The Mountains of Instead

Afterlife (review of Reboot by Amy Tintera)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 23 May 2013 14:30:00 +0000

Reboot

Amy Tintera

Harper Teen 2013

When Wren was twelve, she was shot in the chest three times. For one hundred and seventy eight minutes, Wren was dead. And then she wasn’t. Ever since humanity was struck by a virulent illness, some people, like Wren rise from the dead, returning better or worse than before. They are, in effect, rebooted. Rebooted adults return crazed and drooling, unable to function and dangerous. Rebooted children, though, come back somewhat enhanced – strong, fast, fit. Wren One-Seventy-Eight returned in particular good shape because the longer you’re dead, the more physically improved you are on return. Yet the longer you’re dead, the more emotionless you are as a Reboot and Wren watches her life as if from a distance even as she is used by the HARC corporation to subdue and kill those who threaten a somewhat tenuous hold on order. When not on assignment, Wren (now seventeen), trains new Reboots – which is how she ends up with Callum. Callum Twenty-Two barely died at all and has Rebooted with all his human emotions and few of the usual Reboot enhancements. He disregards orders, treats Wren like she is more alive than dead and slowly cracks open the shell she has placed herself in, leading her to question the life she has been leading for the last five years.

Wren, by her very nature, is a fairly remote character. She finds it difficult to connect to others and her feelings appear to be completely cut off to her. She enjoys her assignments, having no issue with pursuing rogue humans and Reboots, enjoying the chase and never wondering whether those she catches are innocent or guilty. The closes thing that she has to a friend is her roommate Ever but even then she holds herself at a distance. This, in part, is due to her One-Seventy-Eight status – she seems to inspire both fear and awe in those who encounter her which is why her surprise at Callum’s warmth and interest in her as a person is so utterly believable. Even as she struggles to understand why he isn’t at all afraid of her, he allows her to access emotions she thought long dead. What is particularly interesting about Wren is that her life before Rebooting was so horrendous that her emotional remoteness is as much to do with a lack of nurture before her death as it is to do with the minutes that passed after it.

Callum stands out in Reboot because he is so different to everyone else. He’s not human and so doesn’t act with the barely disguised disgust of HARC when interacting with Reboots but nor does he really believe that he isn’t human. His defining characteristic is an almost unwavering optimism even when faced with the most depressing of situations and his adamance that, human or Reboot, his principals will remain the same. He seems at first entranced with Wren, almost seeing her coldness as a challenge but as the story progresses he grows genuinely fond of her, drawing her out of herself with a disarming charm that is hard to resist. Other characters flit in and out, from the emotionally bizarre Reboots to fragile Ever to the human guards who can barely seem to look at their charges. All are interesting and all are well written.

Plot-wise, Reboot is solid. While many reviews have commented that it is primarily a romance, in actuality the growing bond between Wren and Callum only serves to drive the story that lies at the core of the book and which revolves around ideas of experimentation, imprisonment, equality and identity. It’s all very well handled, as is the tenuous relationship between the two leads. Reboot’s real strength, though, is in its originality. Tintera has taken the idea of traditional zombies and turned it completely upside down while still alluding to the more traditional ideas of walking dead. It’s smart, compelling and the world building is great – evil corporations, when done well, are always a hell of a lot of fun. Reboot is, rather inevitably, the first in a series but is both a solid start to what should be an interesting story and an excellent debut novel in that it’s hard to put it down once you pick it up. Which you absolutely should.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. Reboot is available now. Thank you to the publisher, via Edelweiss, for sending us this title to review.

Top Ten Tuesday - Book Covers

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Tue, 21 May 2013 08:30:00 +0000

This is my first Top Ten Tuesday! I really enjoy reading this feature, hosted by The Broke and The Bookish and while I doubt I'll take part EVERY week (no point in actively setting myself up for a fall) I plan on taking part as often as possible. This week, it's a topic close to my heart - book covers:

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

I love the minimal use of colours, the fairytale connotations of woodland and heart-shaped leaves and the blood spatter that hints at a darker story.

Sisters Red by Jackson Pearce

Another fairytale, clearly, and again using minimal colours, this one is beautifully clever in its double aspect.

The Fault in our Stars by John Green

Controversial in its simplicity I think this cover is rather beautiful. It's eye catching and screams literary fiction. Gorgeous.

The Radleys by Matt Haig

Er, clearly I like the use of red, white and black because this again is a cover that I found massively eye-catching. A crossover novel, this is the YA cover - which, in all honestly, is far more striking than the adult one.

The Snow Spider by Jenny Nimmo

A change of pace here, but at eight years old this was the first book I ever bought for myself and that was largely due to the cover which my eight year old tastes thought was the most beautiful I'd ever seen.

Delirium by Lauren Oliver

This is the original UK hardback cover and is quite lovely. Sadly, the UK publisher has seen fit to change the covers of Oliver's trilogy not once, but twice and they are now horribly generic and lack the beauty and simplicity seen here.

The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson

This is cheating slightly as the cover is enhanced by the packaging of this story as a whole. Still, the blue sky and rough texture of this cover image perfectly illustrate the bittersweet magicality of Nelson's wonderful story.

The Mockingbirds by Daisy Whitney

I like the starkness of this cover, the graphical nature of the bird and the colour scheme. It's eye catching and simple making me want to pick up the book and find out more.

The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan

Again with the black and red, but this cover is so special. Beautiful yet oddly discomfiting it has little relation to the contents of the book yet complements the feel of it perfectly. Very clever.

Seraphina - Rachel Hartman

This is old school "here be dragons" sort of stuff. Beautifully drawn, sumptuous to look at, perfect for the story found in its pages. Sadly, the UK cover was far less alluring - I'm glad I have this one.

Shadow and Bone - Leigh Bardugo

Initially, this was published with a boring cover and a different title in the UK but now they've got with the programme and have produced this beauty. Again, the simple colour scheme is eye-catching and the Russian aspects representative of the story without hitting you about the head with it.

And there you have it. It appears that I like simple covers with few covers and, importantly, no people... who knew?? Let me know about your favourite pretties in the comments - I'm intrigued to see what others like.

The Light It Seeks (Review: Stone Junction by Jim Dodge)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Adams) — Sat, 18 May 2013 09:35:00 +0000

Stone Junction: An Alchemical Potboiler Jim Dodge
Rebel, Inc. 1997

Everybody has a few books which make a deep and lasting impression on them. Books which they read at just the right time, in just the right mood to ensure a well-worn copy remains on the nearest shelf for decades to come. Books which will inevitably worm their way into every single conversation about literature, no matter how tenuous the connection. For me there are three: Catch-22, my first ever 'serious' book and catalyst for my ever-strengthening pacifist views; Bad Wisdom for it's utterly compelling honesty and insanity; and Stone Junction: An Alchemical Potboiler, an indescribable wonder whose lack of general recognition both saddens me and makes me happy to belong to 'the club'. It is a masterpiece of magical realism, verging at times on urban fantasy and exhilarates as much as it breaks your heart. That it is one of only four volumes published by Jim Dodge (among them a collection of poems and a short children's book) makes it all the more precious.

Stone Junction is the story of Daniel Pearse, a young man emerging from a strange and wondrous childhood. Daniel finds himself adopted by the mysterious AMO, the Association of Magicians and Outlaws, an organisation his mother served throughout his early years. What follows is a coming-of-age story as Daniel finds himself passed from mentor to mentor through the ranks of the AMO, learning every imaginable trick of the trade along the way. From alchemy to card-sharking, he leaves no stone unturned in his quest for knowledge. Daniel is not just after an unorthodox education however; powering every step is his desire to finally discover what really happened on a pivotal night years before.

Throughout the course of his schooling Daniel is deposited with a number of unforgettable father-figures, some more than willing to take on a temporary apprentice, others less so. Here Dodge plays with the idea of Daniel's lack of a real father-figure, having never actually known his own. No matter how the mentors feel about their new charge, their vignettes are invariably as entertaining as they are inspiring and informative. Dodge draws on his own experience of inhabiting all manner of insalubrious worlds to paint each scene with enviable authenticity and warmth, suggesting an uncanny familiarity with everything from safe-cracking to drug ingestion. Even an extended game of Lo-Ball during the cards section is magically imbued with a level of interest and tension which should, given the subject matter, be impossible. When I first read this book back in university I even found myself hovering around the card games shelves in Waterstone's, pondering the feasibility of a career in Vegas (thankfully I had a combination of common sense and sloth to save me).

During the course of his training, Daniel begins to uncover his own hidden talents as well as honing those he has learnt and soon rises through the ranks of the AMO. Before long he is involved in the search for the Faith Diamond, a jewel of incredible size and purity which captures the imagination of all those who cross its path. Daniel is drawn to it instinctively and as time wears on it becomes more and more clear that the hunt for the diamond holds the answer to the fate of his long-lost mother and that which may await him as well.

Jim Dodge’s great strength is the warmth and authenticity which he manages to bestow on such a fantastical epic. You know you’re immersed in a world where magic is real, alchemy works and ornery old mules can speak but your disbelief remains suspended throughout. This is largely due to the strength of the characters themselves. Despite their otherworldly talents they remain the most down-to-earth, utterly real people you could hope to meet. You’ll find echoes of them in your own family and acquaintances and will even miss them once the story moves on and leaves them in the dust. Add to this cast an incredibly original, compelling and addictive story and you’ll wonder why this isn't paraded in bookstores everywhere as a paragon of modern literature.

Stone Junction is many things to many people. On the surface it’s an ensemble piece, focused on an unforgettable cast of characters who will carve out their own niche in your psyche and lurk there for quite some time afterwards, chattering and taunting. It’s a coming of age story revolving around a boy becoming a man and facing the demons of his past. It’s a tale of love, loss and redemption, of friendship and betrayal. It’s a touching homage to the author’s own youth, an autobiography viewed through the lens of an untamed imagination.

However you see Stone Junction, one thing is certain: it will not leave you unchanged. Take a deep breath, submerge yourself in it and let its wonders wash over you. You’ll not regret it.

This review was brought to you by Cannonball Jones. Both he and Splendibird read this book the same week, many years ago, and both urge you to pick up a copy NOW. Stone Junction is available in all good bookstores.

What Kind of Love am I Facing? (Review: The Secret of Ella and Micha by Jessica Sorensen)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 16 May 2013 09:15:00 +0000

The Secret of Ella and Micha

Jessica Sorensen

Sphere 2013

Ella and Micha have been friends forever, seeing each other through their difficult childhoods. However, after a series of tragic events, Ella realises that she needs to leave her past behind and flees to college, leaving Micha behind with no idea of where she is or whether she will ever return. While Micha has searched for her, suspended in place by the night she disappeared, Ella has spent the year reinventing herself but she can’t stay away forever and, come summer break, she finds herself returning to a house full of bad memories and the boy next door who won’t take no for an answer.

Ella is a character who will be quickly familiar to any readers of the newly minted New Adult genre. Damaged by a past that involves both violence and neglect, she’s trying desperately to change her life. Brittle, suspicious and fragile she’s also resourceful and smart – she got herself to college, made new friends, funded herself and seems to generally have her head screwed on the right way. However, she’s clearly not come to terms with the events of her past and needs someone to help her do so. So far, so NA protagonist. And she really doesn’t get much more original. The best that can be said for Ella is that she’s vaguely likeable and her character’s mental health is handled with a degree of care. Her treatment of Micha is understandable, while selfish, and her reluctance to spend time with him a measure of her desire to escape a past she doesn’t really understand.

