Smoldering Ink

Cheaper by the Dozen is a true gem. Not the Steve Martin movie. That is a blasphemy. The book, well, the book is hillarious. Like, laugh-out-loud-on-the-bus hillarious.

It is the very funny and often moving story of how the dozen Gilbreth children were raised by their father Frank, a brilliant efficiency expert and utterly charming wiseacre, and mother, Lililth, a firm but gentle psychologist, as written by Frank Jr. and (darling) Ernestine. The story takes place during the turn of the century and ends sometime in the 1920s. Here are a couple of quotes:

Mother was a Phi Beta Kappa and a psychology graduate of the University of California. In those days women who were scholars were viewed with some suspicion. When Mother and Dad were married the Oakland paper said:

“Although a graduate of the University of California, the bride is nonetheless an extremely attractive young woman.”

….

The biggest problem, on the boat and in the car, was Martha’s two canaries, which she had won for making the best recitation in Sunday school. All of us, except Dad, were fond of them. Dad called one of them Shut Up and the other You Heard Me. He said they smelled so much they ruined his whole trip, and were the only creatures on earth with voices louder than his children.

….

(When Frank Jr. is accidentally left behind during a road trip at the New London restaurant) We had stopped in the New London restaurant for lunch, and it had seemed a respectable enough place. It was night time when we returned, however, and the place was garish in colored lights. Dad left us in the car and entered. After the drive in the dark, his eyes were squinted in the bright lights, and he couldn’t see very well.

A pretty young lady, looking for business, was drinking a highball in the second booth. Dad peered in, flustered.

“Hello Pops,” she said, “Don’t be bashful. Are you looking for a naughty little girl?”

Dad was caught off guard. “Goodness no,” he stammered, with all of his ordinary poise shattered, “I’m looking for a naughty little boy.”

“Whoops dearie,” she said, “Pardon me.”

….

This book is a classic, a real treasure, and if you haven’t yet read it, your local library is sure to have a copy. Do yourself a favor and see if those Mongolians really do come cheaper by the dozen.

This is Maria Snyder’s first novel, and she certainly hasn’t offended me the way Scott Bakker did, so I’ll try to be gentle. It is, undisputedly, a first novel.

I loved the premise of this story, about a young woman sentenced to death who is offered the opportunity to become a food taster for the current ruler of Ixia, the Commander. That was great. The pacing of the story is very good, each chapter ending on a cliffhanger. I loved the character Valek (not his name, but everything else about him- this is no real reflection on the book because I’m highly weird about names), the poison trainer and assassin. Of course, I am a sucker for the silent and lethal type when it comes to fantasy fiction.

Snyder has done her homework when it comes to how to professionally taste things, and I found the training sequences to be some of the most interesting parts of the book.

Unfortunately, I got no clear sense of who Yelena, the protagonist, is, and that is a big deal-breaker for me. In fact, I had to open the book again to remember her name and I just finished it last night. I felt her voice to be inconsistent, and I didn’t find out until 126 pages in that her passion in life was acrobatics. Why wait 126 pages to tell me something that interesting about the viewpoint character, when I should have found it out in the first pages? Why didn’t she miss her practice, why didn’t she dream of it, as she was walking to what she thought was her execution? It created a sense of disbelief, since the story is told in first person, that Yelena never once thought about turning a cartwheel before the fire festival.

Another big issue for me was language. “Wanna” “Pudding” “Boss” and “Factory” all make appearances. “Pudding” was jarring because the cook had added it to a vanilla cake recipe to moisten it. But pudding was initially meat-based. The sweet versions (figgy pudding, hasty pudding) were cakelike and would not have made sense to use as a thickening agent. If he had added custard, the forerunner of the desert we know and love today, I would have bought it. As it was, I got an absurd visual of the cook cracking open a box of powdered Jell-O pudding mix.

“Factory” was no good because it was a very specific, singular factory that was being petitioned to be built, but we never once are told what the factory is supposed to be for. Heck, Yelena and the Commander even travel to the factory after it is built, and there is still no explanation as to what it is for. I do understand why the author hid this information and I’m not going to spoiler it, but it was an unnecessary concealment. I’m not going to spoiler it simply because it would take too long to explain. Anyway, “factory” made me really confused as to the technology level of Ixia. There are factories, but no guns? Wha?

There were other ‘beginner’ issues, concerning the plot, but I feel like I’ve gone into it enough. A novelist’s personality often comes through their work, and I actually feel affectionate towards this author. I want her to succeed, and also not to hate me if I ever meet her at a con or something. I feel like Ms. Snyder is a talented person who would benefit greatly from a tough-lovin’ writer’s group and an agent or editor who has the time and patience to ask for rewrites. Another draft of this book could have been infinitely better, propelling Snyder to household name status.

Poison Study is a Luna imprint, which explains a lot. I don’t know that the good folks at Harlequin are all that aware of what it takes to make a really good fantasy, any more than I could write a ripping good romance novel. So maybe the issue here is that this author is not working with the right people for her.

Overall, I did enjoy Poison Study. I don’t think I would read it again, but I will keep tabs on this writer to see how she evolves.