Review: Clara and Mr. Tiffany by Susan Vreeland

My first introduction to Susan Vreeland was in high school when I read The Passion of Artemisia. At the time it was being considered for the BBYA list because of the teenage protagonist. It didn't end up making the list, but it was a powerful story - based on the life of Artemisia Gentileschi, a 17th century painter who often depicted strong women of the Bible and mythology. A haunting and captivating story. So when I heard that Vreeland had a new book, I knew I needed to get it - I didn't even look to see if it was based on a real person this time around and just dove in!

Like Artemisia, Clara Driscoll is an artist constricted by society's attitudes about what women can and should accomplish. Instead of paintings, however, Clara works in glass, and is responsible for creating some of the most famous designs for Louis Comfort Tiffany's innovative glass lamps.

While working for Tiffany is a dream come true in some ways, it's incredibly stifling in others. The unionized male glass workers don't appreciate the women's department, headed by Clara, getting some of the greatest commissions. And while Tiffany is rather forward thinking in hiring women at all, he has old fashioned notions about married women, namely that they shouldn't be working. Clara resigned from Tiffany's once before to get married, but returned upon the death of her husband. She longs to have a romantic companion in her life again, but is also loyal to Mr. Tiffany, and then there's the matter of her life's passion in being an artist. How is Clara supposed to choose?

There are also wonderful subplots and minor characters - Clara has several gay friends she interacts with throughout the story, growing quite close to some of them, but my favorite recurring subplot had to be Clara's burgeoning social consciousness and labor organizing. When the male glassworkers start grumbling about all the work the women are doing, Clara organizes all of the women to march to work in solidarity under the banner of labor rights and women's rights. She counsels many of the young women in her department to improve their skills so they can earn more money to support their families, and delay marriage as long as possible to be sure they can start their married lives with a bit of money of their own. She also gets a bicycle, which just makes me want to read Wheels of Change even more (NYPL, Queens Library: WHY DON'T YOU HAVE IT YET?!). I have a feeling Clara's bike rides really illustrate a lot of what that book is talking about.

Clara has some thoroughly modern attitudes, but they're tempered by some truly Victorian attitudes that keep her from coming across as too 21st century, such as buying into the "benevolent" stereotype that women are more attuned to color so it's okay that they are segregated in their own department in the glass factory. She's overall a great character because she has so many different interests, passions, and problems that she truly comes to life. The same can't be said for all of the side characters, as especially some of the men in the periphery of Clara's life are hard to distinguish from each other.

So was Clara Driscoll a real person? Absolutely - though no one knew it until 2006. Because I'm a huge geek I would have liked a longer author's note at the end about Vreeland's research. While she relates the discovery of Clara's letters that led to the re-evaluation of the design of Tiffany lamps, I wondered how much of the characterization of other historical characters were based on fact - especially Louis Comfort Tiffany himself. But hey, I suppose I can find a biography of him on my own and try to learn for myself what may have been fact and what was fiction in Vreeland's complex depiction.

Review: Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys

I know it's only March, but I think we have here our first serious awards contender of 2011. If Between Shades of Gray were a movie, it would be a December-released prestige picture, an obvious ploy for an Oscar win, but one it would surely deserve.

It's 1941, and Lithuanian Lina leads a comfortable life. Her parents dote upon her and her younger brother, she has friends and family and crushes, and amazing skills with pencils and paintbrushes that are opening doors to her future education.

But that idyllic life comes crashing down around Lina late one night, when armed men break into the house and pull Lina, her mother and her brother from their beds without explanation.

And so begins Lina's journey - one that stretches thousands of miles, from the quiet suburbs of Lithuania into the frigid depths north of the Arctic circle, as Lina and her family become victims of Stalin's march in Lithuania and the Baltic states at the outbreak of World War II. Her only comforts are her family, her artwork, and her hope that her furtive sketches and notes will be passed hand to hand until they reach her father and he'll escape from wherever he's being held to come find his family.

Lina's and Lithuania's story was totally new to me. I vaguely knew that Stalin's Soviet Union wasn't a great place to be, but had no real idea about the elimination tactics that he used. It's horrifying to think that in some ways this man was our ally - and yet he was using the same tactics as Hitler. Sepetys does an amazing job portraying the dehumanizing tactics used by the NKVD (the predecessors of the KGB) - it's gut churning and horrifying.

