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.