Heart of a Shepherd, by Rosanne Parry

Brother is the youngest in the family, but with his brothers away at school and his father deployed in Iraq, he alone has to share responsibility for the family ranch with his aging grandparents.  Brother has no idea of how he'll manage, but with help from a hired farmhand, the pastor, and friends, they get through a fair share of adventures.  Along the way, Brother comes to understand the importance of those social links and determines his own calling in life.

Filled with heart and grit, and a whole cadre of decent folks, Parry tackles the emotion-laden world of hard-working military families and ranchers in this tear-jerking juggernaut.  It's an accepted fact that you will bawl by the end of the story as Parry pulls all the usual heartstrings.  However, there are unexpected touches, like Brother's devout Quaker grandfather that will surprise you.  The result is a classic coming-of-age story that stands out for its respectful portrayal of a rural life that is so often maligned or simplified by suburban writers.

A Fine Dessert, by Emily Jenkins and Sophie Blackall

I love a great picture book, and while I don't normally review them here, I wanted to call this one out.  A Fine Dessert is the story of one dessert (blackberry fool) and its preparation over four centuries, highlighting changes in technology and social mores over the period.  From an English manor in Lyme 1710, to a southern plantation in Charleston 1810, to an urban home in Boston 1910, to the modern family in San Diego 2010, we see the exact some events played out in a dramatically different fashion.

As she so effortlessly does, Emily Jenkins subtly introduces critical ideas about the role of slavery and sexism in the face of a delightful story about the eternal joy of family and food.  The book is not preachy, but rather opens the door for whatever level of discussion a parent and child wish to have about these subjects.  And the wonderful circularity of the story and its illustrations will appeal to young readers.

I Am Princess X, by Cherie Priest

When May and Libby were younger, they devised a fairy tale about a sword-wielding Princess X, which Libby would illustrate.  But then, Libby and her mother died in a car accident.  All of the artwork disappeared when Libby's grieving father emptied the house and moved away.

Three years later, May is shocked to find a sticker on a lamppost with Princess X on it.  Either someone has rediscovered the lost artwork or Libby is still somehow alive.  May starts to research the mystery but the further she goes, the more incredible the story becomes.  Princess X is apparently a wildly popular web comic now and tells the story of a girl who everyone thought had been killed in a car accident, but is now fleeing for her life.  And, as May gets closer to solving the mystery, she finds her own life in danger as well.

An interesting stylistic cross between traditional YA action story and graphic novel.  Particularly in the beginning, there is a wonderful interplay between the comic and the real world story.  Unfortunately, the comic parts wind down and are sorely missed by the end. This is mostly because the text itself is written in style of a graphic novel -- jumpy narrative that is intended merely to illustrate the panel of a page.  That gives the entire book a cohesive style, but it's awkward without illustrations.

Priest makes two fairly risky artistic moves in this book:  the first is the decision to write it in the third person (an extension of the comic book style she's shooting for), which allows her to get inside of the heads of each of her colorful characters, but at the same time distances us from the action.  Given the strength of her characters, that's probably a good decision and the trade-off is ultimately worth it.  The second decision is to moor the story solidly in Seattle (I assumed that she was a native, in fact, but she actually lives in Tennessee).  She pulls that part off surprisingly well, getting her streets, public transit, and even her knowledge of local businesses pretty much spot on.  She raised my hackles a bit when she spouted some nonsense about how Seattle Children's Hospital archives their patient records (but hey, how many YA readers happen to work professionally with Seattle-based hospitals' computer systems?), but here her risk pays off as well.

In sum, this is an artistically interesting book:  a graphic novel without all of the illustrations, a tribute to the genre, and a challenging design with an engaging story.


[Disclosure:  I received a copy of the book from the publisher in exchange for an unbiased review.  I will be donating the copy to my local public library.]