Micha, sadly, is also all too familiar. When Ella returns he is understandably angry and hurt, as well as worried. This could have been a great way to create a sympathetic, conflicted character but instead Micha reacts by turning into the rapidly emerging stereotypical male of the genre. In order to get the attention of a girl whom he knows to be deeply damaged, he flirts with people in front of her, climbs unbidden into her bed (sadly another well-worn scenario in the world of NA), slides his hand up her skirt in public and states that he “has to have her”, seeming to truly believe that his moronic, testosterone fuelled claim on her will somehow ease her troubled past. What a PRINCE! In the few chapters in which Micha manages to get his mind away from his nethers, he actually comes across as quite a nice, thoughtful guy and later does address Ella’s long-standing intimacy issues but it’s too little, too late. To be honest, the fact that he recognises that she has intimacy issues at all only sheds an even nastier light on his possessive, pushy behaviour.

The Secret of Ella and Micha is frustrating in that it has the potential to be so much more. The issues raised are interesting, the family dynamics curious and the gorgeous best friend, desperately worried for his neighbour should be breath-takingly romantic. But this is New Adult, people, and so rather than focus on the aforementioned plot points, The Secret of Ella and Micha focuses largely on sex. Now sex scenes are fun, hell, more books should have them, but New Adult as a genre seems to use sex instead of storyline, regularly mixing it into stories in which the girls are damaged and the boys are lined up to convince them that therapy won’t work as well as a good dicking. Certainly, consensual sex has a role in these storylines, with Ella and Micha it certainly represents her starting to overcome some issues, but the way in which the men in NA push their desire onto the women is, quite frankly, a bit icky – I don’t care how gorgeous they are.

This isn’t the first NA book that has disappointed me. I keep reading the genre in the hope that one will appear that will illustrate to actual New Adults (whatever they are) that the start of your adult life isn’t necessarily filled with trauma and sexual manipulation. Thus far, the best New Adult books I’ve read haven’t been published under that particular genre label but rather remained in the YA bracket. Both Where She Went by Gayle Forman and Lovely, Dark and Deep by Amy McNamara look at issues surrounding a troubled past and an uncertain future, both feature protagonists in their late teens/early twenties and both feature sex; both, critically, handle it all far better than anything on the NA shelves, including, sadly, The Secret of Ella and Micha.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird who, in the pursuit of open-mindedness would like to state that she appears to be in the minority in her opinion. The Secret of Ella and Micha is available now. Thank you to the publisher for providing us with this title to review.

If You Go Down To The Woods (Review: A Tale Dark and Grimm by Adam Gidwitz)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Adams) — Sat, 11 May 2013 12:00:00 +0000

A Tale Dark And Grimm

Adam Gidwitz

Puffin 2011

“"You're being foolish," Gretel told herself. "Rain can't talk."

No, of course it can't. The moon can eat children, and fingers can open doors, and people's heads can be put back on.

But rain? Talk? Don't be ridiculous.

Good thinking, Gretel dear. Good thinking.”

Okay, stop me if you’ve heard this one - a brother and sister go wandering off into the darkest depths of the forest, ignoring all of their parents’ warnings. Stumbling across a gingerbread house they proceed to gorge themselves until its haggard resident returns. She proceeds to fatten up the siblings, preparing them for a feast, when they turn the tables and roast her alive in her own oven. The end. Or so your own parents may have had you believe...

Adam Gidwitz’s A Tale Dark And Grimm is a loving homage to the stories of our childhood, taking the familiar tales and returning to them some of the grit and grime which have been slowly polished away in the centuries since their inception. Hansel and Gretel do indeed form the core of the story but the witch episode above is merely an early chapter in their grand epic. Weaving together eight separate tales, Gidwitz crafts his own cautionary fable about the dangers of the outside world, of trusting in strangers and, charmingly, of being a parent.

At the outset the parents are cast in the role of despicable villains, at least in the eyes of Hansel and Gretel. Due to a hideous curse (it’s a long story) their father, the king, reluctantly chops off their heads in order to save their lives. It’s alright, they get better. But old wounds have a tendency to reopen, especially when decapitation is involved, and as soon as the children learn what happened they set off into the great unknown on a quest for a more loving family.

Initially they seem to find success. New homes are waiting in every village with fathers in search of daughters, woodsmen in search of brides and witches in search of, erm, dinner. But behind every fairytale facade lurks rot and decay. Murderers enchant their victims before slaughtering them and imprisoning their souls in birdcages. Fatherly rejection turns brothers into sparrows, seeking refuge in far-off caves accessible through only the most gruesome of methods. And yes, there be dragons. Big ones.

Only a brave soul would attempt a retelling of such well-known tales but I’m pleased to say Adam Gidwitz carries out the task with aplomb. His knowledge of and love for the Brothers Grimm shines through in every tale, never allowing himself to become too cruel to his characters or to let them lose sight of the light at the end of their tunnel. Inevitably things do get a bit dark and grim sometimes - after all, these tales were originally more survival manuals than bedtime stories - but it’s all in the name of fun. He does take a perverse glee in dialling up the body count at times though, and bucketloads of blood are spilled throughout the proceedings.

Despite all the blood and horror, A Tale Dark And Grimm is held together in a light vein by Gidwitz’s fourth wall-breaking narration, infused with a wonderful sense of irony and knowing winks to the older reader. Regular urgings to rid the room of younger readers at tense moments only serve to heighten their interest and ensure a rapt audience. Children will all too readily identify with Hansel and Gretel, relating to their struggles against the grown-up world, while adults can chuckle away at the inside jokes and marvel at the masterful storytelling itself. Some of the light relief characters (the three ravens and their tangential conversations for example) come from the same comic stable as Pratchett and Python, nudging the story along while bringing us back down to earth after each adventure.

Despite expecting something aimed at a more mature level I found myself entranced by A Tale Dark And Grimm immediately and found myself cursing my classes for getting in the way of reading. The story just feels so genuine and steadfastly refuses to patronise children in the manner of the Disney-fied versions of the tales with which they are more familiar. Something about this honesty just makes it so endearing and yes, I admit it - I also loved the gore. So will your kids, I guarantee it.

This review was brought to you by Cannonball Jones. A Tale Dark and Grimm is available now.

Yellow Feathers in her Hair and a Dress Cut Down to There (review: Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 09 May 2013 10:49:00 +0000

Lola and The Boy Next Door

Stephanie Perkins

Dutton Books 2011

Lola is living a life of high costume drama in San Francisco. She spends her time festooned in fabulous creations of her own design, attending school, working in her local cinema and hanging out with her two dads. Oh, and having a relationship with 22 year old Max who may or may not be OK (or possibly even TOO OK) with the fact that she’s only seventeen – it’s hard to tell. Despite the complications of dating an older man, not least her fathers’ ardent disapproval, life isn’t at all bad. Not, that is, until erstwhile neighbours The Bells return to the house next door. More specifically to Lola, the Bell twins return – one of whom is her nemesis, the other the source of her deepest hurt. With Lola at the helm, channeling her own special brand of crazy, things are about to get interesting.

Lola is delightful. She’s kind of like a little Zooey Deschanel, zipping about San Fran, being disarmingly kooky – but without the annoying smugness that is Zooey Deschanel. While she’s hard not to like, she’s far from perfect. Her relationship with Max seems to embody with the kind of blinkered selfishness that can sometimes be engendered by first love. To the point that at one point the abandons St Clair (yes, that St. Clair) in a club – it’s THAT BAD. And her selfishness isn’t the only thing that’s blinkered – Lola is generally pretty good and not seeing anything she doesn’t want to see and at hiding the things she wishes others to not see either. However, as her story progresses, she forces herself to see things as they really are – including herself. It might take her a while, but her character develops rather beautifully and, even when her decisions might make you cringe, she’s rarely anything other than entirely lovable.

The insanely (and delightfully unexplained) monickered Cricket and Calliope Bell are instantly intriguing what with Lola hinting at some hurtful backstory before they even appear on the scene. Calliope is a fairly brittle character, a driven competitor who doesn't have much in her life other than her skating and her brother. Her interactions with Lola are often unpleasant, but Calliope is an oddly sympathetic character, particularly when seen through the eyes of Cricket. Cricket himself is rather excellent. He's no St. Clair (who could be?) but he's exceptionally charming in a bumbling genius sort of way that will have readers rooting for him from the minute he appears in all his long legged quirkiness. The friendship between him and Lola is believable only, sometimes, due to his exceptional patience and understanding. She's a lucky girl.

Elsewhere, the story is peppered with well written and interesting characters. Max, Lola's much older boyfriend isn't exactly a prince. Dating a girl five years his junior (and a teenager to his early twenties) often seems a bit icky but he does seem to care for her, in his own conflicted should-i-be-dating-this-child way. His doubtfulness at her honesty at first seems unfair but is increasingly justified as it becomes clear that Lola really does seem to spend more time hiding things from him than telling the truth. Lola's dads have to be a story highlight. They are interesting characters in their own right but really, I just got excited because it reminded me of that sitcom My Two Dads. And yes, I'm aware that that very statement ages me.

The story running through Lola and the Boy Next Door is a classic coming of age one. Lola grows before our eyes, makes mistakes, recognises those mistakes and adjusts her life view accordingly. The romance aspect is just as pleasing as the one seen in Anna and the French Kiss but in many ways this story is more about the girl than the boy and is extremely well told. It's in turns funny, moving and thrilling and anyone who loved Perkin's debut outing is surely going to fall in love with this. The third in the series (although they all work perfectly as standalone titles so far), Isla and the Happily Ever After is out this year and Lola and the Boy Next Door has some tantalising hints as to how all of Stephanie Perkins' engaging characters might actually manage to appear in the same story. I, for one, can't wait. Perkins writes the kind of clever, touching stories that are full to the brim with romance and friendship and that will always have me coming back for more. Perfect escapism of the best kind, Lola and The Boy Next Door comes highly recommended from The Mountains of Instead.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. Both Lola and The Boy Next Door and Anna and the French Kiss (review here) are available now. Treat yourself and pick up copies of both.

State of the Union - April

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 14:30:00 +0000

Earlier this month, The Mountains of Instead turned three. Which is as surprising to me as it is to anyone else as, quite frankly, I fully expected to have given up by now! But here we are, and as such I'm introducing a new monthly feature in the form of The State of the Union.

Basically, towards the end of each month a round up post will appear which will include links to everything I've reviewed that month and also links to bits and bobs that I've encountered around the web that we think might be of interest. Additionally, there will be a small section that talks about things we're looking forward to in particular. There are lots of posts around the place that do similar things and I enjoy them all but have been particularly inspired by Forever Young Adult's Procrastination Pro-Tips on which I waste hours every time it's posted.

So, without further do...

We've been surprisingly productive (for us) this April, and actually managed to review a couple of titles per week (you can find links to all posts in the right side bar):

Of these, The 5th Wave probably edges out in front (but only just, these were all excellent) with Wild Boy standing out as an exciting and original debut.

Around and about on the internets, there has been much talk about Amazon and the Death of Books. UK author Barry Hutchison blogged about the difficulty of selling books traditionally from an authors point of view while Neil Gaiman spoke at length about change versus stagnation in the book industry. Both are fascinating and should provide much food for thought.

Other internetty things to check out include The Taichung Bookworm, belonging to our very own Cannonball Jones who, due to his voracious reading habit, has had to start a site of his VERY OWN in order to reviews he keeps writing. It goes without saying that it's all rather excellent. Also excellent is the new Walker Books blog InkSlingers, which is not only lovely to look at but full of interesting bits and pieces. Also, check out YAckers YAck of the month, Tigerlily.

The world of YA film adaptations continues apace with the City of Bones, Catching Fire and Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters trailer emerging this month:

They all look pretty bloody good (although I'm just not buying Jonathon Rhys Meyers as Valentine) and, quite frankly, should be released SOONER.

