Obviously, you aren’t picking up Casanova because you think it’s a powerful film that will reveal something universal about the struggle of humankind. You’re picking it up because you want to watch beautiful people fall in love with one another. And it will deliver that for you.

The romance is never very convincing for me, but I thought that the movie was absolutely hysterical—much in the same vein as A Knight’s Tale. But not quite as good. The mistaken identities and disguises reminded me of many of Shakespeare’s early comedies and examples of French farce. This is definitely a Romantic Comedy.

The movie is not nearly as risque as the poster would lead you to believe. Sorry if that disappoints anyone.

And although most points of the movie are absolutely over-dramatic, there’s great background humor throughout. People fall and stumble constantly in this movie, which was a great comfort to a clumsy person such as myself.

The Neverending Story is written in two parts: Atreyu’s Great Quest and Bastian’s journey through Fantastica. In the first half of the book, Bastian is in the attic of his school reading about the world of Fantastica, in which the Childlike Empress is dying because of a strange illness—and her illness is causing Fantastica to be consumed by the Nothing. Atreyu is sent to find the cure for the ruler and the world, but he discovers that he must find a way to bring a human to Fantastica to give the Childlike Empress her new name. Sadly, no Fantastican can ever cross the borders of Fantastica unless they are consumed by the Nothing. Dejected, Atreyu returns to the Ivory Tower fearing that he has failed the Childlike Empress. However, she reveals that the human child has been following Atreyu from the beginning of his journey and just needs to call out the name he has chosen for her. After much hemming and hawing, Bastian finally names her Moon Child.

The second half of the book begins with Bastian and Moon Child sitting face-to-face. She hands him the last grain of sand from her vast empire and gives him the task of rebuilding Fantastica with his wishes. The awkward, pudgy boy lets his imagination run wild, and he is transformed with each wish that he makes. And by that I mean that he not only becomes great and powerful and becomes courageous rather than timid, but he also loses his memories of the human world with each wish that he makes.

Bastian desperately tries to journey to the center of Fantastica to meet Moon Child once more, but Atreyu warns him that no one can ever meet her more than once. Bastian loses more and more of himself with his wishes and ever-increasing greed, and tries to crown himself the new Emperor of Fantastica. However, he is saved from himself through a nearly tragic event and begins his quest to make his way back to the human world. Along the way, he must regress back to being a small child again—because in this coming-of-age story, being childlike is not necessarily undesirable.

So, Bastian is transformed by his world of fantasy, and it is transformed by him. Art and the artist shape one another. Our world desperately needs fantasy, because when we forget it we find ourselves surrounded by lies and circumstances which lack meaning. However, one cannot allow fantasy to control them—for when we are lost in fantasy we forget who we are, forget truth, and our delusions of grandeur become violent and/or destructive. That is the very long reason of why I love this book. I am such a huge advocate of fantasy, and I firmly believe that this book is the reason why. Fantasy is deep and rich, filled with both beauty and horror. It is built, as Bastian discovers, upon a foundation of lost dreams. The book begs you to imagine what you read, and invites you to imagine the stories which are not told. But the author (unfortunately now deceased) understands that mankind cannot live in these dreams. It is dangerous to be controlled by fantasy, and it is dangerous to ignore it. Children, who live in both worlds, are infinitely wise.

In a world not too dissimilar from our own, England is run by capable magicians who control the powerless masses of commoners. Of course, the magicians wield no true powers other than their capabilities to control spirits from the Other Place. Nonetheless, the magicians in London have successfully managed to overturn their great rival—Prague—and are about to launch an attack on the American colonies who are trying to become independent.

John Mandrake, at the ripe young age of fourteen, has proved his merit as a young magician by saving the Prime Minister’s life after a usurper attempted to unleash the power of the Amulet of Samarkand on an unsuspecting gathering of top-ranking politicians. John has therefore been awarded with the position as Assistant to the Head of Internal Affairs and is able to serve out his apprenticeship under a magician far worthier than his previous master. However, John finds that he may be in over his head with his current task: to stop the Resistance—commoners who resort to acts of petty terrorism in their attempts to overturn the magician-led government. John’s frustration leads him to do something which he is pretty sure he will eventually regret.

He summons the smart-talking Bartimaeus to aid him.

Under normal circumstances, the djinni and his incessant habit of backtalk would be a mere nuisance. But for John, it is a dangerous choice to summon this particular demon: Bartimaeus managed to discover John’s true name—Nathaniel—three years earlier during the nasty business with the Amulet.

