YA or STFU

McDonald, Janet (2007). Off-Color. NY: Farrar, Straus, Giroux. 163 pages.

Fifteen-year-old Cameron loves her three best friends and her Brooklyn neghborhood, but feels a little less enthusiastic about school, where her academic progress follows the highs and lows of her moods. After a couple of talks with the school guidance counselor, things seem to be shaping up for Cameron, until her mother looses her job and the two have to move to goverment housing in a new neighborhood. Cameron is scared: how are she and her mother going to survive among all those black folks? Then, Cameron finds out that she's black, too! Turns out, her absent father was (gasp!) black! And that makes her biracial!

We all have to admit: there aren't too many good YA novels about biracial teens. Unfortunately, this is not going to be the book that forges new paths in this direction. The third-person narrative allows us a glimpse into Cameron's mother's life as well as into Cameron's; however, both women's stories seem pretty simplictically told. McDonald does begin to raise some interesting questions about race, most notably the portrayal of blacks on television; however, there's a lot more essentializing going on here than seems really necessary (then again, is essentializing ever really necessary?). I'm not sure the novel ever reaches any solid conclusions; the short book seems more invested in the indulgent portrayal of the project sistahs who become Cameron's new friends. Not that there's anything wrong with the project ladies, it's just that I'd like to see some of these issues complicated a bit more and not distilled into watery but still un-helpfully separate fields of black and white. In what could be a really cool opportunity to discuss broad social conceptions of "blackness" and "whiteness," one character comments, "I'm mixed, too, exactly like ninety-nine percent of all black folks in this race ravaged country", but then finishes with: "But I'm more than happy to be just a plain ol' black chile. Less complication" (p. 129). I'd love to linger a bit longer on the first part of that statement, but this powerful observation is cut off in the most un-helpful way. "Race-ravaged:" what an amazing description! What kinds of anger and transformation could come from taking this moment of poetry apart!

Posted by Amy P. at 09:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Pixley, Marcella (2007). Freak. NY: Farrar, Straus, Giroux. 131 pages.

Seventh-grader Miriam Fisher is in love with words and poetry and is somewhat of an outsider in her middle school. Though she and her older sister Deborah used to share a love of the Oxford English Dictionary and an active fantasy world, when Deborah started high school, their comforting bond began to disintegrate. Now Deborah is gorgeous, popular and scornful of the younger sister she wishes would stop being, in her words, "such an alien." The popular girls at Miriam's junior high seem to share the sentiment and taunt her on a regular basis. When Artie, the high school son of family friends, comes to stay with the Fishers, Miriam hopes their mutual love for poetry and language will lead them to romance. Artie affectionately tolerates Miriam but has romantic designs on distinctly less cerebral Deborah. Unfortunately, Miriam's passionate feelings towards Artie are soon discovered by the girls at her school (one of whom is the younger sister of Deborah's best friend) and they use Miriam's vulnerability to their advantage.

Freak, Pixley's first novel, is a fast read that some will default classify as "one of those books about bullying;" however, the short book digs a bit deeper than that. I have to admit, I wasn't too much of a fan of Miriam at first and thought her poetic musings--which are sprinkled throughout the book--were a bit sophisticated for a seventh grader. As in that television show Medium, in which the family drama is much more satisfying than the spirital sleuthing, I found the relationships between Miriam's family to be much deeper and more intriguing reading. Pixley suggests a number of disruptions among the Fisher women but, as in life, these aren't so neatly resolved.

Posted by Amy P. at 08:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hautman, Pete (2007). All-in. NY: Simon and Schuster. 177 pages.

Hautman's newest novel is a sequal to his 2005 book, No Limit, the story of sixteen-year-old Denn Doyle, an underage Texas Hold'em player who pretty much manages to rip a wealthy poker king a new one. In this story, we find Denn playing the high-stakes tables in Las Vegas and on the tail end of a sweep of good luck. Told from the third person perspectives of Denn and his onetime girlfriend Cattie, and the first person perspective of a sort of omniscient gambler known as Jimbo, this installment of Denn's story involves Denn's discovery of the long reach of his enemy, the aging and creepy dude who Denn beat in No Limit. Heading closer and closer to the vortex of the proverbial downward spiral, Denn enters a winner-take-all holdem competition at a new casino opened by his nemesis. The prize: $1,000,000. Second place: $0.00.

