Ambrea's Read Harder Challenge: Bad-Ass Librarians, Beauty and the Mustache, and Moral Disorder

I finally finished the next part of my Read Harder Challenge.  I finished:

• Read a book about books.
• Read a book that is set within 100 miles of your location.
• Read a collection of stories by a woman.

Starting out, I finished reading The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu by Joshua Hammer, which details events beginning in 2012 when more than 350,000 manuscripts—many of which had been painstakingly collected by Abdel Kader Haidara—were endangered by Al Qaeda militants seizing control of Mali.  In his book, Hammer details how Haidara and other manuscript collectors managed to find, preserve, and rescue hundreds of thousands of manuscripts, before smuggling them out of the country under the noses of Al Qaeda.

As the summary attests, it’s indeed a “brazen heist worth of Ocean’s Eleven.”  Personally, I found it fascinating to learn how Haidara became involved in the manuscript preservation business and how he and other librarians managed to steal away more than 350,000 manuscripts from Timbuktu.  I mean, the number is simply mind boggling.

Moreover, I was consistently fascinated by the history and culture of Timbuktu and Mali as a whole.  Hammer offers a rich variety of details, discussing the medical, cultural, historical, scholastic and artistic impact of Timbuktu.  Although his work can grow a little dry, every chapter offers fascinating insight into the history of Timbuktu and, more importantly, provides readers with an eye-opening portrait of the conditions faced by Mali’s residents when Al Qaeda invaded.

Next, I checked out Beauty and the Mustache by Penny Reid.  Set in Tennessee, Beauty and the Mustache is a short, sweet little romance—which kicks off the Winston Brothers series and continues the Knitting in the City series, both by Penny Reid—that brings together Ashley Winston and Drew Runous.  After spending more than 8 years away from home, Ashley is forced to return to Tennessee to help take care of her ailing mother.  Expecting the same rough treatment from her brothers as from years before, she’s surprised to learn they’ve changed.  She’s even more surprised to meet their friend Drew, especially when she realizes he’s exactly her type.

Overall, I really enjoyed reading Beauty and the Mustache.  Like I noted above, it’s a short, sweet little romance and it’s absolutely adorable.  It’s sometimes bittersweet, sometimes tragic, but I immensely enjoyed reading Penny Reid’s novel.  I found I connected to Ashley, our main character and narrator, on a personal level and I admired her sharp, sarcastic sense of humor, her intelligence, and her ability to go toe-to-toe with Drew’s philosophical meanderings.

However, I will note I was bothered by one thing:  I did not like the setting.  I love the Smoky Mountains, don’t get me wrong; however, I simply didn’t like the narrator’s inability to describe her surroundings.  I was incredibly disappointed by the setting descriptions, which were seriously lacking.  I wanted to hear more about the winding roads, the multitude of trees, the softly sloping mountains in the distance, or the way the hills fade against the horizon, deepening to a slate blue before disappearing altogether.

I wanted to hear about places I’ve known or seen, but, sadly, I didn’t get that chance.  It was slightly disappointing.

Last, I read Moral Disorder by Margaret Atwood.  I think I might have fudged the challenge parameters with this one, since it’s really just a single novel; however, as it’s labeled with “Other Stories,” I assumed it would do the trick.  It centers around one woman—Nell—but it’s a compilation of many short stories from different points in her life.

It begins with “Bad News,” toward the tail end of Nell’s life, but it jumps through time with each story and catapults Nell into the past, showing readers glimpses of her childhood and her adolescence and, finally, her transition into adulthood.

Truthfully, I didn’t enjoy reading Moral Disorder that much.  Atwood is a fantastic writer and her prose packs a punch when she wants it, but, personally, I found I couldn’t always connect with the stories in Moral Disorder.  Granted, I found that the stories with which I did connect moved me deeply and I worried for Nell, like I’d worry about a friend; however, it was a rather unremarkable journey for me overall.

Ambrea's 2017 Read Harder Challenge, part 1

So first up on my Read Harder Challenge, I tackled:

• Read a debut novel.
• Read an all-ages comic.
• Read a superhero comic with a female lead.

