The Returning by Christine Hinwood (2011)

Why me? Cam would ask him, Lord Ryuu’s son. Why? It may be the answer was what he had been seeking.
And so he left them, the safety, the prison of family and friend and village. Through Castle Cross he rode on and on, north and away. And that was it–was everything and more and enough. For now (p 88).

In this serenely paced debut novel, Hinwood examines the effects of war on a community. Cam was the sole survivor from his small Downlander town of Kayforl after their loss in the war against the invading Uplanders. He returns without an arm to a community that wants answers for the deaths of its other members. Unwilling to relive the war or explain his return, Cam faces suspicion. At home, his father’s unwillingness to assign Cam work makes him feel a prisoner. He leaves for the North, for answers as to why the Lord’s son, Gyaar, spared his life.

Chapters follow different characters from Cam’s town and from the capital where the victors reside. The edges of these vignettes overlap and make a whole at the end. The plot is nuanced and the interactions are loaded with subtle glimpses into the truth of these people and their lives…

But I found myself very uninterested. The book was well done, I believe it accomplished what it set out to do, it just wasn’t a story I was interested in as a whole. Some of the storylines were more interesting than others but I didn’t feel wholly satisfied with any of them. I enjoyed the writing and the pace, I just didn’t connect strongly with the story or the individual characters to feel invested.

There is a good review from Kirkus that explains much of what is excellent about this novel. Other reviews: A Chair, A Fireplace and a Tea Cozy, Publishers Weekly, SFWP, Chachic’s Book Nook and Persnickety Snark.

Please Ignore Vera Dietz by A.S. King (2010)

Let me tell you – if you think your best friend dying is a bitch, try your best friend dying after he screws you over. It a bitch like no other (p 7).

Vera knows what really happened the night Charlie Khan died. He didn’t kill all those animals, though everyone assumes he did. He wasn’t a bad kid. She knows his father beat his mother and bullied him. She knows he had the spirit of the Great Hunter. After all, she was in love with him.

But that was before he ditched her for Jenny Flick and the Detentionhead crowd. From their youth, the two played together, grew together, protected and supported each other.

Then, during their junior year in High School, Jenny Flick inserted herself into Charlie’s life. Vera never understands why he abandons her for Jenny and her loser friends. But after Charlie acts cruelly toward her, she no longer cares. A few months later, Charlie’s dead.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Vera Dietz has many quality points. It is told from several different perspectives: Charlie’s (aka the dead kid), Ken Dietz (Vera’s dad), even the town’s make out point, the Pagoda. Mostly, it’s told from Vera’s perspective, alternating between the present and ’history.’ Each voice is unique and genuine. Each contributes to the story.

This is not just a story about Vera and Charlie, about friendship and the hope of romance, but it is also a story about family, community and loss. There’s an element of bullying. Vera hallucinated under the weight of her kept knowledge. She turns to alcohol for relief, and this is handled well and honestly.  

But there’s also some room to trim. Vera begins to drag just before the conclusion and I became a little impatient for things to wrap up. It gets a little repetitive. It just needed a little more editing.

While Vera is a very good book, I didn’t love it. It isn’t as divisive as Nothing nor as unique a plot as Stolen (whose language I often found beautiful). It lacks the economy of text that defines Revolver. (These are the other 2011 Printz honor books.)

But it is darkly humorous and the characterization is excellent. The narration, while it jumps perspective and time, is seemless, a huge feat in itself.

I certainly struggled alongside Vera and, especially her father. I felt a good deal of sympathy for him and I hated him for his weakness. I raged at their enemies, Jenny Flick and Mr. Kahn, and pitied Charlie.

However, the inclusion of Vera’s vocab class words is a technique I’ve seen used by other authors and it just didn’t resonate with me. It seemed… lazy. I would have just had Vera use the words, like parsimonious to describe her dad, rather than tying it to her lessons, as if she was just discovering the words to describe her dad at age 17. On top of all the Zen comments (Which Zen guy said, “If you want to drown, do not torture yourself with shallow water”? p 22) it was a little much. Oh well.

Of course, I still highly recommend this as a great read for older teens. Read other excellent (and more in depth) reviews at: The Book Smugglers, A Chair, a Fireplace and a Tea Cozy, and Reading Rants.

