And the award goes to . . .

Elena over at With Extra Pulp has generously awarded me with the Prolific Blogging Award! *cue uncontrolled blushing and falling off stage* I still feel a bit like a little fish in a big ocean when it comes to this blogging, but I’m enjoying the experience more and more and would like to say a big thankyou to Elena for all her support – thankyou!

The Prolific Blogging Award was set up by Hazra at Advance Booking in November last year in recognition of the hard work people put into their blogs. The rules of the award stipulates that it must be passed onto to seven other deserving bloggers. Therefore, I’d like to give the Prolific Blogging Award to:

Lynton at A Quick Word, for being a fellow Aussie booknerd who made me lol over his Kerouac curse.

Rebecca over at Just One More Page, for running Musing Mondays

Uncertain Principles over at Another Cookie Crumbles, for being a fellow non-reader of Austen and Bronte

Caite at A Lovely Shore Breeze, for sharing her cutie Bandit every Tuesday so generously

Boof over at The Book Whisperer, for all the Blah Blah Blahs, and heralding the release of Yann Martel’s new book

Helen at Helen Loves Books, for a fellow over of historical fiction

Rob at Rob Around Books, for running such an awe inspiring (and somewhat intimidating) blog

Review: ‘Jurassic Park’ by Michael Crichton

A few weeks ago Elena from With Extra Pulp journeyed over to Bondi Beach for Ikea’s 30th celebration of the Billy Bookcase. 30 Billy bookcases were lined up on Bondi Beach, creating the world’s longest outdoor bookcase. Over 6000 books were donated to the cause, and you could either take some of your own books to swap, or buy the ones you wanted in return for a donation to the Australian Literacy & Numeracy Foundation. I didn’t expect much in the way of titles to choose from, but took along a few books of my own to swap. Finding Jurassic Park amongst the titles was probably one of the highlights of my day.

Hidden away on the tiny island of Isla Nublar off the coast of Costa Rica, International Genetic Technologies Inc. (INGEN) has a secret. One with fifteen species, 238 specimens and a hell of an appetite. Whilst the head of INGEN, John Hammond, thinks he has the situation under control, a series of violent animal attacks on the Costa Rican mainland has the authorities worried. Particularly since the attackers resemble lizards for the most part—except that they walk upright on their hind legs. Hammond’s legal team insist that the island, home to Jurassic Park, undergo an evaluation to determine its potential for danger to visitors and neighbouring communities. Embarrassed over the claims of his legal team, Hammond invites some of his project consultants on a ‘special holiday’ to Isla Nublar. Among them is paleontologist Dr. Alan Grant, paleobotantist Dr. Ellie Sattler, and chaos mathematician Ian Malcolm, as well as Hammond’s grandchildren Mike and Lex. Arriving by helicopter along with computer technician Dennis Nedry, they are eager to see the first of Jurassic Park’s exhibits, but not even Ian Malcolm can predict what happens next.

Jurassic Park is an amazing read. Having seen the film (as I’m sure most of us have), I wondered just how good the book could possibly be — it might be dull, too technical, even alienating. Spielberg’s adaption had captured my heart as young and slightly nerdy dinosaur fan, and I doubted Crichton’s ability to keep me interested in a story that I already knew. Yet within the first few chapters my fears were blown out of the water. Crichton is a very talented author and delivers his story in a way that is both thrilling and informative. The characterisation is fantastically realistic, to the point where I wanted to sit Hammond and Lex down and give them both a good talking-to, and despite the scientific content, the book has a satisfyingly strong momentum. I was surprised to see diagrams in the text that looked like they belonged more appropriately in a chemistry textbook, but in the context of Jurassic Park they were extremely effective as a plot device.

What really astounded me though was Crichton’s use of, and portrayal of violence in the book. In a story of rampaging, out-of-control dinosaurs, violence is always sure to be only a few pages away. Having dabbled in a little horror and crime fiction, I’m accustomed to the overly descriptive paragraphs, frequented with adjectives, that tend to accompany stories of this nature, and expected Jurassic Park to be much the same. Instead I was struck by the effectiveness of Crichton’s sparse prose. Largely devoid of modifiers, the action raced along , aided by clever sentence structure that alternated between short decisive statements, and long sentences that encouraged you to read even quicker. Truly satisfying.

The hooting was louder as Nedry scrambled to his feet and staggered back against the side panel of the car, as a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over him. The dinosaur was close now, he could feel it coming close, he was dimly aware of its snorting breath.

