Miles From Ordinary, by Carol Lynch Williams

Given how crazy Mom is, it falls on Lacey to protect her mother from flying off the rails. Sometimes, Mom is OK, but if Lacey isn't careful, Mom will go and do something nutty (like spend all of their money on food to survive an impending war or she'll wander half-naked into other people's homes). Aunt Linda used to help out some, but after fourteen years, Lacey has come to understand that she's the only one who can take care of Mom.

All of that may change on a special day when Mom is trying out working her first day as a cashier at the Winn Dixie. Lacey hopes that this may give her Mom a sense of purpose and some focus with which to straighten out. Lacey, meanwhile, is on her first day of volunteering at the library, which may give her an outlet away from Mom. Things don't go well, but in the midst of the crisis that develops, Lacey befriends a boy who may inspire Lacey to take some hesitant initial steps towards changing the downward trajectory of her life.

I'm not a fan of kids-in-peril stories and this novel takes the parts of that genre that I despise most (hapless adults, abusive manic-depressive mothers, and codependent families) and puts them on steroids. Reading a story like this basically begs the question: why? Why write a story like this? Is it supposed to be inspirational? I'm tempted, instead, to see it as exploitative.

I kept hoping for some relief from the continuous dark grind, but what I got was 195 pages of child abuse (with the slight possibility that an adult might come through in the end to look out for Lacey). The whole experience is made more painful by a broken timeline, heavy on flashback. This is probably intended to make the grind easier to bear, but it mostly makes us passive recipients of the horrible things which we already know will come. The supporting characters (the boy, the aunt, etc.) are largely throwaway. Gratuitous animal death appears as well. What's to like?

I'll Be There, by Holly Goldberg Sloan

When Emily humiliates herself singing "I'll Be There" at church and Sam happens to witness the event, a string of events ensues that would defy reason, except for the careful chronicling of author Holly Goldberg Sloan.

Sam (and his little brother Riddle) have spent their lives being dragged around by their mentally unstable outlaw father Clarence. Having never known any other sort of life, the hardships that they endure seem normal. That is, until Sam's chance meeting with Emily introduces the boys to a possible alternative life. But as the story patiently explains, everyone has different motivations and conflicting needs, and these can have entirely unexpected consequences.

This story's unusual calling card are all of its digressions. The tale itself might have been told in a third of its pages, except for Sloan's practice of backing up and letting each new character essentially tell their life story. In some hands this might be quite annoying as it inevitably leads to delayed gratification for the resolution of the latest plot twist. But here, each detail is somehow important to the plot and it all comes together in the end. Moreover, you know it will all come together in the end, so you just ride this slow train and enjoy the scenery along the way.

While I enjoyed reading the book, I am unclear who is the intended audience. As an adult reader, the maturity of many of the situations (and the adult details of many of the characters) was a draw. But how much patience would a younger reader have for taking in all the details of someone's failed marriage or career frustrations? And as a story so long on action (and low on emotions or feelings), it really seemed better written for younger readers. So, I'd argue that it is a book for younger readers, but like a children's movie, there's plenty here for the adults to enjoy. That would work in a film, but in a book it seems a bit more muddled.

I'm Not Her, by Janet Gurtler

Tess lacks the popularity, good looks, and confidence of her older sister Kristina. She's a wallflower and utterly ignored by her sister's friends (unless they are drunk guys hitting on her). However the fates change suddenly when Kristina is diagnosed with bone cancer. Now, as Kristina struggles with chemo and withdraws into self-pity, it is Tess who takes center stage at school as she becomes the point of contact with the outside world. And as their parents start to come unglued, it is Tess who surprises everyone (not least herself) by stepping forward and being the strong one.

The story could so easily fall into melodrama, but even as one trauma after another piles up, the story somehow never grows to be too much. The ending is bittersweet and some of the losses are completely unexpected and will hit you in the gut. However, the messages of the story (standing up for yourself, staying loyal to your family) are presented powerfully. It's a heartwarming story of sisterly devotion presented in a satisfying fashion.

Fixing Delilah, by Sarah Ockler

Delilah is going through a rough patch. Her Mom is too busy to notice until Delilah gets caught shoplifting and skips out on her curfew to be with her dead-end boyfriend. But all of this gets swept aside when they receive the news that Delilah's maternal grandmother has died -- the same grandmother that Delilah hasn't been allowed to see for the past eight years. And so the summer of Delilah's seventeenth year is now suddenly full with returning to her grandma's town, helping her mother and aunt clean the house to sell it, and confronting the ghosts of her and her family's past.

One review on the book jacket compared this book to Sarah Dessen's writing and I can see the parallels. For example, we have the distant and self-absorbed mother who makes the daughter's interest in others look like Mother Theresa. But the similarities are superficial (the boy interest is nowhere near as prominent and the heroine is not nearly as introspective).

It will come as no surprise that the mother and daughter will eventually reconcile and provide decent reader catharsis in the process. The similarly predictable trajectory of the love interest is less satisfying: while the boy-loses-girl moment felt honest (and maybe a bit harrowing), their reconciliation seemed forced. And while the book is good at piling up conflict and challenges, the ending is overall a bit too happy and rosy for my taste.

Overall, it's the unevenness of this book that did me in. The middle sags and key moments (first kiss, for example) get lost in the midst of endless mood setting and exposition. The strong climax is weakened by the lame ending. It's a mixed bag.

The Friendship Doll, by Kirby Larson

In 1927, fifty-eight delicately-built and life-sized dolls were sent from Japan to the United States as "friendship ambassadors" to reciprocate an earlier gift from the US to Japan, and to facilitate greater cultural understanding between the two countries. In this novel, Kirby imagines how one of those dolls might have changed the lives of four girls over the years. The doll (Miss Kanagawa) comes to life at optimum moments to affect the children and guide them towards making correct life decisions.

It could be a bit creepy to imagine an animate doll (and the idea isn't entirely original), but the question of the doll's consciousness is kept vague and isn't terribly crucial to the story. Instead, we can almost imagine that each of the doll's young interlopers reached their epiphany on their own. The result is that Miss Kanagawa becomes a conduit for telling this more general story about friendship and loyalty (thus, the story reminded me more of violin in The Red Violin than Chuckie in Child's Play II!). Each episode is a moving story and they are surprisingly well-connected to each other. The ending is a bit anti-climactic but doesn't detract from the story.

One of the real strengths of this book is the strong basis of the story in historical fact. The settings are familiar and well-worn (Dust Bowl refugees, Depression survivors, New York Society figures, etc.) and one could have wished for a wider spread of years (why not put a story in the 50s or 60s?), but Larson does well with what she picks to cover and the stories will entice young readers to learn more. The historical notes at the end are particularly well-written and noteworthy.

Angry Young Man, by Chris Lynch

Robert has a lot on his shoulders. His Mom struggles to make ends meet and provide food on the table for her boys. Robert has this to worry about and also his younger brother, who seems a bit bipolar and has trouble putting things in perspective. Xan (the brother) is obsessed with social justice and wants to right the wrongs of the world. Robert tries to give him perspective and keep it together. But as Xan gets sucked under the spell of a charismatic nihilist, Robert discovers that he is not so immune himself from the charms of anger. The results are explosive and nearly tragic.

