Called Upon, by Bethany Lee

After yet another year of being bullied at school, Kaitlin is looking forward to a summer away from her peers.  So her mother's sudden decision to send her away to some fancy summer camp fills her with dread.  But Kaitlin is pleasantly surprised to overcome her fears of social interaction and to actually make friends in her first week there.  

However, the camp itself is strange:  largely unsupervised, the kids are free to roam, but they are painfully aware of the watchful gaze of the creepy security guard and their grey-eyed counselors.  When campers start to disappear, Kaitlin and some of the others start to get suspicious.  And when she falls ill with mysterious symptoms, things turn deadly.  She'll have to draw on strengths hidden inside of her and learn to believe in herself.

Adding to the mystery, the story is also told through the perspective of two other characters (Ashley, an unwed mother of twins, and Parker, a young man with an intense hatred of his father).  Who these people are and how they fit in with the nefarious affairs of this summer camp unfolds only slowly.

While it starts slow and it takes a while to accept the multiple narrators (especially when it becomes clear that Ashley and Parker don't have much to contribute to the story), Lee does an excellent job of building up her mystery.  However, the story becomes less interesting as the implausible truth unfolds.  Once things unravel, the explanation just seems silly.  It probably works as a juvenile thriller, but really fell apart for me.  In the end, I found it entertaining, but not particularly rewarding.

Instructions for Dancing, by Nicola Yoon

After her father leaves the family for another woman, Evie decides that she's given up on love.  All it seems to do is leave people hurt in the end.  She swears off relationships.  She even drops her favorite romances off at a neighborhood free library.  

While doing so, she runs across a mysterious old woman who basically pushes a book called "Instructions for Dancing" into her hands.  And while Evie has no interested in learning to dance, she finds herself heading to a nearby dance studio (whose address is written in the book).  There, still on impulse, she enrolls in a class and meets X who proves to be the perfect dance partner.  After much practice and a lot of getting to know each other, the two of them compete in a local dance contest.

But as happens often in Nicola Yoon's novels, there's a parallel more fantastic story.  After meeting the old woman, Evie starts having visions; foreseeing the future of relationships.  If she sees a couple kiss while they are in love, she can see the course of their relationship all the way until its end.  Needless to say, none of this helps dissuade Evie from her conclusion that all relationships end up badly.  To escape from these visions, she tries to avoid seeing any of her friends together.  And when she and X start developing feelings for each other, Evie is terrified of what she will find if they ever kiss.

The dual storylines are Yoon's trademark and I'm afraid to say that I'm not really a fan of them.  The approach worked in Everything, Everything but proved a burden in The Sun Is Also A Star.  Here, we're more in the latter camp.  Unlike a subplot which would simply divert attention, the two threads here are really co-equal and distracting.  Is this a story about learning to dance (in all of its literal and figurative senses) or is it about grappling with the ability to let go?  It's actually both and while the two ideas overlap and interrelate, there is a competition between them.  At any given time, one of them is being neglected.  The rushed ending (for both threads) doesn't help either.

The Half-Orphan's Handbook, by Joan F. Smith

Her father's suicide has taught Lila that loving and trusting people is too dangerous.  In her "handbook" for 'half-orphans" like herself, she has created two rules:  love no one and stay away from liars.  She loved her father, but he betrayed her by lying to his family that he loved them.

From these rules, she concludes that the best thing she can do is cut herself off from others.  So, her mother's idea that she should spend the summer at a "grief camp" with other children who are dealing with a recent loss seems the last thing she wants to be doing.  But her mother is insistent and Lila finally agrees to go for a single week.

Once there, it is everything she feared it would be and she hates it, but in the end she stays the entire eight weeks.  And in that period, she gradually opens up again and begins to re-learn how to trust and develop close relationships.  She also works through her anger at her father and understand what drove him to end his life, achieving peace with his decision.

While the story is largely predictable in its outcome, it does an excellent job with the material.  Lila's path to healing is very much intertwined with the relationships she develops at camp (and at some distance with her mother back home as well).  The author does an excellent job of building that journey in a gradual and believable fashion allowing us to follow along and understand the process organically.  Some of Lila's discoveries are from discoveries she makes about her father's background (learning to understand how her father could both love her and still end his life), but many more of them come from learning about her fellow campers.  A relationship with a boy with an entirely different sort of loss helps to illuminate that not all grief comes from death.

Overall, a familiar topic, but dealt with in an original enough way to make it interesting and enlightening.

A Wizard's Guide to Defensive Baking, by T. Kingfisher

Mona's magic isn't big and spectacular.  Her skill is manipulating bread:  she can make dough do what she asks it to do and she has a very special relationship with Bob, her sourdough starter.  All that would be more than enough for a shy fourteenth year-old orphan and apprentice baker.

However, when she discovers a dead body in her bakery and subsequently crosses paths with Inquisitor Oberon, she finds herself plunged into the middle of a conspiracy against her beloved city.  Someone is killing off the town's wizards and magicians and she is targeted.  With help from a street urchin named Spindle and her aunt, she convinces the Duchess that they need to strike back. However, by this point she is the only remaining wizard and must call upon her powers (and creativity) to defend the city...with baked goods.

A witty fantasy tale with a playful nudge-and-a-wink to the genre.  The author struggled for many years with the manuscript and it has many rough edges.  Bob, the sourdough starter, steals the show and probably is one of the more original monsters ever created.  However, by the end, the witty references to cookery get a bit stale.  Kingfisher also had difficulty getting Mona's voice to be right and that too still unfortunately shows as Mona wavers between young child and mature adult throughout.  All that said, the rough edges of the story add character and overall I enjoyed this celebration of creativity (and of baking in particular).  An enjoyable read.

The Girls I've Been, by Tess Sharpe

At a fundraiser the day before, Nora's ex Wes found Nora and Iris kissing.  Now, the three of them are having the most awkward moment together in the teller line at the bank, depositing yesterday's receipts and struggling with communicating with each other.  But everything gets pushed aside when two men pull out weapons and announce a bank robbery.  In the end, the surprise is going to be on them:  they don't realize who they've captured.

Nora isn't the sweet girl she pretends to be.  Nora isn't even her real name. She's a con artist and the daughter of a con artist.  But now her mother is in jail and Nora lives with her older sister (also a con artist).  And for the next eighty pages or so, we see how clever Nora is and how easily she can manipulate the bank robbers.

But then the story takes a serious and radical turn.  Nora's life hasn't been all clever manipulation and exploiting stupid people.  There's been a slew of abusers and Nora's talents have been more of a survival mechanism.  Her mother hasn't always been an ally and Nora has had to do some pretty drastic things to get through it.  Through flashbacks, we find out the depths to which she will go and, in the present time, we find that struggle continue to get her and her friends out alive.

I started off really liking Nora's character.  She is resourceful and intuitive, with a good head on her shoulders and full of wit, but as the story drifts into her past I lost a sense of what the story was really about and what the author really wanted to achieve.  By the end, it all just felt exploitative.  I lost interest in the characters who began to seem less and less realistic or even meaningful.  The original story about Wes and Iris?  It's largely buried under the action and the blood/gore.  

There's the de rigueur list of abuse resources at the end of the book to imply that Sharpe is making some deep study about a survivor, but we don't really learn anything about abuse here.  If Nora is supposed to be exhibiting survival strategies by stabbing and murdering men, I'm not sure exactly how it will be helpful to anyone.

