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.