If you’ve read my blog at all, you know that I am not against magic in fiction.  In fact, some of my favorite books are fantasy books that rely heavily on the premise that I suspend my disbelief in magic.  These stories can be very powerful and can reveal a lot about what attracts us, motivates, and ultimately redeems us as human beings.

That said, I also believe that witchcraft is a real-world concept that is still practiced today.  While I am by no means an expert in the occult or in Pagan practices, I’m always a little wary when my fiction adopts certain characteristics that I associate with witchcraft.

Through reading and experience, I’ve come to define witchcraft as the desire for and pursuit of control over our environment and others.  It’s often presented as a reaction against centuries of female oppression–the only way for women to assert their independence and gain the upper hand.  While I am all for the feminist movement, I’m not one of those who thinks that in order to right the scales of justice, they must be tipped the other way.

That said, Bray’s novel treads dangerously close to that line.  I like that the novel deals with behavioral and societal norms for women in the Victorian era.  I like that the girls are seeking out ways to assert their independence.  I even like the concept of being able to open magical doors into other realms.  Where this all gets foggy is in the description of how women used this power in the past.

Now, the story falls far short of being a how-to book on witchcraft, so personally, I wouldn’t blink twice at recommending it for kids.  However, I do think that there are just a few too many references for my personal taste, and I think it may very well offend some of my more “fantastically” conservative friends.

I do need to mention the one redeeming virtue of the book, which I had to hold out until the bitter end to find.  When Gemma finally succeeds in her quest, it is the power of forgiveness that defeats the enemy.  There is just something so exquisitely beautiful about that…that forgiveness is a more powerful magic than anything evil will try to throw at us.

It almost made me want to read the rest of the series.  Unfortunately, I’m just a little too worried about what Gemma will cook up next, and my reading list is so very long, that I’ll most likely skip this series in favor of discovering another gem.

From a Christian perspective, the use of magic in this book is as inoffensive as you can get.  For the most part, anything magical is a nuisance at best, and down right eerie and evil at worst.  The only good magic turns out to be a sort of unnamed “deeper” magic that stems from the deep love we have for our family.

The book deals artfully with the loss of a parent as well as family dynamics and loyalty.  It might also be fun to have some discussions about Victorian traditions as far as mourning, parent-child relationships, courting, and gender roles.  It would be an especially good book for young readers who are interested in dance.  (Although the sisters have been forbidden from dancing since they are in mourning for their mother, the secretly dance every night.  Their activity actually seems to serve as their way of both honoring their mother’s memory and moving forward after her death.)

My only complaint about the books is that the children’s relationship with their father is very strained after the mother’s death, but this is never really fleshed out.  They make peace and get on the right track eventually, but the narrator never explicitly understands that the father’s withdrawal from the girls is a result of his mourning as well as his preparation to leave them to go to war.  As an adult, I understand this implicitly, but I’m not completely sure that younger readers would.  I’m afraid they would dislike the father and be unprepared to forgive him as he begins to reenter the girls’ lives.

The only other clue I will give you about the plot is that the castle they live in was once enchanted by a very wicked sorcerer-king.  While most of the magic has been undone, the girls stumble upon a secret passageway to an enchanted room, which is where they do their nightly dancing…and in this story, nothing good can come from dancing in a magic room.

Gidwitz retells the Hansel and Gretel story while incorporating many of the lesser known, un-Disney-fied stories.  I love that he has truly held onto the grim aspects of the Grimm versions of these tales; they were not sweet, cute stories with happy endings.  Many of them were grusome and ended with morals and warnings rather than happily-ever-after.

At times the narrator’s intrusions can be almost as annoying as the kid who keeps on talking and explaining things during a movie, but it kind of grew on me.  (Also helps that it was less frequent as the story progresses.)

I absolutely loved the line at the end when the king says, “…there is a wisdom in children, a kind of knowing, a kind of believing, that we, as adults, do not have.  There is a time when a kingdom needs its children.”  As a teacher (and as a Christian), I absolutely agree.

