I'm So Done with Vampires ...

Lonely Werewolf Girl
Martin Millar
Soft Skull Press

Over the past few months, life for the D-E-S has been a little chaotic. Aside from the occasional stolen moment, I haven't had a lot of down time and one of the things that I've longed to do is spend an entire day reading a really good book. This past Sunday, the Powers that Be presented me with the perfect opportunity - I was alone in a foreign country, I had completed enough of my work to avoid feeling guilty, and I had two (count 'em two!) books that looked like they might turn out to be a solid, friendly companion.

From the moment I picked up Lonely Werewolf Girl, I was completely entranced. I mean, who's kidding who? Werewolves are usually depicted in Fantasy Lit as brutish, furry, and well, mostly uninteresting. Imagine how engaged I was when the characters in LWG were all complicated, gritty and incredibly evocative. Take the heroine, Kalix, for example. She is a seventeen year old Scottish werewolf who has been kicked out of the family clan for attacking (and severely injuring) her father. Living in the alleyways of London, Kalix, while achingly beautiful, is a cutter and an anorexic who believes that no one loves her. Her older sister, Thrix, is a London clothing designer who counts among her clients the otherworldly Malveria -- Queen of the Fire elementals (and quite a character besides.) Kalix's two cousins and fellow family outcasts, Beauty and Delicious, are wannabe rock stars who have travelled so far down the road to hedonism that they have forgotten how to turn into werewolves. Add a battle for the head of the werewolf clan between Kalix's brothers and we've got enough drama to fill an entire day.

Lonely Werewolf Girl was totally worth the read-a-thon. I loved it so much that I flew through the 558 pages in less than twelve hours. That included time off for good behaviour (eating, peeing and going to the gym!) LWG gets four howling death-machines out of five.

Fallen Stars & Faerie Tales

Stardust
Harper Collins
Neil Gaiman

In the spirit of full disclosure, I should tell you that I have a mild crush on Neil Gaiman. It's not like I've progressed to the threshold of stalker, or anything, but I really do think he's pretty groovy. His blog is awesome, his hair is spectacular, and his writing makes me forget the world around me. What else do I need to be happy?

Stardust is the story of a young man, Tristran Thorn who falls in love with a beautiful girl. While watching the night sky one evening, the pair witness a falling star. Tristran offers to retrieve the star as proof of his love for the young maid, she grants him permission to set out on his quest, and off he goes into the land of Faerie.

What I enjoyed most about this novel was how Gaiman takes the standard conventions of the romantic epic and tweaks them in such a way that you're not sure if he is taking the piss, or if he is being genuine in his appreciation for the rules of the genre. In the tradition of the Brothers Grimm, Gaiman's fairy tale isn't full of sweetness and light and some of the scenes are actually quite violent. As always, Mr. Gaiman was able to transport me into a different world if only for a few hours. Three and a half magic spells out of five.

I Love a Rainy Night

The Thirteenth Tale
Diane Setterfield
Anchor Canada

Yesterday was almost perfect. When I woke up, I put on the radio, made a nest of the covers on my bed and snuggled back in for an extra half hour of sheer laziness. Once I finally roused myself, I randomly grabbed a book off the nightstand, popped it into my bag and headed out the door for the day.

I started reading The Thirteenth Tale at the hair salon. It next came out of my bag over lunch at the mall. I really meant to go for a run in the afternoon, but instead I found myself curled up on the couch unable to put the book down. At suppertime, I had to tear myself away to meet my friend Janice for dinner. I considered bringing it along in case she was late and even went so far as to put it in my purse. I took it out at the last minute -- didn't want to seem rude.

When I got back to the house, I contemplated watching some television or putting in a DVD. That thought lasted, oh, maybe thirty seconds. Instead, I took up the book and read until it was done. It was totally worth it. In fact, I liked the book so much that I'm not going to tell you what it was about. It stands a pretty good chance of being the D-E-S book of the year and I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. Four melodramatic twists out of five.

Apocalypse Now?

An Illustrated Short History of Progress
Ronald Wright
Anansi

This poor book has been through a lot in the past few weeks. I started reading it at the last Argo home game where, in a moment of mad cheering, I spilled some pop on it and dropped it on the floor of the stands. Gross. Good thing you can use hand sanitizer on a book cover.

It then accompanied me on a road trip to Michigan where it was exposed to what I can only imagine to be the somewhat toxic fumes of a NASCAR race. (Um yeah, I'm pretty sure I was the only fan there who had a book in her purse.) Some of the tire debris actually got stuck to the pages. We were only a few rows up from the track and we all looked like grease monkeys before the afternoon was out.

This book was also my in-car companion on moving day. Happily, my friend Peter rescued it for me from what was left of Finnigan after I rolled it on the 427 (a major expressway in Toronto for those of you from out-of-town.) Apparently, the poor thing flew from my purse and landed in a heap of shattered glass and gum drops. The corners are a little dog-eared, but it wasn't that much worse for wear. And neither am I.

So the question is ... after going through all that was it a good read? The answer is definitely yes. An Illustrated Short History of Progress is a cautionary tale that advises us to learn from our mistakes and look to the burn out of past civilizations in order to help us avoid our own demise. It's not the most uplifting read, but it is very enlightening. Three and a half declining empires out of five.

Geeks, Freaks & Oh, So My Peeps

American Nerd -- The Story of My People
Benjamin Nugent
Scribner

Benji, Benji, Benji ... I hate to be the one to tell you, but in reading this book, you proved to me that you don't know from nerd. Take it from someone who made the first of many trips on the short bus in Grade 5 -- you've left a few things out.

Your definition of a nerd is so, well, limiting. In my humble opinion, a nerd is a member of the geek family in that both species express an "over-developed" interest in a particular topic -- it doesn't, as you suggest, have to be something technical. I also disagree with your contention that nerds typically use formal speech. Did you actually speak with any nerds as part of your research? Dude -- in my experience nerds love words and speak only as formally as the situation warrants. To be candid, hardly anyone in my circle of friends speaks High Klingon anymore. Get with the times, bro.

And finally, what's all this crap about poser-nerds? What you were describing as a co-option of nerd culture (floodpants, dark rimmed glasses, and argylish sweaters) doesn't necessarily mean that the cool kids want to go nerd. I think what it means is that the crappiest parts of '50s (and '80s) fashion have made a come back -- end of story.

Despite my objections to your characterization, you get a B+ for your efforts. We'll let the geeks in the crowd figure out what that is as a score out of five. Qapla'.