Tennyson:
Don’t get me started on the Bruiser. He was voted “Most Likely to Get the Death Penalty” by the entire school. He’s the kid no one knows, no one talks to, and everyone hears disturbing rumors about. So why is my sister, Brontë, dating him? One of these days she’s going to take in the wrong stray dog, and it’s not going to end well.

Brontë:
My brother has no right to talk about Brewster that way—no right to threaten him. There’s a reason why Brewster can’t have friends—why he can’t care about too many people. Because when he cares about you, things start to happen. Impossible things that can’t be explained. I know, because they’re happening to me.

Review:
Let me just state upfront that any parents pretentious enough to name their children Tennyson and Brontë need a damn good whacking.

Moving on, Bruiser (from the author of Unwind) is the story of a social outcast named Brewster Rawlins who is perceived as a creepy delinquent by his classmates but is actually harboring a secret that compels him to keep his distance: if he cares about someone, he will absorb their pain, both mental and physical. Alternating between the perspectives of four characters (broody poetry fan Brewster, twins Tennyson and Brontë Sternberger, and Brewster’s daredevil little brother), the novel depicts how Brewster’s gift/curse affects his relationships with others and how, ultimately, being healed of all one’s ills is not necessarily a good thing.

Initially, Tennyson is opposed to his sister dating Brewster and sets out to warn the guy off, but once he catches a glimpse of Brewster’s terribly scarred back, he begins to suspect something awful is going on at the boy’s home. Concern and conscience win out, and he and Brewster begin to become friends, which is when Tennyson first notices that the scabs on his knuckles (a lacrosse injury) have miraculously disappeared in Brew’s presence. It takes a while for the specifics of his ability to come to light, and an interminable time for Tennyson and Brontë to realize that Brew’s ability to take away pain also extends to their feelings.

At first, I thought they did realize that Brew could quell mental anguish, and that that was part of the reason they convinced/manipulated their on-the-verge-of-divorce parents into taking temporary custody of Brew and his brother, Cody, after their guardian, Uncle Hoyt, passes away. Selfish to use Brew in this way, yes, but believably so for desperate teens. Eventually, though, it seems they really did not know, which is why Brontë kept pushing and pushing for Brew to make new friends, never considering that, for him, more people to care about means more potential injury. Uncle Hoyt was an abusive drunken bastard, true, but his ability to hang on to his own anger (instead of passing it off to Brew) and his insistence that Brew keep his distance from the world are seen in a new light by the novel’s end. (And speaking of the end, reports of its cheesiness are not exaggerated. The last few lines made me go “Pfft.”)

Even with the mystery of Brewster’s powers, Bruiser lacks the high-impact concept of Unwind. Instead of an epic dystopia where the whole country is going in a bizarre direction, Tennyson and Brontë’s world is defined by their home life, where they can tell that something very wrong is happening between their parents. Brew’s presence in their home acts as a balm for a while, but eventually they want to own their own pain because it seems so wrong to feel content while their family crumbles. The novel may not be as dramatic as Unwind, but is possessed of its own subtle themes and messages. I’ll definitely be reading more Shusterman in the future.

Filed Under: Books, YA Tagged With:
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