This was like a breath of fresh air after reading the previous eight books. Finally, something new! And the glimpse of the ending! Perhaps it's just because I've been reading the entire series back to back, but it seems that it's long and plodding in some parts, then bizarrely exciting in others.

The premise of the book, that a spell has caused memory of Kahlan disappear from everyone's minds except Richard's, is new for Goodkind. It derives from the damage to magic that has been done in previous books and continues that plot. For some reason, Goodkind finds it necessary to draw forward plot elements from the very first book in an attempt to tie it together. I can't decide if this is clever or just reaching.

I found Shota's attitude toward Richard annoying and undeserved. Of course, what do you expect? All in all, I wish that the main characters had been more supportive of Richard and believe in him--didn't he save the world eight times before?

I like fantasy books where magic evolves into a system of science. Goodkind's treatment of it is a little over the top--he sprinkles in more terminology than I'd like. The idea of magic destroying memory, however, and also the idea of contaminating magic, those are very exciting possibilities. They require Richard to use his wits and reason to develop a plan that does not rely on emotion, instinct, and gut-triggered magic (even though I know that at the climactic moment, it will).

If it weren't for the fact that you would lose all reference to previous events in the series, including the reason that Kahlan is so important, this trilogy would be worth reading alone.

Might as well just call this book, "And everyone lived happily ever after."

I acknowledge that I may have some sort of sadistic streak in me to want the author to kill off main characters, or at least have something bad happen. Whenever it looked like someone we cared about was going to die, I cheered (thank you for staying dead this time, Ann). The fact that Goodkind broke all the rules he established does not impress me. However, I suppose that was his goal from the start--the theme of the book, and the series itself.

Honestly, overall the series was not as bad as many made it out to be. When I started reading it, I read about the series. Most people focus on Goodkind's use of Objectivism. I agree that it's there, and in some places, it is very annoying. In some books it overwhelms the plot, but most of the books have a good story to them.

As a writer, Goodkind is not my cup of tea. His characters tend to give long speeches. Moreover, as I mentioned above, I am tired of everything working out happily ever after for the good guys. I did not form enough of an attachment to either Ann or Warren to really feel sorry for their deaths. If Kahlan had died, or if her memory hadn't been restored--that would have been respectable. And I'm not just mad because no one died. The ending itself was contrived to grant everyone happiness: Rachel somehow being of royal blood and therefore now the Queen of Tamarang? Adie just happening to fall for Friedlich? It felt a bit anticlimactic--sort of like the ending to Harry Potter (which I didn't actually read; I just read the spoilers and that was good enough).

This last trilogy was very interesting. I enjoyed the Chainfire spell and its integration into the use of the boxes of Orden. Even though it was a bit of a deus ex machina, Richard's use of the Sword of Truth to operate the boxes of Orden made sense.

Judged purely on the merits of its story (and not its themes, which as others say, are heavily entangled with Objectivism), The Sword of Truth series is not bad but could be much better. Many of the characters are very interesting: Richard is a compelling and admirable protagonist. But sometimes the plot seems to nudge them ever so slightly if they get off track; sometimes the story isn't paced right.

The entire series reminds me somewhat of The Wheel of Time, including its length. I could not get past the third book of The Wheel of Time--in the case of this series, I've read all eleven books because my coworker lent them to me sequentially. Had she not done that, I may have consigned The Sword of Truth to the same category in which resides The Wheel of Time.

If you have a summer to spare for these like I did, then give them a try. Do not clear your schedule, however.

I quickly fell in love with Gulland's lively depiction of seventeenth century France and Louise "Petite" de la Vallière. For the first half of the novel, I received a brilliant glimpse into the life of the daughter of an impoverished nobleman and her ascension in the court of Louis XIV. Aspects I enjoyed: Petite's love of reading, her struggles with her mother and manoeuvring through the intrigue of court, and her time spent in the convent when she was a girl. My favourite part was her internal conflict regarding her love for Louis and her devotion to God. Louis XIV was a monarch who ruled by divine right--loving him is loving God, even if it does mean being a mistress instead of a wife. Maybe. Petite certainly struggles to come to terms with this paradox.

Unfortunately, I found the second half of the novel did not live up to the promise of the first. It slowed down, and Petite's moral compass began to wobble. As a young girl, she was headstrong and decisive. As she aged, she allowed events to guide her more than the other way around. Petite's descent into apathy made her feel lifeless even before she died. I lost interest in the story.

Overall, it was an entertaining book up until the end, which was lacking.

The subtitle says it all: "The Novel of Ancient Rome". Not "A novel", THE novel! The boast is not unfounded.

Stephen Saylor steps through almost a thousand years of Roman history in a series of vignettes. In each one, we experience a pivotal moment in the life of Rome through the perspective of a different person. Sometimes I empathized with the character; at other times, I felt he or she was in the wrong.

I'm used to historical fiction that takes place in a single period of time, investing itself heavily in a single cast of characters. This was a nice change, and Saylor obviously made the effort to research thoroughly. The format allows the reader to see the evolution of Roman civilization, its transition from kingdom to republic to empire. The actions and speeches of persuasive individuals leave a mark on Rome and the world.