I wonder if the poker story is the next sports story for young people. Hautman's new novel was certainly all about the poker: general exposition, details of a holdem game, general exposition, details of a holdem game, etc., is how this novel pretty much went. Now, don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed a number of Hautman's novels, particularly Invisible and Rash, I just wish this one had a bit more characterization to go with the cards, themselves center-stage characters in the novel. With Denn as the white knight, his creepy enemy as the Bad Guy, and Cattie as the "whore with a heart of gold," I didn't get a whole lot out of this one. Sorry, man.

Posted by Amy P. at 05:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Miller, Sarah (2007). Miss Spitfire: Reaching Helen Keller. NY: Athenaeum Books for Young Readers. 208 pages.

I've been a Helen Keller fan for years and have always wondered about her relationship with her teacher, Annie Sullivan, particularly after the two became adults. Did Helen ever get to have sex? How would that proposition have been negotiated? Via Annie? These are just three of the many questions I have about the life of the dynamic duo; questions that Miss Spitfire, Miller's first novel devoted to the first months of Annie's life as Helen's teacher, does not answer.

When, at age 21, impoverished all-but-orphaned Annie Sullivan arrives in Alabama to teach the six-year-old Helen Keller, she discovers not the saint we've come to know, but a little hellion who likes to dip her fingers in everyone's dinner plate and who refuses to wash. Annie knows that Helen needs discipline, but the Keller family is bent on coddling the young deaf and blind girl who, they believe, is probably a "simpleton." Annie didn't endure the harsh world of the Tewksbury home for the destitute and the less harsh but still difficult Perkins School for the Blind for nothing; she knows the only way to tame Helen is to break her down and then bring her back up again, kind of like the Marines.

Who knew Annie was so hardcore? The children's biographies of Helen Keller don't mention Annie's strong-arm techniques, which include holding Helen down and even smothering her with a handkerchief to get her to obey. Also, I didn't realize that it took a very long and painful month for Annie to finally break through to Helen ("water!"). Miller's novel, told from Annie's perspective, is a real eye-opener (I couldn't help it) that suggests parallels between the lives of Annie and Helen and, with these suggestions, explains the pair's lifelong closeness and understanding.

Each chapter is headed with an excerpt from Annie's letters to her housemother at the Perkins school for the blind and the narrative makes an attempt at the same late nineteenth century language. I'm saddened that the greater fictional text doesn't achieve the same matching tone or vocabulary of the letters' excerpts; this disconnect (of which we are reminded at the beginning of every chapter) makes the story less successful for me. Miller's first novel does distance itself from any romance accorded the initial relationship between Annie and Helen and it is this that distinguishes the book. For younger teen Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan fans this will be a must read; at my advanced age, I wanted to ante upped a bit. More violence! More tears! Bring it on, Annie S.!

Posted by Amy P. at 05:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Zevin, Gabrielle (2007). Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac. NY: Farrar, Straus, Giroux. 271 pages.

Interestingly, this is the second YA novel about retrograde amnesia I've read this year. The first was the British import Kat Got Your Tongue by Lee Weatherly, which I reviewed for School Library Journal. Interesting, no?

Divided into three sections entitled, "I Was," "I Am," and "I Will," Zevin's novel chronicles Naomi's junior year at school during which she suffers from limited retrograde amnesia (she can't remember the last four years of her life) following a fall down the stairs. Naomi's amnesia is both a blessing and a curse (cringe!): while her newfound "blank slate" status gives her an opportunity to re-create herself outside of the parameters she and her friends seem to have created for themselves, near daily surprises related to her family life and her relationships with her boyfriend and pals in the popular crowd keep her in an almost constant state of unbalance. Almost immediately Naomi breaks up with her dumb jock boyfriend and begins consorting with a new guy, an older, moody classmate with a dark past. This new guy's problems are even more hardcore than Naomi's: he's been hospitalized with mental illness in the past and has tried to commit suicide twice. During his and Naomi's relationship, the two struggle with both of their "head traumas."

