You'll weep, you'll cry, you'll bawl - and then you'll thank me (or, why historical novels are awesome)

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Sex, drama, tension, humour, joy, sorrow, disgust - no, I'm not talking about the Oscars ceremony, but rather the many, MANY things that historical novels manage to fit in a couple of hundred pages.

Now, I'm a bit of a historical novel groupie. Throw in a bit of ...

With a bit of ... 

And what you get is pure awesome (disclaimer: I understand that these films aren't accurate portrayals. Queen E was way more of a bad-ass than Cate). 

Unfortunately, I haven't read any of these bodice-ripping extravaganzas recently. 

It kind of turns out that all the historical novels I have read in the past couple of weeks have been about WWII: the yet-to-be released FitzOsbornes at War, All That I Am and I've just started Code Name Verity.

And it must be said, these are not happy books. If you want to turn that frown upside down, put a smile on your dial, put on a happy face, *insert more international cliches here* then probs best to avoid (you hear what I'm laying down?). 

The FitzOsbornes you can probably handle without withdrawing from the world too much, but after reading All That I Am be ready for some heavy-duty fetal-position hiding-under-the-table crying. 

All That I Am starts off in Bondi circa now. This bird-chirpingly sunny suburb of Sydney is basically as far as you can get, in location and tone, from Berlin in the 1930s. 

Our main character is Ruth, an old lady when we first meet her. Ruth is pretty awesome, laidback, witty. 

She also happens to be the main character in the 1930s, when she hangs out with a group of German intellectuals, activists, playwrights, and other assorted cool people, including her activist cousin Dora. These people vigorously protest against the Nazis, and well, after that, it's pretty much what you expect. Most of this group are Jewish, and are doubly persecuted for their heritage and their leftist views. 

The story itself is captivating, grabbing your attention and shaking you right down to your booties. But the writing ... be still my reading heart. Oh. My. Dahl. It's writing that's so easy to read, but occasionally will have a turn-of-phrase so simply ace that you will need to stop reading the book so that you can hug it.

I'm not going to tell you anymore now (and don't read any more reviews, just GET THE DAMN BOOK). But read the author's note at the end. It. Will. Make. You. Cry. But seriously people. It's Anna Funder. You weren't expecting sunshine and lollipops? 

Anyhow, if you will excuse me. I have another WWII book that is waiting in line to make me cry. Expect a report soon on Code Name Verity. 

Coconut cakes, Godstones and Lord Hector, oh my (a review of Girl of Fire and Thorns)

My Mind Stops Here via A Looking Glass Girl

I started trapeze classes a couple of weeks ago, and something that has become clear to me is that upper-arm strength is kind-of-a-must for flying through the air with the greatest of ease. Apparently, a girl can't just go from doing nothing but typing, reading books and lifting coffee cups to hanging in mid-air by a rope and her arms, ya know?

And to be honest, I think it's all Mulan's fault. She makes it look so easy to go from being a totally clumsy book nerd to running marathons, doing karate kicks in the sky and then climbing a huge wooden pole to fetch an arrow.

'I'll make a man (mer-man! meerrrr-man! There's so a Mulan/Zoolander mash-up just waiting to happen) out of you' should be sued for deceiving a generation of impressionable youngsters.

(Minor spoilers ahead)

What I'm trying to say is, when Eliza, the heroine of Rae Carson's super-fantastic (that's the technical term) Girl of Fire and Thorns is forced to march through a really big desert having previously done nothing but read and eat coconut cakes? I felt her pain (yes, I am comparing a bit of arm pain with being made to walk through a big stinking desert, what of it?).

I was totally feeling her throughout the rest of the book, too. Girl has some tough breaks. Eliza is bearer of the Godstone, which means that she is going to perform some big service for her people. It sort of feels a bit like ... 

The bit about Harry being the Chosen One, not the bit about Ron ... moving on ...

But Eliza's also a princess, younger sister to a ridiculously over-achieving heir to the throne, secretly married ... and morbidly obese. Combined with all that she's just been forced to leave her country to settle in her new husband's kingdom.

Let's be honest here. I was fan-girling over Eliza. I loved her from the beginning, when she took charge of a situation (you'll know it when you get to it) that her husband (metaphorically) ran squealing from. And she continues to take charge throughout the book.

And while I had a minor quibble with the book in that some of the characters felt flat, too obviously convenient plot devices, Eliza felt real from the first page. I even wanted to call in sick so I could finish the book. I didn't (#goodgirlsyndrome), but damn, I wanted to. She's stubborn, and thoughtful, and strong, and you just know she'd be up for a late-night sleepover.

She'd be a total catch as a friend, you know what I'm saying?

So sure, a couple of the characters felt a bit flat. But by the end of the book, I was having major-swoon syndrome for a character (SPOILERS: Hector) who only appeared for a small section of the book (HE RECOGNISED HER FROM BEHIND. You'll know when you get to this point). To make me care so much for a character with not that many words to his name? That's quality writing.

