Reviews from Bookshelf young-adult

This book has a great opening sentence: "If this were a movie, I'd probably have to kill off my father in the very first scene."

Unfortunately, the rest of the book doesn't quite deliver on the promise of its opening. Dulcie's dad is dead because of a freak janitorial accident (mixing the wrong cleaners), and when her mom moves to L.A., Dulcie takes off back home in her dead dad's truck to find herself.

One of my beefs with the book is that Acampora doesn't show what Dulcie is up to while she is driving--instead, he weaves in (highly improbable) stories of her trip into the second half of the book. So in the middle of dinner with her grandpa and her new best friend (who conveniently has conflicts of her own that draw attention away from the lack of external conflict in Dulcie's life), Dulcie will suddenly reveal her experience at, say, the fainting goat farm, or visiting a reliquary and getting a bean stew recipe off of a nun. The biggest problem with this technique for capitalizing on responsible Dulcie's one chance to have madcap adventures is that it makes it seem like Dulcie's got nothing of interest to say in the "real" now.

All in all, I found the book to be a little too wholesome for my taste--pretty much altogether lacking in the hormonal woes and other complications that come with figuring out who you are in high school. Incidentally, the unfortunate image on the cover of the book also makes Dulcie look like a pre-teen.

(Listened to on audiobook.)

The humor rings absolutely true here, and Alexie has plenty to say about cultural identity and self. The protagonist has to negotiate his difficult role as an American Indian and a gifted student--by going to school off rez, he risks being seen as a traitor of his culture.

The more I think about _Twisted_, the more I think it is an effective--and unusual--contribution to any YA collection. Halse Anderson accomplishes two remarkable feats in this book. First, she gets the teenage male voice and preoccupations perfect; Tyler's hard-ons are just as much a part of his daily life as his social anxieties, crushes, and homework. And secondly, she manages to address the deep-level importance of family life, however dysfunctional, to adolescents.

The plot seems at first to offer only a predictable scenario: over the summer, ugly-duckling dweeb transforms into possibly-cool and sexy swan. But as Tyler's promising proto-relationship with super-popular Bethany gets twisted by one late-night party and a heap of false accusations, it becomes impossible to ignore the pressure from Tyler's asshole dad... and equally impossible for Tyler to ignore doing something about him.

Some elements--the reconciliation between Tyler and his father, for example--are a bit predictable, but all in all, this is a thought-provoking, worthwhile read that guys and gals alike will enjoy.

This page-turner of a concept book definitely had me hooked--I mean, who doesn't want to find out what a girl who killed herself has to say on the seven tapes (two sides each) that she mailed out right before she did it?

We listen along with her classmate and crush Clay, who visits all the places that feature in her audio-tour account of experiences that just turned out to be too much for her.

This is a great title for more reluctant readers, and it's the kind of YA book that has a balance between guy and girl issues, so it should be appealing to both genders. The structure of the book--we only know Clay for the night, for example, and the author of the tapes is, for obvious reasons, done with her development--keeps us from seeing the characters change much. But all in all, a solid book worth recommending.

Fans of books like _What Happened to Cass McBride?_ might like this title.

I grabbed SPLIT on an impulse and didn't have many specific expectations, but halfway through, I was reading the author's bio because she SO persuasively writes from a male perspective, something I admire extra much because I know how challenging it was for me in THE KNIFE AND THE BUTTERFLY.

The plotting of the novel is excellent, with each thread of the story propelling the action forward. There's a count-down dimension that ups the tension considerably. The book has a wildly upbeat ending for a book about domestic violence, but it's an ending that is earned by the protag's incremental growth through the course of the novel.

This is a no-brainer choice/recommendation for fans of Chris Crutcher--the voice of the novel really reminded me of WHALE TALK.

Drowning Instinct by Ilsa Bick takes hold of you and doesn't let you go until the very last page. I'm proof: I read it in two sittings. Even knowing that Liam would be up at 7:00, I stayed up till 3:00 in the morning to finish it. Here's the description, courtesy of NetGalley.com:

There are stories where the girl gets her prince, and they live happily ever after. (This is not one of those stories.)

Jenna Lord's first sixteen years were not exactly a fairytale. Her father is a controlling psycho and her mother is a drunk. She used to count on her older brother—until he shipped off to Iraq. And then, of course, there was the time she almost died in a fire.

There are stories where the monster gets the girl, and we all shed tears for his innocent victim. (This is not one of those stories either.)

Mitch Anderson is many things: A dedicated teacher and coach. A caring husband. A man with a certain...magnetism.

And there are stories where it's hard to be sure who's a prince and who's a monster, who is a victim and who should live happily ever after. (These are the most interesting stories of all.)

Drowning Instinct is a novel of pain, deception, desperation, and love against the odds—and the rules.

