Saturday, July 31, 2010

Doomsday Book

Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis


For Kivrin, preparing for on-site study of one of the deadliest eras in humanity's history was as simple as receiving inoculations against the diseases of he fourteenth century and inventing an alibi for a woman traveling alone. For her instructors in the twenty-first century, it meant painstaking calculations and careful monitoring of the rendezvous location where Kivrin would be retrieved. But a crisis strangely linking past and future strands Kivrin in a bygone age as her fellows try desperately to rescue her. In a time of superstition and fear, Kivrin - barely of age herself - finds she has become an unlikely angel of hope during one of history's darkest hours.


I just want to start off by saying that writing this up, I accidentally wrote "Boomsday Book" instead, which I wish was a real book, filled with people saying things like, "This! Is my boomstick!" and generally being a lot more lighthearted than Doomsday Book. Not that I didn't enjoy Doomsday Book. Just that it was not lighthearted. And didn't contain popular characters from the Evil Dead movies. Well, nobody's perfect.

The book's title is a play on words, from the ancient English survey record spelled "Domesday Book", but which was at the time it was written (1086 a.d.), in my abbreviated understanding, pronounced "doomsday". The book is the first in what became Willis' most well-known world: sometime in the twenty-first century, historians use time travel to do research in the location and time of the actual events, which is pretty much the awesomest idea ever. Here, Kivrin gets sent off to the 1300s, a century which an incompetent adminstrator has only just deemed safe enough to explore. A series of extremely unlikely events combine to prevent Kivrin and the people waiting anxiously for her return (namely her advisor and father-figure of sorts Dunworthy) from being reunited.

I like this book, I really do. But it is a loooong book. Too long. Often, I found myself skipping descriptions and minor character chatter because it was repetitive and senseless. Which is Willis' point (and trademark), to some extent: people are idiots, and always looking for someone else to blame. But Doomsday could easily have been cut by a hundred pages. Things go pretty quickly in the beginning, and at light-speed in the end (especially when Dunworthy winds up unconscious for more than a week and a somewhat major character gets sick and dies off-screen. What, what!) but the middle drags. In fact, just about all of book two (which in my version is 259 pages out of the book's 578 total, a whopping 45%) drags. There's a lot of hand-wringing in the twenty-first century, and, as others have pointed out, the reveal at the end of book two is something we all see coming a mile away, or 259 pages ago.

Willis tends to write screwball comedies, which she does well, but it's very much out of place here. The tone of the book is really not appropriate for it, since you're following along on the whimsical plot of the rationed toilet paper and then --BAM! People start dying left and right. Whiplash much? She only uses it for the twenty-first century parts, which is a relief, since I doubt very much that the fourteenth century resembled a screwball comedy, especially when people began dying of *Spoiler!* the black plaaaaaaaaague! Or here, the "blue sickness," as they call it poetically. Yeeeeeeah, you're still gonna vomit up blood and grow buboes with that. (NB: Buboes! Best word ever, y/y? But a word to the wise, do not, repeat, do not google image it)

Once you get past all the highly improbably coincidences (a terrible strain of influenza was released from a seven hundred year old tomb, that managed to infect Kivrin and the tech putting in her coordinates, for starters) the historical part is pretty interesting. No doubt it is completely made up out of whole cloth, since the records for this period are slim pickin's, but Doomsday's a fascinating take on how we interpret and create a story for the past, which can bear little or no resemblance to the real thing. Or, to put it another way, it is Motel of the Mysteries, but for the Middle Ages, rather than the 1980s.

Although I skimmed the modern (or, okay, "futuristic", even though it sounds about as futuristic as 1994) parts, I did enjoy the historical parts. The story of the family Kivrin falls in with is interesting, although I was a bit frustrated with her sometimes completely thoughtless actions, given that she was supposed to be able to blend in with the "contemps". Especially when everyone in the twenty-first century seemed to assume that not blending in would lead to a swift burning at the stake. Well if you believed that, Kivrin, why did you try and chat up Gawyn by his lonesome, you hussy? In fact, no one in the Middle Ages even approaches the suggestion of burning Kivrin at the stake, which is almost a let down, especially after she does a whole bunch of incredibly suspicious, time-period unfriendly things whilst trying to get information about the rendezvous point out of her host family.

As I said earlier, book three goes lightening fast, both as the plague gathers momentum in the village, and as Dunworthy and crew finally realize that Kivrin is stuck in 1348 and they scramble for a way to get her out. The ending is super bittersweet, which is why I don't enjoy this as much as some of Willis' other works, but also uplifting in some ways, as the priest of the village gives to the utmost, even as he puts himself at risk for catching the disease. I don't think it's a spoiler to say that Kivrin does get rescued in the end (Willis is not that dark, y'all), but can anyone say PTSD? I mean, she pretty much got to watch as everyone she had bonded with died horribly of a disease that Kivrin knew all about but couldn't cure, and that she herself was immune to. And then she got to bury all of them. I don't know about you, but gosh darn if that wouldn't put me off of time travel for a good long while. Also, talk about unsafe working conditions. I'm sure OSHA wouldn't approve.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Jellicoe Road

Jellicoe Road, by Melina Marchetta


Abandoned by her mother on Jellicoe Road when she was eleven, Taylor Markham, now seventeen, is finally being confronted with her past. But as the reluctant leader of her boarding school dorm, there isn't a lot of time for introspection. And while Hannah, the closest adult Taylor has to family, has disappeared, Jonah Griggs is back in town, moody stares and all.