I started with a debut novel, Kiss of Steel by Bec McMaster.  Although I originally intended to read A Man Called Ove, a debut novel by Fredrik Backman, I stumbled across Kiss of Steel purely by accident and discovered it was just what I needed to complete this challenge.  First book in the London Steampunk series, Kiss of Steel tells the story of an alternative Victorian age in which verwulfen (werewolves), vampires, automatons, humans, and more live side-by-side in a steam-fueled world.

Honoria Todd fled to the rookeries in a desperate attempt to escape the Echelon, the blue-blood (i.e. vampire) aristocracy of London who rule over the city with an iron fist.  But when Blade, de facto master of the rookeries, discovers her living at the fringes of his little kingdom, he becomes embroiled in a series of unexpected mysteries.  Soon, a vampire--a blue-blood who has crossed the Fade, who has completely succumbed to blood lust--is terrorizing the rookeries and it's up to Honoria and Blade to stop it--and the Echelon--before it's too late.

I actually enjoyed reading Kiss of Steel.  It wasn't quite what I expected, but I wouldn't say that's a bad thing.  Granted, it was a bit explicit, hyper-violent, and incredibly grisly; however, McMaster's debut novel was a mixture of action, romance, science-fiction and paranormal fantasy that I found thrilling.  Overall, while I did like Kiss of Steel, I do think it could have been better.  I would have loved to have delved deeper into the alternative history and discovered more about the people--and creatures--that inhabited this world.

Next, I read Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur:  BFF (Volume 1) by Brandon Montclare and Amy Reeder, which was a fun and amusing comic featuring Lunella and, of course, the indomitable Devil Dinosaur.  First in the series, Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur:  BFF is a great comic from kids of all ages--and it's simultaneously amusing for adults.

It starts out with Lunella, who is 9-years-old and quite unlike other girls her age.  She's an unexpectedly talented inventor and she's also an Inhuman--and the Terrigen Mist that's creeping through the city, the amorphous haze that will activate her Inhuman DNA, terrifies her.  Desperate to keep her Inhuman DNA dormant, Lunella sets out to discover alien technology that will help her stop the Terrigen Mist and keep herself human.  That is, if Devil Dinosaur, who was transported to the future with the same alien technology, doesn't destroy everything first.

I loved reading Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur.  I admit, I was a little hesitant to read it at first.  I'd seen single issues in the local comic book store and, for some reason, I couldn't imagine myself reading them--and then I discovered the collected volume at the library.  I immediately fell in love.  Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur is a lot of fun to read.  Although it takes place in the Marvel Universe, readers don't really need a whole lot of background about the Kree and the Inhumans and the Terrigen Mist to enjoy the story.  It has a dynamic, intelligent character, and it's a crazy, fun adventure that will lead you across time and the city of New York.

Last, I checked out Wonder Woman:  Blood (Volume 1) by Brian Azzarello, Cliff Chiang, and Tony Akins.  I have long been a fan of comic books.  I love Batman and Superman and even Aquaman, and I've found a recent favorite in Squirrel Girl, Daredevil, and Hawkeye; however, I've not read much of Wonder Woman.  She's an interesting character to be sure, but I've just never found myself compelled to read about her until now.

In Wonder Woman: Blood, first in the New 52 series, Wonder Woman finds herself caught in the middle of a battle for supremacy between the Greek gods of myth.  Diana has long abstained from the more complicated dealings between these capricious gods, but Zeus has gone missing--and Hera is on the war path to destroy the child he left behind.  Now, the remaining gods, including Apollo, Hades, and Poseidon, are in a war for the king of gods' throne, while Hera cuts a bloody swath across Paradise Island to rectify the injustices done to her.

Let me say, I like Greek mythology.  I've always been intrigued by it and I've gone out of my way to discover more about it than what I learned in school, but I wasn't really impressed with their appearance in Wonder Woman.  Honestly, I wasn't really all that impressed with the story in genera.  I was a little disappointed, especially since I went into this comic with such high expectations.  I'm a fan of powerful, self-sufficient women, and I love the idea of Wonder Woman, who is a warrior first and foremost; however, I'm not so sure I like her in practice.

