Bewitching Season

Bewitching Season, by Marissa Doyle

In 1837 London, young daughters of viscounts pined for handsome, titled husbands, not careers. And certainly not careers in magic. Shy, studious Persephone Leland would far rather devote herself to her secret magic studies than enter society and look for a suitable husband. But just as the inevitable season is about to begin, Persy and her twin sister discover that their governess in magic has been kidnapped as part of a plot to gain control of Princess Victoria. Racing through Mayfair ballrooms and royal palaces, the sisters overcome bad millinery, shady royal spinsters, and a mysterious Irish wizard. And along the way, Persy learns that husband hunting isn't such an odious task after all, if you have the right quarry.

This was one of those books to which I had had been looking forward for quite some time. I had to wait all summer before it came to my turn in the queue, and I could pick it up and read it. So you might imagine my disappointment when I discovered that it wasn't quite all that. I'm a big fan of both regency teen novels and magic novels, and any combination thereof (see further Sorcery and Cecelia, or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot; also Amaranth Enchantment). Perhaps it's because I've read too many of these, but Bewitching Season did not strike a chord for me. It starts off with an excellent premise - two young magical twin sisters, about to embark on their Introduction to Society, have to navigate young men as well as nefarious wizards - but about a third or halfway in, I just found myself wanting to shake the main character, Persy. And that didn't go away.

Persy is ostensibly the wallflower and the less attractive of the two sisters because she's less vivacious (we know this because she mopes about it for the first three chapters). An old childhood acquaintence, all grown up and handsome, re-enters their drawing room, and clearly has eyes for her, and Persy for him, and yet we must suffer through the entire course of the book as Persy goes back and forth on he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not, managing to hit every cliche on her path to true love. Thinking that you don't deserve his love because you are the "plain" sister? Check. Believing that because your sister is talking to him (because you are too shy to do so) means that they love each other, even though you are the only person they discuss? Check. Trying to cast a love spell on him even though he is clearly already head over heels? Check. Assuming that all his behaviour after said love spell is just an indication that your magical skillz are too strong for his willpower? Check. Rejecting him to save him from your own heedless attempts to ensnare him? Check. Not to mention, of course, the usual burning touch of hands, breathless glances, etc. etc.

I might have had more patience for this had Persy had other redeeming characteristics - but she kinda doesn't. Maybe it's a facet of being a teenage girl that I've forgotten about, but her behaviour is both rude and selfish, by refusing to confide in her sister because of her own jealous antics and "noble" mindedness. That's really what I disliked the most - her rejection of her sister means the book isn't really about friendship and sisterly relations and adventure, it's about this wah-wah narrator who puts her family and friends in danger by not telling them everything she knows, then goes about refusing to listen to advice and decides the best way to solve everything is to run away. Persy's misguided martyr mindset is inappropriate and irritating when everyone around her just wants her to succeed.

The "main" plot, that of the missing governess, is solved with, really, very little fanfare. Most of the book is taken up with fruitless searches for her, which (while realistic in their futility) are pointless, as in the end, the bad guys bring the girls to her anyhow. So that they could have done absolutely nothing and still found her. Gosh this review sounds bitter. Bewitching Season is really not that bad - inoffensive and harmless, at the very least. I just wish that the relationship Persy has with her little brother was actually between her and her sister. And that she wouldn't whine so much. To paraphrase Love, Actually: "Get a grip, people hate sissies. No one's ever going to like you if you cry all the time."

Adios to My Old Life

Adios to My Old Life, by Caridad Ferrer

As a talented singer-guitarist with a dream of going pro, Alegria Montero is getting fed up with the endless, boring parade of quinceaneras and other family party gigs. She's longing for something bigger. And Oye Mi Canto - a new reality show that's searching for the next Latin superstar - is definitely that. Ali figures she'll never make the cut, but auditioning sounds like a good way to get her overprotective father to take her ambitions seriously.

To Ali's complete shock, she passes her audition. Next thing she knows, she's dealing with wardrobe fittings, cameras, reporters, vocal coaches, and websites designed by lovestruck fanboys. She's also dealing with jealousy, malice, and sabotage among the contestants, all of which has her wondering: Is it really time to shoot for the stars and try to win the whole competition, or is it time to say "Cut!" and become a normal teenager again?

Adios has a lot of things going for it - humor, teen angst, glitter and a peppy, poppy voice. The rhythm of the writing feels very fresh and true, with the spanish interspersed and the natural cadences of speech. The plot seems ludicrous, but Ferrar plays with that, trying to make the characters as real as possible so we accept the circumstances. Ali Montero is an uber talented seventeen year old, who can play guitar as well as piano, and who sings the old ballads as well as she does the hot new singles. She's got a place assured in the competition, a hot assistant director making eyes at her, a ever loyal cousin, a loving father, and one mean bitch nemesis. In the end, the utter absurdity of the plot does overwhelm the book. It's a modern fairy tale wrapped up in American Idol, and everything comes out okay in the end with the fairy god(father) pulling the strings. It's a soothing, easy read, because you know that all the conflicts will end up with a happy ending, good will triumph over evil, and that everyone gets exactly what they deserve.

