The alternating chapters were so in the style of the two authors that I didn’t even have to check who had written which. Green’s Will is wordy, self-consciously clever, and full of elaborate references to Schroedinger’s cat (and he’s straight). Levithan’s Will is painfully lonely and full of anger — too much anger for me at first, until he started showing his classically Levithan sweet, tender center (and he’s gay).

Both men write witty books about believable, intelligent male characters, and this is no exception. Both also lean towards the optimistic — in the case of Levithan, so optimistic it makes your teeth hurt sometimes — and this is also no exception. His characters like grand gestures, and I’ll admit I’m a sucker for them myself in books. The end of this one made me think of the Buffy episode “The Prom,” in which it is revealed that Buffy’s oblivious classmates have, in fact, noticed how much effort she puts into saving their butts all the time. Dramatic displays of gratitude like that and the end of Will Grayson make me sniffly every time. (…Are Buffy references uselessly passe at this point? No, don’t tell me; I don’t want to know.)

I love how Levithan writes about depression in his Will. He makes it very, very clear that he isn’t just “feeling depressed” — it is who he is, at the core of every day. And yet the book is never bogged down in that; chronic depression like Will’s is an illness, not a mood you can “just get over,” but sometimes, if you work really hard, you can still have some pretty great days.

Much has been written about Tiny Cooper, Green’s Will’s fat best friend. Is Tiny a fat-positive character? He is attractive to an assortment of people, he is successful by all kinds of measures, he’s not a point-of-view character but he is in many ways the soul of the book — and he never loses weight. On the other hand, no character (with the exception of Will’s love interest/Tiny’s friend Jane, for some reason) can see him or think about him without referring to his size, repeatedly. He’ll eat anything you put in front of him, he might break the swing set, etc. It’s tiresome and unnecessary. We get it, guys. So… win some, lose some, I guess, as always.

Also reviewed by: Frenetic Reader, Forever YA, and The Book Smugglers.

HarperCollins sent me a review copy back in April (thanks, Laura!), and I read it then, but I put off the review until now because it was just published.

I thought it was fantastic! Russ is a believable guy in a believable blue-collar Boston suburb, from the DJ Schwenk school of plain writing about complex issues. This is gripping, painful stuff, and the end isn’t neat by any means; it’s an excellent choice for older reluctant-reader boys.

Also reviewed at: Girls in the Stacks

If you somehow missed these books, the premise is that aliens invade, in giant metal Tripod conveyances. They enslave all human adults with mind-control Caps and use people as slaves in their huge Cities. The small human rebellion depends on converting kids before they’ve been Capped. In the first book, Will, Henry, and Beanpole join the rebels; in the second, Will, Beanpole, and a new boy named Fritz infiltrate a Tripod City. Pool of Fire is the last book, the climax of the rebellion.

Apocalypse how? Aliens. Big, green, tentacle-y aliens who breathe green air. ‘Nuff said. The world is pretty rural, and there’s mention of human city ruins. I only re-read the last book so I don’t remember, but I think the implication is that the aliens blasted us back to the Middle Ages.

13 vs. 31: The world sure changed in the 10+ years between this book and most of the ones I’ve reviewed this month. Most immediately obvious to me is that there is not a single woman in this book. No named characters, certainly, but not even a shopkeeper or mother of a future revolutionary. (S theorized awesomely that the Tripods killed all the women, but the men were too depressed by this to deal with or even mention it. This interpretation does add a new dimension, you must admit!)

The casual racism and Eurocentrism is also excellent. The final assault on the three Tripod Cities needs to be done at the same time, by different rebel groups in different parts of the world. When they get word that one attack didn’t succeed, Will immediately jumps (incorrectly, as it happens) to, “The one in the east? The little yellow men failed then…” This is particularly interesting given the conclusion of the book, which has our heroes heading off to bring the world’s people together, now that they have the freedom to choose peace or war. I like to think Christopher meant this juxtaposition to be ironic. (I could say so much more about international relations in the Tripod books, but I want to post this sometime this month.)

Most fascinating to me was the portrayal of Julius, the rebel leader. At the beginning of the book, he’s challenged by another man, Pierre, who wants more democracy in their decision-making. Julius shuts him down:

“There will be a time… for us to discuss among ourselves how we shall be governed…. Until then, we have no room for squabbling or dispute…. Nor do we have room for dissension, or the suspicion of dissension.”

Ok. There’s an argument to be made for despotism in wartime. But it’s a tricky one at best, and in a modern novel, a statement like this would be challenged, by the text if not by the characters. The book would make the risks of this way of thinking a theme.

