octavia_cade's reviews
2611 reviews

This is pretty cool: it's about the lead dog, Granite, in a 1000 mile cross-country race across Alaska. A team of dogs pull a sledge and a human - in this case, the author, Susan Butcher - and there's something very Jack London about the idea of that. It's something of a feel-good story, as Granite was the runt of the litter and never expected to be a good sled dog, but Butcher believed in him and looked after him through an illness, and come the race, and an unexpected blizzard, Granite took care of her in return. 

I can't say that this is a type of sport that I'd particularly want to get involved in, but then again I could say that about many sports. I do like dogs, though, so it's interesting to read about them in a sport like this. My dad used to own a Malamute, and he knew someone who trained them as sled dogs - apparently they thoroughly enjoyed it. Given Sitka's inexhaustible energy levels, I can believe it! 

It's okay: the illustrations were more engaging than the text, but neither strike me as especially memorable. A little bit cutesy, I think. I did find Corduroy's doubts about the Easter Bunny mildly entertaining, though. 

I do like these Smithsonian picture books! The illustrations are always reliably good, but even so these are some of the better ones I've seen from them so all credit to Allen Davis there. I really love the autumnal colours on display here - fitting, given that the book is set in autumn as the chipmunk stores food for winter. I think my favourite illustration is the chipmunk in the leaf litter opposite what's either a frog or a toad (I think a toad?). It's not the amphibian that appeals, it's the bright crayon hidden in the leaf litter... in a colour that the artist must have used himself while drawing this!

No chipmunks in NZ, so it's interesting to learn more about them. How much can they really stuff into those little cheek pouches, I wonder? 

I read and reviewed each of the three books here separately, so this is basically just for my own records. They're likeable books and I enjoyed them, but Farmer Boy was my favourite, earning four stars where the other two got three. It's notable that, for me at least, the best and the worst things about these books are the same. There's a sort of nostalgic glow over everything that makes them all very pleasant to read, and yet this idealised presentation of what must have been an enormously difficult life does tend to turn the glossy into the glossed-over, I think. So, you know, I read them with enjoyment but also with a great deal of scepticism. 

This is a lovely, gentle read from a woman who didn't initially think much of crows but was persuaded by her publisher to write a book about them anyway. It's appeal is that it's so local - Haupt meditates on the birds in her own garden and neighbourhood and city, and that accessibility is a constant throughout the book. The author's not, I think, a scientist - the focus here is on building a relationship with one part of the nonhuman world. That might mean drawing a dead crow, or administering first aid on an injured bird, or taking her young daughter on a walk down the street so that they can bird-watch together. It's something that everyone can do - maybe not with crows, depending on where in the world readers are (good luck seeing crows here in New Zealand, for instance), but certainly with something else. 

A short little collection of only six stories, ranging from a haunted doll's house to haunted binoculars and dug-up-crowns-that-shouldn't-be. I enjoy James' short stories, but there's no denying that there's a sense of sameness about them: I've only just finished the book and already the stories are blurring together. I honestly can't remember enough about them separately to pick a favourite... I only know that there are stories out there, by the same author although not in this particular collection, that are better. Not exactly different, but better. He does have a story about this froggy demon thing in a well, if I remember rightly, which isn't in this but which does give me the creeps more than anything here.

So, average. 

I've been meaning to read this for a while, as I didn't really know anything about it. It was alright. On the downside was the extraordinarily blatant racism, and the sheer stupidity of Jane deciding, when the lioness tries to come through her window, to shoot herself instead of the lion. On the other hand, the pacing is excellent - really, it's the best thing about the book. Given the constant drooling depictions of Tarzan's beauty and manliness, however, I can't decide who is more in love with him: Burroughs or Jane.

I do think that if Burroughs were writing today, it'd be were-apes and paranormal romance, though. 

I have to admit that it took me a while to get into this. Some of the opening stories didn't grab my attention all that much, but as the collection went on there were a number of stories that I really did enjoy - particularly "One-Eyed Jack and the Suicide King", "And the Deep Blue Sea," "This Tragic Glass", and "Follow Me Light". 

I was quite surprised to note that a number of stories here were set in or around Las Vegas. I've read some of Bear's work before - albeit many years back - and I always had the impression of her as someone who wrote further north, if that makes sense. I can't say I've ever been to Vegas but the stories that were set there did strike me as being more interesting than those that weren't... they tended to have a little more of a contemporary feel to them, I think, so that may be why I liked them more. 

This is a very different sort of locked room mystery! Anna's working as an EMT for a firefighting unit when a California park goes up in flames, and she and her crew get caught in an unexpected firestorm. They all huddle separately under their individual fireproof shelters - apart from one guy who, in the midst of all this holocaust, is afterwards found stabbed to death in his personal shelter. It clearly happened during the storm, when anyone wandering about would be incinerated, and while Anna's waiting for the road to be cleared enough for rescue, she's stuck with a small group of people - one of whom has to be the murderer - with no possible way for them to have done it. 

It's cleverly written, though I have to admit I prefer the stories where she's a more typical park ranger. Of course, fire is a natural part of many ecosystems, but much of the attraction of this series for me is reading about the different environments and wildlife of the various national parks that Anna is stationed at. There's not a lot of that in charred wasteland! It's still a very nature-based take on a locked room mystery, though, and I can't deny that appeals. 

I know very little about the history of comics in general, so many of the superheroines mentioned here were new to me. I was really surprised to read that, in the 1940s, a number of studies showed that more girls were reading comics than boys. I was distinctly not surprised to learn that, as the number of comics featuring relatable heroines - rather than shrieking ninnies or those ridiculously over-sexualised pneumatic villains - decreased, so did female readership. I don't like reading that bullshit either. It is in fact hard to read anything when your eyes are rolling that hard. More eye rolls - none of which are directed at Robbins, who is messenger and not culprit - at the superhero teams of the 1960s, I think it was, who consistently only had one woman member and liked to present her shopping and fainting. What a shock that more girls weren't lining up to buy that!

I believe this book was first published in 1996, so the history covers about 50 years or so; I'd be interested in knowing what the overall trends have been in the three decades since. There are some fantastic modern comics written by women with compelling female protagonists out there. A lot of them, true, aren't superheroines, but then I tend to find superhero types some of the more boring protagonists anyway. This book wasn't boring, though. History rarely is.