The Fragile Ordinary, by Samantha Young

Comet has lived a private bookish life almost all the way through high school.  She has friends but keeps them at arm's length.  She and her parents barely talk.  She's terribly lonely and she just counts the days until she'll graduate and go to college somewhere far far away.

But then she meets Tobias, a boy with a bad attitude who hangs out with a bad crowd.  She'd ignore him, but he has a spark that intrigues her and he turns out to be smarter and nicer than he appears.  Soon, as always happens in the world of YA, she is swept away and spreading her wings.  That is, until they are riven apart by forces outside their control.

The novel never quite worked for me.  It's not the hackneyed plot, for that particular crime would condemn a thousand YA romances.  It's not the characters -- who are wondrously diverse and intriguing.  It's the storytelling, which is surprisingly clunky and wooden.  The story meanders with frequent surprises along the lines of "oh, and by the way, there is this character who I have never mentioned in the first 200 pages who is suddenly the central focus of the story" or "remember that subplot I labored over at the beginning? never mind, I've just resolved it in a page." In other words, real interest killers.  

I've liked Young's other books but this was just painful.

The Notes, by Catherine Con Morse

Claire Wu, a junior at a performing arts high school, wonders if she has what it takes.  Is she a good enough pianist to make it into a conservatory in two years?  Is she Asian enough to be accepted into the school's exclusive Asian Student Association?  Is she attractive enough to get the attention of senior Rocky Wong, the school's best pianist?

A new teacher, Dr. Li, thinks so and she inspires Claire to take risks.  She gets Claire a job as the accompanist for the dance recital, she assigns her harder pieces, and she makes her come in for extra practices.  Rocky and her other fellow students make fun of Claire for being a teacher's pet.  Rocky warns her that it isn't worth it to throw away her life trying to please this new and mercurial teacher.  But Claire likes Dr. Li and wants to prove she is good enough. 

Then things take a sinister turn.  Someone starts leaving notes lying around for Claire, warning her that Dr. Li is hurting her, that Dr. Li is using her, that Claire is wasting her time, and so on.  The messages grow threatening as the time of their piano showcase approaches and Claire is left wondering who is trying to hurt her?  And is she the real target or is it the new teacher?

A thriller with an engaging cast of characters and beautiful attention to detail, but an unevenly paced story.  The first two-thirds of the novel rolls out this story of threatening notes, backgrounded by the engaging mystery of Dr. Li's past and Claire's on-and-off relationship with Rocky.  But then that mystery of the anonymous messages is quickly resolved and a new issue is unveiled -- one involving the mental health of the notes' author.  This essentially new story is quickly run through with no development, completely changing the mood of the piece.  Character's personalities change, new motivations appear, and things that were so important in the first half fade from people's minds.  Worst of all, the story grows sketchy and the tempo speeds up dramatically.  This second part is not a bad story, but it's really not the same tale. 

Everything Within and In Between, by Nikki Barthelmess

One day, Ri discovers a letter under her grandmother's mattress written to her from her mother -- a mother that her grandmother claims has disappeared.  This is just one of the many lies in Ri's life from her controlling grandmother. 

Despite the fact that Grandmother is Mexican-American and Ri is half Latinx, her grandmother has never allowed her to learn Spanish.  Forging a permission slip to switch to Spanish class at school, Ri is determined to learn Spanish, become more familiar with her cultural roots, and find her mother.  And while she manages to do these things, it doesn't work out as she has planned and Ri has to come to terms with the realities of her family.  While that search for her mother doesn't quite work out, she does manage to connect with her heritage despite her grandmother's interference.

The novel raises some good points about discrimination in the Mexican community towards lighter skin colors, general racism, and classism.  The tone can get fairly preachy, but Ri makes an articulate and principled stand against her classmates who tolerate racially-motivated microaggressions. She stands up against classist behavior, especially when it is coupled with racism. While the story also brings up alcoholism and drug abuse, it handles these less convincingly.  But overall, my chief complaint with this story is how repetitive and slow the pace is.  A less-than-convincing change of heart by grandma saves the day so the story ends on a happy note, but it feels over convenient and unsatisfactory.

Beasts and Beauty, by Soman Chainani

It is the purpose of fairy tales to be told and retold in ways that fit the times, and the idea that there is an "original" one is a fallacy. Adaptations, most notably the ones wrought by Disney, serve their purpose. So, when one encounters a new version, it is an invitation to explore universal themes once again but through the author's lens.  A clever example is always welcome and Chainani's is particularly fascinating.  Taking twelve very familiar stories and deconstructing them to highlight the forgotten and neglected elements makes us rethink what we thought we knew.

