(2009). New York: Viking Juvenile. 384 pages.

(This review is cross-posted at Bib-Laura-Graphy.)

Auden is not a storegoer.  Storegoers are the people who never buy just one thing at the local gas station.  Even if they come in looking for just a stick of gum, they leave with provisions.  The storegoers are always planning for future adventures – because when you’re out having an adventures, who knows when you’re going to need a snack?  When Auden goes to the gas station, she grabs her large coffee and goes.  Why would she need to plan for adventures when all she ever does is drive through the deserted streets of Colby in the middle of the night?

When Auden’s parents started to fight, they would do it late at night when she was asleep.  So she stayed up later.  And later.  Until she wasn’t sleeping at night anymore.  Of course, it didn’t work.  Eventually they stopped trying to hide their fights, and now they’re divorced.  But Auden still stays awake through the quiet hours of the night.  At home she fills her nights at the local diner, where all the waitresses know her name.  As long as she tips on every refill of coffee, they’ll let her stay until morning.  But now that she’s staying with her dad and his new wife in Colby, Auden’s nights are spent drifting.

Of course someone comes along to change that.  And through her late-night adventures with Eli, Auden is able to discover the many things she skipped over in her lonely, academically-minded childhood – and maybe even learn to understand why you might need more than the large cup of coffee when you stop at the local gas station.

This book is straight-up  Sarah Dessen.  And as someone who loves straight-up Sarah Dessen, I was perfectly pleased with that.  I found Auden’s slightly grumpy introvertedness very familiar – she often reminded me of myself.  She is stingy with sharing herself with other people, but over the course of the book she learns how to expose her own feelings and opinions to the people she cares about.  As Auden opens herself up, she also gains the ability to relate to the other people in her life and see beyond their surface.  This transformation is at the center of the book, and Dessen handles it deftly.  And while the romantic interest is definitely satisfying, watching Auden develop strong friendships with the other women in the book was the place where I could really feel her blossom.  I would have loved to have more glimpses into the growing relationships with her mother, stepmother, and coworkers.

While all of Dessen’s secondary characters are drawn superbly, it is the subplot about becoming a new mother that has really stuck with me.  Thisbe, Auden’s brand new baby sister, is an unstoppable crying machine.  And watching Auden’s poor overwhelmed stepmother try to handle her business and her first baby is both sad and hysterical.  It’s like a giant neon sign for all the teens reading the book: Babies Are Hard, Guys!

The most striking thing about this book are the two different that Dessen creates – Auden’s daytime world and her nighttime world are very different places.  The tiny coffeeshop in the backroom of a laundromat where there’s a new pie every day – that’s the kind of place I would stay up late for.  And it’s not only the town of Colby that tranforms in the night.  Auden’s relationship with Eli would probably not be possible in the daytime.  As Auden puts it,

Stuff that would have been weird in the bright light of day just wasn’t so much once you passed a certain hour.  It was like the dark just evened it out, somehow.  (Quoted from ARC – text may change.)

In high school, I loved the author M.E. Kerr. While I realized, after about the 10th one that her novels held to a certain formula, I loved them no less. There may be only a few of hers that I hadn’t read (including the highly praised Dinky Hocker Shoots Smack) by the time I graduated. One of my all time favorites was Fell, in which a boy is paid to infiltrate the exclusive secret society, The Sevens, at his boarding school. Kerr was my first experience with the underground world of dorm life.

With Lockhart’s latest, we once again see secret society hi-jinx and camaraderie: late night meetings, special seals, leaders vying for top dog. It’s all there. But the main character in this tale, Frankie Landau-Banks, is not one of the members. She’s merely the girlfriend of one. From her role as outsider, secret society life shows itself for what it really is–a good old boys network. Because she’s a girl, she could never be a member. And even though she knows about the Bassetts, and has known about it since childhood, her boyfriend’s loyalty to his fellow dogs is greater than his ability to be straight with her. And instead of leaving things be, Frankie takes matters into her own hands.

