I borrowed this book from my English curriculum teacher and seeing as how I loved the other book I borrowed from her, I had high hopes for this one. The cover made me think that it would have a fantasy bent to it, yet she also mentioned it was about children and took place in England so I figured maybe it would be a fantasy/drama/adventure crossover of some kind. To be honest, I spent the entire first half of the book wondering what I had gotten myself into.

I have never been the kind of person who can just give up on a book, but I kept considering it over and over. It’s a very sizable book and took a lot of time to read, so I kept hoping that the next chapter would get better. Or maybe the next chapter. I very slowly got to the middle of the book, forcing myself to continue waking through the text. By that time, however, I was wondering why on earth the novel had been a finalist for the Man Booker Prize.

The problem was that the text was so dense with with discussion of politics, finance, drama, and art (particularly pottery), techniques and methods that the story was indistinguishable from all the unnecessary information. There is no denying that the prose was superior, but the text was so excessive that I felt the story was lost.

Underlying all the detail was the story of a family and its various branches, as the children mature and grow in the years preceding WWI. It wasn’t until after the children began to leave childhood and move on into life, establishing careers and starting families, discovering they people they would be come, through trial and error, that I actually began to see the true genius behind this novel.

In the first half of the book I just couldn’t understand the purpose if it. I couldn’t see where the plot was going or what the story was trying to accomplish as it just seemed to relate daily, ordinary and uneventful life of these families. Quite frankly, it was dull, unmoving and difficult to get through because of all the extra information about their society that I really wasn’t interested in. When the children grew up, however, I became invested in the people that those children were becoming. I was upset and sometimes horrified by their mistakes, and I was joyful over their triumphs.

In the end, the novel was a very close look at self realization and coming of age that was intimately revealing and real. All secrets were brought into the open, explored and the effects on the family examined so that by the end of the novel you understood exactly the character’s motivations and feelings. By the end of the novel I understood exactly what what the author was trying to accomplish, I just wish it wasn’t so painful to get there.

By all means, read this novel, especially if you have an interest in art, drama, pre-war politics and/or finance. If you are interested in these things, you will ultimately appreciate the first half of the novel much more than I did.

You can find this novel here:  The Children’s Book

This was another book that my Education class was centered around as an example of teaching literature (and history) to adolescents.   It’s the first graphic novel I’ve read, the closest I’d come before being the Archie cartoons I read as a teenager.    When I mentioned to my husband that this was required reading for my course he was pleasantly surprised (it seemed, surprised for him is rather low key) that he had read it and enjoyed it.

Basically, the graphic novel follows Art as he interviews his father about his life during World War II, including fighting in the Polish army, meeting his mother, running from Nazi’s and life in an internment camp.

The book is drawn completely in black and white, and the ‘races’ are represented by animals; most noticeably the Jewish were mice and the Nazis were cats.    The polish characters were pigs, and the main characters were hiding and disguising themselves as polish, they wore pig masks.   It was really quite cleverly done, because it took me a while to discover that this what they were doing.  What this represented to me, is how there was no real noticeable distinction between races, if you weren’t looking for it.

The drawings were very clever, and packed full of symbolism that the average teenage reader might not see or understand.   The dialog was uniquely authentic and the voice of the father was very clear in my mind.  His character and story are nicely colored by the vignettes  of present life, in particularity his relationship with his new wife and son, and his attitudes towards money.

In short, this is an amazingly written and drawn graphic novel, rich in history, symbolism and culture that would be ideal for teaching students the history of the holocaust in a way that they will be able to identify with, and which will keep their attention.   I would definitely consider using this in the classroom, and it opened my mind to the possibility of using graphic novels, in general, as a teaching aid.

My own personal feelings of the graphic novel aren’t as positive, however.   While I fully realize and appreciate the value of the graphic novel, I can’t say that I actually enjoyed reading one.   The structure just doesn’t work for my mind; I kept getting tripped up by the occasional uneven panels, and most of the time I didn’t notice a lot of the graphics, just sticking to the dialog.   I wasn’t a big fan of the black and white method of this particular graphic novel, either, though I understand it creates a feeling of authenticity. This is simply my own deficiency, being a very quick reader of novels, and being used to creating universes in my mind through descriptive text, instead of having the picture drawn for me.

