Tag: books

Paul Gallico begins The Silent Miaow claiming that his neighbor found the manuscript on his doorstep. It seemed to be written in some sort of indecipherable code, so, knowing that Gallico had a mind for such things, the neighbor turned it over to him. After some time, Gallico discovered that what had appeared to be a code could be explained if someone tried to type a manuscript with a paw. From there, he says, it was relatively easy to translate the entire manuscript, which has the subtitle “A Manual for Kitten, Strays and Homeless Cats.”

Any cat lover (and perhaps some cat haters, too) will delight in Gallico’s “how to” manual written from the point of view of a cat. First published in 1964, the book is a product of its time (the author advises cats to avoid irritating the man of the house after Christmas when the bills come in), but the overall concept of a book instructing cats on how to take over a house is just as humorous today as it was 50 years ago. In fact, you can easily find a used paperback version of the book that was published in 1985, so clearly it was popular enough 20 years after it was published to be worth reprinting.

The manual is written from the point of view of a stay kitten who decided to adopt a couple after her mother was hit by a car. After telling the story of how she successfully insinuated herself into her family’s life, she proceeds to instruct her readers on how to get along in the human world so that they are able to successfully manage families of their own. There are chapters on topics like property rights, food, doors, and speech, which includes these instructions:

I have referred in the above section to the pitiful miaow as among the most effective sounds you can produce to get some action out of your people, and to this must be added the sound that all of you will know how to produce, which has a most remarkable softening-up effect; it is that little lilt of ours, a chirrup, which goes, “Prrrr-maow,” with a rising inflection upon the last syllable. This sound of ours has no specific use vis-à-vis people; except that for some reason or other it just seems to make them feel fine, and puts them into a good humor. … I simply call it to your attention as yet another item in the armory for keeping our people in a state of subjugation and prepared to wait on us.

The author tells female cats to consider avoiding kittens, because as a family works “to place the kittens in adequate homes, they might just suddenly wonder what life would be like without any cat at all about the house. Once you get them thinking that, you could be halfway out the door.” She advises her readers on good manners, such as not getting on the dining table: “Stealing is for dogs. We are above it.” She shares her thoughts on Two-Timing (maintaining a presence in two households), which she describes as “not very nice.”

Anyone who has owned a cat will recognize their pet in the chapter on “games and recreations.”

Every well-educated house cat ought to know when and how to break them up. For instance, there is no point in interfering with a scrabble game at the very beginning. … The proper method is to wait until the board is practically full with a most complicated arrangement of words. Then, jump up onto the board with the most sweetly saccharine “Purrrrrrmaow” that you can muster, scatter the pieces in all directions, sit down, and commence to wash.

The book is illustrated with cat photos by Suzanne Szasz. In Gallico’s story, he says the cat in the photos is Cica, who had taken over a family “under circumstances not dissimilar to those outlined in the narrative part of the manuscript, and they owned a typewriter — as it happened, an electric one.” Although Gallico channels a cat quite well, the book would not be the same without Szasz’s wonderful photos.

I don’t know how easy it is to check out a copy of The Silent Miaow from a library. I reread my mom’s copy for this post; my county library system didn’t have it. But even if you can’t borrow it through your local library or via interlibrary loan, you can probably find an affordable used copy online. It’s worth your trouble.

 

Poetry is underappreciated. Perhaps it is because people had to struggle through interpreting poetry in high school literature classes and decided that it was too difficult, or perhaps it is because people simply prefer to be either informed or enthralled by their reading material. Whatever the case, I want to recommend three books of poetry — all excellent anthologies compiled for children, and all out of print. I owned these books as a child and paged through them again and again. I treasured them enough that I still have them today.

The oldest of the trio is The Big Golden Book of Poetry. It was originally published in 1947 and, judging from the inscription inside the book, it was probably my first book of poetry, since my grandmother gave it to me when I was an infant (this says a lot about my family). It’s possible the book belonged to my father before me, although my granny may have given me a new copy. I can’t resist sharing my grandmother’s message to me here:

To Kate on her first Christmas.

I know you’re going to love the ‘written word’ as much as most of your family.

I’ve taken the liberty of starring your father’s favorite poems which were first read to him — over and over! His choice is the very last poem, “There was once a puffin.” Hope you like it, too.

