Saving June, by Hannah Harrington

After June kills herself, her younger sister Harper and Harper's best friend Laney decide to steal June's cremains and take them to California (to honor June's desire to go to school out there).  To make the road trip possible, they recruit a boy named Jake.  Jake's a music fanatic and their road trip becomes an exploration of musical culture.  He also harbors secrets about June and Harper is determined to figure out how they knew each other.  But most importantly, Harper feels romantically drawn to Jake, which is confusing since he holds very little appeal to her.

As a HarlequinTeen novel (yes, it truly is!), I expected a lot more romance (and implied sex) than I got.  Instead, the book is really a fairly typical YA book.  That makes it better than the heaving bosoms I was expecting, but maybe a bit dull.  We have teens dealing with grief, copious references to classic rock, explorations of the US on the back roads (does anyone take boring Interstates in road-trip novels?), and falling in love with people they claim to hate.  It was a fine book (decently written, well-developed characters, fine dialog), but it was just like so many other books.  There's little new ground here.

Awkward, by Marni Bates

Mackenzie is prone to awkward moments, but when she accidentally knocks over a burly hockey player and then tries to administer CPR to him (completely oblivious to the fact that he's conscious), it's a pretty embarrassing scene even for her.  And that's only the beginning!  A video of the episode shows up on YouTube and goes viral, sending Mackenzie into an entirely new level of notoriety.  Suddenly, a quiet wallflower has gone from being an "invisible" to being famous.  But at heart, she's still who she is and, while the fame is fun, she would really like to get the cute guy at school to notice her.  How awkward!

It's (of course) an entirely silly and overblown fantasy -- definitely in the vein of a Meg Cabot story.  The rich and famous people are entirely too nice.  The kids are all blissfully unsupervised (can't have any pesky adults get in the way of the fun!).  And the most important thing of all is whether the boy will kiss you (symbolic references to academics and career aside).  A cameo from Ellen DeGeneres towards the end takes the story into surreal territory.

Of course, picking away at the unrealistic story elements or worrying if it makes sense is really besides the point.  This book doesn't exist to send a message or make a literary impact, it's simply fun!  Mackenzie is likeable enough, but none of the characters really have any depth.  Interesting subplots (like the father who abandoned her and the travails of popularity) get buried and left underdeveloped because they don't move the story forward (and are largely cliches anyway).  Their inclusion seems more distracting in the end, so perhaps it is better that we focus instead on parties, clothes, and boys.

Mice, by Gordon Reece

Shelley and her mother are mice -- nice people who try not to be in anyone's way.  But instead of avoiding trouble, they seem to invite it.  After years of cruelty, Shelley's Dad has abandoned them.  Her Mom's employer subsequently picks up where Dad left off, exploiting and abusing her.  And, at school, Shelley's being brutalized by a gang made up of her former best friends.  To avoid it all, Shelley and her Mom relocate to a remote country home where they can be alone, happy with their mouse-like existence.  Happy, that is, until a stranger threatens them.

The novel is a surprising mix of emotional intimacy and raw brutality.  The first half of the book provides a look at the politics of bullying and how perpetrator, victim, and witnesses collude with each other to make it possible.  The second half takes a sharp turn into nihilism and cynical violence.  That mix is powerful but will scare off many readers (as the type that like the former are rarely the type that enjoy the latter -- and vice versa).  But if you have the stomach for the mushy and the nasty bits, the novel pays off handsomely.

Shelley is very well developed.  Her victimization is shown to be a complicated combination of modeling and context.  I personally related to her "mouse"-like qualities and found her voice insightful (if maybe a bit too precocious at times).  Her transition to a more cold-blooded person worked for me as well, as Reece took the time to show her faltering adoption of the role.  The violence, while gory, was believable and her struggle with it made it palatable for me.  There was real regret in place and acts of violence were clearly shown to have consequences.

The Year We Were Famous, by Carole Estby Dagg

In 1896, Clara Estby and her mother undertook a mission to walk alone (and with no money) across the United States from Spokane to New York City.  They had two goals: to prove that two women (with no help from men) could do such a thing and, in the process, collect a 10,000 dollar prize which would help them save their farm.  Fighting the elements, bandits, and wild animals, the trek proved to be the adventure of a lifetime: meeting Indians, governors, and even the president-elect.  The fact that the story is actually true makes it even more interesting.

It's a historical drama, with some smooth character development. It was particularly nice how Clara really grew to understand her mother better during the trek and -- in the process -- crossed over the threshold to an adult-adult relationship with her.  On its face, this is a predictable dramatic development in a story like this, but it is handled so naturally, that it never felt contrived.  Best of all, there's plenty of interesting trivia to pick up along the way (ranging from the fact that many Western states granted women suffrage long before the nation as a whole, to the mannerisms of the people of the time).  I learned a lot in a fairly painless way.  Finally, I liked the ending, which strikes a perfect balance between happy and sad.

Love & Leftovers, by Sarah Tregay

In verse from her diary, Marcie tells the story of the year her dad left them for a boyfriend and she ended up spending half the year in New Hampshire taking care of her depressed abandoned mother.  But it is also the story of how, during that time, she cheated on her boyfriend back home in Boise -- a action which haunts her when she returns to live with her Dad in Idaho in the second half of the story.  The experience draws obvious parallels to what is going on between her parents, but the story transcends that to instead reflect upon what "love" really means.

There's a lot going on in Marcie's life and verse may not be the best way to express it.  While verse novels can be powerful, complexities and subplots tend to get buried in the quest to produce poignant lines.  There are some lovely literary devices (the simultaneous monologues -- where two characters speak at the same time and which pepper the book -- are particularly effective), but often the format becomes distracting.

Despite the limitations of the approach, Marcie stands out as a memorably strong character.  I really liked the mixture of apprehension and bravery that she expresses.  There's something realistic and vulnerable about having her be able to admit her fear of intimacy but yet boldly declare her demand for passion.  This combination of anxious child and proto-adult worked in making Marcie one of the more sympathetic characters I have read in some time.  Big kudos to Tregay for that accomplishment!

Losing Elizabeth, by Tanya J. Peterson

When Liz gets selected to varsity tennis at the beginning of her junior year, she considers herself pretty lucky to have been chosen ahead of several seniors.  But she can't believe her continued good fortune when hot senior Brad asks her out (just about every girl at school would love to go out with him)!  The euphoria of being the chosen one makes it easy for her to gloss over Brad's clingy behavior.  She interprets his insistence that she ditch her friends and spend her time exclusively with him as a sign of his devotion.  And his affectionate words leave her feeling so good that ignoring warnings from others (including his ex-girlfriend) feels justified.  But when he forces her to quit tennis (and all of her extracurriculars), she finds herself confused and depressed:  how could being in love feel so bad?

