Posts on reviews

Back in September, Lee Wind posted a blurb for a new young adult book called Mousetraps (Carolrhoda, 2008), by Pat Schmatz. Intrigued, I added it to my to-read list. Fast-forward a month to the SCBWI Wisconsin conference. Who’s one of the very first people I meet? Pat Schmatz. Small world!

I bought Mousetraps, Pat signed it, I read it, I dug it. I asked Pat if she’d be interested in a blog interview (my first!), and here we are. But first, a little more about Mousetraps.

Maxie’s junior year of high school begins with a surprise: Rick is back. Rick, the boy she was best friends with, before he became a bully magnet. Rick, who moved away in seventh grade after he was brutally gay bashed.

Rick wants to rekindle his friendship with Maxie, but she’s not so sure. Rick’s as much of a target as ever. And there’s something different about him these days. There’s a look he gets in his eyes sometimes, cold and hard, that scares her.

Maxie is a sensitive, yet matter-of-fact, narrator who occasionally dips into the poetic but never dives into melodrama, even when things get dark—and they do get dark. She’s a cartoonist—way back when, Rick designed crazy, Rube Goldberg-esque mousetraps, and she drew them—and her lively drawings (penned in real life by Bill Hauser) are integrated perfectly with the text.

Mousetraps also touches on nontraditional families, interracial relationships, and a bit of romance. I especially appreciated that Rick experiences homophobic bullying irrespective of his sexual identity. He’s clear proof that homophobia hurts everyone, not just individuals who are GLBTQ.

The notoriously difficult-to-impress Kirkus Reviews says of Mousetraps, “Rick and Maxie’s thought-provoking story, juxtaposed against Hauser’s renderings of Maxie’s cartoons, is unexpectedly, richly dark, with no easy answers. Both chilling and sweet.”

Now, without further ado, here’s Pat!

LC: Coming dangerously close to the dreaded “where do you get your ideas” question, I was wondering if you could pinpoint the initial germ that evolved into Mousetraps.

PS: I kind of hate to admit it, but Mousetraps started in my mind the day of Columbine. I was home for lunch and Columbine was on the news, and even as I was watching the event transpire on TV, I had an impression of Rick. From that day on, I was completely obsessed with the topic and read everything I could get my hands on, and the whole time, I had Rick’s voice in my head.

LC: Rick could have been only a martyr or psychopath; instead, he’s a fully-realized, sympathetic character. What were the challenges in shaping him without veering into Jekyll/Hyde territory?

PS: First of all, thanks for saying that about Rick. I have huge affection for that character, and he’d hate to be seen as a martyr or a psychopath. When I read news stories about school shootings, I never see those kids as one-sided, no matter how the media portrays them. I suppose that’s because I’ve known enough people, personally, who have survived these kinds of challenges that I know they aren’t one-sided, or even two-sided, and the character of Rick is a conglomerate of several kids I have known well.

LC: Since 2000, we’ve seen a number of dark teen novels responding to the Jonesboro and Columbine school massacres of 1998 and 1999 (e.g., Todd Strasser’s Give a Boy a Gun, Walter Dean Myers’ Shooter, Nancy Garden’s End Game). Mousetraps, too, could have ended in tragedy. What made you steer toward a more hopeful conclusion?

PS: I wrote six sharply different conclusions to Mousetraps over the nine years I worked on it. One editor a few years ago rejected the book, but in her editorial letter she suggested yet another option for the ending, and I gave it a try. That took me in a totally different direction.

I still see all of the conclusions as continuing to be Real and True in some sort of parallel simultaneous universes. We have crossroads moments where we can step this way or that way, and like the mousetraps, whichever direction we choose sets off an entirely new chain of events. So experimenting with the different conclusions was like imagining…what if, in this moment, this character stepped this way instead of that way? Either choice is emotionally possible, and my job as the author is to be true to the chain of events that would follow.

