So, I've been lent a copy of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I know, I'm probably one of the last people in the United States to have picked it up but... it happens.
Sadly, I am unmoved by this national bestseller; so much so that this 374 page YA novel has sat on my pillow, undisturbed, for 5 days straight. I hate to say it but, I'm giving up on this one.
Ms. Collins has created an intriguing world; a dystopian society arisen from the ashes of a post-nuclear U.S.. I'm a sucker for dystopian fiction, as well any political criticism, thinly veiled or otherwise. And the thing is, I'm fairly certain that her novel will delve into political waters; the dangers of complete government control of a nation, the strength of the people, the will to unite and rebel.
But I don't care.
And that's my problem with this story. The plot, while, in theory, is something I should be drooling over, has failed to move me toward anything but complete and utter boredom. Told in first person, present tense, the story moves at a fast pace but does nothing to inspire feelings of fidelity for either (or any, for that matter) of the characters. I don't care if Katniss -the main character and narrator of the story- wins the Games. I don't care if she lives or dies. I don't care if the family she left back home in impoverished District 12 starve to death... I just don't care.
Turning each page is a chore; one that I'm am, unfortunately, going to drop like a bad habit.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
That Is Why
A few days ago, a young lady came into the shoppe. She asked if I could find a book for her mother as she didn't read and wouldn't know where to begin.
I stared at her.
The conversation that followed went a little something like this:
Me: What do you mean, you don't read?"
Her: (shrugs) I dunno; I just don't really like to.
Me: Why not?
Her: Because it's kinda boring.
Me: You're doing it wrong.
Her: (stares)
Me: And besides, you cannot walk into a book shoppe and say thing like "I don't read" and "Reading is boring". That's grounds for being escorted out with your head hung in shame.
Her: (stares)
Me: (sighing) Alright, let's find something for you mum and then we'll find something for you.
So, I find a book for her mother; then:
Me: Now, let's find you something to read.
Her: I didn't come for a book.
Me: I didn't ask, I said let's find you something to read.
Her: Okay.
Me: Have you ever read anything that you really enjoyed.
Her: Not really.
Me: What do you watch on television?
Her: Umm... girl stuff?
Me: (nodding my head) That's good, that's a good start. What kind of girl stuff? Flower, fairy, fantasy girl stuff or dramatic, teenage angst girl stuff?
Her: I like MTV.
Me: Great!
So, I head toward teen fiction and pick up a novel from a lengthy series and hand it to her.
Me: Now, you're going to take this home. You're going to read it; all of it. Then you're going to bring it back and you're going to tell me about it, even if you don't like it. That way we can figure out what it is you like to read and go from there.
Her: (nodding) Okay.
She came back today. Brought the book in and said she'd started it last night and finished it today; she loved it and wanted to get the next one...
And that, is exactly why I do this. :)
Happy reading, everyone.
-Britaini
I stared at her.
The conversation that followed went a little something like this:
Me: What do you mean, you don't read?"
Her: (shrugs) I dunno; I just don't really like to.
Me: Why not?
Her: Because it's kinda boring.
Me: You're doing it wrong.
Her: (stares)
Me: And besides, you cannot walk into a book shoppe and say thing like "I don't read" and "Reading is boring". That's grounds for being escorted out with your head hung in shame.
Her: (stares)
Me: (sighing) Alright, let's find something for you mum and then we'll find something for you.
So, I find a book for her mother; then:
Me: Now, let's find you something to read.
Her: I didn't come for a book.
Me: I didn't ask, I said let's find you something to read.
Her: Okay.
Me: Have you ever read anything that you really enjoyed.
Her: Not really.
Me: What do you watch on television?
Her: Umm... girl stuff?
Me: (nodding my head) That's good, that's a good start. What kind of girl stuff? Flower, fairy, fantasy girl stuff or dramatic, teenage angst girl stuff?
Her: I like MTV.
Me: Great!
So, I head toward teen fiction and pick up a novel from a lengthy series and hand it to her.
