Nothin’ Like a Creepy, Overprotective Parent House to Challenge a Relationship: Christina Lauren’s The House

When I first saw the cover for Christina Lauren’s The House, I was immediately struck: YES! Of course! A great, scary, haunted haunting of a YA book! But then, I seem (despite age, supposed growing wisdom and pieces of paper to hang on the wall) to like indulging my inner child and going with covers (well, and titles) to drive my reading choices.

Once indulged in (thank you, Audible), I was pretty well and truly engaged: ramshackle, sprawling house from the outside cares for and provides all necessaries–from food, clothing and pocket money to friendship, support and guidance–all without the use of additional paranormal help. Gavin, the emo shining knight here, is the sole inhabitant of this awkward manse, and lives in blissful peace and contentment until Delilah returns from her East Coast boarding school. Delilah: his childhood defender, his long-time love interest, the apple of his eye, as he is of hers. And Delilah is, of course, gorgeous, intelligent, brave and completely unloved and avoided by her parents. (Do you see where this is headed yet?)

Now in their late teens (Delilah was shipped off to boarding school at grandma’s expense as a child, in direct response to her having engaged in a schoolyard fistfight defending Gavin), Delilah has eyes for no one but Gavin. And one would expect that Gavin would be thrilled (as the emo loner dude, girls are curious, but he keeps them at bay. He has a pretty hefty secret to protect). But Delilah is persistent and it’s beyond Gavin to push her away.

Ultimately, (spoiler a bit–sorry!) Gavin must introduce Delilah to his house–his parents have been long gone since he was a young child. And just like any parent, the house loves and coddles their own, but is pretty skeptical (read: would prefer to get rid of) anyone who might take its beloved inhabitant away. And it is creepy: it send out “messages” to Gavin through vibes, branches and temperature shifts; it “spies” on the two when they’re supposedly alone by attaching its paranormal eyes and ears to anything from the house; it eventually puts its foot down and wages a full-on war against Delilah, ultimately leading to Gavin’s questioning of whether the house was really that loving after all.

What I Liked:

1. Well, you’re certainly not going to follow all the twists and turns of this plot. Just when it seems like the challenges to the characters can’t get any worse, well, I’ll ruin it for you: they do.
2. This is a creepy house book, which has certainly been done in the scary book genre since time immemorial. But I can’t recollect quite so many books (if any?) where it’s the house itself–not spirits in the house (necessarily), not demons or other evil creatures trapped in the house (think Amity by Micol Ostow)–wherein it’s the house as a building itself acting. This was a pretty unique imagining of the creepy house story.
3. A creepy house is one thing, but a creepy house that can follow you? That can reach out and lend its creepiness to other places and dwellings? One that possesses all the traits that teens most dislike about prying parents in preferably private situations? It certainly makes for a few awkwardly uncomfortable moments, and that adds to the feel of the book, which also makes for a more interesting read, with a more compelling emotional pull.
4. It was intriguing that both Gavin and Delilah had parent problems. Gavin’s are missing physically, and Delilah’s are absent emotionally. But this also feels quite overly convenient.

What I Didn’t Think Worked:

1. Gavin is awfully naive. And I get it–the house has been raising and providing for him, and there’s the suggestion that he’s been somewhat brainwashed by it along the way. However, I have a lot of trouble believing that he never considered leaving; never considered taking the jar of money and running away; that he truly never wanted anything that the house wouldn’t provide (I mean, come on–he is a teen boy after all, right?).
2. Delilah is pretty darn obsessive. One dude from when you were a small kid? One who doesn’t really seem to want much to do with you, and who comes with not inconsiderable creepy house baggage? Hm. Her parents also are generally emotionally vacant, and that does read as cold and uncaring, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of cold and uncaring that would much bother a teen, especially one who wants freedom and the some measure of autonomy. Plus, she’s been a pretty independent creature for some time, out at boarding school–I would think that tons of parental attention coming back would feel like smothering.
3. I can suspend disbelief, but the rules of the game need to be somewhat clear. Here, it was like new rules were conveniently developed as the need arose. Which is hardly new–I think what stood out to me was the fact that so much of the story hinged on these new rules and the reader’s willingness to accept them as they came up. A little contrived, in my opinion.
4. Delilah has a tendency to be a wee bit annoying. Yes, she’s going through quite a bit, and yes, the house is playing games with her. But seriously–she’s trying to convince the house’s “child” that the house isn’t as benign and loving a force as it believes. In this sense, the house is an intriguing parallel to a helicopter parent for Gavin, and it’s up to Delilah to wake him from this reverie. But seriously? Just a little common sense in terms of reaction and documentation? Just a little more caution for personal safety?

Overall:

If you’re really into creepy houses and speedy teen romances, this is certainly a quick read. If you want a more compelling read, you can definitely do better.

Putting Some Tarnish to Those Lovely Red Slippers: Danielle Paige’s Dorothy Must Die

Lions, and tigers, and bears . . . and evil tinmen and creepy scarecrows and cruel experiments and slave labor and more . . . oh my . . .! To say that Danielle Paige’s Dorthy Must Die takes quite the turn from the traditional Wizard of Oz (well, the kiddie-story-version of the tale, anyway) would be an understatement. It would, however, be a reasonable corroboration of the 1985 movie, Return to Oz, in all it’s terrifying glory.

But what it also does is incorporate elements from author Baum’s subsequent Oz novels, which talk about a Mombi, and an army, which has a Princess Ozma and flying monkeys, that features a broken Oz in need of fixing, that has different factions of Oz ruled by different people, including a Gnome king, that have humans with bicycle wheels for hands and feet, and that feature a Deadly Desert. To be fair, as a child, I had no idea that there even were subsequent books about Oz, and I certainly didn’t read them. But I do remember seeing Return to Oz and having nightmares for maybe a decade afterwards.

Dorothy Must Die is considerably less scary than the movie Return to Oz . . . perhaps partially because I’m older, but more importantly, because it lets the reader into the heads of the actors, and because we’re following Amy, a heavily bullied young woman from a difficult family situation who stumbles into Oz in a tornado. In Oz, she meets the strange and illusive Pete, a band of wicked witches, and many others, as she learns that Oz is a broken place . . . not because Dorothy left, but because she came back.

As Amy puzzles her way through where she is, how she got there, and what she needs to do, she learns a lot about herself, her family, and finds that she’s actually a much stronger person than she’s allowed herself to believe before.

What I Liked About the Book:

1. The book begins with Amy taking constant bullying from her peers at school and, while she does stand up to it occasionally (there were definitely some cringe-inducing moments for me when she just couldn’t keep quiet), it’s no big surprise to see how it’s affected her demeanor. The best part, though? Her experiences dealing with bullies at home actually increase her skill set in Kansas and prove to be powerful tools in her skill set. I thought that this was a particularly powerful tool for the author to use to show how it’s possible–indeed, necessary–to learn from experience and use those tools where possible.