Finally, the ending I chose—with a lot of help and guidance from my editor, Shannon Barefield—felt right. Also, it was the clearest choice for the story that I wanted to tell, which is Maxie’s story—although of course Rick has a huge part in it.

LC: How do you think homophobia and bullying in America's schools have changed since you were a teen, if at all?

PS: When I was a teen, this stuff wasn’t called “homophobic,” or even “bullying.” We all just knew that some kids were mean, and some kids got picked on. Now that we have words for it, and we use them, I’d like to think things are at least potentially different. Kids actually know to say things like, “the biggest homophobes are usually gay themselves,”—that was a comeback and a concept that didn’t exist when I was a teen. Also, people like Maxie’s uncles do exist, as out gay fully-functioning adults, and they not only can help kids maneuver their way through this stuff but are visible as role models. Bullying still happens, probably as bad as ever, but I do think the kids who are getting bullied have a better chance to get support and backing. Even if an individual kid isn’t getting adequate protection, s/he can find the concept of support on line, in books, and even on the news. That’s a big plus.

LC: Did you envision Mousetraps as an illustrated novel from the beginning?

PS: Not at first, but the better I got to know Maxie, the more I saw her drawings in my head. For a while I was hoping to have Mousetraps be a graphic novel but I didn’t have the skills to do the drawings myself. The design team at Lerner worked with me on the current form, sort of a hybrid.

LC: Please tell us about your path to publication and about your first two books, Circle the Truth (Carolrhoda, 2007) and Mrs. Estronsky and the UFO (Blue Works, 2001).

PS: Mrs. Estronsky is a middle-grade novel about a girl who sees a UFO with her piano teacher. I sent that one out, time after time, using Writer’s Market as a guide. Of course I was thrilled when Windstorm Creative picked it up for their youth division, Blue Works.

Meanwhile, I became involved in the Minneapolis writing community, which led me to Andrea Cascardi of Transatlantic Literary Agency. I sent her the manuscripts for both Mousetraps and Circle the Truth, a younger YA about a boy in a blended family who, as he questions truth and reality in his life and his home, finds that those lines keep shifting. Andrea agreed to represent me, gave me some terrific editorial advice on the manuscripts, and then started to send out the revised versions. Each manuscript went to a number of houses over a three-year period before Carolrhoda made an offer on Circle, and then contracted for Mousetraps as well.

LC: How did you stay positive through the long submission process?

PS: It wasn’t so much a matter of staying positive, as staying busy. I started Circle the Truth immediately after finishing the first draft of Mousetraps, so my focus was there. Also, I was getting enough positive feedback—nice rejection letters, a Minnesota State Arts Board Grant, and the huge boost of getting Andrea as my agent—to keep me rolling.

LC: You grew up in rural Wisconsin and live there today. In what ways does that setting and culture manifest in your books?

PS: Mrs. Estronsky and the UFO is completely grounded in rural Wisconsin. I wrote it when I was living in California and was incredibly homesick for the upper Midwest. As a child, I spent a lot of time alone outdoors and I still tend to see the world through that lens. Although the next two books both take place in urban settings, weather and season play a definite emotional role in each story. Also, all three books take place in the upper Midwest, which certainly has a particular cultural flavor.

LC: Can you expand on that, for readers who have never had the pleasure of living in the upper Midwest?

PS: I find the upper Midwest—both rural and urban—to have a particular kindness, something almost like innocence. That’s not quite the right word, but it’s a related concept…and so characters with a gentle sort of progressive political sensibility, like Maxie’s parents and the Unks, and Toby’s family in Circle the Truth, can be found everywhere. Also, the region tends to be very weather-focused, even in the cities, and many people are involved in outdoor sports like ice fishing or skiing. And of course, there is always the snow that must be moved one way or another, and people have different ideas about how that should be done. I don’t know if that particular discussion is peculiar to the upper Midwest, but it seems like snow blowers are more universal, for instance, on the east coast.

LC: Mousetraps and Circle the Truth have a very different feel. Maxie narrates Mousetraps in matter-of-fact first person, while Circle the Truth is told in a more lyrical third person voice. What do you find to be the challenges of writing in first versus third person? How do you decide which to use?

