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I rarely buy comic books. I feel guilty when I do. My wife doesn’t read them, and taking a bit of the monthly family allowance to buy something only I will read feels like a selfish indulgence. And it is. But, hey, it’s my birthday. I’m allowed a little spending money on my birthday.

Ed McGuinness is my favorite comic artist–1) Because he draws a squared-jaw Superman that’s half realistic and half Saturday morning cartoon and 2) Because he draws Superman.

I’ll admit it, the Man in Steel is my comic character of choice. Yeah, he wears a silly costume, but let’s not forget that he fights for truth, justice, and the American way. Not many people can say that. Nor many aliens, which Superman is.

Since I buy comics so rarely I prefer the comic I pick up to be a stand-alone story, with a beginning, middle, and end, which is why I was so disappointed with Superman Batman #23. The whole book was confusing. A) It had two of the dumbest comic characters created: Bizarro and Batzarro, which are opposite-speaking mindless versions of Superman and Batman and B) I had no idea what was going on. The big twist in the end that explained why everyone had been acting like pawns in a big chess game should have been an “Aha!” but instead felt like an “Oh brother!”

Better luck next time. C.

This is a short novel. I listened to an unabridged reading of it on a recent road trip, and the whole thing fit on three CDs.

Hatchet is the story of thirteen-year-old Brian, a boy still coming to grips with his parents’ recent divorce and who must now divide his time between them.

The novel begins with Brian boarding a tiny prop plane that will take him up into the Canadian wilderness where his father now lives and with whom he is to spend his summer vacation. Before Brian departs, his mother — who was the cause of the divorce — gives him a hatchet as a parting gift.

When the pilot of the plane has a sudden and massive heart attack mid-flight, Brain must take the wheel and call for help. But help doesn’t come. And Brian crash lands the plane in the remote and unforgiving wilderness with only his hatchet to aid him.

This is a survival story, of course, but one that is real and gut wrenching. Swiss Family Robinson this ain’t. Brain finds no easy answers. Like the movie Cast Away, Hatchet shows how one must tirelessly struggle to find the necessities of life. Building a fire. Not easy. Spearing fish. Not easy. Finding shelter. Not easy. And the wildlife are far more dangerous than cute PBS documentaries would lead us to believe.

In short, this is an honest adventure story. One that will keep you turning pages (or listening to the CDs) as Brian struggles to stay alive. But it’s also a coming-of-age tale, one that explores the nastiness of divorce and it’s effects on the children involved. A great read. B.

I rarely see a movie and then read the book it was based on. It’s usually the other way around. If I know a film is based on a book. I’ll read the book first. That way, when the film comes out, I’ll be able to see how the screenwriters adapted the story — a process that fascinates me.

But Ella Enchanted is an exception. I saw the movie starring Anne Hatheway a few years ago but read the book only a few days ago. Boy was I suprised. The book is nothing like the film. This is a loose adapation if there ever was one.

And I was relieved to see that everything that I found annoying about the movie was not in the book.

This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy the movie. I did. But had the screenwriters been a little more faithful to the original story, the film would have been all the more entertaining.

For example, Cary Elwes character. Not in the book. The secret plot to assasinate the prince. Not in the book. The fairie with an attitude. Not in the book. Ella’s solo at the giant wedding. Not in the book (although I was thrilled when I saw the movie to learn that Anne Hathway can sing).

In fact, the movie skips what is the most important angle of the story: that this is the retelling of a very famous fairy tale. Watch the movie and one would assume that this is simply a silly fairy tale invented entirely by the author, not one based a pre-existing story.

Read the book and you’ll realize what a wonderful and inventinve writer Gail Carson Levine really is. She took a well told (and somewhat bland story) and turned it into something magical.

You can’t see me, but I’m applauding, having just finished Nancy Farmer’s masterful sci-fi novel, The House of the Scorpion, which tells the story of young Mateo Alacran, the clone of the world’s most powerful drug lord and dictator.

In the future where the novel is set, clones are considered foul, disgusting creatures, no better than livestock, and Mateo has a difficult time growing up among this evil and twisted family of aristocrats.

Actually it’s unfair to call these people aristocrats. They’re simply members of a murdering drug cartel, one that relies upon slaves with implants in their brains that force them to be obedient.

Mateo’s only initial friends are his bodyguard Tam Lin and the servant woman responsible for raising him. More friends come along as he ages, but life is never peachy for Mateo, who has inherited the original Mateo’s physical features, but not his desire to destroy or own everything around him.

El Patron, or The Godfather, is everything Mateo is not. And yet the boy can’t help but love the evil old man whose DNA he holds. It’s an interesting commentary on the old nature vs. nurture argument, though whether this was the author’s intent I can’t say. It doesn’t feel like an editorial though. This isn’t a sermon. It’s a story. And an amazing one at that.

The book reminded me somewhat of a Dickens novel in that there was this young innocent boy battling for survival among some of the most vile and wretched people imaginable. But I guess that’s why I kept reading. Mateo’s struggles are real and painful. You can sense his isolation and feel his confusion as he struggles with his own identity. And certain death was always just a page away. I was hooked.

Farmer has an uncanny ability to mix cultures and characters in a way that is both captivating and realistic. This is world-creation at it’s best — the sounds, the smells, and the sights of a country whose only crop is opium and whose only purpose is to satisfy the insatiable greed of a self-serving despot. A wonderful read. Heartfelt and well worth your time. Five enthusiastic stars.

Winner of the 2002 National Book Award, Young People’s Literature
A 2003 Newbery Honor Book
A 2003 Michael L. Printz Honor Book

The third and final book of Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy is a wonderful conclusion to one of the best fantasy series ever written. For the uninformed, His Dark Materials is the story of Lyra and Will, two young teens from two different worlds who must choose sides in a war between Lyra’s father, Lord Asriel, and the Authority, or God.

As I mentioned before when I reviewed the second book, Pullman is no fan of Christianity, or at least no fan of the Catholic Church, who in his opinion has committed far too many atrocious acts over the ages in the name of God. Yet despite Pullman’s personal belief’s I wouldn’t call the books anti-Christian by any means. They’re books of fantasy. They’re not books of religion. If it bothers you that leaders of the Church are villainous murderous, then perhaps this isn’t the book for you.

The characters are pure magic and include talking polar bears who wear impenetrable armor, witches, angels (both good and bad), small people who ride dragonflies and attack normal-sized adults with poison-tipped spurs, ghosts,and the list goes on and on.

Pullman is a master of world creation, and since His Dark Materials feature so many worlds, the read is a fascinating one. It makes you wonder how one person could have an imagination so immense. Comparisons to J.K. Rowling are fitting. Like Harry Potter, His Dark Materials is sure to delight anyone hoping to escape into a yet imagined world of wonder.

A brilliant book and a fascinating read.