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theirresponsiblereader's Reviews (607)
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Teachings of Shirelle About?
I’m just going to go with what’s on the author’s site:
“Relish the day. If you’re not in awe, you’re just not paying attention.”
She hadn’t even been in the crowded pound a week, but she’d already developed a nickname, “Knucklehead.” As a puppy she destroyed property and precious clothes; as an adult she injured her owner, ruined romances… and changed the world-views of those around her.
Have you ever watched an animal and wondered how it thinks, how it sees the world, how it views you? And have you ever wondered what wisdom you might learn if you could see things as that animal does?
This unique book is many things: an amusing and moving memoir about a memorable dog, a poetic ode to a human-animal connection, and a serious philosophical, psychological, and spiritual inquiry into the lessons a man gleaned from the simple-minded brilliance of a teacher, a lover, a liver of life to the fullest… a Knucklehead.
That penultimate sentence is demonstrably false, but the rest of that gives you a pretty good idea of what to expect from this book.
The Good
Douglas Green truly loved his knuckleheaded canine companion. That is incredibly clear. She was frequently a goof, that’s clear, and brought a lot of joy and laughter to Green’s life and to those with whom she interacted (mostly).
The parts of the book that were just stories about Shirelle were great and brought several smiles to my face (and I expect the same will be true for many readers). They’re relatable, they’re fun, they might make you chuckle.
I really appreciated moments like where Green tried to describe things like the joy Shirelle (and just about every dog) expresses when their person returns home. And he’s right—why don’t we have the same kind of joy for each other? (we could probably express it without the jumping). Many—maybe even most—of the lessons he takes from Shirelle are similarly well-written, well worth the time, and showed the a smilar kind of thinking.
I couldn’t help but think about Dave Barry and David Rosenfelt’s lessons from their dogs during this time.
Even the parts about Shirelle’s medical struggles—that eventually ended—and what Green went through to get her the care she needed were rewarding reading (although by the time we got to that part, a lot of the book fell into what I talk about in the next couple of sections). Her making it through so much was great to see, even as you feel bad that she had to go through it.
The Meh
I’m going to lump in just about everything that Green puts about his biography, his various jobs, his love life, and his professional and semi-professional pursuits here. I didn’t pick up this book to read about Douglas Green, his career in film or stage—or his move into psychotherapy.
When Green wrote about Shirelle in conjunction with this, that really helped—she’s why people come to the book after all. Shirelle as an unofficial and untrained therapy dog is the kind of thing readers want to see.
The Bad
The metaphysical claims that Green makes, the philosophy he espouses, and things along those lines were tiresome, not well conveyed, and typically interfered with the book as a whole. Your results may vary, obviously, but if I want to read about manifesting or things of that nature—I’ll go grab Rhonda Byrne’s book, not a book about a ridiculous dog.
I’m not entirely sure that those parts of the book were all that internally coherent—I mentally checked out during most of those parts of the book for both of our sakes. That way I wasn’t miserable and I wouldn’t end up going on an extended diatribe about them. I’m on the verge of that now, however, so I’m going to shut up.
Well, after this one additional note. If you’re going to appeal to a term from Christianity (or any other religion) to buttress your point, you should maybe do a quick web search to make sure it means what you think it means. Hint: Christ’s “Passion” doesn’t come close to contemporary usage of “passion,” no matter their etymological link. It’s hard to take someone seriously when they do that.
So, what did I think about The Teachings of Shirelle?
I don’t think that Green and I would get along in person (I’d be glad to be given the opportunity to discover otherwise, and the drinks would be on me). I don’t think we’d actively dislike each other, but we’d just rub each other the wrong way. Until we started telling stories about the silly balls of fur, energy, and devotion that we share our lives with. Then, I think we’d find some great common ground and probably enjoy the conversation.
I bring that up because I think this book works for me along the same lines. When it’s about Shirelle as the animal companion that makes people laugh and/or feel good in other ways, I think the book is at its strongest and most appealing. I’m down for that kind of thing anytime and Green handles it well.
When the book strays from that, it loses me—and the further it strays, the less I care about it and the more I’m going to find things to quibble with.
Are you going to agree with me? I don’t know. Are you going to think I’m out to lunch and really jibe with Green and everything he has to say? It’s possible.
Either way, if you’re a dog-lover—or if you’re someone who enjoys reading about dogs. You’ll probably be glad you gave this a shot, I am (generally).
emotional
hopeful
lighthearted
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Cursed Cocktails About?
The cynical side of me wants to summarize this as a gender-flipped Legends & Lattes with a couple of twists. But as apt as that is, it feels petty and dismissive.
Rhoren is a retired blood mage. I won’t get into what a blood mage is, but it’s about as pretty as the name would lead you to believe. The fact that his nickname “Bloodbane” (a nickname known throughout the nine kingdoms, I should add), is another clue. The “retired” part of Rhoren’s description is a rarity, not many blood mages survive long enough to retire. Those who do, like Rhoren, aren’t in the best of health. Rohren’s given some advice about relocating to the coast (and away from the cold) for his health. Needing a change of pace and scenery, that’s just what he does.
And it’s just the right call for him.
Being in the military (and a fairly active part of it), he didn’t have a lot of chances—or reasons—to spend his earnings, so he has a pretty nice nest egg in addition to his pension. A new place to live and a good amount of funding—just what you need to start the second part of your life.
One of the first things he does when he moves to his new city is befriend a bartender, Kallum. Kallum loves his job, but dreams of being able to be more creative with a menu and creating new cocktails.
Rhoren needs a new purpose in his life and finds an open storefront building with an apartment above it. Sure, it’s open because it seems to be haunted, but what’s a rogue spirit (if the place is actually haunted) for a guy like Rhoren? So he buys the place, moves in, and suggests a partnership with Kallum.
It’s not smooth sailing by any means from this point forward, but chasing dreams (old or new) is worth a few risks, right?
Bloodbane
Rohren doesn’t like to think about his days of service—and likes to talk about it even less. He doesn’t want anyone to know he was a blood mage—especially not Bloodbane. He’s ready to shed that name, that vocation, and the reputation that follows both.
