(Image from Barnes & Noble)

Dystopian fiction, as I told my husband the other day, should only be read by optimists. Cynics are depressed enough as it is. After all, reading end-of-the-world novels is enough to make even me - the possessor of an annoyingly, eternally sunny outlook - a little worried. Doomsayers rarely sway me, but books about apocalyptical destruction always give me pause. I ask myself: How long could I, or anyone for that matter, survive in a world rocked by global disaster? Could people made soft and compliant by microwave ovens, automatic dishwashers, and the like figure out a way to eke out a life if doing so suddenly became a whole lot less convenient? Would I be one of the first to lay down and accept my dismal fate or would I be one of the strong, fighting to reclaim life as I once knew it? You've probably guessed by now that I'm a glass-half-full kind of girl and I'm really not too concerned about zombies decimating the human race or meteors destroying the Earth, but every dystopian book I read makes me think. And fret. Just a little.

My latest foray into the genre is not so much a dystopian story as it is a dystopian epic. At nearly 800 pages long, The Passage by Justin Cronin is the first book in a planned trilogy. It starts like many disaster tales do - with a top secret government/military experiment that's quickly going awry. Although FBI agent Brad Wolgast doesn't know every detail of Project NOAH, he knows enough not to ask questions. Rounding up Death Row inmates for medical research isn't the funnest job in the world, but the ethics don't bother him too much. If a serial killer can help find a cure for cancer, why not let him have a chance to redeem himself? It's only when Wolgast receives his latest assignment that he feels a bit of unease: the FBI wants him to bring in 6-year-old Amy Bellafonte. Delivering a murderer to a secret government facility is one thing, taking a child is quite another. Despite his misgivings, Wolgast does as he's told. It doesn't take the agent long to realize Amy's no ordinary kid. Whatever his superiors want from her, it can't be good. And he won't let them take her.

Ninety some years later, Project NOAH's turned into a national, if not global, disaster. Peter Jaxon's never heard of the government experiment, but the 21-year-old's intimately familiar with its outcome. In a land once known as California, Peter lives in a walled fortress with a handful of others. Occasionally, someone wanders into the settlement, but no one's come in 30 years. Maybe there are other humans out there, maybe not. Maybe they really are the only people left in the world. They're not the only creatures, though, not by a long shot. Hundreds, possibly thousands or millions, of virals stumble across the landscape. Zombies, vampires, jumps, smokes - whatever you call them, it's best to stay out of their way. Barring that, the only thing you can do is pray you get off a clean shot - straight to the sternum - before they rip you apart. That is, if you still believe in God, which Peter definitely does not.

It's on a foraging mission that Peter encounters a mysterious young girl, a child who doesn't seem to be wholly human or viral, but some incomprehensible combination. It's clear from the start that she's important, but how? As Peter studies the girl, he learns things that blow his mind, secrets about the long-ago government, a project called NOAH, and a special little girl named Amy. Her powers, both dark and dangerous, are already causing problems in the peaceful settlement - still, Peter knows he has to take a chance on her. It may be the only one left for him, his friends, and whatever's left of the human race.

Although the story isn't nearly as original as I hoped it would be, The Passage still manages to be completely riveting. With a furiously-paced plot, complex characters, a little bit of romance, and plenty of good, old-fashioned dystopian carnage, the book thrills on every level. The (kinda sorta) cliffhanger ending is a teensy disappointing (especially after zipping through 800 pages to find out what happens), but it just means there's more to come from Cronin. I, for one, can't wait.

(Readalikes: The Enemy by Charlie Higson and The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan; Cronin's writing and the book's structure are reminiscent of a Stephen King epic)

Grade: B

If this were a movie, it would be rated: R for language, violence/gore, and some sexual content

To the FTC, with love: Another library fine find

So, today I'm supposed to be reviewing Mary Karr's memoir, Lit. However, I - being the bonehead that I am - somehow failed to realize that it is the third installment in a series of memoirs. Now, y'all know about my literary OCD. What? You don't? Well, I cannot stand to read books in a series out of order. Therefore, I know have both Liar's Club and Cherry on reserve at the library. As soon as the books come in, I will be reading and reviewing them as well as Lit. Definitely stay tuned for that. In the meantime, here's the blurb from the front flap of Lit:

The Liar's Club brought to vivid, indelible life Mary Karr's hardscrabble Texas childhood. Cherry, her account of her adolescence, "continued to set the literary standard for making the personal universal" (Entertainment Weekly). Now Lit follows the self-professed blackbelt sinner's descent into the inferno of alcholism and madness - and to her astonishing resurrection.

