Summerland

Author: Michael Chabon

I must confess -- I actually read this book a very long time ago. I am using it as a stand-in, because this post should really be about another Michael Chabon book, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. The reason that I am not posting about Kavalier and Clay is that I haven't read it, and the reason that I haven't read it is -- I don't really know, actually. I love Summerland (we're coming back around to Summerland, I promise), the premise of Kavalier and Clay is right up my alley (my alley is semi-sarcastic humorous fiction with a supernatural twist, in case you're wondering), and I have been told by numerous people that I would love love love it. And yet, I have tried to read it seven or eight times, and I just can't get into it for some reason. I have reader's block. Quite tragic, really.
While we're waiting for me to overcome my difficulties, let's discuss the awesomeness that is Summerland. It's about fairies and baseball, which seem like they don't go together but it turns out that they totally do. The main character, Ethan, is charged with the task of saving several worlds and rescuing his father, with a whimsically mish-mash group of sidekicks that he picks up along the way. The book does have a bit of that Americana Baseball is Religion thing, but the author somehow makes it poignant (even for me, and I find baseball painfully boring) instead of aggravating. Plus, the plot, which sounds stupid when written out (young boy fated to save world and dad by playing baseball with fairies) is absolutely perfect. Voice of the author, character development, interactions between characters, oh, it's just all so good.
This is a children's book, but like many children's books, it works for any age, and it is very pleasing. And, as an added bonus, it gives us something to talk about while we wait for me to suck it up and read past the first twenty pages of Kavalier and Clay. Which I totally will. Someday soon.

Twilight

Author: Stephanie Meyer

Remember in my last post, when I said that we were going to discuss the sexy vampire plot device, and how it has been done (both well and poorly) enough to last even the most ardent blood-sucking enthusiast a lifetime? The time, my friends, for that discussion has now arrived.
The novel, which is the first of a trilogy, tells the story of Bella, who moves to a small and rainy town to live with her semi-estranged father. She is miserable at first -- she hates the cold and the rain, she feels awkward with her father, and she alternates between irritation and intrigue with a brooding fellow student named Edward. Edward seems inexplicably hostile one moment, overly protective and solicitous the next. It emerges (and I don't feel badly telling you this, because it is revealed in the first couple of lines of the book, even if the title or the back cover blurb don't tip you off) that Edward is a vampire, and has been struggling with his desire for Bella, a desire that is both romantic and, you know, culinary (Edward, as it turns out, belongs to a group of vampires who have vowed to abstain from people-eating). Bella and Edward fall in love and begin dating, after a fair amount of No! We mustn't! But I just can't stay away from you! If you love me, then leave me alone! I'm no good for you, Baby. No sooner do they get that squared away than they run afoul of a rival group of vampires, who do not share Edward's human-free lifestyle. Hilarity ensues.
I have already said (at least twice now) that I think that the human-vampire love story is a bit over-played, giving this particular novel a bit of a handicap going in. Added to that, however, the tone of the book is ... well, it's odd. Edward and Bella spend a lot of time pining for each other. They talk a lot about how each finds the other irresistible and good-smelling and oh, so intriguing. And yet, their relationship is strangely chaste. They kiss a bit, Edward longs to bite Bella but restrains himself, Edward rescues Bella and she fall breathlessly into his arms. But no actual hanky-panky takes place. I can, with difficulty, get behind the idea that a vampire might fall in love and resist the impulse to drink blood. If that same vampire also chooses to abstain from sex until after marriage, though, it stretches the credulity. How scary can a vampire who behaves in such a fashion possible be? He's like a lightly vampire-scented, slightly broodier Clay Aiken, for God's sake! And it ruins the central theme. If Bella and Edward find each other so hauntingly attractive that they must, simply must be together in spite of all obstacles and risks, then their passion should be -- I don't know, pick a metaphor -- a tidal wave. If they can resist having sex, isn't it possible that they could apply that same iron will to being together at all? Thus sparing us all the torment of their ill-fated love?
I believe that the author intended this book to be Young Adult-friendly, and I think that this is why the plot is bizarrely puritanical in strange places. Quite simply, I think that the author pulled some punches in order to avoid advocating teenage sex, vampire sex, or actual predatory predators. If you pull punches too often, though, people stop flinching, and that is what we have here. Bah.