Among the poems she starred were Robert Louis Stevenson’s “The Swing” and “The Little Land,” James Whitcomb Riley’s “Little Orphant Annie” and “The Raggedy Man,” and Rachel Field’s “The Animal Store,” a poem which also enchanted me. To this day, I still think of that poem and imagine going on a shopping spree for pets (though I’d need far more than the $100 mentioned in first line).

I also really loved Mildred Plew Meigs’ “Moon Song,” in part because of the mermaids and in part because of the sheer beauty of the language — the rhymes and rhythm of the poem.

Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon–
Over the crinkling sea,
The moon man flings him a silvered net
Fashioned of moonbeams three.

 

The volume is beautifully illustrated and well worth chasing down.

The Golden Treasury of Poetry is enormous and is organized by theme, including poems about “Creatures of Every Kind,” poems about people, and poems that tell stories (my favorite section, which includes “True Thomas,” “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” and “The Tale of Custard the Dragon”). The book is one to grow into; there are poems that appeal to very young children, like “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” as well as excerpts from Shakespeare and the gruesome poem “The Inchcape Rock.” Like The Big Golden Book of Poetry it is illustrated. It also includes commentary by Louis Untermeyer. It was first published in 1959.

I went through a stage in childhood when I put a sticker from the National Wildlife Federation inside each of my favorite books, and this treasury was graced with one of those stickers.

My copy of Piping Down the Valleys Wild includes the blurb “Poetry for the Young of All Ages,” but most of the poems were probably selected to appeal to children in elementary school; it has fewer “grown up” poems than the Golden Treasury, though it does include poems like “Ariel’s Song” from The Tempest and Robert Frost’s “Acquainted With the Night.” Like the Golden Treasury, it is organized by topic. The most modern of the books (it was first published in 1968), it includes poets who are not in the other volumes I’ve recommended, such as Shel Silverstein and Gwendolyn Brooks. Although there are poems in this book that are also in the other ones, I keep it because of the many poems that aren’t in them.

What are your favorite poetry anthologies for children? Did you love them enough to hang onto them?

 

 

When I was a kid I devoured fantasy novels. I was thrilled whenever I ran across a good series, because then I could revisit my favorite characters in book after book. Among these series was Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain, five books set in a sort of pseudo-Wales. They are, in order, The Book of Three, The Black Cauldron, The Castle of Llyr, Taran Wanderer, and The High King. Two of the books won Newbery awards: The Black Cauldron is a Newbery honor book, and The High King received the 1969 Newbery Medal. Disney combined the first two books into their regrettable animated film The Black Cauldron. Apparently, they plan to tackle the series again, and I have high hopes that they will do a better job.

The books have plenty of fans, but I’m surprised at the number of people who are completely unaware of them. Alexander wrote ripping good stories with believable characters, and he did a marvelous job of developing the main character, Taran, throughout the series. The main female character, Eilonwy, is a strong princess whom I somehow forgot when I was putting together my list of strong princesses. Her only flaw as a female role model is her stereotypical response to Taran when he angers her: “I’m not talking to you.” Beyond that annoying characterization, Eilonwy is exactly the sort of princess who appeals to girls who dream of adventures.

“They’ve made me sleep in beds with goosefeather pillows enough to stifle you; I’m sure the geese needed them more than I did — the feathers, that is, not the pillows. And servitors to bring you exactly what you don’t want to eat. And washing your hair whether it needs it or not. And sewing and weaving and curtsying and all such I don’t even want to think about. I’ve not drawn a sword for I don’t know how long…” (Eilonwy in The High King)

Along with these characters is the bard-king, Fflewddur Fflam; Prince Gwydion, who reminds me a little of Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings; Gurgi, who reminds more than a little of a benevolent Gollum/Sméagol; Doli, the dwarf; Hen Wen, the oracular pig; Arawn, the chief villain (though by no means the only one); and many other colorful characters.

Although I did notice occasional similarities between The Chronicles of Prydain and The Lord of the Rings, the book that Alexander acknowledges as an influence on his work is a collection of medieval Welsh tales, The Mabinogion. For the most part, Alexander borrowed names from the tales, but he made the characters his own. Gwydion and Arawn both play roles in The Mabinogion, but they are very different from Alexander’s characters. Fflewddur Fflam’s name comes from a ridiculously long list of King Arthur’s warriors. Probably the biggest contribution the Welsh tales made to Alexander’s books was the black cauldron, which can be used to transform the dead into an army.

