Book Review: Spinster by Kate Bolick

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Title: Spinster (Making a Life of One’s Own)

Author: Kate Bolick

Genre: Non-Fiction, Cultural Criticism, Feminist Literature, Social Commentary

First Published: 2015 (Crown Publishers)

Page Count: 297 pages

“Whom to marry and when will it happen? These two questions define every woman’s existence, regardless of where she was raised or what religion she does or doesn’t practice… These dual contingencies govern her until they’re answered, even if the answers are nobody and never.”

And with that begins Kate Bolick’s highly informative, compelling, and entertaining defense against the dominating cultural viewpoint against single women (a.k.a. the spinsters). Her book Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own is one part autobiography and one part history lesson. Throughout the book, she details her own journey towards her brand of spinsterhood—a life lived mostly and happily in solitude or with like-minded individuals. Though not without romantic entanglements, it is a life that separates itself from the traditional notion of couplehood, which include cohabitation and marriage.

Aside from using initials in lieu of first names, Bolick recounts past relationships with unflinching honesty and sometimes, surprising alacrity. While in a long distance relationship with her college boyfriend W., she repeatedly writes about her ‘spinster wish’ in her journal. The spinster wish being Bolick’s secret code for living alone and the freedom it brings. Unsurprisingly, this wish had become the nail in the coffin for many of her long-term relationships.

Apart from disclosing the demise of her romantic commitments, she talks at length about the lives of her awakeners—a term borrowed from Edith Wharton. Bolick uses the term to denote the five women that had shaped her life. After her mother’s early death, the author had found herself needing conversation and guidance, and these she found in and through the works and lives of the poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay, the columnist, Neith Boyce, the essayist, Maeve Brennan, the novelist, Edith Wharton, and the ‘social visionary,’ Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

Now, before we go any further, let this humble and happily humbled reader disclose this: I had not known what to expect of the book. It had sat happily on the same row as The Feminine Mystique—seemingly out of place among more palpably “serious” works. Spinster had snippets of glowing reviews from the Times, The Pool, The Lady, and authors like Rebecca Mead, Joanna Rakoff, and Susan Cain. But the image of a gorgeous model sat on an ostentatious gold couch, ornate teacup in hand, seemed a stark conflict with the subject matter promised by the book. After all, the beautiful woman on the cover can’t possibly be a spinster, could she?

Imagine my surprise and mild embarrassment upon finding out that the model was none other than Kate Bolick herself. And that’s exactly what the book does. It challenges the negative cultural attitude society has about spinsters. When Bolick writes about being a young girl, crushing snails against rocks, the image is partially disturbing because it is a girl doing it. Of course, it’s greatly disturbing either way, because no snail or any other animal should be subjected to such treatment, but there’s no denying how if it were a boy doing this, there is still the age-old argument that ‘boys will be boys.’

This memory also serves to illustrate Bolick’s early, though unconscious yearning for spinsterhood. There’s no denying the surge of happiness she had felt standing alone in an isthmus—her own kingdom, her own life to do as she pleased.

“I built then, my kingdom according to my own laws, and when the sun beat down, it beat down only on me, and when my feet acclimated to freezing water, it was my resilience that made this so. My experience of being alone was total.”

Throughout the book, Bolick also uses historical events and statistics to back the idea that despite the growing number of single women around the world, they—particularly single women in their 30s onwards—still continue to be regarded as anomalies, as social aberrations. As Bolick puts it, “Culture tells us that a spinster is without future—no heirs to bear, nobody to remember her when she’s gone.” One only has to look at history to understand this sentiment, this historical resentment.

According to Bolick’s research, 75% of the women accused of being witches during the infamous Salem Witch Trials were single women over 50 with above average means. Whether they had amassed their fortunes post-widowhood or were never-marrieds with a semi-affluent upbringing didn’t matter. Women of independent wealth were regarded with suspicion and disdain.

 Even the word “spinster” itself has gone through a radical redefining. In the 15th century, the word simply referred to European girls who spun thread as part of the trade. By the 1600s, the word had shifted to simply mean a single woman. But when the word crossed ponds to land in Colonial America, spinster developed an older, more cringe-worthy sister—the thornback. Any unmarried woman at 26 became a thornback—a word describing a scaly type of ray. Cue Bridget Jones’s famous line when asked why there were “so many unmarried women in their thirties these days.” To which, she replied, “Suppose it doesn’t help that underneath our clothes our entire bodies are covered in scales.” Brilliant.

