Farseed, by Pamela Sargent

I picked this book up because I was in the mood for a standard piece of sci-fi; something that wouldn’t take too much brain power but would be a little different than the fairy-tale fare I’ve been indulging in lately. I wasn’t disappointed, but I can’t say that I was super-impressed either.
Farseed was actually a sequel, though I didn’t realize that until about four chapters in—you can easily read it alone, and I don’t really feel like I missed out on a whole lot by not having read the first, since Farseed is fairly autonomous. Basically, it’s the idea that a ship was sent out, generations ago, by Earth, to carry the seeds of human life to the far reaches of the universe and plant colonies on other, Earth-like planets. At some point, Ship—who is almost sentient, and somewhat mother-ish—thought that it had discovered a fit planet and had reared a collection of children in preparation for this world-seeding. Unfortunately, when they got close enough, Ship realized that there was other life on the planet and had to change plans and send the first batch of youths into cryogenic slumber. When it found another planet, it reared another batch of kids and brought out the sleeping ones, who then proceeded to fight epically among themselves—I’m kinda foggy there. That all happened in the first book.

The second book opens with the colony having grown up a bit since then, and a new generation of characters has sprung forth. A branch of delinquents split up from the main group soon after landing on the planet, and now they’re dying out—except for a couple of kids who seem to have advanced abilities. Meanwhile, the main settlement is doing well, but they’re only surviving. They’re not growing, or building, or exploring. They’re only existing.

The basic gist of the story, now that you have the background, is that the leader of the delinquent branch has…well, he’s lost his marbles. Gone mad. Run round the bend. Bats in the belfry. Wants to kill just about everyone because he thinks that they all carry diseases that will kill him.

He has issues.

The task of our main players is to rescue a few explorers from the main colony, who went in search of the branch out of concern that perhaps the others weren’t doing so well, while avoiding the rogue leader’s homicidal tendencies and hopefully doing a bit of planetary exploration while they’re at it.

It was a pretty good read—mostly fizz, with a bit of real juice. The two main characters: a girl from the original colony and a girl from the branch-off (who just happens to be the daughter of Homicidal Rebel Man) are both fairly interesting, but I was far more interested in Nuy, the girl from the branch. Leila, from the settlement, was interesting, but pretty stock-character-like. Nuy had some real depth to her.

But, since that’s what I was wanting when I picked up the book—a fluff-ball of a sci-fi piece with just enough explosions to keep things moving and a somewhat novel concept to keep me interested—I was fairly happy with it. It’s not one that I think I’ll read again, and I can’t honestly say I would urge you to go out and grab a copy, but it was an ok read.
Not exactly a glowing report, is it? Well…it is what it is.

The Brownie gives Farseed a casual two stars.

Flora Segunda, by Ysabeau S. Wilce

Flora Segunda is the heir of a noble, magical house, one that ought to have fresh, heated towels ready for your face when you wash it every morning, and steaming hot cocoa instantly provided every evening, and a privy convenient only a few doors down whenever you need one. Unfortunately, Flora’s mother banished the house’s magical butler years before, and the house has deteriorated to the point where they can only access the smallest rooms, one bathroom (which is forever getting stopped up), and a kitchen that was once only used when an extravagant guest brought along a spare cook. To top it all off, Flora has to deal with her father, who only rarely emerges from his upper-story chambers to wreak havoc on her life and restock his supply of alcohol; and Flora’s mother is a high-ranking General who is nearly always away from home—and when she is home, she barely has time to glance at her daughter.

To put it bluntly: Flora’s life is hard, and she knows if she could just get back that butler, it would be better. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to go to the Barracks to start her military career, as every other member of her family has since time out of mind. Flora wants to be a Ranger—a spy, an explorer, an adventurer. But that life seems too far away to be possible, especially since the Rangers don’t officially exist anyway.

When Flora actually stumbles across the banished butler, and overhears a conversation between her mother and another officer regarding a Ranger—an actual Ranger!—who has been captured and slated for execution, the action really heats up.