Alexander also borrowed from his own work: You can see the seeds of Eilonwy in one of the characters in his first children’s book, Time Cat.

In addition to the storylines and the characters, Alexander gifts his readers with occasional bits of wisdom that never come across as preachy. Among them is this nugget from The Black Cauldron:

“There is much to be known,” said Adaon, “and above all much to be loved, be it the turn of the seasons or the shape of a river pebble. Indeed, the more we find to love, the more we add to the measure of our hearts.”

Isn’t that enough to make you want to read the series?

Not all of these books are of the same quality. The Book of Three is the weakest of the bunch, but The Black Cauldron is excellent, so if you aren’t enchanted with the first book, please give Alexander a chance and read the second before you make your decision about the series.

There is one more Prydain book: The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain, a collection of short stories. The book has a very different feel from the novels — reading it is a lot like reading fairy tales — but the stories are lovely. I recommend reading it after, not before, you read the Chronicles.

Alexander was a prolific author, but somehow, even though I loved journeying to Prydain, I only remember reading one other book by him when I was a child: The Cat Who Wished to Be a Man. I read a few more in preparation for this post, and I was surprised to find his work was very uneven. I felt like the characters in Time Cat were flat compared to the well-fleshed out characters in the Prydain series. Likewise, when I read the first book in his Vesper Holly series, The Illyrian Adventure, I found the heroine too perfect. She also was annoyingly cheery, no matter what the circumstances. I had no desire to continue the series.

On the other hand, the Westmark trilogy has everything I loved about the Prydain novels — a gripping story and strong characters who grow and change throughout the book. The trilogy is excellent, but dark — for that matter, the Prydain books can be pretty grim, though Westmark is darker. It represents Alexander at his best.

If you love fantasy and good children’s literature, I encourage you to pick up the first two Prydain books and give them a try. If my guess is right, by the end of The Black Cauldron, you’ll be hooked.

 

A couple of years ago, I participated on the “Do we really need princesses anymore?” panel at CONvergence. I came in pro-princess (in fact, I don’t remember a lot of “anti-princess” sentiment), arguing that there are strong princess role models for children in many books. The fact is, for some reason, lots of girls are going to gravitate toward princesses. I’m not going to try to guess at all of the reasons this is so, though I think it is fair to argue that our culture encourages it. I simply believe that it’s okay to let our children dream of princesses. Let’s just make them heroic characters in their own right.

I brought a list of children’s books that feature strong princesses, and I received the thrill of my life when (1) I realized I was sitting next to an author I admired, and (2) she told people to come up and take my list, because it was a good one.

A few of my readers may have seen my list, but because I believe that many have not, I am sharing it here. All of these books are worth reading, and I’ve indicated my particular favorites. The list is slightly updated from the original list I shared at CONvergence.

Strong Princesses in Literature for the Young, the Young-at-Heart, and Their Families

Picture books

The Very Fairy Princess by Julie Andrews and Emma Walton Hamliton – Although in many ways very pink, sparkly, and girly, this fairy-princess obsessed girl also contradicts others’ views of fairy princesses.

The Princess and the Pig by Jonathan Emmett – An infant princess and piglet are accidentally swapped, and the princess is raised in poverty by loving parents.

The Princess Knight by Cornelia Funke – A princess learns to be a knight and wins her own hand in marriage in a tournament.

Princess Pigsty by Cornelia Funke – Bored of being a princess, Isabella rebels. She is eventually banished to the pigsty, where she is very happy.

Princess Grace by Mary Hoffman – A princess-obsessed girl redefines princesses – for herself and her community.

Cinder Edna by Ellen Jackson – Contrasts Cinderella, pitiful, helpless, and shallow, with Cinder Edna, practical, fun, and capable. Their princes are very different, too! (One of my favorites)

Princesses Are Not Quitters! By Kate Lum – Three princesses decide to be servants for a day. After their hard day, they make life easier on their servants… and they continue to do many of the chores.

The Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch – A dragon burns down Elizabeth’s castle (also destroying her clothes) and carries off her betrothed, Prince Ronald. Wearing a paper bag, she rescues Ronald, only to discover he’s not worth the trouble. (Another favorite)

Sleeping Bobby by Mary Pope Osborne and Will Osborne – A gender-neutral, otherwise very faithful retelling of Sleeping Beauty. Prince Bob is Sleeping Beauty, gifted with kindness, courage and modesty, “qualities that anyone might wish for and admire.” He is rescued by an unnamed princess who shares his virtues. (Also one of my favorites)

Part-time Princess by Deborah Underwood – An ordinary girl turns into a princess at night. In frilly dresses, she regularly saves her kingdom from disaster. (Yet another favorite)

Easy readers

The Princess in Black by Shannon Hale and Dean Hale – A perfect princess and her supposed unicorn are secretly a monster-fighting duo. Since I first put it on this list, Hale and Hale have added more books to the series: The Princess in Black and the Perfect Princess Party and The Princess in Black and the Hungry Bunny Horde.

Comic Books and Graphic Novels

Princeless by Jeremy Whitley – This series has a diverse cast of characters and some very funny moments (my favorite bit occurs early in the series, when a female is trying to choose armor). It now includes a spin-off series, Raven: The Pirate Princess. I have one caveat: Someone once said to me, “I wish all of the men [in the series] weren’t evil.” At the time, I didn’t agree that the books were anti-male, but having read a couple of Raven volumes, I understand what that person meant. Some people reject feminism because they think that feminists believe all men are awful. I strongly disagree with that view of feminism, but Whitley manages to reinforce the stereotype in a scene in which Raven selects her crew.

Rapunzel’s Revenge by Shannon Hale and Dean Hale – Rapunzel in a Weird West universe

Wonder Woman – Need I say more? I especially enjoy the first six volumes of the New 52 Wonder Woman series (Blood, Guts, Iron, War, Flesh, and Bones).

Books for Older Children and Teens

The Girl of Fire and Thorns by Rae Carson – The princess is strong, but the author’s attempt to write a body-positive story hasn’t gone over well with some people. There are more books in the series, but I haven’t read them.

The Goose Girl and The Princess Academy series by Shannon Hale – All of these books feature strong female characters, including princesses. There is a heavy emphasis on romance.

Dealing With Dragons by Patricia Wrede – Funny book featuring a princess who is definitely a role model. There are more books in the series, but I haven’t read them all. (A favorite)

I love cultural “breadcrumbs” in books, movies, and music — those times when one thing gives a nod to something that came before it.  I’m not referring to epigraphs or cover songs or novels that retell a story through the eyes of another character, although all of these can be very enjoyable. I’m thinking of instances when, if you know the work to which another work is referring, you experience a little thrill of recognition… and if you don’t know the original, inspirational work but realize that a reference is being made to it, you might be inclined to seek it out.

One fun trail of these “breadcrumbs” occurs in three books by three different authors published over the course of 49 years: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead, and Breadcrumbs (yes, Breadcrumbs) by Anne Ursu. All three books involve a female protagonist who does not fit in. In all three, the protagonist is being raised by a mother who, if not actually a single parent, is parenting alone at the time of the action. And the first two books were Newbery Award winners.

I’m confident that most of my readers are familiar with A Wrinkle in Time, which was published in 1962. Even if you’ve never read it, you can certainly understand When You Reach Me and Breadcrumbs — both books stand on their own — but you’ll get more out of the books, particularly Stead’s, if you read A Wrinkle in Time first.

Published in 2009, When You Reach Me is set in New York City in the late 1970s. The main character, Miranda, is a sixth grader with one lifelong friend — a boy named Sal, who lives in her apartment building. The book weaves together the story of how Miranda copes when Sal stops talking to her with a mystery involving a series of anonymous notes that have been left for her.  A Wrinkle in Time figures heavily in the story — it is Miranda’s favorite book, and a boy named Marcus uses it to introduce the subject of time travel.

“Some people think it’s possible, you know,” Marcus mumbled.

“What?”

He pointed at my book. “Time travel. Some people think it’s possible. Except those ladies lied, at the beginning of the book.”

“What?”

