Bumped

In the midst of all the dystopian novels that are out these days, Megan McCafferty's Bumped separates itself from the pack with an amusing blend of quirky humor and a world that is frightening not only in its differences from our current world, but in its hyper-intensified take on the familiar.

Let's start with the changes: a virus that seems to affect almost the entire world population has resulted in fertility taking such a nose-dive that most adults are sterile by 18 or 20 -- which means the baby-making has to happen early or not at all. In response, religious groups pretty much marry girls off as early as possible, but the rest of the world is starting to warm up to a different, more capitalist approach: pregging for profit. Teens themselves might not be ready to be a parent and raise a baby, but they COULD offer it for adoption... and a cash incentive from potential adoptive parents (or, say, the prospect of a free ride to college and a car) means that more and more girls are looking to get "bumped" early on.

Now let's shift to the eerily familiar -- though technically we started on "eerily familiar" when we introduced the capitalist greed element. Technology has made leaps in communication avenues (there exists an online system of communication called MiNet accessible via contact lenses where blinking cues control the program). Parents push their daughters into the idea of pregging for profit (the same way they already push extracurriculars, except now pregging is in addition to those sports teams and orchestra performances). Oh, and high school is still a cliqueish hell on earth, but that's kind of an "always has been, always will be" thing.

Melody's parents are economics professors, who long foretold of the day when a teenage girl's fertility would be the most valuable thing on earth. So Melody, herself an adopted child, was raised with the knowledge that she, too, would join the ranks of pregnant teens -- but she would do it as a professional (Reproductive Professionals are know as RePros). The first in her school with an agent and a contract to preg for a wealthy couple, Melody made professional pregging a widely accepted option at her school -- to the point where the professionals and the amateurs actually experience some tension. Melody, meanwhile, may have started the debate but can't really enjoy full participation in the argument... as she isn't pregnant. Her wealthy couple is dithering on male gene choices, so Melody is stuck with her own nerves about them wasting her valuable time to get bumped before the virus renders her sterile... and that's on top of the general nerves that accompany bumping at all. Her super pregnant best friend is slightly useless for all this stress, which would normally send Melody to her other best friend, a guy, but things have started to get slightly weird between them and Melody's not sure what to do with that, either.

Now, let's switch to Harmony. You see, Melody and Harmony are identical twins, separated at birth. Harmony was adopted in to a cult/commune religious community and it appears that when she learned about her twin, she simply went forth to try and convert her sister to the path of righteousness... but it's quickly apparent that Harmony is not quite as simple as all that might suggest. In fact, it appears as though she fled her beloved community in order to find her sister and very little proselytizing is going on, though Harmony does spend a lot of time marveling at the society and technological advances. Melody is slightly appalled at Harmony's presence, because it devalues her own stock on the RePro market if there's another person out there offering the exact same genetic material. Plus, to have one's long-lost twin show up on one's doorstep is not exactly normal. Inevitably, the fact that they are identical twins leads to all kinds of mix-ups and confusions, particularly when Melody is offered the chance to bump with the world-famous Jondoe... but Harmony is the one he finds waiting at Melody's house.

This may be a lot of information to take (indeed, the first 20% of the book has a rather steep learning curve as you dive in), but if you can handle a complicated world (and a WHOLE LOT of new vocabulary and slang), then you'll find that Bumped is shockingly deep in its assessment of the issues that arise from this world. McCafferty somehow strikes a fantastic balance between light-hearted humor and intense philosophical thought when it comes to the choices teens make. And that's not just limited to her world, either. The question of when to have sex and with whom and for what reasons. The idea of doing something because society (including one's parent) says it's the right thing to do, even when you're not sure it's the right decision for you. What to do when faced with unspeakable heartbreak and tremendously difficult decisions. Pretty deep for a YA novel that's core premise involves having sex and getting pregnant. Given that premise, parents may not think this a book for very young teens, but it's also not explicit or graphic, so I wouldn't really worry about it too much. Besides, it might even remind girls that sex is a complicated subject and shouldn't be something they rush in to without thinking of the consequences, both physical and emotional.

While you might grow a bit weary of the slang that the book creates (and you might have to keep reminding yourself exactly which twin is which), you'll also find yourself seriously thinking about the plot of this book (and the shocking cliff-hanger of an ending) for a long time after you set it down. Bumped is funny and thoughtful -- a combination that will keep you devouring page after page, desperate to know what decisions Harmony and Melody will make as their lives get even more tangled up. Now we only need to wait and see what interesting issues will arise in the sequel, Thumped, because even if certain plot points will be obvious, I would bet that McCafferty still has some surprising and fascinating things up her sleeve.

Full disclosure. This book indirectly factors in to my professional life. This is a personal review, but feel free to let that info factor in to what you make of this review.

Bossypants

Note: if you are someone who enjoys audio books -- heck, even if you aren't -- then I highly recommend that you listen to the audiobook instead of (or in addition to!) reading the physical paper book of Bossypants.  It's unabridged and Tina Fey herself reads it... I imagine the text would all be funny in print, too, but she frequently kicks in to actress mode and/or does voices.  It's very very worth it.

To be perfectly honest, I had no idea what Bossypants was about when I purchased it.  I only knew it was by Tina Fey and everyone seemed to be in a tizzy about it.  So with a round trip bus ride to Boston in my immediate future, I went to Audible and bought what I knew would be an entertaining listen.  I certainly wasn't disappointed, though I wouldn't use terms like "hysterical" or "riotous" to describe the funny collection of essays of which Bossypants is comprised.  I snickered enough to get some looks on the bus, but I never really burst out laughing. If you've ever seen 30 Rock, then I think you know the style of humor that you're in for.  Having not seen 30 Rock prior to listening, I still kind of knew. The ridiculous mixed with the so-real-it's-funny-but-also-kind-of-hurts. 

Bossypants isn't strictly a humor book -- there's a reason it's in the memoir section. Consider this a collection of vignettes from Fey's life, ranging from her own childhood to motherhood. Snippets from behind the scenes on 30 Rock and Saturday Night Live were amusing. Perhaps my favorite simple observation was that when everyone started commenting on what a good Sarah Palin she would be, she realized no one (of the general public, that is) knew she has a new show and was no longer working on SNL. That said, her comments and observations on McCain and Palin are very interesting, indeed! In addition, Fey's perspective as one of the few high-profile comediennes out there puts her in an interesting position. Her feminist commentary on the state of the industry and the gender roles of comedy are fascinating and definitely became my favorite parts of the book. Here's one particularly fantastic selection featuring Amy Poelher:

Amy Poehler was new to SNL and we were all crowded into the seventeenth-floor writers’ room, waiting for the Wednesday read-through to start. There were always a lot of noisy “comedy bits” going on in that room. Amy was in the middle of some such nonsense with Seth Meyers across the table, and she did something vulgar as a joke. I can’t remember what it was exactly, except it was dirty and loud and “unladylike.”

Jimmy Fallon, who was arguably the star of the show at the time, turned to her and in a faux-squeamish voice said, “Stop that! It’s not cute! I don’t like it.”

Amy dropped what she was doing, went black in the eyes for a second, and wheeled around on him. “I don’t fucking care if you like it.” Jimmy was visibly startled. Amy went right back to enjoying her ridiculous bit. (I should make it clear that Jimmy and Amy are very good friends and there was never any real beef between them. Insert penis joke here.)

With that exchange, a cosmic shift took place. Amy made it clear that she wasn’t there to be cute. She wasn’t there to play wives and girlfriends in the boys’ scenes. She was there to do what she wanted to do and she did not fucking care if you like it.

I was so happy. Weirdly, I remember thinking, “My friend is here! My friend is here!” Even though things had been going great for me at the show, with Amy there, I felt less alone.

I think of this whenever someone says to me, “Jerry Lewis says women aren’t funny, or “Christopher Hitchens says women aren’t funny,” or “Rick Fenderman says women aren’t funny…Do you have anything to say to that?”

Yes. We don’t fucking care if you like it.

I don’t say it out loud of course, because Jerry Lewis is a great philanthropist. Hitchens is very sick, and the third guy I made up.

Unless one of these men is my boss, which none of them is, it’s irrelevant. My hat goes off to them. It is an impressively arrogant move to conclude that just because you don’t like something, it is empirically not good. I don’t like Chinese food, but I don’t write articles trying to prove it doesn’t exist.

If you're a fan of Tina Fey, then you've probably already read Bossypants by now, so I'm not going to spend time convincing you to read it. (Though you should go listen to the audiobook if you missed out.) If you're not already a fan of Fey, then this could very well push you in to the camp of a very funny lady... but more than just being a funny lady, Fey is a very smart person. When those two traits are combined in to one slightly awkward person? Well, then you have quite a force to be reckoned with in comedy and social commentary. Do yourself a favor and read (or listen!!) -- you won't regret it.

