Short Review: Character-driven sweeping tale of court intrigue, thieves, and swordsmen read beautifully by many voices and accompanied by music and sound effects. Witty and funny, a great tale.

Long Review: For those of us well read in the Fantasy genre, this is one of those books that many people expect you to have read. But I hadn’t, until about two weeks of my spare time were swallowed whole by this story.

Richard St Vier is the best swordsman. He lives in Riverside, the “other side of the tracks” which in this story is the “other side of the bridge”. Riverside is the home to thieves, swordsman, and prostitutes. They have their own rules – and those not from Riverside rarely dare to cross within its borders. Meanwhile, up on the hill across the bridge, is the nice side of town – home to the rich and the people in charge.

Much of this story is what I think of as court intrigue – people in power manipulating things behind the scenes to get more power or regain power. As is often the case, those with power use everything, and everyone, at their disposal to shift things to their liking. There are lots of beautiful parties and back room negotiations. Those in Riverside are frequently entangled in the intrigue from across the bridge and it is in midst of these entanglements that we find much of the story. In Swordspoint, duels settle disputes — and when you aren’t a swordsman yourself, then you need someone to fight in your stead. Someone like Richard St Vier, if you are very lucky.

There are a lot of characters to follow. I will admit to sometimes losing track of some of the names for a bit, but anyone important enough to demand attention would soon turn up again and I shortly got everyone sorted out. I wonder if that would have been easier had I been seeing the names rather than hearing them, but the different voices of the audiobook also helped me differentiate the characters as well – so it might not have made a difference after all.

I will admit to having thought about one of my father’s adages about stories a few times during this book: “Who is there to root for?”. Such is the way of things when so many of the characters that get a lot of ‘screen time’ are scheming against each other. It takes a while to sort out everyone’s agendas (that is part of the fun!). But it didn’t take long before I found people to root for and care about. In fact, even when I didn’t like what they were doing, I was often captivated by their machinations. Swordspoint tells quite the tale. It is one of those stories in which you can lose yourself for a while.

On top of being a great story, you might also be considering listening to Swordspoint because of its connection to the new serial story Tremontaine, available in eBook and audio installments. Tremontaine is a prequel to Swordspoint. If that leaves you uncertain about which story to start with, you might want to read the tips from the author on what order to read them.

One last tidbit about the story — in the world of Swordspoint, romantic attachments are quite varied and just as likely to be between those of the same sex as those of the opposite sex. That this is just how things are is so rare as to be a bit of a revelation. We see from the very start that Richard St Vier lives with his lover Alec in Riverside… and the story just barrels onward. No excuses, no hedging – the story tells us how each pair of people relates to one another as we go along. I loved that.

I am more accustomed to listening to more traditional audiobooks which feature a single reader from end to end. This audiobook is very different. It is halfway between a full-cast audiobook and a radio play. Lots of different voices (including a fair amount by the author), intervals of music, and even some sound effects. Click on the second Soundcloud clip below for a sample. It took some getting used to, but overall I enjoyed it. You can also learn more about the creation of the audiobook as an ‘Illumniated audiobook”. The readers were very expressive – and I never found myself confused about who was speaking. Honestly, going back to a ‘regular’ audiobook after Swordspoint took a bit of adjustment. Where was my music? My sound effects?

Book sample:

Author: Erin Morgenstern
Reader: Jim Dale

Short Review: The Locus Award winning novel is an enthralling story of magic, love, and struggle beautifully read by Jim Dale.

Long Review: Two magicians who have been engaging in competitions for years decide to design a new tournament: one man’s daughter vs. the other man’s student. To provide an arena for their students’ competitions, they create the Night Circus, which travels the world without any advertised schedule and opens at dusk to allow the public to view the acts and tents the two magicians’ students develop.

Morgenstern’s writing is enchanting, and she fills her novel with a number of compelling, interesting characters. The story sprawls a bit, but I find the breadth of it very enjoyable, much as I did Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. This book is shorter and more accessible, but both are rich, detailed, and beautifully realized.

