I can’t talk about this without comparing it to Parrotfish, because that was the groundbreaker and is still one of the few YA novels with a transgendered protagonist. The biggest difference between the two is setting, and in this story, setting is everything.

Parrotfish‘s Grady is suburban, with middle-class white parents. J is biracial and lives in Manhattan, with parents who just scrape by financially. In some ways, J’s situation is easier than Grady’s — there’s a clinic and an entire public school for queer kids, and all of it accessible without a car. But the layer of financial woes and cultural pressure on top of J’s gender are so much harder than anything Grady faces.

Parrotfish is a problem novel. It’s a very good one, but there are limitations to that genre. “White and suburban” is the default, and so it’s the blank canvas on which Grady’s gender transition is painted, the star of the show. Whereas I Am J is a novel about a transgendered boy who is also urban, biracial, poor, an artist, a little homophobic, has a best friend who cuts… It’s much more complex (though therefore also for older teens, and less of a good Intro to the Concept of Transgender). Intersectionality fun times!

Another thing I loved about this book is how frank it is that gender dysphoria is hard to understand and takes some explaining, even for the most understanding and supportive loved ones. It’s all very well and good to instruct everyone to be “tolerant” and judge anyone who isn’t, but it isn’t realistic not to acknowledge that it can take awhile to come to that place. There are real issues of “losing a daughter” for the parents to go through here, and Beam does a very good (if painful) job with those.

Also reviewed by: Rebecca Rabinowitz, Wandering Librarians, and The Happy Nappy Bookseller.

I identified with Keri immediately because in the first chapter she explains that she likes to be prepared. She has plans for every possible disaster, keeps emergency supplies in her bedroom, that sort of thing. But of course, she does not have a plan for what to do when her beloved older brother kills himself. Unless it turns out to be murder, as her childhood friend Janna suspects. It turns out that Keri’s brother is part of a pattern of “suicides” that includes Janna’s brother, her friend Sione’s brother, and ten years’ worth of other oldest brothers, all from different parts of New Zealand, who have visited their idyllic resort town for the New Year’s festivities. The three only have a short time until New Year’s comes around again to identify this year’s victim and find the killers.

I loved Healey’s last book, Guardian of the Dead, and I loved this. For many of the same reasons: believable, flawed friendships between fully realized characters; sensitive handling of sex (and the lack thereof); a stunning sense of place. The magic felt a bit less organic here than in Guardian and required more suspension of disbelief for some reason; I kept waiting for a twist, that it wasn’t what the kids thought, but nope — it pretty much was, and was an idea we’ve all seen before, and therefore had something of a “Buffy monster-of-the-week” feel, like with established characters all of this could have happened in 50 minutes on TV.

So while this feels less original than Guardian (with the exception of the New Zealand setting, which is unusual enough to get a bunch of automatic originality points for an American audience), it was no less fun to read. I chewed through it in one day, home sick recovering from BEA. Healey is an outstanding writer with a gift for dialogue, characterization, and foreshadowing. She drops hints along the way that only seem sinister in retrospect, but doesn’t make us wait for the characters to catch up to what we’ve already figured out. And she weaves race, class, and sexuality (and, in this case, temporary disability) into the story in such a way that it feels like she’s creating real people rather than checking character traits off a PC list.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the role of fear in my own life, and how to avoid sacrificing long-term sanity for short-term peace of mind. I said at the beginning that I identified with Keri’s need to plan for every eventuality. At the end she says, “I still planned for possibilities, but it was easier to recognize the planning as part of the anxiety and not being about real things that might actually happen,” and it was eerily like reading words from my own head.
…

SPOILERS (which might be interesting if you’re not going to read the book, since (surprise!) I go off on a tangent)

One of my favorite things about Healey’s books is how the magic has lasting consequences — good and bad. At the end of Guardian the earthquakes had still happened and people needed to clean up afterwards. And at the end of this, people do start losing their jobs and leaving Summerton. That is the consequence of putting an end to the spell that demanded the boys as sacrifice. (It’s implied that the town is going to be okay anyway, which is maybe a cop-out considering how similar West Coast towns are described as “ghost towns.”) “Dystopia” is the big buzzword right now, but this is a dystopia in the truest sense — it aims for utopia and misses horribly, and we see that from the inside.

