★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

The Raven Boys
Maggie Stiefvater

Every year, Blue Sargent stands next to her clairvoyant mother as the soon-to-be dead walk past. Blue never sees them--until this year, when a boy emerges from the dark and speaks to her.

His name is Gansey, a rich student at Aglionby, the local private school. Blue has a policy of staying away from Aglionby boys. Known as Raven Boys, they can only mean trouble.

But Blue is drawn to Gansey, in a way she can't entirely explain. He is on a quest that has encompassed three other Raven Boys: Adam, the scholarship student who resents the privilege around him; Ronan, the fierce soul whose emotions range from anger to despair; and Noah, the taciturn watcher who notices many things but says very little.

For as long as she can remember, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love to die. She doesn't believe in true love, and never thought this would be a problem. But as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she's not so sure anymore.

Por que é que li este livro?
Porque fiquei traumatizada quando acabei The Secret History, e nada me parecia bom o suficiente para aligeirar a transição dessa real obra de arte para a restante ficção plebeia à minha disposição. Mais uma vez, o Tumblr salvou-me, e sugeriu esta série – ensemble cast, jovens vagamente pretensiosos obcecados com tempos há muito passados, e talvez até homicídio. Não soa perfeito?

1. Plot
Ora bem. Estão a ver aquele blurb? Esqueçam. A secção de marketing esforça-se muito por vender The Raven Boys como um trágico romance YA entre um rapaz quase morto e uma rapariga que está destinada a matar o seu verdadeiro amor com um beijo, mas na vida real... aquilo que o livro efectivamente oferece nada tem a ver com isso. Alinhem comigo num suspiro de alívio colectivo.

The Raven Boys, por muito que queira dar protagonismo a Blue na sinopse e no primeiro capítulo, é a história de um grupo de rapazes cuja relação precede, em muito, o surgimento de Blue nas suas vidas. Gansey, um menino rico de um colégio privado, passa os seus dias armado com medidores EMF e demais instrumentos de investigação paranormal. O seu objectivo é identificar a ley line que, segundo ele, passa perto do seu colégio, e depois encontrar o rei Galês que se encontra sepultado algures sobre (ou sob, depende da perspectiva) essa linha.

Blue, por outro lado, tem os pés bem assentes na terra, se exceptuarmos o facto de ser a única pessoa sem grande aptidão paranormal na sua casa habitada exclusivamente por mulheres médiums (a sua mãe, a sua tia, sua prima, uma amiga da mãe, outra amiga da mãe... e por aí fora). Blue tem, no entanto, o poder de amplificar manifestações paranormais para aqueles que as conseguem sentir. Uma noite, Blue acompanha a sua tia ao evento paranormal do ano, onde é possível ver as almas das pessoas que vão morrer nos doze mese seguintes. O objectivo da médium é recolher os nomes destas pessoas, para as poder avisar em tempo útil –se elas lhe pagarem para o saber, claro. Blue apercebe-se da presença da alma de um rapaz da sua idade, a quem pergunta o nome. Ele chama-se Gansey, e o resto, como podem imaginar, é história.

...ou será que é? Talvez seja uma consequência da “maldição” que se abate sobre Blue, mas não existe um único beijo neste livro, e os subplots românticos nunca se sobrepõem à busca do grupo pelo rei Galês. Blue mostra algum interesse, correspondido, por um dos membros do grupo, mas a) não é Gansey, a b) a relação de ambos prima-se por uma inocência e um respeito mútuo que não tem igual em todos os livros YA que já li. Hooray!

2. Personagens
Estes livros têm, mais coisa menos coisa, cinco personagens principais. Em primeiro lugar, os titulares Raven Boys, assim chamados devido ao emblema do colégio que frequentam: Gansey, o protagonista e líder da cruzada paranormal, Ronan, o melhor amigo rebelde que tem um corvo de estimação e uma certa propensão para o street racing, Adam, o outro melhor amigo, oriundo de uma família abusiva e sem o estatuto económico dos seus colegas, e Noah, o grande mistério do grupo, também conhecido como “the smudgy one” . Em quinto lugar, temos Blue, a protagonista idealista, sem paciência para falsidades, e com um ligeiro complexo de inferioridade face à sua falta de poderes psíquicos.

A diferentes níveis e de diferentes formas, diria que as personagens estão bem construídas – parecem pessoas reais, e esse é o maior elogio que posso dar a um livro de ficção. As suas emoções são genuínas, ou parecem-no, e não tomam decisões que não se coadunam com as suas personalidades. São consistentes, lógicas, e é fácil compreendê-las.

Pessoalmente, identifiquei-me mais com Gansey (o menino rico com objectivos de vida absurdos, um coração de ouro, e sem grande filtro entre aquilo que pensa e aquilo que diz, yup, é o meu tipo) e Adam, e quis muito identificar-me com Blue – mas infelizmente, para quem é a narradora do primeiro capítulo do livro, e a pessoa de quem todas as sinopses falam, ela acaba por não ter tanto protagonismo quanto seria desejável. Uma crítica que tenho visto, e com a qual concordo, é que Blue é, de certa forma, uma assistente nas histórias deoutras pessoas. Tendo em conta que esse é o seu poder psíquico, faz sentido que esse seja também o grande tema da história pessoal da Blue – pelo que talvez seja de esperar que ela consiga finalmente promover-se de assistente a protagonista num futuro próximo?

Considerando que o terceiro livro da série (olhem ali na barra direita) usa o palavra "Blue" duas vezes no seu título... acho que devo ter razão.

3. Setting/worldbuilding
Este livro desenrola-se numa pequena cidade na Virginia, num conjunto limitado de cenários, todos eles com algum tipo de significado para o plot em geral: a casa de Blue (e sabemos que médiums são sempre plot-relevant), a fábrica renovada em que Gansey vive com Ronan e Noah, a floresta surreal sobre a ley line, e vagamente, a casa de Adam. Todos estes locais evocam um sentimento diferente no leitor, muito devido à forma como são descritos – as cores, o ambiente, os acontecimentos que lá se desenrolam. A magia que marca a floresta tem regras, o leitor tem perfeita noção delas, e embora o verdadeiro carácter dos talentos psíquicos da família de Blue não seja sempre claro (são só muito observadoras? têm poderes? estão sempre certas? Gansey vai mesmo morrer?), tal não é algo que me tenha incomodado. A parte da mitologia é sem dúvida interessante, e uma base firme para o leitor se orientar na caça ao tesouro.

Basicamente, ninguém vai ler este livro pelo setting, mas em comparação com outros YAs passados no mundo “real”, não há qualquer queixa a fazer. É um setting. Acontecem coisas. Voltem acima e leiam os pontos 1 e 2, que são os que me efectivamente me permitem vender-vos este livro.

4. Estilo de escrita
Devo dizer que me passou ligeiramente ao lado, e que não tenho qualquer comentário bonitinho a fazer sobre a escrita de Maggie Stiefvater. Adorei os diálogos, mas o resto da escrita, para mim, foi invisível. Na prática, o que isto quer dizer é que a escrita deste livro cumpre a sua função, mas não se eleva àquele ponto em que passa a ter um peso próprio no desenvolvimento da história – não como a escrita de Angela Carter ou de Tanith Lee, por exemplo.

Leva, no entanto, pontos bónus pelo plot twist de última linha. Adoro plot twists de última linha.

Em resumo...
Adorei The Raven Boys. Certo, o plot é a clássica caça ao tesouro (que não é resolvida neste livro, para que conste), mas as personagens são extraordinárias, e as relações entre elas... bem, dão pano para mangas. Não tem elementos excessivamente problemáticos – sim, porque estou sempre aqui com o meu feminismo à mão para criticar literatura –, a escrita é competente, o worldbuilding é competente, e não me parece que se possa pedir muito mais de um YA. Quatro estrelas, recomendado.

O mesmo não se poderá dizer do segundo, infelizmente. Amanhã há mais!

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★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

The Corset: A Cultural History
Valerie Steele

An essential element of fashionable dress from the Renaissance into the 20th century, the corset has been viewed not only as an object of eroticism but also as an instrument of torture and subjugation. This is an exploration of the cultural history of the corset.

Continuando na minha vaga de leituras de não-ficção, motivada em grande parte pela experiência marcante (no melhor dos sentidos, acreditem) que foi ler The Secret History em dois ou três dias, o livro que hoje vos trago foca-se naquela que é, para muitos, a peça mais de roupa mais polémica da história da humanidade. Yup, é um livro sobre corpetes - ou espartilhos, se preferirem a palavra que soa mais dolorosa.

Valerie Steele é uma autora especializada em história da moda, e neste livro, dedica-se a uma análise contextualizada da história do corpete, desde as suas origens até aos nossos dias, passando pelo seu auge na época Vitoriana. Em seis capítulos, a autora explora a função original do corpete, visto como um instrumento auxiliar na construção do corpo aristocrático ideal; os movimentos sociais anti-corpete do século XIX, liderados tanto por grupos feministas como por médicos e "homens de ciência"; a forma como o corpete já era, nesta época, sexualizado e visto como um objecto de grande valor erótico; e finalmente, a utilização do corpete nos dias de hoje, associado a novos ideiais de beleza que pouco têm a ver com a aristocracia ideal descrita no início do livro.

É um livro ilustrado com fotografias e gravuras das várias épocas retratadas, o que acaba por compensar o seu tom aborrecido - é um pouco como ler um livro escolar, para ser sincera. Aprendi um par de coisas novas, mas no geral, achei o livro pouco interessante para alguém que já tenha algum conhecimento sobre o assunto. As suas 176 páginas poderiam ter sido melhor aproveitadas com outro tipo de informação.

Três estrelas, e assim continua a busca por um livro que me diga tudo o que preciso de saber sobre corpetes. Não é este. Nope.

