**spoiler alert** Rory Dawn Hendrix is a trailer park girl—raised in the Calle del las Flores, a cluster of mobile homes on a plot of dust outside Ren...more**spoiler alert** Rory Dawn Hendrix is a trailer park girl—raised in the Calle del las Flores, a cluster of mobile homes on a plot of dust outside Reno, Nevada. Her mother calls her girlchild. And the novel is written as a series of mini-chapters, word problems, social workers’ reports, newspaper clippings, and more. These snippets introduce readers to a sad, hopeless, dirty world, but the only world Rory Dawn knows. And even though it’s sad and hopeless and dirty, Tupelo Hassman turns it into something beautiful by the mere talent of her writing. Rory’s mother and grandmother both had their children when they were teenagers. They’re high school dropouts, welfare moms, alcoholics, gamblers, smokers. And all of the women in Rory’s family were, for a time, residents of the Calle where violence and sexual abuse are normal. Rory is surrounded by all of the disadvantages of Calle life, but her grandmother, Shirley Rose, has high hopes that Rory will be the one Hendrix female to get out. She says in a letter to Rory, “Someone’s got to make it and it has to be you.” Rory is a smart girl, but being a gifted speller and star student doesn’t protect her from the harsh reality of life on the Calle where she is sexually assaulted by the “Hardware Man” in the bathroom of his shop while her mother works the night shift or wanders drunk from bar to bar. Rory finds some solace in the pages of the Girl Scout Handbook she repeatedly checks out from the library. The handbook contains words like honor, duty and try. According to Rory, “nothing else makes promises like that around here, promises with these words burning inside them…” Girlchild is harrowing, but Tupelo’s ability to present the ugly beautifully softens the blow a bit and makes the unbearable, bearable. We see the world through Rory’s eyes, but in her childlike nature, the darkest elements are kept secret (i.e. blackening out the portions of the novel that take place in the Hardware Man’s bathroom). In this way, Tupelo allows her readers to use their own imagination about what takes place there, making it easier to digest the hideousness of it. However readers interpret the novel, the underlying theme is that blood is thick, and no matter how badly someone might want to escape his/her world, the bond of family is often too strong to walk away from, even when the members of that family are often the ones who let you down. Tupelo’s gift of descriptive language is mesmerizing for any writer, and I found her choice of writing Girlchild in vignettes admirable. Although the plot seemed a bit weak, this was offset by Tupelo’s natural voice, and I loved Rory as much as any character. I wanted to see her break free, and I cheered for her. As a writer, I hope I am able to do the same with my characters. (less)
In the town of Black Creek, North Carolina a high school boy is brutally attacked outside of the gas station where he worked. The attack is considere...more In the town of Black Creek, North Carolina a high school boy is brutally attacked outside of the gas station where he worked. The attack is considered a hate crime. Patrick is gay. For Cat—the girl who was once Patrick’s best friend—the attack leaves her feeling guilty. She’d turned her back on their friendship several years earlier because of her own secret, and now that Patrick is lying in a coma in a hospital, she’s determined to find out the truth. Shine is the story of Cat’s journey toward uncovering a town mystery. But in setting out to discover who attacked Patrick, she also rediscovers herself. She turned her back on Patrick and her other friends because she couldn’t face the truth about what happened to her. It was easier to keep her shame a secret, just as it was easier for Patrick to keep his own secret. What happened to him is blamed on gay-bashing out-of-towners, but Cat knows her town too well, and within her own circle of friends and family are a myriad of anti-gay voices. Shine plays out like a typical mystery novel—a protagonist in search of clues, interviewing locals, digging up secrets, eavesdropping on conversations. But there were times when I felt like this aspect of the story was written in a way that would appeal more to a middle grade audience rather than young adult (where I felt like I was reading a super sleuth detective series). However, Myracle’s use of language and the degree of content (sex, language, violence) are reasons why Shine should not be considered anything less than young adult. The mix of Cat’s “super sleuthing” and her burden of trying to understand the very adult nature of what happened to her (and to what happened to Patrick) left me feeling like I should have been reading two very different novels. Myracle does a nice job of describing the people and places of the deep North Carolina backwoods, especially through the dialog between the characters. And the mystery of what happened to Patrick kept me turning the pages. I just couldn’t completely connect with Cat’s character—some moments, she was the 16-year-old girl struggling with the harsh reality of life (of her own pain and that of Patrick’s), and other times, she was a little kid on a mission to solve a town mystery, but a mystery much less harrowing than a boy severely beaten for being gay. (less)
