Red Gloves, by Beth Vaughan

Hmm.  Red Gloves.  I'm getting a bit less tolerant of books with beginnings that don't grab me - my time is precious, so I am tending to leave books unfinished if I'm finding them dull or badly written.  Red Gloves almost got put back on the shelf after a few pages.  It started well, and I was intrigued by the character of Red Gloves from the start as she was good and tomboyish in her mannerisms and speech.  I like tomboys, being one myself.

But I lost patience when after a few pages she was trying to seduce the first bloke offered up in the story, and I was disappointed that a perfectly good book could potentially be ruined by smut.  But I persevered because I wanted to see if there would be more to the story - surely a book with such instantly vivid characters would not be just full of filth?  I also hoped that I wasn't going to be expected to like Red just because she was physically strong, sexually independent and confident, and emasculated.

It turned out that I wasn't expected to like her for those things.  And it also turned out that I was rewarded for my perseverance.  There was much more to Red than sex.  What a great character, full of conflict, moody, transparent, complex, challenging.  She was a real treat actually.  She was also very easy to like.  Having said that I don't think she would be to everyone's taste.  And there was a history to the world that Vaughan had created.  I could well imagine more stories and more characters.

I've only one criticism really, though it is quite a big one.  With a story so well thought out as this one, and with so many interesting characters, I would have liked this book to have been three times as long, or even part of a series.  I felt as though the story was just getting going, and then it was over.  The end was rushed, the battle was too vague and was fought at a distance, and also was won too easily, and the conclusion was too obvious and a little too much on the sentimental and mushy side for my liking.  This book had tremendous potential, but it did not quite fulfill it.  I wanted more from this book, but I felt as though I had to fill in the detail for myself.  There were so many secrets - practically every character had one - but almost none of them were revealed and explained fully or satisfactorily.  The secrets of the two main characters were told, but I'm nosy and I wanted to know why everyone had a shifty look and a guilty manner.  If the booked had been stretched out a bit, these secrets could have become the integral parts of the story that I had expected them to be.

Actually I did have another criticism, and that was that the writing was sometimes a bit lazy.  I remember screwing my nose up at one particular sentence: 'Jonas just stood there'.  What?  Are you kidding?  The dialogue is often lyrical in its efforts to place itself in the high fantasy category, and then we get 'just stood there'.  Hmm.  Stood where?  Hmm.  A little bit first drafty, if you ask me; a sentence that was missed in the edit, perhaps.  Now, don't get me wrong, there was no peppering of lazy sentences in this book, and goodness knows my own writing is full of them.  But these kinds of sentence just helped to give the book a feeling of not being finished.

So in short, testing beginning, good middle, rushed end.  Maybe it's just that I like an epic: three or four books make a right good story for me.  A book of 300+ pages only whets my appetite, really.

And so here, I think we have learned something about different tastes ... err, they all ... different.  Mmm.

Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke

I read Inkheart.  It was good.  Very good in fact.  I'd heard that it was good, but it was one of those that I'm afraid I felt a little snobby about - all I knew of it was that it had been made into a film starring Brendan Fraser, and that small fact set me against it a little bit.  I suppose I imagined that I might end up reading something as time-wasting as California Man!  But of course, Brendan Fraser's not in the book, and the character that he played, Mortimer Folchart, did not resemble him at all, to me at any rate.

Apart from Brendan Fraser's link, I knew nothing about the story really, except perhaps something about characters from a book being read into reality.  And essentially, that was the bones of the book.  It's about books, reading them and bringing them to life.  It's a book for people who love books, and who love disappearing into them.  Each chapter begins with a quotation from another story, which is a lovely touch.  Each quotation has been carefully selected, and they really do add something to the story and to our understanding of it.  It was a joy to read these quotes, and to see that so many of my favourite books were included.  And actually, it was a good one to read after writing that hub on what constitutes a good book, because it confirmed my suspicions that our choices are our own business and never anything to be ashamed of!  We read to allow our imaginations to travel to a different place and time, and whether we go to a place of fantasy and magic, or only as far as a different country in our own world, it's all valid, all important.