“Those ladies in the book—Mrs. What, Mrs. Where, and Mrs. Who.”

“Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which,” I corrected him.

He shrugged.

Like When You Reach Me, the 2011 book Breadcrumbs is a tale of a fractured “best and only friends” relationship between the main character, Hazel Anderson, and the boy next door, Jack. Hazel’s name is surely no accident; the book is based somewhat loosely around Hans Christian Andersen’s story, The Snow Queen. Lots of other references show up in the book, including nods to some Andersen’s other fairy tales and to The Hobbit, the Harry Potter series, The Chronicles of Narnia, and, of course, A Wrinkle in Time. Ursu also alludes to When You Reach Me, though only once and not by name.

She opened up the new library book she’d brought for the bus ride and willed her thoughts to disappear in the page. The girl in it was reading A Wrinkle in Time. She was best friends with a boy who lived in the apartment below. And then one day the boy stopped talking to her.

As in Andersen’s fairy tale, Jack is taken by the Snow Queen, and Hazel sets out to save him. But when she enters the woods in pursuit of her friend, things turn dark. This is no delicate fairy tale, where the brave and beautiful heroine seems almost to float through the hardships she encounters, making friends all along the way. In fact, Hazel finds that, once she adventures into the woods, things don’t work at all the way she expected them to. The darkness of the tale reminds me a bit of Neil Gaiman (his Coraline is yet another book that Ursu references in her story), and when one character tells Hazel, “The woods does funny things to people,” I couldn’t help but think of Jennifer Roberson’s Karavans series.

With all of the references in Breadcrumbs, you could set up a year-long book club. But this week I’m going to suggest that you focus on the trail that leads from A Wrinkle in Time to When You Reach Me and, finally, to Breadcrumbs. You won’t regret it.

 

Being a list-maker and someone who prefers not to fly by the seat of her pants, I have a list of topics I might cover on my blog. As far as my “something wonderful” posts go, I want to cover books, music, movies, and other things that most of my readers may not have encountered. That means I plan to skip reviewing the stuff that everyone talks about, like the Netflix series “Stranger Things,” which is, indeed, wonderful… but you’ve already heard that from other sources, haven’t you?

Most of the things on my list are individual items (like Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) or categories (like slow-burn sci-fi/fantasy romances). So far there has been only one concept on my list: rereading books. I wasn’t really sure, though, if I should bother to post about that. After all, rereading books isn’t that unusual, is it?

And then a friend of mine said to me, “I never reread books.” I decided I would go ahead with the post.

I have a book list that I will never finish. Right now it is more than 23 pages long, and I put books on the list at a faster rate than I remove them. It doesn’t help that I love to reread books, over and over again.

I do read most books only once, but there are many for which once is not enough. After all, if a book counts as “something wonderful,” why on earth wouldn’t I come back to it, particularly since I have a fairly poor memory for things that I don’t need to remember? Give me enough time, and I can safely reread a mystery, because I’ll have forgotten “who dunnit” and why.

Some books I’ve only reread once to date, like Dune, though I keep thinking it might be time to read it again. But many books I’ve read more than that. I’ve read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings four times each now, and I have no doubt that, given a long enough life, I’m not done rereading them.

Sometimes rereading a book is like visiting an old friend. Give me enough reads through a book like Emma and I will, despite my confessed poor memory for trivial details, remember a fair amount of what the book contains. I remember quite well how fussy Emma’s father is about the health of others and how he urges them to forego rich foods in favor of things like gruel, but I still love to curl up and read those passages again.

Sometimes I develop a new understanding of a character as I reread a book. The first time I read Jane Eyre, I simply saw Edward Rochester as a romantic hero. The second time I read it, I thought he was manipulative and even a little cruel. The third time I read it, I saw him as pitiful, doing the things he did because he was profoundly insecure. Each of these rereadings has given him a complexity of character that I wouldn’t have seen if I had stopped with my first reading.

Sometimes my rereadings deepen my appreciation for a book, particularly for really good children’s literature. I heartily agree with people like C.S. Lewis, who wrote: “A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.” I think that we often rely on the children in our lives (our own children, nieces and nephews, or children we teach) as an excuse to read children’s books. But a really good children’s book needs no excuse and, indeed, if you haven’t reread a book like Winnie-the-Pooh since you were a child (or have never read it at all), you’re missing out.