Apparently, it's coming to Netflix soon.

Counting Down With You, by Tashie Bhuiyan

Karina does what she can to make her parents proud.  She works hard in school.  She follows her parent's strict rules (5PM curfew, no boys, etc.) but she wishes that they would support her love of literature.  Instead, they push her to study medicine and are forcing her to focus on STEM classes even though she loves English more.  It's driving her literally crazy as she battles with anxiety trying to maintain the façade of being a perfect daughter.

When her parents leave to go on a month-long trip to Bangladesh to see the family, it's a breath of fresh air.  Her beloved grandmother comes to look after Karina and her younger brother Samir, but grandma is far less judgmental.  This is just as well because of what is about to unfold in Karina's life during the next four weeks.

Karina's English teacher asks her to help out by tutoring Ace Clyde, a young man without a care for his studies and a bad reputation.  Karina's parents would be scandalized (even though Karina and Ace are meeting in public) but since they are away Karina feels she can get away with it.  What she isn't prepared for is when he starts telling people that they are dating and he talks her into going along with the ruse.  Where this is going to go in four weeks when Karina's parents come back can't be anywhere good, especially when the ruse becomes reality and Karina and Ace develop real feelings for each other.

This is a rather painful plotline to set up an awkward romance with a big heavy shadow over it.  To mess it up further, it is a story that isn't really sure on what parts it wants to focus.  In the end, Bhuiyan wisely stresses Karina's longing to pursue her future career (rather than worrying about the boy) but the boy is never too far away.  It ends on an inconclusive and ambiguous note (although there's a lovely author's note at the start that partially makes up for the ending).

It also doesn't help that the characters are weak. The parents are horrid and never quite redeemed in the end, which undercuts Karina's motivations.  Karina's love for her parents is never really shown and feels more like an obligation than anything real (in striking contrast to her love of literature).  Karina is largely embarrassed and dismissive of her extended family of Aunties and Uncles.  Only the grandmother -- who steals the show overall -- ever really shows warmth and love.  This problem is repeated with the other characters:  Ace is more manipulative than caring, Karina's BFFs are well-meaning but hapless, and her brother weak and ineffectual.  Even Karina seems weak and non-inspirational -- she largely lacks agency, failing in the end to be the one who really solves her problems.

It's a fast read and entertaining.  It's lovely to see Bangladeshi-Americans represented.  Overall, the story is respectful of Islam and portrays a young woman with a strong commitment to her faith.

Me (Moth), by Amber McBride

Ostensibly a road trip story told in verse, Me (Moth) is a complex tale  tackling grief, depression, and suicide (with a few quick shots on racial injustice along the way).

Moth was in an accident that "split" the family car in half: leaving mother, father, and grandfather all dead.  Moth went to stay with her aunt, who ignores her and instead drowns herself in the bottle.  Moth is similarly ignored at school and left to fight off her grief and survivor's guilt on her own.

Sani, a new kid at school, untouched by the stigma of Moth's past, reaches out to her and they find they have a lot in common.  Sani is half-Navajo and has a strong attachment to the spiritual beliefs of his people, while Moth's grandfather was a follower of Hoodoo (a traditional spiritual practice among Black Americans).  Moth's grief is familiar to Sani because he takes anti-depressive meds to deal with the "waterfall" in his mind.  Moth's neglect seems idyllic to Sani who faces abuse from his stepfather.  Finally, on top of it all, they are both artists, reluctant and afraid to follow their dreams.

With a sense that there is nothing left for them at home, they decide to run away on a cross-country trip to the Navajo nation.  Along the way they draft up a "Summer Song" that encapsulates many of the ideas of the story, visit a number of landmarks, and explore their feelings towards each other and themselves.  A unexpected (but well foreshadowed) turn of events in New Mexico, however, forces Moth and Sani to acknowledge certain realities that they have been avoiding and generates an ending with startling pathos.

As I never tire of stating, verse either works or it doesn't.  There are no "okay" verse books and most of them are excruciating.  This is one of those brilliant exceptions.  McBride's writing is deep and complex, like for example when she has Moth describe her feelings for Sani ("Honey, you can keep me forever,/like a phantom limb").  But more often her writing defies soundbites and easy explanation.  It can be slow reading, but that is because there are a lot of nuances to take in.  Surprisingly, this is not a character-driven story -- we barely get to know either of the characters even though they are constantly talking.  Instead, this is a more moody exploration of generalized concepts: what it means to lose someone, what is our relationship with our ancestors, and what it means to accept death.  Heavy thoughts, beautiful words.

Serendipity: Ten Romantic Tropes Transformed, ed by Marissa Meyer

A collection of short stories that promise to "transform" tropes suggests some exciting original storytelling.  Heaven knows that the romance genre could use some enlivening.  When you can recognize these basic plots from their simple generic names ("matchmaker," "best friend love epiphany," "grand romantic gesture," etc.) then you pretty much have summarized the state of the field.  So, I was excited by the premise of the collection.  However, the book is more hype than revelation.

In some of these stories, originality is achieved by having the protagonists be gender queer, but in this day and age, that's hardly novel.  There are some clever settings (like Eulberg's story set in a London Eye capsule).  There are a few funny pieces (Meyer's own tribute to the two-friends-and-one-bed set up).  However, mostly this is more of the same old same old.  If you really like the idea of romance stories, then these exercises may appeal to you, but for me the draw of a romance is not the tropes, but the characters.  And within a maximum length of thirty pages, it's really hard to build the emotional attachment to the characters that gives a romance its pull.

The Year I Stopped Trying, by Katie Heaney

If you're an overachiever, you probably have not spent much time thinking about the possibility of not putting everything into your work, but what do you really think would happen if you failed to do so?  For Mary, the idea seems terrifying and she would consider doing less than her best.  But when she somehow manages to forget to write a paper for her AP History class and nothing immediately happens, the experience is revelatory.

Seeing how little anyone cares that she's missed an assignment inspires her to expand on the experience by simply stopping doing any work at all.  As a good student with a reputation for being a hard worker, it takes a while for her teachers to even notice.  Once they do, most of them are so confused that they don't know what to do about her change.

Stopping working isn't enough for Mary.  She starts thinking about what else she could do to "wreck" her life.  She's never dated, but she's heard it said that getting involved in a romance can hurt your academics, so why not test that theory?  She ends up with ex-stoner Mitch, with whom she enjoys riding around town in aimless cruising, but nothing else ever happens.  She knows what she's supposed to do (kiss, make-out, and everything else connected with having a boyfriend), but she doesn't really want to do that either.  Having discovered the joys of underachieving, having a romance seems like too much work as well.

It's a hard book to describe and my synopsis probably makes Mary sound a bit hard to stomach, but she's actually one of the fresher voices in YA lit -- witty, very funny, and a completely original thinker. Like a modern Holden Caulfield, she's questioning the expectations that she's had laid out for her:

Everything I do--almost everything, anyway--I do to prevent a later guilt over not having done it....Nobody told me I had to wake up at exactly 5:35, but I know that when I hit snooze (which I've only done twice in my life), I wake up feeling like the laziest scumbag on planet Earth.  It passes soon enough when I complete the next available requirement, but the sting is acute, and apparently self-created.

