City of Bones is rubbing me the wrong way

My book buddy wrote about how City of Bones is rubbing her the wrong way. I also feel very wrongly rubbed by this appalling book.

My review will come. And it’s not going in the Nutshells category. Oh no.

Ender Wiggin isn’t a killer. He just wins – thoroughly.

enders-gameBecause never in my entire childhood did I feel like a child. I felt like a person all along–the same person that I am today. I never felt that I spoke childishly. I never felt that my emotions and desires were somehow less real than adult emotions and desires.

Ender’s Game reminded me that the world is not dead and that I am the one who would probably be dead before I manage to discover all that the human race has to offer. I’m amazed at the fact that I can still be amazed. And that’s Ender’s Game in a nutshell. I just love when that happens. When a book proves to me that there are still things to discover out there, things to marvel and to enjoy in. Am I exaggerating? Probably, I’m in a poetically philosophical mood. All Ender’s Fault. That’s all I have to say about it. I care not about plot development, characterization and psychological development, mythology…I read that Ender is a Jungian something, there was some talk about Christ and the creation of life, there was something about him not being a purely formulaic character. I just wonder what the race could accomplish if we stopped treating children like blithering idiots and gave them some credit and more freedom. 

tumblr_mn6e1vc0fU1qz8vumo1_500Once again, Hollywood decided to pillage an art form and reshape it in a way that will make money. Or so I suspect. I admit, I am biased. I love a good book movie,  but not every book was meant to be a movie, or so we of little imagination like to think. I don’t think Ender’s Game will make a good movie, not because it’s not movie material, but because I don’t think that they have the balls which take to make Ender’s Game into a paradigm-shifting movie. There’ll be a lot of CGI and awesome special effects. I suspect they’ll find a decent child-actor or two. I suspect they’ll bend over backwards to make sure the movie is appealing to as wide an audience as possible and that it is approved for the general population. I think it is too much to hope they’ll make a PG-13. I shall wait until November, and pray to the Speaker for the Dead I’m dead wrong. In the meantime if you wish to read the book, do it now. And do not watch the teaser trailer before finishing the book in its entirety.

Madeline Miller: The Song of Achilles

miller_2234648bA long time ago my dad gave me this huge, dark blue book and said: „You’re too old to listen to stories, you need to read them yourself.“ The book was heavy, with columns of text about gods, demigods, heroes and anti-heroes. There was something to be learned from all those stories, I could tell. But there was no excitement in it. The heroes were heroic, the gods were moody, and everything seemed bereft of humanity and reality. I was told mythology was supposed to be that way. Madeline Miller begs to differ.
The Song of Achilles was a reluctant choice, but one which I will never regret. The way a book about demigods, great kings and warriors manages to describe humanity and the essence of everything that we are is breath-taking. There is no perfect being in this book. Nobody is perfectly good, or perfectly evil. There are no sides to be taken. You just want something to happen because you care, not because you think it is right. There is only interpretation, relativity and emotion.
A silly theory of mine comes to mind. I always thought that women writers were less prone to excess. I don’t know why, maybe because since the dawn of time we had to apologize for being able to do something as good as or better than men. But my theory comes to life in the style of Madeline Miller. She does not flaunt around, she cares not for impressing the reader with big words and linguistic games. She simply pours her heart out in an unpretentious and poetic way. From page one, her words wrap around your heart, giving comfort and warmth. Even though you are aware of the impending doom of the characters she’s making you love, you cannot stop yourself from feeling the poetry, from feeling the beauty. And you let yourself go. You forget about how the story ends, you live in the sentence you are reading, not caring about what comes next. And suddenly, you realize those words that once warmed your heart are squeezing tighter and tighter, until it’s too late and your heart is irrevocably broken. Broken by a story everybody knows. Broken by a story you’ve known since you were a child.
It takes a genius to refresh a story as old as civilization by using nothing but your talent to weave beautiful sentences and the sense of what it means to be human.