Oh wow, this was beautiful. A heartbreaking near-perfect jewel of a book, which handles tough subjects while holding on to 13-year-old boy humor. It deals honestly with some of the toughest questions: why do bad things happen, and how do we deal with them without losing ourselves? Anybody who thinks of middle grade literature as facile or black-and-white should take a look at this book.

It reminded me of David Almond’s Clay and Pete Hautman‘s books: young boys in pain, with believable boy voices, and a touch of supernatural/unreliable narrator.

A friend asked me for suggestions about books that should be made into movies just as I started reading this, and I couldn’t stop thinking of it as a Where the Wild Things Are-esque film. I think it would be gorgeous.

Also reviewed by: Phoebe North, Becky’s Book Reviews, and Wandering Librarians.

ARC acquired by Arianna of Wandering Librarians at ALA

In the French fairy tale on which this is based, one sister is kind to a fairy/witch/whathaveyou and is blessed to have jewels and flowers drop from her mouth when she speaks. The second sister goes to demand the same blessing, but because of her rudeness is cursed with toads and snakes. In this twist, the snakes and toads are a blessing of a different sort — toads are lucky and snakes are revered as rat-catching symbols of the goddess Naghali. The setting is a fictionalized polytheistic 17th century India, occupied by fictionalized pseudo-Muslims who call themselves Believers.

Tana and her mother Hiral are the only family Diribani has left after her father, Hiral’s second wife, dies. Miracle of miracles, they actually love each other; no wicked stepmother and sister here. Newly impoverished, both sisters want to keep the family together, but the goddess’s blessings make that impossible. Diribani wants to share her gift, but nearly starts a riot during a parade for the visiting prince and is taken to his palace far away for her protection. Tana’s gift is feared by the Believers. The prince orders her and Hiral to live in the temple grove outside the village, where her beasties can quietly slither off to the forest. They are sad to be separated, but it seems for the best.

But of course it’s not that simple. Diribani has a hard time fitting in with her new companions, who are Believers and royalty to boot. The wicked, greedy local governor drives Tana out and wants Diribani and her jewels for himself. And of course both girls fall for men they think they can’t have.

I liked the delicate interplay between the two religions. The Believers are an occupying power, yes, but they are only portrayed as evil at the beginning, while they’re still “the other” — as Diribani gets to know them she comes to appreciate their customs. I also liked Diribani’s and Tana’s separate quests to determine what Naghali intends for them to do with her gifts. Both girls have quite believable crises of faith, but the goddess never really forsakes them. This is an unabashedly religious book in a way that modern readers will relate to, I think, even though the religion is made up. There was also a surprising amount of complex political intrigue; I can see this appealing to fans of Megan Whalen Turner’s The Thief.

None of the characters ever particularly grabbed me, unfortunately. There’s too much “oh woe, I am a plain/useless/lazy girl; my sister is so much better than me” from both sisters, though that improves some once they start traveling and having adventures. The book struck me as a bit overwritten, with a lot of unnecessary explanation of thoughts and feelings that were obvious. But the descriptions were certainly gorgeous, and Allegra and I both loved the fairy tale “twist.” Most importantly, a lot more happens than in Tall Story, and on that basis we thought it would be more appealing to young readers. I had a blast chatting with Allegra about these books, as she is a young teenager herself and therefore very differently qualified than I am to judge kid appeal!

Also reviewed by: My Library Card Wore Out (my co-judge), Birdbrain(ed) Book Blog (who sent it on to our round of Nerds Heart YA), The Book Smugglers, and Forever Young Adult.

Andi adores basketball, and is devastated to learn that her new London school has no girls’ basketball team. Meanwhile, in a small village in the Philippines, her older half-brother Bernardo’s neighbors believe he is the reincarnation of mythological town savior Bernardo Carpio. Like the legendary giant, Bernardo is tall — like, all his clothes made special, can’t buy shoes, dunks the basketball without jumping tall. And the town believes that, like the giant, Bernardo protects them from the earthquakes that regularly wreak havoc in the country.

Bernardo and Andi’s mother has been waiting 16 years for the British government to allow her to bring Bernardo to live with them. Now that day has finally come. Everyone is thrilled that the family will reunite, but how will Andi get along with the brother she doesn’t know? How will Nardo fit in with a new country, a new language, and a new family? And without their giant protector, will the earthquakes return to San Andres?