Me: Now, you're going to take this home. You're going to read it; all of it. Then you're going to bring it back and you're going to tell me about it, even if you don't like it. That way we can figure out what it is you like to read and go from there.
Her: (nodding) Okay.
She came back today. Brought the book in and said she'd started it last night and finished it today; she loved it and wanted to get the next one...
And that, is exactly why I do this. :)
Happy reading, everyone.
-Britaini
Sunday, April 8, 2012
I Disagree, Scott Westerfield
I have some (well, several, actually) customers who are awesome in epic proportions. One of those epically awesome people is Danielle.
I mentioned to her that I had wanted to read The Forest Of Hands And Teeth by Carrie Ryan and she said she had them and would be happy to lend them to me.
Yay, books!
So, she drops them by and I bring them home and curl up with the first of them.
Let me preface this by saying, I am not a teen fiction reader. I think some people assume that because I own a book shoppe, I've read just about everything in existence.
I have not.
Nor do I want to.
My foray into teen lit consists of two titles: one, The Unbecoming Of Mara Dyre by Michelle Hodkin which was fantastic and two, a title which will remain unnamed as I run the risk of offending several people when I say it was the worst piece of tripe I've ever had the displeasure of wasting three minutes of my life on. I read 4 pages before chucking it across the room.
Yeah; it was that bad.
So; I sit down with The Forest... and take a look at the cover. The blurb on the front reads: A post apocalyptic romance of the first order, elegantly written from title to last line. -Scott Westerfield
I know of Scott Westerfield; he wrote an incredibly popular and very relevant series for teens, The Uglies, which was well received by its target audience and critics alike, and I think, "Let's do this."
I open to the first page and begin.
... ... ...
(An aside: I'm a lit snob. I admit this fact wholeheartedly and with very little shame. But it's the only thing I'm a snob about and I figure, if your going to be up your own @ss about something, it may as well be literature, right?
Right.
Moving on...)
It's a good story, I'll give Ms. Ryan that. Outside of the tiniest hint of teenage angst (which is to be expected in any teen lit title) the characters are believable if somewhat one dimensional, and the plot moves quickly and with quite a bit of suspense and mystery.
I'm not going to give a summary of the book or review it; that's not what I'm here to do, today, at least.
My point is that, while the story is good, it is enjoyable (it doesn't make me want to rip the pages out and use them to cut my eyes just so I don't have witness the abomination those damnable publishers are trying to spoon feed me, as was the case with aforementioned unnamed title), it lacks depth.
Ryan's words do an admirable job of painting a picture, she tells a fine story; but the words are flat, black lettering on a page, she has no voice. Where is this elegance Mr. Westerfield speaks of?
Ray Bradbury is elegant. D.H. Lawrence was elegant. H.P. Lovecraft was elegant. David Moody, with all his gore and violence, is elegant. Their words don't just tell a story, they create art. They are deep and meaningful; each one is delicious as it goes down.
It's not a bad book. I will recommend it again and again because I've thoroughly enjoyed it; but elegant?
I'm sorry, Mr. Westerfield, but I call bull-#*!.
Until next time, happy reading...
-Britaini
I mentioned to her that I had wanted to read The Forest Of Hands And Teeth by Carrie Ryan and she said she had them and would be happy to lend them to me.
Yay, books!
So, she drops them by and I bring them home and curl up with the first of them.
Let me preface this by saying, I am not a teen fiction reader. I think some people assume that because I own a book shoppe, I've read just about everything in existence.
I have not.
Nor do I want to.
My foray into teen lit consists of two titles: one, The Unbecoming Of Mara Dyre by Michelle Hodkin which was fantastic and two, a title which will remain unnamed as I run the risk of offending several people when I say it was the worst piece of tripe I've ever had the displeasure of wasting three minutes of my life on. I read 4 pages before chucking it across the room.
Yeah; it was that bad.