2. Much of the tale–at heart–is about Amy finding herself, which is a great tale for any teen to read, but especially one where the protagonist isn’t already in a great family (regardless of socioeconomic status), which seems to be a go-to in YA Lit. Instead, she has an alcohol/drug dependent, depressed mother; a father who’s MIA; a glowing awareness of how much she dislikes her place in the world; and a burning desire to get out as quickly as possible.

3. The characters are many and interesting. Best of all? They turn the saccharine-sweetness of MGM’s movie into something bolder, darker and more in flux.

4. I actually really liked Dorothy as the evil ruler–again, cutting into the uber-sweetness of the MGM tale, it really helped to bring the reader into a different time and place–and to show how people can change. Just as Amy grows in confidence and ability, Dorothy has, too. The good have turned wicked and the wicked work for good–this concept of the personal capacity for change works in both directions, which is a concept that I don’t see often enough in YA Lit.

5. Amy is repeatedly told not to trust anyone. By virtue of this, she’s taught to question the words, acts, motives and honesty behind each and all of the individuals she interacts with, even those she wants to believe in. More importantly, though, it forces her to learn to rely on herself: her own ideas, her own strength, her own capacity and intelligence, in order to formulate a clearer idea of what she is truly capable of accomplishing.

What I Didn’t Love About It:

1. I think Amy concluded–in describing what she was seeing around her–that about 90% of the characters looked “about [her] age.” In those words. Exactly. Repeatedly. Enough so that it was a distraction.

2. There’s also inconsistency with how Star’s described. In the beginning (and at various times throughout the story), Star’s Amy’s mom’s beloved pet, and Amy’s disgusted/grossed out/jealous(?) of this critter, but generally dislikes her. However, as Star makes the trip to OZ with Amy, suddenly Star’s Amy’s rat, her close friend, and even her bed companion.  All of which is confusing, because it’s like a switch is flipped in Amy in relation to the once-annoying rat.

3. It felt like there were a number of times when I found myself mentally wandering. I was listening to the Audible edition, which was fairly well narrated, but Amy has a tendency to circle in her mind around the same dilemmas repeatedly, with no or little new information to add to them. Sadly, when I’d realize that I’d been spacing, I could immediately tune right back in and not even need to rewind and listen again to what I’d missed.

4. Even after finishing the book, I don’t understand how Dorothy was able to ascend and become the monster beast she is. I think a little more background, a little hint at Dorothy’s internal motivations, would have helped to make this clearer and would have possibly created a basis for further and better ideas. Or why others who are either as powerful or similarly so wouldn’t take issue with her draining of resources for unknown personal use.

5. Astrid’s relationship to the Scarecrow–at least, her suggestively insinuated relationship? SUPER gross.

Overall:

This is a really interesting take on a story that could use a little tarnish on it’s technicolor glory, which I appreciated. It needs better editing, which is my biggest gripe, but otherwise, it makes for an interesting tale!

Blurring Those Hazy Grays of Sanity v. Insanity: Francesca Zappia’s Made You Up

This summer, I’ve been working my buns off preparing research on a potential PhD topic blending the worlds of Law & Lit with YA Lit (my favorite worlds!) and tapping into the trends in overlap between them, of which there are many. Along the way, in addition to noticing trends, I’ve become aware of the fact that a) scholars need to be paying attention to what’s going on in this field!!, b) YA Lit today is doing things that no other literary field has done and in ways that are new; and c) what’s up with the fact that serious, genetic mental health in YA Lit has kind of been brushed to the side?

Of course, YA Lit touching on more  “acceptable” YA mental health matters like depression, suicide and eating disorders is out there. YA Lit delving into schizophrenia, severe depression, bipolar disorder, and the like? Well, until very recently, there really hasn’t been much of it.

Francesca Zappia’s Made You Up hit an interesting chord here: on the one hand, I don’t know that I just loved the story itself (it felt a little. . . I dunno, twee?, at times) but the ideas that she’s rolled into this little enchilada are definitely worth taking a look see.

The story follows Alex, recently ejected from one high school and forced to do community service at another until she’s graduated. Alex’s family is on the lower middle class side, and she tries to help out at home with a part time job. She’s trying to move past her faux pas that landed her in a different high school for one year, trying to get through the coursework and apply to colleges and generally stay under the radar, but it’s unavoidable for her to do so.

Not because of her fire engine red hair, not because she rides a giant ancient bike in a cars-only kind of school, not because she’s the new girl, but because there are only so many ways for a high schooler to hide paranoid schizophrenia from her classmates. Alex is quite the heroine, though, when it comes to trying to tackle the problem: she knows this is an issue for her and has some interesting coping strategies to help her work her way through this. Because she’s still heart-breakingly young and naive, and because it’s not difficult to see the mistakes she makes in trying to fit in and conform at the school, it’s hard not to sympathize with her plight.

But the new school isn’t the worst thing that can happen for her, and she’s actually pleasantly surprised to find herself immersed in a small circle of friends, intrigued by the school’s super-genius bad boy, and trying to see the light at the end of the high school tunnel with her college applications. Not everything at this new school is quite as it seems, though, and the number and type of eccentricities unique to it are enough to cause Alex to question what’s really happening, who’s really there and what she’s really seeing often.

What I Liked About the Book:

1. Severe mental health issues–particularly from a first person perspective–are issues that we really haven’t seen as much of as one would expect in YA Lit. This book really does an intriguing job of getting the reader into the head of someone forced to face daily delusions, to understand the basis for the constant scrutiny and self doubt the individual must live with and to try to understand why that individual would necessarily have to rely on coping strategies for survival. By the end, she’s no longer “weird” or “other” but simply doing what she’s got to do to make sense of the world around her.
2. Alex actively talks the reader through her most common delusions, how they manifest, and her tricks for coping with them. This is another way the author does a great job of normalizing this serious mental illness. Notably, in some ways, Alex reminded me of the protagonist in Sarah Smith’s The Other Side of Dark, which dealt with a protagonist who came across as being schizophrenic to others because she could actually see ghosts. Here, we have the real deal, which feels fairer and truer in comparison.
3. A range of treatment options are also presented, which is at once informative and illustrative of an important point: simply because someone has a mental illness does not, as a result, automatically mean that they need to be institutionalized, that they’re a danger to society or that they’re too ill to function. Alex is taking a heavy load of advanced courses in school, applying to and excited about college and drawn to her new group of friends rather than avoiding classmates, which seems to be a trend in YA Lit for persons facing mental illness.
4. More than one depiction of mental illness is offered, and indeed one of the major themes in the book seems to be an underlying question of how to define mental illness. Through the various other characters–mothers, friends, school administrators, community members–we as readers get the sense that there is no normal; there is no baseline for perfect mental health, just as there is no clear cut cut off point for mental illness. Instead, they are all different shades of each other. I actually thought this was a fantastic point that the author does a good job of bringing up and one that I can imagine would truly hit home with the audience in questioning what makes for well v. not well, crazy v. normal quirks, mental deficiencies v. normal human behavior.
5. The importance of support for the individual facing mental illness is well and truly underscored. Indeed, to a certain extent the author even juxtaposes physical unwellness against the mental unwellness in both Alex and her bad boy’s familial situations, which was another powerful point made: why are we so willing to accept physical injury as temporary and acceptable but any lapse in mental ability or functioning is not?
6. The author brings in a number of different types of mental unwellness. Of course, Alex’s is the most severe, but we also see her bad boy’s inability to understand emotions, which greatly affects his interactions with his peers throughout the story; the bad boy’s father’s alcoholism, leading to severe injury both physical and emotional to said bad boy; we see how the principal’s obsession can be hidden, but it’s no less real and creepy than anything else happening in the story; we see how jealousy can cause actions that are every bit as extreme as those performed by someone with a significant mental illness. These juxtapositions brought out through the well-mapped (if a little overwhelming) cast of characters really hammer home the infirmity of that fine line between normal and abnormal thinking and behavior, and with it, how easily it is to cross that line.

