July

Divergent by Veronica Roth, 2011

It's pretty impossible to read Divergent (or any recent dystopian YA novel, for that matter) without feeling the influence of the mega-successful Hunger Games trilogy. Just like the boom of magic-school sagas after the success of the Harry Potter books, the young adult market is currently awash with post-apocalyptic adventure, plucky young heroines and tyrannical governments.

So it's a testament to Veronica Roth's considerable skill as a storyteller that I didn't think much about any of the similarities between the two after the first fifty pages or so. I was just swept up in the story.

Divergent's dystopian gimmick is fairly clever and reasonably original: at some point in the relatively near future, the city of Chicago is split into five factions - Abnegation, Erudite, Candor, Amity and Dauntless - each one representing a different virtue or characteristic. At sixteen, sheltered Abnegation teen Beatrice Prior must choose which faction to join for the rest of her life. To everyone's surprise, Tris joins Dauntless, the faction of strength and bravery. But she has a deadly secret: she's Divergent (which means she's suited for more than one faction), and there are those in her faction, and in others, who would kill her if they find out.

From the first chapter, Divergent is a propulsive, perfectly paced read, with a great heroine, plenty of thrills and an interesting setting. It's absolutely to Roth's credit that she sells the concept of the five factions, an idea that seems pretty hard to swallow at first. She does a nice job of subtly showing what could have led the people of Chicago to this seemingly bizarre form of government. She doesn't dwell too much on the post-apocalyptic elements, though - a good move, I think, especially for a first book - instead focusing on Tris and her character arc.

Make no mistake: Tris is the novel's top draw. I loved this character. Her journey from repressed, shy schoolgirl to tough, gun-toting soldier is hugely compelling, and well portrayed. Roth puts us right in Tris's head, and then throws crazy challenge after crazy challenge at her, and it makes for some really thrilling stuff. Roth doesn't pull punches because this is a YA novel (there was some stuff even I found unsettling, and I was brought up on Stephen King) and it makes the book that much more exciting and visceral. The other characters are all less memorable than Tris, but most of them have at least a couple of dimensions, some of them quite surprising.

I'll admit, Tris's obligatory romance with her Dauntless instructor Four wasn't my favorite part of the novel. I liked the odd, adversarial chemistry between them towards the beginning of the story, but by the time they get together mid-book, complete with swoony makeout sessions, it had become a little routine. Not a bad plot thread, by any means, but not as strong as Tris's journey towards self-awareness (and abruptly changing Four's name to Tobias was not helpful to me, as an Arrested Development fan).

In all, Divergent delivered just about everything I would have wanted it to: a memorable and kick-ass heroine, a thought-provoking dystopia and a gripping plot. While I don't think the novel is likely to go down as a classic, it's a smart, quite well-written page-turner that made me lose sleep more than once. I can't wait to pick up Insurgent and see where the story goes from here.

Payment in Blood by Elizabeth George, 1990

What continually irritated me about Payment in Blood - and Elizabeth George's first novel, A Great Deliverance - is that it came so close to being great. I mean, great. George is clearly capable of a novel that will vault her to the top of my list of favorite mystery writers. Blood isn't quite it, but it's close enough to still be one hell of a well-put-together novel.

The book opens, of course, with a murder. Author and playwright Joy Sinclair is found gruesomely stabbed to death in her bed at a lavish Scottish bed-and-breakfast. Among the suspects are most of Britain's foremost actors, as well as a powerful lord and his mysterious family. Sent out into the brutal Scottish winter to nail the killer, Thomas Lynley and Barbara Havers contend with an incestuous web of deadly connections - a web that includes the woman that Lynley is in love with.

I'll deal with what annoyed me first. The book's biggest flaw is that George's pacing is uneven at best. The novel's first half feels cluttered to the point of claustrophobia; like in Deliverance, she throws so much exposition and backstory at you that the novel feels stalled from the beginning. The connections between all of the suspects are complicated enough that it sometimes feels like coming into a soap opera three seasons in. Wait, he slept with her and her? She's married to him? He's her brother? George's talents don't lie in relaying necessary information in a clear and entertaining way.

