Sink Your Teeth In

A human girl and a luscious male vampire decide to go steady. A werewolf offers the girl an alternative (hot-blooded) romance. Obviously, some females attract all the right monsters!

From StarMag, 30th September 2007

Review by DAPHNE LEE

ECLIPSE

By Stephenie Meyer

Publisher: Little, Brown, 629 pages

(ISBN: 978-0316160209)

THE story so far ... Bella Swan is a regular teenager in a small American town. She moves there in her junior year of high school and promptly falls in love with Edward Cullen, a handsome senior. Edward seems aloof at first, but, as Bella soon discovers, the reason he’s keeping his distance is that he’s a vampire and finds the scent of her blood intoxicating.

In vampirical terms, Bella is one hot (and living) chick, never mind she’s a pretty average-looking (human) girl. Edward is in love (and blood-lust) with her and is terrified that he will harm her. It turns out that he and his undead mates (all equally scrumptious) are reformed vampires who feed on wildlife, not humans. This makes Bella think that there’s a future for her and Edward. Unfortunately, although she’s safe from him and his friends, a group of rogue vamps have marked her as prey.

This is basically what you learn in Twilight, the first of Stephanie Meyer’s series about young love undead-style. In the second book, New Moon, things get decidedly hairier (or rather, furrier): Following an incident involving a paper cut and some seriously thirsty vampires, Edward decides to check out of Bella’s life to ensure her safety. Bella, feeling rejected and angry, decides to drown her sorrows in some reckless behaviour. She starts hanging out with her friend Jacob Black, a young motorcycle-riding Native American wild child. Nothing very naughty happens, though. All the pair gets up to is performing motorcycle stunts.

But then Jacob gets turned into a werewolf and, suddenly, Bella has two extremely personable monsters in her life – we should all be so lucky!

Although Bella gets on really well with Jacob, she can’t forget Edward. The latest book, Eclipse, sees her reunited with the love of her life – cue sighs of pleasure and longing from teenage girls the world over.

Okay, as a certain teenager I know likes to tell me, I am “excruciatingly old” and, thus, probably not the reader Meyer had in mind when whipping up her tale of love, lust and chastity in Forks, Washington, pop 50,000. In Eclipse, Bella and Edward spend an inordinate amount of time snogging. Such scenes always include Bella waxing lyrical about Edward’s cold, hard body, his icy lips, glittering golden eyes, etc. Bella, by the way, is hot to trot, but Edward is a gentleman vampire to the hilt. His self-possession is admirable, astounding even, and also, if you ask me, rather tedious.

My first impression of Eclipse was that of a whole lot of heavy breathing and heaving chests capped inevitably with the breathers and heavers having to metaphorically slap each other with cold towels. I guess all that self-control is kinda sweet, especially coming from a boy who’s really hundreds of years old. However, as I started to lose count of the scenes in which Edward firmly but kindly stops Bella from ripping his clothes off, the word “tease” started to occur to me.

No, no, not Edward. After all, he is just acting according to the will of his creator. Ms Meyer on the other hand ... well, I’d just like to say that there are a great many teenage girls out there who are going to keep on buying these books until Edward and Bella finally do the wild thing.

Meyer, a practising Mormon, has likened the conflicts and challenges faced by her vampire characters to what human teens have to experience in real life. True enough, but I remember being a teenager and I really don’t think that most fans of this series would give a damn about Edward’s inner demons if he weren’t cute.

Is there more to Eclipse than Bella and Edward’s romance? Well, Jacob makes his presence felt more than ever and the rogue vampires are closing in. It looks like Bella is in for a bloody (or even bloodless) graduation, but can you blame the girl for finding it hard to concentrate on werewolves and possible violent death while the monster of her dreams goes on ad nauseum about saving “it” for marriage?

Poor Bella. The desire to find out if she gets her ... erm ... heart’s desire was what kept me turning pages. Obviously, as much as sex sells, abstinence keeps one coming back for more. That’s what Meyer’s books seem to say, anyway.

