WoB Talk

December 14, 2017

Over Easy

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , — Kari Maaren @ 12:58 pm

My friend Derek Fisher and I have, in honour of the release of Weave a Circle Round, arranged to post a couple of parallel short stories. Derek’s website includes a page dedicated to flash fiction. Today, he has posted his tiny story, “Twins,” on that page. Mine is written on the same prompt (which I’ll reveal at the bottom of the blog post). You should definitely check out his stuff. I’m in a writing group with Derek, and his stories have the best characters. No, seriously…the best characters.

Here’s my story:

Over Easy

As Janet sat down across from her, Jill kept her eyes steadily on the menu. She knew Janet was there, but right now, she needed to concentrate on eggs. Eggs were important. Over easy, she thought, enraptured.

“So what’s new?” said Janet. Jill could hear a crack in her voice that hadn’t been there yesterday. Eggs, she thought again.

“Nothing much,” said Jill. “With you?”

“The usual.”

The words “I’ll bet” did not quite escape Jill’s lips, though it was a close one. Her hands tightened on the menu. Over easy. Or maybe scrambled? Scrambled eggs were good too.

Reluctantly, Jill’s eyes slid up towards Janet.

It was probably five years this time, she thought. Maybe up to seven. Janet’s hair was mostly grey now, and she’d lost weight; her clothes hung loose on her frame. Jill slid her tongue between her teeth and clamped down. She needed to say something. She wasn’t going to say anything.

“Robert broke up with Tania,” said Janet, picking up her own menu. “Again. They’ve both seriously got to move on.”

Oh, thought Jill, smiling inanely as her fingernails dug into the cheerful images of pancakes and breakfast burritos, have they? Is that what we’re talking about right now? I thought maybe we could discuss the time machine instead. I mean, I understand: you’re a scientist, you do science, sometimes the science breaks the known laws of time and relativity, blah blah blah, but do you actually think a) I haven’t noticed the premature aging, b) I wouldn’t do some sleuthing when I did notice, or c) it’s even possible for you to just go on as if none of this is happening? Do you think brunch isn’t going to be affected by any of this? Really?

“I know, right?” said Jill.

The waitress came to take their order. Janet ordered the waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Jill, after a brief but intense deliberation, choose poached eggs on toast with bacon on the side.

“Nice,” said the waitress. “I’ll be back with those soon. Happy Mother’s Day!”

Jill’s eyes went quickly down to the menu again. The menu was gone; the waitress had taken it. There was nowhere for her to look but into Janet’s puzzled face, full of lines and creases and, at the moment, trepidation.

“That was a weird thing for her to say,” said Janet. “I mean, anyone can see we’re twins.”

There was a slight interrogative twist to her words.

This is it, thought Jill. This is where you say it.

Jill shrugged. “Some people.”

The eggs, when they came, were just what she had wanted.


Prompt: 1) A story about twins. 2) One has a secret. 3) Time travel is involved somehow.

Weave a Circle Round is for sale now.


November 28, 2017

Book Birthday: WEAVE A CIRCLE ROUND Is Born

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 9:49 am

Weave a Circle Round cover final

Well, this is it: the day Weave a Circle Round, my weird little book about the mysterious neighbours and the teenage girl who would like them to stop breaking the laws of physics now, please, makes its way into the world. Existential terror is fun.

I haven’t been posting much here lately because “I should be marking” is my motto, so let’s get a bunch of stuff out at once. Thus:

1) This is the weirdest thing I have ever done.

This is weirder than music. It’s weirder than webcomics. It’s weirder than the first time I bought a cell phone.* It’s weirder than that time my sister and her friends decided they were going to swim across a lake…during gym class…in January. I feel weird. I want to hide under furniture. I’m really glad I’ve managed to get a book out, as it’s the one thing I’ve always wanted to do, but it’s still like taking a piece of me and catapulting it haphazardly into the unknown. Now people are judging that piece. I really need some furniture to hide under.

2) Many people seem to like the book so far.

Others don’t, which is fine. Some are profoundly confused by it. Of the people who aren’t confused (or who are confused but welcome the confusion), here are three of my favourites:

Kirkus (starred review): “A charming, extraordinarily relatable book with the potential to become a timeless classic.”

Publishers Weekly (starred review): “This is an ambitious, intricate, joyful coming-of-age tale, with memorable characters and a powerful sense of wonder.”

