Archive: November 2016

Book Review: Slipping: Stories, Essays, & Other Writing, Lauren Beukes (2016)

Wednesday, November 30th, 2016

“I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

four out of five stars

(Full disclosure: I received a free electronic ARC for review through NetGalley. Trigger warning for violence against women.)

a is for algebra

“It’s all equations,” she says. “It’s all explainable.” Like we could break down the whole universe into factors and exponents and multiples of x. Like there is no mystery to anything at all.

“Okay, what about love?” I shoot back, irritated at her practicality.

And she ripostes with: “Fine. xx + xy = xxx.”

She has to explain the bit about chromosomes. This is her idea of a dirty joke. Later, I wonder if this was also her idea of a come-on.

(“Alegbra”)

Don’t worry, she repeats, her back to him, laying out things with serrated edges and conducting pads and blunt wrenching teeth. You can’t dehumanize something that isn’t human.

(“Unaccounted”)

Pearl looks back at the protestors. One of the handwritten banners stays with her. “I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” it reads.

(“Slipping”)

I love Lauren Beukes, and I generally dig short stories – especially those belonging to the SF/dystopia genre. So I was pretty psyched to get my hands on an early copy of Slipping, Beukes’s very first collection of short fiction and non-fiction essays. (There’s also 2014’s Pop Tarts and Other Stories, which I’m not counting since it’s comprised of just three short stories – all of which appear here.)

Slipping starts off a little meh; not meh-bad, but meh-disappointing for a writer of this caliber. The titular “Slipping,” told from the POV of a sixteen-year-old girl who was recruited by investors and remade into a bio-engineered athlete after losing both legs in an accident, boasts some wonderful world-building – but the story’s religious aspects ultimately turned me off. Much to my relief, things start to pick up with the fourth story, “Branded” (corporate-sponsored nanotech) and mostly just get better from there.

The fiction generally has a science fiction/dystopian bent, with a few fantasy and contemporary pieces mixed in. There’s even a fairy tale of sorts: a modern-day retelling of “The Princess of the Pea” that’s both a critique of celebrity culture and an ode to female masturbation that (spoiler alert!) is all kinds of awesome. While all are unique and imaginative, a few themes are common across many of the stories: transhumanism, e.g. through technological advancements in prosthetics, nanotech, neuroanatomy, etc.; an erosion of privacy/the rise in the surveillance state; and a rise in corporate control, most notably over our bodies and selves.

(More below the fold…)

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Wednesday, November 30th, 2016

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Tuesday, November 29th, 2016

Book Review: Santa’s First Vegan Christmas, Robin Raven & Kara Maria Schunk (2016)

Monday, November 28th, 2016

Have yourself a caring little Christmas / Let your heart be full.

five out of five stars

(Full disclosure: The author sent me a free e-book in exchange for an honest review.)

Okay, I won’t even try to play. This book legit made me cry.

Dana is spirited little reindeer calf, living free in the Arctic tundra. It’s the night before Christmas, and she and her friends are racing and dancing and frolicking in the snow and ice, having a grand old time. Their celebrations are oh-so-rudely interrupted by the thundering of sleigh bells. It’s Santa, and he’s come to recruit a new reindeer for the team. He sets his sights on sprightly Dana, and no wonder: she’s positively bursting with joy and energy.

But dear old Santa is about to get schooled. Dana balks at the harness Santa tries to throw on her, instead giving him a lesson in kindness, compassion, and respect for all beings.

Santa, look. I know you meant no harm.
You’re just going along with the cultural norm.
But horses pulling carriages, reindeers pulling sleighs?
It’s all got to end. And I mean starting today!

Worry not, young ones! Christmas isn’t doomed, but transformed. Dana agrees to help Santa, but as an equal. They deliver toys to all the world’s boys and girls, but during their annual merry-making spree, Santa and Dana also free captive fishes, birds, and horses; deliver farmed cows, pigs, and chickens to sanctuaries; and break the chains that doom countless backyard dogs to isolated and lonely existences. In a lovely show of solidarity, Santa and Dana also help those humans in need, delivering food to the hungry and cash monies to the impoverished. (It’s a temporary fix, sure, but maybe save Murray Bookchin and The Shock Doctrine for the high school years?)

