In Progress: Rejected Princesses (Completed)

Dey St.

Okay, so I finished reading Rejected Princesses by Jason Porath--and, in many ways, it makes me proud of my gender right about now.  I mean, sure, there are a few dark parts to history (Boudica, here's looking at you!) and they aren't always nice, considerate, or remotely moral; however, I enjoyed reading Rejected Princesses just for the simple fact that it decided to chronicle interesting, sometimes terrifying, sometimes brutal, but always fascinating women of history.  I learned so much more than I expected.

I've heard of Mata Hari, Joan of Arc, Harriet Tubman, Elizabeth Bathory, Boudica, Ching Shih, and a few others.  I read Bad Girls by Joan Stradling and gained a whole new appreciation for the most infamous women in history; however, Porath offers a more comprehensive look at these famous--and, of course, infamous--ladies and he does it with a touch of humor.  His passages are relatively short (three to four pages, max), but they're simultaneously informative and entertaining.

More importantly, I discovered aspects of history about which I never knew.  I love history and I love learning about history, whether it's in my own back yard or across the ocean, and I loved that I was able to deepen my knowledge of various time periods.  For instance, I was excited to learn more about female contributions to the American Revolution with Sybil Ludington.  Or learning about the Canary Islands, about which I knew nothing, with Andamana.  Or learning more about technological, mathematical, and scientific discoveries with Annie Jump Cannon, Hypatia, Ada Lovelace, and so many more.

It was exciting.

But, I have to say, I think I loved the Night Witches of World War II the best.

I mean, I am fascinated by World War II.  I've read several books about it, and I've studied it probably more than the average person.  I'm not an expert by any means, but I find myself constantly fascinated by conflicts and social/political shifts that occurred in WWII.  It's an era that has such wide-reaching effects we can still see the ripples today; heck, we can still talk to the people who endured it.  I may not enjoy violence, but I like hearing stories about it and I like piecing together my knowledge of it, I like holding those stories.

And yet I've somehow never heard of the Night Witches.

How?

But here's how cool they were:

"The Night Witches mark one of the greatest underdog accomplishments in military history.  Handed a bunch of slow, flammable trainer planes that had been designed only to dust crops, an all-female group of untrained civilians became one of the most decorated divisions in the entire Soviet military.  Flying without armor, guns, sights, radio, cockpits, brakes, parachutes, or virtually any navigation machinery, they dropped bombs on the Germans every three minutes, like clockwork, every night for three years."

Moreover, they would often cut their engines and dive over German military camps on the Eastern front, before kicking on their engines and dropping bombs.  They literally fell out of the sky, dropped bombs, and then did it again and again and again.  "They flew over 1,100 nights of combat, and each pilot flew over 800 missions."

Holy cow.

These women are super women.  They were--and are--amazing.  They pushed the physical limits of the human body, while simultaneously making due with substandard military equipment and challenging the typical military and/or social culture of Soviet Russia.  They're incredible!

Guess, I know what I'll be reading about next.

In Progress: Rejected Princesses (Continued)

Dey St.

Okay, so I've made it about half way through Jason Porath's book; however, I have wantonly skimmed it and skipped to some of the more intriguing--not to say they aren't all intriguing, or curious, or fascinating, or strange--entries.  Like the warlord's widow who cultivated an entire school of ninjas in Japan, or the Vietnamese sisters who waged a war against Chinese invaders, or Phoolan Devi (that was a difficult one to read), or Elizabeth Bathory (this one blew my mind).

There are so many of these entries.  Some of them mind-blowing, some of them fascinating, some of them hilarious and/or tragic.  You get the whole spectrum with Rejected Princesses and, truthfully, I haven't been disappointed yet.  I mean, all of these women are powerful and independent, and they don't adhere to the traditional roles of females in society.

Instead, they go out and kick butt, fight against a system that tries to squash them, and, in  general, be awesome.

I love that Porath takes the time to carefully research these ladies; honestly, I love that he makes an effort at all to chronicle the forgotten women of history who worked as shipbuilders and soldiers and strongmen--ahem, strongwomen--and ninjas, and so, so much more.  It's great.  It's not always safe for kids, as his trigger warnings make apparent on the corner at the introduction of each entry; however, it's a nice addition to any burgeoning historian's collection.

I mean, how could you not enjoy learning about these ladies who have made and redefined history and continue to influence our world today?

So far, I have a list of favorites:

• Khutulun
• Tatterhood
• Sybil Ludington
• Grace O'Malley
• "Stagecoach" Mary Fields
• Iara
• Trung Trac and Trung Nhi
• Mary Bowser
• Julie "La Maupin" d'Aubigny
• Nanny of the Maroons
• Tomoe Gozen
• Mariya Oktyabrskaya
• Ada Lovelace
• Laskarina Bouboulina
• Ching Shih

I'm just going to say it again:  This book is great.

In Progress: Rejected Princesses

Dey St.

So, I have just had my mind blown by Jason Porath's Rejected Princesses.  Thus far, I've only read a few entries, like Tatterhood and Agnodice, Andamana, Sybil Ludington, and Grace O'Malley; however, I have fallen completely and irrevocably in love with this book and Porath's humorous--yet surprisingly well-researched--entries.  It's funny, it's informative, and it's full of kick ass women who have been overlooked (and/or forgotten) by history.

