A Foray into Y/A (Part I): The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart

I am a very difficult person to buy a book for. I'm very picky, I have strong opinions, and I'm also just plain old stubborn and independent. All of this has remained true since I first started reading. I determined that the covers had to be beautiful, the protagonist had to be a girl, and a mystery had to be involved.

Trenton Lee Stewart's The Mysterious Benedict Society fits two of these criteria (fantastic cover and a mystery) while downright disregarding the other two (my mother bought it for me for Christmas and the lead is a boy). Nevertheless, this novel about 11-year-olds far surpassed most of the books I read as an 11-year-old, and I dare say I enjoyed it more as a 22-year-old than I would have at half that age.

So why should an adult bother picking it up? Well, the best way to put it is if you happen to watch Fringe, you will surely enjoy it. Mr. Benedict (whose namesake is in the title) is quite like our dear Walter, plus he has a comedic case of narcolepsy and only wears green plaid. Kate, one of the society members, resembles our fearless Olivia Dunham. And Mr. Curtain (yes, a lovely allusion to the man behind the curtain from Oz) is an evil genius intent on mind control who'd I'd imagine could be quite chummy with William Bell.

It does, admittedly, have the trappings of a young adult novel, as it well should. The names of the characters are quite colorful: Number Two, Reynard "Reynie" Muldoon, Kate Wetherall, George "Sticky" Washington, and Constance Contraire (my personal favorite). All are in some way estranged from their parents or orphaned (as in any good Disney movie) and all in some way are geniuses.

It also has the quintessential hallmark of a kids' book: pictures. Carson Ellis, who drew the cover image, also draws images for each and every short chapter's first page, making the reading experience even more delightful.

Unlike its adult counterparts, this mystery does not get bogged down in sex scandals, financial schemes, or sensationalism. Rather, it stays true to the mystery form as would a Sherlock Holmes story (can't wait for the film!) or a Nancy Drew book. Which, of course, leaves its reader feeling quite refreshed. And its secret society aspect brings to mind The Secret History, minus the creepy parts.

And in true young adult fashion, there is a happy ending you wouldn't get from most mysteries or thrillers or even adult books in general. All is well in the world when you close the back cover after the quickest 500 pages you've ever read.

The Invention of Lying

To be honest, I absolutely love dirty, obnoxious, sarcastic comedies. Case in point, JAB and I watch Superbad or Forgetting Sarah Marshall nearly every time we pop in a DVD. Our day's communications often include some reference to said movies, with "No, Jeremy, I can't sell you any weed because I am at my place of work. You would know that because you called me at my place of work... MAHALO" as our favorite.

But every once in awhile, some good, clean (well, cleaner) fun is just what you needed. Enter The Invention of Lying. Written, directed, and starring Ricky Gervais, this comedy has his fingerprint all over it. Its comedy is wholly honest and everyday, just like The Office.

In The Invention of Lying, Gervais imagines a world where no one has ever lied. You would think, initially, that this would equate to a utopia of sorts, but no such luck. People are crude and just too honest. I would like to think that if we really couldn't lie, we would have a couple nicer of things to say. Nonetheless, the negativity works well against the earnestness of Gervais' character, Mark Bellison.

Mark, a screenplay writer of 1300s historical event films, first "invents" the lie when he is evicted from his home, and desperately needs money, which he easily swindles out of the teller. He tests his new found talent over and over, until he decides to uses it on Anna (Jennifer Garner), with whom he is hopelessly in love.

But the true pinnacle of the lie comes when he comforts his mother, who is dying and desperately afraid. He makes up a story about the afterlife so captivating that by the next afternoon the entire world awaits his insights. Mark then concocts a worldwide phenomenon of a pseudo-religion involving commandments on pizza boxes and "A Quiet Place to Think About the Man in the Sky." This aspect of the film lightly glosses over tough religious questions just enough to spark your interest but not enough to bog you down.

The lies catch up to Mark eventually, but not in a way that is as catastrophic as I imagined and not before he amasses fortune and fame. Along the way, hilarious guest stars make the movie even better: Jonah Hill is a depressed neighbor of Mark's who becomes his buddy, Edward Norton is a cop who gets off on getting people in trouble (literally). Jason Bateman is an aloof doctor who cares most about the cafeteria's special, and Rob Lowe is a narcissistic rival screenplay writer.