Where to begin? As an author, I stand in awe of the number of plot threads Bick weaves masterfully together here. As a reader, I couldn't turn the pages fast enough. And the writing--it's good. Really good. This book works on so many different levels. It's hard to know how to talk about it without spoiling things. So let me tell you about a few things I loved:

The conceit: Jenna Lord is telling her story aloud into a hand-held recorder given to her by a police detective who has asked her for the truth about what happened. She's in a hospital emergency room. There's been an accident; she doesn't know if she's in trouble or if she's the victim. And by the time she finishes the story--when we have all the pieces--we still don't know, exactly. But in a good way.

The nuances: As you can tell from the description, there's a teacher-student involvement in this novel. As a former high-school teacher, usually I steer way, way clear from these stories because they just piss me off. And at first, I wanted to shout at Mitch Anderson, "Never, ever, EVER have a student over to your house alone. Do NOT let her shower in your bathroom. Do NOT cook her breakfast." But gradually we come to see him in his flaws and his needs, to understand his motivations, however flawed. Also Blick deals with cutting, grief, sexual abuse, and lots of other serious stuff with subtlty and wisdom.·

The voice: Jenna Lord reminds me of the girl from Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why. Maybe it's the similarity of the conceit, the simultaneous closeness to the listener (Jenna addresses the detective directly from time to time) and distance from events since they're being narrated after the fact). But Jenna is smart, self-aware, and astute. The language of the book is just right for her.

The suspense: There was so much of it. Seriously. I had a list of questions about a mile long and it felt urgent to find out how everything could come together. Bick parcels out some of the secrets partway through, but there are always more brewing...

This book is one you don't want to miss.

Note: This review is of the uncorrected NetGalley proof of Drowning Instinct. The official release date for the book is February 1,·2012.

Steve Brezenoff's latest novel, Brooklyn, Burning, sets the bar high for punk-friendly, slacker-sweet, gender-indifferent YA. And it takes on the issues facing many LGBT teens in the wisest way possible: by refusing to make those issues all that the book is about.

Brooklyn, Burning's strongest statement about gender and sexual identity comes through what goes unsaid. The biological sex of the two main characters is never explicitly identified, and the "you" and "I" and strategic phrasing that make this possible work without calling too much attention to themselves. And yet, of course, the reader notices what has been strategically elided. But by the end, we're convinced (or at least I was) that a love story can be a love story without being the story of boy meets girl (or boy meets boy, or girl meets girl). It's kind of like Georges Perec proving that a novel can be written without the letter "e" (L'Apparition). Only maybe less extreme. And a bit more to the point. But you know what I mean.

I, for one, stand in awe. Brooklyn, Burning belongs in library collections, bookstores, and your bookshelf. So get on that.

Diverse stories about teen love with protagonists of all sexual persuasions. Useful to me to see how many accomplished YA authors handle sex scenes.

Journal-style writing with a narrator who sometimes doesn't grasp the full significance of things, which allows the reader to put together some of the pieces behind his story. Intriguing and endearing.

This is the third book following the misbehaviors and adventures of Cyd Cherisse, which begin in Gingerbread and continue in Shrimp.

C.C. aggravates the hell out of me a lot of the time, being all rich-girl angsty and so on, but she ends up scootching toward “responsible” with each book without turning all goody two shoes. Plus, who wouldn’t eventually love an avowed bad girl in miniskirts and combat boots who also carries a rag doll (Gingerbread) around in a metal lunchbox and makes friends with old people with names like Sugar Pie?

If you enjoy snarky humor or are looking for books that unpack the real challenges of coming from a wealthy family and yet wanting to chart a unique course, check out this trio of novels.

Bonus: the narrator for the audio version of all three books is just great. Her voice is a cross between the Nanny (Fran something or other—you folks who grew up in the nineties know who I mean) and a sexy French teacher. So much better than my description would seem to suggest.

Playful fantasy (the description here is pretty on the nose) with a heart. I liked reading a YA book that focuses on the relationship between a young person and a crusty old man who's not particularly nice.

Dark, violent, and unflinchingly realistic. Nothing romanticized about adolescence here. A bit of a downer, but very well written and plotted. It's a classic for a reason.

I just finished listening to Chris Crutcher’s Deadline, and doing so was both a pleasure (I’ve loved Chris Crutcher since listening to his fabulous Whale Talk) and a chance to think about the relationship between realism and diversity in YA.

You might be wondering where diversity would come into play in the white, white world of Trout, Idaho, where the book is set. And that’s what I love about this book: it’s true to its rural setting without giving up on the idea that diversity matters. Ben is white, as are almost all of the kids at his school and in his town. But—like my younger self growing up in rural East Texas—he cares about what’s happening in the rest of the world.

He’s fascinated by The Autobiography of Malcom X as well as Lies My Teacher Told Me, both of which influence him to discover the subtext of discrimination and prejudice in his hometown. (Without, by the way, ceasing to care deeply about the town and his neighbors.) BTW, I’m guessing that the cranky Kirkus reviewer who criticized “Crutcher’s heavy-handed lessons on the ills of racial prejudice and the need for gun control” read the good ole boy attitude of some of Trout’s citizens as exaggerated. I don’t think it was. And for the record, I’m from Kilgore, Texas, a town where the concentration of Republicans and guns is just about as heavy as it gets. (I still love you, East Texas.)

