104.11: Wildwood, by Colin Meloy (author) and Carson Ellis (2011 hardcover)

It's the end of 2011, and I'm posting my 104th book. I didn't quite make it to my goal of 111 in 2011, but it does verify my estimate that I read an average of 2 books a week. Not only that, but I'm pleased that I have managed to complete a blog entry for most of what I've read. Looking back at the year's entries, I see that 11 are unfinished, bearing a promise similar to "Recently finished. Review coming soon!" While I did finish these at some point along the way, I never did make it back to record my thoughts. Maybe I'll go back and add a few lines some time in the future, but more likely I'll simply move forward with the goal of having fewer unfinished entries in 2012. There's resolution #1 for 2012.  And, I am challenging myself to read more this year: 112 books in 2012.  Perhaps you'll join me?

Wildwood is a charming book to end the year with. It's an illustrated novel for ages nine and up, created by a husband (the lead singer of the Decemberists) and wife team in Portland, Oregon. Since all things cool come from Portland these days, it's not surprising that the book is a magical, eco-conscious adventure. The story begins when Prue and her friend Curtis enter the wild area that Portlanders know as the Impassable Wilderness in order to rescue her baby brother. Oddly, but appropriate in Portland, where surfaces are covered with images of birds from the Corvus genus, Prue's brother was stolen by a murder of crows. Immediately upon entering the wilderness to find him, Curtis and Prue are separated and fall in with people from two parts of the hidden world: Prue with a mailman serving the "civilized" North Wood (rural) and South Wood (urban) human and animals and Curtis with a coyote army serving the human Dowager Duchess of the Wildwood. As is usual for books targeting younger readers, animals can talk--and frequently wear clothing. Really, though, it's a wonderful novel for children of all ages who want to exercise their imagination and delve into a world of excitement and hope. I'd highly recommend it as one of your first reads in 2012.

103.11: The Lacuna, by Barbara Kingsolver (2009 hardcover)

I have the bad habit of buying the majority of the books I read in hardcover. I could come up with any number of excuses, but it comes down to laziness and impatience: I don't want to wait for the paperback version, and I don't want to take a trip to the library. The worst thing about this habit is that I don't just buy as many books as I can read at a given time. Instead, I simply buy books when I encounter them, and I worry about reading them at a later time. You won't be surprised to hear that this results in a large number (dozens might be a modest figure) of unread books gracing my shelves at any given time.

The reason I'm making this confession is two fold: it is a habit I would like to change, and it sets the premise for this book, which has sat on my shelf for two years since its purchase. When she came by to borrow some reading for the holidays, my friend Diqui saw me reading The Lacuna and exclaimed, "You're just reading that now? I read it over a year ago." The ridiculous thing about this is that Diqui read my copy--borrowed from the very shelves she was perusing. My bad habit is such that this is not an uncommon occurrence, I must confess, and I won't even get into the problem of purchasing duplicate copies of the same book. (My friend Marsha can give you the details there, should you be curious.)

The reason I put off reading The Lacuna is obscure at best. I am, in fact, a big fan of Kingsolver--and of her two most recent novels in particular. I even recall eagerly waiting to get home from the store to read it, and it made it to my bed-side reading stack--a sign of favor in my book hierarchy.  However, at some point in time--likely when clearing surfaces for a gathering at our house--the book made its way back to the library shelves and just never reached out to me again. Why I pulled it from the numerous other books awaiting my attention right now is likewise unclear--although partially attributable to me goal of buying fewer books--but I'm glad that it did. 

Like The Poisonwood Bible and Prodigal Summer, The Lacuna explores a time and place through the eyes of a primary character: a fictional man interacting with real figures from 1930s-50s Mexico and the US.  Harrison Shepherd (who seems so realistic that I had to look him up to make sure he didn't exist), son of an American father and Mexican mother, arrives in Mexico in 1929 with his mother and follows her through a number of living situations--with one two-year stint at a military school back in the States--until he finds himself mixing plaster for Diego Rivera, serving as cook to Rivera and Frida Khalo, and acting as personal assistant to Lev Trotsky. Upon Trotsky's death, Shepherd returns to the U.S. in 1941 and eventually becomes a popular author of novels featuring the Aztec and Maya, at least until the Committee on Un-American Activities catches wind of him. The entire story is told through Shepherd's fictional diaries, fabricated book reviews, and created letters--with 8-10 actual articles and documents mixed between them to add to the realistic tone. It's a riveting read, and it provides one of my favorite ways to learn about history: through the lens of excellent fiction. If you have been thinking about reading this book and somehow, like me, just never got around to it, I'd recommend you do so now.

