YA or STFU

Lockhart, E., Sarah Mylnowski, and Lauren Myracle (2008). How to Be Bad. NY: Harper Teen. 321 pages.

Jesse and Vicks have been best friends for a long time; their differences--Vicks is brash while Jesse is shy and Vicks is agnostic while Jesse is Christian--likely contribute just as much to their occasional arguments as to their friendship. On the spur of the moment, the two girls decide to take Jesse's mother's car to Miami to visit Vicks' boyfriend, and are accompanied by a self-invited new girl who works at the Waffle House with Jesse and Vicks. Told in the alternating voices of all three girls--Jesse, Vicks and new-girl Mel--How to Be Bad reveals all each girl's rationale, escape, and occasional rule breaking.

This novel was OK and is likely to be enjoyed by fans of Lockhart's, Mylnowski's, and Myracle's. As one who is not a devotee of any of the authors (I think they're fine, but I'm not, like, stalking them or anything), I was less than bowled over by the book and thought that, if anything, How To suffered a bit for the number of cooks in the kitchen. When noted or popular authors team up to do the whole multiple voice corresponding narrative thing (e.g. Paula Danziger [R.I.P] and Ann M. Martin's P.S. Longer Letter Later and Snail Mail No More or Jane Yolen and Bruce Coville's Armageddon Summer), the whole situation can get kinda mixed up and turn into either an attempt to create a fictional persona that represents the real authors (a la Danziger and Martin) or it can result in truly correspondent voices. In the case of How To, it seemed like there was not enough distinction among narrative voices to really support the greater story. With the exception of new-girl Mel's use of "washroom" for "bathroom" (this character was supposed to be from Canada), I had to rely on the details of the narratives rather than the narrative voices to distinguish one character from the next.

Each character had a primary conflict to resolve (Jesse had just learned that her mother had breast cancer, Vicks was concerned that her long-distance boyfriend no longer loved her, and Mel was suffering from being a lonely new girl), and, by the end of the book, all were well on their way to potential solutions. The odd thing is, in spite of the book's titular claim that being a little bad might help out a bit, it wasn't really "badness" that inspired any of the girls. Sure, they took Jesse's mom's car without her knowledge and then the three girls meandered down the state of Florida (and hit a hurricane in the process) with no real plan, but it wasn't like they Learned Valuable Lessons while knocking over drugstores or anything. A little more The Legend of Billie Jean might have helped stir things up here.

Posted by Amy P. at 07:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) Posted to Contemporary Realism | Girly Books | Romance

Scott, Elizabeth (2008). Living Dead Girl. NY: Simon Pulse. 170 pages.

Alice is fifteen years old and has been imprisoned and abused by Ray since he kidnapped her during a class trip when she was ten. Manipulated physically and mentally until she becomes Ray's willing little girl, Alice knows that her inevitable growth and maturity--even as Ray tries to halt it by keeping her to a strict diet and waxing routine--will lead to her death. Ray has told her that there was another before Alice; this girl had been murdered at age fifteen. When Ray suggests that Alice can save her own life by helping Ray find a new little girl and that the three of them can live together, Alice sees this as her only opportunity to escape, if not literally, then at least from her role in Ray's family as "his" girl.

Told in spare and near-poetic prose, Scott's novel has been described as harrowing and horrific. Alice suffers terribly from sexual abuse; however, scenes of this abuse are included, they are not pruriently descriptive. Most shocking is probably Alice's willingness to participate in Ray's plan to find and "train" a new girl because then "she will get his love and I will hold her down to take it all because then there will be none for me" (Scott, 2008, 73).

The most obvious progenitors of this novel are Ouida Sebestyn's The Girl in the Box (1988) and Catherine Atkins' When Jeff Comes Home (1999). All three challenge two major children's literary tropes: that bad things happen to bad people and that good people can retain their essential goodness even under the most extreme and damaging circumstances. As the novel drew closer to its end, I wondered how it could possibly conclude; however, Scott's conclusion (not resolution) is one that is inevitable given Scott's realistic (and I'm talking literary realism here, not necessarily mimesis, though this might be a characteristic of the novel as well) agenda.

