Guardians of Tradition Review

My grandmother is a piña weaver, as was her mother before her, and her mother before her. My aunt also weaves. I have grown up surrounded by the finest pineapple cloth -- plain, embroidered, striped, painted, with the design inlaid. I've seen weavers at work. I can recite the weaving process in a rather factual manner, though I have to confess that it's been years since I've tried my hand at the loom. But this is my heritage and I'm very proud of what my grandmother and relatives do.

That's why I signed up for the Guardians of Tradition Blog Tour. My family has always been big on preserving traditional arts and crafts. Though I am familiar with the NCCA and the work that it does, I am still eager to know more about our Gawad sa Manlilikha ng Bayan awardees. Eleven of them are featured in this book, namely: Uwang Ahadas, Hadja Amina Appi, Ginaw Bilog, Federico Caballero, Lang Dulay, Masino Intaray, Salinta Monon, Eduardo Mutuc, Alonzo Saclag, Darhata Sawabi, and Samaon Sulaiman.

Guardians of Tradition is written by Mae Astrid Tobias, with illustrations by Rommel E. Joson and photographs by Renato S. Rastrollo. It's a non-fiction book that's currently nominated in the Children's Picture Book category of the 2013 Filipino Reader's Choice Awards. It manages to present all these information about our National Living Treasures in a very upbeat and informative way. Ms Tobias' tone is perfect: it's light and friendly as she uses Banog and Kiko to introduce artisans and their crafts.

Mr Joson's art and Mr Rastrollo's photographs complement the text perfectly. The book strikes a great balance between all these elements that it really doesn't matter if a child or an adult is reading it; there is so much to learn from every page (even from every image).

Case in point: cute and colorful illustrations to accompany all the info
But beyond the illustrations and the child-friendly text lies a deeper message that appeals to every Filipino. These artisans have devoted so much of their lives so that these traditional crafts may continue. We shouldn't let these die on our watch. With every page, you come to realize just how rich and diverse our culture is, how talented and creative our countrymen are. Every craft is unique. Every story is moving.

My grandmother and my aunt have actually met some of our National Living Treasures. The late Sumaon Sulaiman, who played the kutyapi, was one of the artisans who went on an expo with them at the Smithsonian back in the nineties. It was good to read about him and pass the information on. Another Living Treasure Iwho caught my interest was Lang Dulay, a dreamweaver from Lake Sebu. Dreamweavers weave t'nalak cloth from designs that come to them in their dreams. This was actually my first time to read about what the t'nalak's colors represent and it's quite inspiring. There is so much poetry in our lives. It's such a shame that we can lose this in the monotony of our worker-drone lives.

One of two t'nalak pieces at our house, taken with a bad camera phone

Ficsation has joined the Guardians of Tradition blog tour, and I hope that you can show your support by doing one of three things:

1) Spreading the word about our traditional arts and our National Living Treasures

2) Purchasing a copy through the following links

For the duration of the Guardians of Tradition Blog Tour, Guardians of Tradition is available at discounted prize at the Adarna showroom in Quezon City. For international readers and Filipinos abroad, an ebook version is coming soon.

Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18070865-guardians-of-tradition
Adarna Order Form - http://adarna.com.ph/featured/guardians-of-tradition.html

3) Joining the raffle (this one's easy!)

If you're from the Philippines, you can start showing your support by joining the Guardians of Tradition giveaway! You can win one of the following prizes:

One $25 Amazon Gift Card + signed copy of Guardians of Tradition from Adarna + 1 CD of National Living Treasure Bayan Sumaon Sulaiman from NCCA

3 $10 Amazon Gift Card + signed copy of Guardians of Tradition from Adarna + 1 CD of National Living Treasure Bayan Sumaon Sulaiman from NCCA

6 signed copies of Guardians of Tradition from Adarna + 6 CDs of National Living Treasure Bayan Sumaon Sulaiman from NCCA

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The Distance Between Us (Kasie West)

The trope is as old as Cinderella, as Bathsheba. Still, readers continue to be fascinated by the rich guy-poor girl romance. Some days I might complain why we keep on falling for this story, but then I'd have to come out and admit that I'm not entirely blameless. [Full disclosure: My longest obsession with this was over Hana Yori Dango, a manga turned anime, more popularly known in Manila as the Taiwanese drama Meteor Garden or as its recent Korean reincarnation Boys Over Flowers. Somebody just gave my high horse a good slap on the behind and it went off running without me.]

But what I enjoyed about Kasie West's The Distance Between Us is that it infused the trope with a needed amount of levity and spirit. I was expecting something akin to Pretty in Pink but I was pleased that I didn't get it. Here, Caymen helps her mother run a struggling doll store that caters to rich collectors. Two things she likes poking fun at are dolls and rich folks. But when Xander Spence walks into her shop, she finds herself striking an unlikely friendship with him. Together, they question labels and explore the boundaries of the world they thought they knew.

As the cover implies, this is a romance. It evolved at a steady pace, which made their relationship extremely believable. Caymen's character -- sassy, snarky, and loyal -- is a breath of fresh air for me. I like how she's sarcastic but not hard. Her insights and her banter with the people around her keeps things from being too predictable. She was one of the reasons I couldn't put this down! Aside from constantly worrying about her mother's shop (which she personally doesn't care too much for), she's candid enough to admit that she doesn't know what to do when she gets to college. While that may not stack up against the more dramatic issues of YA literature, I appreciated its purpose in this story. Xander has all the self-assurance that one would expect from someone as rich as he was. Caymen takes it for arrogance in the beginning, but I really liked how Ms West shows that there was more to him. He is confident without being abrasive, encouraging without being patronizing. The supporting characters, from Caymen's friends to her mom, were also tightly-drawn.

