Plastic, by Sarah N. Harvey

Jack has a fairly major obsession with breasts, but when he learns that his friend Leah is planning to get a boob job for her sixteenth birthday, he is shocked. When trying to talk her out of it doesn't work, he starts an anti-teen plastic surgery website and then his own protest movement. Not only does this not change Leah's mind, but it totally turns her against him. Jack persists, though, and his movement continues to grow until it starts to turn nasty.

More of a novella than a full-blown book, this thin large-type book covers a pretty unusual topic. For being such a short book, it does a remarkably decent job, but so many parts of it get short-changed. Jack is engaging but the other characters are mostly underdeveloped. Fairly or not, the brief nature of the story makes it look like a rush job. There is definitely potential to do more with this.

Star in the Forest, by Laura Resau

When Zitlally's father gets deported back to Mexico, she finds comfort in taking care of an abandoned dog in a junkyard. And while her friends don't understand why Zitlally has become so withdrawn and morose, she makes a new friend with Crystal, the unpopular girl next door. The two girls take care of the stray and name him Star, teaching him tricks in hopes of impressing Zitlally's father if he ever makes it back.

Written more for middle readers than Resau's previous books, this one takes on similar themes (indigenous Central American cultures, immigration, maintaining identity in North America) that Resau has explored in those other books. It's a gentle story and probably sufficiently enjoyable for its targeted age group. But I thought it really didn't break any new ground. Resau's a lovely writer with some wonderful observations about indigenous American culture, but she needs to move on to new stuff.

Willowood, by Cecilia Galante

Lily and Bailey were best friends before Lily and her Mom moved away. Lily is having trouble making new friends and misses the secret hiding place that she used to share with Bailey (a grove they called Willowood). Things get worse when Bailey starts drifting away and no longer seems to share the same interests. But when Lily's babysitter takes her to meet a local pet shop owner and his son Nate (who suffers from Downs Syndrome), Lily's visions of friendship expand and she learns to see beyond herself. Themes of parental abandonment and school bullying also play a part in this story of personal growth.

This is a busy little book with quickly paced action that sometimes runs a bit ahead of the reader. Galante has an annoying habit of discussing new characters or plot developments and then backing up to explain them, leaving me wondering if I had missed something (sometimes I had, and had to re-read a section to understand the action). So, in my mind this is a bit hard to read. But also, there is an awful lot going. To bring some sort of conclusion to all of these threads, many of the plot lines get tied up too neatly, but I'll forgive that in a middle reader. I do think that the story could have used more focus.

The Twin's Daughter, by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

Lucy never knew that her mother had a twin sister until she was thirteen, when Aunt Helen showed up at her door. Aunt Helen and Lucy's mother had been separated at birth, with Aunt Helen consigned to an orphanage and raised in dire conditions. Now reunited with her sister's family, Aunt Helen slowly begins to bloom. But what would be just a story of Victorian manners (Pygmalion meets Emma) takes a gory and murderous turn.

There is an interesting theme in this novel involving layer upon layer of deception. And, as in any story about people deceiving each other, the question of knowledge and how we really know each other is paramount. The striking answer in this novel is that we truly don't ever know each other, beyond our personal experience and observations of actions. Nothing inherent ties a parent to a child beyond declaration of intent and role. It's an bit coldhearted, but the idea is well played out.

Strictly speaking, despite the young heroine, this isn't a YA book. The writing style is in a faux-stilted fashion than is meant to emulate Jane Austen, but there are a fair number of anachronisms (including some distracting modernist feminist notions). The result is more a history lesson than a historical novel (as the manners and mores and more observed than lived). The plot gets a bit convoluted and, in the end, makes little sense, but it is a fun ride and I anxiously tried to pick the book back up whenever I had a free moment.

And Then I Found Out the Truth, by Jennifer Sturman

In this sequel to And Then Everything Unraveled, Delia has started the search for her mother. This quickly leads to complications: the clairvoyant Caroline is still giving cryptic advice, the artiste Dieter has decided that the best way to help Delia and her aunt keep a low profile is to paste up pictures of them everywhere, Quinn (who may or may not be her boyfriend) is grounded for being involved in an underage betting ring, and people (including Quinn's father) appear to be trying to kill Delia. Everything keeps leading to Buenos Aires, so that is where Delia eventually ends up.