For instance, when you were four and someone read Winnie-the-Pooh to you, you were probably amused, but some of the humor went right over your head, such as the statement that Piglet’s “grandfather had had two names in case he lost one—Trespassers after an uncle, and William after Trespassers.” I firmly believe that, while Winnie-the-Pooh is a wonderful book to read to little kids, you can’t fully appreciate it until you are an adult.

Likewise, children are entertained by the adventures of Rat, Mole, Mr. Toad, and Badger in The Wind in the Willows, but they tend to miss some of the lyricism in Kenneth Grahame’s writing. The chapter “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” is so beautiful that musicians like Syd Barrett and Van Morrison have made references to it in album and song titles. Again, it wasn’t until I reached adulthood that I was profoundly moved by the religious awe expressed in that chapter.

Perhaps he would never have dared to raise his eyes, but that, though the piping was now hushed, the call and the summons seemed still dominant and imperious. He might not refuse, were Death himself waiting to strike him instantly, once he had looked with mortal eye on things rightly kept hidden. Trembling he obeyed, and raised his humble head; and then, in that utter clearness of the imminent dawn, while Nature, flushed with fullness of incredible colour, seemed to hold her breath for the event, he looked in the very eyes of the Friend and Helper; saw the backward sweep of the curved horns, gleaming in the growing daylight; saw the stern, hooked nose between the kindly eyes that were looking down on them humorously, while the bearded mouth broke into a half-smile at the corner; saw the rippling muscles on the arm that lay across the broad chest, the long supple hand still holding the pan-pipes only just fallen away from the parted lips; saw the splendid curves of the shaggy limbs disposed in majestic ease on the sward; saw, last of all, nestling between his very hooves, sleeping soundly in entire peace and contentment, the little, round, podgy, childish form of the baby otter. All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.

“Rat!” he found breath to whisper, shaking. “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid?” murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutterable love. “Afraid! Of Him? O, never, never! And yet—and yet—O, Mole, I am afraid!”

When passages like that exist, how can you not reread a book?

This week, think of a book you read once and loved. Pick it up again. Maybe you’ll gain new insights on characters or a new appreciation for the book, or maybe you’ll just re-experience the pleasure that led you to love that book in the first place. Whatever you find between the covers, I hope you will join me in believing that rereading good books is one of life’s great pleasures.

Unless you count Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte (I don’t), I rarely pick up romance novels. I do, however, enjoy sci-fi and fantasy novels that have romance thrown in. And I want the romance to be the slow-burning kind, the kind that makes you scream at the protagonists, “Come on! Just kiss already! Declare your love! You’re obviously crazy about each other!”

In the spirit of the slow-burn sci-fi/fantasy romance, I offer you the following gems.

The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord

In her second novel, Karen Lord plays with the idea of large-scale catastrophe and what it does to a culture. Drawing on news stories about the many women who died in the 2009 tsunami, Lord spins a tale of an entire planet that is destroyed. The Sadiri sent far more men than women to off-planet occupations, leaving a surviving population that was largely male. Grace Delarua is from Cygnus Beta, a diverse planet populated with different people groups who live in a rich array of cultural settings, including various groups of taSadiri, distant relations of the Sadiri. As part of a team that is searching for people who are most closely related to the Sadiri, in an attempt to arrange marriages that will allow them to preserve their identity, Grace slowly develops a growing regard for one of her Sadiri teammates, Dllenahkh.  Within the first 100 pages, I had become so entranced with the story that I was loathe to set the book aside to take care of the daily tasks of life.

Telepathic and empathic abilities, “mindships” and even time travel all play roles in the story, but the core of the novel is the unfolding relationship between Grace and Dllenahkh.

“Ever wonder if you’ve done the right thing?” I asked him finally.

“Frequently,” he replied. “Legalities notwithstanding, to not wonder indicates a dangerous lack of awareness of the nearly infinite array of choices presented by life. More tea?”

I held out my cup in mute assent. His fingertips brushed mine as he took it from me, and I felt a wave of… something. Approval? Affection, perhaps? I looked at him, startled, and he held my gaze for a second before focusing on pouring.

Whether or not any of her other books are of the “slow-burn romance” variety, I’ll be reading more of Lord’s novels in the future.