Now, there are many other things I enjoyed about Deadline, including Ben’s self-deprecating sense of humor and his dream conversations with a wise man who goes by Hey-Soos. (Yes, Ben’s therapist helpfully points out that Hey-Soos is phonetically identical to the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus.) They talk about free will, moral relativism, relationships, and how premarital sex can be healing for Dallas, who turns out to have survived sexual abuse. Fascinating stuff that leaves readers thinking.

So: the challenge of embracing a diverse world from a not-so-diverse corner of that world isn’t the focus of Deadline, but it is there. And it’s there in such a way that it never subverts the realism of Crutcher’s world.

This book alternates between the perspectives of a brother and a sister (who's in a coma) to tell the story of her tragic accident and reveal the circumstances surrounding it. Deft plotting and well-developed characters.

I read Anne Frank's diary several times as a preteen, but Sharon Dogar offers something new, here, especially in Part II, which imagines Peter's experience in the camps. As a writer, one of the things I appreciated most was how Dogar captured Peter's personality and worldview, how she gave him a powerful, distinct voice in spite of his shyness. The narrative pulses with his will--and his right--to live.

The only gripe I had was with the chapter headings (e.g. "Peter Dreams of Lisa," "Peter Is in Love with Anne"). They seemed unnecessary and intrusive, but perhaps that wouldn't be the case in a paper book rather than in audio; the reader's eyes might fly right past these markers.

FYI: I listened to Annexed on audiobook, and it's wonderfully produced with a large cast. Usually I don't like "performed" audiobooks, but it works here.

We know three pages into “Before I Die” that sixteen-year-old Tessa won’t survive her leukemia--and that there’s plenty she still wants from life. So she makes a list and vows to do everything on it before she dies.

Like most teenagers, Tessa is at odds with her parents and angsty about how life’s shortchanged her. At first her ranting and left-field demands seem too adolescent. Isn’t the looming presence of death supposed to mature her beyond her years?

But that’s precisely the kind of “dying-young” trope that Downham admirably resists throughout the novel. Tessa burns up a maddening number of days moping when we think she should be fulfilling her dreams. She finally pushes herself to face facts: “I have two choices--stay wrapped in blankets and get on with dying, or get the list back together and get on with living.”

Downham escapes the common shortcoming of many young adult novels in which the only character that ever really matters to us is the speaker. In this novel, Tessa’s relationships are so dynamic that we ache with her at the thought of losing them. Throughout the book, their interactions thrum with tension and tenderness.

There’s Cal, the tactless younger brother who helpfully explains the process of decomposition. And Zoe, the careless best friend who has her own troubles to wake her up to life. There’s Dad in denial, determined to save Tessa through organic foods and fierce hugs. Mom, who cut out about the time of Tessa’s diagnosis and who remains slightly outside of the helping circle (without becoming a monster). And there’s Adam, the blessing of love and vulnerability that lands next door to Tessa at the right time.

And where a lesser writer might swill us readers around in dying-girl thought soup, Downham lets the telling detail speak for Tessa’s feelings instead. Her anger comes to us through her as she gives herself points for the imagined deaths of healthy strangers: “One point for the lump on her neck, raw and pink as a crab’s claw.” We feel her hunger for life as she licks an ice-cream stick until “the wood rasps my tongue.” We know her true well-wishes for those she loves as she dreams up a replacement for her boyfriend, a “girl with lovely curves and breath like oranges.”

There’s nothing treacly here. It’s a brave, humanist novel, one that leaves the reader gulping the polluted, precious air of Tessa’s world with a passion and astonishment almost as great as Tessa’s. Downham earns for us the catharsis of the ending, for her characters come to take up real space in our hearts. Up until the last word, I think, we hope that Tessa will somehow, against all odds, keep breathing.

When she doesn’t, we mourn for Tessa just as she wished: by remembering her.

Many teens like Draper's books in this series, but I found this title melodramatic and stilted throughout.

Man's story might seem a bit melodramatic in places--especially in the latter third of the book--but the characters are vivid, and the sense of place makes the story memorable. Man's voice and his hardscrabble efforts at holding on to a piece of beauty stuck with me.

I listened to this as an audiobook.

Convincing characters, emotionally charged situation, definitely a page turner.

I like books with some ambiguity, but this book introduces heaps of "clues" to the mystery of the disappearance of the protagonist's girlfriend--none of which ever comes to signify anything definitively. There was also a creepy lack of warmth between the characters and an over all gloom-and-doom aura that I don't have much patience for unless something comes of it in the end. (A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT is a good example of a dark, mysterious book that permits ambiguity but doesn't overdo it.)

From glancing over the other reviews on goodreads.com, it seems this is a love-it-or-hate-it book: it either gets very high ratings or very low ratings. So don't let my impressions of the book stop you from checking it out for yourself; you might get hooked on the unresolved mystery bit.