Review for Burning Alive by Shannon K. Butcher

Yes, I read a romance novel. So sue me. I spent an hour perusing books in the library trying to find one where the plot didn't make me snort and a few pages I could actually make it through.

The positives;
It's an ambitiously detailed story. No pwp here.
The dialogue is better than the dialogue of the other romance novels I'd been perusing.
It's not pwp.
The "voices" of the characters are reasonably consistent.

The negatives:

Let's start with the cover. The cover above is the one on the book I read. It is a horrible photomanip. What are the spikes on his arms? Oh, wait, are those supposed to be the branches of the tree that does down only one side of his body? And his hair is supposed to be either wavy or curly (can't remember) but it's not that mullet. Also, he's supposed to have a silver choker on through most of the book. Did we forget that super important part?

The book. Okay, I understand the need for suspended disbelief, I really do, but you have to establish the rules of your world, and do it as fast as possible. I feel as if the author said "rules, I don't need no stinking rules!" and the story really suffers for it.
We start off with a character who seems like she could be interesting, I mean, she's been having these terrible dreams about being burnt alive and this dude looking on and laughing about it and then there's the dude. Cue freaking out. Reasonably so. Except, the guy comes over, and he and his friends manhandle her elderly friend (who's name...Miss Mable I think, got really old after about the 20th time it was said. She's not a Miss, she's 80, and we don't live in the 70's. I mean, apparently the main character didn't even know the woman's first name, which is lame for a caregiver) and her "cool" friend.

Also, the "panic attacks" that she kept experiencing were not at all like panic attacks as I know them, which always pisses me off, when books project panic attacks in ways that are not real to life. First of all, it's not just about breathing, it's about this overwhelming FEAR response, and eventually the fear of the fear. It's an ugly fear cycle that sucks you down in some of kind vicious black undercurrent. I was also bothered because having a panic disorder and being a coward are not the same thing, and yet, in this book, they seemed to be.

Trust and sexual tension didn't build too fast, but it was still unbelievable. The lack of voicing concerns even when the situation gave the opportunity for it was also irritating. The love interest (Blane?) was irritating both in his aggression, his conviction to leave the heroine (I may have misspelled that word) completely in the dark, and then tell her everything, and then mind-f*** her.

The heroine (again, possibly misspelled) was also bothersome in that she didn't...think like a normal person. There was just a lot (like the vampires/witches) that wasn't explained. A lot that presumed on the reader having extensive supernatural knowledge. And, then, I had this moment where the protagonist (there I can spell that word) was all like "I'm psychic? I didn't know it! I mean, that can't be possible, I've only been having these visions for years which I was totally sure were real and I'm being chased by fire, and man, I saw you coming, like, two years before I met you. But I can't be psychic. I just know the phone is going to ring sometimes." And then, "Woah! I can lift a big rock! I haz soopurpowrz!" It was such a disgustingly ...marrysue? moment that I almost put down the book. If the author's bid, and I'm sure it was, was to give the readers a moment where they thought they could be the protagonist, that was it. She chose something that almost everyone experiences and said it was really special, except the effort was really transparent and so it felt like a gimmick.

The mythology was troublesome. It was like the author tried to throw an entire book series' worth of mythology at us in one book. The bit about "they're what you call demons" was irritating. If they are what we call demons, call them demons, don't give them a new name. If they're like what we call demons but different, or our understanding of them is fundamentally flawed, explain. Each chapter seemed to add new mythology without explaining, or with barely an explanation of, the old. The stuff about breeding the protagonist stank of a number of other mythos, and felt tagged on. The main characters themselves seemed to be a mix of Feehan's Carpathians and another author I've read but am too tired to recall, some kind of eternal guardian... Anyway, it's not that taking things from leaders in the genre is bad, it's not, but it has to feel like your own work, or the nod to the inspiration has to be obvious.

I stopped reading after the friend committed suicide, which was already probably 50 pages later than I should have. The sex scene was not sexy. The bathroom scene was kind of sexy but totally different than all the other sexual tension scenes.

