Bitten, by Kelley Armstrong

Yes, it’s a werewolf book. I think it’s good to put that out there. People who can’t handle books about the supernatural — move on. Those who can’t handle bad books about the supernatural — read on. Because despite the calculated similarity in cover treatment to Stephenie Meyer’s tortured saga of sparkly immortals (a strategy, which, as the series goes on, REALLY gets out of hand), Canadian author Kelley Armstrong’s books are a different beast entirely.

I’m not a Twilight hater, but I certainly recognize Meyer’s weaknesses as a writer. She’s got a good story, but the delivery tends to be loose, soft, and often repetitive. Armstrong is anything but. Her writing is sharp, sleek and biting, with a delightfully sharp-tongued protagonist, tight plotting, and no time for lovesick mooning. Reading Bitten is like running with the wolves as they tear through the forest — the prose is taut and muscular, the plot races, and on occasion, some animalistic desires bare their fangs. (Another difference: This isn’t a series for teens, or at least, not for good Mormon teens — self-control is not exactly the message here . . . and I don’t think anyone who reads it will complain.)

Bitten begins the story of Elena, the only female werewolf, who is making a go at a regular human life in Toronto, but has trouble ignoring the animal within, which may be closer to her human nature than she’d like. When her pack’s safety is threatened, Elena grudgingly returns to the world she’s been trying to forget. There she’s confronted with the most stable family she’s known, her ex-fiancé who she still loves, and a growing pile of human corpses to deal with. Armstrong goes deep into werewolf lore, dispensing with the fripperies of silver bullets and full moons, focusing on both the werewolf’s physical nature (complete with wolf-form scenes so meticulously depicted they should have been penned by a canine) and the moral dilemmas inherent in bridging the human and the animal world.

Often these kinds of books are categorized as light reading, as a sort of escapism between more serious literary pursuits. And maybe they are somewhat. But despite Bitten‘s unabashed violence, its lust, its plot-driven nature, I never felt like my brain was on vacation. In fact, it was actually an excellent article in the December 2009 Walrus that brought the books to the forefront of my attention, so if you remain unconvinced this isn’t pulpy escape, check out their review. I’m eager to read the next books in the series (there are 10) more, and I’ve already recommended Bitten to people inclined to similar subject matter.

Oh, and while Meyer definitely rules the roost in terms of supernatural sales, it’s worth noting, that published in 2001, Armstrong was there first.

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Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, by Stephenie Meyer

I was about 18 pages into Eclipse and after Bella had been going on and on about Edward’s perfection (as per usual), I thought of the 1300 pages ahead and thought, “I don’t know if I can do this.” I couldn’t remember how I could possibly have enjoyed the first two as much as I did. But I turned my brain off and continued on. Once again I entered the seemingly drug-induced haze of the Twilight saga. The congested subways disappeared (good thing I’m subconsciously programmed to know when my stop is) as I waded through the angsty vamp drama.

Now, though I generally try to avoid too much plot synopsis, I’m going to end up giving it all away here, so if you don’t want to know, pick another lovely review. In Eclipse we find ourselves back in Forks where not much has changed – Bella loves Edward, Edward loves Bella. Oh and Jacob loves Bella. The main source of conflict is that a strange vampire has been in Bella’s room, and nearby in Seattle, dozens of people are being killed by vampires. It appears someone is assembling an army of uncontrollable ‘newborn vampires’ and they are after Bella and the Cullen family. The novel works up to the big battle scene (as per usual) where this time, vamps and werewolves fight together. In the romance department, the biggest developments are that Jacob forces Bella to acknowledge her love for him (team Jacob undoubtedly went wild), and Edward proposes to Bella (team Jacob got awfully quiet).  She says yes, while expressing the same apprehension about becoming a vampire.  In some ways I felt that this should have been the end of the story; however, Meyer feels the need to push the story to its final limit.