30 Days Of Night (Movie)

Ghost House Pictures/ Columbia Pictures
Director: David Slade
Starring: Josh Hartnett, Melissa George, Danny Huston, Ben Foster

Yes, it has been over a week since last we spoke. Sadly, my husband and I have been wading through some tax papers, and I did not think that anyone would enjoy my embittered review of all things tax-related. (Although, for the record: long, complex, and no plot to speak of at all. Thumbs down, I say.) Apologies. And now, let's recommence reviewing.

WARNING: This movie is quite gory. It is a vampire movie, and vampires like blood. They like to poke people with their pointy teeth, drink the blood that comes out, and then walk around all blood-smeared and hollow-eyed and twinkle their fangs at the survivors. If you are not a fan of scary movies, or you cannot withstand a certain amount of carnage, move along.
If you do like scary movies, you should really see this. It is set in Barrow, Alaska, where a group of vampires take advantage of the winter period of extended darkness and rage unchecked through the isolated town. A handful of survivors, led by Sheriff Eben Oleson (Josh Hartnett) and his estranged wife (Melissa George) attempt to fight back and/or escape, and hilarity ensues.
This is a fairly standard Horror Story in many respects. You've got your dark and creepy corners. You've got an estranged but still in love couple, forced together by crisis. There's the scrappy younger brother itching to prove himself, the nutty survivalist whose nuttiness becomes invaluable, the friends and neighbors being transformed into monsters, and the resulting paranoia and panic. In spite of all this, however, it manages to set itself apart in several fascinating ways. My husband and I often make a game out of trying to predict how movies will end, and we were both wrong about this one, which I love. Nothing better than an unpredictable but still satisfying ending. Plus, the character development and the plot throughout the film neatly avoid many a horror movie pitfall.
Firstly, and most importantly, the vampires are smart, and legitimately scary. Their plan to isolate the town by sabotaging means of escape and communication makes sense, it is well thought out, and it is executed flawlessly. The townspeople's' reactions are also believable and logical. So many horror movies fall into the trap of having either the protagonist or the villain be too strong, which makes the story boring, or too stupid, which makes the story frustrating, or both, which makes the story boring and frustrating. This story has villains who are organized, strong, and intelligent, but not infallible. It is a delicate balance, and I have rarely seen it done better.
Secondly, the movie is visually awesome. The stark white snow, the red blood, and the dark figures lurking around everywhere create a minimalist scene where everything stands out. There is a particularly good image where the camera pans back and you see the whole town from above, with the vampires gliding around on the frozen and otherwise empty streets.
Which brings me to a final point: The vampires most closely resemble wolves preying on helpless smaller creatures. Their feeding is brutal, it is bestial, and it is not at all sexual. This makes me happy. The whole sexy vampire with the haunted eyes and mischievous smile who is all broody and lurky and compelling has been done. (Which reminds me! Stay tuned for my next review, in which I bemoan just such a plot!) In real life, vampires would be scary. They would be trying to kill and eat you. They would have bloodstained clothing and terrible breath. I think that it is unlikely that they would be sexy. I liked Buffy The Vampire Slayer as much as the next person, but I am glad that this particular movie avoided falling into those well-trodden footsteps.
So, see the movie! It's based on a comic book series, which I haven't read, but I've heard it's good, so maybe check that out too. Although, reading plot synopses of the series, I hope they don't make a sequel movie and continue the story. I liked the way the movie ended.

Straight Man

Author: Richard Russo

Just to clear up any confusion before we begin, let me explain that the title of the book refers to the 'straight man' in a stand up comedy routine. This is not a book about the heterosexual male experience in America. It is a fictional novel about an English professor and his zany colleagues and their madcap adventures. So if you are halfway out the door, ready to purchase and then curl up with a book about sexuality and gender and orientations and etc., you might want to take off your coat and just sit back down.
Now that we've settled that business, let me say that I love this book. Oh, how I love it. I've read it six or seven times now, and I still laugh out loud, from the belly, at certain parts of it. I was originally forced to read it for a composition class in college, and even that dark history cannot dim the warm glow of my regard for this book. So, thumbs up? You bet.
Straight Man takes us through a few weeks in the life of Hank Devereaux, a Creative Writing professor at a small, undecorated Pennsylvania college. The particulars of the plot -- political intrigue among Hank's colleagues, Hank's daughter's marital problems, the imminent return of Hank's long-absent father -- are almost incidental. What is delightful about this book is the voice. Hank is struggling on a number of fronts -- his job could be in jeopardy, he suspects he is forming a kidney stone, and he has family issues at least three or four layers deep. His appreciation of the absurdity of his situation, though, makes the overall story both hilarious and refreshing. I don't know that I'd want to know Hank in real life; he is frequently accused by other characters in the story of being a pain in the bum, and I can see their point. It is deeply aggravating to have to work seriously on serious stuff with people who refuse to take anything seriously. It is wonderful, though, to read Hank's story and spend a bit of time in that mind frame. It's like a vacation. And who couldn't use a nice vacation? I would recommend this book to pretty much anyone; I think that it is a story that a vast array of personalities from a vast array of walks of life could enjoy. So go read it. Unless, of course, you are still operating under the impression that it's a book about male heterosexuality. And even then, you could read it to pass the time while you wait for books about male heterosexuality to turn up.