Such a precocious acknowledgement and rebellion against the Protestant Work Ethic can seem like a premature mid-life crisis (or perhaps a bout of clinical depression) but presented in her lively prose is a joy to read.  This is a fun book to read.  Yes, her voice is often too wise for her age, but we'll give the author some leeway there because her observations are so totally on the mark.  Mary has a good head on her shoulders and she makes an inspiring role model as someone who is going to end up with a decent work-life balance as an adult.  While intended for teens, this is truly a YA book that adults can really enjoy, perhaps with the regret of never having been so cool when we were seventeen.

A Rush of Wings, by Laura E. Weymouth

For this retelling of The Grimms Brothers' Six Swans, the setting has been transported to Scotland, throwing in a bit of Highland bravado into a story of breaking curses.

Rowenna was always supposed to learn the Craft from her mother, but Mom never felt she was ready.  And when a demon from the sea visits them and kills Mom in front of Rowenna, there is nothing she can do to prevent it.  Rowenna never learned enough about her powers to do anything.  And now that her mother is gone, Rowenna probably never will.

A few months later, Rowenna's mother returns to them and only Rowenna can tell that it is in fact the demon, now masquerading in her mother's form.  When Rowenna tries to stop the demon, it curses her with muteness and transforms her brothers into swans.  Turning the villagers against them, her mother forces Rowenna and her swans to flee for their lives.

To break the curse, Rowenna must knit a shirt made of nettles for each of her brothers.  To do that, Rowenna needs to lay low and avoid attracting attention.  But Scotland is seething under English occupation and Rowenna and the swans attract attention:  Torr, the English tyrant who leads the occupation, becomes obsessed with the powers that he believes Rowenna has and what they could do to enhance his own power.  And Rowenna, forced by him to develop those powers, is learning their true extant.

It's very hard to read this book and not compare it with Elizabeth Lim's Six Crimson Cranes, which also adapted the same fairy tale.  Weymouth's take is prettier, grounded in a more realistic setting, and more literarily ambitious, but Lim's novel is much easier to read and track.  Weymouth's proses drifts and wanders and it is frequently hard to follow the action.  It was probably mostly due to my recent familiarity with the story (from reading Lim first) that even made it possible for me to follow this version at all.  And for all the talk about highlanders and the occasional "aye" or "lassie," there is surprisingly little of Scotland here so even the advantage of the setting is largely wasted.  Where Weymouth's does do a better job is in showing Rowenna's character growth and her ability to navigate her conflict with her mother.  This is mostly due to Weymouth's more philosophical and cerebral take on the story, which Lim primarily treated as a swords-and-sorcery tale.

You'd Be Home Now, by Kathleen Glasgow

Emory has always tried to be who others told her she was.  She wasn't as beautiful as her older sister, but she was the good one.  That's important after her brother Joey's drug problem came out into the open.  A car accident, in which a girl died and in which both she and her brother were in the car, has scarred the community.  People blame the driver and her brother for being high. Never mind that the accident was caused by bad driving conditions, because people see the drugs and they want to blame the drugs.  And Emory, who was sober, is guilty by being in the car, by being the sister, and by being alive.

Four months later, Joey is let out of rehab and returns home.  Emory is determined to make sure that everything stays fine.  She'll keep an eye on Joey and make sure he's fine and stays off drugs.  Never mind that her parents don't know how to cope with him and ignore her altogether.  Never mind that people at school want him dead for what he "did" to that dead girl.  It's all going to be fine.  That is, until Joey disappears.

A non-stop drama that builds up gradually and keeps your attention to the end.  It starts as a simple tale of identity about Emory's search for self and could have stayed in that realm and been successful.  There's a lovely minor character named Liza who steals the show by channeling all that good advice stuff about standing up for yourself and not taking crap from bullies that you wish every YA novel would have.  In a book about identity, she would have saved Emory and they would have lived happily ever after.

But the novel isn't really about standing up to bullies, it's about opioid addiction and the way it is destroying communities.  Emory's search for self isn't about facing off against a petty queen bee, it's about finding the inner strength to be the person her addict brother needs her to be.  As these things are a group effort, it's also about pulling her parents along with her and having the entire family come together to save Joey.  It's a harrowing, intense, and authentic look at a family struggling to deal with addiction.  Well-written and thought provoking.

Ciel, by Sophie Labelle

Ciel is starting high school this year.  They have always had a complicated identity, being non-binary, but in middle school people knew Ciel and had gotten used to them.  With a new school, there's  new people, and getting them and the teachers to refer to Ciel properly is trying. Stephie, Ciel's best friend, takes a different approach:  avoiding her trans status altogether and simply passing as a girl in school.  

Added to these questions of identity are Ciel's issues with maintaining the relationship they have with a boyfriend who has become more and more distant since he returned home to Iceland.  Keeping a transoceanic relationship going is hard and Ciel isn't even sure they want to keep trying:  there's a new trans boy in their sights!

Aside from the fact that the story is largely bereft of cisgendered  main characters, the book is surprisingly sparse.  So its appeal lies in the novelty of the characters.  The key plotlines (Ciel's relationship with the Icelander, their vlog and some negative reactions to it, Stephie's embrace of her feminine identity, and Ciel's conflicted relationship with gender overall) are present as ideas but not really developed.  It's busy, but doesn't really go anywhere.

The Pants Project, by Cat Clarke

Liv is starting middle school this year.  There will be lots of new things to get used to:  being the youngest instead of the oldest, having new class options, and making new friends.  But the hardest thing for Liv is the new dress code and the rule that all girls must wear skirts.  Liv hates skirts and never wears them.  Boys are always bothering girls by trying to look up them and tights make Liv's legs itch!  But hardest of all, being sorted this way means that Liv not only has to wear a skirt but Liv also has to identify as a girl.  And, even if Liv has told no one else yet, Liv knows that he's a boy.

Coming out as a transsexual isn't something Liv is comfortable with doing yet.  Liv sees the way people look down at his non-traditional family (Liv has two mothers).

For Liv, standing up against the dress code is a smaller battle, something manageable.  After all, even some girls don't like wearing skirts.  So, while Liv works up the courage to come out, Liv can take on the school's rule.  But Liv's not entirely correct.  Fighting for the right to wear what one wants means putting everything on the line, jeopardizing old friendships and finding new allies.

The book is a busy story with lots of subplots, but an overall message of being yourself and resisting peer pressure.  Liv makes a few mistakes along the way, but she demonstrates maturity and generally makes good choices.  While Liv's gender identity is an important issue, Clarke wisely puts the topic in the background and focuses the story's drama on the fight over the dress code.  It's a paper tiger of an issue but that makes it a cleaner target for the middle reader demographic. And it gets the message across effectively.  There is a sense that Liv will prove just as capable at working out who Liv is.

A Short History of the Girl Next Door, by Jared Reck

Tabby, the girl next door, has always been there for Matt.  They've hung out with each other since they were babies and know each other better than anyone else.  And while he's never dared to tell her, Matt believes that one day they will end up getting married.  So, when Tabby gets her first boyfriend and it is superstar senior Liam (and not him), Matt is seething with jealousy.  It would be easier if Liam was an asshole, but even Matt has to admit that he's a good guy.  While Matt knows he should be happy for his friend, he can't manage to let go of his anger and resentment.  He feels that he's losing his best friend to Liam.

Then an unexpected tragedy throws Matt into a bad place, where he could really use Tabby's support, but she's not there for him.  Grieving and angry, Matt lashes out at everyone around him.  It takes some hard lessons from his family for Matt to re-center himself and move on.  Learning to put his friendship with Tabby in perspective is central to that healing process.