Lynch's novel Inexcusable was a near miss for me, with its over-simplification of male violence and pendantic storyline. This, however, is another story. Lynch does a fantastic job of capturing fraternal bonds and the guilt and loyalty (or is it guilty loyalty?) that underlies the relationship between brothers that have faced adversity and not come through it as well as social norms dictate that they should. There's aching familiarity to this story, even if the violence is alien territory.

Seldom do I find books about young men that ring true (too many hang on the moments of libido for comic value) but this one really grew on me, even if the story was disturbing and a turn off. I give serious props to Lynch for presenting a story so authentic! It's not a pretty sight, but the love that these boys feel for each other will touch you.

How I Stole Johnny Depp's Alien Girlfriend, by Gary Ghislain

David is a shy fourteen year old who fantasizes about girls, but has trouble relating to them. He lives with his father, a psychologist who specializes in troubled teens, one of which is the mesmerizing Zelda, on whom David develops a serious crush. The trouble is that Zelda is criminally violent and convinced that she is an alien sent to abduct her "chosen one" (Johnny Depp) and return him to her planet to be her slave. But David is as obsessed with spending time with Zelda as Zelda is with kicking policemen and stealing away Jack Sparrow. And so an unlikely alliance forms with David helping Zelda escape and joining forces to help her complete her mission. Much mayhem ensues and the plot veers from the barely believable to the totally insane.

It's a cute and quirky story, but not nearly as funny as the title implied (or I was hoping for). There are occasional wise cracks and situations that will prompt a chuckle, but the story falls into silliness a bit faster than humor. Written by an ex-pat in France, it's got that weird Gaullist sense (these are, after all, the folks who find Jerry Lewis amusing). It's also a bit disturbing the way that the female characters walk over David. I imagine it was supposed to be funny to watch how helpless David is against feminine wiles, but it just seemed perverse (as if placing women on pedestals was somehow amusing). Overall, a promising premise with a dud delivery.

Across the Universe, by Beth Revis

When Amy's parents decide to join the mission to Centauri (which will take hundreds of years and require them to be cryogenically frozen), Amy is offered the chance to stay behind on Earth. Fatefully, she decides to come along. Deep in the future, Amy awakens to discover that an accident has caused her to be unfrozen early. But that is the least of her worries. Something has gone terribly wrong since the ship left Earth and it is now being commanded by a dictator who has enslaved the support crew with drugs. Worse, someone is murdering the frozen crew before they can reach their destination.

Billed as "entirely original" on the jacket, people who know their sci-fi will recognize Ben Bova's Exiled from Earth series here (and a few allusions to some other classics). But even if Revis owes a debt or two, she spins an exciting story. It gets a bit complicated and runs long (the last ten pages in particular were unnecessary and needed to be excised), but the characters are interesting. The plot is well-paced and the mysteries are unraveled at a good pace. Nothing extraordinary but it is decent science fiction and a good read.

Forgotten, by Cat Patrick

London has amnesia and manages to forget everything that's happened during the day when she goes to sleep every night. To cope with this, she leaves herself notes that brief her on what has just happened. So far, so Memento (a totally cool movie from the 90s with a chunk of the cast of The Matrix in it), but the weirder part is that what London does remember comes from the future. So, while she can't remember anything that has happened, she knows what will take place soon.

The situation becomes complicated when London meets a boy (Luke) who she can't identify (given her ability to know the future, this can only mean that he doesn't have one, which is odd since she's madly in love with him). Luke's existence is more than some sort of paradox -- he's triggering other sorts of memories in London's mind, some of which are quite disturbing.

The premise of this unusual story can be a bit hard to get your head around (and it suffers from a few logical inconsistencies), but once you let go and just start trusting the author, it takes off nicely. I was less thrilled with the rushed ending, but up until the last twenty pages or so, I really liked the way that the story unfolded, with a lot of twists and good pacing. And for such an ambitious premise, Patrick really does a great job of putting it together.

The Last Little Blue Envelope, by Maureen Johnson

(If you haven't read Thirteen Little Blue Envelopes yet, you might want to do that before reading this sequel or its review! You have been warned!)

I'm not a big fan of sequels, but I think that this was one I was really looking forward to read, precisely because the idea of a sequel was never in the cards when the first book appeared. Instead, we were left with such an ending that the average reader was simply dying to have the story get concluded. After trudging across Europe through twelve envelopes with our heroine, it was a major annoyance that the thirteenth and final letter had been stolen and we ended up (much like our heroine Ginny) without any real sense of closure (fairy tale substitite endings aside!). I accepted that it was life and was prepared to move on, but was ecstatic when I read that there was a sequel and that the lost letter had been found!!

In this sequel, a few months have passed and Ginny is working on her college admission essay without a lot of success. She wants to recount the story of her trip and the twelve envelopes, but is suffering a major case of writer's block that gets in the way. In the midst of that frustration, she receives an email from a stranger named Oliver who has recovered the stolen letters. He offers to return them, but there's a catch: the last letter mentions a piece of Aunt Peg's artwork (potentially worth a fortune) and how to locate it. Oliver wants a piece of the action and won't turn over the letter unless Ginny agrees to take another trip through Europe on one final scavenger hunt. Against any rational advice, Ginny agrees to do so.

Along with old flame Keith (and his new girlfriend Ellis), Ginny and Oliver travel through some familiar territory and some new stomping grounds in search of Aunt Peg's artwork and some closure to a hard-earned quest. The results are at once predictable (Ginny and Oliver will naturally hit it off despite their awkward start) and fun (even old places look different a second time around).

The sequel, with its lovely detail and eye for color, will appeal to armchair travelers (Johnson has obviously collected her fair share of travel yarns) and the romantic elements have a suitable level of involvement to snag the reader. Mostly, though, this novel improves upon its predecessor as it closes with less convenient solutions and more open-ended conclusions. Yes, Ginny lives a fairly charmed life (worthy of a Meg Cabot novel), but things here are left more realistic than before. At the very least, Ginny has moved beyond her late aunt (and even her childhood) and is ready to impart on more mature adventures. The demand (and temptation) for a third installment are substantially reduced.

This Girl Is Different, by J J Johnson

As a social experiment, after being home schooled for many years, Evie convinces her mother to let her attend public school for her final year. Her mother reluctantly agrees and things get off to an auspicious start when Evie meets two of her future classmates, Rajas and Jacinda a few days before classes start. Evie and Jacinda become close friends and Evie develops a serious crush on Rajas.

From being homeschooled by her independent and freethinking mother, Evie has developed a tendency towards being outspoken and she rebels against the cliques and social norms of the school. This hurts her ability to make friends but pales in comparison to the trouble she starts when she starts speaking out against the teachers! A plan to out an abusive gym teacher and a sleazy social studies teacher who is hitting on students backfires horribly and Evie finds herself in deep trouble.

The book can get a bit preachy at times, but Evie is a spirited and spunky character with a lot of appeal. The writing is sharp and fresh and more original than most of the stuff that is out there. I found that the ending dragged on a bit and fell into melodrama, but I liked Evie and her mother so much that I was willing to give the book some slack.

I especially wanted to give a special shout out to some very well written sex scenes. In my experience, sex in YA books fall into two categories: hot sweaty stuff worthy of a Harlequin novel and Judy Blume-style how-to's with lots of encouraging commentary about how wonderful/natural/beautiful it all is. Neither approach has ever struck me as meaningful. Johnson takes an entirely different approach: portraying the hormonal rush and the intense desire (coupled by regret and fear) that all gets mixed together. Nearly thirty years later, that's how I remember it and I think it's more honest than most other authors I have read. The feelings that Evie describes sounded painfully authentic to me. Serious props to Johnson for doing such a brilliant job!

