Gemma Doyle Trilogy

Libba Bray, author of this series and of Going Bovine, has really accomplished something:  she made me like a Victorian gothic.  Poe, yes.  Wuthering Heights, no.  Bray created something in between, added a sexy Indian guy, played with sexuality, and sold me on her strange mish-mash of reality.

I actually enjoyed being in the estrogen-exclusive world that dominates most of the series.  It made the sexual tensions more palpable, and I got to relive some of the cattiness of high school--only I got to close the book and escape.

The two main settings work and play off each other well:  a finishing school outside London and an alternate reality called the realms.  The finishing school is what you'd expect: impending, castle-like, run by a bird-faced crone, cold, filled with young bitches.  The realms are like some Willy Wonka candyland filled with mythical creatures.  At school, Gemma is an outcast.  In the realms, she's the savior.  Easy formula for some serious character growth.

Even though each of the novels is worthy of its own discussion, I'm once again going to chunk them together in one post.  You're talking about a couple thousand pages of prose--breaking them up would take me forever.

MERITS

• Titles.  A Great and Terrible Beauty is one of the coolest titles ever.  Rebel Angels, the second novel, didn't really do it for me.  It was actually kind of embarrassing to buy, so I did the barcode trick.  The Sweet Far Thing redeems.
• Voice.  The author knows her stuff.  Authentic first person from the P.O.V. of a young girl struggling in Victorian England.  She's got the syntax and vernacular down; it's like reading Jane Austen, only enjoyable.  
• Consistent characters.  Gemma's a solid heroine.  She's a human teen who has to deal not only with her sexual awakening and with mean popular girls, but also with massive responsibilities hoisted on her one after the other.  Her development is natural and you care about her.  (More than I can say about 80% of the characters I'm writing about here.)  The evil characters are evil.  The bitches she befriends remain bitchy.  That being said, there are some serious characterization surprises, but they work because they're consistent with what you'd expect.
• Relevance.  Rich with discourse on class, sexuality, race, gender, fantasy, virginity, silence, natural law, mythology...and, as my students would say, "much more."  I'd argue that this series is a great way to get young women to learn about Victorian culture and the development of the female class over the last hundred-plus years.
• Decay!  There is this wonderful, slow sense of decay that spans the three novels.  Everything from the scenery to the characters to the Victorian morality corrodes.  It was really central to my enjoyment of the plot.

NOT SO WONDERFUL

• Gemma's intestinal fortitude.  She caves in a little too much for me, especially when it comes to her whiny friends and their demands.  She also has the idea that she owes her friends something.  Kind of like Catholic guilt, only not quite as soul raping.
• Gemma + Kartik.  They spend too much time angry with each other and not enough time banging around in the bushes.  There are these deliciously almost-dirty scenes with moans and brief nipple tweaks, but they're rare.  Instead, Gemma's either mad at Kartik, or Kartik is mad at Gemma.
• Keeping the gay issue buried until the end.  I would've loved to see that develop more overtly--still hidden, given the Victorian junk, but played up.  It could've been an opportunity to explore lesbianism within an age defined by its sexual repression.  Oh well.

Of all the paranormals I've read so far, this one is definitely the most mature.  It can definitely appeal to a multi-generational readership, and even those who don't like cheesy romances/paranormal teen sludge could take something meaningful away from plowing through the couple thousand pages. 

On a side note, I visited the author's website (www.libbabray.com) and decided that she's amazing.  She's not some stuffy Pride and Prejudice worshipper.  She's funky.  I want to hang out with her and share high school stories.  After tooling around her website, I was that much more impressed that she captured the Victorian sensibility so well.

I'll read everything she writes--including cease and desist letters.

The Forest of Hands and Teeth

No vampires or woofs here.  Just zombies...and a whole lot of frustration.  The characters are frustrated, and I was frustrated while I read it.  I don't think the connection there is intentional.  In Naked Lunch, for example, W. S. Burroughs creates a master-slave relationship between the text and the readers that parallels the kink of the story.  This novel doesn't have that sort of authorial forethought.

Frankly, with such a provocative title, I expected something more.  I read this after Hunger Games, which may have ruined me for post-apocalyptic teen fiction...but this novel is weak enough to suck next to Twilight even.  In all areas.

