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.

Virtuosity, by Jessica Martinez

In the world of violin virtuosos, there is only one person who comes close to Carmen's talent: Jeremy King. But when the two of them meet for the first time at the prestigious Guarneri competition, it is more than a match of skills. Instead, as one would expect in a story like this, there is a romantic story to tell as well, and it is very complicated. Are their feelings legitimate or simply the result of being locked in a tough competition? Is Jeremy's interest even real or just (as Carmen's mother warns her) a cynical ploy to gain an advantage in the contest? And can Carmen trust her heart when she is in such a vulnerable position?

It's a taut and suspenseful story with complicated characters and complex motives, all wrapped up in the tense environment of a brutal competition. In many ways, the story will seem like a enthralling but well-trod formula. However, there are some real twists at the end that will throw you off. And the ending itself (while perhaps a bit too clean), is satisfying in an unexpected way.

Without a doubt, the real draw of this book is the storytelling. The characters are interesting, but it's the plot itself and some excellent pacing that kept me hooked. Martinez knows how to tell a story and I look forward to reading more from her.

Small As An Elephant, by Jennifer Richard Jacobson

When Jack emerges from his tent, he discovers that he is all alone. During the night, his mother has disappeared, abandoning him in Acadia National Park. At first, he figures that she has just gone off on an errand, but when she doesn't return and days start to pass, he realizes that he is going to have to survive on his own. And, while he is only eleven years old, he turns out to have plenty of experience at getting by. So, he strikes out across Maine, trying to find his mother and avoid being picked up.

Ah! The ol' abandoned child motif! One of my least favorite genres (second only to the child-avoiding-being-helped subgenre)! By all rights, I should despise this book. But the story benefits from two things: a nice elephant theme throughout (facts about pachyderms preface each chapter and are coupled with Jack's obsession with the animals) and the amazing (but believable) resourcefulness of the kid himself. Still, this is a genre that can only end up one of two ways (and it isn't very hard to figure out which way it will go). In the end, a breezy read but unremarkable.

Incredibly Alice, by Phyllis Renolds Naylor

In this 26th installment of the Alice McKinley series, she's finally graduating from High School and turning eighteen. For her last months of school there are a fresh set of challenges: she emerges out of backstage to try acting in the school play, she gets accepted to college (but not the school of her choice), her friend Jill has gotten pregnant and married, and she laments the end of childhood.

As usual, Naylor keeps everything clean and upbeat. There's a few requisite Judy Blume moments with racier topics (genital plastic surgery being the most unusual), but it's mostly good clean fun. Alice continues to be a dream child (dutiful to a fault and wise beyond her years). Anyone who wants to ban these books is seriously out of touch: Alice's adventures hold nothing to the vampires and gladiator games. Rather, she provides a nice safe alternative read for early adolescents.

And while it's understandable that there's value in avoiding major traumas every installment and so there will be a fairly mundane quality to the books, the lack of any climactic moment makes each book now seem like an exercise in treading water (perhaps, this is why they are now bundling three books into one in the new "year" editions)! In my mind, Naylor has sacrificed a wonderful opportunity to give Alice depth by making her such a goody-goody granddaughter. Given the tremendous effort towards building the depth of her character, making her flawed would have been so much more interesting.

Dreams of Significant Girls, by Cristina Garcia

Over the space of three summers in the early 1970s, at a camp hosted at a private Swiss boarding school, three girls from different backgrounds get to know each other. There's Vivien (talented with food, but shy and awkward), Shirin (a Persian princess with the attitude to match and serious internal suffering), and Ingrid (the wild girl with a heart of gold). While they initially dislike and distrust each other, they develop a strong friendship as they come of age.

This is extremely well-written, but ultimately not really a YA book. It falls more into the category of adult books written about adolescent memories. There are wonderful details and the stories may appeal to older teens, but this is a book for grownups (and probably fairly old ones who remember the early 70s). Few of us will relate to lifestyles where our parents could simply ship us off to elite Swiss schools for the summer!

Mercy Lily, by Lisa Albert

Many years ago, when Lily's father died, it was a long and drawn out affair. In the years since, Lily has had lots of experience helping her mother (a veterinarian) care for dying animals. She understands dying. But as her mother's multiple sclerosis grows worse and Mom starts talking about ceasing her treatments, Lily finds that the reality of letting her last living relative go is too much to bear.