So; I sit down with The Forest... and take a look at the cover. The blurb on the front reads: A post apocalyptic romance of the first order, elegantly written from title to last line. -Scott Westerfield
I know of Scott Westerfield; he wrote an incredibly popular and very relevant series for teens, The Uglies, which was well received by its target audience and critics alike, and I think, "Let's do this."
I open to the first page and begin.
... ... ...
(An aside: I'm a lit snob. I admit this fact wholeheartedly and with very little shame. But it's the only thing I'm a snob about and I figure, if your going to be up your own @ss about something, it may as well be literature, right?
Right.
Moving on...)
It's a good story, I'll give Ms. Ryan that. Outside of the tiniest hint of teenage angst (which is to be expected in any teen lit title) the characters are believable if somewhat one dimensional, and the plot moves quickly and with quite a bit of suspense and mystery.
I'm not going to give a summary of the book or review it; that's not what I'm here to do, today, at least.
My point is that, while the story is good, it is enjoyable (it doesn't make me want to rip the pages out and use them to cut my eyes just so I don't have witness the abomination those damnable publishers are trying to spoon feed me, as was the case with aforementioned unnamed title), it lacks depth.
Ryan's words do an admirable job of painting a picture, she tells a fine story; but the words are flat, black lettering on a page, she has no voice. Where is this elegance Mr. Westerfield speaks of?
Ray Bradbury is elegant. D.H. Lawrence was elegant. H.P. Lovecraft was elegant. David Moody, with all his gore and violence, is elegant. Their words don't just tell a story, they create art. They are deep and meaningful; each one is delicious as it goes down.
It's not a bad book. I will recommend it again and again because I've thoroughly enjoyed it; but elegant?
I'm sorry, Mr. Westerfield, but I call bull-#*!.
Until next time, happy reading...
-Britaini
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
A Wardrobe Full of Hats.
Hi, I'm Britaini; I'm the owner of an independent book shoppe. This is Britaini; she's my Tech girl. Over here is Britaini; she takes care of billing. That girl waaaaay over there in the corner is Britaini; she does all the ordering. This is Britaini, Human Resources. And Britaini, over there, is in charge of customer relations...
And on and on it goes.
I am not complaining. What I'm doing is marveling at those folks who do exactly what I'm doing at the outset; you know, the start-up people who have no help whatsoever! How, in god's name, do they do it?
I say this because I'm working on fliers for our Open House next month. And I, unfortunately, know next to nothing about computers and all their magical ways. But I figure, the best way to learn is to stumble through it until you figure it out, yeah? So, I sit here thinking, "boo-hoo-hoo" and "I'm an intelligent, independent young woman; I can do whatever I put my mind to", alternately; all the while I'm staring at my volunteer going, "I wouldn't be able to do any of this if it weren't for you!"
So, on the whole, very fortunate (I have a huge support staff; hard working volunteers -a.k.a. book junkies- and awesome customers -a.k.a. ...book junkies-), if only slightly stressed and somewhat prone to brief spells of self pity.
End of spiel. Back to the grind for me.
-Britaini
P.S.
Here's a little funny; I think we can all identify.
Bernard Does His Taxes
And on and on it goes.
I am not complaining. What I'm doing is marveling at those folks who do exactly what I'm doing at the outset; you know, the start-up people who have no help whatsoever! How, in god's name, do they do it?
I say this because I'm working on fliers for our Open House next month. And I, unfortunately, know next to nothing about computers and all their magical ways. But I figure, the best way to learn is to stumble through it until you figure it out, yeah? So, I sit here thinking, "boo-hoo-hoo" and "I'm an intelligent, independent young woman; I can do whatever I put my mind to", alternately; all the while I'm staring at my volunteer going, "I wouldn't be able to do any of this if it weren't for you!"
So, on the whole, very fortunate (I have a huge support staff; hard working volunteers -a.k.a. book junkies- and awesome customers -a.k.a. ...book junkies-), if only slightly stressed and somewhat prone to brief spells of self pity.
End of spiel. Back to the grind for me.
-Britaini
P.S.
Here's a little funny; I think we can all identify.