This book ends with a parallel Council meeting, in which the leaders of the new free world are, in fact, “discuss[ing] among [them]selves how [they] shall be governed.” They’re all set to elect Julius as President, when Pierre starts talking again. He says some stuff that makes a whole lot of sense to me:

“We are expected, out of sentiment, to vote him back into office. We are asked to confirm a despot in power…. There were others who worked and fought for freedom — hundreds, thousands of others. We accepted Julius as our leader then, but that is no reason for accepting him now…. Julius wanted the Conference held here, among the peaks of the White Mountains, as yet another means of reminding us of the debt we are supposed to owe him. Many delegates are from low-lying lands and find conditions here oppressive….”

In a modern book, Pierre might be the hero. In this book, our heroes Will, Beanpole, and Fritz are horrified when the Conference votes against Julius. We could be meant to take this as blind loyalty on Will’s part; his shortcomings are a theme throughout the trilogy. Except that the delegates don’t even suggest any other candidates. Without Julius to lead them, the Conference falls apart and the delegates return to their respective countries. The text comdemns Julius’s ouster just as Will does, which strikes me as distinctly old-fashioned, or British, or probably both.

Ultimately, this book held up. It’s a classic for a reason. I particularly loved how scientific and careful all the planning was — there are no plot holes here. But I couldn’t ignore the datedness. Old-School indeed.

Covers: There’s time for a lot of covers in 30+ years in print! Here’s a selection. None are especially crazy, unfortunately.

So that’s it, folks! I hope you enjoyed Old-School Apocalypse April as much as I did. I now return to my regularly-scheduled diet of YA and middle grade published in the last few years, and I think none of it will be science fiction for a little while. One final plea: it’s easy get stuck on the “I have to read all the new stuff!” treadmill, but take some time to revisit old favorites. It’s definitely never boring.

Apocalypse how? This is post-apoc in letter if not in spirit: “So Cord knew only vaguely about the Virus Decades, a century before, that had wiped out much of Europe and Asia and eastern America. And he had only a dim idea of the Organization, formed by rich and powerful people, that had taken charge of the wreckage of human civilization, and dragged the world out of its new Dark Age.” Blah blah vague apocalypse and Generic Repressive Government-cakes. All of the action takes place among the six characters on Klydor.

But I just remembered that it’s the start of a trilogy, one of the few I can think of from that era. And by the end of the trilogy, I dimly recall, the Klydoreans go back to Earth to stage a rebellion against the Organization.

13 vs. 31: I had to include a Douglas Hill, because for some reason I was obsessed with him. It’s hard now to remember why. I think I liked reading about tough heroes confidently joking around with their tough-guy friends and fighting for justice and survival… you know, toughly. In real life I was such a wuss.

As a slightly less wussy adult, the characters are still fun, but I care less about the fight scenes. I am also far less enamored of “he is so strong and heroic, but also so tortured.” The alien relationships echo Orson Scott Card’s Speaker for the Dead, but with far less subtlety and, um, science.

S saw this on my coffee table last night and remarked that it looked like a comfort-food book. (His comfort-food books have giant worms and laser guns on them, which is one of the many reasons we get along.) How could I forget about one of the most important parts of nostalgic re-reading: cheesy cover art! Thus the array of editions above. The first one is the edition I have now, the second is the one from my childhood, and I found the third online.

While we’re asking questions, what if you were sick to death of vampires, but the author of The True Meaning of Smekday, one of the most brilliant pieces of children’s fiction in recent years, wrote a vampire novel? You’d read it. And the bar would be set way too high, and you’d be disappointed.

Adam Rex is a funny guy, no doubt. He captures the sweaty awkwardness of the high school male perfectly, and if I taught at a school with boys in it, I would buy this right away and make them all read it. (As it is, there are a few too many boner jokes for my clientele.)

It did not, however, transcend my expectations for “high school boy vampire.” There are touches of metaphoric theme: “vampirism = unhealthy relationship” and “immortality is static; growing up means changing.” There are intriguing ideas: one character posits that what it means to be a vampire shifts based on societal expectations; another character has “the google,” a mental illness that comes of too much self-referential internet use. None of these are explored nearly enough; the story is a mishmash of dropped threads that aren’t integral to the conclusion.

Oh, and can we talk about the title? The fact that Doug is fat really has nothing to do with anything. The point is that he’s dorky and unpopular; the title uses “fat” as lazy and offensive shorthand for that. The first chapter is called “My Dork Embrace,” which is the cleverest thing in the whole book and would have made an excellent title.

Obvious read-alikes: The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy and Goth Girl has the same sort of dorky anti-hero; the graphic novel Life Sucks has a virtually identical premise.

Thanks again to the fabulous Laura at HarperCollins for sending me a copy! Coming to a library or independent bookstore near you in July.

Also reviewed by: Steve Is Not an Octopus and… pretty much nobody else. Whee, I’m ahead of the curve!

Edit: Oops! Also reviewed by the fantastic Paula of Pink Me.

The Resistance was the most interesting part of the first book for me, so I was pleased to get a look inside their “organization” (which, as we see in this book, definitely requires quotes). I’m intrigued by the story of ordinary people fighting back against the totalitarian rule of the magicians, all the more so because the freedom fighters aren’t the sort of people I’d want running my government, either.