A few months back, I reviewed Reck's latest book (about Swedish-American food truck sellers) and afterwards went looking for other books by Reck.  This is his first novel and, while it shows the same finely depicted characters, I didn't care for it as much.  There's a LOT of sports action in this one and I find that hard to get into.  If you like male bonding on the court, then there's some well-crafted scenes to take in, but I find it pretty boring stuff.  More important, I didn't find the story  (and its plot twist in particular) all that compelling.  There are so many books about grief and Jerry Spinelli and John Green have covered this territory well.

Reck is a great writer.  While the novel contains the swearing and flatulence humor that seems to be required in "boy" books, he gives a lot of depth to Matt.  There's a beautiful set of scenes mid-way through the book where Matt and Tabby have a real heart-to-heart about toxic masculinity that really makes the book.  Matt's relationship with his little brother is awfully sweet as well, showing that there's much more than just pining after the girl.  There really are not a lot of good contemporary YA books with believable straight male characters (in striking contrast to the past when all children's books were about boys).  I have no complaint with that shift in publishing trends, but it is still nice to see some strongly crafted, emotionally sensitive books about boys.

Rural Voices: 15 Authors Challenge Assumptions About Small Town America, ed Nora Shalaway Carpenter

One of my standing pet peeves about contemporary fiction is its strong urban and suburban bias.  Just as the mass media and popular culture as a whole have largely neglected life outside of metropolitan centers, YA literature rarely ventures into the countryside.  When it does so, it usually is simply to portray rural areas as some hellish landscape that our protagonist is trying to get away from.  Thus, when I saw this collection of short stories, I was terribly excited.  At last!  A group of fresh new writers who would take on the stereotypes and show us the great variety of life in the countryside.

Not so much.

There are a few outstanding pieces like Monica Roe's "The (Unhealthy) Breakfast Club" about poor rural kids doing their homework at the McDonalds in order to pick up decent Internet.  Joseph Bruchac's reminiscences about growing up in the 1950s are by their nature full of depth and nuance.  But for the most part, this collection is the same old same old.  Sensitive intellectual (and usually gender queer) teens who chaff at small town prejudice and ignorance.  It's tired stuff and insulting to its subject.  And it's not terribly realistic.

I would set out a challenge:  create a story about young people who like where they live and don't want to run away to the city.  Teens who by the nature of their socioeconomic status spend a good part of their day doing chores to help their families.  Who get up before the dawn and spend an hour on a school bus working on their homework.  Who see church as a social experience that gives them identity rather than as an enemy of their creativity.  Characters, in sum, who don't hate the culture they come from.  In this anthology, the only time a character seems to like their roots is when they are Latinx or Black or Native American.  That's more political than true to life.

Small town America doesn't have to be the bogeyman.  It's a shame that a collection that claims to challenge assumptions instead chose to reinforce prejudice.

A Quiet Kind of Thunder, by Sara Barnard

Steffi suffers from anxiety-induced mutism.  In front of strangers or presented with stressful situations, she is unable to speak.  The harder she tries to overcome it, the worse she gets.  Her parents are concerned that she will be unable to handle independent living.  So, while she is convinced that she'll go to university after graduating, they worried that she won't be able to handle it.

Rhys is a new enrollee at school.  He's deaf.  The headmaster, aware that Steffi knows some British Sign Language (BSL) (which she picked up as a therapy for her mutism), asks her to orient Rhys and help him get acquainted with their school.  Despite the difference in their handicaps, they bond and become friends.  And the friendship morphs into a romance.

The relationship is far from smooth.  While both of them confidently believe they understand each other's challenges, they quickly learn how rudimentary their knowledge truly is.  And the petty misunderstandings that accompany any relationship become a bigger deal when dealing with such significant communication barriers.  With all of this added on to the whirlwind of a first romance for the two of them and it is not smooth sailing.  Things come to a head when the young couple slips away from London to spend a secret weekend in Edinburgh and an accident puts their physical limits to the test.

Sara Barnard continues to astonish me.  She writes books with modest premises that seem to blossom into these amazingly complex and significant observations.  On its face, the story is nothing spectacular or now.  What makes this book (and all of her other novels) stand out is her consistent strong character development.  Her characters are complex and defy stereotypes.  Motivations are nuanced.  Young protagonists have age-appropriate and realistic responses to their environment, being capable of both drama and intellect.  Adults are flawed but mature and responsible.  They understand their children and support them (even if they don't always do what the children want).  In sum, the characters feel like real people.

Steffi and Rhys have different challenges in growing up with their distinct disabilities, which are portrayed well, but Barnard also manages to show us similarities.  Both of them bear an adolescents' misunderstanding of responsibility and expectations (Steffi lacks confidence while Rhys is unrealistic about expectations). Both have trouble with trust, although Steffi's issues are rooted in bullying while Rhys's come from microaggressions.  Both of them are sensitive and aware of the way the world discriminates against them because of their disabilities although Steffi tolerates it better than Rhys does.  The fact that I can observe these subtle differences between their characters gives some sense of the nuance in the character development.

The novel is imperfect.  The story is laden down with a number of subplots (a dead stepbrother, a mother's anxiety, etc.) that are never properly addressed and Steffi's codependent friendship with her BFF Tem is imperfectly resolved.  Shedding the former might have provided an opportunity to better address the latter.  The overall beauty of the book, though, is its simplicity.  Getting to know these two young people -- in their flaws and glories - made me fall in love with them and their story.  It's just a boy-meets-girl romance, but with the character-driven approach of the narrative, they become people I truly cared about.  So I wanted to be there with them as they worked through their problems and to be able to cheer for them as they figured things out.

In sum, a modest story that proved to be a good read from a consistently excellent writer.

Sway With Me, by Syed M. Masood

Arsalan has been raised and homeschooled by his great grandfather Nana.  Since his mother died in a car accident a few years ago, it's just been the two of them (his abusive father abandoned them long before). Now Nana has decided that it is time for Arsalan to attend public school. Nana's tutelage, heavy on literature and neglectful of math or science, has left Arsalan's education unbalanced and his social skills non-existent.

Recognizing his weakness, Arsalan turns to the daughter of a prominent matchmaker in his class named Beanish, in hopes that she can find him a girlfriend.  Beanish has a request of her own:  she needs a partner for an upcoming dance contest.  Arsalan knows nothing about dance, but he'll do whatever it takes to get her help with his problem. She in turn solicits the help of Diamond, a stylish and athletic boy who helps Arsalan bulk up for his role.

The situation (and Diamond in particular, with his habit of referring to himself in the third person) is comedic and overall there is a rom-com element to this story, but it has several serious themes as well.  Beanish's dance is not actually for a contest but for a more important purpose:  saving her sister from an unwanted marriage.  And Arsalan is not just socially awkward, but also a survivor of horrific childhood abuse.  Masood's writing beautifully balances out the light and the heavy, often at the same time, as in this passage which so crushingly depicts Arsalan's association of love and abuse:

Before I could respond, her lips -- accidentally I am sure -- grazed the crook of my neck. Their touch was soft and impossibly delicate against the spot where my father had once pressed a match and threatened to burn me.

And it's not just Masood's sensitivity to complex emotional states that makes this story shine.  Culture and religion feature prominently and treated with some sophistication.  Some of the pious (the intended groom of Beanish's older sister and Arsalan's father) are negative, but Diamond (for all of his vanity) is a positive role model for religion.  Nana's skepticism (rooted in intellectual pursuits) contrasts with Beanish's instinctual rebelliousness.  Arsalan stands between them all, full of doubt, picking out his own understanding of faith.