One should not take a book like this too seriously. It's the sort of adventure where a breathless chase scene is interrupted with less-than-subtle references to brand-name shoes and a heated discussion about saving people's lives is on equal par with angsting over whether Quinn really likes Delia or not. In sum, a mystery of international intrigue and deceit that could lead the cataclysmic environmental change and the romantic mysteries of teen boys are of similar significance. So, it's all in good fun. Those looking for redeeming educational value can take some heart from the cultural tour of Argentina, but none of that is really the point.

Wolves, Boys, & Other Things That Might Kill Me, by Kristen Chandler

With a title like this, you'd probably be expecting a werewolf book, but this is actually non-fantasy lit. It's the story of KJ Carlson who struggles to win her Dad's trust and her own self-confidence, but gets far more than she bargained for when she agrees to write a column about the wolves in Yellowstone for her school paper. Living on the edge of the park, tempers run hot over the issue of the reintroduction of the wolves. When a series of violent acts threaten her father and her boyfriend Virgil, KJ has to take a lesson from the wolves about standing up for what she believes in.

A bit longish and awkwardly paced, Chandler still deserves major kudos for writing a book about an interesting subject (wolves, ranchers, and the conflict between them). It's an insightful book and fulfills a criteria of mine for truly great books: they teach me something. I really don't know much about wolves and this book manages to work in some fantastic details. Despite the pacing (which jumps strangely ahead at crucial points, causing major plot developments to be underplayed), the characters are varied and the heroine is sympathetic. There is more than enough human interest to keep things going (although the romance is bit lame). I especially liked the gentle way that wolf behavior and teen behavior is juxtaposed and found the analogy quite effective.

The Hard Kind of Promise, by Gina Willner-Pardo

When they were in Kindergarten, Sarah and Marjorie made a promise to each other to always be best friends. For many years, that's what they were. But as they enter seventh grade, the girls are drifting apart. Marjorie is just plain weird and sometimes her behavior embarrasses Sarah. Sarah wants to stay friends, but it's hard when Marjorie doesn't share her interests. As the two girls branch out and acquire new friends, they struggle with their feelings of guilt and loss, trying to figure out if there is a middle ground that can save their friendship.

This is fairly familiar ground for middle readers (the classic example is Lynne Rae Perkins's All Alone in the Universe), probably because changing loyalties are common enough for this age cohort. As such, the book doesn't exactly chart new territory, but it makes a nice supplement to its predecessors. The story is notable for avoiding any of the sort of bitchiness that permeates so many books about girl friendships. There are some not-so-nice kids in this story, but they are quickly sidelined. The characters that matter are all fairly decent to each other. Willner-Pardo's message that, despite one's good intentions, sometimes you just drift apart, is nicely delivered.

I do take some issue with the plot for drifting aimlessly. The primary narrative thread (about participating in a choral competition) is pretty tangential to the purpose of the book. But, the action in this story is inconsequential: basically, the girls could be doing just about anything. The purpose of the story becomes an excuse to show the gentle parting of ways.

The Body Finder, by Kimberly Derting

Violet has a supernatural ability to sense dead humans and animals, but only if they have been killed. And she also has the ability to sense the killers as well. Ever since the talent first revealed itself when she was eight, Violet has had to keep this talent a secret and only her parents, uncle, and her best friend Jay know about it. But when a series of kidnapping and murders start to take place in her town, Violet gets involved in finding the killer. The situation escalates when the killer starts to stalk her.

Derting has expert pacing with the suspense and mystery angle of this story. The "hunter" as he's called is sufficiently creepy. But the story overall drags because of Derting's insistence on throwing in a romance. In itself, this might be a good idea as Violet and Jay's shifting feelings add a bit of spice to the story and allow the pace to run a bit more slowly, but this is a romance without much spark. I get that they are friends but I just didn't see much fire between them. In fact, most of the relationships in this novel lack much feeling. As a result, I really found myself pushing by them so I could get to the juicy and creepy sections of the book.

Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins

As someone who never caught the Harry Potter bug, the Hunger Games series has been a significant literary event. The first book impressed me. The second transcended the usual sequel curse by being both true to (and better than) the first book, except for its ending. That put part three in an awkward place. Having pretty much hated the ending of book two, would I really enjoy book three? There really wasn't much of a choice as to whether I would read this last installment -- I was seriously invested and thus I had to read it.

Mockingjay picks up a few weeks after Catching Fire. The basic gist is that the districts are now rising up and the leaders of the uprising are looking to Katniss to play the role of the agitator. The truth, though, is that (just as in the Games) it is the image of Katniss that they want -- her real self is not actually all that interesting. Still, she wants to be helpful and reluctantly agrees to help out as she can. Along the way, she has plenty of ghosts to face and unresolved issues with her two loves (Peeta and Gale).

There are several interesting tracks to this much darker installment in the series. Having expanded out of the colliseum of gladiator games, Collins is building in a much larger theater both physically and narratively. There is, of course, the action story (the part most likely to be adapted into a movie, if rumors of a film optioning are true). There is also a very complicated political story about paranoia, corruption, the impact of the media, and the depths of greed. These themes have been present in the previous novels but Collins expands on them here. Finally, there is the personal story of Katniss herself and how she copes with survivor guilt, vulnerability, and her conflicting desire to act. Sadly, this last part is the most neglected part of the story. While she is constantly plagued -- to the point of reader distraction -- with guilt and doubt, her ability to work through those feelings remain underdeveloped.

A friend commented that she felt that Collins rushed the ending. I'm prone to agree. In the last half of the book, Collins jumps from one thing to another, seemingly uninterested any longer in her characters or even in the story. It seems as if she simply can't wait for the whole thing to end.

Will Grayson, Will Grayson, by John Green and David Levithan

Will Grayson's best friend Tiny Cooper is "the world's largest person who is really, really gay, and also the world's gayest person who is really, really large." The two of them have been best friends since little league when Will stood up for Tiny and Tiny towered over anyone who had a problem with it. Now that they are in high school, Tiny wants to return the favor by including Will in his fabulous musical about love. Will isn't so sure how he feels about the attention. He's managed most of the time to get through life with a low profile.

Enter a different Will Grayson, living a couple dozen miles away. This Will lives in constant battle with himself, taking pills to deal with his depression. Through a cruel prank from his former best friend Maura, Will ends up at a porn shop, where (through a string of coincidences) he meets the first Will Grayson. And through Will, he also meets (and falls in love with) Tiny.

The rest of the book traces Tiny and the second Will's romance in chapters that alternate between the two Wills. That Tiny never takes a chapter is irrelevant as he is the center of attention from beginning to end. And, like Tiny, the story is larger than life, culminating in a completely over-the-top ending that can only appropriately be described as gay.

I'm not a fan of David Levithan's writing and just as less a fan of his other collaborations (Nick and Norah being a classic example for me of a book where only half of it was any good in my opinion). This one didn't change my opinion much. I'd like to imagine that I could ascribe all of the parts of this book that I loved to John Green (who seriously rocks!) and all the parts I hate to Levithan, but I suspect that this book was so corroborative that that is not possible. I liked Tiny and the o.w.g Will, while the lower case spelling of manic-depressive Will annoyed me and his plot line seemed like a serious distraction. Tiny and the first Will's relationship though reminded me of some of the same buddy relationship in Looking for Alaska and An Abundance of Katherines.

Side note: One of the things that one notices in reading a book like this (when I spend so much time reading chick-lit) is that it takes a lot of digging (mostly through profanity) to get at the inner souls of boys. I'm not entirely sure if that is really true, but it is certainly the modern style. And I wonder what others think: do all the "bitchsqueeler" references make the relationship more realistic or does it seem overly pumped up?

The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet, by Erin Dionne

Having to start eighth grade with your genius seven-year-old sister taking your classes with you is pretty bad. Add to it your amazingly nerdy parents who show up at school in medieval garb (they are utterly obsessed Shakespeare scholars). Now stir in the unfortunate coincidence that you are studying a unit on the Bard and that your English teacher is convinced that you are a theatrical genius and should play Puck in an upcoming production of Midsummer's Night (when you're already prone to terrible stage fright). Top it all off with being a girl named Hamlet (with a sister named Desdemona)!