My first big question:  WTF is this novel really about?  It doesn't have any moving themes, and that means it has little cultural value.  That may sound smug, but I don't mean it to be.  There are really horrible novels that have cultural value, and, therefore, worth reading.  Naked Lunch, again--not the greatest story in the world, not the most engaging characters, not the most rewarding themes...but still worth it.  Still somehow important culturally.

MERITS

• Great title.  Seriously.  
• Some potentially interesting entanglements, romantic and plotwise.
• Some compelling scenery.

WARNING SIGNS

• The characters.  Completely flat, one-dimensional, static--whatever literary term you want to use to say they are not appealing and do not make you want to care about them.  The main character is flighty and whiny.  She has a connection with a foreign zombie girl--but that connection does nothing to further any character.  The men are bland and malleable, uninteresting.  No one develops enough to deal with the main conflict (the elusive main conflict) head on.
• Plot.  Why are there zombies?  Who is the red shirt zombie girl?  Where is she from?  Who put up the giant fences?  Why did the nuns rise to power?  What happens to the zombies when there are no people left to chase/eat?  These are just some of the plot questions I struggled with during and immediately following.
• Female roles.  They're not worth anything if not chosen by a man.  But they nuns rule everyone.  They must be meek and obedient.  But the main character can lead...a little.  She's pathetic enough that no one chooses her for marriage, yet when she has the chance to be with the man she's always loved, she gets tired of him.  The red shirt zombie girl is the key to something, but we never find out what that is.  Wishy-washy ladies yet again.  

Reading this novel was like reading my students' end-of-the-semester English 100 papers.  There was so much promise, obvious knowledge of writing convention, but no follow-through, no pay-off.  I was disappointed because the potential peeked out here and there--like when students write a really killer thesis statement, but the support doesn't defend the idea.  (What a lame analogy.  I should've done something with a circus or popcorn or something.  Oh well.  I fall prey to my own criticism.  Karma.)

I wanted the chain link fence to fall.  I wanted everyone to die except the main character.  I wanted the title to really mean something.

I hear they're making a movie.  Maybe it'll be one of those rare instances in which the film is better than the literature.  I'll probably see it.

The Mortal Instruments

Ms. Cassandra Clare's trilogy encouraged me that the paranormal teen romance might have some readability after all.  She's been accused of purple prose, but following Meyer's plastic prose (have I coined something?!), her writing was a sweet reward.

I have to say, though, that it was really hard for me to buy the first novel of the series.  There's a bare-breasted teen boy on the cover.  I felt like a perv.  Luckily, the barcode's on the back, so I just slid it at the clerk front cover down.

The trilogy's subtitled as City of Bones, City of Ashes, and City of Glass.  I got the Glass reference, kind of got the Ashes, but have to go back to figure out the Bones.  Sometimes it takes me a while.  It's an urban fantasy with (apparently) touches of steampunk.  Steampunk is a word that I'm still not 100% sure of.  Sort of like emo.

City of Bones
Clarissa's kinda funky, and her best friend, Simon, is kind of not.  They're at a goth club one night--funny descriptions of gothical dancing--when Clary sees some murderous mayhem.  She meets some kids called Shadowhunters, some kind of Nephilim warriors whose charge is to protect the humans from demons and Downworlders--nasty creatures like werewoofs, vampires, and faeries.  After watching a demon fold in on itself and poof away, Clary meets Jace.  Sexy egotist Jace.  Kick ass Jace who taunts her and calls her "little girl."  What ensues is a lot of demon blood (ichor), weird weapons, sexual tension, betrayal, and strange names.

City of Ashes
Clary and Simon are deeply involved with the whole Shadowhunter world.  Clary's discovered that she's one of them, Simon's a special vamp, Jace is half-evil, and the human world is still constantly at risk.  Very exciting stuff throughout.  Clary and Jace's relationship is deliciously strained.  It's like "The Scarecrow and Mrs. King": you want them to get together, but if they do, there'll be no point to reading on.  We begin to sense Clary's unique among Shadowhunters, and the mystery behind various lineages unfolds well.  The subplots (more below) are relevant and woven cleverly.

City of Glass
This is where all the craziness happens.  It's war on so many fronts--between demons and Shadowhunters, between families, between lovers, between realities.  I don't usually go for action-packed stuff (though I've had to get used to it with this new genre), but the so-called purple prose adds a lush dimension that transcends blood and ichor.  There's a sexy new dark horse character--the guy on the cover--who proves to be everything the reader figures he'll be.  The novel ends with fireworks. Literally.  But what they're truly celebrating is up for debate.