Also, using that kind of power the way he has for decades is the biggest thing impacting his health—the very reason he had to move.
But even the best-kept secrets have a tendency to come to light—especially when events outside of Rohren’s control might call upon him to unleash his abilities.
While I really have no complaints about anything in this book, I thought this was its strongest point. Rowland depicted Rohren’s desire to get away from his past, dealing with his health (both how he’s still limited, and how he’s improving with the weather), and having to step up and tell people about his past, with sensitivity and precision. That was really well done.
The Cozy-ness
After a little peak at the hardships of those who serve and protect in the north and the hazards they face, we shift into the cozy atmosphere we’re promised in this book. And aside from a scene or two (which don’t detract that much), that atmosphere pervades the rest of the book.
There’s some light humor (including some fantastic liquor names—and a cameo from a distinctive bottle design)—there’s a warmth between the characters, a largely supportive populace in the city, and the setting is ripe for stories.
You just can’t help but feel comfortable while reading this. You really might as well be kicking back in your favorite cocktail bar while reading this (and, I should add, you really should have something to drink—not necessarily alcoholic—nearby), you just feel content and warm.
So, what did I think about Cursed Cocktails?
There’s just enough conflict and danger to keep this from being the coziest fantasy that I’ve ever read—but it’s close. In fact, one source of potential conflict never produced any (which was a relief, but also a mild irritation), making the whole thing cozier.
That doesn’t mean the book is dull—far from it. It’s just that you turn the pages for another reason—instead of being on the edge of your seat to see what happens next. You keep going to keep the warm and fuzzy feelings going. It’s here that my mostly joking comparison to Baldree’s book really comes into play, if you got into one, you’ll get into the other.
And that’s a feeling that I don’t mind in the slightest. If you need a break from mayhem and suspense in your reading—or an escape from the world at large—Cursed Cocktails will give you the oasis you need. With at least two more books in this series that promise the same kind of thing, you’d best be hopping on board—you’ll be glad that you did.
adventurous
emotional
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Winter Lost About?
Mercy’s brother Gary shows up at their front door late one night in a royal mess—he’s almost unidentifiable. More than that, he’s having a hard time understanding what’s going on around him and is having a worse time communicating it. No one has any idea why he’s there, where he came from, or what happened.
A quick consultation with a couple of Fae sends Adam and Mercy to Montana—the type of magic that zapped Gary is characteristic of a particular Fae. Along the way, an epic winter storm engulfs Western Montana, Idaho, Eastern Washington—and perhaps more.
Adam and Mercy meet the one responsible for Gary’s state—to free him, they have to complete a task (the guy’s not being a jerk by this, it’s literally a condition of the spell). They have just a couple of days to find something, free Gary, save a wedding, and…I kid you not…save the world.
Everything Else
While the main story is plenty to talk about, there are a couple of other things to note. There’s some good development with Mary Jo, Honey is making some interesting choices, Tad and Jesse are up to something fun, Zee and Adam are involved in a project, and plenty of other things are afoot.
We continue the whole jockeying-for-dominance thing under Adam with Warren, Darryl, and Sherwood—but it seems to be going better than it was in the last book—but it feels like there’s some sort of slow-burn story going there and I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy where it ends up.
There’s more action on the building conflict with various witch groups and the conflict with Bonarata. I want to be super-vague about both of these, but want to mention them. They both took very little space in the novel as a whole and part of me wonders if we really needed them now—we could’ve come back to them in book 15 and spent more time on both (while assuming things were ongoing with both). But…I really liked the way that Briggs wrote both of them.
Bonarata is conducting some psychological warfare on Mercy, which seems to be pretty effective. As part of that, he’s hurting other people. The best example the readers get in this book is a certain kind of horrific. I don’t know if Briggs has shown something so depraved since Iron Kissed—but this time the victim is someone we don’t even know the name of. Part of me is really impressed with how Briggs wrote this, most of me wishes she hadn’t.
So, what did I think about Winter Lost?
There are a couple of things to say—first: I had a whole lot of fun with this one. Yeah, the stakes are higher than they sometimes are. But this felt more fun than the last couple of books, things have felt very weighty since Silence Fallen. This was closer to River Marked, it seems.
But more than that, Briggs was trying some new things narratively, both in the order and way she was telling the story—and in the way the cast of characters were spread out in this book. And everything she tried worked really well. At the moment, I can’t think of a way to talk about this with any level of detail and not spoil some big things—so let’s just leave it with Briggs trying some new things for the series and succeeding. I don’t know if she’ll want to try to tell another story like this anytime soon (and I’m not sure she should), but I like to see her experimenting—and hope she continues.
There’s not much more to say—there’s some great action, some solid character moments, a nice bit of new mythology, and Briggs has planted all sorts of seeds for a couple (or more) future installments in the series. This is just what Mercy fans needed, and I hope we get more of it soon.
adventurous
dark
emotional
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Where Does Grave Cold Take Place?
In a dystopian future the geography of the (what we’d now consider) the Western U.S. looks much different—states are a thing of the past, and two major population centers are the District of Utah (which does contain Salt Lake City) and the District of Portland (Oregon, not Maine). There are people who have been Genetically Modified for one reason or another—and in the D.P. they’re largely feared and ostracized because of what they are and what they can do.
D.P. is where the action takes place in the novel—and it feels like it came out of Portland, OR, too. And not just because Voodoo Doughnuts still exists. Yes, even in a quasi-dystopia people want their donuts. Maybe they need them more than we do, come to think of it.
There’s a lot of the tech, etc. that one usually associates with more utopian-looking/feeling SF. And maybe for many people it’s just that. But D.P.’s government is definitely of the dystopian type (and, boy howdy, do we learn more about that as the book continues), and the area outside the District feels that way, too, filled with mutants and who knows what else.
If you’re one of those readers who really gets into worldbuilding, you’re going to be happy with this read.
What’s Grave Cold About?
Cait’s a beautician with a lot flair and very little money. She’s scraping by, barely. When she sleeps (which she tries not to), the dead come to her and talk to her, trying to get her to do things. So…it’s easy to understand why she doesn’t like to sleep.
