Review: How to Buy a Love of Reading, by Tanya Egan Gibson

Gibson's first novel, How to Buy a Love of Reading, is one that I had heard about several months ago on a radio show, before it came out. Despite wanting to read it, I promptly forgot about it after I realized that it wasn't yet available, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw it on the library shelf this week.

Reading takes place in a Peyton-Place town on Long Island, where the insecure, overweight, fifteen year-old Carley Wells lives in a mansion with her nouveau riche parents, attending grandiose Sweet Sixteen bashes where artists cast molds of the guests heads as party favors. She escapes the reality of her mother's constant nagging about her weight and the other kids' nastiness towards her through her TV, her Aftermemory, where she re-creates the day's events to her own satisfaction in her mind, and, most importantly, her symbiotic friendship with the town Adonis, Hunter Cay, who is increasingly falling down the rabbit holes of Vicodin and alcohol addictions.

As the title suggests, Carley also hates books, and it is at one of the sweet sixteen parties that her father gets the idea to hire a writer to write Carley's perfect novel, both as a gift and gimmick for her sixteenth birthday. Thus arrives Bree, surly starving-artist-in-residence, and behind her follows the famous local author, Justin, who finally emerges from hiding after a crazed fan's attack years earlier. While we gradually learn the two author's backstories, their connection to each other, and also their parallel to Carley and Hunter's relationship, become painfully apparent.

The main drawback of the story, for me, was the stereotypical portrayal of the characters. It's a wealty town, thus of course everyone is sleeping with everyone else, all the kids - who are more like adults, especially Hunter, who is treated like a thirty year-old by almost everyone in the story - are constantly drinking and taking drugs, and all the women are complete and total harpies. It was a bit like a Jackie Collins novel in that regard, and Gibson conveys their practiced boredom with life so well that I myself started to buy into the idea that everything was tiresome, and was very nearly bored myself at the beginning, just by osmosis.

However, Gibson does an interesting job of portraying teenage thought in various ways, such as the difference between the worldly and somewhat inaccessible Hunter and the much less so voice of Carley. Carley's longing for acceptance, and for Hunter, is palpable; these qualities, as well as her more honest voice, make her unique and sympathetic in a way the others aren't. As Hunter descends into his addictions, becoming withdrawn and erratic, her increasingly desperate attentions to his well-being, and to their future, are dead-on to the dreams a teenage girl that age would have. The novel-in-a-novel that the damaged Bree tries to write to Carley's specifications traces the arc of the Carley and Hunter's relationship in an ironic way that is first almost invisible and then, by the end, all too real. Both of Carley's stories have two endings: the first is written by another character, but the final say is Carley's alone. It is tempting to skim over the included chapters of the commissioned novel, but to do so is to skip the ties that bind the three stories - those in the created novel, Bree and Justin, and Carley and Hunter - together, and remove a level of Gibson's story that raises it above the straightforward.

In all, it is the writing and wording that brings Reading out of the realm of the completely typical. The storyline is fairly predictable, the characters not so unusual, but still there is a tone about it that is different from the usual off-kilter Romeo and Juliet story. Gibson uses the peripheral characters for comedic relief; Carley's father, in particular, is very funny in his growing obsession with flowers, and their resulting staining of certain body parts. Overall, while some sections are somewhat belabored, and the story borrows heavily from stereotypical archetypes, the author's ironic tone and drawstring ending make it a worthwhile read.

Rating: four out of five stars.

Review: While I'm Falling, by Laura Moriarty

When I grabbed Falling off of the shelf, I expected more of a light, YA-type read; after all, it's about a college student whose parents are getting divorced. I imagined something that would clear my brain like sherbet after asian takeout, leaving it fairly clean for the next, more meaty read.