101-2.11: Sweet Tooth, Volume 2 "In Captivity" and Volume 3 "Animal Armies," by Jeff Lemire (trade paperbacks, issues 6-11 and 12-17, 2010/11)

 The other day when we were talking about the "value" of different leisure activities--watching TV, reading, playing Xbox, crafts, etc.--my husband Eddie made a disparaging comment about Sweet Tooth. I was a bit offended at first and asked him what he knew about it. He said he had picked up and flipped through one of my trades when it was sitting on the coffee table at my sister's house. It isn't real literature, he suggested, and I suppose he is right to some extent. It's not the type of thing I would likely read in public--unless that public involved a high number of comic readers--so even I must confess to a degree of speculation. The cover pictures themselves likely lead some of you to raise an eyebrow. A boy with antlers? A girl with a pig snout? Yet, here I am writing about the series on my blog, so I'm not THAT embarrassed.

While I wouldn't be willing to take a side defending Sweet Tooth as a great work of literature, it has some significant merits that put it solidly in the literature realm. The plot is interesting and engaging, the characters are complex, and it addresses societal issues in the guise of metaphor. You see, it's not just that these kids have animal features: some folks don't believe they exist; others know and fear them; and still others--the minority--know and love them. It's mainly the parents of the hybrids that fall into the later category, as the women gave birth to these humans with animal characteristics after a plague struck the U.S.--killing the majority of people and sending things into complete disarray in a short period of time. Unfortunately, that same plague usually kills the parents before too long, leaving the kids alone and defenseless against those fighting for survival. From the very start, the antlered Sweet Tooth--so called for his love of candy--is a sympathetic and endearing character; perhaps it's some built-in Bambi reaction, but I want him to make it. It's an up and down struggle, of course, in the world drawn in these books, and I'm sure the battle will continue throughout the series. Along the way, the premise allows for an exploration of bigotry and fear, what it means to be human, and good versus evil (and shades in between). And, Lemire's story and art are both strong enough for me to continue that exploration--despite a shade of embarrassment.

100.11: Term Limits, Ex Machina Volume 10, by Brian K. Vaughan (writer), Tony Harris (artist), and JD Mettier (colors) (2011 trade paperback, issues 45-50, 2009/10)

Two of my favorite comics are Runaways and Y: The Last Man by Brian Vaughan. Actually, I should say were my favorites, as both series were concluded some time ago. Once in a while another writer/artist combo will pick up the Runaways and complete a new story arc, but they are never as good as Vaughan's originals. So, the best I can do to follow Vaughan's current work is Ex Machina. And that's pretty darn good in itself. 

It looks like I haven't reviewed Ex Machina yet on this blog--I'm a bit behind in my comic reading and just catching up--so I'll fill you in on the premise. Mitchell Hundred is an engineer/architect who comes in contact with an otherworldly item in the water, which leaves him with the ability to talk to machines and command them to do his bidding. With the assistance of two friends, he becomes a local NYC hero, rescuing babies and the like. The police consider him a vigilante and try to track him down, but after September 11, 2001, when he uses his abilities to stop the collision and collapse of the second Twin Tower, he becomes a community sensation. Having been raised by an activist mother, he decides to turn his new acclaim to public service and politics, turning celebrity into a position as NYC Mayor. In this position he fights the forces of evil--both political and supernatural--that threaten his people.

In trade 10, NYC Mayor Mitchell Hundred continues to fight the good fight against forces threatening his city--and now the world. In this story arc, a reporter becomes infected with an ability akin to Hundred's, with an evil twist: she can speak to humans and command them to do her bidding. Add the fact that she is acting on behalf of horrible monsters in another dimension who are seeking a gateway to ours, and it's a job for the super mayor. The volume ends with both relief and darkness, and readers are left to consider whether the system is leading Hundred down a path of corruption. And, I suppose it's fitting that Vaughan leaves us there, since issue 50 concludes the series. For first-time readers, that can be a good thing, as you won't have to wait for future issues to come out.