On the one hand, this story is empowering for young women.  It is the story of a young girl who finds her own voice, her own motivation, and her own identity.  On the other hand, it is a story of abuse that, I can’t help but feel, is portrayed to be culturally sanctioned. 

As I mull over my response to this, I find that I’m troubled for several reasons.  First, as a consumer of stories, I’m disappointed that the narrator cannot bring any kind of closure to her conflict.  There is no consequence for the abuser, nor is there any reconciliation, or even acknowledgement of guilt.  I realize that this is not realistically to be expect in life, but my expectation as a reader is for some sort of resolution.

The other thing that really niggles at me is that, although a healthy mother/daughter relationship is provided as a foil to the narrator and her mother, ultimately, the unhealthy abuse in the main relationship is deemed culturally acceptable.  The narrator suggests that the other pair, though they know the extent of the abuse, are culturally bound to take the mother’s side and, at times, try to shame the daughter into more “appropriate” behavior.  While she eventually recognizes that her culture’s deference towards age should not mean that her mother can abuse that power, no one else in the community seems to agree. 

Ultimately, I’m left wondering if the author intended the novel as an indictment of parent/child dynamics in the Chinese culture, or an indictment of the community for doing nothing to respond in these types of situations.  In any case, it is certainly not a favorable depiction, and it seems to eclipse the otherwise powerful coming-of-age story.

The main character, Katsa, has been used by her uncle as a thug to keep his kingdom in line.  She is tired of it and, in unprecendented defiance of him, confronts him to say she will no longer do his bidding.  She knows that he may try to kill her, but she also has the skill to defeat anyone and everyone that is sent her way and to kill the king on top of that.  With all her heart, she doesn’t want that to happen, but her instinct is to kill anyone who tries to harm her.  The quote that really stood out to me was this: ” Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder, and Randa [the uncle] didn’t deserve it.”

Isn’t that awesomely true.  Mercy is so much more difficult than lashing out and punishing the people who hurt us.

Unfortunately, only a few chapters later, Cashore killed the wonderful attachment I was beginning to feel to her main character.  Katsa starts spouting modern feminist rhetoric.  Now, I’m all for women being treated with respect and equality, both in the work place, in the home, and in places of worship, but some people take it a little too far for my comfort.

In the story, Katsa declares that she can never marry because she would no longer be her own and be herself.  Even when she meets a man who loves her AND respects her individuality, she still claims that marriage would result in a loss of her fredom and of her very personality.

It hurts me to hear a character (and supposedly, the author) saying such things against marriage.  There’s nothing wrong with being single, but to remain single because you fear being “owned” is kind of ridiculous.  My own marriage has not resulted in a loss of my “self” but has developed a richness my personality that stems from being responsible for another’s wellbeing and happiness.  I wouldn’t be nearly as understanding nor as generous with my self and my time if I did not have my husband in my life.

So, in the end, although the story was entertaining and engaging, I wasn’t at all happy with Graceling.  (Also, the Epilogue left much to be desired as far as closure.  I understand wanting to leave things open for a sequal, but if you don’t give me something to feel good and finished about, I might not come back for the next one.)

I’m still not willing to completely give up the idea, though.

So, I guess the next strategy is to let this become a bit more organic.  I’ve tried to keep all of my entries very formal and focused on reviewing a particular book, but maybe I just need to set myself a goal of so  many posts so often where I can just ramble about whatever book I’m reading, or try to unpack the meaning of particular passages that I’m struggling with.

Who knows, maybe there’s even some sort of value in simply charting my progress through the ideas a book presents to me.  Maybe it will all be worthless drivel.  At least I’ll feel like I’ve accomplished something.

I guess this can’t count as the first post in the new style, though, if I don’t actually talk about a book, so here goes.

I’m currently reading Labyrinth  by Kate Mosse.  I’m actually really enjoying it, even though it’s kind of a mystery, which I don’t typically go for.  I guess I don’t typically go for the formula mysteries…the ones where an author maintains a steady source of income by creating a detective-type character who gets into the same sort of scrapes, just with slightly different details.  (Sure, I believe there is a place for that sort of stuff in literature…just not on my shelves.)

