"All My Rage" by Sabaa Tahir

It's been awhile since I've read YA fiction, and there's some pleasure in sinking into the trials and tribulations of being a teenager. Of course, like a lot of YA these days, All My Rage isn't about simple issues like high school gossip or first crushes. In fact, it grapples with a huge range of issues: immigration, racism, alcoholism, drug addiction, sexual assault, and domestic abuse. Its two protagonists are Noor and Salahudin, children of Pakistani parents who have been best friends since childhood. Their tumultuous backgrounds and current trauma intersect throughout the novel amid their love for each other. 

One of the elements the novel does best is acknowledge and take seriously its characters' anger. It can be easy to dismiss the strong feelings of teenagers as frivolous, but Noor and Salahudin have a lot to be angry about, suffering within structures outside of their control.

There are some things the novel does poorly. Like a lot of teen fiction, it get most about the college admissions process wrong and furthers the idea that the only colleges that exist are the top-twenty elite ones. Its primary villains--Noor's uncle Chachu and racist classmate Jamie--are broadly defined and one-dimensional. It has a pat ending, with villains getting comeuppance and heroes getting the happy ending.

But to be fair, I don't think the novel would have been improved with a grim ending. In fact, I was so anxious I skipped ahead a hundred pages and read the end to be sure all would be okay. Even with a reassuring ending, Tahir is still able to address a number of issues thoughtfully and with nuance.

"Harry Potter and the Cursed Child" by J.K. Rowling, John Tiffany, and Jack Thorne

Any avid Harry Potter fan has a difficult decision to make with the newest entry in the Harry Potter Universe: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, a play that follows Harry’s son Albus and is based on a story idea by J.K. Rowling but written by another man.

On the one hand, those fans--myself certainly included--love Harry Potter and are eager to re-enter the universe through whatever means are available. On the other hand, there’s something a little wrong in doing so via another person’s creative talent and in a means so divergent from the original seven-book series.

A Facebook friend described the book as “good fan fiction,” and while I think the description is pretty apt, I don’t think it’s the writing itself that’s problematic. More distracting is the play format and the incredibly short and jarring scene structure.

The play is divided into over 50 scenes, each act having nearly twenty scenes. That means that just as you adjust to the setting and the characters’ style and tone, you’re thrown out of that scene and into a completely new scene with a new setting and new characters. These shifts would probably be less an issue if you saw the play live, since visual cues of setting and characters would make it easy to follow. But as a reading experience it’s incredibly frustrating. Just as you feel at home with good ol’ adult Harry, Ron, and Hermione, you’re tossed to Albus or a flashback.

Part of what made reading the Harry Potter series great was getting into the “zone,” fully immersing yourself in the magical world of Hogwarts, forgetting to eat lunch because you’re too entranced in Harry’s world. It’s unlikely anyone would have the same experience reading Cursed Child. You’re painfully aware of your presence in the play’s text at every moment, so the world never becomes real.

And though this may be an meaningless quibble, I was also bothered by the writers’ decision to completely ignore traditional play structure. Most plays have a few acts, a few scenes, and a few straightforward settings. In crafting the play instead like a fast-paced short movie, the writers have ensured that most theaters could never perform it (the breakneck speed and special effects would require an enormous budget and technical staff), and they’ve ignored what often makes plays so enjoyable. We can see movies any time, but we choose to see theater because it offers a more intimate glimpse into human emotion and experience. While there are plenty of heart-warming moments in Cursed Child, the intimacy of theater feels lacking.

Those significant issues aside, there are some joys in this newest Harry Potter story. Scorpio, Draco’s son, has the most memorable journey and the most memorable lines. He’s fully his own character, and his growth is more interesting than that of Albus. Harry and Albus’ relationship, though the focus of the play, is a little less interesting, particularly because Harry’s flip-flop between over-reacting dad and sympathetic dad comes too quickly.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are happily all recognizable as their younger selves (maybe even too much so?), though the jokes about each other’s behavior perhaps seem a bit more stale when made by middle-aged adults.

In the end, Cursed Child is fairly un-memorable. Though I read it just a few weeks ago, I could probably only give you the barest plot outline. But, if I had the opportunity to see the stage version, I’d jump on the opportunity.

"The Rest of Us Just Live Here" by Patrick Ness

First caveat: I love (love love love) Ness' Chaos Walking trilogy. It is my favorite YA series of all time. I would love to reread it, but I'd cry too much.

See my reviews:
- The Knife of Never Letting Go
- The Ask and the Answer
- Monsters of Men

Moving on...

Some friends, my husband, and I recently finished watching the entire run of the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's a series I really enjoyed as a teenager, and it was even more fun to re-watch it. Occasionally, while Buffy and the "Scooby gang" were still in high school, we wondered about what parent would enroll their child at Sunnydale High School. I mean, students were dying constantly. And the school was almost always under attack by some demon or another. And where were the police in all this? Did they just completely ignore it so a 16-year-old with a stake could take care of it?

Clearly Ness wondered the same, and thus The Rest of Us Just Live Here was born. The Rest is about the peripheral students in all those YA fantasy series--what happens to them while the Chosen One is battling the Big Evil?

It's a fun idea, but one that doesn't quite work out. Though The Rest is set up as a satire of the YA fantasy genre, the satire is so gentle (even when it appears, which isn't often), that the cliches of the genre are hardly criticized. Sure, there's a side comment about the "Chosen Ones" never using the Internet or observations about how the police never believe the students' stories about strange things happening (even though vampires destroyed the town, like, a month ago!)... But, otherwise, Ness is more interested in his own characters' stories. Which is fine, but it means the whole premise feels somewhat insignificant.

