RoseBlood-y Awful

Well, that's that.  

I have been looking forward to reading this book for months.  I <3 A.G. Howard's Splintered series (except the cop-out ending, but that's neither here nor there), and expected to <3 RoseBlood, too.  I didn't.  Before I get too far into my review, though, here's the GORGEOUS cover, and the blurb from Goodreads: 

In this modern day spin on Leroux’s gothic tale of unrequited love turned to madness, seventeen-year-old Rune Germain has a mysterious affliction linked to her operatic talent, and a horrifying mistake she’s trying to hide. Hoping creative direction will help her, Rune’s mother sends her to a French arts conservatory for her senior year, located in an opera house rumored to have ties to The Phantom of the Opera.

At RoseBlood, Rune secretly befriends the masked Thorn—an elusive violinist who not only guides her musical transformation through dreams that seem more real than reality itself, but somehow knows who she is behind her own masks. As the two discover an otherworldly connection and a soul-deep romance blossoms, Thorn’s dark agenda comes to light and he’s forced to make a deadly choice: lead Rune to her destruction, or face the wrath of the phantom who has haunted the opera house for a century, and is the only father he’s ever known.

I can recall with crystal clarity my first introduction to The Phantom of the Opera.  It was Gerard Butler as Erik, Emmy Rossum as Christine, and Patrick Wilson as Raoul.  The atmosphere, the setting, the music, captivated me, and I must have watched that film a hundred times, listened to the score a hundred more.  No, the contemporary version definitely does not hold a candle to Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford's performance (which I saw later), but was stunning to my heart and soul, all the same.  And while I appreciate the absolute perfection of the West End Brightman/Crawford version, there's just something about the jazzed-up coolness of Butler and Rossum (and the brilliant supporting cast - Minnie Driver is incomparable as Carlotta) that keeps their representation of the tragic story relevant and relatable.  

This is the love which led me to RoseBlood.  And then RoseBlood broke my heart.

Let's start with our heroine.  (Believe me, I'm using the term very loosely here.)  She's the most Mary Sue Mary Sue that ever Mary Sued.  She is (of course) beautiful.  And she is (of course) monumentally talented (though her talent drains her).  She (of course) has a tragic past she has to overcome.  And she is (of course) kind and generous and friendly and selfless and misunderstood by the mean girls.  And she is (gasp!) cursed by gypsies!  (Insert eye roll here.)  There is no - not one - instance in this book in which I liked, or even cared about Rune Germain.  (Let's digress here for a moment - Rune brings to mind Celtic and Scandinavian mysteries, not French ones, so for me, "Rune" was a distracting misnomer.  Yes, I suppose it has something to do with her gypsy [again, eye roll] heritage, but just dislike.)  And, in my opinion, she's ignorant.  Not in a book-learnin' way, but in a way-of-the-world way.  A *mysterious* stranger tells her that she is his soulmate, destined to be his lover, and she's just like, oh, ok, sweet.  That explains everything.  Whaaaa?  She's obviously never heard of stranger danger. 

Now, I am a sucker for a good gothic mystery.  What I am not a sucker for is the most gothic of gothicy gothicness wrapped in gothicity.  This book has potentially the coolest setting imaginable - a boarding school in an old opera house situated way out in the French countryside.  There's a graveyard; there's a chapel; there's an aviary.  I mean, seriously cool.  But its extreme coolness is dulled by the fact that EVERY SINGLE element of EVERYTHING, right down to the motes of dust dancing the waltz in shafts of golden, iridescent light, is described in painful detail, which removes any opportunity I have as a reader to use my imagination.  It's as if Howard doesn't trust her readers to grasp how awesome this place is, and so she takes it upon herself to make sure the readers understand.  As a reader, I hate it when authors do this.  I like to think the author assumes I have some level of intelligence, and can reach certain conclusions on my own, without being led there every step.  The result here is pure and unadulterated tedium.

"There has to be some redeeming quality in this book," you say.  "How about the hero?  Is he dreamy?"  No.  He's not.  Oh, he's gorgeous, because in this book everything is (and the author will tell you so, multiple times, and over and over and over ad infinitum).  But Thorn exists as a tortured soul (and a thorn in the side of this book), and the pseudo-step-son of Erik, the original Phantom.  Potential!  Wasted.  Because you know what's even worse than blood-sucking vampires?  Psychic energy-sucking vampires.  Because apparently that's a thing.  Buh-bye - I'm out.