This was a bit of a slow start, but it grew on me. Told in alternating chapters by the two teens, Andi’s story is a fairly “typical teen” growth arc — proving herself as a basketball player, getting over her resentment of her new “dorky” brother. I found Nardo’s story more engaging from the beginning. Nardo’s conflict between his responsibility as village “savior” and his desire to be with his mom was compelling. I also liked the window into San Andres with its small-community quirkiness. The San Andres cast are much more memorable characters than Andi’s new basketball buddies. (They were fine, but they can’t compete with a witch named Mad Nena and a short Filipino kid who goes by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.)

I loved hearing the siblings’ stories their own ways for the first third of the book, and then seeing them through each other’s eyes. Bernardo thinks Andi is a boy at first, and Andi is unimpressed by Bernardo’s beloved suit (handmade by the local tailor, who puts Velcro on everything). Their cross-cultural relationship is complex and believable.

Phoebe North wrote a timely (as far as I was concerned) post recently about the appeal of magical realism to teens. As you might have gathered from the whole “giant” bit, there’s more than a little magical realism in this story. Did Bernardo grow into a giant because of a wish made on a wishing stone, or because he has a medical condition? Is he protecting San Andres from earthquakes, or has their absence during his life just been a coincidence? It’s never clear, which places this in the “magical realism” camp for me.

The middle grade readers at whom this book seems most targeted can be quite literal, so I’m not sure how they’ll take the ambiguity. And, as I said, the book is a bit slow. It doesn’t scream “instant kid appeal” to me, but it’s original and intriguing and I’m sure it will appeal very much to certain kids. Allegra of My Library Card Wore Out, my co-judge, is a young teen herself, and agreed with me about the pace:

This book was nominated for the CARNEGIE MEDAL. The Sunday Times voted it one of the 100 Best Summer Titles. The Times voted it the Most Recommended Children’s Book for Christmas. It is a YA book but the reviews are by adults. They read differently. I think that might be why they enjoyed it. Since I am YA, I like books that have something happening, like many teen readers. It was a little too slow for my taste and not enough happened to keep my interest. I have never read a book like it. I like reading faster paced books and if there is nothing interesting in a book I am instantly turned off. I guess this is something I have to work on.

I loved getting her perspective; she’s right that most reviewers and award-givers are adults, and one of my favorite things about the internet is how people of all ages can participate at equal levels.

Also reviewed by: My Library Card Wore Out, Pineapples and Pyjamas (who moved this on to our round in Nerds Heart YA), Charlotte’s Library, and Wondrous Reads.

My main complaint is that so many of the narratives involved being saved by the love of small children, and that all but one found True Love with men (and there were intimations of future True Love for that one as well). One of the greatest strengths of the YA series was that the girls were such distinct, three-dimensional people. Each girl got her own story in each book, and while some were about romantic love, they were just as likely to be about family or travel or creative pursuits. At 30, everything was about love and children and self; career was a necessary evil, pushed to the background whenever possible in favor of the more traditionally feminine concerns.

This is very much an adult book, as opposed to YA. Not much happens in the middle; each woman is mostly wandering around feeling lost and musing on her third-life crisis. I spent a lot of time yelling at them to make some damn decisions already! (Personally, I’m a lot more in charge of my life at 30 than I was at 16, but the genres of women’s fiction and YA say differently.) I see no reason why teen fans of the originals shouldn’t read it or wouldn’t enjoy it, but the feel was quite different.

Should Brashares ever feel inclined to return to this world (since she’s apparently in the business of granting my writing requests), I would like to hear the stories of the men. Eric, Brian, and to a somewhat lesser extent Kostos are supporting players in their own lives. Don’t they have families, friends, histories of their own? Don’t they have loved ones besides their girlfriends’ best friends who might want to be part of the raising of their children? Some of the decisions the men make in this book for the love of the Sisterhood seemed verging on preposterous (if of course terribly romantic), and I want to hear their sides of those decisions.

But as much as I gripe as a feminist and a critic and a realist, as a romantic who’s “known” these women for a decade I would have thrown the book across the room if Eric left Bee or if Kostos and Lena didn’t get their “someday.” Read it in the grass with some strawberry sorbet… and then go back and re-read teenage Carmen making up with her dad’s new family or teenage Tibby filming her “suckumentary.” There’s more to these women than their children or their men, whether it shows up in this particular book or not.

Also reviewed by: Elizabeth Willse: Writer for Hire, Forever YA, and Kirkus (with a GIGANTIC SPOILER).

