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Sunday, April 6, 2014

Review: Alabaster by Caitlin Kiernan

So I was talking the other day about discovering new authors and new ideas in literature. Here's something very YA friendly, and honestly, if it were released by a major YA publisher, I can see this book doing very very well in the YA demographic. As is, Alabaster by Caitlin R Kiernan has a comic-book adaptation that is equally wonderful, but let me just take a moment to review the book.

Warning though: it was difficult to get my hands on this one.



TITLE: Alabaster
AUTHOR: Caitlin R Kiernan
COMIC-BOOK Artist: Steve Lieber, cover designed by Greg Ruth
RATING: 5 stars

GoodReads Summary:

An albino girl wanders the sun-scorched backroads of a south Georgia summer, following the bidding of an angel - or perhaps only voices in her head - searching out and slaying ancient monsters who have hidden themselves away in the lonely places of the world.



REVIEW (Please note that this is the review for the book, not the comic)

Dancy Flammarion is an albino girl with a big blade and an angel watching over her. Or is she? Is the angel only in her head, a fragment of an insane imagination? What about all the monsters that she has to face on lonely Southern roads and in the dark places that others don't see? Could that be her imagination too?

Caitlin R Kiernan creates an incredibly fascinating character in Dancy Flammarion. The concept is enthralling: a young girl, pink-eyed and white-skinned, wandering the lonely roads of America facing down monsters who are centuries old, sometimes incomprehensibly evil, all at the bidding of an angel who may or may not be good himself. Kiernan pulls no stops in describing the darkness of Dancy's world, or the extent to which magic worms through it.

Alabaster is actually a collection of five stories featuring the character, from her childhood in Wampee Creek, to her misadventures on the road. If the first story in the collection, Le Fleurs Des Empoisonnes ( "In the Garden of Poisoned Flowers") takes you from a dark highway to a bright house populated by ghoul women, Waycross and Alabaster feature monsters shacking up in derelict old lighthouses or the basements of gas-stores. The Well of Stars and Shadow, is about Dancy's childhood, while Bainbridge is slightly different from the others, skipping between Dancy taking on a monster a little too much for her to chew and two other timelines, one of which is reminiscent of dark faerie tales.

This kind of story-telling is quite effective, for the YA market at least, as it cuts down on the tedium of a novel with a beginning, middle and end. I love that these horrific creatures that Dancy faces don't exist in another dimension, and that Dancy does not exactly have any magic powers except for her knife. She's quite often at a disadvantage, only barely scraping out of the messes alive.

Dancy is also an insanely complex character. Why does she obey this angel? Exactly what happened to her mother? Is it, all of it, just in her head? All the monsters try to mess with Dancy's head, but the girl has some spunk. Here's a heroine who is both vulnerable, lonely, and desperate-- but beautiful and kickass at the same time.

The magic in Alabaster is also worth mentioning. There's bottled pain and creatures that ask riddles; ghouls that augur corpses and dead girls and vampires. There's Dancy's terrible, magnificent angel who never helps her. There's the ghost of her mother. There's Kiernan's writing, which is absolutely enchanting. There's lonely highways and boys with silver eyes and a panther in a cage.

If you can get a copy, read Alabaster. Or grab a copy of Dark Horse comics' version of it. Steve Lieber's art is absolutely wonderful.


*The first image used is actually the comic-book, while the black and white one represents the jacket of the hard/paperback collection.

Here are some links to reviews of Alabaster: Wolves:

Reading Graphic Novels
Tor.com's kinda-review
Comic Book Nerds Are Cute





Saturday, March 29, 2014

Comeback Post: Hi again, and How are You? (+free stories)

Remember me? How are you, dear follower? Drop me a line so it doesn't feel like shouting out into empty space. I've missed book-blogging, and hope to get back to it, but I see a few of you have left, there are plenty new faces around, and the YA blogging world is still its fiiiiiine self.