I had a few concerns with the story, but nothing that really took away from my enjoyment. There was a plot twist coming, which Ms West had already primed the reader to expect, but when it came it was unlike what I was thinking that it jarred me. But upon re-reading, I finally picked out the subtle hints that pointed to that direction. They weren't a lot but if I had been sharper during my first read, I might have had less misgivings about the twist. The story also tends to skew deeper into wish-fulfillment territory. Not a bad thing of course, because the drama and the pay-off can be greater, but I wish it had been more consistent. Still, this was more a personal preference than anything. Caymen and Xander really won me over that I was ready to forgive everything. Overall, The Distance Between Us is something I'd heartily recommend to someone looking for a sweet and charming contemporary YA book.

The House of Silk (Anthony Horowitz)

The buzz about the book is this: it's the first novel that bears the seal of approval from the Conan Doyle Estate (see the little gold circle to the left). When my friend Oz gushed about it, I knew I had to read it as well. In tone, mood, and characterization, Anthony Horowitz's The House of Silk feels every bit like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries, only longer. I don't think fans will be disappointed with this new adventure at all.

Dr John Watson's familiar voice opens the book, keeping the glamour alive. I'm no expert on Holmes, but I find that his tone is eerily on point. Dr Watson hints at two mysteries. The first involves a certain Flat Cap Gang in America and an art sale gone wrong. The second takes place closer to home with a darker, more sinister air and sends Holmes and Watson on the trail of the titular House of Silk.

I love that The House of Silk contains a number of references to the original stories. It certainly adds to the idea that this, too, belongs to an older time. Other elements I enjoyed were the inclusion of a more sympathetic Inspector Lestrade and the uh, more pronounced expressions of friendship between Holmes and Watson. Of course, these all take a backseat to the mysteries themselves, which alternately depict grim vignettes in dark places and thrilling Hollywood-type rescues.

If there are any additions to the familiar Sherlock Holmes tale, I think it would be Horowitz playing up to the more modern expectations of what a mystery-suspense story should do. When reading the older Sherlock Holmes adventures, I feel that we're not really supposed to figure out the details ahead of our protagonists. There will be red herrings, there will be clues, but you will never get enough to put them all together. Snakes as murder weapons, when there have been no previous mentions of them. Dusty knees whose significance only Holmes knows. But I think the way mysteries are structured now, inviting readers to come to their own conclusions by laying enough crumbs to follow, makes for a more engaging reading experience. We get the chance to play armchair detectives along with our heroes. Mr Horowitz certainly does that in The House of Silk. He gives enough, withholds enough, so that when the truth is revealed, you get that lightbulb moment instead of feeling excluded from the heavy thinking.

I kept a running commentary with my friend, texting her my theories, which turned out to be true. Was I disappointed? Just a tiny bit. I figured if I could figure it out, then surely it shouldn't have been all that hard for Holmes, right? But one thing that saves it is that as in his older mysteries, Holmes keeps his cards close to his chest. He doesn't reveal much information to Dr Watson anyway, so I shouldn't really blame the good doctor for not jumping to the right conclusions. A better explanation is that the action builds at a good and steady pace that what matters are the mysteries of the moment, not the larger picture. If this is the direction where Mr Horowitz is taking Sherlock Holmes, then I am up for more.

Nowhere But Home (Liza Palmer)

I heard of Liza Palmer's Nowhere but Home from Chachic's Book Nook. Intrigued by the pretty cover, I checked out the premise and realized instantly that this was a book that I needed to read. The protagonist, Queen Elizabeth (Queenie to friends) Wake, has spent most of her adult life moving from place to place. She's never settled in anywhere, especially since her temper and exacting culinary demands keep on getting her fired. Finally, she decides to move back to her hometown. North Star hasn't exactly been a safe harbor for the Wake women and now it's going to witness how Queenie confronts her ghosts.

The small-town girl who leaves home to find herself in the big city is a familiar trope, but Queenie's story has just the right amount of uniqueness and familiarity to it that I kept on reading. Her sister Merry Carole, who had an unsavory reputation after getting pregnant early, has never quite shaken old rumors, even as her son is named starting quarterback of the town's prized football team. Her old flame Everett Coburn -- the one who got away and broke her heart in the process -- is back again and looks eager for another shot. Her new job has her cooking final meals for convicted criminals, their last request before dying. All these elements made for a smooth yet very compelling read for me.

What really pulled me in were the final meals that Queenie would cook. Ms Palmer begins each chapter with notes of what Queenie is eating (Chapter 4 when she comes back defeated to North Star aptly notes 'Crow'), reminding us how food is an institution, especially in small towns. Food that unites a family, food that forgives a wrong, food that heals a soul. Queenie was given the burden of cooking for anonymous criminals and she made sure that these men and women were given some moment of peace before they died. I thought those scenes were very powerful images that resonated with me.

It's not too heavy on the romance and I like it that way. Ultimately, I think it is about Queenie coming to terms with her past: her family's reputation, her life decisions, her mother's death. Personally, I thought the romance part was like a sugar flower on the side of an already satisfying cake. It wasn't a bad sugar flower when you stop to consider it, but it wasn't the reason why I kept on reading this book nor did it seem to be very important to Queenie's journey. It had its heart-tugging moments but none as striking as those that Queenie faces on the job. Ms Palmer won me over with Nowhere but Home, and I hope to read her A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents next.

In My Mother's House (Joni Cham)

The strained and complicated relationship between mother and daughter comes to a head when Nina, the dark-skinned and introspective child of Chinese immigrants, returns to care for her ailing mother. Joni Cham's In My Mother's House peels back the layers of a Chinese family in the Philippines. Mother and child stand as opposites: Le Bi wishing that her daughter becomes more Chinese in appearance and in manner, Nina accepting another culture and language as the emotional divide between them grows.

There are so many things about the Chinoy experience that this review may completely miss or misinterpret. But what the author deftly does is to include the readers into her protagonist's experiences, regardless of how much they know about Chinese-Filipinos. I found Nina's recollection of her middle-class upbringing an almost Proustian experience; I had to stop to savor my own memories that Ms Cham's writing would manage to dredge up. Key here is Nina herself, the self-proclaimed 'Rat' of her family, silent and lurking and painfully observant. The protagonist notes small details, like '... the image of words written on red sheets hanging on walls, remembering how as a child, she had sat among the pieces of paper fluttering in the wind from the ceiling fans (p42),' she writes. Or, describing an uncle, she notes his 'perpetually smiling mouth with dried saliva on is corners and a voice made raspy from years of tobacco-smoking (p72-73).' The narrative has a tendency to meander from present to past as if we're floating along Nina's stream of consciousness but she keeps the readers well-anchored, careful about which piece of her relationship with her mother Le Bi she will reveal in each chapter.