At only 147 pages, Peterson's novel is a brisk treatment of the subject of abusive relationships between teens.  The obvious comparison is with Sarah Dessen's cerebral novel Dreamland, but the two are quite different.  While Dessen's novel explains how a mind in love can easily become a mind in denial, Losing Elizabeth is a more just-the-facts-ma'am treatment of the subject.  This can lead it to come off as a bit pedantic, like an Afterschool Special, complete with stilted dialogue and bad guys whose evil intentions are crystal clear by page 33.   Peterson's focus is on how small warning signs can grow subtly into full-blown abuse and on how abusers control their victims with calculated alterations of praise and criticism.  It's spot-on.  And if reading a story like this helps a young woman avoid becoming a victim, then it will have more than served its purpose.  But as literature, it's a bit heavy handed.  Given how big of a creep Brad appears to us, it is hard to see him through Elizabeth's eyes.  Why does she keep forgiving him?  We learn that she does, but we don't really understand why.  To make this work, I wanted more of that inner dialogue.

Double, by Jenny Valentine

Chap has been living on the street for some time.  He's never really known where he came from or who his parents are, but it looks like he's finally run out of options.  But just when he's given up, a social worker mistakes him for a missing boy named Cassiel.  Figuring he has nothing to lose, Chap decides to go along with it and confirm that he's Cassiel.  He finds himself swept up into a new life where he must pretend to be someone he's not.  And the little lie which conveniently got him out of trouble becomes a much bigger problem than he ever imagined.

A clever thriller that unravels its mysteries at a good pace, keeping us guessing for just the right amount of time.  The ending is a bit abrupt and some of the plot twists are contrived, but its still a good story.  Characters are not its strength and no one ever develops all that much, but I liked to read about them nonetheless.

Mad Love, by Suzanne Selfors

With her mother in a mental hospital, Alice has been trying to keep things together at home: pay the bills, take care of the house, and keep her mother's condition a secret from her fans and her publisher.  After all, it wouldn't do for folks to find out that the "Queen of Romance" Belinda Amorous was nuts!  But time and money are running short.  If Mom doesn't get well soon, everything will be exposed.

And yet, there are even more immediate problems to address:  a young stranger who thinks he's actually Cupid, a jealous girl who tries to extort Alice (in order to get her new horror novel - "Death Cat" - published), and a crush on a local skateboarder.  Never mind the unusual heatwave that's hit the city of Seattle!

This rather crazy combination of elements (and a similarly odd assortment of memorable characters) actually work pretty well.   The story can become a bit absurd at points, but that's the point of a book that truly finds love to be a bit "mad." The result is an entertaining book, even if the storyline is not the most coherent one out there.  I think it all could have benefited from a few less subplots, but I liked it.  Of course, I personally enjoyed the many gratuitous Seattle references (which include even a shout-out to Swedish!).

Babe in Boyland, by Jody Gehrman

Natalie's been writing an advice column for the school newspaper and it's been one of the more popular column.  But when a group of angry readers point out that she may understand girls, but she hasn't got a clue about boys, she realizes that they're right!  She tries to rectify the problem by interviewing some of the guys at school, but that doesn't work.  So, instead, she hatches a more audacious plan: she's going to go undercover as a boy and spend a week at a local boy's boarding school and figure out how they really tick.  Her plan works remarkably well, but hits a snag when she finds herself attracted to her new roommate.

The premise is cute and hard to take seriously, but the story's appeal to an adolescent audience is obvious enough. While implausible (it's a little hard to believe that Natalie is able to successfully pass herself off as "Nat" for an entire week) but the story is entertaining.  This isn't very heavy stuff (and the conclusion tries too hard to tie everything up with a happy ending), but good points are made in the quest to demystify the opposite gender.  In this particular subgenre, I think E. Lockhart's Fly on the Wall really does a better job of explaining boys to girls, but Gehrman's novel is sweet and pretty digestible.  The editorial intervention towards the end (when Natalie tells the readers what she's learned) will be helpful, even if it seems artificial and forced.

Vote for Larry, by Janet Tashjian

In this sequel to The Gospel According to Larry, Larry has been laying low for the past two years since he "died" to escape public notice.  He's got a new girlfriend and he's even started to collect a few more possession.  But his old life comes back to haunt him, when his old friend Beth tracks him down to convince him to run for public office.  At first, the stakes are simply a modest state legislature vacancy, but as Larry find his footing again, his sights aim much higher: President of the United States.  There's some fine points to work out (like the Constitutional prohibition against 18 year olds holding the office) and some unresolved issues from the past (Beth, Betagold, etc.), but Larry quickly acts on his calling to challenge youth apathy and corporate greed.

The pace is brisk, the story is humorous and light.  Even with the agenda, the book stays light on the sermons.  It's an enjoyable read. But I have a hard time giving this a ringing endorsement.  It may be missing the point, but the details bother me.  From the logical inconsistencies (Larry somehow only ages a year in two years) to the factual ones (newscasts in Larry's world apparently hold off on calling the results of an election until 99% of the vote has been counted), the book suffers from its lack of credibility.  While it is wonderful to imagine that Larry could wrought significant transformations in society and reverse youth apathy, it simply isn't plausible.   That message (you have to participate to make things change) is wonderful enough, but how can you buy it when Tashjian gets so many elementary things wrong?  Somehow, shooting a little lower would have been more inspiring to me (maybe he should have just gone out for a local election?).

There Is No Dog, by Meg Rosoff

Imagine that God is nothing more than an adolescent boy.  He lies in bed for all hours of the day, dreams of having sex with every girl he can, and (every so often) happens to create a new species or a miracle when he feels like it.  Wouldn't that explain a lot?  God's plan seems unfathomable?  Maybe it's no more mysterious than a teenage boy's sloth! Crazy weather or other acts of god?  Maybe they're nothing more than that same boy's tantrums.  Assisted by an older and wiser adviser named Mr. B, and accompanied by his pet Eck (the last of its kind), this god (or "Bob" as his family calls him) is an oddest image of the Divine Spirit to date. 

In Rosoff's latest novel, she takes a turn to the silly, diving into territory probably most memorably explored by Douglas Adams.  Imagining God as a petulant, self-centered, moping boy is an amusing concept, but it's also a joke that wears thin quickly.  Rosoff apparently doesn't care much for adolescent boys (and holds them in pretty low esteem).  As a result, Bob isn't a very interesting character.  He's incapable of growth or depth.  Rather, the humor of the story pretty much depends upon his character having no personal growth at all!

It's a literary dead end and thus the story stagnates.  To move at all, Rosoff relies upon ever-increasing levels of absurdity, which left me wondering what the point of the story was.  What do we really learn from finding out that fish can fly?

The Butterfly Clues, by Kate Ellison

Penelope ("Lo") fixates easily on things.  She suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder, so that's easy to do.  Most of the time, her compulsions (like having to repeat everything three times) simply earn her the ridicule of her classmates, but her latest obsession could turn out very badly.  A young woman in the bad part of town has been murdered and Lo wants to understand why it happened.  With the help of a young vagrant, what she uncovers becomes far more than she can handle.

