So I've posted a couple of times about my alma mater, Bob Jones University. The name may trigger your brain because they recently made headlines for kicking out a Christopher Peterman because he watched Glee. I think the real reason he was kicked out is worse, because it just shows the pettiness that the University dips into. But this is not about the school's weird policies itself.
I'm here to just totally pick on the student body.
Mostly those above the Mason-Dixon line.
So to all of my dear Yankee friends, do bear with me. All's fair in war and humor.
I've been out of school for two years now, but experiences at BJU are so burned into my brain that I can't help but use them. On top of the gross cafeteria food, really really bad roommate situations, and my skillful dodging of rules*, I took in a lot of observations about people in general and noticed this one thing that stood out glaringly.
BJU students, especially if of the Northern persuasion, tend to act as if they're in a zoo.
Note I said tend. Not all do.
For example, I once used "orange" in a sentence when talking to someone I knew from Michigan. Before I was finished uttering my sentence, she set about repeating (several times, I might add) the way I pronounce the word. I can't really replicate it here, because I'm no linguist, but it is Southern, like myself. See, I chalked it up to being sheltered in a teensy Christian school (like many of my fellow students there), but an odd thing occurred.
It kept happening.
And not just to me.
"I don't understand why it's so hot..." Sweetie, it's August. Summer's hot in South Carolina.
"Your accent is so funny." Gee, thanks, yours too. Coen brothers heard of you lately?
"Why do you drive so slow?" Honey, that's a cop car, it's the end of the month, and the state needs some fast cash. You do the math.
"Haha, he's so gee-yetto." Oh dear. Who snatched you out of Minnesota?
And most interestingly, all of this was said with a tone of wonder, like children watching a lion sit around and do nothing all day.
I blame the BJU textbooks. The grammar one I used at my Christian school actually said that pronouncing "fire tower" as "far tar" (which I have never once heard, ever) was bad grammar. Uhm. No. That's not grammar.
Also, the textbooks made the battle of Gettysburg look sorta glorious. I'm no expert, but I know enough to know that Gettysburg sorta sucked for both sides.
Hmm...maybe it is the books after all.
Showing posts with label southern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label southern. Show all posts
Monday, May 28, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Book Review: Hurricane, by Jenna-Lynne Duncan
So lately I've been wondering about when to set my novel. I'm leaning towards setting it in 2004, the summer before the senior year of the class of 2005. I sorta want some discussion to arise about Green Day's American Idiot album. This would be, of course, an alternative to the ambiguous "now" that many novels seem to float in, especially YA novels. I understand that books need to seem current, but my generation lived history too. Setting a novel seven years in the past lends that feel without dipping into historic research because the author is reminiscing. It's a cozy feeling.
Hurricane, by Jenna-Lynne Duncan, does just that. This novel, set partly in New Orleans, begins in the late summer of 2005, not long before Hurricane Katrina was to strike the Gulf Coast and bring devastation to the area. Yes, it's a paranormal teen romance, but it lacks the moodiness that tends to shadow that genre.
I won't lie to you. I really enjoyed Hurricane. The main character was a normal girl, if fictional characters can be. Sure, she's described as blond and blue-eyed, but unlike other books she doesn't harp on it and talk continuously about her looks. It's a visual reference. The description gives you a solid view of the character and grounds you in the novel so that the real storytelling can begin.
Like many books in the YA genre, it's written in a first-person perspective. I'm not always a fan of the technique, because it can become a crutch for some. But Hurricane had the feel of a friend telling you a cool story. The dates and locations at the beginning of each chapter give the novel a journalish feel, and an abruptly ending paragraph at the end of the epilogue seems indicate that the lead, a writer herself, is indeed journaling her experiences along the way.
As a teen romance, there are, of course, the required hot guys. Though obviously handsome, the two young men aren't described constantly. Duncan instead prefers to focus on their personalities and relationships to the main character. Sarcasm, humor, and snark are comfortable and welcome in this novel's dialogue, and the two boys, Hayden and Luke, are presented as somewhat preppy (in a Southern way) and probably, if they were real, pretty nice guys. A sudden self-sacrificial move by Adriana had me thinking too much of Twilight, but it did prompt me to wonder what I'd do in such a situation.* But even that doesn't detract from Ana's strength as a character. She's likeable enough that the moment comes as more of a brief annoyance, a low note in an otherwise good book.. She's not perfect, and she makes a bad decision. It's real. Ish.