It's difficult to describe, but let me put it this way:  I like Batman, because he is human and he is deeply flawed.  I like Superman, because he is an alien who grew up in Kansas and he is good to the best of his ability.  Likewise, I like Aquaman, because he is half-human/half-Atlantean and he struggles daily with his dueling identities.  And all these characters have one thing in common:  they were raised, in my opinion, in a recognizable place and way.  Diana, on the other hand, was raised on Paradise Island with a different set of beliefs and a completely different set of rules, which makes it difficult to relate to her on a personal level.  More to the point, it made Wonder Woman:  Blood (Volume 1) less than enjoyable to read.

End of the Road: Ambrea's 2016 Read Harder Challenge

 Reported by Ambrea

This week, I’m just barely eking by with my Read Harder Challenge.  After reading these last three books, I have officially finished my list:

1. Read a book that is set in the Middle East
2. Read a nonfiction book about feminism or dealing with feminist themes
3. Read a food memoir

To start off, I finally finished reading I Am Malala by Malala Yousafzai.  It only took me 6 months, but I finished it and, honestly, I’m glad I did.  It’s a fascinating story that’s both heartbreaking and incredibly informative, offering insight into the various cultures and relations of Afghanistan.  Although her story is grim, it’s simultaneously uplifting.  Personally, I enjoyed reading about her and her father’s endeavors to bring education to local children—and particularly to the young women of the community.

Malala is a skilled narrator.  She’s bright, she’s hopeful, she’s very detailed and she’s very intelligent.  Although her book is a translation, which is sometimes apparent, I felt like I could read and relate to her feelings.  She does a fine job of connecting to her readers, detailing her thoughts and feelings—and, more importantly, making her voice heard.  She makes a compelling argument for education, for giving women equal education opportunities.  Truthfully, I can see why Malala Yousafzai is a Nobel Prize Laureate.

I also had the opportunity to read a short (and rather famous) essay by Virginia Woolf:  A Room of One’s Own.  As an avid reader and, ahem, English major in college, one would think I’d have taken the opportunity to read A Room of One’s Own, but, until this year, I had yet to make more than a cursory acquaintance with Woolf’s work.  Fortunately, I had the chance to remedy that; unfortunately, I wasn’t enamored by her essay.

A Room of One’s Own makes some very valid points.  It’s important to read and, after reading it, it’s something that I think all young women should have a chance to read at least once in their life.  However, I had a hard time reading Woolf’s essay, because I just couldn’t seem to focus on one thing before it jumped to another.  For instance, in the first few pages when Woolf described Oxbridge and her experiences at the esteemed university, I thought it took quite a long time to get to the point—and, confidentially, I found myself growing a little bored as I waited for her to come to a conclusion.  Not that her writing is bad, mind you; I just struggled to stay committed given her style of writing, so I’m not sure if that’s so much her failing as my own.

The point is, I finished reading A Room of One’s Own and I have a new appreciation for Woolf.  She’s a talented writer, but, personally, I’m not so sure she’s the writer for me.  I appreciate her work and I appreciate the significance of her essay, but I don’t think she’s the one and only feminist writer for me.

Last but not least, I read Julie and Julia by Julie Powell.  It’s riotously funny, yet strangely poignant.  Oddly enough, it reminds me of Jenny Lawson and her memoir, Furiously Happy—yet just a tiny bit less chaotic.  Not by much, considering Julie Powell undertakes to make 524 different recipes, many of which take hours to prepare, in just one year in a crappy little apartment in Queens.  It’s astonishing all the things she (and her marriage) manages to survive, including:  biological clocks, frozen pipes, disastrous dinner parties, inane dead end secretarial jobs, break downs, Blanche days, and celebrity crushes.

It’s really a pretty amusing book, especially if you decide to listen to it as read by the author (which I did); however, it’s not quite the food memoir I expected.  In fact, Julie and Julia is more memoir than food.  Julie is hell bent on recreating all of Julia Child’s recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, vol. 1 and, in her journey, she learns how to make a variety of dishes and confronts some of the most trying times of her life.  While it features a lot of cooking, Julie and Julia feels like it’s more about the experiences of cooking and the results, specifically what happens to the author as she slogs through more than 500 French recipes, than the actual cooking, but I can’t say I minded.