Frankie rocks! How can one not route for a girl who questions authority, dupes lemmings, re-imagines language, and credits much of her “criminal activity” to Foucault’s theories on prisons and discipline. Frankie is more than just a pretty face, and she wants everyone to know it. I believed her. And, like Frankie, the book is more than just a fun read. I raced through this book in one night because the narrator’s voice is so quick-witted and the story so smart and  fun, I couldn’t stop reading. Afterwords though, I realized I had a better understanding of Foucault’s panopticon than when I learned about it in grad school. I must try to never underestimate a writer. And never underestimate a Frankie.

(2008). New York: Scholastic. 288 pages.

When Evie’s stepfather Joe returns from World War II, the scrimping overbearing life she and her mother were forced to live during the war looks like it might finally be over. Joe’s business booms and then he takes his wife and daughter down to West Palm Beach, Florida in the middle of the school year. 

Almost stranded in the only hotel open in the off-season (a luxurious one at that), Evie must find ways to keep herself entertained. When a strikingly handsome G.I. named Peter enters the hotel and befriends her, Evie’s whole view of the world improves. Wedged between her and her mother and movies, Peter looks to Evie like the perfect man for a first crush.

But this story isn’t a simple romance. Sure, Evie wants to be old enough for Peter. She wishes people looked at her the way they looked at her mother, Beverly. But Evie is still a girl entering the grown up world for the first time. Evie thinks the relationship she and Peter have is a special secret one, but Peter, and Joe and Beverly for that matter, are the real secret keepers. When their truths come to a head out at sea, Evie can’t just imagine being grown. The veil of childhood is pulled from her and she is forced to make grown up decisions.

Blundell‘s tale is one of mystery and intrigue, and has appropriately been linked to film noir. The book has a definite black and white film noir quality in the pacing, the language, the subtle reveals. It also has secondary characters that say as much about the times and the secret games played then as those in the main story line. Every character adds to the mystery, the secrecy, and the weight of betrayal and justice. 

I have a strange personal affinity for Blundell winning the 2008 National Book Award as this is the first book under her own name (Blundell has written hundreds of books under several pseudonyms including Jude Watson). There’s a certain justice in seeing her garner praise when she is no longer carrying her own secret name. Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket) chaired this year’s National Book Award- Young People’s Literature committee, and I wonder if he noticed that as well. The popular books certainly help a writer stay alive, but it’s nice to see a writer of quality get recognition as well. In addition to all her pseudonym tomes, I hope Blundell continues writing under her own name. Hers is a welcome voice.

(2008). New York: Scholastic. 384 pages.

Since a dinner with fellow librarian friends after seeing author John Green live I’ve been hearing about this book written by the same author as the Gregor the Overlander series. And its not just librarians who liked it. Stephenie Meyer raved about it on her blog back in September.  And Stephen King reviewed it for Entertainment Weekly. So this is a young adult book with a growing following.

And I can see why. It’s a novel of a gruesome future world. A dystopia at its finest where a totalitarian government based in The Capitol reigns supreme over 12 other districts. (There were 13, but they bombed the 13th out of existence when the districts tried to rebel.–Cripes!) To keep the districts in line The Capitol runs a little TV game show every year. Two “tributes” (aged 12-18; one boy, one girl) are chosen from each district to fight to the death. The winner gains honor, respect, an easy life, and food for the district. The other 23 kids die.

Sure a similar story has been told before (Shirley Jackson’s, “The Lottery” for one) but Collins’ main character Katniss Everdeen is so strong, determined, and intriguing, that it doesn’t matter if the base of the story is new. The story is fresh, the characters interesting, the action vivid. I haven’t read of a dystopia quite like this before.

Katniss is staying in my mind. Throughout the book, she strives to provide what is necessary to others. First to her family, then to her prep team, her District 12 partner Peeta, and then to the viewing public. It’s almost like she’s always a people pleaser, but in the strangest sense of that phrase. Once in the arena, she rarely lets her guard down, and this walled-up life is bound to take its toll. Right? That’s what I’m hoping…’cause there’s a sequel, and I hope when that comes out we see Katniss unravel just a little bit.

(2001). Orlando Florida: Harcourt. 319 pages.

According to the Author’s Note, this story “will make you believe in God” (p. x), because the God of this story does not belong to any particular religion or any particular story, but merely exists throughout.

This is the story of Pi Patel who grows up at an Indian zoo and practices three different religions: Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity. This is the story of what he learns about animals and God as a young boy. This is the story of how all of this is tested when he ends up stranded on a lifeboat for over 200 days with a Bengal tiger.