What Ness is interesting in exploring is his protagonist Mikey and his three best friends: his sister Mel, his friend Jared, and his unrequited crush Henna. But unlike in Ness' other books, these characters felt cliche (ironic, considering the "satire" of the novel). Mikey is OCD and too afraid to tell Henna his feelings; his dad's an alcoholic; his state senator-mom is too self-involved to notice him. Mel is a recovering anorexic. Jared is gay but not really out. Henna is constrained but her strict parents. All of these can be real teenage issues, but they felt excessively heaped on. Even Mikey's "I'm cool with my BFF being gay" attitude--something I'm completely thrilled to see--just felt like a repeat (but perhaps that's because I read and loved Grasshopper Jungle, which had a similar relationship). There's some nice commentary about the nature of friendships, and I felt Ness did an especially good job of capturing the mindset of someone with severe anxiety, but otherwise it was too neat and too expected. The kids were too good to each other; everything worked out too well in the end.

It was a quick read, but it probably won't read as fresh to people who've read a good deal of YA fantasy.

[A side note--everyone refers to the "kids who are always involved in the strange stuff happening" as "indie kids," (they all have uber-hipster names like Finn and Satchel), but the term always felt wrong to me, so it became distracting.]

"We Were Liars" by E. Lockhart

How did I end up reading two YA books in a row after reading only one other the entire year? Oh, well. We Were Liars is certainly a different kind of YA than The Infinite Sea, and it comes from E. Lockhart, the author of The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, a smart, funny, feminist YA that I loved.

We Were Liars is also different than Disreputable History, as it's centered on a mystery and potentially unreliable narrator. Its narrator is Cadence, the oldest grandchild of the Sinclairs, a wealthy family that summers on their own island. The three aunts (including Cadence's mother) spend most of the summer sniping over the family wealth, but Cadence and her cousins Mirren and Johnny--as well as Johnny's Indian friend Gat--don't want anything to do with the family conflict. The book takes place two summers after a terrible accident that left Cadence with selective amnesia, and the novel's focus is on the process of Cadence unraveling what really happened.

Lockhart does a great job of building up the suspense around what happened to Cady, and she casts doubt on what all the characters have to say by including the family conflict and by telling us Cady and her cousins are collectively called "The Liars." The mystery drives the book at breakneck speed (I read it in one afternoon). The mystery is theoretically complemented by the romance between Cady and Gat, but I never felt much connection between them.

But, most unfortunately, Lockhart's reveal isn't able to live up to the tension of most of the novel. The "truth" isn't especially interesting or shocking (especially when the book's blurb summary sets huge expectations by proclaiming, "And if anybody asks you the ending, just lie."). And I never got why the group was called "The Liars." They didn't seem to lie all that much, and Cady's narration appeared to be truthful.

We Were Liars was still a good ride with a dud ending.

"The Infinite Sea" by Rick Yancey

Though I rarely read YA anymore, I'd enjoyed Yancey's The 5th Wave, a violent alien-invasion dystopian. Like all genre YA these days, The 5th Wave was only the first in a series, so I felt obliged to try The Infinite Sea.

When we finish The 5th Wave, Cassie has rescued her younger brother Sam, who was being trained by the alien invaders (disguised in human bodies) to kill other humans. She was able to execute the rescue only with the help of dreamy Evan Walker, one of the aforementioned alien-invader-in-human-body types who, of course, fell in love with Cassie. When The Infinite Sea begins, Cassie is holed up in a dilapidated motel with Sam and his fellow soldiers: Ben (aka Zombie, aka Cassie's high school crush), Ringer, Dumbo, Teacup, and Poundcake. Cassie's waiting for Evan, and since they're all recent escapees, everyone's pretty tense.

My problems with The Infinite Sea began pretty early. To start, there's not much going on. After a daring escape, they're sitting around, waiting and arguing. And Cassie, who narrates the first section, is just a boring narrator this time around. She's still a bit conflicted about Evan, but all this ground was covered in the last book. Evan's narration (which is thankfully short) is equally annoying. His Edward Cullen attachment to Cassie comes off creepy, not romantic.

The story gets better when Ringer picks up the narration, and fortunately her section is the longest of the novel. There's new characterization to be had here, and she has a little more to do.

Nevertheless, Ringer's narration doesn't make up for a lot of the novel's issues. For one, the outlandish injuries just keep piling on and on. Nearly all the characters are mortally wounded--in multiple places--at some point, yet they all heroically trudge and fight on. One minor character's mortally wounded stand is so absurd that it comes off as comical rather than brave. The hyper-violence even started to bother me; it's gratuitous and occurs toward children as young as six.

Yancey also tries to address some of the criticisms of the first novel, namely the question of why the aliens would bother with a complicated multi-step extermination scheme of humankind when there's easy ways to wipe the whole population out at once. Over and over the characters wonder about this issue (it's as if Yancey's saying, "SEE--I meant for it to make no sense! It was all part of the plot plan!"), but an answer's never given (saved for the third book, I'm sure). The twist "reveal" that does occur at the end of the novel is pretty unexciting.

I was bored through the first half, and though the second half improved, I'm not sure I'm too eager to finish the series.

"Eleanor & Park" by Rainbow Rowell

Though I've mostly given up YA novels, Eleanor & Park made "best of" lists so often that I gave in. And, truthfully, I'm not sure whether I should have, because although Eleanor & Park is sweet and touching with genuine teenage emotions, it is also so heartbreaking and bittersweet that I'm still wiping away tears.

On the outside, Eleanor & Park is your typical misfit-meet-misfit romance. Park is half-Asian, and though he's not actively bullied, he mostly tries to stay under the radar. Eleanor is big with loud clothes and hair and a terrible family situation--living in poverty with her four siblings and mother under an abusive step-father. Park and Eleanor bond reluctantly over shared bus rides and comic books, but their relationship soon blossoms with an intensity neither 16-year-old has felt before.