Library Journal (starred review, Debut of the Month): “Maaren’s characters are by turns charming, annoying, and frequently hilarious. The quick pace and dialog may remind readers of Madeleine L’Engle or Jasper Fforde, making the protagonists timeless in their own way. VERDICT: With definite YA crossover appeal but enough action and intrigue for adults, Maaren’s enchanting debut is for anyone who enjoys stretching their imagination or is nostalgic for their teenage years.”

WACR is also a Junior Library Guild Selection (in the US) and #3 on the Loan Stars Top 10 list for November (in Canada). It’s on Barnes & Noble’s “Best Science Fiction and Fantasy Books of November 2017” list and its “Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of 2017” list.

3) Categorisation is…categorisation.

Tor has been marketing WACR as straight fantasy (i.e., not YA or Middle Grade). This has caused some misunderstandings; some readers seem to go into it assuming it’s primarily for adults, and they end up a wee bit baffled. Tor is going for “all ages,” but “all ages” is not a marketing category. Therefore, everyone is sort of all over the place. A lot of the reviews treat it as adult fiction but add a stipulation that it has “YA crossover appeal.” Many libraries seem to be shelving it with adult fiction. The Loan Stars list is for adult fiction. The Junior Library Guild does kids’ lit, and it has characterised WACR as YA. A few Goodreads reviewers have declared it Middle Grade. Others call it YA. Personally, I see it as an old-fashioned kids’ book. It has a mysterious nature, apparently.

4) I am apparently doing a blog tour.

My editor, Diana Pho, asked me to write a bunch of blog entries in the spring. I wrote twelve and sent them to her. Now they are popping up all over the Internet. Some of them are about writing. Some of them are about tropes. If you’d like to read them, here’s a list (some may be missing; I don’t always notice them when they appear):

“Picking Up the Banjo: Unusual Paths to a Writing Career” (Tor/Forge Blog, 2017/11/02): I discuss how eclectic creativity is not necessarily a bad thing.

“Trinity Must Die: The Problem of the More Competent Female Sidekick” (Tor Teen Blog, 2017/11/09): I talk about a certain type of “strong” female character and why she’s becoming a problem.

“Unfinished: Writing Through Grief” (Tor/Forge Blog, 2017/11/13): I tell the story of my mother’s Alzheimer’s disease, which coincided with Weave a Circle Round‘s journey towards publication.

“In Defense of Cowardly Protagonists” (Book Riot, 2017/11/13): Cowards are some of my favourite fictional people. Here, I talk about why.

“So You Want to Write a Time-Travel Story” (Fantasy Literature, 2017/11/24): I like time travel. Time travel is cool. Oh…and this one includes a giveaway. There are, like, ten entrants so far. Enter the giveaway, people.

5) I have a bookplate. It has an upside-down house on it.

It was recently brought to my attention that it would be easier to commission some personalised bookplates and send them out to far-flung people who wanted signed copies than it would be to get people to send their books to me. So yes, I totally have bookplates now. They arrived yesterday. I like them.

Bookplates 2

4) So I drew these pictures a while ago…

I originally had this grand plan that I was going to make all these blog posts illustrated with portraits of my novel’s major characters. Then life happened, and the blog posts didn’t. However, I do have the portraits. The first two have already appeared, but the other three haven’t. Therefore, let’s end with my illustrations of Weave of Circle Round‘s five major characters, complete with snarky notes about their personalities.


josiah-editedRoland editedMel edited

Cuerva Lachance edited

*Last Friday.


September 17, 2017

Kirkus Starred Review for Weave a Circle Round

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 8:40 am

WACR Kirkus screenshotExciting news, everyone: Weave a Circle Round has received a starred review from Kirkus. I am currently doing a bit of a happy dance.

Warning: the review does give away a fair chunk of the plot, so reading the first two thirds is not recommended if you want to read the book and be surprised by developments. The screenshot I’ve included here will give you the gist (including the summarising line at the end, which, in this case, includes the words “timeless classic,” so hurrah for that).

April 3, 2017

Unboxing Video: Weave a Circle Round ARCs

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 6:55 pm

I got my Weave a Circle Round advance reader copies in the mail today. I’ll eventually have to figure out fun things to do with them, but for now, here’s an overly long video of me unboxing them and reading stuff from the cover (and a short passage from the book). I get a bit excited and say “Oh my goodness” a lot (it later morphs into “Oh my God”). I don’t know what’s up with the expression I’m making in the thumbnail.


March 8, 2017

The Princess Has Left the Tower: The Active Fairy-Tale Heroine as the Norm

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 8:21 am



Kate Crackernuts rescues her enchanted stepsister and a random enchanted prince at the same time. You go, Kate Crackernuts.