A quirky and original thriller which showcases Ellison's strong writing.  The book starts off in a rather oblique style and I was honestly afraid that I'd have to shelve the book as unreadable.  By the end, however, the narrative becomes much normal (and even a bit mundane).  For those who like literary pretensions, this is a step down.  For me, it saved the story.  I suspect that we'll come back with mixed reviews on this one!

OCD can be hard to depict sympathetically.  Truth be told, I found myself frequently as frustrated with her personality quirks as Lo's father is depicted as being.  It's hard to relate to someone who continually complains about being unable to control their behavior.  Yet, I have to admit that Lo's depiction was compelling and you gradually become accustomed to it.  Ellison's skill with characters doesn't stop there.  The supporting roles (Flynt and the other street people, Lo's parents, etc.) are also well drawn.  No one is particularly likeable (the book overall is quite gloomy), but they are memorable and well-developed.

A Year Without Autumn, by Liz Kessler

One day, when Jenni is on her way to her best friend Autumn's place to go to a horseback riding lesson, she discovers an old elevator and takes it instead of the usual one.  When she arrives a Autumn's apartment, her friend is long gone -- an entire year has passed!  But more than that, a chain of events have been unleashed, causing a serious injury to Autumn's little brother, the loss of Autumn's friendship, the collapse of Jenni's parents' marriage, and grave confusion for amateur time traveler Jenni!  Now, Jenni has to figure out a way to set things right.

Combining a touch of magic and time travel with middle reader standard themes of friendship and family, this story is very approachable.  The flaws are minor and countered by its strengths.  It deftly maneuvers most of the complexities of time travel (although Kessler's insistence on doing so sometimes overextends the authenticity of Jenni's narrative voice in the explanations she provides).  Keeping the focus of the story solidly on Jenni's and Autumn's friendship helps to alleviate the onset of reader boredom.  Somewhat more annoying  are the psychological pep talks that Jenni and Autumn have about grieving.  Again, these are overly complex (most adults would lack the introspection that Jenni's freely espouses) and the discussions didn't drive the story very well.  A side plot about an old woman who has spent her life regretting her own mistakes didn't quite gel either, but serves to illustrate the dangers that Jenni and Autumn face.  So, in spite of the tendency towards excessive expository writing, the novel is quite readable.

The Cupcake Queen, by Heather Hepler

Penny's been laying low in her new hometown of Hog's Hollow, ever since she and her mother moved in.  She knows that she'll eventually have to start school and meet the local kids, but she keeps hoping that her parents will get back together and she and Mom will move back to the City. But just a few days before school begins, she is helping her Mom cater a birthday party (Mom runs a cupcake bakery) and disaster strikes -- the sort of disaster that ruins the party.  Unfortunately, the birthday girl is Charity (the most popular girl in Penny's new class) and she sets out on a vendetta to ruin Penny's life.  Not that Penny needs any help in having her life ruined as she deals with her parents' separation and her mother's inability to communicate.

While the story starts out strong and has a good heart throughout, there's no getting around the fact that it is largely recycled.  Hepler doesn't really have much new to say about divorce, moving to a new town, or trying to deal with relationships.  The story itself is uneven. The cupcake angle really could have been played up much more, the endless bullying from Charity gets tiring and could have been reduced, and the boy interest is largely wasted. The relationship between Penny and her friend Tally is more interesting, but again strangely underdeveloped.  What Hepler does have is a breezy style and a sense of fun, but she seems to have struggled with the story.

Once A Witch, by Carolyn MacCullough

When Tamsin was born, her grandmother predicted that she would become the most powerful witch in the family.  Normally, each member of the family reveals their particular talent by the age of eight.  However, Tamsin's talent never revealed itself.  Now that she is seventeen, it is hard for her to not feel like a failure, particularly compared to her older sister (who is a master at locating lost objects, among other skills).  Grandmother was somehow horribly wrong!

Then a handsome man shows up at her family's store while Tamsin is working and, mistaking Tamsin for her older sister, asks her to help him locate an object.  Flattered, she enlists the help of a friend to do the work and makes a fateful mistake that changes the future irrevocably (and also provides some clue about what her talent truly is).  With barely any knowledge of what she can do, she now must draw on everything she has to save her family from a dangerous curse.

While the story is a bit rough at points, this is truly a clever book for the way it combines teen angst and insecurity with a decent fantasy story of witchcraft and magic.  That won't seem like much since almost all good YA fantasy makes a point to take on a teen's perspective and priorities, but MacCullough does it in an impressively seamless fashion.  Without sacrificing the story, Tamsin's struggles to discover herself and to figure out her place in her family are true coming-of-age material to which any teen (regardless of their own special talent) will relate.

Between Here and Forever, by Elizabeth Scott

Abby has spent her life living in the shadow of her popular and beautiful older sister.  When Tess is in a car accident and ends up in a coma, Abby finds herself spending her days at her bedside hoping to "wake up" her sister.  She even enlists the help of a boy named Eli to try to entice Tess out of unconsciousness.  But while outside observers could see Abby's actions as a sign of devotion (and perhaps a lack of acceptance), the truth is much harsher:  Abby needs Tess to wake up so that the family will return to normal and Abby will finally be able to escape the small town in which they live.

But when Abby's plan to use Eli goes awry and Abby discovers some hard truths about her "perfect" sister, the perfect world that Abby has created comes unglued.  And in the chaos that emerges, Abby discovers some truths about herself.

Well-written with strong character development.  It is a story well-told.  However, I'm not sure it was a story I necessarily was interested in.  Abby is a hard heroine to like.  While she certainly grows and expands her horizons throughout the story, she's so self-centered and clueless about other people, that it's hard to feel that her suffering is anything other than self-inflicted.  And it's harder still to feel much sympathy for her self-abuse.  By the thirtieth time she whines about how no one could ever love her, you really wanted to strangle her with an IV tube!

The Miseducation of Cameron Post, by Emily M. Danforth

Growing up in Miles City MT as a gay curious and outspoken teen hasn't been easy for Cameron.  While she isn't certain, she senses that her parents wouldn't approve of her explorations into homosexuality, but since they died in a car accident, she doesn't have to worry about confronting them.  Instead, for the first two hundred pages or so of this coming-of-age novel, we get the details of the furtive explorations that Cameron engaged in.  As such, this ostensibly fictional memoir is a detailed and authentic tale of growing up gay in a hostile environment.

But when Cameron is outed and sent to a boarding school to be re-educated (and have her sinful past exorcised), the story takes a turn into very dark territory.  The school she finds herself in isn't itself such a horrible place, but the sheer milieu (where anxious and fragile teens are bullied by prejudiced and clueless adults) is disturbing reading.  In spite of the challenges she faces, Cameron remains true and insightful enough to recognize the hypocrisy of the adults around her, even as she stays honest and recognizes that she hasn't figured everything out either.