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★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The Empire Of Death
Paul Koudounaris

In this tour de force of original cultural history, Paul Koudounaris takes the reader on an unprecedented international tour of macabre and devotional architectural masterpieces in nearly 20 countries. This is the first book to bring together the world's most important charnel sites, ranging from the crypts of the Capuchin monasteries in Italy and the skull-encrusted columns of the ossuary in Évora in Portugal, to the strange tomb of a 1960s wealthy Peruvian nobleman decorated with the exhumed skeletons of his Spanish ancestors. Illustrated with specially taken photographs of sites rarely open to the public and forgotten archive images of others long destroyed, this mesmerising, shocking and deeply moving book is an essential memento mori for our modern age.

Perturba-me muito, não saber se a palavra "tafofilia" existe em bom português. O blog Mort Safe diz que sim, e define a palavra como "a atracção (mórbida ou não, de acordo com o ponto de vista de cada um) por túmulos e cemitérios". Se é possível sofrer de tal coisa, eu sofro, e se é possível ter toda uma carreira tafófila... este senhor tem.

Paul Koudounaris é um autor e fotógrafo de Los Angeles, doutorado em História da Arte, que decidiu dedicar a sua vida literária ao campo dos ossuários e capelas dos ossos. Há quem o considere uma celebridade no campo da arte "macabra", e eu sinto-me inclinada a concordar. Hoje, vou rever os seus dois livros já publicados - juntos não só devido à temática, mas também por me parecer que são melhor apreciados quando lidos em conjunto.

O primeiro dos dois, The Empire Of Death, foi publicado em 2011, e inclui dezenas de fotografias, algumas delas inéditas, de ossuários localizados maioritariamente na Europa. Desde as Catacumbas de Paris ao famoso ossuário de Sedlec, os monumentos mais reconhecíveis estão todos incluídos, acompanhados por exemplos mais humildes como a nossa pequena capela de Campo Maior. Sabiam que, de acordo com Koudounaris, Portugal é o país da Europa com mais estruturas decoradas com ossos humanos? Da próxima vez que vos disserem que não valemos para nada, lembrem-se disso (sempre funciona como ameaça).

As fotografias de Koudounaris são acompanhadas por textos minuciosamente detalhados, que misturam factos históricos e relatos anedóticos do próprio autor. O texto acompanha as diversas fases artísticas da construção destes monumentos, começando pela Contra-Reforma do séc. XVI, e oferece contexto a praticamente todos os monumentos fotografados. Desde criptas onde era comum senhoras "adoptarem" um crânio, a um candelabro feito com pelo menos um exemplar de cada osso do corpo humano, há aqui mais do que informação para os tafófilos (palavra do dia!) interessados.

Relativamente à minha experiência com o livro, tenho de admitir que demorei... praticamente um ano a lê-lo. Em primeiro lugar, com imagens tão fabulosas, a tentação de ler apenas as legendas é muito grande; em segundo lugar, achei o texto talvez um tudo-nada demasiado académico. Ainda assim, este é um livro com pelo menos algumas pretensões académicas, pelo que não me parece justo acusá-lo de usar um tom errado. Simplesmente, não foi um que me desse vontade de "devorar" o livro. Mesmo assim, leva cinco estrelas, porque é o melhor livro que alguma vez li sobre o tema.

Vantagens de ser o único autor num dado campo de estudos, huh?



★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Heavenly Bodies
Paul Koudounaris

Following on the success of his book The Empire of Death , which has attracted a global cult following, Paul Koudounaris brings the catacomb saints out of the darkness with this astonishing volume, which includes arresting images of more than seventy spectacular jeweled skeletons and the fascinating stories of dozens more, accompanied by rare archive material. This is the first time that some of these incredible relics both intriguing historical artifacts and masterpieces of artistic craftsmanship in their own right have appeared in a publication, with Koudounaris gaining unprecedented access to photograph in some of the most secretive religious establishments in Europe. This will be essential reading for goths, art historians and everyone in between.

Ora, a questão é que o problema do tom excessivamente académico é rectificado com o segundo livro do autor, Heavenly Bodies. Este é mais pequeno, mais prático de manusear, e pareceu-me, até mesmo pela encadernação (tem um dustjacket, coisa que ao primeiro falta), que foi publicado com a intenção de ser lido, ao invés do primeiro, que é um livro para ser "mostrado". Sabem aqueles livros da Taschen que toda a gente tem nas mesinhas de centro mas ninguém lê, efectivamente? Pois, refiro-me a isso.

Heavenly Bodies é, para mim, o melhor destes dois - e o seu tema empresta-se mais à comédia, diga-se de passagem. Este volume, publicado em 2013, conta a história praticamente esquecida de um grupo de esqueletos retirado das Catacumbas Romanas no século XVII, e posteriormente decorado lascivamente (se alguma vez houve contexto para esta palavra, é este) por equipas de freiras, com jóias e vestes do mais exuberante possível. Se isto soa a black comedy, esperem até vos ser dito que estes esqueletos, de origem humilde, foram erradamente identificados como mártires do início da Era Cristã, decorados como tal, e depois exportados para territórios de língua Alemã como uma estratégia de Contra-Reforma Cristã. A maioria foi destruída durante o Iluminismo, quando finalmente se ganhou consciência do ridículo de tal prática, mas Koudounaris conseguiu acesso aos exemplares sobreviventes (certo, sobreviventes...), e daí saiu este livro.

Aqui, o tom académico é colocado de lado para dar lugar a um tom mais informal, quase irónico em determinadas passagens. Dei por mim a rir à gargalhada várias vezes, com descrições do Papa a descer às Catacumbas e a apontar os esqueletos que, tinha ele a certeza, eram mártires, ou com a fase em que a criatividade para baptizar mártires começou a esgotar-se, dando azo a pérolas como Saint Anonymous, Saint Incognitus, and Saint Innominabilis.

Há algo, para mim, de muito trágico em toda esta história, mas também de... ingénuo. Adorei ler este livro, e merece cinco estrelas mais sólidas do que o primeiro. Quer dizer, quase chorei com a história de dois "santos" que foram retirados da sua igreja contra a vontade da população, e devolvidos 70 anos depois. Ha dias assim. A vida real consegue ser mais estranha do que a ficção.

Agora... tenho ouvido rumores de que Paul Koudounaris anda a investigar demónios sexuais e gatos possuídos por demónios. Para quando os livros?

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★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

The Secret History (publicado como A História Secreta em PT)
Donna Tartt

Richard Papen arrived at Hampden College in New England and was quickly seduced by an elite group of five students, all Greek scholars, all worldly, self-assured, and, at first glance, all highly unapproachable. As Richard is drawn into their inner circle, he learns a terrifying secret that binds them to one another... a secret about an incident in the woods in the dead of night where an ancient rite was brought to brutal life... and led to a gruesome death. And that was just the beginning...

Por que é que li este livro?
Posso ser sincera? Gráficos bonitos no Tumblr. Essa foi a primeira gota. A última chegou há uns tempos, quando pedi ao meu Facebook que me sugerisse hangover books (vocês sabem... aqueles que nos deixam meios atordoados e incapazes de começar outro livro num futuro imediato) e uma amiga me sugeriu este livro. Pareceu-me que as estrelas se tinham finalmente alinhado.

Além disso, quem é que não quer acompanhar um protagonista desajeitado na sua busca pela atenção e amizade dos seus cinco senpais colegas de turma?

1. Plot
Já vi este livro descrito não como um whodunnit, mas um whydunnit. As primeiras páginas dão-nos a informação clara de quem um rapaz de nome Bunny foi morto pelo nosso protagonista & companhia, e a primeira metade do livro dedica-se principalmente à tarefa de reunir os personagens principais, dar-lhes um motivo, e colocá-los no local do crime. Todos sabemos que vai acontecer, mas ver toda a ginástica mental que é necessária por parte do grupo para efectivamente levar o seu plano avante acrescenta um novo nível de dor a esta leitura. A segunda metade do livro dedica-se à aftermath do crime - a investigação criminal, o aperto do cerco policial, a coragem necessária para ir ao funeral de um amigo que se assassinou. Nesta fase, acho que é legítimo dizer que o leitor já não está muito preocupado com o crime em si - é a lenta degradação das personagens, das suas relações e do seu carácter, que nos faz virar a página.

Este não é um livro rápido. Não é um page-turner. É, sim, o tipo de livro que sádicos como eu usam para entretenimento quando queremos ver seres humanos em espirais de auto-destruição, mas estamos demasiado doentes e fracos para os colocar lá. (confiem em mim, estava de cama quando li isto, sei do que falo)

2. Personagens
Richard Papen, o nosso protagonista, é um rapazito pretensioso. Muito se tem falado de protagonistas pretensiosos ultimamente, em grande parte devido ao sucesso estrondoso de livros como The Fault In Our Stars (shots fired), mas acho que Richard é bem capaz de levar a taça nesta categoria. Depois de uma infância aborrecida numa pequena cidade na Califórnia, Richard ingressa no Hampden College, Nova Inglaterra, onde aproveita para criar uma nova personalidade para si mesmo, uma que não destoe entre os seus novos e privilegiados colegas. A vida de Richard é um jogo de aparências, desde a forma como se veste à forma como trata as pessoas à sua volta - e não me venham dizer que frases como "apetecia-me agarrá-la, violá-la" não são um óptimo exemplo de um rapaz a tentar representar à força toda uma personalidade (super dominante, super hetero, super máscula) que nada tem a ver com a sua. Pessoalmente, acho Richard uma pessoa detestável, mas um óptimo narrador para este tipo de livro. Sejamos sinceros, muitos de nós também não hesitariam em mentir um bocadinho para impressionar uns quantos lobos em pele de cordeiro.