Morgenstern gives us people to love and people to hate: The magicians Hector Bowen (aka Prospero the Entertainer) and Alexander (aka Mr. A.H.) are both selfish, heartless monsters. Their students, Marco and Celia, are talented and brilliant and lovable but believable flawed. Several of the fans and performers in the circus are worthy of a great deal of attention: the clockmaker Friedrick Herr Thiessen, the boy Bailey who sneaks in and befriends a young performer, and on and on. And the descriptions of the magical feats Celia and Marco create are gorgeous.

Jim Dale, as usual, is a fantastic reader. I would listen to him recite from a phone book. His diction is crisp, his accent is comfortable and interesting to listen to, his pacing is excellent, and he clearly enjoys the material. I forget when I listen to a passable audiobook reader how much a talented actor can improve the experience of listening to a book, and then I hear someone like Dale and my listening patterns sway back to the fantastic side of the spectrum.

When all is said and done, I’ve listened to this book twice, and I am likely to listen to it every year or two from here on out. It’s a beautiful combination of novel and reader. I adored it.

Author: Ali Shaw

Reader: Heather O’Neill

Short Review: An enchanting mythic fantasy about a woman searching for a cure or explanation for the mysterious ailment that is causing her feet to turn to glass, read beautifully by one of my favorite readers.

Long Review: Ali Shaw was working at the famous Bodleian library at Oxford when he wrote this book. I can’t help but think that that storied collection crept into his first novel. The book is set on the fictional St. Haudaâ€s Land, a remote northern archipelago peopled by unusual people and animals. Ida Maclaird returns to the island seeking a strange man she met there on a previous vacation and an explanation for her unique ailment. She meets and befriends Midas Crook, an awkward young photographer, and asks his assistance in her quest. As the story progresses, Ida attempts to help Midas come to terms with his family and his feelings.

Heather O’Neill is a fantastic reader, and I think her tone and pacing were just right for this book. I was excited to get to listen to her narration again, and enjoyed this book ever more than I did The Likeness.

Shaw’s book is so entrancing because of how he plays with mythic themes. You can tell he’s fully-versed in myth and fairy-tales, but this is no retelling of a classic story. He draws from that imagery and makes gorgeous, subtle allusions, but he creates something wholly new for us. The fantastic animals he invents for the story are particularly interesting, and help establish the strange, magical locale where such unusual things can happen. This isn’t fantasy in the sword and sorcery vein. St. Hauda’s land feels real and modern, though uncomfortably different. And his characters-his characters! I want to know Ida and Midas and Henry Fuwa. I feel as if I could meet them on the train.

I look forward to Shaw’s next book, and I’m crossing my fingers that O’Neill will read the audio version.

A Game of Thrones: A Song of Ice and Fire: Book One

Available from Audible.com

Author: George R. R. Martin

Reader: Roy Dotrice

Short Review: Martin’s Locus-Award winning novel, expertly read by Roy Dotrice, proves an engrossing opening to a long, unfinished series.

Long Review: I was initially hesitant to pick up this series because I had heard so many friends complain that Martin was slow to release subsequent novels in the series. I didn’t want to wind up invested in characters who might or might not have resolutions in future releases. HBO’s sneaky free preview weekend forced my hand, because seeing the opening episode of their adaptation of the story made me want to read the books before watching the TV show.

Martin’s books are long and intricate, and follow dozens of characters. I generally enjoy fantasy audiobooks because the novels themselves tend towards the narrative, mythic style I think is best read aloud. This series is a great example of that. I was immediately entranced by Dotrice’s narration. He developed different accents and styles for the varied characters, and his acting talent shines through in his reading. In many sections of the book where Martin’s wordiness might have annoyed me, Dotrice’s reading kept me interested. Were it not for Dotrice, I may not be so inclined to finish the series. Instead, I’m crossing my fingers that Martin writes fast enough to allow Dotrice to finish narrating all of the books before health problems make that impossible. I want Dotrice to read the paper to me. I love to listen to him.