PS: I tried both books in both first and third person, and in each case tried to find the voice that best suited the story. I find first person much more difficult in general. Crazy-making, actually, because the narrator is so strictly limited in what s/he can perceive and how those perceptions can be expressed. But it does allow for a more natural voice, and I like that.

LC: Who are your favorite/most influential authors?

PS: S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders is my most influential book, and my most loved. Other influential books include A Wrinkle in Time by L’Engle, Henry 3 by Krumgold, The Forgotten Door by Key, and To Kill a Mockingbird by Lee.

As a kid, I loved everything by Beverly Clearly, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Jim Kjelgaard, and Mark Twain. As an adult, my favorite authors include Markus Zusak, Anne Patchett, Stephen King, Kate DiCamillo, and E.L. Konigsburg.

LC: What can we hope to see from you next?

PS: I’ve been working for several years on a YA novel called Bluefish. I haven’t hit it quite right yet, but I think I’m getting there. I also have an as-yet untitled adult novel and a picture book in the works.

In this graphic novel by Hope Larson (Atheneum 2008), Abby—age 13 or so—is drawn to her late-arriving bunk mate, Shasta, who claims to have been struck by lightning. Problem is Shasta’s an all-around weirdo. She’s abrasive. She’s geeky. She has secrets. She’s scornful of Abby’s other more mainstream, boy-crazy friends. Sensitive Abby is torn between her old friends and her new geeky pals, made harder when Abby falls for Teal, a sweet, bespectacled Dungeon Master—and Shasta threatens to steal him away.

The art is gorgeous: bold, fluid lines, captivating, expressive characters. The story is realistic and compelling. I remember there was a flurry of favorable blog reviews for Larson’s Gray Horses two years ago, but the story left me nonplussed. Chiggers makes up it. There is some of Gray Horses’ whimsy in the mysterious sparks Shasta seems to attract, but the main focus is Abby’s struggle to navigate the treacherous waters of adolescent society and find happiness in herself. Recommended for middle school on up.

You can read a preview of Chiggers online at New York Magazine and an interview with Hope Larson at Comic Book Resources.

So, I lied. The weather was so beautiful this past weekend, I was able to spend another afternoon on the beach, reading and writing.

This time, my book was Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, or, The Search for a Suitable Princess, by Laurel Snyder. In this semi-fantasy, a milkmaid named Lucy leaves her tiny kingdom of Thistle, hiking into the Scratchy Mountains in search of her absent mother, with only a cow for company. But her best friend Wynston, who's prince of Thistle and is not interested in meeting princesses to marry, isn't far behind. Separately and together, Lucy and Wynston have a number of adventures until everything, as they say, comes out in the wash.

The book is light-hearted, with a timeless feel. There's plenty of humor and tension, but even the darkest moments are not too dark for most young children. It's a story that would appeal to boys as well as girls. I'll be suggesting Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains to families who want a nighttime read-aloud for ages 6 to 10ish.

Catch fun interviews with Laurel Snyder at Big A little a and The Longstockings.

What I liked most about Up and Down the Scratchy Mountains, actually, was how much it reminded me of The Ordinary Princess, by M. M. Kaye. It was one of my favorite books when I was seven years old and, in fact, helped inspire me to be a writer (though I have never, as Kaye claims to have done, written a book in one sitting, alas). The Ordinary Princess is another light-hearted, timeless story, and it turns fairy tale tropes delightfully on their heads.

In general, I'm more of an anti-princess person. The Disney Princess marketing craze makes me barf in seven shades of pink. As a dad in the library commented to me, he doesn't mind his two-year-old daughter playing princess and requesting princess stories, it's the way princesses have become the face of consumerism.

Disney and traditional fairy tales aside, though, I think the most interesting princess stories are anti-princess stories—the stories where the princesses don't do what they're told and run off and get into lots of trouble. There are probably some good princess stories that deal with diplomacy and whatnot, but I—and probably most kids—would rather have magic and misbehavior.