In Silver Sparrow, Tayari Jones introduces two sisters—Dana Lynn Yarboro and Bunny Chaurisse Witherspoon. What makes this story unique is that one si...more In Silver Sparrow, Tayari Jones introduces two sisters—Dana Lynn Yarboro and Bunny Chaurisse Witherspoon. What makes this story unique is that one sister knows about the other, while the second sister has no idea she has a sibling. Dana and Chaurisse share the same father, but their lives are very separate. In fact, their father, James Witherspoon, is actually legally married to both mothers, but he’s been keeping Dana and Gwen (Dana’s mother) a secret. Jones introduces Dana first, telling her story through Dana’s eyes. In these pages, readers are given a glimpse of Dana’s turmoil of being the daughter of a man she rarely sees, but who loves her all the same. Dana finds herself struggling with the concept of “sharing” her father, especially when she knows her and her mother are James’s “dirty secret”. As Dana matures into a teenager, this confusion shows itself in her behavior. Dana and her mother are both beautiful, and the love James has for Gwen is different than his love for his first wife, Laverne. There’s a need to hang on to Gwen, not just because of Dana, but because Gwen symbolizes James’s independence. Halfway through the book, Dana’s story stops, and we’re introduced to Chaurisse. By this time, I have developed a bond with Dana—I feel her anguish, I understand her need to reach out to her sister (even though her father has strictly forbidden it), I sympathize with her situation. When I start reading from Chaurisse’s POV, I have already built a dislike for her, even though I don’t know her. But within a few pages, this feeling subsides as I see this girl for who she is—another victim. She has no idea Dana and Gwendolyn even exist. Chaurisse is not smart or pretty (Dana is both). She struggles with her own awkwardness. She’s just a typical teenage girl. When both girls are seniors in high school, Dana disobeys her father and befriends Chaurisse. At this point, I find myself angry with Dana because she is the keeper of her father’s secret, and Chaurisse is clueless. I know Dana’s motives are less about being friends with Chaurisse and more about digging for information, while Chaurisse immediately likes Dana and is refreshed by their friendship. When James discovers what Dana has done, the aftermath is a great amount of pain inflicted on all four women, but on four very different levels, and neither can truly understand the others' anguish. At this point, I hate James for his lies and deceit. Jones does a wonderful job of building tension and taking her readers on an emotional roller coaster. At first, I didn’t like being suddenly cut out of Dana’s life, and I felt Jones could have reached the same climax by alternating chapters. However, once I dove into Chaurisse’s life, I didn’t feel I was missing out on Dana—I already knew who she was, while knowing nothing about Chaurisse. Jones also writes with grace and elegance, making this dramatic shift change not so dramatic. My only frustration in reading Silver Sparrow was in the overuse of the word “that”. It was prevalent in spots where it was completely unnecessary, often making the reading choppy. There were also a number of editorial mistakes I found difficult to believe coming from such a well-known publisher. But these errors were in the part of the editor, not the writer. All-in-all, Silver Sparrow was a beautiful book. As a writer, I most appreciate Jones’s use of language and her gift of keeping her readers captivated, even when dividing the book into, almost, two separate stories. (less)
In If You Come Softly, Jacqueline Woodson does a lovely job of introducing two young characters struggling to understand the dynamics of their own fa...more In If You Come Softly, Jacqueline Woodson does a lovely job of introducing two young characters struggling to understand the dynamics of their own families—from divorced parents, to being an only child, to having a sister who is gay. At the same time, both characters have recently transferred to a new private school, and in this transfer, they meet each other. Ellie is white and Jewish. Jeremiah is black. This is the first of their dilemmas—how do they tell their parents? But I didn’t quite understand this concern. There was no reference in the book from either character that their parents would be angry or concerned. The only instance where Ellie might have had a reason to be concerned was during a conversation with her gay sister. The silence on the other end of the phone when Ellie mentioned Jeremiah was black was deafening, but I found her sister’s response to be unbelievable considering her own struggle with having to defend her homosexuality. The second dilemma (for Jeremiah) was not telling Ellie about his parents—his father is a famous filmmaker and his mother is a well-known author. He wants Ellie to love him for who he is, not who he’s the product of. But this seemed remedial in the face of their racial difference. And other than the mention that Ellie wears the Star of David around her neck, there’s never any reference to her being Jewish—how that impacts her decision to date Jeremiah, how strong it resonates in her family, how her parents feel about it. Considering the theme of the book, I found it difficult to understand why Woodson would even make Ellie Jewish if there was not going to be any discussion of it. There were a few instances in the book when Ellie and Jeremiah sense the uneasiness their relationship creates—an interaction with two old women in Central Park who ask Ellie if she’s okay (because she’s walking alone with an African-American boy), and a few