However, readers are once again in for a treat. As with The Amulet of Samarkand, chapters alternate in their perspective: following Nathaniel, Bartimaeus, and Kitty Jones. Bartimaeus, being a djinni of great renown and magnificent power, narrates his own chapters. Jonathan Stroud has managed to create an unforgettable (or, hard to forget, anyway) character in Bartimaeus. I would find myself laughing out loud at Bartimaeus’ cheeky retorts and self-assured narration. He has served masters on earth for nearly 5,000 years—and Nathaniel pales in comparison to some of his previous masters. Since Bartimaeus fears no punishment from Nathaniel (he can turn the spells back on the caster since he knows his true name), he treats his young master with contempt and twists Nat’s commands to suit himself.

Aside from the hilarity and copious footnotes from Bartimaeus, this novel is filled with as much magic, mystery, political intrigue, and adventure as the first novel. However, readers may find that they have a hard time deciding with whom they will side. Nathaniel is no longer the sympathetic character we met previously. This is no oversight by the author, either—Bartimaeus even comments that his master has become more John Mandrake and less Nathaniel. Bartimaeus, though deceitful and delightfully wicked, has an unexpected streak of nobility. And what about Kitty Jones? Nat has a personal bone to pick with this member of the Resistance, but he does not share with the readers the knowledge of personal tragedy (and secret ability) which led her to join their ranks. My allegiance has shifted considerably over the course of the two books.

This book is perfect for you if you are eagerly anticipating the next Harry Potter book. I highly recommend this book!!

I love Juliet Marillier. I can’t say that I absolutely adored this book, though, despite the fact that my love for its author knows relatively few bounds. I liked the book very much, however, is something I can say without any qualifications.

Just as Son of the Shadows, sequel to Daughter of the Forest, dealt with the “sins of the father”, Foxmask, sequel to Wolfskin, deals with the same theme, but from a different approach. I think that Marillier does a good job here, just as she did in SoS, but these characters were not as dear to my heart, making it a less good book. The male protagonist goes off in search of his father, who was banished for fatricide and general havoc-wreaking in Wolfskin. He wonders what kind of monster this man is, and if he is going to turn out like him. The female protagonist stows away on his vessel because of her deep infatuation, but the journey teaches her the nature of true love. (Well, of course.) Pretty basic plot lines, with a nasty lying-liar of a villain, and a happy ending.

Castle in the Air is the sequel to Howl’s Moving Castle. The story begins with a young carpet merchant who is given to daydreaming about a more ideal life for himself. Abdullah, who was a disappointment to his father, dreams that he is actually a prince who was taken in by the kindly merchant and that he is destined to meet and marry a beautiful princess. Of course, none of these things will ever come true for him.

Until he comes across a magic carpet.

Fortunately, but usually unfortunately, Abdullah finds that his lifelong daydreams start to come true thanks to this carpet and a magic genie. He meets his beautiful princess, but when she is kidnapped he starts off on an adventure to rescue her. And eventually, his travels even take him to Kingsbury in Ingary.

I didn’t find Castle in the Air to be half as much fun as Howl’s Moving Castle, but it was still fun. Abdullah is endearing in his own way, but the story really picks up once the cast from HMC steals the scene (and it is much sooner than the reader originally assumes). Worth reading if you enjoy Diana Wynne Jones’s style of storytelling.

Love Medicine is one of my favorite books. The novel—which feels more like a collection of related short stories—is an analysis of different types of love and the consequences which they bring. Family love, erotic love, lust, longing, hatred, neglect, self-love, betrayed love, unrequited love, forbidden love, miguided love…in less than 400 pages, Louise Erdrich weaves all of these together by telling the intersecting stories of two families.

The novel opens with a third person narration of June Kashpaw, who tries to walk home during a snowstorm and freezes to death. Before the first chapter ends, the narrative is picked up by Albertine Morrissey, June’s niece, who returns home from college and observes her family members finding different ways to deal with their grief. The second chapter rewinds, taking the readers back to the 1940’s and hands the narrative reins to Marie Lazarre. Each chapter is narrated by a different voice, and intersects with other portions of the novel.

And it works. It all works. Symbols and themes (Easter, wild animals, Ojibwe folklore, water, etc.) run through each of the stories, connecting the characters over time and space. Storylines are left unresolved, which makes sense since we are looking at snapshots of people over time. And these people aren’t always pretty or likable. They are broken and yearning. I especially love Marie Lazarre-Kashpaw, whose voice wavers on the brink of insanity when she is near Sister Leopolda, and cools and calms in her old age when she becomes a mother and jilted wife.

An absolutely beautiful book and 100% worth picking up!