Dot Hutchison's Blog, page 4

Bullying, Censorship, and the Book I Wish I’d Had in School

As some of you might be aware, the Parents Action League of a school district in Minnesota recently lodged a challenge against Rainbow Rowell’s book Eleanor & Park, saying it had no place in the classroom, library, or summer reading program. There are a lot of posts out there recapping the series of events and the specific aspects of the challenge and responses, and the fact that the bulk of the incident took place in the middle of Banned Books Week was surprisingly appropriate. These parents have listed a lot of reasons why the book shouldn’t be in their children’s hands: the swears! the making out! the talk about drugs/sex/booze!

What those parents aren’t talking about is why this book SHOULD be in their children’s hands, because the parents don’t understand it themselves. You see, the majority of these parents haven’t read the book- they’re ‘calculating the average curse words per page’. First of all, these parents have clearly never stood in the hallway of their children’s schools between classes, or the swearing in the book wouldn’t even register. They’re feeding the text through programs designed to trigger at certain words, blissfully ignorant about any sense of context or bigger picture.

Now, this post is going to get rather more personal than I usually air; if frank talk about bullying, including the kind that comes hand in hand with physical development, bothers you, I won’t be offended if you close the tab and don’t read on. Similarly, I won’t be offended if you decide you’d simply rather not challenge your view of the circumstances. That’s your right.

But in all seriousness, Eleanor & Park is the book I wish I’d had in school.

In the past few years, it’s become almost ridiculous to say “I was bullied in school”, because it seems like everyone was (hint: that’s become almost everyone was). Everyone gets bullied at some point or another in their lives, for a wide range of things. But some of us got bullied relentlessly. Some of us couldn’t escape it.

And for some of us, it started right away.

I was the girl in kindergarten who got made fun of because I was always reading or playing make believe on the play ground. I was the girl who got made fun of because a boy tried to kiss me during group work in the portable. I was the girl who got made fun in first grade (and subsequent grades) because I was friends with boys, and liked playing kickball and such with the boys during recess. I was the girl who got made fun of in second grade because I had to sit in the front row and still couldn’t see the board–and then got made fun of for having to wear glasses. I was the kid who got made fun of for being the teacher’s pet, for falling in love with interesting words and daring to use them. I got made fun of for being so far ahead of everyone else in our reading assignments that I got sent to the library to do my own work.

I developed YEARS before the bulk of my classmates, and that’s not an exaggeration. I was nine years old when I suddenly sprouted breasts, going from nothing to a DD in a very short span of time. All the girls made fun of me because breasts were something only old people and freaks had. All the boys I’d been playing with for years suddenly didn’t want to play with me anymore–suddenly I wasn’t their friend, I was a girl. Only the girls wanted nothing to do with me. I got my first period later that year, while I was at school. I knew what it was because my mom and I had that particular conversation when the breasts arrived, but how can a nine-year-old comfortably tell her teacher she has to go home because she’s bleeding? And the girls made fun of me even more because most of them didn’t know what it even was–our school didn’t do the health section until fifth grade. But I got made fun of then, too, because this nurse’s daughter insisted on using penis and vagina instead of vague euphemisms, so I got sent to the library for the duration of the health unit.

With the early onset of puberty came other significant problems, namely what has become a lifelong battle with weight. I know now that my problems arise from a hormonal imbalance that causes a variety of symptoms and issues. What I knew then was that suddenly, despite the fact that I hadn’t changed the way I ate, despite the fact that I was an incredibly active kid who ran around like crazy, I was packing on pounds that I couldn’t get rid of.

Be the kid who suddenly can’t run the mile without almost passing out. Be the girl who doesn’t understand why running suddenly hurts so much, because I didn’t know about sports bras, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because we didn’t dress out in elementary school.

I thought it was going to get better in middle school, because there’d be new people, but somehow that was exactly what made it worse. Because along with all the kids who’d been bullying me for years, we got an influx of kids from other elementary schools who joined right in. When the cliques all gathered together so they could take turns shielding each other while dressing out for gym, or crowded into the bathroom and took up all the stalls, I was the one who had to change right out in the middle of the room with people pointing and laughing. I was the one who got made fun of for being smelly in class because we never had the opportunity to take showers after gym–not that I could have taken one anyway, because the curtains were clear and the thought of being naked around all those mean girls was debilitating.