stares from kids at school—but for the most part, the story lacks the real tension a young, biracial couple would create, especially in a New York, upper-class private school (amongst the students and, especially, the teachers). In addition, other than Ellie meeting one of Jeremiah’s closest friends, there is never a mention of Ellie’s friends. In fact, as far as I could tell, she didn’t have any, which was difficult for me to believe. I had no trouble believing the emotional struggles both characters had with their own identities, brought on my their own family dynamics, but I had a difficult time believing and understanding their relationship. I felt there was far too much information left out of the story. Additionally, the last few chapters moved far too quickly, as though Woodson was in a rush to finish the book, making a “could have been a super powerful ending” into a, “okay, I guess that’s it”. As a writer, I enjoyed Woodson’s development of her characters in regards to their emotional struggles with their family situations, but the story lacked much of the outside pressures a young biracial couple would encounter, and without that information, I felt the book was incomplete. (less)
**spoiler alert** The underlying theme in Room is both tragic and terrifying—a young woman is abducted and held prisoner for seven years in an 11x11 f...more**spoiler alert** The underlying theme in Room is both tragic and terrifying—a young woman is abducted and held prisoner for seven years in an 11x11 ft room. She’s repeatedly raped by her captor and locked away from the rest of the world. But in the midst of this horror, she gives birth to a son—Jack. And it’s through Jack’s eyes that Room is written. At times difficult to understand because Jack is only five years old and telling HIS story, Room is nevertheless a page-turner. He describes in vivid detail not only what “Room” looks like, but everything inside it as well—from his homemade toys to the food they eat, what he watches on TV, the games he and his mother play, the books they read. This is Jack’s world. And because he’s so young, everything has a name and a meaning. For Ma (his mother), Room is a terrible prison, but for Jack, it’s the only home he knows. And his love for Room is as powerful as his love for his mother. It isn’t until page 142 that Jack and Ma escape from Room, and the outside world—beautiful for Ma—is terrifying to Jack. He wants to go back to the comfort of what he knows, which makes this book that much more powerful because the reader understands how horrifying it would be to spend seven years imprisoned by a psychopath, but Jack doesn’t see Room that way. I was celebrating Ma’s escape, but sympathizing with a little boy who is suddenly thrust into the unknown—trees and grass, the sky, humans, playgrounds. Everything that a small child would cherish, Jack fears. In Room, Emma Donoghue also unveils through Jack’s interaction with his mother the rock solid love and devotion she feels for the child of her captor. For as much as she hates Old Nick for stealing her away and tormenting her for seven years, her love for Jack is undying, and she will do whatever it takes to keep him safe, and to free them from Room. Room is a story ripped right from recent headlines (I think predominantly of Jaycee Dugard or Elisabeth F. in Austria), but because Donoghue presents the story from Jack’s perspective, the horror of the situation is softened enough for readers to, at times, sympathize with Jack’s sense of loss when he’s removed from Room. As a writer, I find Room to be a perfect example of how successful writing can be achieved when stepping outside of the norm. (less)
Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed – the former Dear Sugar for The Rumpus – is an extraordinary collection of some of the most poignant of lette...more Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed – the former Dear Sugar for The Rumpus – is an extraordinary collection of some of the most poignant of letters written to Dear Sugar by people across the country searching for guidance and/or advice. Cheryl Strayed is not a professional psychologist, educated in treating the myriad of human conditions. She’s a writer, and an incredibly good one. Her responses to these letters are nothing more than words of wisdom from a woman who’s experienced her own number of obstacles in life, and who’s triumphed. Reading Tiny Beautiful Things was a pure pleasure, not just because Strayed writes beautifully, but also because her advice is universal. She doesn’t respond to these letters like a psychiatrist trying to “heal”. She responds by incorporating her own life’s experiences in order to make a connection with the people reaching out to her. She wants them to understand she knows what they’re going through because she’s been through tough times herself. Above all else, Strayed is human, and her ability to show that she’s just human is powerful. I’d like to say I picked out a favorite letter and response, but I didn’t. The letters chosen to be included in this book are all different, and Strayed’s responses are all unique. In each of her responses, however, is raw truth, and I believe that’s what makes this book so powerful. Beautifully written and thought-provoking, Tiny Beautiful Things is a testament to great writing and deep storytelling. I think it would be beneficial for every writer to read this book, not just for Strayed’s gift of writing, but also for her understanding of the human spirit.(less)