Lina is an amazing artist and Sepetys uses her artistic eye to add some beautiful language to a story of hardship and terror. Lina doesn't draw strictly realistic - she's inspired by Munch - which gives Sepetys many opportunities for perfect metaphors, like the snakes crawling out from the neck of one particularly horrid guard's jacket.

I read this book over the course of just one day - and not even a weekend. Even when I had to take breaks, my mind was still in the book. At one point I paused to eat dinner with my husband, and I felt a bit of guilt sitting down to a full hot meal when part of my brain was still in Altai, the first camp Lina is sentenced to. And then when I could get back to reading and reached the end of the book I was crying - almost sobbing. And I don't easily cry at books.

While on the surface Lina's story isn't terribly different from any other fictional Holocaust account, I still feel it's an important contribution to the genre of WWII titles. The writing alone makes it worth a read, but it's also important to remember that in most any conflict there are indeed shades of gray - that even while we may call someone an ally, that doesn't make them (or even us) perfect examples of our ideals.

Reviewed from an ARC picked up at ALA Annual 2010. Between Shades of Gray is available today!

Review: The Water Seeker by Kimberly Willis Holt

Found via: The Fourth Musketeer

Following up on my Nonfiction Monday post, here's another western-style book, this one set first on the frontier of Missouri, and then on the famed Oregon Trail - which is what made me want to pick up this book. And it didn't hurt that I received the book right around the time this bit of hilarity hit the internet:



I know they updated the game a few times, but you're seriously missing out if you never played the original game for the Apple II. Good times.

Amos Kincaid's life begins in tragedy - his young mother dies while giving birth to him, leaving him to be raised by his rough frontiersman father. Jake Kincaid doesn't think he'd be much of a father to an infant, especially since the only trades he knows - trapping and dowsing - require extensive traveling across wild parts of the country, so he drops baby Amos off with his brother in Missouri, promising to visit when he can.

Amos grows up with his aunt and uncle serving as the only family he knows. His father is a mysterious person who drops by once or twice a year for a few days before moving on again. About the only thing Amos knows about the man is that he's a dowser, someone who can find water beneath the ground, and the talent has been passed down to Amos, though he keeps it secret.

When he's a young teen, tragedy strikes his family again with the death of his beloved aunt. When Jake returns to find his sister-in-law dead and his brother a shell of his former self, he decides it's time to take Amos with him. Jake now has a wife, Blue Owl, and Jake has taken a job as a trail scout along the Oregon Trail. It's still a hard life, but with Blue Owl to help with the boy, Jake thinks it's time for the family to reunite and head West.

This book covers a long period of time, from Amos' birth until he's a young adult, which certainly lends the narrative a sort of epic scope. At the same time, the story is a very quiet one, focusing on Amos' growth as a boy and young man and his relationships on the frontier. It's a quiet and simple novel on one level, yet complex on another. Because of this, I imagine it's going to lose a lot of early readers who don't have some sort of vested interest in the story, as the real action in the story doesn't begin until over halfway through, when Amos heads out along the Oregon Trail.

This is another YA book that I can definitely see having a lot of adult appeal, not among genre fans like Twlight and Hunger Games and Harry Potter found, but among fans of so-called literary fiction. The writing style as a whole has more in common with that genre than most books written for younger readers. The third person narrative often jumps to the adults in the story, especially the women who care for Amos throughout his life. And then there's the subtle and unexpected supernatural element, as the spirit or ghost of Amos' mother appears to these same women as he grows.

Historical fiction fans will find a lot to love in this story, as the excitement and perils of life on the frontier and heading west are each given a fair amount of the story. The one potential for controversy that I can see is in the character of Blue Owl. While it was surprising and delightful to find a Native woman's perspective in the story, I fear she often fell into stereotypes about Native women: quiet, subservient, forever in wonder of "white people's" accomplishments. On the other hand, she's a sympathetic character and after Amos we probably spend the most time looking at the story from her perspective. I would absolutely love to hear the opinion of someone who knows more about Native American cultures (Blue Owl is Shoshone) and representation in lit (especially YA).

Review: Scars by Cheryl Rainfield

Found via: I'm Here, I'm Queer, What the hell do I read?
Book received at ALA June 2010

I saw this on Lee's blog back in April. It took my library months to get it in, and I finally got it through the library right before ALA...where I stumbled across Cheryl signing copies in the exhibits! Not that I need more books in my apartment, you know, but it's always nice to have a personalized copy to add to my collection.