But he couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see anything, and his terror was extreme.

He stretched out his hands, waving them wildly in the air to ward off the attack he knew was coming.

And then there was this new, searing pain, like a fiery knife in his belly, and Nedry stumbled, reaching blindly down to touch the ragged edge of his shirt, and then a thick, slippery mass that was surprisingly warm, and with horror he suddenly knew he was holding his own intestines in his hands. The dinosaur had torn him open. His guts had fallen out.

Ian Malcolm’s monologues were also particularly enjoyable. In a world where fake snow needs to be provided for the Winter Olympics, Sydneysider’s sweat through the hottest night on record for 13 years one week and freeze the next, I was surprised to be reading about character concerns about the ozone layer and the future of humanity on the world as we know it. Despite being published almost twenty years ago, much of this content is still overwhelming relevant in today’s modern context – Crichton was clearly well ahead of his time in terms of his scientific thinking.

Jurassic Park is without a doubt one of the best books I’ve read for some time. Whilst being an obvious choice for dinosaur enthusiasts young and old, this isn’t a prerequisite for reading this book – Crichton’s own passion for the subject is more than enough to get you hooked. I’ll leave you with a quote of Ian Malcolm that I found particularly interesting – let me know what you think.

‘. . . The number of hours women devote to housework has not changed since 1930, despite all the advances. All the vacuum cleaners, washer-dryers, trash compactors, garbage disposals, wash-and-wear fabrics . . . Why does it still take as long to clean the house as it did in 1930?’

Ellie said nothing.

‘Because there haven’t been any advances,’ Malcolm said. ‘Not really. Thirty thousand years ago, when men were doing cave painting at Lascaux, they worked twenty hours a weekto provide themselves with food and shelter and clothing. The rest of the time, they could play, or sleep, or do whatever they wanted. And they lived in a natural world, with clean air, clean water, beautiful trees and sunsets. Think about it. Twenty hours a week. Thirty thousand years ago.’

(Oooh and if you were interested, there are some great shots of the Billy Bookcases on Bondi beach here.)

Musing Mondays – Feb 22

Today’s MUSING MONDAYS post is about a keeping books. Do you keep all the books you ever buy? Just the ones you love? Just collectibles? What do you do with the ones you don’t want to keep?

I have a confession to make. I’m a not-so-closet book hoarder.

I keep almost every single book I buy. I’d have to really hate a book to want to get rid of it, and this doesn’t happen very often, as although I may feel very strongly about an aspect of a book such as inconsistent narrator’s voice or poor dialogue, I’ll find redeeming qualities in the finer details of the prose, or an appreciation of the amount of historical research required to write the book. I remember being in a Music and Popular Culture class at uni a few years ago where we were discussing the habit of collecting records. I think its pretty safe to say I collect books. I have this vision of one day dedicating an entire room of my future house to my books and having my own library, full of classics old and new, Australian literature and a mix of genres. Just don’t tell my boyfriend. We moved recently and the boxes we used to put all but ten of my books into storage (sob!) were so heavy that we needed a trolley to lift the damn things.

When do I have a clear out, which tends to happen maybe every three or four years, I may generate a sizable pile to get rid of, but by the following day many of them would have redeeemed themselves in some way and made their way back onto my shelf. Those few that don’t go to my local secondhand book store, Plaza Book & Music Exchange. I don’t tend to get a lot of credit, probably because my books may be a little peculiar for the taste of the guy that runs it—I once took in a copy of We Need to Talk About Kelvin by Lionel Shriver, along with a copy of An Accidental Terrorist by Steven Lang, and he wouldn’t give me money for either of them—but I always manage to come home with twice as many books as I left with.

MUSING MONDAYS is hosted by Rebecca over at Just One More Page

Review: ‘Chang and Eng’ by Darin Strauss

I set out to visit my local library a week or so ago with one goal in mind: to challenge myself. Over the years I’ve gotten lazy with my reading—I’ll stick to my favourites and re-read them, never trying anything new and inevitably getting bored. So I picked books off the shelf at random—fat ones, skinny ones, books with bright jackets, books with no jackets, books with interesting titles, long titles, short titles (I wish I could say ‘no titles’, just to finish this sentence off really nicely, but I’m afraid I’ve not found one of these yet). I would read the first few lines of each one I pulled from the shelf—if it caught my interest, I would throw it into my granny basket. When I brought my mountain of new reading material home, Chang and Eng was the first one I chose to read.