In sum, it's waves of unspeakable humiliation for an image-conscious junior high schooler. Hamlet certainly has her hands full. There's the task of both ignoring and covering for her sister. There's a pair of popular girls who are being suspiciously friendly to Desdemona. There's trying to prevent her parents from embarrassing her further. And finally, there's the small matter of small origami piglets that keep showing up in her locker. Is someone playing a prank or does she have a secret admirer?

The narrative can be a bit uneven at times, but Dionne's story is brilliantly over-the-top. Realism is not the point here and the good-hearted characters and tween-ish dramatic exaggeration target the book's middle reader audience well. This is a fun book, intended to make you smile. The foils are typical -- clueless adults, insecure queen bees -- but that simply makes this book literary comfort food.

The Year I Turned Sixteen, by Diane Schwemm

Four sisters take turns recounting their eventful and pivotal sixteenth years. It starts with Rose, who wants to pursue a career on the stage, but has to balance her dreams with a responsibility to help her mother with the family after Dad dies. Two years later, Daisy rebels against her good girl image as a way of acting out her frustration that Mom is dating their next-door neighbor. Three years later, Laurel suffers a deep personal loss. And finally, after all of this, baby-of-the-family Lily struggles with an identity crisis in the wake of all of her sisters' successes and failures.

Strikingly, all four sisters have the same absolutely lousy taste in boys, each one starting off with Mr Wrong and initially clueless about the Right Guy who is right in front of them. Thankfully, they each recognize their mistake and pull through before the nice guy gives up on them. All of which left me wondering how poorly Mom raised her kids to be unable to tell the difference between a nice boy and a monster!

And that underlines my first basic problem with this breezy 700-page epic -- it's terribly repetitive. Each section (envisioned as a standalone book) is basically the same: young woman arrogantly ignores family and friends and throws herself at a worthless creep. After a lot of painfully obvious abuse, she recants and the spurned good guy (who she's treated like crap) takes her back. I get that it's a formula, but I didn't need it repeated again and again!

My second problem is the writing style. For a book pitched at teens, the vocabulary and sentence structure is pedantic and simplistic, as if it was more aimed at tweens. The tone was condescending and written more like a parent would like to imagine teens talk/behave, than how they actually do. It seemed sloppy and careless, and I was disappointed.

Amy & Roger's Epic Detour, by Morgan Matson

Amy's family is falling apart. Her father is dead. Her brother is in drug rehab. Mom has moved across the country, leaving Amy alone in California. Now, she wants Amy to drive the family car and join her in Connecticut. Amy's terrified of driving ever since the car accident that killed her father so Mom carves out a compromise: she finds the son of a family friend named Roger to do the driving. And thus is launched a road trip.

Her Mom's carefully-planned itinerary quickly gets bypassed as Amy and Roger decide to explore a few side-destinations along the way. And what starts as a few detours becomes a much more important journey for both of them as they confront a series of issues and clear up some serious emotional baggage.

The story works on a number of levels. There's the overly predictable love story, which is pretty lame, but develops at its expected speed. There's the similarly predictable shedding of issues which at least is paced realistically, albeit in a way that was more tedious. If this was all that the book had going for it, I'd probably toss this out is slight formulaic fodder. But there's all sorts of lovely touches, from the play lists to the travel guide of burgerology, which liven the story up and make it fun. All sorts of great research went into the travel aspect (for all the places which I knew, the details seemed right) and I enjoyed that part. So, while the story telling itself didn't really offer anything new, I liked the details and enjoyed the trip. And even a formula can be fun with the right dressing.

Friend Is Not A Verb, by Daniel Ehrenhaft

Hen's older sister has been missing for a year, so it's a big deal when she suddenly shows up again (although, suspiciously, his parents don't seem so surprised by the news, suggesting that they may have known where she was for the past year). Unfortunately, his sister's reappearance coincides with Henry getting dumped by his girlfriend and getting kicked out of her band. The latter is short-lived as he gets invited back into the band (albeit not into his ex-girlfriend's bed).

