Title: The Spanish Pearl
Author: Catherine Friend
Published: 2007 by Bold Strokes
Genre: Time traveling historical romance stuff
Pages: 325
Wohoo, one more book for August! I've been a busy little beaver with my books. Yessir.
The Spanish Pearl is about Kate Vincent, an artist who, on a trip in Spain with her partner Anna, accidentally falls in a cave... to the year 1085. Oops. Spain in 1085 is not the best place for a woman wearing short shorts, Doc Martens and not much else. She gets captured by a group of mercenaries, and taken to a Moorish court, in the middle of an awkward alliance of Moors and Christians. She knows that there is another cave some two week's traveling away from where she could get back home, but first she'd need to get out of the damn harem!
As entertaining and adventurous as Friend's other book I read a while ago, Pirate's Heart, I liked this one too. I did, however, figure out the big OMG! plotpoint wahaaaay before Kate did. Not sure if I was meant to. Probably yes, all things considered. Unfortunately she didn't hear me tell her about it, since she was stuck in 1085. And not really real. But most of the big events and people in this book were real, battles and kings and Moor lords and El Cid and such.
There's also a sequel, The Crown of Valencia, but I think I'll save that one a little bit longer. I bought both used from Amazon, and the sequel of course arrived in four days from the UK while the first one (a discarded library copy, borrowed only four times! Unloved on the shelves! Do not fear, my pretty, I will take care of you now...) took almost a month to get here. Definitely worth the wait, though.
"You ruined Marisella. Now I will ruin this woman in return."
I pulled and clawed at Gudesto's arm, but he was too strong. Luis laughed. "To what end? She is nothing to me."
"She is, or she would not still be alive." This ridiculous discussion faded as I suddenly remembered my self-defense. Behind Gudesto, bent over his spread legs, I was powerless. I took two deep breaths, then swung my leg around in front of his, raised my arm, then slammed my elbow into the Gonzalez family jewels.
Without a sound, Gudesto doubled over. I stood slightly, then smashed an elbow into his face, sending him staggering back with both hands clutching his groin. Panting, I stepped out of sword reach, pleased that all those hours of watching Buffy and Sydney Bristol and Xena kick ass had finally paid off.
"Holy Bullocks," Fadri said. He, Enzo and four other men had appeared behind Luis and stood gaping at me and my white-faced victim.
Luis's blue eyes sparkled as he barely suppressed a smile. "Men, watch yourselves with this one."
"Damn right," I sputtered, then flushed as all five men stared at me."
Also, I wholeheartedly approve of the amount of violence against Gudesto's nether regions this book contains. But there could be so much more...
maanantai 30. elokuuta 2010
lauantai 21. elokuuta 2010
Ennen päivänlaskua ei voi
Nimi: Ennen päivänlaskua ei voi
Kirjoittaja: Johanna Sinisalo
Julkaistu: 2000, Tammi
Genre: Urbaani fantasia
Sivuluku: 268
Sarjassamme kirjoja jotka loppuvat ihan liian nopeasti. Tämä on tullut luettua niin monta kertaa että laskut menneet sekasin. Sen verran osaan kuitenkin sanoa että neljä kertaa meni vuoden sisällä ekasta lukukerrasta. Nopealukuinen, kiitos lyhyiden, millar-maisten lukujen ja vauhdilla liikkuvan juonen, jota tahdittavat monituiset lainaukset kirjoista, tietokirjoista ja lehtileikkeistä, netistäkin, jotka tekevät Enkelin ja Pessin maailmasta hyvin uskottavan ja koukuttavan.
(Ekaa kertaa tämän luettuani olin ihan tosissani ostamassa junalippua Tampereelle nähdäkseni (kirjan mukaan) kirjastossa olevan täytetyn peikon. Sitten tajusin että hei, se oli vaan kirja, fiktiota. Se oli surullinen päivä. Hyvin surullinen. Ja vähän nolo, olin sentään jo 20...)
Pessiä ja Illusiaa ja Päivänsädettä ja menninkäistä seuraava kirrrrrja kertoo valokuvaaja Mikaelista, jota myös Enkeliksi kutsuttaneen, joka kotinsa ulkopuolelta Tampereelta sattuu eräänä talvi-iltana löytämään pienen hylätyn peikonpoikasen. Omistamisenhimo, hellyys, humalaisen mielessä hyvä idea ja/tai kaikki iskevät, ja Mikael vie villieläimen kotiinsa hoivatakseen sen kuntoon.