Ms Cham relies on metaphors and images to build the story. The first is the rat, after Nina's birth year and the physical parallels that Nina draws to this creature. At an early age, Nina has accepted that she is not her mother's favorite, preferring to stay in the background or in the company of her beloved Yaya Pasing, who has turned into the maternal ideal in her life. Another is the odor of her mother's house, stale and suffocating. Scent is a strong element of the book. It is a point of struggle for mother and daughter in the beginning of the story, but throughout the novel it symbolizes the insular lifestyle that Le Bi clings to and hints at the divisive turning point in their family's lives.

This is not the Chinese-Filipino equivalent of The Joy Luck Club. Far from that. It is not filled with obscure Chinese references and rituals from the old country. It is not festive or warm, though there are moments of light and release. It may start as a slow read, but keep to it. The conclusion is moving and forceful, as startling and as deceptive as a rat behind the walls.

Tooth and Claw (Jo Walton)

One of the best things I love about reading is when I encounter a book that is so unexpected in approach and tone. Although it may tackle familiar themes of love and courtship, class equality, revenge, and moral obligation, Jo Walton's Tooth and Claw explores them through a different lens, creating a truly remarkable and entertaining reading experience.

Jane Yolen sums it up quite accurately when she calls it 'the Pride and Prejudice of the dragon world.' In this story, the Dignified Bon Agornin dies, leaving his gold, property, and body for his family. The consumption of dragonflesh strengthens dragons and Bon's eldest son Penn, a parson, understands that his three younger siblings would need their father's body. But when his wealthy brother-in-law takes more than his share, this sets in motion events that will have heavy consequences on the mourning family. The tale follows the Agornin siblings: Penn, who is struggling with the repercussions of hearing his father's deathbed confession; ambitious Avan, who wants what is rightfully his; Selendra, whose brush with an unwanted suitor may have ended her chances for a favorable marriage; and Haner, who is witness to the many injustices within her brother-in-law's household.

I half-expected to read about dragons upright and human-sized. But Ms Walton never let us forget draconian anatomy and physiology (or at least as we have imagined them through the centuries). In fact, she utilizes certain physical characteristics to set the conventions of her particular world. For instance: dragon maidens have golden scales that will blush pink or red when a male dragon is too near, thus making the loss of the virtue an untenable disgrace. Another characteristic worth noting is that those who are in service have bound wings. Dragon-servants are all required to have bound wings, though some families allow for looser bindings for those they have grown to trust. Parsons too, like Penn, are required to bind their wings. With circumstances like this defining Tiamath society, it is hard to imagine the characters as anything less than their glorious, natural states.

Still, it works. Despite the strangeness of the circumstances, the book dives into the issues that divide a family and a society. I was more drawn to the female dragons' plights (Selendra and the intricacies of her courtship and Haner with her changing views), though that doesn't mean that the male dragons' stories are any less exciting. I just wish I could have read more about Haner and the abolition movement, which I thought was an important theme but was not as thoroughly explored as Avan's lawsuit and political pressures. Ms Walton's world was just that rich that I kept on wanting more even when I reached the final page.

I've been eager to read this since I saw a review on io9 many years ago, but it kept on slipping my mind. I finally got a copy from Celina's Books and Magazines, and I couldn't put it down. It was an amazing read from start to finish -- delightful, layered, and distinct.

Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys (Kate Brian)

This month's quick fix came courtesy of Kate Brian's Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys, an unassuming little read that was fun from start to finish.

The titular character is an army brat, shuttled to different places because of her parents' jobs. (Incidentally, this comes a week after my niece's best friend, herself an army brat, leaves for a different state.) Megan's parents are heading to South Korea and they give her a choice: come with them or stay stateside with her dad's best friend's family. Megan wants to complete the last two years of high school in one place, so she picks the latter. But it's not exactly the easiest of decisions, because the McGowans have seven boys. It's both a challenge and an education for only-child Megan, and even her sporty, tomboyish ways aren't enough to win over her new family. And that's not even counting her complicated crush on Evan.

(First off, I didn't quite get why Megan chooses to stay with the McGowans. Her argument against moving to South Korea is primarily fueled by her desire to stay in her current high school in Texas. I mean, if she still has to move either way, then why pick the strangers, right? Oh, I forgot... seven boys. Fine, I might just pick the same way, but I'm also much older and this would probably be highly inappropriate.)

Okay, now that I got that off my chest...

The book itself is a pretty good distraction from life's other surprises. It doesn't pretend to be more than it is and delivers a solid story about fitting in, family relations, and male-female relationships. The fish-out-of-water trope is used quite effectively. It also provides a good backdrop for all the issues that are tackled in the book. From dealing with resentful 'siblings' to challenging the high school queen bee to even befriending a person with Asperger's, the book introduces conflict that seem to grow organically given the story's unusual circumstances. What's more, Ms Brian knows how to resolve these issues. Even if there are plenty of them in the story, they don't seem too overwhelming and they're all addressed by the time you close the book.

Because I didn't see it mentioned in the book, here are the McGowan boys, according to their order of birth: Sean, Evan, Finn, Miller, Doug, Ian, and Caleb. Ms Brian gives each of the boys (well, save for the youngest two) distinct personalities so it isn't difficult for the reader to identify them.

Even with all these colorful characters around her, Megan holds her own. She's upfront and bullish, but she can also be caring and sensitive. She's an interesting lead who refuses to be overwhelmed by her situation -- most of the time. That said, the climax seemed completely unlike her. I understand that the drama was needed -- it is the climax, after all -- but her decision and the subsequent resolution both seemed weakly realized. Still, all in all, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Despite its ups and downs, I admired the way the plot carries Megan from one challenge to another and encourages her to face them with her brand of tenacity and determination.