Inkheart is a simple story, really not much to it at all, but it is beautifully executed.  I was gripped from the first page, by the writing initially, and then by the story itself once I got into the flow.  We're kept in the dark about just enough of the story, but not too much that we start to lose interest.  For instance, the mysterious character of Dustfinger appears at the beginning, and we don't know who he is or what he wants from Mo and Meggie.  But we can suspect that it is something to do with the book, we know that much, and that is enough.  The book I am reading at the moment, Red Gloves, just keeps me in the dark a little too much, and I find it frustrating.  Every character has a secret, and we find out that there are several secrets in quick succession; as yet no-one's telling, and I'm almost near the end of the book.  I do hope that everyone's secret will not be told all at once in a horribly contrived chapter of revelation.  On the other hand, I do hope that I will be told the secrets after putting in the effort of reading to the end!  But I'll write about that book once I've finished it, hopefully tomorrow actually.  It's not all good.

The writing in Inkheart is very ... mm, delicate I suppose.  I'm not quite sure what I mean by that, but I'm just left with a feeling of Cornelia Funke's words being gentle.  She's written the story with a lot of love, and it's a precious thing to her.  That seems strange, because there's quite a lot of thrilling suspense (as thrilling and suspenseful as it's possible for a children's book to be) and lots of descriptions about the things that Capricorn had done to his victims and those who did not submit to him.  But that is the feeling I'm left with, of a book that just flows beautifully.  There was a little bit in the middle when I felt that the pace had slowed horribly and that the story was becoming a little repetitive, but that was because I was very tired, and was only managing to read three pages before going to sleep: the fault was mine, and not Funke's!  I soon realised that I'd been mistaken in thinking that it was all going wrong.  The end was superb, and although I had seen it coming, it was satisfying to see it played out.  I wasn't entirely happy with the sudden appearance of blue fairies, but I suppose we'd had warning of them from early on, so I can't really complain.  They just seemed a little Disneyesque - and Tinkerbell certainly was, despite her being read from a book and not an animated film.  Maybe that's just me being fussy though, as the fairies in my book are so much more than just fluttery butterfly creatures that twinkle and tinkle.

I was happy to find that the character of Meggie grew throughout the book - I had found her a little whiny at the beginning, and did want her to grow up a bit and find her backbone; she did that, and it happened naturally and convincingly.

In fact, the real strength of the story is in its characters.  We hear a great deal of their thoughts, of almost everyone's thoughts.  Funke contrives reasons for each of the main characters to be alone at times when it's important for us to know what they're thinking.  Perspective changes very frequently, and at first I was alarmed by this, as a new writer myself, because I thought that we weren't supposed to do that!!  I thought we were supposed to stick to one perspective, and only have access to one person's thoughts.  Now I've seen how switching perspective can be done very skillfully, and can be used very effectively.  We know each of the main (goodie) characters very well because of this.  We don't know the baddies so well, because we never go into their minds.  This keeps them remote, and prevents us from sympathising with them because we can't know their motivation for their actions.  Red Gloves has a shifting perspective too, but it's done slightly differently, but just as effectively.  I didn't like it at first, found it too confusing; I'm used to it now, and actually think it's very cleverly executed.

So, Inkheart, very good.  It had a similar feel to  Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials, but on a much smaller scale.  Meggie had some of the same kind of pluck as Lyra, although I liked Lyra immediately whereas it took me longer to take to Meggie (I think it was probably only because her name annoyed me, as I thought it was a little babyish!).

I will have to wait for quite a while to read Inkspell and Inkdeath, since they're not on my list!  Must stick to the list; don't know why, I just must ...

It's just too ha-a-aaaard!