The Midnight Zoo

A strange and heartbreaking tale, The Midnight Zoo is the latest literary gem from author Sonya Hartnett and features lovely illustrations by Andrea Offermann. Two young boys, Andrej and his younger brother Tomas, are walking through a war-ravaged countryside, scrounging up whatever they can to survive while they protect the precious bundle they carry -- their baby sister Wilma. As gypsies (known as Rom), the boys are used to the life of wandering, where every day brings them to a new place, but taking care of themselves is a very new responsibility and obviously has its roots in tragedy. While wandering through a destroyed and empty town, the boys stumble upon a very small zoo, whose animals are still captive in their cages despite the near-total annihilation of the human dwellings. The zoo contains a wolf, an eagle, a monkey, a bear, a lioness, a seal, a chamois, and a llama. Shortly after identifying the animals that surround them, airplanes appear and a sudden air raid threatens all their lives. When Andrej and Tomas wake up, the animals are speaking to them. Nearly everyone has a turn at telling his or her own stories of captivity, including the boys, but when everyone has been displaced and there's no way to return them to the lives they should have been living, what can possibly be done to go on?
Yes, the main human characters are children; yes, it's relatively short; yes, there's a fable-like quality to the story; but does this mean this book could only be classified as exclusively (or even primarily) a book for children? Most certainly not! As I read, I found myself thinking of this as an introduction to magical realism more than a story which depicted the magic of a children's book. Of course, magical realism is certainly not a concept that can exclusively be applied to books for adults, but somehow I feel like this novel merits the acknowledgement of providing a beautiful and quiet illustration of the concept for those (children or otherwise) who might otherwise only have encountered fantasy depictions of magic. It subtly creeps in, begging the question of what is real and asking the reader to suspend his or her disbelief for the sake of coming to a deeper understanding of what it means for any creature to be safe and free. Children and adults would have similar reactions to the emotions brought forth in this novel of war, tragedy, and flickering hope. Technically, the setting for this tale is obviously World War II, but after reading it, one feels as though this could be a theme that applies to any war which ravages countries and lives, putting innocents in danger. It is a novel to be read with a heart that aches for the world and its inhabitants... and at the core of all that is the desire to shape one's own destiny and the longing for freedom from many different kinds of cages.
I imagine that The Midnight Zoo is destined to be taught in classrooms or suggested for book reports. I can even see the prompted questions now, revolving around the meaning of freedom, the logic behind a story told largely by talking animals, the lack of explicit closure and open-endedness of the final chapter, and the possibility that the children and animals actually died in the air raid. It is a novel that easily yields itself up to questions because that is its goal -- to provoke the reader in to asking questions. I would urge adults to treat this as a novella and enjoy the multitude of topics which will undoubtedly now stir in their minds... topics which might not otherwise have large purchase, even for sensitive souls: the animal nature of human beings; the questionable justification for wild animals being tamed; the definition of a cage; the repercussions of even our well-intentioned actions on the lives of those around us, human or otherwise. The Midnight Zoo will stay with you long after you finish reading and reflection upon the story and its themes only makes it feel richer. I'm delighted to have been exposed to this beautiful novel and I look forward to discovering Sonya Hartnett's other work.

Legacy

I really should have seen it coming. After reading for about 150 pages with the nagging thought of "Jeez, it's like a teenager wrote this"... Surprise! A teenager *did* write it!

Cayla Kluver evidently wrote Legacy when she was 14/15... and it shows. Don't get me wrong, she would have been a wildly talented and creative 14-year-old, but that doesn't mean we need to publish it. The world she creates is inconsistent and patchy, but its scale is large and there are certain plotpoints that aren't bad at all, even if the details and the characters fail.

Alera is the eldest princess of Hytanica, a deeply misogynistic land where the King only has two daughters, so obviously whoever marries Alera will be the next king. The time/setting appears to be kind of pseudo-Rennaissance era, where Christianity is the only religion and the monarchy presides over a relatively small country. Hytanica's other defining feature (besides the belief that women are weak and useless, I mean) is fear of its mysterious neighbor, Cokyri. Hytanica should have been demolished sixteen years prior in a war with Cokyri, but the enemy mysteriously withdrew from their advantage (after kidnapping and then leaving the corpses of nearly fifty Hytanican male babies at the gates the day they left). Only one child's body was never recovered -- so I think we can all guess what's coming with this little tidbit. Everyone seems to know this much about the war, but that's about the extent of Alera's knowledge (beyond wildly "feminine" things like embroidery, dancing, and household management). But that's all politics that Alera has obviously never been interested in before, or else she might know even a single fact about all that. Instead, Alera's biggest problem is that her eighteenth birthday is, traditionally, when the princess is supposed to marry and her only real option (or the only real option her father is gunning for) is Steldor, who resembles Gaston from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. After Alera blunders along for a while, doing things like turning in her best friend/trusted guard for knowing a wee bit too much about Cokyri than he lets on after a Cokyrian prisoner goes missing, we eventually get to the point where another Cokyrian named Narian is captured -- but no! It's actually the missing Hytanican child, son to nobles, who grew up to be Alera's romantic counterpart, though obviously he cannot be trusted and Dad's still pushing for Steldor and what's what you say? A war might begin unless Narian is returned to them because he's the key to a prophesy for bringing about the downfall of Hytanica? Mm-hmm.

Seriously, guys, I think the publishing world has only done Kluver a disservice by publishing this work. Legacy could have been something excellent had she spent a few more years living/revising. As I understand it, Legacy was originally self-published and now Harlequin Teen is picking it up, but apparently, they didn't want to waste money on an editor (or Kluver had enough pull to be able to reject every rational change). It feels like no work was done on this manuscript to help Kluver patch up the inconsistencies or guide her to add some depth to her characters -- even if she couldn't create characters that you don't want to punch in the face. Repeatedly. Alera is boring and rather slow on the uptake -- a painful example of a heroine that we're supposed to like just because we're told to, without any reasons. She's not very smart and she has no hobbies, wit, sparkle, or emotional depth. She makes poor decisions, going along with whatever others propose, and seems to have lived her entire life without an ounce of curiosity -- prior to now (else how can we explain her total lack of knowledge of her own country's history or its conflict with Cokyri?). Steldor comes off as self-absorbed and cruel, but Kluver wants you to think he's more than that, and so she tosses in enough contradictory behavior (which only succeeds in making him look bi-polar). Though I will say that while the ending of the novel moved in obvious directions, for Steldor and Alera, I didn't expect Kluver to let things go so far. Narian's appeal rests in his mystery, which is relatively maintained by his mostly mute state. The only semi-likeable character in the entire book is London, Alera's bodyguard who was once a prisoner of the Cokyrians -- and I think I only liked him because he seemed like a bit of an ass, but a slightly likable ass with honor and a brain (aka the only character in the book that seemed to possess an ounce of intelligence). At first, one wonders if Alera is supposed to fall for him, as he's not *so* very much older and Kluver has difficulty in differentiating the affection one feels for a romantic interest versus a father-figure, but no, we're just supposed to question his motives and then all-too-conveniently bring him back when his expertise is needed. The most annoying figure of all, however, is a young bodyguard whose behavior would easily have earned him a beheading after one or two scenes, and yet he was peristently judged a decent figure to protect the princess. Personally, I would have been delighted if London killed them all in a post-traumatic-stress fit.

I know this might seem harsh, but I'm really disappointed in the general group of adults who didn't do enough to help Kluver develop this manuscript more and instead pushed it out in this state, as there's the potential for semi-decent fantasy/romance YA in all this mess, but it's just not ready. There's a lot of description of clothing that's supposed to pass as interesting detail, so it's not like Kluver didn't try where she could, but this is a highly disappointing novel and I can't even hope that Kluver will get better, as attention like this to work at such a young age could only stunt her growth by suggesting she doesn't need to work harder at her craft. Readers, if all you're looking for is to be impressed by a 14-year-old's writing, then go ahead and check out Legacy (or get a job as a high school English teacher and hunt down the nerds who scribble in their notebooks all day), but if you're looking for good historical YA, treat Legacy like the scene of a terrible accident. Keep moving along, folks, there's nothing to see here.

Please note that I received an advanced egalley of this novel courtesy of NetGalley for the purpose of review.

Dead Reckoning

If it weren't for the fact that "NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED" is written on the cover of the latest Sookie book... well, you kind of could have fooled me. Dead Reckoning felt like a dead ringer for the last installment, Dead in the Family, with some minor details changed. It's yet another book of prep work for future explosions and laying the foundation for bigger issues, with enough of a battle at the end to keep everything interesting and technically "advance" the plot. We're still mopping up a fairy mess, we're still dealing with Victor, and we're still wondering what the hell Sookie and Eric are doing with their relationship/vampire marriage. Thank goodness it's been a solid year since I've read the last one or I'd be more irritated at the fact that the main positive point of this book seems simply to be that it exists and affords the reader a few hundred more pages of life in Charlaine Harris's vampire-riddled world. As it stands, I'm somewhat resigned to the fact that this series may have run its course, unless Harris really is planning for big things (and there are hints this could be true or at least that she wants us to think it's true), but I'm also aware of something I've stated in previous Sookie books: I'm going to keep reading and I know it, so there's no sense in my denying it or threatening that I'll stop. It's not in my nature and every time I open up a new Sookie book, I still feel like I'm settling in to something comfortable and familiar and I realize that I had, indeed, missed it.