If you enjoy this, I’d also recommend:

Nothing by Janne Teller (2010)

“It’s  all a waste of time,” he yelled one day. “Everything begins only to end. The moment you were born you begin to die. That’s how it is with everything” (p 8).

On the first day of seventh grade, Pierre Anthon stands up in class, declares nothing means anything, leaves and climbs a plum tree. From his perch,  he pelts passing students with plums and taunts them, belittles them. Irritated, the seventh grade class meets and decides them must get Pierre out of the plum tree.

So they throw rocks at him. They injure him. But a couple days later, he’s back in the tree, disheartening them with his words.

“Even if you learn something and think you’re good at it, there’ll always be someone who’s better” ( 27).

Enraged, the students meet again but decide to persuade Pierre things have meaning by creating a Heap of Meaning, a pile of items that have meaning to them, and then to show it to Pierre. In an abandoned saw mill, the heap begins with innocent enough items: a pair of sandals, magazines, etc.  But as the children go about deciding what another must contribute to the heap, things turn vindictive and the situation quickly escalates.

Agnes, sore at being forced to contribute her new sandals, demands Gerda’s hamster. Then it’s a student’s deceased baby brother, a girl’s innocence, the church’s statue of Jesus, and finally, a boy’s finger. Eventually, the police get involved. The kid’s contact the press. Eventually, the Heap of Meaning is sold to a museum. But Pierre refuses to see it. He laughs at their attempt to find meaning.

Then Sofie, the girl whose innocence was demanded at the alter of Meaning, loses it. Pierre shows up for that, ridicules them, and is attacked by all of them, beaten and killed. The kids burn the Heap rather than see it sold. The police blame Pierre. Case closed.

Now, how is Nothing like The Lord of the Flies? The students, when free of governance, act cruelly, just as most of the boys on Golding’s deserted island act. But what is Teller saying about our individual natures, about how we deal with existentialism, the overwhelming universe and our place in it? What is she saying about how we confront abnormalities?

What I found most disturbing about this book was not Pierre’s nothingness, nor even the more horrific contributions to the Heap of Meaning, but the absence of a single firm dissenting voice. While some students display shock at some requests (taking the Jesus statue is sacrilegious!) none of them refuses to participate. Not one goes to the authorities on behalf of their fellow student.

No one sees any other way of silencing Pierre, not through reason (clearly, Pierre is not living his philosophy) nor through apathy (meaning doesn’t come from without, why care at all about Pierre? Let him have his perspective). Instead of recognizing Pierre’s psychosis, the kids descend into depravity. Instead of discussing why Pierre’s nothingness is so upsetting, the kids just decide to correct him, through any means possible. They end up failing to convince themselves. If Anges (narrating six years later) is anything to judge by, all these people need to seek therapists.

(Their aggression is similar to the townsfolk’s in Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery. They may be scared or terrified at the prospect of the tide turning against themselves, but given the chance, they’ll throw a rock at another.)

Separately, as a reader, the whole scenario had me skeptical. That a child could sit in a tree for any length of time is rather unbelievable. His body has needs, and sitting in a tree for more than a few minutes is quite uncomfortable (yes, I’ve tried). That his parents or school officials would allow his absence from school/life is a stretch. That not a single adult witnesses his psychotic behavior… well, I found it all a stretch. But, ignoring all that…

Nothing is clearly meant to challenge its readers. It’s minimalist style was effective. A Printz honor seems a bit of a stretch… but oh well.

In the end, I felt incredibly sad for Anges, our narrator, and Sophie and the rest of this really stupid class of kids (there’s one in every school!). Also, a little angry at the parents in this novel, some of whom are abusive, negligent or otherwise completely disconnected from their child’s lives. Though Agnes is an unreliable narrator, the adults certainly seem partly to blame here. They definitely failed to come to the rescue.

Other reviews at: Book Envy, Opps… Wrong Cookie, The Ya Ya Yas, Ms. Yingling Reads, and A Chair, a Fireplace and a Tea Cozy.