Martin’s writing does suffer at times from overuse of certain tropes or words, but in general he knows how to write an engrossing, interesting tale. He makes sure none of his characters are true heroes or true villains, and he’s not shy about killing off lead characters. The story is largely medieval-styled fantasy, but Martin injects mysticism, the undead, magic, and some elements of classic mystery novels to refresh the genre. One of the most prevalent themes in the books is the odd progress of seasons in Martin’s world. Rather than living on a planet with four seasons in a year, Martin’s characters inhabit a world where seasons can last many years. The story opens as signs of waning summer are appearing, and the phrase “Winter is coming” becomes a regular refrain. As the novel progresses, many factions fight for the throne of Westeros, and the third-person narrative switches from one character’s experiences to another.

There is no shortage of specifics about the plot available online, so I’ll leave it to you to seek out as many or as few spoilers as you like. Just know that the corpses pile up and several of the characters are truly layered and intriguing. Martin might have benefited from more editing, but Dotrice’s reading makes the book is a great listen.

Short Review: A good but flawed book with two narrators of differing skill.
Long Review: This is another book that I enjoy, but which I’m cautious about recommending to others. Where I wallow happily in references to literature and philosophers and film-makers, many other readers may be annoyed by arguably pretentious chatter.

The book centers on Renee Michelle, a concierge in a lavish apartment building in Paris, and Paloma, a brilliant but morbid daughter in of one of the resident families. Renee and Paloma both hide their immense intelligences for their own reasons, and both suffer their own sadnesses. Each of the main characters goes on at length throughout the book about their personal philosophies and studies, which I think may turn off a number of readers. The book is more about thinking and less about doing. It is constructed largely of interior monologues.

Barbara Rosenblat voices Renee Michelle and Cassandra Morris voices Paloma. I thoroughly enjoyed Rosenblat’s reading, but found Morris’s irksome. She has a high and breathy voice, which veers towards shrillness at times. I understand the choice to pick a deeper voice for the adult and a higher voice for the child, but I think Morris’s reading is too extreme. I know a lot of 12 year old girls, and I think most of them have more depth to their voices when they speak naturally. I’m sure the criticism may sound petty, but I found the affect of Morris’s vocal characterization made Paloma less likeable. At times, Morris uses a voice closer to her natural tone. Once we hear that young-sounding timbre with a natural tone under it, the climb upwards in her register makes Paloma sound, well, bratty. Paloma on paper is not bratty–she is wounded and depressed. Paloma as read by Morris seems false and cutesy. I think paper Paloma would want to avoid audiobook Paloma.

Those criticisms aside, I did truly enjoy this book. I think I prefer the book on paper this time around, but only because I love the Paloma and Renee Michelle my own mind voices so much.

Short Review: An intricate, beautiful, arguably overlong book beautifully read by a very talented narrator. This isn’t a book for everyone, but it was definitely a book for me.

Long Review: I decided to listen to this audiobook as part of 12 books in 12 months, a reading project floating out there in the blogosphere which encourages people to finally read at least a dozen of the books that have been haunting our shelves for ages. This one seemed apt, because I’d originally picked up a paper copy of Possession at the beginning of my graduate school program. At the time, I was too discouraged by how sad the protagonist’s life is at the outset. As a new grad student contemplating a transfer to a more fitting but probably less marketable program, it scared me away, and fast.

The book is very dense and incredibly detailed, and as I listened, I wavered between loving the layered detail and thinking Byatt should have edited out more and simplified the book. Possession follows a frustrated, underemployed, unpublished English Literature graduate student working on the (fictional) poet Randolph Henry Ash, who discovers some heretofore lost drafts of a letter to a woman. Roland becomes obsessed with tracking down the unnamed addressee and discovering the nature of his relationship to the woman Ash addressed. He meets Maud Bailey, a young professor and expert on the under-appreciated (and also fictional) poet Christabel LaMotte. The two contemporary academics studiously pick through letters and poems and search for lost or unknown correspondence, and end up uncovering wonderful connections between the historical writers and developing an interesting relationship of their own.