A man named Nyle sneaks into Portland after having been prevented legal entrance by a guard—and he’s not the only one like him who has been denied entrance. Nyle, however, is older, more experienced, more powerful, and probably more determined. He and those like him are called “ravens” (although there are other, more contemporary(?) names like “ferrymen”)—they’re tasked with freeing the spirits of the dead from their bodies. It’s been so long since they’ve been permitted in D.P. that Nyle has been compelled to come so he can do his work.
He and Cait have a strong rapport right away, she has some friends (and some family she has a troubling relationship with), but not that many. The two of them click right away, and Cait helps Nyle change his appearance so he can hide from the authorities. He tells her that she’s not Genetically Modified, she has supernatural abilities like him—she’s a necromancer.
While it’s not the same power, it’s close to his and he has experience with necromancers and guides her to use her abilities better.
Working together, they begin to free the spirits of the dead and learn why ravens have been blocked from entering D.P.—those spirits are being used by newly developed technology. This pits the pair against the authorities and other powerful people.
Here’s the Thing
I don’t get magic/paranormal/supernatural systems like this one where someone/something is required to separate souls from bodies at/around/near death. Whether it’s this book (and it’s oncoming sequel), Amber Benson’s Calliope Reaper-Jones series, the TV show Dead Like Me, or any of the other examples I had in mind for weeks to bring up that disappeared as soon as I started composing this post. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.
This doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy these works of fiction. I just don’t understand what ties these non-corporeal entities/substances/existences/whatever to the body at or after death and why someone has to come along and separate them.
So I guess I’m saying two things here—1. If you’re like me on this point, you can still get into this book. I honestly didn’t think about it while reading the Grave Cold, it’s only when I think about the book/system that it gives me pause. 2. If you’re not like me…can you explain this?
So, what did I think about Grave Cold?
I cannot describe it to my satisfaction, but Knight has embued this novel with an atmosphere, a texture that you can’t help but feel as you read. Her descriptions are pretty sparse, but at the same time, I really think I know what Cait’s environs look and feel like.
It’s difficult to think of spirits as capable of being mistreated or abused—they’re spirits of dead people, right? But in Knight’s world that’s exactly what’s happening. Abusing the dead ranks right up there with elder-abuse somehow. As Nyle says,
“It’s easy to see the dead as non-persons when you’re alive. It’s harder when you know them.”
Instead of going on to whatever is next once the spirit is released, the former citizens of D.P. are trapped and exploited.
While this story is dark and harrowing, there’s a real pleasure (and sometimes lightness) in watching the friendship between Nyle—a centuries-old being—and Cait deepen and grow stronger. It’s a tricky thing to attempt (much less pull off), but Knight does it well.
Great world-building, questionable (to me) magic system—but it’s cool to see in action, some well-designed characters (including all of them that I didn’t mention here), a plot that moves well and is intricate enough that you’re kept wondering where it’s going until the end. Knight has written (on my blog) about coming up with the sequel, so I know one is coming. And I’m looking forward to it—at the same time, were this a stand-alone, it’d be very satisfactory as one.
adventurous
dark
funny
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Bad Actors About?
Matt Spiller, Man Down‘s actor turned cab driver turned vigilante made it to Hollywood. His first feature film is about to drop, he’s on the verge of starring in a premier TV show—all his dreams have come true.
And then his agent from England drops in unannounced—blackmailing Spiller for a significant amount of his earnings.
Then the detective who couldn’t quite put him away in England shows up, wanting to pin the murder of another action star to him.
And a would-be up-and-coming actor starts acting aggressively toward him.
His ex-wife and her new flame are coming to town.
Maybe some of his nightmares are coming true, too.
Spiller being Spiller, there’s really only way way for him to react—and that’s violently.
But before it’s over, there’s going to be a lot more going on than Spiller trying to keep his career and money going on. He’s going to make some powerful enemies and may stop some horrible people from doing some horrible things. But he’s not going to be able to lie down with these pigs and not get dirty himself.
A Manifesto on the Movies
In between the mayhem and hijinks—several people from various backgrounds sound off on the state of movies today. I think they speak for a lot of us when it comes to complaining about violence, spectacle, shallow characters, and more at the cost of story, plot, and craft.
These complaints—coming from Pepper’s characters, and any number of people in the real world—aren’t going to change things. But it’s sure nice to read. Choir members do appreciate being preached to.
From Everyman To . . . ?
So, in Man Down, Matt Spiller was kind of an everyman who found himself in a situation beyond his control and reacted in ways that…well, few everymen would.
In Bad Actors, Spiller is on the verge of a Hollywood career. His first movie is about to be released, and the buzz is pretty strong (particularly after a memorable appearance on a late-night show). He has more money than he knows what to do with.
It’s harder to root for him this time—partially because of his success, but only minimally really. Actually, Spiller doing well after everything he endured is vicariously encouraging. But it’s everything that he does to maintain his new position in life that makes it difficult. Things go up and down—so your estimation of his actions and motivations fluxuate as well (as they may have during Man Down).
This has no effect on the entertainment value of the novel—just your perspective on Spiller.
So, what did I think about Bad Actors?
This is a sequel to Man Down, but there’s also an aspect that makes it more—if you’ve read Pepper’s Veteran Avenue or Man on a Murder Cycle
Do you need to have read Man Down before this? Nope. You learn everything you need to know about Spiller and the rest here. Would it add to the experience? Sure. And I enjoyed Man Down more, so it wouldn’t be the worst idea to pick it up.
As for Bad Actors? It was a heckuva ride. I was less than satisfied with the way that several aspects of the storylines wrapped up—and not merely due to the outlandish nature of them. I still recommend it.
I’m a little unsure how to wrap this up beyond that—so I’m just going to borrow my conclusion from my Man Down post—Bad Actors is a good sequel in that way.
This was a bonkers read—that’s a compliment, in case that wasn’t clear. On the one hand, it’s impossible to predict how Pepper is going to start at Point A and end up anywhere near Point Z, but he does, and when you look back at it, the logic is clear and sound.