   What I Didn’t Love About the Book:

1. This is well and truly a pet peeve, but Alex obsesses about how much she dislikes the beacon-of-redness color of her hair almost as much as Anne from Anne of Green Gables. Except seriously? If she really doesn’t want to stand out and she truly feels quite so self-conscious about it, why not just grab a box of dye?

2. Alex puts a lot of weight on her lobster moment when she was a kid, both as the moment when her schizophrenia was brought to light and as the moment where she clicked with the little boy who helped her liberate the sea spiders. However, what seemed really strange to me was that, even after her bad boy love interest admits to an interest in her, even after her confirms that he knows of her illness, she’s still uncertain about asking him about that event? Why? Maybe I missed something, but I was confused as to how this was such a catching point for her.

3. I thought that the number of different conspiracy-type plot lines occurring in such a small high school were way too incredible. There was just too much happening at too many levels and honestly, too obviously. I appreciated the author’s attempts to draw so many parallels, but I wasn’t able to suspend that much disbelief.

4. If Alex is meeting so often with her on-speed-dial therapist, how could she have possibly gotten away with thinking Charlie was still alive 4 or 5 years after her death? That doesn’t make sense–I can’t imagine a therapist supporting the decision to just not clarify this for her. And to wonder why she still thinks it at all.

5. I absolutely can not even begin to imagine how a giant, potentially dangerous snake could have successfully lived in the walls of a school for decades. Just can’t.

6. There were some minor plot inconsistencies throughout. For example, how would it possibly have been that school uniforms were mandatory but that Alex wouldn’t have learned this until the first day of school? And, when she gets one from the janitor’s closet, she makes a deal about how it’s ginormous on her, but then never mentions it again? I can’t imagine her either attempting to rectify this or else getting teased for it. She’s constantly taking pictures, but again, in school, I can’t imagine this flying, particularly with personal privacy rights and the like. Bad boy’s mom somehow ended up in a long-term mental hospital stay for supposed attempted suicide once? Really? And just how is he planning to spring her? She’s not a danger to anyone, so I’m not sure how the hospital could hold her this long? The whole issue at the end–after Alex is crushed by the scoreboard but she wants to go back to see graduation–why is she handcuffed again? What danger has she been to anyone? Why won’t they let her walk exactly? I dunno. There were a number of raised eyebrow, huh? moments sprinkled throughout what otherwise was a pretty interesting story.

7. In retrospect, I’m not actually sure I completely understand what the goal of the story was. To “out” Alex as having a mental illness? To “out” the principal about his obsession? To “out” bad boy’s dad for his abusive, alcohol-fueled behaviors? To confirm that sick people need hospital care to get better? I’m not sure I agree with that based on what very little bit I know about psychology, but I have to assume it’s not true based on the pushes I have read about to minimalize mental health in-patient treatments.

8. Apparently everyone in this school/town is white–with the distinction of socio-economic class based on the house in which someone’s family lives, there seems to be no other distinction made between people.

Overall:

This book is doing something with a topic that other books are really, really not. While there is a little much going on, and while the author is really forcing the reader to do some pretty major suspension of disbelief to get into it, the story is a quick read and really delves into some of the mystery surrounding mental illness. I haven’t had a chance yet to read Nick Scheff’s Schizo, but I’m curious now to see how that representation compares. Definitely worth a read!

Anyone out there pick this one up? Have an opinion on accuracy in mental health representations?

Oh, the Twisted Webs We Weave: Jandy Nelson’s I’ll Give You the Sun

Have you ever read a book because it’s gotten such amazing reviews and decided that you like it, but you’re still not 100% sure why it got such amazing reviews to begin with? I actually get the sensation that this keeps happening to me, to be honest, and I think I just want to believe that it’s not just me it happens to! But that’s exactly what I was thinking when I sat down to read Jandy Nelson’s I‘ll Give You the Sun.

Let me premise this by saying that I’d previously picked up her other YA book, The Sky Is Everywhere, but ended up abandoning ship both because I was quite busy and because I wasn’t engaged. I’ll Give You the Sun is significantly more engaging, with a narrative voice that draws you in from the very beginning. The story focuses on a pair of twins, Noah and Jude, the children of two professors who live on the beach in California. Told from a shifting narrative perspective and at different points in time (Noah tells us the before version and Jude the after) it is both a coming of age story a love story . . . and perhaps even just a strange story about coping with life and death and moving on.

At any rate, the connections drawn throughout the text had a very Crash-esque feel to them, slightly reminiscent of Mitch Albom’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven, with many overlapping parts. Though these overlaps were not nearly as essential to the story itself, which focuses on the breaking down and apart of relationships, largely through lying, “protecting” others and over-reacting.

Jude & Noah’s mother teaches art history, while their dad teaches science. Jude is a surfer, popular with the guys, and while artistically inclined, is not as consistently talented as her brother, Noah. Noah is all about art, all the time, leaving him socially inept and not into sports–with the exception of running–in his adolescence. His imagination is unbounded and colorful, and his ability to pop out of what’s happening in his brain and coexisting with the world around him is limited.

What makes their relationship unique is the world that exists between these twins: in the few snippets we see of them together, it’s almost as though they speak an entirely different language, but one in which they’re both fluent. After the grandmother’s death, their mother–already pretty out there and flighty–decides that the two kids should apply to and attend a prestigious California art school. Though fissures were already present between the twins at this point–and we learn more about them later, as the story progresses–many of the sibling issues that the two face seem to stem from this application.