Historically, women have also struggled—and to a certain degree continue to struggle—to be treated equally in the workforce. Bolick discusses that in the mid- to late-19th century, when women became an integral part of both the factory and the office settings, as factory workers, budding journalists and later, stenographers, they were subject to lower wages compared to their male counterparts. This is despite the fact that women were churning out the same amount of work as men. Their employers came up with a completely shady reason to underpay female workers—Functional Periodicity. This being the wholly invalid belief that women suffered from physical and mental debilitation during their menses.

Today, we still find working girls struggling to find their identity and dignity in the work space. Many are still under the impression that to succeed in whatever field they set out to work in, they’ll need to either bank on their erotic capital or blatantly imitate the mannerisms and the ways of men. As if skill alone were not enough for the woman to haul herself rung by rung up the corporate/organizational ladder.

She also argues that despite the changing image of the spinster (from the 50s old lady with cats to Ally McBeal, Murphy Brown, the ladies of Sex and the City), the underlying cultural attitude toward spinsterhood remains greatly unchanged. A woman, particularly, a single woman of a ‘specific age’ is still bound by expectations of motherhood and marriage. And until this “attitude” changes, until this status becomes not just accepted (culturally) and recognized and respected, women are not free.

The truth is, despite the fact that this is the 21st century and ideally, we have gone leaps and bounds past such antiquated notions, single women continue to be stigmatized. With spinsterhood comes expectations, fears, and visions of a life of madness. Think about it. The bag lady, the old hag, the neighborhood loon that dies alone in a house full of cats (or dogs)—to be found much later in a horrid state of decomposition. The spinster has become a cautionary tale to young women across the globe.

Instead of being thought of as a valid choice or decision, spinsterhood is believed to be the outcome of poorly made choices, unfortunate circumstances, tragedy, and heartbreak. Where is the respect for this type of lifestyle? Where is the dignity of which it’s due?

These are the queries that one arrives at after reading Spinster. Beyond giving her readers a well-written autobiography and a succinct but effective history lesson, Bolick opens her readers’ eyes to the continued struggles of the modern-day spinsters. And she does so beautifully in both prose and action.

But just like the spinster’s tremulous footing in today’s society, the book, Spinster, also shows Bolick’s own struggles in toeing what she perceives to be Pink Ghetto journalism. She is hesitant to divulge so much about herself. In an entry about her mother’s death, she offers a clunky and somewhat awkward explanation for her decision:

“The literary critic in me resents her role (her mother) in this book the way I would a sentimental plot twist in a movie. We all have had mothers, few among us want to lose them; I wish my experience had transcended such an obvious bid for your sympathy, and I could have become a different writer. But I can’t erase the fact that the first day of my adult life was that morning in May my mother took her last breath.”

 Was the story of Bolick’s mother a pivotal part of the book? Yes. So why did the author feel the need to clarify, (and consequently complicate), an otherwise sound decision to include her mother’s life in her narrative? The answer lies in the author’s fear of falling into the trap of pink journalism. Apparently, most female journalists fear that by mining their personal experiences and writing about decidedly feminine topics—lifestyle, sex, and fashion—they’ll be caging themselves in. They fear that these topics will ultimately make it difficult for their work to be taken seriously.

Now, personally, I enjoy reading about these pink topics and don’t see the need to really segregate between ‘serious’ journalism and their pink ghetto cousin. Well-written and informative pieces, regardless of whether we’re talking war or the importance of breastfeeding, are well-worth the read. In this humble reader’s opinion anyways.

Another part of the book that gave me pause had to do with Bolick’s views on marriage and children. Although not straightforwardly stated, I felt that there were moments wherein Bolick saw marriage and family life to be impediments to a woman’s personal success. Particularly in Neith Boyce’s case. Bolick writes about Neith being stuck at home changing nappies while her husband, fellow writer, Hutchins Hapgood, was globetrotting and furthering his own career.

Spinster makes plenty of great points and the aim of the book is to defend the choice for spinsterhood—that I understand. But the danger lies in the perspective that women who choose marriage and children may be missing out on something—the joy of solitude and the productivity the lifestyle brings. This may not be what Bolick means, but I fear that some of her arguments unwittingly pit singles against the marrieds. And that’s one trope that’s been exhausted in films, books, and plays.