It’s a good thing these books are funny, because if they weren’t, they’d be damned depressing. I’m looking forward to making time for Ptolemy’s Gate!

Also reviewed at: Reading Matters, Grumpy Old Bookman, and Seasonal Plume.

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And in the end, it was some of both, which averages out to “meh.” James’s entire family talks in a pretentious, self-satisfied way that I cannot stand. Here James’s mother correctly identifies what bugs me about James, and manages to bug me herself in the process:

“…Frances says Olivia adores Brown.”
“Adores?”
“Yes: adores. What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. I just think it’s a little weird to adore a college.”
“Sometimes I can’t stand you, James. You’re so reluctant to show any enthusiasm about anything, or even allow it in other people. It’s very annoying, and immature.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I’m enthusiastic about many things.”

He then names a random house for sale in Kansas, Trollope, and a couple of other writers — without much actual enthusiasm. I spent the first half of the book rolling my eyes: the petty ennui of the privileged teen may be authentic, but that doesn’t make it interesting. I didn’t buy that he actually had any pain; he just seemed to be whining about nothing, and refusing to enjoy his life.*

But as the book wore on and he spent more time with his grandma, I liked him better. She’s a neat old lady who brings out the best in him. By the end of the book, I had more patience with him — though he’s still a prickly, odd young man whose company I wouldn’t enjoy in person, and didn’t particularly enjoy in print.

This book was critically very well-received, though, so your mileage may vary. Particularly if you do like whiny slackers like Holden Caulfield. *ducks*

* I have depression, and it was far worse when I was James’s age. So I do understand that you don’t have to be abused or dying of cancer to have pain. But if that’s the sort of pain that Cameron meant James to have, he didn’t convey it (at least to me).

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Ok, get a load of this plot summary: Jack, Benny, and their parents go to a small coastal Maine town to spend the summer. Upon arrival, they meet a crusty old seaman named Angus, who tells them a tall tale about Old Salty, the giant lobster who makes all the smaller lobsters do her bidding — which, in this case, involves stealing every piece of taffy from Dr. True’s candy store! Can the boys and Angus thwart Old Salty and track down the taffy?

This took a little while to get going for me. There’s a lot of character exposition: Benny is the younger brother who’s excited about everything new. Jack is the older brother who just wants to spend the summer playing his GameBoy and is devastated to learn that their cabin lacks a television. Angus is a ridiculous caricature of a Mainer who says things like, “Why, your father John is an old friend o’ mine. What be your names?” (By the end of the book, I was pretty sure he was putting it on.)

But halfway through, the mystery starts. That mystery, in case you forgot, involves adorable pictures of little lobsters scuttling across the beach with taffy in their claws. Also awesome scenes like this:

Jack: That was weird. What do lobsters want with taffy anyway?
Angus: I don’t know, but I’d wager my hat that Old Salty’s behind this! Old Salty is queen of the lobsters in these parts. They blindly do her bidding…
Jack: Well, we’ve gotta find Old Salty, then. If we find the monster, we’ll find Mr. True’s taffy!
Angus: So you’re saying you believe in Old Salty now?
Jack: Well… something had to take that taffy. Why not a sea monster?
Angus: That’s what I like to hear, lad! Now let us think of a plan!

(The best scene involves lots of little lobsters talking to each other, but I won’t spoil it for you.)

The sibling relationship is hilariously spot-on, and is what kept me going through the slow first half. The layout has perfect comic timing, if such a thing can be said. The plot is, as you might have gathered, totally ridiculous and surreal, but I laughed my butt off the whole way through. If you know a 7-12 year-old boy, in particular, who needs a comic, give this one a try. It even has sequels!

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The story is complicated, but only rarely confusing: Nomiya devotes himself to the girl he paralyzed, but can’t bring himself to get back on the road; Togawa’s oldest friend Azumi works to get her driver’s license so she can drive him around; Togawa quits the wheelchair basketball team Azumi manages because the other players are too quick to use their handicaps as an excuse to go easy on themselves; Nomiya has repeated run-ins with his former teammates.

This is the first volume of a series, so few of the storylines resolve. I wish that the volume felt more self-contained, but it’s a minor quibble. This is a top-notch graphic novel — and I say that as someone who couldn’t care less about basketball or hot-shot boys. The action scenes on and off the court are gorgeously dramatic. I especially loved the characters’ faces: they’re deeply expressive, without overdoing it the way that manga sometimes does.

And these are people who have a lot to emote about. There are real issues here (uh, as the title would imply), and they’re handled with humor and sensitivity. One of my favorite sequences is a dream that one character has after a car accident hospitalizes him: his legs are bound with barbed wire, and they’re stretching away from him. He reaches out for his legs, but they aren’t attached to him anymore. I’m not paralyzed, so I obviously have no idea how it feels, but this scene is as evocative a depiction of paralysis as any I’ve seen.

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