The story of Rhonda Lee is one I feel many teenagers can identify with—at 14, she got pregnant and had an abortion. Because she’s an only child and h...more The story of Rhonda Lee is one I feel many teenagers can identify with—at 14, she got pregnant and had an abortion. Because she’s an only child and her mother died when she was 11, her father is left with the task of making the decision for Rhonda that she should end the pregnancy. He wants her to concentrate on her grades, and stay clear of boys. And for three years, that’s exactly what she does. But suddenly, she’s asked to tutor one of the rich, snobby cheerleaders (the exact kind of people her father wants her to stay away from because the boy who got her pregnant is “one of them”), and her life changes. The rich, snobby cheerleader, Sarah, is pregnant and alone, and she and Rhonda become friends. But it’s not just the friendship with Sarah that has Rhonda’s father nervous. Rhonda has also befriended Sarah’s brother, David, and the two eventually start dating and fall in love. My Life as a Rhombus is a teenage struggle story, intertwined with a teenage love story, and although it touches on topics relevant to teenagers today, I felt the characters were not genuine. The sudden friendship between Rhonda and Sarah, and the attraction David has for Rhonda, were especially difficult for me to believe. And because this happened within the first few pages of the novel, I had a tough time comprehending the rest of the story. In addition to not being able to identify with the characters, the writing was poor, and this made the book even more difficult to read. Most significant was the use of the word “that” instead of “who” when referring to a person. For example, “…notice all of the half-drunk, half-naked girls THAT were wrapping…” and “…she didn’t look like a girl THAT had failed…” This grammatical error was prevalent throughout the novel, not just in the narration of the story, but also in the dialog between the characters. The voices of the characters also felt, at times, not genuine, as though they were robots talking rather than people. Although a good enough story, reading My Life as a Rhombus was like reading a first draft novel—too many grammatical errors, overuse of adverbs, tons of cliques, boring descriptions of people and places, and characters who were difficult to believe. (less)
I first read Dandelion Wine when I was in junior high school, as part of a required reading list. At that time, I didn’t fully appreciate Ray Bradbur...more I first read Dandelion Wine when I was in junior high school, as part of a required reading list. At that time, I didn’t fully appreciate Ray Bradbury’s gift. I remember not fully understanding the story and feeling the title had nothing to do with it. After reading it as an adult (and a writer), I have a different perspective. Within Douglas Spaulding’s telling of his 12th summer are a myriad of other stories, each unique but intricately tied to young Douglas. I remember thinking how strange it was for Ray Bradbury to have chapters being told by characters other than Douglas. After all, this was supposed to be Doug’s story, right? I realize after reading Dandelion Wine again, however, that each of these characters was part of the tapestry that made up Douglas Spaulding’s summer. Like the dandelion wine Doug’s grandfather stored in the cellar, the stories were treasures, and without them (much like the dandelion wine), there would be no summer. Bradbury’s ability to weave different stories within Douglas’s story without losing his readers is amazing. I’ve read the works of other authors who tried to do this, but with little success. It may be because Bradbury has a style of writing comparable to Stephen King—taking small moments and drawing them out into lengthy, descriptive paragraphs that bring readers momentarily to a different time and space without causing them to lose interest in the bigger story at large. I have never been able to write like this, and I envy the ability. In addition to Bradbury’s use of beautiful, descriptive language in Dandelion Wine (and his ability to produce an amazing work of fiction written through the eyes of a number of different characters), the novel also contains a series of lessons pertinent to young adults—from saying goodbye to friends and family, to appreciating the small things in life, to understanding and accepting change. But it’s Bradbury’s gift of presenting these lessons so subtly that inspires me as a writer (less)
18-year-old Ben Wolf is told that he has an aggressive terminal disease and that his senior year in high school will more than likely be his last. Rat...more18-year-old Ben Wolf is told that he has an aggressive terminal disease and that his senior year in high school will more than likely be his last. Rather than obey his doctor’s orders to begin treatment immediately, Ben decides to bypass the treatment in order to fully enjoy his last year of life. The possibility of survival is slim to none, either way. But in order to truly take advantage of his last year, he has to keep his prognosis a secret, especially from the people he loves the most. Thus begins an incredible journey into Ben’s final year—he tries out for the football team; he finally finds the nerve to approach Dallas Suzuki, the girl he’s been in love with forever; he challenges the one-sided views of his government teacher; and he sets out to “save” the town drunk, Rudy McCoy. They’re all actions Ben never would’ve done without the knowledge of his pending doom, but as he propels forward, he discovers he’s not the only one keeping a