A little goes a long way.

Publisher: Abacus (Little, Brown)
Pages: 311
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-408-70371-7
First Published: 12th January 2010
Date Reviewed: 1st April 2013
Rating: 5/5

CeeCee Honeycutt is the only person who cares about her mentally ill mother; her father is always away, and CeeCee has no friends except the kind elderly lady next-door. When Mrs. Honeycutt is killed in an accident, CeeCee’s neglectful father hands her over to her great aunt. Will it be worse in Savannah, the home her mother longed to return to, or will CeeCee find the regular life she’s always wanted?

Saving CeeCee Honeycutt is the gripping début by Hoffman that combines a young person’s thoughts with an adult readership to interesting and, let it be said, successful, effect. Drawing on history with all the discrimination it involved, Hoffman introduces the reader to the world of a girl on the cusp of her teenage years, who has struggled to find her place in a town where she is guilty by proxy.

Important to discuss first is the text and structure. Hoffman has produced a very special work. As previously stated, Saving CeeCee Honeycutt is gripping, yet on the surface that is something that shouldn’t be so. Hoffman’s book is slow, and there is not much action. The climaxes are minor and from the start it is obvious that there will be no great reveal. And yet yes, it is absolutely gripping. What Hoffman has achieved is that feat so beloved of many readers of literary fiction – whilst little happens in reality, this slowness allows for a great amount of detail. Hoffman’s 12 year old CeeCee is believable and partly for that reason, that the author allocated so much time to character development. The pages turn themselves and even in times of conflict, a certain calm pervades the text that suits the pace of life portrayed here. You can enjoy the proceedings without that nagging sense of wanting to get to the end of the book to discover the conclusion.

Talking of CeeCee, the prospective reader might wonder whether the thoughts and life of a 12 year old in 1960s America would be interesting enough to the mature target audience. Inevitably opinions will be divided, but Hoffman has ensured that her character is well-read, thoughtful, and mature beyond her years in many ways. CeeCee makes bad decisions of the kind any 12 year old might when they do not understand repercussions, but these choices and the way Hoffman otherwise presents the character mean that instead of being off-putting, the reader can empathise with her, will her to see the poor decision for what it is.

As said, CeeCee is far from perfect. Indeed there is a section where the previously grounded child, having grown up witnessing hatred and loneliness, takes it upon herself to inflict pain on another. It could be said that this was a bad move on Hoffman’s part and out of character for CeeCee, and yet it’s not at all easy to just accept that thought and move on. Besides the obvious element of understandable immaturity, Hoffman demonstrates how even the kindest person can turn down the wrong path sometimes, and, most importantly, she shows how CeeCee’s overwhelming love and gratitude for someone can translate as an urge to get back at the one who hurt her friend.

The history in this book is mostly subtle, though there are times when it is explored in detail. Hoffman doesn’t shy away from using the damning words and descriptions employed in the 1960s, using her characters to remind her readers of the prejudice towards Africans and, of course, the mockery of the mentally ill. Hoffman shows how despite emancipation, Africans were viewed with scorn, used as scapegoats in a world that believed an account based on whether or not you were of the right colour.

This history and the usage of it pervades the dialogues – in a way Oletta, the cook, is stereotypical. However there is this undercurrent of fact, Hoffman clearly wants to use all the appropriate and available aspects to really teach her readers what life was like, to make them feel as though the story is real and they are a part of it – because whilst it’s fiction there are many truths woven into it. What is of course wonderful, if predictable, is how the major white characters themselves treat African Americans, and how they are a part of the drive towards modernity. Their natures are explanations, and allow the author to portray the many different attitudes.

To be sure, in order to enjoy this book one needs to be happy with the idea of a young narrator, no matter how mature that narrator is. CeeCee can be a little too precious, and is headstrong in times of trouble – but then how many children are truly angels? Saving CeeCee Honeycutt is low on plot but bursting with character development and detail. And given that the plot is secondary, that is a fine thing indeed. If the idea of lazy but satisfying sunny days in a historical Savannah, mixed with some hard-hitting facts, is at all intriguing to you, then you are sure to love this book.