I can’t tell you how many times he pulled the rug out from under me (he does the same to Matt almost as often)—sometimes eliciting a laugh, sometimes shock and dismay, sometimes I was so dumbfounded as not to know how to react. [deleted because of the stuff I talked about in the above section]
The humor is dark, the action is frequent and dynamic, with [many] characters that you want to get to know better and see more of. I’m not sure what else to say at this point without giving away everything, so let’s just go with if you’re in the mood for a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride of a thriller, get your mitts on this one pronto.
adventurous
lighthearted
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Every Who is shaped by a Where.
In this case, the Where is a tiny coastal village named Seaside. from the beach there is a constant, breathy shhh-ahhh sound as the waves flow first in, then out, each exhalation coating the simple, whitewashed buildings with a fine, salty mist. Through the village center runs the Queen’s Road, a winding ribbon that traces the curving shoreline of the island nation to which Seaside belongs. Grassy, rolling hills surround the village to the north, so that when viewed from above, it appears as a single pearl on a string nestled on a bed of seagrass.Seaside was given its unimaginative name by its unimaginative people. In fact, hostility toward creativity and change is a central feature of the Seasider mentality, a proud tradition handed down from generation to generation. They value simplicity, practicality, and—above all—uniformity. For this reason, it has been decreed that every building in the village must adhere to the same basic plan: squarish shape, white walls, dark roof. This arrangement makes it obvious which villagers are lax in their home maintenance, and are therefore not to be trusted. The same principle applies to matters of appearance, behavior, and topics of conversation. Unsurprisingly, the most popular topic of conversation is the failure of others to conform….
With the matter of Where set aside, it is time to meet our Who—Sophie Farrier, a kind-hearted and imaginative young girl who fits into Seaside about as well as a whale fits into a rowboat, and has been just as uncomfortably shaped.
What’s The Glass Frog About?
Thankfully for her, Sophie will not spend the entire novel in Seaside. But she has indeed been shaped by that village, and try as she might, she will act in the way she was shaped (both in ways she recognizes and ways she doesn’t). She’s also been shaped by books she’s read—a scandalous notion to many people in Seaside—and a devoted older brother, Damon, who has stepped up in so many ways that her deceased parents cannot and that her guardian aunt will not. Without her books and her brother, Seaside would’ve turned Sophie into a successfully conformed young woman.
Things change in Seaside one day when some kelp harvesters find an unconscious stranger who had the absolute temerity to wash up on shore. It’s rude, unheard of, and not at all fitting with the unimaginative ethos they prefer. There’s some debate amongst the villagers—with a majority wanting to send this stranger back to the sea he came from—but a couple of stalwarts (including Damon) refuse and arrange for him to be cared for by the local doctor. Sophie helps the doctor in her own way—and the doctor beings to think she might have a future in medicine.
When the stranger finally awakes, he wastes little time before he sets out to leave Seaside and resume his interrupted quest. Something about him, about what he says to her—and some drama at home—drives Sophie to follow him. Or try to, anyway. He has a pretty solid headstart and can move much more quickly than she can. Also…Sophie’s never left Seaside, so she really doesn’t know what to expect or how to interact with people who aren’t from there.
Meanwhile, a powerful group arrives at Seaside, demanding that the stranger be returned to them or the city will be destroyed. Everyone in the Village who was ready to throw him back into the sea are more than ready to give him up. If they only knew where he was.
So, what did I think about The Glass Frog?
I’m not certain who Lowry’s audience is, like the BlueInk Review cited on the back cover says, it can work for “discerning reader[s], from middle grade to adult.” I can think of readers I know/have known up and down that range who would appreciate the book, and I can’t think of any reasons to try to wave off a middle grader (which is refreshing).
It’s hard not to like Sophie—and I don’t understand why anyone would resist it—her brother is a little tougher to like, but that’s not necessarily his fault. Most people that she encounters after she leaves Seaside are pretty likable, too (with some notable, and easy-to-identify exceptions). The people of Seaside are an interesting mix—most (maybe all of them, I didn’t take a census) are good fictional characters and the reader will appreciate them as such. As people? Eh, it’s a mixed bag. But it’s a more complicated question than you’d expect from the early descriptions of the village.
I don’t believe Lowry’s prose was particularly purple at the beginning of the book, but it was headed to that end of the visible light spectrum. My notes said something like, “you’d better not use every adjective in your account too early or you won’t have any leftover for the last chapters.” I do think he got it under control pretty quickly—or I became inured to it, I’d believe either, but I think it’s the former.
There was some pretty solid comedy in this book (particularly involving the citizenry of Seaside), but it’s not a humorous fantasy in the mode of Terry Pratchett or Sean Gibson. I’d categorize it as a light, whimsical fantasy with some really funny moments. But there are some serious moments, too. A lot of heartbreak and loneliness—some self-destructive behaviors on display, too. Maybe a dash or two of romance. Plus some villainy, cowardice, avarice, xenophobia, and manipulation to balance out the acts of heroism (intentional or inadvertent). A little bit of everything, really.
I don’t know that I want a sequel to this—but I would like other books set in this work (with Sophie and those close to her showing up in the background). There’s just so much to explore, and Lowry has created a bunch of fun places and ideas to play with. Some of the minor characters from this book would be great to see again as protagonists—or at least, playing a larger role than they got to here.
But most of all, I’m curious about what the next novel (in this world or another) from Lowry will look like, I bet it’ll be worth the time—just like The Glass Frog was. You should check it out.
adventurous
lighthearted
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s The Legendary Mo Seto About?
This is one of those books that I could easily tell you everything in my enthusiasm, but that’d take away the need for you to read the book—and Chan’s much more entertaining than I could be. So, I’ll try to keep it to the essentials.
Modesty (please call her Mo) Seto is a devoted student of taekwondo and has been competing—and dominating—in competitions for years. But a fellow student recently hit a growth spurt that passed Mo by and he has started to beat her in competitions. This is getting to her, it’s just not fair. After coming in second to him (again), she sees a call for open auditions for people in her age range for a role in an upcoming martial arts movie starring her favorite movie star/martial artist in the world.