Over the month of May, we'll be featuring (hopefully among other things) the following:

And YAckers will be YAcking If You Find me by Emily Murdoch which looks pretty darn good and our April YAck on Girl of Fire and Thorns will be up shortly. It is, er, a full and frank discussion of a title that divided the group.

Finally, April has bombarded us with many pretty, pretty upcoming book covers. Firstly, the tour de force that is the Chaos Walking has been repackaged rather gorgeously, the new look reflecting the classic status that this trilogy continues to garner:

Additionally, Walker Books have released the cover for Ness's upcoming YA title More Than This, while Bloombury have revealed the follow up to Sarah Maas's Throne of Glass, Crown of Midnight. Two very different, but equally striking covers:

And that's all for now, folks. I hope that you enjoy this new monthly feature as much as I enjoy putting it together and, as always, I'd love any feedback/ideas/thoughts to appear in the comments.

Until May, au revoir!

If I Could Tell You I Would Let You Know (Review: The Night She Disappeared by April Henry)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 09:23:00 +0000

The Night She Disappeared

April Henry

Walker 2013

Kayla sets of to deliver a pizza, a normal part of a normal job. She never returns, leaving behind a few scattered pizza boxes on the forest floor and no answers. Drew, who took the fateful order, remembers nothing bar an unmemorable voice that asked for an unappetizing pizza and an altogether different girl. Gabie, having swapped shifts with Kayla, swiftly realises that she has narrowly escaped Kayla’s fate. Because Gabie is the other girl, the one so eagerly requested, the girl whom Kayla replaced. Whoever took Kayla really wanted Gabie and no-one has any idea of where either Kayla or her abductor are. As the local community slips into a morass of guilt and suspicion, Gabie and Drew struggle with uncertainty and fear. Where is Kayla? Who took her? And does he still want someone else?

Both Gabie and Drew are characters who seem to keep themselves to themselves. Despite being from opposite sides of the tracks, they are fairly similar. Gabie, academically smart, with loving if largely absent parents blends into the background of life effortlessly. While pleasant, she seems to have no real friends although she clearly enjoys working with the ebullient Kayla. She is quick to admit – and not really bothered by – her plainness and could easily have been a fairly dull character were it not for the fact that she hasn't gone unnoticed by everyone. Her guilty reaction to Kayla’s disappearance is extreme and verges, in fact, on real instability. Her utter conviction that Kayla is still alive is borne of guilt, yes, but also of fear and both this and her sudden attachment to Drew are completely understandable.

Drew himself is a sympathetic character. Struggling with a meth-head, kleptomaniac mother at Pete’s Pizza because he has to, trying to keep his head above water for a future that has already given up on him. Again, he has few friends but is well liked at work and the guilt he feels on being the last person to see Kayla before she disappeared, indeed on being the one who he perceives sent her to her probable death, is palpable throughout. He clearly liked Kayla a lot but he’s never really paid much attention to Gabie. Now, thrown together with a girl who seems to be teetering on the brink of sanity, he comes into his own in a way he probably hasn't before. He panders to Gabie, but never too much, taking time to try and understand her while also preventing her from taking her crazed theories too far. Their growing friendship is extremely well observed as it moves from the need for mutual absolution through shared belief to a final solid and believable bond.

The Night She Disappeared is a short but incredibly well constructed novel. In addition to the first person narratives of Drew and Gabie, there are a further two prominent voices – both of which are eerily effective. There is also a third person, omniscient narrator through which we view snapshots of the community, most notably effective in a short section that and enters the lonely world of a police diver, searching for one family’s hell in the abyss of a dark river. In addition to this, the book contains fragments of evidence, scattered throughout its pages. Telephone and interview transcripts; a search warrant; the edict of a fortune cookie; a poignant To Do list; a bloody message scrawled on the label of a water bottle. This overcrowded format could have led to a confusing mess, but so carefully are the narratives and ephemera placed that they add a depth and a sense of frightening reality to April Henry’s already sinister story.

As the story progresses, Henry fills it with fascinating characters – some of whom appear only briefly but will stay with readers for much longer than their short appearances. From the psychic who may or may not be exploiting the situation to the tweaker who attracts suspicion to the police officer who dismisses Gabie as a possible victim because she’s just too plain, they are all exceptionally well realised. The Night She Disappeared is accomplished although the ending, while satisfying, lacks the ambiguity which haunts the real-life case that inspired the book’s premise. This is a minor quibble, though. Ultimately, The Night She Disappeared works well on many levels - thriller, horror, mystery, police procedural and YA contemporary all rolled into one compelling package. This is a book that is difficult to put down and one that will have you pondering the many societal issues it touches on long after you turn the last page.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird who would like to see MORE CRIME in YA. YA fiction that is, not just criminal young adults - that would be bad.  The Night She Disappeared is available now.  Thank you to the publisher for providing us with a copy of this title to review.

Humanity I Love You (review: The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Sat, 20 Apr 2013 10:08:00 +0000

The 5th Wave

Rick Yancey

Penguin 2013

Humanity is dying, under attack from an unknown enemy who is killing them in wave after wave of horror and blood. The 1^st wave took out electricity, communications, the backbone of today’s society; the 2^nd wave decimates coasts and cities all over the world; the 3^rd wave comes in the form of plague, killing billions and the 4^th wave see’s the few who are left running for their lives, unsure of who to trust. Now the world awaits the 5^th wave even as the strange mothership looms above the earth waiting, ominous and silent. Cassie finds herself alone in the woods, for all she knows, the last human on earth, running from sharp shooters, staying alive out of pure determination to keep a promise that may prove to be unkeepable. At her lowest ebb, she meets Evan who has been living quietly since losing everything. Evan is kind, capable and willing to do anything for Cassie, including help her keep her promise but Cassie remains scared, suspicious and sure that whatever the 5^th Wave is, she’s better of facing it alone.

The 5^th Wave has multiple narratives but Cassie remains at the heart of the story. She’s something else, a girl honed by bloodshed and loss into an almost frightening automaton with a singular focus. Her narrative takes the form of journal entries and she rages at her supposed reader even while confiding her deepest fears. While she is undoubtedly kick-ass, she’s also reeling from the events that have overtaken the human race and her own personal existence. She lacks understanding of the bigger picture – it seems that almost everyone does – but her focus on her small part of it is unfailing, even as she finds herself injured and alone in the snow. Her interactions with the mysterious Evan are fraught with both longing and mistrust. Cassie has been alone for a long time when she meets him, yet she’s also seen and done some awful things and is deeply suspicious of anyone and everyone. Evan, for his part, doesn’t help much, remaining taciturn about the details of his past even as he cares for Cassie with real affection. Both are intriguing characters and as their stories intertwine they become increasingly hard to predict while remaining tentatively likable. Cassie, in particular, is always compelling.

In addition to Cassie there are three additional narratives. One is that of Private Zombie, a young man, shell-shocked and sick who ends up recruited to the fight against the Others (as they have become known, clearly the military were big fans of Lost). Realising that he has the opportunity to take up arms against those who took away life as he once knew it, Zombie slowly transitions from a thoughtful and relatively gentle boy into a hardened soldier, a person which even he himself is unsure of. The third narrative is that of another recruit, Private Nugget (these names all make sense on reading), an impossible soldier who clings to Zombie in a way not encouraged by their seniors. Nugget’s voice is more than a little heart-breaking but his character is nothing short of inspiring even though he gets less page-time than the rest. The final narrative appears only once or twice and is from the point of view of a character who was once human but who has become distinctly Other. Yet their humanity remains, causing confusion, pain and ultimately becoming the crux of the entire story and these small sections of the book are both eerie and moving.

The 5^th Wave is a bit of a triumph in terms of its careful construction and gripping storytelling. The waves are described from different viewpoints, in which Yancey creates a horrifying world that he continues to expand upon throughout the book while adding in additional layers and levels (most effective in the sections that focus on Zombie’s training) of trust, lies, truth and doublespeak. His core plot is incredibly strong but this first book (The 5^th Wave is the start of a series) focusses largely on world building with readers only truly discovering the nature of the 5^th wave at the books climax. And what a climax it is, full of twists, turns and breath taking action. Good Sci-Fi is rarely seen in YA, particularly recently (with only Beth Revis’s Across The Universe immediately springing to mind) and it’s a pleasure to find such a well written example of the genre. The 5^th Wave is utterly compelling and impossible to put down (I stayed up well into the night in order to read it in one sitting) and should be added to your wish lists straight away.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. The 5th Wave will be available from 5th May 2013. Thank you to the publisher, via NetGalley for providing us with this title to review.

Running Up That Hill (Review: Requiem by Lauren Oliver)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 09:18:00 +0000

Requiem

Lauren Oliver

Hodder and Stoughton 2013

Requiem is the final book in Lauren Oliver's Delirium trilogy. As such, this review contains spoilers for the previous two titles. You can find our reviews of Delirium and Pandemonium by clicking on the links.

Having escaped the clutches of Deliria Free America and the vicious Scavengers, Lena and Julian thought they were home free or that they at least had the freedom of the Wilds to explore together, while cultivating their growing relationship. But the Resistance has been simmering for a while and the situation is now at boiling point. With the rebels getting bolder and the response getting harsher Lena faces the beginning of the end. To complicate matters, a face from her past – merely glimpsed at the end of Pandemonium – is back and he isn’t happy. Elsewhere, Hana has been cured of the Deliria which she half believes led her to make a decision that haunts her and affects Lena to the present day. Set to marry a Jekyll and Hyde Mayor, she can’t quite let the past go, and it scares her. Requiem tells the stories of these two very different girls whose pasts and futures inextricably intertwined with that of the society around them.

Lena is a very different girl to the one first seen in Delirium. While she certainly toughened up during her stay in the Wilds, her subsequent capture, escape and rescue of Julian from the DFA has arguably matured her more than anything. While she’s still pretty young she’s gained a focus and determination that carries her through this last instalment in Lauren Oliver’s trilogy. She’s not always nice and certainly not always fair but her actions are believable and she’s ultimately both a sympathetic and admirable character. Requiem, however, is not all about Lena – a refreshing change from the relentless (although excellent) narrative of the previous two books. Here, another story is told – that of Hana. Hana has been Cured and so, to an extent, her voice is cool, remote and analytical. Yet Hana still has feelings – it’s just that these feelings don’t rule her, even as she fears that their very existence might mean her Cure was unsuccessful. She thinks often of Lena, and more of Lena’s family, with a vague guilt and as her own situation becomes increasingly untenable, she starts to wonder if Lena had the right idea. She’s an absolutely fascinating addition to Oliver’s core story and her own personal journey is entirely compelling.

While the characters in Hana’s life are largely familiar, with the Cured’s oddly obsessive attention to image and detail, her future husband is frightening in that he has a temper. Not something that would necessarily be unusual, but in a Cured adds a truly frightening aspect to an already deeply uncomfortable situation. In Lena’s life is Julian, who is just so good. He adapts well to his new life in the Wilds, works hard, loves Lena with an entrancing innocence and is thoughtful enough to give her the space that she needs. And she really does need that space of course, because Alex – long thought dead – has returned. Alex, like Lena, has gone through a bit of a metamorphosis. Gone is the loving figure of Delirium and in his place is a young man of hard edges, scars and bitterness. He’s frequently cruel, often irritating and always entirely understandable.