I wore shorts because I got overheated in jeans, but got made fun of for jiggling thighs. I wore monstrously large t-shirts because I thought–hoped–that if they couldn’t see the fat, they couldn’t make fun of me for it. But they did, and they made fun of my glasses, and my frizzy hair that was back in a bun every day because it was the only way I could manage it. They made fun of me for being smart, for participating in class. They made fun of me for reading, for writing. They made fun of me for not having a date to the mandatory in-school Valentine’s Dance in sixth grade–I spent the entire time silently freaking out in a corner because I was terrified some hateful boy was going to ask me to dance only so he could humiliate me in front of everyone. I had a crush on a sweet, amazing boy, but I was too scared to ask him to dance, because I was afraid he’d say yes–and everyone would know it was only because he was a nice guy and didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

Eleanor gets called Big Red because of her weight and her hair–I got called that because in seventh grade, my period hit unexpectedly on a day I was wearing white shorts. My mom couldn’t come get me and none of the teachers would let me go down to the gym lockers so I could at least change into my PE shorts. I was the girl whose backpack got raided so girls could pass around the pads and tease me for the things they didn’t need yet.

And it never helped to go the teachers, not even the nice well-meaning ones, because then you heard things like ‘We need to be mature and not tattle every little thing’ or ‘you just need to try harder to get along with people’ or ‘I’m sure they didn’t really mean anything by it’ or, my personal favorite, ‘this is something you’re just going to have to learn to deal with, because you’re always going to experience it’. I was hurt and embarrassed, and the teachers were so scared of pissing off parents that they made it my fault.

And it got even worse in high school, when I finally started wearing clothing that fit a little bit better. It got worse when the only way I was growing was out. It got worse when kids would make fun of the way my breasts jiggled when I ran because I was too embarrassed to change bras in front of the girls in the locker room. It got worse when even the coaches laughed when some jackass boy told me not to bounce too hard making a shot in basketball because my boobs might knock me out. It got worse when suddenly they were making fun of me for not having a boyfriend, or for having a weird boyfriend.

And I know I didn’t have it the worst. There were definitely kids who had it worse than me, but somehow the adults never seemed to understand what a sickening standard that was. Yes, it’s true, I wasn’t being attacked the most horrendously, but I was still being attacked, and they did nothing. Weren’t willing to do anything.

Eleanor & Park was the book I needed in middle school and high school. I needed that reassurance that yes, the kids were going to make fun of me, that yes, the adults weren’t going to care, but, and this was the big thing, THAT I WOULD FIND MY PEOPLE. Or maybe even just my person. It didn’t have to be romantic it just had to be real, the people on the fringe uniting in common goals. I found that, fortunately, and by the time I graduated high school I’d largely learned to ignore the insults until finally they mostly stopped coming, but it was something I had to work at, A LOT. I found my people in theatre, and even though I got made fun of for being weird, for being that strange kind of drama person, I had people that were just like me. When I was getting made fun for having to prance around on stage in a green unitard that covered me neck to wrist to ankle, I had friends that had brown suits complete with hands, feet, and hoods that ran around the school cafeteria yelling “I’M A LITTLE CHOCOLATE BROWN TURD! I’M A LITTLE CHOCOLATE BROWN TURD!”

Eleanor & Park was the book I needed, because it would have taught me that I had so much to offer anyone willing to actually get to know me, rather than just stand by and insult me or laugh. Because it would have taught me that common interests transcend physical appearance. Because it would have taught me that a single friend, a single TRUE friend, could mean more than the insults of the entire rest of the school.

