Anna Faúndez

Author: Anna Faúndez

  • Just Ella

    Just Ella

    By Margaret Peterson Haddix

    Part of me wishes I hadn’t read this again. For me, some of the magic really is gone from the pages of Just Ella. The first time I read this book, I was around nine years old and still in love with fairy tales and believing in the happy ever afters and romance and required annals of drama that go along with that.

    Truly, my younger self missed the point of this book. In hindsight, that’s hilarious.

    I should have read this book around age twelve instead. Just Ella is not meant to be a fairy tale; it’s meant to be a cautionary tale for young girls looking at relationships through a movie lens, the “rose-colored glasses,” if you’ll pardon the cliché. And it ends with Ella understanding the basic “looks aren’t everything” and “first feelings aren’t always right” lesson that most kids come up against in their early teen years.

    The book begins looking at Prince Charming and his perfect self, perfect life, and perfect Princess. Ella, our protagonist, is clearly nothing more than infatuated from the get-go. Psychologically speaking, Haddix starts in a great spot. Readers should begin to clue in that something is off within the first few chapters. Mind you, this book is supposed to be for thirteen and fourteen-year-old kids, so it’s not meant to be subtle.

    In which case, beware the minefield of clichés! This is the part of me that’s happy I read this a bit younger than the recommended age. I wasn’t too aware of clichés at nine. By the time I hit thirteen, I knew all about them. If you’re older and reading Just Ella for the first time, be prepared for some sentences that will make you groan. Yes, the writing is for young teenagers, but it is honestly rather forgettable. I put the book down and began writing this post—I like to write when books are fresh in my mind—after taking the day to read Just Ella on and off, and I can’t recall a single sparkle of wordsmithing I particularly enjoyed. Another bit of the language use that rubbed me the wrong way was the random modern idioms or phrases that were scattered throughout the story, taking me out of the action or scene entirely anytime I came across one. Yes, as an adult—and especially as a writer—I’m much pickier about my literature and word choices than most, but just because a book is meant for kids, doesn’t mean it can’t have some de-familiarization of the “same old” to push the barriers of language and create new associations and memorable prose.

    I did feel the end was . . . rushed a little bit, as though Haddix felt she was running too close to her page maximum for a YA novel. I wouldn’t have minded the book being a tad longer.

    That said, the secondary (true) love interest’s actions near the end were incredibly out of character. He sees a girl, beaten and starving and outright traumatized, and the first thing he does is confess he loves her and asks her to marry him. Really? I’m pretty sure I recall thinking that was ridiculous the first time I read it. Not just the rather insane situation makes me feel that way though; this character had been pretty well-rooted in practicality and scholarly seriousness for the entire book. The sudden change is jarring and unattractive.

    In keeping with being a YA novel, Haddix has exactly zero morally gray characters. They either turn out to be “bad guys” or stay on the “good side.” Not necessarily a bad thing—especially for the genre and age range—but it felt like this book was written thinking teens couldn’t handle the far more lifelike middle ground.

    Overall? Your ten-year-old who loves books will enjoy it! Adult me wishes I’d left it in the nostalgia category.

    Next time will feature another childhood favorite—a gift from my best friend for my thirteenth birthday if the inside cover is accurate: Gail Carson Levine’s The Two Princesses of Bamarre.

    ~ Anna

    (Entry 7)

  • ‘Salem’s Lot

    ‘Salem’s Lot

    By Stephen King

    ’Salem’s Lot is a book you could take and plop into any time period you wished, and it would still work. It’s your typical genre piece that I feel every writer gets around to at some point. That’s not saying it’s bad. Not at all. I quite enjoyed my read of King’s ’Salem’s Lot. However, I was able to take it at a leisurely pace, put it down for a few days without thinking about it, and go about my life without wanting to get home and pick the book up.

    The genre on the back says “fiction/horror,” and I’m actually inclined to disagree somewhat. You’ll remember if you read my blog post on The Shining that I’m a notorious and life-long chicken. I don’t do scary. Reading scary books now is my way of trying to desensitize and branch out of my comfort zone. So either I’ve had too much success with that, or ’Salem’s Lot isn’t all that terrifying. Creepy? Yep. Unsettling? You bet. Scary? Eh. A good read? Absolutely!

