This was a fun read. Chase wakes up in a hospital not recalling anything: his parents, how he got in the hospital, nothing. He has been in a coma after falling off the roof which he got to from his bedroom window. Chase has been diagnosed with amnesia and the doctors are not sure he will ever recall his previous memories or not.

Chase basically has to start over, he doesn’t know anyone and so he is friendly with everyone he meets now. Friends and Chase’s peers cannot believe that this is Chase, as the Chase before the fall, was not like this at all! Chase used to be athletic and great at sports especially football but now he can’t play because of the accident. As Chase goes to school, he realizes that people are staying clear of him and others want him to take part in their bullying. What was the old Chase like that has people behaving the way they are? Chase likes the way his new life is turning out yet what would happen if some of his old memories start coming back, would old Chase return?

I think this would make an excellent read aloud as it brings up some excellent topics to talk about. I love the community service hours the boys do and the individuals that they meet. A great book to read.

AT LAST.

I've attempted to read Dante's Inferno at least twice before, years ago. I stopped not because I wasn't interested but because I felt intimidated. Robert Pinsky's translation has made all the difference; this was not a painful read at all--excluding the horrific and grotesque depictions of hell themselves. Pinsky's translation was all the rage when it came out and through my years as an undergrad (at least in poetry circles), and I can see why. It's lucid and captures something of the original terza rima in English: no easy feat.

I'm also smarter about how to read works with copious notes. I simply read a canto THEN flipped to the back and read the notes. The cantos are short enough where this makes sense, and I could understand the narrative for that period.

As for Dante's work, it's still awe-inspiring as a literary accomplishment and as a text that is inextricably a part of culture. It's essential reading for poets and writers, or artists, period--the journey through hell is a common theme of artistic maturity in part because of Dante. It's a portrait of mentorship, not just of hell. As a narrative it's also compelling for its use of point of view--Dante the poet writing about his journey after the fact and Dante as pilgrim traveling hell with his guide, Virgil.

Much of the imagery in the Inferno is still shocking, though in a few places it's also darkly comic. I read a canto each morning as I ate breakfast, which was not always the best idea! The tortures Dante invents are graphically depicted so that, like Dante, you can't help but pity the sinners at times. Some figures come from history and mythology, while others, though real people, are not known unless one is familiar with Italian history specifically--naturally, the shades Dante wishes to talk to are those he knew or knew of.

As an atheist, I could only connect so much with the story, or only in the way I might when reading fantasy. The human elements are what matter to me, not the baffling construct of hell (baffling in which sins are considered worse than others and why) or the condemnation of those who simply happened to live before Christ, were not baptized, were homosexual, or were "heretics" (i.e. anyone not Christian) or "usurers" (typically code for Jewish).

What would the nine circles be and who would be in them if Dante were writing today?

Rob Thomas is known to me first and foremost as the creator of Veronica Mars and its titular heroine, one of my favorite television shows and characters. If I had to choose one character that I wished were real, it would be Veronica. That's saying a lot; I love countless fictional characters to distraction.

A highlight of the show is Veronica's caustic wit. Other characters are funny (e.g. Logan, Mac), but there's something about a tiny, blonde, teenage girl who used to be on the pep squad cutting people down to size with a sharp tongue (or bantering with her father, friends, or boyfriends)--after suffering the murder of her best friend, the abandonment of her mother, the destruction of her father's reputation, and rape--that is unique and paradoxically pleasing for a female character especially.

Rats Saw God and its protagonist, Steve York, display the same jaded wit, and it's the best feature of the book. Before VM, Thomas wrote YA novels, and his grasp of high school and teenage life is strong. He taught high school journalism, and his experience is evident. 

Like Veronica, Steve has recently gone through some shit (less serious than Veronica, but just as devastating, and, as I like to say, suffering is not a competition). The conceit of the book is that in the present, Steve is doing horribly; he's a stoner flunking out despite obvious intelligence and past academic success. He is on the verge of not graduating and must somehow make up his English credit. His guidance counselor asks him to write 100 pages (unthinkable for a high schooler--hell, for an undergrad), in chunks each week, of anything he likes. Steve complies, so the flashbacks to how Steve got where he is take the form of his first person writing.

The back-and-forth between present and past comes in quick bites, generally. We're to understand that writing is helping Steve move on from what happened back in Houston (I won't spoil what that is, but from the beginning it's clear it has to do with his then girlfriend, Dub, and his father, whom Steve refers to as "the astronaut," after his famous profession). The progression wasn't always clear to me (like how and why Steve became interested in another girl in the present), and I found myself more engaged by the past. When the source of Steve's heartbreak is revealed, it's upsetting, but given the nature of the shock, it feels unexplored. Steve and Dub never deal with each other significantly face-to-face either. While this makes sense given Steve's character especially, it still left me hanging. I could've used another 50 pages.

If you're a VM fan, you'll recognize the book's title (in the book's context, it's part of the coveted yearbook photo for Steve's extracurricular, GOD--Grace Order of Dadaists), referenced in season two. You'll also recognize the name of Steve's girlfriend, Wanda Varner, who goes by "Dub," from a season one episode in which that Wanda ran for student president but lost and also turned out to be a snitch. She's not the most trustworthy here either, but that doesn't mean you don't like her until the end.

Thomas's protagonists tend to be whip-smart and jaded. For me, this is ultimately much more interesting when that character is a girl.

I love feeling like I've been taken on a journey when I read, and this book spans years, multiple character perspectives, and the wasteland that is the arctic. I wouldn't call it a "saga," but by the end I couldn't believe where I ended up given where I started.

The Terror is based on the lost Franklin expedition to find the Northwest Passage in the 1840s. Given evidence later found at the sites where the expedition was known to have been, all the crew likely died, from scurvy, starvation, and lead poisoning, in addition to ailments like tuberculosis (not known to be contagious at the time) and pneumonia. Yet most remains were never found, while others were amazingly well preserved in the ice.

This means that going into the novel, you know most or all of the characters will die. But you can't help but get attached to particular characters, to hope for their survival, and to lament their deaths. I had to pause my reading a few times because I was so upset at the course of events.

Simmons invents around the known facts, his chief invention being a monster that hunts and kills many of the crew, on the ice and even on their ships. You don't know exactly what this monster is; the characters mostly assume it's a polar bear, but it's too clever and malicious. The monster has a mysterious connection to an Inuit (Esquimaux) girl who's been taken in (or imprisoned) by the crew. By the end of the novel, all is made clear, and the most surprising thing is that the monster is less an invention of the author's than it would seem.

In addition to the "heroes" of the story, there are definite villains. In particular, one caulker's mate who is referred to as a "sea lawyer." He sows discord, is manipulative...and fucks other men. For a time it concerned me that those traits were associated with one another, given a history in pop culture of gay characters being villains. But later two other queer characters' perspectives are explored, a younger and older man who were in love, had a relationship on shore, and are now good friends who rarely get to see one another during the voyage. For me this mostly counteracts the idea of queerness as associated with villainy.

My only other concern with the storytelling was Captain Crozier's "second sight," which felt like it came out of nowhere. I know we're supposed to assume that his alcoholism for much of the story has blocked it, but some sort of foreshadowing would have been appreciated (though I wouldn't rule out the possibility that I missed some).

This book was suspenseful, funny, sad, violent, and thrilling. Above all, I thought about the actual human beings who made the voyage and died on the ice looking for something they only accidentally may have found.

Have you ever had to pause your reading of a book because the turn of events is too upsetting? I want to shout at the characters, "Don't believe that guy! He's a lying bastard!"