Technically, Mo is too short for their requirements—the height issue again, will she ever just grow? She comes up with a cunning plan* to get into the auditions anyway with the help of her best friend and his grandfather posing as her guardian. Why a faux grandfather? There’s no way that her mother would allow her to do anything like this and her father is away on a sudden business trip and isn’t communicating with Mo or her mother the way he usually would.
* Slightly more elaborate than anything Clark Kent has tried, and just as believable. Just roll with it.
We follow Mo through the audition process—which starts to take on unexpected peril as the set becomes plagued by threats and unexpected problems—possibly caused by sabotage. Oh, yeah, and her classmate/rival is also going up for the part.
Can Mo get the part without the truth being discovered? Will Mo be disillusioned by seeing behind the Movie Magic? Will Mo’s dad start responding to her? And what’s up with this old book with a little-known martial arts form Mo just found in her basement? More importantly, can she use any of it to her advantage?
The BTS Stuff
Let’s get this out of the way: This is an MG Novel, not Cinéma vérité. There’s no way that the auditions can work the way portrayed in the novel—especially when it comes to kids. It is impossible that any of Mo’s antics and hijinks to get her into—much less stay in—the auditions would work. If you’re looking for accuracy and an honest look at making martial arts movies with actors under 18, look elsewhere.
That said, there’s enough of a flavor of Hollywood to all of this to work. The attitudes of the casting people—the shallowness of the initial assessments, the stress of the director, the attitude toward the fight choreographer/stunt professionals, and so on—really feel like what you expect. They’re entertaining enough that you really don’t care how realistic things might be, too—feeling about right is good enough.
For my money, the best part of this is watching Cody Kwok in action and how everyone reacts to him. Kwok is a Jackie Chan-esque figure (only younger). He’s known for doing his own stunts—many of which are just incredible—as well as not being tied down to any one genre (but making them all, eventually, about martial arts). Kwok, his entourage, and the film’s executives know what they’re doing when it comes to preserving his image and promoting it, and the auditioning kids (and media) see exactly what they’re supposed to. Chan does an excellent job portraying both that and showing the reader that the Superstar’s image might not really be the truth.
Characters Who Aren’t Mo
There’s a really strong cast of supporting characters who are as engaging as you want, I want to touch on just a few of them because it’d be too easy just to talk about Mo, and that’s not giving Chan’s work the credit it needs.
Mo’s rivals in the auditions are largely bullies when it comes to Mo (and some of the others), but they’re not all that bad. They’re just adolescent twerps who are probably covering up insecurities (well, a couple of them are entitled jerks who are on their way to being 80s movie villains)—the way they treat Mo is bad enough so you don’t make the mistake of liking them, can root for Mo against them, but you’re not going to worry about what they’ll do to her.
On the other hand, you get Mo’s friends who just make you like her more—if someone as cool as Nacho (real name, Ignacio) is her best friend, she must be pretty cool herself. And Nacho is cool—he’s supportive, understanding, artistic, and nerdy in all the ways that Mo isn’t. Mo’s a little too hyper-focused on herself at the moment, but Nacho gets it and is willing to wait for her.
His grandfather is a hoot. Gramps is an honorary grandparent to Mo, as well as Nacho’s actual grandfather. He’s recently widowed and lonely, but he hasn’t let it get him down—at least not in front of the kids. He’s a loving and goofy character who really comes through for Nacho and Mo—he’s the kind of grandfather I’d like to be.
One of the auditioners who befriends Mo is named Sanjay. I hope they find a way to bring him back for the rest of the books in the series. He’s apparently pretty good at karate and is as gregarious as the others are antagonistic. He’s one of those kids who cannot stop talking once he starts and is not self-aware enough to realize he’s doing it or how people react to him. He’d probably be pretty annoying in real life but as a comic relief character? He’s great.
Lastly—Mo’s parents. Parents in MG novels are so tricky to get right (I’ve often thought), and Chan gets it right. Not just the characters, but how they treat Mo—and how Mo sees them and how they treat her. Mo’s dad introduced her to taekwondo and Cody Kwok. He’s her biggest fan and source of encouragement—he also pushes her (generally) in the way she needs to keep going. When he’s not there, the impact on Mo’s confidence and emotions cannot be overstated.
Things are complicated with her mother. Mom comes close to being a stereotype, at least the way the narration describes her. But I’m not sure she is, essentially they don’t get each other—from Mo’s perspective, her Mom doesn’t like who Mo is. She doesn’t want a daughter into taekwondo (especially not to the near-obsessive level Mo is), but would rather she pursued something more acceptable, like dancing and Chinese immersion camp, a dainty academic superstar in the waiting. The reader will see that Mo’s not understanding her mother quite right, but there’s nothing malicious in it. It’s just a tricky mother/daughter dynamic (that appears to be starting to work itself out).
Mo Herself
In case I gave the wrong impression when I talked about Nacho, Mo is a cool person, but since we see the whole book from her point of view, it might seem biased. Mo is a confident, optimistic, go-getter. The fact that she’s probably not going to keep growing past her 4’9″ stature while everyone around her (especially Dax) is still growing, isn’t doing her esteem any favors. Her recent tournament loss is doing a number on her—she’s upset that Dax’s size puts her at a disadvantage and is ready to give up, but she’s also so determined that she just can’t. Chan portraying both competing impulses is a tricky proposition, but she pulls it off.
The chance to work with Kwok is the opportunity of a lifetime for Mo. She’s re-read his autobiography a few times (can quote portions of it), and has watched countless interviews—she knows him as well as anyone who hasn’t met him can (and as well as many people who have met him could). She’s such a superfan that it’s hard not to want to see a few Kwok movies yourself. When she describes one of his films, she always introduces it as “my favorite Cody Kwok movie”—it doesn’t matter which one she’s talking about. It’s a tiny touch, but I loved it. Her enthusiasm is infectious.
Actually, not just her enthusiasm for Kwok—but for everything. Her despondency is a little catching, too, and comes when it should. But her personality can’t stay down for long. She grows a lot over the course of the novel*—as she needs to, it’s the point of adolescence anyway. But she also has plenty of room to grow, and that’s easy to see, too. It’ll be fun watching that over the rest of the series.