O grupo principal fica depois completo com Henry Winter, génio pouco emotivo e mastermind do grupo; Bunny Corcoran, racista, homofóbico, e em bom português, amigo da onça... também conhecido como Asshole Victim; Francis Abernathy, um misto de príncipe e Jack The Ripper (toda a gente adora esta citação, não olhem para mim); e Camilla e Charles Macaulay, os gémeos órfãos aparentemente funcionais. O mentor do grupo dá pelo nome de Julian Morrow, o professor de grego mais despótico que alguma vez li, e devo confessar, também a personagem que menos compreendi. Se a princípio pensei que isto ia dar numa de The Philosophers, com o professor a convencer os seus pupilos da beleza de um homicídio bem cometido... afinal Julian acaba por ficar mais traumatizado do que o leitor quando descobre os pequenos monstros a quem andou a ensinar filosofia. Oops.

Uma crítica que tive relativamente a este grupo, assim que acabei de ler o livro, foi o facto de incluir apenas uma rapariga, aliado ao facto de a sua inclusão parecer servir o único propósito de dar ao livro uns quantos subplots românticos. “Parecer” é, no entanto, a palavra-chave, ou não fossem as relações entre os rapazes do grupo um labirinto igualmente complexo de atracções mal resolvidas. Como diria esta citação nunca de facto presente no livro:

Fine, okay. I guess we’re not really family. It’s more complicated than that because unlike a real family there’s nothing to stop any one of us from looking at each other as sexual prospects.

Mas voltando a Camilla. Camilla é a única rapariga do grupo, e agora percebo porquê. Este livro é, muito basicamente, um estudo sobre o conceito de privilégio, e Camilla existe na posição em que existe para demonstrar isso mesmo - este é um mundo de homens, e não existem muitas formas aceitáveis de ser mulher nele, pelo que Camilla se debate constantemente entre a sua personalidade, e a personalidade adequada aos frágeis egos dos rapazes com quem se dá. Esta não é, de todo, a minha forma favorita de levar o feminismo para a ficção – já o disse muitas vezes, mostrar opressão não chega, é preciso que a personagem oprimida tenha uma oportunidade para combater essa opressão –, mas devo admitir que aqui... até funciona.

3. Setting/worldbuilding
Uma universidade Americana nos anos 80. Richard tem aulas de grego, partilha o seu dormitório com todo um exército de consumidores de substâncias várias, toda a gente bebe, toda a gente fuma, toda a gente adora excessos e drogas e rock n'roll.

E curiosamente, não foi isto que me ficou como imagem mental quando acabei este livro. Nope. O que ficou foi a floresta. E os lagos, e a casa de campo, e a ravina onde Bunny morreu, e a casa dos gémeos tão ridiculamente decorada com todos os tipos de oddities, e o cemitério, e o escritório de Julian que cheirava sempre a flores frescas e chá acabado de fazer. Ficaram as folhas que iam mudando de cor com as estações, e ficou a casa-de-banho ensanguentada depois da orgia (right, talvez já devesse ter mencionado isso, pessoal... há uma orgia, conhecida oficialmente por Bacanal).

Basicamente, ficaram os sentimentos e as imagens invocadas pelo setting, mas nenhum facto concreto sobre o setting em si. Não me vão ouvir a queixar, pois adoro quando isto acontece.

4. Estilo de escrita
Ooooooooh, boy. Donna Tartt escreve bem que se farta (se repararem, este é um elogio que reservo apenas aos escritores tão bons que até irritam), e não há página do livro que não se possa citar de forma pretensiosa para impressionar os nossos inimigos mais próximos. É possível que o estilo do livro seja demasiado purple para alguns, mas não o é para mim – afinal, eu sigo a escola de pensamento Angela Carter e os seus dois mandamentos. Escreve prosa bonita, e nunca peças desculpa por ela.

Em resumo...
Imaginem um prédio. Se o prédio cair, as críticas vão concentrar-se na sua estrutura, nas suas falhas, na forma como foi construído. Mas se o prédio não cair, que é o mínimo que se pode exigir dele... vamos elogiar a técnica que o construiu? Vamos dedicar centenas de palavras à forma como os responsáveis conseguiram colocar um tijolo em cima do outro e manter o edifício de pé? Nope. Vamos mencionar tudo isso, claro, mas depois vamos acabar por nos concentrar em coisas inúteis como "adoro aquela gárgula", ou "o corrimão da escada principal não serve para nada mas é bonito e eu gosto".

É por isto que sou tão má a opinar sobre livros que me agradam. É difícil manter-me concentrada, e é difícil manter-me séria, porque as coisas que gosto neles não estão em nada relacionadas com críticas objectivas que vos poderiam levar a lê-los. Senti-me em casa, com este livro. Senti que conhecia estas pessoas, e senti-me muito, muito investida nas vidas delas. É mais um daqueles casos em que as personagens e a escrita são tão boas que eu não me importaria se todo o livro fosse uma lista de compras.

Leiam The Secret History, pessoal. Jantar de cinco estrelas para dois, cogumelos, bilhetes para a América do Sul, revólver. É das melhores listas de compras que alguma vez li.

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★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

A Face Like Glass
Frances Hardinge
Ebook, aprox. 490 pages

In the underground city of Caverna the world's most skilled craftsmen toil in the darkness to create delicacies beyond compare. They create wines that can remove memories, cheeses that can make you hallucinate and perfumes that convince you to trust the wearer even as they slit your throat. The people of Caverna are more ordinary, but for one thing: their faces are as blank as untouched snow. Expressions must be learned. Only the famous Facesmiths can teach a person to show (or fake) joy, despair or fear — at a price.

Into this dark and distrustful world comes Neverfell, a little girl with no memory of her past and a face so terrifying to those around her that she must wear a mask at all times. For Neverfell's emotions are as obvious on her face as those of the most skilled Facesmiths, though entirely genuine. And that makes her very dangerous indeed...

Why did I read this book?
A world where facial expressions need to be learned, otherwise people's faces are always blank? How brilliant is that? That's all it took to get me interested in the book. I think I might have seen it recommended somewhere... but at this point I really can't remember.

1. Plot
Once upon a time, in an underground city where people were naturally unable to show facial expressions, there was a girl named Neverfell whose face was incredibly expressive. She'd always lived with her adoptive father, an old cheesemaker, in a secluded part of this aforementioned underground city, but one day she found a way out of his tunnels... and escaped into the big bad world outside. Mind you, I'm using outside as a relative term - she escapes the cheesemaker's tunnels to find larger, public tunnels, that's what I mean. She meets friendly nobles and unfriendly nobles, wins the favor of half of The Grand Steward (it's... complicated, I'll get there in a second), becomes his favorite food taster, spends half the book running and hiding, and eventually decides to save the poor and the oppressed by making them climb a rope ladder up into the Overground. Note, the Overground really is outside. It's where you and I live, with sky and birds and sunlight.

The plot twists and turns and I will admit it was hard, at times, to tell friend from foe, but then it got too caught up in court politics and I lost interest. And maybe even that isn't completely true, because I don't think I ever truly gained interest. Let me tell you something. 31 users on Goodreads have shelved this book as "Childrens > Middle Grade", while 51 users have shelved it as "Young Adult", and either way, it’s definitely too young for me. The stakes are high, true, but the author has a way of plucking our protagonist from trouble in the most Deus Ex Machina of ways ("and at that precise moment someone walked in"), to a point where I stop caring because I know she'll make it out, no matter what happens. Now, I understand this is probably what writers want to give a younger target audience, a little bit of hope, a little bit of "there's always a way out"... but I'm an older, slightly cynical reader, and it didn't work for me.

2. Characters
Our protagonist, Neverfell, is really young and hopeful and clumsy, and I can see why she's headlining this book. I couldn't empathise with her, though, because I kept snapping out of the story due to her jumbled thoughts. In a way, I felt like her "strangeness" and "craziness" were nothing but excuses to have Neverfell do these incredible deductions that make no sense in context, but are needed to move the plot along.

There are many other relevant characters, but I won’t get into them. What I will say, though, is that, in general, I didn't think there was much character development. The characters didn’t really grow throughout the book, except when the plot needed them to reveal themselves as hidden villains or allies – then, they’d sort of “snap” and become a different person altogether.

There is an honorable mention, though, for The Grand Steward of Caverna. In Frances Hardinge's own words, from her website, "the two halves of his brain take it in turn to sleep, so that one of them is always awake [...] one is cold, curt and does not suffer fools gladly, while the other is mute and unpredictable, communicating only in gestures". This, in my opinion, was all it took to create one of the most interesting, not to mention tragic, characters I've read in a while. It's bad enough when two halves of the brain work different shifts - it gets worse when they start thinking of each other as enemies.

3. Setting/worldbuilding
The setting is, by far, the best thing about this book. Hardinge explores various implications of the whole expressions-must-be-taught scenario, from the difficulties in everyday communication (you can’t tell what people are thinking, you’re never sure they’re not lying to you, you may not have the right face to portray what you’re feeling so you’ll have to approximate with an expression that may not be quite right) to the classist implications of not teaching the exploited workers any unhappy faces (since their expressions are all neutral, they’re unable to show anger or exhaustion, which in turn prompts the nobles to treat them as robots and push them further).

I also liked the magical side of Caverna – the underground city is very much part of the real world you and I live in, but you see, people have discovered some sort of magic that allows them to create True Delicacies. These include wines able to erase or recover memories, cheeses that bring visions of the future, and perfumes that influence social interactions. There is a whole range of magical artifacts that can be used to further the plot, and Hardinge makes use of all of them.

4. Writing style
I underlined maybe one passage, so style-wise, we can say I found this book unremarkable - but again, considering the target audience, I think it does the job just fine. The first half could have been shortened, though. As is, it’s too slow to build up, which then leaves only the second half to develop and wrap up the whole plot. A little more balance would have been great.