Not everything worked for me.  I thought the father's abuse was over the top and not really sure it was necessary for it to be so, but overall this is a beautiful story.  Masood is such an original writer and the characters so vibrant and interesting that I can't help but recommend the book.  This is a joyous book about friendship, adopted family, and loyalty.  While rooted in Pakistani-American experience, there is nothing particularly exclusive about the story.

Pax, Journey Home, by Sara Pennypacker

In this sequel to the pacifist allegory Pax, years have passed and both boy and fox have grown.  The war which raged through the first book has ended and humans are rebuilding, focusing on cleaning away the ecological damage of warfare.  Restless and uncomfortable at home because of the memories the place stirs up, he joins up with the "Water Warriors" -- a group of young people restoring the lakes and rivers in his old stomping grounds.  Just as the water ways need to be cleansed of toxins left by the war, Peter also struggles under his feelings of loss and anger from the hostilities and the more recent loss of his father. Back in the woods, his memories of his former pet Pax dominate his brain and he yearns to see the fox again.

Pax, meanwhile has grown up and built a family.  Safe from war but now threatened by the return of the humans, he goes out in search of safer spaces to raise his young family.  While intending to leave his three kits with their mother, his stubborn daughter tags along and  Pax is forced to bring her along.  Pax introduces her to the forest and to the ways of the humans.  He tries to explain to her that some humans (like his Peter) can be kind.  The eventual reunion with Peter is marred by his kit falling ill and Pax must make a fateful decision to trust Peter to take care of the young one.

The original Pax always seemed a bit too complex to be a children's book -- its style too moody and its story difficult to follow.  The sequel is even more so.  This is partly due to the heavy reliance on actions and characters from the predecessor (I would strongly recommend reading or re-reading Pax before reading this book).  However, even standalone, the novel's primary themes of environmental devastation, suicidal ideation, and grief are more personal and much darker.

I really appreciated the karmic circularity of this story, allowing the themes of the first book to come back around and the arc to achieve pleasing closure, but this is overall a weaker story.

In Deeper Waters, by F. T. Lukens

Having come of age, Prince Tal is now on his traditional coming out tour of the kingdom.  Few of his subjects know him because he has been hidden from view.  His family is supportive and highly protective, so his cloistering is not the result of shame, but of wariness.  His great grandfather was an evil and terrible mage who terrorized the kingdoms and sowed discord.  After his defeat. the royal family has had to work hard to recover any honor among their peers.  So the fact that Tal shows signs of possessing the same magic now is dangerous.  If the other kingdoms find out about Tal's powers, he and the entire family will be in danger form proactive attacks.  It is in this awkward and dangerous position that Tal must operate; remaining cautious about revealing his true self.

But Tal's plans to keep a low profile are thrown asunder when he rescues a mysterious boy named Athlen from a group of pirates.  The two young men form an immediate attachment in spite of knowing so little about each other's secrets.  And when Tal himself is kidnapped, it is Athlen who must rescue him and help him save his kingdom.  And along the way Tal must also deal with how to come out publicly as a mage.

Swashbuckling sea adventures in a fantasy world, but the book lacks much of the urgency of a good adventure.  The fantasy setting itself is also largely underdeveloped.  So what does the story have?  Lots and lots of exposition and discussion.  This is a story where the characters talk and talk and talk some more, so that by the time anything actually happens, we've pretty much hashed through it from all of the angles.

Homoerotic elements are present but largely played down, much to the detriment of the story as the potentially hot romance between Tal and Athlen never quite takes off.  In their world, homosexuality is a non-issue, so it is the side plot about Tal gaining the self-confidence to come out as a holder of magic is a cute way of writing in a coming out story.  All of which brings us to the crux of the matter:  the story has cuteness and potential, but it never delivers on its promise.

Kate in Waiting, by Becky Albertalli

Kate and Anderson have been friends for ages.  One of the best parts of having a gay friend is their ability to crush on the same guys as you do.  And as long as the objects of their longing are distant and far way, there's no harm or foul.  But when their shared summer crush Matthew enrolls at their high school in the Fall, suddenly it's a different story.  As much as Kate and Anderson realize that it would be best for their friendship if they both swore off Matthew, they realize that neither of them want to.  Instead, they agree that they will each be free to pursue Matthew and that they promise to have no hard feelings if they lose out.  Will their friendship survive this?

The novel is an extremely brisk read that I found nonetheless challenging to get into.  Albertalli drives the action forward almost exclusively through dialogue which sounds simple until you try to read it.  Exposition and reflection take a back seat to a rather relentless drive forward as one interaction leads to another.  Blink and you'll miss an important plot point.  You certainly never get bored, but you stand a good chance of getting left behind.  Admittedly, this is a pretty good depiction of the whirlwind of adolescent relationships, but in written form it makes it hard to invest in the characters.

The book's heavy use of the F-word is unnecessary and distracting, adding little to the story except to become numbing.  It probably also draw unnecessary attention to the book for people looking for excuses to keep it out of young readers' hands.

Otherwise this is a pretty much by-the-numbers dramarama adventure (i.e., kids put on a theatrical production -- Once Upon A Mattress in this case).  The eventual resolution of  Kate and Anderson's romantic lives and their friendship with each other is largely uneventful and unsurprising.

Clarice the Brave, by Lisa McMann

Clarice is just a little ship mouse.  Since her mother was washed out to sea, she's looked after her intelligent (but largely impractical) brother Charles Sebastian.  For the most part, this has involved avoiding notice from the humans, keeping away from the chickens, and trying not to get eaten by the cats.  It's a simple life with easy rules to follow (even though Charles Sebastian seems to still struggle).

Humans are far more complicated.  When the crew rise up in a mutiny, the captain and his supporters are set adrift in a small boat.  Clarice finds herself on the small boat, while Charles Sebastian is left behind on the ship.  Separated by leagues of open sea, Clarice is distraught and determined to find a way to reunite with her weaker brother.

What can a little mouse do?  With no one else to turn to, Clarice cleverly befriends Special Lady, the captain's cat.  Faced with a mutual need for each other's support in order to survive, Clarice and Special Lady form an unusual alliance.

An action-packed story of adventure and friendship.  I was nonetheless disappointed with the book.  Honestly, based on the cover and a cute blurb, I was hoping for a gentle animal story (i.e., Stuart Little-esque adventures on the high seas) but this story is too gory for that.  There's an awful lot of death (often by unpleasant means) and it's not a very cheery story.  It's also a surprisingly morally ambiguous story without any clear heroes and an ambivalent ending.

With You All the Way, by Cynthia Hand

The family trip to Hawaii (ostensibly for her mother's professional conference) has been something that Ada and her sisters have been looking forward to.  And with the way things have been going wrong lately, Ada can certainly use a break!  Just before the trip, Ada finds out her boyfriend is cheating on her because she wouldn't have sex with him.  Her older sister Afton has had a falling out with her boyfriend as well.  And then they find out that their stepfather isn't going to be joining them, which makes no sense until Ada catches her mother having an affair with a colleague on their first day of vacation.

Given that Ada's problems seem to come back to her fear of sex (something which doesn't seem to bother anyone else!) she decides that it is high time she did something about it during the vacation.  There aren't a lot of young people her age at the conference except for geeky Nick, whom Ada would never have given much thought to, but who's available (and willing).  Awkwardly, the two of them plan out how it will happen.

