(Image from publisher's official website)

If you liked Invasion of the Body Snatchers, you're going to love Stephenie Meyers' newest novel, The Host. In this, her first book for adults, Meyer takes the body snatching thing to a whole new level.

The story takes place in the U.S. following an invasion by parasitic aliens. Since the alien "Souls" need host bodies to live, "Seekers" hunt down humans, then force them to undergo an operation whereby a Soul is implanted inside them. Erasing individuals creates a harmonious world full of peaceful Souls who work toward the collective good always. Trifles such as locks, money, and highway patrolmen no longer exist as they are simply not needed.

There's just one problem with the Souls' perfect little world - not all humans go down as easily as they should. Case in point: Melanie Stryker. When the Seekers capture Melanie's body, they implant her with an experienced Soul called Wanderer. Having lived multiple lives on several different planets, Wanderer expects to have no trouble on Earth. She's never met resistance in a host body before, but Melanie is different. She won't leave. The Seekers know Melanie worked with a rebel cell, and they want her memories - Wanderer tries to retrieve them, but Melanie blocks her every attempt. Such a blockage occurs so rarely that no one knows quite how to help Wanderer. Meanwhile, the rebel human assaults her with confusing memories and thoughts. Despite Melanie's mental defenses, Wanderer discovers her secret - her brother Jamie and boyfriend Jared are hiding out, desperately protecting their humanity. Their exact location eludes Wanderer, although she does manage to extract a sketchy map from Melanie's mind. She turns this information over to an aggressive Seeker, although it fills her with guilt to do so.

As Wanderer mines Melanie's memory for more information, she finds herself empathizing with the human, even caring about the males who dominate Melanie's thoughts. Before she knows it, Wanderer's driving east to Arizona, desperate to find the humans before the Seekers do. After a harrowing journey, she finds exactly what she is looking for, but she doesn't receive quite the welcome she was expecting. Instead, the humans dump her in a remote cell in the warren of caves they inhabit. Most of the group find her presence repugnant - they prefer to kill her or hand her over to Doc, who dissects infected bodies to gather information about the Souls. Only Jeb, Melanie's cantankerous uncle, gives Wanderer the benefit of the doubt. Jeb proves to be a powerful advocate - with his protection, no one dares harm her, but that doesn't mean they accept her either. Jared, especially, can't stand the monster with his lover's face. Others lurk in the dark caves, just waiting for an opportunity to gun her down.

While Wanderer fights to stay alive, she learns a great deal about the rebels and about human nature in general. She sees their brutality ("They might have been human ... once, but at this moment they were something else. They were barbarians, monsters. They hung over us, slavering for blood" [120].); their duality ("Humans were deceitful, treacherous creatures. I couldn't anticipate their darker agendas when such things were unthinkable to my species" [225].); and their great capacity for love ("So great was his compassion, he seemed to bleed internally with it" [322].). For the first time, Wanderer questions the deeds of her species. Is it right to take over different species, forcing them to act as the Souls see fit? Is it ethical to erase individuals for the good of the collective? Who, exactly, are the monsters here? The Souls, who steal bodies for their own purposes, or the humans, who annihilate each other with startling regularity? Where does Wanderer fit in - can she, a kind-hearted Soul, really be the monster the humans think she is? These are questions she must answer before The Seekers find her and force her to choose a side.

While The Host teems with moral and ethical questions that will have book clubs atwitter for days, the book really isn't about philosophy. It's not even about the action, or the adventure, or the sci-fi trappings - at its heart, The Host is a love story. Personally, I didn't find Jared that appealing, and I didn't understand how Wanderer could fall in love with him simply based on Melanie's memories, but the story really is about their relationship. Is it as passionate and exciting as that of Bella and Edward? Uh, no. But, it's compelling enough to keep you reading. Of course, romantic love isn't the only kind Meyer explores here - there's also love of home, love of family, love of community, love for a child, etc.

If you're more about the issues than the love story, there's plenty to discuss here: What does it really mean to be human? Without will/agency, are we anything more than slaves? Is the good of the collective more important than individualism? Will our compassion conquer our brutality? Like I said, there's plenty to discuss ...