MERITS

• Relevance.  The urban backdrop provides the author a perfect playground for themes of socioeconomic disparity, race relations, gender defining, sexual exploration, identity, alternate realities, modern family, initiation...very rich.
• Characters.  I actually like them--even the evil and bitchy.  I found myself afraid that certain secondary characters would die or be unsuccessful in their quests.  I enjoyed watching Clary suffer and overcome, though she might've been a little more forthcoming with her feelings.  (I tire of the whole "silent girl" scenario.)  Jace is wonderful.  I love his ego, his downfalls, his Phoenix-like identity.  Alec (and older bisexual lover, Brooklyn High Warlock Magnus Bane) = awesome way to explore teen struggles with homosexuality.  Isabelle = excellent sex-positive young woman whose untimely emotional revelations fit plot demands.  Luke = nice mix of father-figure and rebellious heart.  What does that mean?  Don't really know.
• The Clary-Jace controversy.  Are they brother and sister?  Why, yes, apparently.  Does that stop them from throbbing their groins in each others' general direction?  No.  Do they fantasize about sleeping with each other?  Constantly.  Do they give in?  Read it and see.  I loved that part. 

NOT-SO-GREAT

• I wanted more about the Nephilim.  It seems to play such a big part with the conclusion of the major action that I'd have liked a bigger development throughout the first two.
• The stele.  One of the most important parts of a Shadowhunter's powers.  It's a conical metal wand thing that they use to carve tattoo-like marks all over the damn place.  Huh?  Three books later, I still don't really know how to pronounce it, and I don't know its history or limits.  
• Hollywoodish ending.  The fireworks.

The author has written a prequel called Clockwork Angel, which starts a trilogy called The Infernal Devices.  I haven't read it because it's always sold out, but it goes to paperback this month, so hopefully I'll snag a copy.  I also read in an interview that there are going to be three more The Mortal Instruments books.

Six more books?  Cripes.

The author has said that the ideal way to read them is in the order of publication.  It's apparently going to zigzag between the two series.  She's also said, however, that you can read them separately.

That sounds like math.

As testament to my actually liking these novels:  a few days after finishing the trilogy--despite having a pile of other paranormal teen romances to attack--I started re-reading City of Bones again.  I've liked gaining perspective and recognizing foreshadowing and events/dialogue that seemed insignificant before.  In the past, I've reserved re-reading for works to teach in class:  1984, The Great Gatsby, Being There, Raymond Carver short stories, and the like.  While I wouldn't rank The Mortal Instruments as canonical, they certainly kicked the shit out of Twilight.

New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn

Although each of these novels deserves its own post, I've decided to chunk them together because I'd rather move on to other series I've encountered.

So Bella continues to bite her tongue whenever she wants to express herself, Edward and Jacob fight over who is the better abusive boyfriend, insignificant people die, and the Cullen wealth solves everything.  Or something like that...

Being in Jacob's wolfy mind is fun, and Bella begins to develop as a person.  Then Edward's back, and the misery continues--in Italy.  As soon as the novel shifts continents and the Volturi are introduced, the story goes nuts.  It's no longer small-town-America-with-a-twist.  It's now Anne Rice, Jr.  Opening up Bella's world in this way doesn't work for me, especially since everything gets wrapped up so easily.

Victoria and the Volturi are not the main enemies here.  The real enemy is the Vagina.  Again, Edward must fight Bella off.  Bella must retain her ticket to heaven at all costs.  Marriage is the only fix.  No vaginal penetration must take place until they say their I-Dos.

No thanks.

The most disappointing parts for me:  1) Alice should've died; 2) Bella's final power is LAME; and, 3) the baby elicits no emotion or awe from me. 

The best parts:  1) Edward destroys pillows and bites chunks of the headboard while (finally) deflowering Bella (though she has little/no memory of it!) and 2) vampire eyes have venom.

My big question, though, as I mentioned before, remains:  How did Edward impregnate Bella if 1) vamps' blood doesn't circulate (which wouldn't allow erections) and 2) vamps have no other bodily fluids than eye venom, which Edward explicitly explains (so how could there be seminal fluids)?  The author addresses these questions on her website, but that's not good enough for me.  You can't fill plot holes after the fact.