secret. And for all that he’s managed to accomplish in just a few short months, those accomplishments are difficult to truly celebrate when you’re the only one who knows you’re dying. Chris Crutcher developed a character difficult not to love. Ben Wolf approaches the news of his illness as though he’s been expecting it, believing that he was never meant to live a long life. This optimism allows him to keep his sense of humor while tackling the obstacles that previously kept him at bay, and I was cheering for him the whole time. Not only does he challenge himself, but he also challenges the people living in his small Idaho town, pushing a petition to change the name of one of just a few streets to Malcom X Avenue. In the face of his own death, he hopes to change the bigoted views of the townspeople. And when he discovers that Rudy McCoy’s secret is darker than any he could’ve imagined, he finds compassion for the man in a way no other moral human being could. Quick, funny, heartbreaking, powerful—among just a few words to describe Deadline. Chris Crutcher tackles a myriad of issues—emotional, spiritual, social—beautifully, and in an incredibly suitable manner for a young adult audience. (less)
**spoiler alert** It’s not so much that Mia Pearlman’s mother dies, but that it happens so quickly—just 12 days after being diagnosed with melanoma. S...more**spoiler alert** It’s not so much that Mia Pearlman’s mother dies, but that it happens so quickly—just 12 days after being diagnosed with melanoma. She’d had a stomachache. Initially, this is Mia’s dilemma, and in the first few pages of Cures for Heartbreak, Margo Rabb introduces this dilemma exactly how one would expect a 15-year-old girl to comprehend it—with anger, sadness, and a glaring need to find any ounce of humor in a situation a million miles away from being funny. As the story progresses, Mia’s dilemma changes drastically as she comes to understand what the loss of her mother really means to her, especially in light of having nothing in common with her sister and recollecting the dysfunction in the relationship between her parents. At the height of her grief, Mia is dealt another gut-wrenching blow when her father suffers a heart attack just three months after the death of her mother, and all at a time in Mia’s life when building friendships and finding love weigh heavy on her mind. In the hospital, she falls for a young doctor, and later, for a teenage boy who shares a room with her father. She nicknames him Cancer Boy, and throughout the rest of the novel, he haunts her by the mere fact that he represents the uncertainty of life and death, especially when she struggles with being a newly developed hypochondriac and the budding relationship between her father and another woman. Mia’s journey ends with the discovery of a new friendship, the development of a fresh bond with her sister and father, and in the end, Cancer Boy comes back to be the stepping stone toward a new beginning. Mia’s voice is powerful—sometimes sad, sometimes angry, sometimes filled with sarcastic humor. I was immediately drawn to her struggle, not just at being a 15-year-old girl trying to make her way through life the way any other 15-year-old girl would, but at trying to survive with her father and sister in a house suddenly void of the mother she loved so much. The mother/daughter bond was both glorious and painful, making Mia’s struggle that much deeper. Rabb’s portrayal of Mia’s constant battle between grief and acceptance, between want and need is both beautiful and heartbreaking, and is a lesson for any writer wanting to tackle such a topic.
**spoiler alert** The protagonist in Moon Over Manifest is a 12-year-old girl who feels abandoned by her father when he sends her to spend the summer...more**spoiler alert** The protagonist in Moon Over Manifest is a 12-year-old girl who feels abandoned by her father when he sends her to spend the summer in the town where he grew up—Manifest, Kansas. Abilene Tucker’s life prior to that summer is not the typical life of an adolescent girl, not even for the 1930’s. Her ‘home’ is in the trains that take her and her father, Gideon, from town to town where he works odd railway jobs. It’s after Abilene is injured on one of these train rides (and subsequently falls ill) that she sees a change in Gideon, and Abilene wonders if she can find the answer to his behavior by discovering who Gideon really is from the people of Manifest. There are a wide range of characters in this novel—each unique in his/her own way—who aid Abilene on her quest (from her newfound friends, Ruthanne and Lettie who set out to help Abilene uncover the mystery of the Rattler; to Shady Howard, the man who took care of Abilene’s father when he was a boy), but it’s Miss Sadie, the town diviner, who assists Abilene the most in her quest by reciting the story of the two young boys who changed the town of Manifest. Along with Sadie’s stories are the letters Abilene finds from one of these boys, Ned, to the other, Jinx—letters that give insight into the true depth of their friendship. And when Abilene finally discovers that Jinx is Gideon, she understands the reasoning behind her father’s decision to send her away. Moon Over Manifest takes place in the year 1936 and covers a wide range of social issues pertaining to that time period—prohibition and racism the most notable—but at its core, the story is about friendship and the importance of accepting others. And it’s not just through Abilene’s journey that we come to understand this, but also through Miss Sadie’s story