Edwards, Kim (The Memory Keeper's Daughter)

I'm often wary of books that have some sort of message. I don't mean moral messages, the best books have those layered under everyday circumstances. I mean teaching-- some sort of lesson that you may not know, but darn it you really should.

In this case, the lesson is learning about children with Down syndrome, how they function in the real world, what they have to fight for and against. I recognize the value in including lessons in stories-- heck, I love it when historical facts are written into novels. But part of me rebels against it because I feel that I'm being patronized, if ever so slightly.

This has nothing to do with how entertaining or well-written the novel is. And this one is not lacking in those charms. It pulls you right along-- you care about the characters, the settings, the heartaches and the joys. But that lesson stays on the forefront of your mind and lessens the impact the novel might have. And, to be honest, I am still unsure what moral should be taken from the book, and I suppose that's where it fails.

Dundy, Elaine (The Dud Avocado)

As the back cover says, "deceptive." Essentially, a tale of the life and times of a young American girl in Paris in the 50s, there's much more depth to this story than at first blush.

Firstly, the author is a great storyteller, weaving honesty, complicity, faith, and the "joys" of being a woman in a man's world into something cohesive. (The book is somewhat autobiographical, so writing from life...) In particular, I like one descriptive passage on why hosting dinner parties can be so torturous. I laughed out loud at it-- hit the nail on the head, I dare say.

Secondly, the moral of the story isn't set up so that your nose is rubbed in it. You get it a bit at a time, and while you know that the young girl will likely learn her lessons, you enjoy learning them with her.

And thirdly, it's a bit of a mystery tale, giving it a fabulous (if slightly disappointing) ending worthy of some of the best deception writers out there. She may not round out her characters as well as they might, but it really doesn't matter in this context.

Agnello Hornby, Simonetta (The Almond Picker)

I wonder how many books are about maids, or at least books in which maids figure prominently. The servant in this story dies seconds before the tale begins, making for an intriguing beginning. Mennulara has taken care of the Alfallipe family in Sicily for years, but she was no ordinary maid, and her life is told in fits and starts as the novel progresses.

Which I guess is my main criticism of it. For more than half the story, we only hear from the villagers guessing who Mennulara really was. I understand Agnello Hornby has to set up different perspectives and different aspects to Mennulara's life, but it makes the tale a little boring. In addition, there are SO many villagers, it's easy to lose track of who is who and who hates Mennulara and who likes her.

So, I guess my advice is to read this book fast (which is completely do-able) and don't do what I did which was put it down for another book for a month or so. The ending is worth it, and this strategy should make it easier to keep a handle on what's happening.

Vinge, Vernor (A Fire Upon the Deep)

It's been a long time since a 600+ page book took that short a time to read. Vinge sucks you into his "Zone" world where we live in the "Slowness" and all the higher beings have "transcended." I know, it sounds a little dorky, but there is something about the beings he creates and how he allows them to interact that is unique to his storytelling.

I particularly like the Skroderiders-- frondy fern-like beings used to spending their time in the surf who now ride around on little stick-um wheeled carts. Besides, a major plot point (which you will not see coming) relies on how these beasties came to be.

I'm surprised no one has thought to make a movie about this. In my mind's eye, I could clearly see the light-year hopping, the angry butterflies, the gray-skinned hero, and the castles ruled by dog packs. See what I mean? This is why you need to read this book.

Francis, John (Planetwalker)

[An Early Reviewer copy from LibraryThing. Thanks LT!]

If only Dr. Francis had spent more time talking about the politics of environmental policies, in particular his own points of view on those policies, this would have been a much better book.

The life behind the book-- that of John Francis spending much of his life walking across this country (and others) to bring awareness about our dependence on oil-- is admirable and enviable, with all the problems not riding in cars, trains or planes can bring. But much of the book is spent literally cataloging who he meets along his journey, and though it's interesting to see the opinions of those he meets (although a bit puzzling that they're all so similar), it's not as interesting as his thoughts on what it is he's walking about.

On the choice of silence for 17 years, I wish he would write a book only about that. His reasons for not speaking are engaging, but again he seems to dip only sketchily into the whys and wherefores. We're left hoping for a fuller explanation.