What’s fascinating about this book is how layered it is, and how much attention it pays to topics that are very dear to my heart. It delves into Breton and Scandinavian mythology, poetry, feminist theory, embroidery and knitting (though only touches of those, sadly), the nature of love, the nature of poetry, the nature of translation and retellings of myths (my nerdy heart sings!) . . . it’s so rich. One could argue that it’s too rich. Byatt gives us stories within stories within stories within stories. We get Ash and LaMotte’s letters to each other, wherein they discuss mythology and poetry. We get their original works, which are of course actually Byatt’s original works. We get so very much detail about the vagaries of modern academia, and the fights between feminist academics and “traditionalists.” It’s all just so very entwined.

Byatt was so brave to write this meta-romance. I honestly don’t know how she pulled it off. The greatest danger in works like this is that the supposed masterworks the characters are studying need to be excellent enough for the characters’ interest in them to seem just. Byatt does manage that, for the most part. As a writer and quasi-academic, I felt Byatt’s role so keenly. She wrote those pieces in a way that seemed so familiar to me. It’s odd to be a writer who works in a form and genre that is essentially lost to most readers. This book turned out to be such a fantastic outlet for many forms of the author’s creativity. I think I love it. I certainly love many aspects of it.

Virginia Leishman’s narration is one of the strongest aspects of the audiobook, and I think she truly saved the book for me. Whenever the details were too intricate or the infighting between the academics came too close to home, Leishman’s honeyed voice coaxed me back into the story. She truly has a gorgeous voice. Her diction is precise, her shifts from character to character are clear but not distracting, and her changes in accent reveal a great deal of acting and vocal skill. I will absolutely seek out more books she has narrated.

Short Review: This is absolutely a fantastic audiobook. When next I need to convince someone that audiobooks are worth considering, I’ll recommend this book first. It’s gorgeously written, and beautifully read. Moreover, it’s a book that truly matters.

Long Review: I feel like I gush too much when I review audiobooks here, in part because I’m much more likely to knuckle down and write reviews for the really great audiobooks I listen to. The mediocre ones leave me sad and listless and I’m loathe to criticize the work of writers and readers who didn’t quite get it right. The truly bad ones–those I abandon.

This, however, is one of the best audiobooks I’ve ever listened to. It’s the perfect combination of reader, type of story, and quality of writing. I feel almost as if someone studied my brain and designed an audiobook that I would fall madly in love with, and then produced it. Except that any attempt at that would fail horribly, and this book is just too exquisite. It’s beautiful, and heart-rending, and funny, and well-researched, and clever, and important, and informative, and and and . . . I love it.

That said, it’s seriously sad in parts. I’m not generally bothered by that, but I did consider it before diving in. Thankfully, it’s also funny and uplifting and thoroughly true, in the way only excellent fiction can be true.

The main character of the book is Liesel Meminger, a young German girl who, right at the beginning of the story, becomes a stealer of books. Hence the title. The speaker, and I’m not spoiling anything with this, is death. Liesel is a fosterling, raised by the Hubermanns, a working class couple. The story begins before WWII and continues through the years of the war, as the Hubermanns wrestle with the place of ethical people in a terribly unethical state.

The paper book is fantastic, and well worth reading. But the audiobook, oh the audiobook. The audiobook is read by an absolute master. Allan Corduner is a musician as well as an actor, and he’s also both Jewish and openly gay, which I think gives him particular incite into the subject matter of the book. He has the timing, and diction, and delivery abilities of a great actor. He has the sense of music a talented musician brings. But he also has that all-too-heavy personal connection to Jewish survivors of WWII. I’m sure another great actor could have done a good job with this book, but I can’t think of anyone who would have done quite so well.