It can be difficult to capture the intensity of first teenage love without making the romance come across as hokey, insincere, or cliche. But Rowell successfully navigates not only the strong emotions, but also the insecurities and doubts that everyone remembers. And she's especially adept as capturing just how magnified every moment, word, and touch is at that age. How electrifying it is when you first touch another person--and are touched back--even if such touch is not sexual. Heck, I still vividly remember seeing a movie on a date at 16 and being so distracted by the fact that my elbow was grazing his on the armrest that I couldn't pay attention to the film's plot.

Rowell's novel also reflects the difficult dichotomy of any relationship. On the one hand, it's an intensely personal and private bond between two people. On the other hand, any relationship that lasts has to exist in the wider world--the world of families, friends, and outside obligations. We like to believe that if our personal bond is strong enough, nothing else matters, but that's simply not the case.

I'll give that Park may be a little too perfect--a bit too much of a fantasy realized for a real 16-year-old boy--but Eleanor is so perfectly messy that her characterization makes up for it. The book may cross certain adults' lines in terms of its language (even though it's nothing that teenagers haven't heard already), but I think its authenticity and belief in goodness will win most over.

"The 5th Wave" by Rick Yancey

I think I've discovered the formula that is The 5th Wave:

Hunger Games' Katniss + male version of Prim + a Gale who doesn't know Katniss + Twilight's Edward Cullen = new hit YA dystopian

But, though I think The 5th Wave is certainly derivative from the boom in the YA dystopian genre and thus the books that came before it, it's also engaging, action-packed, and a lot of fun.

The book takes place in the time period following the Others' attack on earth. In the 1st Wave, they knocked out all the power (ala the TV show Revolution); in the 2nd Wave, they flooded anywhere near the coast; in the 3rd Wave, they used birds to carry a deadly virus; and in the 4th Wave, they revealed themselves living inside human bodies (ala Stephenie Meyers' The Host, a book which also has significant similarities with the novel). Now, few humans remain, among them Cassie, who's alone and on the run.

Cassie's narration makes up the first hundred pages (nearly a quarter of the novel), and it's through her flashbacks that we learn about the Others' invasion and the first through fourth waves. Cassie's an easy protagonist to root for, and the worldbuilding is interesting without being overwhelming.

After those first hundred pages, the book begins alternating points of view, and also--I thought--got somewhat weaker. It's jarring to go from Cassie to include her high school crush, Ben Parrish; her little brother, Sammy; and mysterious hunk Evan Walker. Their viewpoints give necessary insight into the larger picture, but their views are also more predictable.

The romance (?) between Cassie and Evan was also rough. Edward--um, sorry, I mean Evan--is gorgeous and understanding and perfect and, oh, gorgeous. And he smells like chocolate. But fortunately Cassie isn't Bella, and she maintains a healthy distrust of him and a healthy reaction to his annoyingly perfect persona. Yancey is also smart enough to portray stalking as creepy, not romantic. Nonetheless, their scenes together were always a bit too much for me.

But, like I said earlier, the actions comes quick, and there's tons of violence and gore for those needing the post-Hunger Games fix. Interesting that we've definitely reached a point where kids as young as seven killing other people is normal stuff.

Ultimately, what separated The 5th Wave from Hunger Games is that it's about the fact that humanity will always come together--even when it's most dangerous for us to do so--while Hunger Games continually isolates its protagonist. It's a more hopeful message, maybe, even amongst the carnage.

"Insurgent" by Veronica Roth

Insurgent is the sequel to Divergent, a YA book that, while not making up for the post-Hunger Games lack of compelling YA, did give me some glimpses into what exciting dystopian YA could be. The sequel isn't bad, but it also suffers from some of the same problems as Mockingjay, the third book in the Hunger Games trilogy.

In Insurgent, we follow Dauntless faction member and divergent Tris in her fight against the faction Erudite, which has developed technology for remotely controlling other people. Tris is still with Tobias (aka Four), though each of them are keeping secrets from each other--namely, for Tris, that she killed Will (a friend and fellow Dauntless) while Will was being controlled under a simulation.

As a character, Tris is frustrating in many of the ways that YA protagonists are, though some of her more annoying qualities are, at least, explainable. Namely, she has the tendency to brood incessantly over her guilt and make rash sacrificial decisions. Both make sense in context of her being divergent: both Dauntless and Abnegation. She grew up being taught to value others over herself, so clearly killing Will in self-defense would weigh heavily on her. It also explains her suicide mission to Erudite later in the novel, even though the Erudite part of her should have weighed in enough to show that it was pointless.

Even more frustrating, though, was the descent in character. In my review of Mockingjay, I complained that I felt betrayed by Katniss' change of character in the last book: she loses all agency and spends most of the time locked up and crying. The same is true of Tris. In Divergent, Tris had insecurities and doubts, but she also had confidence in herself and made important decisions. She and Tobias supported one another, each helping the other through his or her fears. However, in Insurgent, the capable part of Tris is largely gone. She relies on Tobias constantly for assurance, without him needing reciprocation. She often sits around, waiting to be rescued, or is injured and out of commission. Her big mission at the end (again, eerily reminiscent of Katniss' useless mission at the end of Mockingjay) seems unnecessary, its need explained into reality rather than being organic to the situation.

At the same time, a lack of clear direction for the novel also gums up the storyline. We learn early on that there's a big secret that Jeanine, the leader of Erudite, is killing to protect. This "huge" secret is bandied about the entire book, and finally revealed in the end. However, the "truth" makes little sense (spoiler: it's much like the big reveal of The Maze Runner) and doesn't really seem to support the characters' actions.