What I got was a surprisingly in-depth, mature narrative about a young woman's decent into the messiness of life. Veronica is a pre-med student at a Kansas college, when she finds out that her parents are divorcing because her father came home early from a business trip and found a man sleeping in his bed, with a note to the 'beautiful dreamer' from his wife instructing him to be gone before her husband returns. In later chapters, we find that of course, it's not that simple, but the fact remains that while Veronica is going through the messiest years of her own life - first relationships, first big mistakes, failing her first class - her parents are as well, with her father attempting to use his lawyer's training to rake her mother through the coals in court and her mother sliding into poverty and, eventually, homelessness. Veronica finds herself needing to care for her mother when she can't even fulfill her RA commitment in her dorm to assist the younger students. At the same time, her mother has to leave her own misery behind and help Veronica cope with the repercussions of her own childish mistakes.

'Falling' is a painful read at times. All of us have screwed up in ways that effect not only ourselves, but others as well, and as in real life, the truly interesting meat of the story is in how the characters move on from their mistakes and re-create their lives. Before that happens, however, the reader has to slog through every miserable moment with Veronica, and it's truly not pleasant because I, at least, could see myself in her; her actions, some of which were largely originated by circumstances out of her control, could very well have been my own at her age. Because I have already been through her phase of life, I could see where she was heading, and it was like a train wreck. Moriarty doesn't dumb-down her characters to fit into stereotypical molds, nor does she insult the reader by overkilling the details; we find out the backstories of the events, but are not forced to re-live them through each character's perception. We do eventually find out why there was a man in the bed, and how it came to that point, but it's almost as though the information is whispered to us; there is a clear feeling that Veronica and her older sister do not know all the details that we are learning, and that that is how it should be. We need them to understand how we got where things are at, and to humanize the parents.

This is important, for while Falling is largely focused on Veronica, it is also the larger story of family and relationships, and how real people can fall off of their pedestals and create new lives for themselves. The painful mistakes are worth the read, because the ways the characters accept their blame and move forward are honest. While the final chapter is slightly too tied-up-with-a-bow, I have to admit to occasionally liking that kind of thing, so I was good with it.

Rating: four stars. Real, adult look at life mistakes, consequences, and redemptions.

Review: Ladies and Gentlemen, The Bible!, by Jonathan Goldstein

I decided to read this humorous collection of short stories, which is based (very) loosely on those of biblical characters, after hearing the Goldstein read the first story, Adam and Eve, on NPR's This American Life. The combination of the snide humor and his dry voice was irresistible, and I went out of my way to order it from inter-library loan.

When I say that the shorts on this book are loosely based on the tales surrounding each character's situation in the Bible (and, actually, the Torah, since it only deals with the Old Testament), I mean to say that these stories are to the original work what Dennis Rodman was to basketball: a much flashier, more intensely-imagined figment that gives depth where you weren't even originally aware that you needed any. For instance, the story that drew me in, Adam and Eve, is cleverly told by the beguiling snake's point of view; in between learning what an undeserving schlemiel Adam was, and how leggy and earthily sexy Eve was, the reader also gets a glimpse into what could very well have been the snake's motives for enticing the pair towards the apples - jealousy, frustration, an inflated sense of self-worth.

My other favorite story was that of Jacob and Esau, the brothers whose mother favors the younger brother so much that she has him disguise himself as his brother to fool his ailing father into giving him his all-important dying blessing. The original Bible is not a work that discusses the inner feelings of its characters, and Goldstein fleshes out the brothers and their mother, poking into the rotten recesses of Rebekah's brain to expose her almost (reverse) Oedipal complex, and allows Jacob the voice to express his own guilty anguish at having to endure the forced agenda his mother has in place for him.

The other stories - particularly that of David - weren't as compelling to me, and in fact the book gets a bit stale as the chapters go on. Goldstein uses the same formula to humanize each tale; this works fine in several of the stories where there are two main characters to carry the plot, because the two together provide enough material for there to be a decent amount of play between them. However, in the stories where only on character is the main focus, such as The Golden Calf (which focuses on Moses), or, again, David (which is also waaay too long for what it is), Goldstein increasingly uses lowbrow humor - repeated foul language, bodily functions, and sexual acts - to try and create material. While I have no problem with any of these things on their own, the problem with their predictable repetition is that the entire work begins to come off as having been done by a middle school boy bored in Sunday school.