* That’s growth in terms of character. Much to her chagrin, she’s as tall at the end of the summer as she was at the beginning.
So, what did I think about The Legendary Mo Seto?
I had about as much fun as is permitted by law while reading this.
Sure, it’s an MG book, so I’m a few decades older than the target audience. I guessed almost all of the big reveals (I think attentive MG readers will get most of them, too), I’m pretty sure I know how the next two books are going to go, and I rolled my eyes at some of the sillier aspects of the book. That’s not a problem with Chan’s writing—I think it means she hit her target. The fact that she was able to write for them while keeping an old guy like me entertained is to be commended.
This is a fast, engaging read that will entice readers from the jump and keep them turning pages (likely with a grin) almost as fast as Mo can dash around. Older readers will want to adopt Mo and Nacho as kid siblings (or false grandparents), and younger readers will want to be like Mo—and hang out with her friends. As good as the story and the writing are (and Chan’s subtle prose is deceptively easy)—readers are going to walk away from this book thinking primarily of this determined and brave girl, who will muster up whatever she has to in order to get a shot at her dreams.
I’m leaving things out that I should be saying, I know I am—but I can’t think of what they are at the moment. So be sure to see what other people on the Tour are saying. So let me just wrap up by saying that for the young or young-at-heart reader, this is a sure-fire win.
lighthearted
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
If you do manage to find the restaurant, the décor is dated and worn. Homey, if one were to be generous. The service is atrocious, the proprietor a grouch. The regulars are worse, silent, brooding, and unfriendly to newcomers. There is no set menu, alternating with the whim and whimsy of the owner. The selection of wine and beer is sparse or non- existent at times, and the prices for everything outrageous.
There is a restaurant in Toronto that is magically hidden, whose service is horrible, and whose food is divine.
What’s The Nameless Restaurant About?
If that description in the first paragraph wasn’t enough to make you disinclined to visit this restaurant—that “magically hidden” part should take care of it. Between its location and the wards inside, only a select few come in. Which is just the way the proprietor, Mo Meng, wants it.
The majority of his clientele are magical beings—or magic users—and his staff know just enough about that to understand the nature of their customers, and little else (sure, how else does their boss get some of those fresh and rare ingredients if not for teleportation).
On this one particular night in addition to some regulars—and a couple of mundane/muggle/non-magical people who stumble in—there are some new diners. A jinn, her companion/student, and three mages from the Council who are hunting for the jinn.
The novella isn’t about the diners, per se, it’s about Mo Meng and his establishment. They’re just who happened to be there that night.
Step Aside Cousin Carmy
For there were more important matters before her. Much more than the fate of the world. After all, dinner was here.
There are all types of magic that could be thrown around the restaurant—and a little of that comes into play. But the real wonder-working is what Mo Meng gets up to in the kitchen, and the results that his waitress brings to the table.
Wong gets into detail when talking about the preparation of the food, the recipes, and so on. You know how you can watch a show or two on the Food Network and think you can prepare something like Alex Guarnaschelli? Well, when I finished this book, I could imagine that all I needed was to re-read a couple of paragraphs in this book (after buying a wok).
At the same time, when you read about the customers eating, smelling, or looking at his food? You’re going to want to grab a snack—if not a few entrées. I easily could’ve put on 5-10 pounds just from reading this if there’d been food within reach (I’m so glad this is a novella and not a full-novel, especially of the doorstop variety—I don’t think I could handle that kind of temptation).
So, what did I think about The Nameless Restaurant?
Sure, she had a healthy appetite—which, when you considered the fact that she was a purely magical being was both fascinating and annoying—but she had never been gluttonous.
Not till now, at least.
This is a spin-off of Wong’s Hidden Wishes trilogy—but you don’t need to be familiar with it at all to appreciate this (I haven’t read it yet and I did). Might it help? Sure, but not enough to prioritize it.
We don’t get a lot of time with any of the characters who aren’t Mo Meng (there’s just not enough space in the novella)—but we get enough enjoy them all individually, and be at least a little curious about them all (and hope they show up in future novellas if only to see their reaction to future dishes).
The magic circumstances surrounding and repercussions of real-world events that are explained over conversations between the diners are a fun choice by Wong.
There’s not much to say beyond this because of the length of the book—I really enjoyed it, I got hungry, and want to read more of this series and more of this world. Thankfully, I can fulfill the latter easily—I encourage you to do the same.
adventurous
emotional
tense
medium-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader along with some further ruminations about it, comparing it to some of Hibbs' Non-Fiction work.
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What’s The White Door About?
A pull-quote on the cover calls this “Pilgrims Progress meets Stranger Things.” I’m not sure that Bunyan belongs in the conversation—maybe Lewis meets Stranger Things? This Present Darkness with better theology is closer yet.
There’s a great ensemble of characters featured in this novel, but let’s focus (as the novel does) on two—the first is Pastor Cleft Warrington. It’s evident soon after we meet him that he’s the kind of pastor you’d want—educated, compassionate, smart, and faithful. But there’s more than that to him—the small town in Pennsylvania that he pastors in has more going on than is visible to the naked eye. There are forces on the move—and he is one of the few aware of it.
The other character we focus on is Seth Logan—he’s a father of a couple of little kids and a writing professor. His wife is a steadying and supportive influence in his life, which he really needs. When we meet him, he’s unaware (like most people in this town) of the unseen workings around him. But all that changes when he comes across a stray cat one day while hiking.
I’m not sure how much else to say, but the cover blurb says little more—there are two doors (in places that have no business having doors, see McGuire’s Wayward Children series for examples). A white one and a black one—those who walk through them are changed. What, and how, they see is altered in ways that say a lot more about the doors than anything else.
The custodian (for lack of a better term) of the black door is named Skotos—he has been popping up in Dingmans Ferry now and then for quite some time. Cleft is trying to monitor his actions as much as he can. Cleft can’t say for certain what Skotos is up to—or what his aims are—but they are not for anyone’s benefit but his.