While I really enjoyed reading The Host, I did have a few issues with it (of course). I liked the character of Wanderer, but I couldn't stand how helpless Meyer made her in certain situations. I mean, Melanie is a brave, resistant human and Wanderer is a strong, spirited Soul - together, they should make a steely being who can take care of herself. But, no, she has to be constantly rescued and carried about by the men in the tunnels. I'm no feminist, but c'mon! Bella (of the Twilight books) actually has this same tendency, but it's more endearing in her somehow. Like with Bella's Edward/Jacob love triangle, I also got a little tired of Wanderer's Jared/Ian issues. That's all small potatoes compared with my biggest issue, which is this - I really did not like the ending. I don't want to spoil anything for those who haven't read it, so that's all I'm going to say, but dang, I wanted something more satisfying.

Is The Host my favorite Stephenie Meyer book? No (that would be Twilight), but it's one of those "unputdownable" novels that keeps you turning pages at lightning-speed. Sure, it's a bit of an Invasion of the Bodysnatchers copycat, but it's one you won't want to miss.

Grade: B+

(You can watch Stephenie Meyer talk about The Host here.)

Arthur Penhaligon is supposed to die on Monday. The asthmatic 7th- Grader should breathe his last during a run in P.E., right under the nose of his unsympathetic teacher, but it doesn't happen that way. Instead, something odd occurs. Something very odd that saves his life, but propels him into a bizarre world where paper, clocks and Victorian-style clothing converge in strange and baffling ways.

Quillam Mye didn't leave his daughter with much - just an old pipe and the outlawed ability to read. While the pipe proves useful only for chewing on thoughtfully, Mosca Mye's love of words makes her long for adventure and most of all, books. Of course, there is one more reason she must escape the town of Chough. She explains the situation to outlaw Eponymous Clent, whom she agrees to free from the stocks only if he will take her with him:

"Purely out of interest," Eponymous Clent asked, "what so
bewitches you about the idea of the traveling life?"

There were many answers Mosca could have given him. She
dreamed of a world without the eternal sounds of glass beads being shaken in a
sieve and goblins chuckling in the ravines. She dreamed of a world where
her best friend did not have feathers and a beak the color of pumpkin
peel. She dreamed of a world where books did not rot or give way to green
blot, where words and ideas were not things you were despised for
treasuring. She dreamed of a world in which her stockings were not always
wet.

There was another, more pressing reason though. Mosca
raised her head and stared up the hillside toward the ragged treeline. The
sky was warmed by a gentle redness, suggesting a soft but radiant dawn.
The true dawn was still some three hours away.

"Very soon," Mosca said quietly, "my uncle will wake up.
An' when he does ... he's likely to notice that I've burned down his mill"
(26-27).

So begins the delightful adventure that is Fly By Night by Frances Hardinge. The plucky Mosca grabs her "homicidal" goose Saracen, and follows Clent, a storyteller with a great many secrets. As the two travel toward the city of Mandelion, Mosca discovers several disurbing things about her traveling companion. Still, her choices are few - stick with Clent or return to Chough and face punishment for arson. So, despite her misgivings about the wordy Clent, she accompanies him to the city. When he attempts to abandon her, Mosca knows she needs to "get the dirty on 'im. Somink big" (45). She discovers letters from the Stationers' Guild naming Clent a spy - now she can blackmail the wordsmith into letting her stick around.

While being held up by highwaymen on the road to Mandelion, Mosca comes face-to-face with the powerful Lady Tamarind. Through Clent's snores, the powerful lady asks for Mosca's help. She explains that her city of Mandelion is on the brink of a guild war - with no current king or queen, the people swear allegiance only to their various guilds. The city crawls with spies, cutthroats and dangerous men. How can "Mosca the Housefly?" be of service? Lady Tamarind charges her with spying on Clent. So, Mosca's goals in Mandelion are now two-fold - find Mandelion's hidden school and report suspicious activity to Lady Tamarind.

Little is what it seems in Mandelion, and Mosca soon finds herself wondering who she can trust. Can she put her faith in Clent, or is he a scoundrel better left to the gallows? And, what about Lady Tamarind - is she a friend or a foe? With all the guilds fighting amongst themselves, which one is right? Most importantly, who runs the secret printing press that has everyone up in arms? And how can Mosca save it before the Stationers' outlaw it along with all the books in the land? Can Mosca save words, the secret school, and most of all, herself? The plucky 12-year-old will risk everything to restore words and free thought to the illiterate city.

