Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Audio-book Review: Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery


Title: Anne of the Island
Author: L.M. Montgomery. Read by Susan O'Malley
Publisher: Blackstone Audio, 2001; original published 1915.
Source: Library digital resources

Publisher's Summary:
New adventures lie ahead as Anne Shirley packs her bags, waves good-bye to childhood, and heads for Redmond College. With old friend Prissy Grant waiting in the bustling city of Kingsport and frivolous new pal Philippa Gordon at her side, Anne tucks her memories of rural Avonlea away and discovers life on her own terms, filled with surprises...including a marriage proposal from the worst fellow imaginable, the sale of her very first story, and a tragedy that teaches her a painful lesson. But tears turn to laughter when Anne and her friends move into an old cottage and an ornery black cat steals her heart. Little does Anne know that handsome Gilbert Blythe wants to win her heart, too. Suddenly Anne must decide if she's ready for love...  [Goodreads summary]

My Review: 

Since this isn't exactly a new book, or unknown, I mostly just wanted to review the audio-book aspects. Though the story might deserve a few comments.

Anne is a creature of her time. She's a bit progressive, really, for rural Canada in 1915, as she goes off to get a college education. She excels at that, as we would expect, and beats out the boys, which we also expect. But she and her friends are also much absorbed with issues of men and marriage, which is predictable I suppose. I find myself less interested in Anne's convoluted path to the inevitable than in the unexpected paths of some of her friends, but that's just me listening to a book I've read many times.

As regards the audio book, I think maybe it's not such a good idea to listen to a book you know and love well (but there are some where I think I love the audio more than the print, so who knows?). Ms. O'Malley does a fine job of reading, for the most part, though her inflections and pronunciations don't always sit right with me (every now and then she seems to stumble a bit over lines that only make sense if the emphasis is put just right). But the biggest problem I have might be no problem at all to another reader: I just don't "hear" Anne, or most of the other characters, with the sort of voice used by the reader. It's only at times like this that I remember that and audio book is a re-telling, just as a movie is (though much less changed, of course). No one can ever read a book in a way that matches the way every reader "hears" it in her head.

My Recommendation:
Despite my complaints, I think the Anne books are great for listening to, and would be good for sharing with a daughter. They aren't really written for small children, but there is nothing objectionable in them, and might improve a commute with a child over about age 9. Incidentally, I think that the summary above, taken from Goodreads, is pretty awful.

FTC Disclosure: I checked Anne of the Island out of my on-line library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising." 

Monday, September 18, 2017

Monday Ramblings

Sometimes the ideas are just a boiling pot of mud

I haven't felt much like reviewing things lately. I've decided I took on too many read-for-review books (mostly for Great Escapes tours, and mostly good mysteries), and I need to back off while I work on my own books. I still have a couple more scheduled reviews to get through, but I'm not taking on any more mystery reviews until Death By Adverb is completed. (Yes, I know I'll probably break that vow when some truly wonderful looking books crosses my screen.)

One side-effect of that is that even though I've finished quite a few books in the last couple of weeks, I didn't sit down and review any of them, because I just didn't feel like it. So here you are, getting some wandering thoughts instead of a review of a marvelous middle-grade book or a deeply puzzling mystery.

In fact, since I've been doing more biking than writing, I decided that there is a metaphor to be found on the road.

Sometimes you can't see where the road is going.
Ridgecrest Blvd, Mt. Tamalpais State Park
 Sometimes it isn't much of a road at all.
Kings Mtn Road, Sonoma County, CA
It might not seem like a promising route for a bike.
Pt. Reyes National Seashore
Or maybe it's a perfectly good road, but doesn't lead anywhere in particular. Or at all, as far as you can see.
Does it just go up there and drop off the edge? Pt. Reyes National Seashore
And sometimes your audience is not exactly what you were looking for.
Pt. Reyes National Seashore
If you keep going long enough, you might get saddle sores (no photos there!). 

But you might just end up somewhere beautiful.
Kings Creek, Lassen Volcanic National Park
So keep on writing/riding, and here's to ending up someplace wonderful!

P.S. I think the default font for this blog got smaller and dimmer, so I've stepped it up a size. Does that help?

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2017
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Friday, September 15, 2017

Friday Flash: No Mercy

Since I missed last week's challenge, I'm kind of mixing and matching Wendig Challenges. This week, we were to write a story of good vs. evil. I sort of managed, while using opening and closing lines from the previous week, when he gave us title, opening, and closing lines to choose from. I couldn't make any of the titles fit, though, so I have pretty much just done my own thing. Even the good/evil thing got a little fuzzy, and if I had had more words to play with, would have gotten fuzzier still. Funny about that.