Santa’s First Vegan Christmas is a must-read holiday story for vegans of all ages. I’m 38 and childfree and, like I said, I was positively bawling by story’s end. Parents are sure to love its message of equality, not to mention the fresh rhymes and consistent ethics. It’s hard to know what to expect of vegan-friendly books – after all, there are as many reasons to go vegan as there are vegans! – but Santa’s First Vegan Christmas checks all the right boxes. Farmed animals, working animals, companion animals, human animals – the inherent worth of all creatures is celebrated. Robin Raven even drops the s-word (as in sentience, silly!).

Robin Raven’s lovely and uplifting story is complemented wonderfully by Kara Maria Schunk’s illustrations. The colors aren’t limited to the traditional holiday palette of green, white, and red, but rather feature a shock of bright oranges, deep purples, and sky blues. The bold mix brings to mind the various images of the Aurora Borealis I’ve marveled at over the years. (And no wonder, given the setting.)

(More below the fold…)

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Monday, November 28th, 2016

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Sunday, November 27th, 2016

Stacking the Shelves: November 2016

Saturday, November 26th, 2016

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So on Election Day I tweeted a picture of my I Voted sticker @Ulysses Press to win a Hillary Clinton coloring book, and now the sight of it makes me want to cry. So…yeah. Not exactly the best start to this month’s roundup.

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ON A LIGHTER NOTE, I was especially psyched to find this ARC of The Orphan’s Tale in my mailbox, since my request was denied on Edelweiss. Score! Thanks much, Harlequin!

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From Library Thing’s October Early Reviewers batch, a Recorded Books production of Afterward, by Jennifer Mathieu. I really enjoyed Devoted and The Truth About Alice, and was really stoked to win a copy. I started it yesterday while walking the dogs, and so far it’s excellent.

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Thanks to Shelf Awareness and Random House, I received this prize pack of Fannie Flagg books. The Whole Town’s Talking comes out next week. :)

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Also from Shelf Awareness (and NatGeo) is this copy of National Geographic’s latest photography book, @NatGeo: The Most Popular Instagram Photos. It’s stunning, as per usual.

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Rennie desperately wants to be included in the next edition, but Mom doesn’t have an Indtagram account. (Boo!)

Just kidding, she’s praying for the day when I stop drafting her into my book photos.

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For review through Blogging for Books: a David Bowie coloring book. Eeeeps!

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Trevor Noah’s memoir dropped this month, and I have a shiny new copy! (Thanks to…Doubleday Canada (?).)

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From W. W. Norton & Company, an ARC of James Lasdun’s The Fall Guy. The cover has totally got me yearning for warmer, simpler times. WE WERE SO YOUNG AND NAIVE YOU GUYS.

 
I also snagged a few great deals on ebooks this month:

  • Invisible Man, Got the Whole World Watching: A Young Black Man’s Education by Mychal Denzel Smith ($2.99 on Amazon)
  • Salsa Nocturna: A Bone Street Rumba Collection by Daniel José Older ($.99 on Amazon)
  • Beyond: the Queer Sci-Fi & Fantasy Comic Anthology edited by Sfe R. Monster ($5 from Beyond Press)
  • Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities by Rebecca Solnit (FREE from Haymarket Books)
  • Just Juliet by Charlotte Reagan ($.99 on Amazon)
  • The Lonely Life of Biddy Weir by Lesley Allen ($2.03 on Amazon)
  • The Humanity of Monsters edited by Michael Matheson ($2.50 on Amazon)
  • Vegan Teenage Zombie Huntress by G.G. Silverman ($.99 on Amazon)
  •  
    For review on NetGalley:

  • The Meaning of Michelle: 16 Writers on the Iconic First Lady and How Her Journey Inspires Our Own edited by Veronica Chambers
  • There Are More Beautiful Things Than Beyoncé by Morgan Parker
  • The Burning World (Warm Bodies #3) by Isaac Marion
  •  
    For review on Edelweiss:

  • The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2) by Heidi Heilig
  •  

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    Saturday, November 26th, 2016

    Book Review: Becoming Unbecoming, Una (2016)

    Friday, November 25th, 2016

    Raw, powerful, necessary.

    five out of five stars

    (Trigger warning for violence against women, including rape.)

    Canon Gordon Croney, vicar of Leeds, considers police-controlled houses of prostitution to be impractical. “I know it’s an easy answer, but I believe it could make the problem worse,” he said.