The plot is a bit absurd, but superhero comics require enemies, and they are harder to come by these days. Besides, it's the issues and discussion around the main plot that make this series interesting. Hundred's political rise from nobody to mayor of NYC, and his rumored candidacy for US office, are what make this comic worth reading. Hundred has made his reputation as an Independent, making decisions based on what he sees as best for the people of NYC instead of a specific political agenda. While he backed gay marriage, he rejects the morning-after pill, and he's hard to pin down on most hot-button topics. Additionally, the series is purposely self-conscious, throwing out one-liners about comics all the time. It makes for an interesting blend of politics, current events, and super heroism that's hard to resist.

99.11: Dead Man's Knock, The Unwritten Volume 3, by Mike Carey & Peter Gross (script, story, art), Ryan Kelly (finishes) (2011 trade paperback, issues 13-18)

This is the first blog entry I'm writing on my iPad, using an app called Blogger+. My new plan is to write and upload text whenever/wherever I finish a book (hotel, bed, a coffee shop) and then add the finishing touches (pictures, links, and proofreading) when I am at a desktop computer. Hopefully this will eliminate my habit of allowing finished books to pile up in a to-be-blogged pile, which results in multiple entries posted all at once with long periods between them. And now, on to the real business of this entry:

Like many of the comics I follow, The Unwritten was recommended by my sister Sarah. Since Sarah is a librarian and knows me better than anyone else, her recommendations are a custom fit, so it's no surprise that I enjoy this comic. All comics take some time to develop, though, and it's in this third story arc that I am beginning to feel a real appreciation for The Unwritten. 

The authors of this series are committed to the idea that stories have power--quite literally and magically. The comic's unwilling hero Tommy/Tom Taylor struggles with the legacy his author father left him--first as model for his father's popular boy-wizard book character and now, as an adult, as role model to people around the world (imagine Harry Potter on an even bigger scale), who have a hard time separating real-world Tom from fictional Tommy. Even more importantly, though, Tom faces a struggle against a mysterious Cabal that seeks to undo or influence stories in order to control events in the world. While the premise of words having power is interesting in itself, it's the weaving of literature--classic and popular--throughout that make this series particularly compelling. In a single issue within this trade, there are references to Dickens, The Lord of the Rings, Shakespeare's Henry the Fourth, Fielding, Malory, and the tale of Merlin--heavily dosed with J.K. Rowling, with a mention of the Big Brother and Britain's got talent reality shows thrown in for good measure. In a further creative twist, one issue is printed as a pick-a-story book, in which the reader chooses between options at regular intervals to move between 60 half-page story fragments. Overall, this comic is a true reading pleasure for book and word enthusiasts.

98.11: American Vampire, Volume 2, by Scott Snyder (writer), Rafael Albuquerque and Mateus Santolouco (artists) (trade hardcover, issues 6-11, 2010-11)

When reviewing Volume 1 of American Vampire (link to full entry 46 here), I commented on Stephen King's contribution to the series: "Snyder's chapters are better written. . . . King is a gifted storyteller, and I'm sure that more practice will lead him to excellence in the comic format as well. In fact, the second trade was just released, so I'll soon be able to report on his progress." I'm sorry to tell you this, but you won't be getting that report. Having given his name and clout to the series, it appears King dropped out of the project after concluding the first story arc.  While it's disappointing not to have the opportunity to see King develop as a comic writer, in reality it's not a loss to the series. If anything, the narrative consistency provided by Snyder as sole storyteller--and the high-quality illustration provided by Albuquerque--make volume two of the series that much better than its debut collection.

Having established the premise for a new breed of daytime vampire in volume one, volume two moves forward a bit in time. Still in the American west, the main storyline it set in Las Vegas in the mid 1930s, when the town is beginning its boom in gambling and prostitution in order to meet the interests of the 3,000+ workers involved in the construction of the Hoover Dam. Skinner Sweet is still evil vampire number one, but his progeny, Pearl, lets her claws out after years of domestic bliss, and Pearl's own offspring, Hattie Hargrove, is released from the prison she's been held in for years. With three American vampires on the loose, volume three promises to be killer.