My second big problem is with the novel's central relationship between Lynley and Lady Helen Clyde. If you recall, Lynley spent pretty much the entire first book mooning over Deborah, his best friend's wife. Rather abruptly, we're informed early on in Blood that the woman Lynley truly loves is Helen (who, to make matters even more complicated, is the best friend's ex). Helen, however, is cheating on Lynley with an alcoholic stage director. Cue a whole lot of drama. Trouble is, for all the overwrought histrionics, George never really sells on us on the romance, or on Lady Helen, who seems a little too prissy and high-maintenance for Lynley (of course, I'm a Lynley/Havers shipper, so what do I know).
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It might sound like I'm a little down on Blood, but the truth of it is, that what's good about the book is very, very good. Once George has all of her pieces on the board, the real fun begins, as she picks apart the psyches of every suspect, and our heroes, too. Her psychological approach is what sets her apart from her peers, and with good reason: she excels at it. Blood is at its best when one of the characters starts really peeling back layers, and we can fully appreciate just how skilled George is at what she does.

As the book goes on and the plot gets into gear, things really start to pop, and I found myself really getting into it. The subplots in particular take a while to heat up, but when they do, they reveal George's incredible capacity for complex, heart-wrenching human drama. Her dense, lavish prose suits her style well and sometimes rises to the level of beautiful, even if her reliance on ten-dollar words can be a bit much.

 I did correctly guess the identity of the killer about two-thirds of the way through the novel, but that's more a symptom of how logically constructed the plot is than an indictment of George's skills of deception. Payment in Blood eventually ends on a satisfyingly melancholy note, and it's a testament to how much I ended up enjoying the book that I couldn't stop thinking about it for days after. It's not a perfect mystery by any means and, honestly, the structure left a lot to be desired, but I know that the day will come when Elizabeth George will knock my socks off. And I'm looking forward to it.

Dead Witch Walking by Kim Hamilton, 2004

Starting a new series is always an exciting proposition, especially when the series comes as highly recommended as Kim Hamilton's Rachel Morgan books. The Hollows series has a small, but extremely devoted fan base, and as soon as I heard about it, I knew I wanted to check it out. I love a good urban fantasy, vampire detectives, werewolves driving cabs, all that stuff. I figured Dead Witch Walking would be right in my wheelhouse.

And. . . well, it kind of is. To be honest, there was a lot that I liked about Witch, and a lot that I thought was kind of awful. On the whole, I enjoyed the book more than I probably should have, and I think Harrison has some obvious talent when it comes to her characters and world-building. But why is the plotting so strange?

The novel follows Rachel Morgan, a witch who works as a sort of bounty hunter/federal agent for the supernatural equivalent of the FBI, the IS. When Rachel leaves the IS to set up a private-detective agency with a motor-mouthed pixy and a sensual vampire, her former boss puts out a hit on her (this is where the plot gets weird). Dodging fairy commandos and assassins armed with spell-loaded paintball guns, Rachel and her gang must bring down a mysterious drug lord in order to get the IS to call off the hit.

What I liked a lot about Witch was the characters. While Rachel is a fairly typical heroine for this kind of story, predictably feisty and sarcastic - think Stephanie Plum with magical abilities and leather pants - her sidekicks are a lot more interesting. Jenks, the wise-ass pixie, could have been a goofy comic relief character, but he has more nuance than you'd think. And while Ivy, the aristocratic, sexually ambiguous vampire, is responsible for some of the novel's more uncomfortable scenes, she's also the most complicated and fascinating character. Even Nick, the bookish human who shows up late in the book, seemingly as a classic love interest, has some dimension. Harrison succeeds at making these characters the kind of people you could easily imagine reading ten more books about: a nice mix of likable and dynamic.

The setting, an alternate Cincinnati populated by both humans and supernatural creatures, is relatively standard as far as urban fantasies go, but I liked Harrison's take on pixie/fairy relations, her clever magic system and some rather ingenious little concepts (like the magical "splatballs") that help immensely to flesh out her world. I was less taken with her vampires, who are your standard Anne Rice-y sex machines, The vampire-related erotic segments fit rather uncomfortably alongside anything else, especially the distinct lesbian subtext between Rachel and Ivy. Maybe Harrison has a clever plan on where to take that particular relationship, but in this book, it's just awkward.

For the most part, though, so far, so good. Engaging characters, a relatively interesting world, writing that's not half-bad, in a rote, chick-lit kind of way. Where Harrison really stumbles, though, is plotting and pacing. The plot is lumpy, half-baked and overly simplistic, and the pacing is just weird. Harrison founds the whole story on the idea that a government agency would put out a hit on an agent who quit. I get that it's an alternate timeline and not our world, but there's not nearly enough attention given to this far-fetched plot point.