It's an interesting idea for a story and written in a realistic and believable way, but ultimately this is a difficult story to like. The material is depressing and the story largely preordained. Mom will die and the only thing left for Lily to do is accept it. Thus, showing Lily's process of acceptance becomes the only point of the story, but it simply isn't that interesting of a process. The various subplots (a sick calf, a boyfriend, a resistant doctor, and reconciliation with some old friends) are distracting and fail to enhance the story.

Beauty Queens, by Libba Bray

When a plane full of teen beauty queens crashlands on a tropical island, all manner of over-the-top melodrama breaks out. It's Miss Congenialty meets Lord of the Flies, with the satiric sensibilities of Soviet-era satirist Vladimir Voinovich thrown in!

Plot? Well, who can explain a plot that combines beauty contests, reality TV, mad evil geniuses, and Elvis-impersonating half-pint dictators (with uncanny resemblances to half-pint North Koreans)? Yes, there's exploding exfoliating cream, pirates, psychotropic flowers, giant snakes, meal trays embedded in heads, and quicksand. And never mind that saving the world requires mastery of PowerPoint!

In the end, this satire is absolutely brilliant! It skewers just about everything that deserves it (tellingly, teens seem to either love it or hate it!). Its complete irreverence and irrelevance is what reminds me so strongly of Voinovich (and his Ivankiad and Private Chonkin books). Like the great Russian master, the story is really secondary and exists merely to make much deeper points about the nature of the society in which we live. The only way to survive a book like this is to immerse yourself in Bray's crazy world and enjoy the absurdity. I laughed, I cried, and I recognized the truth in every word of this bitter and wonderful novel. Bravo!

Liar's Moon, by Elizabeth C. Bunce

Digger is an unusual thief. In addition to the usual skills of a pickpocket and a lock picker, she moves in unusually important circles. Her brother is the Grand Inquisitor and her friend Durrell is the son of Lord Decath.

When Digger learns that Durrell has been framed for the murder of his wife and thrown in jail, she feels bound to use her talents to exonerate him. That will be difficult because no one is who they appear and suspects turn into allies, while friends seem quick to betray her. While the circumstances of his wife's demise are murky, Digger does know that it all has to do with a smuggling operation (and one which is important enough to murder more than a few other people as well), but of what and by whom is unclear. Meanwhile, war is on the march, making everything just a bit more dangerous.

One very strong point of this novel is its unconventional approaches. The stereotype of the outcast thief is constantly subverted by the powerful friends that Digger has. People who should be her enemies are strangely not so. Events that should place her in danger don't matter, while minor things that seem unproblematic pose deep challenges. The story keeps you on your toes and subverts stereotypes. And Digger herself is a refreshing combination of feisty independence and anxious young woman -- comfortably self-sufficient but simultaneously needy.

I found myself handicapped in reading this story because I haven't read the first book in the series (and didn't even realize at first that it was a sequel). But even if I had read the predecessor, this is still a difficult novel to work through. There is a large cast of characters and multiple plots and subplots of which to keep track. The overall effect is numbing. On one hand, the detail presents a rich setting and the characters are complex and multifaceted, but it all gets to be too much (especially in a fantasy novel without a familiar setting). It's a lot of work to keep up with this story and at times, it didn't seem worthwhile.

Between, by Jessica Warman

When Liz wakes up on the morning after her eighteenth birthday, she discovers that she is dead, drowned after falling overboard from her family's boat. But she can't figure out how it happened and somehow that uncertainty has left her in limbo between life and afterlife. Now, aided by a geeky classmate who himself was the victim of a hit-and-run accident a few months before, she must put together the pieces and figure out the mystery of her death in order to move on.

What starts off as a bit like Ghost or maybe Gabrielle Zevin's Elsewhere gradually morphs into a decent mystery that jumps smartly between past and present. It's actually a fairly complicated story. Rather than clearly blaming any one party, it becomes pretty clear that just about everyone has some guilt, even the victim. The characters grow in a satisfying manner and the pacing is nearly perfect throughout the 450 pages of the novel. It's not deep stuff and the story is hardly original, but this is a pleasing and entertaining take on it.