The result is a striking book that reads far too authentically (and detailed) to be merely fiction.  Whether Danforth based the story on her own life, the life of a friend, or an amalgam of both isn't very clear, but it must be true.  And while it really shouldn't matter, it bothered me throughout the entire book.  The story is outstanding, but if it is simply autobiography than it could be a one-hit wonder.

Danforth has a fluid and florid style which displays great talent at writing beautiful prose.  She is tempted a bit too often for my liking with the need to drag everything out (as witnessed by spinning a 470-page story!), but no one could fault her crazy skills.  Not a single character in the story remains undeveloped.  While more than a few are hard to like, you come out at the end truly understanding each and every one.  That shows a sensitivity for the complexity of fear, homophobia, hormones, and uncertainty that underlie so many of the actions in the story.  Yes, Danforth certainly has an agenda here, but one would be hard pressed to fault the care she takes to explore various points of view.  That much of this insight comes out of older-than-her-years Cameron's narration is a bit regrettable, but it can be forgiven in the beauty which it is delivered.

It's hard to fault such a well-written and powerful book (especially if LGBT literature is something you support).  I will do so, but simply out of taste (the book was too long and the story too drawn-out). I cannot claim this is a bad book, but simply one I didn't like.  You may well find it incredible.  Regardless, it is certainly worth reading.

The Pledge, by Kimberly Derting

In Ludania, a strict caste system prevails.  While everyone can speak the common tongue of Englaise, the classes each have their own language and attempting to use a language other than your own is punishable by death.  The system, introduced to create peace, has degenerated into totalitarianism and a small group of revolutionaries fight a war to overthrow the queen to restore freedom.

Charlie is a young woman with a terrible secret:  she can understand all of the languages.  It's a talent that could get her killed and she hides it at all costs.  But when she meets a man named Max at a local rave who speaks a language she's never heard before (but immediately understands), he recognizes her for what she is.  To her surprise, rather than turn her in, he promises to defend her.

Billed as a dystopian novel, the story is actually more fantasy, with a mixture of other genres thrown in.  It's also something of a narrative mess.  The novel shifts gears at least three times, each time nearly completely tossing out the storyline in favor of a new direction.  This ratchets up the suspense, but makes less and less sense.  The characters suffer as a result and by the end, I found myself losing interest in who was doing stuff.  I liked the linguistic basis of the story, but even it becomes largely unimportant by the end.

Catching Jordan, by Miranda Kenneally

Jordan is an amazing quarterback, has led the team to State, and dreams of playing for Alabama after high school.  The fact that Jordan is a girl has never bothered anyone on her team - they know she can play ball.  But for Jordan's father, it's a big deal and she struggles with proving to him that she deserves to follow her dreams as much as any boy. The real challenge, however, comes when a new player joins the team.  Ty is different.  He's an excellent player and a stunning quarterback in his own right.  His arrival threatens Jordan's standing in the team, but, more than that, Jordan can feel herself falling for him.  Is there room in Jordan's dreams for a boy as well?

By all rights, I should despise this book.  I have no issue with romances, but the premise from the blurb ("What girl doesn't want to be surrounded by gorgeous jocks day in and day out?") is gag worthy.  Add in the fact that this is a book about football, and it should send me retching.  But sometimes if you take two toxic ingredients and put them together, you can make magic.  For me, this is really a book about an unusual young woman who stands up to male chauvinism with aplomb and finds a balance between love and career.  Dad is a bit of a two-dimension dweeb, but just about everyone else stands up off the page as a real character.  Jordan's relationship with Ty has real life in it and the author does an outstanding job at portraying the ups and downs of teen romance.  The boys on the team have personalities and Jordan's relationship with them felt natural and authentic.  You really don't need to know anything (or care) about football, although it doesn't hurt.

On a side note, the art department deserves a raspberry for the cover.  I might accept the boy on the left as a football player, but there's no way that Little Miss Waif on the right can toss a pigskin as well as Jordan does.  Kenneally is pretty clear that Jordan is a big person with a solid build.  The girl depicted here doesn't have enough meat on her bones to perform.

The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight, by Jennifer E. Smith

Because of a complex confluence of events, Hadley's managed to miss her flight to London.  She's not all that broken up about it.  Truth be told, she really doesn't have much interest in attending her Dad's wedding to some woman who she's never met.  Getting bumped to the next flight, however, triggers a new and important chain of events.

She ends up sitting next to a young Brit named Oliver, who is heading home to London for an uncomfortable family gathering of his own.  Naturally, they hit it off wonderfully and have a moment on the flight.  But more than that, the experience helps Hadley crystallize her thoughts about her father and how his decisions have affected her.

There's nothing particularly unusual or striking about the story.  The territory it covers is well-tread and hardly original.  But sometimes, an old tried-and-true formula sparkles in the hands of a good writer.  This is a case in point.  Hadley and Oliver are nice characters and the reader is drawn into their story.  Their growth is tangible and, while not earth shattering, it is nonetheless rewarding.  The settings (mostly on the plane, but also some nice London detail) are realistic and entertaining.  This is an unremarkable story, which is nonetheless enjoyable.

Eve, by Anna Carey

In this new dystopian series, a plague has wiped out the bulk of the population.  Young orphans are sent to boarding schools to learn trades.  Eve is one of them -- a star pupil who plans to graduate as the Valedictorian and become a shining example for her peers.  But when Eve has a chance encounter with a local troublemaker named Arden who is trying to escape from school, Arden triggers Eve's curiosity about why they have never seen any of the graduates again after they leave.  Some last minute snooping uncovers the horrible truth about the program and the fate that awaits her.  Determined to not suffer that outcome, she flees and joins Arden in the wilderness.  Along with the help of a boy named Caleb, the young people make a run for a haven called Califia.

Having realized only a bit late that this was one of those pre-fab YA monstrosities from Alloy, I almost put it down, but I was stuck on a plane without anything else to read and it was a quick page-turner, so I gave it a shot.  As one would expect though, the story is formulaic and largely lifeless.  The post-apocalyptic scenario lacks originality (plague?  oh please!).  The situation is implausible (only a pre-teen would believe the baby-farm idea) and exists mostly to serve as an excuse for the inability of any adults to be useful.  The romance (this being an Alloy-committee production) is the retreaded forbidden love concept.  In sum, you can kill time with this, but the cynical commercialism of the series makes it a last resort.

The Fault In Our Stars, by John Green

John Green is a frustrating writer for me.  I absolutely LOVED his first book, Looking for Alaska, but his subsequent books seemed silly and fluffy.  His collaboration with Levithan was stupid and beneath him.  His aesthetic compass, in short, too easily thrown off by side projects.  But this book truly recaptures the beauty of his debut and kicks it up several notches.  I won't claim it is the Best. Book. Ever.  But I will claim it is one of the best books I've ever reviewed.  Thank you, Mr. Green, for restoring my faith in the genre.  Now, I guess I had better tell you the story....

