Adrian easily could have come across as shallow, but instead his innate sensitivity and sympathy lift him above the superficial definition that his career could otherwise brand him with. We don’t learn much about Adrian’s past, yet his first-person narration is an honest-enough reflection of his nature that we don’t need to know more than the spare details we’re provided with. In contrast, while we are given a good picture of the traumas and losses that Dan has endured, leading to the disfigurement that now hinders his confidence and happiness, his emotions are a bit harder to read. We see him only through Adrian’s eyes, and since the story is so short, our glimpse isn’t a particularly comprehensive one. Yet in only a few encounters, Brooke made me believe in the relationship that grows between her two characters, even if neither of them can quite account for its cause. This is the type of writing I love, simple and sparse yet used to tenderly convey a connection of spirit that defies logic or explanation.
I’ve been holding my breath for Thieftaker to come out since last year. D.B. Jackson isn’t an author I’ve read before, yet he seems to have built himself a nice following. Thieftaker represents the subgenre of historical urban fantasy, one that I haven’t had much exposure to, and I’m sorry to say that I doubt I will be reading much of it in the future either. That shouldn’t be taken as a statement against Jackson’s abilities as a writer nor Thieftaker as a novel. This wound up being a read in which I could sense the quality of writing, but simply couldn’t connect on a personal level.
Thieftaker takes place in 18th century Boston, a setting that I never anticipated
being featured in an urban fantasy novel. Yet depite its unlikely locale, Thieftaker has all the trappings of the genre, in particular a skilled narrator in Ethan Kaille. Ethan reminded me of what Harry Dresden’s ancestor might have been like. That might be part of the reason why Ethan and I never clicked. (I only got through the first two books in The Dresden Files). I love reading books told from a male point-of-view, but not when the male in question exhibits that annoying habit of stoicism that so often seems to accompany the Y-chromosome. Ethan clearly has much in life that he’s passionate about: his profession as a thieftaker (a fascinating and apparently real relic of historical times), his failed engagement to a beautiful woman of his past, the question of whether to commit to the beautiful woman in his present, and the potentially lethal frustration of dealing with his main competitor, the (obviously beautiful) Sephira. Perhaps it’s because I’m a woman and so less susceptible to this particular power of suggestion, but I got a bit tired of hearing about all of the beautiful women in Ethan’s life, no matter their relationship with him. I found Sephira in particular was a tiresome character, as her continual presence causing trouble in Ethan’s life never convinced me of anything aside from her feral grace. While we are told that she is a deadly foe, I witnessed no evidence of her competence aside from the muscle exhibited by her hired goons.
Despite my grievances, the magical system that Jackson has created is rather compelling and I’m sure that many will not have the same issues relating to characters as I did. I have no doubt that Thieftaker will be one of the breakout fantasy books for the year; it just wasn’t for me.
I’ve had Anna Dressed in Blood on my TBR list for quite a while now, and with high priority. The only reason it’s taken me this long to get around to reading it is because I’m unforgivably cheap and I haven’t been able to find a copy used. So when I saw a shiny new Barnes and Noble coupon sitting in my inbox a few weeks ago, I knew what book that discount would go toward. I won’t lie; my expectations for Anna were pretty sky-high after reading nearly universal praise from my fellow bloggers. Based on the reviews I had read, I was anticipating this to be a read rather outside of my comfort zone. While I thoroughly enjoy a good Grade B horror movie, the campier the better, horror often has the capacity to freak me out, particularly that of the haunting-ghoul-in-abandoned-house/hospital/mental ward variety. From what I’d read of Anna, it seemed to fit the bill of every story that has me watching the shadows at night, and the first few chapters did nothing to dispel me of this notion. Anna‘s opening is electric, spares no punches, and quite frankly, had me doubting whether it was wise to continue reading it when I knew I’d be going to sleep all by my lonesome that night.