The story that runs through Requiem is two pronged. On one hand it is a story of rebellion, resistance and the road to war while on the other it is a study of love, relationships and the myriad of emotions that both create and end them. These two aspects run seamlessly alongside each other being, as they have always been in Oliver’s beautifully realised world, so hopelessly intertwined. One of the most interesting ideas touched upon is that Lena and Julian only know that there is Deliria – love – and the alternative Cure. They have no idea that not all romantic relationships have to begin or end with love because they have no frame of reference. Lena, in her confusion, starts to realise that some relationships – some loves even – are different to others, something that very few in her life have had the opportunity to understand. Alex, perhaps, having always been relatively free to love, understands it more than most, something that is perhaps at the heart of his bitterness.

The ending of Requiem has attracted much criticism, all of which is entirely unfounded. Lauren Oliver has never chosen to make any aspect of this trilogy easy, or pretty, or anything other than complex, reflecting the fractured and bizarre society that she has imagined. Perhaps readers have become too used to clear-cut endings, where all ends are tied up and everyone lives happily ever after. Lauren Oliver has chosen, instead, to end her trilogy in a beautifully ambiguous manner, leaving the story almost unfinished yet filled with a sense of triumph and hope, even as it is tinged with sadness. It’s not tied up in a pretty bow partly, one suspects, because Oliver respects her readership more than that. If I recall correctly, similar criticisms were levelled at Suzanne Collins’s Mockingjay and it seems to have done alright regardless. Ultimately, the Delirium trilogy is a tour de force of great world building, strong characters and extremely accomplished authorship and if its ending allows that story to continue untold, then it is all the better for it. Highly recommended.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. Requiem is available now.

Run, Rabbit, Run (Review: Sixty-One Nails by Mike Shevdon

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Adams) — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 09:08:00 +0000

Sixty-One Nails Mike Shevdon Angry Robot 2009

"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy."

While it was Shakespeare who penned that line, it seems to have been adopted as an unofficial motto by the world of urban fantasy authors. Secret worlds lurking in the shadows, another realm below our own, grotesque visages behind human masks, these are all familiar themes. And for good reason too, nothing is more conducive to some good, old-fashioned daydreaming than the possibility of pulling back the veil of the mundane to reveal unspeakable beauty or mortal danger. Mike Shevdon has taken this idea to heart in Sixty-One Nails, an urban fantasy adventure par excellence which challenges the viewer to imagine what happens when one's reality is shattered. Do you become coward or hero, observer or actor?

Sixty-One Nails follows the misadventures of Niall Petersen, an anonymous, divorced London businessman living a typically dreary and monotonous existence. His career more or less erases any possibility of a social life while his teenage daughter is used as an emotional ping-pong ball between him and his estranged ex-wife. All this changes during one trip on the subway. While waiting for a train, Niall finds himself suddenly on the floor, clasping his chest in agony and watching the world fade to blackness. Fearing an early, heart-induced end to his life suddenly an old woman leaps into view, resuscitating him and whispering some cryptic messages before disappearing. After somehow tracking her down his life is thrown into disarray. The woman, known only as Blackbird, shows him a vision of being hunted and appropriately christens him Rabbit. So far, so weird.

Before he knows it Niall has seen her transform into a bewitching 20-year old, been greeted by sewer dwelling trolls and found himself targeted for assassination by a mysterious being spreading death in the form of unstoppable mildew. After barely surviving his first night he teams up once more with Blackbird, resigned to tackle whatever is happening head-on before any harm can befall himself or, more importantly, his ex and daughter. With Rabbit as a guide he is inducted to the world of the Feyre, a world of which he has always unknowingly been a part. Magical beings have lived alongside humanity for many years in an unsteady alliance against rogue Feyre which detest mere mortals and would stop at nothing to claim the world for their own. This may soon come to pass, with events leading inexorably to an ancient royal ceremony gone awry, leading to a weakening of the barrier between our reality and that of the The Untainted.

You can probably guess the rest. It's up to hapless magical newbie Rabbit to take on immeasurably powerful foes and save both realms from certain destruction. In this respect Mike Shevdon wins no points for originality with Sixty-One Nails. As always though, the devil's in the details. There are more than enough unique touches throughout the story to keep you firmly planted in your seat and reaching for more coffee. The system of magic means each Feyre must discover their own branch of power and develop it as best they can. The division of the Feyre courts and their history leaves plenty scope for political intrigue in coming books. The queasiness-inducing relationship between Rabbit and the initially ancient Blackbird is extremely (if unintentionally) entertaining. Perhaps most accomplished of all is the ceremony at the heart of the book, utilising the titular nails. On reaching the book's end I was delighted to find it to be based on an actual ceremony and that Shevdon had provided a detailed account of the real deal.

Unfortunately, Shevdon often relies too heavily on imagination and not enough on reality. Throughout the book I constantly felt that Niall's character was underdeveloped and somewhat cardboard. His reaction to the whole situation (being half-magical and being hounded by the epitome of evil) seemed to lack anything resembling genuine surprise, fear or exhilaration. Indeed he seemed instead to be wearily resigned to his fate, with a cartoonish attitude of "End of the world eh? Oh well, let's see what happens." If as much time had been spent fleshing out Niall's psyche as was the case with Blackbird's it would have left the novel in a far better state.

That aside, if you can live with a slightly one-dimensional hero then there's a lot to recommend Sixty-One Nails. A mentioned it checks all the boxes required of urban fantasy and then goes a couple of steps further. Given the subject matter is has inevitably received countless comparisons to Neil Gaiman in general and Neverwhere in particular but these references are the result of lazy reviewing more than anything else. Mike Shevdon certainly has his own unique voice and while it may have its flaws it's still going to be worth following the Courts Of The Feyre series.

This review was brought to you by Cannonball Jones. Sixty-One Nails is available now.

Hungry Like the Wolf (review: Scarlet by Marissa Meyer)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 14:30:00 +0000

Scarlet
Marrisa Meyer
Puffin 2013

Scarlet Benoit is on her own. Her beloved Grandmother is missing and no-one seems to care. Dragged from the quiet existence of her farm, Scarlet finds herself drawn into a world of street-fighting, marked men and swirling conspiracy. Unsure where to turn, she finds herself accompanying the mysterious fighter, wolf – a hungry young man, steeped in secrets, lies and possibly a little bit of truth. As they make their way through the French countryside to a Paris on the verge of a new revolution, Scarlet must battle to save her family, save herself and figure out whether Wolf deserves to be saved at all. Meanwhile back at the ranch (ranch here meaning high security prison), Cinder is starting a journey of her own (journey, here, meaning high octane escape attempt). Along the way, she picks up the charming yet possibly quite dim, Thorne (Captain, not Cadet) and replaces Iko's lost body with that of a large space ship. The three of them make an unlikely force against the evil Lunar Queen but as paths converge and situations deepen, they and Scarlet and Wolf and Emperor Kai find themselves on the front line in a battle for planet Earth.

As with Cinder, Scarlet makes for an enjoyable protagonist. Clear thinking, if somewhat distraught, she stubbornly refuses to accept her Grandmother's disappearance and kowtow to authority. She doesn't trust Wolf but sees him as a means to the end, even if it means going against her gut instinct when deciding to let him help her. Wolf himself is rather nicely written. He's just animalistic enough to have readers questioning his motives yet has the aura of a dog that's been mistreated, an almost puppy like attitude to Scarlet that is particularly effective when contrasted to his somewhat violent nature. The friendship that starts to grow between them is interesting in that neither seem to wish it and even at the end of the story one suspects they are in for a bumpy ride when getting to know each other better.

Cinder is as likable in Scarlet as she was in her titular installment. Struggling with her newly acquired knowledge of the past, she is more than a little lost in the present. Unsure of where to go, she realises that part of her story certainly has roots in France and sets off there with little idea of where to go next. She's a little bit scared and a little bit sad, with Kai still on her mind but she's also focused, smart and in posession of a decent sense of humour. Additional humour comes from the gloriously vain Thorne, who's inflated self worth and bravura is tempered with real courage and the lovely Iko, who is distraught to find herself so entirely enormous. The dialogue between Iko and Thorne is particularly funny and both are great additions to Cinder's ongoing story.

And her story is an increasingly entertaining one. Levana fits the role of fairytale Evil Queen rather beautifully and her and her minions are genuinely creepy and suitably hard to imagine beaten. Cinder's growing band of allies have much to fight against and find themselves aggressively sought by both familiar and all new bad guys. While the book may carry Scarlet's name this remains the story of Cinder and her Lunar heritage with the girls carrying the narrative together, with dual points of view. Additionally, there are shorter sections set in Beijing, seen through the eyes of Kai. These contains some of the most effective passages with Kai emerging as truly honourable even when facing impossible choices.

Marissa Meyer's world building remains rather excellent with her vision of Earth, Lunar and their political strife continuing to be detailed and believable. Now that the story is truly underway, Scarlet manages to improve upon the storytelling that was already impressive in Cinder. With Cress due out next year, it will be interesting to see how Meyer continues to weave new characters into a tale that is slowly building to what could be a truly thrilling climax. If you liked Cinder, you're going to love this – if you've yet to pick up either then treat yourself to some fairy-tale sci fi, it's a whole lot of fun.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird who is entirely aware that those of you who grew up in the '80's will be singing Duran Duran ALL DAY. You're welcome. Scarlet is available now, thank you to Puffin for providing us with a copy to review.

The Tell Tale Heart (Review of The Boy with the Cuckoo-Clock Heart by Mathias Malzieu)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Adams) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 14:30:00 +0000

The Boy with the Cuckoo-Clock Heart

Mathias Malzieu

Vintage 2011

Jack doesn't have the best start to life. The bastard child of an Edinburgh prostitute, he is delivered into the world into a small house on top of Arthur's Seat in the middle of a freezing winter in 1874. Adding insult to injury, his heart seems to be malfunctioning. Dr Madeleine (midwife, doctor, engineer and suspected witch) does her best, bolstering his failing organ with the mechanism from a cuckoo-clock. He somehow pulls through and, immediately abandoned by his mother, becomes a potential adoptee in Dr Madeleine's orphanage of oddities. He must also learn to live with the limitations imposed by his frail clockwork circulation - he can never touch it, never get excited and, more important than not feeding Mogwai after midnight, must never ever fall in love.

This isn't the end of Jack's troubles. Nobody wants a boy who goes 'tick, tock, tick, tock' all day long. Left on the shelf by Edinburgh's childless couples, he resigns himself to life with his eccentric family of drunks and whores. All this changes the day he finally ventures into the city, aching to explore life beyond the formerly volcanic peak of his home. Fate drives him into the path of Acacia, a beautiful young girl singing with an angelic voice which immediately captivates him. She ignites a passion within Jack which soon finds him facing down bullies, sharing a train carriage with Jack The Ripper, befriending George Melies and travelling across Europe to track her down and proclaim his love.

Mathias Malzieu's The Boy With The Cuckoo-Clock Heart is by turns entrancing and infuriating. The prose can be wonderful, with turns of phrase which will have your highlighter running dry by the time you're finished. The fact that I read a translation of a French original makes this all the more remarkable. Understandably it sometimes stumbles but on the whole it is a gorgeous, flowing read. The infuriation comes from Jack himself, a leading character whose obvious infirmity pleads for sympathy from the start but whose outright obsession makes him a difficult boy to root for.

His pursual of Acacia begins as a dashing adventure, seeking high and low and discovering new countries, before it starts to sink in that underneath it all, maybe Jack isn't playing with a full deck. This single-minded mission drives him to all but forget his friends back in Edinburgh. He fails to truly interact with anyone else, isolating himself and avoiding anything approaching intimacy, utterly blinded by his passion. Looking back at the book I began to think that this is perhaps deliberate - if he only had a working heart, which Acacia could perhaps grant him, then he might stand a chance of living a normal life. However it also serves to give the book an unwelcome level of discomfort which is jarring when set against the fairytale atmosphere kindled elsewhere.