Hazel and Augustus are adolescent cancer survivors, a status that they are ambivalent about, partly because of how it pigeonholes them in society, and partly because they don't really believe in survival. Before Hazel's miracle cure with an experimental drug, she was basically a goner.  And Augustus's recovery seems similarly tenuous.  But for two kids without much hope for the future, finding each other gives them something to hope for.  Together, they share a love for a novel called An Imperial Affliction which they agree captures the true pointlessness of their condition and a similar dedication for a series of blood-drenched military novels based a first-person shooter called "Price of Dawn." It's an uncommon match.

Thus, before anyone gets the idea that Green's latest book is a re-make of A Walk To Remember, you can be relieved to find that there's enough attitude here to shake you of that.  Self-pity isn't really the name of the game, and these wise-assed kids have enough irreverence to be funny and enough heartache to remind you that this isn't a comedy either.  The young people here are wonderfully insightful, realistically reflective, and as anti-stereotypical as you could find.  The result is an extremely well-developed character study of what dying means when you are young (and it's happening all around you).

Knowing that a story like this has a sad ending (why wouldn't it?) won't protect you from the devastation that awaits you.  But that really isn't the point.  Far more important is the message about trying to make a difference in a world where we all die (some just sooner than others).

Nature Girl, by Jane Kelley

City girl Megan can't possibly imagine a worse summer -- stuck in Vermont with her older sister and her parents, with no computer and no television.  But the worst part of all is the fact that her best friend didn't come with her, so she's stuck in the woods on her own!  Frustrated and angry, she dreams up schemes to rescue her summer, making herself (and her family) miserable.

Then a hike in the woods goes wrong.  Initially lost, Megan finds herself on the Appalachian Trail.  But rather than use this information to find her way home, she decides to set out on a trip that will change her life.

For what the book is (an adventure book aimed at middle readers), it's a surprisingly effective story.  Megan is a bit too annoying at first and her transformation toward maturity doesn't always ring true (for example, when she figures out on her own how to gut and cook a fish), but the storytelling has a predictably pleasing arc.  Yes, we all know that Megan will gain perspective and maturity, but it is no less enjoyable to read about it in the knowing.  The reconciliation with her friend seems tacked on, but offers additional pay-off in the novel's happy ending.

You Have Seven Messages, by Stewart Lewis

After Luna's mother died, Luna didn't really grieve over her.  Now, a year later, she decides to visit her mother's studio, where she discovers her mother's cell phone...with seven messages on it.  Curious, she starts to listen to the messages and, through them, finds that there is a lot more to her mother's death (and life) than she previously realized. On the side, she also has to deal with her father dating again, the attentions of a boy next door, and her own burgeoning talent for photography.

For a book that could have been so much about internal transformation, this story is awfully cluttered with external (and frequently over-the-top) events.  The fact that she is rich and that her father is famous was distracting enough.  Once we start name-dropping Drew Barrymore and Orlando Bloom, it all got to be a bit too much. And, as we jetted off to Tuscany and took an unsupervised train to Paris, I realized that we were in teen fantasy land.  The story was no longer about growing up, it was about having fun fun fun.  I get that it's great to fantasize, but did we have to go so far off the deep end?  How much sympathy can we really have for the poor little rich girl?

Story inconsistencies pop up as well (how does a phone carried at the moment that Mom is struck by a car magically end up back at her studio?) and Luna herself is jarringly inauthentic (wiser than her years would ever be, with the subsequent lack of room for growth).  The end result is entertaining fluff that is fun to read.

The Scorpio Races, by Maggie Steifvater

Every Fall, on the island of Thisby, the sea brings forth the capaill uisce -- the water horses.  These fierce carnivorous cousins of terrestrial equines are captured and raced by the local inhabitants.  It's a dangerous pastime and riders are routinely mauled or drowned by their steeds.

Years ago, Sean's parents were killed by a capall uisce. As an orphan, Sean has devoted himself to mastering the skill of riding them.  For four years running, he has won the annual race, but has been unable to acquire the one thing he wants in life.  Meanwhile, Puck lacks Sean's experience, but she is motivated to win the race for its large cash prize in order to pay the debt on her home.  While her chances are slim, she hopes that by buying back her home she can convince her brother to stay on the island.  Lack of experience is only one of the hurdles she must face.  The islanders resist her attempt to race on principle -- no woman has ever tried to do it before.

While horses and horse racing are not my thing, I really admired this book.  The story is complex, both in terms of the interactions of the various characters and also in the details of the culture of Thisby.  Modeled on a British isle somewhere, the locale never quite connects totally with reality.  Still, this is not really a fantasy story either as Steifvater periodically brings us back to the real world.  It's as if this were an altered parallel universe -- like our own except for the existence of flesh-hungry water horses!  That vagueness of time and place is very effective and gives the story a sense of timelessness that will keep it fresh for years to come.

I have had trouble with Stiefvater's writing in the past.  While I attempted to read it, I never managed to get through Shiver. In the past, her style always seemed inaccessible and overly artsy.  This novel is a different experience altogether.  It's suspenseful, surprising you all the way up to the end.  And it's a story with the potential to excite a mega-audience, like The Hunger Games.  How can you go wrong with a fierce heroine, nasty monsters, and a dangerous climactic race?

Fracture, by Megan Miranda

Against everyone's expectations, Delaney manages to survive her plunge through the ice. Lost in the water for eleven minutes, she was pronounced brain dead, yet somehow emerges from her coma. And while she is brain damaged, she shows no sign of anything different on the outside. On the inside is a different story. For some reason she cannot explain, she feels drawn to people who are dying. And a stranger named Troy Varga, who suddenly appears after the accident, tells her she is not alone.

An interesting premise that went off in unexpected directions. The pacing of the story is glacial, so I figured I pretty much knew where we were going (perhaps Delaney was an angel or a ghost?) but Miranda kept throwing me a curve ball. While that kept me guessing, I'm not sure it made for a good story.

In addition to the pacing problem, the characters are not very memorable (sad to say, with three separate guys in the story, I never really could tell them apart). This, combined with numerous subplots I couldn't quite figure out (the Mom's history of abuse, the love story with Decker, etc.), made it a hard book to really enjoy. The story simply doesn't come together in the end.

The Mockingbirds, by Daisy Whitney

When Alex wakes up in Carter's room, she isn't initially certain how she ended up there. And when she realizes that she's had sex with him, she can't figure out how it happened -- the night before is simply a blur. It takes her a while and some encouragement from her friends to come to the realization that she was raped.

She doesn't want to go to the police. She's ashamed of her own behavior and worried that she brought this on herself. But she learns of a group of students at her school called The Mockingbirds who quietly run a peer court to judge cases like this. Despite her fears and shame, she decides to use the system to take a stand.

For what is an important subject and a decent attempt to shine a sympathetic light on it, the premise of the story is surprisingly silly (the adults and school administrators in particular are portrayed as worse than useless, while the students are wise beyond their years) and the storytelling is clunky. An awful lot of effort is expended to explain the intricacies of the court system the students have created, while the story itself tends to drift into underdeveloped subplots (Alex's music, for example). There are times when the plot becomes contradictory as if revisions were half-finished. In sum, this is no Speak.

