The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie Look I’m having a really hard time writing a summary for this and it’s Nanowrimo, so give me a break and if you want to know what the book is about, go here.

Joe Abercrombie does not write my favorite books, but he certainly writes some of the most fascinating. I actually read this for the first time while Justin Landon was doing his re-read over at Tor.com. A happy coincidence. And it was a great way to read such a layered and complex work. I could read it for myself, draw my own conclusions and then hop over to see what Justin had to say about this or that chapter. I’m not an avidly analytical reader so I was surprised and proud to see I actually picked up on a lot of the same themes he was so excited about.

Of those themes, one of my favorites was that of heroism. Abercrombie presents us with three possible heroes: the noble swordsman – literally, not morally; the barbarian – not as popular an archetype as the swordsman but still widely recognized; and the crippled torturer – who’s not on any list as far as I can tell. With two much celebrated archetypes readily available, why would we even notice the third? Well, the swordsman is a self-obsessed bastard, and the barbarian is practical, and well, let’s be honest, just a little boring. So the one we’re drawn to is the third. And despite the fact that he tortures people for a living and all his bitching and moaning (or maybe because of it, he does it so well, after all), Glokta is surprisingly sympathetic.

I’m having a hard time cataloguing Glokta’s disabilities because they’re so creative and so many. He was once a brilliant, arrogant swordsman himself. Then he went to war. The enemy’s torturers left him a different man. Now, I usually associate torture with excruciating pain that lasts as long as it takes to get someone to say what you want them to say. But Glokta’s torturers made sure that the pain they inflicted would last for the rest of his life. He’s missing half his teeth, he barely walks, he’s got some pretty significant nerve damage, and I’m not sure what’s wrong with his back, but let’s just say it’s worse than mine.

And despite all this he is competent. That’s Glokta’s superpower and it’s what makes him one of my favorite characters written. He falls perilously close to the Curmudgeon stereotype, bitterness infusing everything he thinks and says, but he still manages to be the best at what he does. And isn’t that just a fascinating twist. He’s good at inflicting pain because he knows it so well. He hates his own pain, hates the man he is, but he’s excellent at his job, and frankly, no one else will have him, so he keeps going. He’s stuck in this wonderfully perpetual cycle of self-loathing.

Which would be horrible and depressing if not for his inner commentary. Which is hysterical and pointed and can’t be described any better than that.

And here’s the sugar coated knife Abercrombie sticks us with (as if it’s not already buried deep). Glokta is feared by all. Granted some of that is probably similar to The Princess Bride’s “Dear God, what is that thing?” reaction. But most of it is due to the position Glokta holds. This ruined man, the cripple who can’t eat solid food or get out of bed without help, holds power that makes common men tremble. We’ll have to see what he does with it in the rest of the series.

So far this book sounds truly dark, but scattered amongst the grit there are gems like this: “You have to learn to love the small things in life, like a hot bath. You have to love the small things, when you’ve nothing else.” On the surface, just as depressing as the rest, but really, this is how I live my life. This ray of hope in a genre known as grim or dark fantasy (or as Justin says, Grimdark).

Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights by Liam Perrin

Usually, I do my own brief synopsis of the book I’m about to review, but I really don’t think I can introduce it better than Liam Perrin did himself. So, here’s a piece of the preface from Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights.

“Know that there were three kinds of tables there. The first was the Round Table. King Arthur was companion and lord of this one. The second table was called the Table of Errant Companions, those who went seeking adventure and waited to become companions of the Round Table. Those of the third table were those who never left court and did not go on quests or in search of adventures either because of illness or because they had not enough courage. These knights were called the less valued knights.”

Liam Perrin wrote a guest post over at Bookworm Blues for Sarah’s Special Needs in Strange Worlds series and the premise of his book intrigued me. Knights of lesser value? I am so there. I’ll admit I was hoping Perrin would concentrate more on the illness or the less courageous aspect of these knights. But in the book the less valued knights are placed at their table due to lack of skill or connections, not because of disability or cowardice. So already, I was a little disappointed.

Also, for how fast a read this was, it started slower than a 100 year old Galapagos tortoise. For instance, I’m a completionist, yet I had a hard time getting through the preface, the forward, and the introduction. If you need a preface, a forward, and an introduction before you even get to the first chapter, you’re starting your story in the wrong place. And that’s forgetting that once I got through all three thinly disguised prologues, I still wasn’t interested in the story until page 50. I especially wasn’t a fan of the four pages of backstory about the rock that fell from the bridge Thomas passed on his way to Camelot.

However, everything after page 50 was gold. After page 50, the brief forays into third person omniscient to explain an inanimate object’s feelings actually worked and were a hilarious addition to the story. The Sword of Remarkable Stench was my favorite character in the book, I loved Perrin's portrayal of Arthur, and the less valued knights might not have been what I was expecting but they were an extraordinarily fun bunch of misfits to get to know.

Also, I fell in love with the idea of a group of knights who were there, not to be flashy or go on quests, but to help Camelot run smoothly. They were there to serve and protect and support. Exactly what a knight should do first and foremost, I think. And I loved the connection Thomas made about Christ being a kind of lesser valued knight, since he taught love and service.

So in the end, I liked it. Perrin made me laugh a lot and that’s a big point in my book. It wasn’t about what I thought it would be about. There were no disabled characters or themes about weakness or injury or heroism. But it was about ordinary people becoming heroes because the day needs saving. And that’s kind of the same thing, isn’t it? Unlikely heroes come from everywhere. I’ll definitely be reading this to my kids someday, though I might skip the three prologues.

Izzy, willy-nilly by Cynthia Voigt When Izzy loses her leg in a car accident with a drunk driver, she feels like she’s lost her whole life. Her friends can’t relate to her, and her family doesn’t understand what she’s going through. But when another outcast reaches out in friendship, Izzy learns that, despite everything, she hasn’t lost herself.

Plot wise this book was a little slow. Not a lot happened. And yet, I loved it. I loved Izzy’s journey, her realizations. I loved the way she learned more about herself and her relationships with her family and friends through her trials than she ever had before. Sometimes it’s only through struggle that we can really know ourselves.