It's amazing.

I mean, I never knew about Tatterhood.  I love fairy tales and yet, somehow, Tatterhood and her weird, winding story managed to escape me!  Granted, I might have enjoyed her story a little more with Porath's candid commentary on the story; regardless, I think I gained a new appreciation for Norwegian fairy tales and myths.  I'm curious to learn more.

Likewise, I'd love to learn more about Khutulun and Sybil Ludington.  Kutulun was a Mongolian princess (great-great granddaughter to Genghis Khan, by the way) who was an incredible fighter and a skilled ruler.  She issued a challenge to any potential suitors:  if any could best her in wrestling, they would have her hand in marriage; if they could not, she would get their horses.  (Spoiler alert:  she was never defeated.)  She's a fascinating historical figure and, while she isn't quite as brutal as her infamous ancestor, she made a huge impact on Mongolian culture even to this day.  How on earth haven't I heard about her?

And then there's Sybil Ludington.  She could be an American icon, and yet I've never heard her name.  Born in southeastern New York, she was the daughter of Colonel Henry Ludington--and a revolutionary solider in her own right.  Like Paul Revere, she set out on a midnight ride to warn about the impending British invasion; however, she took it a step further and rode out 40 miles in a little over three hours through the dark, rainy forest riddled with bandits and other dangers.  "By contrast," Porath writes, "a certain other someone...only went 12 miles across well-worn streets and was caught by British loyalists at the end of it.  Ahem."

She's awesome.

And, so far, this book is awesome.

I think I'll have to buy a copy for myself.

-

For more of Jason Porath's Rejected Princesses, you can actually check out rejectedprincesses.com for more entries and plenty more fun.

In Progress: A Game of Thrones (Continued)

Bantam

As much as I have enjoyed reading A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, as much as I love his style of writing and the intricacy of his story, I have hit a wall in my reading.  While I was waiting for a copy of A Game of Thrones to return to my library, I made the fatal mistake of picking up another book - and, now, I seem to have my momentum.

I'm just short of being half-way through Martin's novel, but I'm stuck.

Part of me wants to finish the book, but I can't fathom why I would force myself through a book that another part of me isn't so sure I want to finish.  I like A Game of Thrones, but I find myself feeling a bit depressed when I try to continue.  And, as disappointed as I am (with myself) to not finish Martin's novel, I'm equally relieved to simply let it go.

One day, I might try again.

For now, I'm going to just admire Martin's work from afar and rest easy in the knowledge that I might some day return.

In Progress: A Game of Thrones (Continued)

Bantam

I'm afraid I haven't gotten much farther on A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin.  I read a couple additional chapters, but I haven't completed much in the grand scheme of things.  Three more chapters, while impressive in some other books, hasn't really made a dent in Martin's novel.

I'm a little disappointed at my slow pace, but I suppose that's to be expected.  I mean, who would have thought that the three circulating copies at my library would constantly have holds?  I really just need to buy my own copy of A Game of Thrones, because it seems I will never get it finished at this rate.

Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.  Martin's novel is excellent and, if the popularity of HBO's show of the same name is any indication, it's following is expanding.  It's a wonderful series - an imposing series of books, of course, but it's amazing nonetheless.

In Progress: A Game of Thrones (Continued)

Bantam

I've managed to make it a third of the way into Martin's novel.  Admittedly, I've been distracted (as I usually am) with other books and losing time with book renewals - which, by the way, I've discovered that A Game of Thrones is still wildly popular and incredibly difficult to find at libraries, being either checked out or added to the missing items list.

I've already reached a tipping point, in which things can go horribly awry.  Eddard has made a not-so-startling discovery, Jon Snow has (more or less) settled into his role at Castle Black as a man of the Night's Watch, and Catelyn is headed home from the capital.  So many bad things have the opportunity to happen right now.  I mean, Benjen Stark hasn't returned, Eddard still hasn't quite figured out what happened to the last King's Hand, and Bran still feels like he's very much in danger for what he witnessed.

And I'm only finished with a third of A Game of Thrones.

Yikes, right?

I'm still intrigued.  Granted, A Game of Thrones is a daunting challenge; however, I'm in love with the flow of the words and the way the story simply feels.  Martin still keeps me captivated with his language and his imagery, drawing me into the drama, investing me into the characters.  I'm quite smitten with Jon Snow:  he's strong and competent, he's protective of his kin (including his new brothers in black) and he's loyal, he's charming in his own way, he's a skilled swordsman, but he's also honorable when the time calls.

He's my favorite character.

Besides, Arya of course.  I mean, who couldn't love Arya?  Sharp-witted, spunky, and tough, she's bound to be a major player in upcoming chapters.  She's just so different from her sister Sansa, who is an impeccable lady.  She borders on immaturity, her understanding of people (and their depravity) is only just beginning, and she lacks any tact when it comes to interacting with royals.  But I think that's what I like about her.