Here are my favorite anti-princess princesses:

• Amy in The Ordinary Princess, by M. M. Kaye
  At Princess Amethyst's christening, an ornery fairy declares she will be ordinary. Amy grows up freckled, messy, and adventurous and, rather than pretend to be something she isn't for another stuffy prince, she runs away to begin a new life as kitchen help in the castle of a neighboring kingdom. Sweet, romantic, and gently humorous, this gem holds up read after read. Suggested for second grade and up.
• Eilonwy in the Prydain Chronicles, by Lloyd Alexander
  Eilonwy is a princess of the lost House of Llyr, and when we first meet her she's cooped up in the fortress of an evil enchantress. Feisty and bold, yet also sensitive and passionate, Eilonwy is never content to sit idly when there are quests to be gone on or battles to be fought. Like Princess Amy, she also moonlights as a scullery maid. Unlike Amy, she carries a huge sword, is a sorceress in training, and kicks serious a$$. Suggested for fourth grade and up.
• Aerin in The Hero and the Crown, by Robin McKinley
  Speaking of kicking a$$, how about the chip-on-her-shoulder princess who's sick of being the royal family's magical dud and decides to become a dragon-slayer? Aerin has got to be one of the most infuriatingly bullheaded characters in literature, to the point of doing a lot of really stupid, dangerous things—and you can't help but love her for it. I love this book more every time I read it. Suggested for seventh grade and up.
• Anidori in The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale
  After her journey to marry the prince of a neighboring kingdom goes horribly awry, Ani's left with nothing—no possessions, no entourage, not even her name. Don't call her powerless, though. Playing the part of a lowly goose girl, Ani demonstrates true strength as she works to reveal the treachery wrought against both kingdoms. Goose Girl has several fun parallels to The Ordinary Princess, actually, but I don't want to spoil them. Suggested for sixth grade and up.

It occurred to me while writing this how many princess stories ultimately revolve around marriage. A princess doesn't want to marry so-and-so, so she runs away. Or a princess meets her true love, but he's not a prince... or maybe he's a prince in disguise? Etc. So very heteronormative, that royal obsession with heirs. Is there a YA princess book out there in which the princess falls for another princess? If not, it's dying to be written.

Who are your favorite storybook princesses?

My last beach read of the summer (not as long ago as it seems in this October drizzle) was Stranded in Harmony, by Barbara Shoup. I've had it since meeting Barbara at the first Kidlitosphere Conference, and the right time to read it finally came around.

Barbara (who also blogs) has been getting a fair amount of attention in the kidlitosphere lately. This year has seen the release of her YA novel Everything You Want (my thoughts here) and the reissue of her 1994 award-winner Wish You Were Here. It's much-deserved attention, I should say. Barbara writes interesting characters with authentic voices. She draws compelling stories out of everyday circumstances. Stranded in Harmony is no different.

High school senior Lucas has no reason to be unhappy. He's captain of the football team, has a family business to step into after college, and has a loving family, best friend, and girlfriend. Yet Lucas feels trapped in his small Indiana town. Is he being lulled into complacency? He idealizes and longs for the turmoil of the 1960s, when people stepped out of their comfort zones to stand up for their beliefs and fight for change.

When Allie Bowen—a woman who was herself a protester in the 1960s—moves to town, Lucas feels as if he's finally met a kindred spirit. A hero, even. But Allie's got some dark secrets to go with her glamorous past.

I found Lucas a highly sympathetic character. He might have come off as spoiled—lucky to have such middle class problems. But his problems are universal. Who hasn't, at times, wanted to branch off and reinvent themselves completely—yet been too comfortable with the status quo to do so? Who hasn't had moments when life ought to feel perfect—yet it doesn't? Like Emma, the lotto winner in Everything You Want, Lucas finds that having "everything" isn't always enough.

