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 am a big Maureen Johnson fan — her books are my favorite book candy, with just enough nutritional value to keep the toothache at bay. This one’s a little different. It’s a genuinely scary paranormal mystery, though the high school scenes retain Johnson’s trademark realistic fiction style: a snarky, smart heroine with a good head on her shoulders, a believable romance that doesn’t consume the story (or the heroine), and an entertaining supporting cast of eccentrics.

It took a little while for me to get into it, I think because I couldn’t tell what sort of book it was. High school drama? Realistic mystery? Would there be a fantasy element? Once the mystery started rolling about a third of the way in, though, I got really into it. I think I read the last third in one sitting. I’m not sure the mystery 100% held together, but it was a fun read anyway. It is, of course, the first in a trilogy, even though it really doesn’t need to be. @)*#&@)*$&!

It’s a little bit Peeps (only less dark), a little bit Hourglass (with less emphasis on the romance and WAY less pseudo-scientific hand-waving), and a whole lot Buffy. The world is apparently not yet tired of “wise-cracking girl with special powers joins underground organization to fight paranormal evil.” Which is convenient, because I am totally not tired of it either.

Cover: I don’t love it. It implies that Rory is the lovely red-haired creature in the vaguely Victorian lace, when in fact that’s just one of the killer’s random victims. Looking at this cover makes one think “damsel in distress.” Rory is so much more active than that.

Also reviewed by: Wandering Librarians, PaperBlog Princess, and Fresh Ink.

ARC from Arianna of Wandering Librarians, from ALA.

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 just loved this. It felt like a 100% believable slice of urban teen life. The dialogue is perfect: I could hear the characters’ voices in my head, without crossing the line into overdone slang. The online chats even manage to be realistic without being annoying, which I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a book pull off. There’s a lot of, “he was chatting with me and then he said he was logging off but then I found out he just blocked me and stayed on to chat with you,” which is absolutely the modern teen version of Jane Austen social negotiations, and yet it’s so hard for adult authors to do without seeming contrived. My hat is off to you, Mr. Grant, sir!

The girls deal with some topical stuff, but it never ever feels like an Afterschool Special. In large part this is because every single supporting character is fully realized and engaging. Teenie’s parents are especially awesome. Her Barbadian dad, Beresford, is one of the funniest parental characters I’ve read in a long time:

My dad has these sayings — I call them Beresisms — and “teefin’” is one that he uses most frequently. Teefin’, or stealing, is done by a teef (thief) or, when my dad’s really angry, a teefah. It’s no wonder that growing up I thought Queen Latifah was a criminal mastermind. Lord, this man is strange.

Well-written, funny, believable realistic fiction about girls of color: boy howdy, do we need more like this. (Note: the main characters are 9th graders, and I’d say this is best for 7th-10th grade. There is one explicit, scary sexual situation, but it’s written from the perspective of a girl who’s too young to handle what she’s gotten herself into — and fortunately, she gets out again before anything too awful happens. Younger girls getting pressured (and worse) by older boys happens all the time, in cities and suburbs, so I do think this is appropriate for a lot of middle school readers.)

Also reviewed by: Urban Reviews. The Brown Bookshelf has an interview with the author.

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.

It is, of course, “to be continued.” Sigh.

Cover: The top image is of the final cover. The bottom image is of the cover on the ARC I have, which I vastly prefer. The mask is pretty, but it could be any fantasy with Venetian-inspired masked balls and whatnot. The discarded cover expresses more effectively, I think, the otherworldliness of the story and its characters. Plus, those colors! So striking. Ah, well. I will treasure my ARC, anyway.

Also reviewed by: Reading Rants, ABQ Teen Readers, and Ramblings of a Teenage Novelist.

ARC generously provided by the editor.

Man. I don’t remember the last time I have been this disappointed in a book. The first half is awesome. The small Southern town feels cozy, humid, and slightly creepy, like Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Thomas is an entirely believable older brother, whom Emerson torments but also trusts with her secrets. Emerson herself is no Bella; she has useful skills and sass. She gets pissed when Michael plays the obnoxious “I can’t tell you yet, for your own good” game and wears her bunny slippers for a late-night rendezvous, “just to be cheeky.”

And then she just… stops. Somewhere halfway through, she (and her brother and sister-in-law, for that matter) drink the Michael Kool-Aid and start believing everything he says without independent verification. Do a really dangerous, crazy thing because these people you’ve just met say it’s important? Sure, okay! I kept waiting for him to have secret powers of hypnosis or something, but nope. Their connection is just electric (as in, there are literal sparks) and so of course she trusts him.

If you’re into paranormal romances, this might not bother you. It seems to be a convention of the genre. There’s even the manufactured temptation of the hot best friend, because you need a love triangle. The book is well-written, and if this is your thing, it’s at least original for the paranormal genre. I could only have been so let down because I was so sucked in at the beginning; I’ll definitely be waiting to see what McEntire does next. I might even read the (sigh, of course there’s a) sequel.

Cover: I actually love this, because it’s so different from so much of what I’ve seen. It is not a Photoshopped image of a girl in a floaty dress looking poutily at the camera. It’s a painting, for starters, and a slightly stylized one at that. It feels a little “Norton’s Guide to Modern Feminist Literature” to me, for some reason — like it’s more Ladies’ Literary than YA — but I’m cool with that.

Also reviewed by: YA Reads, A Reading Nook, and The Book Heist, none of whom had the issues I did. And Prationality, who shared at least some of them.

ARC generously provided by the Brookline Public Library Shelf Respect YA book club.

VAGUE SPOILERS

(The end, by the way, is a total cop-out on just about every level. The grand plan doesn’t really work, from a science fiction standpoint. And the resolution feels like a Murder, She Wrote episode, where the least likely villain waves a gun around and explains everything in detail to the protagonists. But again, if you’re in it for the romance, this won’t bother you, because it is all very romantic. And Michael is a cutie.)

I loved this book. There’s so much going on — it’s about being thirteen as much as it’s about this particular condition. A strained relationship with her lifelong best friend, her warm and slightly kooky family, the deteriorating health of her beloved cat Mango, the dude she meets on a synesthesia message board… it doesn’t all neatly tie into a couple of themes, but I actually loved that. It felt lifelike. Almost all of the characters (with the unfortunate exception of the best friend) were unique and three-dimensional. And you know I’m a sucker for a strong sense of place: Mia’s rural Illinois town, the rambling house built by her father and grandfather, the fields she loves to run around in.

The process of finding a diagnosis felt a little clunky. Y’all have internet access; use it! But once they got there, I found it fascinating to watch Mia really explore this facet of herself for the first time. She never sees it as a disability. (Which makes this a slightly ironic winner of the Schneider.) In fact, she adores the extra dimension to her perception. She learns online that some synesthetics experience amazing sensations from acupuncture, so she becomes obsessed with going. It’s a drug trip, effectively, only the drug is her own brain, and she basically behaves like an addict for awhile — only thinking about her next hit, distancing herself from her loved ones.

This is not a scientific book about synesthesia. Like many of Wendy Mass’s stories, it’s mostly grounded in reality, but with a bit of the mystical about the edges. It reminded me of Criss Cross in that way. I found it intriguing, a bit heartbreaking (with some truly perfect descriptions of loss), and beautifully written.

Also reviewed by: Things Mean a Lot and Odd Time Signatures

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

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.