It’s been a while since I’ve written a review. But when Novel Publicity sent out the blog tour promo for John Paul Jaramillo’s The House of Order, I knew I had to sign up. The writing captured my attention immediately, as did the storytelling format and the story itself.
Probably the best word to sum up this book is “raw.” Some might translate this as “uncensored.” (Don’t say I didn’t warn you!) Some might prefer “harshly realistic.” I would say that this book is not just about a broken family trying to forge and maintain relationships–it’s about the human condition at its ugliest, most honest, and most naked.
Manito, the young man who narrates the story, tells the history of his family through stories that have been passed down to him from family members, specifically his uncle, Neto. There is not much cheerfulness or even hope in these stories, but there is a huge dosage of survival. In this way, Jaramillo captures the longing for love, hope, and purpose that drives Manito and his family to survive.
Novel Publicity Blog Tour Notes:
Wanna win a $50 gift card or an autographed copy of The House of Order? Well, there are two ways to enter…
- Leave a comment on my blog. One random commenter during this tour will win a $50 gift card. For the full list of participating blogs, visit the official House of Order tour page.
- Enter the Rafflecopter contest! I’ve posted the contest form below, or you can enter on the official House of Order tour page–either way works just as well.
About the author: John Paul Jaramillo grew up in Southern Colorado but now lives, writes and teaches in Springfield, Illinois. He earned his MFA in creative writing (fiction) from Oregon State University and, currently, holds the position of Associate Professor of English in the Arts and Humanities Department of Lincoln Land Community College. Connect with John Paul on his website, Facebook, Twitter or GoodReads.
Get The House of Order on Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
Please enjoy this guest post by Brian Holers, author of the literary novel, Doxology. Then read on to learn how you can win huge prizes as part of this blog tour, including $450 in Amazon gift cards, a Kindle Fire, and 5 autographed copies of the book.
One of the beauties of self-publishing is that the gatekeeper has been fired. In this new world of books made possible by the Internet, no one is left to guard the door. To tell the reader what is what. This state of affairs may introduce an element of confusion for dogmatic readers, but the good news is, new breeds of literature are being created.
Self-publishing allows literature to cross over in new ways. Traditional Christian fiction publishers, for instance, disallow most references to sex, and even the most juvenile profanity. Self-publishing changes this. Not to suggest a writer should ever debase a genre—as writers we are obliged to choose our words carefully. But the old Christian books kept many readers away. “I’m not going to read that. That’s Christian. It’s boring.” Still, nearly every Christian I know periodically swears, fights, and even becomes amorous from time to time. Christians like good stories too, with depth of character, excitement, whimsy, action. The success of a book like The Shack shows the need for stories of real people dealing with real problems, in a faith-based context. It doesn’t even have to be good literature.
As humans, we all look for answers. Stories are stories. Conflict builds to crisis, which leads to a form of resolution. Sure, some people never doubt their faiths, even in the face of horrible tragedy. Others do. Some never ascribed to a faith in the first place, and instead spend their days casting about for a context to this condition we call humanness. The problem with much traditional Christian literature is this; when a character is pushed to a crisis, and the only change we read is “he fell on his knees, then and there, and accepted Jesus into his heart,” that incident may describe a beautiful sentiment, and may have value to a real person in real life, but as a reader, it doesn’t tell me anything. A reader wants details. He wants to see the sweat break out. She wants to hear the thoughts and words that accompany the character’s condition. Literature is literature. We want to see development. We want to get inside the characters. We want to get to know them. That’s why we care. Regardless of the genre label put on the book.
Doxology is a story in between. The book has a religious message; given its primary setting in rural north Louisiana, that message is Christian. But the characters are just people. They experience the same emotions all people do—love, joy, loss. Their conflicts grow and grow until they must be resolved. Like real people, they go astray, take paths of separation from God, or just from what is good for them. They experience desires that can never be fulfilled, want things that can never be had or even understood. They discover the traits in their lives that aren’t working, and set out to find new habits that will work. Many Christian values are universal—a belief, despite evidence to the contrary, that our lives are worthwhile. An understanding that letting go, and learning how little we are in charge, makes life more manageable. A certainty that the kindness and compassion we offer to others is returned to us a hundredfold.