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Where ’til death do us part’ isn’t a valid concept.

Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Pages: 231
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-1-62007-089-5
First Published: 12th September 2012
Date Reviewed: 4th April 2013
Rating: 3.5/5

The car accident that killed Frankie left Ever unscathed, but it’s now two years since Frankie’s death and for Ever, who was secretly in love with him, his presence as a ghost has meant that she’s been unable to move on. When a new neighbour moves into the house next door, Ever is at once struck by him, and he appears to be interested in her too. But her best friend lingers, telling Ever that Toby isn’t the right guy for her.

Ever is the début novel of Russo, the start of a series, and it shows a great deal of promise for the series as a whole. Russo is a competent writer, she knows her target audience well, and she tends to take care of those pesky elements – questions – that are so often left by the wayside. Indeed where questions are concerned Russo cleverly makes you think she’s going to leave you thinking she’s forgotten, before letting you know the answer. It’s a method that may not please everyone, but it successfully enables her to take a look at both the important aspects of her story, and the more light-hearted fun ones.

This leads us on to the main character. If the name sounds odd, it’s worth noting that it’s a acronym for the character’s full name and ends up working well enough. Ever will likely cause a divide in opinion, as her nature changes as the book continues. At the start she is a good narrator with a strong voice. Her feelings for Frankie naturally take centre stage a lot of the time and there is a great amount of pondering about Frankie’s place in her life – however given that Frankie never passed on this makes sense. It may seem annoying, but in the context of her life, Ever’s inability to let go is understandable. She makes a break for Toby, however it is a literal break, and the attraction is instant.

Later on, as situations become clearer and secrets are revealed there is a tendency for Ever to lose track of what’s important, for example she’ll say that working out an answer is important – and it is, very – but will then say she needs coffee first. Her state of mind here could offer a theory, but it is difficult not to think that given the new situation, one would know what to do in order of importance, especially as the important questions are of the kind that own an impulsive argument.

The other characters being described by Ever, they inevitably seem more focused. Almost all of them aim to aid her with clarity. The character likely to gain the most interest of the reader, perhaps more so than Ever, is of course Frankie.

Using Frankie as a point for further discussion (we’ll go back to him in a minute) the structure of the book is incredibly interesting for its freshness. Russo doesn’t spend much time detailing the accident (indeed it only gets a flashback) and neither does she talk at length about the overall set-up. Frankie has been there two years, Ever hasn’t got over him, and the entire household can see him. Russo states the necessary basics and moves on. There is no info-dumping; the only details Russo ever discusses at length are there to help you understand the characters better. This means that apart from Ever’s thoughts and worries, the plot stays on the topic at hand.

Of Frankie himself, then, it is very much a case of show rather than tell, and it’s left to the reader to work out why he has remained on earth (this is easy enough to work out so that you’re able to carry on with the story straight away). The rest of the characters provide ample backup but there are a couple of stereotypes that again are likely to divide opinion (Ever herself somewhat conforms to a stereotype). There is a bit of oddness to the parents seeming to want Ever to remain in love with Frankie, so she won’t meet boys, but then not wishing the ghost to be in her bedroom, and it would have been nice to know how everyone felt about Frankie’s presence. But these are quibbles. Less of a quibble is Frankie’s family – the reader may wonder how after his death his dad would have been okay with leaving when everyone knew Frankie’s ghost was next door.

So Russo is a competent writer, but there are a couple of aspects that do not blend in. There are a lot of emphasised words and phrases, and while some are satisfactory others bump at the pacing, slowing it down. And there are phrases that have unfortunately been made infamous by a certain recent best-seller. This means that whilst the usage of them is fair enough, wrapped up in Ever’s uncertainty and worries they bring to mind someone else; and Ever is far from that person.