I wouldn’t have been fazed by the swearing–even our middle school was full of such language, and that was almost two decades ago. Coming back from a field trip in seventh grade, when we made an unscheduled stop for dinner and I had no money, one of the girls in my drama group offered to pay for my meal–as long as I let her teach me how to swear. It wouldn’t really have mattered anyway, because I certainly read worse in the books that were in our school library. I was ten when I read Avalon, by Anya Seton. Oh, for the sixth grade joys of raping and pillaging. I was fourteen when I read a book where a teenage girl ran out on her wedding night to become a prostitute, and spent the rest of the book explicitly cheating on her husband. I returned the book to the library in absolute disgust, not because of the sex, but because of the euphemisms. I don’t think our media specialist ever recovered from asking me why I didn’t like it; “Because it’s a penis, not a wriggling fish”. So making out in the backseat of a car, getting to second base? Not so much an issue. Drugs and booze? Even the good kids knew where to get the drugs– we could name every corner of the school grounds where you could try your luck if you were so inclined. Booze was easy–you just waited for someone’s parents to let them throw a football party.

What our librarians were wise enough to know was that if we were voluntarily in the library, if we were checking out books for pleasure rather than research paper or reading requirements, we were mature enough to handle otherwise sensitive issues.

And here’s the thing: the parents challenging the book, the ones counting the swears and clutching their pearls, aren’t afraid of the language. They’re not afraid of the sex, or the drugs, or the booze. In their bid for censorship, they claim lofty goals, and in place of their relentless sense of entitlement they claim they’re just “thinking of the children”. They’re not, though. Because what these parents are really afraid of, where this book’s power really lies, is in it’s ability to make children think. It opens minds, it opens hearts, it lets kids know that IT GETS BETTER. It lets them know that IT’S OKAY TO BE DIFFERENT. It lets them know that WORDS ARE HURTFUL.

It teaches children to move beyond the patterns of their parents. It teaches them to start thinking for themselves, to start defending themselves and who they really are. It tells them that they don’t have to sacrifice who they are to try to fit in, because there are people who will appreciate them for exactly who they already are. It teaches them that friendship can grow from the unlikeliest of places.

The parents aren’t afraid of a few f-bombs or backseat groping.

They’re afraid that their children will grow beyond them, that their children will become better people than their parents.

Most importantly, they’re afraid that their children will begin to think for themselves, that they’ll start to make their own educated, informed, and impassioned decisions about what they will and will not stand for, about the kind of people they want to be.

Because the mother who claims to be worried about swearing is worried that a pursuit of language might lead to a pursuit of truth. Because the father who claims to be worried about children making out in cars doesn’t want to admit that he’s uncomfortable with people of other races. Because in their race to censorship in willful defiance of context, they don’t have to identify what it is that really bothers them about this book and other books like it. They can rely on formulas and equations and they never have to read the book, never have to fear the impact it might have on THEM.

Eleanor & Park is the book I NEEDED when I was in school, but I didn’t have it. I had to struggle along by myself and it HURT. The struggle didn’t make me a better person, it made me a less trusting one. I look in the mirror and I can still hear those kids from elementary school.

They made fun of me because I was an easy target. Because it was easy for the girls surreptitiously padding their bras with toilet paper to make fun of me for my large breasts. Because it was easy for the kids who couldn’t get the answers to make fun of me for knowing them. And these behaviors are learned from their parents. It’s easy to go after Eleanor & Park: oh the swears! Oh the scandal!

What’s much more difficult, but so very necessary, is to sit down and open an honest dialogue with the book, and to understand that the very things raising the hackles are the very things that make this book so essential.

When we ban books like Eleanor & Park, when we cut children off from the amazing support and hope that they offer, what we’re really doing is telling them to be victims. What we’re telling them is that it doesn’t get better. We’re telling them it’s not okay to be different, to be unique, to be themselves. We’re telling them that they should change to fit into this homogenized world where everyone’s the same color and follows the same creeds and things are As They Should Be. We’re telling them they’re wrong.

And it’s NOT TRUE.

And when the teachers aren’t willing to step in, when the parents are more scared that their child might be different than they are grateful their child is a real person, that’s when Eleanor & Park becomes even more important, because for some bullied kids, myself included, books were the only hope I had.

Signing Reminder

Look what’s patiently waiting in the store:

I don’t know that I’ll ever get over the sight of my own book coming in the back door at work. It is AWESOME.

