The inconsistent, contradictory ramblings of Scarlett the Harlot

I have a lofty goal. That goal is to read 100 books in one year. For those of you doing the math, that means I have roughly four days a book. With a little overlap, sure. Now me, I'm notorious for starting a book, seeing a squirrel or something, getting distracted and putting it down for a few weeks. Then I'll pick it up three months, weeks days later and finish it off. So this goal is more than a little lofty. Actually, it might be too big for my britches, so to speak.

That's why the first book I picked up was easy. Granted, I didn't know it was easy when I picked it up. I picked it up because It's Now A Major Motion Picture. And I have a girl crush soft spot for Ellen Page and roller derby looks badass, so I figured the book had to be awesome, right? Actually, I wasn't far off. I polished off Whip It by Shauna Cross in a day-and-a-half, which is well within my four day goal, and given that I'm ALSO doing NaNo this month (I'm an overachiever--okay, fine, I'm stupid) it was totally a blessing in disguise.

( But don't be fooled because it was a quick read, kids. )







The Endeavor: Book 1

Every now and again I pick up a book specifically because somebody recommended it to me. I don't just mean I pick it up from the book store, I mean, I go to amazon, I add it to the shopping cart, I read the synopsis, and it looks so good that not only do I order it, but I overnight it because it looks so compelling. Such was the case with Sarah Waters' Fingersmith.



Did you know if you're only overnighting one book, the overnight fee from amazon will probably be double the cost of the book, if said book is a paperback? True story.

( Not that I regret it, it's just something to note. )

I have a morbid fascination with the grotesque. Not the really grotesque stuff that I could find on the internet. I never fell for the "two girls, one cup" links floating around, and I never felt the need to look up sex with goats or anything, but I do find myself reading things that most of the people in my alto-liberal-hippie college would have sneered at.

I like Eli Roth, I laugh at dead baby jokes, and I watch Southpark fairly unironically. But I also subscribe to Bitch and Bust magazines, I live for etsy.com, and I despise the The Hills. I don't consider myself a hipster, but I'm self aware enough to know that if I looked more like a hipster I'd probably be more likely to go that way.

So I picked up The Average American Male by Chad Kultgen with more than a little ambivalence. I mean, on the one hand, of course it's something I would read. On the other hand of course it isn't. This is the first cover quote (and the one that sold me): "I can't figure out if this book is a heartfelt dispatch from the front line in the battle of the sexes or a brilliant send-up of the way the male point of view has been misrepresented by militant feminists. I suspect it may be both."

When I was a kid I used to put on this turquoise dressing gown from the seventies (it had ruffles at the cuffs, collar and the hem and because I was nine it trailed behind me like a train of awesome) and sit in my rocking chair three feet from the television and watch musicals. I thought that turquoise dressing gown, coupled with a ruffly top/high-cut-shorts combo teddy thing made me look tres chic and beyond sexy. In retrospect I think I looked like a twee Ms. Hannigan from Annie.

Anyway, I would sit and watch these stories and rock and rock and rock and transport myself to another place. I would say the lines of the character I wanted to be, sing songs with her, and completely rewrite the story in my head so it wasn't so saccharine and Broadway-ish. I would imagine the main characters and wonder what happened to them when the camera panned away. When the audience wasn't watching.

Did Anna and the King have an illicit affair? 

Did Maria find out about the Captain's hidden kink? I mean really, there had to be a reason why he was so attached to that whistle.

I drove myself crazy with these thoughts. And then there was fanfiction.

One of the things I love about this new fiction genre, Fiction Retold, is it's basically Publisher sanctioned fanfiction. I mean, nobody ever tries to rewrite the novel of somebody still living (except maybe the continuation of the Godfather series) but you end up with things like Mr. Darcy's Daughters and Wicked and God knows what else.

And while they're cool, they never really recapture my wild childhood thoughts because they're just continuing the same story, aren't they? 

Enter Eileen Favorite's The Heroines.



( Onto the review, but really how awesome a name is Favorite? )

I think that if pressed, or even asked nicely, every fat girl (and guy) has at least one story to tell where the outside world has made them feel like complete and utter shit for even existing. We're the side kicks. The comic relief. We're a-sexual fashion accessories for skinny friends, like the Gay-Boy Best Friend ™ or the Sassy Friend of Color ™ who dispenses sage advice and the occasional bitch slap where appropriate. Incidentally, any and all of these stereotypes can bleed into one another depending on the time, setting, and dress code. 