Long story short...
I did not dislike this book. It lacks the sharp edges and grey moralities that make me boost ratings around here, but it's not fair to demand that from a book that's somewhere between middle grade and YA. Were I a few years younger, perhaps ten years younger, I think I would have loved this – but alas, today, it will only get three stars.

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★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

The Melancholy Of Anatomy
Shelley Jackson
Ebook, aprox. 200 pages

Amusing, touching, and unsettling, The Melancholy Of Anatomy is that most wonderful of fictions, one that makes us see the world in an entirely new light. Here is the body turned inside out, its members set free, its humors released upon the world. Hearts bigger than planets devour light and warp the space around them; the city of London has a menstrual flow that gushes through its underground pipes; gobs of phlegm cement friendships and sexual relationships; and a floating fetus larger than a human becomes the new town pastor. In this debut story collection, Shelley Jackson rewrites our private passages, and translates the dumb show of the body into prose as gorgeous as it is unhygienic.

Why did I read this book? First, the title-cover combo did the job of getting my attention. Then, the blurb struck me as very experimental, perhaps even a little pretentious. I googled Shelley Jackson, found her novel Half Life, and realised she was probably the kind of writer my bookshelf would like to be friends with.

I was right. The Melancholy Of Anatomy might just be the most original book I've ever read. It's a short story collection, which opens with a short short piece titled Heart before splitting into four sections, according to the four temperaments: Choleric brings us Egg, Sperm, and Foetus; Melancholic delivers Cancer, Nerve, and Dildo; Phlegmatic is composed of Phlegm, Hair, and Sleep; and Sanguine closes the show with Blood, Milk, and Fat.

Style-wise, Jackson is just the kind of writer I like - her words are beautiful and intricate, but they never overpower her content. It would be easy to file something this experimental under the good old "style and no substance" category, but there's a moment in every single one of Jackson's stories where you just can't pretend you're reading mindless surrealism. I've read short stories by Haruki Murakami, and those, I had to make peace with - sometimes, they really don't make any sense. But Jackson's stories do. Foetuses float and cities menstruate, but the people who inhabit this world are very much like the people who inhabit our own - their struggles are our struggles, sometimes oversimplified, sometimes exaggerated. Sure, they obsess over eggs and fall in love with nerve bundles, but so do we. They exchange bodily fluids to ascertain relationships, so do we. They try to keep their houses and cities squeaky clean, sterile, so do we. They battle blood and fat and their own organic fluids. So do we.

Coming as no surprise, considering the references I just made, my favorite stories of the bunch were Nerve and Blood, which were incredibly bittersweet, and tremendously well thought out, respectively. Besides those, Heart, Foetus, Cancer, and Fat will stay with me for a really, really long time. There was just one little thing I could have lived without, and that was Phlegm. A reviewer on Goodreads stated she "could not read [it] all the way through because it made [her] want to cry and die", and I have to agree. I made it through the whole thing relatively unharmed, and I did find the human element of the story very good, but gods, why phlegm. Why.

I was fully convinced, then and there, that Shelley Jackson doesn't give a damn about her reader's comfort, and I love her for it. This is a surreal, sometimes gross, sometimes shocking book. But it's also one of the most honest takes on the human condition (with all its strange fluids and organic mishaps) that I've ever read, and for that, it gets four stars. Probably five in three months, when I look back and realise I haven't stopped thinking about it. Go read it!

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★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Angelopolis
Danielle Trussoni
Ebook, aprox. 320 pages

A decade has passed since Verlaine saw Evangeline alight from the Brooklyn Bridge, the sight of her new wings a betrayal that haunts him still. Now an elite angel hunter for the Society of Angelology, he pursues his mission with single-minded devotion: to capture, imprison, and eliminate her kind.

But when Evangeline suddenly appears on a twilit Paris street, Verlaine finds her nature to be unlike any of the other creatures he so mercilessly pursues, casting him into a spiral of doubt and confusion that only grows when she is abducted before his eyes by a creature who has topped the society’s most-wanted list for more than a century. The ensuing chase drives Verlaine and his fellow angelologists from the shadows of the Eiffel Tower to the palaces of St. Petersburg and deep into the provinces of Siberia and the Black Sea coast, where the truth of Evangeline’s origins — as well as forces that could restore or annihilate them all—lie in wait.

Why did I read this book?
I am a bit of an angel fangirl, I have my own angel books to publish one day (hopefully) and I read Angelology back when it came out in 2010. I was... disappointed, to say the least, but alas, I have a slightly masochistic streak that makes me want to give bad books a second chance.

So, Angelology had quite a few flaws - three different POVs in three different timelines, a terrible love story, and a final twist that caught exactly no one by surprise. I was hoping Angelopolis would correct some of these flaws, and while it did... it also created some new, equally bad ones. Let me walk you through them.

1. Plot
From what I gather, this book has one main plot point and that is... Verlaine, who is now an angel hunter, needs/wants to find Evangeline. Why? Well, let’s see if I can explain it. Professionally, he needs to find her so he can kill her, but personally, he spends half the book yapping about how important she is to him even though they haven’t seen each other or communicated in any way in over ten years. Besides, let me remind you all that Angelology ended with Evangeline perched on a bridge opening her plot twisty angel wings, and Verlaine looking at her from below, in complete despair because that meant the end of their love story, even though they’d known each other for 48 hours.

I have a very big problem with this. Evangeline was the main character in the first book, so why was she only given 2-3 pages of “screentime” in this one? Why did the author decide to transform her just-turned-Nephilim (that's a human/angel hybrid, for the uninitiated) main character into a plot device to fuel Verlaine’s manpain? I would rather have read about Evangeline’s transformation. How does this woman cope with life as a Nephilim when the events of the first book have taught her to fear them above all else? How does she cope with becoming a monster, every inch like the monsters responsible for the eradication of her family? How does she learn to use her new powers? Is he self-taught? Does she make friends among the old Nephilim families? How does this transformation change her, as opposed to how does this transformation change the guy who fell for her in the first book? Personally, I found the POV change rather unsuccessful, simply because it kept a curtain between me and the things I truly wanted to know.

About the plot development itself... it was weak. I’ve told you about Verlaine’s goal, but that goal is nothing but an excuse to unveil conspiracies and historical secrets related to Fabergé eggs (hence the cover), John Dee’s hypothetical talks with angels, a pre-diluvian seed bank, and a Panopticon for angels. I love alternate interpretations of Biblical texts and Christan mythology, I really do, but if your goal is to write entertaining fiction, sometimes you need to know where to hold back the history and focus on the actual story.

2. Characters
I’ve mentioned that Angelology, this book’s predecessor, commited the grave mistake of telling three different stories in three different timelines – two of those timelines were much more interesting than the others, and it just so happened that the least interesting of all was the contemporary timeline, the one where Evangeline and Verlaine meet. Why? Well, because the characters couldn’t keep me interested.

So let me tell you, if the characters were bad in Angelology, you don’t want to hear about Angelopolis. Here, characters are nothing but names and physical descriptions – they sit around, they talk, sometimes they act, but they never really feel, and the same goes for me. It’s hard for me to stay interested in a book if I can’t connect with at least one of the characters, and these people were nothing but walking, talking textbooks. Their motivations, when not strictly professional, were a mystery to me – and let’s be honest, even if we assume their motivations were all strictly professional, who wants to read a book about people robotically doing their jobs?

3. Setting/worldbuilding
Now, if there's one thing Danielle Trussoni is good at, is creating ambiance. From dark alleys in Paris to antique shops in St. Petersburg, from barren landscapes seen through the windows of the trans-siberian to greenhouses in Bulgaria filled with nothing but pre-diluvian plants... when Danielle Trussoni writes it, I can imagine myself there. The problem is... well, ambiance doesn't sell books unless you're Angela Carter (and your characters have a personality).

Apart from that, my biggest setting-related complaint goes to the way the author has chosen to frame her Nephilim. Back in 2010, I described this setting as "Nephilim are real and live undercover in their big-ass NYC penthouses" and "they're obnoxiously rich and throw parties round the clock and are responsible for all the evil in the world". This is all fine and dandy, more than fine and dandy, but the problem, I think, is that Danielle Trussoni doesn't know where to stop - if, in the first book, the Nephilim were connected to everyone from Adolf Hitler to Karl Marx, and I thought that was over the top, now they're also connected to the whole Romanov dynasty and Coco Chanel. Oh, and Jesus was a Nephilim too. We've gone from "interesting take on historical details" to full on conspiracy theory.


By now you all probably know I am a hardcore defender of the entertainment value of shows like Ancient Aliens, so... skip this book, go watch Giorgio A. Tsoukalos and his pyramid theories instead.

4. Writing style
I do remember liking, perhaps even loving the writing style in Angelology, but sadly, I didn’t feel that same wow factor in this book. While I have complimented the author’s ability to create ambiance and describe a setting to create a mood, the rest of the writing was definitely lackluster. The dialogues were wooden and unnatural - though perhaps we can consider that an unfortunate consequence of having only academic-type characters infodumping around coffee tables -, and the biggest chunk of writing was dedicated to exposition as opposed to character development and, you know, actual action.

Long story short...
Angelopolis is a disappointment. It doesn't live up to its already flawed predecessor, and it tries really hard to pave the way for a hypothetical third installment where, I assume, all hell will break loose and Evangeline and Verlaine will lead opposing factions into battle. It gets two stars from me, and before you ask... yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I'll still read the third one.

I have a slightly masochistic streak that makes me want to give bad books a third chance.

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★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Pacific Rim: The Official Movie Novelization
Alex Irvine
Ebook, aprox. 270 pages

When legions of monstrous creatures, known as Kaiju, started rising from the sea, a war began that would take millions of lives and consume humanity's resources for years on end. To combat the giant Kaiju, a special type of weapon was devised: massive robots, called Jaegers, which are controlled simultaneously by two pilots whose minds are locked in a neural bridge. But even the Jaegers are proving nearly defenseless in the face of the relentless Kaiju.