The book opens with a bang... well, to be specific, a fire via Molotov cocktail (it seems Sookie has exchanged her word-a-day calendar of old for crime novels). Tossed through the window of Sam's bar during working hours, the cocktail fire causes minimal destruction and no one is too severely injured (though Sam was burned a bit and of Sookie's hair was singed) and while the police and everyone else might think this is your usual hate crime against the two-natured, Sookie caught a fleeting glimpse of the culprit and thinks their attacker is a shifter, too. Eric quickly arrives on the scene and we're reminded that he and Sookie have that blood bond and that they're married, vampire-style. Sookie's finally going to do something about that in this book (though we continue to remain baffled why Sookie feels this deep need to *do* something about it). Meanwhile, Eric is being unusually cagey, even for Eric, and later on, we'll learn (via Pam) that beyond plots to kill Victor, things are Not Okay in Eric world. Speaking of Victor, he's still trying to kill basically everyone (topping the list are Eric, Pam, and Sookie) and Eric's had enough and is finally ready to take him out. Oh, and also among those trying to kill Sookie? Do you remember Debbie Pelt's even crazier sister? Yeah, her. And Sam's still dating that werewolf. And Bill's still in love with Sookie. And the fairies are still around, despite the fact that their world was almost entirely sealed off, but we'll learn a little more about Sookie's fairy side. All in all, one feels like a whole book is needed just to check in on all the characters in this world, let along advance their individual plotlines by much. Oddly, it makes things feel very realistic -- one has too many friends to keep track of and there's a lot of schedule juggling so one can put in the hours at work, see one's vampire boyfriend, and still throw a baby shower for a "we used to be much closer" friend.

So, fans should enjoy this book if only because it gives us more and that's pleasant enough, but I still feel like we're gearing up for bigger things. At least the end of this book makes me feel like the next will, indeed, deal with quite interesting issues... and, let's face it, at the top of that list for me is Eric, his politics and his twisted relationship with Sookie. It may not be a good idea for them to be together, but I guess one should enjoy him while he lasts. (Speaking of Eric, there's an impressive scene involving a porch swing, the realistic logistics of which it's better to just ignore.) Otherwise, let the countdown for book twelve begin.

Legend

Told from the alternating perspectives of two narrators, Legend by Marie Lu is a dystopian YA novel set in Los Angeles that focuses on June and Day, two fifteen-year-olds from wildly different backgrounds whose lives are about to collide. June is the only prodigy to have earned a perfect score on her Trial exam (taken by all ten-year-olds in the Republic to help shape their futures). She comes from a wealthy district and family, though her life hasn't necessary been "easy" -- she's been raised by her wildly capable older brother, Metias, since their parents died while she was still very young. At fifteen, June might be a little bit of a trouble-maker at her top university (having skipped several grades), but only because she's challenging herself in her own ways (scaling buildings, etc.) and she can kind of get away with it (a perfect score will make you everyone's darling). She does, however, believe in the Republic and is eager to graduate to begin her military career. Meanwhile, Day is the most wanted criminal in the Republic -- not the most dangerous, mind, but the most wanted because he constantly eludes capture. From a poor family, Day failed his Trial exam and rather than be taken off to the work camps (or meet whatever fate the failures have), he now lives on the streets with only his friend, thirteen-year-old Tess, for company. The Patriots, the enemy in the Republic's never-ending battle outside its borders, have tried to bring Day to their cause, but he's never been interested. He pulls off his own acts of rebellion against a system that has never been on his side or the sides of his loved ones -- stealing plague meds, breaking in to a bank, destroying the engines of airships. Quite a rap sheet, indeed, particularly when no fatalities seem to be associated with any of these antics. More often than not, though, Day and Tess are simply scraping by, with at least a day a week spent watching over Day's family -- his mother and two brothers -- as the military does its weekly sweeps to test for plague that only seem to crop up in the poor areas.

When Day's little brother Eden seems to have developed a mutated strain of the plague, Day breaks in to a hospital to steal plague meds on a night when Metias is part of the military force present at the hospital. Unable to locate treatment meds, Day settles for suppressants and leaps two stories to escape, only to be cornered by Metias. Day wounds Metias in the shoulder and escapes -- but later that night, June is told that her brother was killed, stabbed in the heart by Day. June is offered a chance to become a full-fledged agent and avenge her brother by tracking down Day. First, she attempts to meet with Day by spreading word that a plague cure dealer is looking for him, and then June goes undercover in the slums, hoping to make contact with someone who can lead her to Day. After a few days of nothing, June jumps in to a skiz fight to rescue a young girl (Tess) and receives a minor wound, but is whisked to safety and taken care of by Tess and Day (though she doesn't know it's Day until she's spent some time with them). Inevitably, the truth comes out, decisions are made, and what was once certainty in June's mind becomes muddled as she finds herself questioning whether Day is really her brother's killer and if the system she's believed in for her whole life is not what it appears to be. Before she can figure anything out, though, there will be tragic casualties and massive repercussions to her actions.

My reasons for disliking this book are three-fold.

1. The font style and color changes. I know I'm reading an ARC, but I'm betting this will carry to the hardcover (and someone please let me know if that's not the case). For June, the more educated of the narrators, we have a serif font and black type. For Day, the wanted criminal and kid living on the streets, we have a sans-serif font in a weird goldenrod color. That's right, color ink. Extra money was spent to make the reader wince. It's so very unnecessary. A good novel doesn't need to switch fonts or colors to indicate we have a new narrator. Distracting design doesn't help the text and, honestly, it's just not aesthetically appealing. At most, I could've tolerated the font (style, not color) switching or the annoying "DAY" or "JUNE" logos at the top of each chapter to designate the narrator, but otherwise we're left to assume one of three things for why this weird font decision was made: (A) Some high-up executive thought this would be an interesting hook for the book ("everyone loves goldenrod!") and no one else wanted to be the person to step up and explain it was a terrible idea. (B) The author/publisher does not think highly of the reader's intelligence (or visual comprehension skills, as that logo on each chapter features letters a good inch tall), and so the reader is beaten over the head with these indicators that a different person is talking now. (C) The publisher doesn't think the book can handle things on its own/doesn't think much of the author's ability to properly differentiate tones of voice and so the extra differences were heaped in as a necessary means of tricking the reader in to thinking the voices were really quite distinctive. In reality, the voices are not as different as one might wish, and both can be slightly inconsistent. I got the feeling that a little too much thought had gone in to things like "this is what a teenage boy would sound like" and the defining variation for June was a flimsy air of prejudice towards the poor that quite easily gets set aside as the book goes on.

2. I'll be honest, this isn't necessarily a criticism of the novel, but rather, it's a personal preference discovered with this novel. I just don't enjoy stories that have to do with the military. It automatically turns me off. I don't think I had totally realized this until reading Legend, so that means I felt it hard-core here. Of course, this was only magnified by the fact that the military here is so obviously evil that it's absurd. Revolutionaries and rebels, bring 'em on, but the organized body requiring utter allegiance and devotions, no questions asked when shooting ten year olds? No thanks, I'll take my chaos rather than hand over guns to folks who never question an order from obviously twisted leaders. Naturally, the evil military trope is a standard feature of many dystopian or post-apocalyptic novels, but usually we see it from the outside, so we're not privy to the intricate machinations from within. Legend does at least have this different angle to its credit, but unfortunately it didn't do it all that well -- it made things seem way over simplified and ridiculous. I appreciate the message that this book seems to send about soldiers who are much too young for these responsibilities and blindly follow orders, but I don't think there was enough follow-through if the author really wanted to make a point. (PS. Only slightly related, but I'll stick this complaint here. If your book discusses the military and you insist on labeling things with a time, location, and temperature like it's an official report, then you should be using military time. This seems beyond obvious.)

3. Inconsistencies abound, leading me to surmise that even though the military set-up and dystopian world are the best things Lu has going for her, she constantly undermines her own creation by failing to keep things believable even within the framework of the world.

To me, this final point comes through loud and clear in the romantic plotline. (And from this point on, folks, I'll be revealing information that happens deeper in the novel than the general summary has indicated, so even though I won't spoil the ending, if you really want to avoid hearing more details about Legend, then stop now.) I can accept the general idea that June might fall for Day -- she hunts him down, believing he's her brother's killer, but ultimately realizes that Day didn't kill Metias and Day can provide the answers about how the Republic is really being run that have been kept from her for her whole life. There are several other books that utilize this plot where the family member can ultimately fall for the absolved suspect. What doesn't jive is Day falling for June after June is responsible for his mother being shot point-blank in front of his house to draw Day out of hiding before Day even has a chance to give himself up when his mother's life is threatened. June didn't hold the gun or issue the order, but she is totally and utterly responsible for her death. The characters dance around this, suggesting that June isn't responsible because she didn't know they'd kill his mother -- but I'm sorry, that doesn't fly. Day had been a somewhat credible character (despite his borderline super-human abilities and handsome features that always shine through his streetlife grime) up to this point, but there's no way he'd continue to think well of June after this. It doesn't matter if she's just a girl that's been lied to by the system... she's the girl who was responsible for his mother's death. If there was ever the slim hope that Day might one day forgive her for this, it isn't going to happen in less than a week and it's almost insulting to his character to suggest he could get over it so easily.