A few years back, someone told me this was based on a true story. I didn’t believe them, but hadn’t read the tale to know for sure. Now that I’ve read it though, I am even more sure it is all a fiction. Even the Author’s Note at the beginning is simply a device, like the introduction of Willa Cather’s My Antonia. The “author/narrator” in Life of Pi is just another of the characters. The book’s structure is too carefully conceived to be anything but premeditated by a writer.

The story hearkens back to classic seafaring tales like Poe’s only novella The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket (I had to read this in 11th grade), but maintains a fresh and new perspective on this classic theme. Without modern devices like solar stills, Pi would never have survived his journey, but survive it he does, probably why some believe it could really happen.

This is a story of faith and survival. This is a story both disgusting and humorous. This is a story worth reading.

We have the other cover

(2008). New York: Penguin. 305 pages

Okay, I confess. I have a slight crush on author John Green. When he and his brother ran a daily vlog called brotherhood2.0, I was a regular viewer. And when he brought his show on the road this October, I made my reservation and headed to Cambridge to sit with over 200 teenagers and hear him read from this new book and answer questions in a speedy format. And it was awesome. Proof I was at the event can even be seen here (I’m next to the girl in the white baseball cap).

But loving an author as a person does not mean I’ll love his books, just that I have higher expectations because I want to love the books. I want this author to succeed. In the interest of full disclosure, I believe all this should be listed before I tell you what I think of Green’s latest book Paper Towns. So there you are.

Set in the real town of Orlando, Florida (not just Cinderella’s palace), this is the story of Quinten Jacobsen’s search for the dream girl Margo who has always lived just across the street. When she comes to his window in the middle of the night promising a night of adventure and hyjinx he agrees. Then next morning, everything changes. Especially since Margo has gone MIA. While Margo’s parents are resigned to let Margo disappear, Quinten (Q) can’t let it go, and becomes obsessed with searching for her. Following a set of strange clues, he begins to learn more and more about the girl next door and possibly gets closer to finding her.

His quest is epic, like that of Ahab searching for the white whale in Moby Dick (the nickname of Q -like Quequeg- was not lost on me either). Of course, a slightly nerdy boy in search of a girl he is infatuated with seems to be part of Green’s formula, as similar plot lines show up in his earlier books. And like his earlier books, some object or quirk holds major importance: in Katherines it was math formulas, in Alaska it was Famous Last Lines. In Paper Towns, Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is the vehicle that helps Q learn about Margo and about himself.

In his third novel, Green gets everything right. This may just be the best of Green’s novels thus far. The characters are clever and smart, but not to the point of obnoxious.  Q’s best friends create a great balance to his obsession. Margo’s actions and clues are often unexpected. The quest is intriguing, the adventures believable, the story funny. Perhaps, like Margo, Green has finally found a way to balance the image of himself as a writer with the reality of himself as a writer.

(2006). New York: Knopf. 552 pages

Back in 2006 this book was the talk of the town. We added it to the library collection, I suggested it to readers, but never got around to reading it myself. Until now. And MAN, what a book. For me, this book lived up to the hype.

Narrated by a sardonic and ever witty Death, this story takes place during a busy time for him (this Death character is a masculine one) the years of 1939 to 1943. Death’s story focuses primarily on a small girl named Liesel Meminger and her time with a foster family in a town outside of Munich, Germany.  If you know anything about history, you know these characters are in an environment rife with stress. Bad things are bound to happen. And they do.

But, this story is more about survival and life than it is about the bad things of the world. It’s more about how people respond to a world around them that changes and is uncertain. It also shows another side of the WWII story, a German perspective. Zusak creates characters whose complexities and depth make almost everyone lifelike and tangible. While reading I could almost feel the plush of the Mayor’s wife’s Nazi imprinted bathrobe and feel the wind rushing through Rudy Steiner’s coal blackened hair.

Zusak structures the book in a skilled way as well. Interspersed between the narrative are various facts about characters, the war, weapons, and other notes that Death interjects. These breaks often shed light on some other parts of the whole story, and sometimes add levity to a grave situation or vice versa. Other sections include illustrations and handwritten elements. But all of this only propels the story forward.