Cynthia Voigt did a fantastic job portraying Izzy. So many of her feelings and her reactions echoed my own. And Izzy is a teenager, only fifteen, so she’s already a mess of uncertainties and crises. She’s still trying to learn who she is and who she wants to be when the process is interrupted by tragedy.

That was one of the things that made Izzy feel so real. Her emotions were not simple or straightforward. Most of the time, she didn’t know what she felt or thought, and that’s so true of life. What goes on in our heads is not black and white. I loved the line: “I was wishing I could leave the table, because – because my being there, in the family, was making demands, and they were acting like I wanted to make them or had no right to make them.” Voigt puts words to a feeling I’ve never been able to properly express. How do I give voice to such a confusing mix of emotions? Even when people try to anticipate your needs and accommodate them, or try to do something nice for you, you still feel like you’re in the way. Even when they’re nice about it and you know it’s no trouble to them, you still feel like you’re an imposition. And being an imposition is not a comfortable feeling.

Although, Izzy was really good at hiding what was going on inside. When someone asks “How are you?”, it’s so much easier to say “I’m fine”, even when you’re breaking up inside and absolutely nothing is right. And that’s where someone like fellow outcast, Rosamunde, makes all the difference. You need someone to counteract both extremes. Someone who won’t pretend that nothing has changed but also won’t coddle you. My someone wasn’t as perfectly tactless as Rosamunde, but he was a lifeline. He knew and acknowledged that my life had changed, and at the same time, he was there beside me the whole way.

Also, I thought Voigt had some interesting things to say on how disability can change the nature of friendships. In reality, disability makes most people uncomfortable on some level. I know. I used to be one of them. Being uncomfortable isn’t a crime, but the real friends are the ones who stick around despite the awkwardness. The ones who try to make the effort, and who occasionally screw up and say the wrong thing. I’ve realized how blessed I was during my recovery to have the friends I did. And do. Thanks guys.

Embattled Hearts by J.M. Madden After returning from Iraq in a wheelchair, John is having trouble accepting his new limitations, especially since he has his eye on Shannon, the new receptionist at the agency. He suffers in silence, knowing he’s lost too much to be attractive to her. But John doesn’t know that Shannon has eyes of her own and is determined to prove he’s exactly the man she wants.

I came across The Embattled Road, prequel to Embattled Hearts, a couple weeks ago and fell in love with the premise. Unfortunately, I was disappointed by its execution. The novella felt like it had been slapped together and could have used a lot more editing before hitting shelves, but – and it’s a big but – it included the first chapter of Embattled Hearts. That one chapter convinced me I needed to give Madden one more chance.

In the end, I was glad I did.

I had a couple big problems with this book and by all rights they should have been big enough to ruin it for me. For example, I was really dissatisfied with John’s growth. I’m not a fan of characters who remain static through a book until three pages from the back cover they have some kind of huge turn around and suddenly they’ve solved their particular problem. I want to see change, I want to see them learning from their mistakes and maturing through the story. John just went in circles. One very, very, small circle.

Also, John’s emotional struggle with his disability seemed obvious and a little shallow. He worried about not being man enough for the woman he loved, not being able to come to her rescue. Completely understandable. These are feelings every disabled man would struggle with, I imagine. I’m not upset that Madden’s character felt something so cliché, I’m disappointed she didn’t explore anything deeper or more specific to John as a disabled veteran and the hero of the novel.

And yet…I loved this book. I really can’t explain it. I don’t know if it was the characters or the plot or even the writing. Maybe I fell in love with John despite his merry-go-round character arc. Maybe it was Shannon’s snark and the way she looked past John’s wheelchair to the man. I felt like the sex was more graphic than it needed to be, but I really liked that John’s sexuality was addressed and explored.

I guess I can’t figure out whether to recommend this one or not. I enjoyed it, but I recognize it had some issues. So, I don’t know. Don’t ask me!

Finn Finnegan by Darby Karchut Finn has been waiting his whole life to become one of the Tuatha De Danaan, magical warriors from Ireland charged with battling monsters called the Amandán, but when he begins his apprenticeship with Gideon Lir, things don't go exactly as he he'd dreamed they would. His master has a temper to match his own, and his not-so-pure bloodline gets in the way while they search for a legendary weapon that has the power to destroy the Amandán.

The problem with being lucky enough to read a book early is that when you finish it you realize there’s still three months before it actually hits shelves. And more importantly, an entire year before you can read the sequel. Impatience and irritation abound. Well, I did y’all a favor and waited to tell you how awesome Finn Finnegan is until you didn’t have to wait so long to read it. It comes out this March so go ahead and preorder a copy.

While I loved the characters and the premise, what made this book was the ending. I was so sure I had it all figured out about a quarter of the way in; smug and a little disappointed Darby couldn’t trick me… I should know better by now. Darby is particularly good at indulging your expectations until the last possible moment when she says “That’s cool, but what about this?” and you’re left with your jaw on the floor.

Another thing I always look forward to is the unique problems her characters face in the normal world. They have unearthly powers to draw on, but more often than not, those very powers earn them more problems than they solve. Finn and Gideon were no exception, and I can’t wait to see how they get out of their new set of complications in the next book. Oh, if only they could tell people why Finn keeps ending up so black and blue. But where would the challenge be in that?

I was a little worried that Finn Finnegan would be too similar to Griffin Rising given the importance of the master/apprentice relationship in both books. But Finn and Gideon had a completely different dynamic than Griffin and Basil. They still had a strong, loving bond but it was fascinating to see Finn and Gideon’s particularities.

All I can say is, write faster, Darby. Write faster.

Mary Lennox is a lonely girl who only becomes more lonely when her parents die of cholera and she’s sent to live in her uncle’s huge, foreboding manor. But it is there that she meets her cousin, Colin, a boy just as lonely and neglected as she. He has lived his whole life in bed, believing he is going to die. Together the two embark on a mission to find a secret garden, and in the process, find the love and care they’ve been missing their whole lives. My mom read this to me when I was a kid. At that point, I loved secrets and the idea that two ten year olds could coax a garden to life with no adult supervision was a thrilling one. I also really liked Mandy by Julie Andrews Edwards, a book about an orphan who finds an abandoned cottage and makes it her own. I guess I had a fascination for independence… and domestic chores. Not sure what that says about me. But now I’m grown up and certain things have happened to me, and when I picked this book up to read it again, I was drawn to the memory of Colin. I wanted to see what Frances Hodgson Burnett had to say about living with a disability (especially in 1911). Funny thing though, about three quarters of the way through I finally realized it’s not about living with a disability at all. It’s about the perception of disability and the perils of living too much in your own head with nothing but fear for company. It’s about the transformative powers of challenge and determination. It’s about redemption.