In spite of the fact that the next clause will probably brand me a major freak, I have to say: I enjoyed this book. This is not to say that I took pleasure in reading about the difficult circumstances of the character; however, it is to say that the narrative tension and the unendingly bleak voice of the narrator were stirringly affective. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from reading a taut and tension-filled novel, just as there is--and here's the freaky part--a certain satisfaction that comes from reading about something that, as Chris Crutcher writes in the copy on the novel's back jacket, "none of [the book's] readers will have . . . experienc[ed]." Additionally, there's a certain masochistic impulse that comes with reading a novel that blames its readers, in a way, for watching victimization and judging the way the audiences of the talk shows Alice watches judges victims like Alice: "You Should Have Done Something," the audiences crow in Alice's story.

Posted by Amy P. at 06:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) Posted to Contemporary Realism

Barnes, Derrick (2006). The Making of Dr. Truelove. NY: Simon Pulse. 240 pages.

This book starts off hott! In the first scene, sixteen-year-old Diego Montgomery is getting ready to have sex with his girlfriend Roxy. Both are stripped down to their undies and Diego's already busted one nut. Just as they're about to do the deed, Diego loses it in his pants and is humiliated. In spite of Roxy's assurances, Diego is embarrassed that he couldn't perform (or, AHEM, that he performed too soon), and stops taking her calls. When he finds out that Roxy is being pursued by a local high school basketball star headed for the NBA, Diego and his best friend J. concoct a plan to get Roxy back. Assuming the nom de plume "Dr. Truelove," Diego authors sex and love advice on an eponymous website. J.--a wealthy (and horny) pot-smoking hustler--promotes the site and soon the two boys are secret stars.

A number of plots kind of battle for attention in this novel: the first involves Diego and J.'s creation and promotion of the Dr. Truelove site, the second details Diego's struggle to win Roxy back. While both of these arcs are meant to play off of each other, more often than not they seemed like parallel stories. In the end, it's not really the Truelove site that works its magic on the would-be lovers, instead, it's like the fictional site becomes a sort of a comedic mouthpiece for the author and all the real action happens outside the web.

While some might argue that a popular novel with Black characters and some racy dialogue would automatically make it a piece of "urban" or "street" fiction, I think this novel (which meets all of the above criteria) is more of a sort of feminine romance than a piece of street writing. Folks who read the first chapter will definitely be mislead; the book doesn't get any sexier after that first incident. Which brings me to my primary critique: the novel starts off hot (and in a style reminiscent of street lit), but then it kind of turns into what School Library Journal called a Cyrano-like story with an emphasis on romance and relationship rather than physical intimacy. Oddly, the novel even seems to contradict itself when Diego hears that his romantic rival is planning on "hitting" Roxy and this news sends him into a moral tailspin. For all its promise of frankness (the intro. chapter, the promise of unedited Dr. Truelove advice), the novel ends up taking a kind of surprising platonic turn by its end.

Posted by Amy P. at 04:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) Posted to Contemporary Realism | Romance

Mechling, Laura (2008). Dream Girl. NY: Delacorte. 320 pages.

Fifteen-year-old Claire Voyante has always had visions; however, in spite of her romantic wishes, these moments of clairvoyance have never really lead her to adventure. When her grandmother gives Claire a cameo necklace for her birthday, she promises that the heirloom jewelry will help Claire to focus her abilities. Unfortunately, Claire has issues greater than her burgeoning psychic powers to think about: she will be starting her freshman year at a new and highly competitive school where she will know no one but her former best friend and bitchy neighbor. After spending a couple of lunch hours in the bathroom, Claire finally makes a friend, a mysterious and stylish girl named Becca. Becca and Claire become BFFs; however, Claire's visions (strengthened by the cameo) seem to predict a dire future for Becca's family.