Growing up, Kendra was sexually abused in a horrific manner - so horrific, she completely blocked the memory of it until six months ago. Even now, after extensive therapy, she can't bring herself to remember the man who did these terrible things to her. To cope, she has thrown herself into her art, creating dark and emotional works that stand in stark contrast to the controlled and pretty landscapes her mother paints. Less healthfully, she has also turned to self harm, cutting herself up and down her arms as a way to control the pain and fear that well up inside of her.

Now, years after the end of the abuse, her abuser is back on the scene, stalking Kendra, leaving her threatening notes in her backpack warning that he will kill her if she tells anyone. Kendra reports this to her therapist, but finds there's no one else she can trust, especially since she doesn't know who he is - or how he's getting so close to her now.

The one highlight in Kendra's life is her budding relationship with Meghan. Meghan saves Kendra from one of the school bullies one day, and Kendra latches on, hoping at first just for a friend before finding that her feelings are growing deeper. Luckily, despite her reputation with the boys, Meghan returns Kendra's feelings.

The stakes for Kendra rise as trouble hits her family. Her father is in danger of losing his job, meaning Kendra may have to change schools, and even stop seeing her therapist, the only person keeping her from actually killing herself. Life has, perhaps, never been darker for Kendra, as her parents threaten to rip all of her supports out from under her. If she can only figure out who hurt her, and is stalking her again, she can find some peace.

I have to admit, part of what drew me in to this book, is the stark and rather disturbing cover. It's the sort of cover that catches people's eye, and then makes them do a double take - this is a side effect of all of that reading in public I do. It's not bright and flashy, but I think it's the one smooth and one horrifically scarred arm that draws me in. It almost looks like a horror movie poster.

And Kendra's life is like something out of a horror movie at times. The novel opens with her telling her therapist that she's being stalked, and I love that it's impossible to tell for awhile whether it's true or if Kendra is paranoid with the sort of unstable personality that could make something like this up. Kendra acknowledges that it sounds crazy, but remains convinced.

The descriptions of Kendra's abuse, both as a child and the harm she self-inflicts, are absolutely brutal. If you're squeamish about depictions of abuse, this might not be the book for you.

In some ways, this felt like a novel of extremes, with a lot of stuff crammed in. Occasionally it stretched credulity, for example there's a big stand off at the end that seemed to come out of nowhere. Also, very briefly at the end, and again in Rainfield's author's note, there's a mention of "ritual abuse," which both Kendra and Rainfield were subjected to, however there's no further explanation. There are support resources in the extensive readers' resource guide related to ritual abuse, which certainly have a place in a book such as this, but it felt like a rather random tidbit to be dropped in during the closing pages of the novel.

Kendra's relationship with Meghan is delightfully a non-issue in the story. Kendra has enough to agonize about without adding sexual orientation to the list, though her parents have some hand wringing over whether she's really a lesbian or if she's just reacting against the abuse. While I felt their relationship developed extremely fast (which happens to lots of plot points across the novel), Meghan's unquestioning support is a beautiful counterpoint to Kendra's parents.

Review: Heist Society by Ally Carter

Found via: Liz B. at Teacozy

Kat Bishop comes from a family of thieves. Her father expects her to continue in the family business, but Kat wants out. So she puts all of her skills to work in order to gain entry to a prestigious boarding school where she can have a nice, normal life.

Until her father gets in trouble, and it's up to Kat to save him.

Kat's father is the only suspect in an elaborate art heist, that has all the earmarks of previous heists he's committed. He has the perfect alibi: if he was doing a small job in Paris that night, how could he have done a big job in Italy? But the Italian billionaire whose paintings were stolen is convinced Kat's dad is guilty, and coerces Kat to convince her father to return them.

Kat believes her father's alibi, but also knows he's in incredible danger unless she can get those paintings back. She has two weeks to figure out where the paintings are hidden, and, if necessary, figure out how to steal them back.

Of course, no heist like this could be pulled off by one person. Kat pulls together a group of young criminals, including several childhood friends who grew up in the con business; her friend Hale, who's been practically adopted into the family; her often-obnoxious cousin Gabrielle; and Nick, the new guy who got Kat's attention by picking her pocket (at the same time that she picked his). As the clock keeps ticking, the pressure keeps mounting as Kat and her team try to pull off what may be the greatest heist in history.