But I’ve always believed that a book is always a conversation between the author and the reader. And despite our minor disagreements, Spinster is a conversation with Kate Bolick that I greatly enjoy and will frequently revisit in the years to come.

Rating: A+

This is a must-read for women of all ages, whether they be single or married, or in the hazy or concrete footing of the in-between.

Book Review: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns), by Mindy Kaling

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me

Title: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns)

Author: Mindy Kaling

Genre: Fiction, Biography, Non-Fiction, Comedy

First Published: 2011

Pages: 219

“Mindy Kaling is my spirit animal.” These are words I’ve heard all too often when around good friends. While I wouldn’t go so far as to put Mindy at the top of my totem pole of spirituality—that spot’s currently occupied by Max Black (2 Broke Girls), though I’m also desperate to find a touch of Diane Lockhart (The Good Wife) in me somewhere—I will bow to the awesomeness of Ms. Kaling. Known for her roles as the quirky and ditzy Kelly Kapoor (The Office-US), and the equally fabulous Mindy Lahiri (The Mindy Project), it’s easy to see why there’s so much buzz surrounding the talented Emmy-nominated writer and actress.

Like any other Mindy fan, I jumped at the opportunity to read her book, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns). And boy, was I glad I did. The book is every bit as witty and funny as Mindy is in every role she plays, including her cameo in the hilarious This is the End. I chuckled my way through the book, from her Introduction to her Goodbyes.

At the start of the book, Mindy Kaling answered a bunch of questions she felt readers may have regarding Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns)—FAQ style. One of her proposed questions was why the book wasn’t as funny as Tina Fey’s book. Now, I won’t pretend to have read Bossypants, though I would love to. So I can’t really verify if this book really isn’t as good as Tina Fey’s offering—but then again, let’s face it… It’s Tina Fey!  But I will reassure the reader that this book is every bit as good as Chelsea Handler’s Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang—albeit definitely PG compared to Handler’s R-rated work. Now, I’m one of those people who thoroughly enjoy a heavy dose of raunchiness, but what this book lacks in raunch, it makes up for in en-pointe humor designed for the every girl.

In Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns), Mindy candidly discusses her difficulties in losing weight and how she was bullied as a kid for it. The chapter Chubby for Life describes how she was made fun of for being on the heavy side, and how she fought hard to lose weight, only to be made fun of for having been fat before. In a bout of righteous indignation, Mindy declared: “The laws of bullying allow you to be cruel even when the victim had made strides for improvement? This is when I realized that bullies have no code of conduct.”

Another chapter in the book talks about a recent photoshoot Mindy had with close buddy and co-star Ellie Kemper. In this chapter, the comedian talks about the difficulties stylists seemed to have with her fuller figure. During the photoshoot, the stylist thought to bring dozens of gorgeous samples, all of which were a size zero, except for a shapeless navy shift. Feeling sorry for herself, she ducked into a bathroom, only to find words of wisdom offered by some angry student under a bit of poo smeared on the walls. Armed with a newfound take on her situation, Mindy marched up to the stylist and had one of the size zero gowns “fixed” so she could wear it for the shoot. I’ve seen the photos, and Mindy and Ellie look amazing!

Other chapters I loved in Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns) include I Love Irish Exits—where she has convinced me that an Irish Exit is, at least, more considerate than its French counterpart, Why Do Men Put On Their Shoes So Slowly—truth! Why do they take forever with their shoes?, Types of Women in Romantic Comedies Who are Not Real, and Roasts are Terrible.

While I share most of Mindy Kaling’s views, the last one in particular, was very compelling.  I love watching stand-up comedians. But I never really understood roasts, particularly the ones we have now. As Mindy puts it, “The self-proclaimed no-holds-barred atmosphere reminds me of signs for strip clubs on Hollywood Boulevard: ‘We have Crazy Girls. They Do Anything!’ We don’t have to do anything. Let’s bar some holds.”

All in all, I found Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns) an amusing and somewhat eye-opening read. Mindy Kaling has a knack for philosophizing the everyday and finding something witty to share with her readers/audience. While it isn’t exactly laugh-out-loud funny, at least not for this particular reader, it does elicit its fair share of chortles and snickers. And most of all, it’s very well-written.