The interesting thing about the structure of the book is that you’ll find many of the questions you have that are not answered become irrelevant. Some thoughts you might have are not addressed because Russo doesn’t need to address them. She could have, but then you’d be left with a lot of superfluous answers, and if anything that would have detracted from the story.

The romance takes the form of a triangle (this isn’t a spoiler as it begins in the first chapter). With a ghost involved this was always going to be different, and Russo has time to explore the feelings of guilt that come with trying to move on after a death. It doesn’t matter that Frankie is still there, if anything it makes it all the more poignant. Where intimacy is involved, Russo is adept at including all the worries and desires of a young person and the way she proceeds with this line of the story is laudable. Incidentally if you think you know where it’s going, who Ever will choose, it seems Russo isn’t anywhere near wrapping it up, but there is a difference here to the usual styles of keeping triangles moving. Some readers may find the limited time between sexually-charged encounters to be uncomfortable, others will likely be okay with them.

With Ever you have to be prepared for a book that is going to throw you straight into the action. You have to be comfortable with Russo taking her time, and you do have to be okay with the idea that it might take Ever some time to become strong again. With this character it’s not as easy as saying she should pull herself together, but so far if there’s something you’ve thought of, be it a wish for the story progression or character development, if this book is anything to go by, Russo’s already onto it. Ever rises and falls, delights and confuses, but it is a gripping story with enough uniqueness amongst its use of trends to make it a worthy addition to the paranormal Young Adult literature that’s been on the shelves for a while.

I received this book for review from the author.

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The prelude of the Tudor dynasty.

Publisher: Mira (Harlequin)
Pages: 607
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-848-45215-2
First Published: 1st March 2013
Date Reviewed: 8th March 2013
Rating: 3.5/5

Katherine of Valois, neglected by her parents, is chosen to become the wife of England’s Henry V, bringing the claim to the French throne with her. But Henry is focused on wars and the young Queen’s infatuation does nothing to interest him. At the King’s death, Katherine is not expected to remarry, but that means little when you’re 21 and have never known love.

The Forbidden Queen is O’Brien’s endeavour to bring into the spotlight the grandmother of Henry VII and illustrate the plights of medieval queenship. Drawing both on factual evidence and speculation, she crafts a tale to suit both fans of history and readers looking for romance.

Katherine herself can be a rather annoying and ignorant character, but it is difficult to fault her for a long time due to the background context O’Brien has written (the childhood neglect has neither been confirmed or dismissed by historians so O’Brien’s usage is fair). Considered by themselves, Katherine’s actions are childish, not thought through, and fully of naivety. They are the sorts of actions that readers of strong female characters deplore. However, given Katherine’s childhood – the lack, no, complete absence, of parental care, the punishments and particular upbringing – whilst she may irritate there is a sound reason for it. Indeed O’Brien doesn’t simply list the elements of the childhood and then move on, she provides the details necessary for the reader to understand Katherine’s continuing desperation for love and all the anxiety and bad choices that go along without.

But there comes a limit to how much of the same will work in one book. Over the course of the novel Katherine makes the same mistakes time and time again, quite literally repeating herself. Some have factual basis, but most do not, and whilst the romantic choices are based on speculation that has been passed down through the ages, it was up to O’Brien to fill in the gaps with events that are interesting rather than more of the same. It feels at times as though you’re reading the book a second time, and a lot of it could have been cut out without loosing anything important. The repetition of Katherine and all the mistakes do start to become difficult to understand as the book continues. Despite the background context it is difficult to believe that after a decade of life in England and at court, the Queen would not have learned a thing or two.

Katherine’s inner thoughts are highlighted in italics but she repeatedly ignores the voice of reason and does not understand others’ concerns. She is relentlessly anxious in her repetitive thoughts – angst is the element of the day – and as the book is told in the first person the reader is never given an opportunity to see things from another point of view. This means that whilst there are wars going on, and undoubtedly issues in England due to her son not yet attaining his majority, you do not hear about it, even though it would have surely been in her mind.