Bella: She's such a tease!

Consider Death

... and life. That’s what this book makes you do. It also makes you see your neck in a whole new light....

From StarMag, 29th July, 2007

Review by DAPHNE LEE

I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY NECK: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman
by Nora Ephron
Publisher: Knopf, 137 pages
(ISBN: 978-0307264558)

COINCIDENTALLY, the day after I finish reading this book, Nora Ephron appears on Oprah Primetime to talk about it and discuss (alongside Diahann Carroll and Geena Davis) ageing (or, really, anti-ageing).

What I find interesting is that Ephron answers questions (from Oprah and members of the audience) by “quoting” almost verbatim from the book. It doesn’t sound like she’s quoting, though. You’d only know if you’ve read it.

I am disappointed because I thought she’d have more up her sleeve than that. I mean, this is the woman who wrote When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, and Heartburn (to name a few modern masterpieces) for goodness’ sake. Still, although I’ve heard it all before, I laugh. The woman has perfect comic timing.

Heartburn, by the way, is a novel based on Ephron’s divorce from Carl Bernstein (the Washington Post journalist who, with Bob Woodward, broke the Watergate presidential scandal in the 1970s). Just months away from delivering their second son, Ephron (Rachel in the book) finds out that her husband is having an affair. It’s heartbreaking, but Ephron manages to make you laugh about it. What’s funniest (both ha-ha as well as bizarre) is how a seemingly intelligent man like Bernstein could have (if you believe Ephron) behaved like a complete ass.

Anyway, if you’ve ever had to deal with a donkey in man’s clothing, Heartburn is a must-read. The movie, starring Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep, is also pretty good.

Back to I Feel Bad About My Neck and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman. I do not feel bad about my neck, but I’m certainly not over the moon about various other body parts. This book is, of course, not about necks per se. It’s about how we women are never happy with the way we look. However, Ephron herself has problems with her neck. She appears on Oprah with a scarf wound round it and, watching her, I wonder the whole time what on earth she is hiding.

We know about necks, though. We’ve noticed wattles on our grandmas and grandpas. I feel bad about my thick waist and have done so ever since I had one, which is practically forever. But I have never considered my neck. This is probably because I don’t have a problem neck. Ephron writes that one of her biggest regrets is “that I didn’t spend my youth staring lovingly at my neck. It never crossed my mind that I would be nostalgic about a part of my body that I took completely for granted.”

I guess I should start staring lovingly at my neck from now on.

Ephron’s neck is just one chapter in this collection of essays about the trials and tribulations of being a woman of a “certain age”. She writes about hating her purse, about her life as a serial monogamist, about maintenance (or “Pathetic Attempts to Turn Back the Clock”), about falling in love (with an apartment), about falling out of love (with Bill Clinton), about the joy of reading (my favourite chapter – surprise, surprise).

There’s a list of all the things she wishes she’d known as a younger woman: nothing on it surprised me, which probably means I am no longer a young woman.

The book ends with thoughts on death. I have re-read this chapter a couple of times. It’s very funny and extremely moving, and just a tiny bit depressing. It would probably be much more depressing if you were in your 60s and above, or if you were ill.

Death seems unreal when you’re young. It might even seem glamorous. Or romantic. The older you grow, the more you realise that death is the least of your worries. Dying is the real problem. If only we could all slip away peacefully in our sleep, fully moisturised and wearing our best silk nighties. Oh, the horror of a painful death. A long, lingering, conscious and painful death. Incontinent. Ga-ga. Drooling.

And so, you close the book in a thoughtful mood. You consider death. You consider being happy about your nice neck. You think that no matter how ridiculous you look in a bikini now, you might later regret not ever having worn one. You consider death. You feel happy that you are not dead and not dying. You consider life. You count your blessings. Including your neck.