It made me think of Ursula K. LeGuin’s “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.” (If you’ve never read it, the text is behind that link. It’s very short and I think it’s pretty much required modern reading.) To what lengths are we willing to go to keep the places we love safe and prosperous? Is there any amount of sacrifice that’s worth it? We (and here I’m making some assumptions about my readership) are, of course, all citizens of Omelas or Summerton — enjoying our cheap and plentiful fuel and food and material goods at the expense of the impoverished people who create those things for us. There are ways to walk away from Omelas, to go off the grid, but almost no one does it because the pull of the comfort and safety and community is far too strong. (And because — and this is something not allowed for in the parameters of LeGuin’s story — maybe it’s better to stay and try to change things from the inside?)

I think that’s why it took people who had been damaged by the Summerton spell to finally see the rot at the core of the town. The pain of losing their brothers was enough to intrude on the cocoon. Everyone else chose to look away, and the coven members themselves — who, like the people of Omelas (and us), know and are making a fully conscious choice — find ways to justify it.

Also reviewed by: Pink Me, Wandering Librarians, and Bookshop

I can’t talk about this book — nor can I in good conscience review it — without one spoiler: the nature of the crime. The book is told in alternating chapters, Gittel’s childhood voice leading up to the crime and her seventeen-year-old voice reflecting on it. The two voices don’t work back to specifics until the middle of the book, though it’s a safe guess earlier.

SPOILER
Gittel’s best friend Devory is raped by her older brother. The incident Gittel witnesses is part of a repeated pattern of abuse throughout Devory’s childhood. She’s ultimately unable to handle it and hangs herself in Gittel’s bathroom. It’s an incredibly painful sequence to read, obviously, and anyone who might have issues in this department should definitely be warned.

“Eishes Chayil” means “woman of valor,” and is a pseudonym. The author is a Chassidic woman who took a personal risk speaking out about this sort of abuse, though it’s also very clear that she loves her community. It’s so easy, when writing about someone harmed in a very different culture, to lean heavily on the judgment and imply that no one should live that way. Chayil never takes that road. It’s an important book, both for anyone from within an insular community who might get to read it (it’s a first of its kind, I think), and for its description of the Chassidic world to outsiders. The Amish are a much more familiar closed religious society in American popular culture (not that we have many novels written by Amish women, either). I’m Jewish and still knew almost nothing about this version of Judaism. So it’s important, and very well-written, but I wouldn’t call it enjoyable or an easy read.

*Not, oddly, what to eat (aside from the regular kosher laws). I found it completely fascinating that a community so focused on separating its members from the outside world, whose clothing choices and entertainment and everything ignore the modern world as much as possible, thinks nothing of eating Rice Krispie treats.

The characters also mention psychotherapy, which is apparently acceptable — though since the culture is so firmly “ignore it and it will go away,” I’m not sure how the therapist is supposed to help. The cultural lines were the most interesting part of the book for me, for sure.

Also reviewed by: the wonderfully named Velveteen Rabbi, Frenetic Reader, and Helen’s Book Blog. If you’re interested in some Orthodox Jews’ takes on the book, Hashkafah has a forum on the subject.

No point in reading this review if you haven’t read the first book and are planning to, so SPOILERS AHEAD for both books!

I wanted to love this. I really did. And there were many things I did love — it’s tense and thrilling in many places, and I was happy to see more of both Incarceron and the Realm (especially the peasants’ lives). But I am a world-building nut, and the plot holes were bigger than the hole in the Warden’s floor after the Realm’s illusions disappear.

So let’s talk about that: how did the illusions work, anyway? They must have been matter, or people couldn’t have stepped on the stairs or been warm under the clothes. So why did everything crumble as soon as Incarceron sucked up all the power, causing the illusions to fail? I could see everything getting faded and crappier, but it would have had to be there and functional, right? Unless the illusions stopped time somehow? The book never said that, and I’m not sure how it would work anyway.