All that said, I really liked Alex herself. She's strong, reflective, and sympathetic. Whitney has an agenda (one that I'm sympathetic to) and Alex is the vessel of that plan, but I didn't mind the preachiness because I liked her so much. Strong character development and a kick-ass heroine goes a long way towards helping me to like the book.

Stolen, by Lucy Christopher

On a trip to Vietnam with her parents, Gemma is kidnapped by a stranger. Drugging and smuggling her out of the airport in Bangkok, he takes her to the remote Australian outback. While she doesn't immediately recognize him, it turns out that he has been stalking her for years, obsessed with the idea that they were meant to be together.

Naturally, she's terrified of him, but she's also resourceful and works tirelessly on her escape. The problem is that she has no idea where she is and their location is so remote that it seems hopeless to imagine finding any place to which to flee. As her stay lengthens, she finds herself growing sympathetic to her kidnapper and fears that her emotions are betraying her.

A fascinating in-depth study of kidnapper and victim, with some beautiful imagery thrown in. I was reminded throughout of Nicolas Roeg's film Walkabout in the way that desolate nature of the wilderness colors the tenor of the victim's attempts to escape (and also in the dynamic of the boy-girl relationship, of course!).

Written in the form of a latter from Gemma to her kidnapper, the style can seem a bit too immediate, but that device also serves well to ratchet up the emotion and makes the story much more intimate. Subplots about an easily-domesticated camel and a feisty rooster (and to desert life overall) are surprisingly effective parallels to Gemma's own situation. The result is that the overall icky nature of the plot is counterbalanced by the profound naturalism of story.

Where Things Come Back, by John Corey Whaley

Cullen struggles with the death of a cousin to drugs and the disappearance of his younger brother. His parents are falling apart, but what bugs Cullen most of all is all the hoopla over the supposed sighting of an extinct woodpecker and the ass-hats of his little town of Lily who try to cash in on that attention.

In parallel, a separate (and more interesting) storyline traces the failed missionary work of Benton Sage and his college roommate Cabot who in turn becomes obsessed with the forgotten Ethiopian Orthodox Bible and its story of Archangel Gabriel's betrayal of mankind. And while the two stories seem completely unrelated until nearly the very end of the book, they intersect in a significant and deadly way.

Zombies also play a part.

What you end up with is a critically acclaimed, Printz-award winning story that isn't actually about much of anything. Some people claim it is a coming-of-age story, but Cullen really doesn't change all that much. What's striking in fact is that, while a lot of interesting things happen to the characters, none of them are interesting in themselves. Not only is this not a true coming-of-age book (which would require a dramatic arc of some sort), but it isn't a YA book either. The major protagonists are post-adolescents and their concerns are mostly those of adults. If anything, the story reminded me of John Irving's The World According to Garp, but without the clever satire of that classic. It's well-written and original, but hardly the best book of the year.

The Gospel According to Larry, by Janet Tashjian

When whiz kid Josh decides to start a website to promote his anti-consumerist rants, he does it initially to resolve his boredom. He decides to keep it anonymous (using the name "Larry" as a pseudonym) and, as an experiment, tries to promote it at school through a fan club. He never imagines that it will amount to much. But, before he knows it, people across the country tune in to his site and its message. Millions of people become fans and it spawns a festival and even (ironically) various consumer fads. As Larry's popularity grows, Josh struggles with whether he should reveal the true authorship or not.

In some ways, Tashjian was a bit ahead of her time when the book was written in 2001. However, eleven years later, a blog going viral isn't much of a story. The critique of consumerism also seems like a dated concern (or rather, it is treated so innocently compared to what we see today). In sum, the story is well-written and the book is a quick read, but it really doesn't have as much to say in today's more cynical world.

You Are My Only, by Beth Kephart

When she was twenty, Emmy's baby was stolen from her. Developmentally challenged and struck with grief, no one believed that she hadn't done something to it and she was unable to communicate what had happened. Instead, she was involuntarily committed.

Many years later, home-schooled Sophie breaks her mother's strict no-contact policy with the outside world and befriends a boy who lives next door. He in turn introduces her to his two aunts, who care for him and take an interest in her. As a result, her life changes dramatically.

Told in alternating chapters, Emmy's and Sophie's stories never really coalesce, but instead develop parallel tales of suffering and eventual redemption. The resulting novel is complex and beautifully crafted, but difficult to follow and certainly not a young adult novel. The use of language is highly stylistic and takes a bit to get used to, but adds to the strength of the characters. I found it a hard slog, even as I recognized its literary merits.

Queen of Secrets, by Jenny Meyerhoff

Essie is starting her sophomore year off on a good note. She has made the cheerleader team and Austin (the cute football player she's been eyeing) has started to notice her. But it could all be ruined by her geeky cousin Micah whose insistence on wearing a yarmulke to school has kids teasing him. When that teasing turns nasty and escalates into more dangerous things, Essie finds herself forced to choose between the fun life she was planning on enjoying and standing up for her family. The fact that her family has been hiding things from her simply complicates matters.

While pitched for a younger teen audience, several mature themes (including a fairly explicit sex scene) will probably flag this for some nervous adults. That's a shame, though, as the book tackles a lot of great identity issues that will resonate best with younger readers.

For myself, I found the writing style to be a bit preachy and the morality issues depicted too black-and-white -- in a style which seems to suggest that the author doesn't quite trust the readers to figure it out on their own. However, I liked the subject matter and the pace was right. The characters are complex (even though Essie is essentially a good girl, she gets to make a few mistakes). Peer pressure becomes an easy scapegoat, but in this case that felt right. In sum, a decent book for younger readers (older ones will probably find it too simplistic).

Juliet Immortal, by Stacey Jay

In this mash-up of Romeo and Juliet with Highlander, the young lovers are actually (im)mortal enemies. It turns out that their romance ended on a bad note, when Romeo stabbed Juliet through the heart in a vain attempt to achieve immortality. As a result, they entered an endless cycle of violence, periodically reborn, with Romeo primed to kill Juliet over and over, and Juliet attempting to preserve true love wherever she finds it. Much mayhem and violence ensues.

I don't think I can explain much more of the plot. That's a bit of a problem. At some point, I actually gave up on following it. I think the ending was a happy one, but I didn't understand it, so I'm not so sure.

The story has good pacing and the action level keeps up. Juliet is pretty kick-ass and has no problem standing up for herself. So, you won't be bored and it won't offend anyone. But I really couldn't get my head around the purpose of this adventure. It certainly gets some points for being the most outrageous riff on Shakespeare I've read to date, but I really couldn't get much out of it.