The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night-Time

Author: Mark Haddon

Hmm. I am trying to decide exactly how I feel about this book. On the one hand, it was excellent -- a bit funny, a bit heartstring-tuggy, written in a first person voice that was consistent and fascinating. On the other hand ... something. It was just a hair or two -- melancholy, maybe? Overly aware of making us relate to the autistic main character? Hmm.
Christopher Boone, the book's narrator, is a fifteen year old autistic boy who sets out to solve the mystery of who killed his neighbor's dog. In the process of trying to unravel the mystery, he inadvertently uncovers a few other items of interest about his parents, his neighbors, and himself. His voice in the book is really interesting to read, as it gives insight into the thought process behind Chris' many quirks (he doesn't like the color yellow, for instance, and will not eat any yellow food), and takes us through a very emotional story from the perspective of a person who cannot really understand or access others' emotions. Chris' dry and matter-of-fact retelling of his parents' attempts to deal with his needs while struggling to maintain their marriage makes the events described all the more poignant. The author makes excellent use of his narrator -- Chris' voice throughout the book is believable and relatable, and reveals a great deal of information without seeming expository.
In spite of all this, however, I found myself with kind of an After School Special aftertaste when I finished this book. The author is not noticeably preachy -- there is no blatant "Let's all learn about autism through this character and thus better ourselves" moment -- and yet I ended up feeling a touch preached to, anyway. The narrator is fascinating, and easy to relate to on many levels, but there is a little undercurrent of the author standing out there somewhere, hoping that you arrive at a better understanding of autism and those affected by it through the power of his writing. And this awakens some bratty little slice of me that wants to sullenly cross my arms, roll my eyes, and not listen, because I don't need improving, dammit! The more mature part of me, though, liked this book a lot, and if the author sneaks in a subliminal empathy-increasing message or two, there are worse things to put out there into the world.

p.s. I found an interesting interview on Powell's.com with the author, Mark Haddon, and it is worth checking out. If you are interested, here is the link.