What's the point in ever reading anything else?  I'll never be 'well-read' because all I want to read for the rest of my life is Harry Potter!  Ugh-huh-huh-huuuuuuh (that's me sobbing)!  There's nothing left for me now, if I can't read Harry, I can't go on.

Sniff.

Well, actually I can.  It's a never-ending-story, and I will read it again in a few months.  But I have to exert a supreme effort to not run to the bookcase and pull out Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.  It's sitting there, calling to me, and begging me to read it again, even though I only finished its sibling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, this morning.  I'm always like this when I've finished these books, sitting about the house, moping, gazing longingly at my beautiful, black covered, hard-backed set of precious gems.  If my house was on fire and I had time to nip back in and save a couple of things - after removing my children from the building, of course - I would grab my MacBook and my boxed set of Harry Potters.

So, I've put a plan into action, to prevent me from picking up that book that's taunting me with its beauty and magic: I've written a list of ten books, that the boys chose for me, and I've stuck it to my bookcase, and the boys have witnessed it, and I have to tick off the books as I read them.  Then, and only then, can I be treated to Harry Potter again.

The books are these:

• Soul Music, by Terry Pratchett (which I was very pleased that Thomas chose, because something light and comical that I can get through in a few evenings will cheer me up after my loss (of Harry))
• Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke (which I have been meaning to read for quite some time, and has been on my list for ages)
• Red Gloves, by Beth Vaughan (which I know nothing about, but which was recommended by one of my favourite authors, Kristin Cashore (who wrote Graceling and Fire), so I expect it to be good - at least, I think she recommended it, I could be having a memory spasm there)
• Skull and Bones, by John Drake (which has not been on the list for long, but will be a joy to read, I know (see my hub on its prequel: John Drake, Flint and Silver))
• Faerie Tale, by Raymond E Feist (a book that I found on a website when I did a quick search for fiction with the word 'faerie' in the title - no expectations from this book, we'll see what it's like)
• The Gormenghast Trilogy, by Mervyn Peake (which I bought several years ago, because it looked pretty: the person on the till who sold it to me looked sideways at me when I slammed it thunderously onto the counter (single volume), and she knew that I was oblivious to its contents; I have since heard that The Gormenghast Trilogy is a bit hard going, but that's fine because I will feel as though I've really earned my treat of HP)
• Catch 22, by Joseph Heller (which I bought several years ago, but forgot to read (it happens a lot); Sebastian Faulks recommended this book in a programme he did a couple of months ago, and this caused me to remember that I had a copy: as to whether I'll enjoy it, I don't know, I expect it to be beyond my meagre intelligence, because I don't think it's got any mythical beasties in it)
• In The Lion's Court, (a history book) by Derek Wilson (which I bought several years ago; it's been a long time since I read a history book, and I've been missing them, because I love to read about our kings and queens of centuries past: this one is about Henry VIII's court, and what it was like to be an important personage within it, chronicling the lives of six unfortunate Thomases)
• The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, by Stieg Larsson (which I thought I'd better read, because it's supposed to be excellent, and it might contain some very useful lessons that I need to learn about how to play your cards close to your chest, and to drip feed information to your reader)
• The Magician's Guild, by Trudi Canavan (which, incidentally, I have two copies of, if anyone wants one; picked it because it looked good)

So there you have it.  Read along with me, if you would like to.  Maybe a little too much fantasy, and no Dickens at all (I know I said I was diving into The Pickwick Papers, but I changed my mind).

I would like to write a review of Harry Potter, but I don't know if I can say anything that hasn't already been said.  I don't know if I can say what I want to say about my favourite books without it being mushy, and without causing myself embarrassment on the off-chance that JK Rowling should read it, and that I should meet her when I'm famous myself.  I will begin a review, but I will not promise to publish it.  I wrote one for Narnia, but CS Lewis is dead, so there was no chance of me embarrassing myself infront of him.