The Five Borough Book Review

Fiction | The Mission to Save a Town

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Tue, 14 May 2013 17:49:00 +0000

Hello, friends! This may be the longest I've ever gone without posting in the history of this blog, but I have good reason. I don't get too personal on here, but this spring I've been writing a thesis for grad school, working 40 hours a week, and planning my June 1st wedding. As the deadlines for 2 of the 3 have been approaching, it's only gotten busier. Luckily, we're in the home stretch! The thesis will be totally done and turned in by this time next week, and the wedding...well we don't want to wish that away completely, but the planning is mostly done as well!

Back last month I picked up Luis Alberto Urrea's Into the Beautiful North, a book (an ARC no less) that's been sitting on my shelf since my first ever BEA 2009. This story takes place in the small town of Tres Camarones, Mexico, where our protagonist, Nayeli, realizes women have taken over the town. But it hasn't been a forcible move; all the men have slowly disappeared, leaving Tres Camarones to head North to earn a living in the United States.

Nayeli decides it's time to take back the town—back from the bandidos she sees lurking—and she embarks on a mission with her friends Yolo, Vampi, and Tacho to bring back seven men to protect the town and help it prosper once again. Their journey isn't as simple as just crossing the border, though (as if that were simple in the first place); they have to make it to the border first. Nayeli and friends meet a lot of interesting characters during their journey from South to North that often surprise us, the reader, as often as it does Nayeli and her friends.

What I like about this story is that it's such a simple idea, and how that idea is carried out is what really makes it a story. Nayeli is a strong young woman, but you realize she's also very sheltered. It's common as a citizen of one country to view other counties as a whole; the entire place is foreign to you, so you forget it has its own regional, cultural, and political differences. To the residents of Tres Camarones, the northern city of Tijuana is like a completely different country; it's like someone from a small Montana town suddenly navigating their way through New York City. This is what was exciting to read in Into the Beautiful North—considering those regional differences you forget, or don't realize, exist. Nayeli feels like a foreigner in her own country, but her personality won't let that be a hindrance. She is on a mission, and she will succeed.

This is just the type of book I like the read and recommend to others, because it broadens your own horizons and shows you a different perspective. Into the Beautiful North proves that doesn't have to be done in a serious way, either. This book is full of entertaining characters pursuing a mission, and having an adventure on the way.

Book Tour: The Mermaid of Brooklyn

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Thu, 18 Apr 2013 13:15:00 +0000

If I was planning on having children anytime in the near future (disclaimer: I am not), Amy Shearn's The Mermaid of Brooklyn would make me seriously rethink that decision. And, actually, is making me reconsider having children ever.

The story's main character, Jenny Lipkin, is one of those Park Slope stereotypes that most of New York City usually speaks of with disdain. (That's my characterization, because that is how it is in real life.) She was a successful magazine editor who just decided to give up her career to have kids and stay home and raise them. Thus she becomes part of the Park Slope Bubble, spending days within a 5 block radius of home, where neighborhood politics gain a little too much importance—it's almost like high school again, stuck in this small insular community where the smallest gossip inevitably gets blown out of proportion because there is nothing better to do and this small world becomes your ENTIRE LIFE and you think everything else in the neighborhood, in the CITY, revolves around you.

Ok, so now do you understand the type of world Jenny's living in?

On top of that, her husband went out for cigarettes one night and just never came back. So now Jenny's stuck with two small children, her only support system being in-laws that she's never felt completely welcome around and her best mom-friend in the neighborhood. Jenny also appears to have a history with post-partum depression, though it's never overtly identified or explored. When Jenny's driven to the edge, she does the unthinkable and jumps off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Except she survives. And when floating there under the waters of the East River (gross), her body becomes inhabited by a mermaid that brings her back to life, puts her on a train back to Park Slope, and helps Jenny put her life back together. But this mermaid bit isn't really the main point of the story—don't worry, it's not that much fantasy. It's more about the situation Jenny is faced with and how she copes.

This was an odd book for someone my age and in my situation. I live in NYC and can understand Jenny's feeling of isolation 100%. I loved how she observed her own community with such a grain of salt, understanding "this place is ridiculous, but somehow I became a part of it and now it is my life." What I can't relate to, though, is the isolation that comes with having children. I'm sure it's one of those things you don't understand until you experience it, but Jenny frustrated me often because she was just so whiny, woe is me, no one understands my pain, self-absorbed. She focused on surviving but in the most noxious way possible, with a mentality of "I don't deserve this" rather than "I can get through this." For that, I failed to garner too much sympathy for her.

The pacing of this is slow as you become absorbed in Jenny's small little world. And as you read, you're left questioning the validity of much of the story. Did things happen? Is this all metaphorical? Does it even matter? Shearn has chosen an interesting way to tell a story that will connect with many readers—many mothers—who have probably felt very close to the edge one time or another. And so because I haven't felt that, I'm not totally sure what to take away from the end, if anything. Maybe someone who has been there, done that would finish the last page and say, "YES." But I was just sorta left with, "Okaaaaay...."

This would be a great book for a book club of ladies who can relate, because it has many discussion points. No issue is too obvious; they are presented subtly or somewhat hidden beneath layers. It would be a good one to explore with a group.

This post is a stop on The Mermaid of Brooklyn's TLC Book Tour! There will be many more fabulous bloggers posting their opinions in the next two weeks; the tour runs through May 3rd—visit the tour page to see the schedule and follow the discussion.

Fiction | Finding Freedom on the Open Road

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 19:48:00 +0000

Usually, as one deeply committed to the literary realm, I am disinclined to admit that I judge books by their cover. But this one I totally did. I absolutely fell in love with this cover, and that was my sole reason for picking it up.

Luckily, the actual story in Nina LaCour's The Disenchantments did not disappoint.

Colby and his best friend Bev have had a plan since they started high school. Upon graduation, they were putting college on hold and packing up to backpack through Europe instead. But not before their final farewell—a week-long tour with Bev's band, The Disenchanments, from San Francisco up the coast to Portland. The tour doesn't start so well, though, when Bev reveals to Colby that she's abandoning their plans to start college in the fall.

It's not so much Bev's abandonment of their plans, though Colby is mega-disappointed he won't be traipsing around Europe with his best friend. It's that he knows she has been lying to him for so long—long enough to apply, long enough to get accepted, and long enough to make plans—all while going on as if they're really heading to Europe after the tour.

It doesn't help that (of course) Colby is actually totally in love with Bev, making this situation 1,000 times worse for him.

The Disenchanments covers the week of that road trip, and it's a pretty delightful, optimistic experience. We experience the story through Colby's eyes, and he's clearly feeling a lot. Not just about Bev and the situation at hand; he's thinking all about friendships, relationships, love, and life—particularly, what exactly he's going to be doing with his once this road trip is done. All the interesting people they meet along the way—never too "out there" and never "too much" to feel contrived—are like pieces of the puzzle Colby is working on about his life.

The thing I liked most about this book is like what I said about the characters not feeling contrived. It never felt like the author was trying to hard to make a statement about life and uncertainty and the freedom that comes after high school. For example, you'd think that, being on tour and all, The Disenchantments would have a following. But in reality, they kinda suck. And Colby knows it. And everyone who listens to them knows it. And the band members themselves probably know it. But they don't care. They like to play, so they do. It would've felt too phony if, on top of everything else, the band was actually amazing. Instead, I think it provided this amazing message about originality in a tone that didn't take itself too seriously. It felt authentic.

Overall, it made me want that exhilarating feeling of uncertainty when you have nothing but freedom before you—both on the road and in life.

Nonfiction | Under a Watchful Regime

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Sat, 06 Apr 2013 20:01:00 +0000

I recently realized that it's been a long time since I've read any nonfiction, despite having an abundance of nonfiction titles on my to-read list. I've been wanting to read Barbara Demick's Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea after seeing it featured on several bookstores' shelves and sporadically running across interesting articles and photo series depicting life in the insular North Korea. Demick tells the narrative of life as a North Korean through the eyes of six defectors, covering the county's history from its split with the rest of the peninsula to the present day.

One of the first things I realized from this book was that Demick's writing style was going to be very easy to understand. She opens with a history of the Korean War and how, essentially, North Korea is all our fault. It was Americans that chose the dividing line, causing ideologies to flock to each pole—communism in the North, capitalism in the South. Overall, Demick's quick overview gave me a better understanding of the Korean conflict than AP US History did back in high school.

The second thing I realized from this book was I never knew I could feel so hungry.