Karr's longing for a solid family seems secure when her marriage to a handsome, Shakespeare-quoting bluebood poet produces a son they adore. But she can't outrun her apocalyptic past. She drinks herself into the same numbness that nearly devoured her charismatic but troubled mother, reaching the brink of suicide. A hair-raising stint in "The Mental Marriott," with an oddball tribe of gurus and saviors, awakens her to the possibility of joy and leads her to an unlikely faith. Not since Saint Augustine cried, "Give me chastity, Lord - but not yet!" has a conversion story rung with such dark hilarity.

Lit is about getting drunk and getting sober; becoming a mother by letting go of a mother; learning to write by learning to live. Written with Karr's relentless honesty, unflinching self-scrutiny, and irreverent, lacerating humor, it is a truly electrifying story of how to grow up - as only Mary Karr can tell it.

Interesting, huh?

If you want to see what other, more on-the-ball reviewers have to say about Lit, check out the other stops on Karr's tour:

Wednesday, July 7th: Book Club Classics
Monday, July 12th: Rundpinne
Wednesday, July 14th: Nonsuch Books
Thursday, July 15th: Fizzy Thoughts
Thursday, July 22ed: The Girl from the Ghetto
Wednesday, July 28th: Chefdruck Musings
Thursday, July 29th: Raging Bibliomania
Friday, July 30th: Chick Lit Reviews.com
Monday, August 2nd: The 3 R’s: Reading, ‘Riting, and Randomness
Tuesday, August 3rd: Absorbed in Words
Wednesday, August 4th: Sasha and the Silverfish
Thursday, August 5th: Tales of a Capricious Reader

(Image from Barnes & Noble)

Disney's Beauty and the Beast will always be my favorite, but Robin McKinley's version comes in a close second. With lush description, a down-to-earth heroine and a plot that's lovely in its simplicity, Beauty breathes freshness into the familiar tale. First published in 1978, McKinley's debut novel has definitely stood the test of time. And for good reason. It's a sweet, magical tale about the power of true love.

The story revolves around a wealthy family made up of a sea merchant father and his three daughters: Grace, Hope and Honour (nicknamed "Beauty"). When the Hustons experience an abrupt reversal of fortune, they're forced to move into a humble country cottage far from the city which they've called home. Surrounded by thick woods, their new house is small and isolated; nonetheless, the family is glad to be there. Even when they hear frightening tales about the forest. It's true that no animals seem to dwell amid the denseness of the trees, but there can't possibly be an ogre living in the woods. Surely, that's another one of the country people's silly superstitions.

When Mr. Huston loses his way in the forest, he returns with an unbelievable story. It's a tale of magic, enchantment and a beast straight out of a young girl's nightmare. If it weren't for the perfect red rose he shows the girls, they wouldn't believe it. The flower convinces them - their father's telling the truth, meaning he must fulfill his promise to return to the beast's lair, where he will remain prisoner forever. Beauty begs to take his place, but Mr. Huston will not allow it. Plain and bookish, Beauty knows she, of all the sisters, has the least chance of flourishing in society - she rides into the forest, resolute.

Trapped in a magic castle with a horrifying beast, Beauty struggles to hide her fear. The more she explores her new world, the more she comes to realize that nothing in the enchanted forest is quite what it seems. Not even the monster that haunts the halls of the palace. Whispers of a terrible secret waft through the air, but Beauty can't quite understand. What happened to the cursed manor? Who is the beast? Is he truly as horrible as he seems? Can Beauty find a way out of her entrapment or is she doomed to spend all the years of her life imprisoned by an ogre?

Although McKinley makes her story feel new, she doesn't stray far from the classic tale. It remains a predictably, comfortingly tender story about looking beyond outward appearances. Beauty, herself, reinforces this idea - she doesn't know she's pretty, has no idea how brave she really is, and can't quite understand why the beast admires her so. I love that she's a diamond-in-the-rough, not nearly as polished as Belle, but just as charming. Even though I knew exactly how it would end, I found her story compelling. And sweet. And delightful. Precisely how a fairy tale should be.

(Readalikes: other classic fairy tales)

Grade: B+

If this were a movie, it would be rated: PG for scary situations

To the FTC, with love: Another library fine find