Personally, I enjoyed this book, but it was kind of…loose. Disjointed, in a way. Not that it didn’t make sense, or that events didn’t naturally lead to each other, but it was just a little…well, loose is the best word I can think of. Floaty. Almost like, if you pulled one story thread too hard, the whole thing might come snarling into your lap like an angry ball of chenille.

The characters were satisfying, however, and I really came to like Flora and her friend. The best part was that the characters were realistic—good people with real flaws. Her father, though heroic and loving at one time, has withdrawn into himself. Her mother, who really does love and care for her daughter, is simply too busy having her own adventures to actually worry about whether or not said daughter really wants to follow in the family’s footsteps. The butler, when found, is almost Peter Pan-like in his half-innocent selfishness and naiveté.

I can’t say that I super-recommend this book, but I wouldn’t advise against it either. If you’ve read and enjoyed books like the Charlie Bone series, it has a similar texture, and anyone who likes books about houses that ought to shift their rooms around and don’t and magical butlers that ought to be serving cocoa and aren’t and girls who ought to be going into a family line of business and don’t want to—though how many books that describes I have no idea…—this would be an interesting one for you to pick up.

The Brownie give Flora Segunda three quills.

The School of Fear, by Gitty Daneshvari

Some people are afraid of bugs. And some people equip themselves with full-body protective suits, a mosquito-netting veil and enough repellent to down a hippo, and they refuse to enter a vehicle or room that hasn’t been completely fumigated.

Madeline was one such person. And her parents—decent, undeserving people—had pretty much had it up to their eyebrows, since that’s how deep the insect-repellent fog stood in their house. Having tried every other option—and I do mean every other option— Madeline’s parents are given one last straw to grasp, a name whispered in their ears by a secretive teacher in an inner office with a rug stuffed under the door:

The School of Fear.

Pretty soon, Madeline is on her way to this mysterious School, along with a boy who obsesses about protecting people from death, a girl whose fear of small spaces resulted in a full-scale riot at a museum, and a boy so terrified of water that his own sweat can send him reeling. Hopes are high that the foursome’s fears will be forever eradicated by this mystifying school and its baffling headmistress, but the children soon begin to wonder if they’ve been duped. Can a former beauty queen and a collection of eccentric rooms and devices, a gnome-like caretaker with the eyesight of a mole, and a dog named Macaroni (brother to the dearly departed Cheese) save these children from their own fears? And what about the Terrible and Dreaded Lawyer who lives in the basement?

As you may have already guessed, The School of Fear is a pretty fun ride, from the first few chapters introducing each of the characters to the surprise ending (which, I have to admit, I saw coming from a mile off, but that’s only because I’ve read too many books and it’s addled my brain. My sister didn’t catch on until about the fourth-to-last chapter which, I’m informed, is much more normal).

The book has an interesting flavor—it’s one of those "away-at-school" sort of stories that seem to come in waves of popularity, sparked in the last decade or so by the success of the Harry Potter regime and its many imitators. It has a kind of old-world British flair, shades á la Rudyard Kipling and James Barrie, but done with a modern panache—what it most reminded me of was a combination of Trenton Lee Stewart’s The Mysterious Benedict Society and the erstwhile-popular Series of Unfortunate Events.

Apparently to be the first in a series, The School of Fear tantalizingly tidies up 99.9% of its loose ends by the time you reach the endpapers, leaving just enough strings dangling to remind you to watch for more. Personally, I probably will—though I’m not going to go out of my way to get a hold of them, as I do other books. While a fun and entertaining read, it’s one that’s a reader can easily consume and move past. If one is looking for a fun and worth-while read for themselves, a sibling, or child, this is definitely a great place to start, but I would recommend getting it from a library or a used bookstore before paying the full price for it from the store.

The Brownie gives The School of Fear a satisfied four quills.

Christian Encounters: J.R.R. Tolkien, by Mark Horne

Anyone who knows me knows that I adore J.R.R. Tolkien and his works—possibly a bit too much. Once you can recite large portions of The Lay of Luthien and explain—in detail—the difference between goblins, orks, and Urak-Hai, one begins to suspect that there is a small amount of obsession involved.