The only thing that bothered me a little bit was how shallow Anna was. Mark, a considerate, caring man, pines away for Anna, who proves herself to be consistently shallow. I wish she was more likable and perhaps less actress-pretty and more normal-pretty (a la Pam from The Office).

Bottom line? You'll laugh (and maybe cry a little), and it will make you remember why you love going to the movies in the first place.

People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks

Like a lot of the books I've read recently, People of the Book grabbed my attention because of the possibility of finding a story like The Shadow of the Wind. Some disappointed (351 Books of Irma Arcuri) and some provided similar entertainment, like People of the Book.

The premise of the story is nothing short of amazing, especially when you consider that it is based on a true story. A Jewish haggadah--a religious book that sets the order of the Seder--makes its way from Spain to Italy to Bosnia to Israel, with mishaps and large chunks of its history missing. It is illuminated--that is, it has illustrations--which is unheard of for Jewish texts. Also, it is saved multiple times not only by its Jewish owners but also by Muslims who recognize its beauty and importance.

Brooks tells it in a reverse order, with the Bosnia scene first and then working back to Spain. Interspersed in all of these histories is the story of Hanna Heath, an Australian book conservator who is called to Sarajevo to restore the newly rediscovered text. Five trace clues (a butterfly wing, a white hair, wine stains, silver clasps, and salt crystals) drive Hanna's multicontintenal investigation into the history aspect of the book. For Hanna, what ensues is a pretty predictable, rather unimaginative love story and finding of herself.

All in all, People of the Book is a good story that had great possibility. The telling of the story and the language used in that telling just fall short. Hanna's voice is just fine; it is straight and to the point, much how you would imagine Brooks' own journalistic voice. Unfortunately, that voice carries over to all of the historical parts too so that a story that is supposed to be told in the 1500s sounds like it is told today. Thus it loses a lot of the magic it could have held. That voice worked when Brooks was writing her article for the New Yorker on this very subject, but it doesn't work for the novel. While I don't expect her to change language or change her writing style, some sort of differential writing would have made the book a lot stronger.

Books I've Forgotten to Read

The statement every English major will inevitably encounter:

You must have read [insert so-called classic here]!

Well, I hate to disappoint you folks, but there is a good chance that I have never read that one for two reasons:

1. Let's do the math. Even though I have a degree in it, my schooling still stopped at 22 (so far). So let's say I read 10 required books per year in middle school and high school. Add to that those I've read in college. I probably took an average of two English classes a semester, averaging about 7 books per class. That's 112. Plus 40 is 152, and I have a feeling that's a generous number. Regardless, there are hundreds upon hundreds of classics I have yet to have the pleasure of enjoying.

2. And now for that word classic. Some classics are undisputed: Shakespeare's works, Paradise Lost, The Divine Comedy, and so on. But as you get to later time periods, you encounter more and more discord among the (intellectual) masses. Besides, English profs love to make an academic name for themselves by developing some theory on some completely unknown author. They then proceed to teach this author to students, thinking they are teaching something new when half of the time students haven't encountered the old.

That being said, I put together a little list of books I probably should have read (and probably should get around to reading):

- 1984, George Orwell
- Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
- Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger
- Absalom, Absalom!, William Faulkner
- For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway
- The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
- Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
- Ulysses, James Joyce
- Sula, Toni Morrison
- Moby Dick, Herman Melville
- Cat's Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut

The Convalescent, by Jessica Anthony

To be quite honest, my recent foray into the book publishing world via social networks (mainly Twitter) has left me disillusioned. Every book I pick up I seem to have heard 1001 things about, leaving my judgment altered. I enjoy a little glory every once in awhile: I like to be the one who finds the gem.

And finally, I have. The Convalescent, by Jessica Anthony.

When I scooped it up in Barnes & Noble (don’t judge me), I was drawn mostly to the cover. The book is a brilliant golden yellow. Its undersized jacket has the most arresting cover, simulating a woman of sorts within a web of multi-colored veins. The cover in itself was well worth the purchase, but it was admittedly quite deceiving.

What I would have guessed to be a twisted self-discovery story of some quirkily beautiful girl turned out to be the story (and history) of a deformed, diseased, and all together unpleasant little butcher named Mr. Rovar Pfliegman.

Rovar is a mute midget. He sells (stolen) meat from his inoperable school bus in the middle of a field in Virginia and falls victim to his own “benevolent erections.” His skin peels off and he can’t quite shake a hacking cough.