In the tradition of Inkspell, Fly By Night entertains while celebrating the power of words and books. It also looks at the devastation that can overtake a land ruled by censorship and superstition. Regardless of its heavy themes, Fly By Night is a first-rate adventure story peopled with quirky, lovable characters. Its lengthy discussions of politics in The Realm detract from the overall story, confusing the reader with too many character and place names. Still, it thrills with continuous action and masterful writing. If you read the book for no other reason, read it for this - Hardinge's prose is absolutely delightful.

All in all, I enjoyed this book. The political passages really did weigh it down for me, and I actually abandoned the book at one point because I was so confused as to who was who and where was where. Since I loved Hardinge's writing and her subject, I eventually picked the book up again. I'm glad I did, because Fly By Night is a fun, quirky little book that delights on so many levels. Like Inkspell, The Book of Lost Things, and The Book Thief, it reminds us that words are little things, with great and sometimes terrible, power.

Grade: B+

Some of my favorite bookish passages from the novel follow:

"Words, words, words. This was her gingerbread cottage" (133).

"Clent shuddered. 'That is a judgment upon me for seeking to extend your vocabulary. If I hear you using such words to describe a duke in my hearing again, I shall put you on a diet of dry verbs and water until you have learned to speak more wisely. In Mandelion, an ill-chosen word in the wrong company may cost you your neck" (110).

When Mosca was asked why she took up with Eponymous Clent, she explains: "Because I'd been hoarding words for years, buying them from peddlers and carving them secretly onto bits of bark so I wouldn't forget them, and then he turned up using words like 'epiphany' and 'amaranth.' Because he made words and ideas dance like flames and something that was damp and dying came alive in my mind, the way it hadn't since they burned my father's books. Because he walked into Chough with stories from exciting places tangled around him like maypole streamers ... " (288)

"Words were dangerous when loosed. They were more powerful than cannon and more unpredictable than storms. They could turn men's heads inside out and warp their destinies. They could pick up kingdoms and shake them until they rattled. And this was a good thing, a wonderful thing ... " (480).

Reading Lisa Jackson's Lost Souls reminded me why I don't usually read crime fiction. While the ex-psychology major in me finds it fascinating to delve into the corroded mind of a serial killer, my naiver side just wants to dive under the bed and forget that such monsters exist (even in fictional form). Exploring a killer's mind means sinking into his dark, macabre world. As I read this novel, I had a tough time shaking that darkness - suffice it to say, I was glad to close this book and come back into the light. I guess I hadn't realized how atmospheric and engulfing the story was until I finally resurfaced!

Anyway, the novel features Kristi Bentz, the 27-year-old daughter of a New Orleans cop. After living through some nightmarish experiences (detailed in previous books, although I'm not sure of the titles), including a near-death experience, Kristi just wants to get on with her life. Packing all of her stuff into her aging Honda, she turns her focus to All Saints College, the Baton Rouge school where she studied as an undergrad. Her father begs her not to go - after all, she's still recovering from a run-in with a serial killer, and he's heard about "some missing girls" (11) at All Saints. Unbeknownst to him, the girls are the exact reason for her interest in the school. An aspiring true-crime writer, Kristi smells a story. She knows the girls met with foul play, even if the police dismiss the disappearances as flighty coeds eloping with their boyfriends. If finding the truth means going "undercover," Kristi is willing.

It's been a few years since Kristi strolled the grounds of All Saints, and plenty has changed in her absence. Courses now range from English 101 to Introduction to Forensic Science to the very popular The Influence of Vampyrism on Modern Culture. The faculty, too, have undergone an extreme makeover - the English Department, especially, seem to have been selected from a stack of "Hollywood head shots" (43). Since Kristi knows the missing girls all took courses from the same handsome professors, she packs her own schedule with classes on Shakespeare, forensics and vampires. Before she even steps foot in Vampyrology, Kristi gets a warning from an old roommate turned associate professor - Lucretia Stevens hints that a vampirism cult has invaded campus, and the missing girls may have been a part of it. Shocked, Kristi begins investigating the claims, only to be brushed off by nearly every person she suspects of involvement. Only a withdrawn girl named O seems to validate Kristi's suspicions - she wears a vial of blood around her neck. The deeper she looks, the stranger the situation gets. Kristi can't escape the feeling that someone is watching her, tracking her every move.