Finlandia-kirjallisuuspalkinnon voittaja! Fantasiakirja jossa on peikkoja ja kovasti homostelua, ja voittaa arvostetun kirjallisuuspalkinnon. Repikää siitä! Käännetty monille kielille, ja elokuvaoikeudetkin myyty. Amerikkaan. Se ei kuulosta hyvältä ajatukselta, pitäydyn kirjassa, kiitos vain.
Yksi ehdottomista lemppareistani ikinä. Tuntuu että unohdin mainita jotain tärkeää, mutta lukekaa itse.
"Yöllä herään.
"Se istuu sohvan selkänojalla katsellen minua.
"Se siirtyy hieman vaaleampaa taustaa vasten yöntummana siluettina, ja ymmärrän tiiviin ja tuskallisen palavasti olevani täysin sen armoilla.
"Sen silmät. Yöeläimen silmät.
"Se näkee minut niillä pimeästä huolimatta tarkasti ja terävästi, se näkee jokaisen silmänräpäytyksen, jokaisen suupielen nytkähdyksen, kun minä en tajua siitä mitään muuta kuin sen mustat, mustat ääriviivat."
Kirjoittaja: Johanna Sinisalo
Julkaistu: 2000, Tammi
Genre: Urbaani fantasia
Sivuluku: 268
Sarjassamme kirjoja jotka loppuvat ihan liian nopeasti. Tämä on tullut luettua niin monta kertaa että laskut menneet sekasin. Sen verran osaan kuitenkin sanoa että neljä kertaa meni vuoden sisällä ekasta lukukerrasta. Nopealukuinen, kiitos lyhyiden, millar-maisten lukujen ja vauhdilla liikkuvan juonen, jota tahdittavat monituiset lainaukset kirjoista, tietokirjoista ja lehtileikkeistä, netistäkin, jotka tekevät Enkelin ja Pessin maailmasta hyvin uskottavan ja koukuttavan.
(Ekaa kertaa tämän luettuani olin ihan tosissani ostamassa junalippua Tampereelle nähdäkseni (kirjan mukaan) kirjastossa olevan täytetyn peikon. Sitten tajusin että hei, se oli vaan kirja, fiktiota. Se oli surullinen päivä. Hyvin surullinen. Ja vähän nolo, olin sentään jo 20...)
Pessiä ja Illusiaa ja Päivänsädettä ja menninkäistä seuraava kirrrrrja kertoo valokuvaaja Mikaelista, jota myös Enkeliksi kutsuttaneen, joka kotinsa ulkopuolelta Tampereelta sattuu eräänä talvi-iltana löytämään pienen hylätyn peikonpoikasen. Omistamisenhimo, hellyys, humalaisen mielessä hyvä idea ja/tai kaikki iskevät, ja Mikael vie villieläimen kotiinsa hoivatakseen sen kuntoon.
Finlandia-kirjallisuuspalkinnon voittaja! Fantasiakirja jossa on peikkoja ja kovasti homostelua, ja voittaa arvostetun kirjallisuuspalkinnon. Repikää siitä! Käännetty monille kielille, ja elokuvaoikeudetkin myyty. Amerikkaan. Se ei kuulosta hyvältä ajatukselta, pitäydyn kirjassa, kiitos vain.
Yksi ehdottomista lemppareistani ikinä. Tuntuu että unohdin mainita jotain tärkeää, mutta lukekaa itse.
"Yöllä herään.
"Se istuu sohvan selkänojalla katsellen minua.
"Se siirtyy hieman vaaleampaa taustaa vasten yöntummana siluettina, ja ymmärrän tiiviin ja tuskallisen palavasti olevani täysin sen armoilla.
"Sen silmät. Yöeläimen silmät.
"Se näkee minut niillä pimeästä huolimatta tarkasti ja terävästi, se näkee jokaisen silmänräpäytyksen, jokaisen suupielen nytkähdyksen, kun minä en tajua siitä mitään muuta kuin sen mustat, mustat ääriviivat."
The Lovely Bones
Title: The Lovely Bones
Author: Alice Sebold
Published: This edition (with the movie cover) is from 2009
Genre: Murder ballad
Pages: 328
Soooo... I watched the movie since I like Peter Jackson's work, and wasn't going to read the book (at least yet) since I have a biiiiiig To Read -pile sitting here already, but then I happened to read how different the movie is from the book, and got intrigued. And, yeah. The movie is a bit like a children's version, all the more disturbing (or adult) bits left out, except for the murder, of course, since that's kind of the point, and although I love all the colour and the scenery and the lead actors, too, the book is so much better. And so much wetter. Man, I cried.