In sum, this author is different and I loved her voice!

Somebody Everybody Listens To, by Suzanne Supplee

Like the ungrammatical title of this novel, Retta has some rough edges, but she's got a dream and the talent to support it. She plans to get out of her small town in Tennessee and make it in Nashville as a singer.

It's a well-worn cliche -- small town girl comes to the big city, suffers her fair share of set-backs and minor successes and gradually starts coming out on top. To make sure that we truly appreciate how cliche it is, each chapter is prefaced with a brief biography of a real country musician legend. The overall result is a tribute to the struggles that artists (and country singers in particular) have borne to become the stars that they became.

It is old territory, but even a classic story can be fun to read again when it is well-written. The trip becomes even more enjoyable when you have good company and Retta (despite perhaps a few improbably good twists of luck) is a fine nuanced character. She works hard, has sharp instincts, and a general basic decency, and the reader will be prone to find her sympathetic. Supplee thankfully avoids the temptation to introduce a romantic thread and instead keeps the story focused on Retta and Retta alone. This is a smart decision and allows us to focus on her efforts and her successes.

Another strength of this novel is Supplee's respect for the locale and the people. A story placed in such a colorful town as Nashville could easily have been exaggerated with stereotypes. Supplee doesn't fall into that trap and gets the cultural details (including the accents) down. The folks in the story are not dumb hicks and instead leap off the page like real people.

In sum, this is a bit of literary comfort food with decent presentation and down home charm.

Like Mandarin, by Kirsten Hubbard

Out in Washokey, Wyoming, everyone knows everyone else's business and life is as dull as it is usually portrayed in any stereotypical YA novel about rural America. Grace Carpenter is a loner, an A-grade student, promoted ahead of her peers and poised for greatness. Aside from her invisible social standing, Grace is a success, but not in the eyes of her mother. Mom hasn't really respected any of Grace's accomplishments since Grace purposely threw the Little Miss Washokey beauty pageant at age seven. Now it is Grace's little sister who bears Mom's hope and attentions.

All of this is OK with Grace. She's at peace with her lack of social standing and with the maternal neglect. To compensate, she has a budding love for geology (with a decent rock collection to boot) and her own ambitions, one of which is to become a bit more like local bad girl Mandarin Ramey. Since Mandarin arrived in town (coincidentally during that ill-fated beauty contest), Grace has idolized her silently from afar. In Grace's eyes, Mandarin is sure of herself, unafraid of the judgement of others, and utterly fearless -- all traits that Grace knows she lacks. If only she could be a little like Mandarin.

So, when Grace gets asked by her guidance counselor one day if she would be willing to tutor Mandarin, Grace is both exhilarated and terrified. At least, she will get a chance to know this local mystery and get to the bottom of all of the rumors about Mandarin. But as the two girls get to know each other, Grace finds that Mandarin isn't quite what she expected. And she grows to realize that becoming like Mandarin isn't what she should be aspiring to at all -- she should be aspiring to be more like herself.

This is a truly stunning novel, even if it is familiar territory. Certainly the mystery girl and the wallflower who idolize her has been done before. Hubbard's take on Wyoming will break no threshold for originality either. But the writing is simply breathtaking. Pick any page in this book and read a few lines -- the quality of the prose will blow you away. Characters "dance away into the throng" of the other kids at school; the men in town have "always found ways to get themselves killed. Often explosively"; Grace longs to escape it all and have "something to break up the monotony, [and not] fade into the hills like one of those solitary ghost-people, who spent their days listening to the wildwinds batter their corrugated shacks." Poetry!

And it isn't just the writing, of course. The characters are well-developed and intelligent. Their relationships are complex. The story itself is unpredictable yet flows naturally and believably. The cliches of drunken parties, geeky lab partners, clueless mothers, and so on are all present, but Hubbard waste no times on them (they are simply part of the landscape, placed in the story to make the scenery look familiar). Instead, she keeps the focus tightly on Grace and Mandarin's relationship and lets it unwind in a way that leaves the reader completely hooked to the end.

Living On Impluse, by Cara Haycak

Mia has a number of issues: she's addicted to the rush she gets from shoplifting, her friends are beginning to give up on getting her to go straight and are abandoning her, and she is fighting with her mother. Then, things start to get worse when she gets caught and is forced to take a job at an entomology lab in order to pay restitution. She compounds her troubles when she sneaks into a bar and gets assaulted. And, at her lowest moment, her friends abandon her and her mother starts drinking.

The overall result is a strangely uneven novel. Haycak does a decent job of setting up conflicts (although she probably makes her story overly complicated by piling on so many). She has good pacing and sets up realistic challenges, carefully explaining why the issues should not be easily resolvable. But, it's at this point that the narrative goes off the rails. Rather than play these out, we get sudden and far-too-perfect solutions to each of the problems! The more egregious examples include how quickly Mia's mother realizes that her alcoholism is a problem (one little bender causes an overnight conversion) or how Mia changes from snotty brat to conscientious scientist just by looking at a set of fresh bug larvae. Having set up the conflict, Haycak doesn't have the patience to shows us a realistic resolution, so basically cheats with happily-ever-after sentimentality.

I also found Mia to be unrealistic. She's a maddening mix of bad decision skills and mature intellect. She's able to rationalize why her choices are bad yet makes them anyway (which makes little sense at all). I'm fine with thoughtless bad decisions, but not consciously inappropriate ones. And her hypocritical turn against her former friend Gael seemed out of character and actually cruel.

There's potential here, but it is half-realized. What started as a story about addiction and compulsive behavior just becomes a muddle of too-good-to-be-true solutions that ignore the issues that were brought up.

Penny Dreadful, by Laurel Snyder

Penelope is bored with her ten year-old life and dying for an adventure, something more interesting than spending her days at home (more or less) alone, with only her tutor and her books to keep her occupied. But then suddenly, a whole series of things start to occur: her father quits working, their home and their finances fall into disarray, and the family decides to live the City and move to rural Tennessee to a house that Penelope's mother has inherited.

But that's just the start of an adventure as the family meets the odd inhabitants of the town of Thrush Hollow. From the girl who collects dead animals to the boy who's never allowed outside and is allergic to everything, and the crazy girl next door named Luella, there's far more going on than Penelope might ever have dreamed possible. Throw in a search for hidden treasure, Mom's new career in sanitation engineering, and Dad's discovery of his inner cook as well! Finally, there's some great lessons about stepping outside of your comfort zone and embracing diversity as well.

It's a frenetic and slightly random book, which defies expectations and conventions. The writing is light and lively, as one would expect in a book targeted at middle readers, and it never takes itself too seriously (even when dealing with some serious topics). Occasionally, reality (mostly in the form of financial woes) pokes up its head, but nothing gets too dark and most things wrap up nicely, but fairly believably.

What makes the book outstanding is how well Synder keeps us on our toes. A bit too often for my taste, this is accomplished by introducing another oddball character, but mostly the book just avoids predictable plotlines. I fear the book might be a bit too strange for many readers, but its quirkiness makes it at least an enjoyable bedtime read.