This brings me to another point. The voices were fairly consistent but the characters themselves were not. The male protagonist especially often changed gears or attitudes without so much as a by your leave to the readers. Not cool. And, for a guy who is really really really old, he has pretty modern (read; selfish and kinky) ideas about sex.

I never finished the book, I wasn't going to waste my time on another 100 pages when more than 200 hadn't been enough to keep me reading.

I really wanted this to be a good book. But it wasn't.
If I was giving it a rating it would get a 2.5 of 5 stars. It could have been worse.

The Creative License

Best book I've read in a long long time. Certainly the most encouraging. I'd say it's right up there with The Sacred Romance in terms of an encouraging book. And, it's got great advice, and it's witty, like The Lie That Tells a Truth. I recommend them all.

2 AM Ramblings

I've been reading again. That's never a good thing. I've also been imbibing massive amounts of meat lately thanks to the caterers at my school and my period is going to start in a few days. What does this mean for you, the reader? Well, it means that I'm a tired, half cold-infested, hormone packing person, who's been reading.
So far I've restrained myself from putting the PB&J in the freezer, taking apart an electric tooth brush, and cooking a bunch of Pad Thai, so I'd say that I'm still salvageable. I've been reading Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs. I like his name. I think if I ever get published I could do it like that. It's very rhythmic. A.W. Towzer, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien (he had two middle names?).

As I've read the book I've found it funny and very informative. I've also found it to be something I relate...almost perfectly to. And here I sit, wondering, why do I find it so relate-able? Is it because this guys works for Esquire and therefore has the skills to write to the general masses? Is it because of the bit of facetiousness in that the author assumes that he's a bit smarter than average but treats the reader as an equal? Do I relate because I like feeling a little smarter than average? Am I actually a bit smarter than average and that's why I relate? Do I relate because this is a tale of a man who is knowledge obsessed, just as I am? Me, who finds the idea of memorizing the dictionary a noteworthy goal. Is it because it's about a man who is slightly socially awkward, who shared too much and never quite knows the exact right thing to do, and how I feel that I am very similar? Is it because it's a story of a geeky man with an IQ complex, and I am a geeky woman with an IQ complex?

You know, an IQ complex. It's for people who are a little smart, or fancy that they are, but realize that they're not geniuses. They know they'll never win a Nobel, never have a hospital wing named after them, never contribute something absolutely astounding to society. And yet, they are smarter than your average Joe, smarter by just enough to notice it, to feel it, and to hate it. They are torn by feeling superior to the average man and vastly inferior to the genius. These are the people who hear "You sure know a lot" and "You're pretty smart" often, but never "That's amazing!" or "OMG! I wish I could do that!"  I am coming to the conclusion that there are only two things for people like us to do. 1. Procreate (really, we're the best candidates for it. Not so intelligent that our lives will end in suicide or homicide but smart enough that we might at least contribute to a cleaner environment, trustworthy services, and the neighborhood watch) or 2. Write a book. As far as I can tell we're pretty useless for anything else. Too smart to like ourselves, too dumb to make other people envy us. Sometimes I wonder if I should just get my slow decline into stupidity over with by bashing my head into a wall or snuffing glue (though that would probably result in puking, which I hate). Heck, who knows maybe I'd be able to find a husband then. It does seem that all the more average ones are married (and the really smart ones, and the nice ones, and the ugly ones, and the mentally ill ones....).

Since I have thus started to digress into the level of purgatory known as "Why can't I find a bleeding husband?" I'll stop myself now.

Know-It-All is a laugh out loud book for anyone with neurosis and a desire to win at Boggle. I would definitely suggest it, and give it a solid 4 out of five Korean bubble stickers.
'Night all.

One Book Review a comment and three Partials

So, I finished Hunting Ground by Patricia Briggs. I give it a "Hey, that was a pretty good book!"