Beyond that massive issue, there are all kinds of questionable things in this novel that cause the reader to pause and pull out of the novel in confusion. The Trial exam that every ten year old takes has those who pass and those who fail -- and the failures are theoretically shipped off to work camps, but in actuality are killed or used for medical testing. (That's right, kids, we took Fido to a farm where he can play in the sunshine!) Evidently the kids, post-Trial, sit around wondering which group they're in, but really, if that many kids are being taken off for labor camps/to be killed, there would be WAY more problems, like general populace uprising (and the people can't be *that* beaten down if they're uprising when Day is captured, so you can't fall back on that one). There's also the surprisingly lax treatment of June in school, the perfect prodigy who gets away with all kinds of unacceptable behavior. In military schools, this would be completely unacceptable. While it's supposed to suggest she thinks outside the box, it doesn't explain why she's never questioned anything the military has told her up until now. And don't get me started on the evil military where the hours are surprisingly good (June always seems to be in her apartment, zoning out and petting her dog) and yet demands that its soldiers kill civilians without a second thought. Thomas (who was mentored by Metias and has the hots for fifteen-year-old June) is a poor bad guy and if he had a scrap of decency or wasn't a robot/psychopath, would have been torn up by the role he'd played in everything. The military, meanwhile, maintains a drastic class system that keeps the poor in utter squalor, but allows for its own impressive technology. Speaking of technology -- Metias keeps paper journals to document things... and then a website to alert his sister to his discoveries? If technology is advanced enough that a hand-scan would be required for her to view the site, you can bet the military would already have figured out a way around it -- it seems the military is the only field that gets any massive technological advances, so they'd be watching their people (and totally would have searched the house and figured out his code long before June). Oh, and the whole former United States of America? Yeah, the hints suggest we'll learn more about this in future books, but obviously things have gone down and the Republic controls at least California -- but we needed a little more to go on here, otherwise we're in limbo as far as our awareness of the world. What area of the US are we talking about when we refer to the Patriots or the Republic? How many years in the future are we that technology has been at a veritable stand-still? (Oh, and unless the rest of the world has been destroyed, it's rather egocentric to think America/Republic vs Patriots conflict is the only thing that's relevant. To be honest, though, if this was supposed to be some kind of compelling history, then we really should have been given a reason to care -- as of now, it just seems like Day and June are rebelling against a government that lies to them, but there's no indication that knowledge would lead to better lives for the Republic's citizens in any tangible way.

I wanted to abandon this novel halfway through, but trudged on so I could feel like I was giving a complete and thorough opinion of the work... and so I could feel justified in telling anyone who reads this review that you should skip this one and read something like Divergent, assuming you've already read Hunger Games. I may have tried to make more of an effort if I cared about June, but she lacks any sparkle that might make her a compelling lead. The next installment will likely focus on the Patriots and uncovering more information about the former US, with a contrived plot that will temporarily drive June and Day apart before their eventual reunion and triumph in the third in this series, though "triumph" might not be Hunger Games level and might just be their continued commitment to "fighting the good fight" to provide all people with the truth. (Note: I assume this will be a trilogy, as everything seems to be part of a trilogy these days.) The most I'll do for those future books is read Goodreads reviews with spoilers to confirm my suspicions, but I definitely won't be taking the time to read them myself. I had such hopes for an interesting new perspective in the large field of dystopian novels out there, but even if the setting is slightly new, there's not enough of an appealing and intriguing story to back it up -- and without that, any book would be doomed.

PS? You never win points with the reader by abandoning your dog and shrugging it off.

Bloodlines

Fans of Richelle Mead's Vampire Academy series will be quite pleased with the first installment of her new series that takes place in the same world of Moroi, dhampirs, and alchemists: Bloodlines. While the basic story points are a bit simple and predictable as we set up for a new run, Mead's consistently fun characters make for an entertaining read and a promising start to a series that will undoubtedly allow us to enjoy our favorite characters from the past and, in general, delight in the guilty pleasure of reading about teen vampires/those in their strange world.

Our heroine here has a familiar face (as do most of the faces we'll find in the book) -- it's none other than Sydney, the alchemist who played a major role in helping Rose Hathaway in her quests from the last series, albeit against her will as she made good on owed favors to Abe Mazur, the mob-boss-like figure known as zmey, or "the snake" and, incidentally, Rose's father. Alchemists are humans who are devoted to keeping other humans in the dark about the existence of vampires -- and this often means cleaning up after vampires and enforcing a lot of rules (which comes with a great deal of paperwork). Observant folk will notice that alchemists all have a golden tattoo of a lilly on their cheeks -- which gives them a certain amount of power and protection, but also keeps them from revealing too much about their world and activities to those not already in the know. Sydney was in hot water with the alchemists for her part in assisting Rose in Last Sacrifice -- not entirely because Rose was presumed guilty of murder but more because alchemists are not supposed to *like* vampires and Sydney seemed to have become entirely too close to the loathed creatures. So when a young female alchemist is needed for a mission, Syndey is passed over for her inexperienced little sister, Zoe. In her attempt to keep young Zoe out of the world of the alchemists, Sydney offends her by insisting Zoe's much too young and incapable, but it works and she gets the job.

Sydney is sent to Palm Springs help guard Jill, Queen Vasilia's recently-discovered half-sister who was attacked... and not by Strigoi (the evil brand of vamp), but by those who oppose her sister's politics. In order to maintain the throne, Lissa needs at least one living family member, which means Jill's safety is very important. Palm Springs, with the heat and sun, is one of the last places one would expect vampires and so a suitable boarding school has been located to serve as a relatively clear area to stash the young royal. Sydney is to pose as Jill's sister and Jill's dhampir bodyguard, Eddie, is to be their brother, but the family doesn't end there. Adrian, recently broken-hearted by Rose, is also around to post as another brother and, worst of all for Sydney, there's Keith, the alchemist in charge of the Palm Springs. Keith and Sydney despise each other as a result of an incident in their pasts (and not in the sexy "they hate each other now, but when passions rise" kind of way) and the most we can glean is that Keith did something terrible (though not necessarily to Sydney) and now he remains a slimy jerk, but a jerk in charge of her progress reports to their employers and who's playing the role of brother/legal guardian. Brilliant. Rounding out the cast are Clarence, an older vamp in the area that's willing to share his feeder/housekeeper with Jill, and Clarence's son, Lee, who is a shady fellow off the bat and yet Jill seems to have a small crush on him. Clarence's niece was killed a few years prior, presumably by Strigoi, though the circumstances are shady and Clarence blames vampire hunters. Intriguing. I wonder if that information will play in to our tale? (Hint: yes.)

Sydney must keep her eye on Jill while they navigate school, though to be honest, the latter isn't all that bad for Sydney, as she enjoys classes and is wildly intelligent. She even gets the opportunity to serve as a research assistant to a history professor, though that seems to be equal parts note-taking and coffee-fetching. Sydney, who was home-schooled and who loves architecture (even though her strict father thought it a useless subject), manages quite well... but Jill? Not so much. The sun and heat take a real toll on the young vamp and her shyness keeps her from making many friends. It also doesn't help that she attracts the eye of a human fellow that a particularly nasty girl in school wishes were *her* boyfriend and so the mean girl faults Jill and makes her life a living hell. There's also the fact that Jill and Adrian seem weirdly close these days, but not romantically, and Syndey is not pleased when she uncovers what has gone down. Meanwhile, the school seems to have some odd goings-on (beyond the whole vampires secretly attending thing) that has to do with some metallic tattoos that give the wearer strange powers (or at least an awesome high). Sydney's inquisitive nature will not let this lie and, unsurprisingly, things seem to be all wrapped up together.

The big mysteries are fairly easy to suss out early on, but if you're anything like me, you enjoy Richelle Mead for the clear, easy reading and the enjoyable characters. Sydney is an excellent heroine in many ways and she provides an interesting perspective (particularly as a shift away from Rose and the very intense Moroi/dhampir politics). Her dislike of magic will make for interesting future issues as she interacts with the vamps (and others). There's an interesting bit where Sydney is appalled that she receives a size two uniform instead of a zero -- the weight-control issues obviously going back to her disapproving father and the body image drama that must develop from working with model-thin vampires. Thankfully, Adrian is on hand to tell Sydney that she's too skinny as it is, so perhaps we'll move away from those ludicrous size discussions. (It's rather hard to feel too sorry for Sydney when the difference is between size zero and size two.) Even though the story doesn't feature much romance yet, it's obvious that Mead has plans for Sydney to help Adrian get over his broken heart and figure out his own life. Adrian, meanwhile, is still a bit wicked, but is much tamer (for several reasons) than readers might wish, but I suppose concessions must be made if we want to make him a viable romantic lead who's trying to get his life in order. Eddie remains strong and sweet while Jill is a bit petulant, but she's been through a lot, so I'm sure she'll mature quickly. Rose makes a cameo at the beginning of the story and she'll probably continue to pop in and out, but it looks like we might get a good deal more Dimitri in the next book. I'm not particularly enthralled with the Palm Springs setting, but that can obviously change up as things move around -- the real focus will be on Syndey and her relationship with the vampire community, primarily through Adrian and Jill.