First, I need to get this out of the way: this is a slickly designed book. Check out the cover:


It's big and bold and while I don't think the model quite looks like Kat (she's described often as being hopelessly unfashionable) it captures the mood of the book well. The smirk makes the model look a little cheeky, which is definitely a way to describe Kat. If the movie gets made, the poster's already done, just replace the model here with the actor and you've got a slick poster. It's also so refreshingly different from the covers of Carter's Gallagher Girls series (see the covers of all of Carter's books here), which all chop the face off of the models, which is a trend I just can't stand. Also the book keeps a clear countdown so we know exactly how many days Kat has left to pull off her heist, and where she's at now, as she crisscrosses Europe in her search for the paintings. The countdown pages are filled with old-looking maps and every time I came to one I got the theme from Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? stuck in my head.



However, slick design doesn't make up for the fact that this book hit one of my major pet peeves: seeming to go out of its way to fail the Bechdel Test.

Heist Society has exactly two female characters who get more than a page of screen time: Kat and Gabrielle. There's also a female Interpol agent who is in charge of tracking Kat's father, but we hardly see her, and certainly don't see her talking to Kat or Gabrielle. There are no women in Kat's extended thief family (her mother died years ago for no reason other than to make another character sympathetic towards Kat). No women work in museums or are art historians, or even serve hot chocolate in the Alps. When Kat and Gabrielle talk, they're usually being bitchy to each other (I never figured out if there was an actual reason for this animosity), and often being passive aggressive about a boy.

The point where I got absolutely furious about this, however, is when Kat and Gabrielle go to confront the man who's blackmailing Kat and her father. Gabrielle accompanies Kat as "the muscle" so this guy can't just kidnap Kat or whatever. Gabrielle doesn't say a word for the entire scene. It's all about Kat. What the hell was the point of sending Gabrielle along? It was epically disappointing.

The ending clearly sets this up to be the first in a series (though it's not a ridiculous cliffhanger - the story is 99% self contained, with one major element to be picked up as a plot point in another book), and I might even pick up the second one, but I can't guarantee I'll finish it if the gender disparity continues the way this one did.

Review: The Unnameables by Ellen Booraem

Found via: BBYA 2010 nominations

Stories about conformity are always intriguing to me - probably because I'm such a non-conformist myself! The idea of places where conformity is strictly enforced is simultaneously terrifying and fascinating, so The Unnameables is one of those books that appears to be right up my alley.

Medford Runyuin is an outsider in the community of Island. The citizens of Island live by the creed of the Book, and one of the most important rules is "If it hath a Use, give it a Name. Let the Name match the Use. If it hath no Use, it needeth no Name and wilt do thee no Harm." As such, people's names match their uses - Carvers carve Useful tools, Weavers weave Useful clothes. Even plants and animals are renamed to their uses - milk comes from Greater Horned Milk Creatures and beets have been renamed Crimson Boiling Roots. Medford Runyuin is an outsider, an orphan who washed up on the shores of Island tied to a plank, and stubborn town elders and young bullies alike won't let Medford forget that his name proclaims no Use.

At fourteen, children pass through Transition, when they officially take on their Useful name and begin plying a trade as adults in the community. The Town Council, still distrustful of Medford's outside status, denies him the name Carver (he can try again next year), but he will still take on the work of a Carver, while his best friend Prudy, raised by Carpenter parents and had always wanted to be one herself, is instead forced into the scholarly ranks as a Learned.

Medford applies himself as well as he can to his charge as a Carver, but he has a terrible secret - he carves Unnameables. From the wood he is supposed to use to create something Useful, he will instead see a squirrel, a bird, or even a person, and be compelled to bring it out of the wood. Medford knows if anyone discovers his carvings, he will be banished, for "The Unnameable is another thing entire. Take care, or thou shalt be gone."

Four months after Transition, however, Medford has more troubles than simply hiding his fanciful carvings. For someone that simply shouldn't exist has washed up in his front yard - a Goatman. He has the legs of a goat (lesser horned milk creature), the torso of a man, and great horns tipped with golden balls. And a somewhat unrefined ability to summon the wind. Medford knows that if the Town Council can't accept a boy with the name Runyuin, the Goatman is surely doomed. Yet Medford is moved by the Goatman's story, and tries to hide him from prying eyes - but how do you hide a half-goat/half-man in such an insular community?

