This has sort of been done before, of course. But unlike in, say, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Mavis is actually a thoroughly terrible human being. She manipulates everyone around her, has zero compassion, is basically the high school queen of popularity who never figured out that in order to be successful in the adult world you have to at some point give a crap about someone other than yourself. Because Charlize Theron is a fantastic actress, though, she was never a caricature. Awkward as hell to watch, yes. But believable. I appreciate a movie in which the protagonist is unlikeable in every way, but you still can’t help but feel compassion for her.

From a YA perspective (because let’s be honest, why do you think I saw this movie?): I loved that Mavis’s character, Kendall, is exactly as vapid and in love with herself as Mavis is, in a way that perfectly nails that genre of YA. Mavis hasn’t grown up much since high school, and the books she writes are the kind of YA that are in no way about personal growth. (Fortunately this genre seems to be on the wane.) My main objection is the covers, which look like Scholastic reprints of middle grade Boxcar Children novels or something. How about some headless photos of girls in stylish prep school uniforms? Come on, I could design you some covers for this shiz in about 20 minutes.

This was a third-life crisis movie, which is my current favorite topic. I am, in particular, working on a theory that if I read more books written for grown-ups about grown-up lives, I might be able to make a more coherent, mature story of my own life. This movie possibly supports that theory, but I can’t quite decide whether it made me feel better or worse about my life.

I’m leading a book club at school this trimester (focusing mainly on making book trailers or some other project), and two of the girls chose this book to read. So I had to read it, too. (The 6th graders chose the Clique prequel, which is sitting on my nightstand now. Pity me.) This review has spoilers, because frankly there’s nothing surprising enough (except the identity of the texter, maybe) to warrant the maintenance of suspense.

I will admit that it was more interesting than I anticipated. The “mysterious texter directing her every move” bit was a new angle to the generic high school tale of popularity’s rise and fall. The moral is more or less the same as usual — “Old, true friends are the best; be true to yourself” — but things are a bit more complicated for Cammy. Her life was too safe; she did need to shake things up, and it was fun to watch her do so. I also liked that she did not end up with the boy in the end. She did some crappy things, and it would have been unrealistic for Luke to still want her after all that. (It reminded me of Vintage Veronica in that way.)

Interestingly, this book was written by vote — the author posted the first four chapters on her publisher’s site, and then readers voted on each successive plot twist. I’m sorry I didn’t get to watch that process unfold. There’s some sloppiness (at one point Cammy walks away from Luke’s house without her bike, but is riding it shortly thereafter; the school is described as having 156 people total and she’s lived there her whole life, yet there are kids she doesn’t know at all in her English class) but also an unusual number of fun quirks and memorable scenes. I’m curious how much the process contributed to these oddities.

Overall, a slightly above-average representative of a boring but popular genre.

Also reviewed by: Class Bookworm

Ok. From there, I made some assumptions. Deena’s going to show up repeatedly and suck. Addie’s a flake who can’t give Hope a stable life, and/or she’s created a “just us girls” emotionally dependent situation. But Addie turns out to be a pretty solid mom; the moves were about bad luck as much as anything. Deena does suck, but she only shows up once.

The book ends up being much more about Hope making a home in Mulhoney, Wisconsin. She gets involved in the mayoral race between G. T., the diner’s upstanding owner (who was just diagnosed with leukemia), and the corrupt incumbent. She falls for Braverman, the cute line cook. She waitresses the hell out of the Welcome Stairways diner.

That was my favorite part of the book (well, that and the food — can Addie come run a diner in my town?): Hope loves waitressing. She takes such pride in her work, in a way that I don’t see enough in YA fiction. As she’s flying around the diner, wiping up spills, entertaining babies, and filling coffee, Hope muses:

You know what I like most about waitressing? When I’m doing it, I’m not thinking that much about myself. I’m thinking about other people. I’m learning again and again what it takes to make a difference in people’s lives.

YES. That is exactly what’s wonderful about busy jobs: they take your mind off your troubles. That’s a thing I didn’t figure out until college, and I wish I’d learned it sooner.