I adored this book. Piper is a funny, flawed, endearing narrator. No major character is quite what you — or Piper — expect at the beginning; the author doesn’t let us off with easy stereotypes. Money and disability are dealt with honestly, and the casting is smoothly color-blind, so it never feels like an issue (the beautiful popular girl is biracial African-American and white; Piper’s love interest’s last name is Chen). I particularly loved the growing relationship between Piper and her brother Finn, which made me miss my own younger brother. Some of the worshiping of the Seattle music scene (Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix) came off a bit heavy-handed, but then I was exactly the right age to get all sniffly about Kurt and I never did, so maybe the tone will feel just right to grunge fans.

I appreciated how the story handles cochlear implants, a hugely controversial subject within the deaf community. Piper’s parents chose to give her baby sister Grace implants, and at first Piper is furious — because they raided her college fund to do it, but also because she feels her parents are implying that she isn’t good enough. Why wouldn’t they want her sister to be deaf like her? Piper wants a deaf sister to bond with, which is really about Piper, not about what’s best for Grace. By the end she’s come to terms with her parents’ decision, without necessarily changing her mind about implants philosophically. I’m not informed enough to take a stand on this issue myself, but I thought the arc was realistic for the character.

All in all, a delightful book. I miss the characters already. Maybe Piper should, I don’t know, manage a poetry slam venue when she gets to Gallaudet?

Also reviewed by: Library Chicken, Becky’s Book Reviews, Steph Su Reads, and Early Nerd Special

This is clearly meant to evoke the first post-9/11 years, after we’d gone to war, though the setting is never made explicit. Matt’s teacher and her chief bully are so drastically opposed to peace as to approach caricature. The anti-peace “patriots” in town vandalize houses of worship that promote peace vigils, that sort of thing. The teacher Matt calls “Mr. Warhead” assigns papers like, “The Role of Our Great Nation in the Middle Eastern Theater” — with points taken off for “wrong” answers, of course.

Two-dimensionality of villains aside, I enjoyed this. Matt’s growth arc is painful and believable. Sam and Jessica aren’t perfect, but they are determined to do right by their difficult children. It’s a lovely exploration of the Quaker faith and how it comes to fill a hole in Matt that she didn’t want to believe she had.

Also reviewed by: Boys Blogging Books (including an interview with the author), J. M. Prince, and Whirl of Thoughts.

This won a National Book Award and I’d heard people suggest this as a “YA book for adult readers,” so I think my expectations were too high. I thought it was fine, but it lacked the depth I’d hoped for.

The first half reminded me of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Evie isn’t that poorly clued in to the behavior of those around her, but she spends most of her time somewhat naively observing the adults — while it was pretty obvious to me that she was tragically misreading several key points. (I’m not sure how obvious it will be to your average teen reader.)

The second half picks up as events start to unravel and Evie starts to grow up. Blundell creates a tense atmosphere of noir-ish dread, and I zipped through it once I got to the halfway mark. Evie’s growth from naivety to maturity is a believable one for the character. It just made the first half drag for me since the adults were where the action was, and Evie was missing most of it.

Also reviewed by: Persnickety Snark, Bookshelves of Doom, and Steph Su Reads.

Alex Sanchez is one of the go-to authors for gay YA, and I’d never read anything by him. This book is fairly workmanlike, but it gave me the warm fuzzies. It’s told in alternating points of view, Xio’s and Frederick’s. I loved that Xio is Mexican (along with everyone Frederick hangs out with in his new California town) and Frederick is Wisconsin white, and you get to see the ways their lives are culturally different, but it’s never a Big Deal. The parents are three-dimensional. There’s a gay kid who gets picked on, so Frederick knows what’s in store if he comes out, and the book doesn’t try to pretend that Frederick will somehow escape that treatment — some kids (and adults) will be jerks, but both Frederick and Iggy still have friends.

This is as much about Xio figuring out who she is — her absent father, her newly-dating mother, her friends, all her dramatic 13-year-old emotions — as it is about Frederick, so I think even kids (like a lot of my girls) who are a little embarrassed about reading A Gay Book will find a lot to enjoy here.

Here’s a column by Sanchez about writing controversial books for teens.