While following in the proud steps of Judy Blume's Forever, this is a generation removed and then some!  It's a very plain and explicit discussion of sex, whether it's Ada's fears of it, her desire to have it, and her preparations with Nick. As many YA books as I read, you would think I've become unfazed by sexually explicit stories, but the directness of this book often made me uncomfortably aware that I'm a middle-aged guy reading about an underaged woman's intimate sexual feelings.  My gut tells me that Hand gets the tone right.  Ada is a perfect product of modern sex education, a target of the mass media sex, and the eternal ignorance of an adolescent on matters sexual -- it's all as painfully awkward as you can imagine it could be.  I certainly was not like this as a teenager, but modern kids have much more information at their fingertips, even if they are no more emotionally mature than we were.

Infidelity, which comes up in at least three distinct cases in the story, is another theme.  It doesn't seem to serve much purpose except to link together mother, sister, and Ada, but I did not see where it was going.

I really liked the sister dynamic.  Ada plays the usual middle child and performs admirably sorting out her older sister's recklessness while protecting her little sister from all the shenanigans.  Little sister also provides comic relief throughout.

It's a nice story but aside from providing a really drawn-out sexual encounter (and a week of planning leading up to it), I'm not sure that the book delivers much value.  In sum, a book that people can read for its scandalously frank discussion of teen sex while enjoying a largely functional story with some sweet sisterly bonding.  However, if teens having frank conversations about mature topics and engaging in activities that they aren't quite ready for makes you uncomfortable, this is not a good book for you. 

I do wonder how many young readers would actually enjoy reading this?  Would they find a heroine to whom they could relate or would they feel that the author was being condescending?

The Mirror Season, by Anne-Marie McLemore

Ciela has inherited her great grandmother's talent for intuiting what pastry someone at her family's pasteleria would most enjoy.  It's a talent that's made her famous with the customers as La Bruja de los Pasteles, but after a traumatic incident at a school party, she's loses her touch.  Now, her world is full of leaves that turn into dangerous shards of silvery mirror and trees that mysteriously disappear in the night.

At that party, she was assaulted, but she was not alone.  A boy, who she barely knew, was raped nearby at the same time she was.  Afterwards, she took him to the hospital but fled the scene to avoid having to explain what happened.  Months after the incident, at the start of the school year, she is surprised to run into the boy again, newly enrolled at her school.  He was so drugged at the time of the assault that he doesn't recognize her now.  She could easily turn away and ignore him, but those shards of silver mirrors she sees everywhere tear at her and drive her to protect him.  She knows she could come forward and fill in the blanks in his life, the things he can't remember from that night, but telling him means also confronting what happened to her ... and what role she played in what happened to him.

An emotionally intense trip through the experience of rape and its emotional aftershocks, buffered somewhat by magical realist imagery inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's Snow Queen (and probably Like Water for Chocolate). It's definitely not for the faint of heart, but this exceptionally honest and raw portrayal shares much about the experience.  The focus is not so much about healing as it is about understanding the experience and processing it.  Ciela is not always honest about what happened and it takes several shocking iterations for the full story to emerge.  

McLemore writes beautifully.  Whether it is describing Ciela's talent as "the part of me that speaks the language of flour and sugar" or the many ways she describes her grief (e.g., "All of me has poured out, like the middle of a pinata cake") this is gorgeous writing.  She also takes considerable risks to create strong and unexpected scenes.  A romantic and sensuous interlude, stunning for its incongruity and yet defiant appropriateness, is a notable highlight -- beauty in the midst of horrible cruelty and suffering.

I have something of a soft spot for magical realism. The imagery of baking and trees (both in their leaves turning to mirrors and their mysterious disappearance) are used in multiple and powerful ways.  Of the too, I generally found the food references less intrusive than the mirrors (which I never quite fully understood -- hidden guilt?  anger?).  Ciela's ethnicity, sexual orientation, and class come up frequently, but are largely peripheral to the overriding theme which is about recapturing a sense of self in the wake of a violation.

I know that many people avoid stories about sexual violence like the plague and that for some this is because of how triggering the experience of reading about it can be.  However, this is a book -- as the afterward makes clear -- written by a survivor with the aim of giving an honest survivor's voice to the experience.  It is an insightful voice, a proud voice, and one that ultimately refuses to be silenced.  This is a book worth reading.

Jude Banks, Superhero, by Ann Hood

After the death of his beloved sister, Jude and his family deal with their grief.  His parents are both deeply lost in depression, but for twelve year-old Jude it is more anger and guilt.  With good reason, he believes that he was responsible inadvertently for his sister's death.  Reconciling that knowledge with his sense of loss, Jude finds it hard to imagine that he could ever feel happy again, but he develops a fantasy that he is some sort of superhero.  All around him, he notices how fragile life is and how easy it is to die young.  In response, he envisions himself as some sort of superhero, capable of rescuing kids before they die and thus preventing what he could not prevent with his own sister.

There's a later glimmer of hope when he meets Clementine in a grief support group and they develop a strong bond.  She, too, lost a sister and seems to understand what Jude is feeling in a way that his peers mostly don't.  But too late Jude realizes that Clementine's feeling are of a different and more dangerous nature and he is out of his depth in trying to console her.

Intended as a book for young people who are coping with the loss of a sibling, I can see how learning about another child's experience might be helpful, but it's a dreary example.  Jude alternates between despair and anger, and never quite manages to work through his feelings to start healing.  Instead, his grief seems just to slowly suck him (and his parents) down.  It's a sensitively-told story, but without any resolution there isn't much inspiration for a child who actually wants to feel better.

Written in Starlight, by Isabel Ibanez

Catalina was supposed to be a seer -- a person blessed by Luna with the ability to perceive the future -- but she's failed miserably at the task.  Betrayed by her own people, she has lost her throne and been exiled to the jungle to die.  

Given her sheltered prior existence, her chances in the wild are not good.  The jungle is a treacherous place.  Treacherous wild animals are everywhere and even the plants are dangerous.  But she is fortunate enough to run across an old friend -- her former guard Manuel -- who still feels loyalty towards her.  Together, they battle with caimans and jaguars, and try to stay ahead of the indigenous Illari who are hostile to their presence.  Yet it is precisely these Illari to whom Catalina must turn.  If she is to regain her throne, she'll need their support.

The Illari, however, want nothing to do with her dynastic squabble and they have something rather more pressing to deal with:  a mysterious force that is killing off all life -- human, animal, and plant -- within the jungle.  The Illari at first blame Catalina and Manuel for bringing this evil, but the true cause is far more serious and poses an existential threat to the world.

A very lush story that sets fantasy elements within a South American rain forest setting.  The adventure moves at a luxurious but utterly satisfying pace as Catalina faces a variety of challenging situations trying to survive in the jungle.  A history of forbidden attraction between Catalina and Manuel gives the story some smoldering passion.  A romantic triangle opens up when they reach the Illari.  It all proceeds swimmingly. Unfortunately, things get really rushed in the last fifty or so pages as a whole new series of facts and characters are introduced.  The climax, which develops out of thin air in a breathtaking ten pages, is strongly out of character with the rest of the book and it's hard not to feel like it was a rush job and a cheat.

