[Kiddalee]'s BBC Overflow 5

(back to BBC of Kidda Overflow; BBC of Kidda; BBC)

2008 - December 2007

The Last Warrior by Suzanne Pierson Ellison, 232 pages

A Window Over The Sink by Peg Bracken, 221 pages
  For the most part, I dislike this book. The way she tells stories is kind of attention deficit. A chapter jumps every which way, with Peg occasionally explaining how such and such part of the story relates to her subject. This is a book of tangents.
  The frequent change of tangents makes you realize that she's not really talking about much of anything at all. I get a heavy feeling from reading this book. It makes me want to sit around doing nothing as I recover from her stylized authorial voice.
  The whole narrative is meant to appeal to Peg's own demographic, plus maybe a few humanities students. Publishers must have been awfully well off back then to have the guts to release a book for such a limited potential audience. Well, she did have some previous publications. Maybe by then she was well known enough to be considered "low risk".
  Things only improve in the last two chapters, in which Peg talks about her teens and early twenties. I can relate to sex, rebellion, and boredom (though I can't relate to the prettiest girls in the school being halfway nice). Anything before that doesn't come near my heart. Peg and I may have both had a childhood, but that's all there is in common between them.
  Now it's time to copy down the cool recipes in the Afterword.

Escape to Witch Mountain by Alexander Key ill. Leon B. Wisdom Jr., 170 pages
  Dumb. Boring authorial voice. Convenient plot. Archetypical characters. Soul searching worse than Final Fantasy VIII. The political implications are interesting, but how many people are going to see that through all the crap? At least I've gotten rid of another book.

The Enormous Egg by Oliver Butterworth ill. Louis Darling, 188 pages
  Oh, woe is me! I've found another book that is too good to get rid of! How will I ever lighten my bookshelf! *has a temper tantrum*

The Sugar Child by Monique de Varennes ill. Leonid Gore, 32 pages
  There is one thing about Canadian books that worries me: you read them and go, "Woah. That's really Canadian." Thus, when the boy's eyes are the rich golden brown of maple syrup, I am too busy going, "Woah. That's really Canadian," to admire the boy's eyes. Is this because I don't read enough Canadian books? Or is it because the author is trying too hard at sounding Canadian? Well, the poor narration of most Canadian children's stories seems to suggest a pattern, and why shouldn't I assume that this one is like all the others?
  Read it anyways. It has a good lesson that doesn't come out too preachily, and the pictures are awesome.

My Mother's Secret Life by Rebecca Ember, 22 pages

PB Bear: The Marching Band by Lee Davis ill. Chris Fraser, Dave King, et. al, 16 pages

A Circle of Children by Mary MacCracken, 221 pages
  Good book. Not a keeper, but a goood book. I'm going to tell Pierrette to read it. Since I'm recommending it to somebody, maybe I should put it in the RR. Maybe...
Update: See RR.Circle of Children, A

A Joyous Insanity by Hester Mundis, 5 pages
  This is just a bad story. Not only is it completely irresponsible to own an animal that you know is going to grow out of your faculties to care for em, but there is no plot or character development, and apparently not even a lesson; unless you consider Boris forgetting about his first owner to be character development.
  This is the first impression given by the anthology, Heart Songs for Animal Lovers: True Stories of Devotion, Courage, and Love. Seeing as the editor of this collection is the author of the bad first impression, I might just not finish this book. I kind of want to honour the old friend who gave it to me, but this is gross.
  This book has lovely cover art on a unique matte paper book jacket. The title is a rosy prose. Each story's title is presented below a caption summarizing the beauty of the specific relationship within the story. There are quotes of the famous after each story. In other words... This is just another stupid gift-shop book that you pick up for people that you don't really know how to buy for because you don't read enough; kind of like those excuses for philosophy that are only written so that Bradley Trevor Greive's photos will look cuter. Gawd.

The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me by Roald Dahl, ill. Quentin Blake, 79 pages

Various titles from the anthology Points of View: The Prison by Bernard Malamud, First Confession by Frank O'Connor, Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes, Bad Characters by Jean Stafford, and But the One on the Right by Dorothy Parker

THE FOLLOWING REVIEW IS GRAPHICALLY VIOLENT

  This anthology is so modernist I want to slap the editors. A vast range of subjects and styles, eh? Almost everybody in this book is a victim of society and history. Almost every author is trying to lecture me on what I don't know. That's not to say I dislike the book.
  Let me tell you something about the difference between modernist and post-modernist fiction. Modernist fiction hops around on one leg squaking, "We don't know what! We don't know how! We don't know why!" Post-modernist fiction has hacked off both legs with a pen knife and curled up, drooling, "There's no answer."
  So maybe I should be grateful. After all, there is a decent enough range of settings; and even with the characters and conflicts fitting under the umbrella I pronounced earlier, there is a range of ways in which to fit them in.
  Of course, I won't decide whether this book is a keeper until I've read the whole thing.

The Twits by Roald Dahl, ill. Quentin Blake, 76 pages

The Book of Unicorns by Jackie French, 178 pages
  I read this book thinking it would be my last time, only to discover that it is a keeper. You see, I'd bought it when I was much younger, and didn't like it. At the time I didn't quite realize that this is because although it was marketed as YA, it was above my level. Maybe it was the trouble I had with the Australian dialect. I'd read enough British and American books by then, but nothing Australian at all. Maybe Australian kids are more advanced readers than Canadian kids. Or maybe (and I hope not, because it would be reason enough for a rant) these stories aren't actually for kids, but had to be marketed to kids because publishers are afraid that adults might overlook short fantasy unless it involves lots of sex and gore and traditionalism.
  Either way, it is an amazing collection, especially the novella, The Lady of the Unicorn. It's quite inspiring, too.