What it comes down to is I recommend teachers use this novel in their classrooms, and that lovers of graphic novels pick this up for themselves.    You can find it here:  Maus: A Survivors Tale

This novel was lent to me by my professor, and I actually expected it to be a bit of work to read in between readings for class, and writing assignments and what not.   I was pleasantly surprised, however.   The book isn’t incredibly long, only about 300 pages, and I flew through it effortlessly, finishing it in just a few day (basically over the weekend).

Shanghai Girls is ultimately a story about family and the bonds that are forged between them, over time.   The novel begins in Shanghai and is centered around two privileged sisters who’s lives are thrown completely upside down with the loss of their father’s money, sudden arranged marriages, and the invasion of Shanghai by the Japanese.  The two girls are forced to flee their country and emigrate to America.  The second half of the story is spent dealing with the life of Chinese immigrants in San Francisco, during a time when all Orientals were looked upon with suspicion after the bombing of Pearl Harbour, and then again during the communist threat of Mao’s revolution.

The book was incredibly easy to read, which is really a feat in itself considering the incredible depth of description and the completely alien world (at least to me, and probably  most readers) that the author brings the reader into.   However, the entire reason it was so easy to get through is because  Lisa See effortlessly weaves a landscape of incredible detail that truly made me feel that I was witnessing Shanghai, and later Chinatown, of the 40s and 50s.   It honestly boggles my mind, the amount of research that would have to go into creating such a complete environment.  Short of actually seeing and witnessing 1940s Shanghai myself, I couldn’t write with such depth and I am humbled by her ability.

In the end, what Lisa See managed to accomplish was to  open my eyes completely to Chinese culture, beliefs and family dynamic as well as how that changed, and stayed the same, due to Americanization.   I highly recommend this novel to any lover of history and culture.

You can find it here:  Shanghai Girls

As an education student majoring in English Language Arts, I’ve had the unique opportunity to approach literature from a completely different perspective than most people do.   While reading Pirate’s Passage I was also evaluating it as an educator, keeping in mind the novel’s potential for teaching teenagers.   This is a completely different way of reading than I’m used to, because it cannot be purely escapist, which is my sole reason for reading fiction, normally.  That’s not to say that I read the book from a completely objective point of view, either;  the whole point of reading a novel is enjoyment, after all.

My first impression of the novel was that it was very difficult to get into.  I believe I fell asleep somewhere around page 22, and then again ten pages later.  This could be solely attributed to the fact that I was reading before bed, but I do think that it also had something to do with the pacing.   This is a slow novel to get into.

The novel takes place in Nova Scotia, Canada, in the early 1950′s and begins with the daily routine of Jim, a 12 year old boy who lives in an ancient Inn on the coast.   The monotony of daily routine takes a turn when a mysterious Captain named Charles Johnson is blown in from the ocean during a storm.  The Captain decides to spend the winter in Jim’s mother’s inn, while making necessary repairs to his boat.   During this time, he hires Jim to do small errands and basically keep him company.

Most of their time (and indeed, the majority of the noveol) is occupied with the Captain educating Jim about the history of pirates, to help Jim in an essay for school.  During these stories, the reader gets the feeling that the Captain knows more than he lets on, and it even seems that he, somehow, may have been involved with pirates hundreds of years ago.   He often makes the statement “when I’ve gotten younger” which titilates the imagination of who, or what this Captain is and where he is from.

Unfortunately, that’s a theme that is never actually explored and because of that I was left rather disappointed with the outcome of the story.    I found the second half of the novel to be more engaging than the first; there was a lot less sailing terms being thrown around and a more plot than just daily life at the Inn, interspersed with Pirate history.  I still can’t be happy with the ending though.  There was so much more potential, and while the author makes an effort to wrap up loose ends, I really wish that the supernatural theme that was hinted at had been explored.

As an educator, the ultimate question is would I teach this novel?    The story and whether I liked it or not aside, it is a good example of children’s literature because it does a very good job of portraying every day life for young boy, including common issues which every boy eventually faces.  I can see how boys could relate to the character and be drawn into the story, however I think that girls might have problems getting into the story.   The history in novel is presented in a way as to be very enjoyable to students; short, sweet and exciting however there’s so much of it they might get tired of it by the end, like I did.

I probably wouldn’t use the book in a classroom, but I would suggest it for boys interested in pirate history.

You can find it here:  Pirate’s Passage

This is the beginning of a story that started with a simple smell, coffee.  My mind ran away with me, and soon I had a paragraph.   I have no idea where this is going, or what it will become, but I wanted to share it, regardless.   This is also my first attempt at writing in first person.   A quick warning:  the story doesn’t start happy.