Somehow, despite his total lack of talent, everyone seems to think that Hen has what it takes to be a rock star. His parents are encouraging him to study music. His prodigal sister wants him to take lessons from her fugitive boyfriend. Hen himself is just confused.

Written in a wise-cracking and uber-trendy style that is guaranteed to date itself in weeks, Ehrenhaft's prose will bring a smile to your face (the book, at the very least, has the best title of the year). As literature, however, it left me cold. The characters are fairly thin (why do male writers do such a crappy job with emotions and motivations?) and are largely vehicles for one-liners. There's a decent collection of embarrassing anecdotes and some great physical humor, but the story is going in several directions at once and has a hard time getting off the ground.

Illyria, by Elizabeth Hand

Madeline and Rogan share a love for the theater and for each other. Descendants of a famous stage star and also first cousins, they share a number of secrets (secret hideaways, secret rendezvous, and a special secret attic with a magical miniature stage). However, their forbidden love for each other and for the stage threatens to destroy them both. Told completely in the hindsight of adulthood from Madeline's viewpoint, we learn about their growth into stars and their loss of innocence and love.

This is a beautifully-written short novel, but it is problematic for me because (beyond describing a life full of disappointments) it lacks much of a story. The narrator's perspective (an adult looking wistfully back on the folly of youth) is not really YA, but rather an adult's book about childhood. And finally, the book is a stylistic mess. Themes ranging from explicit incest to sheer fantasy are picked up carelessly and dropped just as quickly. The overall mood is dreamy and random. The result is pretty but not terribly compelling.

Forgive My Fins, by Tera Lynn Childs

Lily has always had a crush on swimming hunk Brody Bennett, but all she ever seems to get is unwanted attention from her obnoxious neighbor Quince. The worst part is that she is running out of time. Lily is a Thalassinian princess - a mermaid - and if she doesn't bond with Brody by her 18th birthday, her underwater kingdom will go without an heir. An unexpected prank at the Prom from Quince causes complications when he accidentally bonds Lily to himself (instead of to her true love). Now, she must prove that her affections are really with Brody and not with Quince to be free of the bond.

The story is tried and true, and utterly familiar and predictable. We all know that she will end up with Quince, since even though she despises him from the beginning, everyone around them thinks that they will be a great couple. We simply have to wait for her to recognize it as well. The key is whether the journey to the predictable conclusion will be worthwhile. I'll freely admit that "true love" romances are not my thing (more on that below), but this one in particular really didn't break any new ground. Mermaid stories (especially ones that compare mermaid life to American high school life) have been common enough in recent years. This one is so lacking in tension and suspense, that I found myself counting the pages until we got to the part where she would get over herself and fall for Quince.

OK, so why so cold on the true love theme? You might rack that cynicism up to me being a guy, but I suspect that age has more to do with it than gender. I like a good romance, where the characters struggle with their feelings and fall in love, but the idea that one can just be in love without any effort is so unrealistic and so uninteresting. Why would you care about people who don't have to work at it? In the end, I wasn't really convinced that Lily's feelings for Quince were any deeper than her infatuation with Brody.

As Simple As It Seems, by Sarah Weeks

In fifth grade, Verbena learns that her parents are not her real parents. She was adopted. In her mind, this explains why she is such a screw-up. After all, how could she not be when her biological parents are an alcoholic and a murderer? Just the idea of it drives Verbena nuts and triggers her (in her mind, inherited) short temper. She is angry and upset and closes off to her parents and her friends, spending the summer between grades struggling with her mixed-up sense of identity.

Enter Pooch, a "flatlander" from NYC, spending the summer in Upstate New York in Verbena's neighborhood. He's got his own problems (not least of which is that he's convinced that Verbena is actually a ghost!). But from the start, you know that the two of them will help each other through the issues and aid in each others' self-discovery.

With one of the most misleading titles, this economic (180 page!) and tightly-written novel is far from simple and has a lot to say about growing up. While definitely intended for middle readers, there is such a complicated storyline that young readers may get lost or bored. But this is good writing with a timeless setting that will keep this story around for a long time. All of which are the makings of a classic.