While it is not acknowledged anywhere, this novel is a sequel to Ibanez's Woven in Moonlight.  I suspect that having the full backstory would have made reading this book more enjoyable.  Some of the confusing innovations at the end are apparently based on characters and ideas developed in the first book.

Clues to the Universe, by Christina Li

Ro and Benji are complete opposites.  Ro is organized and methodical -- the type of person who excels at science.  She has a mission.  Before he died, she and her father were building a rocket together and now she is determined to finish the project and win the science fair.  Benji, on the other hand, is a dreamer.  He'd rather focus on his drawing and comic books.  He suspects that his absent father is actually the creative force behind his favorite comics series but doesn't know how to find out for certain.  More immediately, his Mom has warned him that, if he doesn't pull up his science grades, she's going to pull him out of art class.

When Ro and Benji are paired up as science partners, they both have strong motivations to do well, even if their approaches are different.  They make a deal:  Benji will assist Ro in her rocket experiment and Ro will help Benji find his father (a not-so-insignificant task in the pre-Internet setting of the story).  Significant set backs along the way present challenges that they have to overcome.  And an act of betrayal triggers a chain of events that force them to reconsider their priorities.

A predictable and safe story of friendships formed and challenged -- standard middle grade stuff.  The vaguely 1980s or early 1990s setting may confuse readers as only the absence of computers and cell phones provide clues to the era.  Bullying, divorce, and grief are all raised as issues, but not really dealt with in any depth.  The story ends on a set of super happy notes.  It's a fine read, but not overly memorable.

A Sisterhood of Secret Ambitions, by Sheena Boekweg

 "...throughout history, anonymous has been a woman."

In this alt-history, Abigail Adams's threat to her husband to pay attention to the women bears fruit in the formation of a shadow organization of women, called the Society.  Throughout American history, it has indirectly held on the reins of power through the manipulation of  husbands. Broken into castes, Matrons rule, Spinsters fight, and Gossips maintain surveillance.  Young men are noted and earmarked for success by the Gossips and promising young women -- pledged to be loyal to the Society -- vie for the affections of these men so they can be positioned to control them when their husbands rise to power.  Never in the spotlight, these women know that the only way they can hold power is to pull the strings in secret.  The world would never tolerate a woman in charge.

It's 1926 and 17-year-old Elsie is one of a set of girl who have Andrew Shaw in their sights.  With help from their Society sisters, they try to win his heart.  Ellie wants to make a difference in the world and marrying the man most likely to become president is the way to do it.  But Ellie's heart is not really into the hunt.  Her older brother, supported by the Society through his well-place spouse, is making a name for himself.  Ellie wonders why she can't do so as well in her own name.  Andrew Shaw, while his heart seems to be in the right place, is nice enough but Elsie doesn't really fancy him.  She prefers the brooding and dangerous Patch, a young man with a revolutionary agenda.  And when his plans lead to tragedy, Elsie is forced to decide whether to pursue her plan of gaining power by becoming Mrs. Andrew Shaw or whether to follow her own dreams.

A striking and original story that explores a variety of contemporary feminist topics in an easily digestible format.  Don't let the highly retrograde-sounding premise and the historical setting fool you into thinking this is just some young women wearing fabulous gowns and throwing themselves at a guy (although there are fabulous gowns and a guy).  This is really a much deeper discourse about what it means to be a feminist in contemporary times. Race, class, sexual orientation, body positivity, and gender identity all take a turn making an appearance (in this alt-history, folks are surprisingly worried about equality and economic injustice).  But it is really the oldest issue of all -- agency -- that takes center stage.  All the more so because of the inherent contradictions that are present in the premise of women seeking power through marriage and children.

This is a book which I would truly love to hear young people discuss.  As a member of the previous generation of feminists, some of the arguments here are unfamiliar or strange to me, but I know I would learn a lot by hearing the next generation tackle them.  And the book is full of quotable passages (like the one above) that act more as landmines than hidden gems.

Nothing is perfect.  I found Ellie's growth as a character unsatisfying and the fluidity of the story gets sacrificed for the more ideological aims of the novel.  However, this is a very thoughtful book which has used the alt-history rubric in the best possible way: to facilitate deeper thought and discussion about feminine ambition in contemporary society.  A memorable read.

Breathing Underwater, by Sarah Allen

Living with an older sister who has been freshly diagnosed with severe depression is challenging for Olivia.  And while she knows that Ruth is really sick, she wishes that her sister would not give up.  On a cross-country roadtrip with family friends, Olivia hopes to have a break through with her sister.

Three years ago, before the family moved from California to Tennessee, the two sisters buried a time capsule on the beach.  Now, they are heading in an RV back to California.  Maybe if Olivia can remind her sister of the good days they used to have -- topped off by digging up that time capsule -- she can fix her sister.  But as the trip progresses, Olivia's efforts are largely in vain and she has to confront the truth that her sister's problems are out of her control.  And that issues that are bugging her are really problems that lie within.

A short and sensitive look at the challenges of having a loved one struggle with clinical depression.  The novel is wonderful as far as it goes, but it is basically a one-note story.  There's not much to say that isn't stated outright in the first fifty pages.  A final climactic blowout attempts to break through to new ground, but the subject matter doesn't realistically lead to a breakthrough.  Well-written, but with no particular place to go with the story, it's a bit of a disappointment.

War Girls, by Tochi Onyebuchi

A dystopian YA for readers of The Economist.  The story in brief: take the Biafran conflict (a civil war that took place in Nigeria in the 1960s) and project it forward two hundred years.  Add nanotechnology, cybernetics, and man/machine robots taken from Mobile Suit Gundam.  Mix in child soldiers, ethnic cleansing, and climate change.  When nearly done, generously garnish with a complicated sibling-like relationship between two really tough protagonists.

Onyii and Ify look out for each other in the War Girls camp, a rebel base of girls hidden in the jungles of Biafra, near the irradiated and uninhabitable Middle Belt.  Onyii has developed a reputation as the "Demon of Biafra" with numerous kills while operating her mech against the Nigerians.  Ify's talents are quieter -- an ability to hack into any computer system and to synthesize limitless data.  When a surprise attack from the Nigerians knocks out their camp, the girls are separated.  Ify is taken by the Nigerians back to Abuja.  Onyii is "rescued" by the regular Biafran army which fails to see any value in a force made up of young girls.

While both girls manage to survive, their attempts to reunite are thwarted.  At least part of the problem is that they are both being exploited, albeit in different ways.  Onyii's ferocious anger and her surreal fighting skills are an asset to the Biafra military while Ify finds herself a pawn being passed back and forth between the sides.  An armistice, brokered by the developed nations (who have all fled to outer space as Earth itself has become largely uninhabitable) brings into stark contrast just how disposable child soldiers are in peacetime.  Without a war to fight, the girls have to come to terms with the horrible things they have done to others (and the ways they have even betrayed each other).

A strikingly original vision by a brilliant Nigerian writer.  For those who don't have a working knowledge of Nigerian history and/or African politics (i.e., most of the readers who will pick up this book), I strongly recommend starting at the back of the book and reading the author's historical notes.  Nigeria is an interesting nation-state and Onyebuchi is following a fine tradition of self-reflection in Nigerian literature.

I was most struck by the armistice.  The author's observations about rehabilitating child soldiers and the anecdotes in the novel are heartbreaking.  His damning critique of foreign aid and truth and reconciliation tribunals are incisive.  As one character observes, when most people see a African, they don't really see a person.  Our understanding of Africa is full of oversimplified analysis and indignation.  This novel goes some ways towards trying to explain the cause of conflict from a grassroots perspective.