Nothing is as it seems and every clue leads to more questions as Taylor tries to work out the connection between her mother dumping her, Hannah finding her then and her sudden departure now, a mysterious stranger who once whispered something in her ear, a boy in her dreams, five kids who lived on Jellicoe Road eighteen years ago, and the maddening and magnetic Jonah Griggs, who knows her better than she thinks he does. If Taylor can put together the pieces of her past, she might just be able to change her future.



Jellicoe Road is really two stories in one: the events of twenty-two years ago (it says eighteen in the description because the people in the "B" plotline age about four years throughout the novel) and how they affected five friends, and the senior year of Taylor Markham, who has a new position of power in the Territory Wars at her boarding school. The stories intertwine (through a manuscript that Taylor has read) and eventually intersect in ways that would seem pat in the hands of a lesser author. Marchetta does wonderful things with all the characters, even secondary and tertiary ones. Even characters that never appear on the scene, and are only mentioned by other characters, are imbued with personality, like Jonah's mother and brother.

This is one of the most fantastic books I've read. It starts out slow, as Marchetta sets out the threads of all the story lines, but as you get further into the two time lines, you begin to match up events and people, so that by the end of the book, you immediately want to re-read it, just so you can lengthen that "Aha!" moment. I freely admit that I was sobbing straight through the last third of the book the first time I read it, and the whole way through the second time.

It's a complex book, in that you really are sort of given a lot of pieces which don't fit together, until later events in the book put them into order and context. Sort of like Pulp Fiction, only about teenagers instead of gangsters. Marchetta is a master at spooling out details, things that seem insignificant until they suddenly become very important. She does this in such a way that although you may not take very much notice of this or that small detail, when the revelations come, you remember what came before very clearly - so that the process of piecing these stories together isn't a strain on your memory or patience. Which is all the more impressive because I have a terrible memory, so managing to make seemingly irrelevant details memorable is quite a feat.

Marchetta has always been one of my favorite authors in terms of what she understands about teenage girls, and she manages to get humor, sorrow, love, action, romance, and mystery all packed in, without being melodramatic or overbearing. Or well, it is melodramatic, but only in that teen angst, my-whole-world-is-splitting-apart-and-no-one-even-realizes-it kind of way. In Marchetta's hands, the unabashed rawness of the emotion is both thrilling and terrifying.

I am kind of a sucker for this type of book (if it is a "type" and not just some one-off description) where people love each other so much, but it's still not enough to keep out sorrow and pain, and the characters just have to find a way to manage the pain and find the joy in life. Actually, that's what most of Marchetta's books are about - the equivalent of her characters all ending the books singing, "I get by with a little help from my friends". And there's no need to sneer, finding out you're not alone can be the best feeling in the world.


How do I feel by the end of the day
(Are you sad because you're on your own)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends.
Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.
Mmm, gonna try with a little help from my friends.

The Trouble with Jenny's Ear

The Trouble with Jenny's Ear, by Oliver Butterworth

Suddenly Jenny can hear what people are thinking. Her enterprising and electronically-inclined brothers immediately think of ways to take advantage of this unusual talent but Jenny is less comfortable with her new knowledge. The adventure culminates in a plot by the children to get Jenny on game shows and win enough money to buy land that is otherwise destined for the developer's table, but all their efforts may not be enough as everything spirals out of control.


This one is a childhood, well, not fave, exactly, but a comfortable reminder of my youth. Also, when I first read it, it didn't seem so out of date as it does now. It's almost quaint, in its depictions of a model New England town, wherein young boys are excited as anything to get a pile of cast off electronics so they can make radios and invent closed-circuit television. Nowadays, of course, it's a lot easier to set up camera and recording systems. That is, everyone (including me) can do it, because cameras do it automatically. All the discussion of the magic of intercom systems (and the accompanying explanations to bewildered parents and teachers) and the ringing of phones underline my point: the crucial action which takes place at the end of the book and enables Jenny at al. to keep their beautiful lake and forest (nb: that was not a spoiler. I mean, come on, what kinds of kid's books do you read that you think they won't get to save the land from suburban stasis?) could have easily been averted by an operational cell phone.

It's a sweet, nostalgic book, in which the government wants only to protect children who have magnificent mind-reading abilities, and the president just bemoans the loss of his buttons in the morning, where men and women fall in love and get engaged after a week, and parents let their children cook up cock-eyed schemes to defraud people with a "It probably wouldn't do any harm to try. . . "

There isn't any character development to speak of, as the action drives the plot. The trouble with Jenny's ear doesn't even enter the story for a good fifth of the way into the book, and we spend our time watching her brothers wreck all kinds of havoc with their gadgets before they get around to Jenny's ear. It's a slow, easy-going pace, even if (as a repeat reader) I wanted to hurry up and get to the meat of the story.

Jenny remains sweet and wholesome throughout, and perhaps gains a little backbone by the end. She plays the role of the wise old person, dispensing wisdom and serenity with both hands, despite being only five years old. It's all a light bit of fluff, a "cute little trick" of a book that manages to get its protagonists through crisis after crisis without demonizing anyone. There are no villains, only gently misunderstood people, and everything ties up in a neat little bow in the end. All in all, a harmless bit of fluff.