Short review: One of my favorite humorous novels, expertly read by Martin Jarvis. I’m sure I’ll listen to this book over and over again.

Long review: I have a deep and abiding love for this novel. I’ve read it on paper a number of times, and was happy to find an audio version of it. I’m an unabashed fan of both authors, and find works like this one feel particularly suited to audiobook format, since it is such a storyteller’s story. It’s funny and silly, but also examines important questions about belief and ethics. It’s peopled by interesting, charismatic characters who are wonderful to listen to. And, as is vital to a work like this, the authors know the source material they’re playing with.

In short, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley become unlikely friends way back in the way back, and both end up being posted on Earth in the UK in our modern world, expected to do their work to support their sides in the great ongoing war between heaven and hell. The two fall in love with their lives on Earth, and decide that perhaps the apocalypse wouldn’t be all that great for them and maybe should be prevented. They set out to track down the Anti-Christ, an 11 year old boy unaware of his true parentage, and try to prevent his rise. As the story progresses, we learn of Agnes Nutter, Witch and her descendant Anathema Device, witch-hunters, the Four Horsemen, some interesting kids, and a number of other kooks wandering around this Gaiman/Pratchett universe of the book. I won’t say more, because I can’t say any of it as well as they did.

Middlesex: A Novel

Available from Audible.com

Author: Jeffrey Eugenides
Reader: Kristoffer Tabori

Short Review: A novel I absolutely love, full of gorgeous language, beautifully-rendered characters, and entrancing history and myth. Tabori’s reading is downright fantastic, and Eugenides remains one of the most talented writers of his generation. This is one of the best books I’ve ever read or listened to.

Long Review: I read this book on paper several years ago and found it absolutely fascinating. Eugenides treats his subject matter with a great deal of tenderness and honesty, never turning towards the louche or sensational.

For those who’ve missed the hype: the protagonist of Middlesex is a hermaphrodite who is raised as a girl and then chooses to live as a man upon discovering the nature of his unusual condition. That’s not a spoiler–the book opens with this very information. The book is about genetics, the nature of love and family, the natures of human sexuality and gender (which are two different things), Smyrna, Greek-Americans, silk, the foundation of the Nation of Islam, Detroit, racial relations . . . it’s about many fascinating things. It is so engrossing because Caliope/Cal is a true work of art. Eugenides knows how to build a character. He richly deserved that Pulitzer.

Because I loved the paper book so much, I was a bit worried about picking up the audiobook. It drives me batty when someone reads a book I love in the wrong voice for my head. Thankfully, I could listen to Tabori read the phonebook. I wasn’t familiar with him prior to this book, but I look forward to hearing more of his work. Tabori switches comfortably between the voices of many characters, from the basement-deep Jimmy Zizmo to the quavering, fragile Desdemona-as-grandmother. He plays the characters well, but doesn’t push it too far. He’s clearly playing Cal playing the other characters, rather than trying to leave his roll as first-person narrator for those other characters.

In part, the book is so successful because Eugenides is such a careful researcher. Descriptions of Smyrna, silk production, the birth of the US car industry, prohibition, Turkey, genetics, gender reassignment, and many other topics all ring true. Without that underlying research, the book would fall apart. I finished the book with a list of things I wanted to research and a real sense of wonder about Smyrna in particular.

Overall, I think the most surprising thing about Middlesex is its humor. If you describe this book or The Virgin Suicides to someone who isn’t familiar with Eugenides’ work, they’ll assume both stories are weighty, heartbreaking tragedies. In fact, both stories are so engaging because they’re so drenched in wit and humor. Cal, in particular, is charmingly self-effacing and funny. He’s not self-pitying, he doesn’t chastise his relatives for his treatment or his condition. He recognizes the absurdity of humanity itself, as should we all.