I teach a university-level class on fairy tales. I enjoy it a lot, and I think many of the students do too. However, one of the hardest things I have to do in this class is convince my students that the passive fairy-tale heroine is not the norm.

You know the one I mean, right? The girl who sits around waiting for her prince to come. The princess in the tower. The obedient youngest daughter who marries a monster to save her father. The dead girl in the glass coffin. The disobedient wife who would be murdered by her blue-bearded husband if her brothers didn’t turn up at a crucial moment. The maiden curled up in the ashes, waiting to go to the ball.

My students met a lot of these girls first via Disney, and it can be surprisingly difficult to demonstrate to them that the passivity is not natural to the characters; it derives from Charles Perrault’s need to demonstrate proper courtly behaviour or the Grimm Brothers’ mania for teaching obedience to little children or Disney’s tendency to take female-centric stories and make the prince—originally just the reward character—into the rescuing hero. “Even though most heroines are passive…” write my students in their essays, or “Passivity is the norm amongst fairy-tale heroines.” When they come across an active heroine, they assume she’s an anomaly.

Here’s the thing:

Fairy-tale women are ridiculously active. A lot of European peasant stories were originally told by women, and these storytellers were not sitting around going, “Well, the big strong men are the only ones who matter, so let’s just shut up and do another princess-in-the-tower story.” They were sitting around telling tales about girls who damn well went out and got things done, often with the help of a magic spindle or two. “Then the girl set out to find the North Wind,” some old spinner would say before she gifted her character with a spindle just like the one she was using at that very moment, only golden and magic.

There are stories of girls rescuing enchanted princes and killing giants and exposing murderers and saving their sisters from fates worse than death. There are beautiful heroines and ugly heroines and plain heroines and heroines whose appearances aren’t mentioned at all. There are clever girls who out-riddle kings and vengeful girls who teach lessons to the men who abandon them. There are girls who calmly tell their fathers they love them more than salt and willingly deal with the consequences. There are girls who kill their own abusive stepmothers. There are girls who cover their finery in suits of leather and crawl bizarrely around on the ground, singing comical songs about themselves, until sympathetic queens take them home to work in the kitchens.

We have this odd idea that telling stories about women is new, as women just haven’t been that important until recently. We forget, a lot of the time, that not all storytellers are men. We forget as well that “important” is not synonymous with “the bits the guys think matter.”

The truth about fairy-tale women is that they’re just as diverse as fairy-tale men. Some of them are passive. A lot of them are not. They’re funny and clever and stupid and ugly and pretty and wily and brutal and cruel and ruthless and eccentric and tragic and silent and loud and merciless and calculating and sly. When we dismiss the bulk of these characters as anomalies and treat the passive princesses as the norm—and the spunky princesses of the Disney Renaissance as a deviation from this norm—we miss out on a wealth of material.

This International Women’s Day, go find a fairy-tale heroine who isn’t stuck in a tower. Read about Molly Whuppie or Kate Crackernuts or Tatterhood or the princess in the suit of leather or the girl who grows the magic orange tree or the girl who goes east of the sun and west of the moon to save the white bear. They haven’t made it into Disney movies—yet—but they’re not hard to find. You just need to know where to look.

February 14, 2017

My Novel Is Totally Happening #2: In Which We Discuss the Potential Absence of Love Interests

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 8:31 am

It’s mid-February, and you know what that means: 1) everything is pink and cute, and 2) it’s time for another pre-book-launch post about something tangentially related to my novel, Weave a Circle Round. And since it’s also Valentine’s Day, that “something” will inevitably be love-themed. Stay tuned.

First, however, here is my second character portrait, this time of Josiah, one of the mysterious neighbours who moves in next door to Freddy’s family and immediately starts to disrupt everything. If this were like about 90% of YA urban fantasies, Freddy and Josiah would start out hating each other but eventually discover they were in love. I’ll tell you straight up that this doesn’t happen. It’s not even a spoiler. Two paragraphs with Josiah will demonstrate beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is not love-interest material. Telling you why would be a spoiler, but trust me: there will be no longing sighs and stolen glances here.


Funnily enough, just writing that makes me feel as if I need to go on the defensive. What…am I saying Josiah isn’t good enough to be a love interest? What’s wrong with him? Am I insinuating that people who have things wrong with them can’t attract crushes from angry fourteen-year-old girls? Am I implying Freddy’s obviously better than him? Am I discriminating against Josiah? Doesn’t he deserve to be part of a love story?

Okay. It’s Valentine’s Day, and all the couples are off gooping at each other, so let’s unpack this.