Much of the narrative covers the North Korean famine of the 1990s. She went into great anecdotal detail of how her subjects had to scavenge for food, creatively finding ways to fill their stomachs. And how sadly, most of them didn't even realize that this wasn't normal. They were part of such a cult of worship, utterly trusting in their government and beloved leaders, that it was never even a consideration to blame the government. Many pages are filled with the day-to-day struggles North Koreans had to endure as they fought to survive even as an incredibly repressive regime watched their every move.

What's so interesting is how long these rules of society remained, despite the desperation—rules against personal relationships, voiced opinions, and outlawed media; all things that are trivial when you're literally fighting for your life. It's as if the government expected people to just not notice the hunger and go one with their daily lives.

There was, of course, a breaking point for many, and this led citizens to begin escaping to neighboring China or South Korea. The stories of these journeys are perhaps the most interesting part of the novel, as you learn the risks, sacrifices, and hardships along the way. What's even more interesting, though, is that the number of defectors is still an incredibly small portion of the North Korean population. There's something that is keeping many citizens where they are, and it's fascinating—and frightening—to think about the strength of this mental influence.

I thought Demick's narrative style was a compelling, though terrifying, way to tell the story, because you are put in these particular shoes, following their footsteps. I was flabbergasted with the realization that I was alive during this. Not just alive because I was alive when the Berlin Wall fell. But alive as a conscious and aware individual that had the capacity to learn and understand such a situation. It seems so recent for such a terrible atrocity. This was an easy to follow, though sometimes difficult to read, solid piece of nonfiction that illuminates a mind-boggling reality.

Sneak Peek: The Boy Who Was Raised by Librarians

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 14:28:00 +0000

Despite having been out of college for five years, my mom still occasionally sends me care packages of goodies since we still reside 800 miles apart. Usually, she's sending me something I've requested or that she's told me about, but she always fills the box with other little surprises.

In my most recent package containing some Target shoes I couldn't find at the crappy NYC Targets, she included this picture book—The Boy Who Was Raised by Librarians by Carla Morris, illustrated by Brad Sneed. She babysits my 2-year-old nephew twice a week, and library visits are part of their routine. Apparently, they were reading this one together, and she realized that it's my story and decided to share with me.

The Boy Who Was Raised by Librarians is about a boy named Melvin who grew up as a frequent library patron, bonding with the librarians as he researched for school projects, discovered new books to read, and attended library events. And who can guess what career path he chose by the end?? It's a cute story and a good tool for inspiring that library love all of us bookworms hope our future progeny possess! Just wanted to share with you all.

Revisiting Anne, Part 5: Anne's House of Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 18:55:00 +0000

In re-reading this series for the first time since late high school, I've realized something about the story of Anne: I like the movies better. I keep reading these books expecting to feel wrapped up in a big cozy blanket of daydreaming, romance, simplicity, and nostalgia for my first encounter with Anne. But really, I just keep feeling underwhelmed by the series; I guess my Anne love comes from the movies.

So yes, I said it. I'm citing this ONE TIME that I think the movie is better than the book. Perhaps it's just a case of preferring whichever was first experienced, but in the case of the book series, they're all starting to feel the same. Anne moves and meets new people; she loves them all; they all (eventually) love her.

In Anne's House of Dreams, Anne finally becomes Mrs. Blythe; Gilbert's finally a doctor; and the couple leaves their beloved Avonlea behind as Gilbert's job takes them elsewhere. They land in Four Winds Harbor, a small coastal town with its own set of notorious characters. Luckily for Anne, their first little home is exactly as she hoped it would be; it's their dream house, cozy and romantic with a wide open coastal view. Gilbert is away often, mending the sick and all, so Anne takes it upon herself to make friendly with the neighbors (because really, what else is there for her to do?). She meets Captain Jim, the lighthouse attendant blessed with the gift of storytelling; Miss Cornelia, who would be the outspoken match to Ms. Rachel Lynde but has a series bias against men (the phrase "isn't that like a man" was quickly retrieved from the depths of my 11th grade mind); and the tragic but beautiful Leslie Moore, a young woman with a dark past that Anne is determined to befriend.

It's lovely to meet new characters through Anne, because, though the pattern feels the same, it's just like meeting new people in real life; they all have their own stories to tell. My disappointment with the series doesn't lie in this aspect of the books; it's instead with the way Anne's story is going.

For one, I'm upset with the lack of Gilbert. He's not much more than "Anne's husband," occasionally present for a conversation, serving as a "voice of reason" to Anne's flightier ideas. But, even though this book celebrates their marriage and continuously mentions how "happy" they are, I don't see much evidence of that. They just don't interact very much.

I think my biggest issue is with the development of Anne herself. I was actually quite annoyed with things she said in this one, because her romanticism wasn't just optimism; it was selfishly upholding an ideal. (Spoiler details: she doesn't want Gilbert to suggest medical treatment that may improve the well-being of one character because it will make another's life less enjoyable. REALLY, ANNE?) Overall, she's predictable. She still has some of that old sense of daydreaming romanticism that's always been so refreshing and endearing, but it's also not adding anything new. She's lost a lot of her spunk from childhood...and I don't think that should disappear with age! A girl that had a penchant for writing, excelled in school, earned a college degree, and succeeded as a "working woman" is suddenly doing nothing with her time except keeping house and staying updated on local gossip? Now she's just a wife. Then a mother. The end. I can't believe it.

I still love the Anne stories for their well-drawn characters and quaint, nostalgic simplicity. But dare I say I prefer the Anne from the often-criticized movie #3 to this one?

The Idlewild Discussion on Mental Illness and Spanish Politics

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 18:50:00 +0000

Right smack dab in between reading The Angel's Game and The Prisoner of Heaven, I read another book set in war-torn Barcelona for my book club—Carmen Laforet's Nada. [I'm done with reading about Barcelona for a while now.] Deemed "one of the most important literary works of post-Civil War Spain" and "one of the great novels of twentieth-century Europe," Nada is the story of an orphan, Andrea, who leaves her small town to attend university in the big, glitzy Barcelona. There, she's housed by poverty-stricken relatives that she only remembers from much brighter days gone past.

Okay. "Great novel of twentieth-century Europe" is quite the acclaim for this fairly simple story. In fact, it left us wondering from where this praise came—and to what exactly it was being compared. The author wrote this book when she was in her early twenties, and it sometimes suffered from what book club members called "writer's workshop syndrome." As in, that sentence sounds like it came from Creative Writing 101. I can't say I really noticed that throughout; I think I took this book at face value and didn't analyze it too much. I didn't love it, didn't hate it. I didn't think it remarkable, but didn't think it had anything too worthy of criticism.

Mario Vargas Llosa penned the book's introduction, and somewhere in there, he described this story as one that is plagued with sadness throughout (not his exact words, just to that effect). So naturally, I entered this believing, "Oh god, 270 pages of depression. Can't wait." But in actuality, I didn't read it that way at all. I'll give you a bit of background to explain why.

When Andrea arrives at her new home, she joins a family that is suffering from a lack of funds. In a nutshell, there's no money and conditions are dismal at best. And then you have the family itself. There's grandmother, the matriarch, who is old and feeble but always trying to take care of others. Her two sons who, post-war, have wandered off the path of ever being productive members of society; now they're just violent or sullen or confused, but grandma will never deem them anything except her "wonderful boys." You have Gloria, one brother's wife, who has some awkward relationship with the other brother but constantly suffers at the violent hand of her husband (though, of course, grandma still thinks she's great). And then there's one of grandma's daughters, who is possessive and manipulating and more than a little bit nuts. Actually, they are all nuts. I think that, really, in the most serious way, the entire family is suffering from various mental illnesses.

So you see how that dismal setting can foster an overall tone of despair. What gives light to the story, though, is Andrea. After reading the intro and the setting into which she had entered, I was afraid Andrea was going to end up mentally and emotionally weak, almost manipulated to a point of submission. That's not the case at all, though. Andrea is a strong character, and through her telling of the story, you get the feeling she's telling it with a bit of an eye roll and a tone that says, "My god, look at these crazy people I had to put up with." I actually read this story with a bit of humor. Much of that tone may come from the perspective—that Andrea's character is "looking back" on this part of her life, though that also makes you wonder how much is truth and how much is reflective exaggeration.

This story takes place in a post-Civil War Barcelona, which is somewhat described through the characters and their situations, but without a working knowledge of post-war society, it just spawned a lot of questions. Like, were these extremes we saw just norms of the time? The poverty, the domestic violence, the gap between rich and poor—were these all understood by readers at the time, making this just a story rather than a statement about a particular moment? So many characters are stuck in the past, or rather, defined by the past. But to them, it's recent; it's just life. To us, it's a reflection of a much broader history—social, economic, and political.