As if her life doesn't have enough creepy in it already, Kristi's also been plagued by visions - strangers, her father, and girls on campus turn a green color before her eyes, as if they have been completely drained of blood. Kristi fears these are premonitions of imminent death. Maybe she's crazy, but she knows of one person who will believe her. She turns to Jay McKnight, a criminologist whose heart she crushed when she left for All Saints as a freshman. Together, the pair continue to probe the school's dark underworld, while trying to resist the attraction that has already led to heartbreak once. While battling their feelings for one another, they descend deeper and deeper into All Saints' bizarre world of vampirism. It's a dangerous place ruled by a bloodthirsty killer, a sadistic psychopath who wants Kristi to be his/her next victim.

As I mentioned before, Lisa Jackson sucks the reader in with this atmospheric novel. Post-Katrina Baton Rouge provides a haunting background, which adds a sinister air to this story of vampires, cults and lost souls. Neither the writing nor the plot provide a lot of originality, but the characters are interesting and sympathetic. Again, not very original, but believable. Fast pacing keeps the reader turning pages, despite stomach-churning descriptions of necrophilia and literal blood baths. The ending leaves a lot to be desired. I was surprised by the killer's identity, mostly because it came out of the blue. I had to flip back through the book to even remember who he/she was. Also, the author makes the killer a psychopath, but never really explains how he/she snapped. While the tone of the novel fit the story, I found it dark and depressing. Lost Souls is one of those dark, hard-edged stories that isn't for the feint of heart. It's fast-paced, engrossing and suspenseful, but I had a hard time stomaching it.

I know Lisa Jackson has written many best-selling books, so obviously, other people really enjoy her books. I'm a bit of a wimp, so I probably won't read her again. Despite my weak stomach, there are a few series in this genre that I enjoy, including Kathy Reichs' Temperance Brennan books and Jeffery Deaver's Lincoln Rhyme/Amelia Sachs novels. You may (quite rightly) say that Deaver's books, especially, are just as twisted as Lisa Jackson's, but I've decided that I like these kinds of books only when they offer more than just a gory suspense story. Both Deaver and Reichs serve up mysteries perpetrated and solved by fascinating characters. Lisa Jackson seems to focus more on the gore. So, I'll take my crime fiction in small doses, thank you very much, and only when it's tempered by well-crafted, interesting characters.

Grade: C

In a review I wrote yesterday, I very insensitively slammed authors who self-publish. Lest you think I am completely callous, I have to explain that the last few self-published titles I have read have been terrible. After reading Andrew Jalbert's West Across the Board, however, I am happily eating my words. This touching story proves that great books can come from anywhere - even the world of self-publishing.

If a 17-year-old boy wrote a book detailing his deepest, darkest fantasies, it would probably read just like Andrew Feder's The Heretic. After all, what young man doesn't want a life like main character, Jerry Fletcher's? By day, Jerry works as a senator in a future version of L.A., drives a convertible Caddy, makes love to his girlfriend (who is, of course, a "hottie") and goes out for Korean with his ex, all in one day (Naturally, the ex is also a hottie). He's a foul-mouthed, take-no-prisoners kind of guy, who's respected by men and women (the former want to be just like him, while the latter line up to bed him).

Given his circumstances in the present, it is perhaps not difficult to believe that Jerry had it going on in a series of past lives as well. In The Heretic, he discovers his late career as a military hero in the army of Alexander the Great. Through a psychic, Jerry regresses back to his former self - Aias, military hero and husband of the beautiful Nefertiti. The remainder of the book consists of Aias telling his children (in great detail) about his prowess both on the battlefield and in the bedroom. In war, Aias conquers all, fighting like a machine to earn Greece the respect it deserves. His amazing combat skills cause the soldiers to wonder if he isn't a God descended from heaven. Predictably, he wins all his battles, never forgetting to give the glory to his buddy Alexander. So humble is the mighty Aias that he even insists his name be kept out of Alexander's journal, preferring to pass his heroics off as belonging to Hercules or other generals.

All of Aias' victories bring him women by the dozens, but he, of course, will have only the greatest beauty by his side - Nefertiti. They marry and have children who revere their father as a hero.

Ahhh ... sounds like any boy's fantasy, right? The problem lies in the fact that The Heretic is just that - a fantasy, not a story. It has no plot, no character development, no original word choice, and no moral. The only thing it has - and it has it in spades - is profanity, crappy dialogue and revolting sex scenes. Perhaps a talented writer could have crafted something worthy out of Feder's idea, but this author gives us only gems like this:

I began to thrust my sword, disembowling their insides before them. Those who stood along their disembowled brethren were in shock. With mercy, I quickly took them out of their shocking misery with a slice and a dice of my sword, allowing their falling beheaded bodies to next amongst the corpses of their companions (77).