Stranded in Harmony also got me to watch Meatballs, Bill Murray's first feature film, for the first time. A really fun movie, especially if you went to summer camp as a kid.

Girl, Hero, by Carrie Jones (Flux, 2008)
When it comes to men, 14-year-old Liliana's surrounded by losers: her seemingly clueless biological father, her sister's abusive husband, an uncle who can't keep his hands to himself, and her mother's sleazy, live-in lover. With Liliana's beloved stepfather dead, the closest thing in her life to a hero is John Wayne. Liliana's seen his movies so many times that she's memorized every tough line he's got—but will it be enough to save herself and the people she loves?

While I enjoyed Jones' debut Tips on Having a Gay (Ex) Boyfriend, I felt Girl, Hero was stronger in every respect: characters, plotting, style. The prose is tight, the characters realistic and well-rounded, the situations painfully serious yet never devoid of hope. I loved Liliana, with her tough exterior, compassion for others, and refusal to dissolve in self-pity. The John Wayne motif unifies the story without becoming overbearing or distracting. Highly recommended for junior high on up.

Also (and more extensively) reviewed by Charlotte's Library.

A la Carte, by Tanita S. Davis (Knopf, 2008)
Lainey dreams of being a TV chef like her hero, (Saint) Julia Child. Unfortunately, while her cooking's great, the rest of her life is sort of the pits. Her on/off friend/crush Simeon is threatening to leave town and wants Laine to cover for him. Can Lainey help the boy she loves without losing her mother's trust and her self-respect?

It's a good story for (again) junior high and up, but any foodie will agree that the best part of A la Carte is the descriptions of Lainey's favorite recipes. Davis (whom Kidlitosphere readers know better as TadMack) writes mouth-watering play-by-plays as Laine finds comfort in creative cooking. As a bonus, each chapter break contains a recipe for one of Laine's easy vegetarian favorites.

I was having a gingerbread craving the other week, so of course I latched onto the recipe for Ma Dea's Gingerbread. Two thumbs up. I used the low-fat variation, the cayenne pepper substitution, sugar reduction, and crystallized ginger. No pan size was listed, so I used a 9x9", which worked nicely. The outcome was a rich, moist, red-brown cake, spicy and just the right level of sweetness. Yum! I'll have to try it again when I have fresh ginger.

Check out Jama Rattigan's interview with Tanita Davis!
Also (and more extensively) reviewed by Cheryl Rainfield.

What if you've met the guy of your dreams, but he died 50 years ago? The teen boy who narrates Vintage: A Ghost Story, by Steve Berman (Lethe, 2008), has recently moved into his aunt's New Jersey home, having been thrown out by his parents for being gay. Walking home along Route 47 one night, he encounters a handsome boy wearing a vintage 1950s letter jacket—a ghost of local fame. What's truly remarkable is the ghost notices him back—and follows him home! Our hero, painfully unused to romantic attention, is so flattered and infatuated he doesn't realize how much danger he's in...

When I started reading, I was worried this would be one of those ghost stories in which it takes the characters half the book to realize the ghost is a ghost (e.g., Deep and Dark and Dangerous, by Mary Downing Hahn). Not so here. The narrator's friend Trace recognizes the ghost's description at once, and the friends begin researching the ghost's history. Meanwhile, our hero becomes gradually aware that he's attracted the attention/affection of an actual flesh-and-blood boy, too. There are occasional horror-y bits, more creepy than gory, but the romantic and mysterious elements win the day. I also found the sensitive narrator likable and highly relatable in his fear that none of his peers could ever love him.

Warning for people who care to be warned, whether for themselves or "for the sake of the children": there's some sexual encounters and recreational drug use. Nothing a high schooler couldn't handle.

Any disappointment in Vintage can be attributed to its having been published by Lethe, a small house founded by the author. It's an enjoyable, well-told story that deserves wider distribution and readership. I could easily see it having come from a more established publisher, where it would have benefitted from stronger style editing and copy-editing, not to mention (and here the book snob in me comes out) a greater air of legitimacy. Actually, one more gripe: do you know how hard it is for me to write a book blurb when the main character has no name?