I listened to the audiobook version of Insurgent, so perhaps I missed details that would have enhanced my enjoyment. I didn't dislike the book, but it also wasn't especially compelling.

Stray thoughts:
- I'm continually annoyed by YA in which characters who obviously would have sex in real life don't (in Insurgent, there's lots of kissing and grasping at t-shirt hems). I know sex is still fairly taboo in the genre, but c'mon: the characters are alone, without any adult supervision, and their world is more or less ending. I'm gonna sleep with my hot boyfriend.
- Tobias makes a big speech about how he won't stay with Tris if she recklessly risks her life again. And then she does. And he doesn't even mention it. So, I guess that was a pointless conversation?
- There was a really annoying alliterative nickname Tris and other Dauntless had for one of the places at which they stayed, and I can't remember what it is. It's driving me crazy.

"The Drowned Cities" by Paolo Bacigalupi

When I requested The Drowned Cities, I didn't realize it was a companion book to Bacigalupi's earlier young adult novel Ship Breaker (which I enjoyed). I was a little disappointed because I was looking forward to Bacigalupi's excellent adult sci-fi, but his YA books are similarly engaging: strong world building, interesting characters, and lots of action.

The Drowned Cities feels a little less sci-fi than Bacigalupi's earlier works, primarily because so much of the book is drawn from real life in its depiction of a nation's chaotic civil war and use of child soldiers. The protagonist of the novel is Mahlia, an orphaned child of a Chinese peacekeeper (though the peacekeepers have long since abandoned the Drowned Cities) and a local woman. Her only friend is Mouse, another orphan who saved her when one of the warring armies cut off one of her hands. When Mouse is taken as a soldier, Mahlia is determined to rescue him, and she attempts to do so with the help of Tool, an enormously strong and dangerous part-human, part-animal augment (and a recurring character from Ship Breaker).

I taught the nonfiction book A Long Way Gone, about child soldiers in Sierra Leone, to my seniors this year, and it's scary how much of Drowned Cities echoes the real life horrors children in such countries have faced. Bacigalupi skillfully shows how such armies indoctrinate their young soldiers, making them feel like part of a team--and ensuring they have no other options.

Tool is probably the most interesting character in the novel, though by the end he felt somewhat unexplored. He's a killing machine on his own for the first time and making real decisions in his life. I like that he's both able to break free of some of his conditioning and show compassion, but that he's also not able or willing to "switch off" the violent part of him--it's who he is, and he accepts that. Mahlia and Mouse serve as good counterparts to each other, and Bacigalupi is even able to make the characters' "why in the hell would they do that?" moments (which are apparently necessary for tension-driven YA) seem believable.

I don't consider myself especially squeamish, so I was a little surprised that one of the most off-putting aspects of the book for me was its intense violence. There is a large amount of graphic and brutal violence done to children and adults, including murder, mutilation, and torture. The violence is realistic in context of modern child soldiers, but it could be strong stuff for the younger end of YA. Nonetheless, Drowned Cities is a worthy companion to Ship Breaker.

"Railsea" by China Mieville

Though Railsea is marketed as young adult, it's unlike most young adult novels. Part of that is because Mieville is willing to engage in his somewhat unusual style and structure in a genre that's more typically populated by straightforward narratives. The whole thing made me somewhat wary in the beginning, but I warmed to the protagonist Sham, his daybat Daybe, and the railsea itself.

The entire concept of Railsea is a riff off of Moby Dick. Instead of sailing the open sea for the elusive whale, people of this world "sail" the twisting and turning railway lines, hunting the giant burrowing creatures that populate the earth. Young Sham is part of a crew, led by Captain Naphi, whose "philosophy" is to catch the giant mole Mocker-Jack.

The worldbuilding and captain's quest appear rather absurd, but it's to Mieville's credit that the story never seems absurd. The worldbuilding is convincingly done and the characters well-drawn. The novel escapes the pitfalls of much YA literature, eschewing a romance or maudlin relationships.

The structure of Railsea mimics the structure of the railsea, as the novel twists and turns and doubles back on itself, Mieville himself sometimes teasing the reader by suggesting he'll follow one story--only to return to a different one instead. I liked these "meta" moments and even came to love the fact that the word "and" is always replaced with "&" in the novel.

I don't know that I'd recommend Railsea to my students. I think most would find it weird and "boring" (they find everything "boring"). But, I would say any Mieville fans should not be put off by the YA label--it's more a description of the protagonist's age than a comment on the type of story one should expect.

"Bitterblue" by Kristin Cashore

There's something about Cashore's writing and the worlds she creates that sucks you in so that it doesn't matter what she's writing about, you want to know more. So even though--unlike Graceling and Fire--Bitterblue has an ordinary human protagonist and takes places almost entirely inside a castle, it's still compelling.

Bitterblue follows Queen Bitterblue as she attempts to rule the kingdom of Monsea eight years after the death of her tyrannical father King Leck, who is killed at the end of Graceling. Though Bitterblue desires to be a good and just leader, the secrets left behind from Leck's reign continue to plague her people.

When the novel begins, Bitterblue is in a haze; though she's queen, she seems to have little control over or knowledge about her kingdom. As a reader, I also felt this haze, which is perhaps appropriate, but somewhat served to distance me from the book. About a hundred pages in I really felt like I needed to start the whole book over again (though I decided not to).

Bitterblue's own journey is jumpstarted by her decision to sneak out of the castle disguised as a commoner (ala Jasmine in Aladdin, making it seem somewhat trite). In the town, she meets two thieves, Teddy and Saf, whom she abruptly becomes friends with. Though those relationships are essential for Bitterblue's discovery that much of the truth about her kingdom has been hidden, I didn't believe the ease and suddenness of their friendships, and Bitterblue's later romance with Saf was far too obvious from the beginning.