Unfortunately, despite my misgivings, I wish Blake had been able to sustain the sheer creepiness of the novel’s early chapters, but ultimately Anna failed to live up to its hype. I couldn’t help but be let down the further I read, especially when the book had initially promised to deliver a truly unique, mostly unexplored level of scare for the YA genre. Blake had the potential to knock it out of the park, and when Anna first appeared on the page I was sure that she had. The Anna of the early chapters is like no other protagonist I’ve read in the genre, perhaps not quite unapologetic in her wrath, yet utterly frightening nonetheless. What’s more, she had presence on the page; I anticipated her return at the same time that I feared it, and though I wanted to learn about her history that had led her down this path, I didn’t feel that I needed to. It was enough to witness rather than needing to see behind the scenes.
Cas wasn’t quite as successful a character for me, though I appreciate Blake’s contribution to an unfortunately small pool of young adult books narrated from the male perspective. It’s not as if Bake failed to create a believable male teenage voice, but I nevertheless didn’t connect with Cas. It might be due in part to the wealth of backstory that Cas relates to the readers; I tend to have difficulty getting to know a character through anecdote alone rather than by witnessing the events as they occur. Still, I loved Cas’s interactions with Anna and couldn’t wait to see how Blake would justify Cas’s feelings for someone who can be so very inhuman. Sadly, things fell apart for me around the midway point, as the qualities I had loved until this point simply vanished. Anna’s unsettling demeanor, the sense of foreboding, the potential for development of great side characters like Thomas and Carmel take a backseat as, with a bit of magic and a pinch of luck, Anna is transformed from Samara’s long lost cousin into an utterly generic teen queen.
Suffice it to say, the Anna of the book’s second half was not a character to inspire awe in the reader. I’m glad that Blake didn’t completely neuter her main character, as at least Anna retains the ability to turn freaky-eyed and fabulous, but by allowing Anna to achieve her humanity so abruptly, Blake took the easy way out. Compared to reading about Cas’s struggle to come to terms with his feelings for someone with questionable merits and dubious morals, allowing Anna to toggle between murderous wraith and sympathetic victim made the whole affair seem far too sanitized.
When I requested a review copy of Spark, I broke one of my avowed reading rules: never read a series out of order. Yet I knew that Spark would only remain on NetGalley for a few days longer, and I had read so many rave reviews of Storm, the first in Kemmerer’s Elementals series, that I knew I couldn’t let this opportunity pass me by. Requesting Spark wound up being a good move; after reading the descriptions for the first two books in the series, I have to say that Gabriel’s bad-boy-falls-for-smart-girl trope appealed to me more than his older brother’s storyline. Unfortunately, I’m not sure that I’m intrigued enough by the world Kemmerer has built to seek out the first in the series, but if I happen to come across it I’d gladly give it a go.
Kemmerer deftly works two of my favorite underused themes into her new series: control of the elements, and brotherly love. Usually, it seems like the latter is portrayed between a pair of siblings (see Rob Thurman’s Cal Leandros series, Sarah Rees Brennan’s Demon’s Lexicon series, and Supernatural). However, Kemmerer isn’t content with giving us a measly duo, so instead we’re treated to a horde of brothers (two of them twins, at that). Reviewers have been praising the dynamic Kemmerer has created among this sibling gang, and while I could see the underpinnings of something sweet, I believe this might be an example of why series are best started at the beginning. I couldn’t help but feel that the foundations of these relationships were solidly established in Storm, and that Kemmerer took it for granted a bit in Spark. Usually, I would applaud an author for foregoing the urge to rehash and repeat past
events for the sake of new readers, but when I happen to be on the other side for once, I can appreciate why authors summarize. I followed the story just fine, though I was a bit lost on some of the finer points. It also took me a while to figure out who was connected to whom familialy and romantically, though I was pretty confident on this point midway through. Still, I felt that something was missing (and no, it wasn’t a spark, although that would be conveniently ironic). While I could see that these brothers cared immensely for each other, I felt too much like a bystander to their affections without getting a sense of how their personalities really worked together.