Colin’s illness is a direct result of the fears and misconceptions surrounding disability and infirmity in the world as a whole and Mistlethwaite Manor in particular. There’s nothing physically wrong with him. But his father is a hunchback (really just some severe scoliosis), and from his birth everyone around Colin assumed that he would be the same. The assumptions grew and multiplied until it was whispered that his back was weak, his legs were crooked, he was half-witted, and it was only a matter of time until he died. Even if all that were true, his ears worked just fine, so is it any wonder he believed all the horrible whispers, especially since no one ever bothered to say anything nice or positive to counteract them?

That is, until Mary shows up. I love the symmetry of Mary and Colin. It takes a sour, miserable little girl to shake a sour, miserable little boy out of the prison of his thoughts. It’s through Mary that we can see under the tantrums and the imperious demands to find and comfort the terrified boy underneath. Colin doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to wake up one day and find that his back has started to twist. But no one has ever bothered to give him something else to think about and hope for. Mary cuts though his despair with her own kind of harsh wisdom, giving him such simple childhood gifts like laughter and a belief in magic.

Normally, I’m not a fan of stories where a disabled character is healed (whether miraculously, magically, or through their own hard work), but since Colin’s disability was a product of fear and his unwillingness to test his own strength, his recovery was about something more than just slapping a pair of legs on a crippled boy as a reward. Colin’s healing was his redemption. He grew from a miserable, nasty child into a strong healthy boy determined to leave his “queerness” behind. He triumphed over his own mind, his fears, and his beliefs.

Colin’s recovery fit. But what bothered me at the end of the book was that his father’s return and their joyous reunion seemed to reinforce Colin’s belief that if only he were strong, if only he were well, then his father would love him. Archibald Craven’s feelings regarding his son aren’t very well defined. He wonders what he should feel when he visits the sleeping boy. And he only returns because of a vague feeling of happiness and the nagging of a local mother. In the Broadway version, it’s much clearer that Archie loves his son and only stays away because he’s been led to believe his presence would disturb Colin and make him more ill. Their reunion in the garden is bittersweet as they forgive past neglect and move into the future with hope and promise. However, I was very dissatisfied with the ending of the book. I wanted Archibald to be redeemed and Burnett obviously wanted us to believe he was but it just didn’t ring true to me. Too little, too late, Archie.

And not only does Archibald Craven’s love and care for his son seem to hinge on Colin’s new strength and ability, but also, Mary disappears. In remembering his son, Archibald is still forgetting the other young life dependent on him. Though given Mary’s independence and the lessons she’s learned, I think she’ll probably do just fine, even if her uncle can’t get his act together.

World War Z by Max Brooks Normally, I write a blurb or short synopsis of the book I’m reviewing; something like the back cover copy that hopefully tells you enough to know if you want to read it or not. However, World War Z was not a typical novel and as a result I’m having a hard time writing a typical blurb. It is written as “an oral history of the Zombie War” – a gathering of anecdotes from all kinds of people, in all kinds of places, with all kinds of stories. There is an overarching plot if you’re looking for it, but the magic of this book happens in the individual people and the snapshots of their experiences.

Tales of zombies are not new, with ancestors like HP Lovecraft and Mary Shelley, but Brooks tells this old tale with such a unique perspective you can’t help but read it as if for the first time. We look back on the entire incident from the finish line, focusing on details hardly ever seen in other zombie apocalypse stories. We see the first individual cases and a variety of responses. We see the gradual fall of society from all kinds of perspectives, and then we see society rebuilt. No angle was left unstudied. Politics, socioeconomics, psychology. Brooks took a really good look at these areas in today’s world, added zombies to the mix, and extrapolated what would happen next.

I loved this book if only for the perspectives and the amazing breadth and depth of the details, but scattered among the fifty plus anecdotes were a couple stories that really struck home for me. I am a nerd in a nerdy household. Josh and I have discussed zombie plans, usually with some humor and a sense of the ridiculous, but also with intelligence and forethought. And any time the apocalypse is brought up, whether it’s zombies or some other society-destroying event, I have this niggling little fear that all the disaster plans in the world wouldn’t be enough because I lack the single most important survival skill: the ability to run.

Brooks rides roughshod over that fear, creating several disabled characters who not only survive the zombie apocalypse but are realistic in their struggles and strengths. He highlights the tale of a blind Japanese man who retreats to the wilderness to keep from burdening his friends and relatives, to die dishonored and alone. Who instead, dispatches hundreds of zombies with a shovel and finds new meaning in his disability as the founder of a “Shield Society”.

Brooks also introduces us to Joe, a man who patrols his neighborhood from a wheelchair and scoffed when he encountered hesitance about his joining the Neighborhood Security Teams. “Hell-o! And what did she think we were facing anyway? It’s not like we had to chase them over fences and across backyards. They came to us. And if and when they did so, let’s just say, for the sake of argument, there was more than we could handle? Shit, if I couldn’t roll myself faster than a walking zombie, how could I have lasted this long?” I loved Joe’s voice, with his confidence in himself and his role, even through the breakdown and restructuring of society.

I’m waiting to see if the upcoming movie retains any of the unique and thought-provoking style of the book. So far, the trailers make it look like just another zombie movie. And that makes me sad, because World War Z was so much more than just another zombie story.

The Ship Who Sang by Anne McCaffrey Given her physical deformities and acute mind, Helva is chosen to become a “brainship”. She escapes the confines of a human body but there is still the matter of her human heart.

This is going on my shelf permanently since the last story in the book, “The Partnered Ship” kept me from meeting a deadline. Anne McCaffrey has been one of my favorites since I read Dragonsong in 8^th grade, and she continues to be a best-loved author to this day. But my Pern collection is just going to have to scoot over to make room for this one.