But I’m getting treatment, so it’s ok. J

Actually, I am, in a way. This semester, I’m taking a class at my college entitled 20^th Century British Literature, fondly known as “The Tolkien and Lewis Class.” It’s a class taught by my favorite professor over the works of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, including Lewis’ Space Trilogy and Till We have Faces, and Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. We’ve also touched a bit on pieces like On Fairy Stories and G.K. Chesterton’s Ethics of Elfland, but that’s another story.

So when I spotted this little biography of Tolkien on the “available for review” list at Thomas Nelson Publishers, I snatched it up right away, figuring that it would be a great thing to have, and might provide some interesting extra material for the class.

Only about seven-by-five inches or so, and only about 130 pages long, this little volume manages to be a pretty complete biography of Tolkien. It starts with his birth and childhood in South Africa in the late 1800s, and finishes with a short examination of his impact on the world of fantasy writing in modern times. While admittedly very brief, this book gives a very readable and interesting account of the great author’s life.

I did have one…not complaint, per say, but perhaps a smidgen of dissatisfaction in the fact that the discussion of his writings is limited almost exclusively to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Yes, yes—I realize that I just said I’m somewhat obsessed with Middle Earth, and now I’m criticizing that they spent most of their time there? But when you remember that Tolkien also had a lot to say on mythology and language and on the Christian views of both, well… Most people only remember Tolkien as the author of The Lord of the Rings, but he was an eminent scholar in his own right—translating Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight into English, besides his work on the Oxford dictionary, etc, etc, etc.—and I would have been interested to see more of that side of him. Especially about how he came to write On Fairy Stories. I may have missed it, but I don’t believe there was any mention of this portion of Tolkien’s work, which has been foundational in forming the Christian fantasy mindset, along with the works of C.S. Lewis and so on.

However, there isn’t really a shortage of books on Tolkien, so what this author chose to leave out can certainly be found in other places.

In short, this small biography of J.R.R. Tolkien is an excellent introduction to the life of this man who had such an impact on Western—and Christian—imagination. I’d especially recommend it for anyone who has a child interested in Tolkien and his works. The text is not written for children, but as I said above: it’s a very readable text, and a child or teenager could probably read it with no problems whatsoever. If it’s a kid who’s managed to get through The Lord of the Rings, then there’s no doubt in my mind that they could handle this.

The Brownie gives Christian Encounters: J.R.R. Tolkien a pleased four quills.

Disclaimer: The Brownie got this book for free from the publisher in return for the review you read above. Now ignore this annoying postscript and go on about your lives, citizens.

The Dopple Ganger Chronicles, by G.P. Taylor

This is actually going to be a three-in-one review, since I’ve been meaning to write it ever since the first book in the series came out. Whoops. Well, I’m making up for it now.
In the last few years, there’s been a bit of a craze for differently-formatted books. From the uber-popular Invention of Hugo Cabaret by Brian Selznick (recently made into a movie that I hope to see soon), which is told as much by lavish, two-page-spread illustrations as it is through text—a cross, almost, between comic book, silent film, and novel—to the inrush of graphic novels adaptations for every book under the sun, people have been hooked on new and more visual formats for books. The Dopple-Ganger Chronicles, by acclaimed writer G.P. Taylor, are another fascinating example.

Half ordinary novel, half comic book—along with a few things that are neither and both—these books feature the intrepid and identical Dopple twins, Sadie and Saskia, and their friend, Eric Ganger. The threesome is always into trouble (what heroes of a tweens series wouldn’t be?) and always saving the day—though not without plenty of BANGS and SHH!s and WATCH OUT!s along the way, as per comic book standards. From villainous magicians to a classic case of evil twin-itis, the Dopple and Ganger crew is never at a loss for excitement.