What I Liked About the Story:

1. It’s colorful–and I mean that in virtually every sense (with the exception of character diversity. Apparently only white people live in this town)–but especially as we look into Noah’s brain. At heart, both of the kids are artists, but each takes a very different tone in the art that they create. For Noah, it’s an explosion of his personal feelings, emotions, opinions and experiences in the moment he wishes to capture. For Jude, we learn that it’s more of a response to her interpretation and analysis of the idea she wishes to capture–that it’s purposeful, reflective art is perhaps a clearer way to express it.

2. Noah is one of the more interesting narrators I’ve come across in YA Lit, both because of his plight with his family and friend (singular), as well as the challenges he faces and so deeply internalizes with his sister and his sexuality. Jude’s portions of the text I found far less interesting from a narrative perspective, though some of the challenges she’s tackling are also intriguing.

3. There is an intriguing juxtaposition made between the unhealthy first heterosexual “love” Jude has and the disappointing but ultimately successful love that Noah experiences. I don’t think one sexuality is presented as superior to another, but that each can be healthy or unhealthy, happy or unhappy, but for different reasons.

4. The adults have secrets. The young adults have secrets. Hell, even grandma likely has secrets. What they all amount to is a picture of a family, slowly torn to shreds by these secrets. Which is a  fairly artsy idea in itself. They are at once torn apart by art, but art is what brings them all back together again, as well.

5. Beyond Jude and Noah, the boy next door and swoony British guy both make for romantic foils and successes for the twins. This testing of fits in another soul also, as written into the book, felt like a natural part of the twins’ growth and understanding of themselves as individuals. Also, they were some really interesting characters in and of themselves, and tied the story together nicely.

What I Didn’t Love About the Book:

1. While Noah’s narration is virtually electric in it’s constant eccentricity and excitement, I felt a distanced reserve from Jude’s. It didn’t pop or ring true to me in the same way that Noah’s did.

2. There were definitely moments where the story was dragging a bit; places where I felt that there could have been chunks cut out. Honestly? I could easily have completely avoided the entire plot line dealing with grandma’s “bible.” And Jude’s decision to carry root vegetables in her pockets. Though overall, I felt that much of the story wove together quite nicely.

3. Parts of the legit plot line were a little overly drawn out. There were a number of these threads. When a plot twist worked, you didn’t even notice how long the story was going on for. But when it didn’t, well, let’s just say the mind wandered.

4. I thought perhaps the book was going to address bisexuality several times: when one of the bullies drops Noah at the beginning when he feels his erection and then again, later, when both Noah and his love interest, Brian, “date” girls for a while. However, nothing doing. Which is kind of a shame, because while there has been a recent spate of YA Lit addressing male homosexuality, bisexuality seems to be something not many books are addressing.

Overall:

This was a really unique book that really did a great job of weaving some emotional plot lines together and, while it was a little on the longer side and tended to drift at times, is definitely worth the read.

Anyone else out there pick this one up? Also, though I may very well be missing something and would love to be corrected if I am, does it feel like virtually all of the award-winning and/or bestselling YA Lit dealing with LGBTQ issues is about gay relationships? I’m having a very difficult time finding any recent books about lesbian relationships, female bisexuality or transgender issues at all. . .

And here we have: More teens getting sick, falling in love and dying? Robyn Schneider’s Extraordinary Means

Young adults sure love stories about other young adults falling in love and being deathly ill and then just being deathly . . . preferably with another teen who’s also deathly ill. John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars absolutely blew my mind (in the best ways possible, of course), for a number of reasons: the humor & wit!, the touching characters!, the terrible situation they find themselves in!, the friendships!, and perhaps most importantly, the pointless futility of the immediacy of now August and Hazel are forced to face.

While TFIOS is one of my all-time favorites, Mr. Green was certainly not novel in the subject matter, though the overnight sensation does seem to have caused a nice rise in popularity of this genre of teen read again. I vaguely recall the super-sappy, heart-tugging books by Lurlene McDaniel back in the day, all involving the same general teens-dying-as-they-fall-in-love plotline. They definitely did it for me . . . when I was a tween. And Mr. Green’s work does it for me as a thirty-something-year-old.

But that leaves the spate of YA novels coming out that are definitely not for tweens and, while I’m quite certain they might like to be, are also not John Green caliber, either.  Extraordinary Means by Robin Schneider is exactly one of these: it’s leaning in the direction of TFIOS, but it has some squirrelly plot points that really detract from the tale.

Extraordinary Means basically follows a similar TFIOS pattern: two teens, both sick, neither is well but neither feels like they’re dying, so they play at normal. When one becomes suddenly very sick, the other freaks out and then the sick one dies. (I’m being very unemotional about this–I will say Extraordinary Means does build the characters and give them personalities!) AND as an added twist, the cure’s about to be released! BUT it’s two weeks too late! YUP–it’s that dramatic. 😦

What I Liked About the Book:

1. The camp(?) that the two main characters are at is actually kind of a fun setting and makes for the ability to draw rich moments for the characters. While you’re definitely not going to find a Dead Poet’s Society-type moment here, you do get a sense of the isolation the characters feel emotionally from others.

2. The characters have insecurities–and you’re told all about them, front and center, first person. I guess this is also a dislike for me, though, in that I’d rather see it and learn it through the characters than by having them directly point it out to me. That was one of the things that made August such an intriguing character–he wasn’t so quick to point out his own flaws, yet he knew they were there, though he’d rather never admit to them.

3. The story takes place in a closed universe, so you don’t have the over-dramatic, drawn-out comparisons between our-life-and-their-life moments that sick teen books tend to thrive on.

4. Even though sick, these teens are still alive, and the author goes through pains to make certain that the reader sees and feels each character’s unique struggles for individuality over the course of the book. While this is certainly not necessary for the story, it’s also useful information for perspective.

5. Not everyone dies at the end.

What I didn’t Love About this Book:

1. My biggest, hugest, most I-can’t-get-into-this-story aspect was the fact that, even though these teens don’t feel too sick, they know that they are sick. And sick enough to be put into a quarantine at a special hospital, where others with the same illness are dying around them. Yet they choose to leave the facility and risk a national epidemic as well as the health and well being of other people in the nearby town for their selfish purposes: to get coffee; to hang out at a town fair; to acquire booze. I understand the youth/ignorance/living forever thing, but this was just so mind-blowingly selfish, I couldn’t move past it.

2. I’m having a good deal of trouble understanding how, in an institution that knows it’s a quarantine center and, therefore, must keep a bunch of teens away from all others (I mean, that’s it’s primary purpose, right?) they’re not keeping a closer eye on the whereabouts of the patients. Also, if they have the technology to strap a bracelet on you that would allow the nurses/doctors to receive alerts about your heart rate and stuff, why wouldn’t it also have a GPS device–for your safety, of course?