I’m incredibly busy these days, trying to fit in projects and final semester and job interviews and such into a schedule made worse by my writing commitments, but I had to talk about what I was reading and my relationship with Young Adult literature in general.

 I haven’t been reading very much YA these days, basically because I stumbled across writers in an adult genre who I enjoy reading. Granted, I am still very much enamored by fantasy and speculative fiction, and I have been reading a lot of what is called “slipstream” or “weird fiction”, the likes of which you don’t find a lot in YA.

One of my favorite authors at present is Catherynne M Valente. Her writing is incredibly touching and beautiful, drawing from vast sources that stretch from Russian history to Japanese mythology, creation myths to popular culture, film noir to universes populated by intelligent singularities. For all the fantastic characters that populate her pages, Miss Valente can still do sentences like this:

Cassian Uoya-Agostino set the box on the boardroom table. I caused it to sink down into the dark wood. The surface of the table went slack and filled with earth. Roots slid out of it, shoots and green saplings, hard white fruits and golden lacy mushrooms and finally a great forest, reaching up out of the table to hang all the ceiling with night-leaves. Glowworms and heavy, shadowy fruit hung down, each one glittering with a map of our coupled architecture. Ceno held up her arms, and one by one, I detached leaves and sent them settling onto my girl. As they fell, they became butterflies broiling with ghostly chemical color signatures, nuzzling her face, covering her hands. Her mother stared. The forest hummed. A chartreuse and tangerine-colored butterfly alighted on the matriarch’s hair, tentative, unsure, hopeful.

 [From the highly remarkable Silently and Very Fast]

And this is why I love fantasy with all my heart; because it is so unsure, so hopeful, so beautiful in that it makes you dream. The author’s novel Palimpsest, is a speculative fiction triumph. It is incredible, and if anyone is looking to crossover into the adult genre, Palimpsest is a book that gives you the wonder of new ideas and new mythologies as in YA, but does it in a lyrical way that will weave a spell about you. Here are links to 3 free works by Valente, so you can get a taste of her writing.

SILENTLY AND VERY FAST, won the Locus award for best short novella, and was a Hugo and Nebula nominee. For the uninitiated, these are all very prestigious awards in the speculative  genre. This novella tells the story of an artificially-intelligent house-like being called Elefsis, and is wonderful.


THE GIRL WHO RULED FAIRYLAND FOR A LITTLE WHILE, is set in the same world as the author's popular The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in A Ship of Her Own Making and is as wonderful as the book. If you're a Gaiman fan, you will love this.

Here is finally, a collection of three poems, one of which is a Rhysling Award winner. One is a retelling of Rapunzel, one addresses loss and rootlessness through the eyes of the girlfriend of a Russian immigrant, and the last one is both about love and about how we relentlessly destroy the earth in pursuit of precious metals.

Have a read.


Other than that: things are changing in life, but I'd like to come back to blogging about books and writing. I'd like to do more Trifecta, and more reviews. How are you all? Got any great book recommendations? Just want to say hi? Hit the comments!

Monday, July 8, 2013

Trifecta Week 85: Little Monsters

Owing to ridiculous amounts of school-work, I couldn't do Trifecta last week or the weekend, but thank you for the first place on Week Eighty Four, the support spurred me on to think about more plots with the character, and maybe there'll be a book. We shall see.





Obviously, this one is fantasy too, I shall call it Little Monsters.
The word this week is: 


FLY (intransitive verb)

1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings

b : to move through the air or before the wind or through outer space

c : to float, wave, or soar in the air <flags flying at half-mast>

2a : to take flight : flee

b : to fade and disappear : vanish

3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly <rumors were flying>

b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion <flew into a rage>

c : to seem to pass quickly <the time simply flew>



LITTLE MONSTERS
I JUST HAD TO, OKAY? *grin*


Sometimes we’re baby dragons, nibbling at a piece of string or wilting flowers with puffs of smoke from our nostrils. Sometimes we’re tiny ants building a giant home with ten storeys and a hundred windows. Once we all planned together and built up ourselves to look like a man— flesh and bone and legs, hands and arms and fingers, little crescent moon nails so white and perfect.