Despite this being a longer-than-usual post, it was actually our shortest book club discussion on record. It just felt rather straightforward. Not bad. Just simple. So like I said before, "great novel" may be somewhat of an overstatement, at least from our perspective.

Book Tour: The Prisoner of Heaven

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 13:01:00 +0000

As I mentioned last week, I was super excited to join a book tour of the latest in Carlos Ruiz Zafón's "Cemetery of Forgotten Books" series, The Prisoner of Heaven. So much so that I sped read through its predecessor, The Angel's Game, in about three days so that I'd be sure to be all caught up in time to read this one (which was, luckily for times' sake, about half the size of the first two in the series).

So, follow along with me on the timeline through Zafón's series. In The Shadow of the Wind, we're in a post-Civil War Barcelona where we meet characters whose pasts were made colorful by influence of the war. Jump to The Angel's Game and we're pre-war and with new characters, only encountering those we know in a time before the experiences we've shared. Now, in The Prisoner of Heaven, we hop back and forth, gaining a prologue to some characters we know and an epilogue to others.

This story follows Fermín, a colorful character from The Shadow of the Wind with an unending loyalty to the Sempere family and a troubled but mostly unknown past. We know he spent time in prison during the war, and when a stranger from Fermín's past shows up at the bookstore and leaves him visibly anxious, Daniel drags out all the dark details. Unfortunately, Daniel never expected Fermín's story to overlap with his own, revealing a very upsetting truth about his own family.

The Prisoner of Heaven has quite a different feel from the first two. Though it features the same characters we've met and the same mysteries we've followed, it feels more like a respite from the tense action of its predecessors. You can just look at its small size and figure out it won't feature the same type of expansive, winding plot. Instead, this is the book that links the first two together. It lacks the lingering, intense uncertainty that gave the first two such an eerie tone. Despite the simpler plot, you get the feeling that, in this one, Zafón is giving us important information to continue story.

I don't think this is a standalone novel to the same extent as the first two (and I know I keep comparing them, but because I see this one as a bridge between the previous two, I can't help it), though I do think you can read them out of order. Zafón hops around in time from book to book, creating a story that isn't dependent on proper chronology. It's a wonderful structure; because there are no linear restrictions, Zafón can take the story any place he can imagine. You're kept constantly guessing where the story is going to go. However, it's still an enjoyable story that gives more insight to a delightful character, and it's a must if you're already invested in the series. (Hint hint: go read them if you haven't!)

This post is a stop on The Prisoner of Heaven's TLC Book Tour to celebrate its paperback release. And you're in luck, because the tour has just started!

There will be many more fabulous bloggers posting their opinions in the coming weeks; the tour runs through April 11—visit the tour page to see the schedule and follow the discussion.

Fiction | The Volatile Underbelly of Cheer Squad

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 19:12:00 +0000

Where'd that world go, that world when you're a kid, and now I can't remember noticing anything, not the smell of the leaves or the sharp curl of a dried maple on your ankle, walking? I live in cars now, and in my own bedroom, the windows sealed shut, my mouth to my phone, hand slick around its neon jelly case, face closed to the world, heart closed to everything.

Megan Abbott's Dare Me is really a deceiving novel. The cover looks very YA. The plot summary sounds very YA. But when you read it, you find it's not really YA.

Dare Me is about a high school cheer squad, which sounds kind of basic, but it's much more intense than you would think. For Addy Hanlon, through whose eyes we experience the story, cheer is what defines her. She's always been more of a right-hand man, taking the backseat to her best friend Beth—the unofficial leader of this pack. It's Junior year now, and this is always the ways things have been. When a new cheer coach arrives and shakes up the regime, though, nothing is like it once was. The rules and hierarchies that were established have been unsettled, and everyone is grasping for a new identity.

Or, trying to hang on to their old one.

Amidst the everyday, incessant back-stabbing of teenage girls, a bigger situation is also suddenly on hand. Coach gets wrapped up in the police investigation of an apparent suicide, and the girls—and particular Addy—are left questioning the truth and where their loyalties lie.

Initially, Dare Me reminded me a lot of The Virgin Suicides because it's got this distant, unattached perspective, despite being told through first-person eyes. The perspective is so conflicting with the actual voice, and you realize that, for most of the book, you actually know nothing about these girls; you only see the effect of their relationships with each other, not how their behaviors stem from their own individual personalities.

These characters essentially personify everything you fear about "teenage girls" as an entity; Abbott's abrupt writing fosters a cold, caustic setting where relationships feel empty and characters feel desperate. This isn't mean to sound negative by any means, though; Abbott's use of language and interaction is incredibly creative, creating a world that feels like the harsh reality of a typically superficial, bubblegum stereotype. The language is acerbic, sharp, and sexually-charged, simultaneously holding you at a distance from these characters and their motivations while overall sucking you into its simmering plot.

The more I think about this one, the more I like it, because it possessed a voice and perspective that was refreshingly new. Very enjoyable.

Fiction | Murder and Mayhem in Barcelona

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 17:16:00 +0000

Carlos Ruiz Zafón's The Shadow of the Wind was hands-down one of the best books I read last year, and it wasn't until I posted about it that I learned there were more titles in this short series. I was given the opportunity to read the third in the series for an upcoming book tour (coming soon!), so I decided I must quickly get my hands on the second—there is just too much wonderful detail in these stories to even consider skipping it!

The Angel's Game is the second title in Zafón's "Cemetery of Forgotten Books" series, though it's only loosely based on the first. The setting is the same, and a couple characters overlap, but for the most part, we're taken on a new journey through pre-Civil War Barcelona.

In The Angel's Game we meet David Martín, a writer who has been penning silly but bestselling murder mysteries under a pseudonym, though this, he feels, is not his life's calling. His life feels at a standstill—trapped in a writing contract he doesn't want, unloved by the woman he loves. When a letter arrives from a mysterious French publisher, he's given the opportunity to write a real manuscript of substance—one that has the "power to change hearts and minds." But when David finds himself at the center of a number of unfortunate events, he begins to fear what he got himself into...and he's learning he can't easily escape. David finds himself mixed up into a decades-long suspicious death, the mysterious history of the abandoned mansion he calls home, and an editor who may not be what he seems.

I'm very glad that I read The Shadow of the Wind a year ago, so that the details are not fresh on my mind, because I wouldn't want to compare these two books. Their settings are so similar, but they each deserve to be judged on their own individual merits. The Angel's Game is much darker in tone and reads much like a murder mystery though it still contains the great elements of magical realism that make Zafón's Barcelona such an eerie, mysterious setting. I found this to be uberly creepy and utterly intoxicating, and despite its 500+ pages, I absolutely blew through it.

David is a character that you love to follow, and at certain points in the story I would stop and think, "Wow, this has come so far from the book's opening chapters. How did we get get here?" He seems to just be a guy getting caught up in what's happening around him, and while you want to be on his side, sometimes you as the reader are not quite sure what is real and what isn't. Actually, for a good portion of this book, I had this deep-set fear that it was going to end up like The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, a book I so enjoyed reading and then ended up despising, because nothing ever happened; it was just a plot with no point, no resolution—details but no real narrative. Luckily, Zafón did not disappoint like Murakami. And though you do question the validity of what is happening, at a certain point, you just don't care and you go with it.

Wonderful. Can't wait to read the next.

Fiction | The Case of Poor Mr. Collicut

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Mon, 04 Mar 2013 16:34:00 +0000

I flipped on the switch marked "Shuddering Sobs," but nothing came.

Damnation! I used to be a dab hand at water on demand. What on earth was happening to me? Was I becoming hardened? Was this what being twelve was going to be like?

Speaking from Among the Bones is Alan Bradley's fifth installment in the Flavia de Luce mystery series. If you haven't picked up one in this series yet, I strongly urge you to do so. Flavia returns, still the ever-precocious 11-year-old chemistry-loving super sleuth. (Read more about books 1, 2, 3, and 4.)

In this installment, Bishop's Lacey is preparing to open the tomb for the 500th anniversary of the death of its patron saint, St. Tancred. When Flavia gets a sneak peek inside the tomb, though, she finds something a bit disturbing. It appears St. Tancred's tomb has already been opened—and inside is the body of the church's missing organist, Mr. Collicut. Of course, Flavia hops right on the case, following in own investigation that leads to hidden tunnels and rooms underneath the church graveyard. Could this be the same path used by poor Mr. Collicut's murderers?