The Big Bad of the story, Trent Kalamack, is actually a little bit compelling, but there's no real mystery to unravel, and no stakes. Again, the story is predicated on a plot point that doesn't make much sense: Kalamack running biodrugs is made out to be a huge deal, but it isn't even clear what he's using them for. And the pacing, like I said, is distinctly odd. Scenes tend to stretch out way too long, with conversations getting tedious and circuitous. The bursts of action are refreshing (especially a very creative wizard's duel towards the end), but they get repetitive and tend to be sandwiched in between long, dull stretches. There's some good stuff here, and lots of smart and funny and exciting bits, but the plot just never coalesces into anything especially coherent.

That said, I see tons of potential in this series. You could definitely tell some great stories in this world, with these characters. Dead Witch Walking is too full of plot holes and labored pacing to be a true success, but there's every chance that this could end up being a really entertaining series. It just needs the right story.

Inheritance by Christopher Paolini

Inheritance by Christopher Paolini, 2011

Thorn roared, and then he sprang up from the street into the air above the black-shrike-thorn-cave and hung there, flapping heavily to maintain his position. He appeared as a featureless black silhouette against the wall of flames rising from the houses behind him, save for his translucent wings, which glowed orange and crimson.

He lunged toward her, reaching out with his serrated claws.

Saphira waited until the last possible moment; then she leaped to the side, off the black-shrike-thorn-cave, and Thorn rammed headfirst into the base of the cathedral's central spire. The tall-hole-ridden-stone-spike shuddered under the impact, and the very top of it--an ornate golden rod--toppled over and plunged more than four hundred feet to the square below.

Roaring with frustration, Thorn struggled to right himself. His hindquarters slid into the opening Saphira had torn in the roof, and he scrabbled against the tiles as he tried to claw his way back out.

While he did, Saphira flew to the front of the black-shrike-thorn-cave and positioned herself on the opposite side of the spire Thorn had collided with.

She gathered her strength, then batted the spire with her right forepaw.

Statues and carved decorations shattered underneath her foot; clouds of dust clogged her nostrils; and bits of stone and mortar rained down upon the square. The spire held, though, so she struck it again.

Thorn's bellowing took on a frantic note as he realized what she was doing, and he strove even harder to pull himself free.

On Saphira's third blow, the tall-stone-spike cracked at the base and, with agonizing slowness, collapsed backward, falling toward the roof. Thorn only had time to utter a furious snarl, and then the tower of rubble landed on top of him, knocking him down into the shell of the ruined building and burying hum under piles of rubble.

The sound of the spire smashing to pieces echoed across the whole of the rat-nest-city, like a clap of rolling thunder.--- (pages 320-321)

Eragon, the first novel in the Inheritance Cycle, was published in 2002 when its author was only eighteen--he began writing it when he was only fifteen. Eragon is clearly the work of a young author; the writing is uneven and stilted, the dialogue an awkward mix of modern and faux-medieval and the plot is a Star Wars carbon copy, with dollops of Lord of the Rings added for good measure. What made the novel so much fun was Paolini's energy and endless enthusiasm for his subject matter; he wrote like a precocious kid having the time of his life. It didn't hurt that the plot, though derivative, moved like a runaway train, and that his world is filled with dragons, elves, magic, battles, dwarves and monsters.

The next novel, Eldest (2005), had an entirely different set of problems from its predecessor. Paolini mostly abandoned the puppy-dog-eagerness and stylistic simplicity of Eragon in favor of a long-winded, pretentious style, as though he was responding to his critics with a thesaurus by his side. His attempts at incorporating New Age-y wisdom and chunks of metaphysics into the story didn't work out too well, either. The penultimate installment, 2008's Brisingr, brought greater balance and maturity to the series, despite a draggy pace and a tacked-on ending. For all his other faults, Paolini has always been a crackerjack storyteller and I've enjoyed his books for a long time. I've been eagerly looking forward to Inheritance all year. As the final book in the series, Inheritance promised to be a treat, the epic conclusion to a story that I'm pretty invested in after all these years.