*****

The smell of burnt coffee and stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, even though the detective was no longer seated across from me. I didn’t remember him leaving. I was only aware of my own position: perched precariously on the edge of a rose patterned love seat, hand clenched, knuckles white around a shredded tissue. My breathing was ragged and shallow, echoes of shed tears. My nose was raw and red; I sniffed delicately, dabbing briefly with the tissue. The clock in the corner ticked loudly, counting off the seconds of my changed life, intruding in on my thoughts; a black ragged turmoil that couldn’t be pinned, soothed or subdued.

My eyes strayed, for what seemed like the hundredth time, to the liquor cabinet in the corner, which mocked me with its silent unchanging presence. It whispered seduction in my ears, promising the relief of oblivion. It would be so easy to fall back into old destructive patterns, to say, “the Hell with it!” and lose myself in the golden liquid burn, allowing it to engulf my senses, my sanity, my self. Or what was left of it. But it had been years since I had walked down that path, and despite the temptation I knew that he would be disappointed in me if I surrendered. Him. John. Wherever he was now. The tears silently began to pour down my cheeks again. I choked off a sob, taking a deep shaky breath, closed my eyes, blocking out the vision of the empty chair across from me. When did the detective leave?

I opened my eyes. Had I dozed? The sun had changed position in the room, it’s rays now glowing warmly across my hand, the room taking on a pinky-orange cast with the impending sunset. My stomach growled and I rose from my seat, automatically smoothing the wrinkles out of my slacks. It seemed easiest to stick to routine and so I moved to the kitchen and began dinner. Chicken breasts, grilled, steamed broccoli and carrots, brown rice. John was on a low sodium diet, because of high blood pressure.

What was a I doing?! I stared helplessly at the table set for two, the two chicken breasts on the grill. Reality had reached out and slapped me in the face, and all I could do was take it. I turned off the stove; chicken and plates remained untouched. I didn’t need to eat. Memories slithered through my mind of a chilled tumbler, wet with moisture, ice clinking as I tipped the contents down my throat. I didn’t need that, either, I told myself without really believing.

Over the last four months I’ve lived a pretty relaxed life as a full time mom, able to read as much as I liked, in between doing laundry and feeding kids. I’ve had time to write up a post every morning and read a book every week, so you’ve been pretty much guaranteed something new every day of the week. This, however, is about to change.

Tomorrow I go back to being a full time student on top of full time mom, and my schedule will be crazy. I cannot guarantee when posts will be posted, or books read and reviewed. I can, however, promise that when I have the time, I will write. So, keep coming back often, so you don’t miss anything!

Thanks for reading my posts over the summer, It’s kept me occupied when I otherwise would have wallowed in boredom.

Julia and Brian have manage to escape detection so far, but we all knew that their luck couldn’t hold out forever….

****

Before them was a major intersection of three lane roads, and smack in the middle of it, taking up all the lanes except for one going in each direction, was what could only be described as a military outpost. There was a large green tent, and arranged around it were various vehicles. People in uniforms milled around it, most looking bored, some looking important, some with steaming mugs of coffee looking like they needed more sleep. She wondered if they were the night curfew watch and if they would be going off duty soon or if they were working longer shifts.

Examining the outpost allowed her to stall for time.  They slowed to a crawl as if  they were out for a  leisurely stroll rather than purposefully headed somewhere, which allowed her to observe and examine the workings of the outpost.   Unfortunately there just wasn’t enough time to learn much.  The only other couple who had approached it were greeted, and passed through without any problems. However, there were no zombies in their party and that probably sped them along. She couldn’t tell how closely the officer had looked at the couple either, from as far back as she was, so there was no way of telling if they were paying attention to details or just letting anyone who wasn’t trying to eat brains, through.

“Damnit,” she said quietly under her breath. She wished there was another way through, an alley or a side street, maybe.   Despite their leisurely pace, however, they’d drawn too close and had probably been spotted; there was no way to turn back without looking suspicious. They were commited, now, for better or for worse. The only thing going for them was that Brian hardly seemed like a zombie at all, except for the whole decomposing part.

Just to be sure, she glanced over at Brian, walking steadily by her side. His stride was even and measured, with only a slight stiffness, as if he was walking with a back ache. His baseball cap covered his head and concealed his eyes in shadow, but anyone looking directly at his face would immediately assume him to be extremely sick, or dead. His pallor was anything but the rosy hue of health; he was pale and bluish-green around the edges, and while his muscle tone had improved with regular meals, the first five days without food had taken a toll on him, and skin sagged off of his frame.

