If you’ve read any Greek mythology, you know how it stays with you. The stories are everywhere in pop culture, the trappings apparent in everything–words, common metaphors, even fashion. I devoured Greek mythology–along with Roman, Norse, Egyptian, Chinese, and Japanese mythologies–as a child, then later, as a teen. Sometime in my early twenties, it fell by the wayside; I started reading less mythology and more analysis thereof. But the stories themselves remained with me, because mythology has a habit of doing that. It sneaks up on you at the most unexpected moment and whispers things like “Yes, that is a totally Oedipal subplot in the novel you’re reading, but I’ll bet no one actually ends up blind,” or “Hey girl, see how you’re jealous of your two best friends because they’re talking to that guy? That’s so Ill(iad) of you!”

And sometimes, when you’re stuck in a no sleep rut, lying in the dark save for your kid’s Twilight Turtle, with a too-amped-up to sleep kid, Mythology will come to the rescue. Sure, you could pick up an illustrated D’Aulaire’s and read it before bed.  But there’s something about telling myths, about sharing oral stories, that’s well-suited to the dark. And once you get past explaining the concept of gods and goddesses, the stories themselves are easy to tell–and rather enthralling, even for the least attentive of kids.

Mythology and Your Toddler: How to Get Started

Not all myths are kid appropriate. Aside from the obvious themes–chasing down unwilling women/nymphs, for example–some stories, like Echo & Narcissus, are too slow moving for small attention spans. But stories about things kids are used to, like the moon, the stars, and the sun, are always a hit. So are action stories, like the labors of Heracles and Thesus & the Minotaur (just gloss over the whole punishment, lying with a bull part). Most myths are easily shortened, or broken into sections, too, so you’re not recounting hours’ worth of lineage to a bored toddler in the dark.

Much like fairy tales, many stories contain something frightening–the Nemean Lion or Lernaean Hydra in the labors of Heracles, for instance. And that’s okay–with a little reassurance, these monsters or frightening aspects are a safe way to explore the dark, with Mummy or Daddy or both, nearby.

Explaining the concept of gods and goddesses, on the other hand, can be difficult. Given that most kids are comfortable with magic, though, it’s actually fairly easy to give them a reasonable explanation of the pantheon. Here’s my go to:

A long, long time ago, the Greek people believed in gods and goddesses. Gods and goddesses were like magic men and women, or magic boys and girls, who could make the rain and thunder and lightning come, or make magic hammers. Some of them helped animals, and others helped people. And because they were so strong and powerful, the Greeks would ask them for help–help growing their food, or fighting off something bad, or help getting better when they were sick.  

That’s the short version. Depending on the story, we explore which god or goddess is involved a little more; in the labors of Heracles, Athena, Artemis, and Apollo show up in a couple of the feats, so Mir knows a bit more about them. And he knows that Hera was mean, and made Heracles crazy so that he did something very bad. And therein lies the trick–using easier words, and simplifying the stories. As a writer, I often want to explore backstory and think about why, when, and how. But Mir, and other small children, don’t always need that. Their attention spans are short, and they can only handle one, possibly two, big ideas in a story at a time. Which means there’s no reason to discuss Hera’s jealousy, or Zeus and Alcmenae, or anything other than the straight out labors when I’m telling him about Heracles.

How To Choose A Myth

• Start small. Tell a story that can easily be broken into parts, or one that takes less than ten minutes. (See the list of myths that work well below for ideas.)
• Skip unnecessary family histories. Heracles is the son of Zeus. Zeus’ wife Hera doesn’t like him because she’s mean. That’s enough to start with.
• Start with action stories, where the hero or heroine has to go on a quest (which can be shortened if necessary), or fight something.
• Look for myths that tie into the natural world, or something your toddler is particularly interested in (in our case, the stars).

Taking Your Stories A Little Farther

One of the things I love about stories, and mythology in particular, is that they open up a discourse. It’s easy to explore an idea–just one, mind–behind a story during the telling. Last night, since I told Mir about Heracles and the Garden of Hesperides again (can you tell he loves Heracles? Come dark, it’s “Heracles, mummy! Heracles!”), we talked for a moment about how stories can change over time, or how can there can be more than one version of something. Why? Because I’ve read two versions of that story.