    “If prostitutes came under police protection, then it could make a psychopath like the Ripper prey on innocent women.”

    So many popular cultural monuments to Sutcliffe have been built by men. Perhaps it’s easier to see it as just another story, if you don’t belong to the group of people the Ripper wanted to kill?

    So what’s the truth?
    Maybe it’s something like this:

    Ordinary men are capable of extraordinary violence.
    Women and girls are neither virgins nor whores.

    None of it is funny.

    Between 1969 and 1981, Peter Sutcliffe – who would eventually become known as the Yorkshire Ripper – attacked at least twenty women, killing thirteen of them. He primarily targeted sex workers, either because he was conned by a prostitute and her pimp – or because God commanded him to. (When caught, he pled not guilty due to diminished capacity, on account of a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia. He’s currently serving a life sentence.) However, not all of his victims were sex workers; the investigators’ inability to reconcile this inconsistency is perhaps one of many reasons they bungled the investigation, for example, by ignoring important evidence from an eyewitness who survived, 14-year-old Tracy Browne. Sutcliffe was caught in January 1981 – after he was brought in for driving with false license plates. The police had interviewed him nine times at that point, and had countless “photofits” bearing his image in their files.

    The author – who goes by the pseudonym Una – was just entering her teenage years when the attacks escalated. Born in 1965, Una lived in west Yorkshire; her formative years were colored by the hysteria and misogyny whipped up by the killing spree. By the police and in the media, the Ripper’s victims were deemed complicit in their own assaults; what else could women with “loose morals” expect? As his body count grew and came to include “regular” women (and girls), evidence of immorality could be found everywhere: going out drinking at night (with or without your husband), dating outside your race, arguing with a boyfriend.

    No one was safe, and that’s kind of the point: Peter Sutcliffe was a misogynist and, to the extent that he targeted sex workers, it was because he felt he could get away with it. And he did, for far too long.

    2016-10-26 - Becoming Unbecoming - 0010 [flickr]

    Nor was the Yorkshire Ripper the only threat facing the women of England in 1977. According to current rape stats for England and Wales, 1 in 5 women aged 16 to 59 has experienced some form of sexual violence since the age of 16. Only about 15% of victims choose to report; some 90% know their attackers. Furthermore, 31% of young women aged 18 to 24 report having experienced sexual abuse in childhood. The Ripper may have been the face of violence against women in the mid- to late-1970s but, in truth, danger lurked much closer to home.

    (More below the fold…)

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    Friday, November 25th, 2016

    forever and a day

    Thursday, November 24th, 2016

    2015-11-23 - Late Morning Office Sun - 0030 [flickr]

    Trish walked out into the dawn and wished she still believed in God. The sea was still lapping on the shore, the last stars were vanishing as the sky brightened. But the sky was empty of comfort. There was no loving God waiting, no heaven where Doug could find happiness. Just the cold contingent universe where things happened for random reasons nobody could understand. Nevertheless, while she was torn apart with grief for Doug she also felt at peace. His struggle was over. There was no more pain. And she had been with him and helped him. She had seen his whole life, from his birth to his death. “Everyone is born,” she said to the empty sky. “Everyone dies.”

    It was cold comfort as time went on and she began to understand what missing him meant.

    – Jo Walton, My Real Children

    Oh, my little Peedee monster. You’ve been running around my head and heart so much these past days, weeks, months. As the one-year anniversary of your death approached, I found myself thinking about where we were a year ago: exploring new trails, sharing slushies at the drive-in, snuggling and reading comic books in the sun room. Trying to put on brave faces despite our anticipatory grief. And, now, mourning you like crazy.

    I wonder what you’d think of our newest foster(s), and wish like hell I still had your shoulder to cry on.

    It’s been a damn tough year. Jayne was diagnosed with cancer just four months after it claimed you, and she only last four months. Then there was the election. I went to bed that night feeling just like I did when we learned that Jayne had lung cancer: terrified for her, and for us; wondering just how far this thing would spread, and knowing that it’d be terrible no matter what. It’s made me miss you all the more, since of all the dogs, you were always the best at knowing when I needed comfort, and giving it in abundance. Oh, how I wish you were here.