Though touted as a Phantom of the Opera retelling, it's more of a continuation of Leroux's original narrative; it picks up Erik's story (though he's not the main character here) years in the future (and for those of you who like math, you'll notice how many years...) where he is creeping around making Thorn do his nefarious deeds for him.  He leaves notes signed OG, which definitely doesn't stand for Original Gangsta', but for Opera Ghost (I just rolled my eyes so hard I saw my brain).  The turn Howard has made him take is disturbing, and the fact that he owns a rave (yes, you read that correctly - Phantom of the Rave, because dub-step is so much cooler than opera) is just this side of completely ridiculous.  And his ultimate plan something seventh level of creepy hell. 

In short, don't waste your time.  This was a complete swing and a miss for me.  I wish Howard the best of luck with her next project, because I really think she has talent and imagination, but IMO, she tried way too hard on this one.    

My next review will be of A Study in Charlotte, and will be decidedly more flattering to both book and author.  

How Much is Reading Worth?

To me: $1/book.
 "What?" you say, "that's crazy.  You can't put a monetary value on the experience of reading a book!"
Sure I can.  Because in the reading contest my sister and I are having in 2017, that's what each book is worth. $1.

 I like to say I was born a reader.  Now, obviously I don't mean that literally, because that would be just silly.  What I mean is I was born with something inherent that compels me to read.  Throughout my life, I've read books from every genre (except horror.  Well, bloody horror, anyway.  Because I don't care if you are a big 'fraidy cat, you still have to read Stephen King), and count books from each of them among my "most very favorite books of all time forever and ever".  So there is no shortage of books in the world to hold my interest.  Sure, I have my preferred types of books (see this blog post) and I read extensively in that genre, but that's not to say I'm not up for a good western, either.  And though non-fiction isn't really my cup of tea per se, I'm not above picking one up every now and then.  All this to say: I consider myself fairly well-read. 

 My sister came to her love of reading later in life.  My childhood memories of her reading don't extend past The Berenstain Bears or The Babysitters Club: Little Sister.  I don't really know what she wasted her childhood on, but it certainly wasn't reading.  Barely able to contain the excitement generated by the most recent Black Stallion book I had finished, or by The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew (the Super Mysteries were *literally* the best of both worlds - Nancy and Frank totally had a thing), I would try to get her to read some of my books so I could talk to her about them.  Sigh.  It never happened.  Until... she found herself married to a man whose job required them to move frequently and all over the country, making it very hard for her to maintain a job or friendships.  That is to say, SHE GOT BORED.  I still remember the phone call: "Hey, I need something to do, and I'm thinking about reading a book.  Can you tell me a good one?"  ONE?  Try a hundred.  It was like Christmas and my birthday got jiggy wit' it and had a love child.  I can't actually recall which book I initially suggested she read, but it must have been a good one, because she hasn't stopped reading since (she claims it was Lauren Kate's Fallen, but you'll have to take her word on that one).  It's been about three years now since my sister became "a reader", and though she will never catch me in the number of books she's read (to be fair, I did have, like, a 30-or-so-year head start), she's making a valiant effort.

So, back to my claim that a book is worth $1.  At the beginning of 2016, I started the year determined to fulfill a reading resolution challenge (see this blog post).  Though I read continuously through the year, the challenge fell by the wayside.  I just didn't have anything invested in it to keep me going.  I ended up the year having read a lot, but I couldn't tell you how many books, or which ones.  This year, I wanted to do something different.  I wanted to be able to look back and see which books I read, and how many books I read, in 2017.  I saw this cool thing on Facebook one day about putting a dollar in a jar every time you finish reading a book, and then at the end of the year taking those dollars to the bookstore to buy new books.  Brilliant!  And now that my sister reads, and we recommend books back and forth, I thought it may be fun to include her.  But, you know, sisters, so it had to, in some way, become a contest.  So the end result was this:  Each of us would a) write down the title and author of each book we finish reading in 2017, and b) put a dollar in a jar for each finished title.  Then, at the end of the year (Christmastime, to be exact), we will count the dollars to see who has more.  Whoever loses (it WILL NOT BE ME!) has to buy the winner the book of her choice.  So, not only will I get to buy a million dollars worth of books, but she also has to buy me one!   Bwahahahahaha!

13 weeks into 2017, I have a tidy little sum of $18 in my book jar (so much more fun than a swear jar!).  That's like a book every, uh, I don't know because math, but it's pretty darn good.  Not too shabby a clip, if I do say so myself.  As I finish books I particularly like, I'll post reviews and recommendations in an attempt to get back into regularly blogging.  I recently finished A Study in Charlotte by Brittany Cavallaro, and I'm itching to talk about it before I begin book 2 of the Charlotte Holmes series, The Last of August, so keep an eye open for that (probably early next week). 

And all jest aside, don't ever give up hope on something you believe may never happen.  I never in a million years believed my sister would one day share my love of reading.  I've never been so happy to be wrong about anything in my life.  But I'm still going to whip her in this reading contest.