And now you can come share my excitement! This is just a reminder that I’ll be doing a signing at the Gainesville Barnes and Noble this Saturday, Saturday 28th, from 3 to 5 pm. There isn’t a reading but I will be delighted to answer questions, and of course there will be signing and smiles and swag (and apparently alliteration). If you have questions, you can ask them here, over on twitter (@dothutchison), on my facebook page (located on the sidebar), or you can also call the store at 352-372-3535.

If you don’t live in the Gainesville area, or you just can’t make it in, you can still a get signed copy after the fact! We’ll be keeping a stash of books in stock, so you can call the number above and order a signed a/o personalized copy to be shipped out to you. I even keep a stash of purple Sharpies at work just for that purpose.

I really hope to see y’all there, and I would love you forever and ever if you’d help me spread the word!

Until next time~

Cheers!

Book Recs: Vicious, Eleanor & Park, and Fangirl

Got a trio for you today, because I hit a streak of AMAZING READS.

First up, Vicious, by V.E. Schwab (also known as Victoria Schwab, of The Near Witch and The Archived fame). This one isn’t YA, but oh my God, it is just as phenomenal as her others. On the surface, Vicious is a novel about super powers, but with V, is anything ever really as it looks on the surface? This isn’t a story about heroes and villains, about good guys versus bad- there are no good characters, but there are so many STUNNING and GORGEOUS characters. I could spend days arguing about whether or not the delineation of psychopath versus sociopath is still valid when it comes the making the distinction between Eli and Victor. Aside from a scientific aptitude, they seem to have nothing in common, but they have this missing, broken piece. Victor has always acknowledged that piece, that lack of empathy, but Eli masks his, until he can’t anymore. Each of the characters is so distinct, so beautifully flawed, and yet, despite the horror of some of their acts, despite the repugnance of the beliefs they espouse (or purport to espouse), we’re invested in them. I spent the entire book cheering for Victor, Sydney, and Mitch (and Dol!). We now from the very beginning that Victor is rather twisted- HE knows he’s very twisted. And as much as that matters to the story, it doesn’t matter to us; we still want him to succeed, even as we deeply dread the possibility that he will. We don’t want the actions to happen and yet we cheer when they do. It’s brilliant. It’s sharp and jagged and so deeply creepy and unsettling and yet, incomprehensibly, there’s such a thread of hope that weaves through, the possibility of happiness in terrible circumstances, the kind of family only necessity and coincidence can form. This book is beyond words.

The other two have the same author, Rainbow Rowell, and I will be EAGERLY awaiting what she comes out with in the future. Until recently, I would have sworn with total honesty that straight up contemporary really isn’t my thing, but then Jennifer E. Smith, and John Green, and now Rainbow Rowell, and I’m seriously starting to rethink my general opinion.

Eleanor & Park doesn’t seem like a book I’d be interested in at all. I listen to 80s music at work, and enjoy it, but can’t identify any of it, or any significant bands. I usually don’t dig contemporary. I can’t really claim to be a child of the 80s because I was born halfway through the decade, so the culture references (other than the comics) go completely over my head. I mostly picked this one up because I was interested in Fangirl and it wasn’t out yet- and it blew me away. Neither Eleanor nor Park feel like they belong. Eleanor is dirt poor, pudgy, red-haired, always dresses differently. Park is half Korean, an insurmountable gulf in the eighties Midwest, with a macho father, a sporty younger brother twice his size, and a love of music and comics. What emerges over the course of the school year is fragile, uncertain, and beautiful, each of them doubting themselves and each other. Even when it’s important, even when it feels like the whole world should be waiting with bated breath for things to work…there’s never a guarantee. It’s beautiful and ephemeral and absolutely mind-blowing.