The political stuff drags in places, and the villain and good guy are clear-cut in a way they rarely are in life. I also wanted to learn more about Addie: why did she move so much? What makes her tick, besides cooking? She’s a very closed figure, and she and Hope seem less close than you’d expect from their history.

But I loved Hope. She’s tough — she’s had to be — but she’s not bitter about it. She’s angry at Deena, but not broken. Braverman, G. T., and some of the other secondary characters are charming in that small-town-novel way. And I got a kick out of the teenagers holding a vigil outside Town Hall in the “mind-numbing cold,” “demand[ing] to live in a town that is not governed by lies and deceit.” Rock on, Wisconsin! (That link goes to pictures of Wisconsinites sleeping outside the Capitol during the protests for collective bargaining rights this winter.)

Fair warning: this book is a big damn tearjerker. I’m an emotional raw nerve these days anyway, but the last chapter had me bawling on my way to work this morning. If you need some catharsis around home or loss or finding your place in the world, this might be your book.

Also reviewed by: Word Bird and Coffee and Cliffhangers

You know the drill: Veronica is friendless at school, ignored by her mom, quirky and unappreciated, etc. She cultivates a wacky vintage style, with as many ruffled skirts and bowling shoes as she can get her hands on. Her love of the clothes lands her the perfect summer job: sorting consignments at the local vintage store (which happens to be based on my local vintage store!). There she meets the book’s bizarre, oddly appealing cast of characters: stoner Bill and his Sacred Rules of the (Thrift) Pile; quiet, pale Lenny with his assortment of reptilian pets; magnetic rebel Zoe; and Ginger, her side-kick. Veronica can’t believe it when Zoe wants to be her friend, but of course Veronica turns out to be wrong about a lot of things.

There’s a lot that’s by-the-numbers in this book, but the secondary characters are original enough to make up for it. Zoe might be one of my favorite villains in realistic fiction. Perl does an excellent job of making her terrifyingly, unpredictably evil, despite being a 19-year-old store clerk.

Damn, though, if you can’t stand watching someone dig a hole for herself, this is not the book for you. I read through the whole middle section with my head metaphorically hidden under a pillow, waiting for Veronica to stop creating disasters and start cleaning them up. She makes some colossally stupid (if completely believable) decisions, and in the end they do have real consequences — she doesn’t get an unrealistically happy ending, but she does get a right ending. She’s one of those characters I want to meet as an adult, because I bet she’ll grow up to be awesome.

A “warning” or two: the writing style would work for middle schoolers, but there’s a lot of swearing and frank talk about sex. (There’s even a scene of female masturbation! You have no idea how happy this makes me. It’s ridiculous that this is still so rare in YA, but I think this is the first time I’ve ran across such a scene since Judy Blume’s infamous Deenie. (Veronica, you will be relieved to know, is a modern girl despite her clothes — she does not at any point refer to touching her “special spot.” Hee.)) I’m thinking this would be good for fans of Rachel Cohn’s Gingerbread.

Also reviewed by: The Hiding Spot and For What It’s Worth.

I loved it! She gets middle school girl relationships perfectly, the way a group of friends chooses one to pick on. They don’t even know they’re doing it, necessarily, but enough “just kidding!”s really hurt. Not to mention, of course, that this is the ideal book to put braces angst in perspective. It spans a number of years, promising that by the time you’re settled in high school, the teeth and the friends do get better.

The whole package — art and writing and dramedic tone — reminded me of Hope Larson’s Chiggers, which is high praise indeed.

(And if you also grew up in the late 80s, you will love the “period” touches. I had completely forgotten about Caboodles. I was shocked — shocked! — to learn that Raina Telgemeier graduated high school a year ahead of me.)

Also reviewed at: Lavender Lines (who also has fond memories of the Caboodle), Abby (the) Librarian, and Stacked

I think the greatest virtue of this book, honestly, is as “organizing events for beginners: a middle school manual.” The girls launch into a meticulously planned, fairly believable teashop-saving campaign which both saves the day (they do get the town to appreciate the Leaf a bit more) and doesn’t (ultimately, grandmother Louisa still needs cold hard cash). My kids have a tremendous amount of Save the World energy, but don’t always know how to direct it. I’d love to be able to give them more books like this.