3. A lot of this story was way too contrived. What, they magically knew each other at camp when they were younger? And it just happened that he stood her up at the lowest time in her life? AND now they’re finally here in the sick-kid-paradise together, both single? Hmm. Call me a cynic, but I was rolling my eyes at this plot line and, to be honest, was having some difficulty convincing myself to keep reading.

4. Another major contrivance? The vaccine! It’s only a few weeks away! Then we’ll all be well and saved! Except . . . except . . . (I’m actually trying not to spoil the plot for those of you reading it!) But the excepts seem to number quite a few, with no good reason for their being there.

5. So . . . if the teachers don’t really want to teach, and they leave the rooms constantly, and the kids don’t really want to learn, and they don’t do homework or really anything in class . . . then why are they attending classes? I know school’s mandatory, but I have to assume there’s a super-sick-with-a-contagious-deadly-disease proviso there.

6. The characters are selfish. Really, really selfish. And not selfish in a coming-of-age and realizing that you’re a great big asshat way, but more of a this-is-normal-for-a-teen kind of way. I didn’t like it, and the characters grated on my nerves.

7. The most memorable characters are actually ancillary, side characters, and the most boring vanilla ones are the main characters that we have to deal with. I was lucky enough to get ahold of the Audible version of this so I didn’t have to spend twice as long paging through the tome itself, but I still found myself rolling my eyes and getting frustrated at these really unoriginal characters.

8. Am I a bad person that I can kind of understand why a healthy man–particularly one with a young child–would get super pissed that these super sick, super contagious kids keep showing up and hanging out in town, spreading contagion? There are a few times when you get these sprinkled-in woah-is-me-I-just-want-to-be-a-normal-kid! moments. But let’s be honest: most teens I know would absolutely be willing to give up homework, lockers and gym class for what they’re living at this rest house. Not to say that they’d want to be ill with a deadly disease, and maybe that’s the point–a the-grass-is-always-greener moment–but I think here it was a bit excessive.

Overall:

Meh. The story’s not overly engaging, the plot’s a little tired and the decisions by the protagonists more than a little frustrating. Read The Fault in Our Stars. In comparison, this felt pretty sophomoric. If you’re hooked on sick teens in love lit, then go for it–that’s what you’ll get. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!

History, Romance, Crime and Even Some Courtroom Drama: Julie Berry’s All The Truth That’s In Me

Historical realistic fiction isn’t really my thing, but apparently sometimes–when the fiction is really well written and the story isn’t overly pious in nature–it really is. Julie Berry’s All the Truth That’s In Me was definitely a surprise game-changer in my book–I picked it up on a whim and ended up unable to stop binge-reading it until way past my bedtime!

The book is set at some point in time I think in the late 1700’s/early 1800’s somewhere in the Americas, presumably on the East Coast. It features a small town and all the gossip, social struggles and actual hardship attendant to life in such a small community. To be fair, I am no historian, so I have no idea whether a town at this time would have actually been like this or not. But at no time was I led to feel like it was completely far-fetched or unbelievable either.

The story follows Judith, a young woman who disappeared from town and her family for two years, returning suddenly one morning with half her tongue cut out. Her mother, ever living up to the don’t-want-to-be-shamed-by-the-Jones’s standard of the times refuses to allow her daughter to speak again. Judith, ever the dutiful daughter, obeys. But things aren’t bound to get better in this situation–Judith’s mother is cold and distant, favoring Judith’s younger brother repeatedly. Judith accepts this placement, and even her brother’s moniker “Worm” for her. (Actually, I’m still not sure I exactly understand why worm is his chosen nickname for her. Just because she can’t speak? She’s certainly not blind, deaf, slimy or stupid. Kind of baffling, actually. . . )

Judith is madly and irrevocably in love with the kind boy next door, who she’s taken to spying on. Daily. Constantly. Actually, kind of creepily, to be perfectly honest. But this is just the way things have always been between them, as they’ve grown up playmates together and living next door to each other. It seems, through Judith’s memories of him from the time before she disappeared, that he favored her, too, in a shier and quieter fashion.

But then that’s the strangeness of this whole situation, see: her captor was the boy next door’s father. Who had stolen away from his family, disappeared and left for dead, and forgotten for the most part. He kidnaps Judith, keeps her locked away in his cabin in the woods. With Judith’s return and coming of age, and the imminent threat of British soldiers coming to attack and pillage their village, the need to share her secret is unavoidable.

What I Liked About This Book:

1. The plot is not direct. In that, it’s not one of those stories that can be clearly summarized in a line, because there are so many factors that weigh in to create the final outcome of the story. That’s a good thing–and exactly what kept me up with the book all night!

2. Judith is a likable and believable heroine. At no time did she go Katniss, nor did she invoke the protagonist in Laure Halse Anderson’s Speak, which I had been quite worried would be the case, when I initially read the story’s synopsis. In some ways, she reminded me of a mute Clarey from Cassandra Clare’s Mortal Instruments series. She’s trying to be the best daughter and friend she can, but she also has moments when she knows she just needs to follow her own heart and take care of her own desires. She’s also no trembling violet–she sticks up for herself when she needs to, and that makes her all the more compelling.

3. The social relations in this town are actually kind of fascinating, and the author does a damn good job of painting brief but colorful pictures of these other characters. And all the characters are interesting–Ms. Berry’s got quite a talent for creating compelling characters, literally bringing to life even the most pastoral and unexciting of scenes. Honestly, I would have happily read a companion book that just provided the backstory on the other people in this town, sort of Spoon River style!

4. Even the most frustrating moments are compelling, and even the most annoying moments crystallize into something interesting and intriguing. Whether it’s the classroom, the courtroom, or one of the many different peeping toms, there’s such delicious scandal happening all around. Seriously, folks–this book is part of the reason why reality tv isn’t necessary in my household!

5. I really liked the depiction of small town, old school justice. The idea of how a “trial” at this time worked. I think it’s important for young readers to understand how these events in various time periods worked in order to better appreciate how the justice system works (or not) today. Learning from history, in all possible ways!

What I Didn’t Love About It:

1. This is a historical piece and, as a result, I kind of think Judith’s mom’s response towards her return may have been normal for that time period, but it’s hard to swallow in 2015.

2. Judith’s incredibly bold acts with the boy next door are also pretty unbelievable. Sure, she’s mute and undoubtedly has a hard life as a result, but I’m still not sure that a young woman at this time period would even consider–let alone act upon–the impulses to do some of the things she’s doing.

3. I’m not sure I fully believed the big reveal in the trial towards the end–kind of, but not completely. BUT it was written quite so well that I’m not sure I care. At no point in time did the plot line jar me from being able to suspend disbelief and enjoy the story and, in my mind, that makes for one interesting book!