Helva was born with some staggering physical challenges. I couldn’t tell what her disabilities were supposed to be specifically, but McCaffrey’s vivid description paints a pretty hopeless picture for Helva. However, with the help of some futuristic technology, she becomes the “brain” of a spiffy new spaceship, achieving more power and more control than any human has. She goes from being an embarrassing drain on society to a huge asset with the universe (literally) at her fingertips. In fact, several times throughout the book, when someone expresses pity for her situation, she states that she likes herself just fine and she’d never trade her titanium hull for a real body. She even pities the fragile “brawns” who get hurt so easily.

Yet Helva learns that physical hurt is the least kind of pain the universe can dish out. Her body might be protected by an impenetrable shell but her heart and mind are just as vulnerable as those of her more fleshy counterparts. And like any character, Helva learns, changes, and grows from her experiences, becoming a stronger, better person than she started.

I was worried that because of Helva’s technology she would be too powerful to be interesting. She’s a ship; she can just run from trouble, right? She can just use her super sensors to sniff out trouble and stop it before it can advance the plot. But I was wrong. McCaffrey created a strong, powerful character, but she also put her in situations that tested her abilities realistically and in some unexpected ways. She can’t always pull out all the stops because she is limited by her human companions. And she still experiences prejudice and misunderstanding from the highly evolved world.

We even get to see Helva save the day without her phenomenal resources. As a result of the inattention of one mentally and emotionally abusive partner, Helva is stolen from her ship and her sensory and movement connections are disengaged so she can’t see, hear, or move. For the first time in her life she is truly disabled. Yet she withstands the sensory deprivation and tricks her captors into giving her enough control so she can save herself and the others trapped with her.

I found it interesting that while Helva would never trade her ship for a body – and while borrowing an alien body she even thinks “how limiting mobility is” – her goal through most of the book is to find a suitable partner. She may be impenetrable, well adjusted, and confident in herself and her abilities but she’s still lonely. She still longs for companionship. And in the end she finds her own kind of love – a partnership that’s beautiful and fulfilling even without the possibility of ever being able to hold her beloved.

Exploring the bounds of humanity is not a new concept in science fiction, but what a unique and stirring way to ask the questions “what makes us hurt?” “What makes us human?”  Well done, McCaffrey.

Hazel, the protagonist of John Green's The Fault in Our Stars, has been living with cancer for years. She goes through life knowing that death is just around the corner, stalking her patiently. I know I usually write about disabilities, but if dying of cancer isn't a disability, I don't know what is. Now, I wouldn't have said my difficulties are anything like those of someone diagnosed with cancer – I'm not dying of anything; aside from the bum legs, I'm pretty healthy – but I found a lot in this book and in Hazel as a character to relate to. Much of the story was wrapped around Hazel's favorite novel, and she talks about how she feels like the author knew exactly what she was feeling, sometimes even before she could find the words to express it. In many ways, that was how I felt about The Fault in Our Stars.

I watch John and Hank Green's videos on youtube and, holy crap, are they awesome. So, I have to admit, I was worried this book would be too smart for me, like the classics everyone else thinks are amazing while I'm sitting alone in the corner wondering what I'm missing (To Kill a Mockingbird and Catcher in the Rye, I'm talking about you. Don't worry, Dracula and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, you're fine). But Green's book ended up being my kind of smart. It was about making the best out of crappy circumstances. It was about finding humor where you could, and it was about living with pain. If you've read some of my other posts on living with a disability then you know my philosophy. You know how I try to find things to laugh at, things to take pride in, despite the pain. And Green seems to have hit that nail on it's admittedly narrow head.

And there were plenty of other details that I saw as reflections of my own life. At the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam, Hazel worries about holding up all the other tourists while she hauls her oxygen tank up the stairs. If I had a nickel for every time I've worried about the line forming behind me on stairs, my library would be a lot bigger.

She hates the empty words of encouragement everyone gives her, but when faced with someone else's pain, those same substance-less phrases find their way in her mouth. You'd think it would be easy, but it's horrible how hard it is to share comfort for your own kind of pain.

And Hazel knows what it's like to be asked “are you okay?” when you're obviously not. You say “I'm fine”, because it's simpler than “well, I'm dying of cancer, but besides that, everything's hunky-dory” or “well, I'm supposed to be getting married in three months and suddenly I can't walk down the aisle, but thanks for asking.” I've come far enough that now, when I answer “I'm fine”, I almost always mean it. But there was a time when that question stabbed me like a bread knife (huge and serrated) and all I could do was smile through the pain and hide the blood. And just like Hazel and her idolized author, Green has captured that exact feeling of maintaining two faces, one for yourself and one for the world.

I could keep going in the same vein, but the entire point of this blog is not to bore you, so I'll quit while I'm ahead. So after all that, I would like to say this was not on my favorites list – yes, it's a list, there are too many good books to pick just one favorite. I thought the dialogue was unreal, and not in a “hey man, that concert was totally unreal” kind of way. The main characters were way too grandiloquent and verbose. Existentially fraught basketball shots? Seriously, who talks like that? No one. Especially not teenagers. And let's not forget the protagonist is a dying teenager. A bit too depressing for me. A Nickolas Sparks fan I am not. However, I'm not going to deny that the book affected me. Deeply. (Deny? Good grief, who am I kidding. I just wrote an entire post on it.) My imaginary hat is off to John Green for the amazing and almost creepy, stalkerish way he's put my feelings on paper. So long as his other protagonists don't sound like pretentious Harvard professors, I'll definitely be checking out some of his other works.

So, random question: how many books do y'all think are on my favorites list? The person who guesses closest gets a prize: their choice of an excerpt from Cinderella, Robin Hood, or the brand new (translation: unedited) Beauty and the Beast. And for the cheaters out there, the list on my goodreads isn't complete, so tough luck.

Phantom Waltz by Catherine Anderson

After losing the ability to walk in a barrel racing accident, Bethany Coulter considers herself lucky just to be able to function as independently as she does. She has reconciled herself to never being able to ride or dance or date ever again. But when she meets Ryan Kendrick Bethany begins to hope that she can find love and happiness despite her disability.