But yes. For those who don't know, The Lovely Bones is the story of Susie Salmon, who was murdered at the age of 14, in 1973. She goes to her heaven, but stays around, keeping an eye on her family and the man who killed her (the actor who played the murderer in the movie was so creepy). With no body, no proper suspects, her family has a hard time coping with her sudden disappearance and apparent murder.
Did I like it? Yes. So much that, when usually I only read in the buses, I couldn't always put this one down when I got home, either. Well written, touching, and easy to keep up with, even when the narration does skip from one place to another quite much.
"Mr. Harvey made me lie still underneath him and listen to the beating of his heart and the beating of mine. How mine skipped like a rabbit, and how his thudded, a hammer against cloth. We lay there with our bodies touching, and, as I shook, a powerful knowledge took hold. He had done this thing to me and I had lived. That was all. I was still breathing. I heard his heart. I smelled his breath. The dark earth surrounding us smelled like what it was, moist dirt where worms and animals lived their daily lives. I could have yelled for hours.
"I knew he was going to kill me. I did not realize then that I was an animal already dying."
Did I say well written? Let's make it beautifully written, actually.
Author: Alice Sebold
Published: This edition (with the movie cover) is from 2009
Genre: Murder ballad
Pages: 328
Soooo... I watched the movie since I like Peter Jackson's work, and wasn't going to read the book (at least yet) since I have a biiiiiig To Read -pile sitting here already, but then I happened to read how different the movie is from the book, and got intrigued. And, yeah. The movie is a bit like a children's version, all the more disturbing (or adult) bits left out, except for the murder, of course, since that's kind of the point, and although I love all the colour and the scenery and the lead actors, too, the book is so much better. And so much wetter. Man, I cried.
But yes. For those who don't know, The Lovely Bones is the story of Susie Salmon, who was murdered at the age of 14, in 1973. She goes to her heaven, but stays around, keeping an eye on her family and the man who killed her (the actor who played the murderer in the movie was so creepy). With no body, no proper suspects, her family has a hard time coping with her sudden disappearance and apparent murder.
Did I like it? Yes. So much that, when usually I only read in the buses, I couldn't always put this one down when I got home, either. Well written, touching, and easy to keep up with, even when the narration does skip from one place to another quite much.
"Mr. Harvey made me lie still underneath him and listen to the beating of his heart and the beating of mine. How mine skipped like a rabbit, and how his thudded, a hammer against cloth. We lay there with our bodies touching, and, as I shook, a powerful knowledge took hold. He had done this thing to me and I had lived. That was all. I was still breathing. I heard his heart. I smelled his breath. The dark earth surrounding us smelled like what it was, moist dirt where worms and animals lived their daily lives. I could have yelled for hours.
"I knew he was going to kill me. I did not realize then that I was an animal already dying."
Did I say well written? Let's make it beautifully written, actually.
sunnuntai 8. elokuuta 2010
Perfume
Title: Perfume
Author: Patrick Süskind
Published: In original German in 1985. This book claims to have been printed in 1987 by Penguin Books, but there's a web address on the back. So I don't know.
Genre: Murder ballad
Pages: 263
If you've seen the movie made of this book, and liked it, READ THIS BOOK. If you haven't, feel free to read it anyway. You'll like it, I'm sure.
What's it about? Or rather, who? Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was born in Paris on 17th July 1738, and orphaned almost immediately. No wet nurse, no kind monk wants to keep him as there is something inherently wrong with him. No one can quite say what, though. Grenouille himself knows that he has the keenest nose. In the world. He can smell anything, anyone, and save every smell into his own internal library of scents. It is no wonder that he makes his way to a perfumery.
If you're already familiar with the movie, this book is like the perfume Grenouille ends up making. The text pulls you in, seduces you with hardly any monologue, just beautiful narration, even when describing the horrible smell of, say, the fish market and cemeteries of Paris. Or, you know, senseless murder. My compliments to the translator. Beautiful work.
I love the movie, but the rule that the original book is always better than the movie applies here.
"Grenouille knew for certain that unless he possessed this scent, his life would have no meaning. He had to understand its smallest detail, to follow it to its last delicate tendril; the mere memory, however complex, was not enough. He wanted to press, to imprint his apotheosis of scent on his black, muddled soul, meticulously to explore it and from this point on, to think, to live, to smell only according to the innermost structures of its magic formula.
"He slowly approached the girl, closer and closer, stepped under the overhanging roof, and halted one step behind her. She did not hear him."