But despite these shortcomings, Rovar proves quite endearing through the skilled pen of Jessica Anthony. While he may defecate in a bucket, a portion of his bus is set aside for his “Reading Center.” Though he grunts instead of speaks, he eloquently writes the secondary narrative of The Convalescent as a letter to the object of his affection.

In fact, in regard to his love of reading and keen assessment of the absurd social world, Rovar is not dissimilar to another character with whom I’ve recently fallen in love: Madame Michel of The Elegance of the Hedgehog (though she is arguably lovelier and, frankly, cleaner).

Those around Rovar prove equally as intriguing. Marjorie taps his window each morning just to say hi and slices those who threaten Rovar. (She is a tall blade of grass.) Mrs. Kipner will never leave his bus. (She is a beetle who grew fat from eating a can of tomatoes and then grew too fat from said tomatoes. Thus, she is stuck in the can.)

Beneath this odd telling of Rovar's world, Ms. Anthony weaves an intricate history of Rovar's ancestors in eastern Europe. It may be more aptly described as a mythology, with its fantastical details, sordid twists, and stunning nature imagery. Case in point: Ms. Anthony manipulates the motif of the river so that it strays from the Disney/Pochahantas convention and rather becomes a powerful force of magical birth coupled with fantastical destruction.

She transforms the cliché image of the butterfly into something wholly new and imaginative, even stretching it to include the beetle, Mrs. Kipner. This butterly image, along with others such as that of the bird, is used to pull together otherwise unconnected events into a fate that is both firmly planted and frustratingly elusive.

Thus the teeniest things in this world (the butterfly, the bird and Rovar among them) get reinvented and exalted in Ms. Anthony’s work. She writes, “Only the gravitational force, by far the weakest force of all, guides the destinies of the universe” (116). Which is of course just an imaginative way of saying, “Good things come in small packages.”

In addition to this use of common motifs, she openly pulls from some of the most established traditions in literature (namely, Kafka). However, Ms. Anthony does so in a way that is not only skillfully executed but is also entirely her own.

Keep a lookout for this author… I’m expecting (and hoping for) further greatness from her in the near future.

The Fourth Kind

Now, let’s not kid ourselves here when talking about aliens. One of the great unanswered questions of all time (besides the whole “how many licks to the center of a Tootsie pop” thing) is whether or not we are alone in the universe. Drive anywhere near the infamous Roswell, New Mexico and you’ll be sure to find evidence that there is hope – or fear, whichever way you prefer to look at it. Mix up this extraterrestrial quest with a camera, some lighting, and CGI effects and you have a bona-fide “alien movie.”

For the record, I completely disagree with Wikipedia’s “list of films featuring extraterrestrials.” Case in point: Wall-E is not an alien movie, it’s a love story and no one can convince me otherwise. But in relation to numerous other movie genres, alien movies are relatively unheralded – and for good reason. Long gone are the good old days of Sigourney Weaver battling seven foot monsters in space, or the young boy Elliot learning to love his friend E.T. (according to my mother, the only time she’s ever seen my dad cry).

Instead, we are forced to sit through films where the aliens are simply shown to us, leaving nothing to the imagination. And for the record remakes like Tom Cruise’sWar of the Worlds are not getting the job done. Besides, isn’t the point of alien movies to scare us and make us wonder?

While the film has yet to be released, The Fourth Kind looks as if it will make me wonder, and possibly scare me into sleeping with the lights on. Set in the town of Nome, Alaska, the film claims to be based on actual events. Specifically, the town itself is known for having a high number of missing people and reported alien abductions over the past several decades. These abductions are purportedly supported by archival footage. Milla Jovovich stars as psychotherapist Abigail Tyler – the supposed true life character who videotaped interviews with those that have been abducted.

So at this point I’m sure the skepticism is flying through the roof about this film. I mean, who actually believes in alien abductions? But that’s not the point. Although the trailer might be relatively surreptitious and unrevealing, it looks scary as hell. The majority of the trailer involves videotaped therapy sessions where the patients have “episodes” in which they relive their abductions in horrifically vivid detail. Seemingly harmless – but it was enough to have me running for cover.

Long story short, this has all the makings of an alien movie that makes you wonder. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying this is an Academy Award winner. But if you’re looking for a good thrill, or just a reason to re-ignite that quest for a higher life form, The Fourth Kind looks like it might be your cup of tea.

If you’re still not convinced, check out the trailer for yourself. Just don’t call me when you wet the bed.