I attempted to download the book from audible.com, thinking that perhaps it needed his vocal interpretation to really make the final stories palatable, but alas, it is not offered there (which surprises me). Hearing him read it aloud in his wry voice may in fact downplay some of the childishness of the later chapters. As the book stands alone, however, I would recommend either getting it from the library, or checking out the This American Life podcasts where Goldstein reads selections from the book aloud. You can stream Cain and Abel here, and Adam and Eve here. I really recommend listening to Adam and Eve; it's really quite witty and interesting, and is only about ten minutes long.

Rating: three stars; Several witty interpretations scattered among lesser-quality boyish humor

Review: Committed: a Skeptic Makes Peace With Marriage, by Elizabeth Gilbert

After reading Eat, Pray, Love, I had very high hopes for Elizabeth Gilbert's next novel. While EPL had slow moments, on the most part I felt that it was an amazing book. When I heard that Committed was about to be released, I reserved my copy at the library waaaay in advance.

I hate to say this, but I might as well admit it: I can't get through it.

That's not exactly true; of course, I could get through it, if I wanted to. It's not written in Klingon. I just have lost steam to the point where I'm finding myself avoiding reading it, which means that all the great stuff have in line behind it to devour is collecting dust while I resist admitting defeat. Now, after resorting to skipping pages today, I am ready to throw in the proverbial towel. I will not be reading this one cover-to-cover, word-for-word.

Both the title and the book jacket lead the reader to believe that this will be a novel about Gilbert's inner struggles regarding marriage, which is being literally thrust upon her and her non-American sig other when he is turned away by customs after 9/11 for overusing his visa. It is a marriage, a breakup, or deportation. While the two wait for the visa papers to be straightened out so they can marry in the US (oddly, if they marry in another country, the American govt will be even more suspicious that theirs is a marriage of convenience and deny entry), they travel the globe, and Gilbert decides to investigate the customs of marriage, turning it inside-out, looking at it from all angles, in an attempt to find a more comfortable perspective than that she has internalized from American culture. The title and summary are very misleading, for this is not the story of discovery within their interpersonal relationship, but rather Gilbert's reaction to the relationship solely, which for her leads to investigative reporting.

It's not that the book is hugely boring, per se, but rather that Gilbert takes every. single. point and beats it to a pulp; what starts out as an interesting point after five pages of deliberation and examination becomes very tiresome. She interviews individuals from several Asian countries she visits, she reads great volumes of written work on the topic, including statistical studies done by large universities, she argues for and against various religious-based perspectives, and regurgitates all of the information she collects in what begins to feel like a giant college term paper. There is little of the inner Gilbert that we were privy to in EPL, which is what made that particular work, also non-fiction and full of research, speak to so many women around the world. Even though this work was supposed to be about her working through her feelings about marriage vis-a-vis her relationship with Felipe, there is precious little in this book about their actual relationship. While she includes a scant few conversations here and there as a jump-off point for discussing more research, Committed is a far less endearing novel, quite an irony for a book about love.

One thing that might have helped would have been to have Felipe's voice more present; as it is, he has no part at all other than in the third person. Since the relationship crisis involves them both, having him participate more, perhaps by writing small asides or even footnotes might have been a bonus. Had she been more concise, or used (several pages' worth) fewer examples, her points, which generally had interesting and/or thought-provoking kernels, would be more readable. Finally, Gilbert seems to go around in circles, examining the same points several times over, and it becomes exhausting.

I started skipping pages when I was about halfway through, and by the final third of the book, I was skimming, looking for something that had anything to do with why I was reading the book - namely, a connection with Gilbert. It really wasn't to be found. I found even their eventual wedding, which isn't discussed in great detail, left me apathetic. If you are looking for a dissertation on marriage customs and theories from around the world, this is the book for you. If you're looking for the human connection that made EPL so readable and informative on a more emotional level, you'll be sorely disappointed.