Author: John Connolly

Reader: Steven Crossley

Short Review: A decent book with a major flaw, read beautifully by Steven Crossley. Connolly’s book starts out as a promising depiction of the interior life of a bookish, depressed boy with apparently undiagnosed epilepsy and OCD. Unfortunately, it continues on into an all-too-familiar series of retellings of classic fairytales, several of which villanize women for no clear reason. I expected and hoped for more from the book itself. Thankfully, I truly enjoyed Crossley’s narration, and allowed it to carry me through a book that otherwise left me scratching my head and feeling disappointed and maligned.

Long Review: I’m a true mythology buff, so I’ve read many books that recast fairytales and myths in new lights. Some authors do a wonderful job with such work–Neil Gaiman, Angela Carter, Anne Sexton, Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, and T.H. White all come to mind as masters. But many others can’t meet the task and end up producing novels that can’t match the wonder of the original tales or modernize them in interesting, contemporary ways. I think Connolly’s book falls in that later group.

There are some shining moments in the novel. I love David’s wondrous relationship to books, and how that connects him to his mother, arguably the only positive female character in the book. Her explanation of how real stories feel about the inconsequential stories in newspapers is lovely, and will stay with me. The end of the book is also very appealing to me. I love thinking of the adult David continuing to serve books and being a good man, once all is said and done. In general, I think Connolly is a good writer with a good sense of pace and language. I think his take on sibling rivalry is interesting, as is his vision of a child’s relationship to reality, fantasy, and death. While I was listening early on, I enjoyed the book and the narration equally. It was when I was thinking about the book between listenings that I became frustrated.

What truly disappoints me is the misogynist twist Connolly gives most of the tales used in his book. Every major female character other than David’s mother is criticized for her eating habits or weight, sexual choices, appearance, strength, weakness, hunger . . . it’s too much and too common in the book to ignore. Two persistent villains are male, yes, but we expect a werewolf and a Trickster to be villains. I won’t quibble about the child-eating witches who show up in the book as villains, since they were villains in the original forms of the tales. But was it really necessary for Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and all of the other women who show up in the book to be morphed into disgusting, senseless villains? Even Rose, David’s step-mother, is attacked for eating too much and having sex out of wedlock. What is that about? Could Connolly think of no way to retell or change those classic tales without turning all of the female central characters into monsters? Why could none of the kind characters in the book who help David in the other world be female? It really makes me wonder about the author’s views on women. Over and over again, the misogyny forced me out of the story. If Connolly needed to make so many women villains, he should have given more thought to why he needed to do so and addressed that in the book. As it is, the thread seems to reveal more about Connolly than it does about David, and it leaves me loath to bother with the rest of Connolly’s catalog.

As angry as Connolly’s misogyny makes me, I stuck with the book because Crossley’s reading is downright beautiful. I fell for him as a narrator with In The Woods. If anything, his work improves with this novel. His voice is clear and layered, his diction is great, and he voices the different characters distinctly without making too much fuss. I will absolutely seek out more books read by Crossley. I wish we’d set up our review system here at Books For Ears so we review books and readers separately: Crossley gets five stars, Connolly gets 2, max.

Author: Roald Dahl

Reader: Eric Idle

Short Review: Dahl’s award-winning children’s book read wonderfully by Eric Idle.

Long Review: Eric Idle does a fantastic job with the book. Fantastic. He’s a man who understands humor, kids, storytelling, and his own vocal and acting abilities. I picked this up at the library expecting a nice nostalgic trip back to Dahl’s universe. I knew Idle would do a good job, but I also knew I’d read this book many times, and had it read to me, and seen a couple of film adaptations of the story. I didn’t expect to be blown away by a book that blew me away when I was 6.

I should have known that Eric Idle would knock it out of the park. His diction is great, his accents are great, and he developed distinctive voices for each character. He doesn’t hold back at all–his reading is energetic and funny and passionate in all the best ways. I laughed out loud at several points while listening (which can be problematic when you commute via public transit like I do), so I can imagine that an engaged kid would be rolling around on the floor laughing at choice moments.