Bernard Does His Taxes
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Literature and Life
Evening, Ladies and Gents.
Tonight, I'd like to share with you my vision.
I have a dream, a richly coloured, coffee and vanilla scented, comfortably furnished, artistically inclined dream.
Our bookstore (because it is ours; yours and mine) will be a haven for literature and its lovers. I see Readers sat in chairs, cup in hand and book across lap. I see children curled up with a pillow on the rug, reading to Mum and Dad. I see Poets contemplating while Romantics sigh. I hear Vivaldi's cello and Mose's fingers dancing across the keys while Sinatra croons. I see people, being.
Literature is more than just words on a page. It's not just stories about life; it's life itself. It's meat and marrow, flesh and blood, and every time I crack a spine, I fall in love all over again.
Share this dream with me. Lets fall in love together; let's fall into a book.
“Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.” -C.S. Lewis
Peace and happy reading...
-Britaini
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Book Clubs... which, incidentally, have quite a lot to do with Photobucket.
This past Monday, my mind was blown as I was expertly introduced to the wonder of Photobucket and Youtube as powerful, online marketing tools.
*angels sing:shock and awe*
Obviously, the awe overshadowed the the lesson as I don't seem to have actually retained anything useful. I'm pretty well left with the glowing certainty that using these two programmes will bring loads of shiny win into my cluttered little world but the shiny is just out of reach as I can't seem to remember how to reach it.
Bugger.
Anyway, all that to say; book clubs will be reappearing this May! There's a poll up on our Facebook page regarding timelines; I would be much obliged if you would pop over and click-clicky . There will be more information very soon; there would be more information right now, in the form of a glistening e-card with a fabulous (yet tastefully understated) slideshow... but my brain's a runny egg, so. *shrugs*
Goodnight, happy reading, best wishes and... all that.
-Britaini
Customer:"Those books, those books there, the leather bound ones..."
Bernard:"Yes, Dickens; the complete works of Charles Dickens."
Customer:"Are they real leather?"
Bernard: (cocks head to one side; stares) "They're real Dickens."
-Black Books
*angels sing:shock and awe*
Obviously, the awe overshadowed the the lesson as I don't seem to have actually retained anything useful. I'm pretty well left with the glowing certainty that using these two programmes will bring loads of shiny win into my cluttered little world but the shiny is just out of reach as I can't seem to remember how to reach it.
Bugger.
Anyway, all that to say; book clubs will be reappearing this May! There's a poll up on our Facebook page regarding timelines; I would be much obliged if you would pop over and click-clicky . There will be more information very soon; there would be more information right now, in the form of a glistening e-card with a fabulous (yet tastefully understated) slideshow... but my brain's a runny egg, so. *shrugs*
Goodnight, happy reading, best wishes and... all that.
-Britaini
Customer:"Those books, those books there, the leather bound ones..."
Bernard:"Yes, Dickens; the complete works of Charles Dickens."
Customer:"Are they real leather?"
Bernard: (cocks head to one side; stares) "They're real Dickens."
-Black Books
Monday, February 20, 2012
Floating
I am 25 years old, and the owner of an independent book shoppe.
*breath*
I am extremely grateful.
For those of you who know us ("us" being the BW), you know I'd managed the store for quite a while before the transition to owner. But it's different now; outside the obvious, I have the strangest sensation of floating. Listing, aimlessly. That's not to say I don't have a goal; I do. I have a very clear picture of where I want us to go, where I want us to be, but... it's the getting there that can become a little overwhelming.
I know what I need; a clear(er) plan. A time-table. I am not a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. While I certainly take things in stride, I need a sense of definition.
So that is my goal, over the next five days. Sit down, sort out, schedule.
For those of you coming from the first blog, you will have no doubt noticed a distinct lack of sarcasm in this post but what can I say? It's twelve in the morning and I'm just, plain tired. I will, however, leave you with a quote I stole from someone famous:
"With all due respect to Lord Byron, there is no such thing as a Romantic Period."
Goodnight...
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