Why in the name of all that is holy is the love story seen as the pinnacle of everything good and right in the world? Is it not possible to create a work that doesn’t contain a love story but in which it’s not implied that the characters simply don’t deserve one? I like Josiah. I think he’s awesome in his own dysfunctional way, but I’m not going to reward him with a love story because I don’t see love stories as rewards. Why should they be? If you’re a kid who’s suddenly swept away on a terrifying and fascinating journey through time and space, is the thought foremost in your mind really going to be, “I wonder when I’ll find my soulmate”? Or is it going to be, “I guess I have to learn to climb mountains really, really quickly”? Sure, teenagers think about sex a lot. They also think about a great many things that are not sex. What’s with the assumption that the culmination of the story always has to be a Big Damn Kiss that will lead inevitably to lifelong marital bliss and personal fulfilment?

Admittedly, fairy tales are probably at least partially to blame, but even there, the connection is based on a fundamental misunderstanding of fairy tales via our old friend Disney. Disney has fetishised “true love’s kiss” and made it the central focus of its stories. The company is beginning to pull back from that, but only to the extent that the kissing is now cleverly self-aware and occasionally involves sisters instead of lovers. Yet if you trace “true love’s kiss” back to the fairy tales on which Disney is drawing, you’ll notice something interesting: it isn’t there.

Yes, it’s true: “true love’s kiss” is an invention of the Mouse. Disenchanting kisses are not actually hugely common in fairy tales. When they do turn up, they are often bowdlerisations of scenes in which Person A disenchants Person B by other means (ranging from “just being there” through “sleeping with B” to “cutting off B’s head”). The only folk-tale-derived version of “Sleeping Beauty” that includes a kiss is the Brothers Grimm’s, and even there, the kiss itself doesn’t wake the girl up; it just coincidentally happens right when the hundred years are over. Charles Perrault’s “The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood,” the Grimms’ “Snow White,” and the various versions of “The Frog Prince” that have not been bowdlerised don’t contain kisses at all. The disenchanting kiss is, for better or worse, now a firm part of our idea of how stories work, but it hasn’t actually been so for very long.

This is important because while we now think of fairy tales as being about true love, what they’re generally really about is marriage, which isn’t the same thing at all. Even just sticking to the European tales, we see a bunch of stories developed by peasants to whom marriage was one of the only ways of experiencing even a limited form of social mobility. Of course the boy has to marry the princess at the end of the story; he’s the youngest son of a poor miller. How else could he possibly get ahead? Of course the girl wants to go to the ball. Her society tells her that’s her only way of escaping her grim family situation. Marriage in these stories is all about social climbing. In the Grimms’ “The Brave Little Tailor,” the princess doesn’t even like the tailor she’s forced to marry. In fact, she tries to have him killed. The tailor doesn’t care; he bullies her into standing down, and the story ends there, with the tailor sitting pretty and his wife both fearing and resenting him. “The Brave Little Tailor” is not really much of an exception where fairy tales are concerned.

So we have this influential body of stories in which getting married is the ultimate prize. As Disney has demonstrated, it’s not so difficult to turn “success = marriage” into “success = true love.” Is it all that surprising, then, that we have come to expect love plots in all our stories, and that we see characters as somehow lesser if they can’t get the girl/boy/sentient mushroom?* I can’t speak for every culture in existence, but I can tell you the entirety of Western civilisation spends a lot of time screaming at me about how I’ll be wasting my life if I don’t find Mr. Right and pop out at least two babies. We’ve internalised European peasant wish fulfilment and turned it into something that may be a tiny bit more harmful, as we don’t always acknowledge that it is wish fulfilment. The women sitting around in spinning circles telling stories about girls rescuing enchanted princes with magic golden spindles didn’t spend twenty-four hours a day convinced that someday, their princes would come. Many of us kind of do. Today is emblematic of that; Valentine’s Day has become an expectation, a love-focused day on which couples can celebrate achieving “the dream” while the rest of us losers sit around waiting for the chocolate to go on sale.

We’ll eventually fall out of love with love, and our fictional worlds will begin to shift. Our current belief that the power of “true love” is universal and undeniable can be contradicted via a quick look back at stories written down not all that long ago. There’s no reason to believe that romantic love will survive forever as a central ideal. For now, however, we might consider not dismissing stories that don’t culminate in a love plot or thinking less of characters who don’t get love stories. Sometimes, Peter Parker, it’s not “all about a girl.”