On top of all this murder mayhem, Flavia is also dealing with another sizable mystery: what is to become of Buckshaw? It was a dark day when the For Sale sign went up on the lawn, and suddenly that sign has disappeared. Is this the end of Flavia's world as she knows it?

In contrast to some of the earlier Flavia de Luce mysteries, Speaking from Among the Bones hops right into the story with very little down time before the mystery begins. Character development progresses slowly through the series, but there is some there. This one seems to me to feature Flavia more independently than previous ones, and interactions with her sisters and father seem to take a back seat to Flavia's experiences out on her own. She continues to mature (evidenced by her humorous ponderings and discoveries as quoted above), seemingly ever-so-slowly until you realize that the past five mysteries have all taken place in the span of about a year and a half. (Gee, that is a lot of murder happening in one small town!)

These books are, for the most part, episodic and can be read non-sequentially. There are bits and pieces, though, that refer to earlier storylines (many of which, I must admit, I actually don't remember and thus don't completely understand the significance of the reference), and you may be more fulfilled reading them in order. If you've been following this series, you'll especially be delighted by a surprise twist at the very very end! Again, I will be looking forward to the next.

Fiction | All of London That's Fit to Print

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 00:13:00 +0000

Ever since I read Edward Rutherfurd's New York: The Novel a couple years ago, I've been slowly stockpiling Rutherfurd's other works, anticipating an opportunity with oodles of time to devote to his sweeping historical narratives. Over my Christmas break from grad school, I finally picked up London, which I opted for over Sarum simply because my copy of Sarum is a gigantic brick of a hardcover that I did not want to carry around.

Rutherfurd's structure and style is just the same as I'd experienced; he follows the lineage of several families through hundreds of years, each chapter acting as a portal into any specific moment in history. London spans from the early Roman days of Julius Caesar through the late twentieth century, and we see a city grow from humble beginnings to a bustling metropolis with an incredibly thick and colorful history.

I loved New York because I felt such a strong sense of place. Beyond the fact that I live in New York and thus was immediately familiar with any location in the story, at any given moment you could see how characters were simultaneously shaping their world and being defined by the world around them. It was a delicate balance of character and setting that worked so well.

London did not work for me in the same way. I felt the setting was far less important, and I didn't feel the same strong sense of place; it was often hard to remember we were in London. The story was more focused on the characters as independent of their setting, which was disappointing—I wanted to learn more about the evolution of London (a city of which I am very familiar having studied abroad there), and I felt that aspect was lacking. Though the novel does carry you through some of the most important moments in the city's development, the city itself just seemed like background. London covers such a greater span of time than New York—2,000 years as opposed to a mere 400—which may have had something to do with it; transitions between chapters often jumped so far in time that you lost your sense of place. It felt much more a collection of separate stories than one continuous, flowing narrative. It also made it very difficult to follow the characters and their ancestries as time passed. In New York, I was constantly aware of family histories as we jumped chapter to chapter, but here I just completely lost track (though there is a helpful family tree printed at the beginning of the book). Overall, I felt disconnected from the city itself, as if these characters could have existed anywhere and behaved much the same way.

It's difficult to get into much more detail about this book, just because it contains so much. My favorite parts to read about a place's history are always about its earliest days—what life was like when such a huge city was just a tiny settlement and how the people living there survived day to day. It's exciting to imagine a well-known place as it once was, a setting that would be completely unrecognizable. London does provide this fictionalized history of its namesake, and it's a style that Rutherfurd is very good at writing. I won't hop into another one of his for a while (this one took me FOREVER to finish), but I won't write him off because of this one, either. Many Goodreads members seem to have the same thoughts I do, encouraging me to give Sarum and Russka both a try.

Fiction | How Suicide Saved Zeke Cooper

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 21:06:00 +0000

As a Nashville native, I'm a sucker for any book with "Tennessee" in the title. This book's cover image also didn't hurt its chances that I would pick it up.

I grabbed Amy Franklin-Willis' The Lost Saints of Tennessee last year at PLA for both of the reasons listed above. The booth attendant also gave it a glowing recommendation. The story opens with 42-year-old Zeke ready to leave his hometown behind and eventually end his own life. There's a lot we don't know about Zeke, but we see little snippets that indicate there's way more to him—we just have to discover it.

Well, Zeke gets cold feet with the suicide plan, though unfortunately just after he fed his old loyal canine companion enough pills for successful murder-suicide pact—resulting in an emergency visit to the vet to pump pup's stomach. (Don't worry, he survives.) After this brush with death, Zeke decides to escape for a bit and returns some cousins' farm in Virginia that he hasn't visited since living there in college, twenty years earlier.

Here's what we know about Zeke: he's recently divorced, and his wife has remarried; he has two daughters, one of which, at this point, mostly hates him; his brother Carter died in a tragic incident over ten years prior; Carter was Zeke's best friend. All the back story is what we discover as we read. The novel is divided in a handful of parts, alternating between Zeke's perspective and his mother Lillian's perspective. We learn about the experiences and incidents that shaped both of these characters and influenced their decisions—and how those decisions had an affect on each other, often through miscommunications and misunderstandings. The Lost Saints of Tennessee isn't all about being trapped in the past, though; Zeke looks at his past experiences to help him start afresh, accept his life, and rebuild relationships.

I thought this was a great, uncomplicated read. It deals with some heavy situations, but they're never too bleak or burdensome. Zeke's story is more enjoyable to follow, because it ends up extending beyond just Zeke; his life involves those around him, which is what he eventually discovers gives his own life purpose and meaning. A good read for fans of family stories, characters with a history, and Southern lit. Steady-paced with heavy themes and an uplifting tone.

Fiction | Tales from the Typing Pool

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 15:39:00 +0000

On February 14, 1953, Valentine's Day, Caroline Bender received a dozen long-stemmed red roses from Paul Landis with a humorous card. Mary Agnes Russo received a box of chocolates in a heart-shaped red box trimmed with white paper lace from her fiance Bill. Gregg Adams didn't know it was Valentine's Day because she had a hang-over and she was trying to revive herself sufficiently to attend a general audition for the ingenue lead in a forthcoming Broadway play, a role requiring a girl with clear eyes and a winningly fresh face. Barbara Lemont stopped on her way to work to buy some heart-shaped candies for her daughter Hillary. And April Morrison fainted on the sidewalk in front of Rockefeller Plaza.

Rona Jaffe's The Best of Everything is sort of considered a best-selling classic. I read it once back in high school when it had a first "resurgence" as a readalike for fans of Sex and the City—independent women surviving in the big city...ok, I can see it. It's had a more recent second resurgence as a readalike for Mad Men—different appeal factor (historical setting) but still relevant. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was reminded of this book by a Mad Men list on NPR long ago, but it actually took NINE MONTHS of waiting on the NYPL hold queue to finally get this book. (Note to NYPL: consider purchasing additional copies, also because the single one in your system is completely falling apart.)

Though I had read this before, I remembered nothing from it except that I was pretty sure I liked it the first time around. The Best of Everything is set in 1950s New York City and focuses on the often-overlapping lives of five young women. They can all be considered "modern" women, because they're in their early- to mid-twenties...and not married. They've chosen, for one reason or another, to join the work force, and it is that one you often see on Mad Men—secretaries in typing pools. In this case, it's a publishing house that bring these girls together.

What really gives the characters some depth is that they're going against the grain for women of the era. but they're not necessarily okay with it. For some, it's not so much a choice to be single and working, rather a necessity—or at least a natural consequence—of some past experience. Caroline's fiance broke off their engagement; Barbara has divorced her husband and is raising their young daughter. While being a single girl in the city is beyond common—maybe even the standard—in today's society, all of these characters are experiencing life at a time when the norms are changing but haven't quite changed yet. There's a lot of conflict and tension you can feel between these girls and the world they live in. They're not quite sure where they fit in, and you, the reader, start to feel a little out of place as well.

However, don't get the impression that all of these characters are all strong, independent women that deserve resounding applause. Sometimes, they are terrible. And pathetic. And you want to yell at them because they're actually taking a step backwards for women everywhere. But one of the fascinating things about this book is how relatable it can be. In this regard, it is sort of like Sex and the City, because something that someone does is probably going to strike a chord. As Jaffe was writing this, she shared pages with girls like her characters who were dying to read more, because finally, this was a story that felt true to their own lives.

So while you can finish this and say, "Thank god I don't have to live in a world with such expectations," the relationships, the loneliness, the uncertainties, and conflict between self and society—and all the emotions involved in finding one's place—are still there. And you realize, there are more commonalities than you may want to admit!