Similarly, when telling Mir a story about the natural world, we take a moment to talk about what stars are, and how they’re always there, even when we can’t see them (this is incredibly reassuring to the kidlet). Or how sometimes, people try to make history fit the story they know, even when it doesn’t always work.  If you were talking about Theseus and the Minotaur, you could spend a moment or two on how Ariadne thinks about the problem of the maze; in Daedalus and Icarus, you could talk about the sun and the wax, or how Daedalus’ design is supposed to work.

Myths That Work Well

•  All the labors of Heracles
• Theseus and the Minotaur
• Perseus and Andromeda
• The Pleaides
• Orion and the scorpion
• Parts of the Odyssey
• Parts of Jason and the Argonauts
• Kronos and Titans; how Zeus came to rule over the gods
• The story of Atalanta

Things To Remember

Jules talks books

Have you ever noticed how people living in TV Land rarely read? (Note that for the purposes of this post, I’m talking about reading books, as opposed to blogs, papers, and other short span media, and that I’m referring to fictive shows only.)

Take Cougartown¹ for example: In this week’s episode, Jules (Courtney Cox) openly stated that she’s not really a reader.

And then there’s Glee², and New Girl and House, Doctor Who and How I Met Your Mother. Again, no one reads.

Does anyone on TV read? Sometimes, fathers read newspapers and mothers read magazines. Very occasionally, someone on Gossip Girl reads a book (though mostly they just talk about writing them, in very unrealistic terms). Castle shows people reading, but generally only Castle’s book. In fact, the only show I can think of that has a few readers, and shows at least one person reading every other episode or so, is Star Trek: The Next Generation³. And it depicts a balance of e-reading and print reading.

If we consider television as a reasonable depiction of society (and I’ll admit, I’m not sure we can), it’s saddening to think that so few people read.

Some People Have Never Read A Book

According to a 2008 article in the BBC Online, some people claim to have never read a book. And,

40% of people admit to lying about having read certain books, according to a study published last year by the Museums, Libraries and Archives Council. And half read the classics just because we think it makes us look more intelligent.

Would a run of TV episodes showing characters reading encourage more people to read? Could we treat reading as a product, and use books as product placement? Generally speaking, publishers can’t afford to drop enough cashola for a single title to appear on any given show; I don’t expect them to pay out to get folks reading, either. But statistics on high school reading are rather alarming. According to a 2009 report from the National High School Center (PDF):

• The percentage of high school seniors performing at or above the basic level in reading on the National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) decreased from 80% in 1992 to 73% in 2005 (NCES, 2007).
• Over the same period, the percentage of high school seniors performing at or above the proficient level decreased from 40% to 35% (NCES, 2007).
• About 70% of high school students need some form of remediation; the most common problem is that students cannot comprehend the words they read—not that they cannot read them (Biancarosa & Snow, 2004).

Reading product placement certainly isn’t a quick fix–it won’t remedy the dearth of teachers, the overpacked classrooms, or bridge the economic divide. But a study in Research in Social Stratification and Mobility suggests there is a strong correlation “between a child’s academic achievement and the number of books his or her parents own. It’s even more important than whether the parents went to college or hold white-collar jobs.”

Can Product Placement Effect Positive Change?

There’s evidence that product placement can effect change. A study in the Archive of Pediatrics and Adolescent Medicine, researchers found,

…that depictions of smoking in movies are more psychologically powerful than cigarette advertisements and have a greater impact on children’s attitudes and behaviours regarding smoking. The research looked at 51 studies and found that media exposure to tobacco use increases the odds of youth taking up smoking almost threefold.

On television and in film, reading is so often relegated to the nerd and geek classes. It’s the province of the kids who don’t have, or can’t get, friends. If smoking–which is widely known to cause cancer, among other deleterious effects–gets a positive spin in the youth market from product placement (as do soft drinks and other junk foods), why shouldn’t reading?

SAG Members Already Support Reading

Is this whole idea founded on my own naievete and wishful thinking? Perhaps. Would it be difficult to get the television and film industry to start putting books in actors’ hands? Probably. But some actors are already actively promoting literacy–Storyline Online, an initiative of the Screen Actors’ Guild Foundation, children can watch SAG members read some of their favorite books aloud. As of this writing, the front page selections include: The Rainbow Fish, with Ernest Borgnine; Harry The Dirty Dog, with Betty White; To Be A Drum, with James Earl Jones; and Romeo & Drooliet, with Haylie Duff.

