Two very different books...
Mar. 18th, 2007 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lady_schrapnellJust finished Keturah and Lord Death (Martine Leavitt) last night, and for some reason it's stuck itself in my head with Criss Cross (Lynne Rae Perkins), which I read a little while ago. Possibly because ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emmaco's thinking Criss Cross was wonderful had made me even more anxious to read it and my mentioning that I had Keturah had made her jealous. Or perhaps because they seem so very different to me, in ways which have nothing whatsoever to do with their being very different kinds of books. Or perhaps it's just that I'm going to manage nothing more sensible by way of reaction to them than saying that Criss Cross left me feeling satisfied in a sort of light and un-sated way, while Keturah made me feel -- almost a bit queasy..
Behind cuts, with minimal spoilers, except where warning is given... (And Criss Cross is first, Emma, so you can avoid reading anything about Keturah!)
Okay, so probably most people have read Criss Cross by now - or at least, everyone in the States, as for some bizarre reason, it STILL hasn't been published this side of the Pond, which seems ridiculous. But there's not a huge amount to say about the plot of this book, anyway, aside from its being mostly about a - or maybe two - 14-year-old(s), in a small town in the sixties. The book opens with Debbie wishing that something good will happen to her soon, and there's a lovely, gentle movement through the book of what she sees happening, and changing her and what she doesn't necessarily see. And Hector, the other main character, is dragged along by his older sister to a 'coffeehouse thing' at a nearby community college, where he's so impressed by a guitar player that he decides he has to learn to play himself. And the criss-crossing theme applies to them and other people, and them and each other, and they're all really nice people and the kids feel so very right and the humour is just my type. I have no real idea why this makes me think of food, but it does. A really light lemon pudding - not too sweet, and not at all stodgy! Or very fruity olive oil... umm...
Keturah and Lord Death, on the other hand - well, knowing as I do that not everyone shares my life-long dislike for things like salami (yuck! The solid grease deposit on the roof of your mouth - nasty), there's not much point in talking about the food-feelings this left me with. This is clearly (yet another) book about which I'll be wildly out of step with the majority, so a lot of my negative feelings about the book are going to be as unshared as my dislike of salami. I don't think it's bad, precisely, so no need to fear another I, Coriander rant - or series of rants - but a few things bothered me a bit to a lot.
1. It's faux-mediaeval (of course) small village, with the faux-mediaeval-lite prose to match, none of which does much for me, and the things which should make it all involving and appealing (Keturah's being a story-teller, for example) just don't add anything.
2. I don't find one of the characters appealing. Not Keturah, who's said to be so beautiful and spirited and all, but who bores me silly, when she's not just irritating for being unforgivably dim. Not her friends, nor their respected loves, nor Keturah's sweet and loving grandmother and dead grandfather (who have supposedly provided the role-model to end all role models of a loving marriage), nor the villagers, the lord of the village, his wife, his son.... Not too keen on Lord Death either, though he's supposed to be the angstiest hero one could wish for. It's just not a good sign when you wish the silly girl would just go on and die and get it over with, so you don't have to read yet another hymn of praise to the never-before-appreciated beauties of her small and shabby village.
3. If you personify death, a small amount of thought should show that you're going to run into some problems. One of those is the Santa Claus Dilemma: if LD is standing somberly and patiently in the cottage of a woman going to die in childbirth in Tide-by-Rood, then who the hell is coming for all the people dying of the plague which is in the nearby Great Town ? Of course he's a supernatural being and can be everywhere at once, and blah blah blah, but that doesn't work as well when he's riding a horse and has a body that can be touched and the possibility is raised of his having a wife to whom he can come home after a hard night's work and all.
More philosophically, if you've personified this guy and give him a heart to be touched on occasion so he changes his mind and doesn't take someone (i.e. if asked repeatedly enough by someone who's very, very beautiful, far as I can figure), then he becomes a bastard for not caring about the ones he does take.