Moreover, she humiliates Joffrey.  I may not like the consequences - and I weep for Sansa, for the unfairness she must endure - and I'm quite certain I loathe Cersei for what she and most of her family have wrought; however, as events unfolded as they did, I'm not sorry that Arya struck Joffrey, nor that her dire wolf wounded him.  It gives me a little bit of vicious glee to see him sniveling.

I really, really hate Joffrey.  I've seen what happens to him in the HBO show, which, yes, ruins my enjoyment of the series, and I simply can't wait for him to meet his fate in the books.  Perhaps, it's mean of me to be so vindictive, but I hate Joffrey.  I feel no sympathy for him.

Oh, and how can I ever forget Daenerys Targaryen or Tyrion Lannister?

Tyrion is probably the only Lannister I like, being both witty and intelligent and, more than most people, sympathetic.  He's clearly underestimated by his peers, but I have my suspicions it doesn't matter because, as a reader, I know there's more to him than meets the eye.

And then there's Daenerys:  she's amazing.  She's spent her entire life under her brother's thumb, enduring his whims and his temper; now, she's growing up and she's learning to take on the world on her own - or, at the very least, her brother.  I'm excited to see what kind of character she will make in the future, to see the imprint she will leave on Westeros.

In Progress: A Game of Thrones (Continued)

Bantam

I'm not very far into A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, but I've already witnessed incest, attempted murder, murder, extreme gratuitous violence, violent sexual and emotional abuse, along with a litany of other horrible things that have happened in the last two hundred pages.  I'm still hooked, but I had to take a break and read something with a little less gore.  (I checked into one of Susan Mallery's books, reading part of her Fool's Gold series, which includes Just One Kiss.)

Otherwise, I am still enjoying Martin's novel.  I'm slowly beginning to understand the connections between friends and families and foes, and I'm gradually making connections.  I recognize house names now:  Stark, Lannister, Baratheon, Targarygen, among others.  And I'm starting to like characters, like Tyrion Lannister, Arya Stark, Jon Snow, and hating a few others equally (Joffrey Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, just to name a couple).

But my biggest accomplishment has become learning to read the maps Martin put into his book.  Locations are finally taking shape.  I'm starting to recognize the big landmarks and territories, like the Wall and Winterfell, Riverrunn and the Eyrie, King's Landing and the Narrow Sea, and the lands across the sea that are patrolled by the fearsome Dothraki.

I like the details of A Game of Thrones.  There's an intricacy to it that's staggering, because Martin gives each family a history, gives each myth and legend room to grow and thrive.  It's a living, breathing creature that seems to take a shape all its own.  Never static, never stagnating, but always dynamic, always changing and growing with each detail added and story told.

I'm constantly wondering if I'm ever going to catch up to the series.  Thus far, I understand three things:  the Lannisters are terrible conniving people; the Starks are honorable to a fault; Robert Baratheon hates the Targarygens with a fiery passion that (I fear) may lead to his destruction.  I'm curious about all of it, but I'm equally nervous about the entire endeavor.

You see, the only bad thing about reading A Game of Thrones this late in the game is that I've had the opportunity to watch a few episodes of Game of Thrones on HBO.  Moreover, I've had ample opportunity for major plot points to be ruined by commercials, rumors, internet articles, and coworkers.

Yes, I kind of know what's going to happen.  It's a little disheartening when you're sure of the major plot points, but I am glad to have some story to fill in the gaps and explain a little better who's who in Westeros.

In Progress: Thunderstruck (Continued)

Broadway Books

Thunderstuck is pretty great.  But I stopped reading.

I haven't picked it up in two weeks.  (If I'm being honest, it's probably been closer to three since I seem to have forgotten it in my work cubicle.)

I've enjoyed Erik Larson's novel, but I'm afraid that I've made a critical mistake:  I put Thunderstruck down and picked up some other books.

The DUFF by Kody Keplinger.  The Martian by Andy Weir.  Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris.  And, most notably, A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin.

So...I was distracted.

With more books.

(Oops.)

In Progress: A Game of Thrones

Bantam

I surprised myself today and picked up A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin.  Admittedly, I was wondering about the hype surrounding his novels and, moreover, why the television show seemed to have gained such a massive following, seemingly overnight.

And then I read the first chapter.

Now, I understand why his Song of Fire and Ice series is so wildly popular and why he has received so much praise for his work:  A Game of Thrones is freaking fantastic.  No joke, it's absolutely amazing (and I've only finished a handful of pages).

Initially, I was dissuaded by the sheer enormity of the book - over 2,000 pages on my little tablet and equally imposing in hardcover form, I must say - and I wasn't impressed by the popularity of his novels.  Many novels have reached similar levels of popularity (like Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey, etc.) and have performed poorly in my estimation, despite fanatical appreciation for it.

However, I'm pleased to say that my fears I would be disappointed by A Game of Thrones (or, worse, simply wouldn't like it) are unfounded.  Even after only reading the first handful of pages, I was immediately and completely hooked.  Although I haven't read much, I've realized that Martin has an incredible capacity for creativity and detail, making his writing intricate without being too bulky or unwieldy or dense.