    As usual, King has some delightfully unique imagery. In ’Salem’s Lot, he skirts the line between dramatic and serious well, never quite falling into either one. Of course, a clear voice through a novel is essential, and no one can say King isn’t good at that!

    Which brings me to the characters of ’Salem’s Lot! I loved them. All of them. The characters in this book are the driving force to keep reading. The characters are the reason I enjoyed ’Salem’s Lot more than The Shining. Even the people that showed up for a scene or less, I could remember. Why? Spectacular characterization! Each one felt like a person, and that’s so, so important. Usually a novel can get away with some cardboard-like side characters. King didn’t bother with that. Nope. Every person with a name got a little backstory—sometimes less than a sentence, but it’s enough if done well—and it really brings the novel up to another level. Every main character had unique trauma reactions and displays of disbelief. It’s been a long time since I read a book that I could see the characters so clearly.

    The only, and I mean only, issue I had with the book was the name of one of the characters: Jimmy Cody. Periodically, King will call characters by their last names, which is fine if your last name isn’t also a first name. This led me to a few different instances of confusion in the final quarter of ’Salem’s Lot. In one sentence, Jimmy would be called Cody, and in the next, he’d be Jimmy again. It was the one thing I had to actively remember. He’s not two people! In scenes with three or more characters—and there are a fair few written this way—it’s really easy to forget that Jimmy Cody is one person. But hey, maybe you’ll remember better than I did now that you’ve seen this!

    Even if the plot of ’Salem’s Lot isn’t super intriguing on its own, or too surprising, the characters, the ordinary people that King creates and throws into a terrible situation, are worth the trouble. Ask me if you should give it a go? Read it for yourself? My response: Yes!

    Next time, we’ll be taking a look at a childhood favorite of mine: Margaret Peterson Haddix’s Just Ella!

    ~ Anna

    (Entry 6)

  • The Frog King

    The Frog King

    By Adam Davies

    Full Disclaimer! This author was my professor in college and there are no frogs.

    I’ve read this one before! However, it fits my parameters—to read/reread every book currently on my bookshelf! (So far, 4 down and 174 to go! I was given a few more books just days ago. Yay!) Also, The Frog King won the Twitter poll placed in this post by a pretty wide margin.

    Since I’ve read Davies’ The Frog King, here’s what I remembered about it before I began reading. Answer: almost nothing. It’s been about four years since I last read this book, and I read it pretty fast the first time on top of so much college shoved into my head that some details simply got squeegeed out. I couldn’t even remember the narrator’s name. This is why we take notes, people! Onwards!

    Harry Driscoll, our main character and mental gymnast, is dead sick of his going-nowhere, underpaid job. It’s obvious from page three. Harry Driscoll also hates himself. I also hate Harry Driscoll. This is a one-way street with no U-turns in sight. Which brings me to my dilemma with The Frog King. The characters are amazingly well-written. No, seriously, I don’t just say that to make my former professor remember me fondly. Harry is so good at being the woe-is-me, head-in-the-sand, know-it-all jerk that you’ll probably spend most of the book in hopes something terrible happens to him. (Don’t worry.)

    Evie is a doll in all meanings of the word. She’s a great woman character with her own problems and strengths and weaknesses, and she’s probably the only reason I didn’t toss the book a few different times. Yes, Harry Driscoll will make you that mad. He’s the worst type of jerk for a big chunk of the novel: the kind of sleazeball you pray to god you don’t have to work a shift with because a) they get nothing done except complaining about their job and believing the work is beneath them, b) think they’re god’s gift to womankind, and c) they somehow manage to make you feel bad about yourself while being ironic/sarcastic/condescending towards themselves in the “Haha, isn’t life just a peach” way. Your problems and feelings will never amount to theirs. Harry is all this and more with an unhealthy dose of alcohol and self-hatred to boot. This is a man so emotionally constipated you’ll want to lace his coffee with a strong laxative. Fun!