If I was going to say anything else to convince you to read this book, I would tell you that for me, Rae Carson now falls in the pantheon of awesome-female-centric-fantasy writers, like Kristen Cashore, Sherwood Smith, Robin McKinley, Ellen Kushner, Juliet Marillier, etc. etc. with awesome female characters. There's only one more thing that needs to be said.

Friends, lovers, chums. I just finished reading the spectacularly fabulous Fire and Thorns (known as the Girl of Fire and Thorns in places that aren't Australia). And I will talk about it and talk about it and talk about. But later.

First, I have a public-service announcement to make. In the interests of public safety, it is important that you all know how bodice-heavingly awesome romance books are.

I have shouted of my love for this genre from the rooftops of the internet. But seeing as Valentine's Day (or more appealingly, Galentine's Day. Seriously, who was this 'Valentine' anyway? Sounds like a total Casanova to me and if spotted on the streets he should be TREATED WITH EXTREME CAUTION) was a couple of days ago, I think it's the right time to talk a little romance.

Oh yes. I'm talking bodice-heaving, skirt-lifting, independence-fostering ROMANCE, bitches.

When you are after some really entertaining reads, it's hard (no pun intended) to look past romance books.

And it's my duty, as an altruistic romance reader, to share some romance books that any virgin (like most of the heroines in these books, let's face facts) romance reader could get in to.

In The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, Eloise, a Harvard grad student, is researching flowery English spies from the Napoleonic Wars. In her research, she stumbles upon Amy's letters. Amy was a feisty, hilarious, totally historically implausible girl dreaming of becoming a spy and thwarting Napoleon.

Of course, both Eloise and Amy have men who want to thwart them, the snotty Colin and and for Amy, the supercilious Richard. It's a super-fun romp. Spies, sex and sarcasm. My kind of book.

On the opposite side of the romance genre is Jenny Crusie. Oh Jenny, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways (and books). Most people are all like, hot bodies, they're so sexy.

But I'm like, give me a witty mouth over a hot body any day. And Ms Crusie is the queen of wit. Also of screwball romances. Like Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, Barbara S and Henry Fonda. Like me and this blog ... no?

And if those don't do it for you, may I suggest you go back to the beginning?

The first romance book I ever read was Matilda. Right, right, I know what you're thinking. But Matilda was about the beautiful, bewwwwtiful love between a girl and her books.

And that's a love that lasts forever (awwwwwww).

The incredible crying girl or, I just finished reading 'The Fault in Our Stars'.

Whenever I hear that someone has written a fictional book about cancer, I tend to think that the story is going to go something like this:

But when I heard that John Green's latest book, 'The Fault in Our Stars' was about teens with cancer, I knew it was going to be something different. For one thing, he didn't call it 'A smalk to semember', which is always a good start.

So I got my hands on this book (an unsigned copy, booooooo australia! Just because some of my relatives were convicts doesn't mean I don't deserve a signed copy, damnit! If you don't know what I'm talking about, go and find out). The text-of-hand reviews had already been good. In fact, a friend of mine had already elevated the couple at the centre of this book, Hazel and Augustus, to her top couples of all time. So I knew it was gonna be good/great/stupendous.

But the thing you need to know about me is that I am a pathetic literary cry-er. I cry when dogs die, I cry when good couples get together, I cry when favourite shirts get ruined. The polite term would be 'sensitive'. Result: before I started reading the book, I needed to get myself in a stoic frame of mind. A survivalist if you will. I was determined to read this book, tears be damned (insert combination of the Rocky montage, etc. etc. here).

Then I started reading, and boy was it good. I was all, this is amazeballs. 

Hazel was so witty, and funny, and she actually made me forget that a man was writing this character (I have an irrational prejudice against men writing women. Sorry G-man. Can I ... call you G-man?).

The girl could take on any characters in the original words battle, 'The Thin Man' (you thought I was going to say shakespeare, didn't you? Why pick shakespeare when you can pick THE THIN MAN?).

But I knew it was too good to be true. I was three quarters of the way through the book, and everything was going so well. It seemed obvious that something was about to go wrong.

I mean, I haven't loved John Green's books in the past, because nothing much happens. It's all talking, talking, talking, boy has an epiphany, talking (alert: massive, wild over-generalisation). But I was LOVING this with the fire of a thousand suns. I was wanted to be BFFs with Hazel, I was supporting her and Gus, I was laughing over antics. And then. Then it happened. And I was like:

Using that clip was a mistake. Excuse me while I go and cry over Gandalf for a little while. In conclusion. This book was awesome. But don't expect to be anything other than devastated, a la the fellowship of the ring after the fall of gandalf at the end. I could be saying that because you don't want the book to end, or for another reason. SPOILER. People. This is a book about teenagers with cancer. Although not really. Although yes. Although ... Oh just bloody go and buy it already. I have crying to do.