All in all, though, Vintage was a page-turner that left a smile on my face. And I won't get tired of seeing more good, teen books with "incidentally" gay protagonists any time soon.

ETA, 9/10/08:
As Steve Berman reminded me in the comments, Vintage was actually short-listed for the 2007 Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy, presented by the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (which also presents the prestigious Nebula Awards). So, big congratulations to Steve Berman and Vintage for the honorable mention!

Unquestionably, the 2008 book I anticipated most was Flora's Dare: How a Girl of Spirit Gambles All to Expand her Vocabulary, Confront a Bouncing Boy Terror, and Try to Save Califa from a Shaky Doom (Despite Being Confined to Her Room), by Ysabeau S. Wilce (Harcourt, 2008). Or Flora's Dare, for short.

Its predecessor, Flora Segunda, was one of my favorite books of 2007. The twisting and turning plot, the unique yet distinctly American fantasy world, the original fantasy elements, the well-rounded characters, and dry humor made it a pleasure from beginning to end. Flora's Dare meets the high standard set by the first volume.

Three months after the events of Flora Segunda, the nation of Califa is facing great unrest, both political and in the form of earthquakes that threaten to destroy all. When Flora learns the earthquakes may be caused by the Loliga, a powerful elemental trapped in the form of a squid underneath the city, she knows she must seek the aid of Califa's most powerful adept, Lord Axacaya, though her parents insist he is not to be trusted. Meanwhile, Flora's perfect older sister has deserted the army and her best friend Udo has gone silly over a goth girl and the prospect of making his fortune bounty hunting. As always, Flora asks herself: what would her idol, the great magickal ranger Nini Mo, do?

In addition to the things I loved about Flora Segunda, these were some things that stuck out to me while reading Flora's Dare:

• Flora is no Mary Sue. When she tries a spell beyond her ability, she gets burned (sometimes literally). Things never go right the first time—or, often, the second or third time. It's sometimes frustrating to read, because you want to see Flora succeed. But it's great because at each failure, Flora tries again; like a good ranger, she never gives up.
• Wilce keeps the surprises coming, but each reveal gives you the sense of, "Ahhh! I see!" rather than "Where did that come from?"
• It's clear by the end that there's at least one more Flora book coming, but you don't feel that way while reading it. In other words, this is not a Book Two that feels like nothing more than a build-up to Book Three. (Meanwhile, I think readers could read Flora's Dare without having read Flora Segunda first, but so much world-building takes place in the first book, I don't think you'd want to.)
• There is what I believe to be a thinly veiled reference to This Is Spinal Tap on page 70.

Flora's Dare is darker than Flora Segunda. There's more violence and death, and there are some tense moments when sexual assault is threatened (but never carried out). Still, I don't think it's anything that anyone but gentle readers couldn't handle. I highly recommend it for readers interested in adventure and/or fantasy and/or just something a little different, junior high age through adult.

And now, of course, I can't wait for volume three.

(Don't miss this fun interview with Ysabeau Wilce, conducted by Little Willow last year!)

Who says a beach read has to be trashy? No such thing, say I! I spent Sunday afternoon at Lake Michigan and, since the water was closed due to bad rip currents, lay on the beach reading Love & Lies: Marisol's Story, Ellen Wittlinger's latest.

If you've read Wittlinger's Printz Honor-winning Hard Love, you've met zine writer Marisol Guzman. If not, you're about to. Marisol is eighteen years old, smart, gutsy, and gay, and she doesn't care who knows it. She's taking a gap year in Cambridge, Mass, to (mostly) make her own way in the world while writing her first novel.

When she shows up for Day One of her novel-writing course, two surprises await her. First, old friend Gio/John, who had a horrible crush on her last year, is in the class. (Awkward...) Second, the teacher, Olivia Frost, is drop-dead gorgeous, overflows with writerly wisdom, and thinks Marisol is a real talent! And that crush Marisol has on her just might be requited...