I do want to emphasise that I’m not knocking works that do love stories well. There are plenty of those. Sometimes, love plots are called for, and love interests can be amazing characters when they’re allowed to function outside the simple “love interest” category. My favourite love stories are organically part of the plot, not forced onto it as a reward for the protagonist. It’s also nice to see characters who are already in relationships and who aren’t continually in danger of destroying everything because they have no self-control. Not every story has to be a will-they-or-won’t-they plot or a story of adulterous betrayal or a tragic tale of lost love in which a character is haunted by the memory of his or her brutally murdered lover. Sometimes, Person A and Person B are together and fine, and it can be just as interesting as — if not more so than — love as a reward.

Happy Valentine’s Day. I would like, stubbornly, to raise a glass to all the fictional characters who aren’t involved in love stories and don’t want to be. More power to them. At least when their adventures are happening, they’re paying proper attention.

*Depending on your genre.

January 15, 2017

My Novel Is Totally Happening #1: In Which We Talk About Time Travel

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 1:50 pm

So I have this novel, Weave a Circle Round, coming out in the fall of 2017. I may have mentioned it once or twice because I may just be super excited about it. I’ve been yearning to be a real writer and publish real novels my entire life, and now I’m 42 and it’s actually going to happen. This makes me go AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGH a lot.

However, we’ve still got close to eleven months to go. This doesn’t make me any less excited, but it does make me want to fill in the gap by writing and drawing stuff. I’ve thus decided to produce a series of pictures of the novel’s characters. With luck, I’ll occasionally remember I’m doing this and add to the series. For now, have a drawing of the book’s protagonist, Freddy Duchamp. I have appended a number of vague and somewhat mysterious notes to the image; they don’t give much away, but they’re definitely pertinent. This is, incidentally, how I see Freddy. I don’t mind if others see her differently.


Since I’ve got you here, I may as well also talk a little bit about time travel.

Here’s the thing:

I love time travel. I may love it a bit too much. Weave a Circle Round, which I wrote in 2010, involves time travel. In 2014, when hope had begun to fade that anyone would ever pick the book up, I started a webcomic, It Never Rains, that also involved time travel. A year later, Tor bought the book, and suddenly, I was someone who wrote about all the time travel all the time. The funny thing is that despite my love of time travel, I’d never written a time-travel story before. Now, unexpectedly, I had two simultaneously.

Yet…I don’t think of Weave a Circle Round as a time-travel story. I think of it as a story about other things that happens to have time travel in it. The distinction may not matter to many people, but it interests me because it says something about the ways we use time travel in stories. It is, in a way, a unique device because its effects tend to remain broadly the same (i.e., it involves a character or characters moving atypically through time instead of or in addition to space) even when its causes, rules, and mechanisms vary widely. This flexibility renders the meaning of time travel extremely elastic.

Imagine three stories involving characters who travel from 2017 to 1914. The first character is a scientist who builds a vaguely plausible machine that makes use of the principles of space-time as we currently understand them. The second is a little girl who finds a necklace in her great-great-grandmother’s jewellery box and is transported into the past when she puts it on. The third is a police detective who is working at solving a murder but keeps being yanked inexplicably back in time, rendering the case difficult to solve (though is it, in fact, connected to the time travel?). These are simply three of a huge number of possible variations, but they demonstrate how the shape of each story is affected by the type of time travel being used. The scientist in the first story wants to travel in time; the story is one of exploration and scientific discovery. The girl in the second story is time travelling via magic, not science, and the travel is accidental. If she is in a story for children or young adults, it is relatively likely that there will be a teaching element to the tale, not because all children’s stories are didactic but because children’s authors do often use time travel to teach a lesson or propel a character into a coming of age. The time travel will teach the character something about herself, her family, or her society. I would argue that the third work is not a time-travel story per se but a mystery in which time travel plays a role. The mechanism of travel could easily be either science based or magic based; unlike in the other two stories, the mechanism doesn’t drive the story (or if it does, we don’t find out how and why until much later).

The point is that the time travel has a different purpose in each story, and that’s before we get into the tangled distinctions between different models of time travel and delve into arguments about whether or not, in a particular story, it is possible for characters to change the past. A time-travel story can be primarily about travelling in time, but frequently, the time travel itself is almost incidental. One of the first time-travel stories — and arguably still the best known — is H. G. Wells’s The Time Machine, which is definitely focused on time travel as an adventure, but even so, what it’s really about is Wells’s own time and the social structure of his society. Octavia E. Butler’s Kindred uses time travel as a metaphor for slavery even as the protagonist, Dana, is pulled helplessly back into a time in which her ancestors are enslaved. In Back to the Future, the DeLorean is a fun time machine, and Doc Brown’s shameless mugging is appreciated, but we’re really watching the story of an alienated kid in danger of following in his parents’ failing footsteps who is able to come of age by quite literally getting to know his family and the nuances behind his parents’ behaviour. Time travel allows these stories to happen, but in every case, it’s important as more than just the mechanical action of travelling in time.