Having only set foot into the world, I can't say much more than I already have.  I suppose I could be jumping the gun a bit by offering praise prematurely, and it's entirely possible I could dislike A Game of Thrones by the end (which has happened in the past); however, I just have a good feeling about Martin's novel.  It's hit the best points I can find in a fantasy novel:  accessible prose, steady development, suspense, detail and intricacy - and, of course, maps.

A fantasy writer can never go wrong with maps.

In Progress: Thunderstruck (Continued)

Broadway Books

I'm still working on Thunderstruck.  I find myself enjoying Erik Larson's writing, but I can't seem to pursue more than a few pages at a time.  Thunderstruck is great to read.  I mean, it has all the qualities that I like in a book - informative, intriguing, suspenseful, entertaining - but, more and more, I'm putting it aside and letting myself forget about it.

(My own fault, I think.  I have too many books at once:  Marley & Me by John Grogan, A Natural History of Dragons by Marie Brennan, The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau, and Austenland by Shannon Hale, among the 50 or more books I still have sitting at my bedside.)

However, I have managed to hit two points of interest in Erik Larson's book:  Marconi has managed to send the first wireless telegraph across the Atlantic, and Dr. Crippen has made a seemingly innocuous purchase of poison.  I'm under the impression that things are about to get very messy, very quickly.

Confidentially, I'm a little excited.

Oh, and I did pull a passage from Thunderstruck which I really enjoyed, which really tickled my fancy as a lover and student of history:

"There was wide agreement that some kind of war in Europe was inevitable, although no one could say when or between which nations; but there also was agreement that advances in science and in the power of weapons and ships would make the war mercifully short.  The carnage would be too great, too vast, too sudden for the warring parties to endure.  One voice dissented.  In 1900 Ivan S. Bloch wrote, 'At first there will be increased slaughter - increased slaughter on so terrible a scale as to render it impossible to get troops to push the battle to a decisive issue.  [...]  The war, instead of being a hand-to-hand contest in which the combatants measure their physical and moral superiority, will become a kind of stalemate, in which neither army being able to get at the other, both armies will be maintained in opposition to each other, threatening each other, but never able to deliver a final and decisive attack. 

"They would dig in and hold their ground.  'It will be a great war of entrenchments.  The spade will be as indispensable to a soldier as his rifle.'"

This quote is what has impressed me most about Larson's work:  depth and detail - and, on occasions, a startling connection between points in history.  I liked that Larson decided to include this quote from Bloch.  As a reader looking back on history, it's interesting to see the foresight that one individual had in looking at the tumultuous future of Europe (and, effectively, the rest of the world).  More importantly, it seems to drive home the idea that Europe was a continent in turmoil even before World War I came along nearly a decade later, giving you a better idea of what Dr. Crippen - and, more notably, Marconi faced.

And then there was this amusing anecdote about Queen Victoria on her death in January of 1901:  when asked whether his mother (Queen Victoria) would be happy in heaven, Edward, heir to the throne and the entire British Empire, replied, "I don't know.  She will have to walk behind the angels - and she won't like that."

I love these observations.

In Progress: Thunderstruck

Broadway Books

Thunderstruck by Erik Larson is a random book I picked up from a local used books store.  I was familiar with The Devil in the White City (which I have yet read, but about which I've heard some really great things) and Dead Wake, but I hadn't had the chance to read any of Larson's books and, given my great love for history, I'm kind of surprised I haven't stumbled across his work sooner.

Although I'm only about a third of the way through Thunderstruck, I've had the realization that Erik Larson is a fantastic writer.  Not only does he combine accuracy and thoughtful, intricate prose, he has a genuinely interesting subject - or, maybe more accurately, he has a way of making his subject genuinely interesting.

So far, I've only made it through the set-up:  Guglielmo Marconi has begun his large scale experiments to attempt a transatlantic signal with his wireless telegraphy, and Dr. Hawley Harvey Crippen has settled into London with a new job and his delightful wife, Belle.  And I can honestly say I have no idea where the story is going.

I mean, I know that Marconi must succeed (it's hinted at in the very first passages of the book that his transatlantic telegraphy works); likewise, I know that some tragedy must strike Dr. Crippen's life, that he must commit some heinous crime (little allusions populate the book, pointing to some criminal misdeed).  But I don't know the exact details:  I don't know how Marconi manages the first wireless transatlantic telegraph message (or how his race against Nikola Tesla goes), or what Dr. Crippen does to gain his criminal status.

And I'm dying to know.

Thunderstruck has been slow reading (which is my own fault, I get distracted easily), but it's been an incredibly enjoyable journey.  I love the detail and the intricacy of the story, as Larson pulls from personal correspondences, interviews, newspapers, and more.  Additionally, he has true talent for combining facts with storytelling elements, making his writing accessible and entertaining, like a narrative, but informative and thought-provoking.

Larson manages to combine the best of both worlds.

In Progress: Moriarty (Completed)

HarperCollins

The second half of Moriarty progressed much like the first, slowly building to an unforeseen climax, taking unexpected twists and turns that, confidentially, make very little sense.  (I do not have a nose for mysteries, not like either Sherlock Holmes or Athelney Jones, so I could not positively decipher the clues.)  For the most part, readers are left in the dark as Frederick Chase continues to recount his journey with Inspector Athelney Jones as they attempt to locate and unmask Clarence Devereux.