We thought and thought of what he should wear, from the shape of his tie to the little mole on his cheek (that was my best friend Maura: she was so very proud!) and then we walked out of the house and down the rolling green hills and to the train station, and when the first train came,  we only stood and watched the wagons fly past: we were rapt in the shimmering strangeness of it all.

We climbed into the second train and climbed out at the city, and our feet owned the sidewalk and our smile charmed the girls. There was a starlet with a string of rubies around her neck like drops of blood, and she flirted coyly so we bought her dinner (we were the money too: how confused the manager must have been when we fell apart!) and after dinner we bought her wine, and then we stood on the threshold silhouetted by moonlight on one side and candlelight on the other, and she kissed our lips so firmly, and she tasted of strawberries and smoke, and we all fell apart amidst all the kaleidoscopic feelings, and went skitter-scatter over the asphalt. Everybody screamed and the starlet collapsed and we think she had to get therapy later.

The witch was very angry with us when we came back and locked us in a jar for a month and there really was no space and we nearly ate each other.

These days we’re only ever dragons or ants: humans are too much work.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Trifecta: Rusty: Mechanical Treasure Boxes

Trifecta again!






This week's word is:


RUSTY
1: affected by or as if by rust; especially : stiff with or as if with rust
2: inept and slow through lack of practice or old age
3a : of the color rust
b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>
4: outmoded
5: hoarse, grating


Before I go into the story, a small preface: I've been thinking and writing of Lo Maxwell for a long time. He's a boy of indeterminate age- sometimes he's ten and sometimes he's fourteen, and at least in one of my stories he's seven. He's a lone mortal stuck in a different, bloodier, monstrous world, trying to get back to his own but in a very strange sense. Sometimes he's angry, an avenging angel. Sometimes he's sweet. Most of the time he's hungry. This is my fourth Lo Maxwell story, and the shortest. It's not much. 

*and I should probably mention that Lo's dog, despite appearances to the contrary, really doesn't like him much*







Mechanical Treasure-Box

The Mortal Boy, Lo Maxwell, sits in her living room and sips at the purple tea.

“What kind of a name is Lo?”

“A made-up one,” he smiles. He has no sharp teeth; only flat, harmless ones. Human, she thinks, and offers him cookies. They skitter around the plate when he reaches for them, and he drops his hand, squeamish. He looks up at her shyly with those famous blue eyes. Like them sea-glass love charms the mermaids brought to the Rilke Fair, Miss Jones had said, and oh, she was right, he looks delicious.

His dog is curled around his feet; a gigantic rusty thing with four white crescent-moons gouged in its neck.  It makes her uncomfortable.

“Maybe I have some candy somewhere,” she keeps her tone kindly and warm, pretending to be nice.

In the short trip it takes her to find him some candy- sweeten him up, Aramantha- and bring the box, he’s moved over to the window and the screaming sea on the other side.

“This was Jacinda’s treasure-box,” she says, and he comes to watch while she winds it up, sets it in motion. The key spins and the box opens in a whirl of gears and silver. There are doll heads inside, a ship in a bottle, hairpins and dried flowers. “Can you find her with this?”

Lo picks up a hairpin. “She passed through a mirror and into the Other World?”

“Yes.”

And then he’s leaning over the box, and she can’t help it: he’s like a drug she has to have, right now. Her eyes become slits and her arms lose human shape, and her mouth of two-hundred teeth is almost snapping down on him, but then she looks up and screams.

She’s heard the stories about Lo Maxwell, who hasn’t?

That he travels with a dog. That sometimes the dog is a mangy rusty thing, but sometimes it’s a man with four bloody faces.

And that sometimes it eats monsters for him. 


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