In fiction, time travel can effectively be a portal to another world (albeit a world defined by time, not space), a cosmic teaching tool, a metaphor for fate, a metaphor for free will, a reminder that the past is important, a warning that actions have consequences, or any one of a myriad of other possibilities. It’s rarely just time travel. It can mean whatever an author needs it to mean and take on a central or a peripheral role in a story; it can work with or without a machine, with or without a magic device, with or without a didactic element, with or without limits or restrictions or bootstrap paradoxes or time travellers accidentally stepping on butterflies. It can fit comfortably within science fiction, fantasy, magic realism, surrealism, or a bizarre combination of all of the above.

Time travel is kind of everywhere on TV right now, and I’m not sure that’s an accident. I think we may be drawn to it when concerns about the past or the future are prominent in our society, and at the moment, we’ve got both. It’s not just the idea of fixing the past that fascinates us, either; it’s the idea of making it worse by making the wrong choices. It takes only a small tweak to translate that into an anxiety about us making the wrong choices in the present and screwing up the future. This is really Wells all over again, except that the past, not the future, has become our metaphorical playground.

I don’t really know how to end this essay without saying something twee about my own stories and how they fit in here, but that’s not my point. The fact that time-travel stories don’t have to fit any particular pattern — though they can — is what I find fascinating about them. In Terminator 2, the remembered line “There’s no fate but what we make for ourselves” warns John Connor that his mother intends to change the future. Time travel itself echoes this line: it is what we make of it, though sometimes, as in the Terminator films, it gets away from us and carves out its own meaning.

November 13, 2016

Review: Claudia Gray’s A Million Worlds with You

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 9:01 pm

A Million Worlds with You (Firebird, #3)A Million Worlds with You by Claudia Gray

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A Million Worlds with You closes out Claudia Gray’s Firebird trilogy. I gave each of the previous works 3 stars and have been bouncing between 3 and 4 on this one. I’d say 3.5 would be fair. Bits of the novel work extremely well, while other bits are still bothering me. All in all, the final book in the series constitutes a fairly strong conclusion.

Dimension-hopping “perfect traveller” Marguerite Caine here picks up exactly where she left off in the cliffhanger of the second novel: trapped in her own body, which has been stolen by “Wicked,” the worst of the alternate Marguerites. However, Wicked’s visit is a brief one because Paul apparently has Marguerite-Sensing Superpowers and can identify any Marguerite in any body (sigh). Wicked escapes on a wild journey across the dimensions, with Marguerite on her tail. The plot is oddly video-game-like; Marguerite must continually hop into versions of herself that Wicked has recently set up to be killed, figure out the traps, and save herself and often other people from death. Wicked’s scheme is both vengeful and purposeful, as the more Marguerites she murders, the less chance Marguerite and her allies have of saving the dimensions Wicked’s grief-stricken parents are trying to destroy in their “Monkey’s Paw”-like quest to put their dead daughter Josie back together again. (Side note: I’ve got to admit I’m disappointed that Gray never mentions “The Monkey’s Paw,” even obliquely. The Josie plot is pure W. W. Jacobs.)

The tour of the dimensions continues to be fascinating. Though most of the dimensions aren’t that different from Marguerite’s own, her alternate selves frequently find themselves in wildly divergent situations. As well, some of the dimensions are different enough to provide great set pieces. I won’t give anything away, but there’s one dimension in particular that allows Marguerite to…well…really get to know herself. A lot of the time, the difference is made by whatever field Marguerite’s scientist parents decided to go into in a given dimension. Marguerite, who is becoming increasingly comfortable as an interdimensional traveller, seems endlessly fascinated by the new worlds even as she struggles to save them.

However, she is also discovering the costs of her travels. This element is one of the book’s strongest. The previous volumes have Marguerite beginning to realise how much damage she may be doing, but the lesson is driven home here as the Marguerites start to die and even the ones who survive may find their lives irrevocably altered. Wicked also demonstrates to Marguerite that her own good intentions have the potential to be twisted out of shape, as does her artistic gift. Marguerite’s ultimate antagonist here is not Wyatt Conley, the villain who pops up throughout the previous books but who barely appears in this one; it’s instead a damaged version of herself. Her coming of age is tied inextricably to her ability to know and understand her own worst self.