XVI, by Julia Karr

In this version of the future, girls get tattooed with an "XVI" on their wrist when they turn sixteen. This is used to signify that they are sexually available to anyone who wants them (the girls don't get any say and are instead socialized to sexualize themselves for men). Not only that, but society itself is now ruled by a totalitarian regime that is run by the media, who monitor their subjects and bombard them with constant "verts" to convince them that they are actually happy (and also coincidentally to spend their money on products).

Nina is on the verge of turning sixteen and, unlike her best friend Sandy, is not so sure about becoming a media-vaunted "sex-teen." While Sandy eagerly laps up the media's message of sexual commodification as a means to escape her economic disadvantage, Nina's mother has been covertly teaching Nina that there are alternatives. The state is on to Mom's dissident activities as a "non-con" and eliminates her. Mom's suspicious murder prompts Nina to fight to uncover the truth about her society, her family's role in a resistance movement, and her own importance in changing the status quo.

While full of many interesting ideas, Karr's writing can be a bit heavy handed. I like the idea of highlighting the hypersexualization of "sex-teens," but much of the rest seems undeveloped (like the intentional malnutrition of the poor) or silly. Karr stumbles particularly as she attempts to link the present with this future to show the reader how we got there -- an exercise which mostly seems to be driven by an attempt to propagandize for the other side.

The writing is strangely clumsy as well, but here I blame the editor. There is a fair amount of repetition (where things get restated multiple times), as if various drafts had never been vetted for continuity. The grammar also sounds a bit off (although sometimes this seemed like an attempt to add a few blemishes to the narrator). The sense I got is that the story had a lot of great ideas, but that the editor neglected the necessary effort to pull it together. As if selling the book on its ideas (instead of its writing) was more important. Media controlling our lives indeed!

What Happened To Goodbye, by Sarah Dessen

A new Sarah Dessen novel is a magical moment to be savored....

As much as I love Dessen's writing -- a beautiful combination of self-reflection and southern charm -- it is quite valid to point out that she isn't original. Her last four novels have basically followed the same formula: older teen girl with an unusual uniquely Southern name (Mclean, in this case), has odd obsessive father and overbearing mother. The girl's intellectual but not into school, makes friends easily, and meets moody oddball boy early (and then sort of dates him). The boy will make an interesting conversation partner, but won't really play much of a role in the story beyond being a useful resource. It's a successful formula, but not terribly suspenseful and the books have basically all been little variations on the theme.

The little twists this time are that Mclean has lived a nomadic life recently and not bothered to put down roots. Each time they move, Mclean changes her entire personality and style, and even changes her name. It's worked OK for her, but this time things are different and the right combination of friends (and boy) convinces Mclean that things have to change. It isn't anything that Mclean can't work through with some talk therapy and some bonding with her new friends.

In comparison with other Dessen novels, the troubles with mother are a bit more intense than usual. There's good reason for this as Mom bears the responsibility for cheating on Dad and abandoning her family. As a result, Mclean is at the center of a nasty child custody battle that continues on and off through the story. Divorced parents are not new territory, but this novel seems to dwell on it a bit more than its predecessors. Still, the basic dynamic is informed by Mom's selfishness and daughter's exasperation. Once they can finally start talking and listening to each other, you know that everything will work out alright.

What makes Dessen's books work well is her sense of detail and the odd mix of subthemes that are effortlessly woven in (ranging in this case from model building to astronomy, restaurant management to food psychology, etc.). She also remains the champion of YA poetic prose, creating writing that puts most contemporary YA verse writers to shame. It is probably only because that skill is recognized (and translated to commercial success) that she is underappreciated by professionals, but can someone please tell me why she hasn't won a Printz?

All that said, I've had trouble really outlining what makes this particular book special, because frankly it doesn't stand out. It is an excellent book but it differs so little from her recent offerings that it is almost interchangeable with Just Listen or Lock and Key. I miss the gut wrenching narrative of Dreamland or Someone Like You, or even the light nostalgia of That Summer.

Finally, it seemed like even Dessen got tired of this book. The last 100 pages of this novel are obviously rushed and forced. The pace goes haywire as the narrator starts to summarize and jump forward. Perhaps it is time to start to write something different?

The Popularity Papers: Research for the Social Improvement and General Betterment of Lydia Goldblatt and Julie Graham-Chang, by Amy Ignatow

Lydia and Julie are a pair of fifth graders with the desire to become popular before they reach Junior High. To do so, they want to research the popular girls in their grade and learn how to emulate them. With luck, they will successfully master the secrets of popularity and avoid the fate of becoming like Melody, Lydia's older goth sister.

The result is a series of misadventures ranging from sprained ankles and bleach burns to embarrassing auditions and broken hearts. It's all in good fun and wonderfully illustrated by the two girls (through the creativity of Ignatow) in a "notebook" style that simulates notes that the two girls pass back and forth. Lydia's cursive writing and stick figures are perfectly offset by Julie's cartoons and block script. The result is a fast-reading, but authentic and touching, story of the friendship of two girls. So realistic, in fact, that I found the experience voyeuristic.

I'd like to think that young middle readers would enjoy the girls and their misadventures and find the multi-media format of the book appealing. Older readers, while finding the girls' behavior childish, might still find something to love in the honesty that they bring. And there is plenty of inside humor for adults in here as well.

Julie's non-traditional family (she has two dads) is treated matter-of-factly. Only a single mention of prejudice from one of the girls' peers even acknowledges that there might be any sort of issue here. As another reviewer remarked, it's nice to have LGBT themes in an MG book without any screaming highlights.

Personally, I probably won't read the latter books in the series (there are at least two more), but that's because I tend to not read middle readers (and I get really weird looks from my neighbors on the plane when I read something like this). However, I think the series is good and worth reading.

Pink, by Lili Wilkinson

Ava has been dating Chloe for some time. Chloe is funny and sophisticated. Ava is awkward and shy, and feels insecure when she compares herself. It doesn't help that Ava's parents love Chloe (in Ava's mind, this is because Chloe is the self-assured intellectual that they wish their own daughter would be). Ava's doubts lead her to wonder if maybe she really isn't in the right relationship. Is she even gay? Ava really likes being with Chloe but she also wants to do things that Chloe doesn't, like wear pink.

So, when Ava is offered the opportunity to transfer to an elite private school, she sees it as the opportunity to reinvent herself (the first thing she does when she gets there is covertly start wearing pink!). But the change is also an opportunity for Ava to change everything else about her. She decides to not mention her relationship with Chloe and she hangs out with the popular (straight) girls who try setting her up with a boy.

What Ava discovers from this is that there are no simple answers. She is no closer to fitting in with these kids than she was with the ones in her old life. Far worse, she is now living a double life (still with Chloe at home, but now trying to play it straight at her new school). Nothing feels right. Of course, it is inevitable that the two worlds will collide. When they do, Ava makes a mess of it -- not so much because she has been sneaking around, but because she cannot choose between the two lives.

In the world of LGBT teen fiction, we've seen plenty of stories about teens coming out, but I don't recall reading a book about a teen who was already out but struggling with whether she was really gay, straight, bi, or none of the above. Ava is a complex character and feels quite true-to-life as she finds that she really doesn't fit into any pigeonholes (try as she might to do so). This makes her feel familiar and sympathetic and teens who struggle with identity issues will be drawn to her. This is a novel then that doesn't feel the need to preach any particular orthodoxy, but rather presents the idea that it is OK to not have a sexual orientation figured out (good words are also written about the right to embrace geekdom). Wilkinson's writing is honest and insightful.