    We have a new foster doggy, a fat little Chihuahua who we’ll call Chunk. I think you’d like her; she’s pretty old and chill, gets along well with Rennie, Mags, and Finnick, but is not a fan of the cat. She likes to follow Lemmy around the house, barking at him. Even though she’s getting a bit bolder, I think Chunk is a little scared of him. Yesterday she darted at him from across the living room; Lemmy stayed put, and she realized too late that she couldn’t stop easily, thanks to the slippery floors. They came within an inch of colliding, and the look of sheer panic on her face was priceless. Lemmy, of course, remained unimpressed.

    Regardless, I suspect you two would do some major bonding over policing the cat. (He’s gotten so bad, you don’t even know.)

    2007-06-25 - Morning Playtime - 0023 [original]

    Yesterday I spent the day decorating the house, even though I found it impossible to get into the mood. Dad and I put up the Christmas tree over the weekend; I think we just wanted to get it out of the way, and maybe we were also compensating for our late start last year?

    We had comfort food – extra-cheesy mac & cheese – for dinner. Rennie’s become the designated dish licker in your absence, so Dad set her up with the pans in the bathroom. She was making such a racket that I sent him in there to hold the dishes for her; they took so long that I fell asleep on the couch, my face buried in Mags’s belly! (Like 45 minutes, for reals.) Then we watched that Nazi episode of Supernatural and spent an hour discussing/arguing about Trump before bed. Things became animated enough that you would’ve hid behind the tv before we were done. Luckily Chunk didn’t seem bothered. (I always worry how my loud talking will affect the fosters.) Good times.

    Today is Thanksgiving, though I don’t feel much like celebrating. Luckily Dad’s volunteered to make dinner, while I start Chunk’s new exercise regimen. I see lots of trips to the park in our future! The weather’s finally turned chilly, but she’s got several extra layers of fat to keep her warm. You always had such thick, luxurious fur for that.

    Dad and I are thinking about adopting another dog or two, but I don’t know. It feels…weird. Wrong. To have new dogs who never met you other four; who are traipsing into the middle of an existing pack, a broken pack. But then I don’t want to wait until everyone else is gone, either. For me or for the dogs. Whether Rennie outlives Mags or vice versa, the surviving dog will need a friend to fall back on, you know? Idk, maybe I just need to let it happen organically instead of forcing it; Ice Cream Star and Brutus fit in so well, I would’ve adopted them in a heartbeat if it was that kind of foster situation. Maybe fostering for a regular rescue group is the way to go. Try everyone on until we find the right fit.

    You and Ralphie and Kaylee and Jayne left such large, gaping holes, I don’t even know how to started to fill everything back in. It’s just too much. I don’t want new dogs, I want the old gang, back together. Sigh. I am in such a mood lately, let me tell you.

    And…I guess that’s it. I don’t know what else to say except I love and miss you. Last year was so impossibly difficult, but I’d do it all over again just to have some more time with you. Now more than ever.

    2015-08-19 - Terrible Trio at Smithville Lake - 0098 [flickr]

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    Thursday, November 24th, 2016

    Mini-Review: Labyrinth: One classic film, fifty-five sonnets, Anne Corrigan (2016)

    Wednesday, November 23rd, 2016

    The Nostalgia is Strong with This One

    five out of five stars

    (Full disclosure: I received a free ebook for review through Netgalley.)

    Perhaps, in childhood, you a movie saw;
    the title of said film, ‘twas Labyrinth.
    It told of maiden and companions four,
    and featured a beguiling goblin king.
    Now thirty years have passed since its release –
    in stature has its reputation grown;
    so much, that this enchanting fantasy
    is to another generation known.
    This tale (the most-beloved of my life)
    I ventured to encapsulate in verse,
    a true love’s labour; sonnets fifty-five,
    which now you, gentle reader, may rehearse,
    commemorating film in poetry –
    humbly, ‘tis dedicated to Bowie.

    — 4.5 stars —

    So apparently the ’80s are making a comeback? As a child of the ’80s, this mostly boggles my mind; between the aesthetics (leg warmers, snap bracelets, hair bands) and the politics (Reagan; Wall Street), there isn’t a whole lot to wax nostalgic about. But while Aquanet and Hammer pants were indeed awful, there is one beacon shining through the gaudy geometric patterns: 80s movies.

    null

    Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The Breakfast Club. The Goonies. E.T. Back to the Future. Pretty in Pink. Adventures in Babysitting. Gremlins. Heathers. The Last Unicorn. The Princess Bride. And, of course, Labyrinth.

