Book Review - Twilight

I know I’m behind the curve to just now be reviewing Twilight, by Stephanie Meyer, book one of a teen vampire series set in Washington State. This new series is topping the best seller lists and has gotten rave reviews, including being an Amazon “Best Book of the Decade….so far”. It has 1300 customer reviews on Amazon, and 1070 give the book 5 stars.
So it won’t matter a bit when I say – I don’t get it. I don’t get the hype, and I don’t understand why this book has been deemed incredible. It was entertaining, to a point. The premise is good. Bella, a high school junior, moves from the home she shares with her mother in Phoenix to Forks, Washington, a small town in the Olympic Peninsula. Forks has the distinction of being the cloudiest, gloomiest place in the U.S.
Bella likes warm weather and sunshine, so she’s not too excited to have relocated. Things look up for her however, when she meets Edward, this really, really, REALLY good looking guy who has equally good-looking adopted siblings and young adoptive parents (also good-looking). At first Edward acts like he can’t stand Bella, but then he saves her life, and the truth comes out. (Spoiler coming…)
Edward and his family are all vampires! Bella smells particularly good to Edward. So, it’s not that he hates her; he’s just torn between loving her and wanting to rip her to shreds and drink up all her blood.
Edward explains this to Bella, and she’s cool with it. More than cool, actually – she soon is addicted to Edward. But their relationship isn’t an easy one, and they now have to deal with all complications that come in a romance where the guy is constantly fighting his animal instincts to, you know, kill her.
Is that a metaphor for something?
Anyway, I’m not big into vampire stories, so hey, whatever. But what really bothered me was that in this 498 page book, nearly half of it was exposition, done in conversations between Edward and Bella. During these conversations they did nothing but sit and talk. My writing instructors would call them “talking head” scenes, and the author would be instructed to put in more action and details. My other big gripe is how whiney and clingy Bella quickly becomes. It’s hard to like her or sympathize with her plight to love Edward when he so desperately wants to eat her.
But I know I’m probably just jealous that my book isn’t a best-seller with 1300 reviews on Amazon.



By Laurel Osterkamp, 2008. All rights reserved

Book Review - Tales From the Crib and The Queen Gene

Every now and then I hear snatches of the ongoing debate over whether chick lit is a genre of writing that is actually legitimate, or if instead, it’s trashy brain-candy that reduces the intelligent points of its readers. Both sides have passionate arguments, however irrelevant they may be. Because, really, it depends on the book. There is some really trashy chick lit out there, but there is literary chick lit as well. As for me, when I read chick lit (which is fairly often) I prefer it to be well-written and funny, but I also want the story to have some serious undertones. I like it when the heroine has some real-life challenges to overcome, so that I can vicariously learn from her journey. But to me the best sort of chick lit is the type that is that does all of the above without taking itself too seriously.
When I picked up a copy of Tales From The Crib, by Jennifer Coburn, at a library book sale, I wasn’t expecting it to so perfectly fit my criteria for good chick lit. My low expectations had only to do with the cover. There is a picture of a stylish and stick-skinny woman pushing a baby in a cart. None of the blurbs alluded to anything more serious than a zany story of a woman’s first year of motherhood. Since at the time I had just had my own first child, I thought, “Why not? It could be a fun read.” And it was, but I soon learned that in this case, I really couldn’t judge a book by its cover.
The story is about Lucy, a thirty-nine-year-old woman who has suffered several devastating miscarriages. The miscarriages have not only affected her emotional well-being, but also her marriage to Jack, a gallery owner and artist. For years they have suffered through disappointment and heartbreak, and while Lucy never loses her sense of humor, Jack accuses her of using laughter as a defense. Then it happens – Lucy gets pregnant again, and this time, she doesn’t miscarry. However, on the night that she tells him about her pregnancy, Jack tells her that he wants a divorce before she can break her happy news.
For several reasons, most of which have to do with money and convenience, Jack and Lucy decide to stay married, live together as friends, and raise their son. Jack starts dating other women, and Lucy deals with everything from problems nursing to sharing her son with her husband’s new girlfriend. In addition, we get to know Lucy’s family, including her eccentric mother Anjoli, and her loveable old aunts, Rita and Bernice.
I enjoyed this book so much that I had to read the sequel, The Queen Gene. (This one has an even more misleading front cover.) The story is equally good. It takes place pretty much immediately following Tales From the Crib, and all the major characters are back. Now Jack and Lucy, having patched things up (a transition written believably over the course of the entire previous book) have moved to their dream home and opened an artist’s colony. But things are not perfect; their home appears to be haunted by a spirit that injures every female who sets foot on the property, and keeps all artists, excluding Jack, from producing much of anything. In addition, Lucy’s mom, Anjoli, is constantly calling with updates about her dog and its variety of health problems.
It may sound like pure fluff, but it’s not. To be sure, these books are entertaining and light-hearted. But they cover a variety of issues, including birth and death, love and betrayal, and self-discovery and redemption. All the while, Coburn never loses her own sense of humor and while her characters remain consistent and believable, the writing never takes itself too seriously.
These books are not only good chick lit, they’re just good.