The Girl with Glass Feet (Ali Shaw)

Summer in the Philippines can be unforgiving. Eventually I start wishing for sandy beaches or colder climates, so I didn't hesitate to pick up three books that had winter settings sometime last March. Call it wishful thinking. One of those books was Ali Shaw's The Girl with Glass Feet.

The Girl with Glass Feet's St Hauda's Land delivers just what I had expected: a northern setting of ice and bog, harshly cold but also strangely magical. Deep within this icy archipelago (I am never sure if it's meant to be a country in itself) are magical things: a pale glow in the woods, albino creatures, tiny winged animals. It's also the setting of a love story told in multiple perspectives, mostly through the eyes of Midas Crook, a reclusive photographer, and Ida Maclaird, a tourist who never left. Not that she could: St Hauda's Land is slowly transforming Ida. An icy splinter has begun to spread and turn her feet into glass.

There's a deep sense of melancholy in the narrative. Mr Shaw's words fall heavy, as you would imagine Ida's feet to be within her thick boots. He also has a gift for description: 'In the curve of her instep wisps of blood hung trapped like twirls of paint in marbles (p62).' or 'He thought of Evaline, and white dragonflies skimming by a river, and husks of the larvae bodies they had left behind in the reeds and green stalks, and the way back then he'd thought love had been hatching (p 123).' Instead of marching into the fairly straightforward and unforgiving fate awaiting Ida, the language uses flashbacks and details to make the plot richer. In a way, this also hides some of the book's weaknesses. Readers never fully understand why this is happening to her. I would have been fine just chalking it up to the general logic of magical realism, but given that the source of her malady was already tackled, I thought that eventually we would get some explanation as to why it even started in the first place. Unfortunately, I didn't get that. Or if it had been explained, I must have missed the significance of a few lines within the flowery prose.

The characters' isolation is self-imposed. It's as if the remoteness of St Hauda's Land has pushed them away from most kinds of physical and emotional attachments. Each one is flawed and hungry and weighed down. Even Ida, whose demeanor and perspective has often been positive and open, has moments that lead her to shun contact and dependence. When she meets Midas, the two of them recognize the similarities in their characters, despite their obvious contrasts.

But what really kept me reading was the transformation of Midas and Ida as people. Their relationship was both sudden/glacial, realistic/surreal. Strange. There were so many things that I loved about The Girl with Glass Feet but I don't think I'm ready to reread it any time soon. There is already some bitterness, sharp like an icy crystal splinter, working its way into me.

Maisie Dobbs (Jacqueline Winspear)

A staple of my favorite mystery works is the presence of an engaging sleuth. I forget the intricacies of motive or the originality of the crime for a moment; I am primarily drawn -- above all else -- to the main character. In Jacqueline Winspear's Maisie Dobbs, I get just that: an keenly observant young woman whose brilliance, dedication, and courage has not only helped her survive the Great War but has even helped her establish herself as a private investigator in the years after.

Setting gives the Maisie Dobbs series a unique voice. In this eponymous introduction, Ms Winspear not only establishes Maisie's first case as a discreet private eye, but also digs into her beginnings as a young girl serving a wealthy and noble family, the Comptons. It chronicles a delicate time in history. The Great War touches demands sacrifices from everyone, from the working class to the wealthy, and losses are too many to count. On the homefront, class divides are slowly being broken down while independent women like Maisie begin establishing a firmer voice in society. These upheavals are evident in Maisie Dobbs, turning this mystery into a commentary on the times as well.

While Maisie's first case bookends this novel, it is her past that forms the bulk. Readers are introduced to how Lady Rowan Compton helps Maisie with her education until she is on her way to Cambridge for further studies. But because of the War, Maisie decides to join up as a nurse, and we become privy to a tender and painful period of Maisie's life, one that she does not readily share with others. When she is hired to investigate private marital matters, she uncovers more than she expected -- a secret retreat where disfigured soldiers go, and one that awakens in her all the emotions that she has locked behind after the War. Ms Winspear weaves emotional depth into what first seems to be an open-and-shut mystery case, and she does it without being heavy-handed about it. She lets us follow Maisie's careful and logical observations in detail so we don't question the rationality of her heroine's actions, but at the same she allows us to see the humanity and weaknesses that lie behind the investigator's strong mask. In the end, it's this combination of historical portraiture and subtle emotion that makes Maisie Dobbs a truly fascinating mystery series.

Raw Blue (Kirsty Eagar)

Thanks to my friend Chachic of Chachic's Book Nook, I was introduced to the work of another fine Australian writer: Kirsty Eagar. Ms Eagar's prose turns poetic in Raw Blue, which centers on Carly, whose life now revolves only around work and surfing after a traumatic incident. She barely keeps in touch with her family. School is a distant affair. Friends are few and far between, especially as she strives to keep her walls about her. The last thing Carly seems to want is someone like Ryan, a fellow surfer: strong, intense, and mysterious. But they're slowly drawn together and Carly has to deal with her past to figure out if she can have a future with Ryan.

What I enjoyed most about Raw Blue is the gradual unfolding of the story. Carly and Ryan are both flawed but the story doesn't choose to focus on how they became broken. Instead it explores the quiet days after -- the mundane rituals of everyday, its surprises and challenges, how life stubbornly goes on. It took me a while to really get into the story despite enjoying the lyrical language. It's easy to figure out what happened to Carly, but the blurb and even Carly's thoughts remain guarded about it, the proverbial white elephant taking up space among the pages.

Still, it's Ms Eagar's very visually descriptive narration that kept me reading -- and eventually made me appreciate the slow and gentle pace that the story took. No shortcuts. No sudden epiphanies. Ms Eagar tosses around images like honey and devil moons and the raw blue of the ocean. 'My happiness is crunchy. Snapping, crackling and popping in the sun,' Carly thinks, and suddenly I could feel what she meant. This smooth and well-thought out language keeps Carly's story from descending into the full pity-me drama of a Telemundo show. Instead it feels realistic, at least to my limited experience (and I accept that I can't fully judge what is realistic in this sense).