    Okay, okay. He’s not all pig all the time—even dirtbags can have a few good qualities—but it’s frequent enough to be lethal in large quantities. Kind of like nuclear radiation. As I said before, don’t worry! Harry gets what’s coming to him. This isn’t some “jerks finish first” story, but boy, oh boy, get ready to feel patronized by a fictional character.

    Harry certainly stirs the emotions, but not the right ones for the majority of the novel. Well-crafted character? A+. Likable character? Eh. Maybe a motivational template for how not to conduct yourself.

    I try and keep this blog series as spoiler free as I can while also giving myself free reign to talk about the books I read, so I’ll move on to one other aspect.

    Readers beware!

    The Frog King is going to make you learn many new vocabulary words whether you want to or not. That’s just the way the narrator—you guessed it—Harry is. It’s how he thinks and roughly communicates. A facsimile of communication, but a point or two for trying, I guess. So accept that before reading, maybe even look forward to it, and grab a dictionary.

    Now the vocabulary, while impressive, does actually take away from scenes sometimes. The writing kind of jumps back and forth from enjoyable, witty, and smooth into wording that’s meant to show character but really your eyes just trip over. It will happen. No way around it. And it does knock off some enjoyability of the book.

    The writing style is actually pretty different to what I’m used to. Davies is raw and eclectic in the way that even if you are bumbling along with—or mentally throwing knives at—the narrator, you still have a good sense of location and emotional intelligence in the scene. You certainly aren’t going to be bored with his descriptions or dialogue.

    Typically, The Frog King isn’t my kind of book. I like my fiction with a bit more, well, fiction. This book tackles it all in the real world: alcoholism, narcissism, infidelity, and even gaslighting to some extent. I know the subtitle says “a love story,” but take that with a gulp of sea water.

    Overall thoughts on The Frog King? I think I still dislike Harry Driscoll enough to leave this book on the shelf until some other victim wanders by and hears the Jumanji drums, but I like Adam Davies enough as a writer to see what else he comes up with. Maybe next time I’ll ingest his words with a glass of wine?

    ~Anna

    (Entry 5)

  • Acceptance

    Acceptance

    By Jeff VanderMeer

    We did it! The Southern Reach Trilogy is finished!

    Before I get into the third book, Acceptance, I’d like to talk a little about the series as a whole. I’m still fully of the opinion that the second book, Authority, could’ve existed as 150 pages lighter with no real drawback in regard to plot or characters. Honestly, that’s my main complaint about the series. Well, main complaint from an editor’s standpoint when looking at things like pacing and reader interest levels. It’s possible to be subtle without being long-winded, and Authority dropped the ball off a three story building with that one.

    Onward to Acceptance though! Overall? Much better pace. Acceptance starts us out with the habit of narrator changes via chapter change! I couldn’t have been happier to see that style of narration for this book. It was exactly what the series needed. It not only sped the pace but filled in massive knowledge gaps for the reader as the story progressed.

    Control has a less grating personality this time ‘round. That is to say, he isn’t changed much, but he’s broken from the “tortured spy” gimmick that cropped up too much in Authority.

    Grace . . . well, I don’t really want to talk about Grace. Besides existing in Acceptance as the “mentor” figure to answer some questions—spoiler: that would’ve been answered anyway via the biologist’s letter—before the journey could begin, she had no real impact with the other characters, her environment, her situation, or herself. No change from the second book, really. Still kinda unnecessarily aggressive. Still wanting to act as boss lady. Still a flat character. Sure, we get some tidbits: she’s a divorced, middle-aged woman with adult children that she doesn’t see often enough but also doesn’t have much of a relationship with. So? This isn’t enough to let a reader feel connected to Grace. Not really. We don’t meet these people. They may as well not exist. The story would be just fine without them. And I know VanderMeer is more than capable of making the average important! He does it with Control’s chess piece. It’s beautifully done. It’s practically a character, and it’s a better one than Grace.

    Ghost bird is still pretty good. Though, being fair, she’s also the most dynamic of the three. She is, by far, the most internally driven character. Part of her curiosity is the reader’s endeavors to figure out what part Ghost Bird plays in the story. Why does she exist? What’s her purpose? Is there one at all? Of course, Ghost Bird asking these questions of herself is the complication given to her character. She’s self-aware enough and brave enough to analyze everything. Even herself.