97.11: Safe as Houses, House of Mystery 6, by Matthew Sturges, Luca Rossi, Werther Dell-Edera, and Jose Marzan, Jr. (tade paperback, issues 26-30, 2010)

I almost gave up on HoM after trade five, I must admit. It just got a bit too crazy for me, and that's saying a lot for a series that requires you to accept a LOT of craziness. It wasn't the appearance of sort-of-dead relatives, suicidal (or killed) poets, the fictional becoming real, or a house that is no longer a house that got to me, however: it was the chaos. I felt that I was losing my grip on the story line in the last arc; too many things were happening too quickly for me to follow. I just looked back at my review of trade five (Here's the link if your interested.) and am amused to note that I didn't comment on my befuddlement. Instead, I essentially summarized the basic premise of the series and left it at that. In retrospect, I recognize this as a classic strategy my students used when faced with a challenging task: deflect or backtrack to discuss something with which you are comfortable.

Fortunately, trade six slows down a bit and mainly follows a single story arc, with only a couple of tangents. Sure, that single plot might involve Fig (the main character, whose vivid imagination is responsible for the existence of the mystery house and multiple worlds) and the goblins being called upon by witches in order to defeat the Thinking Man, flying robots, huge carnivorous earthworms (think Dune), and an immense monster dampening the torch needed to keep the Summerlands alive.  And, yes, the victory comes when Turgis, a gay goblin, takes over leadership to lead the goblin army (explaining to the former leader as he kills him, "It takes great strength to be gay in this world.") and Fig invents a "big, swirly, cutty thing" (looking like an immense length of toilet paper with a smiley face on it, no less) to kill the monster. Still, this is imagination and mystery I can wrap my head around and follow, and even the few tangents clarified some loose strands from trade five. I'm glad to have things sorted out now, as the concepts of imagination, creation, and reality that originally attracted me to the series are so compelling.

One thing this experience underscores for me is a major difference between classic and modern comics. While characters in early comics did evolve and plots built, you could pretty much pick up any single issue and have a coherent story to read. This is not the case of most current adult series, which depend on readers having enough back story to muddle through some fuzzy parts, often reaching very-limited conclusions within story arcs. If I had picked up trade five without having read the earlier HoM issues, I would have put it aside within a few pages--convinced it was complete rubbish. And, I would have missed out on some thought-provoking ideas as a result. The bottom line: if a comic series appeals to you for some reason, start from issue one.   

96.11: No Way Out, The Walking Dead Volume 14, by Robert Kirkman (writer), Charlie Adlard (inker), and Cliff Rathburn (gray tones), (trade paperback, issues 79-84, 2011)

It recently become popular as a television show, but The Walking Dead began as a comic series in 2006. (Since I started this blog in 2011, only one other review can be found here, for trade 14.) I started following it shortly after encountering the authors at an Image signing table at Comic Con 2006. What started out from circumstance and curiosity--I was relatively new to comics and testing the waters as to what was out there--has grown into a full appreciation for a well-written and illustrated series.

In this story arc, the uneasy comfort and quiet the original cast of survivors have enjoyed in a walled city is shattered when gunshots draw an entire herd (hundreds) of the dead to their walls. The ensuing gore-fest is action packed. As human and zombie bodies pile up around them, the characters further their lessons of loyalty, risk, survival, and zombie ass-kicking (or skull smashing, as is actually the case). More importantly, despite the carnage and stress, the book ends with a feeling not evident in recent volumes: hope. Ultimately, I think it's that element that keeps readers reading.  And the zombies, of course.

95.11: Losers in Space, buy John Barnes (advance uncorrected proof, publication April 2012)

Part of the fun at the NCTE Annual Convention is trolling the exhibit area for freebies. I'm pretty cautious about what I pick up, since I have to haul it across country, and I try to stick to carry-on luggage in my travels. However, the promising sales pitch for this book--teens seeking fame by stowing away on a spaceship with a sociopath loose among them--was strong enough for the novel to make it into my bag. And, pretty much, the sales pitch tells you what you need to know about the book; I'd likely add "futuristic Breakfast Club" to the description to complete the plot. (Of course, today's teen may not find this addition illuminating, but GenXers will get it.) One thing that makes this novel stand out a bit are the 16 regular excerpts--entitled "Notes for the Interested"--that provide explanations of culture, science, and math concepts relevant to the plot. As the book itself points out, these tangents aren't essential to the storyline and an uninterested reader could skip them. Hopefully, though, while considering the effects of celebrity, social media, and romance, a few teen readers may also pick up a few educational tidbits.