Chang and Eng is a book of creative non-fiction that presents an account of the lives of the original Siamese twins Chang and Eng Bunker, who were born in 1811 on the Mekong River, Siam. Strauss’ first novel, the book opens with a chilling take on the twins last day, immediately introducing its audience to the burden of the the twins:

For the last sixty-three years, the two (few doubt they are two men, though Chang and Eng share a stomach and more) have lived jointly, a pair of complete bodies held together by a cartilaginous band at their chests.

What follows is an interesting tale of the twins’ upbringing, from their childhood on the muddy riverbank of the Mekong learning to fish and practise Gung-Fu with their father, to their time spent as the Double-Boy of King Rama of Siam, their sudden rise to fame in America and their later lives as farmers in Wilkes County, North Carolina. Despite being narrated solely by Eng, Strauss provides a strong depiction of both brothers, each possessing a distinct voice and character, as well as a clear set of goals and motivations. Strauss also evokes a strong sense of time and place throughout the book, despite its ever-changing locales—the three years he spent researching the life and times of Chang and Eng Bunker were clearly not a waste.

However the structure of the novel was quite disruptive to the flow of the story. The book is non-chronological, jumping from chapter to chapter between the twins’ childhood and their later years in America, and often just as a particular passage is getting interesting. Perhaps Strauss has structured his novel in this way to combat the lack of action in Chang and Eng’s younger years, seeking to drive his narrative primarily through the scenes that take place in America when the twins are older. However the overall effect is quite disjointed and it’s hard to follow what’s happening in certain parts of the story. A better structure perhaps would have been a more traditional, chronological time line, narrated by both Chang and Eng, presenting their points of view in opposition to each other in order to provide interest in sections of the story that lack action. The book might have also benefited from further exploration into the twins’ career as a sideshow, and the breakdown of their respective marriages—these events are probably the most dramatic in the book, however are not awarded the attention they deserve.

Nevertheless, Chang and Eng gave me a real sense of the difficulties faced by the twins during their lifetime, and prompted me to do a little research of my own. I was surprised to find some old exhibition posters of theirs, which I’ve included for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy!

United Brothers

"Chang" and "Eng"

Review: ‘Being of the Field’ by Traci Harding

I’ve been a fan of Traci Harding since way back, when my reading material consisted primarily of fantasy (and not all of them are bad, thankyou). Whilst Traci’s last series, Gene of Isis, got a little to esoteric for my liking, I was pleased to see this one on my shelf at the local library.

Harding’s thirteenth book, Being of the Field is a science-fiction novel about Dr Taren Lennox, an anomaly expert who’s been granted a research visa on board the Astro Marine Institute Explorer (AMIE), which is captained by Professor Lucian Gervaise. Accustomed to being ridiculed by her peers at the University of Esponsia  for her theories concerning ‘the field’—an ocean of microscopic vibrations through which everything in the universe is interconnected—Taren is amazed to receive a warm welcome on AMIE and is soon given the task of investigating a rainbow-coloured anomaly that is currently orbiting around the planet Oceane. However AMIE’s crew  soon begin to suspect their mission objectives are being tampered with by the Maladaan Secret Service, and all hell breaks loose as they try to discover the traitor on board the ship.

Whilst not particularly literary, Being of the Field brokers an interesting and entertaining balance between modern science, metaphysics and spirituality. The characters are compelling, though I did find that their colloquial language clashed a little with the scientific context of the novel, and in true Harding style the story has a strong narrative drive full of adventure. Needless to say, the romantic sub-plots soon became quite tedious, and the subtle references to Harding’s earlier works of the Ancient Future and Celestial Triad trilogies were difficult to credit.

What really bothered me about this book though was the amount of errors present in the text.  Being of the Field is littered with mistakes that should have been picked up in the copy edit—errant punctuation marks, spelling mistakes, even incorrect character names—which is extremely disruptive to the otherwise intriguing story, and a poor reflection on HarperCollins professional standards. As an author who is dyslexic and notoriously finished high school with a ‘D’ in English, Harding’s novels would clearly benefit from an additional copy edit.

If you’re looking for some light reading of the science fiction persuasion, Being of the Field is an engaging read which questions the power of the mind and its ability to affect reality.