It helps that this is also a smartly written book. It is funny and moves at a decent pace, while making a number of good points about its topic. While the overall themes of identity and personal growth are well-established, Wilkinson manages to deal with them as if this is entirely new territory. The key is that she is brave enough to not present a solution, but to say that coming out is not a solution in itself (it may, in fact, only be the beginning of a journey to become comfortable in your skin). Original and highly recommended!

Clarity, by Kim Harrington

How can I NOT read a book with this title?

Clarity (or "Clare," as she prefers to be called) has the psychic ability to see the past by touching objects. In her family, that's pretty normal: her mother reads minds (which can be a very annoying trait in a mom!) and her brother can speak with the dead.

In her small town on Cape Cod, Clare is considered a freak and an outcast. But all that has the potential to change when a young woman is murdered and Clare is recruited by the police to help solve the crime. Along with the good-looking detective's son and some help from the mayor's son, Clare is on the path of the killer. But it seems like the killer is on to her as well!

OK, you need totally to put on hold any sense of disbelief that a town would turn a murder investigation over to a group of teens (imo, a plot twist which is far more implausible than that one of them would be psychic!). It's a silly premise, but the story itself is a reasonably interesting whodunit and a classic love triangle. Surprisingly, the psychic angle is fairly played down (thus, Harrington avoids the totally boring nature of the Wake trilogy) -- it's there, but not very important for the plot. Instead, Clare is interesting and boys are suitably smoldering. The result is a light summer beach read that we can enjoy for the unpretentious fun that it is supposed to be!

Tutored, by Allison Whittenberg

Hakiam is a boy from the projects. Wendy is a volunteer at a GED tutoring center. She's on her way to college (a traditionally white college, if her ambitious father has his way). Hakiam's trying to escape from a life of petty crime and his dead-end life. That desire brings him to the center to go through the motions of getting his diploma (although his heart isn't in it). Seeing right through his bs, Wendy is initially disdainful, but gradually warms to his charms.

Any possibility for romantic sparks are challenged by their peers and family. Wendy's father, having lifted himself out of the ghetto, doesn't approve of "people like that." While denying his prejudice, he clearly tries to steer Wendy away from Hakiam. Hakiam's cousin, a young mother with whom Hakiam is crashing, doesn't think much of Wendy either. And both Hakaim and Wendy are sensitive to the class clash and their peer's appraisal of the relationship.

Other critics than I have pointed out the overly tidy ending and the preachy tone of the writing. I would add that the level of the writing seems pitched a bit low for a teen reader (but perhaps that is intentional because of the author's assumptions about the readership?). However, there are many things to like in this book.

Obviously, I don't have much shared experience with the characters (although I did spend a good deal of time doing community work in the not-so-nice neighborhoods of Philadelphia described in this book), but there are several fascinating themes worth calling out. If nothing else, I really liked the character of Wendy's father, who comes off as a bit of an "Oreo" but who would be completely unapologetic about the comparison. He's proud of his accomplishments, obviously afraid of any chance of sliding backwards, and ultimately far more complex than his daughter or the reader initially suspects. Hakiam is also a complicated figure. In a very believable way, he is capable of rising up, but never quite frees himself of his own self-limitations and prejudices. You know he wants to, but he struggles with figuring things out. Surprisingly, it is Wendy who really remains the least developed character. Her baby steps towards independence are interesting, but she remains far more straitjacketed than the others.

Seaglass Summer, by Anjali Banerjee

Poppy has always dreamed about becoming a veterinarian, so when she gets the opportunity to spend the summer with her Uncle Sanjay and help at his vet practice, she is overjoyed. Even though it means being stuck on a remote island in Washington and not getting to go on her family's annual trip back to India, she doesn't care. It is a dream come true and a chance to start pursuing her life's ambition. But when she actually gets there, she finds out that the job is not nearly as glamorous as she thought. She begins to have second thoughts about her decision.

While some parts of the book may be a bit traumatic for sensitive young readers (or grown up ones like my girlfriend!), this story has nice details about veterinary science and Bengali culture, neither of which probably seem related to each other but are worked in seamlessly. Some gentle references to racial discrimination and dealing with age differences are also included.

The book is a fast read and perhaps a bit too short (I was disappointed that Banerjee didn't delve more into Poppy's difficulties with adjusting to her new environment). However, young readers will like the pace and the story (especially, if they are animal lovers), and will enjoy Poppy's adventures.

What Happened on Fox Street, by Tricia Springstubb

Mo and her Dad (along with her totally feral little sister Dottie) live on Fox Street. It's a cozy place with lots of wild critters, but never a fox (although Mo is convinced that she'll find one some day). Mo has lived there all her life and it has become the only remaining link to her dead mother. It is also her link to her best fried Merce (who only shows up during the summers to be with her grandparents who also live on Fox Street).

Things are changing. Merce's grandparents are getting too old to keep their home and Merce herself is talking about not coming back next summer. Even worse, Mo's father is considering a developer's offer to buy their property. Mo is distraught at the thought of losing her friend and the only home she's ever known. And it all comes to a head when Dottie runs away.

There is a light wistfulness to the story and a gentle pace, but the story never seemed to gel for me. Part of the issue is the fairly large cast of characters (friends, neighbors, family, etc.), few of which are memorably distinct. Also, the narrative jumps around a bit from subplot to subplot, and left me in the position of trying to grasp at which story I was supposed to fix on. As is, the primary threads (selling the land, seeing the fox, and Mo and Merce managing to maintain their friendship) never reach resolution, leaving a strong sense of unfinished business. This would be fine in an adult novel and we could rack this up as an atmospheric exercise, but I imagine that a middle reader would find the process boring and frustrating.

Fallen Grace, by Mary Hooper

Grace and Lily are two penniless orphans attempting to survive in Victorian London. Grace is the youngest, but Lily suffers from a mental defect, so it is Grace that must take care of both of them. As their luck turns south, the girls are driven into the arms of the Unwins, an empire of undertakers. Grace is hired as a mute (a silent witness that serves at funerals) and Lily is taken into service. While Grace assumes at first that it is a charitable act, the girls are unaware of a secret that could set them free, but which the Unwins are determined to exploit for their own ends.

This adventure serves at least two explicit purposes: providing a glimpse of Victorian mourning customs (as well as illustrating its rigid class structure) and also paying tribute to the Victorian melodrama (with its florid prose, amazing coincidences, and sense of righteous justice). The novel effectively evokes the morality and sensibility of the serialized stories of the period, albeit with a healthy dose of modern emancipation and enlightenment to make the tale more palatable to contemporary readers.

The story is far from perfect (there's a fair share of loose ends and entirely too convenient events, the characters lack much depth, etc.), but as a tribute to the genre, the book is quite effective. The rich historical detail creates an enjoyable and educational read. So, it's fun and good for you, too! With its morbid fascination with Victoriana and death, this should appeal to the goth crowd as well as Anglophiles.