Revolver by Marcus Sedgwick (2010)

His head, when he removed his fur hat, was shaven to his scalp. His skull was disturbing shape, flat at the back, his ears too small. It was not a face stroked into creation by God’s loving hand, but battered into shape by the Devil’s hammer (p 34).

It is a frigid evening in 1910 when fourteen-year-old Sid  discovers his father’s frozen body on the Arctic ice. Sid is baffled by his Einar’s death. After all, it was Einar who warned Sid not to take the shorter, more dangerous route across the ice. So why was his father in such a hurry that he recklessly approached home over weak ice?

Sid’s older sister Anna, and their step-mother, Nadya, leave for the village to get help. Sid must stay with his father’s body. Then a man with a revolver appears at the door. Wolff wants something from Einar. Finding the man dead, he makes demands of Sid, demands Sid can’t possibly fulfill. And Sid has a revolver of his own.

As the story unfolds, we travel back ten years to Nome where Einar and Wolff meet. Theirs is a story of gold, greed, alliances and betrayal. For the last ten years Wolff has hunted for Einar. He will not let death cheat him of his prize.

Revolver is a dense story, tightly woven and sparse in its telling but perfectly told, like the Colt Einar admires so greatly. I know the folks at Oops… Wrong Cookie included Revolver in their mock Printz awards, but condemned the epilogue. Personally,  I could’ve done without it (I admit, I loved the image of Wolff trapped in the snow and Sid’s parting words)  but I did want to know how Einar had cheated the gold miners and where he hid the gold. Of course, not knowing would have only added to the tension I felt at finishing the book proper.

Revolver is a 2011 Printz Honor book. Also by Marcus Sedgwick: My Sword Hand is Singing.

Read other reviews: A Chair, a Fireplace and a Tea Cozy,  Oops… Wrong Cookie

 

Stolen by Lucy Christopher (2010)

You saw me before I saw you. In the airport, that day in August, you had that look in your eyes, as though you wanted something from me, as though you’d wanted it for a long time. No one has ever looked at me like that before, with that kind of intensity. It unsettled me, surprised me, I guess. Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me as if I could warm them up. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful, too (p 1).

Gemma is sixteen years old when she is approached, drugged and stolen from a Bangkok airport while on vacation with her parents. She is spirited away to the Australian outback by Ty, a handsome man nine years her senior.

Stolen is written in letter form by Gemma to Ty after her physical imprisonment is over. At the outset, Gemma is desperate to get away. Believing herself to be near some sort of civilization, she attempts to run away twice. Ty lets her because there is no place to go.

[SPOILER ALERT]

Her first attempt is on foot and short-lived. She climbs a tree and discovers:

There was nothing but sand and flatness and horizon. I used the branches to turn myself around, grazing my leg a little on the rock. But there were no buildings on the other side, no towns… not even a road. It looked the same on that side as it had looked near the house. Long, flat emptiness. I wanted to scream, probably the only reason I didn’t was because I was worried you would hear me. If I’d had a gun, I think I would have shot myself (p 66).

That night, she ends up bitterly cold and searching for a way through a fence Ty constructed. Only to be found and brought ‘home’ by Ty.

Ty then takes her on an outback expedition to catch a camel. He intends to use the camel’s natural immunity to snake venom to create an antibiotic, should they ever need one. All the while, Gemma hopes for rescue and remains alert for a chance to escape or signal help.

Her second attempt at escape involves the manual transition car Ty used to bring her to his house. Ty, thinking Gemma could not possibly drive it, surrenders the key, in hopes of convincing her that escape is futile. She fares better than he expected and gets away. But miles later, the car gets stuck, and Gemma proceeds on foot. As the heat and dehydration wear her down, and she is once again ‘rescued’ by Ty.

There is a changing point in the novel. It involves Ty’s artistic sensibilities, the vulnerability he exhibits (read: manipulation), and the gentle manner her treats Gemma with (when he’s not allowing her to be torn apart by the brutal environment). I like to think it also involves Gemma’s prolonged isolation with only Ty to converse with and the painful, weakening damage her body sustains during her abduction and her attempts to escape.  

But Gemma’s attitude toward Ty changes. She begins to understand him, making it harder for her to hate him. She goes so far as to feel tenderly for him. But her captivity ends before anything changes in their physical relationship.

