kidnapped by gordon korman

gordon korman was one of my favourite authors when i was little. my favourite books were i want to go home, no coins please!, and his young-adult novels, don't care high and son of interflux.

kidnapped is a more recent novel. it lacks a lot of korman's trademark humour, but the writing is still quite solid. i'm happy to see that he is still writing. the story revolves around children aiden and meg falconer. meg has been kidnapped and her brother, aiden does everything he can to rescue her. it's a children's novel, so nothing too complex or philosophical, just lots of action, suspense, and excitement, which works just fine for me! pure entertainment.

Burning Down the House by Russell Wangersky

the subtitle to this book is fighting fires and losing myself. i bought the book after i heard an interview on cbc radio with the author. actually, it was two different interviews, months apart where mr. wangersky--now the editor of a st. john's nfld newspaper--talked about his career as a volunteer fire fighter. i was fascinated because i had wanted to be a firefighter, too at one time.

for me, i wanted to be a firefighter for the same reason that i wanted to be a doctor, later on. i like the crisis, doing something that really makes a difference--not like making pizzas or stocking grocery store shelves, or painting houses, or cleaning an apartment building--i want a job that really makes a difference. and being a firefighter is one of those jobs.

anyway, in burning down the house wangersky writes about how he started out, joined the volunteer fire department in wolfville, nova scotia as a rookie and eventually became deputy fire chief of a small volunteer department outside st. john's, newfoundland. he writes about how firefighting took over more and more of his life, until everything was overshadowed by this one thing--firefighting. really, i think it was the post-traumatic shock syndrome. it set in pretty early and he had no way to recognize it or deal with it and it kept getting worse and worse. by the time he was able to treat it, it was already too late--too late for his marriage, too late for a lot of things and he was permanently scarred. i think that this book is more about that than it is about firefighting and that the writing of the book served as a therapy for post traumatic shock syndrome.

my reaction to the book is complicated. i feel a great deal of sympathy for the man, but at the same time, i don't really relate all that much. for one thing, wangersky talks about how the other firefighters never talked about how they felt or about their experiences when dealing with traumatic events and situations. he felt that it was taboo to talk about his feelings with his fellow firefighters. when he came home, his wife didn't want to hear about it, didn't want him to talk about it. (i think that's incredibly insensitive of her, but he paints her as more of a victim ...) the reason i can't relate is that, i'm so socially inept and stupid that i wouldn't realize that talking about your feelings is taboo and i'd talk about them anyway. also, my wife is so awesome and wonderful that she would never not want to hear about it. she would be glad to listen to me and she would be thrilled that i had a job that was both fulfilling for me and helpful to other people. also, i think he was affected by the job more than i ever would be. if he saw a dead person, it would stick with him for a very long time, while i think i might get over it much more quickly (maybe it's just because i'm more self-centered). also, if he went into someone's burning house and saw really personal stuff, like their dirty laundry, or their underwear drawer, that would affect him quite strongly as well, where i don't think i would even clue in that that was something i wasn't supposed to see and that it could embarass someone.

anyways, i think it was a great book, good to read for anyone who is curious about post traumatic shock and that sort of thing... good to read for anyone, really. and extremely well written.

just some introspection

my two greatest fears are confrontation and disapproval.



i can't get myself to confront anyone about anything. someone might have killed my helplessly defenseless grandmother with a fire ax and i couldn't confront them, no matter how much i'd want to--i'd be paralyzed with fear. or, when someone confronts me--whether i deserve it or not--i freeze up. i like this quote from russel wangersky's book burning down the house:

i'm not good at confrontation. i choose hard silence over explanation, and while that can sometimes seem like the best route, a point arrives where suddenly, dramatically, it isn't. i know that point intimately now, the point where that path suddenly ends, and i also know that, once you've reached it, there's so much stuff piled up in the back of your head that you can't expect ever to come close to digging yourself out from under it.

i think that describes me perfectly when i'm in a personal argument. all i can say is "i'm sorry" over and over and over again. it's annoying. it's not what you want me to say. half the time it's not even sincere, it's "please, get through being angry at me so i can move on and pretend this never happened." the truth is, i really can't say anything. my mind can't come up with anything to say. i can't explain my actions, i can't reason or argue. the fear in my head blares like a giant "warning" alarm that dissolves everything into paralyzing panic.

when i was little, my mother yelling at me was worse punishment than the harshest spanking i've ever gotten. she might have been trying to figure out what i was thinking at the time or why i did what i did but all she could get out of me was feeble answers like, "i don't know," "maybe" whispered in a raspy tear-choked voice. my noncomunicativeness made her even more angry and i remember her, once shouting at me in her frustration with my silence, "you're playing with the devil's hand!" and i suddenly imagined taking a hand of cards from the devil's claws and playing them against my mother's cards. i was afraid of her and by the time my older brother moved away, i realized that i had grown to rely almost completely on him for my interaction with my mother. if i had a problem, i went to him and if it was necessary he interceded to my parents on my behalf ... i knew i could trust my brother because any confrontation we had would be resolved with our bare fists and that i could understand. i was never afraid of my brother's knuckles--or anyone else's. he outweighed me by thirty or forty pounds back then and would let the fight go until he had had just enough of it, then he'd pick me up and throw me on the ground and sit on me until i gave in, or he'd kick me in the stomache or groin and that would be that. so i could handle my brother's disapproval because it came in a way that i could understand and deal with. the handful of bruises i got from my brother were easier to handle ... and there was comfort in knowing that i could fairly hit back...