Smile for the Camera, by Kelle James

At the age of sixteen, Kelle decides to leave her abusive father and go to New York City to pursue her dream of becoming a professional model. Innocent and naive, she has a fair share of problems getting started, ranging from financial insecurity and unsafe living arrangements to dealing with sexual predators. But with the right friends she learns how to navigate the dangers of the modeling industry and eventually succeeds on her own terms.

As this is an autobiography, there isn't much of a point in criticizing the story itself. The bigger question is whether it is worth reading? There's no denying that the subject matter (small-town girl struggles to make it big in the big city) has inherent appeal and any girl who has dreamed of becoming a model will find the lessons taught here to be valuable. But, as told here, the path from rags to riches, is not terribly compelling. There is certainly plenty of difficulties in the beginning, but actually finding work doesn't seem to take Kelle very long and there never seems to be much risk of failure.

The story is also cluttered with a tangential subplot about a friend who is accused of murder. And this causes other subplots about things that would normally be considered important in a story like this (her strained relationship with her family, for example) to be underdeveloped and sidelined. Flashbacks to Kelle's childhood are also surprisingly unrevealing. The writing itself is technically strong, so there is no denying Ms. James's talents, but the narrative is rough and poorly executed.

Ship Breaker, by Paolo Bacigalupi

In the near future, Nailer is a lucky boy. He's small enough to crawl inside of rusting old tankers to help salvage crews strip the wrecks of copper wire and other useful parts. It's rough work and his people live dangerous and hard lives. But things may be changing for the better.

After a heavy storm, a luxury boat washes up on the shore and, while salvaging it, Nailer finds a girl inside, barely alive. The easy solution would be to finish her off and claim the fortune in salvage that awaits. It could be the very break that he needs to start a new life elsewhere. But instead, something causes him to rescue her, launching a high stakes race to save much more than Nailer could ever have dreamed possible.

Rough and explicitly gruesome, this is a hard book to stomach. In comparison with, let's say, the last Hunger Games book, this is excruciatingly violent. And, like Matched, after a while the violence just numbs you because it comes on so hard and heavy that there really is no way to raise the volume. So, as with my review of that book, I'd say that Bacigalupi could benefit from learning that less is truly more. I was also distracted from the obvious pitch to get Hollywood interested in the story. Every description seemed designed to guide a screenplay. And it left it difficult for me to enjoy the story as a novel.

But that much aside, this is gripping stuff. While only explained in bits and pieces, this is basically a post-global warming world (think Waterworld for the obvious parallel) with a number of logical conclusions about the nature of things. Just the right mix of Mad Max and An Inconvenient Truth. The characters are rough and mean (there's not much human development here), but they get the job done and it's very effective. And if it is all a bit derivative, so much the better for making it familiar.

Okay For Now, by Gary D. Schmidt

When Doug's father loses his job, he drags the family to Upstate New York, settles them in "the Dump" (as Doug calls it), and Doug and his brother are forced to eke by in "stupid" Marysville. Doug hates the town, he hates snooty Lil Spicer, he hates the teachers (and they hate him), and he hates his angry abusive Dad.

But things start to change when Doug discovers a copy of Audobon's classic drawings of birds in the town library. With some patient prodding from a librarian, Doug discovers his own talent for drawing. And when Doug learns that the town is cannibalizing the book (selling individual pages out of the book) to pay its bills, he sets out to "make things whole." This mission, along with working things out with his brother and father (and an older brother returning from Vietnam), present a series of challenges which Doug manages (sometimes implausibly) to resolve through a mixture of luck and mature insight.

Schmidt is a great writer and has given Doug a very distinctive voice which makes Doug seem very uneducated despite his insightfulness. It's a stereotypical New Yowrk voice (think Neil Simon's Brighton Beach Memoirs as an example) and a bit less original that Schmidt's other heroes, but he still draws you in. Besides Doug, there are a lot of characters here and Schmidt manages to make each of them distinct. The narration, meanwhile, is well-done and spare (for a children's book, surprisingly little is spelled out, leaving the reader to often do the work of inferring what has happened). Schmidt also works in a number of subtle historical details (the story is set in 1968-69) that will intrigue readers and inspire further study. Schmidt does seem to feel the pressure to give the book a too-good-to-be-true ending, but is brave enough to leave a few crucial plot threads unresolved to give the reader a dose of reality.

All that said, there is an odd tension in the book that causes me to withhold giving it the high marks that others have offered. While Schmidt paints a pretty dreary view of Doug's life (poverty, illiteracy, and abuse), he seems scared to really run with the ramifications of this darkness. And so, in almost the counterpoint to his oft-quoted phrase "when things start to go pretty good, something usually happens to turn everything bad," every time something bad happens to Doug, a miraculous solution presents itself and Doug (often in implausibly mature fashion) digs himself out. How else to describe ridiculous subplots like getting cast in a Broadway play and having baseball idol Joe Pepitone asking for his autograph? I get the idea that Schmidt wants to show how even a young person can think their way out of trouble, but given the dark nature of the book, I little more honesty seemed called for.

Other Words For Love, by Lorraine Zago Rosenthal

When Ari starts at Hollister, her best friend Summer (who already goes there) isn't around to guide her, but she quickly befriends another girl, Leigh. Leigh comes from a wealthy family in Manhattan and, in turn, introduces Ari to an entirely different lifestyle of fancy penthouses, parties in the Empire State, and hired cars. Leigh also introduces Ari to her cousins Del and Blake. Ari is immediately infatuated with bad boy Del, but Leigh warns her off. Instead, it is Blake that gets Ari under his spell. Despite her mother's warnings, Ari is swept away. Soon, her grades, her friendships, and her family life begin to suffer from her infatuation. When it ends abruptly, Ari is devastated and has to rebuild her life.

Set in the 1980s, there are obviously autobiographical elements present in the novel. This helps fill out details (and the book is chock full of amazing details). But, as usual, my worry is whether Rosenthal actually has a real work of fiction within her -- it's one thing to tell the story of your life, but can you write as well when it doesn't all come from within? We'll only know when/if she brings out her second novel. One thing is for certain, she has cut no corners in depicting her characters in depth, with the sympathy that can only come from living for each and every one of them and having decades to separate herself from the inspiring events. The book is dark and depressing, but captivating and addictive. What we get here reminded me an awful lot of the film "An Education" (a decent film set about 25 years earlier in London) -- same idealistic girl going places and getting sidetracked by love.

The details can grow burdensome. Somewhere after 200 pages, Rosenthal seemed to realize that the pace needed to be picked up. As a result, the ending is more than a bit rushed. Some of this is also because the story (so interesting when it was in the romance-phase) just doesn't hold much once we're in the recovery phase. Hardly anything is said about the healing process, which is a shame since it probably would have been the best part.

So Shelly, by Ty Roth

Imagine if the bad boys (and girl) of early 19th century English Lit (Keats, the Shelleys, and Byron) were alive today, and if (instead of being iconoclastic, gifted, and idealistic young writers) they were gifted and narcissistic contemporary adolescents. This is what Roth invites us to do in his novel, which is part ode to the ideals of the Romantics and part mash-up of early-modern and contemporary culture and values.

Ostensibly, the story is about Gordon Byron and John Keats's plot to steal the cremains of their mutual friend Shelly from her funeral and to scatter them on an island in Lake Erie. But the exercise becomes an excuse for Keats (the overall narrator) to reminisce about where the three of them have been and to hash through their ideas and ideals. As one would expect, Byron plays a larger than life role in all of this and Keats mostly exists to humbly record Byron's extravagance and Shelly's neuroticism.