They were close enough to the tent for Julia to smell coffee now. There was a slight rustling of paper from behind a canvas wall, and the faint sound of voices conversing in important sounding tones. The only other sounds were a few birds chirping, and the soft rustle of wind as it ran through the trees that lined the streets, green leaves glowing in the early morning sun like millions of emeralds.

Julia tried her hardest not to seem nervous and to act like she walked through the checkpoint every day. “You’re allowed to be here,” she told herself, and reached out instinctively to grab Brian’s hand. He squeezed lightly, in support, perhaps? She wondered if he was scared, too.

They approached the soldier standing near the edge of the sidewalk, and Julia made brief eye contact, smiling kindly. He smiled back, as she continued to approach but made no move to stop them in their path.

“Morning, folks.” he said as they drew abreast of his position.

“Morning,” she replied, slowing only slightly, but continuing on her way.

She counted her steps as they walked past, hope growing in her chest, butterflies multiplying in her stomach as the numbers in her mind ascended.   Eight, nine, ten…

Then a voice behind her called out, “Hold up!” and her hopes crashed so swiftly, she was left feeling faint.

Despite her heart slamming in her chest and feeling like she was going to throw up, she plastered a smile on her face and turned to face the approaching soldier. “Yes, sir?” she asked respectfully, walking towards him to close the gap and leaving Brian where he was, hoping the distance would be enough to deter an examination.

She knew she looked like hell, knew she was rumpled and unwashed and that her golden blond hair was tangled and dirty, but she was still a woman, and maybe she could make that work for her. She gave him the smile that suggested she found him desirable, as she approached. “What can I do for you?” she practically purred, and had to restrain herself from touching his arm, feeling instinctively that that would be crossing the line.

He blinked, and swallowed heavily. He was a young man, probably barely over twenty, and that could have worked to her advantage, if he had been alone. However, he glanced over his shoulder at the presence of higher authority and duty reasserted itself, his gaze hardening as he visually shook himself of any effect she may have had over him.

“Oh, nothing but routine, ma’am,” he answered, glancing at Brian standing patiently. “We just don’t have a record of your being in this area, your picture hasn’t been recorded.” He gestured over his shoulder towards the tent, and sure enough, there were two cork boards filled with Polaroid pictures, with names and details written neatly on the bottom of each picture. “Anyone coming through the area needs to be identified, for security, ma’am. I’m sure you understand.”

While I’m away on vacation I thought you deserved a little action….

****

She awoke to find herself marginally more comfortable than when she had fallen asleep, and discovered it was because Brian had sat down beside her, at some point, and pillowed her head on his lap.   She was slightly surprised to find that it didn’t bother her; if it wasn’t for the putrid smell of his body, it would have felt completely normal.   If she closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth, she could pretend they were back at home and none of this had happened.

She sighed and moved to sit up so she could try to figure out what they would be doing next.   Brian, however seemed to have other plans and held her down with one hand when she moved to rise.  For a moment she was frightened that he had decided that now was the perfect opportunity to add some more intimacy to their relationship.   Her stomach turned at the idea of how close her head was to his decaying crotch and she tried to rise again, this time more forcefully, but he just held her tighter.

She tried to speak, to protest that she just wasn’t ready for what he wanted, but he covered her mouth with his ragged hand, holding tightly so not a sound could escape.   That was when she realized that he wasn’t getting fresh with her, he was hiding her.   She froze and was instantly aware of the atmosphere around her.   The tunnel was still as dark and apparently empty as it was when they had discovered it, however something was wrong.

At first it was just a feeling that they weren’t alone, but then she realized there was as sound.    It was as soft as a whisper, like skin sliding against skin, but it wasn’t continuous.  It stopped and started in a rhythmic pattern.   It was confusing, she had never heard anything in her life like it before,  yet it was oddly familiar.  It seemed to be too quiet to be something large or dangerous, yet too rhythmic to be a small animal like a rat.  No matter what her opinions were,  it clearly bothered Brian, and she trusted his supernatural instincts.

Gently, he moved his hand away from her mouth and lifted her up from her prone position.   He held her shoulders tightly for a moment, pressing her back against the wall, and then touched her mouth again, in silent admonition.  She nodded her head slightly in understanding, though she didn’t know if he could see her.  Then she watched as Brian slowly, painfully and eerily quietly rose to his feet and placed himself defensively in front of her.