Bronze Gods and Silver Mirrors by A. A. Aguirre

So far, Ann Aguirre and her husband, Andres, have managed to stretch out this slow-burn romance over two books set in a steampunk universe. I keep checking Ann’s website to see when the next book in the series will come out. I certainly hope there will be another.

The books involve partners Celeste Ritsuko and Janus Mikani, inspectors working for the Criminal Investigation Division in a city called Dorstaad. Bronze Gods is very much a murder mystery, while Silver Mirrors mostly sheds the feel of a detective novel, moving more into the realm of adventure. The key to both is the growing relationship between coworkers who, having come to like each other during the first three years of their work together, find their feelings growing beyond those of good partners.

He drained his own beer with a deep pull, before saying, “Anything for you, partner. You’re always there when I need you, and that means the world to me.”

Warmth spread from the tips of her toes all the way to the top of her head. With anyone else, at a moment like this, she’d be thinking about the curve of his bottom lip or how his whiskers might prickle if she leaned a little closer. Before she knew it, her hand was moving, brushing against his jaw to find out. He leaned into her touch, smiling faintly as he caught her gaze. His skin was hot, the scruff prickling against her palm, and she slid her hand farther back into his hair, because she knew his head ached after a bad night. She pressed her fingertips to a few key points in slow, soothing circles.

“How’s that? Better?”

His lashes drifted shut as he dipped his head forward. When he opened his eyes, their noses were nearly touching. “Much.”

War for the Oaks by Emma Bull

This book is known, in part, for being a defining novel of the “elf-punk” genre. Think faeries and rock bands, but don’t laugh — it works much better than you might expect. Set in Minneapolis in the 1980s, the book is so full of detail that you could cosplay some of the characters. You could also pull together a long playlist of the songs mentioned in the book — something I plan to do someday.

War for the Oaks is a bit different from the other books I’ve mentioned: for one thing, the question of whether or not the romantic tension will be resolved is answered earlier in this book than in the others I’ve mentioned, though the tension still goes on long enough to qualify as slow-burn. It also has some sex scenes that aren’t present in the other books, although they are not at all graphic.

In addition, more than one male character in the book is seriously vying for the attention of Eddi McCandry, the main character. If you read Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park, you may remember wondering if Fanny would end up with Edmund or Henry. Emma Bull’s novel reminds me of that, although perhaps it is better to compare Eddi to Captain Wentworth in Persuasion, turning the question of “who will she end up with” into “will the one who is clearly pining for her win her attention.” Although I probably don’t need to try so hard to avoid spoilers, I’ve chosen a passage from the book that doesn’t reveal the “he” who is in it.

Moonlight reflected off the water and into his eyes, and they seemed deeper than the creek. Eddi knew she should let go of him, maybe say something. But the moment when she should have done that went past. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and shivered under her arm. “Ah, well,” he whispered, with a little catch in his voice.

Besides combining a nerdy theme with romance, Bull’s book has one other thing in common with the books by Lord and the Aguirres. All of them touch, at least in part, on fairy lore — not the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm, but the sort of stuff you might run across in Faeries by Brian Froud and Alan Lee. In fact, in an interview with Green Man Review, Bull mentions that book as one of her influences.

War for the Oaks is, of course, heavily involved in the world of faerie, given its subject matter. Bronze Gods and Silver Mirrors take place in a world that used to belong to faeries — or “Ferishers” as they are called in the books — and the blood of those faerie natives still flows through the veins of some of the people of that world, including Janus Mikani.

Faeries barely show up in The Best of All Possible Worlds, and when they do, it is in a very different way from the other books I’ve mentioned, but they are there. During the search for compatible mates for the surviving Sadiri men, the team encounters a culture that calls itself the Seelie Court, ruled by “the Faerie Queen.” The notion of an alien culture built on old Earth stories is not the only thing in the book that made me think of Star Trek, but the novel still stands on its own as a worthwhile read.

So here’s your wonderful thing for the week: Pick a book from the list, get your hands on it, and enjoy! Then tell me what you thought.

Update (02/15/21): Looking for more sci-fi romance? I recently posted on the Sirantha Jax series by Ann Aguirre. The first book could qualify as slow-burn.