Review: ‘The Zookeeper’s War’ by Steven Conte

Some time ago I went into my local Borders store minus my purse (the safest way to go into Borders, I find). I’d seen this on the shelf, thought it looked interesting and resolved to buy it next time, without bothering to take note of the title or author. So last week when I returned, money burning a hole in my pocket, I couldn’t find it (surprise, surprise). After half an hour of looking, I located the nearest assistant and said “I’m looking for a book about people who look after zoo animals during the war, in Germany,  maybe set it 1943.” I felt a little bit like Mr Mann on Little Britain. I was gobsmacked when she actually managed to find it.

Steven Conte’s first book, The Zookeeper’s War is the story of Axel Frey, Director of Bahnhof Zoo in Berlin, and his Australian wife Vera, and their struggle to preserve what’s left of the zoo after numerous bombing raids. As the war continues, the zoo is soon the least of their worries as Axel and Vera are forced to relocate to Reichenbergerstrasse in Kreuzberg, where Vera comes under the suspicion of Frau Ritter, informant of the Gestapo. Finding her nationality a liability and challenged by the presence of POW’s working in the zoo, Vera’s place in Berlin becomes all the more precarious as her friend Flavia speaks openly about the failings of the German army and the idiocy that is the Nazi regime. As the last bastions of Vera’s stability crumble, she finds the motivation to survive in the most unlikely of places.

Erna mopped her mother’s mouth with a handkerchief. A head-cold had mottled Erna’s nose, so that it seemed unrelated to her pale face. She shook her head. ‘Our poor soldiers.’ Her voice barely carried across the table.

‘Not our poor soldiers,’ snapped Frau Ritter. ‘Brave!’

‘Stupid, is how I’d put it,’ said Flavia. ‘Fighting to the death, and for what? The war is lost.’

Vera caught her breath, and the whole table fell silent. Frau Ritter glared. At this late stage it would be hard for her to make a denunciation, but if she succeeded the consequences would be dire. Her husband glanced from side to side, unnerved by such a frank expression of defeatism. Schiefer stooped and re-tied his laces.

Frau Ritter squared her narrow shoulders. ‘I resent that. Who are we to doubt the Führer?’

‘Who are we?’ Flavia replied, mock sweetly. ‘We are the ones with high explosives dropping on our heads.’

The Zookeeper’s War is beautifully written. Whilst the subject matter is often confronting, the book is written in a delicate, almost lyrical way that attempts to protect the reader from the worst of the novel’s atrocities. It is also wonderfully detailed, providing a rich and seemingly accurate depiction of the characters life’s at such a tumultuous time.

But don’t be fooled into thinking that this book will be about the Bahnhof Zoo. As the novel progresses it becomes apparent that the primary theme of the book is in fact the way in which war and its associated stresses impact on personal relationships. The characterisation was quite strong and supported this element of the story — I particularly liked Flavia, and the looming figure of Frau Ritter — however I couldn’t help but feel cheated. I wanted escaped carnivores, medical emergencies and starving animals, though I expect that’s the animal enthusiast coming out in me (and perhaps an unrealised yearning to read Jurassic Park).

Nevertheless, I think the true value of The Zookeeper’s War lies not only in its richly detailed prose, but more so in its ending. I don’t think I’ve read anything quite so haunting — such a beautiful and carefully composed piece of writing, it stayed with me for hours after I finished reading to the point I couldn’t sleep when the time came. For that alone I would recommend this book to everyone, if only to experience what I did in those last few pages. I can’t wait to read Conte’s next book.

For all that is Tuesday

A double-barrelled post today. After yesterday’s success with the meme, here’s another!

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

My teaser:

“This is the method that Chang and I decided upon, and told the newspapers about: Whenever one of us needed privacy with his wife, the other was tobecome ‘insensate’ for the next hour, to become unconcious, allowing each twin to enjoy his wife in seclusion. Though our situation seemed immoral and shocking to the outside world, it was through what we called ‘alternate mastery’ that we would be certain to remain pure.”

-p. 150, Chang & Eng, Darin Strauss

However, after meeting the lovely Caite from A Lovely Shore Breeze and seeing her cute little Bandit in their Bandit Tuesday adventures, I had to have a Bandit Tuesday of my own. So today you have the pleasure of meeting Jess, Ian’s beautiful little dog. Jess likes to sit under my desk as I’m blogging away, but if she doesn’t like the music I’m playing, she soon make her thoughts known through a discreet little . . . smell. I was listening to Muse with great enthusiasm earlier, but apparently she prefers the dulcet tones of Gotye.