my failure to learn how to deal with disapproval and confrontation has handicapped my ability to relate with my wife. when we argue or fight or discuss, i get defensive far too easily, i find myself far too sensitive and the blaring alarm in my brain goes off as all dissolves into the panicked obsession with getting the disagreement or argument or discussion finished as soon as possible, i mumble "sorry" and that makes my wife angrier and more disapproving because it's not what she wants to hear and she knows i'm being insincere! i get frustrated with myself for my inability to deal with the situation and my panicked mind races, trying to find something to say that will pacify her and bring the confrontation closer to a solution but everything i grasp turns to smoke and disappears before i can say it. i badly want to tear myself away and run screaming off the roof of our building. i fantasize about landing ker-splat in the center of the intersection outside as cars come to a honking, screeching halt all around me... all the while my wife becomes more frustrated at my silence.

the truth is, i hate it almost as much as she does. i wish i could just yell right back. i'm not sure what it is that keeps me from yelling back. i have nothing to yell. and i don't really think i could inflict the kind of pain i experience when i'm being yelled at on another person. i'd sooner beat them with a shovel. i'd rather be beaten with a shovel or stabbed to death with a serving spoon than yelled at. (good thing i never joined the army...) i just can't seem to convince myself that it wouldn't hurt her quite as much as my silence does--even though she assures me repeatedly that it wouldn't. but that's an irrelevant point, because i still have nothing to say. i just wish every dispute could be resolved in a good old fashioned fifteen round boxing match. i wouldn't even mind if i got beat senseless every single time.i think that's the reason why i wanted to be a boxer when i was little. later i was embarassed to death when my dad caught me shadow boxing in my room. when my classmates found out in grade six that i wanted to be a boxer, they laughed and said: "there's no such category as super extra lightweight." i've put on a few pounds since then and when i get stressed, i still fantasize about putting on some gloves and taking some heavy hits. i can't think under pressure and i don't handle emotional stress very well. it doesn't take much strain before i start to crack.

i can't figure out why i think that people don't like me. maybe it's because i'm desperate for their approval and if i don't get it, i assume they disapprove while in reality, they're not thinking about me at all. i keep having to tell myself that they're not thinking about me at all. and i really don't care what they think, i don't really care that they don't like me ... i just don't talk to them. which makes them think that i don't like them. in reality, i think they're awesome people, i just have a hard time believing that i deserve their approval...

too much rambling.

The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan

i have mixed feelings about this book. first, i have to say that it was extremely well written. as far as fantasy novels go, it might be on par with tolkein's lord of the rings--for writing style anyway. there's lots of back story, history, and population. thematically, it's kind of murky and vague. there's a good and evil conflict going on, but we're not really sure why the evil is evil and why the good is good, if in fact the good really is good. i mean, the good guys are supposed to be good guys but nobody trusts them. there's also many factions all claiming to be the good guys, but they don't get along and nobody likes either of them and they both do things that are very far from good. they're just not as creepy as the bad guys. but, i guess that's par for the course when it comes to the fantasy genre and we probably find out more about all that in the later books.

the characters were kind of odd. i mean, overall, they're generally likeable, well written and decent but every once in a while they'll do something really weird and out of character just to make the story more suspenseful or to add drama or something. i don't like that. thankfully it doesn't happen too often and doesn't impact the novel too much. it's just kind of irritating when it does happen.

also, everyone in the book acknowledges that there is a creator. but they don't worship him or even discuss him beyond the brief mention that he exists. they seem to worship a giant magical seven-spoked loom in the sky. they say things like, "the wheel weaves what the wheel will." they get their magical power by touching some strings coming off this loom. all the creator ever did was create the world and the wheel and then lock up ba'alzamon into this giant magical box. (ba'alzamon is the supernatural evil devil kind of person. probably the equivalent of satan, except just plain scary.)

in conclusion, i can't really recommend this novel to everyone. at best it's ho-hum or meh. it's got plenty of suspense and it's fun to read but the ending is a bit of a downer and very vague ... i mean, where did all the stark detail that got me hooked in the first chapter go? it completely disappears at the end. that being said, i'll probably read the next book in the series, just because i'm curious how this thing ended up being twelve books long.

Hysteria Minute

to commemorate our love for the canada heritage minute (one minute infomercials about canadian history, also known as the historica minute), we've begun filming our own heritage minute infomercials. so far we have three posted on youtube.com. you can find them by searching "hysteria minute" from youtube. it's a tribute to overacting and melodrama ... also poor filmography, shoddy directing, and wanton plagiarism--i mean spoofing. not to mention the crapshoot editing job.