Some clues, of course, don’t always add up:  who is Perry, and who does he really work for?  Why does Clarence Devereux believe Jonathan Pilgrim works for Moriarty?  And who has begun targeting Devereux’s criminal network?

Honestly, I feel as if I was left with more questions than answers.  I was justifiably intrigued by the premise of the novel and, even after reaching the latter chapters of Horowitz’s book, I was still hooked.  However, I frustrated by the pace of Moriarty.  To go through a majority of the novel - twenty-two chapters, to be precise - without answers, without suitable explanations for these questions I and Frederick Chase have, I was curious and, confidentially, a little frustrated.

By the time I reached the final chapter (or the final two chapters, I should say), I desperately needed closure.  Periodically, I even lost interest in the story development.  With so many unanswered questions, so many twists that seemed to develop into nothing, I was not the most avid reader.

However, I was struck speechless by the sudden turn of events in the concluding pages.  I mean, Moriarty hits a climax that stopped me short.  It's like a sudden punch in the stomach.  Although the narrator alludes to future events, future tragedy, I didn't expect events to unfold as they did.  More to the point, I didn't expect the "grand reveal" at the end to produce such an impact.

I can't emphasize enough how I was completely and utterly flabbergasted by the conclusion of Moriarty.  The novel has, thus far, taken some very dark turns, but not like I experienced at the end.  I mean, I suppose it makes sense why the author proceeded as he did.  He managed to create a truly brilliant, truly terrifying villain.

Honestly, those two chapters made all the difference.  They created an entirely different tone for the novel by completely inverting my understanding of the novel and my understanding of the dynamic between Sherlock Holmes and Professor James Moriarty.  In fact, I might even be so bold to say that those final two chapters made the entire book worth reading.

In Progress: Moriarty

While recently trolling my local library, I stumbled across a book by Anthony Horowitz.  Now, normally, I don't read much by Horowitz.  I wasn't attracted to his Alex Rider series and I haven't come across one of his novels that's just hit me in a way that makes me want to read his books, that makes me want to sit down and devour a story.

HarperCollins

However, I was pleasantly surprised when I found Moriarty, a brand new mystery for Sherlock Holmes authorized by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's estate.  A modern twist on the Sherlock who readers have come to know and love with the added bonus of discovering what happens to our favorite detective after Reichenbach Falls.  To say the least, I was pleased to find such an unexpected gem.

I've only read about a small handful of Sherlock Holmes' cases; however, I jumped at the chance of reading a modern novel.  And, so far, I haven't been disappointed.

Moriarty takes place after Sherlock Holmes and Professor James Moriarty meet at Reichenbach Falls.  In some small measure, it focuses on what happens to the world's favorite detective and his arch nemesis.  Horowitz, however, takes a surprising turn and introduces a new character:  Frederick Chase, an investigator with the Pinkerton Detective Agency of New York.

And Frederick Chase isn't alone.  Horowitz also introduces a new villain, a man who rivals James Moriarty in his duplicity and his invisibility, a man who may very well be seeking to extend his criminal empire over the sea to fill the shoes of Europe's "Napoleon of Crime."

I was intrigued by the premise, especially since Horowitz decided to recycle characters from Conan Doyle's mysteries, like Inspector Athelney Jones.  Jones appears to take the place of our beloved Sherlock.  As a student of Holmes's methods and his own skill at deductive reasoning, Jones takes center stage, pinpointing unexpected clues, making great leaps of logic with inexplicable ease, and cornering criminals.

Personally, I find Jones to be an intriguing character and, thus far, a fine detective.  I like the way that Horowitz takes Watson's unfavorable view of him and introduces a new, improved detective.  It's fascinating, to say the least, but I'm curious to see where his character development will lead.  After finishing several chapters in the book, I'm uncertain as to where Athelney Jones will take the story.  I mean, he has the potential to become a great detective, but I wonder if his obsession with Sherlock Holmes - with becoming a successful detective - will not be his undoing.

Additionally, I love the narrator.  Frederick Chase, like Dr. John Watson, documents events and procedures surrounding the case, providing a candid and detailed account for readers that's predictably intriguing.  I find I like Detective Chase for his candor and his ability to pen a riveting story, but I'm a little alarmed by his allusions to the future.

You see, in writing his story in the aftermath of events, he refers to developments that I've yet to witness.  I'm justifiably worried about these characters:  what will happen to Athelney Jones and Frederick Chase?  Will they find Clarence Devereux before he has an opportunity to seize Moriarty's criminal empire?  And, most importantly, where is Sherlock Holmes?

In Progress: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Completed)

Alfred A. Knopf

Having finished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (and realized there were indeed no fatalities recorded), I feel confident saying I enjoyed Roald Dahl's novel.  I don't believe I'll change my mind about Willy Wonka.  He's still wickedly brilliant and he's incredibly devious, more so than I ever thought possible; moreover, he's attempting to groom a successor to run his chocolate factory, which I find rather unnerving if I really think about it.