Those who walk through the white door get nicknamed “gazers,” because of their altered vision. They see things, realities, that others don’t–and cannot. Because of this power, they have a responsibility to their town (if not to more than the town) and its citizens. The gazers have allied with each other for this purpose and when they add members, they take them under their wings and help them understand their abilities and far more.
The Choice of the 80s
This is set in the 1980s, which is an interesting choice. And I’m not sure that it was necessary for the story. Sure, it eliminates the Internet in early or current form, so that’s an advantage—this would’ve been a difficult story to tell if characters could just check certain events online.
While there may be little about the events or the narrative that demands that time period, the smaller town feels more authentic in the 80s, I guess. There are plenty of little details that Hibbs provides to help it feel like that time.
The biggest thing that made me wonder about the choice of chronological setting (probably the only thing) was the way that Seth’s anxiety was depicted (and the way people reacted to him). I haven’t done any research on this—but I’m not sure that too many people in the 80s were talking about people with anxiety disorders or panic attacks quite the way these characters do. Particularly regarding adult men. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’d wager that was a stumble (as an example, see how strange it was in the late 90s for characters like Tony Soprano to deal with those things, and the ways they covered it up).
The Mix of Theology and Fantasy
Mixing Christian thinking, Christian belief, and fiction—particularly Fantasy—is a tricky thing. It can be done, and there is a tradition of it. But I can’t help wondering about the way that Hibbs does it. I enjoyed it thoroughly, but I had some questions and qualms.
The titular white door and the way it changes those who walk through it…both are great, full of symbolism and meaning. I really appreciated the effects produced in those who’ve entered it. But I have so many questions about it, too—why aren’t all the believers in town taken to it? Is it some sort of second blessing?* Why is it available for any random person walking by (although it is out of the way) to just walk through? Along those lines—Skotos’ victims…the way that Seth and his companions figure out what happened to them and the way they appeal to Paul’s writings to get there really misses the apostle’s point and even contradicts it. And that really troubles me.
* I know Hibbs wouldn’t go for that, but it kind of seems like one.
There are some other things depicted—some visions, another reality that’s visited (to put it as vaguely as I can), and things of that nature—that were just great. The pure fantasy stuff—or at least the things that he can talk about in purely fantastic terms—was great.
You take the blending of fantasy and theology out of this—leave us only with Skotos’ “magic” or whatever, the Deeper Magic of the Doors, and whatnot—I wouldn’t have a complaint at all. No church, no sermons, no Bible—just warring Good and Evil? The whole thing works. But Hibbs frequently stumbles when he combines them.
Now let’s set aside the Fantasy for a minute and just focus on the Theology. First of all, anyone who’s read much of Hibbs is going to recognize his thinking here. Narnia, Seth, and Cleft sound like they’ve studied Hibbes’ work (ignoring the anachronism there)—which is good. If only so you know that you’re supposed to think they’re on the right path. Other characters largely sound like they’re on their way to sounding that way, too.
Even the demonic (or at least really evil) character’s theology is rock solid. He rejects it—but he knows it. Watching him explain something, and then reacting to it, was really well done.
I have to add, that some of the gazers get animal companions—stewards—who can talk to the gazers. We see two of them in this book, Seth’s cat, Narnia, and Cleft’s dog, Roland. They are just fantastic. A Tolkein-quoting cat with a penchant for talking theology? That’s a critter I’d put up with my allergies attacking me to spend time with. Every bit with those animals are great. There are some other animals that show up later, too—I really dug them, too. But my spoiler policy prevents me from talking about them.
Some Word Choices
I’m going to throw this out there just to be thorough—and because I know a couple of my readers will think about it—maybe even be turned off by it.
The characters in this novel are not all Christians. And some of them are very recent converts who haven’t quite gotten around to cleaning up their language thoroughly. Hibbs has them use realistic words for people in those situations—a depiction of how the world is, not how he might want it to be.
That said, nothing too terrible is said in the book—nothing you couldn’t get away with in a PG movie (which isn’t the best barometer for some people, but it’s the easiest to convey) or a sitcom from the mid-80s.
Hibbs’ Writing
As a surprise to no one who’s read what I’ve said about Hibbs’ style and way with words before, I loved it. There are some sentences, some passages, and even some phrases that I just adored. If I had a final version and not an ARC, you’d be reading plenty of quotations in this post.
These characters and their emotional lives are richly drawn. The descriptions of little things as well as major events or scenes are the kind of thing that keep people reading regardless of plot and character.
There are two character deaths described that just blew me away. One happens just as the book begins and we see a grieving husband in the minutes after his wife’s death. It’s handled with sensitivity and care—and right from the get-go, you get attached to this character, his reactions feel just right. The other death that we spend an extended time on is handled differently, but perhaps even better. There are other deaths that don’t get this—or similar—kind of treatment. They’re handled the way that most fictional deaths are, and that’s fine. But the two we linger on? Hibbs gets everything right about those and I loved reading them (and will again).
I should add that this book isn’t full of character deaths—but there are some.
I’ve gotten off-topic a bit, but this is just some great writing. There’s a hint of poetry to so much of this energized by an eye for detail. Little things—like the description of Seth’s daughter’s laugh—are just beautiful, and some of the bigger things are done just as well.
So, what did I think about The White Door?
It’s been a long time since I read Christian Fiction regularly—sure, I read a few things by Christians (mostly local authors), but not a lot that calls itself Christian Fiction. In fact, I think this is the fourth book of that type I’ve posted about here. But when I heard that Hibbs was going to be bringing his first novel into the world, you know I had to give it a read. I’ve often said that his books are the best written theological/Christian Living/etc. books that I’ve read (published in the last 50 years, anyway), so of course I want to see what he does with fiction.*
* I should probably try his poetry, too. But it’s poetry, so don’t expect that anytime soon.
I’m so glad I did.
I have mentioned a few quibbles above—the downside of doing that is that it overshadows all the good that can be said. I can’t think of a way to do that without giving too much away. So my own limitation makes the book come across as worse than it should. Note the above paragraph, if nothing else.