The Loch

Author: Steve Alten

The back cover of this book claims "MAJOR MOTION PICTURE RIGHTS BEING DEVELOPED", and after reading, I have arrived at the following conclusion: This story would be a much better movie than it is a novel.
I know that several generations of reading enthusiasts just turned over in their papery graves as I typed that sentence. I was an English Lit major in college, and I get that we are always supposed to exalt The Written Word, and look down our noses (over those little pinchy glasses, if possible) at any sort of adaptation for any sort of electronic screen. There is such a thing, however, as a gifted storyteller who is not a particularly gifted writer, and Steve Alten falls neatly into this category for me. I didn't really like the book while I was reading it. In fact, I finished it only because not finishing it would be allowing it to beat me, and I'll be damned if I let some pseudo-scientific Loch Ness Monster story claim victory over me. Upon reflection, though (I read the book about a month ago, so there's been time to heal and regroup), most of what I disliked about the book could easily be fixed or reworked into a fairly decent movie. The story itself wasn't what bugged me, really. It's just that the mechanics of the writing interfered frequently. For example:
The novel is written in the first person perspective. Zachary Wallace, the narrator and main character, describes for us his journey back to his childhood home near the famous Loch Ness, where his quest (embarked upon because of a family curse/need to prove stuff to his father/series of misfortunes that leave him unemployed and sans true love) to solve the mystery of the Loch Ness monster plays out. First person perspective writing can be fun to read -- cozier and more intimate than other storytelling styles. The problem is that Zachary Wallace is completely and totally and really a lot I'm not even kidding annoying. He's whiny. He's egocentric. He has daddy issues and romance issues and a variety of irritating phobias. I think, though, that he could be made into a way less annoying character if some distance were employed. His whininess and ego are revealed largely through his private thoughts, which in the novel we are privy to but in a screenplay we might not be. There is always room, I suppose, for a Godawful voice over narrative to preserve Zachary's more aggravating characteristics in a film adaptation, but the story is fairly visual and really shouldn't require such a device.
As I said, just now, in the line right above this one, the story is fairly visual. It takes place on or in Loch Ness, where the scenery would likely be breathtaking to view but is boring to trudge through descriptive paragraphs about. It involves a lot of marine biologistic equipment and maneuvering, which would be fun to see in action, but are cumbersome to read about. It also, as I'm sure you can guess, involves a fair number of Loch Ness Monster-related hi jinks, which, again; fun to see it, boring to read it. There are only so many times you can feel a suspenseful tingle whilst reading a sentence about someone possibly catching a glimpse of a scaly something in the dark and sinister lake.
Also (and this may just be a pet peeve of mine that doesn't bother anyone else, but this is, after all, my review, so pipe down), I am driven nuts by reading accents. Since so much of the story takes place in Scotland, we are forced to read a lot of "I dinnae" and "your faither" and "ye ken", and it bugs. I love the way Scottish accents sound, and I appreciate the attempt to create atmosphere, but writing accent into the dialogue is just a obstacle to understanding. By the time I have read a line of speech twice in an effort to figure out what the Godforsaken Scotsman is supposed to be saying and how its supposed to sound while he's saying it, I guarantee you that I will have lost patience with the story, the character, and everyone around me in my real life, as well.
Extensive research on my part (well, maybe not extensive, but I googled around a bit) has not yet revealed when the MAJOR MOTION PICTURE version of this tale will be hitting the big screen, if ever. As far as I can tell, the story has been bought by somebody or other, it is in the process of being developed/written/marketed/funded, and may be coming to a theatre near you someday. It may already be out there somewhere. Maybe it went straight to video. The point is, I would not really recommend the book, but if you like a Pseudo-scientific Atmospheric Set in Scotland Loch Ness Monster Action Story, keep an eye out for the movie that may or may not be coming out or already out or on cable or something. You might like it.

The Time Traveler's Wife

Author: Audrey Niffenegger

I am not usually a fan of stories that include time travel, or alternate dimensions, or multiple realities (as you can imagine, I am comic book challenged), and so I picked up this particular novel a few times and then said, "Nyehh" and put it back down. Once I actually committed to reading it, however, I got sucked in almost immediately. While this is, obviously, a story about time travel, the author manages to avoid most of the things that usually annoy me about this plot device.
The story switches back and forth between the perspectives of Henry, the time traveler, and Clare, his wife, as they navigate through four decades of courtship and marriage. What might otherwise be a fairly conventional love story is made unique by Henry's time travel, which allows him to meet Clare as a little girl, to visit her as a teenager, and creates a slightly confusing but intriguing scenario in which Henry, meeting the adult Clare for the first time, finds that she has known him for most of her life, since his future self has been visiting her past self throughout her early life, although he has no memory of her because he hasn't actually met her yet. Confused? Yeah, that's why I don't like time travel as a plot device.
Audrey Niffenegger does have a better grasp on her story than many who try for the alternate dimensions of time/space/reality, though, and she sidesteps a lot of the problems that often crop up with plots getting tangled. Each chapter is prefaced with an italicised line telling us what year it is and how old Henry and Clare are at the time, which eases the back-and-forth jet lag. (I did get confused and have to page back once or twice, to remind me who was talking and how old they were at the time, but I have two young children and I don't sleep much, so I am easily befuddled.) It is also made very clear early on that Henry cannot alter anything that happens by going back in time. He can't take anything with him when he time travels; he vanishes from his present, appears naked in past and future moments, and then reappears naked in his present life again. He can witness and rewitness accidents, poor choices, suicides, etc., but once they have occurred a certain way, they cannot be manipulated. This makes Henry an often tormented soul, which gives him and his situation some humanity. It also neatly avoids a lot of what I like to call the "Terminator/Back To The Future" syndrome -- where the future can make the past happen differently, which would make the future different, which would mean that the future that affected the past never happened, in which case how did it affect the past and create the new future?... and at this point I get a headache and go lie down. There are a few instances where the author violates her own rules, or at least does things that make me sit all squinty-eyed for a long time and think about whether the rules have been violated or not. Henry can, for example, win the lottery by seeing the winning numbers in the future and then buying a winning ticket in the past. Or present. Whatever.
Mostly, though, this story works in spite of the occasional time travel headache, because the author does not rely exclusively on the time travel to make her story interesting. Clare and Henry are characters with a great deal of depth, and their love story, despite its bumpy narrative that goes back and forth through four decades, feels very human and real. In many ways, they are simply a couple dealing with an unfortunate chronic disease, and most of what they go through is very relatable. I don't think that I could give this book two thumbs up, but I could give it a very solid thumb and a half. (I have been debating whether I need a rating system for books -- you know, three out of four stars or whatever. I was leaning toward not, but I'm not so sure about leaving everyone with the gruesome image of half a thumb, either. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.)