In general, I liked the story. The kids were funny, the story lacked any nasty bad guys, and it avoided meanness. There was a bit of gratuitous animal death, but in general this is a gentle tale with universal themes.

Invisible Girl, by Mary Hanlon Stone

Stephanie has taught herself plenty of tricks for surviving her mother's abuse. She has her Nancy Drews to inspire her and her vocabulary of "Warrior Words" to give her strength. She knows how to hide when her mother has been drinking and is in a mean mood. But when it is finally decided to rescue her from her mother and send her to a wealthy family on the other side of the country in Los Angeles while things get "sorted out" as home, she is completely unprepared to deal with the meanness of the girls she meets there. At first, she finds herself meekly accepting her peer's abuse (following the model she learned from dealing with Mom), but when another (and much stronger) new girl arrives, this new girl's kindness motivates Stephanie to stand up for herself.

While the story of finding one's inner strength in the face of mean peers and hapless adults is tired and old, there are two things that make this book stand out: the careful plotting of the way that a nasty cohort of teens can develop and maintain its hold, and the strikingly unrelated exploration of being a Muslim American. The former is also not original, but Stone figures out the logistics of young teen peer pressure quite well (and in a much more interesting fashion than you might find in a Clique novel). The diversion into Muslim life is a bit of a bizarre twist (and largely not organic to the story), but is interesting nonetheless. Unfortunately, it (along with the end) seems to be a bit of a rush job. The story halts awfully abruptly, leaving a number of key issues unresolved (but leaving room for reader imagination).

After the Kiss, by Terra Elan McVoy

Two seniors, getting ready to graduate and move on, remain stuck on a boy - the same boy. At first, neither one of them knows about the existence of the other. Camille is new in town, a victim of having been moved around the country regularly by her Dad. Her scenery has changed so often that she no longer even registers the changing names of her latest BFF. When she meets Alec at a party, she has no way of knowing he is already taken. The other girl, Becca, is Alec's betrayed girlfriend. When they accidentally become friends (without realizing who the other one is at first), it is Becca who is the first to realize who Camille is and what she has done. While she has the advantage, Becca toys with Camille and plans out revenge, yet something holds her back from carrying out her plans.

It's an interesting story, although not as original as McVoy's previous novel Pure, and has an unusual structure. Camille's sections are all written in lower-case second person prose. Becca's chapters are in verse (with frequent parodies of poetry lifted from the Norton Anthology). Becca's poetry can at times be a bit twee but at other times shows real strengths (and was certainly the best part). I'm undecided about how I feel about that wide variance (there's something stereotypical about a teen who writes bad poetry). Camille's sections, on the other hand, really got on my nerves. Second person narrative is exhausting (coming across more as constant criticism and accusations) and the lower-case spelling makes it all very hard to read, without adding much.

It's Not Summer Without You, by Jenny Han

From the cover and the title, you could be forgiven for thinking that this was a summer romance with a beach and a boy. And it actually has both things in it, but this sequel to The Summer I Turned Pretty is really a story about grief and the acceptance of loss, tackling those subjects in a poignantly mature, yet totally age-appropriate, way.

It's one summer later since the first novel and the world has changed dramatically. Conrad has gone missing from school and Jeremiah seeks out Belly to help him try to find his brother. Through flashbacks, we quickly learn the most important events: Conrad and Belly's failed romance and the death of Susannah to breast cancer. The latter event hangs on everyone -- the boys miss their mother, Belly misses Susannah as the mother she never really had, and Belly's mom misses her best friend. Of course, ultimately they overcome it, but it's the voyage that matters.

There is a tendency in YA to assume that teen readers aren't interested in the adult world. And while I suppose there is some truth in that, Jenny Han takes a very different approach in this series. The novel is very much about the kids, but the children exist in the context of the adults and the two parties react/respond to each other in realistic and measured ways. Perhaps as a grownup myself, I appreciate the fact that we aren't segregating the worlds. And it really works with Han's interest in nostalgia and skill at portraying what is lost in the process of growing up (showing children halfheartedly seeking adulthood and adults wistfully recalling youth).

I also like the fact that this sequel isn't rehashing its predecessor. While it includes the same characters and there is some continuity in themes, the story has moved on and deals with a completely different topic than the first book.