The Buttercup Effect

The Princess Bride is one of my favorite movies. What’s not to love? The movie (and the book) have it all—R.O.U.S’s, a six-fingered man, deadly iocane powder, a gentle giant. Even Buttercup’s hair deserves a shout-out. Disney’s princesses have nothing on Robin Wright’s golden waves. But if I had to pick my favorite part of The Princess Bride, it would be the love story between Westley and Buttercup. They share a once-in-a-lifetime, happily-ever-after love. Kinda like the love between Bella and Edward. Only instead of happily-ever-after, the two vampires are more forever and ever after. Spending eternity together, that’s quite a commitment.

The only downside about that type of love is that it doesn’t come along very often. I read a lot of books about love. And the heroine always lands her man at the end. But would I stake my life on the long-term success of those relationships? Hardly. And that’s what makes the love between Buttercup and Westley and Bella and Edward so special. It is an intense, all-encompassing, throw yourself down a very steep hill or in front of a deadly vampire kind of love.

Clary and Jace, the two main characters in Book One of Cassandra Clare’s The Mortal Instruments series, have this kind of love. I wish I could say that’s why I bought the book, but I’d be lying. Nope, I picked up the book solely for its cover. The shirtless, leanly-muscled, tousled-haired golden boy is just my kind of eye candy. But don’t take my word. See for yourself ( http://www.cassandraclare.com/cms/works ). That said. I would not have stayed with the series for the next three books and counting if Clare had not crafted an amazing story. Like Princess Bride, City of Bones has it all—forbidden love, tortured familial relationships, unsolved mysteries, burning quests for vengeance. And did I mention the angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, and faeries? Oh my!  

City of Bones starts strong and never lets up. Like Alice, Clary stumbles into a rabbit hole. In this case, it is the world of the Shadowhunters, a secret group of nephilim (angel) warriors tasked with protecting the human race against demons. This war and the uneasy relationship the Shadowhunters have with the Underworlders—creatures like vampires, werewolves, faeries, and such—all takes place right under the nose of a clueless human population. And then one night Clary witnesses Jace and his sort-of-adopted siblings, Isabelle and Alec, battle and kill a demon. They’re surprised when Clary is able to see them; shocked when she’s bold enough to question their actions. Perhaps this explains Jace’s immediate fascination with the red-head. We know why Clary falls for the arrogant Jace. Need a reminder? Take a look at the cover to the upcoming fifth book in the series:  http://cassie-claire.com/cms/home. This insta-attraction does not sit well with Clary’s best friend, Simon, who’s clearly hoping for more than friendship. Alas, Simon and we readers know that will never happen. From their first scene, Clary and Jace have IT—that undeniable, I’ve just met my soul-mate kind of connection.

Unfortunately the terms soul-mates and star-crossed lovers are often used interchangeably. And Clary and Jace are no exception. First, Clary’s mother, Jocelyn, is kidnapped (killed?) by demons unknown. And then Clary finds out that her whole life has been a lie. She is not an average human. Clary is a Shadowhunter like Jace, Isabelle, and Alec, and she was denied her heritage by her mother. And then Clary finds out that Luke, her mother’s long-time boyfriend and the closest person Clary has ever known to a dad, is a—wait for it—werewolf. But Clary’s baggage is nothing compared to the weight Jace carries around on his narrow but muscular shoulders. Yummy! Jace’s father is the evil Valentine Morgenstern. Think Voldemort, only more attractive. And just like Voldemort, the supposedly dead Valentine turns up alive and in search of a magical artifact, the Mortal Cup. With this “instrument,” Valentine plans to create a powerful army to slaugher not only demons, but also all Downworlders. Yeah, Jace’s Dad is a hater. Worse, he’s a racist who thinks the nephilim should reign over all. Unfortunately for Clary, Valentine thinks Jocelyn has the Mortal Cup, and he makes it pretty clear that he’ll do anything to get it. And if he kills some Downworlders and breaks a few hearts along the way, even better. And that’s just what Valentine does, revealing a terrible secret that rips our star-crossed lovers apart and sends Clary fleeing into the arms of the reliable Simon.