Without Rose's mental line to Lissa that kept previous books jumping between the two perspectives, Bloodlines felt like a very focused story -- in a good way. Things were simple here (protecting Jill, placing Adrian in a new setting, a solveable issue at the school), but the scope will undoubtedly widen as we go on and Jill plays a bigger role at Court. I'm betting we can count on the Moroi/dhampir issues to continue and since Sydney is our focus, the alchemist system to come in to question. I'm curious to see where Mead will take us, as it's just not possible that she'll allow things to stay simple forever, and I'm more than content to let her go wherever she likes with this world, as long as she continues to entertain... and not veer Adrian too far away from his devilish nature towards the responsible-and-boring side of things.

Two Moon Princess

Two Moon Princess by Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban is a time/space traveling YA fantasy novel, colored with the influence of Spanish culture and Californian history. Princess Andrea, the fourth and youngest daughter of the King and Queen, dreams of being a knight but fears her father will not allow her to continue her training now that she's getting older. As suspected, even after she wins an archery contest, Andrea is told that it is now time for her to set such masculine things aside and study to be a lady with her mother's guidance. What the king says is law, so really the only thing that will get her out of this is a magic portal to another universe.
Funny how that can happen in fantasy novels, right?
After struggling to be what she is not, Andrea discovers her kingdom's long-hidden secret, a portal that opens once a month and allows travelers to pass between worlds. Of course, she doesn't totally know what it is until she stumbles through to present day California, where the slightly strange uncle (who would occasionally visit court for short sojourns) turns out to be from this (the real/reader's) world and he's not terribly pleased to have his otherworld niece suddenly appear. In addition, Andrea's mom is actually from California and chose to stay in the other universe for love of Andrea's father, but her uncle bops back and forth between the two worlds, writing off his long absences from his University of California archaeology professorship as "time in the field." Her uncle insists that Andrea must go back to her country/universe when the portal opens again, but that means she's got a month to explore life in our world. As Andrea acclimatizes to California (it helps that her people have ridiculously awesome memories that allow her to learn English practically overnight) and its ways, she begins to appreciate the freedom this world can offer that would be denied to her back home, no matter her station. Unfortunately, though, even when she's given permission by her parents to stay in California for a while, a mistake lands Andrea and her California crush, John, back in her former home and the ultimate consequences of this action lead to war within her world. Now it's up to Andrea to find a way to stop the war and along the way, she discovers that not everything in her world is worth leaving behind, but she ultimately will have to choose between the two.

First off, I really wanted to like this book. I was looking forward to the incorporation of old Spanish culture and California history. As a former California Catholic school student, the missions were a big part of grade school curriculum (my small-scale foam-board mission, btw, rocked the socks off everyone else's in the school) and I still have a soft spot for this morally questionable part of my culture. At least with the mission component in this book, I wasn't too disappointed -- these bits and the flavor they provided were interesting and I wanted more. Unfortunately, it was everything else that got annoying. Time was all wonky -- in Andrea's world (which has two moons, btw, hence the title) the calendar is longer and so she starts the book as "nearly fourteen," but in our world, this mean she's seventeen. (Let me tell you that it's a BIG difference for a reader when she blithely reads along, picturing a fourteen-year-old and then suddenly she's enrolled in college classes and thinking about kissing boys in a this-isn't-too-soon-at-all kind of way.) It was also frustrating to know the whole "the portal only opens every month" bit meant that lots of time gets skimmed over in the course of the story and it seems just a little too convenient that no one (like her uncle's real-world daughter, perhaps?) gets all that concerned when someone is unreachable for a whole frickin' month. In general, I found that this story tended to drag on in places (for the first half, I came amazingly close to setting the book aside because things were going so slowly and I pretty much never give up on a book). Eventually, it picked up when the direction that we were headed in became a bit clearer, but that took quite a long while. I will give the novel credit for not giving away the details about who will be playing what part (aka the "villians," the love interest, etc.) but sometimes that came at the cost of twisting people from their original presentations to ascribe actions to them that don't seem all that believable or sympathetic.

On the whole, I didn't really like any of the characters. All the men (save one, later on) seem to be real jerks -- especially Andrea's uncle who, given that he's a professor from modern-day California, you might expect to be less of a dick towards women -- and the women are easily dismissed as being one-note or lacking in definition. Ultimately, though, the real fault I had with this novel was Andrea -- it's entirely possible to still enjoy a novel where you dislike the main character (it can even be an interesting experience, really), but it's much harder when you find them annoying and, quite frankly, a bit slow on the uptake. When I thought she was fourteen, her intelligence level might have been forgiven, but at seventeen, she came across as rather dim indeed. It wasn't that she was klutzy or forgetful or endearingly clueless... she was actually a little dumb. She never thought things through and never seemed to understand that actions have repercussions and, as a princess, you'd think she'd be a bit more aware here. She grows a pair towards the end of the novel, but it happens a bit too quickly for any brave actions to be really believable as character development and, instead, it's like a new Andrea is suddenly on the scene. The thing that kept me reading was the plot -- I honestly wasn't sure where things were going for a while and I dislike giving up on things, so I stuck it out. The romance angle (once you it came to fruition) was interesting, even though I liked the hero far more than Andrea, but once it became a possibility, the ultimate end result was clear and there were no further twists.

Alas, while I honestly appreciate the introduction on diversity and different cultures into literature (particularly YA), I just wasn't won over by Two Moon Princess. Given a different heroine, perhaps I could have warmed to it, but Andrea just wasn't up to the task of shouldering this novel. It's quite a shame, really, as this novel had potential and some very interesting details to its credit, but it just wasn't my cup of tea in the end.

Spellbound

When a book has a title like Spellbound, there's a deep temptation for reviewers to pretend they're being clever by putting some kind of spin on it. Positive reviews might say something like "The title delivers -- this certainly kept me Spellbound!" and less-than-positive reviews might try a little harder for the negative equivalent. If I cared enough, I'd fall in to the less-than-positive camp because even though this is an incredibly quick read, only the most desperate-to-relive-Twilight readers will be particularly entranced by Cara Lynn Shultz's debut novel. FYI, I won't give away the ending with this review, but this is one of those books that draws out the obvious for a long time, and I won't tip-toe around that one.

Emma is a seventeen-year-old whose life has been plagued by tragedies, roughly in this order: her father left, her twin brother died, her mother died, and then her drunken step-father nearly killed them both in a car accident. Following this final brush with death, Emma has finally decided to take up her mom's sister, Aunt Christine, on her offer for Emma to come live with her in New York City. Aunt Christine is well-off (evidenced by the fact that she has a spare bedroom in her apartment ready for Emma to move in to and the fact that paying tuition at a posh private school doesn't appear to be a big deal) but doesn't have much idea about what it takes to raise a teenager, so she trusts Emma to make good decisions and set herself a curfew in line with everyone else's. There's another aunt in the background, whose daughter Ashley is eager to show Emma the ropes -- even though she's only a freshman at Vincent Academy herself. Ashley is sweet and bouncy and obviously destined for a bad turn from the get-go. Despite her desire to lay low, Emma sticks out like a sore thumb. She immediately winds up on the bad side of the catty queen bee and the most popular self-obsessed jock in school. She makes one friend, a gothy witch named Angelique, sort of befriends another girl who has a drinking problem, and manages to hit it off with the semi-closeted gay guy (seriously, can we get any more stereotypical in our cast of high school characters?)... but unsurprisingly, everyone pales in comparison to the extremely handsome, smart, and wealthy Brendan Salinger... who alternately acts nicely to Emma and then blows her off entirely. This might be your average high school scenario, but as per current trends, we need to toss in something paranormal about everything, and for Spellbound, this involves a curse, a doomed love, and a necklace pendant. Emma wears a particular necklace, a gift from her brother, and it catches the eye of both Edward--I mean, Brendan--and Angelique, though for different reasons. Angelique is fairly sure that it has some kind of magic connotation and Brendan just seemed fixated. And then Emma starts having dreams where her dead twin brother is warning her away from Brendan. Will it spoil anything if I indicate that somehow, the necklace pendant is at the heart of everything? And it means something to Brendan that he's not too eager to share with Emma lest she get freaked out? Or that they're reincarnated doomed lovers and they need to break a curse if they're ever supposed to be together? If so, oops, but you really should have seen that coming.