On the verge of defeat, the forces defending mankind have no choice but to turn to two unlikely heroes-a washed up former pilot and an untested trainee - who are teamed to drive a legendary but seemingly obsolete Jaeger from the past. Together, they stand as mankind's last hope against the mounting apocalypse.

I know, I know, so many good books in the world and here I am reviewing a movie novelization, shame on me. Well, at least we all know who to blame.



And perhaps we should add Tacit Ronin to the list too, since it's my favorite Jaeger of all time. It's my inner bug enthusiast, I look at it and all I see is a massive praying mantis.



But anyway, to the book! I won't write an exhaustive review, because most of us have watched the movie and know all about the plot, the characters, and the worldbuilding - there's no use in repeating all of that! Now, I chose to read this novelization because Pacific Rim really did grow on me over the past year. If at first I was a little disappointed in the movie (not enough robots, I said over and over again, not enough robots), as soon as I rewatched it, I was dragged into the hype all over again. I just couldn't stop thinking about the nearly unlimited potential of this Jaeger/Kaiju concept. I might have read 90% of the Wiki in a couple of days. And then, because my thirst for knowledge and backstory was so strong, I decided to read the book. Aaaaaaand I was disappointed.

This book's main problem is the writing style. Raleigh Beckett acts as our POV character, and I'll be honest, he's quite entertaining and witty at first. There are lots of little side notes and in-jokes that make the book a lot of fun, even if you've just finished watching the movie. The problem is that... it doesn't last. After a few dozen pages, the book goes downhill, quickly turning into, to put it simply, a step-by-step description of the movie. I don't know what's the usual modus operandi for writing novelizations, but it seriously seems like the author sat in a movie theatre, watched Pacific Rim, and described everything he saw on the screen. Then, to make people pay for the book, he scattered about a few extra tidbits. Profit!

The implications of this are really bad. You see, I don't like using the old show/tell comparison, because I don't think it holds all the time, but I'll have to use it here - this book is nothing but tell. There's no emotion. The characters have no inner lives. There are no risks, no challenges, and there's no causality from one action to the other. Imagine Striker Eureka punching a Kaiju on screen. The book will say "Striker Eureka punched a Kaiju". It's just... not good enough. Oh, and there's no character development either.

The other big problem here is that the book has no structure. It doesn't even look like something that's been planned - the author jumps from major scene to major scene without bothering to set things up or pad the events. One minute two Jaegers have been lost, next minute we're running all the way to the Breach with a bomb strapped to Striker's back. About the aforementioned tidbits of extra information, I'd just like to say... I wanted to learn more about the side characters (Tendo Choi, the Wei triplets, the Kaidanovskys, maybe even Pentecost?), but the extra info I did get arrived in the shape of "official documents" and newspaper cut-outs. They were mostly worldbuilding extras, really - still interesting, but not quite what I had in mind.

Finally, I'd like to mention the ending. The ending was one of the best parts of Pacific Rim, for me. Why? Well, because the leads didn't kiss, of course! It was a welcome change, and I was really happy with it. Unfortunately, good things never last, and they actually did kiss in the book. I didn't deserve that.

So, let's conclude this. This novelization is not a good novelization, and I think it could have been. Pacific Rim is a movie that relies heavily on the visuals and little on the actual plot - Cherno Alpha taunting the enemy via banging its fists together, the boat sword, the way everyone in the theatre gasped when Otachi opened its wings.... these are moments you can't recreate half as effectively in a book, for obvious reasons, but that still doesn't mean there wasn't anything worth exploring in print. What about Raleigh's trauma after losing his brother, or Pentecost's health problems, or Mako's big damn moment where she finally got to pilot a Jaeger? How did these people feel, throughout the movie? The book could have delved deeper into the inner lives of the characters, instead of simply grazing the surface in a bland retelling of the movie. Besides, the extras really weren't worth it - so I'm giving this a two-star rating.

Now the question is... am I going to read the prequel comic? Probably. I'll most definitely buy the artbook, though.

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★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Witchcraft and Masculinities in Early Modern Europe
Alison Rowlands (Editor)
Ebook, aprox. 270 pages

Men and masculinities are still inadequately incorporated into the historiography of early modern witch trials, despite the fact that 20-25% of all accused ‘witches’ were male. This book redresses this imbalance by making men the focus of the gender analysis and also covers the issue of regional variation in the gendering of witch persecution.

Some of you may have heard about that TV show, American Horror Story: Coven. You may have noticed the uprising of girls in their 20s who really identified with the show and its characters, and chose it as a good way to tell the world... you know what, when I was younger, I wanted to be a witch too.



Now, I am one of these girls. And Coven was particularly valuable to me, because it proved that witches are still very much relevant - when I was younger, I'd watch Bewitched on TV, religiously, every single night. I'd watch Sabrina The Teenage Witch. I'd watch Charmed too, but at the time I think it was a little too grown-up for me. There were lots of witches on TV (and movies!) in the 90s. Remember The Craft? Practical Magic? Willow, from Buffy The Vampire Slayer? I grew up with these girls, these women, these witches, but all of a sudden... they vanished. And then Coven brought them back.








My mind immediately jumped into writing mode. I wanted to write my own witch story, and I had very particular ideas about what I wanted it to be - namely, I wanted it to include boys, not as warlocks or wizards... but as witches. Witches mixing herbs in the kitchen, witches dancing naked in the moonlight, witches petting black cats while a storm roars outside. Because you see, when fictional men get magical powers, they don't do any of these things (think The Covenant), and I want them to. I want to invite them into these stories, and I want to see how they play by the rules already in place. Do they accept them? Do they fight them? Do they try to make these environments about them? What happens when you take the century-old archetype of the witch - a woman, usually ambitious, who doesn't fit in, a little asocial, perhaps even full on antisocial, - and get a man to play the role?



That was my question, and lo and behold, I discovered this book - actually a collection of academic articles -, the title of which seemed quite useful to help me answer it. The use of "witchcraft and masculinities" immediately made me think of a book that would take on, not only the sex of the people tried as witches, but their gender, and the social roles associated with that gender.

Right on the first few pages, though, I realised this book had a very clear agenda - present an alternative to the feminist perspective, which states witch hunts were, to put it simply, a misogynistic institution. I don't see a problem with this in theory, but in practise, what happened was I ended up subjecting myself to 270 pages of historians bending over backwards to come up with explanations based on, to point out the most egregious article of the bunch, one case of a tried man.

Some affirmations were so ridiculous that I had to take note. Here's my favorite:

Contrary to their alleged special hatred of women, however, the witch-finders were, as most men of their age, neither misogynists nor philogynists.

Well, clearly they weren't philogynists, but can you really say they weren't... misogynists? Because I can't even say that about 21st century men. In my eyes, there's no redemption for a book that tackles an issue as gendered as witchcraft, acknowledges that the great majority of the accused (and tried, and condemned) were women, without presenting a reasonable explanation as to why, and then states this sort of thing. I have actually summarized the book for all interested, here:

Listen we know this society was pretty sexist, and we know men made all the decisions, and we know women were more vulnerable to this kind of social persecution, and we know it was widely believed that women, being the weaker sex, would be the Devil's first choices when it came to corrupting innocent human souls, BUT THE FACT THAT WOMEN MADE UP THE MAJORITY OF THE ACCUSED HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.

Long story short, I was really disappointed with this volume. For once, it feels very scattered - the articles focus on different places and times, and there is no apparent connection between them (if we exclude "male witches" and "nope nope nope no feminism here"). The book keeps telling me that, in some parts of Europe, men made up the majority of the accused witches, but it didn't actually made me understand why - a major flaw, since this seems to be the book's main argument for the insufficiency of the feminist perspective. Last, but not least, I didn't like the tone of a few of the articles - calling a woman a "whore" in academic texts, really? How about "prostitute", or "sex worker"?

I still want to read a good, academic book about male witches. But I'd prefer one that doesn't disregard thousands of dead women across Europe to ask but what about the men. I'd prefer one that explores the cases of accused male witches inside the framework of feminist theory, instead of one that uses them as evidence that said theory is biased and insufficient. Surely, the world can do better than that.

This particularly snarky review has been brought to you by Pure Unadulterated Anger. You are welcome. Let's go rewatch Charmed.

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NOTE: This book was provided by the publisher, through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review.



★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Waking Engine
David Edison
Ebook, aprox. 400 pages

Contrary to popular wisdom, death is not the end, nor is it a passage to some transcendent afterlife. Those who die merely awake as themselves on one of a million worlds, where they are fated to live until they die again, and wake up somewhere new. All are born only once, but die many times... until they come at last to the City Unspoken, where the gateway to True Death can be found.

Wayfarers and pilgrims are drawn to the City, which is home to murderous aristocrats, disguised gods and goddesses, a sadistic faerie princess, immortal prostitutes and queens, a captive angel, gangs of feral Death Boys and Charnel Girls... and one very confused New Yorker.

Late of Manhattan, Cooper finds himself in a City that is not what it once was. The gateway to True Death is failing, so that the City is becoming overrun by the Dying, who clot its byzantine streets and alleys... and a spreading madness threatens to engulf the entire metaverse.

Happy 2014, everyone! Sure, I am a little late, posting my first review on January 28, but I assure you I can explain.

Today, I bring you David Edison’s debut novel, The Waking Engine. I found this book on NetGalley, possibly two days after signing up, and the blurb made me really, really curious. I mean, people who keep dying only to wake up again in a whole new universe? A City where everybody comes to die after they've finished their joyride? And of course... Death Boys and Charnel Girls? If you know me, you'll know that's when I decided to request the book.