What a monumentally bad choice that turns out to be. I won’t ruin the plot, but visualize the scene in The Princess Bride where the old hag boos and hisses at Buttercup.

You had love in your hands, and you gave it up. Your true love lives. And you marry another. True Love saved her in the Fire Swamp, and she treated it like garbage. And that's what she is, the Queen of Refuse. So bow down to her if you want, bow to her. Bow to the Queen of Slime, the Queen of Filth, the Queen of Putrescence. Boo. Boo. Rubbish. Filth. Slime. Muck. Boo. Boo. Boo.

That’s about how I felt when Clary starts making a series of very bad decisions. Of course, the rebellious Jace shoulders a lot of the blame. Jace is so gun-ho to “save” his True Love that he is constantly acting without thinking—usually resulting in a serious ass-kicking by various evil-doers. As much as I enjoy Clare’s Mortal Instruments series, I cop to sometimes wanting to shake Clary and Jace. Then I sigh, remind myself that they’re young, and dive back into the book. But if I could offer advice to the star-crossed lovers, I would tell Jace to start channeling his inner Westley.

Hear this now: I will always come for you. This is true love. You think this happens every day? Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.

And that, my dear readers, is what I call the Buttercup Effect. May we all be so lucky to experience it.

A So-So Year

Last year, for the very first time, I tracked every book I read. Diligently gathering titles, authors, and thumbnail cover illustrations, I compiled the information into a 10-page word document. I thought about including a synopsis or review of each book, but ultimately decided against it. After all, I never forget a book I’ve read—right? But who knows how long that’s going to last? So this year I plan to write a few sentences after I finish each one.

With this list in hand, I sat down to write my first blog for 2012. First step: a catchy title. Unfortunately, I gave away a really good title to a friend who blogs on food—Eat, Blog, Repeat. Wouldn’t that have been just as great as Read, Blog, Repeat? Maybe even a little better because of the alliteration? Sigh. So here I sit, racking my brain, and coming up empty. Not an auspicious beginning to 2012. Eventually I decide on a riff on Russell Crowe’s, A Good Year, a gem of a movie that never received the recognition it deserved. It’s a lazy choice, as my parents just watched the movie on Netflix, but there you have it.

I type the words and then go back to my 2011 reading list. Then something unexpected happens. I realize the title doesn’t actually work with what I'm about to write. It wasn’t a “Good Year.” In terms of reading, 2011 was only a “So-So Year.” Which begs the question—why? To answer that, I’ll have to mine my data. So, here goes.

Last year, I read a total of 108 books—not nearly as many as I thought I’d read. On average, it’s only slightly more than 2 books a week. In my defense, I subscribe to two weekly magazines that I read from beginning to end—even if I wasn’t interested in the subject. Don’t ask me why. I blame it on my OCD tendencies. Once I start reading something, I find it nearly impossible to stop. But back to my list. After doing some data diving, I start to notice some trends.

Trend # 1: The Resurgence of Regency. I read a whopping 33 regency romances in 2011—by far the largest category. In fact, it was followed a distant second by historical romances, which I categorize as anything outside of the regency period. I read 17 of those. Regency and historical romances are trending hot in the publishing industry. Don’t believe me? Just take a walk down your nearest romance aisle. Unfortunately, I found many of the new regencies and historicals enjoyable but virtually interchangeable. The standout was new author Kieran Kramer, who I blogged about last month (http://2manybooks-notenoughtime.blogspot.com/2011/12/with-little-help-from-my-friends.html). Perhaps that explains why I spent time re-reading some of my favorite regency and historical romances by Julie Garwood, who unfortunately has abandoned the crowded genre, and Suzanne Enoch, whose newest regency was the first book I read in 2012. I have my fingers crossed for new ones from Julia Quinn and Christina Dodd, which I have been saving for some uninterrupted reading time.