and Ned’s letters, giving readers not just the perspective of a 12-year-old girl, but that of a teenage boy and an adult as well. Although I found the reading tiresome at times because of Vanderpool’s choice to include three different voices—Abilene, Miss Sadie and Ned—I enjoyed the story, especially when I stopped trying to read it as an adult. I do feel that the inclusion of Hattie Mae’s newspaper clippings was unnecessary, especially when they simply repeated information already given in Miss Sadie’s stories. However, Vanderpool’s decision to add the clippings might also be a way to keep young readers from getting confused—there are a plethora of characters in this book (which may also be why Vanderpool included a list of characters in the beginning). (less)
**spoiler alert** Not only are the characters in Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children peculiar, but so is the novel itself. There’s really not...more**spoiler alert** Not only are the characters in Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children peculiar, but so is the novel itself. There’s really nothing too terribly unusual about the book’s main character, Jacob Portman. He’s a 16-year-old quiet kid with a pretty uneventful life and only one friend, who is nothing like Jacob and who Jacob summoned as more of a body guard than a friend. Even Jacob’s relationship with his grandfather, Abe Portman, isn’t strange. Jacob grows up listening to Grandpa Portman’s bizarre stories of monsters and the band of peculiar children he was sent to live with during World War II to escape from the Nazi’s. Abe even has photos of these kids (which are eerily dispersed throughout the novel), and while the young Jacob initially believes these stories, he begins to think his grandfather is a nutcase. Until the night Grandpa Portman dies in his arms, and Jacob sees one of the old man’s monsters with his own eyes. But it’s not just seeing the horrible creature that gives Jacob a reason to seek the truth, its’ the last words uttered by his grandfather—“Find the bird. In the loop. On the other side of the old man’s grave. September third, 1940.” At this point, Jacob sets out to find the answers, and for a good portion of the novel, we’re taken on a journey to the small island of Cairnholm in the UK. Here, Jacob finds the mysterious house where his grandfather lived as a child—Miss Peregrine’s house—but unlike the wonderful place Grandpa Portman described, the house is in shambles, the recipient of a bomb from WWII. Upon entering the ruins, Jacob encounters a group of children—the children from his grandfather’s photographs—and the reader is immediately thrust into a world of good versus evil, magic, time travel…even a little bit of wizardry and sorcery. And with this change, comes an unwelcome change in the pace of the novel. Riggs introduces the mystery of Abe Portman and the peculiar children eloquently, but with enough fire to keep me turning the pages. He describes beautifully the relationship between Jacob and his grandfather, the island of Cairnholm and its residents, the battered remnants of Miss Peregrine’s house. And then suddenly, the story becomes a series of chases and battles intertwined with a cheesy teenage love story that seems all too modern, especially when all but Jacob are children of the 1940’s. And worse, the novel doesn’t actually end. Its last few pages indicate a possible sequel. As a writer, I love the mystery of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I feel the story could’ve taken a different, more realistic path, even with the peculiarity of the kids. But for me, the shift to fantasy took the excitement and beauty of the novel away. (less)
**spoiler alert** The title of John Green’s newest novel, The Fault in Our Stars, comes from a famous line in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: "The fault,...more**spoiler alert** The title of John Green’s newest novel, The Fault in Our Stars, comes from a famous line in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings." (I,ii,139-140). For the young adults in Green’s novel, however, the fault is not in themselves, but, in fact, in their stars. Why? Because Hazel, Gus and Isaac are all victims of chance. And it’s this understanding that makes them the powerful characters they are. At first, Green’s use of humor—the way the characters, in a sense, make fun of themselves and everything that surrounds the concept of “cancer children”—seems out-of-place, but as the story progresses, it becomes easier to understand. The initial shock of learning of their diagnoses has come and gone. These kids have already experienced the anger and sadness, the fear, the confusion. At this stage in their illnesses, they have come to accept their fate—what better way to do this than to approach life light-heartedly. We see this characteristic in Hazel first, then Isaac, but with the introduction of Gus, the “so what, we have cancer” mentality multiplies. And it’s this mentality that keeps these characters optimistic throughout the novel—even when the disappointments mount (Isaac losing an eye; Hazel meeting her favorite author, only to discover he’s a cruel drunk; and Gus’s relapse that eventually leads to his death). The fault in their stars is also what brings these kids together—if not for the unfair circumstances, they never would’ve met, and there are lessons to be learned from each other. It wasn’t just Green’s use of humor in a novel about children with cancer that was tough to accept, however. At one point, Gus says, “...but there