Rating: two stars. well-informed research paper on marriage, lacking in personal connection

Review: June Bug, by Chris Fabry

In this character-titled story, June Bug and her father live a bohemian life, travelling the country in an RV. Though they have no set address, and no friends or family, JB has always felt secure in her life with her father - until she sees her own photo on the wall of Missing Children at the Walmart where their RV is parked, awaiting repair parts. While surprisingly composed about her discovery, it does spur her desire to learn about her own mother, or at least to find a suitable substitute, and when a lonely Walmart employee offers to let JB and her father stay with her while their RV is repaired, she jumps what she feels is her chance to somehow cobble together a family for herself. Her father, a lonely, haunted man, realizes what she is trying to do, and is forced to make a decision about what their future will be. Meanwhile, across the country, June Bug / Natalie's grandmother has never given up hope of finding her, and clues to the eight year-old crime are literally surfacing in the town she's from.

June Bug has been fairly extensively compared to Les Miserables, the massively popular classic-turned-musical story of a young girl saved and then raised by a pseudo criminal on the run. This is a fair comparison, although whether Fabry intended the parallel or not I'm not sure. I was actually more intrigued with the novel because of this; the entire time I was reading, I was not only interested in the story, but also in matching up the two plots and characters. For their part, the characters were very well crafted, and I was almost equally drawn to all of them as they told their own stories in alternating chapters: the hurt and hopeful grandmother; the town sheriff; June Bug's father; Sheila, the woman who takes them to her home; and of course June Bug herself. The only character who remains silent is June Bug's mother - her story, which is the lynchpin of the entire plot, the reader has to piece together in tantalizing tidbits until the very end of the novel.

Like many works, JB slows somewhat in the third quarter of the story, but Fabry does an excellent job in keeping the reader guessing on the many questions he poses - what happened the night June Bug disappeared? Is her mother telling the truth? Was June Bug's father - if he even is her father - somehow criminally involved? If he wasn't, how did he wind up with the little girl? Why have they been on the run for so long? The suspense builds in many ways; on the one hand, June Bug's father is very likable and seems honorable, so you want them to be able to stay together, but on the other, her grandmother has been pining for her for years, and it's pretty obvious that this is a one-or-the-other situation. Which will it be? I will be honest: I cried when all the questions were finally answered. I am not a big crier, and worse, I was in public when I finished the novel. The ending is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

The small parts of the plot that are far-fetched are far outweighed by the endearing realism of the characters. The plot's similarities to Les Miserable were in the end, I think, somewhat minor, but it was definitely interesting and fun to compare as I read along. It should be noted that the author is fairly well-known for YA religous fiction, and while this is not a religous novel, several of the characters are. It wasn't too obtrusive or preachy, more just an aspect of their lives, particularly due to the part of the country the characters are from, and it could easily be skimmed or even skipped if the reader is really horrified by that kind of thing because it's not a part of the plot. (In addition, this book is perfectly appropriate for YA as well, and my daughter read it before I did, thinking because of the girl on the cover that I had gotten it for her.) I wouldn't be at all surprised to see this novel pop up on TV at some point as a movie, probably unfortunately on Lifetime since they're the ones who seem to do that kind of thing. If that happens, hopefully whatever network produces the film would manage to convey the heartfelt depth that Fabry has given each of the characters and respect the story for itself, and not attempt to shoehorn the LM connection too much.

Rating: four out of five stars - lovely characters, suspenseful mystery, satisfying ending

Review: The Book of Lost Things, by John Connolly

Unlike Connolly's The Gates, which I recently reviewed, The Book of Lost Things is not meant to share with children. I had fully intended upon reading it with my daughter, as I had Gates, but after a few chapters was glad I had decided to go through it myself first.

At first, Things, which takes place in 1940s England, seems innocuous. Following the death of his mother, with whom he shared a love of fairy tales, twelve year-old David begins hearing voices from the books in his room. In fact, he begins to hear voices from every book he comes in contact with. Very shortly, David's father begins to date, Rose, an administrator from the respite care facility where his mother spent her last days, and it is then that David has his first 'attack' - an almost seizure-like episode where he can see a distant land with his mind's eye. By the time David's father reveals to him that Rose is pregnant, and they will be getting married, David has learned to control his attacks, but now there is something new; a Crooked Man has crossed over from the land of fantasy into David's world, and David has begun to hear his mother's voice calling to him from the woods behind the house, pleading with him to follow her voice and help her. One inevitable night, David finally follows the voice, and winds up in the Crooked Man's world, where animals want to be men, and nightmarish monsters roam free. The spoiled and unhappy David must journey to find the King, travelling at times with others, but always relying on himself to solve the puzzle of this place.