StoryLine Online, an initiative of the Screen Actors Guild,  provides bedtime stories on demand to children around the world, 24/7

BookPALS (Performing Artists for Literacy in Schools), another SAG initiative, encourages reading by getting actors into schools. According to their website, BookPALS is,

one of the fastest growing literacy programs in the country. Our volunteer actors read aloud to children at public elementary schools, museums, hospitals, fairs, online and on the phone helping to introduce them to the wonderful world of reading and literacy.

If we pause to reflect a moment, it’s not surprising actors are interested in reading and books. After all, the film industry is inextricably linked to reading. Consider–of the top 10 films of 2010-2011, five were based on books; six if you count Iron Man 2.

• Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows, Part 2
• Alice in Wonderland
• The Twilight Saga: Eclipse
• Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows, Part 1
• The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part 1

In short: TV land people, please–pick up a book and get reading.

Can you think of any other shows with dedicated readers? How do you feel about reading as product placement?

¹I know, it’s not rocket science. But the characters are mostly sweet, and they almost always have happy endings.
²Although I know it’s probably overkill, I try to watch teen shows and dramas because they’re an excellent way to keep up with the zeitgeist and channel age appropriate dialogue. That said, I do find myself paying more and more attention to my knitting of late…
³Yes, I am a nerd. I know a lot about Star Trek–probably far more than any one person not associated with the show should. But much of it is in the interests of research for my current project. That, and I like the first two series. (I’m iffy on the latter ones.)

@Edencityoflit’s gorgeous paper sculpture, via Anna @ Anna-Not-Karenina

For those who didn’t catch it on GalleyCat or in The Guardian, a remarkable, new-slash-mixed-media artist has been leaving some rather stunning paper sculptures at libraries and other cultural institutions around Scotland.

The sculptures–usually addressed to the recipient’s Twitter account–are astonishing, tiny marvels of fantastic bookishness. It is particularly dorky, I know, but this one actually made me tear up a little.

There’s been a bit of discussion about who the artist is, with several folks suggesting Su Blackwell, though one commenter on the original post says it’s definitely not Blackwell’s work. Much as I’d like to know, though, I love that these gifts are anonymous tokens of bookish love. Hopefully, they’ll still be on display when I eventually get to visit the Scotland (my mum is from Glasgow, and yet I’ve never been…).

So far, gifts have been made to:

• the Scottish Poetry Library, @byleaveswelive (I love this handle)
• the National Library of Scotland, @natlibscot
• the Filmhouse (home of the Edinburgh international film festival), @filmhouse
• the Scottish Storytelling Centre, @scotstorycentre
• the Edinburgh international book festival, @edbookfest
• UNESCO Edinburgh City of Literature, @edencityoflit (my favorite)
• the Central Lending Library on George IV bridge, @Edinburgh_CC

See them all, with photos by Chrisdonia, here, then pass them on. Also, a few fun pics with the tree sculpture and Ian Rankin @ Anna-Not-Karenina’s post on the Edinburgh Book Festival.

At 11:46:

Did the back to school rush wipe out B&N’s stock? Or is it just inventory error? And since when are the Eragon series, James Patterson, and Stephen King shelved next to Catcher?

Strangely enough, a second search revealed a more reassuring result:

At 12:08:

B&N also has my other fave Salinger, Franny and Zooey, in stock, so props for carrying the lesser known of the two.

Interestingly, I had the same error when I searched for Neal Stephenson’s Snow Crash. Has this happened to anyone else?

This post was first published in March 2010, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. As I wind up the first draft of a new project–I’m in that mad, almost love-drunk rush that comes with knowing the end is nigh–I keep drifting back to these three questions:

1. Can I wrap this up without leaving a tangled mess of loose ends?

2. Have I revealed enough for the end to work, or is it just a poorly fashioned deus ex machina?

3. Am I forcing my leads into roles they don’t want?

And these three, in turn keep bringing me back to the ultimate two: Will my book be satisfying? And is it engaging?