Turning our attention to the object of his affections, Acacia is similarly flawed in character. I realise that we can't expect perfection from literary characters any more than those in real life but the reader really struggles to appreciate what Jack sees in her. Regardless of Jack's impossibly flawless, lovestruck descriptions she seldom appears to truly care for anyone in her life. Her moods swing from aloofness to apathy by way of the odd bout of righteous indignation, making it difficult to truly care whether Jack can finally breach the gates to her heart - in fact you may find yourself hoping for the opposite!

Despite these flaws, The Boy With The Cuckoo-Clock Heart remains an engaging read, and a brief one at that. There are enough well-crafted turns within its covers to warm most jaded hearts, from Jack's childhood friends, the bizarre yet compassionate prostitutes Anna and Luna to the caricature of legendary film pioneer George Melies joining an Andalusian circus. The magical realm which Mathias Malzieu has constructed within eaily-recongisable historical and geographical settings mostly offsets any annoyances which the main characters engender. If you can switch off your inner critic for a few hours and just enjoy a good story well told then The Boy With The Cuckoo-Clock Heart is definitely one to add to the fireside, rainy day reading list.

This review was brought to you by Cannonball Jones. The Boy with the Cuckoo-Clock Heart is available now.

Bittersweet Symphony (Review of Clockwork Princess by Cassandra Clare)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 15:13:00 +0000

Clockwork Princess
Cassandra Clare
Walker Books 2013

Clockwork Princess is the third and final book in Cassandra Clare's Infernal Devices series. This review contains spoilers for the previous two books (Clockwork Angel and Clockwork Prince). You have been warned.

The Institute of London is full of wedding preparation, surprise siblings, unspoken and forthcoming infants. Life, for Tessa, Will and Jem is being lived. Yet all is far from well. Will continues to hide feelings that he cannot control, Tessa continues to feel torn between the two people she cares most for and Jem continues to approach the end of his life with untimely haste. Over and above all, Mortmain, with his Machiavellian machinations and clockwork minions, continues to lurk in the shadows – poised to strike at any time. In this, the final instalment of Cassandra Clare’s Infernal Devices, the inhabitants of the London Shadowhunter institute must make a final stand against a seemingly insurmountable enemy while Tessa must also come to terms with who she is, who she loves and the prospect of a long, long life.

Tessa Gray has come a long way since the start of her story. She’s learnt some difficult truths, faced some catastrophic situations and met people who will be part of her for the rest of her life yet her core personality remains largely unchanged. She remains hugely and enjoyably stubborn, extremely loyal and still a little in awe of the world that she now inhabits. Her inability to forget about Will, despite her engagement to Jem should make her unlikable but it’s hard not to pity her rather impossible situation. Her slow acceptance of her immortality and how she deals with it is interesting and her attitude towards it slowly starts to mirror Magnus’s in being one of careful, yet never entirely selfish, self-preservation. When you know you’re going to outlive everyone you love, perhaps leaving them before they can leave you is something we all would consider and Clare looks at this idea towards the end of Clockwork Princess to interesting affect.

Jem, while playing a powerful and fascinating role in this final book, remains largely in the background. He’s dying, and his inherently kind nature shines through as he starts to prepare everyone for his demise. Of all character arcs his is perhaps the least easy to predict and easily the most compelling in that it is pivotal to the story of each protagonist. Jem, from the outset of the Infernal Devices, has been a delightful character but occasionally seemed a little too perfect. Here, Clare finally subtly displays an edge to his character in a later conversation with Tessa, proving that still waters run deep. And then there is Will – and this is very much Will’s story. In fact, one suspects that the Infernal Devices have all been Will’s story. Now released from his presumed curse he finds himself able to love and express love and this now extends far further than his feelings towards Tessa. His sister Cecily is now a Shadowhunter, much to his consternation, and brings out harsher and softer aspects to his previously sardonic personality while his friendship and love for Jem become almost transformative. He’s extremely well written and utterly heart-breaking in his devotion to those he cares about, perhaps especially when he shows it least.

Other characters are all well represented, each telling their own story, however small. The Lightwood brothers remain pretty interesting, particularly Gabriel who struggles to pick the right path despite being clearly aware what that path should be. Magnus is as welcome a character as always and his friendship with Will is truly touching explaining why, perhaps, Magnus is later so instantly fascinated by Alec.

The story itself is a more than adequate ending to what is arguably Clare’s strongest series. Mortmain is the best kind of villain – one driven by utter conviction that he is righting the world of a terrible wrong. This wrong, in fact, once more casts a light into the less savoury aspects of the Shadowhunters as do the letters that pass between Consul Wayland and Idris throughout the book. Clare’s inclination to highlight the dark politicking (surely a name for another series right there, yes?) of the Clave has always made her stories that little bit more interesting – the Shadowhunters are a fascinating bunch, indeed. Much has been made of the epilogue at the end of Clockwork Princess. Epilogues are always contentious but I suspect that had Cassandra Clare not written hers she would have been asked, ad nauseum, the questions she answers in those final pages. Like it or not, and I absolutely did, it’s extremely skilled and pleasingly circuitous storytelling.

The Infernal Devices has been a joy to read from start to finish. From the brilliantly envisioned Shadowhunter Victoriana to the incredibly moving denouement it deserves all the praise it has received. For the eagle eyed reader, it feeds beautifully into the Mortal Instruments series both answering and presenting some interesting questions. Certainly, each character in Clockwork Princess receives an ending that seems fitting – even if certain endings bring many tears to the eye. Finally, as if it weren’t already pretty damn brilliant, the story contains a Hollow Mountain. Which may or may not contain an Evil Lair. And everyone knows that Evil Lairs in Hollow Mountains are cool. For that, and everything else, tops marks, Clare – top marks.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. Clockwork Princess is available now, wherever you buy books and we'd like to thank Walker Books for providing us with a copy of this title to review.

Wild Boy Blog Tour - Making a Hero

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 08:00:00 +0000

I'm delighted today to be joined by author Rob Lloyd Jones and to promote his debut YA novel, Wild Boy. Wild Boy is a massively enjoyable romp that is both witty, unique, effective and hugely evocative of a world that exists in that special space between whimsy and history. The titular character serves as freak-show attraction comes Holmes-ian detective, ably assisted by his trusty sidekick/arch nemesis, Clarissa, who trapezes her way through the twists and turns of what is never anything but a brilliant and original read. Great characters and a compelling story should have Wild Boy cartwheeling out of the shops and onto your shelves as soon as possible.

Today, Rob's going to talk to you about a finding Wild Boy - a protagonist like none other - and turning him into a hero:

Hi and thanks for having me on The Mountains of Instead.

I wanted to talk about how I met my hero. Some writers say their heroes just come. It is as if an angel floats down and whispers everything they need to know about the character. The protagonist of my new book – Wild Boy – made things a little harder for me.

I wanted to write about a detective. I love good mystery tales – from Sherlock Holmes to Sam Spade, Jonathan Creek to Scooby Doo. But, with some of them, I don’t really understand why the hero is a detective, other than just because. It’s an incredible skill, to spot clues that others do not. Surely a great detective (and by gosh I wanted mine to be the greatest ever) would have to train to develop that talent? He would plan to be a detective. I had lots of fun story ideas but, frustratingly, I couldn’t think of a good enough reason for my hero to be a detective.

So I slid the problem aside and turned instead to my second favourite kind of reading – history books. I’d had this dusty volume called Seventy Years a Showman beside my bed for ages (okay, it wasn’t that dusty before I put it beside my bed), the memoirs of the legendary Victorian circus owner Lord George Sanger. Sanger tells some outrageous fibs (not least with his name; he gave himself the title ‘lord’), but I instantly fell in love with the world he evoked – a world of mud-splattered caravans rattling from fair to fair, of showmen yelling at crowds through speaking trumpets, of peep shows, puppet shows, conjurers and card sharps.

And, of course, of freak shows.

Gaudy banners hung across these rickety caravans, boasting of mermaids, giants, savages and other ‘prodigies of nature’. The performers inside were, of course, nothing of the sort. They were just people who looked different, making a living the only way they thought possible. Some of them – the younger ones especially – were treated with merciless cruelty by their showmen. I’ll never forget the story of the Gargantuan Man, who cried himself to sleep each night from shame, or the tragedy of the Scotch Giant – discovered in his caravan one morning starved to death.

I hated this world but, wow, I loved it. The more I read about freak shows, the clearer I pictured one of the performers – a boy covered in hair and confined to a caravan. As he spies on the crowds outside, dreaming of being ‘normal’, he learns to read their lives from tiny details about their faces and clothes...

He becomes a detective.

I knew then that I’d found my hero – a master detective who had no idea of his extraordinary ability. Only then, finally, did that friendly angel float down and whisper, “Now get writing buddy.”

Thanks, Rob, for such an interesting and insightful post. Please be sure to buy a copy of Wild Boy (published tomorrow, 4th April, by Walker Books) and check out the final stops on Rob's blog tour (which you can find on the banner in the left side bar). Thanks, also, to Hannah at Walker Books for organising such an interesting tour and for sending us a copy of the book to review.

I Am Not Yet Born; Forgive Me (review: Quintana of Charyn by Melina Marchetta)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 17:12:00 +0000

Quintana of Charyn

Melina Marchetta

Viking Australia 2012

Quintana of Charyn is the third and final book of the Lumatere Chronicles and this review contains spoilers for both Finnikin of the Rock and Froi of the Exiles. You have been warned.

Shot through with arrows, Froi of the Exiles awakes to find that he has lost that which he loves most. Frightened and alone, Quintana of Charyn clings desperately to the hope she carries within her and journeys towards people she has never met, believing that she may find kindness within them. Isaboe of Lumatere fights the bitterness in her own heart and faces decisions that she feels ill equipped to make. Elsewhere, Lucian of the Monts grieves in his valley while Finnikin of the Rock battles with hubris and confusion. Finally, in a dark cave, sits Thaedra of Alonso fighting not only for her own survival but for that of Charyn. The ultimate fate of Lumatere lies now in the hands of them all, but most particularly in the hands of Froi who tries again and again to do what needs to be done, fighting through a sea of old lies and fresh rivalries to bring together two lands and more importantly, two women who have yet to realise that they need each other to truly survive the horror of their respective pasts.

Of all the characters who appear in the Lumatere Chronicles, the most compelling has always been Froi. From the repugnant thief first encountered in Finnikin of the Rock, to the confused, often immature young man in Froi of theExiles it is his story that has been most arresting, his passages that have seemed most truthful. The Froi of Quintana of Charyn is still growing, still learning and sometimes still confused but what matters to him has crystallised, hardened to create an immovable moral core. He's extremely principled, unerringly loyal (even when, as is seen repeatedly in this final book, his loyalties are split) and entirely focused. He's also heartbreaking. His slow realisation that he will have no part of his son's life and his acceptance that this falls under the banner of Things That Need to Be Done is extremely moving. Of all the characters in the book, he is the one most inclined to optimism – something that is quite extraordinary and which characterises him best.

Considering that Quintana of Charyn contains sections from the point of view of almost all the main characters, each individual in beautifully realised. Isaboe gets a little more page time here and it becomes clear that Evanjalin of the Monts is never far away – something that seemed to get a little lost in the second book. She's another strong character (all of them are, but particularly the women) but is continuing to battle the loss of her family and the anger and grief this engenders. She is rather beautifully contrasted with the erratic and terrified Quintana, who remains as feral as ever yet emerges as a force to be reckoned with. Quintana loves as fiercely as she hates and, at her core, is extremely vulnerable yet never shies away from a good fight. A character who was hard to get a bead on in Froi of the Exiles, she emerges as one who is strange but incredibly admirable. She also has a stunning narrative voice, written almost in iambic pentameter. She sings out to Froi, and if the song be painful, it is nothing if not beautiful, imbuing Quintana with a softness that tempers her more jagged edges.