While the premise does seem a little soap-opera-y, in Zevin's hands the novel moves intelligently and meaningfully along. Naomi's troubled relationship with her new boyfriend who warns her to "forget him" if he begins to sink into the dark hole of depression again is well integrated with Naomi's central negotiation of her new, if incomplete, life. In fact, it is Zevin's description of Naomi's boyfriend's eventual breakdown that is the most compelling, realistic and sensitively wrought portion of the novel. While the conclusion is a tiny bit too pat (I was hoping for a totally different revelation involving Naomi's best friend that would totally spoil the ending if I revealed it here), Zevin's second novel (anybody remember the heartbreaking but hopeful Elsewhere?) is another rich offering from an author from whom I hope we continue to hear more.

P.S. Sorry for that awkward last sentence, but I can't stand ending a sentence--much less a paragraph--with a preposition!

Posted by Amy P. at 04:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Coburn, Jake (2005). Love Sick. NY: Dutton Books. 228 pages.

Former star athlete Ted has pretty much ruined his chance at college, thanks to a drunk driving accident that messed up his knee and caused him to lose his scholarship. He gets a second chance, however, when a mysterious man named Michael offers him an unusual opportunity. If Ted will watch over (read: spy on) the freshman daughter of a well-connected New York businessman and report her activities to Michael, Ted will get a free pass to Brown University. Of course, the task is not as easy as it seems: Erica, the girl Ted is assigned to "watch" is a not-so-secret bulimic and Ted finds himself sympathizing with her compulsion to binge and purge and, eventually, falling in love with her.

I didn't really want to like this book, mostly because I had some pretty prejudicial notions about its author. Coburn is the youthful author (four years younger than I . . . ) of 2003's Prep, a novel loosely based on his teen years as a private school student in NYC, and one in what seems to be a long line of young authors whose hipness is supposed to be related to their age. That said, color me surprised! Love Sick was pretty good! I thought the premise seemed a bit out there, but ended up being a good vehicle for addressing issues of intimacy--real intimacy between two people who develop a relationship and the just as real but slightly imbalanced intimacy between a knowing and unknowing partner--and addiction. Allowing the antiheroes--neither Ted nor Erica are shiny, happy teens (remember the drunk driving and the bulimia?)--to contemplate ethical situations that seem to grow more slippery as they consider them is an interesting twist as well.

Posted by Amy P. at 10:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Clement-Moore, Rosemary (2007). Prom Dates from Hell. NY: Delacorte Press. 308 pages.

Soon-to-graduate high school senior Maggie has made a career out of avoiding the popular crowd and living on the fringes of her high school's social world, at least, as far as her jobs at the school newspaper and yearbook will allow. When Maggie notices some odd accidents at her school--made odder by the paranormal goo left at the scenes of said accidents--she becomes convinced that someone has placed a revenge curse on select members of the student body. Fortunately, Maggie has a bit of "The Sight" and an "in" with a local paranormal-studies college student to help her get to the root of the problem.

Ever since Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it's like every young adult novel that deals with a ghost-fighting female teen has to have an ironically hip and sarcastic narrative (yes, I'm talking about you, Meg Cabot and your "Mediator" series, and you, Jennifer Barnes and your "Platinum" books). Prom Dates is no exception. The plot is a bit more complex than your average story of this ilk and, I have to say, the ending was a bit of a surprise. This type of novel would not be complete without a glimmer of love interest and the torn-between-two-potential-lovers plotline is not unsatisfying, though a bit rote.

Posted by Amy P. at 08:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Levitan, Sonia (2007). Strange Relations. NY: Knopf. 298 pages.

When her parents have an opportunity to travel to Europe for business, fifteen-year-old Marne volunteers to spend the summer at her Aunt Carole's home in Hawaii in hopes that their time travelling alone will help heal the scars in her parents' relationship. A summer in Hawaii sounds, literally, like paradise, especially when Marne discovers that her best friend and her family will be visiting the same island for a few weeks that summer. When Marne gets to Hawaii, she discovers that her Aunt Carole is now known as Chaya and that her aunt's family's Hasidic Jewish ways are in sharp contrast to Marne's own family's distinctly less orthodox way of life.

Levitin is known for incorporating Jewish identity and history within her novels for young adults and this one is no exception. Not a proselytising text, the novel presents Hasidic life in a sympathetic way that avoids cultural tourism; Aunt Chaya's Hasidic family is not presented as a curiosity, instead, Marne becomes somewhat of a curiousity in this new environment. When Marne meets her friend who has come to the island on vacation, she realizes how her time with her family has changed her perspective and, in a scene that is a little more dramatic than it needs to be (drinking, drugs and sex--I wish I were invited to that party . . .), Marne realizes the impact Chaya and her faith has made on her life.