I don’t have kids, but I wouldn’t hesitate to play this for my nieces or nephew, who range in age from 5 though 12. There are a couple of words in the book that some parents may not want their children to hear–“ass” is used to refer to human anatomy at one point, and I’m sure some other words passed my notice. The book has received some sharp criticism over the years both for long sections describing the Bucket family’s poverty and for the depiction of bratty kids who receive strange punishments. I happen to think such criticisms are silly and give children too little credit for their strength, sensitivity, and abilities to reason and think in the abstract. You may want to take my opinion with a grain of salt, however, since I’m the type of liberal Auntie who almost always comes down in favor of a child’s autonomy and freedom. I am an Auntie who grew up with a bookshelf full of Dahl, Seuss, Tolkein, Sendak, L’Engle, and the like, afterall, so I guess it’s to be expected.

 Author: Neil Gaiman

 Reader: Neil Gaiman

 Short Review: Neil Gaiman reads his Newbery Medal winning book beautifully. His nod to Kipling’s The Jungle Book is just scary enough, intriguing, inventive, well-written, enchanting . . . it’s downright wonderful. I loved Bod, Silas, Scarlett, Liza, Miss Lupescu, and the rest of the graveyard’s denizens and rooted for them throughout the story. I miss them. I’ll return to this book again and recommend it to adults and kids.

Long Review: I’m a fan of Gaiman’s, and I am always intrigued by critically-acclaimed young adult fantasy, so I had to listen to this book. I was hopeful, but also worried. Some of the best books I’ve ever read were those I read when I was 10 or 12. I return to those books and keep tabs on books written for older kids, hoping to find more books to cherish and to foist on my growing nieces and nephews. But many things we’re supposed to love just fall flat for me. I’m not that impressed by some of the most beloved YA books, and some of the ones I did love then show me all of their holes when I pick them up now. This one, however, makes the good list. It’s rich enough for adults, appropriate for older kids, and enchanting for both.

Firstly, Gaiman is good at holding back. So many authors hand you all of the keys right at the beginning of the journey, and then you don’t have much to puzzle through and have less reason to keep going. Gaiman fights the urge to make sure he has told us everything there is to tell, so we keep reading, trying to line up our questions with possible answers, paying close attention to every little clue, wondering whether a character will return or a path will reappear. He refers to fascinating historical events and invents wondrous rituals and characters and communities, but he doesn’t give you so much information that any become boring. Neither does he condescend to his readers. I hate it when writers assume that kids can’t handle any frightening truths about life and death. In fact, kids see as much if not more terror and sadness as adults, and most of them don’t like being coddled. Gaiman doesn’t condescend to his readers or to the children who feature in his books.

Gaiman also happens to write strong female characters well. I wish I didn’t need to congratulate authors for doing that, but it still isn’t a given. Gaiman is a father to two daughters as well as the son whose childhood visits to a graveyard inspired this book. I think his relationship with his girls and the women in his life help him write girls and women well. That ability is particularly important for children’s and YA writers because so many boys are still hesitant to read books with female protagonists. Here, a boy is at the center of the story, but he’s surrounded by smart, heroic, strong, loving women and he cares for and respects them as much as he does Silas. It warms the cockles of my heart, that does.

Gaiman’s mythos is rooted firmly in the old greats. We see glimpses of well-researched historical fact, notice a figure from Grimm here and and an allusion to the Odyssey there. But from those roots, he takes us in very interesting directions. I love how he recasts traditional villains in new ways, making us wonder how evil some of the things we’ve had nightmares about really are. He takes the trope of fractured fairy tales a step further than many of his contemporaries. Gaiman doesn’t bother to argue with Grimm about who really understands monsters—he just plain rewrites the story in his way. It works.

I am impressed by Gaiman’s reading. I thought he did a great job with Fragile Things, and, if anything, he has gotten better. Gaiman has a nice voice, a good sense of character separation, paces himself well, and uses clear diction even when he is reading in different, heavier accents.

My only complaint is that a sequel isn’t available yet. I want to see more from this world, and I hope to see it soon.

The Graveyard Book