To be fair, Feder published The Heretic himself (via AuthorHouse), so perhaps I shouldn't expect too much. Still, my 6-year-old just self-published a picture book (via IlluStory) and it's both more imaginative and better written than this one.

The funny thing is, Andrew Feder's bio makes him sound like a fascinating man, who has done plenty of interesting things. Part of his "education" included studying under psychic Janaeu St. Clair, which is probably where he got the idea of regression as a way to write historical fiction. Although I don't believe in psychic mumbo jumbo, I actually think this device is quite clever. I just wish Feder had put some effort into writing a real story - with a plot, rounded characters, witty dialogue and fresh writing. As is, The Heretic reads like a teenage boy's fantasy, complete with filthy language (Did ancient Greeks really use the F-word in every other sentence?), a hero without weakness, and women who will do anything he pleases. Like all teenage fantasies this one should have stayed where it belonged - safely inside the dreamer's head. Since it didn't, I'm going to do the world a favor and give The Heretic the funeral it deserves - in the bottom of my trash can.

Grade: F

Me: Hi Kate. Thanks so much for stopping by Bloggin' 'Bout Books today and answering some quesitons about your books (The Friday Night Knitting Club; Comfort Food), writing, and

Considering all the rave reviews I read about The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs, I thought I would love the story. I didn't. I liked it well enough, I just didn't love it (especially not the ending). You can read my review here. Anyway, I wondered how I would feel about Jacobs' new book, Comfort Food. Would it be her first novel all over again? Or would she bring something new to the table with her sophomore effort?

Although there are definite similarities between the two books (mention of Kool Aid as hair dye, for one), Comfort Food stands on its own. In fact, I liked it better than The Friday Night Knitting Club. I'll get back to the whys in a bit...

Comfort Food stars Agustus "Gus" Simpson, host of food TV's popular Cooking With Gusto! show. The program airs in her living room, so Gus spends the majority of her time in her expansive home cooking, entertaining and plying guests with treats from her kitchen. A long-time widow, Gus has two grown daughters who still need babying, not to mention husbands. Organized and efficient, Gus has everything in her life under control. That is, until her ratings start to plunge. To boost the numbers, her producer decides to bring in a co-host in the form of ex-beauty queen Carmen Vega. The former Miss Spain knows her way around the network president's bedroom and, Gus reluctantly admits, the kitchen. Of course, that doesn't mean Gus has to take her usurpation laying down. Still, the on-screen tension on Eat, Drink and Be produces the desired effect - ratings spike, website hits skyrocket, and Gus' future burns brighter and brighter.

A freak snowstorm adds another element to the show, widening the cast to include: Aimee, Gus' older daughter, whose shoulders sag under the weight of responsibility; Gus' younger daughter Sabrina, who changes fiancees almost as often as she changes her shoes; Troy, Sabrina's still-pining ex; Oliver, the easygoing chef whose flirtations make Gus nervous; and Hannah, Gus' neighbor, who hides a painful past beneath her signature grey hoodie. Together, they make the show a success. Still, there's tension simmering between all parties, tension that threatens to boil over. During a weekend retreat to build team unity, conflicts come to a head with less than scrumptious results. While Aimee and Sabrina express long-held anger toward their mother, Gus gets a shock that will make her re-think her whole life and career. She is forced to ask the question that forms the backbone of the story: How far will a person go to get what they want, and is the sacrifice really ever worth it?

Like I said in the beginning, Comfort Food has a lot in common with The Friday Night Knitting Club - both books feature a strong, single mother who finds her passion, then uses it to create a successful career. Both protaganists are hardworking women who have to learn to give up some of the control in their lives in order to be happier, healthier human beings. Both novels also have a "club" feel, in which a large cast of characters each narrate a portion of the story, giving us insight into their different personalities. Despite the similarities between the books, there are also big differences. Comfort Food has a much stronger star, for one. Gus Simpson's personality is far more vivacious than Georgia Walker's, making her far more interesting. Also, I felt that Gus had more depth in general. Where Jacobs' first book seemed meandering to me, Comfort Food remained focused. The writing seemed smoother in the new book, and the ending was more realistic and satisfying than The Friday Night Knitting Club's conclusion. For all these reasons, I liked Comfort Food better. It's a solid book that stands on its own merits.

