YA or STFU

Kasischke, Laura (2008). Feathered. NY: HarperTeen. 272 pages.

I enjoyed Laura Kasischke's first young adult novel, Boy Heaven (the author has also published collections of poetry and a couple of novels for adults), so much that I was psyched to see a new title by the author on the new book shelves at my library. While the back matter and brief plot summary on the jacket flap seemed to indicate that Feathered would mine similar topical territory as the urban-legend inspired Boy Heaven, it soon became clear that the newer novel would combine fantasy, legend, and real life in a dark and feminist way.

Alternating between the first person voice of Ann, an eighteen-year-old traveling to Mexico to spend spring break with her friends, and the third person account of the experiences of Michelle, Ann's best friend and fellow spring break traveler, the narrative is descriptive but not overwritten. Like Francesca Lia Block, who manages to squeeze in a sensory overload of descriptive information in relatively few pages (and with what would seem to be great ease), and, like Joyce Carol Oates, who infuses her narratives with a dark creepiness that is somehow uncanny, Kasischke has produced a mood piece cum mystery cum horror story that, in spite of the pervasive avian imagery, doesn't hit you over the head with literary device.

When Ann, Michelle and their friend Terri take a trip to Mexico for spring break, the three girls look forward to a few days of sun, swimming, drinking, and maybe a little hooking up. When they arrive at their hotel, it seems clear that Ann and Michelle aren't really the spring break type. Unlike Terri, who immediately dons a bikini and joins the suntan oiled, drunken crowd, Ann and Michelle sit awkwardly at the bar and strike up conversation with an older stranger. The older stranger offers to act as a tour guide for the pair and the two reluctantly (Ann) and eagerly (Michelle) accompany him on a trip to some Mayan ruins. The trip is a transformative experience for Michelle; however, Ann, wary of the stranger and his creepy interest in the ruins and the ritual sacrifices of the Mayans, encourages Michelle to part ways with the stranger and arranges for a separate ride back to their hotel. Tragedy strikes and Michelle is lost and what seems like a setup for a fictionalized account of Natalee Holloway takes a turn for the mystical and symbolic.

I loved this book and totally raced through it; however, my eagerness did not keep me from experiencing surprise at the twists in the novel, especially the central surprise that should have been a no-brainer. Kasischke's use of imagery as she subtly compares the "savage" Mayans and the drunken spring breakers is sharp but subtle (she's not hitting you over the head with moralism here) and the feminist critique of Ann and Michelle's situation is omnipresent as the narrative asks us to question some of those ingrained rules of female safety.

Posted by Amy P. at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Waters, Daniel (2008). Generation Dead. NY: Hyperion. 392 pages.

Dead teenagers are coming back to life and trying to exist among the living. The undead or, as the politically correct would have it, "differently biotic," are not the most welcome new additions to the population. For one thing, they look dead--think pale skin and silver eyes--for another, not all of them returned to "normal." Many of the undead are shells of their former selves, speak slowly and haltingly and with a flat affect. One school, Oakvale High, has become something of a mecca for dead teens; as one of few schools with an undead mainstreaming program, it, and the town in which it is situated, has attracted a number of dead kids and their families. When (living) goth Phoebe Kendall develops a crush on one of the dead, a boy named Tommy, and Tommy decides to try out for the school football team, conflict ensues. With one of Phoebe's best friends, a jock named Adam, on Tommy's side on the team, threats made by some of his meathead teammates never get completely out of hand; however, most of the town (not to mention society) remains hostile towards the zombies.

It would be easy to read Generation Dead as something of an allegory for any kind of institutionalized or social bigotry; details of the zombie's lack of citizenship, the mandatory conscription requirements, and their random murders by townspeople are reminiscent of American racism and homophobia. That the party being discriminated against consists of the reanimated dead complicates the metaphor. Can we really draw a parallel between the undead and the (living) victims of hate? Would that parallel inevitably lead to questions about the validity or even "naturalness" of life on either side?

I'd like to have seen the book go a bit deeper into the experiences of the dead and begin to feel out questions of "biotics" and existence (at an existential level, of course, har har); however, the jabs at consumerism were enough of a beginning for me. Interestingly, the author has set up a "live" extension of the novel in the form of a blog, "My So Called Death," featuring the thoughts of Tommy who, coincidentally, maintains a blog of the same name in the book. Visit "Tommy's" blog here. I've visited once and found myself more interested in the readers' comments than in Tommy's musings. While many of the blog's readers have clearly read the novel, I wonder if all of them are completely in on the dissemblance.