But, regardless, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory has a happy ending.  The terrible children who disobeyed the rules and disregarded all parental authority suffered the consequences for their actions; Willy Wonka found a successor to ensure his factory would remain intact and safe; Charlie Bucket and his family are given a new home and they will no longer starve.

All's well that ends well, right?

By the conclusion of the book, I can't help being happy for Charlie Bucket.  As it turns out, Willy Wonka is harmless (more or less) and he's kind enough to leave Charlie a lasting legacy, giving the boy a brand new life:  Charlie will never go hungry again!  I realize that must be an incredible thing for a little boy who has only ever known poverty, uncertainty, and hunger.

And it seems incredibly important that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ends with Charlie reassuring his family that their fortune has changed, that they will no longer starve.  It essentially brings the story full circle, taking it back to the issue of hunger under rather more auspicious circumstances.

Additionally, I've realized that Willy Wonka is only looking out for the best interests of his factory and his Oompa-Loompas.  If he is unforgiving of the other children who either disregard his authority or ignore his warnings, I suppose he has the right.  I mean, I understand why he doesn't feel the slightest bit of remorse for Veruca Salt being thrown down the garbage chute.  I never liked Veruca much either, so it's almost a relief when she gets her just desserts for her disobedience and petulant attitude.  Same with Mike Teavee:  you're  glad to see him gone.

However, I still find the Oompa-Loompas songs rather disturbing.  That has certainly not changed with further reading.  Even if I don't much care for Veruca Salt or Mike Teavee, I do feel a little bad for their plight.  Veruca is just a spoiled child, she doesn't deserve to reach the incinerator; Mike Teavee is disobedient and arrogant, he doesn't deserve to spend the rest of his life as the size of an ant.  The Oompa-Loompas would disagree:

"P.S. Regarding Mike Teavee,
We very much regret that we
Shall simply have to wait and see
If we can get him back his height,
But if we can't - it serves him right."

Yes, I suppose it serves him right, but I might still feel a twinge from my conscience.

In Progress: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Continued)

Alfred A. Knopf

As I'm reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl, I've had a sudden and startling realization that Willy Wonka is a complete and utter psychopath.

Oh, I've shared similar realizations after watching both the 1971 film with Gene Wilder and the 2005 remake with Johnny Depp.  Wilder captures a darker side of Wonka, emulating his flagrant disregard for safety - and, let's be honest, the lives of his guests - while Depp portrays a particularly loony side of the renowned chocolate-maker.  After watching (and re-watching) the movies, I think it's safe to say that I know Willy Wonka is positively batty.

I love that he vacillates between sardonic and manic and pleasant and grim and silly.  There's something about him that's immediately intriguing, like he's having a laugh at the world but the world doesn't quite know it, like he has a secret to share and only those closest to him can be privy to such information.  Truthfully, I like Wonka for his eccentricities.  He's entirely crazy (or, at the very least, brilliantly unhinged), but that's what makes him interesting.

However, I never realized that Willy Wonka seems almost predatory.

I don't know if predatory is exactly the right word - criminally negligent, possibly?  Callous?  Careless? - but I find it does fit in some capacity because, you see, Wonka (and his Oompa-Loompa work force) is rather terrifying.  I mean, think about it:  Wonka has lured children and their parents to his chocolate factory, secluding them from the rest of the world, systematically playing upon their faults and weeding out the weak, greedy, irresponsible and stupid.  He isn't just some silly inventor of candies and sweet treats; he's an evil mastermind who preys upon other people.

And he's done it more than once.

After Augustus Gloop falls into the chocolate river and, subsequently, gets sucked up a tube to the Fudge Room, he tells his remaining guests not to worry:  "And please don't worry about Augustus Gloop.  He's bound to come out in the wash.  They always do."

They?  This has happened in the past?  Is no one else alarmed or, at least, discomfited by the notion that this has happened before?  I mean, Wonka could merely be referring to stains in general, using a vague "they" to refer to chocolate stains (working with chocolate every day must make him a bit of an expert on stain removal), or he could be implying that Augustus Gloop is a stain and he'll be forever changed after his experiences at the chocolate factory.

But, honestly, I find it more likely that Wonka actually means what he says.  (I'm guessing the poor Oompa-Loompas have gotten the raw in the deal seeing as how they're always his guinea pigs.  Honestly, he's probably referring to one of the Oompa-Loompas falling into the river and coming out clean later.  It wouldn't surprise me.)

And let's not forget Violet Beauregard, the girl who gets turned into a blueberry.  I'm not going to lie and say she didn't deserve it:  she did seeing as how Wonka clearly told her not to eat the gum and then she proceeded to disregard all advice contrary to her own desires.  However, I was a little perturbed by the little ditty that the Oompa-Loompas sang:

"And that is why we'll try so hard
To save Miss Violet Beauregard
From suffering an equal fate.
She's still quite young.  It's not too late,
Provided she survives the cure.
We hope she does.  We can't be sure."

First, they sing a song about Miss Bigelow, a lady who chews so much gum and chews so ferociously that she finally chews off her own tongue and, eventually, loses her mind; next, they sing about Violet in the hopes that things go well because, you know, it's entirely possible that she might just die from her unusual condition.