I'm no surfer so all the surfing terms were lost on me, but everything else about Raw Blue is a revelation. If you ever find yourself with time and patience to spare this summer, I suggest picking this one up. It's intimate and philosophical, gentle and courageous. This was my first 'new adult' read -- or at least the first one I've read ever since I was introduced to the sub-genre -- and Raw Blue certainly doesn't disappoint.

All Men of Genius (Lev AC Rosen)

When I first heard that someone had written a steampunk re-imagining of Twelfth Night mixed with a little The Importance of Being Ernest, I was over the moon. For months now, my friends and I have been obsessed by our play-by-post RPG world in which (in a total coincidence) our characters are staging a steampunk musical of Twelfth Night. You can see how this translated into an eagerness to get my hands on Mr Rosen's story.

No shipwrecks here: Violet masquerades as her twin brother Ashton so she can be a student at the illustrious, all-male Illyria College. What's admirable about her efforts is that she is not merely driven by personal ambition; she genuinely desires to change the way society looks at female inventors. Ironically, to do this she must submit herself to the standards and approval of men first. Despite the confusing social politics governing female inventors (Ada Lovelace is a patron of the college and she doesn't seem to have any problems gaining said masculine approval), All Men of Genius strives to impress upon the reader the celebration of individual differences despite society's standards and rules.

Violet's first days at the College, her interaction with her professors and peers -- these all seem to be an effective way to get the readers acclimated to the world of the text. As with other re-imaginings, I enjoyed seeing familiar characters show up in different roles. There was also the promise of something darker, more sinister, brewing beneath the surface (and I mean that literally: Violet and her friends uncover strange plots in Illyria's off-limits basement). But after a while these action-adventure elements seem tacked on. Twelfth Night already has a number of subplots going on, and giving Violet and her crew the added burden of discovering a plot that threatens Illyria College doesn't seem too well thought-out. That part of the plot felt thin and poorly explored both in intention and in execution.

The cover immediately made me think that it's being marketed as a young adult read but note: it's very bold about exploring homosexual relationships, bicuriosity, May-December affairs. That, together with the smattering of mature jokes and situations, ought to serve as a warning that some younger or more conservative readers may not find this the most ideal reading material. As a romance though, it has its moments, but to enjoy those I had to leave the young adult frame of mind and enter the Regency one: Violet is eighteen and the Duke is about thirty. Add to this their uncomfortable relationship of being student and headmaster and you've got a romance that I was surprised to find in what I assumed to be a YA story. (Note: If this wasn't marketed as YA, then please tell me. I'd love to know that I was wrong.) I enjoyed this quick read but I wouldn't call myself a fan; there's something in the gender politics that doesn't quite sit well with me, although I can't quite pinpoint what it is. But if that has you curious, then by all means, grab a copy and let's discuss. Despite this, Mr Rosen's writing is lively and impassioned enough that I'll be looking forward to his next book.

The Peach Keeper (Sarah Addison Allen)

There's much comfort to be found in a Sarah Addison Allen book, and a lot of it has to do with her small town settings. They invite you to sit down in someone's kitchen, eat some homemade pastry, and gossip about the local characters. In The Peach Keeper, the former logging town of Walls of Water in North Carolina is front and center but there's something darker that's lurking beneath the surface. This scenic place, surrounded by waterfalls and hiking trails, has some buried secrets that are about to come to light with the re-opening of the Blue Ridge Madam.

The Blue Ridge Madam is a town landmark, built by Willa Jackson’s great-great-grandfather who lost his fortune when the logging business died out. Now the Women's Society Club, under the leadership of golden girl Paxton Osgood, has restored it and has invited Willa to the big day. But that's before they find a skeleton on the grounds, and both women -- never friends -- must now band together to solve a mystery that threatens both of their families.

There's an awkward but steady friendship that develops between Willa and Paxton, as the novel delves into the beauty of discovering friends and allies when you’re at a vulnerable stage of your life. These two women not only had shared history; they had shared interests and beliefs as well, including the importance of family and the love for their small town. It's the gradual unfolding of their friendship that I admired most in this book, rather than the inevitable romance between Willa and Paxton's twin brother Colin. In fact, I was a little more interested in the secondary romance (though somewhat improbable to me) between Paxton and Sebastian than I was in the former. Willa and Colin were just too cookie-cutter to me. There were no surprises there, though I admired how their relationship issues were later addressed.

Both Willa and Paxton become privy to their family secrets as they try to get to the bottom of the mystery and I like how these were slowly introduced into the story, even if it was easy to guess how things really happened. I also thought the whole police involvement in this cold case was glossed over but I suppose it wasn't the purpose of the novel. The Peach Keeper is meant to celebrate women and their friendships: friends like Agatha and Georgie, and later, Willa and Paxton. The tone and themes in this novel is somewhat heavier than the ones I've come to associate with Sarah Addison Allen's work but they still make The Peach Keeper worth a quick afternoon read.

The Scorpio Races (Maggie Stiefvater)

Every autumn, wild capaill uisce (water horses) emerge from the sea and into the small island of Thisby. Men brave enough to catch these flesh-eating, sea-mad horses -- the fastest steeds on land -- ride them in town’s Scorpio Races, held every first of November, a day when someone is sure to die.

How I just devoured this book. As characters, Puck Connolly and Sean Kendrick have their own baggage and sorrows, their own hopes and desires but the story doesn’t choose to dwell on just these things. What it is about is a race, told from the perspective of two people who want to win for two different reasons. Puck joins the Scorpio Races almost on an impulse, a last-ditch attempt to keep her brother Gabe at home before he goes to the mainland. Later she realizes that her family’s future on the island depends on how well she does.