I'll start by saying that I've found I'm more critical of books that feature disabilities similar to mine. I want them to be good. I'm invested in their success. So I expect more of them, like a teacher with their star pupil. Or like Scrooge standing over Bob Cratchit's desk with unreasonable expectations. I haven't decided which yet. That's why I was so excited to start this book. A heroine in a wheelchair? So up my alley that it's parked in my driveway and knocking on my door. Except... it wasn't. I think somehow it got the house next door.

Bethany Coulter has an incomplete spinal cord injury at L2. For those who aren't anatomy nerds, that means her spinal cord was damaged at the second lumbar vertebrae, the lowest portion of the spine. If the reference means anything, mine was at T9 (T for thoracic, the middle portion of the spine). One thing Anderson did right was provide a lot of specific details. What bothered me was that most of them seemed wrong for Bethany's injury level and the functionality she should have had. In my experience, L2 is a very low injury. In fact, they don't get much lower than that, which means she should have normal upper body strength and pretty good core balance. So why is she in a power chair? What was her occupational therapist thinking? Power chairs are great for those without the strength and balance to push a manual wheelchair, but they're huge and heavy and have to be recharged every night. It didn't make sense that Bethany used a power chair when a manual one would have served just fine. Unfortunately, this incongruity was present all through the book. Bethany was very clear about how she needed a dressing sling in order to get dressed, and what I can only describe as scaffolding, in order to go to the bathroom.

Now, I know that every injury is different, especially incomplete ones, and my experience is not the be all end all of SCIs. But from the information given, Bethany and I should have been very similar. I know I've never used a dressing sling (never even heard of one), and I don't even need to use the bars in the handicapped stalls to go to the bathroom. At most, I sometimes used a sliding board for particularly tricky transfers, but I eventually gave it away because I stopped needing it. I'd love to read about heroines with such low functionality, but if Anderson really wanted her protagonist to actually need all the equipment she uses, she should have made Bethany a quadriplegic, or at least have a much higher level injury. It would not have changed the story any, and the details would have been correct.

Aside from all that, I had a hard time liking Bethany as a character. She was always telling people about how she wanted to be independent, but she acted so helpless when she was in trouble that I had a hard time believing it. And she was always explaining how hard things were, or how she couldn't do something specific instead of trying to work around her limitations. She did manage some heroics (yay for crawling to save your man while a bear's on the loose!) but in the end it just didn't make up for her overall wimpiness. Maybe it was just that her philosophy was so different from mine. All I know is that I kept wanting to yell at her, “Go for it! You deserve better! Why can't you be with him? He built you a ramp for pity's sake. What better expression of love and commitment does a girl need besides a ramp?” But as usual, my cries went unheeded.

At the last, Bethany did learn that it's better to live your life to the full, accepting the risk that you might get hurt, than to live safe but unhappy in a box of your own making. As far as themes go, this is one I can definitely get behind. I want disabled characters to figure out how to continue doing the things they love instead of sitting around whining because that's what I want for myself. I wasn't an athletic person before my injury so I'm not missing a lot, but I can guarantee that one of these days I'll figure out adaptive sailing because I really want to sail again. Though it might have to wait until we live near some water. It's hard to sail in a desert.

Although I agree with this theme, I want to point out that I think finding a balance is equally important. I can fight to find ways to do the things I love while accepting there are other things that I will never do again. I'm perfectly capable of taking short hikes around the Rockies (so long as I'm okay with being in some pain afterward), but I will probably never climb a fourteener. I'm sure there are other people with disabilities out there who have, but to me, it's not so important. So I'm going to accept it and move on to the things that are.

Griffin Rising and Griffin's Fire by Darby Karchut Griffin has been struggling his whole life to become a guardian angel, but it isn't until Basil, an older angel, saves him from an abusive master that Griffin really feels he has a chance to succeed. Now Griffin must learn to trust Basil as his new mentor and gain control of his magic in order to pass his final trial and become a Terrae Angeli. But it won't be easy with a cute girl across the street to distract him and his old master out to sabotage his training.

Normally, I try to review books that have something to do with disabilities, but Griffin Rising and Griffin's Fire knocked my socks off, and I wanted to tell y'all about them before I went in search of my lost footwear.

I absolutely loved these books. Darby masterfully weaves strong themes like abuse, good vs evil, and healthy relationships with snarky wit and normal teen angst. Her style is light and fun and easy to read without losing any of its deeper meaning, creating a subtly compelling page turner that made me laugh out loud. I kept telling myself to slow down and savor it, but the books ended up in the bathroom with me a couple times because I couldn't put them down even to pee.

Griffin is a gripping character right out of the gate, with his abusive past and his drive to prove himself to Basil. But he isn't perfect. We watch him fail almost as much as we catch those brief glimpses of success. It's hard to have a character who is always trying to do the right thing manage to screw up so often, but Griffin pulls it off with stunning style, and always in a way that had me longing to back him up. Alas, I still have not figured out a way to reach through the pages of a book to claw an antagonists eyes out. When someone comes up with that technology I'll be the first in line.

One of the things that makes Darby's books stand out from every author in the YA crowd clamoring for attention is how she handles a boy's relationship with his role model. Too many teen books portray adults as stupid, clueless, or absent, relegated to roll-your-eyes clichés or conveniently pushed off stage while the teenagers whine that “no one understands them" - a guaranteed ploy to hook younger readers, but still a cheap one. Parents become a fixture, no more exciting or influential than the lamp by the couch. I'm not a parent, but as an adult, I resent this image that persists that I'm too stupid or too lazy to care about whatever problem the current set of teens is solving. Darby's portrayal of Griffin's healthy, trusting partnership with his mentor was less a breath of fresh air and more a gale force wind blowing the competition away. Basil was not only deeply intuitive but also actively present in Griffin's problems while still allowing the teenager the chance to be the hero. Basil is the light that contrasts the dark of the abuse Griffin suffered. He became exactly what Griffin needed to heal and grow as a character.

I felt like the antagonists in both books were a little weak, two-dimensional with no real motivation for opposing Griffin, but, boy, did I love to hate them. Also, I really wanted to see the resolution with Milton in Griffin's Fire, but that ended up happening “off screen”. A little disappointing. I was excited to see the brief nod to Darby's next series with the Tuatha de Danaan. Finn Finnegan comes out March 2013.