Alagaesia, the world of the Inheritance Cycle, is fairly similar to a Middle-earth with more dragons and less hobbits. The Cycle follows Eragon, a young human who discovers that he is one of the final Dragon Riders, a breed of warrior that died out a hundred years ago, when an evil Rider named Galbatorix destroyed them and declared himself king. Together with his dragon Saphira, Eragon joins a rebel organization called the Varden that's dedicated to defeating the insanely powerful Galbatorix. Quests and sword battles and poorly written romance ensues; you get the picture.

Inheritance finds Eragon and the Varden nearing the end of their military campaign against the Empire, but they are no closer to defeating Galbatorix, who has the power of hundreds of dragon souls at his disposal (don't ask), as well as a powerful slave in the form of Murtagh, Eragon's half-brother and fellow Rider. As the Empire and the Varden begin their final clash, Eragon and Saphira must unravel a decades-old secret to find Galbatorix's weakness and destroy him before their rebellion is forever crushed.

Like all endings, Inheritance has a difficult job to do. It has to resolve two thousand pages of conflict and dozens of subplots in a satisfying way, it has to compare favorably with its predecessors and leave the readers feeling like their investment of time and emotion has been worthwhile. For me, the novel was a totally absorbing and worthy end to the story; in fact, it's probably my favorite book of the four. Paolini's skills as a storyteller are undeniable and even though his writing still leaves something to be desired, he does a pretty darn good job of finishing the cycle with a bang. The characters are well-served by the story, the plot moves along nicely (a couple of dull chapters notwithstanding) and there are many, many action scenes, something that Paolini has a real knack for. The climactic Eragon/Galbatorix encounter is exciting and there are giant snails, too. What more do you want?

Paolini's writing is still sometimes pretentious and overly detailed, and his love affair with little-known, barely appropriate words continues unabated. He has progressed by leaps and bounds, though. His dialogue, despite the occasional B-movie exchange, has gotten much better and his characterization, once thin and bloodless, is now a little more nuanced. I do get annoyed that everyone in the series, no matter their status or upbringing, talks like an English professor or that Eragon's dragon mentor gives half-baked Zen advice that Yoda would deem spurious, but these are minor and slightly endearing flaws that I've grown used to after hundreds of pages. His strengths as a storyteller outweigh his technical flaws and he could easily stand with many of the successful writers working in the epic fantasy genre. For instance, his prose and character-building outstrips Robert Jordan's by a sizable margin, even if his mythology lacks the Wheel of Time's complexity and scope. Paolini is not a great world-builder like Tolkien or George R. R. Martin; Alagaesia and the races that dwell there feel like they've been brought in piecemeal from other fantasy works. But his books do have an admirably complex and consistent system of magic that he uses only rarely for deus ex machina.

One thing that Paolini does very well, and always has, is action scenes. Inheritance is full of endless battles, fight, skirmishes and duels, all described in exhaustively gory detail. The action sometimes reads like the novelization of a video game, complete with levels, a hit point meter and a boss at the end of each mission. Though it does get a bit repetitive after a while, the constant over-the-top adventure keeps those pages turning, and Paolini is pretty darned good at keeping readers on their toes with his creativity and propulsive writing. The final siege is a truly exciting and epic sequence, culminating in a terrific struggle between Roran and the commander of the Empire's troops. The dragon/dragon combat is quite thrilling as well. Sure, most of the fighting has the gleefully unbelievable appeal of a Hollywood action movie (the good guys' seemingly limitless power is a bit wearying), but it's done so well that I don't really care that he goes overboard at times.

Ultimately, Inheritance's secret weapon is the characters. Paolini started out with a pretty cardboard cast of heroes, villains, rogues, mentors and cannon fodder, but as the series has progressed, the main characters have developed into likable, somewhat relatable people with distinct personalities. The characters may not be quite three-dimensional (everybody stays in their roles, for the most part), but they are well-drawn. For all that his occasional whining is annoying (not to mention that odd pacifistic streak that only pops up every now and then), Eragon is a distinctive and fully-realized hero who has never been a simple Magical Orphan protagonist. Saphira is very much a character in her own right, and Paolini has done a great job in making her both alien and familiar. Arya, Eragon's elven love interest, has been an annoyance for most of the series--she was initially written with an almost fawning appreciation for her beauty and tenacity, despite that the fact that she had the winning personality of Mr. Spock. Inheritance singlehandedly redeems her in my eyes: for the first time, Paolini hits the right balance between Arya's human traits and her elvish ones. She's still a bit less compelling than she should be, given her crucial role in the story, but her dynamic with Eragon is more smoothly written here than in Eragon or Eldest.