It started slow, and I wondered for a while just what the book was going to be about (I didn’t bother reading anything about it before requesting a copy—I just knew it was the first novel for Hibbs, and that was enough)—but it kept me going—and it wasn’t long before I was fully invested (and that kept growing). By the time it was over, I wasn’t quite ready to walk away from these characters and this world.
The conversations that Cleft and Seth have together—or with other characters—about books, The Bible, language, and so on? They’re just great—and I could’ve read many more of them. There’s no justification in terms of character development or plot for us to spend more time with Seth (and Narnia) in Seth’s classes—but Hibbes could’ve given us more of them and I wouldn’t have complained. (I may have noted that he was padding the book with them, but I’d have enjoyed the padding enough to give him a pass)
Similar things could be said for Seth spending time with his family (with or without Narnia)—and so many other aspects of the book.
Every element of this novel works really well when considered on its own. Many of them work in conjunction with the others—it’s when all of them are brought together in these 484 pages that I think Hibbs trips over himself. It’s really a total is less than the sum of its parts kind of thing. But those parts are so worth your time and energy—and I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that I’m alone in some/all of my judgments.
I do encourage you to pick this up. It’s a good read, a refreshing, hopeful read—and I hope it’s the first of several novels from Pierce Taylor Hibbs.
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this eARC from the author, but the opinions expressed are mine and honest. And are what I would’ve said about the copy I bought—I’m just saying them a few weeks earlier.
funny
informative
lighthearted
reflective
fast-paced
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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What’s Mystery Science Theater 3000: A Cultural History About?
This is a retrospective of the show—its history, development (highs and lows), spin-offs, and latest formats. It’s also an examination and consideration of the impact the show has made to its viewers and on the industry of entertainment, and the ripple effects it has had on pop culture.
It looks at how MST3K was shaped by the upbringing of its cast and writers—focusing on the tone and style of the hosts—as well as the network (or lack thereof) that brought the show to the audience.
It wraps up with an Appendix listing twenty episodes that best capture the show for new viewers—between the riffs, the movies themselves, and hosting segments—with each host being represented. They truly picked some gems—good for new viewers and established fans to go back and revisit some highlights.
The Worst We Can Find
“Hey, wait a second, H.C.,” I can hear some of you thinking, “you talked about this book last July.” Well, no. But I can understand the confusion. That was actually the book, The Worst We Can Find: MST3K, RiffTrax, and the History of Heckling at the Movies by Dale Sherman.
I haven’t done this a lot, but every now and then I read a book that is someone taking all/part of their doctoral dissertation and reworking it/part of it for a wider/popular audience. In many ways, that’s what this felt like—Foy and Olson’s work was the technical/academic book for those of a more scholarly persuasion, and Sherman’s was the version for the wider audience. Except that Sherman’s was longer, and it usually goes the other way.
This is not a criticism of either book—at all. They both over their respective emphases and quirks. They’re both dependent on interviews and articles produced by others; both are written by fans who’ve dedicated a good deal of time to both the research and production of the book—propelled by a greater deal of time developing an appreciation of MST3K; and both are the kind of things that die-hard fans will sink their teeth into. One’s just a bit more highbrow than the other.
Dissecting Some Frogs
Analysts have had their go at humor, and I have read some of this interpretative literature, but without being greatly instructed. Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the purely scientific mind.
The idea has been variously ascribed, but it seems that E. B. White and Katharine S. White first put it into print. Whoever said it first, the idea floated through the back of my mind at more than one point while reading this book.
There were repeated explanations of various jokes throughout the book—and not one of them was necessary (if you ask me, anyway). Maybe one or two of them will help younger readers who are not familiar with the pop culture of the 90s or earlier, but I think context alone will take care of the questions a reader will have. And you understand the authors’ impulse to explain them and maybe even admire their attempt while rolling your eyes at the outcome.
Flirting With Semantic Satiation
The term Intertexuality appears so often in this book, that you can imagine Tom Servo and Crow riffing on it. But it’s not like there are a lot of synonyms available, and it’s a real focus of the authors and a strong point of the book. Still, the SOL crews would hammer them on it.
The consideration of how MST3K has trained a couple of generations in approaching intertextuality, media consumption, and responses to them is the intellectual core of this book. The show, in all its various incarnations, has shaped both the viewers and other shows, internet content, and general internet discussion in ways that are larger than the show’s ratings may suggest. The cultural footprint is oversized given viewership (the tapes did keep circulating, at least metaphorically).
I, for one, had given this very little thought until Fry and Olson pointed it out—along with their discussion of MST3K and its spin-off projects being at the forefront of newer delivery systems for media and programming. Given their humble beginnings, it’s really quite remarkable.
So, what did I think about Mystery Science Theater 3000: A Cultural History?
I’ve read two other books in this series (and keep meaning to read others), Friends and Gilmore Girls, comparing this to those, I’d say it captures the strengths of both and avoids what I recall as the shortcomings of the Friends volume and the spirit of the Gilmore Girls book. If nothing else, the diversity in these three installments demonstrates a strength of the series. You’re not going to get cookie-cutter approaches to the various series in consideration. Each author/team of authors is going to approach the show in question differently, reflecting the preferences and focus of the authors.
The only shortcoming I can think of (outside the attempted academic explanations of humor) is the lack of space given to Emily’s hosting/riffing style compared to the other hosts. I’m certain that this is a function of how few episodes she has appeared in, but it would’ve been nice to get a little more about her.
I was entertained by the book—both due to the authors’ style and the memories it conjured. I thought about the show and its legacy in ways I hadn’t before. I kicked myself for not taking part in the crowdfunding efforts I didn’t participate in. I was inspired to watch a couple of episodes I’d somehow missed—and just to make time for the show in general. Mostly this was an exercise in getting to know more about old friends, and seeing them in a different light.
I’m a sucker for anything MST3K related, so you know this worked for me. Do I know if you’ll appreciate this book if you’re not a fan or a media studies student? I doubt it’s for you. But if you’re either of those things—you’ll get something out of it.
What do you think, sirs?
Disclaimer: I received a copy of this book from Rowman & Littlefield via NetGalley—thanks to both for this.