I suppose what makes it worse is the short exchange between Willie Wonka and Violet Beauregard during their trip to the Inventing Room:

"They passed a yellow door on which it said:  storeroom number 77--all the beans, cacao beans, coffee beans, jelly beans, and has beans. 

"'Has beans?' cried Violet Beauregard. 

"'You're one yourself!' said Mr. Wonka."

In the movies, you get the sense that Willy Wonka knows more than he's telling, he knows much more than he's letting on that he knows; however, you never really know for sure.  He either cleverly hides behind a veil of sarcasm or disregards the notion entirely, but, in the book, I find it highly unlikely he doesn't know what has and will happen in his chocolate factory.  I mean, Wonka is probably just insulting Violet when he calls her a "has been," but I can't get over how it foreshadows events in the future.

That's why I used the word predatory, because it's entirely possible that he's a patient, meticulous planner who manages to not only predict his guests behaviors but to create individualized traps to ensnare them.  Subsequently, that's also why I called him a compete and utter psychopath.

Why on earth did I ever wait to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?

In Progress: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Alfred A. Knopf

As a child, I never once picked up a book by Roald Dahl - not The BFG, not Matilda, not Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - and, as much as I read (as much as I have read), I feel as if I've missed out on something great.  I've watched "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and "Matilda" countless times on VHS (I even think I still own the VHS), DVD, and TV.  I can even recite lines along with the movies.

But, admittedly, I've never read the books.  Which is a shame since I picked up Charlie and the Chocolate Factory yesterday and, honestly, I love it.

I'm only a few chapters into it, but I love how weird and zany it is, I love how it alternates between absurd and serious, and I love how Roald Dahl creates such intriguing characters.  Sure the other four children are rather terrible (oh, who am I kidding?  They're beastly, as Grandma Josephine aptly puts it), but they're such crazy caricatures that I find them interesting and, truthfully, they make Charlie Bucket shine a little brighter.

Although I've enjoyed reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory immensely, I never realized that Dahl actually portrays rather horrific events in his novel.  For instance, I was struck to the quick when I realized how terribly poor Charlie and his family is.  I mean, I've watched the movies and I've surely realized that the Bucket family is impoverished; however, I didn't realize that Charlie Bucket was literally starving:

"And every day, Charlie Bucket grew thinner and thinner.  His face became frighteningly white and pinched.  The skin was drawn so tightly over the cheeks that you could see the shapes of the bones underneath.  [...]  And now, very calmly, with that curious wisdom that seems to come so often to small children in times of hardship, he began to make little changes here and there in some of the things that he did, so as to save his strength.  In the mornings, he left the house ten minutes earlier so that he could walk slowly to school, without ever having to run.  He sat quietly in the classroom during recess, resting himself, while the others rushed outdoors and threw snowballs and wrestled in the snow.  Everything he did now, he did slowly and carefully to prevent exhaustion."

Those words hit me like a punch in the gut.

I never went hungry during my childhood.  I was lucky to have parents who had the means and the opportunity to provide for me, so I never experienced hunger like Charlie Bucket does in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  In fact, hunger - more accurately, starvation - isn't something I regularly confront in my reading.  It's such a foreign experience to feel such desperate, visceral emotion when I'm reading, to recognize something tragic unfolding within what I once considered a happy story.

It's surprising and it's heartbreaking.

Luckily, I've gotten to the part where Charlie finds the Golden Ticket (I'm not spoiling anything, really.  I mean, it wouldn't be Charlie and the chocolate factory without him winning a Golden Ticket to enter the chocolate factory), so I find tragedy is balanced with a heaping dash of fortune.  It's hard not to be happy for Charlie when he finds the fifth and final ticket.  If anyone deserves such an amazing opportunity, it's Charlie Bucket.

Postscript: The Red Tent

Picador USA

Upon finishing The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, I discovered a "reading group guide" provided by the publisher, which includes a short paragraph detailing the motivation behind Diamant's The Red Tent:

"The biblical story that pits the two sisters [Leah and Rachel] against one another never sat right with me.  The traditional view of Leah as the ugly and/or spiteful sister, and of Jacob as indifferent to her, seemed odd in light of the fact that the Bible gives them nine children together.  As I re-read Genesis over the years, I settled on the story of Dinah, their daughter.  The drama and her total silence...cried out for explanation, and I decided to imagine one."

Her argument, I think, makes sense.  When observing the relationship between Jacob and his wives, when reading over Dinah's story in the Bible, Diamant's explanation of events in The Red Tent is logical and thoughtful.  She admits that her novel is "not a translation but a work of fiction" and it is a "radical departure from the historical text," but her book, regardless, raises questions about events in the Bible:  what happened to Dinah and her mothers?

As you might expect, The Red Tent begins with Dinah's mothers - Leah, Rachel, Zilpah, and Bilhah - and explains their relationship to one another, to Jacob, and to Dinah.  Considering the evidence (i.e. Leah had eight sons and one daughter by Jacob), Diamant's assertion that Jacob may not have been so indifferent to Leah, that he simply favored Rachel for her beauty and youth, seems plausible.  Their relationships are framed with human interaction, thus they are not easily discounted in my mind.