And so in Breaking Dawn we get the long-awaited nuptials, and the good, christian honeymoon, which leads to er…natural pregnancy. But of course, since Bella is still human, this is no ordinary child, and it starts growing at an unprecedented rate, putting her very survival in danger. CUT TO: an entire section in Jacob’s perspective. Though the appearance of this third of the book made me less annoyed at Meyer’s abrupt shift to Jacob’s perspective in the epilogue of Eclipse, it was somewhat jarring, and I thought, amateurish. That said, admittedly it was kind of a relief to be in Jacob’s head. We get a better appreciation of the werewolf experience, and at least there’s no fawning over Edward. I imagine this switch was partially a concession to that rabid Jacob fan base that would have been disappointed by Edward’s victory in the romance department. In this perspective, we see Bella getting sicker as the blood-drinking baby gets larger, and the violent delivery which of course, necessitates Bella becoming a vampire and the birth of the bundle of joy, whom conveniently, Jacob “imprints” on – falling madly in love with Renesmee (the baby) and conveniently out of love with her mother. CUT BACK TO: Bella who’s become a vamp. To be honest, I wasn’t sure that Meyer would do this, because newborn vampires are supposed to become bloodthirsty killers with no self control, and that’s certainly not where you want your protagonist to go at the end of four books. But conveniently, Bella just has more self-control than any vamp in history, and can avoid killing humans (including her own half-breed child).  But immortal children (vampire children) are against the strictest of vampire laws, enforced by the Volturi (the vampire rulers, whom Bella, Edward and Alice have a run-in with in the second book). And so, as Bella gets used to being a vampire (which, as with Jacob’s perspective, was interesting enough, with the exception of the fact that now with her heightened senses she can ever better appreciate Edward’s beauty…oh boy) they assemble an army of international vampires for the last stand against the Volturi. Of course they all live happily ever after. Too happily really, which reminds you that the dark edge of the book is really just a contrivance to add some dimension to a fluffy love story (Although of course, my less-critical self, was happy enough with this rom-com ending).

It’s hard to look at these books critically (due to the similar drug-like daze I mentioned earlier). I think it’s fairly safe to say that I liked the books progressively less through the 4 volumes. As the novelty wore off, the often bad writing became harder to ignore, and the plot and characters more repetitive.   The dripping sexual tension that drives the first two novels also didn’t seem to work as well (at least for me) in the last two books, though the sexual content actually increases. What drives me the most batty is that with a more ruthless editor, many of the inconsistencies and annoying tics of the books could have been eliminated. When all is said and done though, they’re still good entertainment value, and I don’t regret reading them. It IS a good story, hence the complete absorption mixed with abject self-loathing that I’ve never experienced with books before. Furthermore, they’ve now outsold Harry Potter, and while HP are the far better books, any phenomenon that gets people reading again, is a good one.  So would I recommend it? (the KIRBC was, afterall, all about recommending books) Yes, even with my reservations, I still would – join the phenomenon and I guarantee you’ve got many animated love/hate discussions ahead of you.

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Gathering Blue and Messenger, by Lois Lowry

I’ll start by admitting that I don’t remember all that much about The Giver. What I do remember is basically “The world is black and white (literally). A boy with a special gift sees a read apple. He leaves his community.” Pretty shoddy, but not bad, considering I read it about 15 years ago. Details aside, what I remembered most was that it was a powerful book, so I was intrigued by these two “companion novels” (A term which II think means “very loose sequels.”)

Gathering Blue tells the story of Kira, a crippled girl in a cruel village that does not tolerate any physical deformities. When her mother dies, she loses her only protection, and it is expected she will be brought to the fields to die. However, the Council of Guardians spares her because she is a talented weaver. They give her shelter and a special project – to repair the gown that is embroidered with the village’s history, and eventually, to add to it. It’s a quick read (I polished it off in one day of my lengthy commute), and Lowry’s writing is clear and accessible without being juvenile. Dystopia that it is, it also gives readers plenty of food for thought – forcing young people to consider how ideology shapes our daily lives and how we learn (and “embroider”) our own histories.

Messenger takes one of the main characters from Gathering Blue, Matty, and makes him the protagonist. Messenger takes place in another village – as utopic as Kira’s squalid, hate-filled village was dystopic. In Matty’s village, those with disabilities are welcome and everyone works together. But things are starting to change as people go to the Trade Mart and trade away “their deepest selves” for frviolous things. All of the sudden, the people are as petty, angry and selfish as those of Kira’s village. In a clear, but effective metaphor, as the people turn to malice, the forest surrounding their village closes up and becomes lethal – isolating the villagers, trapping them with their own hatred.

Perhaps what is most interesting about these books taken together is that while one starts as a utopia and the other a dystopia, both eventually become more moderate. And for young people this is perhaps one of the most important messages that literature can offer: people are not entirely good, nor entirely evil; things will never be perfect, nor will they be without hope; but what matters are the choices we make as we muddle about in the middle.

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