The books have been hailed as a lifesaver for kids who don’t like to read, because of the dynamic format and the exciting stories. The characters are fun, and there are some genuinely laugh-out-loud funny parts to the books, as well as plenty of nail-biting cliff-hanger moments when you’re pretty sure that everyone will get out alright, but you read a little faster…just in case.
On the other hand, for a series that is very bold in admitting its Christian origins, the Dopple-Ganger Chronicles are…just a little weird, to say the least. A female "ghost" later turns out to be an angel, who assures Sadie, Saskia and Eric that "The Companion" is always near and listening (though, at one point in the newest book, much to my dismay, one of the characters is in danger and sends up a whispered plea to the angel to ask the Companion for help, which seems odd and rather non-scriptural, if you ask me) and tells them to be on the lookout for "The Man of Good-Bye-Friday"—a reference to Christ. The spiritual overtones of the book echo others of Taylor’s, found in his well-known Shadowmancer books and Mariah Mundi: The Midas Box. They seem less based on Scripture and more based on a sort of faith that looks like Christianity if you poke it hard enough, but wears a cloak of something that feels like dark spiritualism bordering on the occult. It’s very odd. Nothing that I can really ever put my finger on, but just…well, like I said "weird" sums it up fairly well.

That being said, The Dopple-Ganger Chronicles are a fun and fascinating read, with a dynamic design that one can hardly help but find compelling. The characters are fun and nicely-fleshed out (even if I will never be able to tell the difference between Sadie and Saskia—most of the time, I don’t even try…) and the stories are exciting and engaging. I would heartily suggest the Dopple-Gangers to anyone with a reluctant reader, or anyone just looking for a fun read in a fascinating new form. The one word of caution I would give is to read with a pinch of salt, and make sure any children who read the books aren’t confused by the curious brand of faith found therein.

The Brownie gives the Dopple Ganger Chronicles a hearty four quills, and will be sure to pick up each installment of this series as they come out.

The Girl in the Steel Corset, by Kady Cross

I’ve been on the lookout lately for good steampunk fiction (reason for my interest here) but have had a hard time finding anything that was worth my attention, other than a few kids’ books that may or may not have actually fit the bill for “steampunk” (Such as Larklight, by Philip Reeve or Patricia Wrede’s Thirteenth Child, which is admittedly far more “frontier fantasy” than it is steampunk, but I digress). Unfortunately for those of us wanting good, clean adventures without unnecessary grub, too much of the steampunk genre seems to focus entirely on either the “steam” aspect—unfortunately, not steam engines, but steamy “romance”—or on the “punk” and nonconformist side of the genre, creating stories about people in a Victorian-esque world who don’t fit in and want to disrupt the status quo. All well and good until you realize that most of these are coming from a secular worldview that wants to do away with “Puritanical” standards of right and wrong in favor of a “modern” society where an individual’s desires trump social and moral values.

So it was fairly refreshing to spot this book, The Girl in the Steel Corset, at my library over Christmas break. I was hesitant at first, just looking at the cover (plus, I first assumed that this was yet another installment in the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo craze, which, since it apparently has nothing to do with actual dragons, I have not managed to work up any interest in) which looked far more “steamy” than “steampunk.” However, I was intrigued by the blurb inside the front cover, and found it hard to resist something that actually touted itself as The Steampunk Chronicles.

Described by the author as a cross between The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and a sort of teen-age X-Men, The Girl in the Steel Corset is the tale of Finley Jayne, a young lady with unfortunate abilities and an equally unfortunate face—that is, one that attracts far too much attention from her employer’s rake of a son. Forced to flee from her place of employ, Finley finds herself taken under the sheltering wing of Griffon King, the young Duke of Greythorn and head of a misfit band of young people. Young people with mysterious abilities like Finley’s own. Emily, who is a wiz with machines and can actually communicate with them. Sam, whose immense strength is as much a liability as an asset, especially as he struggles to recuperate from a terrible accident that left him nearly dead. Jac, an American cowboy with astonishing reflexes and a shadowy past. And of course, Griffin, who has the ability to access “the Aether”—a foggy realm of energy for him to use. When the originator of the attack on Sam—a mysterious figure known only as The Mechanist—threatens the safety of Queen and country, the ragged fivesome must put aside their differences and work together. If they fail, there’s no predicting the political and mechanical chaos that could ensue.

Overall, the story is good. The characters are well fleshed-out and believable on the whole, though the character of Griffin is a bit cliché and a dodgy-but-intriguing criminal kingpin provides his oh-so-darkly-handsome-and-dangerous-and-cliché counterpart in a pairing that can only be referred to as an Edward-Jacob-entity. Necessary for the story this may have been, but annoying? That it definitely was.