The Book of Lost Things once again brings to mind a Stephen King novel, this time The Dark Tower series. In fact, one of the characters David travels with is named Roland, and he is a gunslinger of sorts on a quest to a dark tower. Many other works of fiction are mentioned / appear in Book, as well, including several grotesque retellings of popular fairy tales that relate to the world in which David finds himself. The tales are told by various characters David runs into as either explanations of creatures or allegories for the events and transformations that David himself is experiencing. These references are at turns interesting and disgusting, and are integral parts of the story. It is these stories, along with the deeper social commentary, that make the novel inappropriate for younger readers.

While the novel seemed to briefly lose forward motion in the middle, the beginning and endings make it still well worth the read. The characters and events, which are at first deceptively straightforward, are by the end an obvious tapestry of foreshadowing and deeper workings. It was not the typical read, and that in itself makes it a good choice, since much of what is out there at the moment seems to be firmly in one groove or another. The social and morality tales of the story are definitely there for the ingestion, but aren't presented in a hit-you-over-the-head kind of way. There were plans to turn the novel into a film, and rights were purchased by John Moore, who did the new Omen film, but that seems to have tanked. I think this is just as well, since books like this, to me, are better left to the imagination where gore can't overtake the actual meat of the story.

Rating: four stars. Interesting blend of ideas, loses steam briefly before a stellar ending.

Review: The Hour I First Believed, by Wally Lamb

I picked up The Hour I First Believed for two reasons: one, I liked Lamb's first novel, She's Come Undone, very much when it came out years ago (he has written other novels since, but that was the last one I read) and was looking for more of the same, and two, it discusses the events at Columbine High School from an inside vantage point, which I found interesting. What I got wasn't quite what I expected.

Lamb's emotionally closed-off main character, Caelum, is a middle-aged high school teacher who is working on his third marriage, to Maureen, the school nurse. Although from the east coast originally, the two move to Columbine, CO to escape the memories of Maureen's infidelity and Caelum's resulting violence on both her and her lover. Their attempt to start anew puts them directly in the path of the runaway nightmare train that two students brought down upon the school; while Caelum is away at his aunt's funeral, Maureen is trapped in the Columbine school library, hiding in a cabinet, listening to the shooting and waiting to die. The overwhelming PTSD Maureen suffers as a result of the events leads them back to the east coast, to live in Caelum's aunt's home and try, again, to restart their lives. Unfortunately, like an unwinding top, events spin ever further out of control, and their lives go into freefall. No one will hire Caelum for a teaching position at a high school because of his previous actions, and when Maureen is finally able to work once again, her choices bring their own unhappy consequences.

Within this story, there is another, far less interesting, mostly unrelated one regarding Caelum's family history. Much is made of the local women's prison that his grandmother used to run, and in the last third of the book many many pages are used detailing the information the woman who is renting the upstairs of Caelum's house finds in the many boxes of papers left by his aunt. These papers, in their convoluted way, lead Caelum around the mulberry bush as to who his mother, who had died years before, really was.

This plot line, if it can be called that, is one of the major things I didn't like about this novel. Ironically, even Caelum himself comments that he couldn't get through the research papers his renter writes based on her findings; if Lamb didn't think that his own character would be interested in his own history, then for heaven's sake, why would he think the readers would be?! It was some pretty seriously boring stuff, and had nothing to do with the real plot of the book. In addition, there were several other, smaller side plots that were half-developed, and really only served to distract the reader.

The other major hurdle of the story is the fact that the characters were entirely unlikeable. I mean, entirely. Caelum is a dissociated, detached wife-abuser / violent offender who couldn't even summon enough emotion over the death of the woman who raised him to shed a tear. Maureen is an adulterous, argumentative woman whose behavior after the shootings, while understandable with PTSD, certainly didn't make her any more likeable. I'm not sure why they stayed married, frankly, especially since Caelum referred to her as his 'three-strikes-and-you're-out wife'.