The Sunday Philosophy Club

Author: Alexander McCall Smith


I must disclaim: The whole Murder, She Wrote-esque mystery is not my genre of choice, and so this book had a strike against it before we even began our journey together. Plus, the cover of the book has plaid all over it. Red plaid. (The book is set in Edinburgh, Scotland, and I know the whole not judging a book by its cover thing, but oh, the garishness.) Why, then, you ask, did I even read a book whose prospects of entertaining me were so dismal and few? Because: My in-laws are in the process of moving, and over the last few months, my mother-in-law has been slowly seeding my personal library with her old book club books, because she doesn't want to take them with her but cannot quite bring herself to get rid of them all together. And I have been working my way through them, and this was the last of them. Plus, sometimes I find a book in a random, usually disliked genre that surprises me and strikes my fancy. Sadly, this particular book not only failed to rise above its genre, but it did not even manage to be a decent example of its genre.
The Sunday Philosophy Club introduces Isabel Dalhousie, an independently wealthy forty-something editor of a Philosophical Journal and an amateur mystery-solver/busybody. While attending a concert, Isabel witnesses a young man fall to his death from the balcony of the theatre, and the how and why and wherefore of his fall form the central plot of the story. Interspersed with this are two or three subplots: Isabel's niece, Cat, is dating a young man that Isabel doesn't like, and Isabel spends some of her time wringing her hands about Cat's errors in judgement, trying to find proof that the young man is up to nefarious deeds, and mooning over the young man that she wishes Cat would date instead. Isabel's former husband keeps cropping up in her reflections, making you think that he will turn up at some point and be relevant, which he does not and is not.
Here's the thing: This is not a long book, nor is it an especially challenging one. It is, I believe, meant to be kind of a lightweight, lighthearted read, filling the niche in one's reading experience that shows like Columbo fill in one's television experience. There is absolutely a place for this sort of thing. One in the morning, for instance, when you can't quite sleep and yet can't quite think coherently, either. Even a lighthearted romp of a book, though, has rules and obligations it should live by. The Sunday Philosophy Club manages to commit all of the following crimes against bookish nature in its 247 pages:
* I understand that this is the first book in a series of books about Isabel, and that part if not most of the author's goal is to simply introduce us to the characters and their circumstances. Not having read any of the other books in the series, I can't say whether things improve once the foundation is laid. I do feel very strongly, however, that books or movies that are part of a series should be able to stand alone, too, and this one just doesn't. Three quarters of the book are spent introducing characters that have no relationship with the main plot, and because the book is not long, this means that the central mystery gets cheated out of most of its, you know, mystique. This book may, as I said, be simply laying the groundwork for much better books to come, but I shouldn't have to read a bad book in order to make future good books make sense. I don't have that kind of time. Plus, what if the next books aren't better? I'm not sure I can take the chance. At heart, I am just not a gambler.
* While most of the story takes place from Isabel's perspective, the author occasionally and without warning tells us what other characters are thinking, or shows us what they are doing when Isabel is not present. This happens just often enough to be jarring, but not often enough that the other characters come into focus as co-protagonists. Plus, very little information comes to light in these forays that could not easily be omitted or discovered by Isabel, herself. The author seems a little uncertain about his voice and perspective in the story, and seems to have chosen to skate between third person limited and third person omniscient, confusing both perspectives and aggravating Chelsa in so doing.