In the end, this book killed me. I sat reading the last 50 or so pages with tears streaming down my face. Zusak had made characters I began to fall in love with and then, he took them away. The story was over. I was left flipping back and forth through sections trying to get my self out of the teary funk.

In many ways, this book is about the reactions one has to the actions of others, so perhaps it makes sense that my tearful reaction was so strong. The Book Thief is brilliant, lovely, haunting…just plain good. A must read.

Did you know the head of the Russian space program spent time in the Gulag (the rough Russian prison in Siberia)? Did you know stray dogs were used as test subject for space exploration? Did you know that the dog Laika was the first breathing creature to enter orbit?

Based on this actual event, Abadzis creates a graphic novel that personalizes the story of one dog’s journey into space. Orphaned, abused, and then abandoned, Abadzis’ Laika has an unbelievable spirit. This is a dog who loves unconditionally and trusts unendingly. The dog is so loyal that she becomes the favorite of the trainer. The trainer knows the risks involved for the dog, but the dog never knows, and the dog, through it all trusts the trainer.

Reading Laika is, at times, a harrowing journey. The dog travels through many lives before becoming the famous first space dog. I wish I knew more about Soviet history because I wonder how much of this dog’s tale relates to the experiences of Russians during the Cold War. Perhaps there is no specific link, but the effect of the Cold War on the people and governement of the Soviet Union is a definite factor in Laika’s story, and in the way Laika is remembered today. And Abadzis makes sure we never forget her bravery or her devotion.

(2008). New York: Minx-DC Comics. 152 pages

Just a few months after P.L.A.I.N. Janes ends, this sequel begins. It’s February and love is in the air. The four Janes each have their eye on special someones, and each work to win their someone in different ways and with differing results. Main Jane spends much of the book trying to determine how to rebuild a connection with Damon, after what happened at the end of the first book. As a way to move on, she plots to make P.L.A.I.N. more legitimate and applies for a national grant.

Castellucci and Rugg captured my soul with their first graphic novel, so I was eager to read the follow up on characters I’d come to enjoy. Sadly, something is missing in the sequel. It’s all right, but not the winner P.L.A.I.N. Janes is. Perhaps Janes in Love would be better if read immediately following the first, but certain sections seemed more choppy than before, and it took me a long time (in a rather short book) to get into the story’s groove. The sequel has more stories to follow, and at times, none get the full attention they deserve–like Rhys’ final reaction and the pheremone perfume debacle. In addition, it’s hard for the cynic in me to actually believe that teenage youth could receive an grant from the National Foundation for the Arts. Though a bit disappointing, I’m glad the Janes are still at it. The characters in the Janes books continue to have a place in my heart.

The Cheerleaders in this work of fiction are not the ones in high school rooting for the football team. These Cheerleaders are more like evil malicious prejudice monsters. But this is not a book with vampires or zombies.  The Cheerleaders are actual mothers: White mothers in a poor Ninth Ward of New Orleans who stand outside the door of an elementary school to taunt and intimidate during integration in the 1960′s.

Until a well dressed man in a Chevy Bel Air rides into town from the North, main character Louise, doesn’t think too much about the acts of desegregation and her mother’s role in them. With Morgan Miller’s arrival, Louise learns that the small actions of her town create ripples across the country. She also starts to see her world with a new perspective. Louise uncovers secrets about her city, her neighborhood, her mother, and herself.

This is Sharenow’s first novel, and he’s begun his writing career with the heavy topic of desegregation. Telling the story of a person in the town where poor Ruby Bridges was harassed is a unique set up. With Sharenow, we could get another view besides the one Norman Rockwell made famous. But we really don’t.

There are moments when his portrayal of the mother and Louise really are lovely. But so many other characters end up seeming stock: the word-wise Northerner, the Klan loving brute, and Louise and her mother end up simply looking like damsels caught in the crossfire. At times, it isn’t enough.

Sharenow raises interesting issues with a story about the pressures to accepted in a community or feeling different or searching for dignity in a malevolent world.  The story, however, moves too fast to really settle in on even one of these ideas long enough for a reader. In the end, I was just left wanting. Not because the story ended at the wrong place, but because it moved too quickly from scene to scene to get us there. Perhaps Sharenow’s career in television hindered his ability to give the details in his story a chance. And that’s a shame.