Telling the story of Cinderella through the eyes of the mouse, taking on Peter Pan through the life of Wendy after she grows up and Peter no longer wants her, understanding that the wolf is just a horny teenage boy hounding Little Red Riding Hood -- these force us out of the comfortable narrative, setting us apart from stories we think we know.  The retellings are all very dark, finding some of the most horrid moments of the Grimms' versions and flipping them.  In the thee versions, Hansel and Gretel are actually saved by the witch in the forest, sleeping beauty is a young man in denial abut his homosexuality, the Little Mermaid is called out for being shallow and immature, and the Beauty cares only about riding herself of the Beast so she can enjoy the library and its many books in peace.  Happily ever after comes with a price that we've never paid attention to before.  Yet for as far away from the "original" stories we know these go, the more lovingly they seem to embrace their source material.

Beautifully written with pleasing illustrations, this is a solid set of classic tales, worthy of being reread again and again.

A Wolf Called Wander, by Rosanne Parry

Living in his pack, Swift dreams of one day gaining dominance over his littermates.  Leaving the pack never enters his mind -- it is his only world.  In these mountains, he is at home  Mother, father, and a good supply of elk to dine on is all he can imagine needing.  But when a rival pack attacks and annihilates his family and takes their land and hunting grounds, Swift is forced to flee.  Traveling in search of a new home, he must feed and defend himself against wolves and other predators.  And while he survives, it is a very lonely journey.

Inspired by the story of OR-7, a wolf that was tracked taking a 1000 mile epic journey across the Pacific Northwest to find a new home, this novel is told in first person as an attempt to understand how wolves think.  And while that idea may be a fantasy, Parry fills the narrative with plenty of observed actual behavior to make the story plausible.  Stuffed full of descriptions of pack hierarchy, hunting techniques and preferences, and even a tender courtship that a Klingon might appreciate, the story educates as it entertains. Gorgeous realistic art fills almost every page, guiding the reader through a perilous and alien landscape.

Wolfpack, by Amelia Brunskill

In an insular cult living deep in the woods, nine teen girls have formed their own little subgroup, supporting and looking out for each other.  Living in an outbuilding away from the rest of the people, they have gained a level of independence and self-government even though they must still follow their sect's rules. 

One day, they wake up to find one of their number is missing.  Worried about the consequences of the defection being discovered and convinced that she will eventually return, the girls attempt to cover up the disappearance.  But when they find out that the missing girl was pregnant and that she was subsequently murdered, they start to investigate what actually happen.  They end of unraveling layers of corruption within their utopia that exposes that their home is far from safe.

As I never tire of saying, verse novels are either great or terrible.  There is no half-way point.  Usually, a verse novel works best for a sad melancholy story because it amps up the poignancy of the protagonist's angst.  Here, the spare verse makes the story more suspenseful and more paranoid.  With so many characters, its hard to get much development in them, but it doesn't matter as the story just races ahead.  The surprise ending isn't well foreshadowed but the conclusion is satisfying and thought provoking.  Entertaining and engaging.

The Cat Who Saved Books, by Sosuke Natsukawa

Reclusive and awkward Rintaro would be perfectly content to sit on his stool in the back of his grandfather's secondhand bookshop, but his grandfather has passed away and the shop is being closed down.  He doesn't know what will come next, but he's resigned to move in with a distant aunt he does not know.  But before that can happen, he is visited by a talking cat, who informs him that he must take three epic trips into the Labyrinth to save books.

The trips, which involve visiting three different men who each threaten literature in specific ways, are allegories that provide cover for deeper criticisms about modern culture and society (the fetishization of literature, the dumbing down of culture, and the triumph of mass production over craftsmanship).  In each case, Rintaro must defend literature and culture against its enemies.  And in the end, through an unexpected additional fourth quest, he must defend the world against his own defense of literature.

The novel name drops a large body of literature, but it is its mention of The Little Prince that is most appropriate.  For it is Antoine de Saint-Exupery's existentialism-for-children classic that this translated Japanese novel best resembles.  As such,  it is packed with symbolism and cryptic conversations.  There is little in the story to take literally and the most enticing parts (the talking cat, the quests, and Rintaro's growth to adulthood) are all duds dramatically. As a story, this is a slog. Instead, it is Natsukawa's critique of modern society that resonates the most and provides ample fodder for debate on such topics as whether digesting a book saves it or destroys it, and does collecting rare books preserves culture or harms it?  Whether that crttique makes the book worth reading depends on what you want to get out of a book.