4. Not sure about the cover. The girl’s pretty heavily made up, and I’m pretty certain make up wasn’t a thing back in the day . . .

Overall:

Such a good story, and even one that I’d consider bringing into a classroom for discussion. The characters are interesting, the setting is unique and different, and the plot has just the right mix of history and humor. Definitely worth the read!

Anyone out there take a look at this one yet? Have any other historical fiction worth reading?

It All Boils Down to a Name: Siobhan Vivian’s The List

Well, there’s definitely no way for someone to say that this book ended happily.

Siobhan Vivian’s The List paints a . . . sad? Realistic? Overly negative? Though provoking? (fill in the blank?) way of looking at the gender standards in high school. And any which way you choose to answer that prompt, the answer lands you somewhere in a not-so-pretty place, at least as far as realistic YA Lit goes.

The List begins with just that: a list. It’s a story told by 8 girls in a high school who are selected as the prettiest and ugliest by grade, spanning the first week of school leading up to the homecoming dance. It is apparently an annual tradition at the school, and those indoctrinated in the history of the school’s social scene know to expect it and do. Even in just hearing the synopsis, one has to expect some of the reactions: obviously anyone named ugliest isn’t going to be happy about it, and anyone named prettiest is going to be really, really happy–indeed, their primary concern is likely to try not to come off as smug. However, what we also see in this book is social stratification within a relatively small school–a school in which people generally know each other, where reputations can spread far and wide because there’ s not too far and not too wide to spread. Interestingly, we also see the diverse ways in which people can respond to such a list, and how that can serve to either solidify their place in it or else cast it (well, or them, depending) in an exceedingly doubtful light altogether.

What I Liked About It:
1. Yeah. People are mean. Anyone saying that a list like this couldn’t actually exist, well, I assume you’ve been out of high school for a long time.

2. The girls all have very different personalities and very different takes on the situation. But here’s what I really liked: none of them are flat. There’s no one bad or good person; all of them are treated as complex individuals and, while I’ve read a few critiques that have suggested that there was just too much happening in the book with so many different narrators, I kind of disagree. I actually think it gave the author room for a lot of different perspectives and a lot of different chances to demonstrate the emotional strain that the list causes, for those on and off it.

3. There are morals involved here without being preachy.

4. The girls aren’t all brainiacs or airheads–there’s a diversification to the list in terms of personality and interests that makes for a more interesting read.

5. The book is super engaging. I was enjoying listening to this on Audible, and found myself walking a little further for a little longer, simply because I wanted to listen to more!

What I Didn’t Like:

1. There’s virtually no diversity to the girls themselves, period. They all seem to be white, some variation of middle class, and all typically heterosexually American. To that end, it does nothing to address greater social issues that would have made for an intriguing layer of meaning to this.

2. The parental and authoritative responses to the list are unrealistic, period. Understanding that political climate is changing in secondary education, it seems that a principal–especially a younger female one–would have taken a far more proactive stance about the list. And though the list is posted everywhere, all over the building, the first day of class, apparently none–exactly not a single one–of the teachers cares? Addresses it? Has issues with it? Does anything about it?

3. The girls are all different, but they do have a habit of being represented as somewhat one-note, even as a static one-note. Which is disappointing, and probably could have been mitigated if a layer of diversity had been added to the girls.

4. The guys are completely unscathed. NO list, NO repercussions for the list, NO repercussions for taking advantage of those on the list, NO problems with girls for their actions in relation to the list. Just . . . nothing. They get away with acting basically however they please and face no consequences.

5. The representations of parents are weird. They represent a variety of parenting styles, but we only catch glimpses of them, with no greater meaning really attached to them and rarely substantial influence by them on the lives of the girls.

6. Quite the twist at the end, even though I was somewhat confused by the responses of the characters involved in it.

Overall:

I really actually enjoyed listening to this book, and it’s only now as I distill my thoughts on it that I realize that there are aspects that I’m not a fan of. However, I think it makes for an interesting read and brings up a social double standard that’s pretty interesting.

This book’s been around for a while, though I just got around to it this week. Anyone out there read and have any thoughts?

Choosing Vampirism: Flynn Meaney’s Bloodthirsty

2015 is a tough time for vampires. After such a blood-thirsty craze for the bloodsuckers for so long, what was once swoon-worthy now seems passe. Indeed, I can almost feel sympathy for an Edward Cullen who dared bare his fangs to the bored disinterest of today’s unimpressed crowds.

Overall, I think it’s safe to say that YA Lit has peaked and overcome it’s vampire craze; at the very least, we’re not seeing the epic enthusiasm demonstrated seemingly across the board for the pale-skinned, sharp-toothed, brooding beings anymore. That doesn’t mean that they don’t still captivate a certain interest (or make for a good read, in my opinion). Just that our collective interests have shifted since the rage in the late 2000s.

Having never heard of it before, I picked up Flynn Meaney’s Bloodthirsty on a whim, mainly (hey, I’m being honest!) because I liked the cover, but also because the brief synopsis sounded intriguing enough to give it a go.

Enter the world of one young, dorky Finbar Frame. He’s young, he’s awkward (in every sense) and he wants desperately to have a girlfriend (well, amongst other teenage boy things . . .) What’s more, he’s “cursed” with a twin brother who rivals Adonis: he’s everything Finbar’s not, from having a less strange name to possessing impressive sports prowess, from having all the luck with women to being popular. Finbar, on the other hand, has a severe sun allergy, limited social skills and a weekend routine that involves watching rom-coms with his mom.

When his family moves to the New York City area and he’s forced to start over again as a new person in a new school, he seizes this as an opportunity, putting together the pieces of what girls seemed to be interested in and what he could do to better fit that image. As expected, things do not go exactly according to his non-plan plan, but the humor is great, as are the awkward moments, until he realizes that acceptance from pretending to be someone or something is never as rewarding as acceptance stemming from being yourself.

What I Liked About the Book:

1. Hilarious. Seriously, Finbar’s a mess, but just the kind of dorky high school mess that makes him at once an image of sympathy and a point of aggravation (because sometimes you just want to knock some sense into the kid!).

2. The pacing is well done. You really don’t get the impression that any one scene goes on for too long or else not long enough. This book is a super fast read, that’s really easy to swallow.

3. Yes, there are girls portrayed as stupid in this book. And there are boys portrayed as stupid in it. What do they have in common? Well, not everyone’s the next Einstein.

4. Even though Finbar’s a dude, and a teen one at that, he’s got manners. He’s kind and respectful, and even though he’s trying to rock the deep, dark, broody thing,he’s still a decent person.