The characters are terribly stock, but the future mom-in-law is a lot like Esme Cullen, and probably no like any real in-law at all.There's a conflict between Adriana and her dad that is solved conveniently at the end by an arrangement that I don't think any father anywhere would be cool with, at all. There is one time when Adriana describes her own hair color swinging around, as in "my blonde hair swished behind me as I ran" or something like that. You'll find out later why stuff like that is a pet peeve of mine.
The late-summer Southern setting is rough and spooky and lends some beauty to the atmosphere of the novel. The descriptions of a post-Katrina New Orleans chill the bones as Duncan so aptly describes a horror more terrifying than any ghosts in the book. But through it all, the tone never loses hope, and the story ties off neatly in the final chapter over a plate of beignets at the Cafe du Monde.
I'd recommend this novel to anyone who wants something that entertains. It doesn't ask much of the reader. The few unlikelihoods, (such as minors moving in with other minors with no problem) that do pop up are annoying, but it really is a well-polished YA novel. And if I'm not mistaken, at least part of the proceeds from this novel are donated to Katrina victims. So go ahead, indulge and give back at the same time.
*I would actually have a gun.**
**Heck, if I were a superhero, I'd still have a gun. Super-power stunting losses of confidence would totally be nullified with a 9mm. Just sayin'.
Hurricane, by Jenna-Lynne Duncan, does just that. This novel, set partly in New Orleans, begins in the late summer of 2005, not long before Hurricane Katrina was to strike the Gulf Coast and bring devastation to the area. Yes, it's a paranormal teen romance, but it lacks the moodiness that tends to shadow that genre.
I won't lie to you. I really enjoyed Hurricane. The main character was a normal girl, if fictional characters can be. Sure, she's described as blond and blue-eyed, but unlike other books she doesn't harp on it and talk continuously about her looks. It's a visual reference. The description gives you a solid view of the character and grounds you in the novel so that the real storytelling can begin.
Like many books in the YA genre, it's written in a first-person perspective. I'm not always a fan of the technique, because it can become a crutch for some. But Hurricane had the feel of a friend telling you a cool story. The dates and locations at the beginning of each chapter give the novel a journalish feel, and an abruptly ending paragraph at the end of the epilogue seems indicate that the lead, a writer herself, is indeed journaling her experiences along the way.
As a teen romance, there are, of course, the required hot guys. Though obviously handsome, the two young men aren't described constantly. Duncan instead prefers to focus on their personalities and relationships to the main character. Sarcasm, humor, and snark are comfortable and welcome in this novel's dialogue, and the two boys, Hayden and Luke, are presented as somewhat preppy (in a Southern way) and probably, if they were real, pretty nice guys. A sudden self-sacrificial move by Adriana had me thinking too much of Twilight, but it did prompt me to wonder what I'd do in such a situation.* But even that doesn't detract from Ana's strength as a character. She's likeable enough that the moment comes as more of a brief annoyance, a low note in an otherwise good book.. She's not perfect, and she makes a bad decision. It's real. Ish.
The characters are terribly stock, but the future mom-in-law is a lot like Esme Cullen, and probably no like any real in-law at all.There's a conflict between Adriana and her dad that is solved conveniently at the end by an arrangement that I don't think any father anywhere would be cool with, at all. There is one time when Adriana describes her own hair color swinging around, as in "my blonde hair swished behind me as I ran" or something like that. You'll find out later why stuff like that is a pet peeve of mine.
The late-summer Southern setting is rough and spooky and lends some beauty to the atmosphere of the novel. The descriptions of a post-Katrina New Orleans chill the bones as Duncan so aptly describes a horror more terrifying than any ghosts in the book. But through it all, the tone never loses hope, and the story ties off neatly in the final chapter over a plate of beignets at the Cafe du Monde.
I'd recommend this novel to anyone who wants something that entertains. It doesn't ask much of the reader. The few unlikelihoods, (such as minors moving in with other minors with no problem) that do pop up are annoying, but it really is a well-polished YA novel. And if I'm not mistaken, at least part of the proceeds from this novel are donated to Katrina victims. So go ahead, indulge and give back at the same time.
*I would actually have a gun.**
**Heck, if I were a superhero, I'd still have a gun. Super-power stunting losses of confidence would totally be nullified with a 9mm. Just sayin'.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Why Should I?