The Verdict: A 

Now, as stated earlier, I’m a Mindy fan—and proud of it—and this book just solidified that fact.

Book Review: Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, by Helen Fielding

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Title: Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

Author: Helen Fielding

Genre: Fiction, Chick Lit, Romance, Comedy

First Published: 2013

Pages: 390

There is a lot to be said about Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy—most of them, good things. I had loved Helen Fielding’s first and second offerings, Bridget Jones’s Diary and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise that I would be a fan of Fielding’s third “Bridget” book. But to be honest, it was a big surprise that I liked it at all. Here’s a tiny confession: ever since I heard it was out, I had done my best to avoid reading Mad About the Boy. I was convinced it would be a major let down. But when my best friend got me this book for the holidays, I knew it was time to finally have a sit-down with dear ol’ Jonesey.

The reason for my reluctance to read the novel was that, like most fans, I had heard about its major spoiler long before the book became available in nearby bookstores. In The Edge of Reason, we had left Bridget in what felt like a “happily ever after” scenario with Mark Darcy. The way things were going for the lovebirds, it seemed like their domestic spats would consist of petty jealousies, Bridget’s hyperactive imagination, disagreements on child-rearing—all the good quarrels associated with a healthy marriage. And, like most readers, I would’ve been perfectly happy reading about these things. It would’ve been gratifying even, to find the two in the midst of saccharine normalcy. But instead, we find out that Mark Darcy’s gone—done away in a ‘blaze of glory’ or in a rather gruesome manner, depending on how you look at things.

I had wanted to ask Helen Fielding, “Now why would you do that?” It just seemed cruel to get half the population of women, (a gross exaggeration, I know), to fall in love with a male lead only to kill him off immediately after a fairy tale ending. And the questions kept coming. “Isn’t Bridget Jones supposed to be a modern-day retelling of Pride & Prejudice? How can you have Elizabeth without Mr. Darcy?” But that’s the sad premise of Mad About the Boy. And the book starts off with Bridget, once again, trying to find love in a horridly superficial and ageist world.

It’s 5 years after Mark’s death, and Bridget’s 51 with two young kids to look after. Though Mark had made sure that their family was well-provided for, Bridget is left struggling to stay sane while trying out a new career as a scriptwriter, attempting to keep her children well-fed and not raised purely by technology or Sponge Bob, and of course, shedding her dismal add-on poundage and “Born-Again virginity.”

The first problem, she tackles by creating a modern script for Hedda Gabbler by Anton Chekhov. (To you, dear literatus, I know. It’s part of the fun, really.) At the start of the novel, Bridget gets a call from her agent, saying her latest script is ready for film adaptation. This turns out to be an exceedingly humorous, and at times, embarrassing experience for Jonesey. Unfortunately, it also serves as a prop for the novel—at times, completely forgotten, as Bridget goes on her usual love-centric existence.

The second situation, I’ll have to say, is the heart of the story. Though one may doubt it sometimes, due to Bridget’s laughable thoughts and whims, our lovable heroine has certainly grown up some since the last book. Her love for her children, Billy (a mini-Mark) and Mabel, is palpable throughout the novel. She does well as a single mother; though not without the help of her perfect babysitter, Chloe, the children’s ‘fun’ godfather, Daniel Cleaver (Yes, *that* Daniel!), and the odd, aloof, and admittedly Daniel Craig-esque sports teacher, Mr. Wallaker.

And lastly, Bridget overcomes her third problem with the help of her ever-hip and ever-reliable posse of Tom, Jude, and Talitha. Sharon, the feminist of the original group, has since moved to the United States after marrying her successful dot.com husband. With the help of her three friends, a touch of Botox, and the diet plan of the local Obesity Clinic, Bridget manages to once again bring out her “wanton sex goddess” side.

Her amusing foray on social media, particularly Twitter, also leads her to the handsome boy-toy, which the reader meets at the start of the book. Roxster is, as his handle suggests, quite the rockstar in the bedroom and in real life—if you can categorize smokin’ hot, 30-year-old environmentalists as real-life rockstars (which I do!). Despite the raging chemistry between the two, Jonesey still finds herself in the midst of heartbreak and self-doubt. But that’s to be expected. This is, after all, Bridget Jones we’re talking about. In the end though, she does find what she’s looking for—a lasting love with a great father-figure for her kids. Though the introduction of this ‘great love’ is quite abrupt, it does work in a multitude of levels. At the very least, it’s a good way to tie up what would’ve been a gloomy story.