Finnikin continues to struggle with his role in life, something that Marchetta refuses to drop and rightly so. His pride continues to get in the way of his personal life and his inner struggle and stubborn nature lend believability to his character. Lucian is another who has matured over the course of the story of Lumatere and his arrogance continues to ebb as he becomes a worth leader of his beloved Monts. Thaedra of Alonso remains one of the more striking characters, a quiet woman with incredible strength and a true understanding of sacrifice. Elsewhere, the story of Perry and Tessadora is finally told, old hurts sting less and lies crumble in the face of truth. And each and every character gets a satisfying and believable conclusion to their story.

As one has come to expect, Melina Marchetta's writing is arresting and holds a quiet truth. This can be seen in all of her work, but the scale of the Lumatere Chronicles highlights her skill in a way not seen previously. The story contained within Quintana of Charyn is one of hope, of the belief that life can be better – that it should be better. The horrors of Lumatere and Charyn's pasts have left scars that will never fully heal, but Marchetta has created a group of characters, in all their flawed glory, who attempt to see past their personal pain to a future that leans, as she so beautifully puts it, on the side of wonder. The story of Lumatere is written in blood, tears, fear and loss yet it carries a message of rebirth that is fantastically moving and if the ending thrills with high sentiment it is more than welcome in the conclusion of a story that has so often screeched of the evil that men do.

Each year, for three years now, a Marchetta book has made the top ten here at The Mountains of Instead. 2013 will be no different. Pick up any of this author's books but make sure that you get around to Finnikin of the Rock before too long – it's the start of an utterly mesmerising, startlingly relevant and awesomely beautiful story that ends entirely perfectly in this, the final chapter.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird who would like to point out that while Quintana of Charyn is available via Fishpond now, it's has yet to be picked up by a UK publisher - as has the majority of Melina Marchetta's work. UK PUBLISHING INDUSTRY - GET TO IT.

Super Short Hiatus

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 11:45:00 +0000

Due to a very poorly child and a house which sounds like a veritable consumption ward, I'm taking a short break. I'll be back in about a week, once I've managed to rid the place of snotty tissues and written up some of the many books I'm getting through.

Au revoir.

A Great Perhaps (Review: Looking for Alaska by John Green)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Adams) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 15:00:00 +0000

Looking for Alaska
John Green
Dutton 2005

Warning: here be spoilers...

Miles Halter is sixteen years old and going nowhere. His grades at school are good enough, he perfectly fits the parental mould of ‘good soon' but something is lacking. As a shy, awkward teen he has some problems making friends. Cue his unlikely decision to transfer to Culver Creek Boarding School in search of a ‘great perhaps’, a motivator which will kickstart his uneventful life. You should be careful what you wish for, as he soon discovers to tragic effect.

Arriving at Culver Creek, he is brusquely greeted by his new roommate Chip who promptly christens him ‘Pudge’ on account of his wiry frame. Chip is the lynchpin of the underground social scene at school; facilitating friendships, organising pranks and generally minding the social welfare of the bunch of misfits he has adopted. He outright refuses to take Miles under his wing but nevertheless shows him the ropes - how to avoid the unwanted attentions of the Dean (aka ‘the Eagle’), distinguishing between the scholarship kids (Chip, et al) and the ‘Weekday Warriors (local rich kids), procuring illicit substances and other skills essential to surviving life at Culver Creek.

Then he meets Alaska. Like a bolt from the blue he is struck dumb by her carefree attitude, her vitriolic wit and her dazzling good looks. Alaska already has a boyfriend but this does not deter Pudge, he is deeply smitten from the moment they meet and refuses to let go of his aching crush. That Alaska oozes sexuality and flirts the way most people breathe only serves to draw him in deeper, despite being set up with her Romanian friend Lara.

Time wears on and Chip settles in well, never seeming entirely comfortable in his own skin but becoming an integral part of his little group. Pranks are played, mayhem is caused and the usual bouts of teen angst arise and are dispelled with aplomb. At times it’s like the school you always wish you could have attended, with the friends you wish wish you’d had (or been). You get comfortable. And this is when your brain really starts to notice the chapter titles...

The first chapter is headed ‘one hundred thirty six days before’, each slowly counting down to some inevitable event which, you soon realise, is going to occur halfway through the book. Sure enough Alaska’s instability begins to manifest itself more often, her flirtatious and self-destructive sides clashing with each other regularly. Suddenly one night she bursts into Chip and Miles’s room in floods of tears, extremely drunk and needing to escape from the school. In the blink of an eye she’s gone, for good.

The ‘after’ chapters form the meat of Looking For Alaska as Chip and Miles struggle to come to terms with their loss and lose themselves in a futile quest to find out what really happened to her. Lara and their confidante Takumi try their best to offer sympathy and shoulders to cry on but Miles is too busy looking for Alaska, trying to tie up the loose ends her death left behind. Did she love him? Why was she leaving? Was her death truly an accident?

Knowing that her death is written in stone before even picking up the book doesn’t serve to diminish its impact in the slightest. John Green manages to squeeze every drop of empathy he can for his troubled teens. Even in their darkest and most idiotic moments he forges a bond between them and the reader, making it impossible not to be shaken by the tragedy. It says a lot that I, a hardened aficionado of horror and sci-fi, would be choking back sniffles while reading this on a long train journey.

Looking For Alaska raised some predictably idiotic controversy for its depiction of teen smoking, drinking and sexual activity, completely missing the point of the story. Lurking in the background, in their religion classes, conversations and idle thoughts, there is always the question, “What is it all about?” Everything Miles and his friends do is in some way linked to the eternal problem of suffering and its potential alleviation. Indeed, Alaska’s challenge to Miles was to answer the sadly prophetic question, “How will I ever get out of this labyrinth?”, and the last act of the book is a painful yet beautiful exploration of different answers. His eventual reply, delivered in his final religion paper which teacher Dr Hyde dedicates to the memory of Alaska, is a deeply moving reflection on growing, living and dealing with life.

Reading Looking For Alaska removed me well and truly from my comfort zone of future worlds and alternate pasts. It took my emotions and smacked them up and down the street for a while before comforting them with soothing words. Despite the darkness looming over the ‘after’ section I was still silently praying for it not to end. That this was John Green’s first novel only fills me with excitement to discover how he’s further honed his craft.

This review was brought to you by Cannonball Jones. Looking for Alaska is available now. And it's bloody brilliant. That is all.

Of Gods and Monsters (Review: The Bunker Diary by Kevin Brooks)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 19:17:00 +0000

The Bunker Diary
Kevin Brooks
Penguin 2013

Linus has been snatched from the street by a man he believed to be blind. Clearly, he was tricked by the man’s helpless act, because he wakes to find himself in a sparsely furnished room – just a bed, a bedside cabinet, a blank notebook, a pen and a bible. On exploration, he finds a five identical rooms, a basic kitchen and bathroom and a short corridor leading to an elevator. The elevator goes up, it goes down, the lights go on and off. Nothing else. Until, a few days later, the elevator opens to reveal Jenny, a young girl. Later still, it drops off a variety of drugged or drunk adults – hard man, Fred; fat Bird; snobby Anja and fragile, intelligent Russell.

Linus’s story is brought to us via the notebook he finds in his room. He writes directly to the reader, whom he suspects might be his captor but who he is aware could be anyone from a prospective rescuer to no-one at all. As he writes, his situation becomes increasingly hopeless and his tone changes from defiant to resigned to scared. He’s clearly a principled young man but one who hasn't always made the best decisions. When we first meet him, he is living on the street but it soon becomes clear that he has run from a life of privilege, past grief and an erratic father who seems (at least in Linus’s unreliable narrative) to have completely lost the ability to connect with his son. However, despite his status us teen runaway there is no drama about Linus. He’s steady, solid and (for the most part) thinks things through carefully. His interactions with the adults in the group show a real maturity – often far more than they themselves demonstrate – and his street smarts go a long way towards protecting himself and pre-teen Jenny.

The other characters are all extremely well realised. Bird is corpulently selfish, drunken, arrogant, lecherous. Anja, for her part, is easily recognisable as a self-obsessed woman, whose navel gazing translates into real unpleasantness during her time in the bunker. There’s an interesting and unsettling undertone to her knowing semi-seduction of Bird. She’s arrogant enough to realise that even the merest suggestion of a liaison might provide her with a useful ally but equally disgusted when he appears to wish to act on her hints. The two of them are real in the worse possible way. Fred is perhaps even more interesting. He’s certainly frightening, especially when it transpires that he is a junkie without a fix, but he shows oddly gentle moments and appears to be able to reign in what is surely a violent temper. Yet, just when he seems OK, he’ll weave insidious threats into an innocuous conversation, never allowing Linus (or the reader) to relax in his presence. Finally, Russell for all his fragility, provides a voice of reason and knowledge. But even he is entirely fallible and never truly becomes the figure of authority that Linus is seeking in this nightmare.

The plot itself is eerily simple. The six of them are watched by cameras, listened to by microphones and almost entirely left to their own devices. If they need food, they put a list in the elevator and it generally appears. However, try to escape or be in any way subversive and they are severely punished. The captivity and helplessness of their situation affects them all in different ways. While they at first attempt to work together, their somewhat disparate personalities (not to mention the odd helping hand by their mysterious kidnapper) eventually leads things to deteriorate to hellish levels. It’s not pretty but in the wee small hours (in which this story will haunt you) it doesn't seem all that unlikely.

As one might expect from Brooks, the writing here is harshly effective. The kidnapper is never seen but is, to his detainees, all seeing and all powerful. They refer to him as Him, He, The Man Upstairs and the pattern of penance and punishment, along with the presence of a Bible in each room more than suggests an extended metaphor for a vengeful God. In fact, when their captor does contact them he prefixes his statements with “My Word:” which again has biblical resonance. I’m not sure exactly what Brooks is trying to say here, but it’s not a positive comment on an omnipotent yet ineffable God, that’s for sure. Not far into the book, Jenny realises that in order to get what they want they should say sorry, essentially ask for forgiveness, for anything they've done wrong and this seems to propagate the personification of the kidnapper as a God-like figure. And this idea leads, to an extent, to inertia – they stop trying to escape because he has, in their minds, become all powerful. They are ants under the microscope of L'Enfant Terrible and the ideas this provokes are disturbing and frightening to the last page.

This isn't an easy read. In fact, it’s an incredibly bleak and a brutal examination of human nature - looking at the group in both active and reactive states. Yet, while it's all very grim, Kevin Brooks has a way of writing darkness simply, compellingly and with such honesty that it’s impossible to put his work down once you pick it up. The Bunker Diary is Brooks at his best and brutal worst and should be on the shelves of both avid readers and classrooms up and down the country.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. The Bunker Diary is published in the UK today. Thanks to the publisher for providing us with this title to review.

I'm on my Knees, Looking for the Answer (review of Fragments by Dan Wells)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 15:30:00 +0000

Fragments

Dan Wells

Harper Collins 2013

Fragments is the second book in Dan Well's Partials Sequence. This review contains spoilers for the first book FROM THE FIRST SENTENCE. You have been warned.

