Ramp up the Vamp Factor

I've been reading my butt off and been a selfish brat by not sharing. Here's my latest "shoveitinthefaceofeveryoneiknow" books, The Society of S by Susan Hubbard. It's the latest in vampire fiction. If you are going to ALA, you've been forewarned. Les, this means you.

Ariella knows there is something different about her, her father and her lifestyle, but it’s not until she meets her best friend Kathleen that she begins to question her differences. Her father slowly unravels the truth of Ari’s birth and the mystery of her mother’s disappearance at Ari’s birth.

Ari's new found knowledge of her heritage leads to a tragic event that has Ari doubting her father. She steals in the middle of the night and leaves a note that only reads "south." Along the way, Ari begins to understand her heritage and how it may impact those around her, for good and for bad. The journey to find her mother will bring up more questions about Ariella and what her future will bring than she can answer. An unexpected phone call from her best friend's brother has Ariella demanding, and receiving, the truth about her family and their heritage.

The voice of the narrator and the storyline will keep adult and teen readers captivated as the plot unfolds at a leisurely, yet utterly compelling, pace. Lyrical writing reminiscent of Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic.

The New York Times Got it Wrong

Art Buchwald, one of America's greatest living political satirists died January 18. He had a terminal illness and after being told he only had a couple of weeks to live, I imagine he chomped on his cigar, uttered an epithet and then went home to live much longer than those stupid doctors initially thought.
As a kid, I had no idea that Art Buchwald had a column in The New York Times. I knew him as the author of one of my favorite books. It was one of my mother's favorites, too. Irving's Delight. This short novel is a droll look at the television advertising industry. There are loveable stereotypes and laugh-out-loud humor and nobody writes books like this one anymore. It's what we in the trade call a "gentle read." The humor is old-fashioned, the pace is quick and anyone who can forget how jaded they really are will appreciate a simple, silly story about catfood, catnappers, cat detectives, cat allergies, and kittens. Oh, and The New York Times goofed. They said that Buchwald only wrote two novels. Wrong. He wrote three. They forgot this one.
Biblio-vitals: The pacing is lightning fast. The tone is slapstick comedy. What you need to know about this book is there is no rough language, no violence, no cats died or were injured in the writing of this book and it's illustrated. For finicky readers only.