Overall, this book definitely falls into the “Some parts of the middle grade/YA section should be nice, for the nice people” (TM Adorablog) category, along with 11 Birthdays and Savvy and Shug and whatnot. It’s sweet from beginning to cake recipe appendix and has an implausibly happy ending.

The three girls are entirely believable middle schoolers, with believably middle-school crushes and friendship issues and concerns. And hey, I am a sucker for a) yummy food books, b) books with a strong sense of place, and c) ordinary kids making a real difference in their community, so I dug it. My only real complaints are Annie’s mostly one-dimensional immediate family (especially her older sister), and Louisa’s over-the-top new-age-y-ness. She’s forever brushing flowing scarves over one shoulder or adjusting her dangling crystal earrings. At one point she introduces a new Leaf employee with, “Jonathan’s grandmother is an old friend of mine from the ashram,” and I almost snorted my drink.

For a slightly older version of a similar story, try Naomi Shihab Nye’s underrated Going Going.

Also reviewed at: Write Meg, The Birdbrain(ed) Book Blog, and Into the Wardrobe

Yes, ok, this is very much an Oppressed Girl Living Through Important History Finds Her Inner Feminist (and Maybe Falls in Love) book. Fortunately it’s a really good one. I appreciated the unusual colonial perspective on World War II, and I’m always fascinated by the Indian struggle for independence — but Venkatraman rightly keeps the focus on Vidya and her personal conflicts, as is realistic for a book narrated by a teenage girl.

Luckily Vidya is smart and thoughtful, so her personal conflicts are well-considered. Her feminism doesn’t come from nowhere; her father is a student of Indian philosophy, and as she reads his favorites, she comes to her own conclusions. You might have had some version of this conversation:

“Killing people is always wrong.”
“Yeah, but what about Hitler? Should we have let him win?”

India in 1942 — when to be a soldier meant choosing between Ghandi’s ideal of non-violent resistance, or fighting with your oppressors against a possibly greater foe — is the perfect setting for this old debate. Vidya and her brother get into some great shouting matches about it.

Plus the writing is gorgeous! I lived in Madras for the days it took me to read this — the plates of fragrant rice, the flowers picked for morning prayer, the festivals (man, I thought we Jews had a lot of holidays!), the secluded library… yum. (And yes, all right, The Boy is pretty cute, and Vidya doesn’t let him get away with anything. It’s a good romance, if that’s your thing… ahem, Kate Diamond.) We teach India in 8th grade social studies, so I’m going to push it around here for that reason, but it’s an enjoyable read all on its own.

Also reviewed at: S. Krishna’s Books, Reading on a Rainy Day, Bookshelves of Doom, and Asian Review of Books

Evolution was a Newbery Honor book this year, and it sure does have “Newbery” all over it, with the cute 19th-century pinafore and the spunky-yet-wholesome heroine who loves science and her granddaddy. All of which is to say, I adored it. It might seem too “good for you” for some kids, though.

It’s episodic and slice-of-life, without much in the way of overarching plot. Calpurnia is yet another “tomboy” who bravely strives to shrug off the limitations her society places on women. If actual history had had as many of these girls as YA fiction does, we would have won the vote a hell of a lot sooner. (Can we get a novel about a 19th-century girl who loves needlework and looks forward to marrying a boy from a good family? Didn’t those girls have interesting lives sometimes, too? Especially since, quite frankly, most of my students are more likely to be the modern equivalent of this girl than of Calpurnia or Caddie Woodlawn.)

I loved her relationship with Granddaddy. I loved that he wasn’t secretly a sweet doting grandfather just waiting to emerge; he was in fact as hopelessly absorbed with his own interests as he looked, but Callie fit right into that single-mindedness. (The scenes in which he forgets that she’s a kid and wants to share a celebratory shot of liquor with her? Priceless.)