The Verdict: a well-deserved A.

Now, the rest of my two cents. Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy is a feel-good novel that has enough laugh-out-loud moments to keep you turning the page, despite Mark Darcy’s depressing exit. Again, I really don’t agree with killing Mark off just to create a story. I believe that a marriage offers a wealth of ‘stories’ on its own. And no matter how greatly written her new love interests are, there’s simply no replacing Mark Darcy.

But, and this is quite a big BUT, that’s also what I loved about the book. Helen Fielding’s treatment of Mark’s death—with Bridget’s private grieving, particularly in that scene with her mother—left me in tears at least a couple of times. Mark is gone and he is missed. There are no over-the-top dramatics with Bridget, but you do acutely feel her loss. And the new men in her life aren’t Mark, nor are they designed to replace Mark. They are there to show that there is life after a loved one’s death. That, like most women in her situation, Bridget has had to move on, no matter how difficult the process was.

In the end, I do believe this is the type of story worth recommending to all fans of the Bridget Jones series.

Book Review: City of Glass by Cassandra Clare

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Title: City of Glass

Author: Cassandra Clare

First Published: 2009

Genre: Fiction, YA

 

Plot Summary: At the end of the second book, Clary discovers that the only way to save her mother’s life is to go to Alicante, the City of Glass. But Jace has other ideas. He thinks the trip will be too dangerous for Clary. When the former, (and the rest of the gang), leave Clary stranded in New York, she takes matters into her own hands. She finds a way to Alicante—and there, she discovers secrets about her family’s past. She also meets Sebastian, an intriguing young man, who Clary feels inexplicably drawn to. Meanwhile, Valentine’s doing everything he can to take the Shadowhunters down—and this time, it looks like he succeed.

Let me start off by saying, ‘Welcome back, Cassandra Clare!’ For a minute there (reading City of Ashes), it felt as if Ms. Clare was rushing to meet several deadlines and just packing clichés and old material into her ‘new’ books. The good news is that, compared to its predecessor, City of Glass offers more, in terms of character development and plot depth.

Granted, Clary still hasn’t grown into the strong female protagonist she can be, (a matter of turning potential into the actual, I assure you), but you see a semblance of maturity in her actions in this book. In one particular scene, wherein she rushes recklessly into the unknown, only to risk her life and Luke’s, she actually feels guilt over her brash actions—especially after Luke berates her for her thoughtlessness. She also plays a pivotal role in making sure things turn out well for Luke in the end, which one can consider a thoughtful act.

However, I think the opportunity to improve her further—to turn her from besotted child to thinking woman—has also been thwarted by the introduction of another potential romance . I don’t know… but must romance always cloud one’s vision? To be honest, I feel as if romance is Clary’s ultimate weakness. I don’t know how she finds time to find a boyfriend, make out with a brother or two, while saving the world and trying to find a cure for her mother’s magical coma. (Whatever happened to focus?) And no, saving the day near the end of the book with a superpower that would make any team virtually unbeatable won’t make up for all the bratty episodes the reader would have to plod through. In the end, rune-making and casting felt a bit like a cop out. It’s too much, too good—a step below deus ex machina.

And yet, I still enjoyed City of Glass. I enjoyed the book, because despite all this, it remains gripping, promising. It has tremendous potential for greatness. Plot-wise, there’s a uniqueness to it. The major twist in this third book offers clarity to the story while opening the possibility of a ‘new’ direction for the succeeding books. It really is a good plot. It’s just that, at times, the execution feels rushed. The plot suffers with what sometimes feels like formulaic writing. Not that I have anything against fictional love triangles, but the sheer volume of triangles in this book is also starting to become confusing: Jace-Clary-Simon, Aline-Jace-Clary, Jace-Clary-Sebastian, Isabelle-Simon-Maia, Luke-Jocelyn-Valentine, Celine-Stephen-Amatis—am I missing anyone else?

In the end, I feel that this is the type of book one ought to read if you’re already hooked on the Mortal Instruments Series. But if you’ve already had your misgivings since City of Bones, proceed with caution.