Nonetheless, somewhere along the way I fell in love with the story. Perhaps the return of Kasta and Po (protagonists of Graceling) helped, as did the solid assurance of Lord Giddon. Maybe my desire to know the truth of what's happening it the castle and Leck's lasting effects kept me going. Regardless, even though relatively little happens, I started to read eagerly.

That truth, by the way, is far more horrible than can be imagined, and I almost wonder if the horror of it is treated a little too lightly. That level of atrocity, murder, and suicide somehow just didn't fit the book's style.

The romance between Bitterblue and Saf didn't do a lot for me and lacked the power of Katsa and Po's love (or even Fire and Brigan's). Nonetheless, I once again commend Cashore for having a unmarried young adult couple have safe and consensual sex, something I'd like to see more of.

It isn't necessary to have read Graceling or Fire to understand Bitterblue, though characters and events from both previous novels make significant appearances, and I rather wished I remember more from those books while reading. Nonetheless, despite my quibbles, I believe Cashore is one of the best young adult fantasy writers today, and I'll read anything else she writes immediately.

"Froi of the Exiles" by Melina Marchetta

Though I had some concerns with the first book in this series, Finnikin of the Rock, I enjoyed the character and relationship building enough to quickly request the sequel, Froi of the Exiles, when I saw it available on NetGalley. Froi puts the reader back into the land of Lumatere; Queen Isaboe now reigns with her consort, Finnikin, and they are trying to restore the land and people of Lumatere after the ten-year curse and exile. Froi, the savage boy they picked up in the last book, has sworn himself to the service of Queen Isaboe and has been training in fighting. Froi is recruited to travel to the land of Charyn, the country that had invaded Lumatere, in order to assassinate the king. Once in Charyn, he meets the damaged and wild princess, the object of a prophecy: she is the last born child in Charyn, and the country will have no children until she produces an heir with another last born child.

The above summary only begins to cover the story lines running throughout Froi of the Exiles. Although that's fairly standard for fantasy (Game of Thrones is no less bursting with characters and secrets), I also found it rather confusing, especially in the beginning.  I had a hard time keeping track of the characters and their allegiances, and so many secrets are revealed throughout the course of the book that it was difficult to remember what the truth was.

Froi is often an unlikable character in Finnikin of the Rock, and though he's obviously more sympathetic here as our primary protagonist, I like that Marchetta has still kept some of his dark side. He has a temper and is quick with bitter words; he holds a grudge and feels love and betrayal with equal passion. He's paired well with the mad princess Quintana, a young woman who has been whored to her country in hopes of producing a child and who lives with multiple selves inside of her. Because of their pasts, their relationship can't have quite the romance that Finnikin and Isaboe had (though theirs was also touched by horror), and the two can clearly have no happy ending.

In my review of Finnikin of the Rock, I discussed the pervasive presence of rape in the novel and the way in which it is used as a tool of war. I was concerned that the book seemed to focus more on rape's effects on men (when used against their loved ones) than the women. Rape is similarly present in Froi of the Exiles, though I could see why a little clearer. In some ways, Froi presents a dystopian society, exploring what happens--to the men and to the women--when women are used as tools of tyranny and destruction. Through characters such as Beatriss, Lirah, and Quintana, the reader sees different points of view. Beatriss feels shame for feeling relief that her rape was better than the alternatives; Lirah feels anger and fury at having been used as the king's whore; and Quintana has broken into a wild animal, a cold "ice princess," and a mimicking fool in an attempt to stay together.

Despite their tragic backstories, I couldn't feel for the characters quite as strongly as I did in Finnkin, perhaps because there are more of them and because I had a hard time keeping everything straight. Nonetheless, Marchetta has created an intense fantasy world. Though the story is young adult, it's very dark and sometimes graphic, and it wouldn't be right for all readers. But, the book ends on a huge cliffhanger, and I'll certainly read the third in the series.

E-galley received by the publisher through Net Galley for my review. 

"Paper Towns" by John Green

As anyone who reads my blog with regularity knows, I tend to stay away from young adult contemporary fiction (well, recently, I've stayed away from young adult all together, but still...). Nonetheless, John Green is popular with my students, and I enjoyed his collaborative novel, Will Grayson, Will Grayson, so when a fellow teacher suggested test-reading Paper Towns for possible inclusion as summer reading, I was willing to give it a go.

After finishing, I'm feeling somewhat ambivalent. Paper Towns is well-written, with interesting characters, an intriguing mystery, and an excellent depiction of male friendship. In a different mood, I probably would have really enjoyed it. However, I felt rather cynical throughout my reading, so parts that typically wouldn't have bothered me did.

Paper Towns follows Quentin, a high school senior who has also been obsessed with his childhood friend and neighbor, Margo Roth Spielgman, for years. In high school, Margo is popular and effervescent, so Quentin is surprised when she shows up at his bedroom window, late one night, requiring Quentin's help. Margo enlists Quentin on an all-night prank-filled trip around town, but the next day at school, Margo is not to be seen. Margo has a habit of running off, so no one's particularly surprised, but as her absence lengthens, Quentin begins to believe Margo has left behind clues for him to follow and find her. 

As I said, what dragged down the novel most for me were the use of cliches that I see pop up often in young adult literature. These include:
- The cliche of big jocks picking on weaker "nerds" in high school. Can we not move beyond (or at least become more nuanced) in the way we present this stereotype?
- Using a teenager's deep interest in music as a sign that he/she is cool. When I discover a teen character has an extensive music collection (especially if he or she collects records), I just groan.
- Using classic literature as a metaphor for teenage angst. As an English teacher, I suppose I should be happy Green uses Walt Whitman's poetry, but I just couldn't get behind it.