1. Plot
Cooper is not your average book protagonist. He’s gay, he’s overweight, and he’s dead. (this is where I give David Edison a respectful high five because YAY PROTAGONISTS THAT BREAK THE MOLD!) When he wakes up in the City Unspoken, with no idea of how he got there, he is immediately adopted by a grey-skinned man and a pink-haired woman, who seem to believe he is the solution to the overpopulation problem that plagues the City because the dying can no longer die. Of course, you and I know where this is going. Cooper, is of course, the good old Chosen One. In the span of a few days, he develops totally rad powers, including sensing people's fear in verbal form and traveling through some sort of anachronic faerie-powered internet, and in the end, he does what Chosen Ones usually do. Meh.

This is the main plot – and it’s pretty bland, compared to the subplots. Look above. Look at the blurb. See the murderous aristocrats? Sure, I know we see nobles killing each other in 90% of fantasy books... but not while they’re locked inside a glass dome, not over something as fickle as wearing the same dress two days in a row, and definitely not when none of them can actually die (since their souls are bound to their bodies). It’s inside the dome that we meet Purity Kloo, a noble girl desperate to find a way out – so desperate, indeed, that she spends a week slitting her own throat only to come back every single time.

Sure, a story about murderous teenage nobles dressed in the metaverse's equivalent of Lolita fashion wouldn't have appealed to the target audience that The Waking Engine is trying to attract, I suspect... but I had a lot of fun with Purity's subplot, and would have switched it for Cooper’s without so much as a second thought.

Final words about the plot: it's convoluted. I love the idea of the City Unspoken, but a setting that is part our world part every other world in existence demands time, and Edison doesn't cut the reader any slack before overwhelming them with references to greek mythology (Omphale, right, well played), the AIDS epidemic of the 80s, Cleopatra’s historical relevance, the wise advice of a beluga whale, and the literal ins-and-ours of a cyborg Queen.

2. Characters
As far as protagonists go, Cooper sure breaks a couple of molds, but it takes more than that to write a good character. It’s not just that he’s uninteresting, he’s not even very coherent – he speaks like an angry New Yorker ready to break a few noses, but his inner monologue is equal parts disoriented, skeptic, and terrified, and his actions are reactive at best. Sometimes I felt as if I was reading three different characters. And then, of course, he meets attractive men and his brain goes into full shutdown, which is both amusing and exasperating. Focus, sir!

About Purity (our other protagonist, sort of), I found her to be just the right balance between... well, what her name suggests her to be, and someone I wouldn’t want to cross on a bad day. She’s smart, she’s competent, she’s a bit of a wildcard, and she’s sexual without being sexualised. I could see her leading a girl gang, really.

I won’t write about every character, so let me just wrap this section by saying this book achieved something really, really good with its female characters. Here, women move most of the plot, making this book something I’d like to show all those male writers who say “they can’t write women”. Listen, here’s the secret: write more than one-two, and give them a personality of their own. Thank you, David Edison.

3. Setting/worldbuilding
I’ve already written a bit about my love for the City Unspoken as a concept, but now I’d like to present a complaint about the way it was written. For a place where people of all universes come to die, the City was a little overpopulated by humans, no? Even the architecture of the place was awfully familiar – taverns, shady boarding houses, classy bordellos, sex workers on every street corner. If your City is a repository of culture for every universe, why does it look like every dark medieval-ish city I’ve ever read? Surely beings from other universes have priorities other than food-sleep-sex, no? If not, I call lazy writing. It takes more than supernatural powers and skin of an unnatural color to create a different species.

Now to the good points: I loved the Apostery, a temple for dead religions. (what an idea!) I also found the different types of “prostitutes” very interesting – I mean, it’s terribly morbid to have someone body-bound accepting their own murder every day in exchange for money, but it’s a good idea that fits perfectly with the bigger picture. I could have lived with a little less “whores” and “sluts” every two paragraphs, though.

4. Writing style
As a general rule, I don’t complain too much about elaborate writing styles, because I like them. Here, though, I found the “style” really overwhelming – there were sentences I had to read over and over again, just to extract some meaning from their structure and the excess of strange, possibly universe-relevant but plot-irrelevant words.

Conclusion: the ideas behind this book are all very good, but the execution left quite a bit to be desired. The main-main character, Cooper, is easily the least interesting character in the book. The setting wasn’t as exhaustively explored as it should have been – or, in any case, as I wish it could have been. The writing style was a little too much for me. It’s not bad, in any way, but I can’t lie – it took me a month to get through it, and that simply doesn’t happen with books I like. So, it shall receive a two-star rating, and I’ll keep my fingers crossed for David Edison’s next book.

The Waking Engine will be released on February 11th. You can pre-order it from the publisher here, or through Amazon here.

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★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Platão e um Ornitorrinco Entram num Bar
Thomas Cathcart, Daniel Klein
Dom Quixote, aprox. 240 páginas

Platão e Um Ornitorrinco Entram Num Bar...é um livro para todos aqueles que não querem levar demasiado a sério as coisas sérias. Não precisa de saber muito de filosofia para desfrutar em pleno deste livro, pois está escrito ao estilo de Marx (Groucho, não Karl). Os autores, ambos licenciados em Filosofia por Harvard, tiveram o cuidado de não deixar nada de fora e, como tal, através deste divertido livro qualquer leitor compreenderá as grandes ideias da filosofia ocidental e fará uso delas da melhor forma possível: com humor. O livro provoca o riso, mas também deixa o leitor a pensar. É um autêntico curso intensivo em que se explica a filosofia através de uma série de anedotas e histórias cómicas

Este livro promove-se como um "divertido [...] curso intensivo", e ... bem, é exactamente isso. Do Existencialismo ao Feminismo, passando pela Epistemologia e pela Fenomenologia, há filosofia para todos, geralmente ilustrada com aquele tipo de piada que não se conta a ninguém cuja opinião se tenha em elevada consideração (quer dizer... a não ser que a intenção seja fazer um inimigo para a vida).

No geral, este livro foi um passeio bem-disposto pela arte de pensar (sobre pensar), e embora tivesse preferido que algumas secções fossem mais aprofundadas, sei que não posso exigir isso de um auto-denominado "curso intensivo". Assim, é um óptimo livro para filósofos principiantes, ou para aqueles que queiram revisitar o ensino secundário.

Ah, e finalmente, pontos de bónus para a apresentação do livro em si - da capa dura ao design interior das páginas, está mesmo, mesmo bonito.

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★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Selected Short Stories
Ann Somerville
Ebook, aprox. 90 pages

A collection of gay themed short stories ranging from the sad to the whimsical, serving as a wonderful introduction to Ann Somerville's writing. Erotic, naughty, or sweet, there will be something here to delight and amuse almost any reader who loves Somerville's work, or who enjoys good prose, strong characters, and stories just a little out of the ordinary.

Contains two stories with BDSM themes.

I know I keep telling this story, but earlier this year I got addicted to this Android game, Nun Attack: Run & Gun, and I needed diamonds to upgrade my Nuns. Fortunately, I noticed I could get a whole bunch of diamonds if only I spent 3€ in the Kobo Store... and this happened.

“This” is a book composed of six gay-themed short stories by Ann Somerville, one of them impossibly longer than the others – but that’s kind of the rule for collections, isn’t? Anyway. Having read The Surrogate, I kind of knew what to expect from Somerville, and I wasn’t disappointed (though I can’t say I was surprised, either). The autor’s writing style is simple and adequate to the stories she’s telling – straightforward in the more traditional stories (the first two and the last, where boy meets boy and physical contact ensues), and a little more elaborate in the others (Autumn Rains is very conceptual, Fire, Fire is almost a character study, and Going Away has a little something whimsical to it, as well).

The first two stories, Time Out and the shockingly named Tom and Sean (really? character names as title? and they’re not even special names or anything? I don’t know why but it’s kind of jarring), include BDSM, and I like how the author took the time to deal with safewords and aftercare and sub space. I mean, I read Fifty Shades Of Grey, it’s good to know there are writers out there doing it a little bit better than E.L. James.

The final story, The Gift of Giving is probably the one I remember the best, though I considered it a little... too convenient? It’s hard to explain. Conveniently reassuring, maybe. I've seen reviewers say it's an important story because it understands that love and sex are different things, and that may be true... but how much is that worth if you just know there's going to be sex eventually? It's like saying "hey I know the cookie and the cream and different things, but take the cookie now and stick around, I'll add the rest later". You're still getting both, with the added implication that you're just buying time with the first until you get the second. I don't know how I feel about that.

Conclusion: I didn’t realy have any favorites, mostly because none of the stories really struck me as special. It’s a small book, I read it in one swift session, and that’s all there is to it – there’s something to be said for somewhat well-written BDSM, but besides that, hey, take it or leave it.

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★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆

Encontro Magick seguido de A Boca do Inferno
Miguel Roza
Assírio e Alvim, aprox. 570 páginas

Uma novela policial de Fernando Pessoa e toda a correspondência que lhe deu origem, com o "mago", poeta e pintor inglês Aleister Crowley, além de outras personalidades do mundo esotérico tão caro a Fernando Pessoa. Compilações de rara iconografia da época, fac-símiles e notas elucidativas existentes no dossier Crowley-Pessoa, organizadas por um seu sobrinho.

O meu interesse por Fernando Pessoa é acidental, na melhor das hipóteses, e o mesmo se pode dizer para Aleister Crowley, mas a sua associação - por muito breve que tenha sido, e tendo culminado no falso suicídio de Crowley na Boca do Inferno - sempre que pareceu curiosa.

Ora bem, encontrei este livro na Bertrand há uns tempos, e ataquei. O livro está estruturado em duas partes: uma selecção de correspondência entre Pessoa e Crowley; e o rascunho da novela que Pessoa começou (mas nunca terminou) relativamente aos eventos passados na Boca do Inferno.