Yet even as Medford's secrets are spilling out before his adoptive community, long-buried secrets of Island's past are emerging. If Medford has any hope of keeping himself and his new friend safe, he's going to have to use all of his skills, and those of his friends, to uncover parts of the past that some on Island would rather remained buried forever.

The description of Island was giving me major flashbacks to The Giver. Island is much less dystopian (there's no Releasing, no apparent restrictions on family size, etc), but the assignment of jobs (sometimes against the child's will) and banishment, sometimes at the will of only one person, definitely felt familiar from The Giver. Was it just me?

I will say the Goatman plot kind of threw me - for quite awhile I wasn't sure what the point of his character was, and even after finishing I'm not entirely satisfied with how he worked out. He comes across as a bit of a Deus ex Machina a few times, though he is often quite entertaining. His introduction threw off the pacing of the book for awhile - within a few pages suddenly two days had passed and all I could figure Medford and the Goatman had done was drink tea (really, they drink a lot of tea in this book).

Ultimately this was a nice, satisfying book - I can't find too much to critique but at the same time, but I can't find a lot of great things to say about it either. A nice book to while away some time, but not something to go out of your way to find.

Review: Ivy by Julie Hearn

... It's inauguration day. I have no clever lead in to this summary and review.

Ivy has lead a hard life, even by the low standards of Paradise Row. Orphaned as a young child and left to live with her invalid aunt and scheming cousin, Ivy has suffered more than her fair share of humiliation and abuse by the age of five, when we first meet her. She has fiery red hair and oddly colored eyes, quite unlike her aunt's family. When Ivy is given the chance to attend school with her favorite younger cousin, she is wary, but is excited to get out from under her aunt's wrath.

But school isn't any better for Ivy. Humiliated by her teacher and other workers at the school, Ivy runs away on her first day and falls in with a "skinner" - someone who literally steals the clothes off of people's backs - called Carroty Kate. After Ivy lies to Carroty and tells her she has no home to return to, Carroty takes Ivy under her wing and the two become an inseparable pair - to the mild chagrin of the others in Carroty's gang of n'er-do-wells.

In order to keep Ivy calm in the early days of the partnership, Carroty Kate introduces her to the soothing effects of laudanum - the drug that, ten years later when the story picks back up, with Ivy back under the care of her aunt and cousins, Ivy has a terrible addiction to.

Now Ivy spends much of her time in a laudanum-induced daze. To the endless contempt of her family, Ivy doesn't contribute to the family business (either pulling scams or selling flowers) - she's too doped up. She hasn't told them where she spent the two years she had disappeared.

Despite the heavy drug use, Ivy's unique appearance has grown into a sort of a beauty as she has aged. In the market one day she attracts the attention of an artist, Oscar Fosdick, who insists that she become his new model for his paintings. With the promise of a generous salary, Ivy's family sign her up for the job.

And here's where the conflicts begin: from the first day, Ivy and Oscar's mother are constantly at odds. Another (more famous) artist lives next door, and finds Ivy to be the spitting image of his late wife (who died after an overdose of laudanum) - and as another layer of intrigue, his young servant is quite smitten with Ivy as well. Ivy is increasingly unhappy in her work as a model - both because it is tedious work and the constant harassment from Mrs. Fosdick - but her chances for happiness seem to be foiled at every turn.

Lots of reviews are comparing this to Dickens. I have to admit that I haven't really read any Dickens, but I kept feeling like, at least in narrative style, I was reading Jane Eyre. I kept expecting the page to read something along the lines of "Reader, I married him." Thankfully nothing that obvious came up, but this does seem to be a rather meta novel - the narrator is very aware that she/he is conveying a story.

In the author's note at the end, Hearn explains that she was inspired by a real life painting that appears in the novel, and wanted to, in a way, create a better life for the ill-fated subject of that painting. However, I found that explanation rather jolting - the painting appears rather late in the story, so it seemed like an odd point of inspiration. Additionally, the "better life" Hearn tried to create comes about rather conveniently at the last moment.

Overall, this book felt extremely flat. I had small problems with everything from the narrative style to the motivations of various characters. Individually, my issues are in fact rather small, but considering there are so many of them they add up to a less-than-thrilling novel.