Personally I can tell you I've had family members (who were, ironically just as large or larger than I was) tell me to stop eating because the food would go straight to my ass, I've had strangers off the street ask me if I'd ever considered Weight Watchers, I've felt rage at the fashion industry, and I've had to wear my grandmother's clothes in the sixth grade because that was the only thing that would fit me. So I'm a little aware of America's diet-centric culture and exactly how it relates to me specifically for good or evil.

Now, some would say that we in America are obsessed with our Causes. We've got civil rights, womans' rights, gay rights, and we've also got the fat acceptance movement, although I'm only just now hearing about it and I'll bet you probably haven't seen it blaring on your television either. Apparently it's been around since the 1960's. But in our thin-obsessed culture is it any wonder that CNN isn't wanting to have it's leaders talk about their beliefs? Of course not, CNN is too busy pushing the obesity epidemic.

Obviously I'm still a little bitter.

Okay, so by chance I stumbled upon this great community called fatshionista a few months ago. They're obivously big believers in fat acceptence. Through that community I heard about awesome bloggers Marianne Kirby and Kate Harding. Now Marianne and Kate have written a book.



( Dude, check it out, I finished a non-fiction book! )

And it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye. ~Miss Piggy


Here's the thing: unlike most women of my generation I didn't like Sex and the City. I was sortof offended by He's Just Not That Into You''s message of "just be a bitch and you'll get a guy", somehow hidden in the mantra "don't waste the pretty". So color me a little biased when my new book club that I just joined a week ago (and had three days to read their chosen book) told me their assigned book was How to be Single by Liz Tuccillo, an editor of Sex and the City and co-writer of He's Just Not That Into You.

To quote Carrie, "There is a God. And he's got a wicked sense of humor." 



( Self-help book it ain't. )

I have a  new obsession. It's this great little blog by two girls who embrace their love of the romance novel. They write really intelligent, spot on reviews and I've yet to pick up a book that they gave a grade of "B" or higher and not been impressed.

On the flipside, when they dis a book that's also usually completely spot on and the two books (so far) that I've read because they said they sucked are so horrible that it borders on the laughable.

Case in point, Maverick by Lora Leigh. Sarah got maybe fifty pages into it and quite because it was so bad. I didn't believe ANY book could be that bad, so I bought it. And I just finished it. And I gotta tell ya--she was right. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know there are a LOT of horrible romance novels, but I've never read a published work (with the notable exception of anything written by Stephanie Meyers) that read like bad fanfiction.

Until I read Maverick by Lora Leigh. Lora Leigh is apparently a very prolific writer who's been published numerous times before this. Also, apparently her books are like crack to some people. And yet certain passages of this book were so horrendously, awesomely shit-tastic that I had to put the book down and laugh in stunned disbelief (and actual mirth at the unintentional humor) before I could pick it back up again.

Now, a wise man on the interwebs once said that a book shouldn't be judged by how "good" it is, but by how it makes you feel. So in all fairness it couldn't have been that bad because I did keep reading it and it did make my stomach do the jumpsies in a few places, but make no mistake--it was poorly written, it used every bad romance cliche out there, and quite a few stereotypes to boot. 

So rather than write a regular review, I'm writing a helpful Top Ten for anyone interested in writing a decent piece of romantic fiction so hopefully they can learn from Miss Leigh's mistakes and this tripe will never be recreated in fiction again.

( Scarlett the Harlot's Top Ten List of Crap to Stay Away From )</div>

I have an obsession with authors that are willing to write about things that make "normal, regular people" squirm. Same with movies and television. There's something about a work of fiction or art or music that makes you stop and think. Or stop and question. A while back I had my aura read and the lady that did the reading told me that my purpose in life was to "ask the hard questions" and "make other people think". Which is all well and good, but it also means that I've a serious penchant for finding the dark side of humanity.

That's not to say I want to live in the seedy underbelly, but I'm certainly going to point it out when I see it.

Enter Towelhead by Alicia Erian.



( The Babysitter's Club it ain't )

When I was seven-years-old  I watched the movie Anastasia starring Ingrid Bergman and Yul Brynner on TCM for the first time. I discovered three things, one, my absolute adoration for Yul Brynner, two, a love of old movies that will probably never go away, and three, a fascination with Russia that defies reason.

Ever since then I've pretty much devoured anything that has anything to do with that country, no matter how badly written or unthoughtout (here I'm looking at T.A.T.U. such a bad band). As a matter of fact, when I was in college I took every history class on Russia that I could, to the point where my minor's concentration became Soviet Russia, and I spent waaaay more time than I should have in the company of one of the coolest college professors I've ever had the pleasure to study under. He was barely taller than I was, had a mustache that caught everything, spent most of his time telling us stories that began with "The cossacks did this...", and taught me how to drink vodka.