The novel, however, caught my interest with (yet again) a rather interesting narrative device.  The novel is part historical fiction, part modern mystical mystery.  (Try saying that five times fast.)  I have found myself completely caught up in both plots.  Mosse expertly switches between the two with just enough to tie them together and quickly enough that you haven’t lost the thread of the one you just took a break from.

I love how she has woven church history into the earlier plot.  Very fascinating stuff.  Not sure yet how I’ll feel about the sort of alternative theology she is building up, but I’ll give her props for keeping me reading despite the sort of “all monotheistic religions trace back to some deeper, mystical religion that only an elite few have maintained.”  But I guess you can’t have a grail quest without something like the Knights Templar, can you?

Surprisingly, with only a hundred pages to go, I’ve sort of stalled out on  my progress.  I don’t think it has anything to do with the book, since every time I do pick it up, I want to keep reading.  I think it is more of an indication that my life is simply too busy right now.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to slow down a bit soon and knock out these last few chapters.

That will also mean that I have officially reached my reading goal for the year.  Now, do I relax for the rest of the year and focus on other things, or do I try to read ALL of the California Young Reader Medal nominees over the holiday?

I’m sorry to say that, while this book is significantly better than Dead in the Family, the storyline hasn’t improved by much.  The only mystery involves Sookie trying to figure out which of her enemies is behind the most recent attack on her life.  The character development is stilted.  I kind of get the feeling that Harris doesn’t really love these characters anymore and is simply churning out yet another book in order to appease the fans of the series.

As a general comment on the content of all of the books, they are not for those who object to mainstream romance novels.  Each novel contains at least one graphic scene.

I find Sookie’s internal moral soliloquys interesting; she seems to want to have a moral compass, but feels her Christian upbringing lacks the flexibility her current situations necessitate.  At the same time, the vampires’ complete lack of a moral code when it comes to how they treat humans (and often each other) continually shocks and dismays her.  In a (very hidden and underdeveloped) way, the novels really are about what it means to be human and how we are different from animals (or vampires, or werewolves, or fairies, etc.), or at least, how we should be different.  Unfortunately, this is not a significant enough part of the storyline for me to feel that these books are anything more than just a bit of light reading.

Leo says, ”When a demigod like me comes around, bad things happen.  Really bad.”

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Jason suggested.  “Maybe people with special gifts show up when bad things are happening because that’s when they’re needed most.”

Sometimes I feel like Leo.  Bad things just follow me around because I’m a Christian…because the entire world, both seen and unseen, is out to get me.

But maybe God strategically places me in the midst of certain situations because that’s where I need to be.  Maybe, just maybe, my heartbreak, my frustration, my fear, isn’t all about ME, but about what I do with it and how I use it to touch the lives around me.

I think what I love about Chevalier’s writing is that she certainly knows how to use metaphors and symbolism.  I read so much fiction aimed at young adults, that I tend to miss the finer points of literature.  But Chevalier’s writing is literary and sophisticated without being pretentious and difficult to follow.  She is not full of herself, but loves the craft, and while I didn’t enjoy this book as much as Girl with a Pear Earring, it didn’t fall far short.

The book is set in late 18th Century London and follows a family newly arrived from the country, particularly focusing on the boy and a girl he meets in London who tries to help him adjust to life in a big city.  One of their neighbors is the poet/printer/artist William Blake.  (I like that Chevalier focuses on the lives of those around artists, not on the artists themselves.)  While Blake does not figure heavily into the story, he provides the extended metaphor that illuminates the entire novel: the tension between innocence and experience.  Although I love how this concept is developed throughout the story, the rest of it just didn’t engage me quite as much as Girl With a Pearl Earring…still enjoyable, just not quite as powerful.

At any rate, it is still definitely worth a read (I’m sure I’ll be passing on my copy to someone soon), though there are some bits that are not appropriate for children, despite the young main characters.