She can’t see much these days, as you can probably see, but I’m sure her life would be easier if us humans didn’t keep trying to move things around. And her blindness doesn’t stop her from chasing her tail – even if she can’t see it.

Oh and in case you are wondering, there is a review on the way. Its currently stuck on a plane over Alaska, or so I last heard, but it will be here soon.

Musing Mondays – Jan 18

Today’s MUSING MONDAYS post is about tidy reading around people. When is it inappropriate to read in front of others? Is it ever appropriate?

My first meme!

I have to confess, I am guilty of reading in front of people. All the time. Whether it be on public transport – which I frequent frequently – or whilst waiting for someone, waiting with someone or walking somewhere, reading in public does not faze me at all. In the rare event that I’ve left the house without a book in my bag, I will actively search for someone in the near vicinity who is already reading so I can read over their shoulder (I’ve gotten quite good at this). When I was in high school, there was always one boy who could be relied upon to be reading on the school on the way home (and I have to add, he was quite cute too, which was an added bonus). Of course, there is an element of disappointment involved in this tactic, where the victim invariably leaves before I do, and often at the most inopportune moment. Within the home, I think its now simply accepted practice that I will sit and read even as the family watches TV – I can’t help that ‘Home and Away’ doesn’t appeal to me.

As for reading in front of people being inappropriate,  the only instance that comes to my mind is that of reading whilst people are trying to hold a conversation with you. Although, now I think about it, this rule would only apply to people that I like. That way, next time a random citizen decides to strike up a conversation on public transport (it happens more than you might think),  I still have an escape route.

MUSING MONDAYS is hosted by Rebecca over at Just One More Page

Review: ‘Relentless’ by Dean Koontz

I read my first Koontz thriller some time ago. I’d just been through a break up and needed a book that wouldn’t make me cry, and would distract me from those nuisance things us girls have called ‘emotions’.  That book was Velocity. I read it in one sitting, and needless to say, it didn’t make me cry. Instead, I felt like I’d been through a meat mincer. So when I pulled Relentless out of my Christmas stocking a few weeks ago, I was a little apprehensive, but added it to my to-be-read pile nonetheless. Going through my pile the other day (it’s more than doubled since a trip to the local library), I started reading the first page of each book. Relentless was the only one I managed to pick up. I sat there, on the floor of my bedroom, sweating profusely in the heat, until I’d read it from cover to cover.

Relentless is the story of Cullen ‘Cubby’ Greenwich, a bestselling novelist who has just published his fifth book, ‘One O’Clock Jump’. Although used to bad reviews, Cubby is rattled by Sherman Waxx’s review of his book, and not just because of the reviewer’s bad syntax. Sherman Waxx is  an enigma. The nation’s premier literary critic, authors far and wide live in fear of  receiving a Waxx review. Unable to let his own review go as Cubby’s wife Penny suggests, Cubby and his six-year-old son Milo decide to stake out Waxx while he lunches in a local restaurant. Crossing paths in the men’s bathrooms, with Waxx narrowly avoiding being sprayed with Milo’s urine, Cubby sees Waxx at his home later that evening, stalking down the hallways with an air of purpose. Cubby soon realises that Waxx is not merely a book critic, but a psychopath who has his sights set on Cubby and his family, who flee to stay alive.

Much like Velocity, Koontz has written Relentless at a cracking pace – there’s never a dull moment, such is Koontz’s talent. The protagonist Cubby and his family also have a really strong presence on the page – their family dynamic is so realistic and natural. Cubby is a very likeable character,  modest and unassuming with his out-of-control hair and his ineptitude with electrical equipment. His narration of the story feels quite candid at times. But the character that really drove the narrative for me was that of Cubby’s son Milo. A genius with an intellect that far exceeds that of his parents, I think Koontz has quite cleverly captured the essence of an emotionally immature six-year-old, who despite being wise beyond his years, still finds fart jokes funny and believes that he can blame things on his dog, Lassie, and get away with it.

‘John Clitherow called while you were packing. He gave me some advice. Credit cards were part of it.’

‘Clitherow – the writer?’

‘Yeah . . . He has some experience with this . . . of Waxx.’

‘What experience?’

‘Because I didn’t want to talk about . . . [this] . . . in front of Milo, I said ‘John wants me to tell you his three favourite children’s stories are “Dumbo”, Kate DiCamillo’s “The Tale of Despereaux”, and your first Purple Bunny book.’