I was a little surprised that there were no recipes included in the book (I read an ARC - maybe that's why?), but even without the "whipped cream on top" this story bakes up as nicely as one of Gus Simpson's famous scones. Go on - take a bite. You'll love this satisfying read.

Grade: A-

Knitting may be the newest trend on the Upper East Side, but Georgia Walker learned the art as a child. Tutored by her Scottish Gran, Georgia has become a master knitter, turning her passion into a successful yarn shop. Walker and Daughter (a fictional business) becomes even more popular when an informal gathering of women knitters of all ages, backgrounds and skill level solidifies into The Friday Night Knitting Club. Members include the reserved Georgia; her baking-obsessed daughter Dakota; Georgia's 72-year-old mentor Anita; Peri, a promising handbag designer; Lucie, a single woman whose biological clock has stopped ticking and is starting to alarm; Darwin, the cranky college student; and K.C., Georgia's boisterous friend from publishing. Beginning as mostly strangers, the women soon become friends who share their triumphs, aspirations and heartaches, of which they all have plenty.

The Friday Night Knitting Club, Kate Jacob's debut novel, discusses all the women, but focuses mainly on Georgia Walker. The single mother has worked exhaustively to make her business, and her life, a success. Almost singlehandedly, she has done both. True, she's a little lonely, but that starts to evaporate as the club becomes more and more important to her. Her life is far from perfect, though. For one thing, Dakota's father has returned to New York and is working hard to buy his way into his daughter's life. Georgia is stunned to find that her philandering ex-boyfriend wants to wheedle his way back into her good graces as well. Dakota finds her father enchanting, even as Georgia promises herself she will not fall under his spell again. All the tension is getting to her. She's exhausted. Then, an old rival breezes into the shop, flashing her Platinum card and demanding Georgia create a custom evening gown for her. Knowing she can't refuse the commission, Georgia suddenly finds herself slaving away for the woman whose betrayal ended their childhood friendship.

As if Georgia doesn't have enough woes, she's also caught in the drama of her friends' lives. Anita, whose health seems to be fading, refuses to slow down. She's also ignoring her crush on the kind deli owner downstairs, afraid a new romance will tarnish the memory of her long-dead husband. Then there's Darwin, the enigma who comes to club meetings, but doesn't knit. Everyone's surprised to hear the story of her long-distance marriage to a harried medical intern who barely has time to call his lonely wife. Always upbeat K.C. can't seem to find her niche, or anything resembling knitting skills. When she decides to aim for a law degree, her friends tutor her, but can she really make it work? There's also Peri, Georgia's part-time assistant, who's defying her parents in pursuit of her own passion. Lastly comes Lucie, who's looking decidedly peaked. What's her secret, anyway? As the women struggle through their own crises, the one thing that sustains them all is their knitting club.

The Friday Night Knitting Club concerns needlework, but it's really about friendship. It's about women gathering to shake off loneliness, learn together and support each other through thick and thin.

I enjoyed this story in general, but there were a few things that annoyed me. For one thing, the way Jacobs used the omniscient point of view made me crazy. She shifted POV in the middle of sections, even in the middle of paragraphs. I think when a story involves as many characters as this one, it's important to keep their voices separate, otherwise the reader becomes confused (and irritated, in my case). Especially considering the ending of the novel (which I'll get to in a minute), I really think Jacobs should have divided the women's stories into clear sections, and given all of the players equal "speaking" time. Perhaps that would have fleshed out some of the characters more, allowing for a warmer tone and a better flow to the story. The most frustrating aspect of this book for me, however, was the ending. I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say Jacobs employed one of the most overused plot twists in fiction. Not only was the ending sappy, but it made everything that came before it look contrived. In light of the ending, certain happenings (like the arrival of both James and Cat) are just a little too convenient. There were other situations I thought were unrealistic, but the finale bugged me the most.

Despite these issues, The Friday Night Knitting Club kept me entertained. I didn't love it, but I liked it well enough. Let's just say it wasn't the nice, soft, cozy afghan I wanted - it was more like the one that looks pretty draped over the sofa, but itches too much to be truly comfortable.

Grade: B-

(Image from Wikipedia.org)

Whenever I read, I take notes. For a mystery/thriller, I will maybe use one page of my small yellow legal pad. Literary fiction, classics and non-fiction usually garner 2-3 pages. The fact that I jotted down 4 pages of notes while reading Nancy Farmer's The House of the Scorpion tells you just how much this young adult novel preyed on my mind. As I peeled back each of its many subtle layers, I found more and more to ponder. Don't worry, action fans, it's not as cerebral as I make it sound. In fact, it's one of those books that has it all - action, mystery, adventure, and even a little romance.