Having returned victorious from her sojourn to the world of Partials, Kira is being hailed as a local hero. Finder of the cure for RM, she should be able to relax a little, bask in the glory… Yet Kira knows now that she is more different to the rest of East Meadow than she could possibly have imagined, she’s no more human than the Partial, Samm. Additionally, she knows that the ongoing failure to synthesise the cure for RM is leading in only one direction: war. With only a vague message from her missing guardian, Nandita, and her own gut instincts, Kira sets out to investigate RM, the Partials and the company at the root of it all, Paragen.

Kira remains as likable in Fragments as she was in Partials. She remains stubborn, but despite the lack of first person narrative, her often impulsive (sometimes disastrous) decisions always seem understandable. Her inner battle with the knowledge of her true nature is underplayed but ongoing and provides an interesting landscape on which to build her tentative (and, for the most part, pragmatic) friendship with Samm, not to mention relative newcomer, Heron. She tries hard to understand them, while still struggling with the fact that they are not human and that nor, in fact, is she. It makes for some interesting moments.

Heron herself is a bit of an enigma. Different from other Partials by design, her motives are endlessly unclear. Despite this, she is often the voice of reason in difficult situations, and oft times the saviour of the group that she and Kira find themselves with. The third member of this group is the lumbering Afa Demoux. An odd man-child, Afa is the erstwhile IT director of Paragen and has lived alone for 12 years, believing himself to be the last human on earth (a belief that alters not a jot when confronted by Kira). He’s a character who engenders pity and fear, as well as a fair bit of respect. The situation he is placed in by Kira is difficult and unfair, yet heartbreakingly necessary and he adds a welcome new dynamic to the storyline.

The final member of Kira’s gang is Samm. Interestingly, Fragments starts from his perspective, which is both coolly remote yet oddly emotional. He, more than even the strange Heron, is often almost robotic in his lack of emotion yet his fierce belief in Kira betrays deep waters under a still surface. As he slowly learns to emote via vocal and facial expression he becomes accessible to the reader at much the same time he becomes accessible to Kira herself. He’s a solid character, who becomes more interesting as the story progresses. By the end of the book he is by far the most compelling, despite spending much of the story as an observer, as he steps to the fore in an act of both bravery and possible sacrifice. Elsewhere, we see East Meadow through the eyes of Marcus, another character who comes to the fore in Fragments. While he still has a fairly laid back view of the world can come across as dangerously flippant, Marcus emerges here as the best kind of character – one who regularly exhibits a practical bravery despite the fact that it makes him want to pee himself. He’s incredibly likable and adds an additional, often slightly lighter, component to what is essentially a pretty grim story.

The plot of Fragments is fairly straightforward. Kira and her merry men set off across America to find both the heart of Paragen and hopefully a workable cure for both RM and the issue of the Partial expiration date. As they set off, they are aware that Partial leader Dr. Morgan is busy waging war on the small group of humans on Long Island and that the answers they search for may be the only chance of avoiding out and out annihilation of both species. Back at the ranch, Marcus teams up with the military to find answers of his own both about the mysterious Nandita, Kira and the various factions with in the Partial ranks. It’s all fascinating and nicely written, if a bit predictable. The answers are ultimately uncovered have been hinted at previously but they way in which they are found does lend itself to the odd twist.

The writing is a great improvement on (the perfectly enjoyable) Partials, with the sections set in the toxic Badlands particularly arresting. In general, Well’s physical vision of a world in ruins is striking (if not original for anyone who’s read I Am Legend or suchlike) and his series veers more to Sci Fi than out and out dystopia – not a bad thing when YA dystopia is an increasingly overcrowded arena. The end of Fragments is pretty brilliant, with cliff-hangers abounding and promises of a thrilling final chapter in what has turned out to be a very clever series. Recommended to those of you looking for something a little different in your dystopia, certainly we’ll be looking forward to finding out what happens next here at Mountains of Instead.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird. Fragments published in the UK on 28th March 2013. Thanks to the publisher (via NetGalley) for providing us with this title to review.

Neil Gaiman, Writer Genius.

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 16:38:00 +0000

I've been a fan of Neil Gaiman for a long, long time. I first came across him in my mid-teens, when a copy of Good Omens was pressed into my hands. I'd long since discovered, Terry Pratchett, the co-writer of this gloriously apocalyptic tale of a young anti-Christ, but Gaiman was a mystery to me. I was instantly hooked on his curious blend of lyrical language, humour and not a little touch of darkness. Incidentally, the protagonists of Good Omens, Crowley and Aziraphale, to this day (despite many re-reads) continue to inhabit my head looking like this:

Best. Author. Photo. Ever.

You can read about Good Omens several places in the Mountains of Instead, including here and here.

It took me a few years to look up Gaiman's other work. I started with Stardust and was utterly enchanted, swiftly following it up with Neverwhere which remains one of my all time favourite books. I still walk through London half believing in a world beneath my feet. I talk more about it in the second link of the two above.

Later still, I discovered Coraline, which terrified me and The Graveyard Book, which made me think about many Big Ideas. I then tore through Fragile Things and Smoke and Mirrors - both full of beautiful writing and stories that are glittering gifts to anyone who loves words. When my daughter was born, my reader relationship with Neil Gaiman took on a deeply personal note as I spent many nights reading Blueberry Girl over her crib in the kind of desperate prayer that every mother makes for her daughter and which Gaiman manages to articulate perfectly. You can listen to Neil reading Blueberry Girl here (warning, may cause uncontrollable sobbing).

As my daughter started to appreciate books herself, we read Gaiman's books together. From The Wolves in The Walls and Crazy Hair to the stunning Instructions, they all contain great adventures that we continue to enjoy.

In part because I have a five year old and in larger part because I love everything the man writes I'm delighted that Gaiman has yet another children's book on the horizon: Fortunately, The Milk. Honestly, I'd buy it for the somewhat surreal title alone but it's the story of a perilous journey to get one very important carton of milk - a story that contains a Jewel named the Eye of Splod, time travel, dinosaurs, volcanic gods and a Pirate Queen! Seriously, what's not to like?! Fortuntely, The Milk is published by Bloomsbury in September and you can listen to Neil tell you all about it here:

On listening to this, my five year old's eyes just about popped out of her head.

And as if that is not enough, the man has another adult book also appearing this year. The Ocean at the End of the Lane (these titles!) is out in June and is a modern fantasy about three women, one of whom believes her duck pond is the ocean and one of whom can remember the big bang who are the final hope for a protagonist battling the dark.

What is so amazing about Gaiman is that he has the ability to write anything. From dark fantasy, to humour, to children's tales, to Doctor Who, the man can do no wrong. And when he's not writing, he's out there using beautiful words to inspire others to create things, imagine things, be things.... Which is what I'll leave you with as I sit down with American Gods.

See? So if you haven't discovered Neil Gaiman yet - then DISCOVER HIM. And do it now.

Shadows Hold Their Breath (Review: The Gathering Dark by Leigh Bardugo

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 11:04:00 +0000

The Gathering Dark/Shadow and Bone

Leigh Bardugo

Indigo 2012

Alina Starkov has never been anything special. An orphan among many orphans, and a fairly unattractive one at that, the only thing she’s ever really had going for her is her friendship with Mal, a fellow orphan who is the light to Alina’s dark. Alina and Mal are inhabitants of Ravka, a land inhabited by the normal and by the Grisha. The Grisha are those with the ability to manipulate the elements and are set apart from the general populace, led by the strange Darkling and coveted by the King. They are also at the heart of the Unsea, a Shadow Fold of darkness, inhabited by strange and terrifying birdlike beings, that separates Ravka from its own coast. Created by the long dead Black Heretic, the Unsea is stifling the land and with neighbours of varying friendliness the land is reaching boiling point. Come of age, Alina and Mal find themselves in the King’s Army, accompanying a faction of Grisha across the Unsea, when they are attacked by the birdlike Volcra. Despite having shown no Grisha tendencies in her childhood, Alina finds herself exhibiting a skill so rare as to put her in great danger – one that could save the whole country but which will, in all likelihood, move her out of Mal’s world forever.

Alina is a character who at first seems to know herself entirely. She’s aware that she’s not much to look at and, unlike many female protagonists who seem to think this while actually being horribly attractive to all around the (er, hello, Bella) this seems to be pretty true. She’s sickly looking and not very strong. Her strength seems to come largely from her friendship with Mal – a still point in a shifting sea. However, as she learns more about herself she comes into her own in more ways than one. While her head is turned by the beauties of the Grisha lifestyle, she remains a fairly shrewd character and her development is interesting and believable. While at first she seems rather remote, she becomes more and more likable as the story progresses and by the end has won the reader over completely with her bravery and sacrifice.

The Grisha themselves are an interesting lot. It’s hard to tell how genuine even the lovely Genya is, never mind the upper echelons of their society. Chief among them is The Darkling, whose nameless status cleverly makes him difficult to get a bead on. He’s a superbly written character and even in his most decisive and transparent moments, readers will find themselves (like Alina) wondering as to his motivation. Mal is another character who is fairly ambiguous. Seen initially as a rather ebullient child, he morphs into a hormone driven adolescent and then into an embittered young man. He is incredibly well drawn and his friendship with Alina is one of the most believable I’ve read in a long time. They interact in a way that one might expect lifelong friends to interact, squabbling lovingly and not so lovingly while trying to figure out how to be friends now that they are no longer children.

The Gathering Dark carries a very plot that twists and turns its way through the pages, never becoming remotely predictable (well, not after the first few pages, anyway). The idea of a land divided is not a new one, but the Unsea is a fabulously original creation – not to mention a very frightening one. Again, while the idea of people being able to manipulate elements may have been seen before, the Grisha most certainly have not and The Darkling’s power is truly sinister, particularly when you see its full potential. The first in a series (of course), the book ends rather beautifully, resolving the initial storyline to an extent but leaving the protagonist in a position that is incredibly perilous, in danger from both outer and inner factors.

High fantasy is a tricky genre but when it works, it works and when working it’s largely due to the author’s ability to create a believable world, which in turn comes down to the writing at the heart of their story. The writing in The Gathering Dark is extremely accomplished. The prose is simple yet incredibly evocative with the lush world of the Grisha gorgeously contrasted with the poverty of Ravka and the desolation of the Shadow Fold. Leigh Bardugo also subtly asks readers to consider the fine line between duty, obligation, free will and slavery and the characters and factions in her story all inhabit the grey moral area that one might expect in a society such as Ravka – it’s all very clever. Additionally, the story is bookended by oddly fairytale-esque chapters which are quiet, beautiful and moving.

If I were to make one criticism of this excellent title it would be regarding the UK marketing, for some reason the striking title and cover of the US edition of this book has not crossed the Atlantic and we seem to have been lumbered with a generic cover and a title that sounds like it should be part of The Wheel of Time series – hardly original. But don’t let that put you off, Bardugo has the potential to rival Kirsten Cashore and Melina Marchetta as current Queens of Fantasy and The Gathering Dark is most certainly worth a read.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird who, for the record, really quite enjoyed The Wheel of Time. The Gathering Dark is available now.

Human Voices (Review: The Fault in our Stars by John Green)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 11:16:00 +0000

The Fault in our Stars
John Green
Penguin 2013 (UK P/back)

Hazel Grace is dying. She’s been dying for quite a while from the cancerous tumours submerging her tired lungs and she is quietly resigned to the end of her personal story. This doesn’t stop her from getting a bit depressed (an understandable side effect, as she so succinctly puts it, of dying) and, some years after her initial diagnosis of fatality, she finds herself attending a support group for cancer kids. It’s not really her bag but she gets through each session exchanging silent cynicisms with one-eyed Isaac. Until the day that Isaac turns up with a friend, cancer-free Augustus Waters, who sweeps into Hazel’s life on one leg, a wave of bad video games and an overwhelming lust for life. He quickly inveigles his way into Hazel’s one great passion, the book An Imperial Affliction, and her desire to find out what happens after the last page.