Fangirl felt like Rainbow Rowell took up residence inside my college years. I was lucky, in that I had friends already at the school and had friends going down with me, and was in a program that was, by necessity, very tight knit. But the social awkwardness, the anxieties, the absolute escape into fanfiction and the debilitating fear that there are no original worlds tucked away in my skull, because the worlds of the fics are so familiar and comfortable? The panic of growing up and growing apart and going away, and worrying over those we left behind? In some ways this book felt like it could have been my diary, except I had no Levi or Nick (and for half of that, I’m grateful). Cath is shy and nervous and afraid, someone with a very insular world: there’s her father, her twin sister, her sort-of-but-very-comfortable boyfriend, and Simon Snow. Simon Snow is an equivalent to Harry Potter, with the same kind of all-encompassing envelopment of true fans. We have the books and the movies and all the merchandise…and, of course, the fanfiction. I love that we get snippets of both the original books and the fics. I love Cath’s fiction writing professor, her roommate, her father, Levi…oh so much love for Levi. This book is laugh-out-loud funny at parts (“There are other people on the Internet. It’s awesome. You get all the benefits of ‘other people’ without the body odor and the eye contact.”), and heart-breaking, and challenging, and I can go on and on and on about how amazing this book is and still not do it any justice. This is a MUST READ.

So, what are y’all reading? Any recs?

Until next time~

Cheers!

Release Week Goodies!

With A Wounded Name out in the world now, I thought I’d do a round up of some of the fun release week stuff that’s out there!

First up, my friend has an interview and ARC giveaway up. The giveaway is only for another day, but the interview is forever. Fun note: Shae went to college in my home town, so even though we met through blogging, we very likely encountered each other at the bookstore where I work. Probably multiple times. She asked some really fun questions, and I love her enthusiasm for books. Not just mine- books in general. Authors need (and love!) champions like her.

My friend and agent-mate , author of The S-Word, also has an interview up. The giveaway is closed, but she asked some seriously fantastic questions about feminism and Ophelia.

Speaking of feminism, Rhiannon over at also has an interview up, specifically asking about the difficulties in a soul-deep feminist telling the story of one of the most famously passive female characters of all time.

Finally, my publisher, Carolrhoda Lab (an imprint of Lerner Publishing) is doing a giveaway for two copies of the book! The Lab has an absolutely amazing fall list for you guys (and us- I am crazy looking forward to some of these titles!)

Until next time~

Cheers!

Signing for A Wounded Name

It’s here! It’s real and out there and holy wow!

And now, something I’ve been waiting for since I was about five years old, I get to announce my first signing in a bookstore!

On Saturday, 28 September, from 3-5 pm at the Gainesville, FL Barnes & Noble, I’ll be doing my first signing. If you’re in the area, you’re welcome to come down! It’s not a solid two-hour event, we purposefully created a window of time to accommodate busy schedules (and football). For Gator fans, don’t worry- it’s an away game that day.

We checked.

If you can’t get down there, well, we’ll miss you, but it doesn’t mean you can’t get signed books. If you call the store at 352-372-3535, you can actually purchase copies over the phone and get them sent out. If you want them just signed, we can do that, if you want them personalized, I can do that too, all you have to do is let the cashier know so they can write it out on the slip for me. If you have any questions, you can ask here, or you can also call the store to ask.

In the meantime, thank you all so much for all the good wishes and congratulations this past week. It’s been amazing and surreal and even though I’ve always wanted to get my books published, I think there was a part of me that was always convinced I’d never make it. Every now and then I have to go pet the cover to remind myself that it’s happened. It looks so pretty on the shelf!

Until next time~

(or until the signing!)

Cheers!

Happy Birthday to A Wounded Name!

It’s official! A Wounded Name is out in the world!

I can’t…I can’t even…

Holy cow my book is out in the world!

Book-to-Movie: City of Bones

The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones came out about a week ago in theaters. I’ve now seen it twice.

For all their flaws, I love the Mortal Instruments book series. And with any book that you love, there’s this DREAD when you hear it’s been officially greenlit for production. Options are one thing- so many books are optioned but never made. But actually going into production? That’s when it becomes real, and suddenly you’re looking at pictures of actors and hearing names of directors and designers and screenwriters and producers and OH MY GOD WHAT IF IT’S AWFUL AND YOU HATE IT AND THEY RUIN IT AND THEY TOTALLY RUN ANYONE OFF FROM DISCOVERING THE BOOKS BECAUSE THE MOVIE IS SO BAD…

Okay, so some of us (me included) can get a bit worked up about it.

