"The Handmaid's Tale," by Margaret Atwood

This book is best described as an eerily prophetic look at our potential future. As streaming service Hulu has begun releasing episodes of a television series based on this book, I thought it only right to read the modern classic before seeing its transition to the big - er, small - screen.

Set in a religious dystopia, The Handmaid's Tale takes place in what what once was the United States, now called the Republic of Gilead, where a specific sect of Christianity now makes all the rules. With fertility problems on the rise due to excessive toxic pollution over much of Earth's land and sea, Gilead's populace has turned to an Old Testament-based system, derived from the biblical tale of Rachel and Leah, in which fertile "Handmaids" serve as often-unwilling surrogate mothers for powerful men and their wives.

The prose, although somewhat dense and at times confusingly-worded, is perfect for the story, and seems in itself a rebellious trait of the otherwise fearful protagonist, as women in this world are forbidden from reading and writing. As the tale alternates between present and past, the prose shifts with it, yet always remains in the present tense, as so many trauma survivors' stories do.

Offred, herself - the name being a patronymic derived from that of her master - is an incredibly well-written character. Her struggle between the world she remembers from only three years earlier and her fear of repercussions in her present reality create a strong conflict that teeters on the edge of destruction at any moment. Her resulting romances with three men throughout the tale - one past, two present - take three progressing formats: the first, rebellion; the second, compliance; the third, desperation. The reader is permitted a glimpse into the necessarily-shielded character of Offred through these romances, as we watch the world around her gradually begin to break her spirit.

Overall, this story is a gripping and terrifying glimpse into our own potential future. It is a warning - one which, alarmingly, no one seems to heed - about the reality toward which we are careening. And although the ending of Offred's tale is ambigious and slightly confusing, leaving more questions than answers, I like to think our own story may have a happier ending because of it.



Overall rating: (4.5 stars)

"Everything, Everything," by Nicola Yoon

This is a book which begs the question, "Is life worth dying for?" Yoon, and by extension her main character Madeline, attempts to answer this question. Although it appears as though the answer is obvious, Everything, Everything seems to inform us, above all, that life is not so cut and dry as it seems.

The story of 18-year-old Madeline is one that is both incredibly rare and deeply relatable. Madeline is inflicted with a rare immunodeficiency condition which prevents her from ever leaving the meticulously sterile environment of her home. She accepts this fate with little resistance until Olly, a mysterious rebel with some major family drama, moves into the house next door. As they grow closer communicating through a variety of media, from emails and chat to dramatic pantomime through their bedroom windows, she becomes less and less happy with her isolated existence, leading to the book's turning point, and ultimately, climax.

As the first half of the story seems to alternate between longform storytelling from Madeline's perspective, emails and texts passed between Olly and herself, and the occasional medical- or scientific-style lists or journal entries, it's clear that Yoon is not exactly the next Jane Austen, in terms of prose. However, Austen, I think, is not what this story needs, despite its protagonist's obsession with Austen and her contemporaries. Indeed, the nature of the story makes this format almost necessary in order for the reader to reach a full understanding of the context of this story. It evokes the scattered media habits of the average teenager - the intended audience of the book - and thus seems more realistic than flowery prose or dense verbiage might have made it.

I especially enjoyed the characterization of Madeline, as she seemed to take on an exaggerated metaphor for my own sheltered upbringing. Her experience of the world forced met o examine my own perceptions - something any good novel should do, really - a side-effect of what seems to be Yoon's calling card, as it appears in reading The Sun is Also a Star, as well. Olly, serving as a rebellious counterpoint to Madeline's sheltered life, creates an interesting conflict that allowed Yoon to explore the YA romance from a unique angle.

Although the story had a few plot holes that stood out to me, these were fairly unobtrusive and largely made-up-for by the story's twist ending, which, although predictable as early as halfway through the novel, still managed to elicit a gasp and a few (loudly voiced) choice words upon its revelation.

Overall, this book propelled me consistently to its bitter end, and opened my eyes to a new perspective on life. It forces the reader to think, to consider their own responses to the situations contained therein, and decide for themselves, "Is life worth dying for?" For me? The answer is an unequivocal yes.