At times it was dry and somewhat boring; at other times it was exciting. If you don't like historical fiction, this book won't change your opinion. But for those die-hard historical fiction lovers, this is a must-read.

Although vampires play an important role in this book, vampirism is not the central subject. Rather, Hubbard uses vampirism as the method to explore a girl coming to maturity amid a broken family unit. Hubbard addresses questions of ethics and coming-of-age. Unfortunately, the story is mediocre.

My main problem is a lack of conflict. Each time the story approaches something that resembles a high-stake scenario, it shies away at the last moment. For instance, after the murder of Ariella's friend, an FBI agent begins to sniff around the house. Yet nothing substantial comes of this. Never does the agent arrest anyone. He reappears at the end of the novel and contributes even less than he did in his first appearance.

At no point in the story did I feel that Ariella was ever in danger--not in mortal danger, and not in danger of failing to achieve her goals. She found her mother. She found her father after he faked his death. Events that should have been emotionally-charged moments fell flat because there wa sno element of risk associated with achieving them.

The Society of S strikes me as a wholly plot-driven novel that attempts to be character-driven. There's nothing wrong with the plot driving the story; however, it needs to be honest. In the last part of the novel, there's a fire that injures Ariella and her father. It doesn't really appear to have a reason. There are no consequences; Ariella and her father survive, as does the antagonist. Thus the book ends on an ambiguous note.

Not my cup of tea.

I like books like this, but I didn't enjoy this particular one as much as I had hoped. I just could not commit myself to empathizing with the narrator, so the entire story left me hollow. I felt like I was a passenger.

The first part of the book was quite intriguing. The narrator is a noncomformist boy who's been expelled twice; this is literally the boarding school of last resort. Then he discovers a friend in the form of a boy living alone in a house on an island near the school, and the two form a tentative relationship laced with overtones of homosexuality--which is just what Rosoff wants before she pulls THE TWIST that changes everything.

Unfortunately, after THE TWIST, the book isn't the same. It rapidly becomes a "hindsight is 20/20" sermon in which the main character regrets that he has no regrets and ultimately has not made much of his life. We are left with no resolution. It's quite postmodernist.

Much of the book consists of lyrical, florid prose. The descriptions are lengthy and evocative. The writing is quite good; don't get me wrong. I'll try more of Rosoff in the future. But this book didn't strike a chord for me.

See my review of [b:the hardcover edition|85301|Unaccustomed Earth|Jhumpa Lahiri|http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41oA8oVgWZL._SL75_.jpg|4345835].

The first half of the book was a little erotic for my tastes, but it's fine if you like that sort of thing. It just seemed like a page didn't go by without mentioning sex or arousal or issuing some sort of innuendo. This calmed down toward the end of the book, by which time I actually found myself empathizing with Mary quite a bit

The book appealed to my dormant desire to learn more about the Elgin marbles. Essex writes with confidence and an intimate tone that makes the period and the characters come alive. I quite enjoyed her portrayal of Mary and Aspasia's thoughts and feelings. Through the course of the book, Essex draws heavy parallels between a woman's life in ancient Greece and a woman's life in 18th-century England--both democracies at war with other world powers.

At times, the book was tiring. In addition to the aforementioned emphasis on the erotic, the dialogue could be difficult, and Essex belaboured her points about women's disadvantages.

I did enjoy how she worked in little points of historical detail (for example, explaining to the reader how Elgin had syphilis, not rheumatism, by making Sebastian explain it to Mary). For the most part the book seems quite accurate from a historical perspective.

Far from my favourite book, Stealing Athena was a satisfactory portrayal of two women who lived a millennium apart yet still suffered the same challenges.

I agree with those reviewers who found this book somewhat less awesome than they initially anticipated. Coming from a math background, and as surrounded by technology as I am, I think that the book would have had more of an impact with me if I knew less about these issues already. And that's why I'm giving it such a high rating: it does a good job educating, and I like that in a book.

Stephen Baker's tone is conversational and analytical as he takes you through successive chapters that introduce us to the Numerati, the mathematicians, engineers, sociologists, and marketing gurus who are analyzing and modelling humanity. The Numerati's interests are varied, from the workplace to the bedroom. As a mathematician, I enjoy books that educate people about the real-world applications of math and remind them that it's not just a dry, dusty discipline full of formulas and equations.

The medical chapter intrigued me the most. Baker interviews several people working with Intel on technology for modelling people's behaviour at home. These machines would alert doctors when a patient deviates from regular behaviour, thus allowing doctors to know if someone's weight dramatically decreases or if an elderly patient has fallen. The potential applications of our ability to model and predict human behaviour have immense implications for improving our medical industry, which is plagued with difficulties in both Canada (go universal healthcare!) and the U.S. (with its privatized healthcare).

Baker does mention privacy concerns, but he mostly glosses over these, pointing out that there is a difference between disclosing one's "personal data" and one's "identity." I see his point. I also see why many people are concerned about the role of privacy in the Google age. I would have liked to see some more specific information on privacy--the book in general feels short. In places, it could be much more specific, expansive. But I suppose that Baker wanted to keep it light enough to attract the curious reader, and I will forgive him for that, because it was interesting and informative. I'd read a sequel.