The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke

the thief lord was a delightful novel. it had all the right amounts of everything, suspense, romance, drama, action, adventure. fantastic. the characters were wonderful, funny, charming, irritating. there was a giant twist to the novel that really made it quite wonderful to me. definitely worth reading.

one thing this novel did extremely well was demonstrate the difference between childlikeness and childishness. to be childlike is to see the wonder in everything, to be simple and want only a few things: a place to sleep, some clothes, food, and a few comforts but more importantly someone to be loved and cared for by. the protagonists in this novel are children. they are simple, they see the world with a black and white sort of childlike pragmatism. their world is full of wonder--of course, it doesn't hurt that they live in venice. on the other hand, the antagonists are childish. some of these are children, but more often they are adults who are self-centered, stuck up, self-important, and arrogant.

scipio, the thief lord, is probably the most complex character. (spoiler warning!) his parents neglect him because they are too busy with more important things: business, money, ambition. he steals from them and uses the money to support the orphans and runaways he hides in his father's abandoned theatre. really, all he wants is to be loved and cared for but he finds neither love nor care from his parents. he feels like he's a pet to them: an interesting fixture to have in the house, one that can be trained to be entirely predictable and well behaved and will never be an inconvenience. his only friend at home is his cat but when the cat gets sick, his father won't even take the time out of his busy day to take the animal to the vet. scipio feels that his father is forever disappointed in him because he is not predictable, and refuses to be nothing more than a fixture. scipio's game of pretending to be the thief lord eventually shows itself to be nothing more than childishness and those who were fooled by his game feel betrayed by him. but in the end scipio learns the difference between childishness and childlikeness.

one of the antagonists is aunt esther hartlieb. she is entirely childish. she's selfish and self-absorbed. she wants a child who will look good on her, that's why she wants to adopt boniface and not prosper. to her, prosper would just ruin things. he's too fanciful, he's too old to be cute, and he has already learned too many bad habits. she seems to think that prosper's younger brother, boniface, who looks like a dear little angel with his blond hair and dimples, will make the perfect child because he looks so cute and he can be trained to behave himself, to act properly in front of her friends, like a pet dog and its repertoir of tricks: "ah, look how he eats with his knife and fork, without getting any spaghetti sauce on that crisp shirt." it turns out that boniface is nothing like that at all, but aunt esther's ambitions for him reveal her childishness. she even admits that she doesn't like children in general because they're unmanageable and don't care at all for what's really improtant. and what would be really important? well, apparently, that's business, money, and ambition. of course children don't care about those things! they haven't learned to be corrupt and jaded.

another character who demonstrates childlikeness is victor getz. victor works as a private detective. he likes his job mostly because he gets to dress up in different disguises. when he gets hired to hunt down prosper and boniface, he accepts the job because he needs the money. however, when he finds them, and realizes why they've run away from aunt esther, he decides to help them and all the other orphans and run aways that are hiding with them. throughout the novel, victor shows true childlikeness, whether its in his meek submission when the children kidnap him and tie him up and lock him in the bathroom for days or his childlike simplicity in the way he loves simple things like spitting off venice's many bridges. furthermore, despite being a cranky old man, he truly begins to love the children, not because they are cute or anything about what they look like or do but because of who they are. he loves them simply and completely.

i like the thief lord because it invites the reader to see the world with the simplicity of a child.

Inkspell by Cornelia Funke

so i finished reading inkspell by cornelia funke. it's the sequel to inkheart.

it was great, i really enjoyed reading it. i felt that the characters improved. for example, mortimer (or silvertongue) wasn't as annoying in this book, in fact, he was downright heroic. that's probably because he spent most of the novel either mortally wounded or locked in a dungeon. while he's locked up he morphs from silvertongue, the demure bookbinder into bluebird, the heroic robber-warrior, champion of the people. i liked that. i have a thing for heroic characters.

speaking of heroic characters, dustfinger becomes a more major character in this book. he's still a bit of a coward in an endearing sort of way but he grows much more heroic as the novel progresses and we get to meet his wife and daughter, which is great.

fenoglio took the prize for being the most annoying character. he developed a bit of an ego problem when he was transported to the inkworld. so instead of being a humble author like he was in inkheart he kind of thinks that he's some kind of god because he invented the characters and settings of inkworld. that gets annoying because he thinks that all his plans will turn out the way he plans them, even though they're very ill-conceived. when his plans don't work out, he throws petty tantrums. that's annoying.

cosimo is the second most annoying character. he's over confident, he doesn't take advice from anyone, and he makes very stupid and uninformed decisions that end tragically. that's kind of frustrating and annoying.

fortunately, those two characters are only minor. dustfinger takes a more major role in this novel, which i really liked, although he's not nearly as sad in this one. basta is less major, and that disappointed me. i wanted basta to be developed more, in fact, i wanted him to turn good but there's no sign of that happening in this book. so that was disappointing.

all told, the novel is fantastic, definitely worth the read! i'm looking forward to reading the third book now.