"Boys just aren't very good at being afraid," one character says, and this cuts into Puck's own bravery. She isn't going out there to make a feminist statement. In fact, she's not even doing it to save the house (in the beginning, at least); she's doing it because this is how she thinks she can keep her family together. She's not afraid of the capaill uisce; what she's most afraid of is losing what's left of her family. I like Puck’s fire. She dares to race on her island-bred horse Dove in a race for water horses. She is reckless because she has much to lose. She is brave because she needs to brave for others. "I have my own reasons for riding. [...] Just because I'm a girl doesn't make those reasons any less (p196)," Puck declares, and this made me cheer for her every time. I also like how Ms Stiefvater made sure that Puck had all options available to her, like the chance to run the race on a real water horse. It made the decision to race with Dove a practical, rational one instead of a purely emotional one.

The other protagonist of the story is Sean Kendrick. At nineteen, he’s got an almost otherworldly bond with the capaill uisce, especially the red capall Corr. Sean’s won the Scorpio Races for Malvern Stables four times now but no race has ever been more important than this one. This year he’s got a slim chance to win it all but not without risking it all too. Sean is a perfect foil for Puck’s character. He’s cool and steady, no matter the challenges being leveled at him. His is another story of bravery, one that is quiet and firm, like a cornerstone, something that cannot be shaken. The bond he has with Corr just moves me on so many levels. (Also, Sean is a great romantic lead. He’s the swoonworthy, silent, and brooding guy that most romance novels wish they had but can never perfect.)

Thisby is an imagined place, but I could easily picture it off the coast of Ireland or Wales. I like how this is fantasy world is a given, the magical woven into the mundane without any explanation. No one here is Dorothy bewildered by the loss of Kansas, no one is subjected to a mythological infodump. If anyone dares voice out the strangeness of the Thisby world, it is George Holly, the American horse breeder, but his question is more out of sociological curiosity, not "Why in the world are there things like flesh-eating water horses?" kind of way. I thought Ms Stiefvater showed a lot of skill and restraint when exploring the characters and culture of Thisby, especially in the way the island both revered and feared the water horses. She revealed just enough for the story to retain its mystery. I thought this way brought both Thisby and the capaill uisce to life. Ms Stiefvater carefully shows the readers just what these strange vicious horses mean to Thisby.

I was reluctant to let go of this even after I was done with the last page. I could feel myself still in Thisby, still standing on that shore and not wanting the moment to end. I guess it shows in the way I've gone on and on about this. Shutting up now. In my dreams, there's a capall waiting by the water's edge, daring me to come closer.

The Night Circus (Erin Morgenstern)

I'm not quite sure what happened with The Night Circus. I thought it started quite well, lush in intent, but as the story progressed, I didn't find all that much meat to the story. The battle is between two fundamental opposites: Celia and her father, who believes in a magician's innate ability; and Marco and the mysterious man in grey, autodidacts who learn their magical skills on their own. Celia and Marco are only the latest in a long-standing and deadly game, with the Night Circus as their battlefield.

There were parts that I really took to. The opening chapters found a way to hook me in, short and tantalizing as they gave hints about the bigger story. The descriptions of the Night Circus, though not quite literary thaumaturgy at work, still helped me visualize Celia and Marco's world. But what of the rest? The book set the stage for a battle, but all I got was akin to foreplay. Celia and Marco were two people caught in a game not of their own shaping, but I didn't really feel them struggling against their bonds. In fact, they took to their kind of prison quite well -- and if the romance is any indication (not a spoiler to anyone who reads the book blurb before purchasing), they even welcomed it in a way -- so I felt the book did not have a central driving conflict behind it. I found myself interested in the characters but not really caring for them one way or the other, and I sincerely hope that it was my failing as a reader that led me to that conclusion.

Then there was the chronology. Events were chronological enough, but between their chapters was the story of Bailey (and the circus twins Poppet and Widget), which progresses separately at first but eventually ties in to the others. I would have been fine with it had it not been for some moments when the stories approach each other closely but never connect; I found it hard to jump between teenage Poppet and Widget in the Celia/Marco storyline and then back again to the Bailey one. It made my reading experience somewhat disjointed and from then on I could never really recover whatever magic The Night Circus was promising. When the story ended, I found myself drawn Bailey and the twins marginally more, even though they only appeared in a third of the book. It left me strangely empty, as if the experience of reading it had been as illusory as the magicks in the Night Circus.

Trese (Budjette Tan & Kajo Baldisimo)

Some books consume me completely. Sometimes it's because they are fiercely fantastical, like China Mieville's The Scar or Patrick Ness's Chaos Walking trilogy, with worlds that pull me in and don't let go. Sometimes they can be about ordinary matters but have characters or ideas that speak to me, like Valancy in LM Montgomery's The Blue Castle or the beautiful chaos in Italo Calvino's Cosmicomics. Trese's draw for me is a little of both as it combines Philippine mythology and local pop culture into creative, well-crafted mysteries.

I was lucky to purchase all four volumes of Trese at once; it made it quicker for me to devour the series in one sitting. Two days after buying the series, I had already read it three times. That's how I was completely immersed in Trese's world. Written by Budjette Tan and illustrated by Kajo Baldisimo, Trese follows Alexandra Trese, police consultant on paranormal crimes, through the dark and mysterious paths of Manila's under/otherworld. As a heroine, Trese is strong, compelling, and enigmatic. She's constantly flanked by her masked Kambal sidekicks and together with a recurring cast of allies and foes, she takes the readers on a wild ride around the city.

Each volume had its strengths. The first, Murder at Balete Drive, is a great introduction, immediately throwing the reader into Trese's world and circumstances. The second, Unreported Murders, cements the fast-paced, episodic action of the series. The third, Mass Murders, winner of the 29th National Book Awards for Graphic Literature, delves into Trese's backstory and culminates in an epic confrontation. The fourth and latest release, Last Seen After Midnight, is stylistically cohesive in story and in art. The black-and-white art improves with each volume: bold and dramatic, deliciously dark. It emphasizes a Manila you might see when you close your eyes, a Manila that hides in the shadows and won't reveal itself to just anyone. Each story also delves into a different part of the city, and the attention to detail that Mr Baldisimo uses to set the scene is amazing. One can easily recognize Katipunan or Quiapo in these pages; I'm looking forward to seeing Binondo or Intramuros or even Taguig next.