The best compliment I've ever gotten was when he told me I had the soul of a cossack.

But I digress. There's something about Russian fiction where, no matter how happy the story is, it's still vaguely depressing. My college professor would tell you that this is because it is Russian fiction. If you do not understand, then you are not Russian. See? Told ya he was cool. He was like a Soviet Yoda.

One of the more interesting periods in Russian history is the period directly after the fall of the Tsar, but before Stalin's takeover. So, you know, Lenin's Russia. I think one of the reasons why it was so interesting, and a reason that doesn't get much press, is because so many people left during this time.

( And you'd be surprised where they ended up.  )

Full Disclosure: I have avoided this book like the plague since high school. When I was in high school my mother started on a serious "Jesus Fiction" bent and started all sorts of Christian fiction. Not really Hallmark Channel fiction, but, like, biblical retelling sorts of fiction. True story, she actually purchased and read in a weekend The Book of God. Quite possibly the most tedious fiction story of ALL TIME. (It's basically a fictionalized account of the Bible--at least the guy leaves out Chronicles)

Anyway, it's not particularly surprising that I shied away from these kinds of books because frankly, the whole Christian genre leaves a lot to be desired when compared with popular culture. That is, it tries to compete horribly, but frankly that's just it--it competes horribly. The writers and singers and actors and what have you tend to be a pale shadow full of "hail mary" and Jesus speak.

That said, I love a good retelling. Wicked is one of my favorite books ever.

And, when I began my conversion process I actually picked up another book (non-fiction) written by the writer of The Red Tent, that is, Anita Diamant. So imagine my surprise when I read the back flap and saw that The Red Tent was one of her books.



So it was, with some trepidation that I purchased The Red Tent. After years of scoffing from my literary high horse about it.

( Imagine my surprise when it was actually good. )

Remember a while back (roughly a month ago) when I queried whether or not a writer could write a character having an affair with a Nazi and make both the character and the Nazi actual people? Well, I think I might have found out.



( But don't go thinking it's a happy story )

I really don't know what's up with me lately. Suddenly I'm all about the chick lit. Go figure. Here's the deal. I picked up The Kommandant's Girl literally a year ago on a whim because I liked the title, I was in my Sophie's Choice phase, and it was on the Buy 1 Get 1 table at Borders. Incidentally, lupanotte  when the hell is Borders going to go back to that? This whole Buy 1 Get 1 Half Off bullshit is weak.

Anyway. This book sat on my shelf for a year. Staring at me. Every time I went to the book shelf to pick something it was all "pick me, pick me!" And I was all "NO! I will not read a book that's so obviously drivel." But, I couldn't bring myself to take it to the used book store because I figured eventually there would come a time when I would want something light.

Enter two weeks ago. Every now and then I really do want to read a book that doesn't take that much thought. And I love books set in the time period between 1935 and 1955 because it's just such a great era. So



Normally this is the part where I summarize a book, but I'm just going to let you know what Publisher's Weekly had to say:

Starred Review. With luminous simplicity, Jenoff's breathtaking debut chronicles the life of a young Jewish bride during the Nazi occupation of Kraków, Poland, in WWII. Emma Bau, a shy librarian, escapes the city's Jewish ghetto with the aid of the underground resistance movement that Jacob, her activist husband, has already joined. Emma assumes a new gentile identity as Anna Lipowski and goes to live with Jacob's elderly aunt, a wealthy Catholic widow who has also taken in Lukasz Izakowicz, the only surviving child of a famous rabbi and his murdered wife. As Anna, Emma catches the eye of Kommandant Georg Richwalder, second in charge of the General Government, at a dinner party. The handsome Nazi is so impressed by her German language skills (and her beauty) that he asks her to become his personal assistant. Emma accepts, hoping to secure valuable information for the resistance, but the chemistry between them presents challenges that test her loyalties to Jacob and her heart. This is historical romance at its finest. (Oct.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

( Now here's what I have to say: )I'm suddenly in the mood for Schindler's List.

Okay, so suddenly I'm finding myself obsessed with the fantasy genre. Dunno why.

Okay, actually, I do. I blame the Poison Study trilogy. I was cool with general fiction and then I read that and now I'm all in the fantasy genre. This is really only a problem because this is a genre that I've avoided like the plague. I'm not a fan of the Anne McCaffrey's of the world, I never understood D&D, and I think Magic: The Gathering is dumb. So of course I avoided fantasy fiction like the plague.