It’s no new thing for a story to feature a strong male hero that needs to “save” the heroine from some threat. Heck, this is one of the oldest stories out there. It's not even new for said hero to be billed as dangerous and for this to be part of his appeal. Twilight only tapped in to a much older story and reinvigorated our own abhorrence for the fact that, despite our knowing that this isn't feminist, there is still a twisted appeal and we have no idea how to both empower young women to make their preferences heard and yet tell them that this particular preference really isn't a good idea. Still, when one normally encounters this particular bad boy device (and, let's face it, there's a lot of them out there in the wake of Stephenie's success), I generally find that there's still something compelling and I just wasn't getting that here. It really did feel that someone just wanted to re-create Twilight with a twist and I found Emma and Brendan almost unrecognizable from Bella and Edward (minus the fangs). (Though at least Brendan doesn't put the kibosh on making out the way that Edward did, which yielded a steamy scene that should satisfy those who read YA for the romance.) Maybe it was because I didn't particularly feel that anyone had any personality or that I found the atmosphere of the NYC private school to be completely unrealistic. It's one thing when you write a novel about teenagers and manage to skip around scenes that obviously would feature profanity... it's another when you barrel head-first into fight scenes between teenage guys and expect the reader not to laugh when the harshest thing that's said is akin to "you're acting like a baby." It was an interesting contrast with the scenes of New York teenagers out drinking or doing drugs and yet the words they spoke just didn't fit. That said, Shultz might shy away from naughty language, but the violence (even violence against women) was intense for a YA that isn't Hunger Games or specifically dealing with violent paranormal animals or something. I did appreciate Emma sticking up for her cousin when hurtful rumors swirl around the school, but a death wish isn't the same as backbone and I wanted Emma to be much smarter in how she dealt with the pure evil bully. I suppose, though, that I was thankful that she didn't simply simper on the sidelines.

Ultimately, I don't really mind the general idea of a doomed love, fated to play itself out again and again throughout time, but I wish the author had moved away from other inspirational material and made the characters her own just a bit more. I didn't particularly like the flashbacks to the original doomed lovers and the reincarnations that followed, but at least those were elements that were more original and different. There's some intriguing bonus material in the ebook -- a selection from Angelique's thoughts and a twisted little story of magic gone wrong as well as a playlist highlighting some of the music that Emma and Brendan listen to during the book. Unless Shultz brings more to the table in her next book, though, I think I'll pass on any future attempts at spellbinding stories.

Please note that I received an advanced egalley of this novel courtesy of NetGalley for the purpose of review.

Let the Great World Spin

On an August morning in 1974, if the New Yorkers rushing past the Twin Towers on their usual morning commute paused to look up, they would have seen a tightrope walker on a line suspended between the towers. This moment of guerrilla performance art is what ties together Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann, which otherwise explores four separate stories, all of which eventually touch upon each other in strange ways. A group of mothers who lost sons in Vietnam. An Irish brother (and his own actual brother) who is kind to a group of prostitutes in the Bronx. One of those prostitutes, a grandmother and not yet forty, tries to make her life and the lives of her family better. Young artists find themselves fleeing the scene of a car accident and yet they cannot shake the horror of what they have done. This moment in time, suspended, becomes the focus of a novel that offers a fascinating view of a New York that existed not all that long ago, but has been irrevocably lost to us.

It's not that it took me a very long time to get through this novel, it's just that when I set a book aside for a time (for any number of reasons), it's very hard for me to return to it. And it might not have any bearing on the novel itself. For Let the Great World Spin, I just couldn't handle how terribly sad and depressed I felt about halfway through and I needed a bit of distance, but I picked it up again several months later when my book club selected it and I am very pleased that they did. Even in 1974, the Twin Towers were emblems of New York, symbolizing its progress and promise; to view them within the novel is to experience the heavy heart of hindsight.

This is not an easy read, nor should it be. Even if you simply focus on the characters themselves, their lives are full of the heartbreak that is inevitably a part of living. Once setting down the book, however, it is impossible to keep your thoughts from drifting to Ground Zero (particularly if you live in New York, as I do). McCann's characters are vividly real. Even though the actual tight-rope walker plays a small role in the novel, his artistic expression illuminates the tight-rope acts that everyone in this novel is doing -- balancing themselves between conflicting ideas, emotions, or actions. It's a testament to 9/11 that it is so deeply rooted in our national consciousness that McCann evoked every tragic image and moment without any specific allusion to them, until the end when he spoke of his father-in-law's dust-covered shoes. The entire book is haunted by future events, which only makes each new, unrelated pain all the sharper.

My NYC-based book club read this and we had similar reactions, with the general opinion being quite positive of McCann's writing and the book as a whole. Obviously, we shared our "where I was when I heard about the planes" stories. There was the unanimous stereotypical observation that an Irish author can write despair, tragedy, and hardship like no other kind of author in the world. In addition, we collectively appreciated that, despite all the quiet suffering, there was also the undercurrent of resilience, which seems odd for a book not specifically dealing with a tragic event, and yet by reaching in to the past, there was some element that shone through. It's not a British "keep calm and carry on" kind of attitude, but there is the knowledge that whether the tragedy be small and personal or unimaginably large as 9/11, there is the innate human need to continue on and reclaim one's life from the constant thrall of a specific and devastating catastrophe. The motivations for this might vary, but there it is, just the same.

While I wouldn't necessarily recommend that you pick up this title when you're feeling blue, save it until a sunnier day. And any New Yorker should definitely read this for a different perspective on the World Trade Center and its place in our city's history and consciousness.

Light Boxes

The inhabitants of a town wage war against February itself in an attempt to regain lost seasons, children, and dreams. This was all I knew about Light Boxes when I purchased it. I believe I'd seen it listed in some trusted source somewhere, perhaps noting Shane Jones as an interesting new voice in fiction. That, combined with the lovely cover, was enough to intrigue me so that it made its way in to my shopping cart if not in to my purse for an immediate perusal. I bought it and it sat in a stack of other books, so placed to remind me that I wanted to read each and every one of them "next" but I didn't pick it up until April -- perhaps I should have read it during February itself for a better sense of scene, but Jones conjures up the grueling month quite clearly (even for those of us who enjoy winter, it becomes bleak in its unending state). Do I call it poetry? Free verse? Surreal fairy tale that bleeds in to a horror story? A melding of fiction and poetic conjuration of imagery? An attempt to explain via metafiction the experience of Seasonal Affective Disorder? Well whatever it is, and it may be all those things combined, it's not your usual narrative, even when the story concerns a month made both flesh and eternal. Light Boxes is sad and thoughtful and, despite the ongoing nature of February, surprisingly brief in its tale.

Those who have grown up in oppressive winters will indubitably find a kindred spirit in Shane Jones, who envisions the horror of all horrors to be an endless February of ice, snow, and bitter wind. In this town, flight has been outlawed and so, earth-bound, the inhabitants cannot do anything but kindle within their breasts a revolution against February and hope that the sparks are not blown out before something takes hold. Layered worlds provide a scene that feels like an MC Escher drawing, opening holes in the floor that turn out to be gaping wounds in the sky, and children stolen from their beds tunnel underground to provide scraps of messages that convey hopes and war plans. I know of no clear way to describe this novel beyond these swirling images that dance like snowflakes. Yes, there is a story involving a father who must soldier to lead the war against February on after his daughter disappears and his wife dies in her grief. Perhaps it's best to approach this novel as a long free-verse poem, or, like Alan Lightman's Einstein's Dreams, short observations that are tied together by theme and a strange, twisting narrative. In the end, it's not really that "main" narrative that stuck with me so much as the amazing details or vivid descriptions. Did I mention flight was banned? Think on this one idea for a moment... the concept of individuals burning and destroying anything that might rise above, like balloons or even birds... the concealment of treasured items... the painting of kites on a child's arms with the knowledge she will always have to wear sleeves to be safe, but at least she will never forget. The imagery is haunting and while the "story" might not be something that provides a sense of satisfaction, it does not fail in provoking wonder.

The narrative hinges on the experience of February as lingering and oppressively endless. Perhaps it's because I do not experience Seasonal Affective Disorder and actually take great delight in winter but the brevity of the book that I mentioned earlier extends beyond page count. Despite the knowledge that it must be so, the eternal February never sunk in for me, like ice melting through one's clothes. Though I also mean that it took me a little more than an hour to read this in its entirety. When I finished, I wasn't quite sure what to think. I still don't quite know what to think, but I am most definitely thinking of it and on it. So much was unexpected and left open. I had not expected the emphasis on layout and design to convey the poetic message. It could arguably be too kitschy to have such reliance but I never even considered that until after the fact. The design helps the scenes in many ways, though at times it was distracting. I also hadn't quite realized there would be such emphasis on vignettes stitched together to provide structure. The through narrative is exceedingly loose in retrospect, even if the reader does feel compelled on while reading, like a traveler lost in a blizzard who spies a light ahead. Perhaps that's the thing, though, I hadn't realized much of anything before I wandered in to Shane Jones's strange world and that might be just the way to go.