Love Spell, by Mia Kerick

Chance Cesar is totes fab, whether he's flipping off the resident Neanderthals or werking the runway and his tiara at the Harvest Moon festival.  He's got confidence and he's got style, but what he wants in luuvvvvvv!  Chance may have not yet figured out if he is a girl or a gay boy, but he knows what he wants.  And what he wants is shy Jazz.  But how to snag him?  With help from his BFF Emmy, he's going down the list of "Ten Scientifically Proven Ways to Make A Man Fall in Love With You" and pulling out all the stops to land his man.  But even with the advice and all his talents, Chance has a lot to learn about the battle for love!

A lovely off-the-mainstream-radar novel about a gender fluid protagonist with one of the most distinctive personalities in YA lit.  Chance is a bit too narcissistic for my tastes and his constant abuse of the English language can get wearisome, but he's a bright and engaging character and it's hard not to get hooked.  Plus, since he is so stuck on himself, he's fairly non-threatening.  And Kerick does a great job of making this a funny book, even while tackling serious subjects like gender identity and homophobia.


[Disclosure: I received a free copy of this book for the purpose of producing an unbiased review.  I will be donating my copy to my local library]

Everything Leads to You, by Nina LaCour

Emi and her friend Charlotte have been entrusted with her brother's apartment for their first summer after graduation.  In exchange, she has promised him to do something "epic" with it.  But what?  Emi is just a struggling intern in a film art department, a mere beginner in the field and hopelessly in the shadow of her boss (on whom she has a crush).  But two things change her life:  her would-be love gets her a job as the art designer on an exciting independent film, and Emi and Charlotte stumble across a letter written by golden movie idol Clyde Jones.  The letter is addressed to an unknown lover and Emi and Charlotte become obsessed with tracking her down.  In doing so, they unloose a series of unforeseen events which truly turn the summer into something incredible.

It's a busy story with at minimum three major storylines (Emi's film, a romance between her and another girl (as well as her unrequited crush), and the whole search to understand Clyde).  None of these plot lines gel very well (with the possible exception of the romance which gets a very late resolution).  Jumping around with so many stories and characters leaves the story itself unsettled.  I liked most of it, but I found it distracting to have so much going on.

Two Girls Staring at the Ceiling, by Lucy Frank

In verse, we get to meet two girls with Crohn’s Disease who share the same semi-private room at the hospital.  For Chess, this stay is her initial diagnosis, with all the trauma of being introduced to the reality of having a chronic disease.  For Shannon, who’s been dealing with Crohn’s for years and is suffering a serious set-back, there is the rage that comes from high doses of prednisone, the frustration of losing the battle with the disease, and the weariness from multiple hospital stays.

The novel has a cute gimmick:  the sides of the page are used to indicate on which side of the room the action is taking place.  And when the two girls are lying down, their words are printed on the appropriate side in parallel.  A line (or the lack thereof) down the middle serves to indicate if the curtain between their beds is closed or open.  It sounds confusing, but it works pretty well.  

As for the story itself, it didn’t really go very far.  The girls have stories which they share with each other, but not much development takes place.  This is partially the classic problem of verse (it is thin) but also that Frank doesn’t have very ambitious goals for this story.  In sum, not much of a point to this book (beyond the clever page layouts, of course!).

Love Letters to the Dead, by Ava Dellaira

At the start of the year, Laurel's English teacher gives her class an assignment to write a letter to a dead person.  Laurel chooses to write to Kurt Cobain, because his life (and death) remind her of her own older sister May, who killed herself a few months ago.  Rather than turn her assignment in, however, Laurel decides to write letters to Janis Joplin, Heath Ledger, Amelia Earhart, and so on, describing what is going on in her life and in her mind.  Her mother has abandoned her, her dad mopes, Laurel herself is struggling to make friends and start her life again in a new school.  And all around her, it seems like people are suffering.  Two of her new girlfriends are struggling with coming out of the closet.  A quiet boy who is interested in Laurel is also troubled by a history that crosses too closely with her own.