He stood, unmoving, as the minutes ticked by, apparently listening to the rhythmic whisper move slowly closer to them.   Julia couldn’t guess how close the sound was.  The tunnel made the sound seem to come from all sides, and if she hadn’t known  to listen for it, she wouldn’t have known it was there at all, much less moving towards her.

Suddenly a dark shape appeared in front of a dim puddle of light, it was silhouetted black so all she could see was that it was human shaped.  It moved slowly and carefully, and though it appeared slightly off kilter, it barely moved the dirt beneath its feet.   The rhythmic sound was the rubbing together of its legs, wearing ragged and torn corduroy pants.

At first Julia thought that it hadn’t noticed them hiding in the shadows.  It  continued on its straight path down the side of the tunnel.  It got close enough that a wave of putrid stench of decay preceded it and it was all Julia could do to not clench her nose shut with her hand; she had to struggle to keep the meager contents of her stomach where they belonged.

Maybe she made an involuntary movement, she didn’t know, but the figure before them froze in its tracks for half a second and then, as if not even making the decision, continued on in the same ragged pace right towards their hiding spot.

Brian grew rigid.  He crouched, slightly, animal like, and prepared himself for an attack, but the zombie coming toward them made no aggressive move towards Brian, only shuffled determinately towards Julia, a wet groan that Julia remembered from Brian’s first days beginning to emanate from his throat.   It was obvious that it didn’t see Brian as a threat and saw Julia as food.   When Brian couldn’t get the zombie to engage him, he attacked.

He moved with speed that Julia didn’t know was possible and the zombie ahead of him was bowled completely off of his feet.   Julia blinked.  The zombie, now on the ground, was still making no attempt to fight Brian off.  It tried to rise, brainlessly, its hands still seeking Julia’s warm flesh.   Brian stood above him, and without hesitation reached down, grabbed the zombie’s head in both hands and with what appeared to be minimal effort, ripped it from the neck with an audible snap and wet ripping followed by a gush of dark congealed blood.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Brian dropped the decapitated head at his feet.  He just stood there, looking at the broken body laying on the ground with surprisingly little blood beneath it.  She wondered if he was contemplating his own zombie existence, or if he felt guilt over the destruction of one of his own kind.

She made a move to walk towards him, hoping to give him any comfort that he may need, when a grip, hard as steel fastened itself around her neck.  Her scream of terror was cut off as the hand tightened, cutting off her air supply.   Although she struggled with all her might to get away from the decaying body behind her that by all rights should not have such strength left in it, her struggles were useless and she felt her body grow tingly from the lack of oxygen, her eyesight beginning to tunnel.    If she didn’t do something quickly she would pass out, but at the sound of the wet, hungry groaning growing closer to her ear, that was the least of her problems.

As her vision began to grow dim, she saw Brian still standing over the body of the zombie, watching her with contemplation.   She had only a moment to wonder if he was deciding if he should let her become a zombie, before she felt the cold wet pressure of teeth against the base of her neck and she lost consciousness.

She awoke crashing to the ground.  Her knee impacted painfully with a piece of gravel, and she would have gasped in pain if she wasn’t so busy gasping simply to feel air in her lungs again.   Her neck burned and throbbed with blood flow returned, and her hand instinctively rose to hold where she was sure to find a bite mark as evidence to her inevitable future.  When she found nothing, however she gazed around her, dazed, trying to regain her bearings.

Brian stood where she had been, only a few feet away, and with one hand he was holding upthe zombie who had come so close to ending it all for her.   Strangely, she found that she wasn’t scared anymore.  Perhaps she had just become used to being scared and was now desensitized to it.   However, she realized, as she regained her feet,  it was more likely that she was just tired of it all and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.

She walked up to Brian and stood beside him, looking at the zombie contemplatively.   He had been hanging in Brian’s grasp relatively without complaint, with the exception of the occasionally futile kick, that seemed more as if he couldn’t figure out why there was no support under him, than any real attempt at violence towards Brian.    It wasn’t until Julia approached that the zombie made any desire to extricate himself from his circumstances, reaching towards her, his mouth moving mechanically.

She looked from him to Brian, who’s expression she hadn’t really been able to read in weeks, and wondered what he was thinking.  It didn’t matter, it was time to get moving.  “Kill it,” she said and then walked away, back down the tunnel towards the platform.   Two seconds and a wet ripping sound later, Brian followed after her.