Leon, Donna (Through a Glass, Darkly)

The title is from the Bible and implies that humans have a less that perfect perception of reality.

I can't think of a better title for this Guido Brunetti novel, which grapples with unambiguously moral and ethical issues mostly having to do with the environment of Venice. Leon's mysteries have always been set in Venice, and often touch on the sticky problems surrounding the polluting of the lagoon, the crumbling of the edifices and the navigation of Italian bureaucracy. But, this is Leon's first foray into the pollution issue as a major theme.

As usual, we have Inspector Vianello and Signorina Elettra on the side of the environmentalists, while Brunetti remains classically aloof. Also, as usual, the pace of the novel is somewhat slow, in keeping with the protagonist. However the book takes you in an unexpected direction, especially in the last 20 pages, even if you are familiar with Leon's style.

And for those really tired of that, there are fewer descriptions of food and Brunetti's kids and wife than usual. While these remain a staple, they seem far less important here. Perhaps that's just a reflection of the more serious tone.

Kaye, M. M. (The Far Pavilions)

Just to get it out of the way, the first thing I'll do is complain about the length of this book. 955 pages-- what were you thinking, Mary Margaret? Actually, I know perfectly well what she was thinking. Her intent from the beginning must have been to write an epic, and that only as an epic would this tale of British rule in India, the Second Afghan War, and the romance between her British-born, India-raised soldier and the half-blood Russo-Indian princess work.

This might give you some hint as to what the main themes of the story are. Prejudice is a big one-- these two are fighting to find a place where they won't be judged by the color of their skin or the fact that they are foreigners in a strange land. The other big theme-- the utter uselessness of invading other countries-- works perfectly in parallel.

In fact, the book is quite topical. I wasn't even aware there was a First Afghan War (and that her father was one of its historians), much less a Second one. The very real history embedded in this novel is still in play: The world powers against the smaller, feistier, much more religiously driven countries.

Dahl, Sophie (Playing With the Grown-ups)

[An Early Reviewer copy from LibraryThing. Thanks LT!]

I had no expectations for this book, even with the knowledge that her grandfather is the famous Roald. The description on LibraryThing gave an indication that it might be a chick-lit type book, and to some degree it is. In that female emotions, thoughts, processes are front and center.

I usually enjoy well-written chick-lit, and this is certainly beautifully written. But there is no progress in the novel. We watch Kitty grow up with her unhinged mother both in England and in New York, but there's too little of the essential (why is Kitty suddenly a convert to Swami-ji? what in God's name possesses her to allow her mother to do drugs with her?) and far too much detail about rooms and clothing.

I was also irrationally irritated by Kitty becoming thin, pretty and popular, but probably because I wasn't. (At least I'm honest.) To be really honest, I wish she'd write children's books. I think her attention to detail and her ability to be really funny would serve her well in that realm.

McCall Smith, Alexander (The Sunday Philosophy Club)

On the strength of his The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, I decided to try out one of McCall Smith's other series. The protagonist in this one is a rich, middle-aged, single woman living in Edinburgh (McCall Smith's hometown), who happens upon a mystery and unwillingly solves it.

The book made me realize that the reason I like the Botswana series is because of how he describes Botswana, the people who remember the traditions, and the laid-back atmosphere so different from here in the U.S. Nothing like that comes through in this series, and it's the poorer for it.

Isabel is quite likeable and so are her friends, but it all seems quite vague and at-arm's-length from the reader. Maybe it's all the philosophical tangents? Perhaps Edinburgh is just not quite as enticing a venue as Botswana?

Woodrell, Daniel (Winter's Bone)

Although I guess this novel is technically a mystery, it feels less like one than most. It's gritty, harsh and honest-- you are in the Ozarks living this teenager's life, feeling her emotional and physical hurts. And because it's written by a man from that part of the country, you are more willing to believe that this torturous existence and the society that surrounds it are true-to-life.

I wonder how Woodrell would do on books not set in the Ozarks, because the book would be nothing without that. Of course, I'm perfectly fine with him keeping on in this vein. What's the oft-used phrase? "Write what you know."

If only I could figure out how the blue bag fit into the picture-- is this a plot hole on Woodrell's part, or am I just missing something? (I paged through twice after finishing.)