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.

Girls Like Girls, by Hayley Kiyoko

Coley's father Curtis was not around for the first seventeen years of her life, so it's strange to have to move in with him.  But after the death of her mother, there isn't much choice.  She's only got to put up with it for a few months, so she can just lay low and count the days.  For his part, Curtis tries awfully hard to reconnect, but Coley isn't having any of that.  Instead, she latches on to a volatile group of bored teens and  through them meets Sonya.  The attraction between the two girls is immediate and undeniable to Coley.  But Sonya runs hot and cold, begging Coley for attention one minute but then running to her ex-boyfriend and denying that she's a lesbian in the next.

The relationship is ruptured when Sonya goes too far and betrays Coley's trust and then conveniently goes away to summer camp.  During the break, Coley falls into another destructive relationship before hitting rock bottom.  She comes out of that, managing to pull things together with her life and with her father, but when Sonya returns, the bad old dynamic pops up again.

What the story lacks in terms of activity, it makes up for with authenticity.  The characters felt real and the behaviors seemed plausible, but there is an overly languid nature to the narrative that underplays just about every scene.  We're just laying back in the midst of a long and boring summer, drinking and smoking our way from one scene to another.  Even a surprise act of violence at the end is depicted with detachment.  You're left feeling underinvested in the outcome, not really caring what happens to these characters.

Wolfwood, by Marianna Baer

Indigo's mother achieved fame and critical renown many years ago with her violent watercolor series Wolfwood.  But before she could finish the cycle, she suffered a mental breakdown.  Since then Indigo and her mother have struggled to survive living on the streets.  Now, her mother has been granted an opportunity to finish the series.  The sales from these works would bring in a substantial sum of money and give them a chance to start again.  But as the date of the unveiling of the paintings approaches, Indigo discovers that her mother hasn't painted anything at all and she's in no shape to do so.

Seeing the ruin that awaits them if her mother can't deliver the paintings on time, Indigo takes it upon herself to finish her mother's work.  As she does so, she finds herself literally drawn into the horrific world depicted in the works.  Painting means enduring the suffering of the subjects, being wounded, and potentially being killed.  And while Indigo finally understands her mother's reluctance to finish the works herself, Indigo knows that she has no choice but to attempt to do so.

A grueling story that mixes a touch of magic and an important series of flashbacks to Mom's early life to tell a story of guilt and grieving, and of a mother and daughter achieving mutual understanding.  I found the endless series of setbacks and suffering to be difficult to stomach, but I admired the creativity and the immersion into Indigo's world.  Intermittent attempts to provide relief through Indigo's relationships with various boys felt distracting and broke the narrative in an annoying way.  However, without that respite, the story might have become unbearable.