Grade: B

Book Review: City of Ashes by Cassandra Clare

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Title: City of Ashes

Author: Cassandra Clare

First Published: 2008

Genre: Fiction, Young Adult

 

Plot Summary: The Mortal Instrument Series resumes with the mysterious killings of Downworlder children. The big question on everyone’s minds is whether or not Valentine is behind all these attacks. When the Shadow Sword goes missing, things get worse for Jace. Since word got out that he’s Valentine’s son, he’s found himself in the middle of a tough Nephilim investigation. As for Clary, she’s got her hands full trying to find a cure for her mother’s mysterious coma while dealing with the fact that the boy she likes is actually her brother.

Here’s a common problem for most YA sequels—they’re hardly as good as the first book. While I’d love to say that City of Ashes is an exception to this generalization, Cassandra Clare’s follow-up to City of Bones is a bit lackluster for me. It’s not the premise, it’s not the plot. As I mentioned in my last review, Clare has a really interesting story in her hands. Yes, you have the standards—the werewolves, the vamps, the faeries—but the world of the Nephilim seems pretty original to me.

The problem lies in a number of the book’s characters. Though Clary appears marginally better (more mature) in City of Ashes, it seems that she’s mellowed only to amplify the massive communication breakdown between the adults and the teens in this book. We’re not talking about the basic misunderstandings between parents and their kids—we’re talking about life-changing and life-saving secrets being withheld, the lack of listening between both parties, and the overall daftness of 90 percent of the adults in the novel. It actually seems as if Luke is the only reasonable adult in the bunch. Even Jace comes off as a bit of a brat at the start of the story—and I actually like his character.

All in all, I found this to be a bit of a hard read. The good news is that it does have a few redeeming factors that would make someone like me want to read on further: (1) you see a lot of growth when it comes to Simon’s character, (2) you have a solid plot line with a neat twist, and (3) better action scenes. Despite its character flaws, it’s also, still, a page-turner. So, if you’ve started City of Bones, and you liked it enough, I recommend going for City of Ashes. Otherwise, if you didn’t like the Mortal Instruments’ first book, you might not want to bother with this one.

Grade: C+

Book Review: City of Bones by Cassandra Clare

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Title: City of Bones

Author: Cassandra Clare

First Published: 2007

Genre: Fiction, YA

 

Plot Summary: When 15-year-old Clary Fray stepped into a New York nightclub, the last thing she expected was to become a witness to a murder that no one else could see. Things take a dive from there. Her mother goes missing and she ends up almost getting killed by a monster in her apartment. She wakes to find herself in the middle of the war between good and evil—a war between Shadowhunters and demons.

With the influx of Young Adult novels in the market, what makes City of Bones from Cassandra Clare a worthy pick?

Well, it really depends on when you’re coming from. I say when, because my choice to pick up this book has to do with history that I have (albeit one-sided) with the authoress. About a decade ago, I found her famous (though in some circles, infamous) fanfics: the LOTR: The Very Secret Diaries and, of course, the Draco Trilogy. Had a few quick laughs with the LOTR fic, but when it came to the Draco Trilogy, man, was I hooked. I would check for updates every week, and would stay up rereading each chapter. At that time, I was still using dial-up prepaid internet, and I thought Cassie Clare was probably the wittiest writer around. Of course, I was also 17, and was yet to meet Wifi, Nick Hornby, or Kurt Vonnegut.

**The fact that Aidan Turner is playing Luke Garroway in the Mortal Instruments film is, of course, added incentive for me.**

Suffice to say, I read the book out of curiosity. I wanted to see if City of Bones was as good as Draco Dormiens. What I found was that when it came to the characters of the book, City of Bones was, in a way, Draco Dormiens. Clary Fray, the 15-year-old protagonist of the Mortal Instruments series was painted as this impetuous, fiery, and passionate redhead—and I couldn’t help but think back to how Clare had written Ginny Weasley in her Draco Trilogy. And Jace Wayland, the sexy, damaged, platinum-haired bad boy of the story, was Clare’s Draco Malfoy. Of course, this is not to say that the novel wasn’t good; but for one who’s loved Clare’s past works, I just found the similarities a bit jarring. It also made it impossible not to compare the two.