    I watched that movie on a loop. David Bowie. Jareth, the Goblin King. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to dance with him,* or be him. Probably a little bit of both? I dressed up as Jareth one Halloween, though thankfully there is no photographic record of this. My makeup game has never exactly been what you’d call on point. Anyway.

    null

    I nearly fell out of my seat when I saw that someone had written a sonnet – a whole book of them! – inspired by Labyrinth. I figured it could either be really freaking great, or a total disaster. I was leaning toward the latter, actually, since poetry isn’t normally my thing. I want to like it but, more often than not, I come away with the distinct impression that it mostly just went over my head. Happily, this is not that type of poetry.

    Anne Corrigan had me at the prologue. I think the exact moment she captured my heart was with the last line, wherein she dedicates the book to the late David Bowie (hallowed be thy name). And it only gets better from there.

    null

    Corrigan’s is a faithful retelling of Labyrinth in a Shakespeare-lite sonnet form. I say “lite” because it’s much more accessible than Shakespeare – and dare I say more fun, too? Though it’s been years since I watched the film (note to self: must rectify this immediately), her sonnets instantly transported me back there: to the Bog of Eternal Stench; the tunnels underneath the labyrinth; and the castle at its heart. I remembered how much I loved Ludo and his bossy little dog-friend, Sir Didymus, keeper of the bridge. Toby, I’m still undecided on. (Crying babies aren’t any more my bag than they were thirty years ago.)

    null

    Is this Good Poetry? I have no idea. But it’s fun, heartfelt, and guaranteed to tickle the fangirl in you. It’s the bee’s knees, the owl’s howl, Hoggle’s goggle.

    Bundle it with: the 30th Anniversary edition of Labyrinth; a Jareth, Hoggle, Sarah with Worm & Ludo Funko! Pop set; and the David Bowie Retrospective and Coloring Book to make a pretty rad gift pack for yourself or a Bowieligious friend.

    * I was eight, okay. Give me a break!

    (This review is also available on Amazon, Library Thing, and Goodreads. Please click through and vote it helpful if you’re so inclined!)

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    Wednesday, November 23rd, 2016

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    Tuesday, November 22nd, 2016

    Book Review: Heartless, Marissa Meyer (2016)

    Monday, November 21st, 2016

    Whimsical and tragic, an inspired origin story for the Queen of Hearts.

    five out of five stars

    (Full disclosure: I received an electronic ARC for review through NetGalley.)

    She would be queen, and queens … queens did not open bakeries with their best friends. Queens did not gossip with half-invisible cats. Queens did not have dreams of yellow-eyed boys and wake up with lemon trees over their beds.

    The Fox folded her hands and recited,
    One to be a murderer, the other to be martyred,
    One to be a monarch, the other to go mad.

    Was he mad already? She couldn’t help inspecting him, newly speculative and curious. He didn’t seem mad. No more mad than anyone else she knew. No more mad than she was herself. They were all a little mad, if one was to be forthright.

    Lady Catherine Pinkerton is in love … with baked goods.

    The kitchen is her sanctuary: a refuge from a hyper-critical, socially ambitious mother; a meek father; and all the expectations that come with her social status – learning embroidery, attending balls, hanging out with the haughty best friend she can hardly stand. There’s nothing she enjoys more than dusting powdered sugar on a recently cooled lemon tart, or kneading bread dough until she’s ready to drop. She loves eating sweets, and sharing them with others: what quicker way to a stranger’s heart than through her stomach?

    Cath dreams of opening a bakery with her best friend/family servant (one of several), Mary Anne. Mr. Caterpillar the cobbler is set to retire, leaving his storefront vacant, and its busy location would make the perfect home for SWEETS AND TARTS: THE MOST WONDROUS BAKERY IN ALL OF HEARTS.

    Though her dream is almost adorable in its simplicity, the obstacles that stand in Cath’s way are anything but. As the only daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Rock Turtle Cove, Cath is its sole heir. Baking is considered unladylike – at least for ladies belonging to the royal class – and besides, she’s expected to marry and have children. In fact, her scheming mother has one particularly illustrious suitor in mind: the King of Hearts. He’s a nice enough guy, but fifteen years Cath’s senior, rather silly and daft – and baby-crazy, to boot.