I very much enjoyed the almost suspense-novel pacing to the novel. As the characters collect clues from what they already know and try to zero in on The Mechanists’ identity, the reader learns more about their inner conflicts and the tensions and ties that bind them together in a web that they don’t even completely see until near the end of the novel. Finley’s connections with Griffon’s parents and their research was particularly fascinating—I won’t ruin it for you, but suffice it to say that her abilities remind one of a very well-known literary duo, and for good reason.

My biggest problem with this book was Griffin’s ability—his access to this thing called the Aether. Basically, this is some kind of a spirit realm, where dead folks hang out and vast amounts of unused energy wait for someone like Griffin to tap in. This is undoubtedly based on the Victorian fascination with spiritualism—even folks one would assume to be rational about such things were taken in. For example, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, was obsessed with the occult and firmly believed to the end of his days in the existence of ghosts, ghouls, and fairies. I understand the historical fad that has been turned into fictional fact here, but that doesn’t mean I have to appreciate it. That being said, it plays a relatively shallow role in the overall story, limited to one conversation with Griffin’s departed parents and multiple bursts of Aetheric energy from the teen. Oh yes, and a fairly ingenious device that Griffin uses to surf the Aether like the Internet and gather news articles, clippings, photos, and documents related to The Mechanist.

What pleased—and surprised me most—was the lack of sexuality or foul language. Based on the cover art, I was expecting to have to skip a few chapters, but other than the usual teenage angst one comes to expect in YA books, The Girl in the Steel Corset was remarkably clean. As for language, a few creative substitutions for coarse language, as well as one or two “slips” near the end of the book would earn probably only a PG rating if this were a movie.

On the whole, I enjoyed this book—though I can’t say that I’ll be waiting on the edge of my seat in eager anticipation of the sequel. It was interesting, and one could easily see the elements of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and X-Men that the author was drawing from, and if some of the characters could have used a bit more depth, well—it’s only a first book. Cut the author some slack. She ought to be given the credit due her for delving the as-yet unplumbed depths of the steampunk genre and giving those of us looking for something in that realm a decent option.

The Brownie gives The Girl in the Steel Corset a mild four quills.

Awakening, by Stovall Weems

So...my first reaction on receiving this books was "Why did they send me two?" :) Guess there

was a glitch in the program.

My second reaction was: "Ok...this looks either really good or really...gimmiky." And I was
right--it was.

Both.

First the really good part:

The idea behind Awakening is that it is a guide to going through a 21-day fasting-and-prayer time, in order to deepen your relationship with God. Great idea--the 21-day time length was inspired by Daniel and his friends fasting for 21 days in the Babylonian king's court. So far, so good. What Weems has to say is all well and good--make time for God in your life, and your walk with Him will improve. True enough. Set aside the comforts of your life in order to devote time to seeking His will, and you will grow in your faith. Also very true.

Here's where we get into the gimmiky bit of it:

While Weems never directly comes out and says so, the impression is given that if you follow this 21-day program, you will suddenly bloom into a fully-fledged Mega Christian and your whole life will work out for you in a way that you can clearly see glorifies God. The problem is that it doesn't always work like that. I mean, it CAN, and God is certainly capable of that, but just because your faith is strong and your walk with the Lord is steady, that doesn't mean that your life is just going to be all peachy-keen.

Look at guys like Paul or Martin Luther or David or George Muller or even Daniel. You can look at their lives and see that they were close to God, that they were walking with Him and that they had a kingdom perspective on things. But does that mean that their lives were always fine and dandy? Not really.

I'm not dissing the book. It was a good read, and I think anyone who goes through Weems' 21-day devotional and fast will come out of it with a closer relationship with God--I mean, devoting 21 days to seeking God's will is going to have an effect, no matter what literature you're using in the process. I would simply offer a word of caution to anyone reading it to read with a dose of salt and to compare all claims--no matter how innocuous-seeming--with the Word of God.

The Brownie gives Awakening a three-quill rating.