    However! We get new characters in Acceptance! The lighthouse keeper and the director both make comebacks in the finale of the Southern Reach Trilogy. The lighthouse keeper is wonderfully written and full of life. He’s a believable person and, as a reader, he’s very easy to sympathize with. His life. His story. His actions are led by emotions that are all too easy to understand.

    The director is a little more difficult to like and understand, but it’s really just the good writing of her damage and the way she relates to the word—similar to the biologist—that makes her compelling. In comparison with what we got of her in Annihilation, this version of the director and her memories are much more impactful in Acceptance.

    The ending. Oh boy. So, I was really looking forward to the finale of the Southern Reach Trilogy. All my questions answered. Right? All my theories shot or developed. Right? Nope, not really. You will get answers from Acceptance—here’s the part where my significant other says it’s like I’m going through stages of grief with this book, and maybe he has a point—but you won’t get what you’re looking for. Probably. Me? I was seeing tons of buildup and lines drawn in the sand for a reveal that never happened. In the end, the finale felt “just okay” or “a little disappointing” compared to my expectations paired with what VanderMeer was building. With so much preparation, so many embeds, and callbacks, and twirled oddities of phrase, you get your final answer: (spoilers?) it was an accident of fate. And that . . . That, people, is disappointment wrapped in lethargy. An “accident of fate” is one level up and adjacent to “it was all a dream.”

    Now then. Was it a horrible, terrible, badly written ending? No. It fit the story well enough. You won’t end the series confused about what happened, broadly speaking. It makes sense on paper, but isn’t brilliant. There’s nothing patently wrong with the ending. There’s enough strings to lead to the right conclusions, or the characters make them for you, and you’re more likely to end on an “oh” rather than an “ah ha!”

    I still love VanderMeer’s writing style! There are more descriptive gems in Acceptance than in the other two books in this series combined. It was a delight to read them all! My general apathy about the Southern Reach Trilogy’s story, particularly the ending, wouldn’t stop me from picking up another book written by VanderMeer. From this small sample of his work, I’m inclined to think he excels at novels more-so than series. I’d be curious to try out a singular work from him. Maybe if another title finds its way to my bookshelf in the future.

    ~ Anna

    (Entry 4)

     

  • Authority

    Authority

    By Jeff VanderMeer

    Alright, well, the Southern Reach Trilogy had a good start; I’ll give it a big thumbs-up there.

    Before I get into the second book, I’ll remind you I haven’t yet read the third and final book of the series. However, Authority, while well-written when looking solely at craft and structure, borders far too close to boring in too many instances. Authority simply could not keep up with the gem that Annihilation was.

    Annihilation left us on the brink of great change. But Authority rapidly turns that suspense of “what’s next?” into purgatory. Nothing substantial really occurs in Authority until page 179, and even that amounts to a really, really obvious embed with a payoff that is never actually explained. Another “big reveal” moment on page 336 is rendered pointless from an occurrence on page 195. These are two of three major plot points in the novel.

    Then there’s the characters: I don’t like them. Any of them. VanderMeer gave me not a single reason to pity them or empathize with them. Honestly, they were flat, vague archetypes of “tortured spy,” “bitchy boss lady,” and one iteration or another of “crazy scientist.” Looking back on Annihilation, I can say those characters weren’t incredibly well-rounded either, but they weren’t cardboard with microscopes!

    Control, Authority’s narrator, isn’t really a bad guy (and his name is hilarious after you figure out what’s going on—which won’t take you as long as the book seems to think it will) and thankfully has a bit more personality than other characters. Authority is written with the same kind of one-track narrative that Annihilation was, so all you’ve got are Control’s thoughts and actions and visuals to go on. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’d say a sizable portion of literature is written that way. Here comes the “but.”

    But . . . Authority drags on for so long, not only are you going to start forgetting details that don’t matter anyway—and maybe I’ll eat a few of those words in book three. I hope so—but you’re also going to end up more exhausted than the narrator. He goes through too much normal. Not the “Wow, this is too par for the course for this situation. Something is wrong. Something is going to happen” off-kilter normal. No, it’s the kind of normal that is forgettable and dull. This is bad. Books should not be sludge to walk through.