    The arrival of the King’s new Joker – on the night he’s set to propose to Cath, nonetheless – only complicates matters further. A mysterious man who makes the impossible possible, with eyes the “color of sunflowers and butterscotch and lemons hanging heavy on their boughs” and dark, curly hair, Jest is the man of Cath’s dreams. Literally: she was chasing him the night her dreams grew a lemon tree over her bed. The very same tree that bore the lemons she used to make the tarts she baked for her King/future husband. (Maybe.) Oh, what a fantastic mess!

    (More below the fold…)

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    Monday, November 21st, 2016

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    Sunday, November 20th, 2016

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    Saturday, November 19th, 2016

    Book Review: Blood For Blood (Wolf By Wolf #2), Ryan Graudin (2016)

    Friday, November 18th, 2016

    Now this is how you end a series!

    five out of five stars

    (Full disclosure: I received a free electronic ARC for review through Edelweiss. Trigger warning for violence, including scenes of war. This review contains spoilers for WOLF BY WOLF, the first book in the series.)

    The world heard it. People of all stations, colors, creeds . . . Aryan mothers and fathers with broods of blond children, a balding shisha merchant in Cairo, an oily-faced adolescent in Rome. Many stared at the screen—mouths slack, stunned eyes—trying to process what had happened. Others who watched understood. This was the signal they’d been waiting for. One—a frizzy-haired Polish woman by the name of Henryka—even smiled at her television, whispering, “That’s my girl,” before she stood and got to work.

    “Monsters cut children open and call it progress. Monsters murder entire groups of people without blinking, but get upset when they have to wash human ash from their garden strawberries. Monsters are the ones who watch other people do these things and do nothing to stop it. You and I are not monsters. If anything, we’re miracles.”

    Yael almost rolled up her sleeve there and then, almost pointed to the loping lines of Aaron-Klaus’s wolf, almost told Luka everything she was. But Luka was playing with his father’s dog tag again. And Yael found herself wondering if Kradschützen troops had rolled through this very village, letting their motorcycles idle as the SS made it a pile of bones. She wondered if Luka had any idea how their pasts tangled and tore at each other’s throats.

    When last we saw concentration camp survivor/skinshifter/member of the resistance/trained assassin Yael, she had just shot Adolf Hitler. Or rather, the man she believed to be Adolf Hitler. Before he died, the Führer’s doppelgänger revealed his true face; flashes cycled through so quickly that only Yael was able to process and make sense of them.

    This not-Hitler was, like her, a product of Experiment Eighty-Five: Dr. Engel Geyer’s attempt to make Jews and other ethnic “undesirables” more Aryan in appearance. The experiments succeeded, and then some: with changes in Yael’s skin and eye color came the ability to change her appearance, drastically and at will. In a delicious twist of fate, Yael employed this newfound skill to escape from the camp – and, eventually, masquerade as Victor Adele Wolf, enter the 1956 Axis Tour, and get close enough to Hitler to shoot him three times at point-blank range. Or so she thought.

    Though she didn’t win the race – thwarted as she was by Luka Löwe, 1954’s Victor and the boy Adele betrayed to win in 1955 – Yael still scored an invitation to the Ball, thanks to lovesick Luka. Yael ripped his heart out and waltzed all over it at the end of Wolf by Wolf – not because she doesn’t reciprocate his affections, but perhaps precisely because she does, and nothing good can come of it. And so Yael is cruel to be kind, dumping Luka in the harshest of terms before gunning down not-Hitler. Only this doesn’t save Luka from becoming embroiled in her mess; quite the contrary. The guy who brought Hitler’s assassin to the ball? Well, the Gestapo’s going to want to have a word or two with him, and Luka knows it. So when Yael runs, Luka follows.

    Luka isn’t the only boy Yael left behind. There’s also Felix Wolfe, Adele’s twin, who Yael bound, gagged, and abandoned in his room at the Palace. Now he’s fallen into the Gestapo’s hands. Though Yael revealed her true identity before shooting Hitler, it doesn’t really matter one way or the other to the Reich. They need a scapegoat, and it’s going to be Adele and the Wolfe family. That is, unless Felix can gain Yael’s trust and infiltrate and betray the resistance.

    (More below the fold…)