ETA: the original Catching Fire image was having issues, so I’ve replaced it with these German covers instead. I like this much better, anyway.

* * *

See my follow-up, “What Makes a Book Satisfying?” here.

Reading is quite the investment. Not just in terms of monetary cost, but in terms of time spent reading the story, digesting the story, and, if it’s a very good book (or if you’re a deep reader), thinking about the story afterward. Some books are clearly worth the investment (Pride & Prejudice anyone? Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle? L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time?), while others are a win-some-lose-some deal. And then there are the books we give our hearts to freely, only to have the world’s most unsatisfying ending snatch them away.

Unsatisfying Books

So what makes a book satisfying? It’s hard to pin down, partially because it’s easier to work out what’s unsatisfying.
This month, I’ve read four books, two of which (Suzanne Collins’ Catching Fire and Jasper Fforde’s Shades of Grey) had supremely unsatisfying endings. The latter hurt my heart/brain/squeeglesquawk so much that it kept me up the better part of last night.

Picking over the bones of these stories, and a few others I’ve found unsatisfying over the past year or two, I’ve found that the majority of unsatisfying books are those that don’t wrap up properly. At the end of the book, it’s hard to say exactly what it’s about, why we loved/hated it because we don’t really know it. For me, these books are like a song I only kinda-sorta know–the chorus gets stuck in my head, but I can’t recall the singer/band, or resolve the melody without depending on an annoying Hey Jude like fade.

Although it may seem unfair to count Catching Fire as a book I found unsatisfying because it’s part of a series, I think a series book with a frustrating wrap-up is actually worse than a stand-alone book with a frustrating end. Series are all about trust. Trust that–

• the story is going somewhere

• the story is not just a dream, and will not end “and then I woke up”

• the author will reveal key facts as we need to know them, instead of hoarding the answers for a Columbo-esque reveal at the end

• the characters won’t be forced into a happily-ever-after/crappily-ever-after

• the storyline will resolve

Even with series books, there should be a resolution, because while a series has one long arc, the books have smaller arcs that feed into one another. In the first book of The Hunger Games, the main goal is for Katniss and Peeta to survive. Whether or not they achieve their goal doesn’t matter (well, it does, but we’re talking technical stuff here), as long as the issue is decided one way or another, and we have a clear answer–and a resolution of the smaller arc. And the cliffhanger ending? In the best series books, the cliffhanger opens a new arc, but doesn’t journey along too far, for three reasons:

the reader should be able to pick up the second book without re-reading the first one
a new reader should be able to pick up the second book and make sense of the story
if the new arc continues too far, the lack of resolution becomes frustrating rather than a reason to read the next book

Reasons a book may be unsatisfying after that very last page turn:

• Storyline doesn’t resolve

• Romantic entanglements don’t resolve

• Subplot(s) are forgotten about/don’t resolve (notice the trend, yet?)

• The characters are pulled out of the paper bag rather than finding their own way out (deus ex machina)

• In fantasy/science fiction, the world is never fully realized

• There’s a forced happily-ever-after/crappily-ever-after

Happily–or Crappily–Ever After

While I’m not against happily ever afters, books where the story wraps up too neatly and everyone gets kisses and cake are unsatisfying because they’re oh-so-sweet and unrealistic. One way to tell if a story’s happily ever after is too neat? Try imagining the characters’ lives after that last page turn. Can you see them continuing on, getting involved in new stories? Or are you stuck at the riding off into the sunset point?

But where neat, happy wrap ups are somewhat unsatisfying, forced unhappy wrap ups cross into pitch-the-book-across-the-room territory. This isn’t to say all stories need happy endings–they don’t. Some stories, like Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, or, in YA, Wendy Mass’ A Mango-Shaped Space are better for their sad, tear-jerker endings. (To be fair, Mass’ book did make me cry in a couple of spots, but it does have a generally happy end.) Sometimes, though–particularly in fantasy and science fiction–an author’s need to make a point or echo their world’s bleakness results in a forced, overwrought crappily ever after. In these stories, the author piles on difficulties and throws obstacle into the characters’ paths in the last few chapters without giving them the chance to overcome. Sometimes, a technicality–one mentioned only in passing–prevents the happy ending; other times, a subplot comes to back to bite the reader, wrenching the happily-ever-after away for no real gain.