Regardless, I can see why these books sold so well.  They maintain the romance formula that has existed since the beginning of time.  Too bad they didn't play with the convention, though, so that they could've transcended the genre.  At their worst, they're moralistic rip offs of The Vampire Diaries (more on that later).  At best, they've been the springboard for other, more capable authors to join a massively popular and steadily growing sector of literature.

Twilight

Since this novel was my primer, I had few expectations.  My high school friend Dawn had devoured Anne Rice novels in the 80s, and I'd once read a first page.  I hated the style and refused to read further.  When I opened Twilight on that first afternoon, I was only hoping it was a step up.  Little girls liked it.  My mother liked it.  It couldn't be that hard to get through.

True enough.  It was easy to read and the plot was interesting.  Or maybe it was just familiar, which translated into interesting.  Whatever the case, I wrapped it up quickly and was ready to engage in some serious discourse about the merits and horrors of what I'd read.

MERITS

• Easy to read
• Page-turning enough
• Moderately interesting characters

HORRORS

• Bella.  She actually appreciates being abused.  In her twisted mind, Edward's complete control of her life is an outward sign of love--so much so that she's ready to give up her life to be with him for eternity.  What could be better than having someone tell you what to do and whom you can/cannot hang out with until the end of time?  (If her father had been changed, too, her dream could've been complete: she could make him dinner and clean up his house forever!)
• Edward.  See above.
• Creationism.  There is a dialogue between Bella and Edward during which Edward scoffs at the idea of godless evolution.  I guess he doesn't consider transforming from human to vampire without divine intervention an evolutionary act? 
• Chastity.  This is where my mother and I really get into it.  She thinks that Twilight provides young girls with the message that a wonderful boy can love a girl purely, without putting sexual pressure on her.  I say HOOEY.  What could've been a sex-positive, teachable situation turned into propaganda.  It could've played up the rewards of sexual intimacy, helping to educate a generation of girls who've been convinced that fellatio is part of making out.  It could've helped alleviate the guilt of expressing desire--something totally natural.  But, no.  Instead, it tells girls that they must remain totally still when a boy approaches them, or else that boy may lose control and take from them all of their self-worth--indeed, they may be giving away their very souls.
• No one close to Bella dies.  Great coming-of-age books include massive loss.  This one doesn't.  Bella doesn't experience enough to grow as a character, which means that I don't grow as her champion.
• Descriptions of Edward.  How many times do I have to read about his smoldering eyes?  His perfect jaw?  His miraculous hair?  The worst:  the sweetness of his breath.  She really smelled his breath a lot.  I'd almost rather smell his pits.

Overall, Twilight scared and shocked me.  It made me angry, and I didn't understand what all the kids were raving about.  It's not like stellar writing saved it.  As I wrote in another small piece somewhere else, it must have been the author's reliance on romance formula's affect on naive readers.  Bitchy, I know. 

Still, I had to finish the story, so the next day, I rented New Moon and hunkered down.

How It All Began

For a few years, my young tutoring students had been telling me stories of hiding under their covers at 2:00 a.m. with flashlights, reading Twilight secretly.  Sometimes their mothers would ask me if it were an appropriate series for young girls--4th to 6th grade or so.  I could only go on rumor.

The girls would tell me things like, "I skip the inappropriate parts," or, "Some of the stuff is awkward."  I figured this meant that there was some romance, some descriptions that made them tingle in their nether regions, like Foreigner's "Waiting for a Girl Like You" did when I was prepubescent.

So in November of 2010, I had to find out for myself.  I'd seen Twilight one late night on Shotime, and I'd gone to watch Eclipse in the theater to avoid a dinner with the mother-in-law, so I had an idea of the running plot and characters.  This was long after New Moon was out, and I wasn't really sure that I needed to see it.  Regardless, as we who love to read know, film and word are often disparate; therefore, in order to really get into the psyche of the Twilight lover, I had to read the books.

What blossomed--or spewed--from my opening of a beaten borrowed copy of Twilight is what now drives this blog, many of my jokes in class, and perhaps even some graduate research.  So with a Sunday snoring husband next to me on the couch, and a six-year-old PokePark player in front of me, I begin...