But, these things are unlikely to bother a young adult reader, and there are plenty of good things too. I especially liked the relationship between Quentin and his best friends Ben and Radar, who are supportive and yet also carefully drawn individuals. I did think, at times, Quentin's quest to find Margo was presented too heroically, and Ben and Radar's objections overlooked. Quentin is unhealthily obsessed with Margo, and Margo is all he ever talks about. He's unfair to criticize his friends when they want to do or be interested in something other than Quentin's journey. Nonetheless, I liked the rapport between the friends.

There's a lot of thought in Paper Towns into the question of how well we can know another person and the futility of trying to define anyone but ourselves. The book doesn't come down for or against the traditional (finishing high school, going to college) or the nontraditional (running off before graduation, exploring and drifting), but I like that it doesn't present either as wholly satisfactory.

Many of my students have adored Paper Towns and Green's other books, and though this one didn't come together fully for me, it was still an enjoyable read.

"Divergent" by Veronica Roth

I've been recommending the Hunger Games to my 9th grade students for several years (even before it reached its current popularity--yeah, I'm that cool), and ever since I've been looking for its successor. At this point virtually all of my students have read the Hunger Games, and I need another book with such wide appeal (girls and boys; weak readers and stellar students). Though Divergent isn't quite that novel, I'm happy to say it is one I can recommend to a large number of my students, and it will undoubtedly be enjoyed by many Hunger Games fans.

Divergent's premise and plot lies entirely within it's worldbuilding, though it's this worldbuilding that is also the most unrealistic part of the novel. At some point in the United States' future, people decided that the country's problems were caused by individuals' lack of particular character traits. People formed groups called "factions" based on what personality trait they believed was most necessary for success: Abnegation believes in selflessness; Dauntless in courage; Erudite in knowledge; Amity in kindness; and Candor in honesty. Since then, people have grown up in one faction but are allowed to choose their own faction as teenagers. Once they do so, they undergo a rigorous initiation in order to become full faction members.

So, on the outset, this set-up seems pretty silly and doomed to failure. First, there's the absurdity in the idea that anyone could believe that one personality trait is sufficient for an effective society. Not surprisingly, the factions have taken their trait to an absurd extreme, so that Dauntless, for example, is dedicated mostly to reckless thrill seeking and Abnegation doesn't allow its members to use mirrors or wear anything but gray. Secondly, the government design is doomed for failure. Abnegation is given control of the government (since they're so selfless), but that obviously will breed anger among other factions. And people who fail faction initiation are "Factionless" and live essentially homeless, yet the people in the book don't seem to see this as a gigantic problem.

But, if the reader can accept all this, Divergent is a fun novel. The protagonist is Tris, a girl who has grown up as Abnegation but never felt at home there. When she takes her aptitude test to determine what faction she fits best in, she discovers that she doesn't fit just one faction--instead, she's "divergent." She keeps this a secret, knowing it's dangerous, and chooses to join Dauntless. Dauntless initiation is a struggle; though she makes a few friends (and grows especially close to one of their trainers, a slightly older boy named Four), she's forced to fight, take risks, and face unimaginable fears. Yet amidst all this there is growing unease between the factions, and a future in which Tris will have to play an important role.

Divergent has a fast pace and nicely balances the individual struggles of Tris as she undergoes initiation with the societal struggles between the factions. Tris is a fully realized character, particularly as she attempts to put aside her Abnegation upbringing in order to fulfill the requirements for Dauntless. Her relationship with Four doesn't overwhelm the story, but it's relationship you root for nonetheless. Like Hunger Games, Divergent doesn't shy away from violence. There are teenagers killing other people and a high body count. This will probably help make it appeal to teenage readers, though the number of deaths is so high by the end that the impact is somewhat lost.

The audiobook I listened to is read by Emma Galvin, who does an excellent job with Tris' narration and with the other characters' voices. The pacing and emotional tenor was spot on, and the novel was easy to follow.

I'm planning on recommending Divergent to my students when their next independent reading comes up, and I'm hoping it will be a new favorite for some.

"Daughter of Smoke and Bone" by Laini Taylor

Daughter of Smoke and Bone made many best YA of 2011 lists, so my husband I chose to listen to it on our annual car ride into the Midwest for Christmas.

The book has a great setting and an interesting premise. Karou is an art student living in Prague, but she has a secret: she runs errands collecting human and animal teeth for her "family" of monster-like creatures called chimaera. The head of this family is Brimstone, also called the Wishmonger, as he deals in wishes. On one errand, Karou is unexpectedly confronted by an angel, who attempts to kill her. Though she escapes, she's shocked when he finds her soon after--but he only wants to talk. As Karou and Akiva, the angel, spend more time together, they uncover their hidden history and learn more about the war between the chimaera and the angels.

In the beginning, I was game for the novel. Prague's a fun setting, and I enjoyed reading about Karou's double life. I especially liked Karou's best friend Zuzana, who's spunky and utterly devoted. There's great build up for discoveries about Karou's origin and foreshadowing for a good fight.

But then Akiva enters. And OMG, did you know he is beautiful? Because the author seems to forget we know. Beautiful. Beautiful! Moving on--oh, wait, I need to talk again about how beautiful he is. Okay, I appreciate that characters can be attractive and should be described as such, but there's really a point where it becomes overkill. And, guess what? He's not only beautiful. He's also pained. Tortured. Smoldering. The utterly romantic stalker (barf). Take Edward Cullen, make him warm and give him wings, and you get Akiva. Like Edward, Akiva is utterly without personality in his own right, and because of that, I felt no heat in his and Karou's relationship--just a lot of eye-rolling.