So what makes a book satisfying? I’m still working that out–but I’ll have a post about it on Tuesday.

What have you read lately? Was any of it unsatisfying? Why?

Good morning, book people! After slogging through a lot of freelance work, I’m easing back into the world of my own blog, but it’s a slow process. But with a little luck, I’ll settle back into the usual routine soon. Some longer thoughts this morning, so fewer links.

ETA: Also, as you can see, I’m transitioning site design again. Unfortunately, there are always small bugs installing a new theme on an older site, so it may be a while before everything’s quite perfect. Please bear with me!

First up this morning, The Guardian’s Harriet Evans has a piece about e-books and editing. Although she’s writing about the loss of the editor in the self-publishing e-book world, the post made me think about the editing process for digital media.

If you’ve read at least five e-books, chances are you’ve run up against a host of spelling and grammatical errors. In some novels, they’re small things, in about the same numbers as a print book. But in others, the books have the feel of a galley, rough and hard-edged. Which begs the question: is there an editing process in play for e-books? Are there editors and copy editors who either work exclusively with a digital edition, or spend, at least, as much time proofing it as they do its print brethren? And if not, why not?

I know–like most folks who call themselves readers–that publishing is an expensive venture. It’s also riddled with archaic business practices and hard to understand contractual language. And (good) editing costs money, regardless of whether the publisher is paying for your editor (traditional) or you’re paying her (self-pubbed). The costs in running essentially two editorial teams per book would be high–hence the greater number of errors in digital editions. But here’s my big question:

If publishers don’t up their editorial game in the e-book arena (say that 5 times fast!), will self-pubbed books surpass them?

There’s a lot of dross in the self-publishing world, but there are clearly a few good eggs–the folks who spend the time working past the “I’m Finished!” happy dance, tightening, tweaking, and editing. And a lot of these people hire freelancers to edit their work–their digital only work–which means a much cleaner manuscript for the reader.

Right now, I’m all for traditionally publishing. But watching a friend of mine wade through the pros and cons of self v. traditional, and seeing her lean toward self, makes me wonder. Why? Because my friend isn’t a hot head, or egotistical about her work–she’s put long hours into her manuscript, not just writing, but revising, and polishing, taking all her feedback into account. If she did self-pub, she’d hire an editor, too, and I know that her manuscript would be almost flawless…

Next up,  at The NYT, the estate of late memoirist and novelist, Donald Windham, will soon be awarding some of the largest literary prizes in America. Although the prizes don’t directly affect YA authors (as far as I can tell), there will be some opportunities for “promising” writers.

And last but not least, Becky Tuch over at Beyond the Margins have a fun piece on yoga for writers. It rings a little too true for me! (via @YAHighway)

Image Credit: Kindle. Coffee. Pumpkin. by Doreyexmachina, via Flickr.

Three Tales of My Father's Dragon, Ruth Stiles Gannett

Cover Notes is a new series I’ll be running every Monday. Rather than focusing on covers of books I’ve read, I’ll be writing about books I’ve never read and recording my first impressions of their covers. Each book will also have an Embarrassment Factor of between zero & five, with zero meaning “a totally awesome cover I want to write fan mail about” and five meaning “I’m ashamed to be seen with this in public.”

Today’s Cover Notes post is a little different–I was busy over the weekend, and didn’t spend much time at the bookstore. So this post is based on a cover randomly picked from the “Inspired From Your Browsing History” section on the front page of Amazon.

Things I love about the cover: The colors. They’re so bold and strong without being garish and I love the way the stripes play off each other, and the starry background. I also love how plain and unassuming the title font is–it doesn’t take away from the claymation style illustration at all, but actually almost enhances it. And the curl of the dragon’s tail! So adorable! Perhaps best of all, though, is the way both dragon and child seem to be realizing they can trust each other…

Things I’m not so hot on: The stars may be a teensy bit too big, but I’m actually not sure about that. I’m hesitant to pick at this cover at all–it’s very whimsical and kid-like, and the kind of art I’d actually love to hang above my desk.