As with the other books, one of the weak links is Marguerite’s love life. It’s increasingly hard to care about her relationship with Paul. There are points where Paul’s stony refusal to admit that he may not always be broken as a result of his “splintering” experience works, but a lot of the time, he may as well just be announcing that he’s drawing out the suspense so the love plot doesn’t conclude too soon. The romance is often a distraction from the more interesting things going on, to the extent that it’s a relief whenever Marguerite jumps away on her own. It also makes me grit my teeth a bit to see an eighteen-year-old character so extremely convinced that she will be with the same man forever and ever, but maybe that’s just me.

Yet the love plot is often less distracting here that it is in the other books; it is not what almost drove me down to three stars again. This time, the biggest problem is that Gray seems to have lost track of her own story. There are a lot of inconsistencies, starting with the method Wicked’s cronies use to destroy dimensions (didn’t the characters in the last book say they hadn’t quite figured that out yet?). Many of the inconsistencies constitute spoilers, so I won’t get any more specific, but while I was reading, there were several points at which I thought, “But…!” The ending also seems a bit rushed, with plot points tumbling over each other and characters changing their behaviour for the sake of what seems like plot convenience rather than genuine development.

In the end, the Firebird trilogy is somewhat uneven but worth reading. Marguerite develops as a character over the course of the trilogy, especially in the final book, and her adventure is exciting and imaginatively described. I’m still not a huge fan of the love triangle, but the closer focus on Wicked in A Million Worlds with You almost makes up for it.

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November 6, 2016

Review: Kasie West’s P.S. I Like You

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 10:53 pm

P.S. I Like YouP.S. I Like You by Kasie West

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Let me just start by saying this is not my kind of book.

I don’t really care for romances. If a novel that belongs to some other genre has a romance in it, I’m okay with it as long as it’s unobtrusive and doesn’t stop the actual story dead in its tracks. My ideal romance subplot would probably be the relationship between Sam Vimes and Lady Sibyl in Terry Pratchett’s Guards! Guards! All the romance beats are there, but the lovers, if they can be called that, are a down-on-his-luck drunken policeman and a large, cheerful spinster devoted to training pet swamp dragons. There is nothing not awesome about that romance.

YA non-SF romances, on the other hand, are just not written for me. They weren’t even written for me when I was thirteen. However, I subscribed to the monthly OwlCrate box this summer. OwlCrate is devoted to YA fiction, which works for me because I’m interested in the genre, and when I bought the subscription in August, I thought I was too late for the August box and was aiming for the September box, which contained a book that looked intriguing. However, I was just in time for the August box. It featured P.S. I Like You, which has a pink spine and a cutesy title and a jarring cover featuring two real teenagers who basically look like the worst people in the world. I had nightmares about this kind of book when I was ten.

Since I’ve made a bet with myself that I’ll read and review all the OwlCrate books, I must start with this one, even though the September and October books are much more my sort of thing, as is the pending November book. Ah well.

Rules of the review: I write this in full recognition of the fact that this book is not for me. I’ll try to be relatively objective.

The novel follows high-school junior Lily Abbott, a young hipster who wants to be a songwriter, though she hasn’t yet gathered up the courage to show anyone her lyrics. She has a large, noisy, artistic family that is living paycheque to paycheque, though there’s no sign anyone else at her high school isn’t well off. She has a crush on a senior named Lucas and a vendetta against her best friend Isabel’s former boyfriend, Cade. One day, in Chemistry (which she hates), she scribbles some lyrics from one of her favourite songs on her desk, and someone replies. She and the mysterious other student begin exchanging letters they wedge under their shared desk. The story then progresses as a mild mystery: who is the letter writer? Which boy is Lily slowly falling for? Will her family ever leave her alone for two seconds so she can finish a song for a songwriting contest? Why is Lucas so cute? Why is Cade so annoying?

For what it is, the novel is…well…all right. Lily is a pretty engaging narrator, though she indulges in a fair amount of self-pitying whining. Her family is quite fun. I want to know more about her mom and dad’s bizarre jewelry-making rivalry, and I think everyone should have a blind pumpkin-pie-tasting contest at Thanksgiving. I do find that the minor characters are pretty sketchily drawn. Lily’s sister Ashley gets a bit of a personality, but her two little brothers, whom she calls Thing One and Thing Two, are considerably less defined than the actual Thing One and Thing Two. Isabel’s boyfriend has almost nothing to do, and the boyfriend’s friend David seems to exist for no particular reason; he vanishes quietly once he’s expended his plot-related usefulness.