The series' two breakout characters, Eragon's cousin Roran and his half-brother Murtagh, also get a fine showing in Inheritance. Roran, who has graduated from a minor supporting character to a secondary protagonist, is not the deepest or most complicated character, but his resourcefulness, tenacity and unbending determination to create a safe life for his wife and family are strangely compelling. I like the fact that Paolini uses him to occasionally cut through all the magical and metaphysical crap that sometimes burdens the story. He also gets all the best action scenes, despite the fact that he has no superhuman skills of his own except a really good hammer arm. If someone out there has not already dubbed him Captain Hammer, I'll be astonished.

Murtagh is one of the few morally murky characters in the saga, and certainly the most interesting. Paolini had given us only relatively brief appearances from Murtagh up until Inheritance, probably realizing his potential. Murtagh is the heart of the final book's most intriguing storyline, as he struggles to defy Galbatorix in order to save the woman he loves. This is the darkest place that the cycle has gone to so far, and Paolini deserves credit for an excellent piece of character development. Murtagh's eventual triumph over Galbatorix is a bit too reminiscent of Darth Vader and the Emperor, but it's still a good conclusion to the series' best character arc.

Speaking of Galbatorix, the first appearance of the evil Rider was one of the things I was looking forward to in the fourth book. Like the shark in Jaws, Galbatorix has been confined to the shadows for the first three books in the Cycle, a device that was intriguing at first, but eventually started to feel like a cop-out, to the point where he doesn't seem like much of a threat. So much of the mythology rests on Galbatorix's motives and actions, his endless power is discussed over and over, his evil and cruelty is talked about and reiterated. Yet we don't see what is arguably the entire cycle's central character until halfway through the last book. When he finally shows up, it's an anticlimax. After that much buildup, it would have been nearly impossible for Galbatorix to live up to his reputation.

To Paolini's credit, Galbatorix is not just a sneering mustache-twirler like Durza; his dialogue is appropriately silky, his threats veiled, but convincingly dangerous. As a villain, he's fine. As the mega-super-arch-villain of the entire series, he's a disappointment. There's not enough time to develop him as a character or to deal with the massive amount of backstory that has accumulated. He's introduced, he sneers a lot, and then he's dispatched in a fairly satisfying manner. We don't get much anger from him, or any sense of the insanity that he's known for. The instigating event that led him to evil--the death of his dragon--is not so much as touched upon. Keeping the Big Bad under wraps might have seemed like a good idea early on in the series, but the strategy ends up being Inheritance's major weakness.

Still, the climax is far from disappointing. Paolini neatly combines several plot threads to provide an ending that's both cathartic and reasonable from a plot standpoint. I might have liked a more personal confrontation between Eragon and Galbatorix, but it's still a perfectly suitable and fitting conclusion to the series' main storyline. Paolini then makes the dubious choice of following the climax with over a hundred pages of falling action. And this is where I start having problems.

For one, it feels as though he's raising as many questions as he's answering in the final stretch. Several important characters get open-ended fates that will probably end up getting addressed in a companion novel, which feels like a slightly lazy way to deal with them. Despite the length of the final chapters, not much happens in them until Eragon makes a crucial decision. Which is where my second problem lies. This decision makes little sense from a plot or character standpoint; it only occurs so that the book can have a dramatic ending that fits in with a prophetic dream Eragon had in the first volume. It's a gutsy ending, one that Paolini knew would be guaranteed to anger his readers, and I can't help but respect him for taking a risk like that. The ending also breaks up the Eragon/Arya relationship for good, a highly unusual choice considering the fact that their relationship has been one of the central points of the entire series. I was actually surprised how much I cared about the outcome, so I suppose he accomplished what he set out to do. It is not perhaps the perfect ending for the series (or for the characters), but it's one that I can accept.

Inheritance itself is an excellent conclusion to the cycle: gripping, moving and weighty. This is a more mature work than anything that's come before, with fewer plot holes and less contrivance. Characters that have grown up before our eyes get fitting final arcs and mysteries that have been in place since the beginning are paid off. It's not a perfect novel or a perfect ending, by any means, but it's enormously entertaining and mostly satisfying. The journey of Eragon and Saphira has been greatly enjoyable for many years, and I'm sorry to let them go, although I'm pleased that their final adventure is also their finest.