Griffin Rising and Griffin's Fire join a very short list of books that I couldn't wait to finish so I could turn back to the first page and read them again. I can't wait for Griffin's Storm, the third book in the Terrae Angeli series, to see Griffin grow even more.

Songs of the Earth by Elspeth Cooper When Gair, a Suvaeon knight-in-training, is accused of witchcraft, he is sure that his life is about to come to a fiery end as he's burned at the stake. But even as all hope seems lost, he is granted a reprieve by a mysterious benefactor. Branded a witch and exiled from the parish, Gair has no choice but to accept help from a man who seems to know more than Gair does about the magic that sings in his veins. Perhaps with his help Gair can learn to control it, harness it and use it to fight for his freedom and a life he never dreamed he'd have a chance to live.

I picked this book up because it is what sparked the Special Needs in Strange Worlds series over at Bookworm Blues. The discussion was excellent, and I really wanted to see how Elspeth Cooper had handled the subject of disability in fantasy.

Unfortunately, as a reader, this book didn't really work for me. I found it really hard to get into, and I had a couple problems with it along the way. I didn't feel like there was a clear goal for the protagonist. Gair is trying to get out of the parish because he has been banished but then what? It seemed like his entire purpose was to stay just ahead of the witchfinder, and I wanted more than that. I crave a hero with a goal I can root for. And Gair just didn't fit the bill. He was rather aimless and a bit dense at times. It took him a quarter of the book to figure out what I guessed in the first few pages. I can see making a reader feel smart, but not at the expense of the character.

And along with a goal-oriented hero, I want a bad guy to hide under the covers from. Again Songs of the Earth failed to deliver. The antagonist didn't even show up until the last few chapters of the book (he made an appearance once early on, but the meeting meant nothing to me because it didn't appear to mean anything to the characters at the time). And Cooper describes him simply as evil. With no motivation and no insight into his character, he ended up being about as scary as a milkmaid.

There was also something about Cooper's style that kept throwing me off. Things that I thought were momentous or interesting were glossed over or treated as ordinary. A new and amazing secret is revealed about Gair without the surrounding drama and fanfare that should have heralded it. Some dialogue tells me it's special, but the feelings of the character and the exposition tell me it's mundane. As a reader, I was confused. What was important and what wasn't? Was I missing something really subtle or was I just finding certain things anticlimactic? Hard to tell.

Putting all that aside (it's just opinion anyway, feel free to make your own) I did enjoy the story once I got into it. I'm a sucker for schools and students in my fiction. Especially if there's magic involved. Arrows of the Queen by Mercedes Lackey, Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce, Griffin Rising by Darby Karchut (more on Darby's book coming later). They all strike a tender cord in me and Songs of the Earth was no different. Once Gair reached Chapterhouse, that was where I got hooked, even if I disagreed with some of the choices he made there. I really like classes and teachers and ranks. Sigh. I miss school. Oh stop making that face, I already know I'm weird.

Given my own interests and the reasons I picked up this book, I wanted more discussion about the disabilities, but I think I've decided I really liked the way Cooper handled them. Ansel has severe arthritis, Aysha has a debilitating limp and Darin has diabetes, but these conditions have little bearing on the story. The weaknesses are just another facet of the characters. I'll admit that when I write about characters with disabilities I'm hoping to promote awareness. But Elspeth Cooper said that she had no agenda when creating Ansel, Aysha and Darin. The result is a deeper, more unique and believable character. Not that it's wrong to create a character for a specific purpose. It's just nice to see that people with disabilities can have a place as normal characters filling out and providing depth to a fantasy world.

So while this wasn't my favorite book ever, I think it did have some redeeming qualities. I'm wondering what will happen to Gair, and Ansel, and that healer from Astolan (whose name is escaping me and I don't have the book nearby, sorry). And just for that I'll probably pick up the sequel when it comes out.

Moonshine by Rob Thurman

Cal and Niko are back in New York after saving the world from the machinations of Cal's unpleasant relatives. With the Auphe out of the picture, Cal's biggest worries are having to work for his living and keeping his burgeoning love for cute, psychic George under wraps. He and Niko have started their own monster-ass-kicking business with occasional help from Robin Goodfellow and Promise Nottinger, Niko's vampiric love interest. One of their first jobs is an undercover gig with the werewolf mafia, but what seems at first to be a straightforward assignment quickly goes downhill. When George is kidnapped they realize that they're caught up in something far more sinister, and now Cal has to conquer his inner monster in order to rescue her. And if that isn't enough to keep this dynamic duo on their toes, it seems like the Auphe might not be as extinct as they thought.

Cal and Niko are as snarky and bad-ass as ever in this sequel to Nightlife. They might bear scars from their previous ordeal, but they're not letting a little emotional trauma get in their way. Fans of the first book will be glad to see the return of Robin Goodfellow and George, the psychic.

While I love the dynamic between the brothers, it was nice to see Cal operating on his own for a bit in this book. Niko wasn't always there to sweep him out of trouble and as a result we got to see Cal step up and hold his own against the baddies. He even got to do some brother rescuing himself.

Cal still struggles with his nature, but there are some new angles that bring out the depth of Cal's character. He knows he's not a monster – that was covered in the first book – but now he has to overcome some scary Auphe-like rage and emerging abilities that remind him of a time best left forgotten. I'm really impressed with how Rob Thurman has created this character that is so easy to love without shying away from the darker, grittier aspects of his being half monster. I especially liked that Moonshine begins a discussion about Cal's future with George and all the messy possibilities his dual-nature brings up. It definitely is something that would have been easy to glaze over, but Thurman doesn't pull her punches.

I would have liked to see more development of Promise as a character. To me she felt a little flat. She's introduced as a love interest for Niko in Nightlife but not a lot is said about their relationship or how it develops. This is all right at first because it rings true for the style of the book and Cal's limited viewpoint. She has a much more substantial role in Moonshine, but our knowledge of her doesn't really grow with that role. She was just there with very little explanation about her background or why she is with Niko at all. I feel like she could be really interesting if given a chance, but we don't know enough about her to tell. Her interactions with Cal were very promising, and I'm hoping that her character continues to expand throughout the rest of the series.

I'm a big fan of this series. The characters have really stuck with me, and I've enjoyed watching them grow – and occasionally backslide. If you want to find other great books, check out my shelves on Goodreads.