Hazel is a character who jumps of the page and is far from the atypical Young Cancer Sufferer of other books. Partly, this is due to the fact that she has no hope of survival. From the day she was first diagnosed she has known that her illness was terminal and it is only due to a wonder that she continues to live at all. Additionally, Hazel does not Live Every Day As Though It Were Her Last. Rather, she watches a lot of America’s Top Model. She doesn’t feel the need to do great things but rather wishes to leave as few ripples as possible. She’s OK with her fate, she really is, but she’s not so sure about the fate of those left behind. Never more clearly is this seen than in her fascination with An Imperial Affliction and particularly in her desperation to know what happens to its protagonist’s mother. Hazel is fascinating and massively sympathetic without ever really engendering pity. She’s simply a unique and marvellous creation.

Augustus is less likely to watch life from the side lines. Having survived a pretty survivable cancer almost intact he is desperate to make his mark. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he’s driven to affect the world in a way that Hazel is not. He seems to be constantly searching for meaning and the way in which he latches on to An Imperial Affliction and its ideas is unsurprising. To say more about Augustus would detract from the pleasure you will find in reading him for yourself so suffice to say that he is a character of utter luminosity, he shall be left for you to discover alone. The list of additional characters is small yet they strong. From the minor (hilariously tragic and testicle-less Patrick) to the major (Isaac, eyeless and lovelorn) to the vital (every parent in the book) they are beautifully realised. Particularly mention, however, must go to Van Houten, a man introduced largely through the excerpts of his book, An Imperial Affliction. He is a tour de force of belligerent insanity and searing truth.

John Green has gone out of his way to avoid the tropes so often seen in Cancer Books (to the point where his characters witheringly decry the stereotypes throughout); apart from anything else, The Fault in our Stars is extremely funny. Even in its saddest moments, Green is able to surprise you with a scene that will have you crying with laughter. But not just laughter. Lest we forget, this is a book about a dying girl and if it doesn’t have you in floods of tears at least once then, quite frankly, you should consider the fact that you may not actually have a soul. Particularly moving are the portrayals of parents who deal constantly with the prospective loss of their only child. Hazel’s father is especially heart-breaking as a man prone to tears and reading this book as a parent was particularly difficult. The writing is, as one might expect from Green, excellent be it describing children leaping from bone to bone or petals strewn on water.

The Fault in our Stars is by far the most accomplished book yet from King of the Internets, Green. While all of his previous work has been impressive, there has been a tendency on his part to use his super-smart teen protagonists as a mouthpiece for what you have to assume are Big Ideas that have been rattling around his own conciousness. It’s always worked but has always left me with the suspicion that I’m really reading John Green being John Green (which, admittedly, is massively enjoyable). However, in TFIOS, he avoids this almost entirely. Hazel is his first female protagonist and he’s given her a fantastically strong, utterly unique, narrative voice. Yes, her and Gus are very bright and yes, they have a lot of deeply philosophical thoughts on the world but John Green saves the real existentialism for Van Houten and An Imperial Affliction, a book I very much hope he actually writes one day.

This is a book that feels like it should carry some sort of message in its worthy pages, but I don’t know it if does other than whatever the individual reader takes from it. Green is clearly a man who Thinks Deeply and would like us all Think Deep Thoughts. Well, mad props, Mr Green, you got me. On finishing The Fault in our Stars, I wiped away my tears and stepped outside to observe the universe wondering if it, in turn, observed me but above all awed at the ineffable elegance of it all. I hope that, on finishing this extraordinatry book, you do too.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird, who cried writing it. The Fault in our Stars is available now. Thank you to the publisher for sending us this title to review. You can also find a YAck of the book here (which contains spoilers).

Not With a Bang, With a Whimper (Review: The Dog Stars by Peter Heller)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Adams) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 11:12:00 +0000

The Dog Stars
Peter Heller
Knopf 2012

Where do you imagine yourself after the fall of civilisation? Are you a Mad Max, simply fighting for your own survival in a world gone feral? Or are you the lone scientist trying desperately to reverse whatever grim fate befell your fellow man? Do you batten down the hatches in your personal fortress, keeping the mutated hordes at bay with your private arsenal? Or do you strike out into the unknown, desperate to uncover some other fragment of your seemingly lost race? We've all played this game, at least in our minds, after an enjoyable slice of post-apocalyptic entertainment. Here's the kicker though - we don't get to choose. Life deals your hand, and in a world gone to hell it's not likely to be a good one.

This truth finds Hig, protagonist of Peter Heller's The Dog Stars, and never lets him forget it. Not long from now the world is subject to a hideous plague, unimaginable in its virulence. One by one the population drops away, victims of the bad blood. Precious few were granted the gift of natural immunity; Hig was fortunate, his wife less so. Seemingly abandoned by the rest of the world, Hig finds himself drifting from one day to the next on an abandoned airfield. A former pilot, he makes regular excursions in search of other survivors - friendly or otherwise - in The Beast, his trusty Cessna. His sole companion on these missions is Jasper, an ageing but loyal beagle.

Hig's universe is shrunk to the size of the Cessna's fuel range. The occasional interlopers into his territory are invariably unfriendly, bandits looting the remains of the ravaged world. Warnings of plague emitted from the plane's PA are usually enough to deter them. Those foolhardy enough to press on find themselves dealing with Bangley.

Gentle dreamer Hig is no Mad Max. His survival would have been drastically curtailed were it not for the other inhabitant of the airfield. Bangley is a perfect stereotype of the survivalist. Rugged, no-nonsense and with an encyclopedic knowledge of firearms, carpentry, electrics, plumbing and the rest. Thrust into an unlikely partnership the two of them settle on a deal. Hig performs reconnaissance from above while Bangley deals with trouble on the ground. Hig is the early warning system, Bangley the one-man minefield.

The Dog Stars focuses on Hig's attempts to adjust to his loss, not only of his wife but of the world at large. His present and future in tatters, he struggles to get through every hour. Bangley's brusque nature leaves Jasper as his only companion. In this stark setting even the most pedestrian of happenings becomes major news, anything to relieve the tedium of a daily grind with no end in sight. Before long a major development in Hig's life causes him to re-evaluate his situation and decide once and for all whether to continue being a passive observer of an uncaring world.

Heller pulls no punches in his treatment of Hig. The Dog Stars is the first book I have read in years which has had me on the verge of tears, yet at no point did this deter me from pushing on. Hig's desperate situation forces you to get behind him, even in the darkest moments. By refusing to dwell on the gorier details of the plague or its aftermath, Heller forces us into Hig's mind. In this world there in barely anything left with one's thoughts, a dangerous state of affairs. You either dedicate yourself entirely to a task like the unpleasant Bangley and his survival or you risk losing yourself forever to dwelling on the world you've lost. Hig's tale is one of trying to find the balance, trying to recover the sense of self and purpose he once had.

The Dog Stars isn't a cheerful book, not by any stretch of the imagination. It's full of setbacks, unjust punishments and cruel twists of fate. It takes a likable character and subjects him to torments both violent and subtle. In the end, however, its positive message comes to the fore. The simplistic and stark way in which Heller paints this grim world lends it a beauty seldom seen in other post-apocalyptic fiction. It's a reminder that it doesn't all have to be zombies, floods and fireballs - the end of the world has a human face too.

This review was brought to you by Cannonball Jones. The Dog Stars is available now.

Never Gonna Give You Up... (Review: Last to Die; Tess Gerritsen)

noreply@blogger.com (The Mountains of Instead) — Wed, 06 Feb 2013 10:48:00 +0000

Last to Die

Tess Gerritsen

Random House 2012

Three families, three homes, three massacres, three survivors – no connection. Or so it seems until the three survivors have to survive again. All three are children and all three find themselves alone in the world and deposited at strange boarding school/survival camp Evensong. Maura Isles knows all about Evensong and finds herself there as the final child arrives, escorted by Jane Rizzoli. The two women quickly realise that Evensong may not be all it seems linked, as it is, to the ever mysterious Mephisto Club and that the seemingly unrelated deaths surrounding Claire, Will and Teddy may not be entirely unrelated. With strange stick figures and dead chickens starting to appear around the grounds, Jane and Maura find themselves increasingly intertwined in a place that may very well be harbouring the killer that they seek.

As always, Gerritsen writes her female leads with subtlety and warmth. The rather frosty Isles is still pretty much as miserable as ever but has found her light at the end of the tunnel in the shape of Julian, her quasi-adoptive son, who seems to have given her some perspective on a life that has, after all, revolved around death. She’s still remote and yes, still quite cold, but Gerritsen is skilled at cracking open her hard shell and letting readers peak inside. Rizzoli is as frenetic and stubborn as ever, but motherhood has tempered her more hot-headed impulses, if not her interactions with her increasingly infuriating family. She’s an extremely moral character, with set ideas on right and wrong. Of the two women, she is certainly easier to like but is no less flawed and, as one has come to expect, the time they spend together in the book is interesting to read. Their friendship has been on the rocks for a while but Last to Die resolves this somewhat and shows, more than ever before, how much their strange friendship means to them as individuals despite them often being woefully ill-equipped to express it. Other characters are well drawn. The teaching staff at Evensong are caring yet unsettling, while Anthony Sampson continues to shroud himself in mystery in a somewhat irritating manner. Detectives Frost and Crowe are respectively solid and horrid while Julian emerges as an interesting young man. The children at the heart of the story are particularly well expressed, damaged, sympathetic but also deeply unsettling, carrying as they do, the weight of much violence on their small shoulders.

Last to Die gets off to a great start, tracking the attacks on Claire, Will and Teddy, the latter of which draws Boston PD and their medical examiner into the story. While Maura Isles is ostensibly about to take some time off to spend with Julian at Evensong, Jane Rizzoli ultimately ends up taking young victim Teddy to the school for his own protection while trying to investigate a string of killings that she has a gut feeling are tied together. The plotting is simple yet effective. Gerritsen takes readers from the woods of Maine to the science centres of NASA without the story every feeling particularly contrived and the mystery behind the three families is nothing less than compelling throughout. And then there is the Mephisto Club, around who so many things in the Rizzoli/Isles universe have started to swirl. Gerritsen has been tiptoeing around the Club, leaving unresolved trails of breadcrumbs ever since they first appeared in their titular book. They were an odd fit then, with their talks of inherent evil, and they’re an odd fit now, adding an almost supernatural bent to what was previously pure crime writing. However, on close reading it is clear that Gerritsen is trying to look at philosophies rather than demons. I’m not sure that she’s entirely successful but it does make for interesting reading. The way in which Rizzoli and Isles have responded to the Mephistinos (for that is what they should be called) in the past has been interesting (not to mention refreshingly dismissive) but Last to Die seems to hint at a sea change, particularly where Maura is concerned. Certainly, it will be interesting to see where Tess Gerritsen heads with this thread.

Regardless of the Mephisto storyline, what Gerritsen is sure to do in the future is produce yet more endlessly readable crime fiction. For those who have only seen the rather dreadful, oddly comedic and horribly miscast TV series based around Rizzoli and Isles – don’t let it put you off. The series that Gerritsen has written around these characters is an altogether darker place that the frivolity of the show, with intricate characterisation and seriously sinister stories abounding in every instalment. A must for lovers of a good thriller, Last to Die doesn’t disappoint and will absolutely keep you guessing until the last page.

This review was brought to you by Splendibird and you can expect more like it as here at Mountains of Instead we are embracing our secret love of thrillers. Last to Die is available now.