Despite the emphasis on the gore and action, moments of pathos also shine through. A lot of the stories are hinged on human emotions finding an outlet on a different plane. There are unreported crimes and unsolved murders. There are social injustices. There are commentaries on the lifestyles of the privileged. Mr Tan shows great skill in capturing these moments and structuring paranormal occurrences around them. "The Fight of the Year" (Vol. 4) and "Our Secret Constellation" (Vol. 1) appeals to very Pinoy struggles and pains -- almost melodramatic -- and the latter, a tribute to Mars Ravelo, proves to be my favorite story to date.

There are some stories that I felt would be better had they been longer. The gang war in "A Private Collection" never fully materializes as a red herring because it's quickly wrapped up in a few pages. True, it's good for a reader who hates devices like this but as a staple of mystery fiction, it has its uses. I can only imagine how rich a story detailing the aswangs vs manananggals would be, had this been further explored. Another story that I felt could have been better served by more pages was "The Tragic Case of Dr Burgos," which was over before I even really got into the story. I think the climax could have been stronger had it been given the same pace as the events leading up to it.

Still, that doesn't take anything away from what this series tries to do. It takes Philippine mythology and shoves it into the cracks and corners of our familiar streets, weaving the fantastic and the commonplace seamlessly. It's an excellently done urban fantasy that I would be proud to share with the rest of the world.

Attachments (Rainbow Rowell)

Because of its genre's standard set pieces, some romance novels utilize different conceits to stand out from the pack. With its Sleepless in Seattle-reminiscent and partly epistolary love story, Attachments makes an effort to be memorable both in structure and in content, asking the readers to cheer for characters who are struck by 'love before first sight.'

Attachments is the story of Lincoln the IT guy who, during the early years of the internet has been hired by the local paper to read and flag emails sent through the company system. This is how he gets to know Beth, The Courier's resident movie critic, who can't get enough of emailing her friend Jennifer about the details of her personal life. As the two women email back and forth, Lincoln finds himself becoming more and more attracted to Beth.

True, what he does sounds awfully stalker-ish on paper. But what I admire about Attachments is how Ms Rowell turns him into a sympathetic character -- the reluctance to do his job evident on each page; in fact, reluctant to do much of anything at all, after a devastating break-up. That particular break-up is one of the highlights of this book, written in a poetic punch-in-the-gut kind of way. Thanks to that, Lincoln easily slides into the sweet spot of any romance protagonist: handsome enough to want as a lead, flawed enough to be within reach.

The novel itself lives within the early stages of most love stories. It thrives in that crushing-on-the-guy-at-the-water-cooler moment, the creative interpretation people do when they begin to attribute certain characteristics to their prospective loves, the awkward admiration at a distance. It's why the voyeuristic element works here. Lincoln, after keeping everything in his life at arms' length, is making slow but steady attempts to build himself anew. Situating the story on the cusp of the millennium also helps the plot as it's framed by the delicious anticipation of a new age and the dread that everything might come crashing down.

[Just an aside. The book is not particularly religious; in fact it has its share of slight profanity and taking of the Lord's name in vain, if you want to get technical. Despite that, I still admired one character's honesty about praying: 'I pray for everyone we care about. Plus, I like to pray for things that seem possible (p191).' It was an unexpected declaration of faith that to me seemed liked it didn't have an agenda or was meant to to be didactic. That, and the mention of two Catholic weddings didn't hurt either.]

There are no real highs and lows in this story but I don't think it needs it. Attachments is less about the thrill of will they-won't they and more about the journey to get yourself back on your feet and reconnecting with others. It's heartfelt, unpretentious, and satisfyingly patient.

A Red Herring Without Mustard (Alan Bradley)

After her last mystery, Flavia de Luce tries her hand at solving a case that is much closer to home. Flavia has invited the gypsy Fenella to stay at The Palings, a wide field on the edge of the de Luce property. But instead of being safe and protected, the old woman is brutally attacked here. Flavia of course takes it upon herself to get to the bottom of things, and even ends up discovering one or two important secrets about her own family.

I thought that the mystery in A Red Herring Without Mustard would be my favorite in the series, since it involved gypsies and buried secrets -- and hinted at Flavia's mother's past. But as the novel progressed, I was increasingly drawn away from it by other things. It didn't keep my interest as well as the first two books did. Flavia is still her old clever and impatient self; if anything, she's grown too self-confident of her own abilities and refuses to listen to those in authority. I've always enjoyed this aspect of the series. Though we see the stories unfold through Flavia's eyes, we are also quite aware of how difficult it is for the inspectors to do their job when you have someone like her doing her own brand of investigations. It's not as if the detectives are incompetent, but having Flavia going through crime scenes and keeping evidence for herself certainly complicates their task. If it weren't for Flavia and her troubles with her family (her sisters still torture her and what's worse, she's just found out that their financial problems has her father auctioning off the family silver), I would have probably saved this book for a later date.

Daphne, Flavia's second eldest sister explains the title. "Red herring, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was considered an inferior dish," Daffy replied, with an especially withering look at me on the word "inferior." (p162) It certainly highlights the inferiority theme throughout the book: the gypsies were discriminated against, the favored suspects in local crimes; the Hobblers are a fictional religious sect that were seen as Dissenters and Nonconformists, certainly taking on an Othered role in the narrative; and finally, that concerning Flavia herself, continuously bullied by her older sisters and treated as unimportant. But a red herring in mysteries also refers to a misleading clue that draws the reader's or investigator's attention from the main conflict, and there's certainly one here. Mystery-wise, there was not much to excite me. But when it comes to learning more about the de Luce family, A Red Herring Without Mustard still satisfies.

A final note: I've always wondered why, for all her inquisitiveness, Flavia has never really delved into her mother's disappearance. She certainly learns a bit more in this book but it never really spurs her to find more. I guess that's something to look forward to in the other books of the series.