is this unwritten contract between the author and reader and I think not ending the book kind of violates the contract." This was in response to a discussion he was having with Hazel about Peter Van Houten’s novel, An Imperial Affliction (Hazel’s favorite book and their reason for traveling to Amsterdam). As a reader of The Fault in Our Stars, I actually felt like Green didn’t end the book—at least not the way I was expecting it to end, or the way I wanted it to end. But in reality, it doesn’t matter what I was expecting or wanting. An Imperial Affliction didn’t end the way Hazel was expecting or wanting either. And for Hazel, losing Gus to the fault in his stars was certainly not what she was expecting or wanting. The truth is, we have absolutely no control of certain things in our lives. And as a writer, this is important to understand. Just because our readers might want something, doesn’t mean they’ll get it. John Green made me realize that as a writer, I need to listen to my heart, regardless of whether what it tells me might upset my readers. (less)
Hannah Baker has committed suicide, and rather than leaving a note, she leaves a series of cassette tapes meant to tell her story and identify the key...moreHannah Baker has committed suicide, and rather than leaving a note, she leaves a series of cassette tapes meant to tell her story and identify the key people in her life who’ve pushed her to make this decision. There are thirteen tapes in total, and when Clay Jensen receives the shoebox of tapes, the reader is given the opportunity to “listen” to these tapes through the Walkman he borrows from a fellow student. In addition to the tapes is a map, pinpointing the different spots throughout town that are memorable for Hannah—from the Blue Spot Liquor Store where one of her perpetrators groped her, to Rosie’s Diner where she is violated by another, to the house where she could’ve stopped the rape of a classmate but chose not to. As Clay listens to the tapes, he follows the marked stars on the map, giving the reader not only an audible account of Hannah’s turmoil, but a visual. And why Clay Jensen? Of all of the people Hannah identifies in her recordings, Clay is the only one who did her no wrong. Rather, she did him wrong, and she wants the world to know that it was this last move by her that sent her over the edge. But the decision to push him away was a direct result of how the others treated her by what they said, what they did, and what they didn’t do. And all of these people are connected to each other by their choices that snowballed into the avalanche that eventually caused Hannah to end her life. Thirteen Reasons Why is a gripping page-turner, and for young adults, it’s a powerful lesson about the importance of treating others how you want to be treated yourself. Jay Asher takes the actions of a group of young people and dissects each one to show how something small and insignificant to one person can be life-altering to another—what you think is “no big deal” can actually be catastrophic. Reviews of Thirteen Reasons Why are mixed, with most young readers pushed to tears by Hannah’s plight, identifying with her on a very emotional and powerful level. But others have argued that Hannah’s decision to take her own life is unrealistic. In my opinion, Hannah’s character doesn’t appear to be the type who would become so disheveled by the idiocy of her peers that she would choose to commit suicide—rather, she’s intelligent, witty and strong. Her voice throughout the tapes is calm and sensible, as though she’s really alive and well and just playing a game to scare her enemies. And it’s HOW Hannah talks that also throws me for a loop. There are too many instances throughout the book where I don’t believe a teenage girl—especially one emotionally disconnected enough to take her own life—would talk that way. Even so, Thirteen Reasons Why is a beautifully sad story and one I believe every high school student should read. Regardless of Hannah’s voice, there are important lessons to be learned from this book. (less)
Milo is a boy “who didn’t know what to do with himself”. And although not an entirely unusual mindset for many children, Milo’s lack of interest in ju...moreMilo is a boy “who didn’t know what to do with himself”. And although not an entirely unusual mindset for many children, Milo’s lack of interest in just about anything and everything encourages the arrival of a strange tollbooth that takes him away to a strange world. His journey focuses on several important themes—the value of education, the appreciation of everyday life, learning to use common sense, and escaping boredom. Far above anything else, The Phantom Tollbooth educates through the various lessons Milo learns throughout his journey. For example, from the characters Milo meets, he learns the mistake of taking things for granted so much so that he decides to postpone any further travels in the Lands Beyond in favor of enjoying the things in his bedroom. Also, Milo learns all sorts of lessons about common sense in order to truly appreciate common sense (something he previously didn’t have). And with the help of his friend Tock, Milo manages to overcome boredom and eventually becomes so good at inspiring himself that he no longer needs the flash and excitement of the Lands Beyond to hold his attention. The Phantom Tollbooth is a clever, sweet story with quirky characters designed to teach Milo a set of very valuable lessons. I’m not sure these lessons would resonate as deeply with today’s youth, especially the middle-grade kids whom I believe the book was intentionally written for. The kinds of issues these kids deal with today far outweigh Milo’s “minor” concerns. In addition, I found Milo’s character difficult to identify with. He had very little depth and emotion. He appeared to be more of a messenger—like a robot—and I feel this lack of humanistic characteristics would also be difficult for middle-grade readers to accept. I do believe, however, that younger children would greatly benefit from reading The Phantom Tollbooth. (less)