Posted by Amy P. at 08:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Alphin, Elaine Marie (2005). The Perfect Shot. Minneapolis, MN: Carolrhoda Books. 359 pages.
After his girlfriend and her family are killed while he shoots hoops in his driveway next door, Brian finds himself disappearing into basketball (he's on the school team) to avoid thinking about the crime and the fact that his girlfriend's father is being charged with her death. When he is assigned to research a turn-of-the-century court case in history class, Brian and his research partner, Todd, the school outcast, begin to compare the historic case of justice gone wrong to the more current events to which he is personally attached. The research, combined with a racially charged incident into which Brian and a teammate are drawn, leads Brian to question the findings of the police in the case of his girlfriend's death and to re-evaluate the events of that tragic day.
I don't normally like the school-assignment-extends-to-real-life trope in young adult novels; however, it kinda works in this one. Mainly because Alphin doesn't go for the "Shakespeare Applies to Everything" model and exposes us to a lesser known "lesson" from history. That said, there are some moments of overblown drama, most notably in the first chapter--the girlfriend's death, told from her perspective!!--and throughout the novel as the details from the climax are drawn out between the chapters of the main text. The mystery element was mildly thrilling (a la Joan Lowery Nixon in her later period), if not a bit obvious (I wonder who that jogger in the sweatsuit was?), and--I'll admit it--I'm a sucker for some overblown suspense.

Posted by Amy P. at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Abel-Fattah, Randa (2007). Does My Head Look Big in This? NY: Orchard Books. 360 pages.
When practicing Muslim and eleventh grader Amal decides to adopt the practice of wearing a hijab, or headscarf, as an expression of her faith, she is somewhat surprised at the difficulty she encounters both at school and in her neighborhood. Even Amal's family discourages her and expresses concern for her safety; however, Amal remains strong and convinced that she can wear the hijab with style (even in conjunction with her school uniform). Once the visual marker of her faith is in place, Amal is surprised at the amount of subtle and not-so-subtle prejudice she faces. Conversely, the hijab also connects her to her faith in a new way and, she observes, to other women who wear the scarf as well.
I liked the mixture of school story and religious journey and the realistic way Abel-Fattah portrayed Amal's school and religious communities. There were two sub-plots that seemed a little heavy-handed: the first dealt with Amal's attempts to befriend a Greek neighbor and the second with the familial difficulty faced by another Muslim friend raised in more traditional environs. These issues aside, Does My Head Look Big was a thoughtful piece not unlike Blume's intro. to religion novel, Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret.

Posted by Amy P. at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Perkins, Mitali (2007). First Daughter: Extreme American Makeover. NY: Dutton Children's Books. 277 pages.
Sameera "Sparrow" Righton is the adopted Pakistani daughter of the very white Republican presidential candidate and has returned to the United States from her British boarding school to visit relatives and observe the campaign as it begins to heat up. After seeing some papparazzi photos taken of her looking pretty worse for wear after an overnight flight, Sparrow is excited to be made over by her father's team of public relations people. One designer wardrobe and team of hair and makeup experts later, Sparrow is the model president's daughter. There's only one problem: the PR team wants to add Sparrow's voice to her father's campaign by setting up a cheesy blog in her name. In retaliation, Sparrow starts her own semi-secret blog and (surprise!) ends up generating more youth support for her father through this grass roots effort than the Heavies in PR ever could.
It's really cool that more and more novels featuring South Asian characters are being published and this book by Perkins does a good job of incorporating some serious identity politics with popular literary convention. From the brief plot summary (above) you can probably guess at some of the internal conflicts; however, the central issue, detailing Sparrow's attempt to resolve her "All-American" identity and her Pakistani heritage is quite good and reads like a lighter Born Confused (Hidier, 2004). In an extra twist of irony, Sparrow discovers that she can outmaneuver the papparazzi by dressing in traditional South Asian garb, and uses this disguise to move freely in public. That the most conspicuous dress becomes a cloak of invisibility is both a dig at our Western tendency to fail to particularize "costumed natives" as well as an interesting argument for what some deem to be the restrictive garments associated with some South Asian women's wear.
According to Amazon, a sequal to this novel is coming out in 2008 and I'm totally planning to read it. Maybe in this one Perkins will address some Republican policy.