‘That’s nice. But you said “experience”, What’s he know about Waxx?’

‘John especially liked the funny physiology in those books.’

In my lap, Milo said, ‘The little elephant, the little mouse, and the little bunny all had really big ears . . . Mom, Dad’s trying to tell you that I’m little but I’ve got big ears, and there’s something Mr. Clitherow told him that I guess I’m too young to hear. . . Probably something really bloody, strange and scary. Or a sex thing, ’cause from what I know about it, that’s totally weird.’

Koontz also goes for a bit of a supernatural/sci-fi twist with Relentless, which I understand is quite unusual for his style. Throughout the book it’s assumed that there’s something distinctly sub-human about the antagonist Waxx, but when the revelation does come, it didn’t quite pack the punch I was expecting, nor is it particularly convincing. As I read the final chapters of the book, I got the sense that the storyline simply got too complicated for Koontz to resolve it effectively without resorting to using supernatural/science fiction elements. As it stands, there is still a huge chunk of the narrative that isn’t addressed in the book’s conclusion – an obvious piece – which leads me to believe that Koontz’s writing of the manuscript was a little rushed. Indeed, looking at his website, it seems that he’s published 13 books in the last two years. Whilst six of these are graphic novels and one a children’s novel, that’s still a hell of a lot of writing – equating to a rate of three novels a year. Either Koontz is a genius like his character Milo, or he has a few helpers. Whilst I’m not experienced enough to judge the quality of his current writing against his earlier work – indeed, Relentless is extremely well written for the most part – I’d be surprised if Koontz isn’t undergoing the same branding process that Clive Cussler has recently been subjected to. Cussler published three books in 2009, with three already announced for 2010 – all achieved with a host co-authors including Dirk Cussler, Paul Kemprecos, Jack Du Brul, Craig Dirgo and Grant Blackwood. (If you are interested in learning more about this branding process, there’s a nifty little article here that explains the basics).

For what it is, Relentless is a merciless little thriller with some excellent characters and I would recommend it to fellow reviewers – even if only to show how not to review a book.

Review: ‘The Kommandant’s Girl’ by Pam Jenoff

I bought this from the second-hand bookshop quite a while ago – I couldn’t tell you when precisely. As I have a tendency to buy a dozen books at a time, it has sat on my bookshelf for a while. I picked it up by chance as I left to go to Vincentia for Christmas, the only book I took with me in a suitcase consisting purely of bikinis, snorkelling equipment and sunscreen. As it rained the entire time we were there, I had no choice but to read it.

Set in Poland, The Kommandant’s Girl is the story of Emma Bau, a young Jewish girl in Kraków who has just married her love, Jacob, when World War II breaks out. Three weeks into their marriage, Jacob disappears in the middle of the night to join the Jewish resistance. Lost and with no other choice, Emma packs and leaves to stay with her parents, only to find them imprisoned in the Podgorze ghetto. What follows is a tale of her struggle to survive  – first her  own escape from the ghetto, and later her search for a safe place to live and work – all under the noses of the Nazi officials who now occupy the city.

Having completed her Master’s in history at Cambridge, coupled with her work as Special Assistant to the Secretary of the Army in America, Jenoff’s The Kommandant’s Girl is unquestionably strong in its locational descriptions and historical knowledge. As I studied World War II in school I can appreciate the complexities of writing a novel on this subject. What’s lacking however is Jenoff’s ability to construct narrative prose. At times her writing is flat and dull, her characters weak – throughout the duration of the book we are introduced to a number of characters involved in the resistance movement, but Jenoff seems unable to communicate the desperate and precarious nature of their existance, and as such I struggled to empathise with what they were trying to achieve.  Even Emma, taking on the identity of a Polish girl who works for a top-ranking Nazi official in the middle of the Kraków Nazi headquarters, seems quite apathetic at times at the threat of being discovered. The novel only picks up pace in the last three chapters, which I finished with gusto (I would tell you more but that’s called giving the game away).

If you’re interested in war-time novels with a strong pinch of romance, you may enjoy The Kommandant’s Girl. Alternatively, if Jenoff get a new structural editor who teaches her the age-old writing phrase “show, don’t tell”, and decides to rewrite The Kommandant’s Girl with this mantra in mind, I will be the first in line to re-read it and provide you all with a new review. But until that time, I think I’ll be taking this one back to the shop.