What I think it’s about: Hard call! Based on the “50 years in print” sticker, this is probably a classic, though I’m kind of behind on American classics! Anyway, I’m guessing it’s a collection of fairy tales loosely based on some existing fairy tales. The story is probably tied together by the boy’s search for something–perhaps something tangible, but something emotional, too. I don’t get a sense of specifics from this one at all, though.

Cover art by: Ruth Chrisman Gannett

Embarrassment factor: 0. I have no problem being seen with very kid-like books in public. I once had a little girl run up and tell me she loved the Katie Kazoo I was reading; another once asked me if I was really reading Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, just like she was. (And yes, I was–it’s one of my favorite books.)

The Jacket Blurb

My Father’s Dragon–a favorite of young readers since the 1940s and a Newbery honor book–captures the nonsensical logic of childhood in an amusingly deadpan fashion. The story begins when Elmer Elevator (the narrator’s father as a boy) runs away with an old alley cat to rescue a flying baby dragon being exploited on a faraway island. With the help of two dozen pink lollipops, rubber bands, chewing gum, and a fine-toothed comb, Elmer disarms the fiercest of beasts on Wild Island. The quirky, comical adventure ends with a heroic denouement: the freeing of the dragon. Abundant black-and-white lithographs by Ruth Chrisman Gannett (the author’s stepmother) add an evocative, lighthearted mood to an already enchanting story. Author Ruth Stiles Gannett’s stand-alone sequel, Elmer and the Dragon, and her third volume, The Dragons of Blueland both received starred reviews in School Library Journal and are as fresh and original as her first. (Ages 4 to 8)–Amazon

Overall: So, so wrong! Well, half wrong. I did get boy and dragon and searching, sort of. It sounds like an absolutely enchanting book, though, and one we might start reading at bed time.

Have you read Three Tales of My Father’s Dragon?

Author Charlie Higson reads from his book The Dead, and answers questions from readers. How did he start writing for children? What are the differences between writing for adults and for younger people?

Higson is the author of The Enemy, The Dead: An Enemy Novel, several Young Bond novels, and more.

Mir celebrates Dr. Seuss' birthday at the bookstore

Happy April Fools’ everyone! And it feels like the universe is playing a bit of an April Fools’ joke over here–it’s been snowing on and off since last night, and there are driving warnings about the snowy conditions in effect until 2pm.

Back home in Sydney, there’s a bit of a kerfuffle too–John Le Carré has tried to withdraw his name from the list of finalists for the Man Booker International Prize. The emphasis here is on “tried,” because the committee, while acknowledging his wishes, has doggedly refused to remove Mr. Le Carre’s name. Never heard of the international prize? Here’s the short version, via The Economist’s Prospero blog:

Unlike the better known annual Man Booker prize for fiction, which has been going for more than 40 years, the international prize is relatively new: it is awarded every two years to a living writer with a body of work available in English. There are no submissions from publishers, authors or agents, and anyone caught jockeying for position is swiftly punished.

And here’s the shortlist (via The Man Booker Prizes):

• Wang Anyi
• Juan Goytisolo
• James Kelman
• John le Carré
• Amin Maalouf
• David Malouf
• Dacia Maraini
• Rohinton Mistry
• Philip Pullman
• Marilynne Robinson
• Philip Roth
• Su Tong
• Anne Tyler

Remember the furore over Amy Chua and her book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother? Here she is explaining the differences between her style of parenting and helicopter parenting, alongside her husband, Jed Rubenfeld. (via The Wall Street Journal).

Also at The WSJ, a pie chart of responses to the news that the OED has accepted “LOL,” “FYI,” and “OMG” into its hallowed pages. Galleycat has details on the additions.

The New York Times has a piece about the new David Foster Wallace novel, The Pale King. The novel, from Hachette, is apparently a strict-on-sale for bookstores, which means it can’t be sold prior to a certain date (in this case, April 15th). But Amazon and BN.com, it seems, are already shipping the book. While it might seem like the four horsemen of the apocalypse are tearing up bookstores everywhere, this kind of double standard is a Very Bad Thing. I’m hoping there’s more to the story than we’ve seen so far, and that it’s not just a colossal flub fest.