Yet because you are stuck in Katherine’s head, there is ample opportunity to get a feel for how it must have been for those who were wronged, and how laws and politics could affect even the most powerful, or in this case simply highest, of women. Locked as she is in her weakness, Katherine rarely puts her heart into rebellion, easily giving up, but through her continual isolation it is possible to draw a picture of what it must have been like for the many other women who suffered similarly. In this way the book will prove interesting to those who feel dowager queens have been forgotten by literature.

And it must be said that Katherine’s utter ignorance creates the perfect situation to educate the reader about society and court expectations for foreign brides. There is also the difference, even if not great, between a mother’s teaching and expectations compared to how the future husband expected his wife to behave. O’Brien demonstrates how a lot of the marital and sexual distances in history might have been shortened had women been brought up to be bold.

The romances in the book enable O’Brien to explore how politics ruled over emotions and how nobles suffered for their riches. They are viewed from the diplomatic angle Katherine must see, except on those occasions when passions triumph over regulations. Understandably the men in the book are secondary characters, even when they are Katherine’s lovers, and O’Brien has moulded them to suit her story.

Liberties are taken but not to extremes, basic anxiety is backed up by context, and the examination into the affects of a mad father and (speculated) debauched mother is undertaken with aplomb.

The Forbidden Queen is admirable for its desire to bring Katherine to the fore, and it’s not a bad book on the whole. But without a solid focus or interesting developments, there isn’t much to recommend Katherine, herself, to memory. If you are looking for romance, however, you may have come to the right place, and the inclusions of well-loved elements will likely keep you reading.

I received this book for review from ED Public Relations.

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Re-tellings can be just as just as masterful.

Publisher: Allison & Busby
Pages: 491
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-7490-1362-2
First Published: 20th March 2012
Date Reviewed: 14th March 2013
Rating: 5/5

Charlotte-Rose is banished to a convent after causing one too many scandals at the court of Louis XIV. It’s a terrible punishment, but she manages to befriend an old nun who tells her the story of a girl who was kept in a tower by a witch. But the witch has her own story to tell, dark and full of despair, and Charlotte-Rose, not always in the garden with Soeur Seraphina, has much time to look back on her old life, too.

Bitter Greens is an utterly fantastic retelling of Rapunzel, blended together with the factually-based story of the woman who wrote down the version we know today. Not at all suited for children, Forsyth’s book is an incredibly dark account and far more stupendous.

The novel is a constant succession of details, complexity, and magnificence. Set in France and Italy, Forsyth doesn’t simply introduce the reader to the history, the life at court and beyond, she soaks you in it. She adeptly demonstrates the hypocrisy of a Catholic court where people had many lovers, and shows that, for all its glamour, the court was a place of extreme cruelty. Indeed the book can be hard to read at times, gritty and depressing as it is, because Forsyth never holds back, she details sexual abuse, gang rape, murder, torture – in fact given the amount of it you could be forgiven for thinking it gratuitous. Unfortunately it cannot be said that it is – whilst Forsyth’s characters, other than Charlotte-Rose and some of those at court, are fictional, the horrors surely echo real life. It has been said on many occasions, especially recently, that fairy tales are in fact dark and cruel, but it’s easy to gloss over that darkness and look at all the glitter and magic. Forsyth reminds you what is behind that glare that blinds you to the truth.

The storytelling is exceptional. Even when the story is repetitious (and given the routine life at a renaissance convent and the sheer boredom of being shut in a tower for months, that is going to happen) it manages to keep its pace. Forsyth fills the pages with such detail and intriguing thought (her characters think of everything and are strong enough to recommend them to memory) that entire chapters may pass before you realise you’re still reading about the same dull life of Rapunzel (here called Margherita).