YA Reading, Round 11: Romance

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 15:42:00 +0000

This is it guys—THIS IS IT! This is the last YA Reading post, concluding my semester-long review of the YA books I read for my YA materials class in the fall. I have to say, though—while I am enjoying now getting to read what I want, my reading count has dropped drastically since I no longer have to cram in 3-4 books a week!

After all the sci-fi and adventure, I was really happy with the concluding genre of this class—romance! Finally! Light-hearted, cheesy, teenage angsty puppy love!

Sarah Dessen is very well known in the YA community, but Along for the Ride was my first encounter with her (not counting one day when a food truck outside of the Union Square Barnes & Noble was giving out free cupcakes in promotion of her then-newest book). In Along for the Ride, Auden is a quiet, somewhat haughty intellectual teen spending the summer with her dad and his new family in their quaint little beach town. Auden's new stepmom is the exact opposite of the motherly figure Auden is used to. Where Auden's mom is a serious feminist academic, Heidi owns a fashion boutique drowning in pink. Auden has put herself in an environment that is the opposite of everything she's used to, and has usually judged with disdain, but the new environment is healthy; her summer experience is sort of opening her eyes to all she's missed out on as a teenager—crushes, girlfriends, summer jobs, parties, etc. After befriending Eli, a fellow insomniac loner, Auden begins a quest to live like a teenager and open herself up to new experiences.

This is just the kind of book I would have loved as a teenager (ok, yes...and still as a 27-year-old). It's a realistic story, with characters who are just learning from their experiences and trying to figure themselves out. Sort of made me miss the teen years. (Am I the only one that ever misses high school?) I get the feeling that Dessen's books are fairly formulaic (feel free to refute if this is an incorrect assumption), but this can be good for many readers—easy to recommend their next read!

Ni-Ni Simone is an author who seems to have a similar repertoire as Dessen, but I guess she's the more "urban" voice, as publishing defines "urban" (really, it's just a racial/cultural difference). In Upgrade U, Seven has just started freshman year at Stiles University. Her roommate situation is great—her best friend Shae and new friend Khya; and her high school boyfriend Josiah is already a hot man on campus. Seven quickly learns, though, that college is not high school; life changes and people change. Her friendships are tested, and she's starting to wonder if she can trust Josiah when she sees the same girl constantly hanging around him. The introduction of a hot new stranger, Zaire, leaves Seven questioning if what she has is what she wants of if it's time to move on.

Hey, I liked this one too. Same kind of story format as Along for the Ride—simple, character-driven story that teens can really relate to. I think Upgrade U addresses that really awkward and emotional transition from high school to life after high school when you're not really sure who you are or where you should be. The dynamic between Seven and her roommates was the most enjoyable part. Like Dessen's books, if a teen likes this, the author has many more to read.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green is one everyone has read by now, right? A lot of our class discussion on this book revolved around how you would describe, or pitch, this book to a teen. You don't want to open with, "Well, it's about two kids who have cancer..." because who wants to read a book about cancer? Guaranteed depression. Here's essentially what we came up with: "Hazel and Augustus have a lot of similarities: they feel like outsiders, and they both really want to experience life and love. Their meeting begins a journey of discovery and experience, exactly as both had wished. Oh, and they both have cancer."

I was expecting to read this one with more judgment than I could just because I'm usually that jerk that doesn't want to like what everyone else does. But, I actually really liked this one. It wasn't sappy; it wasn't contrived; it wasn't garnering sympathy by dealing with the big Cancer. Hazel hated cancer sympathy, and that attitude carried throughout the rest of the story. The two teens in the story have had to face more serious questions than most teens, but they're still relatable to anyone—the feeling of isolation and loneliness and the desperate hope that you'll find someone who just gets you. So yes, while it's a book that has cancer in it, it's not about cancer. Clearly the teens approve.

Revisiting Anne, Part 4: Anne of Windy Poplars

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 03:41:00 +0000

From what I remember of my high school reading of the Anne series, book four, Anne of Windy Poplars, is the most unique in style. At this point in Anne's life, she has finished college and is working as the principal of Summerside High School, living in a quaint, cozy house with a couple of quirky old widows. She's finally engaged to Gilbert who is a medical student in Kingsport. Anne of Windy Poplars starts as a series of letters from Anne to Gilbert during their three-year courtship apart. The voice switches back and forth between Anne's letters and the third-person narrative we're used to in the Anne books.

If you've seen the Anne of Avonlea movie, a good deal of the plot is taken from this book. Anne, as principal, finds herself up against the influential Pringle family that seems to own the way of the town. For the first time in Anne's life, she's up against folks that definitely could not be considered "kindred spirits." They give no reason for disliking Anne; they just don't like her. And she doesn't understand that. So Anne is having her first brush with an attitude that resides outside of her optimistic fantasy-world. (Granted, it seems to happen a little late in life for her. In reality, that's called adolescence!) It's just the next step in Anne's journey as she becomes a part of the world around her. Her world has been expanding throughout these four books, but this one has little connection to her comforts of home. (Never fear...Anne, of course, eventually wins them over as usual.)

This book, to me, feels a lot like Anne of Avonlea. You have your usual cast of quirky characters, while Anne faces challenges and naturally solves their problems; and the plot feels very episodic as she's sharing snippets of life with Gilbert through her letters. I enjoyed this one more than Anne of Avonlea, but it's almost to the point where Anne just seems too perfect for words. Aside from the episode with the Pringles (which is resolved in the first half of the book anyway), everyone worships Anne. Everyone loves her and she solves everyone's problems. She almost doesn't seem very realistic anymore; she's described more akin to a saint than a human being! I find that frustrating after I spoke so highly of her character development in Anne of the Island. (Though I do still like the Katherine Brooke story.)

A little investigation tells me that this book was, in fact, written much later than the rest of the Anne stories, which perhaps explains the feeling that it's simply filling in some of the gaps of time between the big events in Anne's life with small, inconsequential anecdotes. (Book six, Anne of Ingleside, was actually the last one published, 31 years after Anne of Green Gables. I'll have to keep that in mind and see if that's obvious.) Ultimately, though, I guess these little episodes aren't completely inconsequential because it's the experiences that define the person. I just hope in the proceeding books, she's painted as a bit more realistic person.

YA Reading, Round 10: Sci-Fi

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 14:17:00 +0000

This is one genre I definitely thought would be the least interesting, but it actually turned out to be one of my favorite weeks of reading. I really enjoyed these two books, but I'm still don't think I can apply that reaction to all of sci-fi. Maybe it's only coincidence that I happened to like both of these, so I'm going to say jury's still out on me and sci-fi...

Scott Westerfeld is the author of a few well-known YA series, Leviathan being one of them. The series is steampunk in aesthetic, taking place in a semi-fictional society leading up to World War I. A lot of the history is there—the leaders of the Austro-Hungarian Empire have been murdered, but its prince has escaped and is on the run. Meanwhile, Britain's Air Service has an intruder—Deryn is our heroine, disguised as a boy, because all she wants to do is fly...and she's brilliant at it. Naturally, our two protagonists meet and are thrown into an adventure as the world itself is on the verge of chaos.

There's no Allies versus Central Power in this war; rather it's the Austro-Hungarian/German Clankers, with their mighty steam-powered iron machines, versus the British Darwinists, who have employed fabricated animals to do a machine's work. This is what's so fascinating about this book—it takes these schools of thought from a real point in history and just runs with them, creating this big what-if scenario. It's based on enough factual history to keep the reader feeling realistically connected to this fictional world, but it let's imagination run free to consider a new way of thinking. Leviathan is the first in a trio, and I, myself, can't wait to keep reading, because this one ends without much resolution.

Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi is definitely not a book I would have thought I'd like. Even for the first couple of chapters I wanted to put it down, because it starts off a bit slow. Ship Breaker is dystopian in style and is set in the Gulf Coast region sometime in the future, when hurricanes have pounded the area to the point that cities have been ruined and civilization is primitive at its best. Nailer, our main character, is a light crew worker, meaning he hops aboard shipwrecked boats and oil tankers, stripping them for copper wiring to make quota. This is the work-driven society he lives in—just trying to survive, scrapping metal for an unknown boss somewhere up the line, wishing and hoping for his big break.