**spoiler alert** In If I Stay, a tragic car accident leaves 16-year-old Mia clinging to life. Her parents are instantly killed in the accident, and h...more**spoiler alert** In If I Stay, a tragic car accident leaves 16-year-old Mia clinging to life. Her parents are instantly killed in the accident, and her 6-year-old brother dies shortly after. Readers are introduced to the “alive” Mia briefly, and are then transported with her to a ghost-like state where she watches her loved ones gather at the hospital. While Mia is in limbo between life and death, she lingers on memories of those most important to her—her parents, her grandparents, her brother, friends of her parents (Willow and Henry and their baby), her best friend (Kim), and her boyfriend (Adam). Mia is not a particularly unusual character—she loves music (a trait passed down from her father who is also a musician). She’s an exceptional cello player and has applied to Juliard, while Adam will most likely remain in Oregon where he’s in a rock band (this seems to be Mia’s only real conflict, other than teetering between life and death and having to decide which way to go). Mia is close to her family. There doesn’t seem to be much discord of any sorts in Mia’s life. She’s an outsider, but so are Adam and Kim, and so they have each other. In a nutshell, Mia is, by all means, normal. Maybe it’s Mia’s character that made it difficult for me to really love this book, or maybe it’s Forman’s decision to transition back and forth between the present-tense and the past, often causing me to completely lose interest. It’s tough to say. But Mia’s recollection of falling in love with Adam, befriending Kim, and learning to play the cello were not exciting enough moments in her life to keep me from wishing to be back at the hospital where she’s watching herself die. I thought the story was touching, but I didn’t have much enthusiasm in reading it. The language was very cut-and-dry, with hardly any descriptions of sights, sounds and smells. In a sense, I found the writing to be “cookie-cutter”: AKA, boring. In addition, there were fleeting moments when I didn’t believe the way the characters spoke or the reactions they had toward each other (in particular, the reactions of just about everybody in this novel to the deaths of Mia’s parents and little brother). And as much as I wanted Mia to choose life over death, it was tough (based on what was given in the story) to believe that she’d want to go on without her family. So, in addition to being just plain bored, I found most of the novel to be…unbelievable.(less)
A compilation of lectures given by professional editor, Cheryl B. Klein, Second Sight is one of the best craft books I’ve read. It was entertaining an...moreA compilation of lectures given by professional editor, Cheryl B. Klein, Second Sight is one of the best craft books I’ve read. It was entertaining and easy-to-follow—I felt like I was having a real conversation with a professional editor rather than reading a “how to” manual. The book was filled with samples from some of Klein’s own clients, addressing the do’s and don’ts of writing children’s and young adult fiction. In addition to providing excellent guidance—from writing and revising tips, to editor tools, to publishing advice—Klein shares personal tales of her own life’s lessons, allowing her readers to feel a sense of connection with her. Besides a plethora of useful examples, Klein also provides Figures throughout the book to “show” rather than “tell”—from general edits of a first draft and line edits of a second, to the proper format for making a picture book. Klein also shares a handful of excellent writing exercises, making the reading of Second Sight even more appealing.
But by far the most important piece of advice I’m taking away from Second Sight is to find those “electric fence emotions” (as she describes the raw feelings of middle school) and pull them forward to connect with my readers in a real, believable way. Don’t be afraid to pour your emotions into your work and see where it leads. (less)
Occasionally funny, but mostly sad, Understand This is a compelling read. Just be prepared to struggle at times with reading and deciphering a very di...moreOccasionally funny, but mostly sad, Understand This is a compelling read. Just be prepared to struggle at times with reading and deciphering a very difficult dialect that left me, at times, gritting my teeth with frustration.(less)
Crank is brilliant--beautifully written with vivid descriptions and intense dialog, all within the framework of a poetry collection. The choices Hopki...moreCrank is brilliant--beautifully written with vivid descriptions and intense dialog, all within the framework of a poetry collection. The choices Hopkins makes in the structure of each page gives readers a sense of the battle between Kristina and Bree—a back and forth pull, sometimes smooth and fluid, other times static and choppy. I for one have put Glass down on my “to-read” list.(less)
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