Then I discovered something: not all fantasy fiction follows the stereotype.

And thank God for that. Because otherwise I'd still be avoiding it.

Enter Anne Bishop. I picked up Sebastian completely on a whim. The cover looked cool, I thought it'd be vaguely Arthurian, also, it says in the summary that it's an "erotic novel" and who doesn't say no to a little gratuitous sex now and again?

Along the same vein as my review of Smack I am again reviewing a young adult book. Well, independent reader.

I love me some Holly Black. I can honestly say this woman has written nothing I have a problem with. And she's perfect as the poet laureate of the Hot Topic generation. Her books Tithe, Valiant and Ironsides are all books that I will be reviewing, once I've reread them, of course. I discovered The Spiderwick Chronicles in a movie trailor. I mean, I knew they were books that people liked. I even knew that they came from the big, gaping maw of fantasy fiction that Harry Potter opened up. But, like  A Series of Unfortunate Events  and Artemis Fowl I was content to not mess with it.


I'm still a bit pissy that Eragon and The Golden Compass got made into movies, truth be told. If for no other reason than the former, while imaginative, was written by a fifteen year old and it shows. And the latter, I've heard, was quite good as a book--but the movie left a lot to be desired. Either the subject matter is sub-par or the execution of the subject matter is. Not that I'm saying either book is bad. I'm sure they're quite good. But the excerpts of Eragon that I've read have led me to believe that the kid who wrote it, should have held off on publication until he had college and some life experience under his belt so he could go back and re-edit after his balls dropped. I imagine it would have made the story ring truer. As to The Golden Compass I heard it was based so heavily on the Narnia Chronicles, I just reread them.

I digress. My point is thus: In a time when children's fantasy is experiencing a huge boom, and the fantasy genre itself has gone incredibly mainstream, one has to be careful what one reads. Because otherwise you might end up with the Harry Potter equivalent of fucking Norbit.

A movie/book that is based on original jokes and ideas, but has been so watered down over the course of it's previous incarnations (Big Mama's House I & II, The Nutty Professor I&II, the Medea Series, et al) that it doesn't even manage to become a decent caricature of itself. It's just a 90 minute fat-lady, fart joke.

I mean, don't get me wrong. They're a really prolific company and they have a TON of different divisions. I keep telling myself that if I ever want to get published, I'm going to write a throw-away romance novel and submit it. I mean, because of my fanfiction days, I sure as shit can write some REALLY good smut. So that shouldn't be a problem.

But I've always had a problem with the conventional bodice ripper, you know? Then I discovered LUNA and MIRA presses. Both are divisions of Harlequin, but neither hold the major focus on sex. In fact, you'll find that sex is rarely mentioned, and when it IS, the romantic relationship between the main character and the man, is only used to further the original plot device. These two companies are about women being empowered in their own universe. Which is pretty cool. And LUNA specifically is a sci-fi/fantasy company. Pretty effing sweet.

Enter Poison Study.



Poison Study is published under MIRA press, but the sequel, Magic Study (which I will, at some point be reading) is published through LUNA.

At this point, who has NOT heard about the Vagina Monologues? For those of you not in the know, it's not just a play about pussy--it's also a grassroots movement to end violence against women. It's actually very cool. Up there is actually a picture of the DVD because I could not find a picture of the newest copy of the book, which is the tenth anniversary copy. Yeah, it's been around for ten years this year, and they've raise upwards of $50,000,000 for their cause. These women rock.

Magic realism (or magical realism) is an artistic genre in which magical elements or illogical scenarios appear in an otherwise realistic or even "normal" setting.

ANYHOODLE, the Merry Gentry books, like the Anita Blake books are essentially one big cluster fuck. However, they are extremely well written. If you're not keeping notes on the plot holes (the big ones just got mentioned) they are incredibly entertaining reads. I forgot how good a writer LKH actually is. Her prose is engrossing, her descriptions throw you right in. There were actually a few scenes that seriously freaked me out.

I recommend you read them if you haven't already, if lots of sex isn't your cup of tea, start with the Anita Blake series and quit after Blue Moon. If you do like lots of sex in your porridge, start wherever you like. But I gotta warn ya, you're gonna be tempted to take notes just to keep the women's relationships straight.

I was late to jump on the bandwagon for The Heart Is Deceitful Above all Things by JT LeRoy. I know a bunch of people think it's fecking awesome. I know that the Emo-kids consider it a master work. And that's fine.