But it’s a side effect of being invested in the books- if we love the book, we get passionate about it. We want to see it done right, we want whatever comes out of it to do it justice. In order to keep some semblance of sanity, I try not to look at pictures leading up to the release. I very frequently skip trailers where possible. I spend most of the time leading up to the release by studiously convincing myself that I don’t know a book exists. It’s the best way I can look at a movie adaptation as completely its own thing.

So there was anticipation and more than a little fear when my brother suggested seeing it last weekend. To be fair, he didn’t care what movie we saw, because he was showing off the luxury theater with the cushy leather recliners.

I can say, with total honesty, I loved this movie. Not just as an adaptation, but also just as a movie. Did I have some technical quibbles with it? Absolutely. But I thought this was, without reservation, an excellent production.

Spoilers abound.

Some quibbles:

-There were some consistency issues. I’m not talking about translating from the book, I’m talking about purely within the movie itself. When Clary and Valentine go through the portal or interact directly with the surface tension, they come away soaking wet. Yet both times we see Jace put an arm through the portal, he’s completely dry, as is his clothing.

-Also, during the scenes at the Hotel Dumort, daylight becomes a tricky tricky thing. Bright daylight is shining down on Simon, but it’s pure night when the wolves break through, but then it’s shifting dawn when they burst out onto the roof. Little goofs like sweat sheens or degrees of wet hair kept shifting between parts of scenes, as well.

-some of the funniest moments in this movie happened in moments where nothing was being said. But. Those funny moments tended to fade out because they were held for a beat and a half too long. It’s a matter of seconds, but because it’s a consistent fault, it tends to bring notice to it.

And one tiny quibble about it AS AN ADAPTATION:

-Izzy’s red stone necklace? The one that warms to warn her of demons in the vicinity? It’s only in one scene. The Izzy in the book is never without it. It was a small bother, but a bother nonetheless, especially because it’s such an easy thing.

But seriously, a two hour movie and those are my only quibbles?

The casting was brilliant. The sense of connection between the characters, the small expressions, the casting director did a phenomenal job. Other than a few too many sweeping vistas of the city, the sense of New York was woven very well into the film, and oh my God the Institute. It was gorgeous! The costuming was a lot of fun, even if the runes weren’t quite as I’d anticipated (and why are Izzy’s runes so much more delicate than the boys’?), and Magnus?

Oh my God, Magnus. Our first view of him is phenomenal. I can’t even…

The pacing, aside from the extra beats, was great. It made for a tight story and a continuing sense of action, even in the quieter moments.

And I actually really loved most of the changes they made. Part of the challenge in translating a book to film is in keeping things tight. Readers have the luxury of flipping back and forth to remind themselves of when something was first brought up. Viewers have to be able to follow a cohesive timeline. So shifting the final action to the Institute, rather than introducing a new location, made a lot of sense. Shaving things off for the sake of clarity is a necessity, and I liked the choices they made in that regard. The soundtrack was fun, at times very well woven through it, and when the vampire fight starts, the shift in music was brilliant.

Also, I thought it was incredibly smart move to pack the previews with YA-adaptation trailers. Vampire Academy, The Book Thief, and Catching Fire, and they perfectly hit their target audience.

All in all, this was a fantastic movie, and a solid adaptation that gives me SO MUCH FAITH in the slew of translations coming out over the rest of this year and next.

Until next time~

Cheers!

Book Rec: Of Beast and Beauty, by Stacey Jay

I’ve finally reached the point in the move that never ends where what I have left to do is minimal enough that I can actually relax a little bit in the evenings. I can sit down on my new-to-me couch with a wine glass of soda (because I’m just that classy) and after two months of reading nothing but fanfiction because I didn’t have enough brain cells not dedicated to moving to make sense of anything else. My bookshelves are up, and while my trade books are still in stacks on the floor, my YA and younger books are up on their shelves in the living room.

Most of my life is still in boxes, but that room feels like home.

There are books there that I have been wanting to read for MONTHS, but they’ve either been in storage or my brain has been thoroughly absent. The other night I went to the wall of books to choose one to read, and I hit that moment that every bibliophile hates: THERE ARE SO MANY BOOKS I WANT TO READ AND I CAN’T PICK.

But the cover of Of Beast and Beauty by Stacey Jay kept jumping out at me.