Trend #2: Vampires Still Bite. My next most popular choice of reading material was what I call “Romantic Fantasy.” I devoured 14 of them. While this category was still filled with fangs, I’m glad to report that I branched out with some witches, werewolves, dragons, demons, chimera, angels, warlocks, faeries, and one shape-shifter. How’s that for diversity? Unfortunately, like with Regencies, I found that many of the books I read last year came up short against ones I’d read previously. For example, while I still love the Jeaniene Frost series, I’ve only read the first three books multiple times. The notable exception was a relatively new author, Kimberly Frost, who I plan to blog about in 2012, so stay tuned.

Trend #3: It's Time to Re-brand Chick Lit. Apparently these two words have become a harbinger of doom in the publishing industry. Women find the words off-putting and demeaning; men are allergic to them. Then again, did the publishing industry really expect men to buy Chick Lit—literature intended to appeal primarily to women, especially books that emphasize human relationships and emotions rather than action or adventure, as defined by my brand-spanking new 5^th edition of the American Heritage Dictionary? Maybe it’s me, but if men don’t like to talk about or share their feelings, why would they want to read about them? My advice for chick lit authors who want to attract male readers—play up the humor and the sex. And if there’s a girl-on-girl fight, you’re solid. Now, I adore chick lit, but it’s getting hard to find. Some of them slip in under the romance sections; others are lost in the overflowing fiction or literature section. And then there are those chick lit books that randomly appear on end caps or in the “New in Fiction” or “New in Trade Paperbacks” tables at my local bookstore. This likely explains why I only read 5 of them last year. Still, 4 of them were among the books I enjoyed the most. My takeaway: Katie Fforde and Jill Mansell need to write faster!

Trend #4: YA is the New A. As embarrassing as it is to write, some of the best books I read last year were categorized as young adult. The genre is red hot. And it’s also the first to make really good use of Q-codes, book trailers, and mainstream advertising. Check out Cassandra Clare’s book trailers for Clockwork Angel at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SOxzLY2OpA&feature=related&noredirect=1 or City of Glass at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xU4hJAPXGPs&feature=relmfu. Like Suzanne Collin’s Hunger Games series, the first book in Clare’s Mortal Instruments series has been made into a movie that will be released this year. And I’m sure that Veronica Roth’s Divergent series will likely follow. So, for all of the adult readers out there who like fantasy, action, and/or romance, I suggest trolling the YA section of your local bookstore. It shouldn’t be hard to find. My Barnes and Noble recently moved it from the back of the store (next to the Children’s section) to right behind the dreaded Nook section.

Trend #5: Re-reading Books. I approach this last trend with a somewhat heavy heart. On the one hand, it gives validity to holding onto your books. Personally, I have an entire room devoted to my books. Because they currently share space with a guest bed, I’m always looking for new places to store my books. Just yesterday, I found a cute little project table that is held up at both ends by bookshelves. If I only had somewhere to put this innovative piece of furniture...On the other hand, it makes me sad to write that the “older” I get and the more books I read, the tougher it is to find truly exceptional books. Sure I've run across plenty of books that I enjoy or even love, but it’s been a long time since a book has knocked me on my ass or, as the British like to say, knocked me arse over tip. But I am ever going to stop searching for those rare treasures? Not on your life. In fact, one of those exceptional books is on my 2011 reading list. Hands down, the best book I read in 2011 was Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus. And I’ll be blogging on it next week.

Confessions of a 40-Something Twihard

I came late to the Twihard Party. Of course I’d heard about Stephenie Meyer and her books. But she was a YA (young adult) author, and I was staring at the big 40.  Would I even be able to relate to her characters? To my 12-year-old son, I’ve been old for years. But if the criteria are maturity and behavior, I’m pretty sure I peaked in high-school, which would make me the perfect age to read the Twilight series. I circled them for years in the bookstores. But when the last one came out in 2008, it was decision time. For me, it came down to two things—an overwhelming curiosity to see what had caused such frenzy and a love of fangs. (See my first blog post: http://2manybooks-notenoughtime.blogspot.com/2011/09/you-staked-me-at-hello.html.)