With allusions everywhere to famous lives lost to depression, misadventure, and bad luck, the tone of this novel is dark and downbeat.  It's also literate and sophisticated, as well as beautifully written and poignant.  It's precisely the type of book I tend to love.  However, it felt too deliberate to me.  The poignancy seemed manipulative (like the literary equivalent of heavy strings).  Basically, the author wanted me to feel sad, and the rebellious reader in me wanted to resist.  That doesn't make it a bad book, but I think it could have been better (maybe tighter and less obvious in its direction?).  That said, from the fully-rounded characters to the realistic portrayal of their flaws to the story itself, this is a good read.

The Secret Side of Empty, by Maria E. Andreu

M. T. is a bright student and ought to have a great future ahead of her.  But instead, she has a huge black cloud hanging over her:  her legal status.  While she's lived most of her life in America, she was brought here illegally and she is undocumented.  So, instead of planning for college, she lives in fear that she and her family will be discovered and deported.  Worse, she fears that someone would report her, so she keeps her fears secret.  But as her senior year wraps up, the realization that her friends are leaving and moving on leads her into depression and despair, and becomes unbearable.

Andreu captures rather nicely the sharp contrast between M. T.'s school life (full of friends, romance, and parties) and the grim reality that she and her family face (poverty, fear, and violence), and the corrosive effect of living that split existence.  I'm not sure that we needed the domestic violence and the self-abuse themes (especially since so much of those threads remains underdeveloped), but the real triumph of the book is capturing the pain of living a double life.  And while one could latch onto M. T.'s story as a tribute to DREAMers, the strength of this novel is it lets the reader draw their own conclusions.

None of the Above, by I. W. Gregorio

After a traumatic sexual experience with her boyfriend, eighteen year-old Kristin visits an OB-GYN to find out what is wrong with her.  She learns that she has a genetic abnormality called androgen insensitivity syndrome (AIS) which has left her with an ambiguous sexual identity.  Outwardly, she appears to be a female but internally she has no uterus.  She has two hernia which are actually underdeveloped gonads.  Kristin is, as her doctor explains, "intersex."

The idea that Kristin is not a "true" girl is hard for her to accept.  She's a track star on the girl's team.  She has a boyfriend.  She's even the homecoming queen!  And she's been a girl all of her life.  Kristin needs time to process it.  But when she mistakenly entrusts her secret and confides her situation to her best friends, she is betrayed and the matter is made public.  At school, many of her peers are shocked and turn against her in disgust.  Her boyfriend outright rejects her.  And, as Kristin realizes that this is only the beginning, she despairs that she will never find a place in a binary world where she doesn't fit.

I knew very little about AIS (although I imagine we covered it briefly in a genetics course).  Prior to reading this book, I would have even described Kristin as a "hermaphrodite" without realizing that the term was considered offensive.  I knew nothing about the complications of the condition or the treatments that are pursued.  Thus, the novel taught me a lot.  At the same time, the book sometimes seemed to forget that it was a work of fiction.  Teens would break character and start rolling out detailed explanations of the condition, doctors would conveniently start supplying copious medical facts, other characters would spout wisdom from web pages.  I get that Gregorio has a mission here (and I even respect that mission!) but there's a fine line between telling a story and lecturing the reader.  Getting that balance is very tricky.  Here, it works sometimes and sometimes it doesn't.

At a time when transexuality has gotten so much attention, it's fascinating to explore the concept of intersexuality.  Previously, I would have considered them to be one and the same, but this book has taught me that they are different.  On that basis alone, I would recommend it.  The fact that the novel is quite readable and the characters are sympathetic (and mostly authentic) makes it a strong recommendation.