I believe LizB is absolutely right when she writes, “part of what makes this book Award worthy is the discussions that will result.” I’ve seen varied reviews (some linked to below) and none of them fully encompass how I felt about the book.

For example, the setting and language are beautiful, complimenting each other in sparsity and hidden depths.

Yet the characterization… While Gemma resonates with me, Ty does not. Ty is described by some as humane (because he doesn’t rape her – what an odd distinction) but he was nothing more than a monster to me, ever. That he is broken makes him no more pitiable than a monster like Voldemorte. His actions determine my empathy and I have none for him.

Some say the lack of physical abuse allowed the reader to develop Stockholm Syndrome along with Gemma. hum. I thought Ty was very physically abusive, from the moment he drugged her and tossed her into the trunk of his car to the times he let her wander off on an escape attempt. He bosses her around verbally, makes her paint him and enter his twisted art… all in stark contrast to the beauty he is attempting to capture. He is ugly.

He wore Gemma down physically so he could break her mind. That he didn’t use his fist or his penis to do it is irrelevant.

For example, even as he promises to release Gemma to civilization after 4 months should she choose to go, he forebodes, “I can never let you go (p 235).”

I can understand how Gemma transforms her feelings. She is trusting, impressionable and desolate. She is manipulated, mentally and physically. She was stalked and studied.

As a reader, I was removed from those feelings. Rather, I read in trembling anticipation, my breathing short and sharp. It was a painful, heart-breaking thing to watch Gemma succumb.

Read other reviews: Bookalicious, A Chair, a Fireplace and a Tea Cozy, Persnickety Snark, and Wondrous Reads.

Tales of the Madman Underground by John Barnes (2009)

Marti was going to be a Madman, all right. I wondered what happened at home: did they hit her? Nobody sober after noon? Fights? A head of coke on the coffee table? Bedroom visits from her mother’s creepy boyfriend? Wall-to-wall crosses and nonstop prayers? All of those were certainly possible, based on the other Madmen.

I didn’t ask. I’d know soon enough. One problem with an underground, you always know too much about what’s buried (p 134).

Kyle has a plan and it’s call Operation Be Fucking Normal. After Kyle’s father died during his eighth grade year, his mother went crazy: drinking, smoking and slutting it up. Kyle has played the parent, working several jobs to pay the bills, cleaning the house, and taking care of his alcoholic wanna-be hippie mother. Under all that stress, he was bound to crack. Now the kids call him Psycho Shoemaker.

He then received his ticket to group therapy at school with all the other messed up kids. The group became known as the Madmen Underground. Kyle and his best friend, Paul are long time members. And the madmen stick together.

This book follows 6 days in Kyle’s life in September 1973. It is a Printz Honor Award winner and deservedly so. Exceptional writing. Pitch perfect. Once I got into this book, I couldn’t put it down. Sure, there’s a lot of crazy going on, your heart will break, your spirits will lift and you’ll want more. John Barnes is a man I’d like to meet. He transported me to another time and a different life and I was so invested!

ADDED SEPTEMBER 22, 2010

I did meet John Barnes at ALA. He signed a copy of his book for me on the event floor and spoke at the Printz Award Reception. I think he was a little overwhelmed by it all but I was so delighted to hear he felt rejuvenated by the award. He was coming out of a 10 year slump, of sorts, but plans to write more! I haven’t read any of his adult fiction, but I intend to pick up Directive 51, his new adult sci-fi book.

Charles and Emma: The Darwin’s Leap of Faith by Deborah Heiligman (2009)

On the voyage, Charles had been vigorous and brave. He withstood horrible seasickness, weathered harsh conditions, witnessed a battle in Bahia Blanca, Argentina, and experienced an earthquake in Valvivia, Chile. … But now, back in London in 1838, he truly was scared. the thought of marriage and of Emma terrified him and gave him serious headaches. He knew she was religious, and he was consumed by the fear that his secret idea would go against her beliefs (p 47).

Charles and Emma is a lovely narrative examining the famous English Naturalist, Charles Darwin, against the backdrop of his relationship with his wife and cousin (it was common practice to marry first cousins at the time), Emma Darwin. Very readable, flowing text really introduced me to Darwin, the person. Reference to Jane Austin and Dickens helped me picture the place and time.