By chance, Nailer may have hit his jackpot when he finds a beautiful clipper ship (essentially, a yacht) beached by a recent hurricane. As he hops on board, he finds the entire crew killed...except for a beautiful, wealthy girl who may be worth more to him dead than alive. This is where the character of Nailer really begins to shine, showing signs of humanity, as he becomes a person rather than just a scavenger like the rest of them. Ship Breaker is an adventure with a main character who faces a moral dilemma, and the reader is presented with scenarios that demand consideration.

One of my favorite things is the descriptions of the world "as it was," or, as it currently is now. Reading a fictional future that so clearly links to the past makes you feel, as I mentioned above, so connected to the story and setting. This book is also the first in a series, though so far, there are only two. Recommended to dystopian fans or readers looking for adventure or uncertainty.

Nonfiction | One funny girl

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 03:23:00 +0000

Fact about myself: my childhood was filled with hours upon hours of Nick at Nite, and I fully credit them with my extensive knowledge of retro TV shows, often singling me out amongst my peers as the one who "knows all this old stuff." Among my childhood favorites: Happy Days, I Love Lucy, Mary Tyler Moore, and Laverne & Shirley.

This, I believe, is the reason that Penny Marshall's memoir, My Mother Was Nuts, ended up in my NYPL hold queue. I must've read about it on NPR or something, and months later, it finally landed at my library for pick-up.

First of all, I have to say, Penny Marshall and her brother Garry Marshall are two people that just pop up everywhere. I remember them being two of the first actors that I started to recognize here and there—the most notable childhood reference obviously being their Hocus Pocus cameo. But, to tell you the truth, I have never known much about them. (As a kid, I remember thinking they were married, because that's the relationship between all men and women who are always together and share a last name, right?)

From what I read in her book, Penny Marshall has actually done much more than I ever knew. Did you know she, in fact, directed both Big and A League of Their Own—-two movies on my all-time top 10 list? Because I sure didn't.

Penny's book starts out like most memoirs in which a person of fame is reflecting on their life--looking back to where it all started. Sometimes, that's kind of boring, depending on the person. And when you start to read, "I grew up in [blank] town with my [blank] siblings and a mother who [blank] a father who, God love him, never really [blank]," you just kind of suck in air and say, "Oh boy..." But Penny is funny. And she tells those stories about her loud dance instructor mother and quiet accountant father, and somehow, you're interested because she makes it so.

I really enjoyed My Mother Was Nuts much more than I expected to. I keep reading these celebrity memoirs, always hoping they will turn out like this one—not overly serious and with enough anecdotes and experiences that will entertain you, the reader, and not just the reminiscing author. I think about these in terms of storytelling; would the content of this book be good if she was telling me the stories over a beer? And yes. Yes, it would.

YA Reading, Round 9: Mystery/Horror

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 03:36:00 +0000

So, truth be told, I obviously finished my epic semester of YA back in December. But then you know how December is...things got busy. And I still have a few more genres to post about, so I'm just going to pretend like we're still going.

Two things I have to say about this group of books: 1) It wasn't my favorite week. I think there are stronger horror stories and mysteries out there; 2) During this week, I actually listened to an audiobook for the very first time. This may or may not have influenced my opinions.

When you take a look at the cover of The Killer's Cousin by Nancy Werlin, it's like a flashback to 1993. Seriously, this book looks on par with I Know What You Did Last Summer and similar other teen horror covers. And it sorta reads that way too. I mean, it's timeless...but in a dated way, if that makes sense. In the story, David is trying for the second time to get through his senior year. The year prior, he was on trial for his girlfriend's death, and now he's avoiding the frenzy by staying with his aunt and uncle who seem to hate each other. He's also got a creepy younger cousin, Lily, who is really trying hard to ruin his life. And then there's the ominous memory of his older cousin Kathy who died years ago, but something's not quite right about the story. In the case of this book, audio was not the way to go. The narrator was boring, making the story drag. And his "annoying little girl" voice actually made me cringe from awfulness. The ending was fairly predictable (once you're into the story, you'll figure out how the author was trying to be witty with the title of the book), but it wasn't terrible to get through. It's probably much better reading on paper than spending 6 hours listening to (seriously, could've finished it in about 2).

Andrew Smith's In the Path of Fallen Objects is a different story. Now this book is creepy. I also listened to this as an audiobook, and the narrator was better (though not great), and my only real complaint was that it lasted like 11 hours or something absurd. The story follows two brothers, Simon and Jonah, as they leave their home behind in Texas (which isn't much of a home since their absent mother left for good) to hunt down their older brother Matthew who supposedly returned to Arizona after leaving Vietnam (yes, this takes place in that era). Along the road, they're picked up by a couple of seemingly normal kids not much older than their 14 and 16. Mitch and Lilly are clearly running away from something, but they're laid-back enough that it seems okay. Well, it is not. Jonah quickly figures out that Mitch is a psycho. His new mission is just survival. Protect Simon and Lilly and get the hell away from Mitch. Naturally, it's not that easy, and Jonah is in for quite a battle. Most of this story is frightening and suspenseful, but it's actually got quite a bit more to it; family, trauma, relationships--survival in every sense of the word. As eerie as this story is, I quite enjoyed it.

The Final Four Mysteries are a series of sports stories by John Feinstein. They follow two young aspiring sportswriters, Stevie and Susan Carol, as they cover some of the biggest events in sports and inevitably solve a great mystery along the way. I read The Rivalry, which covers the annual showdown between Army and Navy football. This is the fifth in the series, but it's not totally necessary to read them in order; you just miss out on a bit of background on the characters. The story is light and easy to follow. Non-sports fans will probably be bored by this series, because there is a lot of jargon and detail. However, it's a good series for sports fans because they move fast with continuous actio, which make it a good series for boys and reluctant readers.

Hello? Are you there?

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 17:47:00 +0000

In case you haven't noticed ("you" being anyone out there who may or may not still be reading this little blog space on the Internet), the past few months have been swarmed with YA reading and lots of other generally busy busy things. In real life, my job has gotten busier than ever as we just keep releasing more and more material that I have to market. And, did you know that I am getting married in June? To Colin, one time contributor to the very blog you are reading.

So there are those things on top of all that reading. And though January–June are looking to be just as busy with wedding planning and thesis writing (ugh), I hope I can have a little more time to read as I like reading—to relax and drop off the earth into another world.

With the start of 2013, we're approaching this little blog's 4-year blogiversary. But in much of that time, thanks to many of the things mentioned above, I have almost completely dropped out of the bloggy community. And that saddens me. I don't have time to read what other people have to say, and not too many people seem to stop by here to say much of anything anymore either. And that is exactly opposite of why this was started in the first place. I wanted to encourage discussion, promote books I love (or don't love), and basically just talk about books with other book-minded folks.

So, dear readers, what do you like to hear about? Would you like me to shutup about YA books forever (I promise I won't bore you with them much longer)? Do I need to be reading whatever is the best-selling follow-up to 50 Shades of Scandal (just kidding, I'm not gonna hop on that bandwagon so quickly)?

What's your favorite thing to read about and explore? What gets you excited? What's going to make you sit up a little straighter in your chair with piqued interest?

But in the meantime, hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season and a great start to 2013. Happy reading!

YA Reading, Round 8: Action/Adventure

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 22:34:00 +0000

I distinctly remember 4th grade as being my biggest reading year as a child. We had a classroom library, and in addition to the books we read as a class, my teacher really encouraged independent reading for pleasure. I read such a variety of genres that year; I was really into the American Girl series and Gary Paulsen adventures AND Bruce Coville sci-fi comedies. This week's topic in my class, Action/Adventure, immediately took me back to those days of Gary Paulsen, and I loved it. This was the most fun week yet!

All of these stories are plot-driven and fast-paced. There's not a lot to think about—you just zoom through the story, hooked and wondering what happens next.

Will Hobbs' Crossing the Wire is about fifteen-year-old Victor's quest to cross the US–Mexican border so he can find work in the US to send money home to his mother and siblings. In Victor's world, there are many ways to cross the border, but all of them are risky. You could pay a smuggler to get you across, but Victor doesn't have that kind of money. Instead, Victor stows away on trains and trucks, hikes through the dessert, and encounters every potentially fatal extreme—scorching heat, freezing cold, hunger. And that doesn't even consider the people he meets along the way, never positive if they're out to hurt or help him. Victor is a character who just keeps pushing. He won't give up, and the story follows that same mentality—it's one thing after another, enough to keep the reader engrossed. One important thing to keep in mind is that this is a story to most kids/teens; they couldn't imagine it as their own struggle, but it's real life to many people trying to find a new life. Victor's story can put readers in someone else's shoes and consider what life is like across the wire. If your readers like this, Will Hobbs has written several more adventure books for YAs.