Dark Delights

From Tots to Teens, StarMag, 22nd July 2007

MY SWORDHAND IS SINGING
By Marcus Sedgewick
Publisher: Orion, 228 pages
(ISBN: 978-1842555583)

I’VE been trying to remember what it was I used to like about vampires and vampire novels. Of course, I still think Bram Stoker’s Dracula is one of the best gothic novels ever written, but it’s been a while since I called myself an Anne Rice fan. Was I ever in love with Louis, the central character in her Interview with a Vampire? I think I might have been!

In a recent article about Stephenie Meyer’s vampire trilogy, teenage readers gush about Edward Cullen, the heroine’s vampire boyfriend. There are online forums dedicated to him. One girl, in a review posted on amazon.com, describes him as “one of those male fictional characters like Mr Rochester you can’t help but fall in love with”.

In the article (published on Arizona State University’s website, www.asu.edu/news/stories/200705/20070504_prom.htm), a professor discusses how teenagers are drawn to vampires because they identify with these characters and the conflicts they face.

A vampire is an outcast, an outsider, and teens often feel similarly misunderstood and alienated. Vampires are also often depicted wrestling with their conscience and trying to decide between right and wrong – again, just the way teens are.

Finally, vampires are usually drop-dead gorgeous and most of us (girls, especially) find handsome, mysterious men irresistible. Throw forbidden love into the mix and we’re sold. Until, that is, we grow up and realise that handsome mysterious men (non-fictional ones, anyway) are usually just hiding something (usually a girl friend) and will, invariably, want to borrow large sums of money.

Personally, I’m tired of the recent spate of novels about well dressed, immaculately coiffed teenage vampires. I like vampires to scare me, not make me stress about my mismatched wardrobe. The vampires in Marcus Sedgewick’s My Swordhand is Singing (Orion, 228 pages, ISBN: 978-1842555583) are bloated corpses who tear out their victim’s hearts and couldn’t give a toss about the latest Parisian fashions. They scare me. Silly.

The book is set in a small village at the edge of a vast forest. In the first chapter, a man is being pursued by another through the trees. Through the haze of his fear, he realises that he is being hunted by someone who is dead.

It is winter, a few days before St Andrew’s Eve, which the villagers believe is the start of the dark time of the world, when evil walks freely. The woodcutter Tomas and his son Peter, however, do not share in the old beliefs and superstitions. Tomas is an abusive drunkard with a past he hides, obsessively, from his long-suffering son.

Peter is lonely, raised a cynic but naturally curious. He is in love with Agnes, the daughter of the village draper; her father recently died but, it is whispered, he returns nightly to visit his family.

Unfortunately, Agnes is chosen to be the bride of a recently murdered man (a ritual that was once practised in Transylvania). As the bride of a corpse, she has to spend 40 days in isolation, mourning for her husband. This, of course, makes her easy prey for vampires and forces Peter to consider that the stories he has been raised to scoff at are not entirely a load of poppycock.

As Peter tries to separate fact from myth, sense from superstition, a band of gypsies arrive and reveal the truth behind his father’s past.

In his “author’s note”, Sedgewick describes how he researched his story, even travelling to Eastern Europe to learn more about the region’s superstition and folklore. Apart from the supernatural elements, Swordhand probably comes close to describing the life in a typical 17th century village Transylvanian village.

Although it’s unlikely that vampires ever roamed the forests of that land (Transylvania actually means “land beyond the forest”), belief in them was strong and real. So, while we can read Swordhand knowing all along that it is merely a spooky story, the author so successfully conveys the terror experienced by a community that believes in the possibility of falling prey to the undead that even the most sceptical of us might still experience shivers and goose bumps when reading this book.

And while there are no moody, mysterious and devastatingly handsome vampires in My Swordhand is Singing, Peter’s not to be sniffed at either. These days I prefer my men (even fictional ones) alive and kicking.

Makeup for the Soul

Offering cosmetics and perms to the hungry and oppressed may seem a bit Marie Antoinette-ish but what value can one place on a smile where, before, there wasn’t any?