    Overall, Authority feels like a holding pattern between books one and three that could’ve been 150 pages shorter. I very, very rarely struggle through books, and Authority almost became one of them.

    Before you convince yourself never to read Authority, don’t give up quite yet. If you come prepared for a slow pace, you can make it. I was curious enough about possible explanations for events in book one—not great for a whole book to hinge on its predecessor, but work with me here—that I kept going. VanderMeer is still a wonderful descriptive writer. My personal favorite description was on page 328: “. . . black rocks as sharp as shark fins.” A long way to read for a phrase so short, but you’ll find other descriptive gems hidden throughout Authority’s pages.

    Fingers crossed that the next book, VanderMeer’s third and final installment for the Southern Reach Trilogy: Acceptance, gives me a sense of fulfillment and closure! And, just maybe, picks up the pace.

    ~ Anna
    (Entry 3)

  • Annihilation

    Annihilation

    By Jeff VanderMeer

    Annihilation! Nope, not the creepy little tune by A Perfect Circle.

    . . .

    Though now that I think about it, that song fits this book pretty darn well. Why? Annihilation (Book 1 of the Southern Reach Trilogy) is all about will and adaptability! Before you ask: yes, the movie was great. I loved it! It was the movie that made me pick up the book in the first place. Spoiler alert: the entire movie only deals with the events of the first book—I think. Still need to read the next two books—which is really exciting for me, because I found out there’s yet more story to go and maybe I’ll get another movie one of these days. Here’s hoping it goes as well.

    Diving into the book itself, my number one favorite thing is the entire main cast is female! Rare enough as that is, this book passes the Bechdel Test too! You won’t read a single conversation between two women about a man unless it actually drives the story forward or offers event context. And even then, Annihilation is subtle. And it’s the good kind. This book drags you through it—I finished it in one sitting of about five hours—but not through adventure and excitement. No, no. It is so undeniably creepy and surreal that you simply must read on. This isn’t an “Oh my god, I have to find out what’s next” book; this is a “What on earth is going on? This is so weird” book. VanderMeer de-familiarizes an entire section of our planet by making the natural just a little . . . not. It’s like looking at the world through a prism. You recognize what you’re seeing, but it’s not quite right.

    Along with a strange setting, you get strange characters. From the start, none of the women communicate how you might expect. Social norms and courtesies have been thrown out the window. Their expedition even took their names. You’re left with a psychologist, a biologist, a surveyor, and an anthropologist. And this book does so well just scraping the edge of their stolen humanity. Before they even entered what VanderMeer named “Area X,” they were changed. The time the women spent training to enter the containment zone was a time each woman was subjected to hypnotism and lies about what they might face. You’re aware the narrator, the biologist, is unreliable right out the gate. She isn’t maliciously unreliable though. She’s the type of unreliable that occurs when you have a single voice giving you only the information they’ve been given and no more. No speculation. No critical thinking. No imagining. It makes for a wonderful lens for this type of work. I applaud VanderMeer on his narrator’s personality choice.

    Now about Annihilation being all about will and adaptability. The women’s main objective is to figure out what’s going on in Area X without being contaminated—whatever that means, they don’t know—by Area X too. The suspense comes in the form of which woman digs her heels in and starts asking questions. What’s amazing is it’s the—minor spoiler here—environment itself that triggers the asking of questions! Each woman is in a daze until something happens to the biologist. She “wakes up” and begins to think. She begins to imagine. She begins to put pieces of a puzzle together the others can’t because they literally cannot see the truth due to interference that occurred outside of Area X. When I realized that, I began to wonder, just like the biologist did, what the expedition wasn’t told by the forever nameless “superiors” and what did anyone actually know about Area X? Were there any concrete facts known at all?

    Annihilation is a mere 195 pages. All VanderMeer really did in this book was set me up with a million questions that I won’t voice for fear of major spoilers. Annihilation will keep you on your toes for the whole ride. Grab your snacks and water bottle because you won’t get up until you’re finished.

    Count on the next post being about Book 2 of the Southern Reach Trilogy: Authority!