Some say God. Some say the universe. But we all–when we’re honest, and when we pay attention, have a sense of something looking out for us, giving us what we need. Putting people we need into our lives. We give credit for these gifts as we see fit. Good literature promotes a point of view by showing the reader how a character’s modes of operation and beliefs work for her (or don’t). Good literature, whatever its genre, lets the reader inside. Lets the reader do part of the work. Doxology, in this vein, is a story at the crossroad of God and man. It presents God as the characters experience God, and as real people experience God, looking out for them, giving them what they need. Coming to understand how God has been there all along.
Doxology is a love story. Faith plays a role, as it helps the characters find answers and resolution, improves their lives. Like Jody and Vernon and the others, we all look for redemption from brokenness of the past. They and we find it, as people both real and imaginary alike do, in family, friends, productive work, a sense of place, a faith in something greater. Doxology is a story, first and foremost. Its characters face problems. Their conflicts grow. They look for resolutions and ultimately find them, imperfect as they are. We the readers get to know them, and we care. We sympathize. They matter.
As part of this special promotional extravaganza sponsored by Novel Publicity, the price of the Doxology eBook edition is just 99 cents this week. What’s more, by purchasing this fantastic book at an incredibly low price, you can enter to win many awesome prizes. The prizes include $450 in Amazon gift cards, a Kindle Fire, and 5 autographed copies of the book.
All the info you need to win one of these amazing prizes is RIGHT HERE. Remember, winning is as easy as clicking a button or leaving a blog comment–easy to enter; easy to win!
To win the prizes:
- Purchase your copy of Doxology for just 99 cents
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I’ve never been too much of a non-fiction reader, usually preferring made-up worlds to the real one. When I first picked up The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks and saw that it was non-fiction, I’ll admit I was somewhat skeptical. Science has never been my strong suit, so a book about some woman’s cells didn’t sound all that enthralling. Still, I had heard several recommendations, so I opened it up, started reading, and was immediately hooked.
Henrietta Lacks was a black woman who, in 1951, developed and died of a particularly invasive cancer. Her doctors took a routine sample of the cancer cells and discovered that, unlike all other cancer cells they had examined, hers never died. I’m not going to even try to go into more details about what happened or why, because I don’t retain science very well and will just sound ignorant. To quickly summarize, the rest of the story follows the groundbreaking research for which HeLa cells were responsible, the history of Henrietta and her family, and the attempts of the author, Rebecca Skloot, to uncover the injustices done to the Lacks family.
Rebecca Skloot’s writing style is honest and easy to follow, pulling the reader into the journey she took to discover the history behind Henrietta Lacks’ immortal cells. The scienctific aspects are clearly explained without being condescending, and the family stories are told with detail and reverence. Skloot paints a vivid picture of the Lacks family and their struggles, which stays with the reader for some time after finishing the book. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is a fascinating read, well worth the reader’s time.
I should probably admit my horrifying secret right off the bat before I even start this review: I don’t like Jane Austen. I’ve tried. My first encounter with her was in junior high. After years of hearing my mother rave about her humor, wit, and writing skill, I finally gave in and read Sense and Sensibility. I was probably either too young or too immature to appreciate it at all; I just remember being bored. A few years later, I read Pride and Prejudice. I was slightly more able to keep up with the storyline, characters, and themes, but the end result was once again that I was bored. Finally, this summer, I decided that I needed to catch up on all the Jane Austen I’ve missed out on, so I grabbed Persuasion off of my mom’s bookshelf and delved in. Once again, I sadly found myself bored.
I didn’t want to be bored by such a classic; really, I didn’t. I wanted to laugh at Austen’s biting social commentary, commiserate with the tortured heroine, and rejoice at the happy ending. But somehow, the whole thing seemed inauthentic. This is probably a sign of my immaturity or inability to understand the time in which the story is set, but I promise I at least tried.
The main thing that bothered me about Persuasion was the emphasis on intelligent society for which Austen is so renowned. As much as I enjoy a good discussion, it gets on my nerves when intellect or understanding is glorified above all else. It reminds me too much of the stereotypical pompous English major who looks down her nose at the obliviously cheerful citizens of the world, going about their daily business without even an attempt to comprehend the intertwining themes of life. I love the discovery involved in reading a good book, but the pretentiousness gets old after a while.