Additionally, if you compare The Red Tent to Genesis 34, as the reading guide suggests, you see how well Diamant parallels events from the Bible in her novel and, more importantly, breathes life into Dinah's story when she has no voice of her own.  She draws a spotlight to events, proposes questions that suggest her novel has an element of plausibility.

For instance, Shalem (named Shechem in the Bible) falls in love with Dinah and intends to marry her.  Diamant proposes a mutual attraction between Dinah and Shalem, which isn't a far-fetched assertion when you read:  "And his soul clave unto Dinah the daughter of Jacob, and he loved the damsel, and he spake kindly unto the damsel. / And Shechem spake unto his father Hamor, saying, Get me this damsel to wife" (Genesis 34:3-4).

Although the word "defiled" is thrown about, Shalem loved Dinah and he had ever intention to marry her.  More importantly, he agreed to some very strict stipulations to accomplish this, which certainly proves his commitment to Dinah (Genesis 34:11-24).  Could not Dinah have reciprocated, since her father ultimately agreed?

Furthermore, Diamant's characterizations of Simon and Levi as power-hungry, violent, and temperamental are not far off from the mark.  Simon and Levi murder every man in the city of Shechem and, furthermore, pillage and enslave (Genesis 34:25-31).  They are said to treat Shalem and Hamor deceitfully when negotiating marriage, when deciding upon a truce between the families of Hamor and Jacob (Genesis 34:13).

But what happened to Dinah after she was taken from Shechem?

Diamant may certainly have had resources at her disposal that I do not, which may explain how and why she decides to link Dinah to Egypt; however, I suppose the link could be natural.  If Dinah stayed with her family, she would probably be mentioned again.  Since she isn't found again in Genesis (at least, not as far as I've read), she could have made her way to Egypt.  The journey wouldn't be far, as attested by Joseph's appearance in Egypt, thus Dinah could have made the journey.

I do, however, find it interesting that Dinah meets her brother Joseph after so many years of separation from her family.  I like that Diamant does forge a small link back to Dinah's past and, more importantly, allows Dinah to recognize that her name will be remembered in some context:  "The story of Dinah was too terrible to be forgotten.  As long as the memory of Jacob lived, my name would be remembered.  The past had done its worst to me, and I had nothing to fear of the future."

I realize The Red Tent is a work of fiction.  It isn't meant to stand alone as a religious text, despite its link to the Bible, despite the biblical characters that appear in it; however, I also recognize that Diamant certainly did her research in imagining Dinah's story.  As the reading guide points out, "midrash" - an ancient literary form, which investigates or "searches" for answers outside of the typical range of the Bible - was a critical element:

"Historically, the rabbis used this highly imaginative form of storytelling to make sense of the elliptical nature of the Bible - to explain, for example, why Cain killed Abel.  The compressed stories and images in the Bible are rather like photographs.  They don't tell us everything we want or need to know.  Midrash is the story about what happened before and after the photographic flash."

Diamant, in my opinion, successfully combines biblical knowledge, historical fact, and imaginative fiction to create an intriguing and compelling story.

In Progress: The Red Tent (Completed)

Picador Publishing

I have finished reading The Red Tent by Anita Diamant and, let me simply say, I've found it to be one of the most exceptional novels I've read.  So much of this book appealed to me - Dinah's voice, her history, her life - and spoke to my reader's heart.

The Red Tent is a perfect combination of storytelling and history and, more importantly, memory.  In fact, I wouldn't hesitate to say that's one of the most important aspects of Diamant's novel:  memory.

And love.

Leading up to her journey to Egypt, Dinah's life is painfully tragic.  She's witnessed so much death, so much bloodshed, and she's endured so much pain.  However, despite her terrible losses, Dinah manages to survive and she recovers or, more accurately, discovers herself.  She regains love, which she thought lost with her first husband, which she finds with Benia, and she grows into her calling as a midwife.

Although it may sound contrived, love helps her heal.  Love for her son, love for Benia, brings her back from the brink.  Love for her dear friend, Meryt, and love for human life, her power as midwife to save the lives of mothers and children, gives her a renewed purpose.  And she has so much to tell, so much knowledge to share with those who would listen.
 
Earlier in her story, Dinah proclaims:

"You come hungry for the story that was lost.  You crave words to fill the great silence that swallowed me, and my mothers, and my grandmothers before them.  [...]  I am so grateful that you have come.  I will pour out everything inside me so you may leave this table satisfied and fortified."

Indeed, she pours out her story.  She fills that "great silence" with her memories and her knowledge, what she knows to be true and what she will pass to the next generation.  Her story, as I've mentioned in previous posts, is another link in the chain of mothers and daughters.

There's a longevity in the words of Dinah - the words that Diamant has so carefully grafted - and they linger, they live on.  By the end of the book, Dinah has gained a kind of immortality, like the lotus flower she mentions:

"Egypt loved the lotus because it never dies.  It is the same for people who are loved.  Thus can something insignificant as a name - two syllables, one high, one sweet - summon up the innumerable smiles and tears, sighs and dreams of a human life."

You can find a certain poetry in her words that makes them undeniably, irrevocably true.