On its own, I’ll have to say, City of Bones is actually a REALLY GOOD YA book. It’s creative, imaginative, and scandalous. It has all the elements of an enthralling ride—angels, demons, vampires, werewolves, forbidden love, mysterious bad boys, at least two love triangles, and even incest! Believe me, Clare just upped the ante for countless other YA writers with the incest plot. I mean, who else has the outgoing guts to do that in YA, other than VC Andrews? Genius! The book, judged on its own, is definitely a page-turner.

Except… It didn’t quite live up to what I had expected from Clare. Maybe it was Clary, and the fact that I didn’t exactly find her all that likeable. At times, she seemed more concerned about her relationship with Jace than the fact that her mother was missing and most probably dead. I found that unreal. It’s actually a bit of a peeve of mine, when a YA female leads get too caught up in the romance aspect that she fails to see how the world is falling apart. What can I say? I’m a strong believer in appropriate emotional reactions and investments.

Pace-wise, I found it a bit dragging at times too. The action scenes weren’t particularly exciting, except the scenes with the werewolves, which were really good. And lastly, lastly, lastly. Compared to the Draco Trilogy, I thought City of Bones was somewhat less witty. There were no laugh-out-loud moments for me. And you see, that was what I expected from Cassie Clare. That was what I remembered most about her writing. She had a way of drawing a chuckle out of you when you weren’t too busy rooting for one love team or the other.

That being said, I still think of City of Bones as being a pretty solid summer read. The plot is definitely interesting and promising. And despite Clary’s shortcomings, you do see her mature as the story progresses. The rest of the characters are also likeable enough. Jace is a flawed character, but the vulnerability that belies his cocksure attitude makes him a lovable male lead. Isabelle has her comic moments. Ah, and Simon. Poor Simon, is probably the most relatable character out of the lot. You can’t help but root for him despite the all-too-obvious rejection headed his way.

All in all, City of Souls is a good read that will make you want to pick up a copy of Clare’s second book, City of Ashes.

Grade: B

Book Review: I’m with the Band. Confessions of a Groupie – Pamela Des Barres

I'm with the Band - Pamela Des Barres

Title: I’m with the Band: Confessions of a Groupie

Author: Pamela Des Barres

Genre: Non-Fiction, Memoir, Music

First Published: 1987

Pages: 320

Status: Read

Here’s a small confession: I have been lusting after this particular book for almost ten years. After reading about her affair with the incomparable Jimmy Page, Pamela Des Barres (aka Miss Pamela) reached Rockstar status in my book. I scoured the World Wide Web for snippets of I’m With the Band: Confessions of a Groupie. The odd few pages I found in forums and blogs had me oooh-ooh-ooh-ing over Des Barres’ relationships with music legends like Mr. Page, Robert Plant, Mick Jagger, Chris Hillman, Keith Moon, Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, and Gram Parsons.

So, when my sister handed me my own copy of I’m With the Band, I flipped through the first hundred pages in search of her love affair with Jimmy Page. Reading about her passionate encounters with the Rock God had me aching with envy. It was a sensory overload. I was seduced, and at the same time, set straight by Des Barres’ stories of the infamous 1960s-1970s rock scene.

In I’m With the Band, we follow the transformation of Pamela Ann Miller from small-town girl to the golden muse of some of Rock’s most formidable personalities. We read about how Miss Pamela, and her group—the GTOs, helped pave the way for girl groups and the new breed of baby groupies. The group, which was officially formed by Frank Zappa, went on to record an album called Permanent Damage in 1969. Though the album’s commercial success was limited, it was an admirable effort, which brought the spotlight to the fantastic women behind the rock movement. To me, these women showed the world what it means to really love music–to feel passion, awe, and reverence for those who produce stellar riffs and melodies.

In this book, we also learn more about the LA scene. We are made privy to the backstage secrets of some of the music industry’s biggest stars. Interspersing memories and personal anecdotes with journal entries, Miss Pamela takes us by the hand and guides us through the blossoming sense of awareness of the 1960s and the decadence and excess of the 1970s. Her delightfully candid and well-written memoir details the goings-on and the who’s who of one of the most important modern musical and spiritual revolutions in history.

To be honest, I don’t think I can rave enough about this book. Loved every Page—pun, v. much intended. The only bad thing about I’m With the Band is that it had to end.

Verdict: Highly recommended to ALL music lovers and closet groupies (like yours truly).

RATING: A+