Liars and Fools, by Robin Stevenson

When Fiona's mother was alive, the two of them loved to go sailing, but after her mother's death at sea, Fiona's father forbids her from even going to look at their boat. Worse, he's planning to sell it. But that isn't the only problem. Dad has started to see another woman and wants Fiona to get to know her. Fiona isn't ready for that and wants to do whatever she can to split them up. When she discovers that the woman believes that she can speak with the dead, Fiona sets out to prove that she's a fake. In the process, however, she makes some interesting discoveries about herself and her family.

A modest but surprisingly effective novel about grief and letting go. These novels work best for me when the adults get some time to discuss their feelings as well, and Stevenson does a really nice job of sharing between children and adults. At times, it can get a bit too clinical, but that doesn't interfere with the overall authenticity of people describing their anger and frustrations. There are so many of these books about dead mothers (why do teens like to imagine dead parents so much?) that it's hard to make a book stand out, but this one would be on my short list of good books on the theme.

Wonderland, by Joanna Nadin

Since she lost her mother, Jude had to deal with the feeling that she is the invisible one ("Jude the Obscure" she calls herself). But when things have gotten bad, she's had her best friend Stella to turn to. Stella is everything that Jude wishes she could be: strong, carefree, and unafraid of anyone. But as she grows older, Jude begins to realize that her obsession with Stella pales in comparison with Stella's own behavior. When it becomes apparent just how unhealthy the relationship between them has become, Jude isn't sure she has the strength to break the ties and go out on her own.

It's a gripping story, but not very original (including the plot twist at the end, which has appeared in other books I've read recently -- although revealing that fact would ruin the ending). And the story is not helped any by the whiny nature of Jude herself. I got that she is weak-willed and self-pitying, but it's hard to take that in large doses. You wanted to see some growth there and (despite resolving the immediate symptoms), I did not get much of a sense of character growth. Or perhaps, I just never started to care enough?

I can't judge how realistic it would be for a teen to get drinks in a pub or have her boyfriend up in her room, but American readers may be a bit shocked at how much freedom a sixteen year-old can have in the UK (where the story takes place).

The Pirate Captain's Daughter, by Eve Bunting

Aarg! Avast yez scurvy dogs!

When Catherine's mother dies, she is determined to join her father at sea. Despite his claim to her mother that he is an honorable captain in the royal navy, Catherine has known for some time that he's really a pirate! At the age of fifteen, Catherine longs for an adventure on the high seas and she begs her father to smuggle her aboard as a boy (women and girls are not welcome on ships). He's reluctant to do so, as it will be dangerous for both of them if she is found out. But the biggest danger comes from a different source as it becomes apparent that a member of the crew is plotting to steal from the captain!

It's an odd book that combines some decent historical research (nice naval details) with silly stereotypical pirate-speak. The story itself drifts about like a ship in the doldrums. The pacing is fine, but it seems disorganized (foreshadowing is non-existent, plot details randomly pop up, subplots are dropped, etc.). It feels like a rough draft or maybe a rushed job.

Try Not To Breathe, by Jennifer R. Hubbard

Ever since suicide survivor Ryan has returned from his stay at a mental hospital, he's found that the only place he can find peace is underneath a waterfall. Sure, it's dangerous (some kid died there), but the fear he feels helps drown out his sense of being invisible and a loser. But when a girl starts to show an interest in him and his story (her own father committed suicide and she wonders why he did it), Ryan gets a glimpse of what it is like to actually be someone.

In terms of the story itself, the plot meanders a bit, but the characters are spot-on, from Ryan himself to the curious Nicki to Ryan's highly-strung mother. The supporting characters are also expertly drawn. Hubbard does an amazing job of capturing the sheer awkwardness of the relationships between her characters. The climactic showdown between son and mother hit home and stirred up emotions I really hadn't given any thought to in thirty years. The strength of the characters goes a long way towards making up for the weakness of the plot.

Also, ignore the totally irrelevant cover, which belongs more in a Chris Isaak video than with this book!

The Beginning of After, by Jennifer Castle

One fateful evening. Laurel has been dragged to a dinner party hosted by the Kaufmans, whose obnoxious son David has managed to slip out to hang with friends. After dinner, Laurel herself begs off from dessert to go home and study for her SATs. When she is home working, there is a knock on the door. A policeman tells her that her parents and brother are all dead. Mrs. Kaufman is dead too (and her husband is in a coma). A car accident has destroyed Laurel's world.

As Laurel quickly finds out, being the survivor means being an object of pity and/or curiousity for all those around her. In this world of after she finds it hard to confide in her friends and she distrusts the motives of the people who reach out to her. Ironically, only David really seems to understand what she is going through, and he's handling it much worse than she is.

The situation itself is of course quite sad, but you pretty much know what to expect with this novel. While the story could potentially pack quite a punch, Castle plays the story straight and low-key. That has its plusses and minuses. There are no amazing revelations about grieving, but also no melodrama. What we get instead is a realistic and authentic story. That doesn't make for much originality, but sometimes a story well-told is enough. At 420 pages, it's a bit long-ish, but it doesn't drag (the length is in fact due to some fine detail).

Castle's strength is in characterization. Both the children and the adults are well-drawn and easy answers are skirted around. The grieving process is well-documented, but avoids the stereotypical "stages of grief" approach that tends to predominate this subgenre (instead, Castle recognizes that not everyone follows the textbook). While Laurel does flirt with some romance, the relationships are complicated as one would expect them to be, given the circumstances. Laurel's feelings about David, in particular, develop in a plausible fashion. Overall, this is a very satisfying read.

Winter Town, by Stephen Emond

Ever since Lucy moved away with her mother, Evan and Lucy only get to see each other once a year, around Christmas. And while they started with similar passions, they've slowly become different people: Evan is a straight-A student who can't quite gain the confidence he needs to stand up to his father, while Lucy is the angry goth whose home life has gone to hell. But together again for another two-week visit, they try to recapture the magic of their childhoods, while exploring what the future could offer them. To liven things up, the novel features frequent graphic novel-like interludes from both Evan's comic drawings and some more realistic art from Emond.

Stylistically, this book makes a great foil to my just-completed review of Why We Broke Up. Unlike that book, Winter Town's artistic elements add to the story by creating several additional dimensions. And, while I'm not a graphic novel fan, I appreciated the intent of their addition. I was less taken by the story or the characters, which I found underdeveloped (Emond put so much effort into the design of this striking book, that the characters suffered). The writing (particular towards the end) grows stilted and the story unravels. It needed more work, but I appreciate its originality.

Why We Broke Up, by Daniel Handler

In an effort to purge herself of the bad memories, film fan Min assembles a collection of momentos from her relationship with Ed and explains the significance of each one of them to her ex-boyfriend.

That's basically the entire plot, which is one way of saying this is a pretty indulgent story (certainly, if I was on the receiving end of her diatribe, I'd probably just laugh it off -- after all, who needs to spend the effort worrying about such a drama queen?). But, thankfully there's a subtext here that is more interesting: the process of rehashing the relationship is ultimately cathartic for Min, as she realizes the mistakes she made and what led to them. Overall, it's a low-key variant of Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why (with the obvious differences that Min doesn't kill herself and one doubts that boyfriend Ed would really give a shit about Min's letter).