Something about the rose against that pale skin, with the city beneath it. And it’s a jump-off from Beauty and the Beast, which is a story I absolutely love.

THIS BOOK IS AMAZING.

The world-building is gorgeous, distinct and strong, and while it’s been thousands of years since the settlers arrived on this new world, we still get pieces of the pure shock as a scientific culture suddenly finds itself face to face with magic. Forced into change on a physical and genetic level by the planet’s native magic, the population split- the Smooth-Skins, those left relatively unaffected by the mutations, who live in domed cities away from the ravages of a harsh environment, and those they call Monsters, those who lives out in the wilds by grace of the mutations the Smooth-Skins fear. The cities have a covenant with part of the planet’s magic force, a pledge of sacrifice to keep the cities thriving, but it isn’t enough to keep the children from being born missing some piece- sometimes a voice, or sight, or hearing, sometimes extremities or limbs, but every child born within the cities has something missing. Mutations can also be found within the city, and those Banished, as they’re called, are cast to the very outer edges of society. Those the Smooth-Skins call the Monsters eke out a meager existence, scraping by on harvests that diminish with each passing season.

The narration passes back and forth between two characters, for the most part, with occasional interjections from a third. Isra, the princess of the domed city of Yuan, has been blind since she was five years old, after a terrible fire that led to her mother’s death. She has been sequestered in a tower since that point, interacting only with her father, her father’s chief advisor, and her mute maid, Needle. She escapes the tower from time to time, going out to the royal gardens where the roses have their own magic to help her ‘see’. Gem is from a tribe across the desert, a reluctant warrior sent on a dangerous mission as the last hope for his people- and his infant son. Bo, a soldier and the son of Yuan’s chief advisor, fills in some of the elements we would otherwise miss. The language is distinct between the three, Isra sharp and longing and defiant, Gem with a storytelling soul and the deep desire for home and family, Bo formal and uncomfortable.

One of my favorite things about this book is Isra’s personal journey. She is so sheltered and naive, but her arc isn’t as easy as shrugging off her innocence. She has responsibilities to her people, to her city, and she’s willing to make incredibly difficult and self-sacrificing choices. But there are constant setbacks to her growing knowledge. She gains understanding in jagged bits and pieces, and she frequently forms a resolution to do the best thing based off incomplete knowledge- which can lead to that resolution being the wrong choice. Her growth, painful and shocking and genuine, was riveting. The relationship that grows between her and Gem, based on deceit and hope and a very fragile future, slowly becomes something real, shocking the hell out of both of them.

I love the darkness in this story, something so much more than the literal darkness of Isra’s blindness. The roses are creepy and haunting and lovely, kind of like a botanical version of the Weeping Angels. Needle’s faithfulness and ingenuity, Bo’s desperate need to make his father proud, the dark and disturbing history of the city, and the staggering deprivation of the tribes…there are points where this story becomes genuinely heart-breaking. Seriously, there was one part where I had to close the book and fight the urge to swear at Stacey Jay, because holy hell, my poor heart! But there’s so much beauty to it as well, not the beautiful or a person or a landscape, but the kind of beauty that really does change the world in the right conditions.

If you love fairy tale retellings, if you love the places where science and magic clash, if you love journeys of discovery, this book is definitely for you.

Until next time~

Cheers!

What Makes A House A Home

Family is what makes a house a home, but when we don’t live with family, when we’re out on our own either by ourselves or with roommates, there are little things that make a place truly ours. Sometimes it’s making the first meal in the new kitchen, or hanging up the pictures, or putting out a collection.

For me, it’s setting up the library.

After the physical and mental stress of moving, there’s something incredibly soothing about the act of sorting, unboxing, organizing, and shelving the books that makes a place feel like mine. Having my hand on every single book, seeing them all correctly in place, that’s when a place becomes mine.

I’ve always called it the library, even when it was just a tiny stack of books on the floor. I’d tell my mom I was going to the library, and I’d go into the closet, close the door, and curl up in a nest of blankets with a book and a flashlight, and I’d disappear for hours. I’d go walking through wardrobes with the Pevensies, talk to animals with Daine in Tortall, or sail the high seas in Amy’s Eyes.