At the opening of Roland Smith's Peak, a teenage boy is arrested for climbing a New York City skyscraper. Ok. Think about that for a second. It only goes up (pun intended) from there. Our main character, aptly named Peak, has been climbing his whole life; it's in his genes. After his run-in with the law in New York, Peak heads overseas to stay with his father while things cool off back in New York. His father, by the way, runs a climbing company and his new mission for Peak is to get him to be the youngest climber to summit Mt. Everest...with his company. And Peak, despite knowing his father's selfish motives, is totally up for it. To say Everest is dangerous is an understatement. During Peak's climb, we learn about every slight misstep that is potential for disaster. Not only is the story full of action, it's also about Peak's relationship with his parents, making big decisions and sacrifices, and determining what's really important. There are so many details in this story to further explore—names and dates and places. Not gonna lie...as I was reading this, I was Googling the crap out of Mt. Everest. I'm too much of a chicken to have caught the climbing bug, but something like Everest is just too amazing to completely ignore.

Stormbreaker is the first book in Anthony Horowitz's Alex Rider series, and I dug it as a quick and thrilling ride. Fourteen-year-old Alex lives with his uncle in London until suddenly, beloved Uncle dies in a car crash. They claim he wasn't wearing a seat belt, but Alex knows that's not possible. Something's up. After his own investigations, Alex discovers his uncle was actually murdered and is, in fact, a spy for Britain's top intelligence agency. And now that Alex knows all this, he's essentially blackmailed into finishing his uncle's work. Suddenly, Alex is training with the toughest men in the country and weaseling his way into the circles that probably killed his uncle. Stormbreaker doesn't have much beyond action and adventure—only minimal moments of character introspection and growth—but it will attract a reluctant reader and excite those readers that want an on-the-surface thrill ride. And lucky for them, this is just the first in the (so far) 9-book series. (Also, there is apparently a movie.)

Revisiting Anne, Part 3: Anne of the Island

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 05 Dec 2012 00:35:00 +0000

Anne's world continues to expand with L.M. Montgomery's third in the series, Anne of the Island. After spending two years teaching in Avonlea, it's finally time for Anne to head to Kingsport to attend Redmond College. She's leaving her beloved Green Gables and her beloved best friend behind for a new adventure she's not so certain about.

But of course, it's Anne. She finds her niche, after a while, in a sweet and cozy little house with wonderful new friends and roommates. She excels in her "new life" away from the Island, while, of course, never letting it get too far out of sight or mind.

Anne, at heart, is a local girl, a homebody. She relishes in familiarity, surrounded by the people and places she holds dear; her nostalgia for these things only strengthen the bonds between Anne and the things she loves, finding comfort in the memories and associations she's created in Avonlea. Though this Anne is actually a great deal younger than me, I think this is the version of Anne I relate to most. Her level of contentment with things "as they are" is higher than most; and though she craves new adventures and new interactions, she has a tendency to fall back on the past if things get too new and unfamiliar.

This Anne seems to grow up quickly. It's her first real realization that one must grow up—the dreaming and scheming of childhood cannot last forever. But the lovely thing about Anne is that she disregards that standard. She sticks to her dreamy, romantic notions because she wants to. So while the story starts with an Anne who feels the pressure to "grow up," who you fear will lose her youthful optimism, four years pass at Redmond, and Anne grows just as we hoped she would—maintaining her childlike wonder and gaining a level of maturity simply by becoming self-aware, understanding what it means to grow up.

I enjoyed this one much more than Anne of Avonlea. I felt we really got to experience life with Anne, instead of viewing her life in brief snippets. As Anne starts to experience real things—like loss and friendship and figuring out if it's love or not—we get to see how she handles everything that comes at her. And it's exciting to follow this character as she encounters important points in her life and see how she responds...and if it fits with how you believe she is as a person. Anne is growing up, and though it's bittersweet, you're somehow confident she'll never really change.

My favorite thing about Anne has always been her ability to think about every situation, no matter how small. To look at it in the big picture, to truly appreciate it, to fully understand it, and to get as much out of it as she can. And then be able to present her thoughts in such a poignant, poetical way. Maybe it's just the author's voice, but I like to believe that's who Anne is.

"It has been a prosy day for us," she said thoughtfully, "but to some people it has been a wonderful day. Some one has been rapturously happy in it."

She felt very old and mature and wise—which showed how young she was. She told herself that she longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever. Where was it now—the glory and the dream?

There is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves—so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much everywhere in which to delight, and for which to be thankful.

She wondered if old dreams could haunt rooms—if, when one left forever the room where she had joyed and suffered and laughed and wept, something of her, intangible and invisible, yet nonetheless real, did not remain behind like a voiceful memory.

And L.M. Montgomery is a true fan of the em-dash. And I am such a fan of that. Also...Gilbert!!

YA Reading, Round 7: Fantasy

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 19:36:00 +0000

Normally, the fantasy genre is not really my thing. I like books grounded in reality. I like characters and situations I can relate to. But you know what? These picks surprised me. I didn't totally love them all, but I enjoyed them. And I found myself more engrossed in the stories than I would've imagined.

That's sorta the fun thing about this class—I'm forced to read things I would never pick up on my own. And that's usually my reading goal anyway! Maybe I haven't been doing that as well as I had thought...

I had recently added Anya's Ghost by Vera Brosgol to my own to-read list after I saw a write-up on it somewhere. I do really enjoy the graphic format, so I was pleased to be forced to get to it sooner rather than later. Anya is Russian but you'd hardly know that upon meeting her; she's purposefully lost the accent and turned herself into a typical American teenager. In fact, the first thing you notice about her is how moody and perpetually annoyed she seems—so typical. One day, in a huff, Anya falls down a well and discovers a ghost who's been trapped down there for almost 100 years. Once Anya makes it back above ground, she discovers the ghost has followed, and it actually turns out to be great to have a ghost as a best friend. She can help you cheat on tests and learn important info about the guy you're crushing on. But then Anya makes a discovery that her ghost may not be as good-intentioned as she thought.

Ultimately, Anya's Ghost is a simple story about a girl who feels like an outsider, who feels like she can't fully fit into the new world she's in, and who feels such pressure to change herself entirely to do so. The artwork is very easy to follow for a beginning graphic reader, and this story has a lot of different appeal factors—it's part paranormal, part mysterious, part multicultural, part coming-of-age. It's got a lot to offer.

I chose to read Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty because of its premise...and I liked it even though I soon realized that I had actually mis-read the premise a bit. I thought it involved time travel, and I thought, "Awesome! Time traveling from a whole other era!" Well...it is not about time travel. Just gonna throw that out there now.

The story is set in Victorian England, prior to the turn of the 20th-century. Gemma Doyle has grown up in colonial India and desperately wants to return to England. The tragic yet mysterious death of her mother gets Gemma her wish as she heads back to England for boarding school, the very same one her mother attended. Gemma doesn't make the trip alone, though; there's a mysterious stranger following her, one she recognizes from the confusing day in the market that lead to her mother's death. She's also started having visions that hint there is much more to the story than she thought—much more meaning magical realms and unthinkable evil, all of which can be released into Gemma's world, good and bad.

Gemma is an interesting character, because she doesn't feel like she belongs in any of the worlds she is in. The friendships she forms with classmates are wonderfully and realistically complex—self-serving and petty, yet demanding and utterly dependent. It's not too "high-fantasy" and therefore wouldn't be a turn-off to non-fantasy fans. It's also the first in a trilogy...which I will proceed to read as soon as this semester is over! I think it was the historical mystery aspect that got me.

Perhaps the most well-known from this set is Laini Taylor's Daughter of Smoke and Bone, also the first in a planned trilogy. My professor loves this book and hasn't stopped talking about it all semester, even prior to us reading it. This, though, was actually my least favorite of these three. The setting is simple enough—Karou lives in Prague and seems like an average teen in a normal world...at first. But Karou has a lot of secrets about her that she doesn't even have the answer to, most importantly—where is she from? She was raised by a demon and always a part of a fantastical world that has never seemed anything but normal. She runs errands for him, traveling all over the world in an instant, but she's never understood exactly why. And then she meets a stranger in a dark alley in Marrakesh, the beautiful Akiva who is just as mysterious as she is, and Karou figures there is a lot she needs to learn.