5. The author doesn’t take the easy out by depicting Finbar as an overly sympathetic character of circumstance. Meaning, his twin might be a living sports god, but he’s never a jerk to Finbar. Their parents may be oddly unique, but they clearly love the boys and work to take very good care of them. Finbar is awkward, but he does make friends, and they are good to him. I appreciated that the author didn’t make him overly pathetic as a character–it makes him more realistic.

What I Didn’t Love About It:

1. There’s a lot of stop/start narrative in the beginning, which got really annoying really quickly. In fact, it was quite so annoying that I almost put the book down, but decided to keep going with it, and was rewarded.

2. Girls are really gullible here. And yes, I realize we’re talking about young adolescent girls at the height of the vamp craze (the book was published in 2010), but still. I actually think this works as a warning to female readers over being so incredibly gullible, which is a plus, but I think a little more skepticism could have been utilized in depicting them.

3. There seemed to be an awful lot of underage drinking not being a problem. At the risk of sounding like an old fart, I’m not sure it’s beneficial to depict drinking as being the way that a dorky kid is able to fit in with his brother and peers. I realize that this is, in part, to juxtapose his struggles with his lady love’s, but still.

4. Interesting take on the whole slut shaming. Or on shaming, in general. There’s an awful lot in  here in terms of weight shaming, sexual orientation slurs, etc. And while I’m actually not sure that that’s off too much from insults amongst teens, circa 2010, it’s kind of a sad indictment.

5. There were an awful lot of overly convenient run-ins that occurred between Finbar and other characters along the way, but nothing that was too terribly far flung.

Overall:

This is a fun book that’s an interesting, quick read. It’s probably an all-time perfect beach book, and definitely worth the few hours it’ll take to read this!

One to Skip: Heather Brewer’s The Cemetery Boys

Cemeteries? Check. Creepy monster things? Check. Mental infirmity leading to greater issues? Check. Exciting romance between the new kid and the goth girl? Check. Creepy, slightly sadistic, slightly Flowers in the Attic grandma? Check. References to the King (that’s Stephen, for anyone who worships a different literary god)? Check!

Based on this exciting and definitely not often seen together checklist, one would think that Heather Brewer’s The Cemetery Boys was, seriously, the hottest release to come to YA Lit! Unfortunately, despite the long list of positives, there are just too many missing chunks; too many pieces that don’t quite mesh together; too many eyebrow raising coincidences; too many times when I thought a connection was going to be made, but somehow it didn’t. Sigh. So close, yet so far away!

The story follows Stephen, who’s forced to move to his father’s hick small town home from his own native Denver when his mother is checked into an insane asylum for (vaguely, we never really get any clear details on this point) raving about large winged things. Stephen’s dad is trying to pay her medical bills, which are ever-mounting, and when he loses his job, breaks the news to Stephen that they have to move in with his much-hated mother in order to not become homeless.

As one might expect, Stephen fights this, though it’s unclear what exactly he’s fighting. The fact that his dad lost his job? That they don’t have any more money? That his continuing to live near a mother whom he doesn’t see much is more important than anything else? That he’s having to switch schools (though he really doesn’t mention having any friends keeping him in Denver)? Even when his father finally lays out the facts to him, Stephen acts like a small child throwing a tantrum over something they don’t even know what they feel about.

Sooo. . . they move to his dad’s hometown of nowhere, called Spencer, and Stephen immediately acts awkward and weird, and seems to think that it’s perfectly normal that he, supposedly a major dork in Denver, would move to this tiny town and sweep the area’s leading goth girl right off her feet? Only to learn her mother’s also not all there, her brother’s the leader of the creepy guy pack and he, Stephen, has magically by virtue of moving become this intriguing, angsty, studmuffin dude he never was before. All while throwing regular temper tantrums about how terrible his life is/how horrible his dad is/how unfair the world is/etc.

He also decides–randomly and out of character–to befriend the band of wild ruffians because . . . all of a sudden uncharacteristically sneaking out all night to get wasted in cemeteries is now his “thing”? Hm.

What I Liked About The Book:

1. The premise is fascinating, and the first few pages really set up the scene for some super interesting/dramatic awesomeness. Seriously, it’s like the author had a checklist of awesomely creepy elements to throw into a story and went down the list.

2. References to Stephen King works? YES!!!! WAY better than more yawn-inducing quotes from ancient classics, and WAY more fitting for the setting. This should happen more often.

3. I liked the different personalities that hypothetically made up the group of cemetery boys, and the fact that it’s a group of boys, but there’s so little on them individually (and for the couple that get more attention, there’s so little that clearly connects and makes sense) that they all might as well be just a random pack of kids at school.

. . . and that’s all I got on what I liked.

What I Didn’t Like About the Book:

1. There are so many potentially great ideas scattered throughout here, but none of them are fully developed. Yes, it’s a shorter YA piece, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be a full and well-developed story. It just means that the author–and a good editor–need to decide what aspects need some axing to make the story a solid, believable whole.

2. The writing. So much was told that could have been shown, and those things shown were so unclearly connected. Seriously. We see half a chapter about the weirdness of the old guys sitting in the heat watching the road, but to what end? In such a short book, there just isn’t space for this unless there’s a reason for it. And here’s the thing: there just isn’t a reason for it. Same thing with two of the cemetery boys disappearing into the woods together and the speculation going along with it: with just the one mention–no further development, no explanation, no nothing–it loses the impact that it could have had and the nod to even small town diversity that might have been there–and instead simply becomes another false trail. Even with some of the larger characters we see this. A big deal is made about Devon “accidentally” dropping his journal in front of Stephen’s window one night, and this point is returned to repeatedly. Same deal with the fact that Stephen decides to keep it, that it has strange pictures drawn in it. When Devon finally gets it back, it’s such an anti-climactic reaction for so much build up, it’s almost comical.

3. We keep getting hints that don’t go anywhere. Kind of related to point 2, but enough to stand on it’s own. We get hints that dad hated his mom . . . but why? No, no–no need to elaborate. Just let us guess, right? We also get hints that Stephen’s mom’s delusions are related to rants about large, winged things . . . but don’t consider tying these ideas together at all. No need, right? (Note sarcasm dripping here). I guess what got to me is that there seemed to be a lot of loose ends in terms of the details of the story. Places where ideas could have been better connected, places where the plot could have been better developed, places where the characters could have been brought to life. But they weren’t.

4. Speaking of characters . . . sigh.  Again, there was a lot of possibility. But why would a dork move to a brand new place and then suddenly believe that a super hot chick is going to find him absolutely amazing? I don’t buy it–not only because, well, there’s nothing suggesting that he’s changed at all but also because any adolescent who’s grown up believing that they’re on the geek end of their peer spectrum is not suddenly going to believe themselves to be amazing overnight. Same thing with the band of boys he’s suddenly rolling with. These are cool, punk, breaking-into-buildings, staying-out-all-night, drinking-till-we’re-wasted dudes. How is Stephen not in the least bit suspicious of their open-armed acceptance of him into their group? And even their group is mischaracterized on the cover. Never once did I get the impression that these are die-hard, support each other come what may, friends til the end guys. Actually, quite the opposite: it felt more like they were together because they had to be, for reasons never actually revealed.