Os acontecimentos retratados, em si, são interessantes (é divertido ver o outro lado de Pessoa, com um ligeiro sentido de humor, e uma dose saudável de oportunismo), mas da parte de Miguel Roza, o autor, acho que faltou uma conclusão, algo que pontuasse o final do livro para que o leitor não virasse a página no fim da novela de Pessoa para encontrar apenas o índice. Da forma como o livro foi estruturado, sem essa hipotética conclusão, pareceu-me claro que o autor estava muito mais interessado no lado de Pessoa do que no lado de Crowley - e se é verdade que o fim da associação de ambos é o momento lógico para terminar o livro, também me pareceu que ficava tudo um pouco no ar. O que aconteceu a Crowley depois do seu falso suicídio? Quando é que ele reapareceu em público? Quais foram as consequências do embuste? Houve mais artigos jornalísticos sobre o assunto, tanto em Portugal como no estrangeiro?

Teria sido interessante obter essas informações - como o livro está, parece incompleto, já para não dizer ligeiramente "preguiçoso".

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★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

The Panopticon
Jenni Fagan
Ebook, aprox. 330 pages

Pa`nop´ti`con ( noun). A circular prison with cells so constructed that the prisoners can be observed at all times. Anais Hendricks, fifteen, is in the back of a police car, headed for the Panopticon, a home for chronic young offenders. She can't remember the events that led her here, but across town a policewoman lies in a coma and there is blood on Anais's school uniform. Smart, funny and fierce, Anais is a counter-culture outlaw, a bohemian philosopher in sailor shorts and a pillbox hat. She is also a child who has been let down, or worse, by just about every adult she has ever met. The residents of the Panopticon form intense bonds, heightened by their place on the periphery, and Anais finds herself part of an ad hoc family there. Much more suspicious are the social workers, especially Helen, who is about to leave her job for an elephant sanctuary in India but is determined to force Anais to confront the circumstances of her birth before she goes. Looking up at the watchtower that looms over the residents, Anais knows her fate: she is part of an experiment, she always was, it's a given, a liberty - a fact. And the experiment is closing in.

In language dazzling, energetic and pure, The Panopticon introduces us to a heartbreaking young heroine and an incredibly assured and outstanding new voice in fiction.

So... I have a Criminology degree, and Jeremy Bentham and his Panopticon are kind of a big deal. The first time I saw a picture of what the panopticon was supposed to look like, chills ran down my spine. A circular prison, with a central tower, from where the guards can look into every cell. Of course, they can’t watch every cell at the same time, but the prisoners can’t exactly guess when their turn will be – so they behave as if they’re being watched. Ultimately, the panopticon would be able to run solely on the prisoners’ belief that they are being watched – even if months went by without them ever seeing a guard.

This is what I wanted to read about when I started this book. This is what I got:

1. Plot
Judging by other reviews, I’m not alone when I say that I somehow expected this to take place in a dystopia – but I honestly don’t know where I got that idea, because there’s nothing clearly dystopian about the synopsis. Maybe it’s the panopticon itself. Maybe I’m still seeing it as some of manipulative experiment with no place in the real world.

But anyway, plot. This book is about Anais, a rebel (with or without a case, that’s your call) who is sent to the panopticon, “a home for chronic young offenders”, after leaving a policewoman in a coma. This is the inciting incident, and while it does come with its own set of questions – did she do it? if so, why? if not, then why is there blood on her clothes? why can’t she remember? is she lying? –, they are never really explored or resolved. Now, I could be bothered by this, but I’m not. This isn’t a murder mystery. This isn’t a thriller. This is the story of a girl struggling to find her way, with the full conscience that she hasn’t exactly begun with a head start. She gets into fights, she smokes, she uses drugs, she misses the biological mother she never met, and she misses the foster mother who taught her all about silk robes and fancy cigarettes. There’s so much to this character that I don’t feel a structured plot was really necessary.

The author thought the same way, choosing instead to guide the reader through the character’s life without paying much mind to literary conventions – there are lots of questions that never find an answer, but still the ending manages to bring some closure, and, dare I even say this, hope.

Finally, and because it’s always important to point out these things, I’d just like to warn everyone that the book delves into rape, self-harm, and prostitution, so... keep that in mind.

2. Characters
I have already written a little bit about Anais, so I will just add a couple of points here. At first, I didn’t think she was going to be a great protagonist (“is she just going to swear and complain aaaaaaall the way through?”), but she ended up growing on me, along with her infinite set of quirks and dreams. (and can we please refrain from saying the book has “lesbian undertones”, as if her attraction to her own gender is just a flight of fancy in an otherwise straight girl? Anais is probably bisexual, people, let’s not invalidate that)

About the rest of the cast, I confess the kids from the panopticon kind of blurred together for me. The exceptions were John, who I found really intriguing, especially because we never really got to know much about him, and Isla and Tash, who were just heartbreaking. I loved how their relationship was treated in-universe, not only as valid, but as the most important connection in their lives. Isla’s guilt over having accidentally passed HIV to her children, her self-harm as coping mechanism, Tash’s determination to raise enough money to rent them a flat by working as a prostitute... I wanted to wrap these girls in a blanket and give them the world on a silver platter.

I was also quite fond of Angus, by far the most understanding member of the panopticon staff, and I liked the way he was contrasted against the rest of the guards, nurses, policemen, and so on. The way the characters reacted to these figures of authority really does show that Jenni Fagan has some knowledge of child protection – sometimes a simple conversation will work better than a locked room, and it takes someone like Angus to understand that

3. Setting/worldbuilding
I started this review with my initial expectations for this book, and yes, most of them were related to the panopticon itself, as a building. The truth is, the panopticon in this book has very little to do with the panopticon as Jeremy Bentham envisioned it. The tower is still there, and so are the cells, but they have been turned into somewhat comfortable rooms, and there are doors the kids can close for privacy (not completely, but still). They are allowed to go out in the evenings, and if they behave properly they get a small allowance, as well.

I said this on Facebook, and I’ll say it again – Bentham must be kicking his glass case right about now, this is not his panopticon.

But there’s something interesting about this, though. Throughout the book, Anais talks about “the experiment”. We never really get to understand what it is, but we know it’s watching her. Maybe she’s paranoid, maybe she’s hallucinating again, but that feeling, that constant notion that one is being watched, observed, tested at all times... that is what the panopticon is about. So in a way, the title of this story fits more than the building it takes place in - because the panopticon, turns out, is everywhere.

Bentham must be sitting proud in his glass case.

4. Writing style
I don’t have a lot to say on this book’s writing style, except that I really wasn’t ready for the Scottish expressions. It took me a good forty-fifty pages to get used to them, but hey, I have only myself to blame for that.

Apart from that, I found the writing competent, and above all, adequate. No overindulgent, straight-out-of-the-dictionary prose here, sorry to say – though this doesn’t stop some passages from having a delightful air of surrealism to them. And can I just say that every time the flying cat was mentioned, I couldn’t hep but be reminded of The Master And Margarita? Strange. Behemoth wasn’t a flying cat, was he?

Anyway, let’s wrap this up. Jenni Fagan’s The Panopticon is a good book, and it managed to get me all teary-eyed on two different moments. A solid four-star rating, and I look forward to the author’s next novel. Read it, it'll be worth your time.

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★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

Say It Ain't So
J.C. Henderson
Ebook, aprox. 160 pages

A party, hosted by the enigmatic young playboy Thomas, will affect the lives of the many partygoers- including Paul, who comes to the party looking for an escape from his misery and hopefully, never have to face a single person there. But instead, he meets the lively and seductive Abby, who will take him through the party in such a way that changes his life forever.

Say It Ain't So is a tale of debauchery, the mysteries of physical attraction, and how personal pain can be the very thing that pulls us together, or tear us apart.

NOTE: This book was provided by the author in exchange for an honest review.

With that out of the way, I’d like to add that I chose to read this book because the premise reminded me of the French movie Les Rencontres d'Après Minuit. I haven’t watched said movie yet, so forgive me if the comparison doesn’t stand (it probably doesn’t, since the movie is about an orgy) but still, now you know.

1. Plot
Paul, a young man struggling with the loss of his best friend, is invited to what I assume must be the local party central. His plan (The Plan, capitalised) is to get drunk beyond all means so he can forget his woes, but halfway through the party he meets Abby, and it all goes downhill from there. There are a handful of named characters, and 99% of the action takes place inside Thomas’s house. That’s it.

From my reading, what I understand is that the author wanted to write a character study above all else, by putting his protagonist in a unfamiliar scenario and then throwing all sorts of strange events in his direction. Now, I’m all up for loosely plotted character studies, assuming they have well-constructed and compelling characters to keep them afloat (part of the reason why I organise my reviews in four categories, so they can balance each other out), but this book didn’t really work for me.

I’ll explain why in the section below.

2. Characters
I’m always willing to excuse weak characters if the plot is strong; likewise, I’m always willing to excuse a weak plot if the characters are strong. I say this almost as a joke, but if the character is interesting enough, I will happily read their grocery list and give it a five-star rating – I’m easy like that.

What happened here, I believe, was that this book demanded a certain degree of empathy between the reader and the main character, and I... I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything for Paul. He’s a young man who likes to drink, but doesn’t exactly love the whole crowded party scene. He tries really hard to act “manly” in front of Abby, but he’s more than willing to be his usually emotional self around Thomas and Rick. He’s really not the kind of character I enjoy spending time with, and that definitely made this read a loss less enjoyable than it could have been.