When Gen’s mom drags the family to “Frontier Family Camp” for the summer, Gen is sure she’ll hate it. Who wants to spend a summer milking cows and peeing in an outhouse, cut off from her friends and the whole post-1890 world? She can’t stand the thought, so she sneaks her cell phone to Wisconsin and texts her best friends about life on the prairie. One of her friends uses the texts to start a blog about Gen’s adventures, and just shares the blog with a few kids…

It’s a delightful experience to be surprised by a book. Like Gen’s mom, Frontier Family Camp kind of sounds like my dream summer. (I’ll admit, I googled to see if anything like this really exists, but I failed to find it. Alas.) I spend so much time thinking and educating people about where our food comes from that texts like, “Making butter is the stupidest waste of time in the world, considering you can go buy butter in any grocery store in the world any day you want” disposed me crankily towards Gen, however appropriate an attitude that is for a modern teenager. I expected this to be a typical-teen-learns-about-herself-through-a-difficult-experience book with an unusual premise, and to some extent I was right.

It fortunately turned out to dig a bit deeper than that. Gen is honest with herself as she leaves camp about the things she’s come to love about life on the prairie (open space, farm animals, fresh-baked bread and butter, her newfound closeness with her brother) and the things she will hate forever (outhouses, heavy wool dresses, 1890 laundry techniques). A near-tragedy at the end causes even the camp families most prone to frontier romanticizing to question what might be good about the 21st century (hospitals, medication, and helicopter airlifts). As someone also prone to romanticizing the “simpler times” when I could have spent all my days baking and preserving, I appreciated the reminder. (It also touches lightly but crucially on the issue of internet privacy, and how anything you put out there can quickly get far more “out there” than you intended.)

There are plenty of problems with this book, no doubt (They don’t get any training before being tossed into a cabin and expected to cook for themselves? Really?), but it’s funny and warmhearted, and left me thinking about how we can have more of the good of the 19th century without losing the good of the 21st.

Also reviewed by: Damsels in Regress, Bookish Blather, and Semicolon (with whom I do not disagree about the lack of character believability).

Ingrid and her sprawling extended family get together for every possible occasion, where no matter how old she and her teenage cousins get, they are always stuck at the kid table. Hanging out with each other beats discussing mortgages with their parents, but what will it take for the family to see them as adults?

For a book that’s largely people psychoanalyzing each other and themselves, it was surprisingly engaging — I kept wanting to find odd moments in the day when I could read more. It deals with some Serious Issues (anorexia, alcoholism, coming out), but most of the book is taken up with Ingrid (and to a lesser extent, the cousins we see through her rather distant, calculating gaze) figuring out who she is and what she wants out of life. (…Man, could I sound any vaguer? This is a really hard book to summarize.)

It is very funny, in a dark way, but most of the humor is built up over time as you get to know the characters — my favorite kind of humor, but hard to quote. I think this bit gives you a sense of Ingrid, though:

I looked [the valet] up and down, smiling as if I liked what I saw, even though I saw nothing beyond a nice-enough-looking guy somewhere around my age.
“I’ll be here all night,” he told me.
“You’re a comedian?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I said. “You shouldn’t be alone on a holiday. Later I’ll bring you out some breasts and legs.”
I’m not sure that one connected either.

And immediately below that is this paragraph, which is pretty representative of the kind of insightful philosophizing Ingrid/Seigel do a lot of:

Whenever there was a holiday involving the preparation of food, all the women crowded in the kitchen, even the ones who had no clue how to warm Pop-Tarts, which made me feel a little crazy. It was like we were participating in a tradition that had never come from us — I mean both the girls and the guys — and it had robbed us of making new ones that had something to do with who we really were.

Sometimes the characters’ behavior is cringeworthily over-the-top. But that flamboyance is a nice counterpoint to Ingrid’s pragmatism, which I quite admired. I liked spending time with a YA female lead who is emphatically not a romantic. I missed her when I closed the book and want to know what she does next with her life, and I can’t think of higher praise for a character.

This is definitely a book for older YAs, trending towards adult. (Of recent books, it reminded me most of Peter Cameron’s Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You, though I was never annoyed by Ingrid the way I was by James.) There is sex (or the discussion thereof, anyway), and drinking, but mostly I think it would just bore younger teens who aren’t interested in questions of morality and identity. Adult Themes in the least euphemistic sense.

Full disclosure: the author is a friend of a friend, with whom I went to college. Which makes me doubly pleased to be able to say how much I enjoyed it! It also means I got a peek at a preliminary cover which was deeply wrong for the book, and I’m glad that Melissa Walker of Readergirlz has the whole cover story so you can see it, too.

Also reviewed by: the excellently named Mean Old Library Teacher and The Literary Lollipop.