And Forsyth weaves the magic in beautifully. For a while she almost teases you – will there be true magic or will it be more of a metaphor? – and when it does arrive it is the sort of magic that fills childhood stories, yet the book never looses its darkness or the adult atmosphere. Forsyth invites you to leave reality behind and embrace all the stories that are ‘supposed’ to be denounced upon maturity. And it is every bit as thrilling as it was as a child, only now it also includes the necessary ingredients to keep you hooked as an adult.

It should be noted that there is a lot of social and religious history in the book. Charlotte-Rose lived in a time of Inquisition, when Louis XIV decided to revoke the tolerance afforded to Protestants. It is surely to Forsyth’s good fortune that Charlotte-Rose’s story aligned with this religious persecution as it allows the purely fictional elements to be ensconced in the history, sounding as true as it could ever sound. If the vast majority of men and women under suspicion as witches were innocent, then the author examines those few that could have feasibly made magic their career. And she looks at the known wise-women who were frequented for love potions and curses as well as for abortion and medicines, using fiction to wonder at the possibility of there being true magic assigned to them.

The social history includes a lot of inequality on various levels, for example class and gender. Forsyth shows how weak the position of women was and explores the strengths and intelligence of women to a point where you might just ask yourself why these clever (and sometimes understandably manipulative) women didn’t simply turn on their men. In other words, you could use this book as a study of women’s history, because it has information and both fictionalised and factual accounts in abundance. Examined too are, of course, the convents, where women were thought to be independent. Forsyth demonstrates that this was the case, but only to a degree, due to both male dominance outside the walls and the female hierarchy and bullying inside. A convent could be freeing, but also a death sentence.

It will not surprise you to hear that general sexuality issues are explored as well, with all the prejudices and biases history has provided it.

Lest you wonder where Forsyth could have possibly fitted any characters other than cardboard cut-outs into this, given all the time taken by issues and magic, let us consider the women at the heart of the three narratives (the narratives being Charlotte-Rose, Margherita, and the witch Selena Leonelli). As you may have expected, they are written superbly well. Strong in the face of adversity, cunning and clever, and just simply captivating, for all their strife there is reason to look forward to returning to each of their stories; the book switches back and forth between the tales. Margherita might give you pause, but is it not a case of her being too young and innocent? Selena is an evil witch, but is her own story not heartbreaking? And as scandalous as Charlotte-Rose could be understood to be, is she not just a force of independence and free will?

The romances and secondary characters are all interesting. Forsyth employs few curtains – there is a lot of sex in this book – and perhaps one of the elements that is most obvious to take away with you is the thought that worse than hate is indifference. This indifference being that of Louis XIV, a man so self-absorbed that the terminal illnesses of others were considered inconveniences, things not to be allowed to interfere with the King’s wishes. Talking of men, perhaps most interesting is the way Forsyth includes many instances of men being dominated themselves, by other men. A man was an independent, able to do what he liked in a way no woman could, but add hierarchy and family into the mix and suddenly a man was a prisoner of tradition and society not so unlike all women. Not as horrific, certainly, but still a pawn in the games of influence and pride. Incidentally, of men, Forsyth’s version of Rapunzel’s prince is a brilliant example of bringing mundane reality to fairy tales.

The ending could be considered convenient until you remember that the book is purposefully fantastical by its very nature. It might be less than expected but at the same time it is far from disagreeable, and by the end of all the terror, you’ll likely welcome it.

Having used up a lot of the most laudatory words in the English language, this review is going to have to have a moment of repetition: Bitter Greens is a masterpiece. A mix of history, fantasy, romance, and, let it be said, horror, it is completely worthy of your time. If you want a final recommendation, let this be it: if you don’t want to miss the book that might end up being your favourite of the year, you’ll want to read it, and soon.

I received this book for review from Allison & Busby for Historical Fiction Virtual Author Tours.

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If, to save their life, you tell someone that you’ll leave, what happens if you didn’t quite mean it?