Lamb obviously did a great deal of research on the events at Columbine, and the descriptions of the scene in the library, as well as the publication of the writings of the killers, were chilling. Maureen's PTSD was very aptly described, and again, it was plain that Lamb had done his work well. However, in his attempt to make the characters human, Lamb forgot that some people are so awful that really, no one would want to spend time with them; his characters are this way, and the fact that I spent several hours reading about them, and letting them into my mind, isn't something I feel great about. Yes, there are people this messed up and unpleasant out there, and that's reality; most people, somewhere, also have redeeming qualities, and certainly all great literary heroes do. These characters really didn't.

Rating: one star - massively disappointing, scattered with stray underdeveloped subplots

Review: Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls

After Glass Castles, one of the most absorbing and well-written books I have ever read, I couldn't wait to hear more from Jeannette Walls. I was thrilled to see that she had published a prequel to Castle, and immediately requested it from the library. Once again, I was completely captivated. Not only was the novel, a work of historical fiction because Walls' grandmother passed away when Walls was eight, interesting in its own right, but knowing what the future would bring had me even more engaged, looking for clues to what was to bring on the craziness and misery that was to follow in the next generation.

In Half Broke Horses, Walls tells the story of her maternal grandmother, Lily Casey Smith, an incredibly ingenius woman from birth. The story begins with Lily saving herself and her siblings from a flash flood by pulling them into a tree at the last minute; she kept the three of them alive by making sure everyone stayed awake all night, until the waters receded and they could slog their way home. She managed the family ranch and the employees from age eleven on, because her father had a speech impediment that prevented him from communicating with the ranch hands and buyers. At a time when women were still supposed to be subservient, throughout her life she worked constantly and proudly, beating men in horseracing and poker, selling beer out of her kitchen during prohibition, and learning first to drive and then to fly. Her talent of breaking wild horses is a theme that runs through the book.

As impressive as Lily was, I could also see where some of the family's later misfortune came from. Lily was changed dramatically by her discovery that her first husband was actually a con artist with another family, and later by the suicide of her pregnant sister. She became intolerant of any sentimentality, and hardened towards others, never fully trusting another person again. Her second marriage was a partnership rather than a love affair and, because she blamed her sister's death on a combination of a lack of inner strength and emotional weakness brought on by all the favor she received because of her beauty, her children were raised with an eye towards teaching them to withstand hardship. Her daughter, who went on to become Walls' mother, was a replica of her aunt, and was particularly affected by her mother's lack of emotional attention and understanding. This made an obvious, and sad, correlation to her later behavior - as that of wild horse half broken, just as Lily herself had been half-broken by the emotional tragedy of her early life.

While Walls states at the end of the novel that she cannot call it a biography, she was able to verify many of the events and stories that had been passed down through the generations through local media and oral histories. Thus, though the work is technically a type of historical fiction due to conversations and emotional insights that could not be verified, its flavor is definitely that of a well-crafted biography. The story of her tough-as-nails grandmother is just as interesting as that of her parents, in its own right as well as in an anticipating-a-trainwreck kind fo way.

Rating: five of five stars. A must for Glass Castle readers, and anyone interested in biographical fiction.

Review: The Generosity of Women, by Courtney Eldridge

Reading The Generosity of Women was like trying to keep track of a whirlwind. The novel's main concept is to follow a chain of events through the prospect of six different women, who are all connected by one main strand that the reader doesn't get clued in on until the last quarter of the book.

What is at first problematic - following the six women through rapid-fire chapter / voice changes - becomes surprisingly monotonous towards the end of the story. I actually started wondering if I had accidentally opened the book in the wrong section, because several of the perspectives were very similar, and with such similar voices it became difficult to tell them apart. To make things even more difficult, a few of the characters had similar names, and several of them knew each other. I quite nearly had to make a chart to keep track of everyone and their relationships to the other characters. Because there were so many characters, it was difficult to connect to any of them, because there wasn't time to get deeply into any of them. The one I enjoyed the most was also the youngest, Jordan, but her perspective was a little thin.

While it took me a few chapters to get into the story, after awhile I found that I was enjoying most parts of it. However, by the final quarter, I was skimming some sections, because hearing the same story over and over and over was getting a little old, and the final chapters were entirely predictable. I was fairly disgusted with several of the characters by the time I was done, as they became more and more caricatures of themselves.