I've realized I'm rather behind. Rob Thurman just came out with the seventh book, Doubletake. I've read the whole series, but as you can see, I'm still reviewing the second one. I'd really like to give a timely review of the newest book, but I'm kind of a completionist, and I feel weird jumping ahead. So what do you think? Should I go ahead and skip to the newest book, or should I plug away and do them all eventually?

Theft of Swords by Michael J. Sullivan Royce and Hadrian can steal anything. Want the crown jewels from the capital? They'll get them for you. How about incriminating letters from a locked tower? Consider it done. So when the two men are contracted to steal a sword the night before a duel, they think it's just another job; an easy one at that. But instead of a sword, they find the King. Dead. Framed for the murder, Royce and Hadrian must discover the truth before they're executed for a crime they weren't even paid to commit. Their journey takes them to a secret prison and a mysterious, powerful man who has been locked away for a thousand years. What they learn from him shakes the very foundation of their beliefs and starts them on a path to thwart a conspiracy that began centuries before at the fall of the empire.

I loved this book (or books, since Theft of Swords actually combines the first two books Sullivan self-published, The Crown Conspiracy and Avempartha). Sullivan's style is simple and easy to read, while his characters and plots are wonderfully complex. This is epic fantasy at its best. Large sweeping themes, villains with hidden agendas, and characters that have you running to Barnes and Noble for the next installment (actually, running is out for me, so I sat on my couch and rushed it from Amazon).

Michael Sullivan is not Brent Weeks (author of The Night Angel trilogy). The themes he deals with are not nearly as gritty or dark. Royce and Hadrian are thieves, but their story focuses on the bonds of friendship and the overall goodness of their characters, rather than their illegal capers. The darkness in Royce's past creeps up behind him, threatening to pull him back, but again and again we see him choose friendship and the possibility of love.

Sullivan weaves his characters delicately yet deftly, laying down a framework and adding details as they are relevant. He respects his readers, trusting them to pick up the clues that reveal Hadrian and Royce as realistic, heroic, and flawed men. When we meet them in the first scene, they are being waylaid by a band of highwaymen. We know nothing about these two men, but by the end of the scene, it's obvious that they are thieves and they are very good at what they do. Sullivan hasn't told us any of this in words, but we see it in the way they turn the robbery around, giving the amateur bandits advice on how to do it better next time. We see it when they reveal their name, Riyria, and the bandits react with awe and respect, letting them go on their way with their purses and weapons intact.

Royce and Hadrian's individual characters are revealed the same way. At first glance, the brawny swordsman and slinky thief may seem like stereotypical archetypes, but through their actions and their painstakingly unveiled histories, you find they are so much more than what they appear to be on the surface.

There were several sections of description that I skimmed. This was my second read-through, and I remember being bogged down by them the first time as well. That isn't to say other people wouldn't find them fascinating or beautifully written. The places described really are incredible. But I'm the kind of reader that's more interested in characters and how they move through the plot. Lengthy paragraphs that paint pictures of the setting just don't to it for me. Call me a Philistine, but I'd rather be watching Hadrian's superior sword-work or listening for Royce's well-timed comments.

I like to talk about characters with disabilities and there is a really interesting one in Theft of Swords. Unfortunately, all I can say about him is that I'm breathlessly waiting to see more of him in later books. He is a secondary character without a lot of time in the spotlight. And most of the reason he is so interesting is because we know so little about him. The point of his character is to be mysterious. I don't think I can even reveal his disability since it's kind of a spoiler, and Sullivan does it so much better in just a few lines. This makes it hard to analyze him or his disability. Maybe I'll get a chance to talk more about him after I've finished the series.

If you're interested, Sullivan also writes a great blog where he talks about his rise through the author ranks and gives tips for aspiring writers. All in all, I think he has created a masterpiece, joining other names like Brandon Sanderson and Brent Weeks on my favorites shelf. Rise of Empire and Heir of Novron conclude The Riyria Revelations. Speaking of which, my brand, spanking new copy of Rise of Empire is sitting next to me right now, calling my name. “Kendra! Read me, Kendra!”

The Red Necklace by Sally Gardner Life has been straightforward for 14-year-old Yann Margoza. As a gypsy, he has the ability to read minds and throw his voice, and he uses these talents to put on magic shows with his mentor, Têtu. But when they encounter the sinister Count Kalliovski, Yann is caught up in events beyond his control and understanding. Têtu is shot and Sido, a nobleman's daughter, helps Yann escape. He and Sido meet for only a moment, but a connection is formed that will cross borders and span years. Yann manages to leave France just as the revolution begins to take its bloody toll, but he can't forget the beautiful girl he left behind. Years later, he is still thinking about her, and when he finds out that Count Kalliovski is using Sido for some nefarious purpose, Yann decides he must return to France to save her. As both the revolution and the past threaten to swallow him, Yann perseveres, knowing that he is Sido's only hope for freedom.

It was the cover of this book that caught my eye, but it was the premise that compelled me to take it home. I was intrigued and wanted to see how Gardner would weave magic into the horrors of the French Revolution and how her characters would navigate that bloody time in history.

The beginning was exciting with the introduction to Yann's character and the distant grumblings of revolution, and the end had a nice rising motion to it- I especially liked seeing Sido facing her own challenges. But what really kept me reading were several compelling mysteries that were introduced. I wanted to know more about Yann's origins, Sido's mother's death, and how Count Kalliovski fit into it all.

I thought this was a very interesting way to look at a certain period in history. The Red Necklace takes place at the beginning of the French Revolution and the facts are accurate, but this was definitely not a history book. The storming of the Bastille and the arrest of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were present, but we saw them as Sido saw them: distant events that only affected her superficially. The Revolution was an important piece of the story and a particularly striking setting, but it was not constantly in the spotlight. It was only brought to the reader's mind in small pieces as it brushed the lives of the characters and at the very end, where it played a significant part in the climax.

Several problems with this book kept me from really enjoying it. I had a really hard time getting into it. I wanted to like it, but it's written in a distant third person point of view that I found hard to relate to. For a long time, I didn't feel like I had any connection to the characters. And even though the beginning and end were exciting, the middle sagged. Years sped by between two paragraphs. Yann passed several milestones as a character, but they all happened offstage with just a bit of exposition to explain them. This made the book drag while I lost interest in both the characters and the story. However, I was surprised to find a lot that I related to in Sido's character. More on that here.