I won’t give away the identity of the letter writer, but it didn’t surprise me even a little bit. I guessed it immediately. West’s red herrings are a little transparent. The romance works best when Lily and her admirer are still exchanging letters; the letters do genuinely sound as if they were written by a couple of slightly pretentious teenagers. Once the two meet, however, the story just keeps going and going and going and going, even though there’s not much of a point. The whole thing is a little predictable and not particularly memorable. It is nice that when Lily finds herself in a pickle, she’s saved not by her True Love but by her siblings.

While I would rather focus my wish-fulfilment fantasies on trips to magical lands populated by monsters, not on That Cute Boy I Like, I’m sure a lot of kids will enjoy this book. The three stars are for them. I doubt I’ll ever read it again, but I did binge the last third, so I guess that’s something.

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October 29, 2016

Review: Claudia Gray’s Ten Thousand Skies Above You

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kari Maaren @ 1:22 pm

Ten Thousand Skies Above You (Firebird, #2)Ten Thousand Skies Above You by Claudia Gray

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Ten Thousand Skies Above You is the second book in Claudia Gray’s Firebird trilogy. It continues the story of Marguerite Caine’s adventures through a myriad of parallel dimensions. Last time, she was seeking revenge for her father’s murder; now she’s out to rescue her boyfriend, Paul, who has been torn into four separate pieces by the shadowy corporation blackmailing Marguerite into working for it. As she strives to find the splinters of Paul while also trying to avoid helping the Triad Corporation, Marguerite must also struggle with the personal consequences–on both her life and the lives of her other selves–of interfering in the workings of the multiverse.

As with the first volume, A Thousand Pieces of You, Volume 2 is a slightly frustrating mixture of amazing world building and dreary love triangle. Gray’s treatment of the multiverse continues to be fascinating. Some of the worlds Marguerite visits are very similar to ours (in fact, by implication, one is ours; Marguerite herself seems to hail from a closely related but not-quite-identical world), whereas others are either more or less advanced or have been sent off in bizarre directions by important historical events. This time around, Marguerite visits a world that is, technologically and culturally speaking, stuck in the Middle Ages; a world in which the United States is involved in a war on American soil; a world very like her own in which she gets mixed up with the Russian mob; a technologically advanced world in which nations have been replaced by constantly warring corporations; and our own world (probably), which is recognisable because it has iPhones in it. She also revisits one of her favourite worlds from Volume 1, though that doesn’t turn out quite as she expects it to. Gray continues her ruminations on souls and destiny and whether or not alternate selves are all the same person, and it all gets very interesting when Marguerite leaps into a version of herself who is…well, let’s just call her “not a very nice person” and leave it at that. It’s interesting stuff. Every new world offers new possibilities, some exciting, some kind of horrifying.

However, eighteen-year-old Marguerite is a bit obsessed with Paul and the whole idea of the two of them being in love forever in every universe. I understand. Eighteen-year-olds are often intense about these things. That’s fine. It’s just that every time the love angle comes up, the plot stops dead. It becomes a chore to grind through Marguerite’s agonised thoughts about whether every Paul is the same and whether she’s really in love with her friend Theo in one of the worlds and whether she really should be in love with Theo and whether it means anything that Theo is in love with her and whether Paul is her fate after all and OH MY GOD, MARGUERITE, JUST STOP. When I read the bit where one of the Pauls called her “insecure,” I nearly applauded. It’s great that Marguerite’s got real flaws, but this particular flaw makes her seem awfully whiny and clingy at times. It’s hard not to cringe when she meets a new Paul and repeats over and over again that she’s sure she’s safe with him because he always protects her. Protect yourself, kid. I know you can.

The story is heading into tangled-conspiracy-theory territory in advance of the final book, which comes out in a few days. It seems promising. However, a new wrinkle in the love plot has been introduced, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get through Volume 3 without screaming in impatience. I do realise this is partly just my own aversion to love stories rearing its problematic head. However, take, in comparison, another Claudia Gray book, the Star Wars tie-in novel Lost Stars. It’s also a love story. It could even accurately be called a Romeo-and-Juliet story, possibly one of the most cliched types of love story around. However, in that one, the flawed, likable characters transcend the love plot. The love story is always there, but it doesn’t stop the flow of the narrative or impede the world building. Character development is not entirely tied to who is in love with whom and/or who is separated from whom. The love plot is absolutely important to the story as a whole, but it doesn’t take anything away from that story. Give me something like that, and I’ll stop complaining about all the gooshy love.

I would characterise Ten Thousand Skies Above You as see-sawing between two stars and four. It’s effectively a four-star novel into which a two-star alternative self from another dimension has leaped.

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