I'll Give You the Sun, by Jandy Nelson

Jude and Noah were as close as twins could be even through all of their differences.  At fourteen, Jude was the popular normal one, while her brother was always a bit eccentric and an outcast (partly because he was secretly harboring homosexual urges).  Both of them were artistic and they were both applying to art school.  But of the two of them, Noah had the best chance of being accepted. 

Two years later, they no longer even talk to each other.  Noah has given up art, become a jock, and has a devoted girlfriend.  Jude is the only one in art school but is perennially unhappy with her work.  Driven to produce a life-defining work (and to do so in stone), she is directed to a reclusive and bitter sculptor who has his own set of baggage.  Surprisingly, he and his assistant also hold the key to sorting out what destroyed Jude and Noah closeness.

Like all good tragedies, the interesting part is in unraveling the confluence of events that explains what happened.  Nelson weaves a tight story that unwinds slowly with just enough false leads to keep things interesting.  The characters are well-developed and multi-faceted.  It’s well-written and a good read.

I wouldn’t mind jumping on the bandwagon of praise for this book (winner of this year’s Printz award, NYT best seller, etc.) except for one small matter:  it’s not a young adult novel.  Rather, like The Book Thief and Criss Cross (to cite a few other egregious examples), this is an adult book that is being marketed to YA readers simply because the characters are adolescents.  I get that the YA market is lucrative, but there’s a lot more to writing a book for young adults.  For one thing, write a book that addresses the process of growing up or deal with issues that matter to them.  With all the talk about aesthetics and regret (without the usual angst), this has adult sensibility all over it.   Not to say that advanced readers couldn’t handle this book or wouldn’t enjoy it, but that doesn’t make it YA. and giving the preeminent award for teen fiction to a book simply because librarians like it is insulting to the many talented writers that really have an ear for young readers.

Girl Defective, by Simmone Howell

Skylark, her little brother Gully, and their dad live by a second-hand record shop run by their father in the beach town of St. Kilda.  Mom left them to become a famous performance artist in Japan and Skylark passes time posting confrontational messages on her website, while sitting in the store and ogling a hot new co-worker.  Gully obsessively wears a pig snout on his face and communicates through detective "reports" that he regularly issues.  It's an interest he gets to cultivate further when an unknown vandal lobs a brick through their store window.  There are other mysteries, including a drowned girl, a new friend for Skylark at school, the search for the ultimate single, and the role of a sexy singer wearing a fox mask.

Aussie YA always seems a bit weird and generally has never appealed to me.  This particular example is weirder than most and awkward in the way it tries so hard and so self-consciously to be hip.  The story is a mess, following no discernible trajectory.  Without a story I cared about, I found keeping up with the cast of characters to be nearly impossible.  I suspect that simply lost the track altogether because I couldn't figure out what was going on.  All of which may raise to mind the old chestnut that you shouldn't review a book that I don't understand.  But, really, why should reading a book be such a chore?

My Best Friend, Maybe, by Caela Carter

Years ago, Coley and Sadie were best friends, but they grew up and grew apart.  Coley never quite understood why and Sadie never explained.  So, when Sadie invites Coley out of the blue to join her family for a wedding in Greece, Coley doesn’t know what to think.  And Sadie won’t offer any explanation. 

By all rights, Coley should turn her down. Not only is the invitation weird, but Coley already has plans to go on a mission to Costa Rica with her boyfriend.  And her parents will never approve.  But Coley desperately wants to understand what happened to their friendship and she realizes that this may be the only way that she ever finds out the answer.

There are many good books about friendship, and we’ve certainly been to Greece before (with the traveling pants or with the thirteen little blue envelopes), but this is a standout example of the genre.  In its beautiful setting, Carter tackles numerous subjects (most of which I can’t reveal without spoiling the latter part of the book) and does so with great sensitivity.  I’d compare it to Jenny Han’s magnificent books on love and friendship.  And while there is a steamy romantic lead, this is in the end a story about two young women trying to figure out who they are and what they mean to each other.  Touching, beautiful, and achingly honest.