Over at The Book Smugglers, a review of Chime, by Franny Billingsley (wow, that’s hard to type, even with coffee). Ana and Thea make it sound like a must-read, especially since the book has its own original mythology, “with nary a vampire, werewolf, fairy in sight.” (It actually sounds loosely based on old Celtic tales to me, though). Here’s the opening line:

I’ve confessed to everything and I’d like to be hanged. Now, if you please.

Forgive the bad pun, but that really is a killer first line, one of the best I have ever read.

Next up, The Guardian has a fun April Fools’ quiz–on fools in literature.

Over on The Guardian’s Book Blog, David Barnett writes about Jacqueline Howett & how “the internet has finally removed the line in the sand between reviewers and authors.” He includes a few other examples of poorly received bad reviews, too.

And finally, at GalleyCat, blogger Derek Sivers has reproduced a series of story grids Kurt Vonnegut made during a New York City lecture. Check out the GC post for details and hashtags for GalleyCat’s NaNoEdMo festivities, or go straight to the story grids. I think I’ll be trying this out for my own work–charting ecstasy and misery is much more interesting than a plain old narrative arc!

That’s all, folks! Have a great day!

ETA 9:25am: note about Jed Rubenfeld in the above video.

This week, I was actually on my way to the young reader section to look for a cover–and then the spine (yes, just the spine!) David Macinnis Gill’s Black Hole Sun grabbed me. Also, a little bit of fan girliness here–from his bio:

David Macinnis Gill is an associate professor of English education at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington, specializing in young adult literature…

I love seeing “professor” and “specializing in young adult literature” in the same sentence. It’s very validating. And now…

Things I love about the cover: Can I say everything? I love the outlining of the font and how it accentuates the blackness–and how that blackness is doubly accentuated by the stars/comets/space debris streaking past and the red lights in the background.

Also, the spine on this book is stunning, from the under-outlined O to the shadowing of what? A rocket perhaps? And the colors! I love the colors!

Things I’m not so hot on: The other text. Getting a Suzanne Collins blurb is a huge deal, but I feel like the quote was tacked on after the cover design had been finished, so it doesn’t quite fit. Something about the author’s name looks off, too, but I can’t tell what.

What I think it’s about: This screams science fiction to me–and I desperately want it to be science fiction, a kind of Sunshine without the intense horror elements (I loved the premise of that movie, but the horror was too much for me by the end).

Between the blurb and the cover itself, I’m thinking dystopic world where the sun is ending its red giant phase and about to collapse into a blackhole. And our hero’s journey? A boy and a girl (for some love interest), and a race to get onto a seed ship. There has to be a sequel.

Cover art by: unknown. Google only turns up details for the album of the same name.

Embarrassment factor: 0.

The Jacket Blurb
The synopsis isn’t quite enough here, so I’m posting the PW blurb too.

Durango is playing the cards he was dealt. And it’s not a good hand.
He’s lost his family.
He’s lost his crew.
And he’s got the scars to prove it.
You don’t want to mess with Durango.

From PW:
Gill (Soul Enchilada) shifts literary gears, delivering an exciting and brutal science fiction tale about teenage mercenaries on Mars. Durango is a disgraced Regulator who, roninlike, did not kill himself when his previous master (his father) was arrested. Along with his gorgeous second, Vienne, and the snarky AI of his former commander, Mimi, which has been “flash-cloned” to his brain, he now takes jobs that most other Regulators would refuse, using the money to try to make his father’s life in prison more bearable. When they get called to protect a group of miners from the cannibalistic monstrosities called Dræu, they discover secrets that could cast new light on the entire history of Mars, as well Durango’s own past. Gill fills his story with well-crafted action sequences and witty dialogue, and the fast pace more than makes up for the predictability of the plot. Everything from the inevitable betrayals and the heroic sacrifices to the dark secrets is by the numbers, though the character development, banter between Durango and Mimi, and solid action will entertain most readers. Ages 14 up. (Sept.)

Overall: So, so wrong. And I should have seen something mercenary was involved–the target is a (dead) giveaway. Two things, though–

1. I love this premise–it reads a little like YA William Gibson to me, and I need to read it. Soon.
2. This is the first time I’ve been sad about being wrong! I’d love a novel along the lines I described, a cross between Sunshine and Titan A.E. and the boy-girl part.

Have you read Black Hole Sun? Would you?