94.11: Finger Lickin' Fifteen, by Janet Evanovich (iBook, original publication date 2009)

I've posted entries about a number of books from Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series, so if you are in need of the back story, take a few minutes to visit these earlier entries: Troublemaker (entry 25) and Eleven on Top, Twelve Sharp, Lean Mean Thirteen, and Fearless Fourteen (entries 38-41). As I do when reading every book about the hapless Jersey bail bonds agent, while reading Fifteen I alternately found myself wondering why I was reading such silly stuff and laughing hysterically. I've said it before: for simple fun reading, you can't beat this series. 

In Fifteen the caper includes a barbecue contest, a maniac with a cleaver, and a serial arsonist. But really, who cares? The pleasure here is in the regular cast of characters, silly incidents, and zingy one-liners. I smile just thinking about it and plan to upload Sizzling Sixteen soon.

93.11: The Mystery of Grace, by Charles de Lint (2009 Hardcover)

De Lint is a "master of contemporary magical fiction," claims his book-cover biography, and the evidence firmly supports this. I discovered and quickly devoured the master's Newford series approximately five years ago and have kept up on new releases since then (visit this link to see the 24 titles, the most recent of which was released in 2009). The use of "series" is a bit misleading here, as the books don't  come out as volumes of an ongoing saga. Instead, it's the setting--the fictional North American city of Newford (a hodgepodge of many large cities)--and semi-regular cast of characters--both real and supernatural--that unite the books. There may be several books in which a previously primary character does not appear at all, followed by one in which he/she/it appears tangentially, and and then four or five books down the line finally ends up a focus again. Likewise, events and areas in Newford occasionally overlap, but just as often whole new areas of the city are explored.  The final result is a richly imagined realistic world in which the improbable often occurs.

In The Mystery of Grace, the improbable is still central to the story, but the setting and characters are new. It's essentially a love story set in the American Southwest, but otherworldly elements--such as death--complicate the tale. Like all of de Lint's novels, there are many meaning-of-life questions considered without any answers reached. And, while I enjoyed the book for its non-conclusive exploration, it left me a bit dissatisfied. Partly I missed the richness of the Newford world, but I was also a bit annoyed by the overt "spirituality" of the book. I'm not sure if it's de Lint or me who has changed, but the religious connotations struck me as more dominant in this book than his earlier works. While I would highly recommend it to the increasing number of people who consider themselves "spiritual, non-religious," those with more traditional religious beliefs or those without religious belief may be less enthralled. Instead, I'd recommend checking out the Newford series.

92.11: Full Dark, No Stars, by Stephen King (2010 hardcover)

I'm not a fan of short-story collections, preferring full-length novels because of their richer character and plot development. There are a few authors, however, for whom I make an exception and check out their shorter fiction, and King is among those. I know there are many people who might not accept King's work as serious "literature" because of his frequent forays into the supernatural, fantasy, and flat-out weird, but I strongly feel that's a narrow view--and one all too commonly held when it comes to authors of SciFi and fantasy. In truth, I feel there are few writers today who have the narrative skill and storytelling power King exhibits again and again, across genre and format.

The four stories in this collection (called "long stories" on the book jacket) aptly demonstrate King's remarkable ability to engage readers and draw them through to the plot's conclusion--despite the fact that the tales told are dark and distasteful. As soon as the premise of each story became clear (murder of a spouse, betrayal of a best friend, rape and revenge, discovery of a spouse's horrible secret), I paused to think about whether I really wanted to continue. However, as any fan of King knows, that opportunity to consider turning back came a little too far down the road: having started the trip under King's skillful direction, I felt compelled to see the journey though. Even knowing there were likely no "happy" endings, and further burdened by the fact that there were no supernatural elements (which would at least allow me the luxury to discount them as improbable), I continued to the destination King set. And, as disturbing as those conclusions were, amongst my feelings of relief upon completing the book, I also experienced a moment of joy: the joy of having a light shone into the darkness to reveal what resides there--without needing to investigate it alone.

91.11: The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, by Katherine Rowe (2009 hardcover)

I remember being fascinated by the Salem witch trials when I was a teen, but since then I haven't given them much thought.  This novel does a nice job of establishing a believable context for a story about a young scholar who discovers a "lost" Salem witch, never recorded in history books. The witch also ends up being her great-great grandmother, and the story's protagonist follows the chain of succession to the modern day, only to find that she herself is a witch--with inherent witchy powers. (The author bio informs the reader that Howe herself is the descendant of two women involved in the Salem trials--one of whom was executed--although it doesn't, alas, state whether she has special powers.) In addition to a good tale, the novel explores the role of "wise" women in pre-American European settlements, provides background on the witch trials in the 1600s, and encourages the reader to consider the ways in which societies can make something "real" for periods of time.

90: Witch & Wizard, by James Patterson with Gabrielle Charbonnet (2009 paperback)

The first book in one of Patterson's co-authored (one reason for his prolific production) TeenLit series, Witch & Wizard tells the story of a brother and sister dragged from their homes and imprisoned in the middle of the night by a newly "elected" totalitarian regime, which promptly charges and convicts them of witchcraft. While formerly unaware of their powers, the teens come into their own through a process of conflict and need for survival and join a group of runaway children set on (of course) saving the world. I wouldn't say it's the best of its type, and I prefer Patterson's Maximum Ride series (entries 87-89), but the straight-forward style and sense of humor will appeal to Tween and Teen boys and girls.

87-89: The Angel Experiment, School's Out Forever, and Saving the World (Maximum Ride books 1-3), by James Patterson (iBooks, originally published 2007/8)

 One of the things I most enjoy about national conferences is the authors and keynote speakers that populate them.  During the National Council of Teachers of English Convention in Chicago this November, my colleague Marsha and I treated ourselves to two lunches--the first with the wonderful poet Billy Collins and the second a combined gig featuring James Patterson and Anthony Horowitz--two TeenLit authors. While I had read a couple of Patterson's adult thrillers in airports over the years, I hadn't checked out his teen offerings. Since Marsha started with the Maximum Ride series (he has many), I decided to start there.

 The books require readers to accept the premise that there has been successful hybridization across species--genetic manipulation that has resulted in Max and her "flock." By initial appearances human, avian genes have been added that resulted in the kids--six of them ranging from 17-year-old max to 8-year-old Angel--growing winds, light bones, super strength, and any number of amazing abilities that unfurl daily (mind control, super speed, talking to fish, etc.).

The science may be iffy, but the mad scientists, who kept the children in cages for years to experiment on them and are, of course, planning to take over the world, add just the details needed to accept the idea.  These three books follow Max and her flock as they learn to live on their own, look for their birth parents, and--yes--save the world.

All joking aside, the plots are fast-paced and adventurous and the kids are appealing, and Patterson's bare-bones writing style suits the teen genre well. The fact that he was a brilliant conversationalist at the conference adds to my review, no doubt, but these are worth checking out and sharing with young adult readers--both boys and girls.

86: Julian Comstock: A Story of 22nd-Century America, by Robert Charles Wilson (2009 hardcover)

I chose this book based on Amazon's recommendation and the fact that both Cory Doctorow and Stephen King provided blurbs for the jacket.  King said, "Robert Charles Wilson is a hell of a storyteller," and since I think King is quite the storyteller himself, I thought this was pretty high praise.  The book turned out compelling enough to keep me going through 400+ pages of small font (My perspective has been skewed by all the TeenLit I read these days.), but it's a hard book to describe in many ways.

Mainly the problem of describing the novel arises in assigning it a genre. Wilson is considered a SciFi author, and I suppose that loosely fits things--but very loosely. The story is set in a futuristic 22nd-Century America, but one that looks much more like things did in the 18th century. There are scattered pockets of technology, but on the whole it's much more of a feudal society, with landowners and serfs, a mixed civil and religious political structure with military leanings. There's a constant war that is being waged to maintain the American borders--and a corresponding flag of 13 stripes and 60 stars. It's low tech enough to keep it out of the Steampunk genre, yet there's a flavor of something futuristic at the same time--in a collapse type of way common to Post-Apocalyptic novels, but well after any horror has dissipated.

With all that aside, the novel is primarily a story of friendship--between a lower-born aspiring author (the book's narrator) and the aristocratic son of the slain US President. The two travel across country, engage in numerous battle scenes, make critiques of high society and religion, and comment on socialism and totalitarianism. All in all there is a bit of something in here for everyone, and while I think that it's a more male-oriented plot, there is enough drama and interest to pull most readers along.