Once I started the books, I found it difficult to stop. The only other experience I can compare it to was reading the Harry Potter series. I was late to that party as well, so I was able to read the first four books in about a week before joining in the agonizing wait for the last three. Meyer’s vampire world is just as engrossing. Asking me to describe why Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn are so magical is like trying to capture lighting in a bottle—in other words, nearly impossible. In fact, somewhere during my third time through the series, I realized that while the books are exceptional, the writing…not so much. The words themselves are not particularly imaginative. The adjectives repeat endlessly, especially when it comes to Edward. How many times did I read the words bronze (his hair), marble (his chest), and perfection (his face)? Yet Meyer's words never stopped to thrill me. And to say that her books changed my life would be an understatement.

But being a 40-something Twihard is not always easy. I remember talking to another mother at my son’s school and finding out by chance that we were both fans of the series. The look we exchanged was equal parts guilt, chagrin, and bravado. I found myself thinking: at least she had a tweenage daughter that turned her on to the series. What was my excuse? Another time my husband described taking a business trip with a male co-worker who was completely engrossed in a book. When asked the title, the man was slightly embarrassed. “I needed something to read, so I just picked it up in the airport.” It was obvious the man had been doing his best to hide the cover with its iconic apple. And what is it about apples anyway? Adam and Eve. Snow White and the Evil Queen. Steve Jobs and his gadgets. And now Stephenie Meyer and her vamps. Apparently this fruit is simply irresistible to us humans.

When the first Twilight movie came out, I saw it with a friend. We went opening night. Big mistake! The theater was filled with teenagers who screamed every time Edward (aka Robert Pattinson) came onscreen. And their cacophonous wailing made it difficult to hear the “low-talker.” We learned our lesson and chose to wait—albeit impatiently—to see the second movie a week after its release. To hedge our bets, we also chose a matinee. Our tactics worked. The theater was relatively empty of hysterical teenager girls. Even better, we weren’t the oldest ones in the theater. Two 50-something black women sat one row down. Briefly I wondered why they chose this particular movie to see. I got my answer when they started hollering and whistling at a bare-chested Jacob (aka Taylor Lautner). Apparently, Team Edward and Team Jacob know no age boundaries. The third movie presented its own dilemma: my tweenage son expressed an interest in seeing it with us. Was it so wrong that I wanted to enjoy Edward without my son in the audience? I didn’t think so, which is why I watched it at home with him when it came out on DVD. My husband abstained. He’d grown tired of my Robert Pattinson—er, I mean Edward—obsession.

And yes, at this point, I will admit that I’d become a bit of a Twihard. I had it all: the Edward key ring, the Edward book marks, the Twilight calendar. It was only when I purchased and hung the Robert Pattinson calendar in my office that I realized I’d gone too far. This year, I somewhat reluctantly broke the habit. I walked away from the Twilight and Pattinson calendars and bought an Erté calendar instead. High art! How mature of me. Just don’t ask if I took down the Edward and Bella paraphernalia taped next to my office computer.

As you can see, my love of Meyer's books eventually overcame whatever embarrassment I felt. I’m officially out of the Twihard closet and extolling the series to the last hundred or so people who haven’t read it. My hardest convert was probably my brother. Jean-Paul was an Army Ranger. He was tough. He was taciturn. He wasn’t much for sharing his feelings. So when I tried to sell him on an epic love story, he was leery. In desperation, I played up the vampires and werewolves. “They’re mortal enemies,” I told him. “And there’s some awesome fights—kinda like Underworld.” (Okay, Twilight is nothing like the Underworld movies, but I knew that if I could just get him to start the book, he wouldn’t be able to put it down.) Jean-Paul was reading Twilight when he succumbed to testicular cancer on December 19, 2009.