4. Back to the picky, detail kind of problem: Keturah sends a young friend off in search of rare lemons, so she can make an amazing pie, win Best Cook at the fair and therefore get to marry Ben, whom she really wants to be her true love. She unfortunately forgets that there's plague in Great Town, young friend finally meets a merchant coming out of Great City with lemons, merchant, just prevented from cheating YF (and death) drops dead of the plague - YF returns to the village with lemons (and plague) - immediately hands them to Keturah while complaining of symptoms - and has somehow already managed to pass it on to other villagers, who've already come down with (up with?) 'great swellings'. Um - how did that work?
Also not at all taken with the whole 'I'll just get everyone to clean up this village so it's all picturesque and shiny and the road is cobbled, then the plague won't come here' line. But Keturah proves her worthiness to be a lady by inspiring everyone and so bringing about this wonderful transformation (not that the present lady has managed up till now), so it has to be all good, I guess.
5. Yeah, right, I totally agree that death is an essential part of life, and we'd all doubtless be pretty miserable if we were immortal. But somehow it seems as if Keturah is supposed to be unique for seeing this and somehow never being quite happy or content with life, and this (along with the beauty and courage - haven't forgot those!) seems to be what singles her out as Truly Special. Show me anyone who is totally content with life, the universe and everything, and I'd start to wonder. Even the ones who do have Keturah's only desire: 'my own little cottage to clean, my own wee baby to hold, and most of all, one true love to be my husband.'
6. Keturah giving advice to the love of one of her good friends: '"Tailor", I said, "perhaps if you will humor her in the small things, you will hold sway in the bigger things. I know she would like to learn from you".' Not quite Taming of the Shrew, but not not far off it enough for my taste.
SPOILER WARNING: What follows is a real spoiler, though I can't say it was any big surprise at all....
The framing device is pretty questionable too: Keturah is telling this story, and ends by addressing the questions 'Was it true...? Was it the end that must be?' to the person who asked her for the story. As she then proceeds to tell us the 'happy endings' of every other character in the book - and clearly they're the endings which happened with her having died at the end - there's strong suggestion that it is supposed to be true, and she did really become the bride of Death. So how's she telling the story? And if it is just supposed to be a cracking good story (about herself) - why should we give a damn? And where does she get off telling it as if she were such a wonderfully unique character?
Okay, so maybe it was a bit of a rant after all...
emmaco's thinking Criss Cross was wonderful had made me even more anxious to read it and my mentioning that I had Keturah had made her jealous. Or perhaps because they seem so very different to me, in ways which have nothing whatsoever to do with their being very different kinds of books. Or perhaps it's just that I'm going to manage nothing more sensible by way of reaction to them than saying that Criss Cross left me feeling satisfied in a sort of light and un-sated way, while Keturah made me feel -- almost a bit queasy..Behind cuts, with minimal spoilers, except where warning is given... (And Criss Cross is first, Emma, so you can avoid reading anything about Keturah!)
Okay, so probably most people have read Criss Cross by now - or at least, everyone in the States, as for some bizarre reason, it STILL hasn't been published this side of the Pond, which seems ridiculous. But there's not a huge amount to say about the plot of this book, anyway, aside from its being mostly about a - or maybe two - 14-year-old(s), in a small town in the sixties. The book opens with Debbie wishing that something good will happen to her soon, and there's a lovely, gentle movement through the book of what she sees happening, and changing her and what she doesn't necessarily see. And Hector, the other main character, is dragged along by his older sister to a 'coffeehouse thing' at a nearby community college, where he's so impressed by a guitar player that he decides he has to learn to play himself. And the criss-crossing theme applies to them and other people, and them and each other, and they're all really nice people and the kids feel so very right and the humour is just my type. I have no real idea why this makes me think of food, but it does. A really light lemon pudding - not too sweet, and not at all stodgy! Or very fruity olive oil... umm...
Keturah and Lord Death, on the other hand - well, knowing as I do that not everyone shares my life-long dislike for things like salami (yuck! The solid grease deposit on the roof of your mouth - nasty), there's not much point in talking about the food-feelings this left me with. This is clearly (yet another) book about which I'll be wildly out of step with the majority, so a lot of my negative feelings about the book are going to be as unshared as my dislike of salami. I don't think it's bad, precisely, so no need to fear another I, Coriander rant - or series of rants - but a few things bothered me a bit to a lot.