* The conclusion of a good mystery, or any story with a twist ending, should illicit two thoughts, one right after the other: I did not see that coming at all! followed immediately by I totally should have seen that coming! You want an ending that ties everything up, that makes sense in terms of the characters and their interactions and their circumstances, but one that doesn't become too obvious too quickly. If the ending comes out of left field, you feel like you've been lied to (So out of all twenty-seven thousand people who hated The Victim, the murderer was actually Never Introduced Secret Option Twenty-Seven Thousand and One? I can't imagine why I didn't see that coming!) but if you figure it out too soon, then you spend the rest of the movie/book berating the main characters for their stupidity (For God's sake, Main Character, did it ever cross your mind that Lurky Black Trench Coat Wearer With Inexplicable Blood Stains On His Socks might be the killer, even though he said that he was an innocent librarian? You deserve to be killed!). It is a difficult thing to pull off, which explains why there are so many bad mysteries out there. I am not going to spoil the ending (if, in fact, my obvious distaste has not spoiled it already, and if, in fact, I even could spoil an ending that is already so severely lacking in finesse) of this particular mystery, but I will say (look away if you have decided to read the book, in spite of everything, and don't want any additional clues to spoil your enjoyment) that the author introduces many a semi-intriguing possible reason for the young man's death, and that the actual mystery is solved in a single half page at the very end and has nothing to do with any of the intriguing possibilities laid out. It is both anti-climactic and annoying, leaving one with the feeling that they have wasted precious time reading semi-intriguing possibilities that ultimately went nowhere.
* Isabel as a character is so tremendously derivative of Angela Lansbury's character on Murder, She Wrote (plucky, slightly nosy middle-aged gentlewoman who solves murder mysteries in her spare time) that I could only ever picture her as Angela Lansbury, making the sexier of Isabel's ruminations about her former husband and current acquaintances decidedly uncomfortable for me.
* Isabel is, as I think I mentioned, the editor of a journal that publishes articles on philosophical points of interest. Other than an occasional mention of articles that Isabel is perusing in between clue-gatherings, however, this has nothing whatsoever to do with the story. Isabel does not attend meetings of any sort of Philosophy Club, no Philosophy Club members are either murdered or murderers, and, as far as I can remember, nothing noteworthy happens on a Sunday. This means that the author has committed a crime that peeves me somethin' awful -- he has given his book a title that has little or nothing to do with the book itself, because it sounds sassier than a more relevant title. While I agree that A Plucky Forty-Something Angela-Lansbury-ish Woman Who Stumbles Across A Murder, Bothers A Bunch Of Sinister But Ultimately Innocent People, And Then Stumbles Upon The Actual Perpetrator Of The Crime Using Neither Skill Nor Wit Right Before The Story Abruptly Ends is a title that doesn't roll off the tongue, exactly, it would give a much more accurate picture of the book's contents.
So, to sum up: Would I recommend this book to a friend? No, I would not. I might recommend it to an enemy. You know, if I had an enemy who I disliked, but not quite enough to thwart in a more proactive way, and if that enemy, unaware of my dislike or mistakenly believing that my book recommendations would not be tainted by my dislike, asked me to recommend a book. It seems like an unlikely scenario to me, but unlikely scenarios crop up all the time, and I am glad that I now have a plan of attack set up for this one.

Opener

Hi there. I have a really terrible book to discuss with you all, and I am very excited to get started on it because it kind of enraged me and I feel that only a truly nasty blog post will vent the spleen from my heart and teach the book in question a valuable lesson. I sort of feel awkward just leaping in, though, so I am going to spend this first post babbling and going over my shaky conception of the ground rules, after which the ice will (hopefully) be sufficiently broken and we can move on to the good stuff.
I am thinking that I will try for two or three posts a week, discussing books I have recently read and how they made me feel. I will also throw in the occasional movie/tv show/dream I had last Thursday, depending mostly on my whim. I have two young children, so my choice in books, and even more so in other forms of entertainment, may be slightly behind the times. (For example, my husband and I only just now finished Season Two of 24, and I had lots to say about Jack Bauer and his deeply aggravating daughter and his shiny, shiny hair, but no one to discuss it with because everyone in the world had seen Season Two of 24 36,000 years ago when it first came out. It was a lonely feeling.) First up will be: the truly terrible book, which my meticulous research reveals to be the first in a promised series. I may have to read them all, just so that I have a place to channel my bitterness. Cheers.