Mechling is one half of the author team responsible for the "10th Grade Social Climber" books, but don't let this literary history fool you. Dream Girl walks the line between popular and quirky in an endearing and definitely un-cynical way. Sure there are the obligatory references to New York upper class culture (Claire's grandmother is an aging socialite and Becca's family are catsup magnates); however, these descriptions seem less aspirational and more colorful, probably because the protagonist is not a "social climber" herself. Other fans of the series will probably skewer me, but I thought Dream Girl felt a lot like a softer, fluffier "Kiki Strike" book. Populated with likable, unconventional characters (many of whom reminded me of the cast of Meg Cabot's first "Princess Diaries" book--before the series took off and everyone became sort of cartoons of themselves) and colored by mystery, romance and even a little parapsychology, this book was a fun read.

Posted by Amy P. at 03:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) Posted to Fantasy | Girly Books | Mystery

Tashijan, Janet (2008). Larry and the Meaning of Life. NY: Henry Holt. 224 pages.

This is the third book in Tashijan's series of novels about "Larry," an eighteen-year-old named Josh who started a popular anti-consumerist blog and was "outed" as a kid (The Gospel According to Larry), who ran for president (Larry for President) and is now in something of a slump. Poised to attend Princeton and to begin his "real" life, Larry has returned to his Boston home and is living rather restlessly with his stepfather. His best friend Beth has already started school in Providence, RI, and Larry is feeling lonely and out of sorts. When he meets Gus, a guru who persuades him to "study" the meaning of life with a group of assorted hippies, Larry is eager to participate (even more so when he discovers his ex-girlfriend is part of the group of hippies); however, he soon begins to wonder if the whole group is a sham or a cover-up for more nefarious activity.

As with the other "Larry" books, this novel features a quick-thinking narrator and unobtrusive footnotes (it's really easy to overdo the things, and Tashijan uses them sparingly but appropriately). As the novel spirals into sort of a mystery, it becomes hard to tell what's "real" and what's not, especially since one of the goals of Larry's guru is to challenge his students' conceptions of reality. The ending comes as something of a surprise and is, in actuality, two endings. The first is a farce (and one totally appropriate to the book's greater theme) and the second is a surprise (or it was to me).

While I'm a big fan of the Larry books, I sometimes resent the character's preachiness and--even more--resent the critical and professional assumption that the character is a youth mouthpiece. It's a book of fiction, folks. Yes, a lot of what Larry talks about aligns with left-leaning ideology and that's cool and all, but the books are not instruction manuals and we can neither assume that young readers will interpret them as such nor evaluate them favorably based on this potential (e.g. This book is good because it makes kids . . . ). Geesh! I found this one to be the hardest to read because so much of its deliberate obfuscation was in service of its ending. In this way, the book was surprisingly and sophisticatedly meta. Knowing that makes me want to read it again.

Posted by Amy P. at 06:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) Posted to Contemporary Realism

Wallington, Aury (2006). Pop. NY: Razorbill. 288 pages.

I found this slightly older title when I was looking around for "sexy" YA fiction and prepping for an upcoming talk about the same topic. Though it was recommended as a sensual read in at least one professional (library science) article, I was disappointed that it didn't go farther with description. That said, it wasn't a bad book, and it moved quickly and in slightly unexpected directions.

High school senior Marit has had a number of boyfriends; however, when things start to get serious, she tends to freak and break up with the guys. Her best friends Caroline and Jamie suggest that Marit has a problem with intimacy and advise her to get over it by just having sex already. When Marit's sister suggests that what the virgin needs is a "friend with benefits" to "break her in," Marit decides that Jamie is the perfect choice. Although he is hesitant at first, Jamie finally agrees to have sex with Marit, and the two practice doing the deed. At first, the experience is not totally satisfying; Marit doesn't ever have an orgasm and Jamie has some staying trouble. Finally, after confessing her lack of satisfaction to Jamie, Marit finally comes. Meanwhile, Marit's starting to crush on a new guy at school and she begins to worry that Jamie is developing feelings for her.