Overall, it is exactly what it claims to be: the story of a break-up. And, as much as it has been critically acclaimed, it simply isn't that good. Yes, the illustrations by Maira Kalman are clever and the book has a thick literary quality to it, but it's also amazingly pretentious. From the faux film-buff references to the drawings themselves, it's the type of book that no one reads except to prove something. The story doesn't go anywhere, the characters do not elicit sympathy (heck, you might see yourself in Min's psycho-obsessive melodramatic personality, but that's not something to be proud of!), and in the end you're left with that thought of "what's the point of all this?" Books like this are the reason I distrust the distinction of being an ALA winner.

Notes from an Accidental Band Geek, by Erin Dionne

And so we continue with the music theme....

Elsie is determined to win a scholarship to Shining Birches (an exclusive music summer camp in Massachusetts that you might know by a different name), even though, as an incoming high school freshman, she'll be one of the youngest applicants. To fill out her resume, she enrolls in marching band. But when she starts, she absolutely hates it: the marching is boring and physically arduous, the other kids make fun of her, and they make her play a mellophone! It all seems like a worthless distraction from practicing for her audition.

To make matters worse, starting high school has its own challenges: there's boys and overly-protective parents to deal with. Friendships have grown much more complicated. There are times when Elsie simply can't cope! But as the Fall progresses, she slowly gains confidence and develops the skills necessary to figure it out.

A charming book. While it has lots of wonderful band details, it's the painfully realistic depictions of the melodrama of ninth-grade relationships that makes Dionne's writing so good. I liked Elsie's awkwardness with boys (and their's with her). The jealousies and suspicions had a familiar ring to them. I also found Elsie's relationship with her parents to be pretty authentic. I wish that she and her father had been less proud, but it felt true.

There are minor problems: some of the plot turns are a bit extreme and threaten the realism of the story, Elsie's own turnaround comes on a bit too suddenly, Dionne has a distracting pattern of disguising some real life things and places (Shining Birches, the Darcy Thanksgiving Day Parade, Dusk vampires, etc.)! But I'd give the book some leeway since Dionne does such a nice job with the storytelling. Younger teens will like the story. Old folks will be reminded of why we don't ever want to be fourteen again!

The Mozart Season, by Virginia Euwer Wolff

When Allegra gets offered the chance to compete in a youth violin contest, she accepts the opportunity without realizing at first how stressful it will be. But the competition and the challenges of mastering Mozart are not the only things on her mind. Allegra struggles with her identity as a half-Jew. In addition, there's the unrelated mystery of the strange man who comes to the local string concerts and dances while the ensembles play.

Coming so soon after reading the quicker-paced and more digestible Virtuosity, it's hard to avoid comparisons. This book is pitched at a younger audience (Allegra herself is younger and the stakes of her competition are less extreme), but there are bigger differences than simply the younger target demographic. I honestly found this to be a poorer read. The narrative is jumpy and seemingly random. I suspect that Allengra's scattered voice is supposed to be stylistic (to represent her random thoughts), but as we never learn that much about what she actually feels, it's hard to tell. Instead we get near train-of-consciousness rambling which quickly becomes numbing. None of which is helped by the action, which is hard to follow and oddly paced (the contest itself, which ought to be climactic, is a non-event).

The Girl of Fire and Thorns, by Rae Carson

Elisa is a second daughter and thus subject to being married off to the king of a neighboring kingdom. She also lacks the conniving skills of her older sister and is the object of disdain in court for her sweet tooth and her girth. But she is the "chosen one" -- the bearer of the godstone (a jewel that appeared on her stomach when she was christened) and thus prophesied to do great deeds.

And if ever there was a need for great deeds it is now, while a shared enemy is on the march, led by powerful sorcerers who have the power to generate fire out of the air. Elisa is no sooner married off to her new husband than she finds herself embroiled in intrigue and dangerous plans. She must find a way to fulfill her destiny and save her people, and it will call on her to unlock hidden strength and sort out friends and foes.

Here we have all of the lovely trappings of YA fantasy -- familiar adolescent figure (with sibling conflict, self-doubt, and a potential eating disorder) has extraordinary adventures and eventually saves the day through self-discovery. No surprises here! But this book has a lot more and this is where it stands out from the pack. Carson has done an outstanding job at freshening up the setting and the story. Hispanic names, placenames, titles, and an ancient language with a strong resemblance to Spanish shake off the traditional anglo focus of fantasy. A well-developed religion is another unusual element that integrates well with the story. While following a familiar formula, it manages to be original and rewarding.

See What I See, by Gloria Whelan

When Kate wins a scholarship at an art school in Detroit, she decides to take advantage of the fact that her father lives there and stay with him. The problem with this idea is that they are not exactly close. In fact, he's pretty much ignored her existence since he walked out on her and her mother, abandoning them to pursue his own artistic career. But, while she isn't expecting him to be thrilled to see her, she is surprised by how hostile he is.

With some effort, she convinces him to let her stay and an uneasy peace forms between them, which is shattered when she discovers that he's dying. Faced with a choice of looking out for her career (as he once did) and taking care of him, she makes a fateful decision to do the latter. In the process, she gains an opportunity to come to terms with what he did to their family.

This spare, but ultimately touching, portrait of a young woman learning to confront her hurt and heal gains its strength mostly from what it doesn't do. The tone is subdued and melodramatic outbursts are kept to a minimum. The characters don't compromise or even come together. One might thus complain that there isn't much evolution in the characters or development in the story, but Whelan likewise avoid unnatural changes and easy solutions. The result is ultimately satisfying.

Sign Language, by Amy Ackley

"I knew my dad was going to pass away....I didn't know he was going to be dead." In that poignant sentence, Abby describes to a friend the shock of having her father die of kidney cancer. And in spite of its logical contradiction, we glimpse the mind of a child suffering loss.

Told over a three-year period, Sign Language covers how Abby deals with the death of her father when she is thirteen, and carries the story through coming to terms at fifteen with that death. It's a harrowing tale, told frankly and realistically, by an author drawing on her own childhood. As such, it has the perverse appeal of a confession, with a decent pay-off at the end as Abby gradually works her way to acceptance.

The bare realism of the story could certainly teach Phyllis Naylor a few lessons about depicting children growing up. Following Abby on a month-by-month basis from twelve to fifteen allows us to watch her not only deal with her grief, but also mature in many other ways. There's a tremendous effort spent on continuity and evolving emotions and I felt like I really understood her by the end.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the supporting characters. We learn very little about them and they mostly exist for Abby to interact with when it is convenient. It's obvious that Abby isn't a very good friend, but neglecting her loyal friends Liese and Spence as thoroughly as Ackley does seems criminal. And the decision to write the story in a passive third-person voice is off-putting. It feels more like a documentary about grieving: informative but clinical.