*****

After discussing Willow, last Monday, I got to thinking about my most favorite movie and it’s novel.    I am a lot more familiar with the movie, having watched it enough times to have most of the lines memorized, but I’ve only read the novel once.  Does this mean that I’ve finally found a book where I actually prefer the movie?   Perhaps.

The fact is that this movie has garnered a huge cult following, mainly because of it’s wit and one liners, but also because of it’s incredible characters and the actors that portrayed them.   There is a divide in the fan community, however, between those that prefer the novel and those that prefer the movie.   Novel lovers tend to look down on movie lovers, in some sort of elitist way, as if those who have only seen the movie haven’t been let in on the whole story.

The truth is that the movie follows the plot of the book so perfectly, that nothing is lost there – there are no missed plot lines or unmentioned background, like there was between the Willow movie and novel.   The one biggest difference between the movie and the novel is the style of narration.   I’m particularly fond of the movie’s convention of having the grandfather read the story to his sick grandson.  Fred Savage provides an excellent counterpart of the kid who finds romance and kissing disgusting, but it won over in the end.

The book on the other hand, claims to be originally written by S. Morgenstern, and abridged and commented on by William Goldman.  This is, however a fiction in itself.  Similiar to the fictional author of Memoirs of a Geisha, S. Morgenstern doesn’t exist. The abridgment is a rather clever part of the novel, a way for the author  comment on and internally narrate his own work.   I enjoyed this aspect of the novel, it was clever in a ‘pop up video’ kind of way, but it did get distracting from time to time, and occasionally got in the way of the story.

The William Goodman is so good at fiction that even his author biography is fictional, as are references to a deleted scene and a sequel, supposedly called Buttercups Baby.   He is so successful in his deception, that many of the susceptible are deceived into believing that S. Morgenstern actually existed, a fact that many of the die hard novelists love gloating over.

What really matters, however, is not which medium is the better way to experience the story, or who is smarter for appreciating its different forms, it’s the fact that the story transfered into movie so effectively as to have such a devoted following.

“No more rhyming now, I mean it!”  ”Anybody want a peanut?”

Get the movie here:  The Princess Bride (1987)

and the novel here:  The Princess Bride

Ahh….this brings me back.   I think I was 18 when I first read this book; the age when you feel so old, but you’re really so young.   This book is sentimental favorite of mine, because it came into my life just when I was rediscovering myself, and creating an identity separate from my home and family.   I was on my own and independent and responsible for my own ideas and beliefs.   I think I even felt a little rebellious.

So I first picked up this book not very far into my new found Pagan faith.   I had been interested in witches since high school and discovered Wicca and Paganism in university, going so far as to head the Goddess 2000 group in my area and create the Society of Pagan Fellowship student group on campus.    I know, it all sounds so fruity  (I can hear my huband’s eyes rolling in their sockets”) but it was my identity then; it was newborn, bright, gleaming and proud.

This book took the classic Arthurian legend and turned it on his head.   It took the story away from the male-centric myth that everyone knows and made it about the Goddess and her Priestesses and Druids and the mystical, magical Avalon struggling to exist in a world of new faith.    It was like the novel was speaking to my own transformation – trying to exist as Pagan in a Christian world (campus).    What was amazing to me was the pagan rituals, festivals and rites written as if they actually happened, and how they were slowly extinguished by the Roman legions and the modernization of Britain, through kings.    The book was read so many times that I’m surprised it’s held together.   I can’t speak now about how good the writing was, (though I do know the mini series was horribly cheesy) but I will say that the images are still strong in my mind.

The sequels and other historical fiction that came after this book I can imagine as  representations of my own growth and maturity in my beliefs and even in life.   Each book that emerged became more sophisticated and learned more away from magic and myth and attempted to recreate history from a feminine point of view.  I read them all, always eager for the next in the series, but none of them affected me like the first book did.  Maybe it’s just my mind trying to cling to those young fresh years.

I read The Firebrand last year and it did a wonderful job of demonstrating the roll women could have had in history, as it tells the story of the fall of Troy from Kassandra’s perspective.   It almost seemed to me to be the culminating story of my own beliefs – the history of Troy, it’s cultures and peoples are all examined from a probable point of view, with just a little bit of old school mysticism on the side.

Everyone once in a while, though, it’s nice to go back to your roots.  So, go here to find The Mists of Avalon.