Overall Rating: (4.5 stars)

"Sleeping Giants," by Sylvain Neuvel

I did not expect to enjoy Sylvain Neuvel's Sleeping Giants as much as I did, especially once I got a few chapters into the story. Nonetheless, I stayed up until 6 a.m. to read this story in more or less a single sitting.

The story follows a scientist, Dr. Rose Franklin, who fell into a hole as a child and discovered a mystery that becomes the entire focus of the plot. A giant metal hand, surrounded by metal walls covered in an untranslatable alien script, kicks off a race to discover its purpose, and the identity of the mysterious civilization that must have left it there.

Although the prose was nothing much to speak of - it was essentially nonexistent, due to the nature of the text's organization into a military-esque series of interview transcripts, journal entries, and scientific logs - the story itself, and the minimal cast of characters which propelled it, was so thoroughly compelling as to make eloquent prose an unnecessary afterthought. In fact, I daresay the book would not have worked nearly so well had it been treated as a traditionally formatted novel.

Although the book lacks any sort of traditional narrator, the story seems to take place from the perspective of an anonymous puppetmaster, who interacts with each of the characters and sets all the book's events in motion, and who clearly lets on much less than he - the only identifying characteristic being gender - knows.

Although the story has a rather slow start, with nearly the entire first part serving as exposition, the action moves fairly quickly once it comes, with the novel's roughly 300 pages encompassing over four years of complex storyline. Relationships are forged, broken, and forged again. Discoveries are made and un-made, revealed and covered up. Though there were a few instances of deus ex machina, the character of Vincent and his storyline being the most obvious culprit, the majority of conflicts were handled with realism and grace.

Overall, this story was an expertly crafted and uniquely formatted foray into a sweeping story about the determination of humanity, and our place among the stars. I, for one, can't wait for the sequel.



Overall rating: (5 stars)

"The Magicians," by Lev Grossman

In honor of Syfy's premiere of their new TV series, "The Magicians," this week, I decided to read its namesake and inspiration, by Lev Grossman.

The book follows Quentin Coldwater, a high school senior, at the start of the book, through five years of magical studies at the secretive Brakebills University, and the inevitable adventures that follow such an education.

Quentin, in a uniquely refreshing change of pace, may in fact be the world's first clinically depressed fantasy protagonist. He spends large portions of the story looking for something - anything - that will finally fill in the gaps for him. While some readers might find his character a bit on the whiny side - he's at a magical university, shouldn't he be grateful? - I find him more to be one of the few accurate depictions of clinical depression in fantasy literature. Moreover, the narrator doesn't seem to expect any of this to "fix" Quentin, as many books and films depicting depressed or mentally ill characters often do. It gives the book a dark and slightly melancholic twist that adds a certain depth to the story.

The story itself seems to take its cues from much of the other great fantasy literature of our time. Indeed, one can find elements of Harry Potter, Narnia, Lord of the Rings, even Arthurian mythology. Rather than making it seem unoriginal, it almost makes the story more realistic, especially when you factor in the story's own fantasy land, Fillory. As though these elements appear not because of their influence on its author, but because they are, in fact, based in reality, and must, therefore, have an influence on the world around us.

Grossman's writing style reads a bit like coffee with your English professor - conversational, but elevated, sophisticated even. It seems well-suited for a book that is set, for the most part, at a university. The latter third of the book, on the other hand, reads a bit like a play-by-play of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign - very fast paced and combat-focused - also appropriate for its accompanying adventure. 

The book's pace seems to mirror its writing style, in that the first 70% of the story is all background information - interesting, but seemingly unrelated once you get to the actual action in the last third of the book. That final 30% moves incredibly fast, and could easily have been expanded to include more information, and, in fact, probably should have. They seem to go straight from entering the game to fighting the final boss, with minimal adventuring in between. Nonetheless, Grossman balances these segments in a way that doesn't seem forced or boring. The long introduction seems rather to draw in the reader and amplify the tension, making the concluding third all the more satisfying.