Unfortunately, the utter niceness of it all brings down the depth of the story - why care about Ali's arguments with her father about whether she can handle this type of life when you know it will all be solved when Ali proves she can be cool under pressure and finds her father a nice romance? Why care about Ali's (kinda ridiculous) break-up with Jaime when you know that although he lives in New York and she lives in Miami, there's going to be an easy solution for everyone concerned? [NB. An easy albeit, creepy solution, in which he follows her around all day, filming her, mmmm.] All the choices and characters in Adios are black and white - which isn't to say that they're bad, just. . . less great. There's little character development, because Ali already is (basically) perfect. She's stressed, to be sure, but she entertains no doubt, and she never questions herself. And maybe she doesn't need to, because she makes all the right decisions, but it's not the most compelling read.

I'm more upset by this than I really ought to be, because the writing itself is so sparkly and sparky and kicky, that it deserves better material. It sounded like a real person talking, and first person point of view books need that kind of voice. As a narrator, I utterly believed in Ali. I just wish she had more interesting things to talk about.

Mara, Daughter of the Nile

Mara, Daughter of the Nile, by Eloise Jarvis McGraw

Mara is a proud and beautiful slave girl who yearns for freedom. In order to gain it, she finds herself playing the dangerous role of double spy for two arch enemies - each of whom supports a contender for the throne of Egypt.

Against her will, Mara finds herself falling in love with one of her masters, the noble Sheftu, and she starts to believe in his plans of restoring Thutmose III to the throne. But just when Mara is ready to offer Sheftu her help and her heart, her duplicity is discovered, and a battle ensues in which both Mara's life and the fate of Egypt are at stake.

The description on the back of the book is exactly so - and it sounds kinda fun and dramatic and romantic, which is maybe why I feel so let down. Mara is good, but there were just some. . . parts. . . which made me really fall out of sympathy for the characters. The book takes place ostensibly in the reign of Pharaoh Hatshepsut, one of the famous women rulers of Egypt. The country is in turmoil, drained by her extravagent self-aggrandizing demands and insistence on two massive obelisks in the middle of a temple. An underground revolution quietly plots to remove her from the throne and place her half-brother in her stead. And okay, here is where I began to lose all liking for the romantic leads - part of the reason that they're trying to get rid of Hatshepsut is because she has the effontry to style herself king rather than royal wife and consort, and prefers erecting monuments to fighting wars. And sure, make the argument that we're trying to be historically accurate, and that those could have been valid points against her during the period of the book, rather just sexist excuses to get rid of her. But then you sort of have to go - but the rest of the book is wildly inaccurate! Why stick perniciously to something which casts your heroes in such a repugnant light, then play fast and loose with the rest of the facts?

And yes, I'm no preeminent scholar in egyptology and my information comes from wikipedia, but I would still like to point out that Hatshepsut ruled for about 22 years, not 15, her name was chiseled off by Thutmose III, twenty years later, rather than by her father Thutmose I, and her reign was marked by peace and prosperity, and she was not indolent towards foreign enemies. I admit, history changes with time, and the theory that Hatshepsut and Thutmose III actually got along, and he only took her name off things later to ensure a smooth succession is a pretty recent one. In 1953, the whole chiseling-off-the-name-to-erase-the-memory-of-a-cruel-ruler would have seemed pretty good stuff for a novel. But now it just makes her revolutionaries seem petty and only interested in their own advancement. But sure, let's read the book and pretend it's all fiction, and see Hatshepsut as the author writes her - a metallic voiced automaton. Seen in that light, the story is a little less off-putting.

But seriously. Some of the paragraphs in Mara really evoke the atmosphere of subtle danger and opulence, others just evoke. . . England?

'Right again. I am in the full confidence of the queen. It's most convenient. . . Aye, Her Majesty distributes bribes as lavishly as she does everything else!'

and

'That scurvy Architect! Yet he is her favorite.'

Scandalous! It's just a little jarring to be reading along, and then have to picture this "noble" Egyptian in like, a smoking jacket and monocle. Sheftu's nobility is apparent in his actions, namely that he really hates killing people unless he has to, and steals money and goods from graves. No? Not convinced? Then how about because:

He is young and tall...and well favored, with eyes like the night...When he smiles - it is like a magician's potion.

Oh, okay, now I understand. The main character, Mara, suffers from a fatal case of overconfidence. She's so confident, actually, that she becomes unsympathetic - her smirky ways and easy tricks just make you want to show her up. She's initally really rude to the only truly sympathetic character in the book - Inanni, a Syrian princess, who is, according to Mara, dumpy, sweaty, and stupid. Mara, of course, with her own glorious and unusual blue eyes and filmy garments learns to feel Pity out of her most Compassionate Heart, and kindly arranges for Inanni to be sent home at the end of the book. It's like you can actually see her heart growing two sizes that day. The reader can also be comfortable in attributing tender feelings to Mara because in the end, she remembers to free a slave she used to work with, although whether that makes up for her high-handed treatment of the other servants in the palace (and her own amusement at so doing) is perhaps best left unanswered.

Despite all my Issues with Mara, it really does beguile you a bit despite itself, which is a mark of how well done it is. Even though I longed for comeuppance for both Mara and Sheftu and I hoped sincerely that five years later finds them both unhappily disillusioned by Thutmose III, I admit that I got swept up in the denouement, hoping that rescue would come in the nick of time and that Sheftu would believe her and forgive her, even though she was patently a spy. And it does all end happily, although oh my GOD, how is it that someone whipped to the point of unconsciousness (several times) can just stand up and walk around in the end with no greater problem than a little soreness when it gets jarred by the litter ride to her lover's house, because they're not even going to go to the doctor first, and did they even have counts and countesses in Egypt, and, and, and...