Personally, I found the extreme amount of violence to be numbing and cumulatively boring.  Every few pages, we are subjected to a blow by blow description of woman and machine conflict where bones break, blood spills, and limbs decapitate.  Each encounter seems terminal, but thanks to the superior bioengineering of the future, the characters are ready to jump back into action a few pages later.  As the violence never seems to have consequences, it becomes less and less interesting.  I eventually just started flipping past the battle scenes to get to the parts that interested me more.  That those scenes were worth flipping to will give you an idea of how compelling I found this book.

Middletown, by Sarah Moon

Eli and her older sister have their differences but they have allied over having to deal with their erratic and alcoholic mother.  However, when Mom gets sent away to three months of mandatory rehab, they struggle to keep things together.  Anna manages to impersonate a long-lost aunt and become Eli's court-appointed guardian, but the girls still have to figure out a way to feed themselves and pay the rent.  When inevitably things start to collapse, the girls run away and seek out long-forgotten family connections.  In doing so, they learn a lot of family secrets and a bit about the strength of family ties.

While not so original as a story, Moon's quirky novel is full of original and memorable characters.  The girls' (real) Aunt Lisa steals the show with her feisty and world weary outlook, but I also enjoyed the tentative romance between Eli and her best friend Meena.  The exploration of alcoholism and the way it tears families apart is a great topic but is never fully developed -- which would be my overall criticism of the book (that manages to never really take things as far as they could have gone).

Set Me Free, by Ann Clare LeZotte

Described as a "companion," LeZotte's Set Me Free is actually more of a sequel to her groundbreaking Show Me A Sign.  Picking up three years after the events of that first novel, Mary, still wary of mainlanders and overcoming the trauma of her abduction and escape, is swept into helping a young girl who may be suffering the same fate.  

One of a large community of deaf settlers in Martha's Vineyard, Mary has learned from her experiences that outside of her home, deaf people are despised and persecuted.  She's restless living in Martha's Vineyard, but afraid of that outside world.  But an old friend has written to Mary and told her about the strange feral eight year-old girl who lives at the manor house where she is serving.  She begs Mary to come and see if the girl is in fact deaf and if Mary can do something to help her.

Mary realizes that she must do what she can to help the girl and so she accepts the invitation.  When she arrives at the estate, she is shocked to find the girl is imprisoned, kept shackled, and frequently beaten and abused.  She tries to reach out to the girl, but finds that all of her well-meaning ideals pale in comparison to the task.  Humbled by the experience, Mary gradually comes to understand the girl and eventually engineers her escape for her captivity.

A much better book than its predecessor (which I will admit that I never finished), it throws light on a number of neglected facets of early American history ranging from the poor understanding and treatment of deaf people in the late 18th century to the practice of separating Native American children from their families.  The woke idealism of Mary's character is gratingly anachronistic, but serves the valuable purpose of drawing attention to the norms of general society of the period.  As an educational work (i.e., the sort of book one gets assigned in school) it checks off all the right boxes.

More in spite of this agenda than because of it, it's also a very entertaining book.  A suspenseful story that kept up my interest and a character that gains insight and self-confidence as the novel progresses made this a much better book than its predecessor.  In sum, I enjoyed the book and learned a great deal from it.

Catch the Light, by Kate Sweeney

For a family dealing with grief, a move across country could be a new beginning or running away, or maybe a little of both.  Nine months ago, Mary's father passed away and now Mom has decided to move Mary and her younger sister from Los Angeles to upstate New York.  For Mary, it is the start of her last year of high school -- time for thinking of moving on anyway -- but she finds herself mired in grief and depression.  Unable to complete her college applications, lost in her new home, and burdened by her inability to heal her mother or help her sister cope, Mary feels like she is under water.  She is blessed by a good new friend and a potential romantic interest (with whom she shares a love of old fashioned film photography), but she feels trapped between her past life back in California and the unwelcome sense that her new home in New York actually feels more real to her.  Through it all, she is terrified that her memory of her father is slipping away.

While built on a common YA theme (why are there so many dead parents in YA books anyway?!), Sweeney's treatment is actually pretty stand-out.  That's hard to explain as everything from the sassy younger sibling to the petty misunderstandings to the inability to tell the truth are pretty much canon.  But Sweeney's writing is nuanced and while situations feel very familiar, one also feels like we actually understand where Mary's behavior is coming from.  In other words, this isn't paralysis for the sake of filling pages, but a story really being told.  I never felt manipulated and I wasn't having my heart strings pulled at gratuitously.  In fact, this isn't a story in the end that packs a huge emotional punch, but instead tells a story well about imperfect people who are trying to sort things out.  Mistakes are made all round, feelings of hurt are aired, compassion is shown, and realistic forgiveness and healing develop.

Off-tangent rant:  Like the mix tape, analog photography really has no place in contemporary literature.  Yes, I get that dark rooms are excellent places for intimate feelings to be explored (they certainly were in the 1980s when I was a teenager!) and I see how much fun it is to use the chemical process of film development as a metaphor for emotional change.  But really?!  Digital photography has long supplanted the whole business.  More to the point, a creative writer could probe the complexities of LightRoom and the amazing potentials in digital aesthetics and break some new ground.

The Beatryce Prophecy, by Kate DiCamillo (ill by Sophie Blackall)

Everyone at the monastery is afraid of Answelica the goat.  She's mean and angry and bites.  So, the monks are surprised one day when they find a girl sleeping with Answelica.  The girl is an unknown stranger who can remember only one thing about herself:  her name is Beatryce.  But from the very start, she is exceptional.  The girl can read and write, which is forbidden for commoners and women overall.  She is fearless and brave and stubbornly determined to confront the king for reasons she does not yet fully understand.

But Brother Edik has an idea of what is going on:  there is a prophecy that declares "that one day there will come a child who will unseat a king.  The prophecy states that this child will be a girl.  Because of this, the prophecy has long been ignored." And while the prophecy is often disregarded, no one is ignoring it now.  The king's men are hot on Beatryce's tail and it falls upon Brother Edik to convince her to hide.  But being stubborn, Beatryce instead befriends a local boy (Jack Dory) and a former king (Cannoc) and reveals herself to the king in order to fulfill her destiny.  Along the way, she drafts a fairy tale of her own that eventually supplants the prophecy of the main story in a very meta literary moment.

DiCamillo falls into extremes.  She is undeniably a great writer and full of original and clever ideas that challenge and disrupt typical formulae and tropes.  Sometimes this works fantastically (Because of Winn-Dixie, Flora and Ulysses) but other times the story flies so far off the rails that only adults can really enjoy it (The Tale of Despereaux).  Here, it's more the latter.  The story and its many layers is clever but I can't imagine children being able to keep up with it.  It sounds like a children's fairy tale, but is too knowing and subtle.  It's self-destructive narrative is far too aware of its own cleverness.

That said, it is a very pretty book, with beautiful illustrations (both full plates and marginalia) by Sophie Blackall.  The layout and presentation is truly gorgeous and Blackall probably deserves a third Caldecott for this book.  The design perfectly complements the text and makes for a handsome overall package. Aware that this is a truly outstanding work, there's even an upgraded "collector's edition" of the book featuring more of all of this, which I would be very tempted to own if it weren't for the hefty price tag and my lukewarm feelings for the story.