The book isn't poorly written, per se, in that I could see what Eldridge was trying to do, and it might have worked if she hadn't taken it to the nth degree. I haven't read anything else by her, so I have nothing to compare it to, but if she had chosen only three or four characters, and developed them more, it might have been a higher-quality read. As it is, it was a mostly-enjoyable piece of chick lit, nothing more.

Rating: two out of five stars. Confusing beginning, interesting middle, boring ending.

Review: The Gates, A Novel, by John Connolly

If any of you have ever read Stephen King's only foray into children's literature, The Eyes of the Dragon (and if you haven't, Do So Right Away, it's wonderful), and Norton Juster's The Phantom Tollbooth (again, go to the store NOW and get it if you haven't), imagine taking them both and putting them into a literary blender. Sprinkle them with a smidge of 'Men in Black'. The lumpy goodness that you would pour out would be John Connolly's The Gates (of Hell Are About to Open).

This wry and witty novel centers around Samuel Johnson, a brainy eleven year-old British boy who accidentally witnesses the opening of a portal to Hell while peeking through a neighbor's window. The unfortunate neighbors, who were merely bored suburbanites looking for a little thrill, are having a seance in their basement when an interesting malfunction occurs many miles away during a routine operation of the Hadron collider (a machine that attempts to create tiny black holes for scientific study); the two simultaneous events lead to their being possessed by four demons, much like the farmer in Men in Black is worn like a cheap suit by the cockroach alien. The leader, whose job it is to prepare the way for Satan to escape from Hell, senses little Samuel Johnson (and his little dog too!) and sets about trying to capture him.

Her pursuit of Samuel leads to what is undoubtedly the funniest aspect of the book; the intrduction of several entirely inept demons, such as The Thing Under The Bed, who is new to the job and can't begin to imagine how to frighten anyone, and Nurd, The Scourge of Five Deities, who initially is transported accidentally to earth, only to have his illusions of grandeur (and his body) abruptly squashed by a vacuum. His later appearances grow increasingly hilarious as he becomes entangled in the plot to send the evil demons back to hell, saving the earth. It is in the final scenes of the novel, however, that Connolly pulls out all the stops, with zombie-fighting vicars, accidentally-drunken demons, and the shovel-bearing man who singlehandedly beats several demons into the ground for messing with his rosebushes.

It is impossible to convey the wittiness and snarky glee with which these events occur. The oddity in itself would be interesting, but Connolly's genius lies both in his crafty turns of phrase and in his ability to weave the deadpan British humor into the fantastical goings-on that Samuel is dealing with. By having a child as the main character, the author disposes with the potential problems of disbelief and fear of insanity that an adult character would have in the same situation, thus making him able to pull the reader right into the meat of the story.

In addition, the book is enjoyable on many levels, and its lack of gore or foul language (again, a benefit of having a child as a main character) combined with widely-appealing material makes it appropriate for anyone above the age of ten. As soon as I finished it, I immediately read it with my daughter, who is almost eleven, and while she didn't get all of the more adult references Connolly sneaks in, the silliness of a confused and embarrassed Underbed Monster and a demon named Nurd who ends up in increasingly ridiculous situations (teleported into a sewer! smooshed like the road runner in front of a truck! arrested by clueless police for massive speeding in his new love, the Porsche!) were more than enough to bring her along for the ride. Some of the more adult references I explained to her, such as puns on popular culture, and others I let sail over her head, laughing to myself.

I cannot reccomend this book strongly enough. It's funny without being condescending, innocent and yet wickedly witty. The brave Samuel and his friends, including Nurd, are endearing and entirely realistic (yes, even the insecure Nurd) in their upside-down world. There are the occasional slower chapters, particularaly those describing the Hadron collider in detail, but even those have snarky footnotes to liven them up. The ending leaves an obvious opening for a sequel, and I have all ten fingers crossed that there will indeed be another chapter in the book of Samuel.

Rating: five out of five stars. Smart, witty, kooky and fun romp through the ridiculous.