The supporting cast is even messier. About Abby, I find it funny that the author himself states that she doesn’t look like a “hipster” – which is almost ironic considering that the girl he has, in fact, written is a well-known trope in “hipster” media, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. As a character, Abby exists to be nonchalant about nudity, smoke thoughtful cigarettes, and ditch the main character for some other guy who’s “got more of what she’s looking for” (that’s a quote, by the way). What is she looking for? Who knows. She’s a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, it doesn’t matter. She’ll come and she’ll go, and the hero will feel heartbroken (our Paul here chose to call her a whore) but invigorated by the whole experience. It’s not new, it’s not surprising, it’s not even interesting anymore – and there was nothing I liked about this relationship.

Rick is another complicated case. He starts off as a nondescript bully, but by the end of the book he’s getting drunk with our main character and telling him about his past. Where does the change happen? Why does he grow into a different person in the span of a few hours? Who knows. I most certainly don’t.

Then Thomas. Thomas is described, in the blurb, as an “enigmatic young playboy”, and I won’t even pretend those three words weren’t responsible for much of my interest in this book. But then, lo and behold, Thomas isn’t that enigmatic after all. He’s yet another character we’ve seen before – the young, filthy rich kid who doesn’t quite know what to do with his life, so he spends his money on sex-drugs-and-rock-and-roll, hoping they’ll be enough to fill the void.

3. Setting/worldbuilding
Say It Ain’t So isn’t exactly varied in its settings. The story takes place inside Thomas’s mansion, and when the characters do step outside, it’s only for a couple of scenes (which would probably amount to minutes in-universe). Still, I like how the author has managed to portray the mansion as an entity, almost. There are hundreds of doors, some locked, some leading into futuristic bathrooms, some leading into dance halls, some leading into arcades and libraries. It’s vaguely disorienting, both for the main character and the reader, and I actually really enjoyed that.

4. Writing style
Let me just start by saying that I discovered this book in a Goodreads group, where it was listed as Literary Fiction. Now, I don’t know who decided to list it as such, but that’s beside the point. The point is that I started reading this with certain high expectations, no doubt reinforced by the cover (which is quite serious in tone) and the aforementioned categorization as Literary Fiction, so I wasn’t prepared to deal with... well, with what I actually found.

For starters, there are a few instances where the author momentarily forgets which tense he’s supposed to be using, resulting in passages written in half past, half present tense. Then, the way some of the sentences are structured feels extremely uncanny to me:

It was a luxurious bedroom if I’ve ever seen one; it had a television hanging from the ceiling that automatically came down when we entered the room, the entire ceiling was a mirror that reflected everything and the largest bed I’d ever seen in my life was in the far right corner.

And finally, I need to address the repetitions. Did we really need to read the word “ceiling” twice in the above passage? Probably not. But still I’d say the most obvious example was the repeated use of the expression “a bunch of” throughout the book. This isn’t something I’d usually notice, but it was simply too obvious – it’s not a pretty expression, it’s too casual, and it stands out every time it’s used.

So, time to wrap this up. I enjoyed the setting, had a few bones to pick with the writing, and thought the plot, being so thin, demanded stronger characters. All in all, it’s a solid two-star rating.

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★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Lovely Bones
Alice Sebold
Ebook, aprox. 320 páginas

Susie Salmon tem o olhar vivo e irrequieto dos seus catorze anos. Observa o desenrolar da vida: os colegas da escola, a família, o lento passar dos meses e das estações. Está tudo muito calmo, tudo parece muito acolhedor. Um único pormenor desmente tanta placidez: é que, de facto, Susie já morreu. Estranhamente, o céu parece-se muito com o recreio da escola, nem sequer faltam os baloiços. A pouco e pouco, Susie compreende que é o centro das atenções: os colegas comentam os rumores sobre o seu desaparecimento, a família ainda acredita que ela poderá ser encontrada, o assassino tenta esconder as pistas do seu crime...

Estou com pouco tempo e ainda menos paciência, pessoal, por isso perdoem-me, mas vamos saltar directamente para a opinião.

1. Plot
É ligeiramente complicado reduzir The Lovely Bones a um plot, porque no sentido “tradicional” da expressão, o livro não tem nenhum. A história acompanha Susie, uma jovem de 14 anos que chega ao céu depois de ter sido violada e assassinada. Lá de cima, ela observa a forma como o seu assassino se vai evadindo à polícia e como os seus amigos e familiares lidam com a sua ausência, e passa a adoptar uma posição de narradora – pois a verdadeira história continua a desenrolar-se cá em baixo, no nosso velhinho planeta Terra.

Portanto, para começar numa nota positiva, adorei esta pequena particularidade, em que a personagem “principal” é na verdade uma narradora não participante – os eventos descritos ocorrem devido à sua morte, mas ela não tem qualquer agência sobre eles durante 90% do livro. Foi uma boa ideia, e no geral, achei que foi bem conseguida. A autora desliza um pouco entre os pólos de omnisciência da personagem – em determinadas cenas sabe tudo o que as pessoas estão a pensar, noutras limita-se a imaginar sem fazer a menor ideia –, mas não é uma falha pela qual a vá massacrar, pois não influenciou minimamente a minha experiência de leitura.

O grande problema aqui é que de boas ideias está o inferno cheio, e Alice Sebold, para usar uma expressão tipicamente Portuguesa, teve mais olhos do que barriga. Na sua tentativa de explorar o luto de um bairro inteiro, acabou por introduzir demasiadas personagens, vendo-se depois obrigada a “fechar” todos os subplots um pouco apressadamente no final. A menos de 50 páginas do fim, lembro-me de ter comentado com a minha irmã “não consigo imaginar como é que ela vai resolver isto, não sei com que raio de final é que ela se vai sair”.

E perdoem-me os spoilers, mas por alguma razão, a autora achou que a melhor forma de terminar um livro sobre uma adolescente morta que dedica sete anos no céu a observar a família na Terra... é trazê-la de volta para fazer sexo com o rapaz que beijou quando tinha 14 anos. Só de si, isto já é absurdo, mas consegue ser pior – obviamente Susie, a nossa protagonista precisa de um corpo para poder dar largas à sua sexualidade, portanto o que é que faz? Possui o corpo de uma “amiga” que ela e o tal rapaz têm em comum, e usa o corpo dela. E deixem-me só mencionar que esta segunda rapariga é lésbica, e não tem grandes amigos além do rapaz em questão.

Portanto, imaginem comigo este belo momento. Susie usa o corpo da tal rapariga para fazer sexo, corre tudo muito bem e é um momento muito romântico, ou disso nos tenta convencer a autora... mas imaginem o lado da segunda rapariga, Ruth. Durante o período em que Susie ocupa o corpo dela, Ruth está no céu (como se tivesse sido feita uma troca entre as duas), não faz a mais pequena ideia do que está a acontecer ao seu corpo, e não tem forma de comunicar com Susie. Esta troca dura algumas horas, no fim das quais Susie regressa ao céu e Ruth regressa ao seu corpo. Ora, onde é que está o corpo de Ruth? Numa cama estranha, numa casa estranha, meio despido, enquanto um rapaz (já mencionei que era o seu único amigo?) toma banho na divisão ao lado. Momentos depois, ele sai, também meio despido, e informa-a de que acabaram de fazer sexo, várias vezes, até foi porreiro – e obviamente, Ruth não se lembra de nada.

Tirem um segundo para imaginar o horror desta situação, e depois olhem-me nos olhos e digam-me que isto não é uma violação. Nem quero ouvir-vos. É. Portanto... bom trabalho senhora Sebold, conseguiu começar com uma violação e acabar com outra. Só é mesmo pena a narrativa não reconhecer esta segunda por aquilo que efectivamente é.

2. Personagens
Já tenho lido várias opiniões em contrário, mas gostei bastante das personagens neste livro. É verdade que, em certa medida, são personagens-tipo e não primam pela originalidade, mas as suas reacções aos eventos descritos pareceram-me sempre realistas e “honestas”.

A minha personagem favorita foi sem dúvida Ruth, a rapariga mencionada acima, e embora também ela tenha sofrido um pouco às mãos dos estereótipos da autora (lésbica, feminista, lê Sylvia Plath, queixa-se alto e bom som que se sente oprimida pelo facto de a sociedade valorizar tanto a depilação), pareceu-me uma personagem com boas histórias para contar.

E só uma nota em relação ao meu comentário sobre estereótipos – não há nada de errado em ser lésbica, ser feminista, ler Sylvia Plath, ou ter umas quantas contas a ajustar com esta sociedade que gosta que tudo o que é mulher depile as pernas. Todas essas coisas são válidas. Só gostava de que não tivessem sido todas usadas na mesma personagem para a caracterizar como a rapariga silenciosa e associal que é “diferente” em todos os aspectos.

Além de Ruth, gostava também de ter acompanhado um pouco melhor o responsável pela violação/homicídio da nossa protagonista, só mesmo para compreender as suas motivações – o personagem continua a parecer realista na medida em que é um estereótipo de pedófilo/assassino que os leitores já conhecem, mas poderia ter sido mais aproveitado.

3. Setting/worldbuilding
O livro passa-se, na sua maioria, num típico bairro suburbano, e é fácil ter uma imagem mental do local a partir das descrições da autora. No que toca ao mundo “real”, não há muito a dizer; no que toca às secções do livro que se passam no céu, aí sim, acho que a autora perdeu algumas boas oportunidades de explorar um setting totalmente novo e que, para todos efeitos, não é comum noutros livros.

4. Estilo de escrita
Se vos disser que o livro parece escrito por uma adolescente de 14 anos com uma tendência para usar palavras grandes, vão ter perfeita noção do que estou a falar, não vão? Perfeito, porque é exactamente isso. Alice Sebold escreve num estilo adequado à história que está a contar, e embora as suas descrições tenham alguns momentos menos felizes, o livro não está de todo mal escrito.

Resumindo, estrutura interessante, personagens adequadas ao contexto, estilo e setting razoáveis, plot apressado com um final absolutamente desastroso. Ia dar três estrelas, mas com um final destes, não posso dar mais de duas.

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