Although I’m sure I would have enjoyed the company of Jane Austen were we friends in real life, I’m not so sure she would like me. I don’t know that I’m sensible enough. Her writing is peppered with statements from the heroines such as “She was too ignorant and giddy for respect” (Chapter 9) and “My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation” (Chapter 4). That’s an awful lot of pressure.
I should probably stop rambling about how much I dislike pretentiousness, because it’s making me feel pretentious. To end on a slightly happier note, Persuasion is definitely a thoughtful book with characters that really come to life. Maybe someday I’ll grow up and be able to enjoy it more.
(This update is about things that happened in the not-so-recent past. I’ve been bad about keeping up with stuff.)
The lovely author and blogger Pavarti K. Tyler invited me to write a guest post for her wonderful blog, so I did! It’s about reading as a writer, and it’s up as of…four days ago. Don’t judge my timing.
In news that is even older (and thus probably can’t be called “news”) I also guest posted at Novel Publicity a couple weeks ago. You can read it here. This one’s about balancing real life with the writing life. Hope you enjoy!
PS: You are not allowed to laugh at the fact that I wrote an article about balancing writing and reality, and yet I haven’t posted in two weeks. We’ll pretend it’s because I’ve been doing more real-life things. Deal?
The other day, I spent some time browsing around my favorite bookstore: Powell’s Books. What I tend to do in bookstores is pick up the first book that looks good, start it, and finish it. On this particular day, the book happened to be Hattie Big Sky, by Kirby Larson, a Newbery Honor novel about a teenage homesteader girl in Montana. This was a perfect choice for a quick read because it is well-paced, enthralling, funny, and touching all at once. I left the bookstore happily processing the emotions required in reading a full book.
Hattie, the main character, is a sixteen-year-old girl living during the first World War with relatives who are reluctant to keep her, when she unexpectedly inherits a homestead in Montana. The remainder of the book depicts Hattie’s struggles to survive the harsh Montana winter, the challenges of maintaining a homestead, and some anti-German neighbors who make life difficult for Hattie’s closest friends (the father of whom happens to be German.) There is also a cow involved, which all the blurbs on the book itself seemed to find especially fascinating, but I was not completely won over by its bovine wiles.
I thought the book did a great job of intertwining plot lines and character developments. The only aspect I didn’t find convincing was the underdeveloped romance, which seemed thrown in and unnecessary. Other than that, the book seemed well thought-out and captivating, a combination that held my interest throughout. This is definitely a worthwhile read, especially to those children’s book aficionados.
It’s a special feeling when a book captures my attention to the point where I start to identify as the main character. I’m not referring to identifying with the main character, a feeling that occurs quite often when I become engrossed in books. I’m talking about full-on feeling that I am this character. Mark Haddon accomplished this for me with his fantastic novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. By the end of the book, which features Christopher, a 15-year-old with Asperger’s, I found myself wincing at things both in the book and outside the book that were done “wrong.” I didn’t quite get to the point where I was counting cars of the same color, which is what Christopher does to determine if he is going to have a good day, but the strong voice throughout definitely got to me by the end, in the most effective way possible.
The “curious incident” referred to in the title of the book is the murder of a dog belonging to Christopher’s neighbor, a crime that triggers a series of unforeseeable events that keep both Christopher and readers on their toes. The ensuing adventures are exciting, humorous, and poignant all at once–a feat especially remarkable by the author since the character experiences almost none of these emotions.
This is going to be a short review, but The Curious Incident is a short book. I highly recommend that you check it out purely to experience the magic Haddon creates through a character who would never believe in magic. He truly captures the paradoxes of humanity. This is a book well worth the read.
As an avid lover of the story form, I hate it when books are ruined for me in any way, even including the genre. Nevertheless, I can’t resist sharing that The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, is one of the saddest books I have read for quite a while. Its unique narrative perspective combines with a moving account of life in Nazi Germany to create a powerful story about the strength of love. The themes regarding the nature of stories, life, and love are made even more effective by a most unusual narrator: Death.