1. It's faux-mediaeval (of course) small village, with the faux-mediaeval-lite prose to match, none of which does much for me, and the things which should make it all involving and appealing (Keturah's being a story-teller, for example) just don't add anything.
2. I don't find one of the characters appealing. Not Keturah, who's said to be so beautiful and spirited and all, but who bores me silly, when she's not just irritating for being unforgivably dim. Not her friends, nor their respected loves, nor Keturah's sweet and loving grandmother and dead grandfather (who have supposedly provided the role-model to end all role models of a loving marriage), nor the villagers, the lord of the village, his wife, his son.... Not too keen on Lord Death either, though he's supposed to be the angstiest hero one could wish for. It's just not a good sign when you wish the silly girl would just go on and die and get it over with, so you don't have to read yet another hymn of praise to the never-before-appreciated beauties of her small and shabby village.
3. If you personify death, a small amount of thought should show that you're going to run into some problems. One of those is the Santa Claus Dilemma: if LD is standing somberly and patiently in the cottage of a woman going to die in childbirth in Tide-by-Rood, then who the hell is coming for all the people dying of the plague which is in the nearby Great Town ? Of course he's a supernatural being and can be everywhere at once, and blah blah blah, but that doesn't work as well when he's riding a horse and has a body that can be touched and the possibility is raised of his having a wife to whom he can come home after a hard night's work and all.
More philosophically, if you've personified this guy and give him a heart to be touched on occasion so he changes his mind and doesn't take someone (i.e. if asked repeatedly enough by someone who's very, very beautiful, far as I can figure), then he becomes a bastard for not caring about the ones he does take.
4. Back to the picky, detail kind of problem: Keturah sends a young friend off in search of rare lemons, so she can make an amazing pie, win Best Cook at the fair and therefore get to marry Ben, whom she really wants to be her true love. She unfortunately forgets that there's plague in Great Town, young friend finally meets a merchant coming out of Great City with lemons, merchant, just prevented from cheating YF (and death) drops dead of the plague - YF returns to the village with lemons (and plague) - immediately hands them to Keturah while complaining of symptoms - and has somehow already managed to pass it on to other villagers, who've already come down with (up with?) 'great swellings'. Um - how did that work?
Also not at all taken with the whole 'I'll just get everyone to clean up this village so it's all picturesque and shiny and the road is cobbled, then the plague won't come here' line. But Keturah proves her worthiness to be a lady by inspiring everyone and so bringing about this wonderful transformation (not that the present lady has managed up till now), so it has to be all good, I guess.
5. Yeah, right, I totally agree that death is an essential part of life, and we'd all doubtless be pretty miserable if we were immortal. But somehow it seems as if Keturah is supposed to be unique for seeing this and somehow never being quite happy or content with life, and this (along with the beauty and courage - haven't forgot those!) seems to be what singles her out as Truly Special. Show me anyone who is totally content with life, the universe and everything, and I'd start to wonder. Even the ones who do have Keturah's only desire: 'my own little cottage to clean, my own wee baby to hold, and most of all, one true love to be my husband.'
6. Keturah giving advice to the love of one of her good friends: '"Tailor", I said, "perhaps if you will humor her in the small things, you will hold sway in the bigger things. I know she would like to learn from you".' Not quite Taming of the Shrew, but not not far off it enough for my taste.
SPOILER WARNING: What follows is a real spoiler, though I can't say it was any big surprise at all....
The framing device is pretty questionable too: Keturah is telling this story, and ends by addressing the questions 'Was it true...? Was it the end that must be?' to the person who asked her for the story. As she then proceeds to tell us the 'happy endings' of every other character in the book - and clearly they're the endings which happened with her having died at the end - there's strong suggestion that it is supposed to be true, and she did really become the bride of Death. So how's she telling the story? And if it is just supposed to be a cracking good story (about herself) - why should we give a damn? And where does she get off telling it as if she were such a wonderfully unique character?
Okay, so maybe it was a bit of a rant after all...