Author: Patrick Süskind
Published: In original German in 1985. This book claims to have been printed in 1987 by Penguin Books, but there's a web address on the back. So I don't know.
Genre: Murder ballad
Pages: 263
If you've seen the movie made of this book, and liked it, READ THIS BOOK. If you haven't, feel free to read it anyway. You'll like it, I'm sure.
What's it about? Or rather, who? Jean-Baptiste Grenouille was born in Paris on 17th July 1738, and orphaned almost immediately. No wet nurse, no kind monk wants to keep him as there is something inherently wrong with him. No one can quite say what, though. Grenouille himself knows that he has the keenest nose. In the world. He can smell anything, anyone, and save every smell into his own internal library of scents. It is no wonder that he makes his way to a perfumery.
If you're already familiar with the movie, this book is like the perfume Grenouille ends up making. The text pulls you in, seduces you with hardly any monologue, just beautiful narration, even when describing the horrible smell of, say, the fish market and cemeteries of Paris. Or, you know, senseless murder. My compliments to the translator. Beautiful work.
I love the movie, but the rule that the original book is always better than the movie applies here.
"Grenouille knew for certain that unless he possessed this scent, his life would have no meaning. He had to understand its smallest detail, to follow it to its last delicate tendril; the mere memory, however complex, was not enough. He wanted to press, to imprint his apotheosis of scent on his black, muddled soul, meticulously to explore it and from this point on, to think, to live, to smell only according to the innermost structures of its magic formula.
"He slowly approached the girl, closer and closer, stepped under the overhanging roof, and halted one step behind her. She did not hear him."
Ruby and the Stone Age Diet
Title: Ruby and the Stone Age Diet
Author: Martin Millar
Published: 2010 by Soft Skull Press (but that's just this printing)
Genre: Urban angsty myth
Pages: 152
Guess it was inevitable that there would be a book by an author I love that I don't like. This is it. It may be partly due to the fact that I've been increasingly pissed off at everything for a few weeks now, mostly so while I read this, but... I just couldn't get a hold of this book. It had good bits and funny bits and short bits and some of the angst and desperation of Alby Starvation and some of the energy of Lux the Poet but... but.
It was like a book where nothing really happens. Sure, there's squatting and evictions and learning to use the diaphragm (that was a ridiculously hard word to type!) and gods and goddesses for everything from electric guitars to lonely people and werewolf stories!
But.
And it's not actually an issue that nothing happens, I've wanted to write something like that myself, and that's just life, grand things don't always just happen. But... I don't know.
I still love you, Mr. Millar.
"Later on I go home and Ruby stays. Close to our flat I am so full of things to cheer me up that I find myself lying face down in a puddle with a vivid memory of someone telling me that you can drown in only two inches of water.
"I struggle to my knees. Only an inch and a half, I estimate. A lucky escape. Four young men pass by, singing and shouting and causing a disturbance. I hate them. They ask me if I am all right and they go to a lot of trouble to help me home. I still hate them.
"Next morning I wake up in bed with the Great Goddess Astarte."
Oh, nameless protagonist, I know that feeling. But where's my goddess?!
Author: Martin Millar
Published: 2010 by Soft Skull Press (but that's just this printing)
Genre: Urban angsty myth
Pages: 152
Guess it was inevitable that there would be a book by an author I love that I don't like. This is it. It may be partly due to the fact that I've been increasingly pissed off at everything for a few weeks now, mostly so while I read this, but... I just couldn't get a hold of this book. It had good bits and funny bits and short bits and some of the angst and desperation of Alby Starvation and some of the energy of Lux the Poet but... but.
It was like a book where nothing really happens. Sure, there's squatting and evictions and learning to use the diaphragm (that was a ridiculously hard word to type!) and gods and goddesses for everything from electric guitars to lonely people and werewolf stories!
But.
And it's not actually an issue that nothing happens, I've wanted to write something like that myself, and that's just life, grand things don't always just happen. But... I don't know.
I still love you, Mr. Millar.
"Later on I go home and Ruby stays. Close to our flat I am so full of things to cheer me up that I find myself lying face down in a puddle with a vivid memory of someone telling me that you can drown in only two inches of water.
"I struggle to my knees. Only an inch and a half, I estimate. A lucky escape. Four young men pass by, singing and shouting and causing a disturbance. I hate them. They ask me if I am all right and they go to a lot of trouble to help me home. I still hate them.
"Next morning I wake up in bed with the Great Goddess Astarte."
Oh, nameless protagonist, I know that feeling. But where's my goddess?!
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