Then, Taylor takes a break from describing how tingly Karou and Akiva are around one another for an extended and awkwardly placed flashback, during which all the mysteries' truths are revealed in a fairly literal reinterpretation of Romeo and Juliet. The novel quickly concludes after, which felt anti-climatic, and ends on an utterly depressing note. Yay.

Considering all the praise the novel received, I was especially disappointed to see a run-of-the-mill romance with a stock male lead. Karou is more interesting initially, but she gets insanely boring by the time we get to the flashback. Taylor gets high marks from me for her world building, so it's a shame she populated it with such trite characters and relationships. Maybe the novel would have been better in print, where the repetition and annoying parts could be skimmed over, but it became almost unendurable at points in the audiobook.

"Across the Universe" by Beth Revis

Though I'd had this book on my radar for awhile, it was Revis' savvy marketing technique that finally drew me in--she convinced her publisher to include the names of every one of her early Facebook fans in the acknowledgements of the paperback version of the novel. And, since I was one of those fans, I couldn't resist buying the novel. Smart Revis, very smart.

I've not been very interested in YA this year, but I liked the premise of Across the Universe. Amy is cryogenically frozen, along with her parents, for a 300-year voyage in the spaceship Godspeed to a new planet Earth is hoping to colonize. However, she's woken up fifty years early and finds herself among the inhabitants of Godspeed, including its leader-in-training, Elder. With Elder, Amy tries to determine who's waking up individuals early and what secrets Eldest, the current leader, is keeping from his people. It's a neat premise, even if its execution didn't fully live up to it.

The setting and situation allow for a lot of questions to be explored. How would you maintain peace and happiness among people confined to such a small area of life? How would you maintain a population while avoiding overpopulation or genetic problems due to incest? I enjoyed exploring Revis' answers to these questions, even though their complexity is dampened by the stereotypical evil of Eldest. Early in the novel, he instructs Elder that one of the primary causes of discord is "difference," and since we all grew up with children's books about puppies and rabbits getting along, we know he's bad. By the time we learn he thinks Hitler was a good leader (Really? You don't think we got it?) and that another cause of discord is "independent thought" ("Evil, evil!" us independence-lovin' Americans shout), there's not a lot of hope for nuance.

Elder's lack of questioning about his history (e.g. he knows about classic American leaders like Abraham Lincoln but he doesn't wonder how many Eldests there have been or how long ago the Plague was) and the overly simplistic explanations for technology are also somewhat disappointing. Nonetheless, despite my issues with the world's construction, there are some good things. Revis has created an interesting mystery in a claustrophobic environment. The pace moves quickly, alternating between Amy and Elder, so the novel never feels boring. Not all the questions are addressed satisfactorily, but enough are answered to wrap up the book and leave an appealing opening for its sequel.

Across the Universe wasn't the novel to break my YA slump, but it was a quick and largely enjoyable read, so long as I didn't think about it too much afterwards.

"The Death Cure" by James Dashner

I had been looking forward to reading The Death Cure. Though Dashner's previous books in the series, The Maze Runner and The Scorch Trials, weren't especially memorable, they were a lot of fun. I really enjoyed the mix of mystery, adventure, and dystopian elements, and the fast-paced cliffhanger style helped make the books especially engaging. Unfortunately, The Death Cure did not live up to my expectations.

In a series built on unanswered questions, it can be difficult to wrap-up the storyline in an effective way. Going in, the reader knows Thomas and the other Gladers must learn the truth about WICKED and determine their role in protecting the earth from the disease called the Flare. Nevertheless, Dashner just didn't seem to know where he was going. First, unlike previous novels, it felt like little was happening, and when something did, it was almost always centered around guns, fistfights, and bravado-laced hostage taking. The inordinate amount of fighting and death seemed out of place, like it should have belonged in a mass market crime thriller. Hundreds of (mostly unnamed) people die, but there's really no empathy.

Thomas' relationship with and conflicting feelings about Theresa were at the center of the previous novels, but Theresa is almost completely forgotten here. There's no character development on her part, and it's never clear what her motivations are. Thomas mostly ignores her, and I was surprised to see so little resolution between them.

The book seemed like it was trying to raise ethical questions by setting up the conflict between WICKED, which is willing to sacrifice human subjects at any cost in order to find a cure to for the Flare, and the Right Arm, a resistance movement focused on survival rather than a cure. The question of whether it's morally permissible to sacrifice a few to potentially save many is an important and challenging issue. However, Thomas and his friends' insistence on the evil of WICKED, combined with the cartoonish nastiness of WICKED's leader, distorted any moralistic exploration.

I found myself bored through much of the novel, and the ending was a cop-out that avoided answering the hard questions. It was a disappointing end to a promising series.

"Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children" by Ransom Riggs

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is the first young adult book I've read since August, though I requested it from the library quickly based on the praise I had heard for its quirky story. However, the story itself is not too unusual, at least to fans of fantasy with a gothic twist. Jacob grew up hearing fantastic stories from his grandfather about an island filled with children with special abilities. Though he devoured the stories as a child, as he grew older, Jacob believed in them less and less until his grandfather is killed in a bizarre tragedy. Hoping to learn more about his grandfather's history, Jacob seeks out the island and discovers Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, a sanctuary for X-Men-like children that remains in a time loop of one day during World War II.

What sets Miss Peregrine apart is its use of odd vintage photographs, which appear periodically throughout the book (i.e., as Jacob examines the photo, it appears in the novel). Though the photos are interesting and certainly creepy, they also have the unintended effect of making the novel feel like a creative writing exercise. I could just imagine an instructor saying, "Here are five random photos; now make a cohesive story from them!" Even though writers are free to get their inspiration from anywhere, such inspiration is usually less apparent. Seeing the photos made me think, "Okay, so here's how Riggs choose to work this photo in." Fair or not, I couldn't help seeing the story as forced and inauthentic because of it.