The ending itself, without giving too much away, has a unique twist to it as well. Several, in fact, some of which are more obvious than others. And while some questions remain unanswered, most likely to be addressed in the second and third books of the trilogy, for the most part, the reader is left satisfied, if a little unsettled, much like the story's protagonist. While it's a very different ending from most fairy tales, it seems befitting, refreshing even.

Having seen the first two episodes of the TV series, I can tell fans that there are a number of differences. I have yet to decide whether these changes will be for the better or worse, but I can say I like what I've seen so far - especially the addition of a side plot which follows the Hedge Witches, who are addressed offhand in exactly two places in the book, and who I look forward to learning more about.

Despite its unusual style - or perhaps because of it - this was a book that kept me eagerly turning page after page, anxious to see what happened next, and I look forward both to reading the sequel and seeing what Syfy does with its television counterpart.



Overall Rating: (4 stars)

"The Gracekeepers," by Kirsty Logan

Kirsty Logan's The Gracekeepers bounces back and forth between two beautifully moving stories, set against a backdrop of a world overtaken by ocean.

Callanish is a gracekeeper, responsible for the resting of dead damplings, or sea-dwellers. She lives alone on a small island, caring for the graces, small birds used in the resting ceremony.

North is a bear tamer in a traveling circus, whose closest friend is her bear.

Logan masterfully weaves together these two almost entirely unrelated stories. For the majority of the book, the girls never interact, meeting only briefly towards the middle of the book, but the similarities between them are beautifully drawn throughout. Both are essentially orphaned, North having lost her parents in an accident, and Callanish having lost her father and been abandoned by her mother. Both girls also share a similar secret - a dangerous one, should it be revealed. By the time the stories finally come together, it's a relief, as the reader has been eagerly anticipating the moment for some time.

I quite enjoyed the alternating perspectives of the novel, allowing me to see the story from beyond the view of the main characters. It brought an extra level of depth to some of the side characters.

Nevertheless, I still found some bits confusing. The character of Jarrow, or Red Gold as North refers to him, seems to waver back and forth between being a characteristic villain and what might actually be a decent guy. In some scenes, he comes across as a kind father-figure to North, and yet, moments later, he becomes the unreasonable slave driver.

Ainsel, too, seems unable to decide who he is as a character. For much of the book, he plays the shy, sweet, good boy heir, yet suddenly becomes conniving and twisted with no prior indication.

I also would have liked to learn a little more of the history of this water-logged world. How did it happen? Was it the ice caps as one might expect, or was it some kind of deistic world flood? Who first decided who got the land that was left? With all technology and knowledge seeming to have reverted backwards, is it even the same world? It's already equipped with all new religions, so it wouldn't be too much of a leap.

Some of the specifics of Callanish and North's individual stories get omitted, as well.

Callanish seems to be on her island as some sort of punishment, yet it's unclear what she's being punished for. Some details suggest a particular direction, but nothing is ever confirmed, nor is it made clear whether the punishment was self-inflicted.

North refers a few times to her "faulty memories," according to certain members of the crew, but it's never made clear what she supposedly remembers falsely, or even if there is anything at all? Is it intimate knowledge she stumbled upon? Has the crew denied the death of her parents, insisting she remembers it poorly? Or is it, perhaps, just that she is forgetful, and is frequently teased for it? The complete lack of acknowledgement of this supposedly well-known trait by any other member of the crew makes it a difficult sentiment to understand.

The book did, however, have some parts by which I was particularly impressed. I enjoyed the almost romantic relationship between North and her bear, in stark contrast to the cold unfeeling between her and what could have been an obvious love interest in Ainsel. I enjoyed the parallels of North and Callanish's loneliness - Callanish on her island, frequently visited, but unable to make friends, and North with her bear, alienated from the rest of the crew by age and rank and dangerous secrets. I also admired Logan's ability to take a relatively forgetful side character and in the space of a few paragraphs turn him or her into something more like a dear friend - making a particular loss later on in the book all that much more difficult to bear. I appreciated the story's ability to tug on my heartstrings, and draw me in on a personal level, allowing me to relate to characters who, by all rights, I should have nothing in common with.

So, while the story did have a few minor setbacks, it managed to keep me eagerly turning pages, and really, that's all one can ask of a good book.



Overall Rating: