Uncreated Conscience

Autumn is in full swing in New York City, which means that JJ is approaching hibernation mode. My inherent tendency when the weather grows cool and the days grow shorter is to curl up under the covers with a White-Harp and read, read, read (and occasionally gorge on Indian food). I have about a million things I need to take care of (including grocery shopping), but my first reaction is to snuggle with a fuzzy Harp and never leave the bed. This means that not only errands are pushed to the wayside, but things like blogging and book reviewing are also forgotten.

I need an office

While I was in DC last week visiting Mum, we made a stop by the nearest bookstore for something to read. She wanted something light and funny, so I recommended David Sedaris’ ME TALK PRETTY ONE DAY, which I think she’ll enjoy, especially the France sections. Not so sure about the drugs and homosexuality though. Oh well.

I got myself Scott Westerfeld‘s LEVIATHAN, but I will admit it was a close call between that and Joshua Gaylord‘s HUMMINGBIRDS, both of which had co-op at the front of the store. But because I am cheap—and because I love steampunk—I went with LEVIATHAN. (The one advantage to being a lover of YA is that it is significantly cheaper than adult fiction.)

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I am wondrously, gloriously tan, although not as tan as I have been on past Hawai’i vacations. Growing up in Los Angeles gives you a permanent semi-tan; living in New York makes you pale and pasty. I look better when I’ve got some colour in my skin, otherwise I am the exact shade of sour milk.

As gorgeous as Maui was, I am extremely grateful to be home. I need a holiday from my vacation, primarily because I had little or no time to myself in Los Angeles. My introverted heart was going spare. But now I am nestled in the comforts of my own bed, trying desperately to catch up on both sleep and errands. Sleep is winning out, even though I need to go grocery shopping, deposit some checks, find a full-time job in publishing (anyone, anyone?), stock up on items from The Body Shop, and finish revising my novel. (I was very good and actually did a lot of work while I was in Los Angeles.) Sleep might be winning over being productive, but internet and books to read are competing for first place.

I might have mentioned before that my brother and I had a little agreement over our holidays: he wouldn’t bring his video games to Maui if I didn’t bring any books. It wasn’t such a big deal at first; we keep ridiculously active on Jones Family Vacations. There was more nonstop hiking through rainforests, swimming in clear blue waters, sunrise volcano walks, snorkeling with sea turtles, sportfishing, yoga on the beach, and restaurant-eating than you could shake a stick at. But on the last night—at a luau—both my brother and I caved. I stole his copy of THE ABSOLUTELY TRUE DIARY OF A PART-TIME INDIAN and he played Brick on my mother’s Blackberry as we waited for the kahlua pua to finish cooking.

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It’s been a long time since I’ve had to wash chlorine out of my hair.

There are things I love about southern California: that I woke up yesterday to a chilly overcast morning, that by 10:00am it was warm enough to swim in my parents’ complex’s outdoor pool, and that it was cool enough all day to never need air-conditioning.

Yesterday I saw Star Trek again after having been thwarted in my quest for a decent swimsuit. (Spock is just as hot, if not hotter, the second time around. Also, I did not realise Zachary Quinto was Sylar from Heroes. Somehow this makes it all more awesome because he is a villain.) What is it with tie-dyed animal print bikinis this season? They are simply the ugliest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Have I missed out on last year’s retro-inspired styles? And do cute-but-sturdy-enough-for-surfing bikinis exist?

In addition to running all over dodge for a non-hideous swimsuit, I found myself searching the length and breadth of Pasadena for Sarah Rees Brennan‘s THE DEMON’S LEXICON, as every bookstore I knew failed to have it on its shelves. On its release day. Bookstore fail.

Nevertheless, I was eventually successful in my quest for the book (if not the bikini) and without further ado:

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As much as I adore seeing my family members and being home in southern California, my latent sociability is getting harder to suppress. This morning I announced to Dad that I was going to the bookstore to buy some books as I had read everything in their apartment (true—this includes rereads of ENDER’S GAME, MAY THE CIRCLE BE UNBROKEN, HIS DARK MATERIALS, THE DEVIL’S ARITHMETIC, DANDELION WINE, and so much more) and was hopeful that perhaps someone would be stocking Sarah Rees Brennan‘s THE DEMON’S LEXICON a few days early. Dad suggested that we make a family outing of it; that all of us go and drop my grandmother off at church and then go to the bookstore.

Which was the very last thing I wanted.

I am someone who needs to get as far away from people as possible and I treasure my alone time to a near hermit-like existence. But being the dutiful daughter that I am, I agreed to drop off my grandmother and take my brother for a book-shopping trip.

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I’m never entirely sure if German capitalises entire titles the way we do in English because their nouns are already capitalised. But I think they do. Anyone who speaks German know better than me?

Of the books in my Christmas haul, Flora Segunda is the book I find myself re-reading for reasons I am trying to sort through. Certainly it’s one of two books I read over break that I found “fulfilling” but it isn’t because it’s perfect. No book is (although The Great Gatsby comes close) and Flora Segunda, like its prickly protagonist, has a few faults of its own.

And yet.

I love the little flourishes Ysabeau Wilce adds to her world; it adds so much colour. Rereading the book, I realised that the fashion is late 18th century in Califa, which only makes the whole piratical aspect of it even better. It hadn’t crossed my mind before; faces are pretty vivid in my mind’s eye, but clothes are sort of shapeless blobs of colour when I read. I read the details about powdered wigs and stays and fans on my first run through this book, but somehow it didn’t quite coalesce into a clearer picture until later. Possibly because California was still Indian/Spanish territory at that point. And it still is in Flora’s world, I suppose. The California history I grew up learning in the 4th grade always focused on the missions–complete with requisite model mission-building (ugh)–and the Gold Rush, so I suppose in my subconscious I still think of my home state as rugged cowboy/prospector country, a romanticized image of the Old West with saloons and Miss Kitties and sheriffs.

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A bit late, I admit, but things are a little busy in Chez Jones, what with the Sacramento Joneses down in sunny southern California for a visit.

New Year’s passed in typical Jones family fashion with my mother and grandmother making 떡국 (tteok guk — beef soup with rice cakes except in my case it’s non-meat), viewing the Rose Parade floats the night before on my parents’ street before watching the parade itself on TV, and watching the B-2 Spirit Stealth Bomber fly overhead. I leave for New York again on Sunday and while I’ll be sad to leave the bosom of my family, I will be grateful to be in my own apartment again. And to get started on my resolutions because while I am still at my parents’ house, I feel like I’m on vacation and not entitled to be good.

If you are as obsessive about list-making as I am, then I recommend you check out Listography. I spent most of New Year’s Day crafting a resolution before being carried away with other lists: books to read, books read in 2009, movies watched in 2009, and a dozen ridiculous wishlists broken in technology, art supplies, and style & decor (if you’re ever wondering what you should get me as gifts).

I have now read all my new books (and one old one: Downriver by Will Hobbs) and am out of books to read, which was probably not the wisest decision to make before flying out in a few days. Oh well.

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To this all I can say is “What? WHAT?” Who on earth thinks Phantom of the Opera 2: Love Never Dies is a good idea? I’m horribly offended, really, as a formerly obsessed 12-year-old and as the currently-shamefacedly-disdainful-but-still-kind-of-obsessed 23-year-old I am now. The reason the original musical had its punch (for me, at least) was the tragic ending. There is no creature more made for melodramatic romance than a 12-year-old girl. And my parents are baffled by the Twilight phenomenon. When I was 12 it was Titanic. (Which my mother did not let me go see in the theatre on the account that I was 12 and the movie was rated PG-13. I am still bitter about it.)

One last book from my Christmas haul left to read and then I don’t know what I’m going to do with my time. Last night I finished Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

Review of Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

This book has been lauded left and right and it’s certainly the sort of book I would have gobbled up (and still do) in my tomboyish youth: dystopian future, survivalist porn, etc. It’s sort of “The Most Dangerous Game” meets Lord of the Flies meets the legend of the Minotaur (with regards to the tribute). I really did thoroughly enjoy it although I wish I had a slightly larger sense of…danger. It sounds odd because at any given moment the protagonist is in danger of being killed in the 74th Annual Hunger Games but being as she is the first-person protagonist, I wasn’t afraid she was going to snuff it in the middle. Very few books can pull off that trope without alienating the reader and I highly doubt you’d find that particular gimmick in most young adult books.

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