5. Um, parents much . . . or at all? We have dad–who’s jobless and trying to do chores around his mom’s house with his son. We have grandma–who’s mean and crusty around the edges, but for some reason gone all the time. We have mom–locked away for some reason. So it’s clear why mom’s not able to see any changes in Stephen, but seriously? Dad doesn’t notice/take issue with/have concerns about/etc the fact that his son, since this move to a town that he repeatedly emphasizes is dangerous, has taken to going out and staying out all night? To coming home wasted at all hours? To being hungover all day the next day? That dad has no interest in the friends his son’s making? And grandma’s supposed to be a horrible, heinous beast–and we get some tickling around the edges that that must be the case, but then there’s . . . well, really nothing.

6. So do people believe in these things or not? At the end of the story, I closed the book and haven’t thought about it since. But in writing this, it occurs to me that I still don’t know the answer.

Overall:

You can do better. Honestly, I’d just recommend you read anything by Stephen King, and that would be much, much better. However, to keep it in YA, if you want the goth element, consider anything by Gina Damico; if you want the insanity element, consider Madeline Roux’s Asylum books; if you want the creepy monster element, try Random Riggs’s books; if you want the band of boys friendship element, well, Stephen King’s The Body and It would work beautifully where this flopped.

What do you think? Anyone else out there read this one?

Watching the World Fall Apart in Tommy Wallach’s We All Looked Up

One of the questions that seems to copy throughout the world wherever I travel, and regardless of what I’m doing at that time, is the age-old one: how will I die? Where will I be? Will I be healthy or ill? Will it be sudden and unexpected or slow and painful?

Ok, ok . . . so that’s technically more than one question, but they’re all sort of inter-related. But it’s also kind of intriguing to hear what people’s greatest fears are related to this. While some seem to dread the idea of lingering beyond their friends and loves ones, for example, others hope that it’s short, sweet and without suffering.

Reading Tommy Wallach’s We All Looked Up, for me, felt like The Breakfast Club for the slightly morbid. The book itself tells the story of a handful of teens who all attend the same high school and follows the paths of their unique and, ultimately, overlapping stories as they continue through their day-to-day lives. So what makes it morbid? They (and through them, we, the readers) learn early on in the story that an asteroid is going to be hitting the earth. Perhaps that’s not morbid in and of itself, but there’s something decidedly goosebump-y in thinking about how everyone on earth is potentially going to die, as well as in how the earth itself may end. But here’s what kept it truly interesting (at least for me): there’s never a 100% guarantee one way or another that the end will come. 2/3 of the officious science people say yes and humanity will end, while the other 1/3 still believes that it won’t happen and that there are too many outside factors affecting whether the asteroid will actually make contact.

The novel follows a handful of these high schoolers, from different backgrounds and social groups, with different belief systems and parents. They are each different and unique, yet all united under the weight of the overwhelming question of what to do when the world is likely going to end before you set foot on a college campus, before you finally get laid, before you understand your parents, before, well, life really begins. And that’s the Breakfast Club aspect of the story, though this analogy has been run through a number of YA books, and so is almost trite at this point.

While I enjoyed the author’s portrayal of the different teens and their different families, homes, goals and personalities, it did feel like the cross section he focused on wasn’t as diverse as that normally seen in YA books. However, I actually felt like that added to the book’s believability.

What I Liked About the Book:

1. Well, the realistic characters. Kind of already covered that, but they weren’t your cookie-cutter versions, which made them all the more interesting. But beyond that, I really appreciated how it addressed issues like teen sex, relationships and peer pressure, which I felt was a refreshing take on otherwise trite categories.

2. Then narrative voice shifts, which helps to get into the skin of the different characters. And this is important, because the “main character” is actually multiple characters.

3. Impending doom: always an intriguing backdrop for any teen angst and life dilemmas!

4. Interestingly, we get an almost dystopic the-hellions-have-taken-over-the-earth feeling to the last third of the book. This isn’t completely different from the idea in Stephen King’s The Stand: when shit hits the fan, how will people really and truly respond? Will we be the good citizens we believe ourselves to be? The trusty neighbors and relatives and friends? Or will we resort to the lowest common denominator, allowing society with all it’s rules, laws and responsibilities, to break down with us?

5. Underlying the entire end-of-the-world plot line, each of the teens we follow has their own narrative, in counterpoint to the gloom and doom. I really liked this technique by the author, and actually found the contrast between the two to be more interesting at times than either one independently.

6. LOVED the tension in addressing the question of law and governance!! It’s constantly being called into question on so many different levels throughout the book. From the question of parental authority, to the amount of control a partner or a teacher or a principal can exert, to the issue of how much power police and the military have to act and then, finally, what the federal government can and can’t do. All the while, we see the teens constantly questioning the deletion of their first amendment rights, of their legal rights and of their rights generally, as citizens.

What I Didn’t Love About the Book:

1. The almost-absence of any real responsibility for any of the teens. No chores, no responsibilities to the family or household, just time spent either at school or with friends, the end.

2. The almost-absence of any true parenting. We see the extremes of over-control and no control, but apparently pretty much all the parents in this town checked out once their kids hit high school?

3. Despite the fact that this is an intriguing exploration of the psyches of a variety of different people/characters, to be perfectly honest? There were several points at which I felt my mind wander. When I was just . . . bored. I think the book is a bit longer than it really needs to be, with a lot of teen angst-y parts that probably could be alluded to without being fully hashed out. But also, there’s an over-reliance on details that really aren’t necessary to the story.

4. I’m not sure I completely buy 100% the fluidity of the barriers that lie between the different worlds of these characters. I just . . . don’t.

5. Although I understand that this story is much more a delving into the psyches of the different teens narrating the book, I would’ve liked to have had a chance to know a bit more about what’s happening in the rest of the world. Not just directly relating to the asteroid’s approach, but how are people in other countries–or even in other cities in the US–handling this? Are they still sending kids to school? Still going into work? Has the police state ratcheted up? What about violence? Looting? Are people responding to the impending crisis with illegality or are they generally being more positive? I guess just more details would have nicely rounded the picture, and given better context as to the course of action the teens in the book are taking.

Overall:
This was a good read. Not the most amazing thing ever, but it was engaging and, as I had the pleasure of listening to this one via Audible, I have to say that the audio narration utilized an ensemble cast, which really helped in separating out the different voices. This one’s worth the read, but go into it with some patience and the knowledge that the asteroid hitting the earth? Definitely not the point of the story.

Anyone else have a chance to read this one? Or just ogle that amazing cover? 🙂