Also, Yann's fascination with Sido is what drives most of his decisions, yet I had no idea what he saw in her. They barely spoke a few words to each other through the entire book, but the reader is supposed to believe in this strange compelling love between them that smacks of Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps the fact that their attraction is described as 'strange' should explain away all doubt, but it just wasn't enough for me.

Overall, it seemed like a good book, but I was left feeling vaguely dissatisfied. I felt like it never lived up to its full potential. The Red Necklace is followed by The Silver Blade, but I'm not sure I'll bother reading the sequel.

The Way of Shadows by Brent Weeks The street rat Azoth wants nothing more than to live free from fear. He will never get that as a thief with an oppressive gang leader. So he seeks an apprenticeship with the most fearless man he knows of, the legendary assassin, Durzo Blint. But Blint isn't just a common assassin. He is a wetboy, a killer so deadly that even the underground leaders of the city aren't certain they can control him. He can teach Azoth to be just as fearless, just as deadly, but is the knowledge worth the price? Azoth thinks it is.

And so Azoth becomes Kylar Stern. He must master magic and murder, leaving behind everything he ever cared for, forsaking those who loved him. If he fails, he knows there is only one punishment. To stay alive he must kill. But no matter how good Kylar is at dealing out death, he can never be as heartless as a wetboy is supposed to be. When political intrigue endangers those Kylar secretly loves, he is forced to choose. He must choose between being the perfect wetboy and losing the respect of a loyal friend. Choose between killing his own master and saving the woman he has loved his entire life.

This book kept me up at night. Not only did I not want to put it down, but once I did I couldn't get the characters out of my head. The cast was incredibly compelling, with depths and twists that revealed startlingly realistic motivations.

The hero of the story is an aspiring assassin, and let's make this very clear: he kills people for a living. Yet there is never any doubt that Kylar is the “good” guy. We know him, we've grown up with him, and when his heart aches, ours ache with him. He faces choices that are both heart-wrenching and believable. And while Brent Weeks throws us for a loop every few pages, he is always true to his characters. I may not see a twist coming, but once it's there, I can't imagine it happening any other way. And I have a pretty good imagination.

Brent Weeks bravely slogs through poverty and prostitution, betrayal and assassination. Some may even say he goes too far, but for every gritty theme he weaves into his work, there is an answering call to light and honor. This story is about the darkness and violence that runs deep in humanity. It delves into the inherent evil of rape and murder. But above all it is a story of hope, of redemption, and finally of love. Weeks' surprising, yet appropriate, humor lights the way through some of the darker twists of the criminal mind.

Though the story is cohesive, I did have to reread bits in order to make sense of some of the convoluted politics. I thoroughly enjoy it when an author drops the reader into the middle of their world and expects them to be intelligent enough to pick up the clues that have been left, but I felt as though I was missing something for the first half of this book. Some of the early clues provided were a little too mysterious and the context to explain them came a little too late.

Overall this book was an incredible read, with a good amount of action as well as compelling relationships that developed over time. Brent Weeks used the darker themes of despair and murder to balance and highlight his message of hope. I flew through the last three hundred pages, breathlessly waiting for the hero's redemption, and I wasn't disappointed. I, personally, can't wait to get my hands on the next installment of the Night Angel Trilogy, Shadow's Edge.

Nightlife by Rob Thurman The world is full of monsters. Cal Leandros knows that intimately, seeing as he is half Grendel himself, and his less-than-human father has been chasing him for years. Cal has no idea what his dear old dad wants from him, but he sure as hell isn't sticking around to find out. He and his half-brother Niko are determined to stay free and one step ahead of all the nasties that are hunting them, even if it means running for the rest of their lives.

Now it seems like they haven't been running fast enough because the enemy is on their doorstep, ready to make Cal into an unwilling tool in their bloody world-domination. With Cal's own dual-nature making things difficult and all his monstrous relatives arrayed against them, the fate of the world seems bleak. Niko may be one bad-ass big brother, but these odds might make even him pause, and hesitation at this point would be deadly for everyone.

This book was so much fun to read with its snarky main character and his monster-butt-kicking older brother. Breathtaking fight scenes are liberally interspersed with snappy dialogue and even snappier internal monologue.

Kudos to Rob Thurman, who is a woman by the way, for coming out with such an authentically male voice in a genre filled with female protagonists. Nightlife is not a paranormal romance, not anywhere close. It is a dark, action-packed, urban fantasy. But the jewel that shines through this darkness is the narrator. Compelling just isn't a big enough word for Cal's gritty voice and the attitude that drips from every one of his lines. He's the kind of character that doesn't just leap off the page, he rummages through your fridge and settles himself on your couch with his feet on the coffee table.

Cal by himself is great, but Cal's interaction with Niko, and eventually with Robin Goodfellow, just brings the characterization in this book to a whole new level. Robin, who is the original, lusty Puck from Shakespearean legend, provides a comical foil to the two brothers, and the dynamic between them had me laughing frequently. In contrast, the very real, very intense relationship between Cal and Niko made their love and their pain bittersweet and tangible.

While the characters were the ones to really carry this book- heck, they hefted it over their shoulders and ran with it- the plot was nothing to scoff at either. Hilarious and heart-wrenching in turns, it kept me reading long past my bedtime. And it shines consistently through multiple readings. The second time around, I knew what was going to happen, I knew where the twists were, and I still found myself holding my breath.

One of those twists was even more poignant for the extra scrutiny. It isn't unusual in fantasy to see possessions or brainwashings, but generally the reader gets to sit outside with the loved ones of the affected, watching the results with omnipotent anguish. Without giving anything away, I think I can safely say that it was a unique and chilling experience being inside Cal's head for the last half of this book.

Some confusing sentence structure and tricky paragraphing did have me re-reading sections for clarity. My only other complaint about this book was that it wasn't long enough, and I was left wanting more. And lucky for me there is more. Nightlife is followed by Moonshine and it doesn't look like the Leandros brothers are calling it quits anytime soon.