Charles and Emma was a 2010 National Book Award Finalist and a Printz Honor Award winner.

The Monstrumologist by Rick Yancy (2009)

I hopped from the cart. Before me were the gates, and beyond those was the hill with its row upon row of markers marching upward to the summit, which was hidden behind the boughs of mature oak and ash and poplar. Behind me, completely gripped by fog, lay New Jerusalem, its inhabitants slumbering in sweet oblivion. Little did they know and less could they suspect that upon that elevated lay of land, the island of the dead rising from the sea of gentle spring mist embracing the living, dwelled a waking nightmare against which all sleep-born nightmares paled in comparison (p 50).

With the Monsrumologist, Rick Yancy has created an atmosphere so terrifying it stiffens the reader, just as the gruesome Anthropophagi inspire bone-freezing fear in their victims. Yet Yancy strings those fears into a chaplet of beautiful horrors that will keep you turning the page, though your will trembles to do it.

Do not read this book at night. You will have nightmares. It is by far the scariest book I have read. It is also one of the most beautifully written YA books I have read. This is the sytle of writing I would give the Printz Award to… but it walked away with a Printz Honor Award so I must be satisfied.

If your nerve can handle it. If your imagination needs to be balanced… forget those wimpy lovey-dovey vampires and the illusion of ferocity. Yancy delivers the real man-eaters.

Punkzilla by Adam Rapp (2009)

One thing I know for sure is that someday I’m going to learn how to play the guitar and maybe start my own punk band. There will be four of us and we’ll be really skinny and pale and thrash around with kitchen-cleanser hair and we’ll have some crazy drummer with skin infections and jet fuel breath and leopard eyes and we’ll have a seven-foot-tall bassist with safety pins in his face and we won’t even have lyrics. We’ll just shout a lot and play with daggers in our teeth like legit blades and we’ll cut our tongues and our mouths will fill with blood and we’ll scare the shit out of people and change the face of music in like a NEW old way (p 51-52).

Punkzilla is told through letters Jamie (aka Punkzilla) writes and reads as he hitchhikes his way from Portland, OR to Memphis, TN to see his dying older brother, P. Jamie is a fourteen-year-old preadolescent androgynous boy (even his name is ambiguous), often mistaken for a girl. After going AWOL from military school, he lands in Portland. His mother, father (whom he calls the Major because of his military history and regime driven life), and younger brother, Edward, live in Cincinnati.

This place is really scary Mom. Not like horror movie scary the kind of scary where you think you might die because you don’t have what it takes. All the buildings are made out of stone and there’s this huge graveyard full of these things called class stones and my room overlooks it and I keep thinking I’m going to see the Headless Horseman galloping through with an axe or something. I know Dad is a military hero and Edward won all those physical-fitness badges and is an all-conference wrestler and can do that thing where you grab a poll and stick your legs out sideways but I don’t think I have the same intestinal fortitude or whatever that’s called (p 133).

Jamie’s stream-of-consciousness writing (No, I did not forget the commas in the above quote.) might present a new hurdle for teens but once settled in, the humor will carry you through on Hermes’ wings. Like The Spectacular Now, I wound up enjoying a story I didn’t originally like because of its charismatic narrator. The awful cover (that is supposed to be a Halloween mask on his head) doesn’t do it any favors but… oh well!

Punkzilla is a 2010 Printz Honor Award winner.

The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart

Witty, smart, mischievous, highly addictive and well written. Lockhart employs all the right narrative techniques, hooking the reader immediately and then taking her time in introducing Frankie. Things really pick up as Frankie is driven to further scheming and mayhem to prove… what? That she can be one of the good Old Boys. That she is better. And yet, when she finds it impossible, she must accept it.

There is an element of fight club in here and I believe this will also appeal to fans of John Green’s Looking for Alaska. Definitely a read of the high school and up audience. This has been one of the most enjoyable reads of the year. I’m only sorry it took me so long to get to it! A National Book Award Finalist and a 2009 Printz Honor Book.

Publisher: Hyperion Book CH (March 25, 2008)