As far as pro-sex feminism goes, this book has got it. Kind of. Sure, there's a knowing older sister who gives Marit tacit approval to masturbate (and even provides an instructional text) and supplies her younger sister with condoms and sexy music, plus, there's a pregnant girl at school who serves as a cautionary symbol. In all, the book grants its main character an uncommon (in most YA lit, anyway) agency as far as taking control of her sexual experience, safety, and pleasure go.

That said, Marit's excuse for seeking out sexual experience rings kind of false: her primary goals for her senior year involve getting a boyfriend and going to prom. Because getting over the whole fear of intimacy thing is part of making her wishes come true, the sex becomes sort of this burden to shed. And yes, I know that virginity is often perceived as a burden and, God knows, you got to get a lot of "practice" in before you're having the mind-blowing sex of the Cosmo variety. But, at the same time, it seems like the book's emphasis on intercourse is sort of at cross-purposes with its supposedly liberating message. You probably know what I'm going to say next: I wish the book had been more explicit and more varied in its definition of sexual practice. Where is the frottage? Whither oral sex?

Ok, I know that a YA book review is not supposed to be a polemic; however, when it comes to supposedly "sexy" YA fiction, I really feel like there's a huge discrepancy between its assessment, its content, and its presumed intent. I'll just stay here in my corner, waiting for the next Forever.

Posted by Amy P. at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) Posted to Contemporary Realism | Girly Books | Romance

Lyga, Barry (2008). Hero-Type. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. 293 pages.

I think I've finally got it figured out: Barry Lyga (as An Author) is a combination of Chris Crutcher, John Greene, and Hugh Hefner. Chris Crutcher because of he works the issue-slash-school-story trope; John Greene because, in spite of the whole Chris Crutcher thing, Lyga manages not to write like a fogey; and Hugh Hefner because, in spite of some explicit comments to the contrary in Hero-Type, there's still an uncomfortable (albeit pseudo-feminist) amount of female objectification in Lyga's novels.

Hero-Type is narrated by 16-year-old Kevin Ross, a zit-faced member of a group of school outcasts who call themselves the Fools, who becomes known in his town as a hero after he saves the life of a fellow classmate. Following the whole life-saving thing, Kevin (known as Kross to his friends) is given a key to his city, profiled in newspapers and on television, and newly acknowledged by his classmates. After he is given a car (at cost) by the town mayor and he is caught on camera throwing away the "Support our troops" magnets the mayor slapped on the car, Kross's school and town turn against him, declaring him unpatriotic and accusing him of "hating" America's freedom fighters. Kross defends himself publicly, a move that ultimately pits him against one of the school's most popular dudes in a public debate about the First Amendment (this is the Chris Crutcher part).

In spite of the cheesy First Amendment debate thing, I never felt like I was being manipulated into "believing" in school as a forum for free thought and schoolwork (or class readings) as ultimately relevant and important tasks the way I often feel after reading an issue book set in school and dealing with a social studies topic. In fact, the whole freedom of speech thing turned out to be a gear from which a number of character revelations spun, not all of which (or really, any of which) related to the First Amendment in an obvious or cosmetic way. Dude, other authors can really take a cue from Lyga's use of the issue-slash-school-story trope.

That said, the fault I found in this book is the feature of all the Lyga books I've read and that really sticks in my craw. Lyga's always using the insightful-and-sometimes-damaged-or-at-least-freaky-girl-exposes-male-narrator-to-his-flaws-and-opens-up-his-world device. In this book, its Kross's friend's girlfriend who becomes the narrator's sounding board. Although this novel does deal with issues of objectification and what one character identifies as Kross's real problem, that he doesn't see girls as "real people," at the meta level, the girls in this book still play a sort of symbolic role and, thus, cause the novel to sort of contradict itself.

That said (again!), I did like this book and spent much of my Columbus Day Sunday on the couch reading it. More so than Boy Toy (and definitely more so than Fan Boy), I think this novel doesn't deny its characters complexity, even if they are "only" teenagers, a detail that makes a good YA novel, in my estimation.

Posted by Amy P. at 08:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) Posted to Contemporary Realism