Posted by Amy P. at 04:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Libby, Alisa M. (2009). The King's Rose. NY: Dutton. 304 pages.

I have to admit up front that this review will probably be a bit biased for two reasons: (one) I work with the author and (two) I'm not a huge fan of royal historical fiction. That said, I can honestly say that The King's Rose was better than most of the royal-themed fiction I've read and that my enjoyment in the novel comes from what I believe to be genuinely good writing and not from any concern that Alisa would kick my ass if I judged her second novel otherwise.

Stories about life in King Henry VIII's court are always interesting (the sex! the death! all those feasts!) and this one, which focuses on the life of his fifth wife, Catherine Howard, generally exceeds expectations. Unlike much historical fiction for young adults, this one weaves in just enough historical fact to make the larger story understandable without sounding like a boring old history lesson. Here's the story: when fifteen-year-old Catherine, cousin of doomed queen Anne Boleyn, catches the eye of the king, her family--her duchess aunt in particular--is eager for her to capture the crown. Following a short courtship and exchange of gifts, Catherine is married to the forty-nine-year-old Henry and the two go about trying to "make" an heir. In spite of their evenings of intimacy, Catherine is holding a secret: she was not a virgin when she married the king and, as the heir-making doesn't produce, she turns to an old flame for a second donation to the coffers.

Alisa does a good job of creating and sustaining a mood of tension in spite of the richness and revelry that become a regular part of Catherine's life. It's clear that in the royal world, the responsibility for bearing a male heir is not one that is taken lightly and, with her aunt and maids all on the lookout for Catherine's monthly bill and the royal subjects on perpetual "bump watch," the stress takes its toll. By the end of the novel, the mood has turned from tense to gothic, and Catherine is having visions of Anne Boleyn. This, of course, is the part I like best. A confirmed fan of the gothic, I enjoyed that element in Alisa's first novel (The Blood Companion) and I welcomed it here as well.

Posted by Amy P. at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

McNeal, Mallori (2005). A Down Chick. Columbus, OH: Triple Crown Publications. 209 pages.

While this may not be technically a young adult novel, it does fit two criteria some consider when determining whether a literary work is an example of the form: first, A Down Chick belongs to a genre of fiction widely read by teens and second, the novel's author, Mallori McNeal, began writing this book at age 14 and completed it at age 16. At any rate, that this novel fit the above criteria (though I usually rely on the "created with an express audience of teen readers in mind" definition), and that Down is representative of urban fiction, an outsider literary genre revived in the mid-1990s, ultimately led to my decision to include McNeal's novel in this blog.

The first of a duet of novels (The Set Up is this novel's sequel), A Down Chick describes seventeen-year-old downtown Cincinnati girl Amina, who, for the first time, is offered an opportunity to meet her estranged father. When Amina meets her father, Damen, and his attractive son Azelle, she is entranced by her "other" family's posh life. Damen runs his own successful luxury car dealership and lives in a schmancy house while Azelle leads a shadowy life of "business" and owns his own well-decorated condo. After a fight with her mother, Amina decides to move in with Azelle and, as the two grow closer and Amina begins a romance with Kayne, one of Azelle's friends, Amina finds herself increasingly involved in what turns out to be Azelle's drug dealing business. After Azelle and then Kayne are arrested and Damen leaves town worried about the long arm of the law, Amina resorts to underworld business to stay afloat (and pay for all those lawyers!).

Soooo much happened in this novel; it's really surprising that it was only 200 pages long. Amina progresses from 17 to 18, gets pregnant, gets beaten up, visits friends and relatives in jail, evades police, issues a hit, and, ultimately, gets caught. The plot recycles much of what I've come to expect from garden-variety urban fiction: young girl falls in love (or meets an estranged relative), discovers that said lover (or relative) is involved in some shady business, and enjoys the spoils of the life until the law bites her on the ass. I can't really say that this book was fast-paced because many of the scenes seemed a bit over-long, however, McNeal's novel does move from plot point to plot point with little downtime. The novel ended on a rather unexpected note--I don't want to spoil it here, but it did leave me wondering how a sequel was even possible--and one that, compared with the rapid clip of events that comprise the novel, was surprisingly psychologically rich. One sort of odd postscript: I'm pretty sure this novel is called A Down Chick because that is how it is listed in the Triple Crown catalog and on the header of each page; however, the title as it appears on the novel's cover reads A Down Chic. Hmmm . . .

Posted by Amy P. at 06:04 PM | Permalink