It's a fascinating concept and often works in its ability to find clever parallels between the often self-centered life of these literary titans and the insular world of a contemporary teen. The idealism of the trio in this novel sounds authentically adolescent, while simultaneously mirroring the models. But there are problems with the parallel as well, not least of which are the age discrepancies. The commitment and agency of the originals doesn't translate well to the cloistered life of 21st century young people. More to the point, it's hard to accept that these young people could be as artistically successful (or educated) as their role models were. This makes the idea of Gordon's early literary prowess implausible (could a contemporary teen write Manfred?).

As for Roth's writing, it is inconsistent. The first eighty pages or so are witty and smart, but Roth starts to lose steam after that. His overall weakness is dialogue and as the characters grow chattier and engage in philosophical observations about life, the narrative grows dull. The words are mostly out of the 19th century and out of synch with the characters.

Still, as someone who is himself rather obsessed with the Romantics (and the Shelleys in particular), I can definitely see the appeal in the idea. Laying out the youthful optimism of the period and pointing out its relevance even 200 years later is a valuable insight. As imperfectly as it may have been implemented, it is a wonderful concept.

Bitter Melon, by Cara Chow

Frances has lived her life so far (or rather, had it lived for her) in the name of her mother and her mother's needs. Couched in the terms of Confucian filial loyalty, she has devoted herself totally to pleasing her mother, which has meant focusing of her education so she can get into Berkeley and then go to medical school (and thus care for her mother financially and physically for perpetuity). It's a clear plan and one that Frances's Mom drives into her head constantly. But when a clerical error lands Frances in a speech class (instead of Calculus), an unorthodox teacher helps Frances discover her talents as a writer and public speaker. And she discovers that she has a lot to say in her own voice.

Starting as a stereotype about tiger mothers, and a predictable tirade against Asian child-raising techniques, the story morphs into abuse as the story progresses. There's a point at which this becomes less plausible and more one-sided, and thus less compelling. It's also a depressing affair and the book doesn't really attempt to redeem itself. So, while the writing is good and the characters (especially the daughter, but there are some attempts to explain the mother) are well-developed, there is an overriding helplessness to the narrative that makes reading less-than-enjoyable.

As usual with novels that seem so transparently autobiographical, I have to ask whether Chow is really capable of writing fiction. Does she have another story in her that isn't just settling scores with her childhood? Having told this story of a familiar childhood, will she be able to move on to something else?

The Fortune of Carmen Navarro, by Jen Bryant

A shy military cadet meets a sexy and enticing gypsy girl who works at the local convenience store and dreams of becoming a popular singer. They have a passionate affair but the girl loves her music most of all and eventually finds the boy's attentions too constricting. The boy doesn't handle the rejection well, becomes obsessed, and chases after the girl, with tragic results. If the story sounds a bit familiar already, this last detail will clinch it: the girl's name is Carmen.

Loosely based on the story that inspired Bizet's famous opera, Bryant has not just modernized the tale (placing it in contemporary Valley Forge), but added more nuances to the title character. More than a seductress, this Carmen is a young woman with vision and will. She know who she wants to be and will fight whatever demons she has to in order to fulfill her dreams. It is Ryan (this version's Don Jose) who is the relatively less substantial character. Both Ryan's best friend Will and Carmen's best friend Maggie play substantial roles as well.

It's a good adaptation that just may draw a few readers to the opera, by showing that a great story is a great story. I don't see it is earth shattering (and it is obviously not original), but it performs the valuable purpose of decent modernizations: taking a classic story and making it accessible to a newer audience.

The Girl Who Became a Beatle, by Greg Taylor

With perhaps the coolest book cover of 2011 so far, this is a playful fantasy on the dangers of wish fulfillment. In this case, Regina is obsessed with The Beatles and her tribute band (The Caverns) is her means of relating to the world. This all starts to look unhealthy when her band breaks up and Regina loses it. As she hits bottom, she makes a desperate plea for fame (keep the band together and make them famous). When she wakes up the next morning, her wish has been granted. She has become as famous as The Beatles or, more to the point, she has replaced them -- taking credit for both Lennon and McCartney and all of their compositions. Naturally, the question that arises is whether fame is everything it is cracked up to be.

It's a clever idea with a satisfying ending that moves beyond the fantasy to say some original things about wishes and self-empowerment. This, in spite of the fact that the ending won't surprise anyone (and isn't meant to). And the story, which is very much at risk of becoming ridiculous, saves itself quite handily by not being entirely predictable. After all, the idea that The Beatles (or a band like them) could exist - even in an alternate universe - in the contemporary day is ludicrous. The music of The Beatles was very much a product of its time and was essential for what followed. So, the idea that Dr Dre, the Edge, and Madonna could be hearing "Yesterday" for the first time in 2011 is implausible (since they probably wouldn't exist without The Beatles paving the way). But taken less literally (and the novel offers its own explanations), the concept works well as a medium for an allegory.

A minor criticism would be the need for better editing. Taylor packs in a lot of subplots (reconciling Mom and Dad, Regina's relationship with her mother, fighting for her bandmate Lorna) that simply get lost in the story and which would probably have been best left out altogether.

Exposed, by Kimberly Marcus

Liz prides herself on her fine eye for a photo and her ability to frame an image. So, it takes her by surprise when her best friend Kate suddenly stops talking to her after a sleepover. She's even more surprised when Kate comes out and accuses Liz's older brother of raping her that night. Liz wants to believe her best friend, but it's hard to see her own brother as such a monster. When Kate decides to press charges, Liz finds herself torn between her loyalty to her best friend and her ties to her family.

The plot has wonderful dramatic potential, but the decision to write it in verse adds a challenge that Marcus never really rises up to. Verse works when it has something to say. In this case, it sounded more like an attempt to avoid having to writing annoying transitions. To me, the decision in this case felt like lazy writing.

And the cost of choosing to write this in verse is that it is much harder to fill out the characters and give them life. Kate never really gets the development she needs and Liz's family is similarly flat. As a result, I didn't really feel the pain that Liz was going through choosing between them. And the potential impact of the story was diminished.

Delirium, by Lauren Oliver

In Lena's world, falling in love is a disease - the deliria nervosa. Thankfully, the state has a cure for it. Unfortunately, you don't get the treatment until you are 18. Lena can hardly wait. Her own mother died of the disease and Lena is determined not to follow in her footsteps. However, when Lena meets Alex, she begins to fear that it might be too late. Alex is beautiful and enchanting and Lena is swept off her feet. She can feel the disease getting its grip on her. But Alex is far more dangerous than Lena suspects. He reveals another side to the world she lives in -- a side of darkness and deceit. Soon, the stakes are much higher than any love-struck delirium.

As dystopias go, the premise of this one is silly and implausible. Only an adolescent could really believe that grownups want to take away your ability to love. Even as a metaphor for human agency, the set-up doesn't really work. In the end, the setting is really just there to create the action. And for that, Oliver certainly throws up the volume pretty high. There is plenty of action and enough visuals here to power the film that is slated to go into production soon.