Review by DAPHNE LEE

KABUL BEAUTY SCHOOL: THE ART OF FRIENDSHIP AND FREEDOM

By Deborah Rodriguez

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton, 275 pages

(ISBN: 978-0340935248)

MANY of us spend our lives marvelling at the good done by others. We read or hear about those who have given their time, resources and talents to the less fortunate and we feel impressed, wistful and incredulous.

Often, we are encouraged by others’ generosity to ask ourselves how we can contribute to our fellowman.

The truth is that everyone has something to offer others. Unfortunately, most of us just think about it and talk about it. Very rarely do we take time to actually do it.

Deborah Rodriguez just did it. When she decided to open a beauty school in Kabul, Afghanistan, she didn’t worry about practicalities, logistics or what people would say.

A beauty school in Kabul sounds like a frivolous plan for a war-torn country whose people are hungry and homeless, but a project like that is about so much more than highlights and lipstick.

Recalling a visit to an “undercover” beauty salon (run by local women) in Kabul, Rodriguez writes:

“There were women’s voices, women’s laughter – and that feeling of women relaxing with one another, laying hands on one another, telling one another the details of their lives and news of the lives around them.”

The salon, like salons the world over, was a female enclave, a place where women gathered, free from male scrutiny, criticism and control, and Rodriguez wonders if the real reason the Taliban is so against beauty salons is that they give “women their own space”.

A beauty school, thus, makes sense in Afghanistan, and on many levels. It’s a place where women can gather and support each other emotionally. It’s also a place where women can have fun, a pursuit many of us take for granted, but is rare in a place like Afghanistan.

In the short term, it offers a measure of respite from the grey and grim realities of life. And in the long term, the skills learnt at a beauty school arm women with the means of making an independent living, which boosts confidence and self-esteem, and, often, provides an escape route from a life of abuse.

Rodriguez first went to Kabul as part of a Christian aid mission, but found that she couldn’t contribute much as part of the team.

Back in her hometown of Holland, Michigan, Rodriguez was practically raised in her mum’s beauty salon and became a professional stylist herself.

During her first visit to Kabul, while her aid colleagues were out in the field, treating the sick, Rodriguez was given the task of sitting in the hotel and praying for them.

Instead, she ventured out to the town with her new Afghan friends. She trimmed their hair and one of them, Roshanna, became a fast friend and one of the first students at the beauty school that Rodriguez later helped to establish.

Roshanna is also one of the many Afghan women whom Rodriguez bonded with and whose stories help make Kabul Beauty School more than just a tale of shampoo, perms and hair removal .

Reading about what the average Afghan woman has to bear makes me feel very ashamed of the whinging I do every so often about really inconsequential stuff.

What are traffic jams, the lack of parking in KL and apathetic bank clerks compared with constant beatings, forced marriages and rape?

In Afghanistan, the rape victim is also considered to have committed a crime and is imprisoned. In a case described by Rodriguez, the rape victim’s father kills the rapist and is given a much shorter sentence than his daughter!

Rodriguez is appalled by the suffering she encounters and she tries to help by improving lives through employment and training.

The need to love and be loved obviously plays a big part in Rodriguez’s decision to move to Afghanistan. Twice married and divorced, she left two teenage sons in the States to live among strangers in a strange land.

Describing the moment when she left her abusive second husband, she adds, “I flew to Afghanistan, where my heart would soon fill with new people to love.”

Some might call her spontaneous and brave, while others might say she was simply self-indulgent and foolhardy. Rodriguez strikes me as a free-spirited risk taker with her heart in the right place.

I liked Rodriguez’s straightforward and matter-of-fact storytelling style.

She doesn’t dwell on the depressing aspects of her new life, but she does not avoid them either.

Not one to mince her words or gloss over the harrowing details, she spits them out with a fair bit of anger, directed at the guilty, and doesn’t bother to hide her own anguish and despair.

It’s comforting to know that there is someone who is trying to make a difference and it helps to be able to cry along with her. It’s a start anyway. Tomorrow is when you, and I, can do something, too.