The main character, also known as the book thief, is a young German girl named Liesel. Her nickname, bestowed upon her both by Death and by her best friend Rudy, originates from the several books she steals over the years–some accidentally, others intentionally. Because of her affinity for books, Liesel is able to build relationships with her foster father (with whom she spends a great deal of time reading,) her friend Rudy (with whom she steals some of the books,) the mayors wife (from whom she both steals and borrows,) and perhaps most importantly, a Jew named Max whom her family hides in their basement. Through all of these people, but especially through her illegal friendship with a legally declared less-than-human, Liesel learns the power of love and the power of a story, an interesting moral to hear from the mouth of Death.
Zusak crafts a compelling tale that draws the reader close to the characters, making their pain even more deeply felt by the readers. The narrative structure additionally tugs at the heartstrings because of Death’s unique way of communicating. The story is not always told linearly; often details are given away before they actually occur. Death also often interjects his own point of view into the story, creating a narrator who is omniscient in a truly superhuman meaning of the word.
From beginning to end to middle, The Book Thief illuminates the beauty in life even in the midst of one of history’s most horrific times. As Liesel and her family and friends demonstrate, it is the small but powerful connections between people that make life worth living–even Death agrees. In this case, the connections are made not only through books, but through stories in general. Liesel’s story is one of survival, in stark contrast to the underlying presence of Death. As Death points out, it is the exceptions to his rule that he notices–and Liesel is definitely an exception. However, it is also those who are not the exceptions but who succumb to the power of the narrator over the course of the story that the reader notices. While the survivors pull at Death’s heartstrings (yes, as he points out, he has a heart,) even he notices the tragedies he brings on.
Despite the overwhelming presence of Death in The Book Thief, it is the life that is most memorable–the life of Liesel. Her stories and the stories she affects will stay with the reader long after the book is completed. The Book Thief is definitely a story that will steal your heart.
The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood, was one of those books that I picked up after hearing it recommended by countless book lists, but had no clue what to expect from the story itself. Upon reading it, I immediately fell in love with Atwood’s writing style. However, the problem with an enthralling writing style is that it takes much longer for me to read the book, since I have to savor every single word! In the case of The Handmaid’s Tale, the words are well worth the trouble of the story, which for me came secondary.
The novel follows the life of Offred, a handmaid in a dystopian society whose sole purpose is to reproduce. Over the course of the book, the reader becomes familiar with Offred’s life both under the strict regime of Gilead as well as her history before and during the descent of the new political powers. Despite the setting, however, The Handmaid’s Tale is not just a cautionary tale. It is an exploration into a human life, made even more powerful by the character’s removal from what we consider to be a normal setting.
One of the writing techniques I have found to be most powerful in novels is the author’s ability to create and explore not just a character but an entire life. Margaret Atwood accomplishes this on a brilliantly high level in The Handmaid’s Tale by exploring even the parts of the mind that lie to oneself. She delves so deep into the psyche of the narrator, Offred, that every detail about Offred’s life adds to a character so complex that the boundaries between her reality and her creations are blurred.
A creation in her own right, Offred makes it clear that her story is not clear, that it is a creation as flawed as she is and as life is. Despite the external focus on the imperfect, from the dystopian world to Offred’s character flaws to the flaws in the story telling process, the entire novel is one that focuses primarily on beauty. It is peppered with details about memories, the way something smells, tastes, looks, sounds, or feels, the ideas evoked by words, and the craft of story telling. These details do more than merely flesh out the story; they provide the reader with insight into the observations that make humanity unique.
Although I generally find dystopian novels to be somewhat over the top and moralizing, The Handmaid’s Tale is for me an exception in that it is not the plot that stuck with me after completion, but the main character. Offred comes to life for readers, telling her tale with an individualism that stands in stark contrast to the attempts at indistinguishability presented by the setting. Overall, this was a deeply moving account of a deeply human life that was well worth the read.
I walk alone at night, with no one near
to calm my ever-rising agony,
to clasp my hand and whisper in my ear,
to softly take my dreams and set them free.
They say they understand, but no one knows
the panic that I feel when each breath comes,
the tightness in my chest that always grows
until I sink to earth, blind, deaf, and dumb.
I cry and cry, but tears remain unleashed.
I scream away the pain within my soul
afraid that it will stay and never cease,
unsatisfied until it takes its toll.
The monster in me scratches at my heart
and threatens, always, to tear me apart.