The hero of the tale goes by the name of Matteo Alacran. When the story opens, 6-year-old Matt is living in an isolated cottage in the middle of a vast poppy field. His caretaker, Celia, works at the "Big House," home of the legendary drug lord who owns all the fields, which supply the opium he exports all over the world. Although Matt has lived on the estate all his life, he has never ventured beyond the cottage's front door. Celia warns him to stay safely inside, "hidden in the nest like a good little mouse" (5), but he can't help being curious about the outside world. When a trio of children come traipsing through the fields, Matt can't help himself. He has never seen other children, and he longs to play with them. Escaping from the cottage requires him to smash a window and leap to the ground; in the process, he slices his legs, prompting the other children to drag him to the Big House. Foggy from pain, Matt hovers on the edge of consciousness as a team of maids rush to extract glass from his wounds. When they discover the tattoo on his foot, proclaiming him "Property of the Alacran Estate," the servants recoil in horror. Despite his injuries, Matt is whisked away and dumped roughly outside.

As Matt lies abandoned on the ground, he learns the truth of his existence from the children who discovered him. They say he is a clone, created in a lab for El Patron. Cloning happens regularly in the futuristic world of the Alacrans, but clones' brains are always destroyed at birth. Matt is the exception. Elderly El Patron wanted Matt raised as a real boy, but insisted his existence remain a secret. The children view him as a freak of nature, except for Maria, who sides with any suffering creature. The Alacrans' servants know better than to dismiss anything of El Patron's, but they refuse to acknowledge Matt's humanity, locking him up in a filthy room where he sleeps on sawdust and plays with cockroaches and chicken bones. When Maria, who visits the estate only on vacation, learns of Matt's deplorable situation, she runs straight to Celia, who rats out the other servants to El Patron. Outraged, the old man esconces Matt in a luxurious apartment, where he receives care from Celia. El Patron also appoints Tam Lin, a Scottish outlaw, to guard Matt against the rest of the household, who view him as a filthy animal.

Once Matt learns the truth about himself, he starts to see all of the ugliness around him. He finds that the numerous field workers are really eejits - people who have had computer chips inserted into their brains to keep them docile enough to perform long hours of back-breaking labor. Matt's horrified to discover this "mindless army of slaves" (171), who will starve themselves unless told to eat. Likewise, Matt sees that many of the Big House's occupants have become just as dazed by consuming opium and alcohol. His most startling discovery, however, concerns himself, and the true reason El Patron protects him so savagely.

As Matt struggles to come to terms with the cruel world he inhabits, he must also come to terms with himself. Is he really an animal like everyone says he is? Or is the truth more in line with Tam Lin's belief that "No one can tell the difference between a clone and a human. That's because there isn't any difference. The idea of clones being inferior is a filthy lie" (245). Or is it the way someone is treated that truly makes them an animal? Who is more human, after all - the boy who "nailed frogs to the lawn so they could be devoured by herons" (213) or the one who confesses to a crime he doesn't commit so he can save the girl he loves from feeling more pain than she has to?

When Matt finally sees the Alarcans as the scorpions they truly are, he knows it is up to him to save the land and the people he loves from their violent rule. He embarks on a brave journey that will take him through the dangerous borderlands, into hells of all sorts, and back into the treachorous Alacran estate where he must make a final stand against the very people who gave him life.

A quick synopsis simply doesn't do justice to this chilling, multi-layered novel. On one level, it's a straightforward sci fi mystery/thriller; at its heart, however, it's a haunting reminder of what happens when one group of people tramples another. El Patron's hateful treatment of the eejits recalls both American slavery and Hitler's annihilation of Jews during WWII. The House of Scorpions decries intolerance and demands individual courage as well as freedom over mind-numbing substances. It's a powerful book that will chill you to the bone and haunt you long after you've finished it. Despite its hopeful conclusion, the book remains a troubling testament to the great inhumanity of which man is capable.

The House of Scorpions deserves every award it has received. It's masterful, complex, and powerful. The characters ring true, the plot races along, the ending satisfies - in short, it's an excellent book. Personally, I prefer warmer, fuzzier stories, but this one deserves top marks despite its bleakness.

Grade: A