This one ran a little long, at just under 1100 words.

No Mercy

Three days with no sleep was the least of my worries. I could endure that; I could endure just about anything.

Just about.

I couldn’t watch as the overseer beat my 9-year-old son for the stumble that had spilled a half a dozen berries into the dirt of the field. Nor could I stop it, and for that, I thought my heart would burst.

That night, when we crawled at last into the stifling hut that was our home now, I lit our single tallow candle and I looked from my son, whose face bore a large, purpling bruise, to my daughter. Pulling them close to me as I always did for our mutual comfort, I began to whisper.

“We are leaving. Tonight. I won’t let this go on.”

“Can we?” my son wondered. “The Masters say they created us to be their slaves.” Will had only been six when the Masters came and killed his father and brought us to this place to work in their fields. If I didn’t take Will away, he would soon remember nothing but slavery, and become the drudge they wanted. Or else he would learn to hate them, fight back, and be killed. I had seen both happen to the children of others.

I had to convince him. “If that is true, which I don’t believe, then they left us too long on our own, because we learned to think and feel.” I knew that the Masters took slaves wherever they found them, and I doubted their story of seeding our planet long ago. “I can’t stand by while they beat you.”

“I’ll be careful. It won’t happen again,” he began.

“It will if we stay. I can see only three choices: I can leave you here to suffer alone, or I can take you with me—or I can fight back until they kill me.” I felt his body stiffen under my arm, but it was Anna who spoke first. She would be 13 soon, and that was another reason for going soon.

“I’ll go with you, Mom.” Her eyes told me that she knew what puberty would bring, and soon we’d be unable to hide her growing breasts.

“Tonight, then,” I said, and glanced again at Will. “We are not their property, Will. If ever humans were their creation, that has changed. They should not have come back.”

At last, my son nodded.

“Sleep, for now,” I counseled. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.” Laboring from dawn to dark left them too tired to stay awake.

As I crept from the hut, I thanked the god I no longer believed in that I was off the rotation that had kept me sleepless the last three nights. It would have been a complication I didn’t need.

I crept through shadows to the communal food stores, which occupied the only sturdy building in our compound. It was locked, but I had a key.

Don’t ask me what I did to get it.

Our pockets stuffed with potatoes and a little dried meat, we crept through the darkness away from the huts. The compound wasn’t well guarded. The Masters relied on the fence, and the stories of the prey-beasts that roamed the scrub beyond, to keep their slaves in.

I knew a way over the fence, and chose to face the beasts rather than the Masters. When we were well clear of any possible listening ears, I knelt to speak to the children.

“Are you afraid of the prey-beasts?” Nod. “There are a hundred ways we might die doing this. But we won’t die as slaves. Do you understand? Do you still want to come with me?”

What would I have done if either had said “no”? I did not know if I was right to take my children into the unknown dangers outside the fence.

Anna took a step towards the fence and freedom without speaking. Will clutched my hand more tightly, and whispered, “Is it okay if I’m scared, Mommy?”

“Yes,” I said, squeezing back.

I had stumbled on the way over the fence once while hunting for edible plants in the spring, and it was a good route, and probably I wasn’t the first to use it. No one had come back to tell me what happened after crossing the fence.

The only challenge was getting Will into the tree. I let him stand on my shoulders, and his sister reached a hand to pull him up.

Three branches up, and then we had to inch our way out the one that hung beyond the fence. In this, Will was the best of us, having no fear of heights. I swallowed my visions of broken limbs and we all crept forward together.

When I looked down and could see the fence passing below me, I knew the worst was past. The end of the branch dipped just enough for me to lower the children and let them drop lightly the last few feet.

I landed a little more heavily, and when I regained my feet, a little dizzy from the fall, three armed men stood before me.

They were human, so I let them take us.

They led us a long way through the scrub. When we had gone perhaps two miles, and the children were stumbling with weariness, one of the men spoke.

“If you are strong enough to run, you are strong enough to fight.” It sounded like he was reciting a rule.

“Okay,” I said. Truth compelled me to add, “But I’ve never even held a gun.”

“There’s more than one way of fighting,” he answered.

“I’ll do what’s needed,” I promised. “Anything except go back there.”

“Only volunteers will do that,” he said.

That excited me. His use of the future tense told me that there was a plan. A plan to free us of the Masters once and for all? We could never return to Earth, but this planet would do well enough, if we were free. I would die, and yes, kill, to make that happen.

The rebellion was larger than I could have guessed, and the plans to eliminate the Masters well under way. I put my degree in chemistry to work, for the first time since Anna was born.

And when all was ready, I went with my team to do what was needed, and watched the result with fierce joy. The smoke was blue and grey and smelled like a promise.


©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2017
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!