    ~Anna
    (Entry 2)

  • The Shining

    The Shining

    By Stephen King

    Oh boy, oh boy, was this book nothing like I expected. I’ll start by saying I’d never seen the movie and that I knew . . . well, essentially nothing about the book. Actually, the only thing I knew about The Shining was the few seconds of it shown at the drive-in theater in the movie Twister. And that was only after my mom said, “Hey, look, it’s The Shining.”

    I’ve never been a horror connoisseur. Probably the opposite. I was the kid that jumped and yelped when tapped on the shoulder, and the scariest thing I’d seen was Alien through my fingers at age fifteen. But after meeting my significant other and his love of most things dark and spooky, I found myself at the tip of a compromise to watch more horror so long as I got to watch something cute after—though my love of movie romances died very quickly upon the re-watch and analysis of a few old favorites. But we’re not here to discuss that.

    We’re here for Jack Torrance and his family. This isn’t a book review. Really. I don’t have enough exposure to the horror genre of books (this was the first of its kind I’ve picked up) to give an actual review. But I can tell you what I thought was neat and (probably the biggest reason this blog post might make someone argue with me) why I really disliked the movie.

    So let’s jump in! I’ll do my best not to be super spoiler-y, but take this as your warning, just in case.

    As far as horror goes, The Shining had a surprisingly sedate pace. This isn’t a bad thing; it was just the exact opposite of the “BOO! AH!” I had been expecting. Instead, The Shining takes on the slow, steady feel of something approaching you from behind. Which . . . okay, that might be worse. I freely admit I had to put the book down at least twice from getting so creeped out. Anytime Danny was alone, I braced for impact.

    Jack’s rather rapid descent (that’s not a spoiler, right?) into the realm of those-that-are-very-mentally-unsound wasn’t a surprise. Even if I wasn’t sure who exactly had that axe when I saw the snippet of film, it wasn’t hard to figure out from about page—and here’s a laugh for you—thirteen.

    Unfortunately, I’ve discovered I’m one of those people that once they know what the source of “the scary” is, they’re not really that scared anymore. Fun facts about Anna. The scariest part of the book, for me, was well before the climax of the story. That’s not a critique in any way. Quite a few instances after the spoiler-y part I’m talking about—think outside with snow and, if you’ve read it, you’ll get it—were pretty unsettling.

    I definitely preferred reading the sections that were from Danny’s point of view. King does a nice job letting us into the child’s head without making him seem too much like an adult. That’s a hard balance to strike.

    Now . . . the movie. I was well on my way to strongly disliking The Shining in movie format long before a friend told me that Stephen King hated it. I know. I know. It’s a “classic.” But it really shouldn’t even be called The Shining as there is very little to do with King’s book within that screenplay. I was, and continue to be, disappointed. Most of my major complaints are complaints King had about the movie himself, so let’s get into a few of those.

    Problem #1? Jack Torrance’s character. In the movie, you know immediately that Jack is out of his mind. There’s no mystery. No saying to yourself, “Hey, this guy is genuinely trying to be better, even if he’s sorta failing at it. He’s owned up to his mistakes (mostly) and a begrudging try is better than none at all.” Trying is a huge part of redemption arcs, and King’s novel gives Jack tons and tons of chances to be better. Jack not taking every opportunity to be better is a part of Jack being human. It allows for a rounded and character-driven story.

    Problem #2? The movie made Wendy look like a terrible mother. If you’ve read the book, you know she showed care and love for her son and would do anything to protect him even if she was frightened too. Movie-Wendy may as well have been a cardboard cutout placed on set.

    Problem #3? Danny has almost nothing to do with the plot of the movie besides a few takeaways adjacent to the novel’s content. As I said for #1, The Shining is a character-driven novel. You have nothing without those characters and their flaws and feelings and fears. This is the main reason the movie flopped for me. It was just a two and a half hour calliope loop of incoherence with no character development anywhere in sight.

    Now, before someone comes after me, unlike Stephen King, I didn’t hate the movie with a passion. I can appreciate the cinematography and Jack Nicholson’s unhinged performance along with the creep factor, but the movie credits really should have said “inspired by” rather than “based upon” Stephen King’s novel.

    ~Anna
    (Entry 1)