For the most part, though, books really were from the library, either the public ones or the school ones. Money was tight, and with as quickly as I read, books would have been a serious investment. But then when I was…fifteen? Almost fifteen? I earned some money for babysitting all day every day for two kids for two weeks. They were great kids, and we had a lot of fun. I’d read out loud to them after lunch, so the food could settle, and for the first time they were actually enjoying books, which was almost worth everything right there. Mom and I struck a deal- as long as I put a third of it into savings, I could spend the other two thirds however I wanted.

We made a trip to the bookstore.

Surprise, right?

But thirteen years later, I can still tell you which books I bought, because they were ones I had checked out from the library so often I almost had them memorized. Everything Tamora Pierce had out at that time, the full Belgariad and Mallorean series by David Eddings, plus the side books, whatever Brian Jacques paperbacks I didn’t have yet. I came home with two enormous bags of books, plus the materials for a little bookcase. I put it together completely by myself, and when I had it up and organized all the books and put them up, I just sat there in front of it and smiled.

Every time I move I tell myself I have too many books, but then I get them all up on the shelves and suddenly this brand new apartment, with everything else still in boxes, the still unfamiliar floor plan, becomes home.

I’m still in the middle of the current move, but it’s been plagued with daily heavy rains, so process has been somewhat slower than I’d've hoped. However, those rains have meant that I’ve had more time in the new place to organize and unpack as I go. Today’s rainy hours project was my YA books.

My books have been in storage since January, so in many ways it was like reuniting with old friends. Seeing trilogies completed by books that have come out in the past couple of months finally sit all together was awesome. I’m the type of nerd that loves to recognize patterns, so it’s fun to see where authors’ names cluster within certain letters. It’s a weird mix of having a lot of books by particular authors in those clusters and having a lot of different authors in those clusters, but I have a ton of books whose authors’ names start with C. And M. And R and S.

The Tamora Pierce books have been joined by more- since I bought Alanna and Daine’s sets, I’ve added Keladry’s, Aly’s, Beka’s, and the Circle Opens and Circle Reforged sets. She takes up a full shelf and a bit. My Cassandra Clare hardcovers take up most of a shelf, and I’m not sure if they look impressive or terrifying all lined up together.

Every book, though, as I sort it by letter, as I shelve it, I remember why I bought that book. Someone I trust told me it was amazing. The characters sounded incredible. The setting seemed unbelievable. I remember why I was intrigued enough to buy them and I remember what my reaction to them was.

And that’s what makes it coming home. These are the friends I escape to in bad times, celebrate with in good times. They take me away from my own world and I come back to understand it better. They challenge me, change me in ways I can’t always even encompass until years later.

Then there’s the fact that I got to put my own book up on the shelf for the first time. It sits right between Tara Hudson and Eva Ibbotson, and seeing it up there legitimately is MIND-BLOWING.

A Wounded Name Giveaway!

September is creeping closer and closer! In less than two months, A Wounded Name will be out in the world for all to see!

You can even read for free.

So to celebrate, how’s about a giveaway?

There are actually THREE prize packs available!

First prize is a SIGNED, HARDCOVER copy of A Wounded Name. It’s so pretty and smooth and did I mention pretty? You can also choose to have this personalized. Also included is a signed swag pack.

Second prize is a copy of Defy the Dark, edited by Saundra Mitchell. It has a slew of amazing stories in it, but the reason I selected it for a giveaway is Tessa Gratton’s story “This was Ophelia”. Does that name sound familiar? It should- this is a brilliant take on Hamlet set in all the heady glory of the Jazz Age. I’m a sucker for Hamlet anyway (go figure) and I adore Tessa Gratton’s writing, and this was just a win-win all the way around. This one also includes a signed swag pack for A Wounded Name.

Third prize pack is a signed swag pack, enough to have AND to share!

Enter Here

The only piece that’s mandatory is the comment: tell me what book or books you’re looking forward to this fall. You can get extra points for liking my facebook page or following me on twitter, as well as tweeting about the giveaway. PLUS, you can add points by tweeting each day. The giveaway is up for a week, so it’ll close Tuesday night (the 16th)

Less than two months!

Until next time~

Cheers!