And then there’s the power issue. There’s limited power left and Incarceron used it all to create its body, such that the Prison’s systems fall apart and the Realm’s illusions disappear. So how can everyone come and go from the Prison willy-nilly at the end? Wasn’t that supposed to take more power than was left?

I’d probably still read a final book in the trilogy, if there were to be one, because I was so drawn in by the end of Sapphique — looking out over the huts of the peasants who’ve known how to live without energy and luxury for years, getting ready to build a new world with them. I said I was a world-building nut, and I mean this kind of world-building, too: I love stories of people and countries starting over. Let’s keep our fingers crossed for fewer inconsistencies to this new world.

Also reviewed by: The Book Smugglers, Steph Su Reads, and Presenting Lenore

I expected this book to be far lighter than it was, and for a rather younger audience. There’s a lot of drinking, and more “mature themes” than I expected from the pink, glittery cover. Not so much for my 6th graders after all.

Bad things first, because they’re always more entertaining (and because they largely outweighed the good):

Sometimes the prose sounds like emo poetry from a high school lit mag:

And it’s in that final moment, as the snow settles back down to the bottom of the globe and the last few flakes drift lazily down, that you can really see everything clearly. Can see what has become of the figures inside. The ones locked in their dance, unable to change anything. It’s then that you realize that’s all there is, just the flip and the shake and the settle. And there’s nothing beautiful in that at all.

I started groaning out loud every time a character “cuts his/her eyes” at another character. It’s an unusual enough expression to be noticeable, and it happens every other page.

The strike is just a plot device to get all the characters together at Disney, which in turn is just a metaphorical device so they can talk about “making dreams come true” a lot. None of the characters — including intelligent, thoughtful main characters Ella and Luke — ever consider even for a minute whether it’s ok to cross a picket line. Am I ridiculously old-fashioned to be bothered by that?

And of course, Ella and Luke are clever, funny people who are clearly good together. So why the hell does it take them the whole book to figure that out??

Good things:

Other times (usually when the characters are talking instead of ruminating), the prose is hilarious. And there’s some real, fairly original discussion of how we should construct our future, and how we might deviate from the path laid out for us. I like seeing success-bound teens choose options other than the standard success choices of college or family business.

Overall, I found it entertaining, but skippable.

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.

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.

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

Claudia is the daughter of the Warden of Incarceron. As the only person who can enter the prison, he’s one of the most powerful men in their world, and a key player in the Victorian-style intrigue that swirls around him. Claudia and her tutor Jared are intrigue experts in their own right, and rebellion brews when they find a device that allows them to communicate with Finn.

I was absolutely sucked in to this dark, bleak world. Claudia, in particular, is a great character: scheming, practical, and with enough cold intelligence to match her father. She’s not the typical wide-eyed YA heroine thrown into adventure unprepared.

Incarceron is a textbook dystopia (without being particularly post-apocalyptic): everyone outside still thinks that Incarceron is the paradise it was intended to be. And Claudia’s world demands that everyone live “in Era,” following a strict Victorian code to prevent the destructive influence of technological advancement… but of course this comes with death from curable diseases and a backstabbing monarchy.

Though if everyone really believes that Incarceron is a paradise, why aren’t more people trying to get inside? And living “in Era” is a cool idea, but why is it so sketchily applied? Sometimes it’s taken seriously (Jared’s lack of medicine for his illness), but sometimes it’s just a facade (all the fancy technology in the Warden’s house).

In short, there are some enormous plot holes, but it doesn’t matter — the atmosphere is deliciously creepy, the story is original, and I can’t wait for the sequel.

(Can we talk about the cover, though? Please stop with the holographic covers. The shiny shiny rainbows just make everything look chintzy. If it weren’t for Paula at Pink Me, I wouldn’t have picked this up because the cover made it look like an Alex Rider book or some other bit of generic adventure fluff.)

Also reviewed at: Pink Me, The Book Smugglers, and Presenting Lenore

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.