The reality Taylor painted for this story has a lot more complexity in terms of fantasy than any story I've read before. For some teens, it may be hard to completely grasp, especially if they're not usually fantasy readers, but once you grasp the norms of Karou's world, it's easier to follow. And it's satisfying to read how little pieces of the puzzle are slowly revealed as you learn more about Karou's world. Most people walk away from this book considering it a Romeo & Juliet type love story, but I think it's a lot more than that. It also has the universal themes like identity, love, and loyalty that are easier topics to understand and relate to. Teens (and adults) seem to loooooove this book, but it was just ok to me—didn't love it, but didn't dislike it either. I don't feel much drive to continue on in the series, but if a teen does, they'll be happy the story's not over yet!

YA Reading, Round 6: Multicultural

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Sun, 25 Nov 2012 20:50:00 +0000

I think teen readers will find Gene Luen Yang's American Born Chinese either incredibly wonderful or incredibly frustrating. Me? I'm just somewhere in the apathetic middle. This graphic novel is actually telling three stories simultaneously—the Monkey King's, a popular Chinese fable; Jin Wang's, the only Chinese-American in his new school; and Danny's, a popular teen whose life is being ruined by his grossly stereotypical Chinese cousin, Chin-Kee. The stories don't tie together until a twist at the very end, and this is the reason it may be frustrating to some readers. It's hard to see the point of all these stories until the end, and a reader may just give up. Or, a reader may love the format and be engrossed the entire time.

Ultimately, American Born Chinese is a story about identity and accepting who you are. On the whole, I just felt disconnected from it, which may have to do with both the format and the stories themselves. I felt sorta like Yang was writing this for someone particular in mind, or like he was intentionally being a bit cheeky in his storytelling. And my reaction was just, "Ok....and?" Maybe I just don't have enough of a personal, cultural connection to what the author was saying, but I felt like an outsider reading this; and a good book should connect you with the characters, no matter if you share a background or not. Its fast-paced, graphic style will be appealing for reluctant readers, but I'm not certain about its mass appeal to a YA audience.

In Secret Keeper by Mitali Perkins, Asha is sort of stuck in Calcutta with her mother and older sister, Reet. They're living with their in-laws while Baba (father) is finding a job in New York. And now they're just waiting...waiting to follow and waiting to resume their lives in a whole new world. Immediately, we see that this is a world with very strict tradition. Asha is an intelligent, independent, and athletic young girl, but her aunt, uncle, and grandmother don't approve of her usual tomboy behavior. Further, Reet is of marrying age, and though she's not ready for it, the family thinks it's time to find her a match (most likely to help the financial burden of three extra mouths to feed).

Asha and Reet are forced to grow up following rules of a society to which they are not accustomed. Suddenly, their opinions and independence don't seem to matter, and they find that the traditional rules of Calcutta are very limiting. Many readers may find the rules and injustices extreme, but these characters are representative of what many persons around the world have had or are still having to deal with. Many parts of the 1970s tumultuous Indian setting may not be relatable to a reader, but dealing with rules, making sacrifices, and finding one's place are universal themes. Good issues to think about and good topics for discussion.

The Sound of Munich by Suzanne Nelson is one title in the S.A.S.S. (Students Across the Seven Seas) series. It's not "multicultural literature" by its standard definition. The series follows American teen as they travel the world through a high school exchange program. The plots seem to be relatively simple, idyllic, and also pretty predictable—adventure, friendship, family, romance; in this one, Siena leaves her home in California to find the man in Germany who, decades ago, helped smuggle her father's family past the Berlin Wall. Naturally, this semester abroad opens Siena's eyes to new history, new people, and new ways of life.

Now you can see why this isn't exactly "multicultural" at its grittiest, but I like that this angle of "world literature" was included in our unit of study. A character like Siena is easily relatable—and maybe easier than a story written from a particular ethnic or cultural perspective. These books are like armchair travel; readers get to experience new places in a way that feels comfortable and easy to them. Yes, they're mostly lighthearted and pretty cheesy in that everything comes together perfectly, but they're still opening the reader's eyes to a new world. These are good intro books to multicultural literature, because maybe, if your interest was piqued by the setting you visited, you'll want to explore further. I'm sure they've been called sweet or lame or even awfully misrepresentative, but I probably would've eaten them up as a young teen.

I'm not going to say much about the last book I read for this unit, but it's too entertaining to exclude completely. Winners and Losers is one title in the Urban Underground series by Anne Schraff. The story follows seemingly Latino characters in a setting that, despite the Urban Underground theme, seems incredibly suburban. I feel like the author just had to throw in some key words like "barrio" with decidedly ethnically-named characters, and voila! You have urban fiction! Our class unanimously found this completely "un-urban" but maybe that doesn't matter, because, as one student pointed out, isn't a lot of adult "urban fiction" grounded in fantasy romance escapism? Anyway I guess the themes are still pretty universal, with human characters and all that. But for a good chuckle, can we just take a moment to look at a photo of Ms. Schraff? Yeah. "Urban."

Fiction | Love and Loathing in Friendship

noreply@blogger.com (Kari) — Tue, 13 Nov 2012 15:32:00 +0000

It has sadly been a loooong time since I've been able to attend one of my book club's monthly meetings. The last time I attended was in May! Thankfully, our beloved host bookstore survived the hurricane, and, thanks to my Goodreads friendship with another book club member, I was able to find out meeting details, despite the store having no power the week before it. So last Friday it was book club reunited! At last!

The book selected was Elena Ferrante's My Brilliant Friend, translated from Italian and published by indie bookstore favorite Europa. Ferrante has written three novels prior to this one, all apparently shorter in length, and this one is the first in a planned trilogy (more on that later).

My Brilliant Friend starts by introducing our narrator Elena, a woman in her sixties, who is reflecting on her 1950s childhood and adolescence with her best friend, Lila. Right off the bat as children, Elena and Lila are not much alike. Elena is good, while Lila is bad; Elena is passive, while Lila is aggressive. These dissimilarities expand as they grow up. Elena has to work hard in school, while Lila is naturally brilliant; Elena is plagued by adolescent awkwardness, while Lila matures beautifully.

Elena and Lila have a typical adolescent friendship, one that is littered with competition and animosity that runs (mostly) quietly below the surface. It's an accurate portrayal of the internal conflicts one has with a friendship, be it jealousy, competition, etc. You wish the best for your friend while at the same time hoping you come out on top; you're horridly jealous of her looks but you want to be seen with her. We hear the conflicts of Elena's friendship with Lila—thoughts of Elena's that Lila may never even be aware of—but they stem from Elena's own insecurities. Essentially, Lila highlights Elena's own flaws to herself and it causes Elena to both despise her and idolize her.

As a reader, I felt I never knew much about Lila's perspective, how she feels towards her friendship with Elena. We feel distant from Lila, even though we follow her day to day through Elena. Perhaps it's just a consequence of Elena's storytelling—she's writing about the effect the friendship had on herself, internally, and is less concerned on the thoughts and feelings of Lila. It's just another example of that selfishness found in friendships.

Growing up in the 1950s in a small neighborhood of Naples, Lila and Elena are severely limited as women by the society in which they live. Part of their friendship stems from their mutual distaste of the state of this society, but they deal with their frustrations in different ways. Lila is an aggressive woman and resorts to the same actions and behaviors she is trying hard to escape. To her, this is the only option because she would otherwise remain the passive woman she hates so much. Elena takes her frustrations out on her mother, finding her the representation of everything she doesn't want to become. Both reject the role for women in their society but have different solutions. Elena finds an escape with an education, while Lila plans to marry rich to get out of a society shaped by poverty.

Really, the very fact that they strive for a different kind of life is what makes Elena and Lila notable characters. Their world is so miniscule, encompassing only a few blocks, and it's one of those worlds that is easy to get sucked into because you know nothing else. It's illustrated perfectly when Elena takes a trip into city center that, though only a few miles away, feels like a foreign land to her. She comments on how quiet it feels. All she knows is a society where violence and fighting are the norm. Abuse and arguments are so commonplace that a world without that appears odd to Elena. The setting so strongly defines the characters' perspectives, and you wonder if it was, in fact, commonplace or if Ferrante paints such a small world to emphasize the characters own experiences. Because growing up, one's world is small and self-centric, anyway.

I was really disappointed to see that this was published so recently and that the next in the series is not out yet. Lately, I've found I don't have much motivation to continue series I've started for one reason or another (Sea of Poppies, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Hunger Games, Palace Walk). They've just lacked the something that makes me want to keep reading. But this ended in such a way that wasn't a satisfying enough conclusion. It's like a character-driven tv show, where you don't necessarily care what happens next, but you need to know how their everyday life turns out. There is more to these characters, and we've seen just enough of a peek into their futures that we want to know how they get there.