This sense of inauthenticity also extended to the characters. I just couldn't quite buy Jacob's teenage angst, and he often seemed much younger or much older than he's supposed to be. I also didn't connect to his relationship with Emma, which happened far too quickly.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children is not a bad story, and it would be great for a younger audience with a lower reading level. However, it didn't bring me in.

"The White Mountains" by John Christopher

I was recently reading a slightly older article from the New York Times entitled "Why We Read” (“A Good Mystery: Why We Read” by Motoko Rich, 11/25/07). The article wasn't so much about the reasons for reading, but it did talk a lot about books in childhood that inspire future reading.  I’m a big fan of science-fiction dystopias, and I think I can trace that attraction back to Christopher’s Tripod Trilogy, which begins with The White Mountains. I couldn’t say when I first read the novels (the book was published in 1967 though my edition was printed in the late ‘80s), but I do know that well before I was exposed to The Giver or Ender’s Game, there was The White Mountains.

Given the proliferation of young adult dystopias today, it’s almost surreal to read a story that, though published over forty years ago, could just as easily fit in with today’s narratives. Will, the novel’s protagonist, lives in our future in a society that operates more like the 1800s.  His people are without technology and machinery, yet they live a peaceful and contented existence.  What separates Will’s world from our colonial times is one major thing: the Tripods.  No one knows exactly where they came from, but what is known is that many years ago they overthrew the human race; now, when each human reaches the age of fourteen, he or she is “capped” by the Tripods and fitted with a metal head covering.

For the most part, the Tripods don’t interfere with the lives of the people in Will’s village.  They show up once a year to perform the capping, but otherwise the inhabitants of Wherton live unencumbered—but not free.  For what Will comes to realize (as happens in any good dystopia), is that the caps are the Tripods’ way of controlling people; they don’t control individuals’ every move, but they do ensure there will be no rebellion, uprising, or human advancement.

Even today, I think it’s a neat story, especially because Will isn’t reacting to brutal and overt tyranny from the Tripods.  Instead, he’s responding to the natural desire to be free and independent, even if that means forgoing the easier life.

The White Mountains follows the expected plot trajectory: Will’s movement from acceptance of the Tripods’ rule to his decision to run away prior to his capping; his long and arduous journey to elude the Tripods and find other “free men” living in the White Mountains.

Though I still love the story, there’s a lot to be desired in the novel as a whole.  First, there’s almost no character development.  Will’s recognition of the dystopia, which is usually the focus of modern books, takes only a few pages, and Will seems to have no uneasiness of leaving his village and family forever and going on the run. Secondly, the book is exposition heavy and fails to utilize moments of tension and excitement; Christopher instead keeps the book moving at a steady, constant pace.

If retooled to fit the expectations of characterization and pacing for modern novels, The White Mountains could be a great book.  As is, it’s probably more likely to appeal to nostalgic fans who read it as a kid than young people today.

"Beauty Queens" by Libba Bray

Each year when I teach Lord of the Flies to my 9th graders, someone always asks how the book might have been different if girls, instead of boys, had been stranded on the island. Well, we need wonder no more, as Bray has taken on that task herself in Beauty Queens.  However, her novel depicts not just a group of girls stranded on an island, but a group of beauty pageant contestants on their way to the national Miss Teen Dream competition.

Golding wrote Lord of the Flies as an allegory depicting the evil in he saw in mankind, and Bray also uses her book not as a realistic survival story (more Gilligan's Island than dehydration and starvation), but as a kind of female-empowerment tale or Feminism 101 course.  There's nothing particularly deep for people already familiar with the issues of gendered expectations, unrealistic beauty standards, etc., but the content is put into a fun, outrageous formula, so it hardly matters.  This is a book with man-eating snakes, explosive hair remover, a contestant with a food tray stuck in her forehead, hot bare-chested pirates, and girls with assassin-like capabilities, just to name a few things.  You get the message that women should make their own choices--and you also get cosmetic weapons.

My favorite character is Taylor, Miss Teen Dream Texas, a pageant devotee who's maniacal about preparing for the competition, even when stranded on the island, yet she manages to corral and lead all the girls through her unwavering devotion to the Teen Dream "way" (well, until she goes crazy).  Her foil, the liberal feminist from New Hampshire, Adina, is also great (e.g., take her trying to win leadership of the group through a speech in strict debate format).

Bray does rely on the young adult "issue dump," which sometimes bothers me, but the novel is so absurd it almost makes sense.  There's a contestant representing most every issue under the sun: racial identity, cultural identity, gender identity, sexual identity, and disability, among others.

One of the frequent comments that arises when my students talk about an all-female Lord of the Flies is the idea that women would somehow be more likely to "bicker" and fight among themselves.  Bray sets out to refute this.  The girls don't always get along, especially in the beginning, but strong friendships soon emerge and are what get them through the difficulties (like the aforementioned man-eating snake, or evil Corporation goons, or an insane Elvis-wannabe dictator...).

Golding's Lord of the Flies is a deeply cynical novel which suggests that, away from society, boys will become savage and lose their sense of self.  In Beauty Queens, Bray suggests the opposite for girls: society restricts girls' true selves, and the island allows the beauty queens freedom. Says Mary Lou, "Maybe girls need an island to find themselves.  Maybe they need a place where no one's watching them so they can be who they really are" (177).

Though the absurd action sometimes reminded me of a Nickelodeon kids' show, the book is so over-the-top goofy and cheesy that you can't help but laugh and go along with it.  And, best of all, there's a strong feminist message throughout.