Thrilled to be in her first real relationship, Marisol can't see what her friends—and the book's readers—do almost immediately: that Olivia is not the gem Marisol thinks she is. It's wrenching to see the usually confident (possibly a little conceited) Marisol crumble under Olivia's manipulative thumb, and more than one relationship will be destroyed before things look up. But Wittlinger's well-developed characters and realism delve neither into melodrama nor easy solutions. It's good, solid writing in a good, solid story.

If you've read other books by Ellen Wittlinger, you won't have escaped the references to various folk musicians (e.g., Dar Williams) her characters love. In Love & Lies, it's Girlyman that gets the nod on page 80, which tickled me to no end for reasons explained here.

Love & Lies was reviewed (more spoilerifically) at Big A little a and Worth the Trip. Wittlinger was also recently interviewed by the Class of 2K8 about her experience as a Printz Honor winner.

Now, to go back and reread Hard Love...

I've read quite a few very good books the past couple months, but I'd feel silly reviewing them here. These days, I choose the vast majority of my books based on blog recommendations—i.e., books that have probably been reviewed multiple times on various widely read blogs. I feel like I'd just be saying, "Ditto, ditto, ditto."

Well, here is a post to do just that. Some of my favorite reads from the past couple months. Links to other people's reviews. And me saying, "Yeah, uh huh, yeah."

Little Brother, by Cory Doctorow
"While the price of security and freedom is high, it is never too high." But what about when the price of security is freedom? In this frighteningly plausible tale of homeland security v. personal freedom, teenager Marcus, after being detained in a secret prison for suspected terrorism, starts a freedom-fighting movement among his fellow teens in San Francisco, taking advantage of the Internet's culture and (if you do it right) anonymity. But can a bunch of kids really take on the U.S. government and win? Words of wisdom: "Don't trust anyone over 25."

Reviewed by every blogger and her cousin, including...

• Confessions of a Bibliovore
• Jen Robinson's Book Page
• The Reading Zone

The Shape of Water, by Anne Spollen
Andrew Karre mentioned this one in the comments to my post about teen books dealing with depression, and then it snagged a starred review from Kirkus (no mean feat), officially putting it on my radar. That was all I knew going into it, so I wasn't sure what to expect. And even if I'd been told what to expect, I don't think it would have prepared me for what I found. To say that this book is about grief and moving beyond grief isn't sufficient. It took me by surprise with its strangeness and beauty and glimpses of humor amid the darkness.

Reviewed more coherently at:

• Confessions of a Bibliovore

Set in Stone, by Linda Newbery
Actually, having searched Google Reader, I'm not sure where I got the rec for this one, but this was another book that swept me away. Though a challenging read due to its formal early 1900s language, it manages to be quite the page-turner! Fresh university graduate Samuel Godwin arrives at the Four Winds to tutor the estate's two teenage girls in art, where he soon senses that all is not as it seems. Meanwhile, the girls' young governess, Charlotte Agnew, is reluctantly reaching similar conclusions. What lurid secret drove away the last art tutor and last governess in quick succession? Did it have anything to do with the girls' mother's tragic death? I know I said I'm something of a callous soul when it comes to crying over books, but the beauty and power of this book brought tears to my eyes in the closing pages.

Unfortunately, every review I've seen of Set in Stone contains spoilers I wish I'd missed, so as to better enjoy the mystery. But if you want to know what you're getting into, it was reviewed at:

• Big A little a

Twelve Long Months, by Brian Malloy
Unrequited love is a familiar theme in coming-of-age novels, but it never feels stale in this book. Molly has left small-town Minnesota for Columbia University; as it happens, Mark, the object of her affection, is headed the same way to work for his uncle's painting business. Mark, Molly learns before completely humiliating herself, is gay. If it only it were that easy to shut off her feelings for him! Malloy avoids stereotypes, cliches, and the Hollywood version of college, and the last lines are so perfect for the story I have to share them: "I guess you could call this a love story. Not the one I wanted or imagined, but a love story, all the same."