And I loved the promise of a new millennium — kids might be frustrated by the lack of resolution to Callie’s problems (I sure would have been), but I know what happens after that snowy Jan. 1, 1900. The telephones and automobiles that are so novel in Callie’s town take over the world. The 19th Amendment passes in Callie’s 32nd year. More and more women go to university, become scientists. I like to think Calpurnia V. Tate is one of them.

Also reviewed at: A Fuse #8 Production and onehandclapping.

Fortunately, the book doesn’t stop there. Skyla and her creepy boyfriend want Naomi to come live with them, for reasons that may have to do with baby-sitting the boyfriend’s daughter and may have to do with child-support welfare checks. They don’t want Owen, because he has a physical disability which Skyla finds embarrassing. Gram is legitimately terrified that Skyla is going to get custody of Naomi, so what does she do?

She freakin’ picks up the trailer, hitches it to the truck that belongs to Fabiola and her husband Bernardo, and all six of them take off for Mexico in the middle of the night to try to find the children’s Mexican father. Obviously. And that’s when the story really gets going. Ryan’s descriptions of southern Mexico are gorgeous, and she follows my #1 rule of writing realism for children: Pick a Quirk, Any Quirk.

Without the soap carving, Naomi’s story would just be yet another children’s novel about overcoming an alcoholic, absent parent. Her art lends the story specificity. It turns out that Naomi comes from a long line of carvers who compete every year in a Oaxacan festival called Noche de Rabanos (Night of the Radishes). Of course this is where she ultimately finds her father, and herself.

I normally find problem novels eye-roll-inducing, but I loved this one thanks to carving, Mexico, and radishes. (Check out some pictures of carved radishes. They’re stunning!)

Also reviewed at: Inkweaver Review, A Fondness for Reading, and Books and Other Thoughts.

Finnikin escapes and spends his adolescence traveling with his mentor, doing what they can to alleviate the suffering of the scattered Lumateran refugee camps and find their people a new home. As the book opens, he has been called to a distant monastery to take on a new traveling companion: Evanjalin, a traumatized Lumateran refugee who claims to have seen their kingdom’s lost heir in her prophetic dreams.

I love me some complicated stories (5th season of Lost, what now?), but this is a bit “kitchen sink.” There are too many Important Messages, too many characters with Painful Pasts, and too many Big Reveals. The stuff about the two goddesses and their religious conflict, in particular, seemed tacked-on.

I also have no problem with violence or sex or challenging subjects in YA lit, per se. That sort of book is not for everyone, which is why it’s part of my job to be familiar with what might be difficult about the books in my collection, but they can be powerful for a lot of kids. That said, I do have a problem with gratuity. If it isn’t key to the story or the characters, gloss on over that sex scene or graphic torture. I’m no prude, but despite the themes of growing up and finding oneself, I’d be hard-pressed not to put this in the adult section.

All that aside, I think I would have been more into this when I was younger. I was going to be a martyr to activism; the strong woman tying herself to trees, no doubt about the rightness of her cause. I admired no end characters in books who walk miles with no shoes and torn and bloody feet, as Evanjalin does, sheltered by their single-minded purpose.

Turns out I have no single-minded purpose. Turns out I prefer nesting in a safe city with my friends around me and working at a job that is meaningful but not overly exhausting (er, usually). No one’s going to write any epic biographies about me, and I am a-ok with that. Now that I’m an adult, Evanjalin and Finnikin’s single-mindedness just seems naive. I recognize that they are refugees, that their lives are challenged in ways that mine never has been and hopefully never will be. But I still found it hard to connect with them. I want a spin-off about Lady Abian and her household full of displaced villagers, keeping her community alive with low-key good humor (and randomly having really loud sex with her husband, because for some reason Marchetta felt the need to share these moments with us). She’s much more my speed.

But this seems to be in the Megan Whalen Turner category of “stuff I should love, that everyone else loved, but I couldn’t get into.” So your mileage may definitely vary.

Also reviewed by: Skerricks, Library Lounge Lizard, and Persnickety Snark.