NEXT UP: More YA fantasy, with Catching Fire.

Artemis Fowl: The Atlantis Complex by Eoin Colfer

Artemis Fowl: The Atlantis Complex by Eoin Colfer, 2010

Yes, I know the Artemis Fowl series isn't exactly heady, mind-bending science fiction. And yes, I know it's technically a series for kids. But I've found the Artemis books highly entertaining over the years. They're an appealing mixture of smart-ass humor, nonstop action and fun characters. Eoin Colfer will never be on the level of, say, J.K. Rowling or Jonathan Stroud, but he's created an entertaining series.

It's also a series that's been off its game for a few volumes now. 2008's The Time Paradox was sub par at best, while 2006's The Lost Colony was only so-so. Part of the problem is that the plots and devices are getting increasingly stale and part of it is that Colfer has not really allowed the characters to grow much outside of their respective roles in the story.

So, for me, The Atlantis Complex really needed to revive the series and prove that it still has some juice left. I can say that it was definitely an improvement on Paradox, as well as being a fast, fun read. What it didn't do was solve any of the series' long-lasting problems.

As one would guess, the series revolves around Artemis Fowl, a brilliant teenaged ex-criminal mastermind who, at the tender age of twelve, discovered the existence of a high-tech race of fairies, who keep themselves hidden from humans. Although initially enemies, Artemis eventually joins forces with the fairies in order to combat various evildoers and fiendish plots.

In Complex, Artemis arranges a meeting with the fairies in order to discuss a new technology he's created. Unfortunately, the meeting is cut short when a space probe plummets to earth, putting the fairy city of Atlantis at risk, which is only the beginning of an old adversary's attack on the fairy world. To top it off, Artemis is suffering from a magical disease that causes obsessiveness, paranoia and and the emergence of a second personality.

In short, all the trappings are there for the average Artemis adventure. All of the main characters are back (feisty Captain Holly Short, unstoppable bodyguard Butler, wisecracking techie centaur Foaly and flatulent burglar dwarf Mulch Diggums) and all of the old tropes firmly in place.

This works both to the novel's advantage and to its detriment. The familiarity of the plotting, characterization and semi-lame banter is comfortingly entertaining, but it also makes for a fairly predictable, straightforward read. The main story doesn't really twist or turn, and the villain is unmemorable.

Ironically, the "fresher" parts of the book are also some of the weak parts. Artemis's split personality is mildly amusing at first, but gets old quickly, especially because we're deprived from seeing Artemis in action for most of the novel.

Despite the fact that he isn't a terrific stylist (there's a few noticeably awkward sentences in Paradox), Colfer has a good sense of humor and his wit and sarcasm have always been a highlight of the series:

"I do not intend to ask you for your daughter's hand in marriage, Mr. Adamsson, so I think we can skip over any icebreakers you may feel obliged to offer. Is everything ready?"

Adam Adamsson's pre-prepared icebreakers melted in his throat, and he nodded half a dozen times.

"All ready. Your crate is around the back. I have supplied a vegetarian buffet and goody bags from the Blue Lagoon Spa. A few seats have been laid out too, as bluntly requested in your terse e-mail. None of your party turned up, though--nobody but you-- after all my labors."

Artemis lifted an aluminum briefcase from the Ski-Doo's luggage box. "Don't you worry about that, Mr. Adamsson. Why don't you head back to Reykjavik and spend some of that extortionate fee you charged me for a couple of hours' usage of your frankly third-rate restaurant and perhaps find a friendless tree stump to listen to your woes?"--- (pages 9-10)

Overall, Complex was a good time, an entertaining, breezy (literally) novel that still never manages to escape the good-not-great box that the Fowl series currently resides in. The character interaction and the plotting feels a little tired and staid, signs of age for the seven-book cycle. Colfer claims that the next entry is the series' last-- which he's said about every book since the third. If it truly is, I hope he manages to craft a fitting end. Artemis, Holly, Butler, Mulch and Foaly deserve it.

And, yeah, I know it's a kids' book. Sue me.

NEXT UP: George R. R. Martin's A Game of Thrones. 'Cos the Wheel of Time series just isn't enough for me.