Unabridged Opinions

I’ve been in the U.K. nearly ten months now, and it has been amazing.  Rainy, snowy, sunny, exciting, (and, during driving lessons, occasionally terrifying), fun, and fascinating. Since February (when I have been keeping an “official” (okay, June is a bit shaky) tally), I have read over 150 book and started reviewing for Bookgeeks.  Who, I must say, are all sorts of awesome.

Aside from the fantastic Bookgeeks, I’ve also finally started reaching out and actively building a life here. Mostly by learning how to drive, which I must admit has been terrifying, hysterical, and frustrating all at once. The hysterical bits are usually at the beginning of the lesson when I reach for the seatbelt on the wrong side or (just the once!) stick my hand out the window while I thought I was reaching for the stick shift. Oops. Luckily, I appear to have the worlds-most-unflappable driving instructor, so he just gently corrects me, and we move on. (After telling me the story of one student who managed to drive into the centre of a roundabout and then attempt to flee the car in his stress and terror). Trust me, being a middle school teacher and being a driving instructor are closer than you might believe.  At least the fourteen year olds don’t have control of a thousand pounds of steel. Continue reading

After the last book of McFadyen’s I read, I should have known better than to a) read it while alone in the flat and b) read it on what can only be called “a dark and stormy night”.  Truly, the last book frightened me, and while this one wasn’t quite as difficult to get through, I still ended up staying up until 1am to finish it because if I’d gone to bed with the murderer still at large in the novel the nightmares would have been unspeakable.

So, I stayed up until 1am, the murderer was safely in jail, and I could at least think about sleeping.  For some reason, I find McFadyen’s books particularly powerful.  The main character, Smoky Barret, is engaging and strong–but I believe that the complete immersion I find in the books comes from the deft sketching out of all of the characters around her as much as Smoky herself.  Because of this, I care deeply about what happens to everyone, even tertiary characters, which ramps up the anxiety levels considerably.  Add in McFadyen’s habit of at least having a small portion of the narrative done from the victim’s point of view, and I’m well and truly inside the world of the novel.  Of course, it’s a world filled with psychotic killers, which makes it heart-stopping, but it’s definitely there. Continue reading

There is a story, in my family, that takes place when I was ten years old.  Although it’s about me, I don’t actually remember it, and I had to hear it the first time from my father.  He was using it to illustrate a point he wanted to make to a bookstore clerk who was…concerned…that my then twelve-year-old self was buying “older” books along with my young adult sci-fi and fantasy (I actually can’t remember the book that prompted the conversation, although I had had issues a few times at the library and at school with “reading about my level”.).

So, as I was standing there, my dad explained why he didn’t think I needed policing in my book choices:

Well, when she was ten, I walked into the den and saw her reading Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale.  When I mentioned that she might want to read that book when she was older, and it would make more sense, she looked up and told me ‘Oh, it’s okay; this is the second time I’m reading it.’ At that point, I decided she could read what she wanted.

And you know what? I could.  Continue reading