My sister-in-law found the book in the backpack he always took to chemotherapy. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, my sister-in-law is not a reader. But she began to read the book in the weeks following her husband’s death. Oftentimes I wonder if it was just another way to hold Jean-Paul close. Whatever the reason, my sister-in-law devoured Twilight. She read it late at night when she couldn’t sleep. She read it on the long trips between her house in Georgia, my parent’s house in Pennsylvania, and Arlington Cemetery where we buried Jean-Paul. When she finished, I immediately ran out and bought her a copy of New Moon and Eclipse. She wanted to finish Bella and Edward’s story. I wanted to do something to help her through this terrible time. It was clear that Meyer’s books were about the only thing that gave her some peace—a way to escape, however briefly, from her grief. To this day, my love for the series is intrinsically tied to the most painful experience of my life—exquisite pleasure and overwhelming pain. Somehow I think Bella and Edward and their creator Stephenie Meyer would understand.   

You Staked Me at Hello

I was into vampires way before True Blood. Before Twilight. Before Buffy the Vampire Slayer—both the excellent TV series and the not-so-excellent, yet still a hell of a lot of fun, movie. Before Francis Ford Coppola tried to win an Academy Award for Vlad the Impaler. (He wasn’t successful. Gary Oldman as Dracula—riveting, even with the creepy bouffant wig. Keanu Reeves as Mina’s vampire slayer husband—not so much.)

My vampire fetish began much earlier. I was 11 years old. It was 1979, and I was hit with a vampiric double whammy—Love at First Bite and Salem’s Lot. The first taught me that an average girl could find happily ever after with a blood-sucking fiend. (Interesting aside: before there was the “sparkly” vampire, there was the tanned vampire. All the white face paint in the world couldn’t hide the amazing orange of George Hamilton’s skin.) The latter taught me that vampires could be pretty freaking scary. (To see Salem’s Lot, I had to wait until my parents were asleep, sneak downstairs, and watch it at 2 am. By myself. In the pitch black. Was I brave or what?)

So why am I rambling on about vampires again? Oh yeah, as a convoluted introduction to one of my favorite vampire series. But first let me set the stage. The year was 2008. Twilight Fever had raged out of control. And I found myself feeling something unexpected—vampire ennui. I’d had it up to my fang marks with the vampire books, movies, and TV shows.

I was in the library with my son when I caught a glimpse of an attractive redhead lounging on a gravestone. I always judge a book by its cover, and it was a pretty sexy cover. So I picked it up. Sigh. Another freaking vampire book. I went to put it back on the shelf, and then hesitated. I wasn’t at a bookstore (R.I.P. Borders). I could walk out with this book for free! Bonus: I wouldn't get the long-suffering look from my oh-so-tolerant husband who no longer bothers to remind me that I have an entire room full of books waiting to be read and reread. So I tossed the paperback in with my son’s manga selections.

The book sat on my dresser until I got the email that it was due back. I looked again at the cover. (Like I said, it was a pretty sexy cover.) In the end, I couldn’t resist. In fact, I’ve never found a book I was able to resist. Plus, this one was right there for the taking.  And I am so glad I did. Jeaniene Frost's Halfway to the Grave was amazing. Cat was a flawed, kick-ass heroine. And Bones?

Bones…Bones…How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Bones was Mr. Darcy with a bite. He came across as cold and unfeeling, but melted fast for the feisty half-vampire Cat. And I melted fast for Bones. Really fast. Like, couldn’t put the book down fast. I read it in 2 days. (Don’t you hate when work gets in the way of your reading?) His back story was intriguing—a former prostitute in 18^th century London who was turned against his will by his best friend. Today, Bones works as a kind-of vampire bounty hunter, tracking down and taking out all the big baddies and leaving the sexy walking dead in peace(s).

Bones' vocation puts him on a collision course with Cat, who is out to stake all the vampires she can. Cat’s mom was raped by a newly-turned vampire—hence the birth of our heroine, a half human, half vampire hybrid. But this blog is getting long in the tooth—pun intended—so let me put a stake in it. (I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself). Bones and Cat join forces. Have crazy hot vampire sex. Kick some serious vampire ass. And are wrenched apart by a shocking ending that left me running for Amazon and praying the second book in the series had already been published. It had been. So I ordered both books and anxiously waited for them to arrive. (As much as I despise e-readers, the immediacy is tempting.) The second book in the series, One Foot in the Grave, was even better. But perhaps I’ll save that for another blog…