Posted by Amy P. at 10:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Johnson, Maureen (2007). Girl at Sea. NY: Harper Teen. 336 pages.
First of all, what's up with the anonymous female torsos that decorate, like, every single one of Maureen Johnson's novels?
In a semi-travelogue a la Johnson's Thirteen Little Blue Envelopes, another teen girl is called to Europe. This time, the star of the story is seventeen-year-old Clio, an aspiring artist who just snagged her dream job at the best art supply store in Philadelphia. When Clio's mother gets an opportunity to travel for her doctoral (I think) studies, Clio's estranged dad steps in and invites Clio to spend the summer with him on a boat in the Mediterranean. Sounds like a sweet deal, right? Unfortunately, Clio's dad is kind of flaky and irresponsible and, when Clio gets to Italy to meet him, she discovers he hasn't changed one bit. The supposed father-daughter summer is actually a working trip for Clio's dad who, with his new girlfriend, her daughter, a semi-hot research assistant, and Clio's dad's business partner, is on a secret trip for undersea treasure. Lucky Clio is elected chief cook and bottle washer and soon finds herself embroiled in a love triangle with her dad's girlfriend's daughter and in a battle of trust with her dad.
I liked this novel SO MUCH better than Johnson's Little Blue Envelopes. Just the right amount of angst and suspense in a setting that, given the fictional circumstances, doesn't even inspire that much wanderlust. All of the characters are well drawn and well rounded, even the dad's girlfriend, who was in danger of becoming the stereotypical evil stepmother type. Way to go, Maureen!

Posted by Amy P. at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Cabot, Meg (2007). Pants on Fire. NY: Harper Teen. 260 pages.
Sixteen-year-old Kate is a big ol' liar. She's managed to snag the most lusted after boy in her town, but, at the start of Meg Cabot's new novel, narrator Kate is cheating on Mr. Hunk with another guy and contemplating taking up with a third. While Kate's no slut, she does like the kissin' and, until her old friend Tommy comes back to town (she kisses him, too), has never really contemplated doing anything more than locking lips. Tommy's appearance is a big problem: not only is he in line to be Kate's secret smoochee number 2, he's also returned to a town that turned against him four years prior, when he exposed a cheating scam perpetrated by the beloved football team, the Quahogs. As the official girlfriend of a Quahog and a competitor for the Miss Quahog crown, Kate knows she should stay away from Mr. Persona non Grata, but she . . . just . . . cant.
To be honest, I was hoping for a bit more from this new Cabot book. Maybe because I LOVED the way Cabot handled the issue of sex in Ready or Not and because the new novel is called Pants on Fire, I had misguided hopes that this would be a semi-sexy read. Instead, noone got beyond first base and the primary theme seemed to involve Being True to Yourself, which, everybody knows, is a big yawn. That said, I can never come right out and diss a Meg Cabot book because they are just fun to read. And this one is no exception.

Posted by Amy P. at 10:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Lockhart, E. (2007). Dramarama. NY: Hyperion. 311 pages.
Though not technically an outcast at her midwestern high school, Sarah knows she is somehow bigger than her Ohio town. When she meets Demi, a gay, black newcomer, they develop an intimate friendship characterized by all things dramatic: Sarah changes her name to Sayde, and the dynamic duo bond over their mutual love for musical theatah. Sayde is sure they will be tremendously successful at the exclusive drama camp they've been looking forward to attending all year, and she's half right: Demi, with his great looks, grace, and genuine talent quickly becomes known as a rising star while Sayde is relegated to the corps de ballet. Not as comfortable at camp as she'd hoped, Sayde questions the camp's sometimes grueling methods and begins a parallel process of questioning herself and her friendship with Demi who, she's beginning to realize, she may never have completely known.
Lockhart's newest novel is an atypical take on both the camp story and the "a star is born" trope and raises a number of intriguing questions about the roles we perform every day. Told from Sayde's perspective, the narrative is sympathetic and features just enough of those truly embarrassing moments of growth that, at the time (and, to some degree, in retrospect) are just painful enough to render themselves learning experiences. A couple of times in the story, Lockhart introduces what seem to be key questions surrounding Sayde's and Demi's relationship, most notably when the two uncomfortably address Demi's race and his sexuality. I would have liked to see a little more exploration of both of these topics; however, the lack of resolution there is true to the narrative perspective.

Posted by Amy P. at 10:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)