After all, we've got enough stuff to entertain ourselves. Homer, Poe, Austen, Twain/Clemens, Tolkien, Lewis, King, Meyer, Rowling, Stoker, Shelley, Stevenson, Paolini, Verne...seriously, let me take a moment and just ask y'all to give a hand to all these entertainers of the page. Seriously, guys. You're all great.
All right, back to what I was saying. Why should I want to even try writing a book when there's a lot out there to read? I mean, there's tons I could entertain myself with, lots of stories and epics and tales that I have spent hours with. Really, why bother? I mean, come on, we've got Harry Potter to entertain us, or Percy Jackson and his buddies (I've actually never read it...). I ask again, why bother with my stories? Been there, done that? Really?
No, not really.
I realized when I was younger, when my stories were first taking shape, that it didn't seem as if my part of the world had its own little epic. Central Europe, or Scandinavia, or Britain tend to get their fair share of the settings available for the type of fiction. And yeah, they're beautiful, Britain especially. But, after 24 years of being here, I'm in love with the East Coast of the United States, the Southern portion especially. (When I was quite young, my concept of the country consisted of North Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, Florida, and Michigan and Iowa somewhere up in the great beyond of the North.) Where I live, we don't have bayous; we have marshes that turn into sounds and then become the Atlantic. There's just something rough and lovely and old about where I live. Go west, and you'll venture into the Blue Ridge and Great Smokey Mountains, a place that always feels slightly haunted by the spirits of the Cherokee that once wandered there so long ago, some of whom remain to this day, living in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
North Carolina is a different sort of place to live, and I've always known this. That same beautiful rawness that I've seen my whole life is the thing that inspires me, literally. At one time, I was going to set my books in West Virginia, but I've only been there once, for my senior trip. (Snowshoe Mountain is a gorgeous place to ski, by the way.) What a mistake that would have been. West Virginia is a beautiful place, and I know some cool people from there, but there's nothing in the world quite like hearing someone speak and knowing within the first three words they say that they probably have the same area code as you do.
Okay, so back to why bother. I bother because I think it's only fair that we get our own chance, we here on the East coast. I think it's because we have marshes. You know those old marsh lights? I think some have called them will 'o the wisp...those little lights that lead people deep into the marsh...those are stories my friend, just waiting to happen. I'll follow one, all right. Oh, but I promise...good stories always lead you back out to where you wanted to go in the first place.
But they rarely leave you the same.
All right, back to what I was saying. Why should I want to even try writing a book when there's a lot out there to read? I mean, there's tons I could entertain myself with, lots of stories and epics and tales that I have spent hours with. Really, why bother? I mean, come on, we've got Harry Potter to entertain us, or Percy Jackson and his buddies (I've actually never read it...). I ask again, why bother with my stories? Been there, done that? Really?
No, not really.
I realized when I was younger, when my stories were first taking shape, that it didn't seem as if my part of the world had its own little epic. Central Europe, or Scandinavia, or Britain tend to get their fair share of the settings available for the type of fiction. And yeah, they're beautiful, Britain especially. But, after 24 years of being here, I'm in love with the East Coast of the United States, the Southern portion especially. (When I was quite young, my concept of the country consisted of North Carolina, Virginia, Georgia, Florida, and Michigan and Iowa somewhere up in the great beyond of the North.) Where I live, we don't have bayous; we have marshes that turn into sounds and then become the Atlantic. There's just something rough and lovely and old about where I live. Go west, and you'll venture into the Blue Ridge and Great Smokey Mountains, a place that always feels slightly haunted by the spirits of the Cherokee that once wandered there so long ago, some of whom remain to this day, living in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
North Carolina is a different sort of place to live, and I've always known this. That same beautiful rawness that I've seen my whole life is the thing that inspires me, literally. At one time, I was going to set my books in West Virginia, but I've only been there once, for my senior trip. (Snowshoe Mountain is a gorgeous place to ski, by the way.) What a mistake that would have been. West Virginia is a beautiful place, and I know some cool people from there, but there's nothing in the world quite like hearing someone speak and knowing within the first three words they say that they probably have the same area code as you do.
Okay, so back to why bother. I bother because I think it's only fair that we get our own chance, we here on the East coast. I think it's because we have marshes. You know those old marsh lights? I think some have called them will 'o the wisp...those little lights that lead people deep into the marsh...those are stories my friend, just waiting to happen. I'll follow one, all right. Oh, but I promise...good stories always lead you back out to where you wanted to go in the first place.
But they rarely leave you the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)