Julie and Julia is strangely heartwarming and incredibly amusing.  To me, it strikes just the right balance that makes it a memoir worth reading, especially if you have the chance to listen to the author tell her own story.  It makes it memorable.  However, I will note that while I was listening to the audiobook I discovered I borrowed the abridged version.  I don’t know if the audiobook had the full text, but I do know I missed a few things that might otherwise have filled in details or fleshed out the characters involved.  It was my only disappointment in an otherwise wonderful book.

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Ambrea finished just in time to start the 2017 Read Harder Challenge!  If you're interested, the list of challenges are here.

Ambrea's Read Harder Challenge

I’m working on my Read Harder Challenge again, and this time I decided to:

1.      Read a book out loud to someone else.
2.      Read a book that is by an author from Southeast Asia
3.     Read a book about politics, in your country or another (fiction or nonfiction)

For this challenge, I struggled a little more to find books I knew would fit my challenge but would keep my interest.  I’m getting close to the end of my challenge, so I’m starting to run low on ideas.  (Luckily, the forums at BookRiot and Goodreads had had plenty of recommendations for each category.)  I did, however, decide pretty quickly on which book to read aloud:  Let’s Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson.  At first, I read a few pages to my dog, but she didn’t seem particularly interested and, moreover, she appeared to have better things to do.  My boyfriend, on the other hand, proved to be a more receptive audience and he seemed to enjoy Lawson’s crazy (figuratively speaking—or literally?) memoir.

He and I both enjoyed reading Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, because it was just so funny.  After reading Furiously Happy, which is fueled by Lawson’s frenetic energy and her off-kilter sense of humor, Let’s Pretend This Never Happened was familiar ground—and it was equally hilarious as her second memoir.  I loved hearing about Lawson’s childhood with her father’s crazy pets and bread bag snowshoes, her struggle to become an author despite her general fear of people, and her struggle to acclimate to her various disorders.

It’s really quite funny, and it’s hard not to laugh at the seemingly random and entirely crazy things that have happened to the author.  But, be warned, some of the stories may be jarring or, more accurately, scarring.  I mean, the incident with Stanley the Magical, Talking Squirrel left me with alternating feelings of revulsion and horror that’s hard to beat.  But the embarrassing (and traumatizing) experience involving Jenny and a particular cow does its best to rival it.

Next, I read Ghost Bride by Yangsze Choo, a Malaysian-American author.  Set during the British colonization of Malay, Ghost Bride is an intricate and beautiful novel brimming with Chinese folklore, regional myths, and Malaysian history.  The story revolves around Li Lan, a young woman from a poor aristocratic family, who finds herself confronted with an unusual proposal:  a spirit marriage to a young noble who recently perished.  But Li Lan has no interest in becoming a bride for a ghost.  In this haunting debut novel, Li Lan must fight for her freedom—and possibly her very soul—if she ever hopes to escape the clutches of the dead and marry the man she truly loves.

Li Lan was a lovely, dynamic narrator.  I found it interesting to see how she changed as a person from her experiences in the underworld and through her relationship with the mysterious Er Lang.  Li Lan did a wonderful job of explaining much of the customs and beliefs of Malay without overwhelming the reader by offering too much information or leaving the reader lost, unable to discern what is happening in the narrative.  It strikes a perfect balance, which I find I greatly appreciate.

Ghost Bride is a bit of an unusual story, yes, but it’s absolutely fascinating.  I was enchanted by Choo’s descriptions of the spirit world and the rules which govern them, by the intriguing (and, sometimes, terrifying) full-bodied characters she created, and by the history of the Pacific nation.  In short, it’s a wonderful book—and I fell in love with it.

Last, I read The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli.  I was not impressed, let me say so now.  At least part comes from the fact I purchased a translation that was—well, let’s say less than spectacular.  While I was reading, I noticed little mistakes.  Some were simple typos, but a few were glaring grammar mistakes.  It’s almost like the original Italian text was fed through a Google translator and published with the usual transcription mistakes.

Plus, I was so bored for most of Machiavelli’s work.  It literally took me weeks to finish reading my copy of The Prince, even though it was only 114 pages.  I just couldn’t keep interested in it.  I was bored after only a few pages, and I couldn’t stand reading it after I realized I couldn’t consider the text reliable.  I finished the book only because I needed to finish a book on politics and The Prince seemed to fit the bill.  Truthfully, I would never read it again, unless it was absolutely necessary.