Apart from this criticism, I quite enjoyed the story, but it never elicited enough excitement to warrant a higher rating. Gabriel was a good narrator, if a bit typical for his stereotype. I would have liked to see him interact more with his twin brother Nick, as I felt that this was one of the relationships for which so much importance lay in the backstory that I wasn’t privy to. I had a more difficult time connecting with Layne, much to my surprise and disappointment, as I usually love reading about the shy, brainy chicks (I am one myself, after all). Yet Layne just seemed a bit too self-involved, despite her air of subservience and altruism. I did like her relationship with her brother Simon and the way that this factored into her growing regard for Gabriel. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that something was missing; it was a formula I should have loved, but it never quite got to the point where I was rooting Gabriel and Layne on. I was more concerned with Gabriel’s potential conviction as the unknown arsonist, and felt that this storyline was insufficiently resolved. I suppose Kemmerer intends to explore it more in the next installment.
Overall, Kemmerer’s writing feels exactly like the type I usually gravitate toward, so I struggle to pinpoint exactly what it is that prevents me from loving this series. Perhaps I ought to give Storm a chance and see if it changes my impressions of its successor; at any rate, I think that the Elementals series is a great new addition to the young adult urban fantasy genre.
I can’t help but cast characters in my head when I’m reading. Here’s how I imagine the characters in Sarah J. Maas’ Throne of Glass series. (Warning: The pictures in my head often don’t match up to character descriptions. But it’s my vision, so change it if you don’t like it).
“At a passing glance, one might think her eyes blue or gray, perhaps even green, depending on the color of her clothing. Up close, though, these warring hues were offset by the brilliant ring of gold around her pupils. But it was her golden hair that caught the attention of most, hair that still maintained a glimmer in its glory.”
“Yet there was something in his eyes, strikingly blue- the color of the waters of the southern countries- and the way they contrasted with his raven-black hair that made her pause. He was achingly handsome, and couldn’t have been older than twenty.”
“He straightened from a low bow and removed his hood, revealing close-cropped chestnut hair…Captain Westfall was not excessively handsome, but she couldn’t help finding the ruggedness of his face and the clarity of his golden-brown eyes rather appealing.”
“She was stunning, long and lean, each of her features perfectly formed and smooth. Her loose white dress contrasted with her creamy brown skin, and a three-plated gold torque covered much of her chest and neck.”
I don’t tend to review many erotica titles on this blog, but I’d read enough glowing reviews of Delphine Dryden’s The Theory of Attraction that I knew I had to give it a go. In The Theory of Attraction, Dryden gives us a hero who is far from typical. While Ivan can accurately be categorized as a nerd, that by itself isn’t overly intriguing. Ask any number of women, myself included, and they’ll tell you that nerdy-chic is hot. But this isn’t the right forum for a discussion of the benefits of loving a Beta, particularly as Ivan winds up being as far from submissive as it gets.
Dryden flirts with introducing her readers to BDSM culture, of which I readily admit I have little knowledge. However, speaking as a member of the outside community looking in, I can attest to Dryden’s deft handling of the subject matter, as she gives us a glimpse into a way of life that intrigues even if it doesn’t tempt. Camilla and Ivan’s slow
progression from acquaintances to lovers is well paced, and the intimacy is without a doubt steamy. I would have liked to see a bit more emotional development divorced from the physical aspects of their relationship, but Dryden certainly doesn’t neglect showing us Camilla and Ivan’s mutual regard for each other. Still, I am a romantic at heart, and while I appreciate when an author has the ability to make the pages sizzle, ultimately Iwant a story to deliver on emotional depth.
That being said, I suspect that what I found to be the most compelling aspect of the novel was also the one that prevented Camilla and Ivan’s emotional connection from feeling fully explored. Though it is never confirmed, Dryden’s depiction of Ivan’s obsessive need for control and routine, coupled with his extreme discomfort and confusion regarding social interaction, suggest that he is afflicted with a disorder akin to Asperger’s or high-functioning autism. As a result, it remains somewhat unclear up until the end whether both characters are on the same page regarding their relationship, and while Dryden did a good job to clarify things by the end, it nevertheless lacked an extra something that would have made the ending truly satisfying. I would have liked to see Dryden explore a dual-narrative format, as it would have been lovely to see the contrast in Camilla and Ivan’s thoughts as their relationship progressed. Still, I wound up enjoying The Theory of Attraction quite a bit and recommend it to any readers who like their heroes cast in an unconventional mould and who are seeking a little extra heat to their romantic read.