I particularly like...the characters. Really, I think her characters are more likable, believable, and forgivable than many other characters. I like that Mercy isn't an all tough as nails bady bad ass girl. I like that she can be feminine sometimes. Quite frankly I don't think most women are half as bad ass as characters like, say, Anita Blake, and while it's fun to pretend that you could be like her because then you'd be in control and you'd be safe in a world that routinely victimizes our sex, there's also a disconnection, because most of us really aren't like that. Some of us not even a little. So, I like Mercy. I like that she has a job. So often characters don't have jobs and I, due to a recent theory, think it kind of subtly influences the idea that if you're special and have an interesting life than you shouldn't have a job. It may also be a writing cop out. I will make the exception in this book, with Anne, who is a massively real character and who I adore. Sometimes being a home maker or a husband-helper isn't a bad thing. That can be career enough in itself.

I particularly like the Charles. I like all of Mrs. Briggs main male characters. They are flawed but one thing they're not is entirely selfish. I found myself reading the book and wishing I could meet the real life version of this man, or of Bran, or Angus. I never felt such a sentiment while reading any of Laurel. K. Hamilton's books. Ok, maybe I wanted to meet her Nathanial, but that was just because the poor guy needed a hug or something. Nor was I particularly interested in meeting Christine Feehan's characters. I mean, realy, who wants to meet an overly possessive, super powerful, domineering, stalker. Soul mate or no, I'll pass on that.

I am impressed with Charles' patience in the book, and his intense desire to protect the woman he loves, to do what is best for her. I am equally impressed by Briggs presentation of his failure. There's a sort of give-and-take between the characters that I don't normally see in books, and I found myself thinking 'this, this is a relationship'.

I think my favorite parts of the book were:
"He let her play as she would for a while before catching her hands.
"Hey, lady wolf," he said breathlessly, " we need to wake up your other half before we take this any farther.""
and
"So you can tell me exactly what an Omega is - something that my lads haven't quite managed to explain satisfactorily yet. I would like something more than 'you make us happy,' which is the best they have managed so far. My lovers tell me that, and that is good, no? My wolf pack - who are mostly men, and I do not swing that way - tel me such things, and it doesn't sound too good to me. 'you bring us joy' is even worse, so I stopped asking. I need to know more, yes?"
His pained look was so exaggerated she couldn't hep laughing."

In the mean time I have also finished rereading Blood Bound. Maybe some time this weekend I'll pull out Moon Called and replace it with the others I've finished. Blood Bound is a good book but since I know what happens in the next, and have an idea of what happens in the book it felt a bit like a prelude. So, due to my bias I won't comment other than to say Mercy is one freaking lucky coyote.





So far I am about 50 pages into The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson.

It feels like one of those things I had to read in my modern lit class. Well written and well researched, but that's where my compliments end. The story itself is not necessarily interesting, and the character has yet to make himself appealing or redeemable. It reminds me of that short story I read that themed: don't try to save anyone because you'll just make it all worse. I understand that my response could be in part to my world view, but really, he watches a man fight to get his life back after horrible burns and stay positive and he's offended and sarcastic and bitter. All I could think was ass hole. Really, an ex-porn star turned porn producer. A drug addict from a messed up child hood. A man who had no redeeming value whatsoever, and not because of his messed up childhood, simply because. Right no he has no empathy, no higher feelings than selfishness and self-pity, no self control, no interest. Something's got to happen or I won't be reading past page 100.
The real advantage to the book is that it's written in flawless 1st person so reading a few pages gets me in the mind set of first person before I start working on my own stuff.

In light of the disappointing nature of the previous book I've also started Reserved for the Cat by Mercedes Lackey. Apparently it's the fourth (fifth?) in a series, but at this point seems to easily stand alone. I'm on page 16. A cat and a brownie have been introduced and our main character just got fired from the ballet. So far it is neither good nor bad, nor interesting, nor boring. I picked up the book because Jody Lee did the cover art. I suppose this is the result.






I'm also about half way through Mastering your Metabolism by Julian Michaels. Apparently I have failed to master because I've gained nearly 16 pounds since I first started reading the book. Of course, it would help if I actually followed it's advice. :-p The book itself is good, thorough, informative, and not difficult to follow. My weight gain is due to moving to the US from Asia and then Europe, moving back in with my parents, and showing a lack of self-control and self-discipline. Though, since following the book's suggestion to go with Organic dairy and meat my cycles have decreased in intensity and I have less leg hair. Interesting.