I will, however, likely have to sit on this book some time before I can start suggesting it to people in earnest. New York has just come in to bloom after a winter that had many begging for relief (not unlike the town inhabitants of this novel, though New Yorkers failed to come up with active plans to combat the lingering weather) and so to suggest that they read a novel about eternal winter amidst blossoming daffodils and tulips... well, perhaps not. It is most definitely a novel that benefits from a "right place, right time" attitude and to impose it upon a reader in any other situation would not be to anyone's benefit. Still, should you feel yourself in need of surreal experimentational literature at any point (particularly during a snow storm or chilly night), then I would recommend this slim volume. And I would ask that you report back to tell me if you can look at owls in the same way as you did before reading this book.

PS Goodreads fans should get a kick out of the fact that February himself ( http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/2224484-february ) thinks this is "a terrible book of lies."

St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised By Wolves

Karen Russell's debut collection of short stories, St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised By Wolves, is a fascinating trip into tales where, believe it or not, the twisted realities seem to surpass even the creations of wild, young imaginations.

There is something captivating (slash haunting?) about childhood -- a belief, real or imagined, that things were simpler... or at least that we were all less aware of the complications lurking around us. This is, of course, a construct of adulthood as we give our younger selves less credit, because children are startlingly observant. The children in Russell's stories are very clearly not unaware -- they see everything and know things are wrong even if they cannot put names or motives to the adult betrayals and issues. Their stories may all possess elements of magical realism, but it's the very true, wounded emotions that infuse the page which make them live and breathe.

The stories themselves are not connected to each other, but they share a general sense of magical realism that imbues the Floridian swamplands. The title story, "St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves," is perhaps the most unforgettable of the group -- children raised by their werewolf parents are willingly handed off to the nuns so they might have a chance at shaking off their lupine upbringing, as they themselves will never experience the magical change. In "Ava Wrestles the Alligator," a girl watches her potentially possessed sister experience a sexual awakening, fending for herself and a little too unaware of the danger that comes from outside a person, rather than within, even when it's not in alligator skin. Other stories feature theme parks made up of giant conch shells, an assisted living center where the elderly inhabitants occupy boats instead of apartments, and a disillusioned young star-gazer struggles to hold on to a sense of wonder in the world while slipping in to the grasp of peer pressure. While the settings and actual events may be strange and incredible, it's really the description of emotional states and changes that indelibly remain in the reader's mind. (Well, okay, the odd details stick around, too.)

Fans of Kelly Link will find a kindred spirit here, though Karen Russell narrows her focus on the Everglades and its environs. Her tone is quite perfect for the short story format, as she offers a concise and single glimpse at each settling that feels whole in its existence, even if one itches to know more. This is a collection that should not be missed if you enjoy short stories, twisted backwoodsy settings, or alligators in most any format.

Wicked Lovely

Among the darker paranormal YA books out there, Melissa Marr's Wicked Lovely is the first in her series that deals with fairies... but most definitely not of the Tinkerbell variety. Twisted and somewhat lurid, these are fairies who do nothing in halves -- whether that's stormy anguish, vicious carnage, or orgiastic celebration.

Aislinn (called "Ash" by her friends) and her grandmother have always been able to see fairies -- and unlike everyone else who does not have the Sight, they've lived their lives in fear of what they can see the fairies do to each other and the mortals who cannot see them. This danger, however, is nothing in comparison to the danger Ash knows she'd be in if the fairies KNEW she could see them... and so she guards her secret and mentally chants the rules her grandmother has established: "Don't stare at invisible faeries. Don't speak to invisible faeries. Don't ever attract their attention." Ash keeps her head down and tries to spend as much time in her best friend Seth's "house" -- a steel train car, where the metal keeps the fey out.

The rules, however, change forever when Donia and Keenan appear. The Winter Girl and the Summer King start to follow Ash and she scrambles to figure out what they want from her... but simply by singling her out, they've taken away any chance for Ash to have a normal life. Now, as Keenan's newest choice to attempt the test to discover if she is the long-lost Summer Queen, Ash must come to terms with the fact that she is now fey, like it or not... but will being fey define the rest of her, too?

The set-up for this series is fantastic for fans of the paranormal genre -- a girl falling in love with her best friend is altered forever when she is forced to play a role in the fairy world. The pull of her personal desires pitted against her new fairy impulses is a tug-of-war within her own heart and only her strength can see her through. Very few characters are straight-forward and simple in terms of their own allegiances and wants, and the complications make for a storyline that is filled with twists and turns, even in this first book and most certainly in the ones that follow.

I'm probably not going to review each one of the subsequent installments, but I did manage to read all of them. (SPOILERS ahead for Wicked Lovely, but not really much else.) Ink Exchange isn't really a sequel to WL so much as it was a companion novel -- like a JR Ward kind of spin-off where the actions taking place dealt with other characters that didn't play a strong role before, but it all helps set up events for future books. Fragile Eternity can claim "sequel" status to WL, I suppose, as it returns to the complications surrounding the tangled lives of Ash, Keenan, Donia, and Seth. More and more, Ash is realizing what it means to be the Summer Queen -- and that her responsibilities to her court are undermining everything she once held dear. In Radiant Shadows, I started to loose interest, as it broadens the character scope to examine more people in the world in addition to the main ones, obviously pushing the storyline in to an even more epic scale. I forged ahead with Darkest Mercy, knowing it was the last, and I am glad that I made it through to see everything wrap up. Lots of bloodshed and sacrifice, as befitting the scale of actions, and somehow I felt like not quite enough sacrifice had been made. Still, a very interesting series and Wicked Lovely is the best of them all.

Even though Wicked Lovely was only published in 2007, it certainly feels like Melissa Marr beat the other dark paranormal YA writers to the scene -- perhaps because even with so many others flooding the market, Marr's series holds its own as creating one of the more twisted and intriguing worlds out there. If you enjoy paranormal YA and have made it this far without yet experiencing Melissa Marr, you should most definitely give at least Wicked Lovely a whirl to see what you think, as she's become something of a standard. It may not be my favorite series out there, but it is quite memorable.

The Girl in the Steel Corset

Within the acknowledgments at the end of her book, Kady Cross describes her original desire was to write The Girl in the Steel Corset as "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen meets teen X-Men." There's really no better way to describe this novel than that -- for Kady Cross did obviously want to write that novel. Her talent seems to rest in creating an interesting world and atmosphere where those kinds of elements can come together. The problem, though, is that a great number of other things seemed to fall by the wayside in order to craft such a world, including a clear narrative, character investment, and a large amount of tension within the story arc.

Steampunk and packed with adventure, The Girl in the Steel Corset opens upon a young serving maid named Finley Jayne who believes she's struggling with a darker side within, a side that unleashes when she's frightened or angry. Incidentally, we're treated to a display of this when the master's son decides he'd like to take advantage of the new serving girl, and he winds up beaten unconscious. As Finley is aware that she'll be lucky if she only winds up dismissed from her position and not arrested, the voice in her head offers some solid advice -- flee before either can happen. Dashing into the street as she escapes, Finley is nearly run down -- conveniently, by the only young man in all of London who can truly help her. Within his circle of friends, she finds even more frightening prospects than dealing with her own internal struggles -- the possibility of understanding, a useful place, and true friends.

The Girl in the Steel Corset gets major points based on cover and book design alone -- I loved the dips and curls of the script combined with the cogs on chapter pages and the lush cover is quite vibrant. My experience with steampunk literature is rather limited (aka Gordon Dahlquist and Gail Carriger), so perhaps staunch supporters of the genre would be able to really enjoy the detail that Cross goes in to. The world that Cross paints has the benefit of luxury (as one of the main characters and leader of the group, Griffin King, is a wealthy young Duke) being contrasted with the gritty world outside. There are still all kinds of crazy mechanical contraptions (including a whole lot of robots) and fashions that work in a good deal of body piercings. Introducing a unique element (or at least making it something *I* haven't yet seen before), Cross features a new form of ore that seems to function as a blended mechanical/organic composite -- and keeping this substance away from those who would use its powers for evil will obviously occupy a lot of time in the series... well, that and trying to figure out just how it works and how it has affected those who come in contact with it. Oh, and there's also this thing called the aether, which seems to encompass all living livings -- and dead ones, as it seems spirits exist in the aether. Are you smirking yet? I'll admit, I smirked quite often, and yet I think steampunk enthusiasts are willing to accept a lot of crazy things for the sake of fun, even if this seemed more sci-fi at times.

I would try to explain the plotline in greater detail, but truth be told, I still haven't managed to shake the feeling that I was tossed into a series midway through, and so I find it hard to summarize in anything vaguely resembling a linear trajectory. Even when you know the book says "Steampunk Chronicles #1," I still felt the compulsive need to do some internet research and see if there weren't, perhaps, other series somehow linked to this one... and even when I came up with nothing under this same author name, I still remain somewhat unconvinced that there isn't a manuscript floating around out there with earlier story installments for these characters. Without proof of that, though, my only explanation is that Cross seeks to put the reader on par with Finley, who is entering a group of friends rather late in the game, as they have a whole history of collaboration to their credit. There are, however, much better ways to suggest this than leaving your reader with the near-constant distracting feeling that she's missing something. It's downright frustrating to have lots of complications right at the start and a large cast of characters that obviously have convoluted emotions towards each other. The romantic tangles seemed to be more fitting for a second or third series installment, as triangles seemed already in place, and the characters themselves were never developed enough to the point where I felt like I sincerely cared for them. The story seemed to expect I would care about the good guys simply because I was told to (though some effort is put in to painting a "bad guy" as still being interesting and alluring). Finley herself is rather lacking in personality -- which almost seems hard to imagine, given that she's supposed to have two distinctly different sides, so you'd think at least one would jump out at you. Two strong male characters are drawn to her and yet I see no reason for them to feel this pull. And the villain? Well, I kept picturing "The Machinist" as Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget and that's just not a good sign. His motivations (once we get to know them) seem flimsy and evil-villainy where one might otherwise hope for some nuance or at least solid reasoning.