Falling into the recent discussion of class in YA lit, Molly comes from a family without much money, her parents did not go to college, she attends Columbia on a full scholarship, and she often has to let her more affluent friends pay for their nights out. In turn, Molly has more money than Mark, who supports himself working in a drugstore, and when she returns to Minnesota views the town's low to low-middle income circumstances with fresh eyes.

More extensively reviewed at:

• Worth the Trip
• YA New York

Black Rabbit Summer, by Kevin Brooks
I tore through this loosely (but never shlockily) written, somewhat psychedelic thriller at breakneck pace. Pete, his sensitive but socially-off friend Raymond, and several other old friends meet up for a drink and a night at the carnival. Cue the off-key carousel music and scary clowns! By the end of the night, Raymond has disappeared—and so has the town's pop starlet. When the police and media focus all the attention on saving her case, treating Raymond only as a suspect, Pete delves into an investigation of his own. The book reads like a cross between Donnie Darko and Brick would watch: dark, violent, weird, yet thoughtful.

Reviewed at:

Worth the Trip

Everything You Want, by Barbara Shoup
So often we see money as the great problem solver. But after Emma's family wins a lotto jackpot, Emma begins to wonder if it actually creates more problems than it solves. We all know the truisms "the best things in life aren't things" and "money can't buy me love", etc., but this book never becomes a morality play (or the Beverly Hillbillies). It's about each character searching out what they truly want in spite of—rather than because of—the new money in their lives. For Emma, a college freshman who's never dated (her closest experience hither-to resulted in her getting punched in the face), it's about groping her way into the future and, she hopes, finding love along the way—universal themes in spite of extraordinary circumstances. Also, did I mention that much of the dialogue is downright hilarious?

Reviewed at:

• Bookshelves of Doom

No Cream Puffs, by Karen Day
In the year 1980, Maddie will be the first girl to play baseball in her town's middle school league. Problem is, she doesn't want to be a celebrity or viewed as a trailblazer; she just wants to play ball (and hopefully attract the attention of cute teammate Tommy). This is a gently humorous upper-middle-grade novel dealing with typical family, friendship, and crush concerns in the context of sports. Its execution, with fine writing and well-rounded characters, is what makes it stand out.

My only quibble worth mentioning was the use of "feminist" as a dirty word. I understand that Maddie doesn't view herself as a feminist, but I wish a knowledgeable adult (Mom, maybe?) could have explained that yes, actually, she is—that feminism doesn't mean bra-burning or man-hating but, y'know, pursuing your dreams on the assumption that your gender shouldn't matter to the world at large. There's too many people in 2008 who still don't understand that. Can we please set the next generation straight?

Reviewed at:

• Jen Robinson's Book Page

This slim and pretty volume showed up on our new book cart this morning. It's pretty on the inside, too! John Frank opens the world's junk drawers—the seashore, the attic, the flea market—and presents a poetic ode on each treasure he finds. The verses, written in formal rhyme and meter, are as spare, simple, and lovely as the items he considers.

In "Low Tide", the volume's opening verse, "...shells like broken lockets / Lie scattered on the sandy shore / Where the ocean empties its pockets." An abalone shell is "a melted rainbow cupped in pearl."

I enjoyed "A Trunk of Clothes," in which a child pawing through the attic discovers, initially disdains, and eventually delights in fashions of a bygone era:

Did people actually wear this stuff?
I ask myself as I pull out
a two-tone shoe, a fur-trimmed muff,

a hat that's so old fashioned
you would not be caught dead dressed in it...
but then, I glance behind me,
and...I wonder if...it just might fit.

Each poem is accompanied by a photograph by Ken Robbins. Some of them are sharp and detailed, but others appear to have been blown up too far, then blurred in Photoshop.

Overall, it's a tidy collection, particularly refreshing in its notion that poetry for kids doesn't have to be all wacky, all the time.

Find this week's Poetry Friday round-up at A Year of Reading!