India Black (Carol K Carr)

Told through the no-nonsense and irreverent (almost anachronistic, though I'm no history expert) tone of its protagonist, India Black spins a tale of espionage and mystery set in Victorian England. The eponymous Miss Black runs Lotus House, a brothel that caters to gentlemen, mostly minor aristocracy, military officers, and high-ranking civil servants. Little does she know that the death of one of their regulars will embroil her in politics, state secrets, and matters of national security.

The key to enjoying this book is enjoying India's perspective. If you don't find yourself taking to her tone, then I'm afraid there will be little else to like about this one. It does not offer much in the puzzle solving area; the book is too straightforward to be classified as a true mystery. A good part of it merely follows India and fellow agent French as they trail behind the antagonists. Still, I enjoyed India and her interactions with French (no romantic overtones here yet, as a caveat to readers looking for some) that I bought the second book right away.

As a fan of historical mysteries, I've always read about how members of the ton would solve a few cases here and there, or capture the occasional spy. As a brothel madame and a former prostitute herself, India won't be seen in grand ballrooms or taking leisurely strolls with a chaperone. It was this markedly different perspective that encouraged me to give India Black a closer look. I found her an engaging figure. Her friends, especially Vincent, were equally interesting. There are plenty of moments here where I laughed out loud both because of India's wry observations or their occasionally comic, even bumbling, attempts to capture their quarry.

Where India Black was a spy thriller, India Black and the Widow of Windsor tries harder to introduce more mystery elements. Whether these attempts are successful is a matter of subjective opinion, but for the most part I was satisfied. That, and I was becoming more and more intrigued by India and French's back stories, which were both conspicuously absent in the first book.

Queen Victoria heads to Scotland for the holidays, but word has reached the Prime Minister's office that in Balmoral nests a plot to take her life. Prime Minister Disraeli dispatches India and French to go undercover and suss out the would-be assassins: French upstairs with the rest of the titled guests and India below stairs among the staff and help. Ms Carr steps up her game with Widow of Windsor. The seeds of romance have been sown. The mystery element, though not hard to figure out, is a welcome addition. Also included are brief hints into India's past as well as French's current situation. As a reader, I was appreciative of these gestures to enrich the series both plot-wise and character-wise.

I'm really looking forward to the rest of Ms Carr's books. Fans of Lauren Willig's Pink Carnation series or Deanna Raybourn's Lady Julia Grey series might enjoy picking up some India Black for an unapologetic protagonist and some memorable escapades.

The Gourmet (Muriel Barbery)

Hungry to remember the most delicious meal he's tasted, a dying food critic trawls through his memories in Muriel Barbery's The Gourmet. In Pierre Arthens, Ms Barbery brings to life the passion, arrogance, and harshness of a talented mind, told not only through the protagonist's recollections, but also through the thoughts of those around him -- wife, mistress, son, nephew, doctor, servant, beggar, cat.

The Gourmet is a book for the senses. It meticulously recreates details meant to entice the reader, bring her closer to Arthens' world. Taste is a given, of course, since Arthens recounts his favorite meals for that singular moving flavor, but that does not mean that the other senses are abandoned. Consider scent:

'...rub the leaves between my fingers: slightly acid, sufficiently tart with a vinegary insolence... (p420)'

Or touch:

'A sensual dust tinged the pinky copper of the crustaceans with an exotic gold: the Orient, reinvented (p58).'

When Ms Barbery describes (this edition is translated from the French by Alison Anderson), she does not scrimp; she infuses the each page of Arthens' memories with incredible detail. Whether she's talking about bread or whiskey or mayonnaise, the language cannot be faulted.

But what richness and fondness Arthens has about food is certainly missing in his relationships with his family. Told in alternating chapters are the perspectives of the people closest to him, each showing vignettes of the food critic as they knew him. It paints a clearer picture of the dying man, how loved he was or how reviled, depending on whose perspective you take. Here resides anger, loss, and regret.

In the end, when Arthens finally remembers his most delicious meal, you realize that the novel isn't just about the significance of food. It's also about the events that shape our character and the things that we value -- and how these define the life we've lived. The Gourmet is exotic, pleasurable, intense.

The Secret Lives of Dresses (Erin McKean)

Old-world charm enters the life of a young college undergraduate when she reacquaints herself with her grandmother's boutique of vintage dresses. Dora, who is majoring in "vagueness studies" (read: Liberal Arts), is called home from her final months in college when Mimi suffers a stroke. As a gesture to the grandmother who raised her and hoarded dresses for Dora that she never wore, Dora keeps the boutique open. Erin McKean's The Secret Lives of Dresses is a light-hearted romance despite being situated in the middle of a family tragedy -- a good choice for a reader looking for something fluffy to enjoy over the weekend.

The novel is permeated with a genuine love for vintage dresses, evident in the way each is thoroughly described. Most of the dresses in Dora's grandmother's shop have 'secret lives' -- short stories written specifically for that dress, told from the dress' point of view. It's an interesting addition to a chick lit novel, with the obvious difference in tone between the narration and these vignettes making the entire reading experience not just quirkier but also richer.

Nothing came as a surprise to me but it didn't keep me from enjoying the rest of the book. Con, the romantic lead is solid and likeable, though one-dimensional. The other characters are fleshed out better, but I think the author has a certain attachment to some characters (like Gary) that's more than necessary. Fleshing out minor characters isn't bad but when it doesn't tell the reader anything new or significant, then it would be better to keep it at a minimum. Since I mentioned Gary earlier, I'll keep at it: we already get what he's supposed to be. All the extra chapters further detailing his relationship with Dora just seems superfluous. It's not as if Dora is pining for him incessantly now that they're apart so I don't understand why he needs to be constantly mentioned throughout the novel, as if he stands any real chance to get the girl.

There are also other moments when the novel's flow isn't as seamless as it could be. Most note-worthy is when it alternates between the hospital and the boutique because there just seems this huge emotional divide between the family drama (which bordered on Lifetime movie variety) and the charming vintage store moments. Still, The Secret Lives of Dresses is a lovely crossover between the coming-of-age novel and a romance. It hits the right spots. It's idyllic and sentimental in parts, and I think those are enough for to let any romance fan keep on reading.