In the end, I was rather disappointed in The Girl in the Steel Corset as a trailblazer for YA steampunk. (The only thing that seemed to make it YA appeared to be the ages of the main characters and the PG romance. There are romantic storylines in play, but nothing that ever takes us beyond an impassioned kiss.) Even the title ultimately proved misleading, as the steel corset really isn't an integral element to the story, beyond it's not-so-subtle fusion of the time period's costume with industrial steel-work. Hopefully Cross will be able to hit her stride with later books and develop her writing abilities, but I'm rather doubtful that I'll pick up future installments in this series.

Please note that I received an advanced review copy of this novel courtesy of NetGalley for the purpose of review.

The Goddess Test

For everyone out there who thinks that all paranormal young adult fiction is flighty and completely monopolized by simple romances, I submit The Goddess Test as evidence to the contrary. At the heart of this novel is a girl struggling to cope with her mother's terminal illness -- including the practical ramifications of caring for her, the emotional challenges of saying goodbye, and the daunting confrontation of a future where the daughter is now totally alone. Classic young adult literature has a tradition of focusing on young people growing up and coming in to their own -- so in many ways, Aimee Carter's The Goddess Test seems to be melding the old with the new: the paranormal romance craze coming together with deeper, realistic conflict (which does not rest entirely with a romantic relationship). The combination doesn't always run smoothly, but I still believe The Goddess Test is definitely one of the more emotionally complicated and interesting supernatural YA reads of this year so far.

An upfront word of warning: Greek mythology purists will probably sputter and spew a bit at the liberties taken by Aimee Carter. It isn't as though she totally disregards classic mythology or anything so dreadful, but she does take creative license a bit beyond, say, the Percy Jackson series (which left the actual, older mythology relatively intact). Some of the reasoning behind these alterations are obvious given her plot requirements and most it gets explained with firm ties in to the general storyline. In her defense, Carter can easily call upon the innate malleability of mythology to make some small (and large) adjustments, but even I frowned once or twice before shrugging and moving on. It is, after all, her fiction. Purists of any sort have a tough time surviving the YA genre, so perhaps they'll have developed enough tolerance to accept that some things might never sit well, but that's no reason to disregard a novel and ignore its other, numerous benefits.

Kate's been living in the shadow of death for a long time now. Four years ago, Kate's mother was given six months to live... and has held on for all this additional time. It's only ever been the two of them together, without any additional family support, so coping with all of this is left entirely to Kate. Now, it appears the end is finally near and all her mother wants to do is die in the town where she grew up. So eighteen-year-old Kate drives them from Manhattan to Eden, Michigan and enrolls in the senior high school class at the local public high school, though with her attention always drifting back to her mother, school is not exactly topping Kate's priority list. Kate considers herself lucky to even make one friend (named James), though she doesn't quite endear herself to the school's queen bee, Ava, when Ava's boyfriend stares a little too lingeringly at the new girl. Given her general distraction, perhaps it's not surprising that Kate doesn't notice how odd things are around town... that is until a prank goes wrong and Kate tells a stranger that she'd do anything to bring back the dead Ava that five minutes earlier had been cruelly stranding her... even exchanging Kate's own freedom for half the year.

If you haven't figured it out yet, The Goddess Test is a story that builds upon the Persephone myth. The mysterious stranger offers a deal to Kate: in exchange for bringing Ava back to life, Kate must commit herself to living six months in the home of this tall, dark, and brooding individual. Ava regains consciousness, the bloodied head wound now gone, and Kate is severely spooked. At first, she refuses to believe any of it -- though Ava clearly reveres Kate for this action and now shadows her like James was already doing. When the stranger (who calls himself Henry) appears on her doorstep on the appointed date and Kate refuses -- Ava dies again, but this time with a much larger audience. This sends her running back to Henry to undo the action -- which cannot be undone, but he offers her an alternative... the opportunity to have more time with her mother until Kate is ready to say goodbye.

Kate spends her dreaming hours with her mother but her waking ones are far more complicated as she stays confined to the mansion that is Henry's home and the gate to the Underworld. The stakes of this little six month experiment turn out to be far higher for Henry than they are for Kate -- Henry, whose somewhat indifferent wife, Persephone, left him ages ago for a chance at real love, and who now rules the Underworld alone. Henry, whose godly brothers and sisters insist must find a wife who measures up to their expectations so as to deserve the prize of immortality, or else he will fade away and another take his place. If Kate fails the tests the gods and goddesses set forth, then she will walk away with her memory wiped, but Henry... and Kate finds that she cares more and more about what will happen to Henry, particularly as he himself does not seem very optimistic.

The Goddess Test features incredibly deep emotions -- and manages to convey this to the reader without too much over-kill. Eighteen-year-old Kate is managing to deal far better than expected with circumstances out of her control, but this novel still begins with a young person shouldering a burden far too large for her limited resources. Young adult literature found its roots in conveying messages of strength and courage, and so this story's roots are firmly planted in this tradition. Even if the reader were to miss the dedication to Carter's own mother, who has passed on, it's obvious that Carter is using the supernatural storyline to highlight what every grieving child might want -- more time with their loved one and more time to come to terms with what will inevitably be. The fact that the novel really rests upon the mother-daughter relationship is a welcome and fresh focus; and so it was somewhat disappointingly predictable that the romantic storyline tended to monopolize the second half of the novel. The mother-daughter relationship was not abandoned by any means, and the benefit of the shift of focus comes with knowing Kate is preparing herself for a life where her mother is no longer the focal point of her existence, but I was still frustrated with the shift (and equally so with any "resolution" to the experience of losing a parent, even if it's easy to foresee the ultimate ending here). As far as the Kate-Henry romance (for in =today's YA, a romantic relationship is practically required), readers will find the very complicated romantic storyline between them to be compelling. Personally, I also found it a little co-dependently twisted, but that didn't make it any less interesting. Henry, still somewhat broken over rejection from Persephone (who, he's quick to point out, he did not kidnap in this story's framework) is not very communicative even if he is outwardly pleasant and accommodating. There's a delicate balance to his representation that indicates he only takes pains to be polite and hospitable towards Kate and yet he can still come off as quietly tortured. Dark and brooding, he lurks about with far less power and might than one might expect from the lord of the Underworld -- there's only one moment in the story where the air seems to crackle with a hint of his power and it would have made for a sexier Bronte-esque hero if Henry were a bit more dangerous instead of being quite so sad and tender. (One can be all these things if one is a god, I think, for it would make for a nice volatile mix that would have fit well with the scene.) Kate herself obviously has hidden reserves of strength, but there's a strong reliance on others that doesn't seem quite right for a girl who seems to have absolutely no connections to anyone other than her mother when the story opens. That said, her own strong desire to fight for others once they do become important to her is very realistic and touching, particularly when she starts being convinced that her own interest in Henry has exceeded his own in her. James as sidekick and not-quite-really-a-rival-love-interest complicates things a little, but I was pleased Carter resisted the urge to make him a more prominent conflict than he already was. Ava's self-centered actions that were in no way malicious but only signaled a lack of thought for others were a rather refreshing addition to spice up the story when things were too moody. There's a whole host of additional characters, most of which serve a purpose and are somewhat transparent in their intentions, but the immediate supporting cast (particularly Ava and James) are nice, strong secondary characters.

Aimee Carter's debut work shows extreme promise for this fascinating new voice in the YA genre and even if I wasn't always pleased with her decisions, I was glued this book from beginning to end -- I devoured it in a single day and spent a good week with the story prominently swirling in my mind. There are some issues with predestination here that I'm still not reconciled to, but hey, we're dealing with the gods and goddesses so it's hardly uncommon for such a sentiment to be threaded through a story. The novel's impressive emotional depths owe a great deal to their status as tribute to Carter's feelings of loss for her own mother, but I hope that future Carter works are able to be just as fascinating without such personal ties fueling the story. Evidently this book is poised as the first in a series -- and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, even if I was delighted with this, for I'm not sure where the story can possibly go that would be so compelling a place as this. The book stands on its own, I feel, and while there might be elements of discord, I appreciate the lack of a tidy bow. That said, I'll certainly be reading the next one and I urge you all to check out and mull over this auspicious new talent in the supernatural YA scene.

Please note that I received an advanced review copy of this novel courtesy of NetGalley for the purpose of review.