The writing suffers from poor pacing. I got pretty bored of the constant mention of "unbearable shooting pain." As they say in Princess Bride, "you keep using these words, but I don't think they mean what you think they do." How much agony and terror can Lena take? And how much more of it do I have to read about? At the very least, I wanted Lena to admit that the pain/terror/fear she felt twenty pages back was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. The ending (and its accompanying cliffhanger) won't really surprise anyone either. I'd suggest waiting for the movie and skipping the book.

Inconvenient, by Margie Gelbwasser

Alyssa has the normal problems of a 15 year-old YA heroine (a boyfriend who may or may not like her, a best friend who has grown distant, etc.), but then she also has some less usual issues (being a Russian-Jewish-American and having an alcoholic mother). Her father, in denial, tries to convince Alyssa that her Mom's struggles are just an "inconvenience." However, Russian stereotypes aside, we get to see how Alyssa's mother's disease grows and threatens the entire family through the course of the novel.

I loved the Russian cultural details (reminding me of my many Russian-Jewish friends in the 1980s). I really liked the sensitive and nuanced way that Gelbwasser handled the topic of alcoholism (particularly in a culture that has trouble admitting that it is a disease). Avoiding any melodrama, we get a knowledgeable and sympathetic portrayal of how addiction destroys families. And the ending, as devastating as it is, felt honest and authentic.

With such a strong setting and a superb theme, I was maddened by the cluttered state of the rest of the story. So many themes (racism, the romance with Keith, teen substance abuse, and even the beautiful butterfly imagery that starts off the story and graces the cover) never get developed. I wanted the number of themes weeded down and the ideas allowed to grow. There is so much beauty in the writing, but a more ruthless editor could have made more happen with it.

Red Riding Hood, by Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

For years, the village has been victimized by a werewolf, but the town has had an implicit deal: regular sacrifices are left and the monster leaves the villagers alone. But something has changed and the werewolf has begun to attack the villagers brazenly. Valerie, unbeknownst to her neighbors, has always felt a link with the creature, just as she has also been drawn to outcast bad boy Peter. Her parents would have her marry rich boy Henry, but her heart belongs to Peter. And Peter may be far more than he initially appears. With peace and order disturbed, an inquisitor and professional werewolf slayer arrives to rescue the town, but his efforts unleash blood and mayhem across the village.

While loosely inspired by the fairy tale, this book (and the movie on which it is based) is largely drawn from the success of the Twilight series and represents (in my mind) the quintessential werewolf fantasy -- girl falls for local bad boy who is probably also a lycanthrope, she forsakes her family and friends (who conveniently disown her), and she gives herself over to his ... er... desire. Neither she nor the boy really have much more than lust going for them, so this is basically YA porn. But you all know that, whether you like it or condemn it.

I haven't seen the movie, but my sense is that it must be fairly violent based upon the body count and the graphic descriptions in the book (the sex is pretty graphic too, but I'm more bothered by the violence). The characters seem pretty shallow here, which is striking since a novelization should have afforded the opportunity to expand where a film could not. And the plot is nonsensical (or missing the details from the screenplay that explained the flow). In sum, I wasn't terribly impressed. The exercise seemed largely derivative, even though the idea (riffing of the Brothers Grimm) was promising.

The Exile of Gigi Lane, by Adrienne Maria Vrettos

Gigi Lane is an A-list girl, and an over-the-top caricature of the popular girl, or in her words, a "head hottie." In her junior year, she has her sights set on one thing, being inducted into the position officially, as leader of the "Hot Spot" (the very highest clique in her school -- Swan's Lake Country Day). And the cliques at Swan's Lake are carefully and explicitly regimented: the "Mr. T's" (drama), "Vox Foxes" (school paper), Cheerleaders, "Whompers" (LARPers), and so on. In this world, it really would seem that Gigi's self-affirmation ("I'm Gigi Lane and you wish you were me") was true. She's the top dog and destined for greatness.

But then, a major scandal at the year-end Founder's Ball endangers Gigi's ambitions. She is disgraced and sent to Alaska for the summer to clean fish. When she returns, she has lost all of her status and has to rebuild her disgraced brand from scratch. While readers will expect her to eventually succeed in her rehabilitation (and maybe to develop a conscience and a soul along the way), the ending is so completely unexpected and bizarre that readers have an exciting surprise to look forward to. Suffice it to say, that the mean-girl genre never was skewered so brilliantly before!

If you read the book straight, Gigi's utter meanness will be very unappealing. And the exaggerated portrayal of high school cliques will bother most readers as unrealistic. But both criticisms miss the point in this social satire. The usual cliches are all present, but sent up in such a ridiculous fashion that they cannot be taken seriously. The result is a contemporary novel in the grand tradition of Oscar Wilde or George Bernard Shaw, but without all that pesky literary mustiness. Enjoy the laugh!

The Queen of Water, by Laura Resau and Maria Virginia Farinango

Born in a poor rural area of Ecuador, Virginia had a tough beginning. In a community of subsistence farmers, where alcoholism and domestic violence is rife, no one really expects to make much of their life. Children are seen as commodities and, at the age of seven, Virginia is given away to a middle-class family in the city as a servant. While Virginia thinks that it is to be a temporary arrangement, the family enslaves her, subjecting her to physical (and eventually sexual) abuse, until she manages to escape and rebuild her life. Strikingly, despite the years of abuse she has endured, Virginia remains thankful for the opportunities that the family has given her and goes through regular struggles with rejecting them altogether.

From an early age, Virginia realizes that a good part of her struggle is fighting the racial prejudice that exists between the indigenous peoples and the mixed-race (and lighter-skinned) mestizos. Without any direct help, she figures out the logic of this system of inequality and develops her own strong viewpoints and sense of self-worth. The strong tear-jerking ending provides the emotional payoff that the reader needs having survived Virginia's struggles and near-disasters along the way.

In gripping detail, The Queen of Water outlines the true story of Virginia's efforts to overcome her roots and society's prejudices. It's a magical story, made all the more enticing by Resau's beautiful writing and her multi-layered approach to Latin America culture. The fact that this is a biography narrated and co-written by its heroine makes it interesting, but in lesser hands than Resau (who acts as an experienced cultural translator) it could well have become pedantic and dull. Instead, Resau brings in extensive local color and just enough education to make the book seem "good for you" but not so much that it seems like a reading assignment.

Cryer's Cross, by Lisa McMann

It's a huge shock for the small town of Cryer's Cross when freshman Tiffany Quinn goes missing. Nearly the entire town turns out to help with the search, but she is never found. When Kendall's best friend (and possible boyfriend) Nico also disappears, the shock hits closer to home. She is devastated. And while the town's suspicions fall on brooding newcomer Jacian, Kendall develops an alternative explanation when she starts hearing voices and seeing signs that no one else notices. Is she going mad or does she have access to clues through her OCD that could lead her to Tiffany and Nico?

Chilling and creepy, this is a story that will give you goosebumps while you read it and nightmares afterwards. It combines McMann's signature obsession with voices from beyond (see the Wake series) and gives it a moderately more plausible situation in the form of OCD-suffering Kendall. The result worked for me and is not nearly as silly as it might sound.

Kendall is also a much more interesting character for me than Wake's Janie (who went from tortured soul to whining super-detective a bit too quickly for my tastes). Kendall's OCD is easier to grasp and her rather human hesitations and weaknesses seemed more real. The potential romance with Jacian is predictable but handled nicely and doesn't interfere with what is otherwise a nice creepy ghost story.