Publisher: Definitions (Random House)
Pages: 264
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-1-849-41428-9
First Published: 2011
Date Reviewed: 13th December 2012
Rating: 5/5

It’s three years since Mia walked out of Adam’s life, after she’d woken following the car crash that killed her family and left her in a coma. She never told him why she left him, and since then Adam has been a mess. It’s of no consequence that he’s now an A-lister with groupies and actress girlfriends aplenty, all he ever wanted was Mia, and when he walks past a theatre and sees that she’s playing a concert that evening, he can’t help himself.

Where She Went is the powerful sequel to Forman’s bestseller, If I Stay. This time narrated by Adam and set within an 18 hour period, it looks at what happens when people struggle to regain themselves and the harm that a lack or, rather, change, in communication can do to a relationship.

Although the “action” does take place in a short time, there are many flashbacks. However unlike in other cases, it doesn’t feel as though Forman should have set the book over a longer period – the flashbacks are natural and there is nothing superfluous. Each one demonstrates an important aspect of Adam and Mia’s relationship, or gives the reader information about a particular moment.

There are secondary characters, but apart from the flashback chapters, these people all remain minor. The spotlight is entirely on Adam, even when Mia is there. In fact, being told from Adam’s perspective, Mia even sometimes seems a secondary character herself as you only know what she tells Adam. With Adam you get every ounce of raw emotion.

“You were so busy trying to be my saviour that you left me all alone.”

And whilst what’s going on in Adam’s head is crucial except during times when Mia’s pain trumps it, it’s the dialogue that takes the book into award-winning territory. Forman has a talent for dialogue and characters that is remarkable. The dialogue is realistic, powerful, angsty, and the author knows exactly what the reader wants to hear about and hands it over. You may have to wait to know everything, but your waiting feels the same as Adam’s, you feel the same irritation he does whilst Mia babbles on about things that don’t matter, impatient to cut to the chase and learn her side of the story. And there are many times when the reader might wonder if Forman really will let you know, or whether she’ll allow Mia to walk off into the night and leave you to comfort Adam by the wayside, all the while crying yourself.

In an industry where, as of late, italics tend to be overused, Forman is an exception. She uses italics to excess, but due to her writing style it works where if anyone else would have written this book it wouldn’t have. Instead of becoming an annoyance, Adam’s constant usage of emphasis in his thoughts and conversation only serve to make his pain more obvious, and therefore to draw the reader in. The emphasised words always sound natural and they are spot on – there is never an emphasis on the wrong word. And the emotion and impact is ever more likely to hit the reader so that the lines between story and reality become blurred.

Incidentally it should be noted that Forman has written lyrics for Adam’s band, which are used throughout the story and complied at the end. The detailing and relevance of them shows just how much extra effort went into the book.

The development of the characters is of the utmost importance, and Forman continues what she started previously, making the characters so alike, in both situation and interests, but different enough that they could be strangers. In a way, they are. But they still think similarly and their thought processes mean that they’ll see things the same, then differently, and then the same, in a way that suggests that they ought to be together always – and not in that stereotypical romantic fashion. They are one, but they are also individuals.

Spirituality and hope forms part of the story, the way that Mia has come to accept the physical loss of her family, but has kept their memories alive in her heart. It aids the story a little but mostly stands for a person trying to live once alone, and moving forward whilst keeping that link to the past.

For all you do hear from Mia, there could have perhaps been more information about why she left Adam and what happened afterwards. Adam discusses his successive relationships, for example, but Mia’s past is more ambiguous. A good guess could be made, but if the guess were correct some further reasoning would have added even more to the story.

It is difficult to describe how much this book has the potential to affect the reader, how it may be one of those stories that brings you to tears. Even if it isn’t as powerful for some, the style is such that most if not all should at the very least be able to appreciate it. Forman’s talent for storytelling and creating characters transcends the need for perfect prose – though her prose is far from average.

Where She Went is a fantastic sequel and although it would be difficult to enjoy without having read If I Stay beforehand, the power that exists on those pages would have a certain impact no matter whether you are already familiar with Adam and Mia or not.

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